#our path is unclear

[dreamspring]

and i hope, i hope all of our homes have white fences. and i hope our smiles are wider than theirs is. and i hope all of our dreams are kept fragrant. and i’ll meet you on the pavement, when we make it to the other side

[reasonsforhope]

Ancient redwoods recover from fire by sprouting 1000-year-old buds

Article | Paywall free

When lightning ignited fires around California’s Big Basin Redwoods State Park north of Santa Cruz in August 2020, the blaze spread quickly. Redwoods naturally resist burning, but this time flames shot through the canopies of 100-meter-tall trees, incinerating the needles. “It was shocking,” says Drew Peltier, a tree ecophysiologist at Northern Arizona University. “It really seemed like most of the trees were going to die.”

Yet many of them lived. In a paper published yesterday in Nature Plants, Peltier and his colleagues help explain why: The charred survivors, despite being defoliated [aka losing all their needles], mobilized long-held energy reserves—sugars that had been made from sunlight decades earlier—and poured them into buds that had been lying dormant under the bark for centuries.

“This is one of those papers that challenges our previous knowledge on tree growth,” says Adrian Rocha, an ecosystem ecologist at the University of Notre Dame. “It is amazing to learn that carbon taken up decades ago can be used to sustain its growth into the future.” The findings suggest redwoods have the tools to cope with catastrophic fires driven by climate change, Rocha says. Still, it’s unclear whether the trees could withstand the regular infernos that might occur under a warmer climate regime.

Mild fires strike coastal redwood forests about every decade. The giant trees resist burning thanks to the bark, up to about 30 centimeters thick at the base, which contains tannic acids that retard flames. Their branches and needles are normally beyond the reach of flames that consume vegetation on the ground. But the fire in 2020 was so intense that even the uppermost branches of many trees burned and their ability to photosynthesize went up in smoke along with their pine needles.

Trees photosynthesize to create sugars and other carbohydrates, which provide the energy they need to grow and repair tissue. Trees do store some of this energy, which they can call on during a drought or after a fire. Still, scientists weren’t sure these reserves would prove enough for the burned trees of Big Basin.

Visiting the forest a few months after the fire, Peltier and his colleagues found fresh growth emerging from blackened trunks. They knew that shorter lived trees can store sugars for several years. Because redwoods can live for more than 2000 years, the researchers wondered whether the trees were drawing on much older energy reserves to grow the sprouts.

Average age is only part of the story. The mix of carbohydrates also contained some carbon that was much older. The way trees store their sugar is like refueling a car, Peltier says. Most of the gasoline was added recently, but the tank never runs completely dry and so a few molecules from the very first fill-up remain. Based on the age and mass of the trees and their normal rate of photosynthesis, Peltier calculated that the redwoods were calling on carbohydrates photosynthesized nearly 6 decades ago—several hundred kilograms’ worth—to help the sprouts grow. “They allow these trees to be really fire-resilient because they have this big pool of old reserves to draw on,” Peltier says.

It's not just the energy reserves that are old. The sprouts were emerging from buds that began forming centuries ago. Redwoods and other tree species create budlike tissue that remains under the bark. Scientists can trace the paths of these buds, like a worm burrowing outward. In samples taken from a large redwood that had fallen after the fire, Peltier and colleagues found that many of the buds, some of which had sprouted, extended back as much as 1000 years. “That was really surprising for me,” Peltier says. “As far as I know, these are the oldest ones that have been documented.”

... “The fact that the reserves used are so old indicates that they took a long time to build up,” says Susan Trumbore, a radiocarbon expert at the Max Planck Institute for Biogeochemistry. “Redwoods are majestic organisms. One cannot help rooting for those resprouts to keep them alive in decades to come.”

-via Science, December 1, 2023

[luveline]

would you ever write a ditsy!reader with sirius? where he's grumpy and she's just giggly and makes him feel a little less grumpy? I love you and your writing sending kisses <3

I love you

Fuck’s sake. Sirius glares at the TV. Fuck off. 

“What’s it say?” you call from the kitchen. 

“It’s raining all weekend.” 

“No way, really?” You appear with a tea towel in your hands, wiping your fingers dry one at a time. “Shit, sorry, baby. I guess we better get out our rain ponchos.” 

Sirius loves concerts, but he hates shitty weather. “What if they cancel?” 

“I don’t think they’ll cancel.” You put the tea towel on the coffee table and gesture for him to do something. What it is you want is unclear, but Sirius leans back, and, as usual, you make yourself at home in his lap. Gentle but not shy. “We might get a bit muddy, is all.” 

You rest your ribs half on his chest and half against the sofa. This close, he can confess to finding you the kind of beautiful that makes his jaw ache. Being around you is like a constant re-realisation that you’re his amazing girl, his one good love, as he likes to put it. Romance has never felt more real to him than when he’s with you, slipping his arm behind your back, and letting your nose at his jawline. Then the man on TV says the area is at risk of thunder and lightning on Saturday and he forgets to be in love. 

“Fucking hell,” he complains, clinging to you as though you have the power to change what the weatherman has to say. 

“It won’t be as bad as you’re thinking,” you sing-song back. 

“No, we’ll be turned to husks when we’re struck by lightning, but I’m sure it’ll be great.” 

“So negative,” you murmur, drawing along his collar. 

“I’m being realistic, lovely, our weekend is completely ruined.” 

“That’s not true, is it? Your weekend is ruined. Mine is the same as it was, because I don’t care if it rains on Metallica, I just want to spend time with you.” 

“You’re such a dick,” he says through a soft laugh. 

“Why? Because I am clearly the more loving partner?” you tease. 

“Yes. Because I don’t care about you at all, I only care about the concert, and spending time with you means nothing to me.” 

“Oh, well when you put it like that,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss his neck softly. Short presses of your lips with the faintest of sounds, then you're giggling. He’s glad you can’t see his face. You’d run with the honeyed smile he wears now. He would never hear the end of it. 

“I’ll have to find your anorak,” he says, rubbing a loving path down your back. 

“We’ll get the thermals out of the attic. Don’t worry, baby, the rain won’t ruin all your fun.” You kiss him again, and laugh like you’ve made a joke he isn’t privy to. 

“What’s funny?” he asks. 

“I just love you when you’re mad.” 

“I’m not mad.” 

“Aggrieved, then.” You lift your face only to hold his and press your nose to his cheek. You move your face back and forth, like a hurried nuzzling. “You’re such a downer.” 

“Stop it.” 

“Make me,” you say through giggles. 

He closes his eyes and turns in for a proper kiss. 

[etherfabric]

Messages from Your Protector

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

Pile 1

The Fool, The Moon rx

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Oh my dear. I see how scared you are. I know this is nothing like anything before. But somehow also exactly like the thing you were running from your whole life. I know how unclear everything seems. How uncertain. You don't dare to move one inch.

Let me tell you now: The inch is enough. And you can take all the time you need. You can't see that from where you are, but from where I am, I can tell that time isn't important. Not at all. It doesn't make sense to you, nothing lately really does. All you had was your mind to rely on, and it's slipping away from you in ways you tried to avoid your whole life. They called you crazy, a liar, a drama queen. So you swore to always pay attention to the exterior, and only stick to the hard facts, to never be accused of that again.

And now suddenly everything turns to smoke. Nothing solid, no foundation to lean on, no former structure you recognize.

You might feel doomed, cursed, imprisoned. Imprisoned in something only you can see and feel, and not even those sensory informations seems reliable. Let me tell you, my precious lightbeam: This is your initiation. It is not for nothing. Far from it.

Not everyone is called to do this, and those who are, rarely feel "good" (in the former sense of the word) during it. It's one of the highest gifts the Universe can bestow upon you, but the process of shedding and rebuilding has phases of liminality that can't be skipped. You ask why this is happening? So you have only one thing left to use and turn to, so it becomes stronger than ever: Your faith. That crazy, invisible, unprovable thing you felt your whole life and ran from. Now it's your last resort. It seems cruel, but once you allow yourself to fully embrace it, be assured, we will bathe you in light and miracles that will carry you across this abyss. Just ask. Invite us, and we will come. The famous leap of faith is your only means of transportation right now, so to speak.

We love you so, so much. And honestly, you are doing amazing already. On our plane, your light is shining brighter than ever. We were never this close to you, and we love it. We know it doesn't feel this way all the time for you, but please listen to your intuition more. It's there to help you, not harm you. Those that judged you anytime you acted upon it are on their own, separate path. Don't let them sway you. Deep inside, you know it's something big and important, what is happening right now. You are doing amazing. We love you so much. I can't say it enough. You will get through this and be thankful. Later. Maybe you can find a smidge of that gratitude now. When you let your true opinion arise within, and dare to listen.

Pile 2

7 of Pentacles rx, 10 of Pentacles

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It's already done. The seeds are planted. This is a time of winding down, breathing in what you already have, let it enrich and nourish you. No one will come and take it away, claiming you are "too lazy" or "ungrateful" to "deserve it". Who told you this? Don't you know they were talking to themselves? To their own shadow, which they cast upon you, to not be blinded by your light? My dearest soul star. Can't you feel it, behind the worry and fear, underneath it all - the hum of completion? It surrounds you, it permeates the space between your atoms, it carries you across this cosmos.

Just imagine this gigantic planet you sit upon, its own attraction to you keeping you grounded. You belong here. You deserve everything that Life gave you. You deserve everything you worked for, and also everything you never worked for and just have, AND you deserve everything that is to come. Oh, there is a lot to come. So many blessings. You don't know even half if it yet. And that's exactly how it's supposed to be.

We don't want you to be exhausted from worry when we bring it to you. We want you to be soft and open, so it can touch your inner being - the only place where true satisfaction can take place. Look around you. The room you are in, or the environment you reside in for now. All this exists at the same time as you. Isn't that proof enough? Who else should it be for? Dare to connect to it, through whatever means sound right. Dare to delve into it. Dare to lay your hands on it, smell it, taste it, observe it, hear it. Draw pictures of it, in your mind, on a canvas, in the dirt on the ground. You are a part of all of it. You are part of the world to everyone else!

The time it takes to get you there is meant for you to enjoy what you have so far. Things will change, and the present will be another shape than the current one. So enjoy it while it lasts, until the upgrade arrives. Remember how desperate the past version of you was for so many of these circumstances? Get back in touch with them to feel their bliss and satisfaction. They are always there to help you. All the versions of you, past, present and future. They all love you in their own way, and they all are connected to you and bring their talents and wisdom as soon as you let them speak. This can be in a dream, a song, a memory, a word you read somewhere that tugs at you. Maybe a smell, or a name. Follow the thread, make space for the unraveling, and be assured we are always protecting you from what could truly be harmful. Nothing you can't take.

Admittedly, our relationship to pain is a rather abstract one compared to your incarnated self - so apologies for sounding aloof - but it carries deep truths, and is never the whole story. Promised. It will pass. You are doing so well. We love you so much more than you can imagine. For now. Soon, you will have a better idea. If you ever need our help, just call us. However feels most authentic. A thought is enough. Then listen for our signs, and dare to believe them, just like we believe in you.

Pile 3

The Star, Knight of Wands

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We are sending you support on all dimensions. You won't see it coming. It won't look like it moments before the event (or several events...) and you will be close to giving up on hope. The rhythm of the recent days was just the "right" wrong mixture of stagnation and overwhelming, sudden changes, and you are exhausted. You have lost things that you held very, very close to your heart, and you thought they belonged to your destiny.

Memories, associations, dreams, fragments of what is lost haunt you, and you try so desperately to make it fit into the picture. Sure this mean it will come back...? Well. Yes and No. Yes on the spiritual, emotional, ethereal plane - what you felt with them is just an appetizer compared to what's to come. It's a manifestation upgraded tenfold. But no, it won't be them exactly. I am so sorry for your pain - but I am not sorry for the context in which this loss happened, because I see the purpose it serves clear as day. You have to wait and see for it to unfold before your very eyes (at least the first two of them), and many fears and worries birthed from past disappointments will pop up.

Don't read those as prophecies - they are asking to be purged! So the canvas is clear for your upcoming masterpiece. It will happen at just the right time. It's not going anywhere. It is yours, and it will wait until you are ready. Promised. Your pace is just the right pace. Listen to your emotions, as untamable they might seem at times. Learn to dance with them, instead of fighting against them, and be it just one intentional second for starters. Your limits are there for a reason, and no one wants you to hurt yourself unnecessarily in the process. You deserve the reassurance and patience you need, and we hold that frequency towards you all the time.

There are judgements from people from your past still attached to what you deem true, and to which you assigned great meaning and weight in how you should be treated by the Universe, and all the people in it. You don't dare to go near them - they bite back. Like a wounded animal. Let's see how gentle you can go with them. We assure you, they will calm down as soon as they know you mean no harm. As soon as they feel you have the same patience and reassurance avaible for them you deserve. Watch the alchemy unfold, and bask in your accomplishments. This is the stuff transformation is made of. We are so freaking proud of you!

Pile 4

The Hermit, The Moon

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What you bring to the world is something not many will understand. We see your dedication, and be assured, you are on the path that was agreed upon before you came here. The unfolding of your inner voice is a marvelous endeavor without any witnesses, just yours to experience. You have never been so lonely and so rich in your whole life. And this is just the beginning.

We protect you from the harm that could sway you, but not the harm that can teach you. There are people around you who are blind to the light within, even scared when it shows up. They don't know what it means, at least not from their limited perspective they deem the whole truth. We see you trying to extend a helping hand, but this is our influence when they don't take it. You need all this energy for the next phase of transformation.

Your discipline and strategy so far has served you well, and we command you for your endurance. This is a whole new game, and you play it quite well. But be warned - this won't last forever. You might dream about what soon will finally be, to exchange it for what is right now. You will miss this once it's over. Not because the future is so grim - on the contrary. But because the beauty of inner transformation is not a constant or easily accessible one, and you either pay close attention to decipher the music in it now, or you will only have the tinted glass of nostalgia as a way back to it. What seems like a chore now will soon be the holder of self love when you look back on it. This might mean nothing to you, or even come across as accusatory, or threatening even.

We never mean harm. We are light. We are love. Just like you. What we want to invite you to is daring to be grateful to be you right now. This version of you won't last forever, so why not love it? Just for what it is?

That is why we send you this tsunami of solitude. So you and you can finally get a room and connect. Look each other in the eyes, deeply. And see how you are just perfect for each other, and exactly what you need and want. After all, this is what you chose. This is exactly your style. And it suits you so, so well.

[thehusbandoden]

Just Let me Explain -Husband!Loid Forger x Wife!Reader

A/n: I'm not sure how good this is, feel free to let me know! <3

General info:

Genre: angst, slight comfort at the end \\ wc: 2,711 \\ posted: 03/14/24 \\ unclear ending

Summary:

You find out about Loid's mission.. how he was using you- and Anya.. that's what set you off the most. What hurt you the most.

Warnings!: a lot of angst, being used, misunderstanding, miscommunication, crying, confrontation, being ignored, ignoring, partner refusing to let go of you (briefly), Loid's mission, mentions of an orphanage, mention of an orphan, fear of putting a child back into an orphanage (briefly), mentions of a nightmare, child crying (briefly). I think that's all? Lmk if I miss any! <3

You lived the dream life. You were married to the love of your life, you had a darling young girl you’ve adopted, and you were loved by your small family unconditionally.  

Or... so you thought. That all changed when you found out your husband’s secret. A spy... he was sent on a mission to get married and have a child. Your entire relationship... was it all a lie? 

Tears stream down your face as you process the information time and time again. All of it... was for some mission of his? Did he ever even love you? You weren’t even sure at this point.  

You were currently curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, your back pressed against the door. The man in question spoke to you softly on the other side, asking for you to open the door and let him explain. You don’t respond, continuing to drown in your sorrow.  

Every minute that crawled by felt like an hour. Loid kept calling to you, his voice filling with more concern as you continued to stay silent.  

“Y/n... please... open the door. Let me explain, you’re worrying me.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Loid. I’m done with these mind games.” You whisper, your voice hoarse with sorrow. 

“Y/n... I-I don’t know what to say to that. Please... open the door.” 

“Why? So you can lie to me more? So you can gaslight me? So I can melt into your eyes and go back to believing that everything is okay?”  

“Y/n... please.”  

“No, Loid. I’m done. I’m so done with letting you control me by playing with my feelings. It was all a lie... wasn’t it.”  

Loid hesitates, his voice faltering as he attempts to fix the mess he made.  

“And Anya? She’s a part of your sick game too, isn’t she?” You mutter, your tears drying against your skin. Your sorrow was slowly growing into acceptance.  

“She is a part of my mission, yes.” He whispers.  

You let out a low chuckle filled with bitterness. “And what? What happens once your mission is finished? Do you leave? Stay with us? End us? End *me* now that I know?”  

“No, I wouldn’t ever kil-” his voice falters once more. 

You let out a low laugh that expressed your pain perfectly. “You’re a pathetic excuse as a father. I used to think you were so good to Anya. That you were the perfect father for her- but you plan on *leaving* both of us. Or do you plan on making it worse!? Are you going to end me and leave her in that run-down orphanage again!?” You snap, standing up. 

You feel your acceptance turning into anger as you throw the bathroom door open, glaring up at the man you once called yours.  

“Y/n I-”  

“Why Loid!? Why do you plan on ruining our lives?!”  

“Y/n it’s not that simple.” He sighs, moving aside to give you a path. You take it, storming out of the bathroom. You pace around the living room and kitchen.  

“Don’t give me that. You played friends until you captured my heart, gave me a flimsy love confession-” he flinched “-and then slid an *engagement* ring on my finger for some stupid mission!?”  

He opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. “What about Anya!?” You yell, shoving a finger into his chest. Your anger boiled over at the thought of your precious little girl. She’s been through several homes already; she can’t go back to that horrid orphanage.  

“I-” 

“Are you going to leave us!? Kill me and leave her as an orphan again!? Tell me, Loid!” You demand, staring into his eyes. You used to think you would never treat him like this no matter how angry you got... but the thought of your baby losing another family threw out all self-control.  

“You know me better than that, y/n.” Loid sighs.  

“I don’t Loid. I used to think that you were a good man that worked hard to support his family, but I was wrong. All you are is a selfish pig who cares about nothing but himself.” You spit.  

Loid’s eyebrow twitches. You don’t notice. 

“Anya deserves better than this, Loid! Were you really planning on leaving us alone once your mission is finished!? Were you going to give us a goodbye or were you going to just leave!?”  

He still doesn’t say anything. Your anger slowly boils over, every second he ignores you adding another drop into the already over-filled cup of self-restraint. “I... do not know what I was going to do.”  

Another drop falls, spilling the rage over. You pull yourself away, so you don’t physically lash out. “I can’t believe I loved you!? I can’t believe that I trusted you, Loid! Was it all fake!?”  

Loid doesn’t respond.  

“Was it fake!” You repeat, trembling with rage and hurt. “Answer me!”  

Loid has an unreadable expression on his face as he looks into your eyes. “Yes, it was fake...” his eyes twinge with something you can’t read. Shrugging it off, you desperately try to hold yourself together.  

“So every time you said you loved me back. It was all a lie?”  

“Yes...”  

“Every time you told *Anya* you loved her back. It was a lie!?”  

An unreadable look in his eye makes your lip tremble. “Yes...”  

“So, you were planning on leaving us? All along?”  

“Stop asking questions, it’s annoying.” His gaze hardens.  

“Loi-”  

“I said, stop asking questions.” He glares down at you. “I do not love you, nor Anya. Either keep quiet and continue to help with my mission, or you will no longer be needed.” 

You feel something crack deep inside you. You try to hold yourself together as your hands shake uncontrollably. “I hate you.” You whisper. Loid flinched, watching you walk to the guest room. You close the door, locking it behind you.  

Once the door closes, you break down once more. Falling to the floor as your body is wracked with sobs.  

~~ 

Hours pass by before you come out again. Loid was sitting on the couch, reading a book. You would have smiled at the simplicity earlier this morning, but now all you feel is numb. You slip a pair of slippers on, grabbing your keys.  

“Where are you going?” Loid speaks up, his gorgeous blue eyes finding yours. You turn away, refusing to maintain eye contact.  

You don’t respond, walking out the door. Loid lets out a long sigh but doesn’t follow you.  

~~ 

“A-and then Sy-on boy made fun of Becky! I didn’t punch him though mama! I smiled like you said!”  

“Good job baby.” You mumble, a plastic smile on your face. The words of your precious girl weren’t registering in your head, you were too focused on the fact that your husband- ex-husband? You don’t even know anymore- is really planning on leaving both you and Anya when his mission is over. 

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, you see Anya close to tears. You immediately go into protective mode, your eyes hardening as you pull over. “Anya what happened sweetie? Did something happen at school? Are you being bullied? Did someone hurt you??” You bite your bottom lip to confine your rage, the metallic taste of blood staining your tongue.  

“N-no mama! Nothing happened at school!” Anya sniffled, trying to contain her tears.  

“What is it baby? You can tell me, I’m your mama.” You coo, rubbing her hair gently, pressing a comforting kiss to her forehead.  

“I-I u h... umm...” Anya starts to sweat, looking around the car. 

“Shhh it’s okay baby. You can tell me.” 

“B-Bond ate my peanuts!” Anya blurts out, showing you an empty bag of peanuts. There was no sign of damage from your family dog, she must have just forgotten that she ate them, which happens frequently.  

“Oh baby, it’s okay. We can buy more, alright? Next time tell mama what the problem is so we can fix it, m’kay?”  

“Yes mama.”  

“That’s my smart girl.” You kiss her forehead once more, savoring the relationship you have with her. You’ve always wanted to be a mother, and Anya fulfilled that desire. You were hoping you and Loid could have a few of your own one day, but that’s not going to happen... 

You make sure Anya is buckled before moving back to your own seat, strapping your seat belt on before pulling back onto the road. 

~~~ 

“Daddy! Look at what mama got me!” Anya squeals in excitement, bursting through the front door. She runs into the kitchen where Loid was pacing, embracing his legs. He flinches at the sudden entrance, but gives the girl a small smile, leaning down to her level. 

You walk in afterwards, shutting and locking the door. “Anya, don’t forget to change!” You call, placing a few grocery bags on the kitchen counter.  

“Yes mama!” She calls, pouting up at Loid. 

He chuckles, leaning down to ruffle her hair. “Go listen to your mother, Anya. And don’t let her see you with your shoes on the carpet, alright?” He smiles, an amused twinkle in his eye.  

You would have melted at the scene... if you didn’t know.  

Loid catches your gaze, causing you to frown. Even though he’s planning on completely ruining not only your life, but Anya’s he looks so... relaxed. 

You open your mouth to say something, when you notice it. 

His eyes... were red. Your frown deepens... you’ve only seen Loid cry once, and he never mentioned it when you did.  

~ 

It was before Anya, in the first few months of your marriage. You had woken up in the middle of the night to see him whimpering in his sleep.  

He whimpered “mom” and “dad” several times, tears slipping down his cheeks as he cried for anyone to help him. You gently woke him out of his nightmare, pulling him to your chest. He was shocked from the whiplash of being in such a traumatizing past one moment to being in your arms the next.  

He let you cradle him to your chest, his head comfortingly resting on your breasts. You stroked his hair, murmuring soft words of comfort to him, letting him recover from the terrifying dream.  

You laid with him for several hours before falling back asleep yourself. You don’t know how long he held onto you, but he was up the next time you woke up. He hasn’t mentioned it, and he probably never will.  

~ 

Words catch in the back of your throat. Before you’re able to formulate anything, Anya catches your attention. You look back at your red-eyed husband once more before turning to your little girl.  

“Anya, what have I told you about taking your shoes straight away?” You gently scold, lifting her off of the carpet.  

“Sorry mama!” Anya’s cute pout makes your heart melt, causing you to grow even softer. You sigh, placing her down in the entrance of the home. 

“Just take them off now and do better next time, alright?”  

“Yes mama!” Her giggle was worth the stress. You smile fondly at your baby girl, watching her take her shoes off.  

“Y/n.” Loid whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his head in your neck. You stiffen, clenching your jaw.  

“Let go of me.” You whisper, biting your lip.  

“Y/n, let me talk.”  

“Let go of me.” 

“Y/n-” his voice cracks. 

You pull away, walking over to Anya. Loid’s voice cracks again. You don’t turn to look at him. If you looked at his guilt-ridden face for too long, you would break. 

~~ 

Later that night. You were silently washing the dishes after Anya went to bed, your expression unreadable. Loid was in the living room, watching you work. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde locks. “Y/n?” He murmured.  

You don’t respond, your eyebrow twitching in irritation. Loid let out a strained sigh, standing up. He takes a step towards you, hesitating.  

“Y/n, please don’t ignore me...”  

You don’t say anything, biting your lip to maintain a calm composure... well as calm as you’re able to be. 

“Y/n.” His voice grew sharper as he steps into the dimly lit kitchen, his voice full of frustration and a hint of something you can’t understand.  

You continue to ignore him, causing him to let out another sigh, longer this time. “Y/n please.” He steps closer.  

Your fingers dig into your palms as you continue to ignore him. Your shoulders tremble from intense emotion, tears bubbling in the corners of your eyes.  

“Y/n...” he whispers, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. He gently takes your hands, intertwining your fingers so your nails dug into his hands instead of your own. You lift the pressure, not wanting to hurt him.  

“Let go of me.” You whisper, your voice trembling.  

“Y/n, just let me explain.” He whispered in your ear. Your breath hitched at his warm breath on your skin, wanting to give in to his comfort and break down in his arms. You get a hold of yourself, stiffening in his hold.  

“I don’t want to hear you explain.”  

“Y/n-”  

“Loid. Let go of me.”  

“Baby. Baby listen.” He whispers, shaking as he holds you close to his chest. You gasp softly, tears slipping down your cheeks. Loid has rarely used pet names for you, telling you that he thought it was childish and would much rather call you by name. You didn’t mind it, but it did make you feel so loved when you heard any pet name from his lips.  

“My love, it’s not what it looks like. Let me explain. Let me earn your trust back, just please... Please don’t leave. Don’t take my beloved away, don’t take our baby girl.” He sniffled, causing you to stiffen.  

Was he... about to cry...? 

You don’t protest any further, letting him talk. He hesitates at first, holding you tighter as he buries his face in your neck. “You’re right. This started as a mission. I was tasked to get a wife and child, enroll the child in Eden Academy, and get information on a man that is a great risk to us. It *started* as nothing but a mission, without any feelings attached.” Loid muttered, sounding exhausted and... ashamed?  

“Y-you don’t love me? Or Anya?” Your voice cracked with inexpressible hurt.  

“No! No baby I do. I love you; I love you to the moon and back. I love you more than myself- more than anyone, anything! And Anya too! I would do anything for my girls.” Loid quickly protests, holding you tighter, like he was afraid of letting you go; like you would disappear if he ever let you out of his hold. 

“B-but you said...”  

Loid spins you around, looking you dead in the eye as he fondly cradles your face, his thumbs gently wiping your tears away. “In the beginning, it was all for my mission. I’ll be dead honest y/n. When I met you, when we dated, I had zero feelings for you. But that changed. I fell in love with you-” his voice cracks, tears streaming down his own cheeks, “-I saw you for you saw how much you loved me, how perfect you are... that love confession was real. My love for Anya is real. And I would rather be gruesomely killed than ever let anything happen to my girls. I would- nor could never leave either of you. You are my world, and I cannot live without you.”  

Your tears quickened as you stared into the eyes of your husband, truth and overwhelming guilt swimming in their deep blue depths. You choke on a response, tears dripping off your chin.  

“Shhhh it’s okay baby.” He whispers, pulling you to his chest. He caresses your head, leaning his lips against your forehead. He kisses your forehead slowly and lovingly, adding another and another to the pile as you break down in his warm, comforting arms.  

“I promise baby. I would never leave you. I could never leave you. You are my world, my universe, my everything. I am nothing without you and our little girl. Our beautiful little girl.” He whispers, kissing your tears away.  

As you sob into his chest, he gently and lovingly dries off your hands before lifting you into his strong arms. He carries you to bed, cradling you to his chest as he lays down, cooing comforting words.  

You peacefully fall asleep in his arms, your face buried in his chest as you sob, listening to his soothing words as he slowly strokes your head and back.  

~~~~~

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Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[hsakuras]

GLIMPSE | H. SAKURA

cw: possessive(yandere?) sakura, soulmate au, cunnilinugs, cream pie, fingering, kinda yandere towards the end, ooc sakura, bubbles give you a blurry glimpse into your soulmate’s world, fem! reader, mentions of male masturbation

a/n: this is extremely self indulgent.

Sakura thinks that the world must hate him. He was already an outcast in his previous town, pushed away by people without being given a fair chance but when he moved to Makochi he would get a new start, a guarded one, but new nonetheless. 

He believes the world has to hate him because the first time he saw bubbles floating by with glimpses of someone else’s life, your life, he thought he was officially going crazy. 

His first year, his friends explained the concepts of soulmates and the bubbles that would float in your mind or would float by if children were playing with them to catch small glimpses of other people’s soulmates. It would make the kids gush and laugh, blushes growing on their cheeks as they continued to run. 

The second bubble floated by on his way to school. He saw you, well– more like he heard you. 

The bubble floating by contained your laughter, so uplifting and sweet it caused him distress. He popped it, heart aching because he didn’t think that he would already have a soulmate so young. 

He meets up with Suo and Nirei later that day, explaining the bubble. When he looks up at both his friends they are giving him soft smiles, congratulating him on seeing the very first glimpse of his very own soulmate. 

“It’s not something everyone gets at our age, usually we’ll get teasing glimpses as children but nothing concrete enough to remember” Nirei says. 

For the first time he wanted something more than just to live in peace, he wanted to share his time with you, he hadn’t even met you yet but he knew he had to have you, keep you close to him so no one could steal you away. 

He deserves this. 

He’s gone through so much. 

He deserves you. 

His face would go beet red when images would float by in bubble in his mind of your walk, your bedroom, your shopping spree, your fucking morning routine for crying outloud! 

He didn’t know how to handle it, surely the universe made a mistake. You seem so put together and social, easily trusting and like a light no matter where you go. The complete opposite of someone like him who has difficulty trusting even those who have proven themselves to be trustworthy. 

He mentions this to Kotoha once, after getting teased to no end she tells him that soulmates aren’t a mistake. 

“Sometimes they’re exactly the people we need so we learn to be a little bit more like them.” Her voice is gentle as she pours Sakura’s coffee. 

He doesn’t mention you to her after that 

-

During his second year, the most memorable glimpse of you for him would be the bubble that floated by of you laughing, twirling in your room in your new dress. It woke him up out of a dead sleep, face flushing furiously reaching his ears because he thought that you were beautiful. 

That same year, he got to see your face. It was unclear, moving in the bubble passing by from one of the neighborhood kids playing, he followed it for a moment, heart aching when it slowly sank in front of him. Your blurry smile in the bubble, his eyes widening before it pops. 

-

His third year, he gets the most heartbreaking glimpses of you possible. He sees your anger, your frustration and ultimately can hear the cry of a betrayal over some asshole that led you on.It fills him up with so much hatred and an overwhelming urge to protect you, it makes him more determined to find you. 

A few weeks later, he gets another scene in a bubble, he can hear you and your parents arguing. You’re explaining you’d like to move to Makochi, it’s a great town, and cozy. You could start a business. You’re raising your voice the louder that your parents get, standing firm in your argument that your parents do not paint the path of your future for you. 

He can hear your father calling you delusional and your mother talking you down. It breaks his own heart and for the first time in a long time, Sakura cries. 

-

The next year he doesn’t get very many bubbles, he thinks that you might have fallen in love with someone else, Nirei’s explanation of the decreasing bubbles echoing in his mind. 

“It’s just speculation though,” Nirei reassured, “You’ll probably meet her soon.”

He’s too scared to get his hopes up again, he wonders if the argument with your parents eventually won you over and you chose the path that they had laid out for you. He’s used to this, the disappoint, when he dares to want something or to get curious about something it’s ripped out of his hands before he can really enjoy it. 

He decides this is fine, it wouldn’t stop him from living his life the way he wants. 

-

He’s out late at night during a random summer day, walking back towards his little apartment ignoring the commotion going on at a bar down behind him when he hears your laugh. 

He whips his head around only to see you, the real you, laughing at some drunkard that fell. 

“It’s what you get for following me!” You yell, turning back to continue your walk. Pretty dress on and heels in your hands when you stop mid walk, eyes widening and silence between you both before you smile at him. 

You take a few steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you until you’re so close you can feel the heat of his body against yours. 

“Hi Haru” you say, your voice gentle and so sweet when he hears you say his nickname. It’s like a punch in the gut and he’s so fucking dizzy he can’t see straight, it’s really you. 

“H-hi,” the words are stuck in his throat, “you’re uhm–you’re here.”

No, those aren’t the words he wants to use, he wants to call you breathtaking, wants to hug you, and keep you all to himself because this is the only thing that life has given him and has actually kept its promise. 

“Yes, I’m here.” you confirm, he doesn’t know what comes over him. He’s cupping your face so gently like you’re one of the bubbles that will pop if he touches you a little too rough. You lean into his touch. 

“I saw you when my siblings would play with bubbles and in my dreams,” you say, wrapping your arms around him, eyes shutting when you make contact with him and relaxing when you feel him wrap his arms around you back. 

“I’m sorry it was so hard for you, Haruka. I saw– I saw everything,” he feels like there’s a lump in his throat and he swallows harshly, “I’m so happy I found you.” You say, not pointing out how you can hear the small sniffles coming from him. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I’m so happy I found you too”

-

He leads you back to his apartment, quick to finally kiss you. It’s sloppy and overwhelming his tongue and teeth clashing against yours at a desperate attempt for him to mold his soul with yours.

When he pulls away from you, you’re both panting and spit covers your lips with a string of saliva still connecting the two of you before he goes in for another kiss. He cradles your skull in his hold, tongue slipping into your mouth with a little more finesse this time. 

He kisses you against the wall of the entryway of his apartment, slotting his knee in between your legs and he has to breathe to not cum in his pants at the feeling of your warm, wet pussy on his leg, the only thing in the way is your panties.  

“Fuck” he pants into your mouth, hands finding the hem of your dress and traveling up your legs to cup your ass before he’s picking you up and carrying your to his bedroom. He’s gentle when he lays you down, pulling his shirt over his head before delving back to claim your mouth. 

“Haru-” you breathe, unable to get another word in because being with Sakura meant that you had to accept all of him. It was a lot, the years of pent up loneliness and need to feel loved surfacing in that moment. His mouth was on your neck, kissing, biting and sucking into all of your sweet spots as if he’s done this his whole life. 

He sits up, looking down at your disheveled state from just kissing him. 

“I heard that sometimes you can control what your soulmates see,” his voice low and gravely, “mind telling me why I would see how you’d touch yourself?” 

He pushed the hem of your dress up and the top pulling it down to reveal your tits to him. His mouth automatically watering at the sight before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties when he releases your nipple with a pop. 

“I saw it before they stopped showing up more frequently. I could hear how fucking desperate you sounded, how needy you were.”

He pulls your panties down your legs, flinging them into the corner of the room somewhere. His fingers make quick work of his belt, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his cock, hard and leaky. 

“It was the last one I saw, you know.” He pushes his pants down further, his socks coming off as well before he adjusts you on the bed and helps you out of your dress, leaving you completely naked under him. 

“I thought you found someone else, I got so fucking angry I wanted to find you and lock you away.” he laughs, watching your reaction as he takes your hand and wraps it around his cock. 

“I never sent you ones like these because I didn’t know that I could.” he squeezes your hand in his, showing you the pace he likes and covering his shaft in his own precum. 

“I used– fuck–I used that image of you to fuck my fist to you over and over again and it was never enough.” his voice is lower, face flushes a furious red that spreads down to his chest and ears. 

“See how you got me, baby?” He smirks, leaning back down to kiss you, it’s slow this time sensual when he uses his tongue and has your thighs clenching. He kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the area of your collar bone and sucking a hickey on your tits before he’s face to face with your pussy. 

“She needs me.” his voice is stern, you wonder if the glimpses of him where he was so shy and overwhelmed were just fragments of who he used to be, it’s hard to imagine him being that way now. 

He takes to fingers to spread your folds, cooing at how wet you are. 

“She wants a kiss” he says it so quick you barely register it before his lips or sucking at your clit, your back arching and shifting your weight into his mouth, he releases your clit, finger finding it and playing with it, drawing small circles that have you twitching in his hold. 

He flattens his tongue, licking a stripe up your cunt before delving inside tongue in your whole and he groans, deep and primal bucking his hips into the bed and dripping more pre. 

“Haruka,” you sigh, fingers finding his hair and tongue, eyes so intense looking at the way you pout and struggle. 

He comes up, smirking at you, “yeah, baby?” 

He inserts a finger, mouth back on your clit as he crooks his finger upwards finding the spot that has your moans changing in pitch and really writhing against his face. He works up a good pace, muscles in his arm going taut and how he finger fucks you. 

He comes up, not losing his pace as he kisses you again forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

Your eyes are glazed over and you really truly wonder if you have the right guy but who else has his hair or eyes colors? He has you seeing stars when he speeds up his pace, inserting another finger and laughing, actually laughing when he feels the spot he’s been looking for. 

“Want to see her cum, baby.” He coos, pace unrelenting as you weekly grab onto his wrist and protest that the feeling is too much and that something else is coming. You warn him, voice trailing up an octave as he takes you over the edge, vision tunneling when you squirt all over his arm. You’re panting when he pulls his fingers out of you, adjusting you so that he’s between your legs. 

He takes his arm covered in your arousal and brings it up to his mouth licking up to his wrist before lining his cock up with your entrance. 

“Did you let anyone in here raw?” he asks, tapping the head of his cock waiting for your answer. 

It’s hard to keep up with him when his demeanor can change so quickly, you nod your head no feeling the head of his cock tease at your entrance, his hands taking hold of your thighs to push them against your chest, your legs hooking on his shoulders. 

“Good. I’m the only one, you hear me?”

He’s inching himself forward, groaning at the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around his dick. 

“Fuck– relax, yeah? I’m here, baby.” He draws soothing circles on the back of one of your thighs, bringing his hips back and forward working himself in slowly. 

“Haruka, you’re so long,” you pant, trying to make sense of the feeling of his cock head against your cervix and how he stretches you out. 

He doesn’t comment but it makes him groan, his weight shifting on your as he brings his hips down against yours, he gets harder when he hears skin slapping against skin and when his balls touch your ass. 

“Has anyone ever cum in you?” 

Your eyes widen and that’s all the answer he needs. 

“I’ll be the first then. I’ll fill you up and paint your insides so everyone knows your mine. You hear me?” 

His pace speeds up, eyes not knowing where to focus as he fucks you, losing himself in your pussy because, god, this is the best feeling ever. Your warmth around him and arousal dripping down his balls is what he was missing. 

For the first time in his life he’s thankful for whatever higher being is out there, he’s thankful he found you. 

He leans back a bit, seeing a base of white around the base of his dick and you moan when his thumb finds your clit. 

“Sorry, you’re so hot, I won’t last long. I need you to cum with me, okay?” 

You nod your head, dumbly too lost in the pleasure of his cock and the friction of his thumb against your clit. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to reach your climax, he fills your insides with his cum and your comment about how warm it is sends him reeling and twitching against you. He collapses on the bed next to you, pulling you close to him. 

“Between you and I, I would lock you up where no one but me could see you and no one would know.” He says it so casually you think it’s a joke, so you laugh.

He’s not kidding. He smiles back at you though, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As he’s cleaning you up he does think about taking you away for real. If he could get away with it, he would. He can’t afford to lose something so precious.

[city-of-ladies]

Wu Shuqing and the revolutionary women's troops

Revolutionary women fighting at Nanjing

In 1911, revolutionaries in southern China rose up against the Manchu-led Qing Dynasty. Their successful uprising brought an end to the imperial system and ushered in the early republican era. Moved by both patriotism and feminist ideals, women joined the movement.

Wu Shuqing’s women’s troop

Wu Shuqing, a 19-year-old student from Hanyang, was one of these women. Alongside two others, she wrote to revolutionary leader Li Yuanhong, asking for permission to fight. He initially refused, arguing that integrating women into an all-male army would be too difficult.

But Wu Shuqing didn’t back down. She responded by asserting that there was no difference between men and women when it came to fighting a revolution:

“Were they to hear that the nation was conscripting troops, farmers would lay down their hoes and laborers would abandon their tools. In high spirit they would go off and become soldiers. Even teachers and students in school would all have to become troops. The people are the starting point for society, and society is the point at which the state begins. The people are thus of major importance in terms of victory and defeat of the state. If we do not now come to the aid of the great Han people and wipe out the Manchu bastards, we will assuredly earn the slander of foreigners. In the north sits powerful Russia and majestic Great Britain. Our country faces great dangers on that front. I seek no instant glory. I merely want to join the troops in fighting northward, giving my life in pursuit of the enemy, killing the Manchus. Only then will our Han race be avenged.”

Wu Shuqing’s request was granted, and a women’s troop was formed.

The women’s troop at the front

The exact number of women who joined is unclear, with reports suggesting several hundred. They underwent military training before being sent to the front lines.

Wu Shuqing led them into combat. She participated in a campaign against the Qing at Hankou. During the battle for Nanjing, she and her troops devised a plan to occupy the fort at Shizishan, opening a path for the revolutionary army.

Many women’s forces and organizations were formed in quick succession, though not all of them saw battle.

The sisters Yin Weijun and Yin Ruizhi became famous for their skill in bomb-making and explosives. They earned respect during the battles against the Qing for their daring bombing raids.

Though Yin Ruizhi was wounded, her sister went on to create another unit, the Zhejiang Women’s Nationalist Army, leading them into battle. Over 30 women from this unit fought to liberate Nanjing. They attacked three forts, occupied Yuhatai, scaled ladders over the city walls, and entered Nanjing on December 2. Eyewitnesses praised their bravery and combat effectiveness. However, the troop was later disbanded as the commander-in-chief did not believe women could handle a long-term expedition.

The Yin sisters in military attire.

A third women’s troop also participated in the battle for Nanjing, providing first-aid and logistical support.

A fourth women’s unit, the Guandong Women’s Northern Expedition Bombing Team, was led by Xu Mulan. A hundred female soldiers fought at Xu Zhou.

Though women made up only a small fraction of the revolutionary forces, they played a vital role in the overall movement. For some, their military involvement became a way to express their political ideals and ensure the possibility of an egalitarian society in the future republic. Some of these women also became outspoken advocates for women’s suffrage.

Aftermath

Most women’s armies were discharged in 1912 after a compromise was reached between the revolutionaries and the northern forces. Many female soldiers were left frustrated, feeling that their contributions were undervalued, especially as all positions in the provisional government were given to men.

Wu Shuqing’s whereabouts after the revolution remain unknown.

Here is the link to my Ko-Fi. Your support would be much appreciated!

Further reading:

Edwards Louise, Gender, Politics, and Democracy: Women's Suffrage in China

Ono Kazuko, Chinese Women in a Century of Revolution, 1850-1950

Li Xiaolin, Women in the Chinese Military 

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Choso with an s/o who's elder sister constantly mistreats her and anyone who's close to her (friends, colleagues, etc.) because she's jealous of s/o's beauty and cursed technique and blames her for their parents' deaths (in truth, their parents died because of their father's reckless driving)?

He doesn’t understand this. It doesn’t make any sense.

Choso would do anything for his brothers. Sacrifice anything for his brothers. It is beyond his comprehension that anyone would be jealous or cruel to their siblings. What’s the point?

Why be jealous of your other half?

Why be cruel to your left arm?

Listening to this woman berate [Y/N], with no regard for their worth or that there are people around, makes Choso wonder if they were even human at all. Yes. That must be it. They must be some unhuman creature curse, infecting this body, making them do these things. There’s no other explanation for it. “Would you like me to exorcise you?”

The woman stopped yelling at [Y/N] and both turned to him in surprised. One of angry alarm, and the other of full concern. “What?!”

“Exorcise you. Put you out of your misery.” It must be a very dumb curse too.

“Are you threatening me?!”

The woman took two steps towards Choso, who was prepared to cut them down right now; clearly they had become a violent curse. But [Y/N] stepped in their path between them. “That’s not what he meant! [S/N] please just go.”

“I’m not going anywhere?! You need to leave! This isn’t your house anymore!”

“Ok fine. I’ll come back later when you’re not here.” Choso was surprised. He had never seen [Y/N] look so helpless before.

“Don’t come back at all!” The door slammed in their faces, the sounds of the locks snapping in, and they turned to walk down the stoop.

“Well, that was about as well as could be expected.”

“Why didn’t you let me exorcise her curse?” [Y/N] turned to look over their shoulder at him in confusion. So he repeated. “Their curse. Surely it must be painful for both of them to be trapped together like that. I could remove the malevolence.”

[Y/N] gave him a soft, sad smile. “It’s not a curse that is the cause of her malevolence. It’s just me.” Choso was confused now. “She hates me because she thinks I’m the reason our parents are dead. It’s not true, and deep down I think she knows that, which just makes her angrier. She needs that anger to go somewhere, and it just turns on me.”

Choso still didn’t understand. How could they blame [Y/N] for something that wasn’t their fault? Shouldn’t they be coming closer to their sibling during a loss, rather than pushing them away?

Humans seemed a lot more complicated than he originally thought. Their motives always unclear. Their actions a misdirection at every turn. “I could still try to exorcise them. See how it works.”

“No thanks Choso.”

[kobitoshiningneedle]

I think the tumblr Ace Attorney fandom has a weird stance on Dahlia Hawthorne. Even more so, on her culpability, to the point that some people claim that she was justified in killing Terry Fawles and even Valerie

First of all, we need to consider the main message of the games first and our personal sense of justice second, because Dahlia, as much as any other AA character, operates within the games' own narrative, and has consequences according to it. And Ace Attorney makes it quite clear that any human life is valuable and no one has a right to take it (illegally). This message was accentuated in TGAA mostly, but even in the trilogy we have Edgeworth who says "everyone deserves a fair trial"

And (I think I need to say before someone throws tomatoes at me) I'm not here to defend Terry Fawles and say that he didn't do anything wrong. He pretty much did, and the fact that he started to date his young pupil is pretty horrible and brow-raising, even if it's unclear who initiated it. It's also possible that Valerie was a neglectful sister, and that Dahlia's whole family was abusive and insufferable to her. The most important thing to understand here is that even if Terry and Valerie were all-round terrible people, killing Valerie and manipulating Fawles made Dahlia a criminal. Objectively.

The second point I see people miss is how disastrous was the collateral damage Dahlia caused in her attempts to cover herself. Poisoning Diego. Killing Doug. Attempting to kill Phoenix. Attempting to kill Maya. And the question is: in what way did any of these people do Dahlia injustice? What is their fault?

They didn't have any. By the time of T&T timeline she was pretty much a person poisoned by her hatred and fear. The main tragedy of her character is that she spiraled down from a mistreated schoolgirl who wanted to run away to a malicious woman who would stoop to crime whenever she needs to. I think this is a solid example of an anti-arc, in which Dahlia's fate was indeed shaped by her unfortunate circumstances in many ways, but! She still had agency in her actions, and having agency means having responsibility

To clarify: I don't hate hate Dahlia, even though my disagreement with the fandom lies in the amount of her hateability. I think she's fascinating and is a good foil to Mia. She pretty much IS a tragic character, and we actually have a good insight into her via Iris' recollections before the final trial segment - the person who probably understood Dahlia the most. Realizing that Dahlia was yet another victim of Fey family drama, much like our Maya (even if in other ways) adds some sympathy points to her. But I have a firm opinion that she wasn't exactly redeemable at the end of her criminal path

So, do I think Dahlia's character goes beyond the crazy-psycho femme fatale? Yes, even if the game wasn't really forthcoming about her childhood misfortunes as much as we would want to. Do I think Dahlia deserved condemnation in the end of BTTT? Yes, and I personally didn't expect Phoenix or Mia to pat her head after being responsible for the deaths of 4 people and (the other important part that adds to her hateability) feeling absolutely no remorse towards people that had nothing to do with her tragedy. Having complexity doesn't necessarily mean Dahlia is secretly better as a person, and understanding why a character became the way they are doesn't mean we should sympathize with or forgive them

[kiwioala]

new resistance reports that etoiles found today!

CODE REPORT

1/- Similar to the black virus problem, the Federation seems to not be able to control the Code entity that they've abducted in the past. Our intelligence has seemed to capture diverse distress signals from it, showing the struggle. The biggest problem is what the distress signals are conveying. Reports of messages have been already sent full encoded to the operation leaders.

2/- We've been noticing in the recent weeks that the Code entities have started to act differently to what they used to. Their behavior and patterns have kept us intrigued for a long time. But now, with the distress signals from the Federation Code, it's starting to become evident that they are no longer just following the normal path programmed to finish their assignment.

3/- This might have more implications than initially thought. They are starting to create their own 'identity,' for a lack of a better word, an go rouge. This might mean that it will be extremely difficult and dangerous to keep them under control.

4/- To support this claim, there's also been the case of the faulty EGG. It has been behaving irregularly, trying to reach for something that we are not sure of what might be yet. Not only that, but the EGG has also spent a lot of its time in hiding. We've been able to capture movement from it once, near the bunker, acting extremely disturbed. Currently it's back to evading us. \

VIRUS REPORT

1/- We've determined that the black virus surrounding Quesadilla Island has been spreading at a more significant acceleration, raising its capability with each day that passes. After taking over the walls and houses of the residents, it's unclear what exactly it's possible to do to keep it in control now. The Federation have done their best efforts to try and insistently gain order over it, but the strength of the virus overpowers the workforce.

2/- We have underestimated how fast the growth and spread of the virus was. Nonetheless, it has served its purpose and will keep the Federation battling against it.

3/- Through reports and analysis of the attempts of controlling the virus, we've determined a pattern of its way of spreading. It seems that the black virus has a unique way of dislocating itself, to which it's trying to reach a specific direction. This pattern might be an indication of the similar phenomenon happening to the code entities, and their uncommon and odd behavior. The Federation still seems unaware of it.

[STATUS REPORT]

1/- We have received information that the islanders have gone outside Quesadilla Island through the portal of the train tracks, as an excuse for the Federation to regain control over the island again. This can prove to be advantageous for us, given that it will go over the Federation's entire plan to keep them on this island. Between the islanders, we also have our two recruit's between them, which might prove useful in the future.

2/- Update: It seems that something has happened to the residents. They were sent to EGG Island but they are completely off the grid. The Federation doesn't seem able to contact them, so it seems that they are on their own for now.

3/- The Federation is struggling to get to them, thus the residents of Quesadilla Island are stuck in whichever situation they are in right now. We tried to get information from our members that have been to the EGG island in the past, during their stay, but we have not been able to make any breakthroughs.

4/- Since the residents left, Quesadilla Island has become engulfed in a feeling of desolation. It's possible that the federation might be looking for more people to fulfill their plans. For the Rebellion, we keep reaching out to everyone involved but we have taken a hit on our communication since our informant has been stuck in the Nether. They've slowly been able to stabilize the portals, to which a couple of messages have slipped to reach us. Apparently the President is no longer with them, so we believe they're alone.

[cockslutpadalecki]

Second Time Around

Summary: After a brutal assault by one of your co-workers, you choose to turn your experience into a positive, eventually becoming an ambassador for other victims, and in turn, an unintentional household name. However the good Captain America doesn’t seem to take to your newfound fame very well.

Characters: Dark/Mean!Steve Rogers x Ex!Shield!Reader.

Words: 3K.

Warnings: non-con, mentions of previous sexual assault, mentions of previous date rape/drugging, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, size kink. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Been working on this for far too long and finally managed to finish it. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support your content creators by sharing our work.

Your prideful smile is reflected in the face of everyone in the audience. The crowds acceptance is contagious and you can’t smile wide enough.  

Another successful seminar completed. With every one you host around the state, your happiness grows, knowing that your words are having an impact. Your message is spreading like wildfire, but instead of burning everything in its path, empowerment blooms instead.  

The sound of applause is loud in your ears— thunderous and overwhelming, yet you find yourself not wanting to run from it. It brings you to tears, joyful ones that you have trouble holding back until you feel your assistant’s hand on the small of your back. 

“I have someone in your dressing room requesting a moment of your time,” she mutters softly into your ear.

You turn a little, trying to keep the smile on your face from dropping. You’re deeply grateful for every single person who shows up to these events, and you do your best to meet with as many of them as you can, but as you're booked for another talk that starts in less than an hour and two towns over, your time is stretched thin.

“I can’t, Allison,” you tell her gently. “We have to leave in ten minutes.” 

The other woman glances at her watch awkwardly before looking back at you, unease pulling at her features.

“Please pass on my apologies, but-” you begin, but Allison quickly interrupts.

“I’m sorry, but they told me they have to meet with you, and they won’t take no for an answer.” 

The message riles you up, instantly setting your nerves on edge. Isn’t that what these talks are about, setting boundaries, saying no? If whoever this person is knows the reason for you being in Brooklyn perhaps they should have chosen a better time and location for an impromptu meeting. Yet you find yourself, reluctantly, agreeing, just to keep the peace

-

You walk the short distance to your dressing room, determination and a shred of annoyance propelling you towards your mystery guest. You feel guilty for being irritated and you don’t understand why. Allison hurries along behind you, quickly answering your questions as you fire them at her over her shoulder. 

Did they give you a name?

Did they tell you what they want?

She tells you very little, unable to give you the answers you seek. All you know as you approach the door is that a man stands on the other side, waiting for you, his intention unclear. 

For a brief moment, you’re afraid it’s the damn movie producers again— determined to break you, whittle down your resolve into agreeing to turn your experience into a dramatization with very little fact. Something to twist the narrative and essentially make you the villain.

Bidding Allison your thanks at the door, you enter slowly, peeking around it. Your eyes land on a Herculean-sized figure— all broad shoulders and rippling muscles— and suddenly all of your previous fears rush from you like a waterfall. You know this figure, even from behind. 

“Steve?” Your voice is intentionally quiet because even though you’re sure it’s him, there’s still a part of you that questions your memory. 

He spins on the spot, lips split into a giant smile as he takes you in like you’re the first person of the opposite sex he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he replies with a heavy sigh. He steps towards you, arms outstretched as he envelopes you in a tight hug. It’s hard but warm. Comforting in a way you had forgotten exists. His smell reminds you of the past, but instead of allowing it to trigger unwanted memories, you inhale deeply— telling yourself that you’re better than being a victim, what happened to you doesn’t define who you are.

It’s what you preach to your audiences day in day out. 

Don’t let yourself become a victim.

“You’re a hard woman to pin down,” he smiles wide.

“Sure am now that I’m no longer stuck behind a desk,” you return with a little jest.

He gives you another of his best All American grins. All white and perfectly straight teeth. “I still walk past it daily. It’s not the same without you there.” 

You return his smile with ease, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you turn out, “What can I do for you?”

Steve shrugs. “Ah, well I thought that seeing as you’re in my hometown, we could go out for dinner? Haven’t seen you in a long time.” 

“Can’t say I wanna stay here longer than I’m needed to these days.” The reason lingers in the room, unspoken. Not since it happened. Steve flashes you a sympathetic look and that inexplicable sense of guilt returns. “But one dinner with the Captain can’t hurt.”

-

Hours pass by in a blur of decadent food and conversation. You’re ready to head back to the hotel when you leave the restaurant, but Steve doesn’t want to end the night so soon, insisting you join him back at his apartment for one last drink. Neither of you know how long it will be before you cross paths again and though he probably doesn’t mean to, he makes you feel a little guilty that it’s been so long. 

The kindness in his eyes stops you from saying no. 

You barely check your phone all night— too caught up in conversation and recounting lost memories, until Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom. During the time alone, you find yourself mindlessly checking it while you wait for him to come back. Your screen is flooded with notifications— the usual messages from Allison, “just checking in x,” along with tweets and mentions praising your seminar.

But one particular tweet, “Cap looks absolutely ready to murder someone,” catches your eye, and before you know it, you’re clicking the link, your curiosity piqued, wondering what on Earth it can be about. 

Though he often neutralizes bad guys, he’s rarely called a murderer. Steve and murder don’t go into the same sentence often, if ever.

You stare down at the video that begins to play— catching sight of yourself talking animatedly on stage, your hands flying around in all directions. Your hair looks a little neater and the flowing dress you’re still wearing is a little less creased than it is now after a whole day rushing around Brooklyn. 

“There are times when I do miss working at S.H.I.E.L.D, yes,” you listen to yourself admit through the speakers of your phone. “If only for the friendships I made and unfortunately lost. But I know now that that wasn’t where I was meant to be, so I guess I should be thanking him.” Your scoffs bring you back to the moment, and you finally look up, realising Steve has returned to sit beside you.

The audience on the video laughs, but there’s an awkwardness to it. Like they shouldn’t find your experience funny, but because you’re making it so, they feel like they have permission to do the same. Giving Steve a cursory glance, you don’t miss the way his face drops at your poor joke and immediately you feel guilty. 

Guilty? For trying to make light of your past? Trying not to let it represent you? 

You swallow hard. You’ve skirted around the issue all evening, not wanting to dampen the fun you’ve been having. It feels ridiculous when you think about it— being so reluctant to bring up your experience with him when you find it so easy to be candid with strangers in regards to it. 

Maybe it’s because of that very reason. They’re strangers. They didn’t witness you leave with the man who assaulted you. They didn’t help to get him arrested and convicted for his crime. 

Steve did. Steve is closer to the harsh details of that night than anyone— apart from you. And your rapist. 

Another question quickly pulls your attention back down to the screen.

“You’d really do that?” 

“I get to see more of the world than I did before, so,” you watch yourself shrug as someone else pipes up. 

“If you came face to face with your attacker now, what would you say to him?” 

The video pans to the back of the room— a quick blur of color as it passes by the audience, and focuses on Steve standing by the door. You almost recoil in shock at the sight of him, not realising he had been there at the time. Still watching, you look at on-screen Steve as he stares down at the floor, listening to you speak.

It surprises even you how quickly you don’t hesitate. “I hated you for so long, but now I just pity you for being such a coward.”

Steve’s eyes flicker up at that moment, his jaw taut in fury. 

The clip ends and you look towards him, eyes inexplicably full of tears. 

“You look so angry,” you observe quietly. 

“I was,” he pauses, seemingly like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I loathe being called a coward,” he finally says. His tone seems off suddenly. Like he’s annoyed somehow at you.

“Pardon?” Your brow furrows in confusion, the uncomfortable silence lingers for a moment, baffled by Steve’s change in attitude. He’s not making any sense. Nor does he elaborate.

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” he adds tersely. 

It’s a strange statement. One that immediately sends a wave of ice through your body. You take another sip of your drink, licking a drop from your lip, and they tingle as if going numb. You haven’t drunk that much. 

“Yes, I suppose they are,” you affirm, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “In a roundabout sort of way.” 

“Strange thing to be proud of,” he smirks, huffing out a puff of air through his nose. “Their little girl famous just for getting her legs spread.”

You stare at Steve, the words swirling around in your brain, not making any sense. Maybe you have had too much to drink. But did he just- 

“Ex-excuse me?” you manage to stutter out.

“C’mon, you did look pretty slutty for a work party,” he says, rising to his feet. “That tiny little dress you were wearing was practically inviting us all to fuck you.”

You sit aghast, too revulsed to move from your seat. 

“No wonder we thought you wanted it. Especially when you let Mike take you home.” Steve shakes his head. 

“I- didn’t,” you try to defend. 

He tuts in disgust. “I saw it, sweetheart. Saw him climb into that cab with you. Saw how much you were all over him.”

“N-no, that’s not true.”

“But of course, when you realised that he would tell everyone what a little whore you are, you just had to cry rape, didn’t you?” 

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you protest, “Wh-why are you saying this?”

He slowly moves closer, bending over in front of you until his face is inches from yours. “Because it’s the truth.” 

You shake your head furiously. Your head fuzzy with the turn of events. “It-it’s not.”

“You believed what I told you,” he says, matter of fact. “You were unconscious, how do you really know that it was Mike that fucked you?”

The fact he uses the term fucked instead of raped makes your stomach roll with nausea. Fucked would imply you had given consent. 

“But you-you saw us,” you stumble out. 

Steve laughs bemused, like this is all a joke to him. “Mike did take you home that night, he did put you to bed, but he didn’t fuck you.” 

There it is again. Fuck. Not rape. 

You think you’re going to be sick as one solitary question crosses your mind. If Mike didn’t attack you, then who did? Another thought hurriedly strays past, replacing the first. What if Steve is covering for the real person responsible? 

He straightens up, hand reaching out to cup your jaw. With gentle coercion, he lifts your chin, smiling down at you when you finally make eye contact. His usual warm sapphire gaze is cold. Hard like ice. 

“Y’know, you should be grateful. I’m the one who made you famous.”

The revelation hits you like a freight train and everything suddenly seems to make sense. 

He doesn’t need to say it out loud. 

He’s not covering for anybody but himself. 

Abject horror fills you at the frightening realization that there’s an innocent man rotting in prison because of Steve. Mike did nothing except make sure you got home safe, and Steve took advantage of that opportunity to frame him for his own heinous crime. The perfect crime.

You’re frozen in place, too afraid to move as he smears his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“All those rousing speeches you make, all those uplifting messages for your fans, and you’ve got nothing for me, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you manage to spit out with venom. 

Steve’s demeanour sours in an instant. His smile drops into a foul grimace, full of contempt and hatred. His hold on your chin tightens and tightens until you can feel the bones in your jaw protesting beneath the weight of his grip. Just this action alone is enough to make you realise that with one small twitch of his hand, he can easily break you.

His breath is hot on your cheek as he leans down, hissing in your face, “You should be fuckin’ thankin’ me.” 

He snaps, grabbing you around the waist and hoists you off the chair in one fluid motion. You kick and hit out as he lifts you into the air, dumping you onto his shoulder like you weigh absolutely nothing.  

You scream and yell, but Steve makes no attempt to silence you as he carries you into his bedroom. He throws you down onto the bed, quickly covering your body with his as you continue to hit him, but they just bounce off his biceps and chest without even so much as a flinch. 

“Stop, please,” you beg when he roughly pushes up your dress. The plea falls on deaf ears, Steve already working open his pants as he tears your underwear in two. 

He stares between your spread legs as he lines himself up to your opening— his cockhead hot and sticky against your pussy lips. Steve’s eyes flicker to you, watching your mouth drop open and your eyes squeeze shut as he sinks into you, the sheer girth of him punching all the air from your lungs. He doesn’t fit past the first inch. 

“C’mon, let me in,” he breathes above you, stroking his thumb over your clit. A whine escapes from your throat and he manages another inch— just. 

“It’s a shame you don’t remember anything from before. My fault, I guess, gave you too much ketamine,” Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “But I spent hours worshiping you,” he softly adds. “Eating out your delicious cunt, making you come all over my tongue.”

He pulls out, and you let go of the breath you don’t realise you’ve been holding in. He shimmies down the bed, face level with your pussy and looks up at you once more. His tongue darts out just as you lift your leg to knee him in the head, but Steve’s faster. He licks up your sex and all of your motor functions cease to work. Your leg falls to the bed useless, and he curls his arms around your thighs, pinning you in place. 

Steve gets to work, licking and kissing his way up and down your sex while you lay beneath him— body reacting to every precise touch as your mind revolts at the sensation. He slides in a finger, then two— both perfectly crooked inside you as his tongue flicks over your clit and you’re coming whether you like it or not. 

You’re still trembling when he climbs up, smoothing his cock through your soaked lips. Steve doesn’t miss the way your entire body jolts when he rubs it across your clit, and he grins down at you with a smile that used to make you feel safe. 

Now it just terrifies you. 

“See, your body remembers me, even if you don’t,” he cajoles, teasing his cock against the entrance to your cunt. “And I think she’s wet enough that I can just slide straight in.” 

Steve drives his hips forward. He pops inside you with no resistance, easing into you inch by inch until you can feel him heavy and swollen in your gut. 

Your back arches, and your hips cant towards him, forcing him deeper. 

“That’s it,” he praises, wrapping his hands around your hips to keep you impaled on his cock. “Look at you takin’ me nice and deep.”

He pulls out slowly, but he’s even slower sliding back inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours, watching the way your face contorts and shifts as he fills you up.

“I didn’t get to enjoy this look of pleasure on your face last time, now at least I get to savour it.”

He starts to fuck you— rapidly building to a pace that has you sinking into the mattress with each deep thrust. It’s not meant to be pleasurable, but the pain slowly fizzles away until all you can feel is heat.

The coil in your gut tightens— aching, straining to snap and you try to block out the sensation. It does nothing and you come around Steve like you actually want it, body jolting and tensing as ripples of ecstasy possess you.

You try to block out his staccato praise and heavy moans, but the more you attempt to focus elsewhere— the less you’re able. The sounds Steve makes, the touches of his fingers on your skin, the feel of his cock brutalizing you— it’s a horrible, pornographic concoction that you can’t escape and the inevitable sobs come.

Tears run into your hairline and pool in your ears as Steve claims you over and over— one deep, guttural thrust at a time. Disgust hurriedly replaces the dull pleasure still swirling in your gut, violation thick as all you can do is take everything he gives you.

You recovered from the trauma before, able to move on, evolve into the person you are now. Stronger for your experience. But as you stare up into the eyes of your true nightmare, you’re not sure you’re going to be able to overcome it a second time.

***

CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

[nomadomar]

The Awakening of Destiny

Chapter 2: The Silent Transformation

You begin to feel the weight of your new name, Omar, settling into your very being. It’s subtle at first—small changes in your thoughts, in the way you carry yourself, in the choices you make. The practices and beliefs of the Arabization movement start to take root within you, almost imperceptibly shifting the foundation of who you are. As the days pass, you find yourself drawn deeper into the world I represent. Your lifestyle begins to align more closely with the ideals of our movement. You start to adopt the habits and practices that define us, and with each passing moment, you become more integrated into this new identity. The food you once ate, the clothes you wore, even the way you speak—all begin to change, reflecting the transformation that is occurring within you. But as you change, Omar, so too does the world around you. Friends, family, society—they all begin to notice the differences. They sense that something within you is shifting, and their reactions are far from understanding. They don’t see the purpose that now drives you, the strength you are beginning to cultivate. Instead, they see only the unfamiliar, and with that comes resistance. The people who once knew you as one of their own now find it difficult to understand the path you are on. They question your choices, challenge your beliefs, and push back against the transformation that is reshaping you. The struggle is not just external, but internal as well. Doubts creep in, testing your resolve, making you question whether this path is truly yours. But in the quiet moments, when the world’s noise fades away, you begin to experience something else—visions. In your dreams, a mysterious figure appears, guiding you towards the new path you are on. These visions are powerful, almost overwhelming, yet they are unclear. You feel a connection to this figure, a deep sense of comfort and purpose when you see them, but you cannot fully understand the messages they are conveying. The visions leave you both comforted and puzzled. They reassure you that you are not alone in this journey, that there is a greater force at play, guiding you towards something far beyond the life you once knew. Yet, they also challenge you to trust in the unknown, to have faith in the path that is unfolding before you, even when it is shrouded in mystery. As you continue to transform, Omar, the struggle becomes a crucible, refining you, hardening your resolve, and strengthening the connection to the new identity you are forging. You are no longer just the boy you once were; you are becoming something more. The name Omar is no longer just a label—it is the embodiment of the strength, the purpose, and the destiny that now defines you. The silent transformation is well underway, and though the path is fraught with challenges, you begin to realize that this is only the beginning. The visions will continue to guide you, and in time, the doubts will fade, leaving only the fire of purpose that now burns within you. The world may resist, but you, Omar, are becoming unstoppable.

Prologue Chapter 1: The Awakening of Omar Chapter 2: The Silent Transformation Chapter 3: The Encounter Chapter 4: The Test of Faith Chapter 5: The Transformation Chapter 6: The Final Reckoning

[lyrenminth]

The one who got away

Angst. Fwb situation with Justin.

In another life

I would be your girl

We keep all our promises

Be us against the world.

You didn't know how it began. These dirty feelings for him. The way your heartbeat increases watching him making you a sandwich after fucking the life out of you. It was unnatural, unwanted, unexpected.

It was unreasonable knowing damn well you weren't ready for a relationship. But you enjoyed the way the treated you, how smooth his skin was, how strong he was not having a problem fucking you standing up, how his hips connected with yours and how raspy and masculine his hands felt while touching your body.

And you didn't want to think about the other side. The side it that made your mind betray every rational thought. The side that made you dream of a house with a beautiful garden and little children with blond hair and slint eyes running all over the place. The side that made your heart hurt.

You had your life's plan already and that never include a 6'6 athletic man in the mix, and for once you wanted to follow your path after fighting for a ounce of independence with your family. You could hear Meg voice telling you "don't lose your mind for a dick" and she knew better than you in many aspects.

But you looked at him, all focused cutting the sandwich in a perfect half (like you like it) and pouring grape juice (your favorite) in a tall glass. You knew it was a dangerous territory to have this family dynamics with him, but you couldn't stop.

And Justin looked like he didn't want either. You saw each other at least twice a week, only to undress each other, but everything started when he asked to stay a little more time. Suddenly, you were having deep conversations about football and your deeply dislike of mac-and-cheese. Sharing silly stories from your childhoods, those he would never share with the media.

The mistake of Justin was paying attention to you like he actually care. And you mistake was believe that he actually care.

Now you were pondering in that horrible and hurtful question: are we fuck buddies or something else? And the answer was unclear for you too. Because you can't...you must not like him.

Your dreams were first. You were first. You traveling schedule, your clothing brand, your goal of becoming someone important by your own right. Having Justin in that equation with his almost-celebrity status tainted your purpose. You weren't Gisele Bündchen.

"Here you have" he said, giving you your plate and sitting next to you. He made two sandwiches for himself, you knew how much he liked to eat. He was a big foodie just like you.

You still felt the spams in your core, the emptiness of something missing. It was to early to fuck again? Your libido with him was always high. How annoying.

"Thank you" you started eating avoiding looking at his beautiful face.

"I was wondering if you are going to stay in LA for the next week?" he asked, cleaning his lips with a napkin.

"Yeah, I leave in two weeks" you put your sandwich down, feeling the butterflies in your stomach. You wanted to punch yourself. "Why?"

"Umm" he played with his napkin. Was he nervous? "I got an extra ticket for the game, and if you want it it's yours"

You frowned. How agressive were those damn butterflies?

"Someone in your family can't go?" it must be. It has to be.

"Yeah, something like that" he looked at you, and your eyes went to his lips as usual.

"We say no public sightings" it was a rule he proposed. "Technically, we are not going to be together" he said.

Stay true to yourself. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't live his ways. Stay true to yourself. Love come and goes.

You bit your lip, and lower your gaze. It was your fault for allowing these interactions. The truth was you were scared, you didn't want to lose yourself but you enjoyed his company.

"What do you say?" his tone was so kind and hopeful that made you want to run away and throwing yourself at him in happiness. All at the same time.

You didn't want to know how he felt about you. Maybe he was in love, maybe he wasn't.

You sighed, not hungry anymore. You turned around to face him.

"Justin, I can't" it was the truth, it was the painful truth. "I can't go to your games, and I can't keep doing this" you move your hand between your bodies "I-um...I-" you gasped for air, feeling the knot in your throat "We agree this was something casual"

Maybe in another life. In another moment of your life. But not that night.

"I know" was all he said, frowning.

"Then, let's keep it casual, ok?"

"Yeah" he sounded sad? It was your imagination.

"I mean...I don't want to catch feelings and going to your games and all that stuff" your shake your head "It's going to erase the lines. I need the lines, Justin"

"Okay"

"Maybe we need a time apart too" he laughed without fun at you proposal "I don't want to catch feelings" you repeated "And you have tons of choices, I mean there are girls throwing themselves at you. You aren't going to starve" you joked trying to light the mood.

Then you saw how he closed himself. His expression hardened and you swore his eyes lost all shine.

"If that's what you want" he said, serious.

I don't know what I want, dumbass.

"It's what I need"

He only nodded. Yup, he was mad. But why? He started cleaning the table, you noticed he didn't eat much too.

"I'm going to call an Uber" you stated, understanding he didn't want you there, you started looking for you phone.

"It's too late. I'm gonna take you to your house" he declared.

It's something you liked about him, he could be mad but he wasn't an asshole.

"You don't have to" you find your purse, and took out your phone.

"Don't argue with me. It's late, it's dangerous. I know you don't want to spend more time with me but at least let me take you to your house so I know you're safe" he sounded bitter, and sad.

Wow. You stopped what you were doing only to look at him. He turned around, avoiding your gaze, like looking at you was unbearable.

"Thank you" you whispered.

The car ride was silent. And you were doubting your decisions. Maybe it was too soon? Too harsh? When you building complex appeared in sight you were about to cry. Why? You were the one who asked for it. You looked at his hands, his strong thighs and his stern look...oh.

"Thank you for the ride" you said, clenching to your purse. A heavy energy settle between both. You noticed he was holding tight the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

"You're welcome"

"Thank you for everything" he shook his head slightly at your words. His Adam's apple moving up and down. "Good luck for the rest of you seasons. I truly believe you are a great athlete, and you must be proud of yourself"

He took a deep sigh. "You don't have to do this" he declared, you heart sank "Good night"

And that's how you knew it was over.

"Bye"

In the next month you spend trying to get rid of him. You told your friend to help you to keep your mind free of him. You avoid watching his games, or being closer to anything related to him. It was relatively easy since you never went public with him. But the ache you felt made you sleepless and weak. You cried whole nights, realizing that you miss him. His scent, his dry sense of humor, his warm body, his hugs after sex, how good he made you feel.

Your dreams were the only thing you clinched for dear life. It was the reason you took that decision. Somehow, you didn't find it enough at that moment.

The nail in the coffin was to block his number and unfollow him from social media. After that you become a workaholic, traveling here and there, meetings with others brands, designing new clothes. Efficiency was your second name.

Everything was falling into place, but during some nights you would miss him. The sex, the intimacy. You had to fight against some actions, including stalk him or watch interviews. It was bad because he was a quarterback, face of a franchise. One Subway commercial and you were ready to unblock him. It was pathetic.

You were too stubborn to call him. To admit it. To give a second chance. And you had to learn to live without him.

Because you were the one afraid. The one who got away.

[some-pers0n]

Oh yeah I forgot to share this pretty angsty lil' letter from Clearsight to Darkstalker. Kinda like the letters in AGTTDW. How goofy :]

Editor's Note: This is a letter recovered from Clearsight's tomb, unearthed in 5,013 AS. Date of when the entry was written is unclear, but assumed to be the end of her life.

I wonder if you dream. A part of me wishes you did. Another wants you to remain in darkness forever. I don't know what to believe. Even after all of these years, I still feel like the same, innocent dragon. Like all of my growth and change on this continent cancels the moment you cross my mind.

You were my love. You were everything to me. Even when you fell into your path, I still mourn you.

I know it's foolish. Writing this letter addressed to the dragon I know fully well is sealed away is foolish. You cannot read this. You are gone. Not dead, as you can never die, but gone. I hope you fade into obscurity as you rest under the mountains, locked in an eternal sleep. I hope that, when I and everyone you harmed have passed on, your name is never uttered again.

And yet I love you. For what reason I can only theorize. You are an eternal enigma to me. You were my light. You were the dark that almost swallowed me whole. I had hopes that you and I would have a family and live happily. You dreamt of ruling the world with utmost tyranny and ruthlessness.

Do you still dream of that? If you can dream, of course. I would hope to believe that, somewhere in your subconscious, you reform. Reflect. Through millennia of contemplation, you learn to remove that evil from your soul. I would hope that, if you ever return to the surface, you emerge a changed dragon. The dragon whom I loved.

The dragon I love now is different. The life I love now is different. Because of you, I traveled to a continent far beyond our imagination. I recall late-night conversations of exploring the world. We would joke and laugh over the prospect of being some grand adventurers. It's a shame I am the only one to fulfill that wish.

Pantala is beautiful. You would have loved it. It's more than anything you and I could have ever dreamed of. My husbands and children are more than anything I could have wanted from life. They still thank me for warning them of the hurricane that brought me here. I wonder if you would've saved them had you received that vision. If you had seen the destruction that would've befallen the continent and chose to save it out of the goodness of your heart or leave it to rot. Perhaps you might have saved it to exploit them. To let them worship you.

You wanted that the most out of life. A part of me feels guilty I am surrounded by love while the only company you have is the lonely cave you are trapped in. A part of me lavishes in it. Yet, I knew that's what you wanted most. Love. It's what made you the way that you are. Your love, both your search and way of displaying it, is the reason for this future.

You blamed your father for everything. Arctic. I never once heard you talk of him with anything more warm than a hateful sneer. I knew even before I met you that you hated him. I had seen visions of you killing him. Some with pity. Some far more gruesome than I could have ever imagined. You saw him as the catalyst. That he instilled the ideas you held.

I do not doubt that. I had been around Arctic long enough to understand what he did to you and your family. I had heard the stories, both from you and Whiteout. He was a monster in his own right.

You were a monster in a wholly new way. A monster that I deluded myself into believing I loved the current version of. I loved the future version. I loved the Darkstalker in my visions who treated me with respect. The one that would never use his magic unless it was for the one-off spell for an anniversary gift. The one who would be there at my side when I needed him most. The one who loved me for who I was and not what I represented.

You were not that dragon. You had the same scales and you talked the same, but you were not him. You were a dragon who I watched be corrupted by rage and hatred for the world. You were angry at Arctic. You were angry at the world. You felt as though you knew better than anyone. You were the savior. You would bring the continent to its glory with you at the top.

I did not love that dragon, but you loved me. You thought you could trick me. You thought you could warp my mind and shape me into somebody agreeable and nice. That earring is when I knew for certain you could never be the dragon I loved. You saw me as a partner, but I saw you as nothing more than a force of evil cloaked in the scales of the dragon that was my soulmate.

I feel conflicted about everything you were, are now, and could've been. I did love you when you were alive. I loved the future version. I don't know what now. I am nearing the end of it all, and I still cannot find a proper answer.

I always find myself asking whether you dream. I dream of you. They are nightmares no matter what way I spin them. Even when they are memories of the days we would laugh and play, I wake up with tears in my eyes. I wonder if when I die I'll be granted the luxury of a sleep without you. I want my last thought to be of my friends and family on Pantala. I want to think of what I've done rather than my past. Rather what could have been.

I know this letter may never reach you. Maybe it does, and it is simply that my powers have finally found their limit. I write for some release. Closure. That, when this is sealed away in my tomb, it remains with me. That the memories of everything you've ever done die with me.

I am not the dragon I was when I sealed you away, and yet in many ways I still am. I still hold a flicker of love for you, despite knowing that you can never be the dragon I wanted.

I remember that brief moment when I wanted to stay next to you when the earthquake would cause the mountain to collapse. I felt so grief-stricken over the loss of you that I wanted nothing more than to die next to you. I made the best choice. I know I did. The alternative was me dying when I was a young, naive child.

Yet I can't help but still feel I should have. My love for you persists to that extent. I love you. I hate you. I want nothing more than you to rot under that mountain. I wish could dream of a world where life could have been different. A life where we both made it work. Where we were happy.

Darkstalker, you were my love. Perhaps in another, more kinder life, we could be together.

Dream of our dragonets if you can.

Clearsight

[ghostofcinders]

The Curious Cats of Mau, a huge supplement for Realms of Pugmire by Onyx Path, just went to crowdfunding on Backerkit. I wrote on that!

I'm happy to say Pugmire has its cool little dedicated fanbase, but if you're not familiar with it the gist of the game is that you play as anthropomorphic fantasy animal adventurers. Dogs, cats, mice...you get the idea. Make friends fight monsters, explore fantastical places, and protect those you care about with magic & sword.

The big twist of Pugmire is that it's not set in a "distant" world, but rather our own in a far future, with the humans gone and the boundaries between magic and technology being unclear. So you get to live in a world filled with remnants of the past, sorcery, and all that. Kinda akin to how Horizon Zero Dawn and Adventure Time do it (the latter I personally consider a most perfect Pugmire inspiration)

Curious Cats, as you can expect, details the feline houses of the Monarchies of Mau, with all their intrigues, conflicts, and powers.

It's a big book, including plenty of character options, setting details, and a whole campaign (I wrote the last chunk of the latter!)

Bias aside, Pugmire is honestly a lovely alternative to classic fantasy games, with smooth rules (especially in this current 2nd Edition), great aesthetics, and touching themes.

Please consider backing the book! It's a line that deserves more love & brings plenty of joy. You can have a look at the linked page and see. The option to get the Pugmire core book at reduced price through the campaign is also there.

We'll release the manuscript to backers as the campaign goes on, so you can see if it's your thing even before campaign ends, but I know for a fact most of those who look at Pugmire 2e discover its charm.

And this time around, it's all about the Curious Cats of Mau!