#weight loss inspiration gifts

[pitchsidestories]

flowers II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

a/n: hi, this is purely fiction but we were inspired by Lucy's instagram story at Diada de Sant Jordi, we hope you guys like it. 😊

warnings: mostly fluff, it's only slightly suggestive at the end of the oneshot.

masterlist I word count: 1628

Despite the loss in the champions league half final against Chelsea on saturday, you observed that the atmosphere in the team wasn’t too bad at the start of the training, perhaps because it was Diada de Sant Jordi.

It was one of your favourite festive days of Catalonia as it concluded two of your favourite things next to football which were flowers and books. Plus you were looking forwart to spend some quality time with your two girlfriends Lucy and Ona in the evening.

“Bona Diada de Sant Jordi.”, the woman who was filming the team for social media chirmed while you all were slowly entering the pitch.

“Feliç Sant Jordi“, you wished into the camera smiling, Ona next to you waved silently with a huge grin on her face.

Right behind you two Lucy and Keira passed the media person, the English defender shouted: “Happy Jordie-Day!”

“Jordie-Day?”, Ona asked, rising an eyebrow in question.

“Jordan Nobbs Day?”, the older woman explained laughing.

“Ignore her, Oni. She knows exactly what today is about books, roses, and dragons.”, you winked at her.

“And Jordan.”, Lucy added with a childish smile.

Curiously Mariona turned her head to face you and your girlfriends properly:” Do you three lovebirds have planned something special after training?”

“No, not really, except for dinner tonight. Also, can’t believe they let me do the grocery shopping alone.”, Ona groaned.

“Hey, someone has to take Narla on a walk.”, the older English woman defended herself.

“And Mapi needs my help with book shopping.”, you added, throwing innocent looks at her.  

“Excuses!”, the youngest of the three of you replied.

“We’ll do the cooking and cleaning afterwards I promise.”, you told her in a soothing tone.

“I hope so.”, she nodded satisfied.

“Now that everyone knows what to do after training.”, Lucy begun before picking both of your pairs of football boots and running away from you.

“Lucia!”, Ona and you scolded her.

“What are you waiting for?”, the dark-haired woman questioned you giggling looking more like the little girl she once was instead of the over thirty years old person she was now.

This gave you the chance to catch up with her.  

“We got you.”, Ona cheered as the three of you tumbled to the ground laughing out loud.

“Here are your shoes, Oni.”, you said before you put your own boots on.

“Thanks.”, she muttered, still with a big smile on her lips.

Slowly Lucy got up, padding both of your backs encouragingly:” Come on, girls.”

“Coming.”, you exclaimed excitedly. The weight of the loss on your shoulders felt lighter when you three were able to laugh about silly moments like this.

Right after training, you said goodbye to your girlfriends and met up with the still injured Mapi in a bookshop. The two of you strolled through the shelves, browsing for the perfect books.

Excitedly, you picked out a book and held it up for Mapi: “Have you heard about this one?

Your teammate eyed the book curiously as she took it: “No, is it gay?“

You smirked. Typical Mapi.

You pulled another book from the shelf and handed it to her: “No, but this one is.“

It was a poetry collection by Mary Oliver which Mapi took with an uncertain look on her face.

She flipped through the pages: “Do you think Ingrid would like it?“

“Hm, wait. Here’s one about three women of a family. It’s set in Barcelona and a café plays an important part in it. I feel like that’s more an Ingrid-book, don’t you agree?“, you said as you gave her the third book.

You knew you found the perfect match when you saw Mapis eyes lit up.

She skimmed the blurb of the book and looked at you with a bright smile: “That is so Ingrid!“

“You should gift her that one.“, you suggested happily.

The defender pressed the book to her chest: “Thanks. I know why I asked you to help me with that.“

You could feel your cheeks turn red so you turned back towards the books: “You’re welcome.“

Mapi watched as you picked up the poetry collection again: “Are you getting it for your girls too?“

You nodded as you walked towards the checkout: “Yes, we love to read out loud to each other in the evenings.“

“That’s disgustingly sweet. Didn’t Lucy was into stuff like that.“, Mapi scrunched her nose.

You giggled: “Don’t tell anyone. Lucy wants to make everyone believe that she’s so tough.“

“Promise. I won’t say a word about it.“

“Thank you but Ingrid and you should try that too. It’s very relaxing.“, you suggested.

Mapi only winked at you: “We’re busy doing other stuff.“

“Oh, trust me, we do that too.“, you laughed, knowing full well that your girlfriends were insatiable.

“Oh, I bet you do.“, she smirked.

You tried to switch the topic quickly when you realized that other people might be listening: “Now that we’re done book shopping… Coffee?“

“Please. I need some caffeine!“, Mapi laughed.

“Me too.“, you agreed. But a small flower shop next to the book store caught your attention. They were selling gorgeous bouquets of roses.

“Wait here. I’ll just get those flowers.“, you told Mapi before walking into the shop and reappearing with the wrapped up bouquet just a few minutes later.

“That’s a huge bouquet.“, the defender commented, watching you carry the unwieldy package.

“It’s beautiful though, right?”, you said, looking almost as admiring at the pretty flowers like you usually did at your girlfriends.

“Very.”, Mapi admitted before she pulled you into the direction to the café, the smell of fresh coffee beans already promised a delicious coffee and a fun chat about everything and nothing.

Meanwhile, Alexia celebrated the special day with the girlfriend and the dog by walking at the Passeig de Gracia. It might have been a bit too busy for her taste, but the midfielder wanted to get her love something she only could get there. Both admired the Casa Batlló which was decorated with roses in front of them when the Barcelona player spotted someone very familiar:” Hi Narla and Lucy.”

“Hi.”, the English woman grinned, holding proudly the dog leash in one hand and in the other beautiful red flowers.

“Oh, the roses are stunning.”, Olga remarked smiling.

“I hope my girls like them too.”, Lucy responded, her cheeks turning slightly pink which didn’t get unnoticed by her club captain.

“Who thought Lucy Bronz is a romantic.”, Alexia teased the defender.

“I’m not but those two are. So, I’m delivering.”, the slightly older woman explained.

“That’s cute.”, Olga hummed.

“I know.”, Lucy laughed.

“See you, Lucia.”, the blonde said goodbye, so did her girlfriend and the English player.

Glancing at the watch around her wrist Lucy realized that was time to slowly return to her home.

Almost at the same time Ona and you arrived on your front door. The Spanish player happily exclaimed while entering the appartement:” Hi girls, you can start cooking I bought the goods.”

“Perfect., you nodded, after a moment you couldn’t hold it back any longer and added, look, I got you two those flowers.”

“Hey, get those out of here. I bought some already.”, Lucy joked.

“What, no, I got some too!”, Ona chuckled.

“Are you saying we have different bouquets of flowers now?”, you lifted an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes, we do.”, the youngest of you three smiled sheepishly.

“One for the kitchen, one for the living room and one to put into our bedroom.”, the English woman decided.

“Sounds like a plan.”, you agreed with her before Lucy, and you started cooking.

The dinner that followed was filled with laughter and love. Because it already was quite late you three moved your conversation into your bedroom which smelled of fresh linen and lightly of fresh cut flowers.

“Y/n, show us the book you got from shopping earlier.”, Ona demanded excitedly.

“Alright make yourself comfortable.”, you told the women you loved.

“Wait. I’ll make us tea before you start.”, the English defender got up from the bed quickly, suddenly remembering what she wanted to do to make the moments especially cozy.

“She’s so British sometimes.”, the Spanish player muttered amused.

“Honestly.”, you giggled.

Patiently you waited until Lucy returned with her tea cup in hand. She placed the hot beverage on the bedside table and made herself comfortable next to you.

Ona planted her head in your lap.

“Ready?“, you asked.

Lucy took a sip of her tea before she gave you a nod: “Ready.“

Smiling, you opened your book and started reading a few poems.

Your girlfriends listened quietly.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life.“, you read.

“Easy. Making you stop reading now so we can do other fun things.“, Lucy smirked, putting her hand across the page to keep you from continuing.

Ona sat up in excitement: “Right. We’ll continue with the poems tomorrow.“

You groaned: “You two are always so impatient. At least let me put the book away.“

Carefully you set down the book on the bedside table, next to Lucys now cold tea.

“No, time for that!“, Ona protested, pulling you back on the bed with a grin.

You raised an eyebrow: “Excuse me?“

Lucy just shrugged and slipped her hand under your shirt: “You heard her.“

“Okay, okay.“, you laughed, letting yourself relax under her touch.

“Finally.“

Ona moved closer to you, starting to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck while Lucys hands continued to move across your body. You enjoyed every movement. Your girlfriends knew how to make you feel good and you could not wait to give it back to them.

“Wild and precious life indeed.“, you sighed.

a/n: would you guys be interested in just a Luna fanfic ? <3

all pictures are from pinterest.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [4]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: a little more story, a little more tension, a little mor everything! what do you guys always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

 The Nilfgaardian banner snaps in the sharp, salt-laden breeze, the dark fabric bearing the crest of its namesake. The bright yellow sun mirrors the one in the cloudless sky above the keep. From your room, you can see their approach long before they reach the gates, a thin vein of black weaving through the countryside like a snake. The garrison pauses only briefly in the city, winding through the crowded streets in their pitch colored armor like a long satin ribbon. You grimace at the sight of them, swallowing against the sourness you feel growing at the back of your throat. 

 You do not know why the sight of them fills you with a dark foreboding, a shadow that looms in the space behind your thoughts. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are expected to greet the Nilfgaardian envoy alongside your mother, the king, and the prince that makes your stomach curdle.  

“My Lady, should we not join their Majesties?” Kassandra’s voice draws you from your churning thoughts. “Her Highness would not be pleased if we were late.” You swallow the dry retort that your mother would not be pleased no matter what you did, and automatically feel guilt over the bitter thought. You grimace before nodding at Kassandra over your shoulder. 

 Nothing good will come of this. The feeling—no, the knowledge—is as familiar to you as your own name, appearing among your thoughts as if it had always been there. Only sorrow will come of this day. 

 “Are you alright, Your Grace?” 

 Your throat tight, you smile. “Y-yes.” I am grim without cause. You shake yourself, smoothing your hands down the stiff, unfamiliar dress. It’s new, gifted to you only this morning as your mother had informed you of her expectations. 

 “You’ll look lovely in this,” she had bade the servants to lay out the massive thing, a veritable ocean of fabric, with so many skirts and stays you find yourself amazed you can even move at all. You detest the restriction and corsetry of it all, fidgeting with a frustrated grimace as Kassandra opens the door. Your thoughts must be plain on your face, for she is quick to reassure you as you pass.

 “You are a vision, Your Grace,” she says, hurrying to your side as she closes the heavy door behind you. Despite your displeasure, her words do comfort you, and you offer Kassandra a watery smile in thanks. “I daresay you shall be the envy of every Lady in attendance.” 

 You laugh dryly. “Even you?” Kassandra’s response is unexpected—she shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin, apologetic smile.

 “No, my Lady.” She says softly. There is true pity in her eyes, which stings all the more. “Though there are many in His Majesty’s keep who would treat with the Gods themselves to take your place—and, exalted though it may be, I am not among them.” The words pass unspoken between you, true honesty masked only slightly by propriety. “I would not wish that for all the world.”

 The throne room is as packed with bodies as it was at your mother’s coronation only a few scant weeks prior, servants weaving deftly in and out of the crowd. It parts easily for you, people scrambling out of your path as you make your way toward the throne. Geralt stands to the king’s left, and you feel the weight of his gaze upon you so heavily it is as though he has touched you with his hand. 

 “My King. I trust you are well this morning?” He heaves a heavy sigh at your question, massaging the graying hair at his temple. 

 “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” King Vesemir graces you with a tired smile. “But I am glad these worries are mine. Would that they fall on mine own shoulders and save yours.” Of these troubles, you know only what little you have managed to glean from casual conversation and your own observations—the Lord of Nilfgaard has sent his envoy, along with a garrison of troops, to treat with the king. 

 Your mother scoffs. “You are a King, my love,” she says, tilting her regal head at him. “You can do nothing without rousing at least a little of the rabble.” 

 You take your place next to her, skirting around the prince with a wide berth. Your mother reaches for your hand, patting it as she nods approvingly at you.

 “You look as lovely as I thought you would.” Somehow, her complement makes you like your clothing even less. The dress is heavy and cumbersome, the corset laced so tight a deep breath makes the seams groan. 

 “It is the color.” Geralt’s interjection makes your mother’s smile thin and tighten, until the edges seem brittle like paper. “It suits you, sister.” Is there no line he will not cross? From behind his wide shield of plausible deniability he mocks you, his mouth quirking innocently as if he is unaware of the boundary he dances upon. Gracious acceptance is the only play you have, and he knows it as well. 

 “You are too kind, my Prince.” You clasp your hands together and face forward. It is surreal, almost, to see the calm with which he regards you now, when only a week ago he had raged at your door like a madman. Had you not seen it yourself, you would not think it possible. Though you would blame him for it, the nervous twisting of your stomach is not Geralt’s fault alone. The ill feeling that had taken root in your belly at the sight of the Nilfgaardian envoy still left you with a sour taste on your tongue, one that did not seem to wash away. 

 And the dreams…

 You shudder to think of them, the dark, creeping things that keep you awake long after the halls of the king’s keep have fallen silent. You have not wandered from your rooms again to your knowledge, but you’ve slept so little in the past week that you suspect it is less a matter of your self control and more the lack of opportunity. The nails on your fingers, hidden by the cumbersomely long sleeves of your dress, are bitten down to the quick. It is a new habit you’ve developed sitting in the crushing dark as you wait for the dreams to come. 

 Your father’s rotting face swims before you again. 

 Sugar sweet—  

 You twist the heavy fabric of your sleeves in your nervous hands as you stare hard at the stone floor between your feet. 

 “What troubles you, Little Doe?” Geralt’s voice is as much of a surprise as his proximity, his side lightly pressing against your own as he leans down. You drop your hands to your sides like deadweight, suddenly aware of his eye. 

 “And why would you think me troubled?” You ask curtly. The prince’s wolfish grin sends a strange, hot pulse straight to your core, one you vehemently try to ignore. You are under no pretense, you know what the prince is, who he is. He has gone out of his way to show you, and yet—

 “I am apt to know trouble when I see it.” 

 The throne room doors slam open, leaving you no time to respond as every eye is drawn to the entrance. The instant hush that falls over the room is so deep that the herald’s voice is like a crack of thunder. At the same time, your stomach tightens. The dark warning in your heart rings again like a bell, clear and true. Though you still do not quite grasp its meaning, the message is clear—whatever you’d been meant to avoid had now come to pass, leaving no room for escape or denial. 

 “Presenting His Lordship, Duke Emhyr of Nilfgaard!” The duke sweeps into the throne room, his ink-black cloak billowing behind him. There are two of his own guards flanking him in their telltale black armor, like pools of animated shadow. Their faces are hidden by their helms, the sides carved like griffin wings. 

 The duke stops before the throne, dropping down to one knee. 

 “My King.” His accented common turns the words up at the edges, almost like a question. “Hail.” His face is handsome but severe, high cheekbones, fierce, beady eyes, and a thin mouth that curls up at the corners, just like his words. There is a scar on his face, long and thin and jagged, stretching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His already wan smile thins further as he turns to your mother. 

 “My Queen.” 

 “Lord Emhyr.” The duke’s smile is wan as he dips his head again. “I bid thee welcome. I trust you found the journey pleasant enough.” The words are empty pleasantries, merely frivolous formalities exchanged before the truth is allowed to be addressed. 

 “Aye, Majesty, as enjoyable as one can find a carriage journey.” He straightens back up. “I would extend my many congratulations on your union. The Gods themselves could not have delivered a more beautiful Queen.” 

 To your surprise, it is Geralt who speaks next. 

 “We did miss you at the celebration, my Lord.” The remark is meant to sound like a casual observation—you know it is not. “Quite a pity.”

 Emhyr’s jaw tics. “Indeed.” He looks over his left shoulder, and motions the guards forward. “My deepest regrets. As I previously expressed to His Majesty, my presence was required elsewhere. As I am sure you recall, we do share a border with the Elves.” He spits the word like a curse. “Occasionally those savages do need a good reminding of where their lands end, and ours begin, Your Grace.” 

 You shudder. There are few elves left south of the heavily policed Nilfgaardian border, but you have met some. Savages. The word makes your lip curl. They are rather fond of that word, aren’t they?

 “I did bring a—belated—wedding present.” Between the two of them, the guards haul forward a small black chest, the polished wood glinting in the light. He pulls back the lid, and a murmur travels through the gathered courtiers at the sight of the jewels. A small fortune in dark blue sapphires sits within. King Vesemir stands, bidding two of the ivory cloaked kings-guard forward to take the chest.

 “A most precious gift.”

 “The mines remain prosperous. Perhaps Her Highness might have them made into something befitting her loveliness.” A smile creases your mother’s ruby lips, but it is sharp enough to cut. Neither does it reach her narrowed eyes. 

 “We cannot thank you enough for your gracious gift, my Lord.” Her voice is delicate, like breaking glass. “But I do not believe you rode for six days to bear witness to my beauty.” You are left to wonder in the brief moments before Duke Emhyr answers. If he will allow the truth to be broached, or if he will flee from it like a rat from a burning ship. 

 “Indeed my Queen, I have not.” He casts a look around, as if the words he is about to speak are for everyone there, not just the king. “Your Grace, I come before you today with only the deepest respect for your will, authority, and wisdom.” Duke Emhyr chooses his words carefully. He chooses them as carefully as a mason did his stones, stacking each one meticulously on top of the other. “But I do admit my heart longs for clarity on this matter. 

 Not a season past, when His Majesty announced an end to his long mourning period, and indeed his intent to marry once more, I did put forth my own daughter as prospect.” His accusation takes shape, and you watch your mother’s face tighten, her fingers curling around the polished bone arm of her throne. “And before this very court, His Majesty agreed. I had imagined a shared future of prosperity and happiness between both our great houses. I mean no offense, and so I beg pardon—”

 “And yet you have given it.” Your mother’s expression remains placid—her voice less so. You can almost hear the icy words forming on her tongue as her lips part to speak again, but the king silences her, holding up one steady hand. 

 “I appreciate your candor, my Lord,” he leans forward. “But it is Vesemir who rules here, not Emhyr.” All chatter ceases, and the chamber is as quiet as the crypt beneath it. “The decision as to who it is I marry is mine—and mine alone.” King Vesemir stands, descending the short set of steps until he is level with the duke. “It is I who bears the burden of ensuring the prosperity and stability of this realm. And while I am ever thankful for the service you have provided it… you would do well to remember that fact, my Lord.” 

 “Of course, my King. I—I mean only for the betterment of the empire.” It is then that his eye falls to you. “I see no reason a match might not still be made—”

 “Then we shall speak no more about it.” You watch the duke’s jaw tighten, his lips thinning as he fights not to show his displeasure. 

 “As you will, Your Grace.” You have not heard the last of this matter, of that you are certain. A sinking feeling rises in your stomach, like you’ve tumbled freely over the edge of a cliff. There is no going back, the feeling seems to whisper, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. A path has been chosen now and you will walk it—

 “I thank you again for your generous gift, Lord Emhyr,” the dismissal is obvious in the king’s tone. 

 “The pleasure is mine, my liege.” The words sound broken in his mouth, like he’s chewed them up. A cold finger traces down your spine as his eyes meet yours again. “I thank you for your counsel.” 

 —

 The sky is dark, angry black clouds roiling above the keep. You’ve not seen much rainfall in Rivia since your arrival, but today the clouds above you seem full to bursting, the smell of the imminent downpour filling your nostrils. Still, you take your time as you stroll through the gardens, stopping every so often to enjoy the sight of flowers in bloom. 

 “You are enjoying the gardens today, my Lady,” Kassandra’s observance is gently made, though she looks worriedly up at the sky. 

 “I feel I must,” you reply, leaning down to inspect a half-closed bud. “Summer here is drawing to a close, and I must admit I fear the cold.” You offer her a small smile over your shoulder. 

 “Have you no winter in Redania?” She asks, wonder coloring her words. “The land of eternal summer indeed.” 

 “No snow,” you agree, shaking your head. “Tis more like… autumn.” There is a wistfulness to your words you cannot suppress, a longing that brings moisture to your eyes. In truth, you doubt it will matter how many years you spend here at court—Rivia will never feel like home. Kassandra smiles thoughtfully. 

 “I should like to see it, my Lady,” she says. “Twould not be a chore to accompany you—if you wished it so. The winter here is harsh, even within the city walls.” 

 “Aye, winter on the continent is no easy task to weather.” The two of you turn at the sound of a new voice to face the speaker. Duke Emhyr bows respectfully, removing his cap as he does so. “I did not mean to intrude—I find the gardens less familiar than I imagined,” he adds, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Might I trouble you for an escort?” 

 You had not seen the duke since his spectacle at court the day prior, the matter of which had the courtiers aflutter with gossip. You suppose you, like Duke Emhyr, had been equally blindsided in the matter of your mother’s courtship and her subsequent marriage. Nervously, you wonder if his feelings of dissatisfaction—and possible animosity—extend to you by proxy. Kassandra curtsies, and you nod, forcing a small, charitable smile onto your lips. 

 “O-of course, my Lord.” You reply. “I myself find the task of navigating the keep daunting, despite calling this place home.” Kassandra falls into step just behind you, and you must physically stop yourself from commanding her to walk beside you. Though you’ve little personal regard for the importance of blood and titles, you know here in Rivia those things matter above all else. The duke is more than happy to ignore her, his hawkish eyes weighing heavily on you. 

 “How long has it been since your arrival at the White Keep, if you will indulge my curiosity?” 

 “Nearly three months.” Though you have kept count of every passing day since your arrival, to say it aloud makes homesickness rear up in your chest. The duke clucks his tongue pityingly. 

 “Tis a shame. Redania is quite beautiful this time of year. I have had the pleasure of many a visit.” He clasps his hands behind his back and casts a look at the dreary sky. “Nilfgaard is my home, but I would be a liar if I said I did not envy the beauty of the southern jewel.” The wistfulness in his voice inspires thoughts of warm autumn nights scented with pine and faded sunlight. But a warning echoes in your heart at the false note in it, the one that reminds you of the coy, prying questions of your mother’s ladies in waiting, only cloaked in a cleverer disguise.

 “Indeed.” You round the corner of a hedge. “I have never seen snow, now that I think of it. I should much like to, now that I am older.” 

 “Never seen snow?” The duke echoes your words, replacing your simple desire with shock. “Though I would not speak ill of your late father—Redania has never seen a finer Regent—I do believe he kept you far too sheltered.” It takes effort to keep your smile from going thin at the mention of your father. As  if in response, a dull ache throbs in your chest. 

 “How lucky for us, then, that his death should bring me here.” You flick the words from your tongue like the lashing of a whip. There is a brief moment of dark satisfaction as the duke’s eyes widen, and his confident words falter. 

 “My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean—”

 “No, of course not.” You reply, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat. “Forgive me, Duke Emhyr. My father I are—were, quite close.” You offer him an apologetic smile. “Might we speak of something else?” 

 “Of course, of course. My deepest sympathies.” He casts a furtive glance in your direction. “I hope you have been enjoying your time here, despite the… unfortunate circumstances.” You nod primly—for what words do you have to  describe the aching emptiness that fills you at the thought that home is a distant             thing now, the memory of a place you no longer belong. 

 “I have found ways to occupy myself.” You feel as thin as your smile. “The White Keep is large, there are many ways to spend ones time.”

 “And Her Majesty has certainly taken to her role,” he continues. “She has taken to court as though she were born here.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. “Has she spent much time in Rivia? Surely during His Majesty’s rather short courtship—”

 “I know little of my mother’s courtship,” you say flatly, your eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know about it, perhaps you should ask her.” This time, it is difficult to leash your ire. You grow tired of the duke’s probing, his thinly veiled attempts to pick information from conversation behind the shield of feigned ignorance.

 “Highness—”

 “I trust you will can your way from here.” There is an unfamiliar coldness that underscores your words, one that uncomfortably reminds you of your mother. It is like hearing her own voice from your mouth, leaving a sour taste on your tongue. “Lady Kassandra, l believe we should take our leave.” 

 “At once, My Lady.”

 You leave him at the entrance to the gardens in the courtyard, sweeping past as his eyes bore into your back. 

 —

 “How does it end?” You are sat before the fire, a book held tenuously in your hands. Your loose, traditional dress is folded beneath you primly as the flames dance in the hearth. “How does it end?” Your father repeats warmly, chuckling as he leans forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “You stopped reading.” 

 You can’t quite recall where you were now, the words seeming to shift on the page as you squint at them. 

 “I… I don’t remember now,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at your father. Though the flames are bright, his face is shadowed, but you get the feeling that he is smiling. 

 “The princess has just met the wolf,” he replies. “She doesn’t know it yet, but he plans to devour her whole—body, and spirit.” You look down at the page. “She is careful, the princess, and clever, but the wolf is sly, and he is not the only thing she has to fear.” You do not know why, but his words fill you with an incomparable sorrow. 

 “What else does she have to fear? Is the wolf not enemy enough?” You are crying. You don’t know why, but you are, tears pouring down your face and dripping messily off of your chin to stain the pages with salt. 

 “Weep not, daughter. She may yet avoid his jaws—and if not that, then perhaps she might at least turn him to her will. But the peacock—she is her true enemy.” 

 “A bird?”

 “Yes, dear girl,” your father’s voice goes strangely quiet as the fire burns low in the hearth, and the sitting room is shrouded in gloom. “For while her pretty feathers distract you, her beak plucks out your eyes.” 

 You wake blearily, blinking in the darkness as you struggle back to wakefulness. Instead of your bed, you are knelt on the cold, stone floor in front of the half-dead hearth. The embers that still smolder within are not enough to give off true heat, and pins shoot through your legs when you struggle to your feet. It is frigid in here, and you shiver, clutching your thin nightgown tightly around yourself. 

 You’ve no memory of leaving your bed, nor of kneeling in front of the hearth, and you sniffle as you make your way back beneath the canopy above your bed. There is a familiar ache in your tight throat that feels like you’ve been crying, and when you lift a shaking hand to your cheek. 

 Your face is wet with tears.

 —

 Your mother strokes your head as you sob, your tears soaking into her gown. 

 “I—I fear sleep, I fear waking,” you rasp, wiping at your sore eyes with the back of one trembling hand. “T-there is no respite from them. I close my eyes in one place and open them in another—” A hiccoughing sob cuts the words in half. “Mother I fear I… I fear I shall go mad if I see father again. His face—!” You bury your head in her lap as another round of shuddering sobs wracks your limp body. 

 It has been years since you have sought your mother’s comfort like this, and in truth you cannot remember the last time it was even offered. She had been surprised to see you at her chamber door at this hour, disheveled and still clad in your nightgown, but she had let you in after you’d tearfully recounted the contents of your dreams. 

 She strokes your head. “Nightmares, my love. Nothing but terrors spun up by your mind—brought on from stress, no doubt.” Her hand is cool and comforting against your forehead. “I shall have the healer assemble something for you.” 

 “T-thank you, mother.” You offer her a watery smile.

 “Anything for you, my love.” She strokes your cheek affectionately, the bandage wrapped around her index finger rough against your skin. “I do so hate to hear of your suffering, I will do what I can to appease it.” You smile wider, even as you swallow back the inappropriately bitter feeling that says you have been suffering all this time regardless. This was the response you had desired from her all those weeks ago when you’d begged her to send you home—and now, for some reason, it feels… hollow. 

 “What happened to your finger?” You ask, and she sighs, waving her hand dismissively. 

 “A hairpin, nothing to worry yourself over.” You dry your eyes, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. Your mother barely acknowledges the timid knock at the door before the chambermaid pokes her head inside. 

 “Highness? H-His Majesty is here.” 

 Your mother does not look surprised to hear this. If anything, the corners of her mouth curl up into a sly smile for half an instant before she nods. 

 “I see. I shall see to him in a moment—” The maid squeals as the King himself pushes past her, his eyes wild. 

 “Thayet!” He calls your mother’s name with a hoarse, desperate voice. “I have waited over an hour for you—oh.” He seems to note your presence with all of the recognition one would give a fly. His bright, golden eyes are cloudy with confusion—as though he hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, or why you are there. Recognition finally lights in his eyes, and he nods at you. 

“Princess. It is… quite late,” he says slowly, as if he is only now realizing that fact himself. “Should you not be abed?” Your face heats with embarrassment. 

 “Ah, y-yes, my King. I was… troubled.” Your eyes dart between him and your mother. “But mother has allayed my fears.” You gather your shawl about your shoulders, bowing your head respectfully. Of course he would visit her as a husband—that is a fact you suppose you have known since you came to this place, but to catch the King in your mother’s bedchamber was another thing entirely. 

 The eagerness in his eyes as he looks at her, the way he licks his lips—it reminds you uncomfortably of Geralt, and of the need you see mirrored in his amber eyes. You retreat from the sitting room, though the sound of your mother’s voice makes you glance over your shoulder one last time as the door begins to close. 

 “I shall send Callista with a sleeping draught,” your mother calls at your retreating back. “For the dreams.” 

 Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you watch the king latches onto your mother, pulling her close as he trails desperate kisses down her arm. You are too far away to hear the words he growls through his gritted teeth before ripping at the bandage on her thumb and sucking the injured digit into his mouth. 

 The door closes with a loud bang, leaving you alone in the dark, empty hall. 

 The peacock, your father whispers in your memory as you shuffle back toward your room in the early hours.

 She’ll pluck out your eyes. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[sillydestiny]

Cale xFragile Reader♡

Cale Henituse. Despite his own physical weakness, Cale's concern for his wife, who was comparably more fragile, knew no bounds. He made it his utmost priority to always remain by her side, never leaving her alone unless he entrusted the task of guarding her to his trusted comrade, Choi Han. Cale's heart ached with worry over his wife's health, for he had already experienced the pain of loss too many times, and he simply couldn't bear the thought of losing her as well.

A deeply overprotective nature had taken hold of Cale, consuming his thoughts and actions. He would do anything and everything to ensure his wife's safety and well-being. At times, his protectiveness seemed almost stifling, but his intentions were pure and driven by a love so profound that it transcended words. To his beloved, he would affectionately refer to her as "love" or "darling," each endearment a testament to the depth of his emotions.

One day, Alberu, a close friend of Cale's and the crown prince of the kingdom, witnessed a sight that left him in utter shock. He had stumbled upon Cale, calling out to his wife with a face brimming with adoration and a voice overflowing with affection. Alberu had always known Cale as the stoic and aloof individual who had a penchant for sarcasm, but seeing this softer side of him left him truly astounded.

Cale possessed a habit of purchasing gifts whenever he traveled and encountered something that reminded him of his beloved spouse. He cherished these little trinkets as tokens of his love and care, a physical representation of his unwavering devotion. These thoughtful gestures were a testament to the depth of his commitment, the lengths he would go to bring a smile to his wife's face.

One of Cale's favorite moments was when he would find solace in his wife's presence, entrusting himself to her care. He would often fall asleep on her lap, and as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, he would hum a soothing melody. It was in these moments that Cale felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders, finding comfort and respite from the burdens he bore.

But when it came to protecting his beloved, Cale would unleash his ancient powers without a moment's hesitation. No force or adversary could badmouth or harm his wife without facing his wrath. Cale would tap into the deep well of power within him, unleashing a fearsome and awe-inspiring display, showcasing his unwavering loyalty and fierce protectiveness.

In the eyes of all who witnessed their relationship, Cale embodied the ideal of a protective and devoted husband. His love for his wife knew no bounds, and he would move mountains and defy fate itself to keep her safe. It was a love that surpassed weakness and thrived on the strength of his commitment.

[mingtinys]

how flowers bloom and wither

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader , platonic! boo seungkwan x reader

apocalypse!au , exes to lovers , angst , hurt / minimal comfort

warnings : language , death , apocalyptic themes , depictions of wounds and blood , suicidal ideation , this is not a happy ending or story

word count : 6.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : heavily inspired by this juyeon fic that made my cry in my car (p.s. there is a jeonghan ver as well).

Your voice is the first to call his name in months. It's been so long that the cadence of it sounds foreign to his ears. Almost like another language entirely. A cry from the distance, barely audible in a way he easily dismisses it as a hallucination. Perhaps he was finally going mad.

He knows other survivors exist, he'd seen them in nearly every town he scavenged. Though in no reality had he ever assumed any of them knew his name. The world had not been kind enough to spare anyone who knew and loved Lee Chan. They'd all been swept away in the initial outbreak. And with no one tethering him to his own existence, he was no more than a living ghost amongst the ruins.

But then the voice calls again, this time closer. Behind him. Louder.

"Chan? Lee Chan!"

And even stranger, he knows this voice. Better than he knows the sound of his own name. Could pick it out of a crowd, blindfolded and all.

Though he still can't bring himself to believe it. Not even as he turns and your silhouette comes into view against the setting sun, your elongated shadow reaching out for him. Tattered shoes well beyond their usable years slap against the pavement as you sprint.

"Oh my God, Chan!"

It has to be a mirage. You'll pass straight through him like an apparition and the universe will laugh at him for believing another one of its cruel jokes.

Yet still, his arms open, and seconds later your full weight crashes into him. Like a tide breaking the shore, stirring up memories like loose sand in its wake.

It's the first time in months he's been held. Felt the warm touch of anything living, much less the safety of something familiar. Tears fill his eyes instantly as Chan clings to the one thing from his past he could never seem to bury. To what he can only assume is a pity gift from the universe making up for all the times it fucked him over. To you.

Your chest heaves against his as you ask, "Is it you? Is this real?"

Chan himself doesn't know the answer to that.

"I can't believe I found you," you breathe out once the air surrounding you two settles. You haven't let go yet and Chan doesn't want you to. Worried that when you finally do, he'll wake up back in the crumbling shed he'd used for shelter the night before. With his back against a cold, moldy mattress instead of being held by the warmth of a thousand suns. Alone again.

"Please say something," you nervously laugh. Despite the chill in the air, Chan's cheeks are burning up. He's at a loss, far too overwhelmed to produce anything remotely coherent. Though as you peel away to examine him, concern knitting your brows, one word does come to mind.

Wow.

You're still as radiant as he remembered. A diamond amongst the ruins of the world. It looks, for the most part, the universe has been kind to you. Good, he thinks.

"You're not..." Your expression falls. "You're not sick, are you?"

It's the fear in your eyes that finally prompts Chan to push down the lump in his throat. "No!" He rasps, then clears his throat. "No, I'm not sick. Promise."

"Are you hungry?"

Chan looks back at the reason he'd left his shelter in the first place, the rundown mini-mart about a hundred feet away. The stabbing pain in his stomach brings him back down to reality.

"There's nothing worthwhile in there, we already checked."

We?

Your arm extends to point past the mini-mart. Towards a small abandoned town that pokes out just beyond the darkening horizon. "Our shelter is just about a mile that way. Would you–"

He agrees before you've even finished your sentence.

Chan cannot fathom the hope you hold in your heart in a world like this. Not until he meets Seungkwan. The vibrant boy you've been traveling with thus far.

"You can't go around picking up strays."

"He's not a stray, Kwan, he's an old friend. Besides, you were a stray at one point too." You disappear into another room before the boy can argue any further. Leaving him to glower at his new guest.

"If you start acting strange, I'll kill you." Seungkwan points at Chan, though he's not the least bit threatening. His shiny eyes and round face are far too friendly to ever be perceived as intimidating.

Yet Chan humors the boy anyway. "Virus-free, I promise." He raises his hands in surrender.

"And don't touch anything." He motions around the living room, which is surprisingly homey.

When you mentioned you had a shelter nearby, Chan was expecting something a little less... comfortable. Something like the random sheds or raided stores he'd crouch into for just a few hours of shut-eye, never any longer. Or perhaps even a poorly constructed tent made up of various scrap parts. But when you climbed the stairs to a tiny townhouse, one of the better-looking ones amongst the multiple shells of former homes in the neighborhood, Chan almost couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps this really was all just a dream.

The outside, for the most part, looked pretty decent. There had been some obvious repairs done; trash cleaned from the yard, wooden boards haphazardly nailed over broken windows, a tattered blue tarp covering a large section of the roof, and Chan could just barely make out remnants of graffiti that couldn't be scrubbed away. But the blue paint was hardly peeling and the stone steps had only a few cracks.

When it came to the inside, one word came to mind. Charming. None of the furniture matches, meaning either the previous owner hadn't cared for aesthetics or you and Seungkwan had at some point scavenged the surrounding houses in search of the least fucked up looking decor. Even then, it was really just the bare essentials. A surprisingly comfortable couch, two rocking chairs that look as though the wood had been chewed by squirrels, a metal center table, and a couple bookshelves filled with various novels, picture frames of strangers, and knickknacks.

Down the short hallway to the left are two closed doors. Of which he assumes is a single bedroom and bath respectively. Behind him, where you had disappeared to, is a door he'd quickly caught a glimpse of the kitchen through.

Most notably, however, against the back wall of the living room is a stone fireplace. Ablaze with such life it fully illuminates the space, providing a much-needed warmth as the brisk night rolls in. Chan watches it dance over the mound of logs, completely entranced until that same lovely voice from before calls his name once more.

"All we really have left from our last supply run is tuna, I hope that's okay." In your hands is a bowl with a small portion of rice and half a can of tuna, along with a glass of water. It's no five-star meal, but Chan's mouth still waters at the sight. And better yet, it's warm. He can't remember the last time he had a meal that wasn't a can of cold mystery mush or a granola bar.

He half expects Seungkwan to gripe about him taking something as precious in this world as food. But the boy snorts and a teasing smile creeps its way onto his lips. "Poor kid looks like he'll start drooling any second, I think tuna is more than okay."

He's right, tuna and rice is more than okay. In fact, it's the best damn thing he's ever had in his life. Even as he shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, it only gets better. It isn't until every morsel of food has vanished from the bowl that Chan finally acknowledges his drink. Gulping the clear, luke-warm, liquid down in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you," he breaths out.

"So what are your plans? Are you leaving in the morning?" Seungkwan promptly asks.

Oh.

A chasm opens in Chan's stomach. Right, he thinks, How could he be so naive? Sure, the two of you knew each other. But it's been what, three years? Three years of the two of you living your own lives, growing, becoming new people. Almost a full one of those years spent fighting to survive. You didn't even owe him a meal to begin with, much less a place to stay. And, not to mention, Seungkwan doesn't know him from a hole in the wall.

He isn't sure why he assumed you'd stick by his side. But he'd sure hoped you would.

You have an equally solemn look on your face. "Right, you probably have people you need to get back to. They'll be worried if you stay too long."

"No, actually, it's just me."

Please. Chan silently pleads. Please don't leave me alone again.

You lock eyes with Seungkwan. A silent conversation between the two of you has Chan's heart pounding against his ribs.

"Can I talk to you?" Seungkwan motions you to follow him down the hall and into the solo bedroom.

Minutes feel like hours; and no matter how hard he tries, Chan can't decipher anything from the muffled whispers. It's just a flurry of back and forth until it stops with Seungkwan letting out a long sigh.

When Chan sees your nervous, fidgeting, figure appear with Seungkwan in tow, he starts mentally preparing for a no.

"There's only one bedroom," Seungkwan states, arms crossed. "So we'll have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements—"

"I'll sleep anywhere," Chan immediately bargains. "I can take the couch—"

"Absolutely not." The older boy jabs a finger at him, his stare menacing. "That couch is the nicest thing we have, if anything it's mine."

That is perfectly fine with Chan. In fact, he'd take the termite-chewed wooden floor if that's what it would take. "Does this mean..?"

"Yes," the boy exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but the action doesn't feel malicious. More like a brother teasing his younger siblings. "You're lucky, you had a very reliable source vouch for you."

It feels like Chan can breathe for the first time since this whole shit-storm began. The weight that lifts from his chest makes him feel as though he's floating. And as your soft gaze catches him, he sees it. That indomitable glimmer of hope humanity has to offer. A light at the end of a dark tunnel. Security wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket.

A second chance to be alive.

Seungkwan, as Chan quickly learns, had dreams of being a singer back before. There's rarely been a quiet moment in the week since you found Chan. If he's doing repairs, he's humming. If he's taking inventory, he's softly mumbling along to some tune. If he's sat by the fire at night, his voice carries beyond the walls and into the night.

It's strange. Chan hadn't realized just how quiet being alone was until now. But you enjoy Seungkwan's voice, and it eases you to sleep on Chan's shoulder. So he enjoys it as well.

"Are they asleep?" He asks, letting his song teeter off, voice just barely audible above the crackling logs.

Chan looks down at the slow rise and fall of your chest. He smiles fondly, dropping his shoulder a tad lower to not strain your neck. By now, he's finally gotten over the disbelief of his luck in finding you— well, more so you finding him. Deciding to no longer question the probability of it all and simply cherish the feeling you bring him.

"Yeah, I think so."

Similarly, Chan has also learned that as much of a tough guy act as Seungkwan puts on, he's got an incredibly soft heart. It's pertinent in his gaze and the discreet ways he dotes on anyone around him. Bickering with Chan to wear something warmer even though Spring is around the corner or fussing at you to take an extra portion of rations.

In an alternate life, Chan likes to think he and the boy could've been life-long friends.

"How long were you out there alone?" He muses, a curious look on his face.

"Since the first outbreak," Chan answers casually. Though, Seungkwan's eyes go wide in horror.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why? How long were you?"

"Three weeks, maybe." He shrugs. "Give or take a few days. We ran into each other pretty early on and we've stuck together ever since. Found this place about four months ago and tried to make it feel somewhat normal."

"Oh, that's nice." Chan forgets that for some, life kept moving. Even as society crumbled, humanity persisted. Some in vain, some succeeding, and others, like himself, not at all.

"Can I ask something else?" Seungkwan pulls him from his thoughts. There's a prying curiosity that's scribbled all over his face. Grinning like a schoolgirl with fresh gossip to tell her friends. Chan decides to entertain his curious mind, nodding.

"How do you two know each other?" He gestures at the two of you curled up on the couch. "Like, what's the story there?"

Chan's heart drops straight into his ass and like a reflex, he glances down to ensure you're really asleep. The two of you haven't exactly gotten the chance to talk about everything quite yet. So as of now, he isn't sure where you stand. He decides the more vague the better.

"We met in our third year of university. Their roommate was friends with my roommate."

Seungkwan squints his eyes, visibly displeased with that answer. "And?"

"And..." Chan toys with the material of his pants. "We dated. Two years. Just... didn't work out in the end."

Chan seriously wishes Seungkwan's facial expressions weren't so telling. That way he'd be able to at least pretend he was getting out of this conversation any time soon. But still, the boy persists, nagging him about the who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's until Chan caves. Explaining everything from the stolen glances that started it all, to the teary-eyed bittersweet end.

He vividly remembers the way regret pooled in his chest the moment your front door shut. Making his chest feel cold and empty, a feeling that stuck around nearly every day after. Reminding him of what he let go of for the past three years. The conversation plays on in a loop in his head, and since then, he's thought up about a thousand ways he would've done differently.

"Are you saying you want to break up?" Your voice was so small it ripped Chan's heart in two. 

"No! I just— I mean, but... shouldn't we?"

"Our lives started growing in different directions faster than we could keep up." He explains to Seungkwan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet. Not once stopping to interject his opinion or pop in another question. "They were offered a really good internship a few cities away. I was given the opportunity to be mentored by a renowned choreographer. We'd both be so busy. It didn't seem fair to hold each other back from our dreams. There wasn't much of a choice."

But that's not true. Chan ripped the bandaid off long before it could prove to stand the test of time because he was scared. He assumed the love you felt for him would slowly wither and die with the distance. Drawn out in a slow and painful process he couldn't bear the burden of. So he ran, like a coward, and left you to deal with the fallout by yourself.

It's funny, how the universe deals out karma.

"Probably the dumbest decision I've ever made."

Seungkwan hums, relaxing back into his wooden rocking chair, seemingly deep in thought. A silence settles over the room, only the sound of dying embers softly crackling fills the air.

You stir next to him, nose cutely scrunched up as you search for a more comfortable position. Chan hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you to fully lean against him, being extra cautious not to accidentally jostle you awake. You finally settle, and he can't help but notice your body still fits against his perfectly. Just like to used to.

And when Chan lifts his head back to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he catches the tail end of a fond smile. He rises from the chair, making his way around behind the sofa.

"You made it back, that's all that matters." He whispers, hand on Chan's shoulder. "You don't get a lot of second chances in life— much less in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe it's time you stop just trying to survive and start letting yourself live. Whatever that looks like for you."

Spring rounds the corner like an old friend. Marking officially one year since the world went to shit and bringing with it much-needed rain in the form of rolling storms. One brews on the horizon, dark clouds gradually closing in on the afternoon sun. The cool breeze feels refreshing against Chan's damp skin. A pleasant contrast to the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, filled with scavenged treasures from the latest scout.

"You know, I offered to carry it halfway," you tease, significantly less out of breath than Chan on your trek back home. The exterior of the townhouse hadn't fared well with the harsh storms, yet it's a welcomed sight nonetheless.

"Yeah, but that would require him relinquishing about this much pride," Seungkwan laughs while pinching his fingers together, squinting through the narrow gap between them.

"It's not even that heavy," Chan scoffs, and if you clock his lie, you don't make it known.

"Whatever you say, golden boy," Seungkwan snickers, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smirk before veering off to the small plot just to the left of the entrance steps.

Seungkwan, arguably the most excited for Spring to arrive, had taken up gardening. Plowing up the soil with a water-logged wooden shovel and planting various packs of seeds he'd once found on a scout. They were mostly just flowers, anything useful like fruits and veggies having already been snatched up by other scavengers. However, he'd been lucky enough to find one packet of tomato seeds, one of green onion seeds, and another of squash seeds. The boy has a surprisingly green thumb, having created a flourishing garden in just a month.

"It's looking beautiful, Seungkwan. Another few weeks and we may actually have something to eat that isn't out of a can." You praise, admiring the colorful arrangement as well.

Sure, the fruits and veggies are nice, but Chan much prefers the cluster of voluminous purple hyacinths. Their vibrant color reminds him of the rich sunsets he'd use as a child to gauge when to return home for dinner.

He swiftly plucks a single bloom from the arrangement and places it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, and it somehow shines brighter than the flower itself. A sight he believes is capable of parting the gray clouds stretching across the sky.

"Stop killing my babies, Lee Chan." Seungkwan chastises, annoyance evident in his tone.

"Sorry," he sheepishly grins, remembering Seungkwan's no-touching rule he had applied to the garden.

In the distance, there's a low rumbling that draws your attention to the sky. "We should go in before it starts pouring." You take Chan's hand, tugging him inside while his heart beats out of his chest. You call out for Seungkwan as well, urging him that his babies will be fine in the rapidly approaching storm.

Rain slowly begins to patter against the rafters the second the front door squeaks shut. Crescendoing to a downpour within a matter of minutes. Sounds like the three of you are in for a long one tonight.

It was hard to notice at first. The occasional slip-ups here and there. Easy enough to blame the rising Summer heat on Seungkwan's mood swings. Even if the boy had been more readily agitated lately, his bubbly moments stuck around in an abundance that excused the outbursts.

Though Chan can't quite get over that look on your face the first time Seungkwan snapped at you. Something about his bush of hydrangeas being disturbed despite you insisting you hadn't laid so much as a finger on his garden. But the moment tears slipped from your irises, Seungkwan crumbled. His eyes blown wide in horror as the realization hit. He uttered endless apologies, begging for forgiveness until you assured him everything was okay.

And to his credit, he hadn't had an outburst that big since. But still, you made sure to be extra cautious around his garden from then on out.

The red patches painting his arms are harder to ignore, though. Especially with the incessant noise of nails obsessively itching at dry skin.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, finally voicing his concerns after watching the boy go at his skin with an inhuman determination for the past half hour. The sight reminding him of a rabid dog infested with fleas. With little care for its own health, left only with the insatiable urge to make the itching stop.

Seungkwan's head snaps up with feral eyes, though they dissolve into cheery crescents quick enough to fool Chan into believing he was just imagining things. Perhaps he'd been a little too on guard around his friend. The sweltering heat surely didn't help his nerves.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I must've gotten into some poison ivy, it's been driving me mad."

It only got worse.

The scratching.

It keeps Chan awake in the late night hours. That dry sound echoing in his head over and over and over and over. And during the day, despite it being the peak of Summer, Seungkwan wears long sleeves. They do well in muffling the sound and hiding whatever visuals resulted from the night before. Yet, he forgets to scrub the dried blood from under his nails.

There's an unease that settles in Chan's chest and makes a nest there. A feeling that comes in waves, yet never fully leaves him. It consumes his thoughts and taints the air in his lungs until he feels like he may choke on it. Unable to breathe a single word about his worries without accidentally manifesting them into fruition. Because perhaps nothing is awry. Perhaps Chan is the one slowly losing his mind.

After all, you've yet to mention anything. Content with humoring Seungkwan's better moments in spite of his worst.

Perhaps, Chan is still stuck in his mirage.

It happened again.

Seungkwan snapped and this time Chan had to intervene.

Over his garden again.

The once glorious flowers were sad and wilting, through no fault of anyone's, but the elements. The heat was harsh on them and there hadn't been enough rain in a while to revive them. Not to mention, Seungkwan simply hadn't been tending to them as much as he thought he had. He spent most of his days now obsessing over illusions instead.

Swore he saw spiders in the rations. Heard scratching in the walls. Had caught shadows of looters pacing outside at night.

You called it dehydration.

But he'd somehow gotten it into his head you'd been poisoning the soil when he wasn't looking. He swung the front door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, yelling obscenities about how you betrayed him. How rotten and horrid you were for killing the one thing that'd given him any semblance of joy. Chan swears he's never seen someone so unhinged as Seungkwan in that moment.

All it took was three large steps in your direction for Chan to brace himself in front of you. However, all it really took to freeze Seungkwan in his steps was his name. Loud and firm. Lighting a clarity in his eyes that's been missing for a few days now. He ushers the boy outside with haste. Too afraid to look back at your crumbling face.

Seungkwan collapses down on the stone steps. He pulls his knees to his chest and digs his palms into his eyes, hard. "I fucked up, didn't I?" He whimpers.

Chan doesn't know what to say. He did. But confirming it when he's in such a state seems cruel. And he doesn't care to twist the knife any further. He just takes a seat next to what's left of his friend and lays a comforting hand on his back.

"I'm scared." Seungkwan's head tips back to the sky. Chan had always been under the assumption that Seungkwan was oblivious to his deteriorating state. But the steady stream of tears down the boy's cheeks says otherwise.

"I can feel my mind slowly becoming not my own."

"Maybe it's not—"

"I already tried telling myself that." Chan's heart sinks as the boy hikes up his sleeves. Revealing the angry red tracks and rust-colored scabs covering a majority of his forearms. Some wounds still look fresh, and painfully deep.

"That's the first symptom, right? Feeling like there's ants under your skin. Being easily irritated. Foggy memories, whole days missing..." He looks ahead at the setting sun. "I'm already seeing things. Was it one or two months the broadcast said the infected have once those start?"

Chan tries to remember back to when his radio crackled to life for the first time. He's pretty sure it's one.

"I can't remember."

Seungkwan pushes a bitter laugh through his nostrils. "Me either."

Chan glances at the sad plot of greenery beside him. He frowns at the way the tulips droop and their petals hang limp. At least those who are still trying to hold on. Desperate to escape the same fate as their counterparts that have already begun decaying into the soil.

He looks back to Seungkwan and wonders what it's like. To have the tulips weep for you. For them to bow their heads and shed their petals like tears. He also wonders if you'll grieve for Seungkwan as gracefully as they do.

"Promise me one thing?" Seungkwan whispers. His eyes already look like they're glazing over again.

"Anything."

He speaks your name with longing. "Take care of them, yeah? I know it seems like they have their shit together, but that's not how it always was."

"What do you mean?" Chan asks, skin crawling. But Seungkwan continues to stare ahead, eyes focused on who knows what in the distance. He blinks slowly, "It's not my story to tell. Just... promise."

"I promise. Don't worry, it's not something you even have to ask."

"The garden, too." His lips lift at the corners. Chan thinks it's a smile, but it's too uncanny to recognize. "If you're taking requests."

He agrees, partly to provide Seungkwan with what little peace of mind he can offer him, but also because he already has been. Chan tries on occasion to care for the sad little plants. Wetting the soil with what little water he can spare.

Part of him naively hoped that maybe somehow, some way, if the garden could be nursed back to its former glory, so could Seungkwan. But deep down, Chan has learned to tell the difference between a dream and reality by now.

And the reality is, Seungkwan reeks of borrowed time.

The world stole your smile when it stole Seungkwan. It ripped his soul from your grasp as Chan held you in his. Kicking and screaming.

Endless tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to hold you back. Your pleas grew more desperate and wrangled. Mixing with the garbled, wretched, shrieks of your friend. Fingers clawing at his eyes. The virus embedded so deep in his brain he was no longer Seungkwan.

Just another host.

Your voice was the last to call Seungkwan's name that day. Raspy and hollow as you begged for his life. Begged the universe to not take the last ray of sunshine the world had to offer. Begged Seungkwan to fight just one more day. Begged Chan to let you save him despite all hope having set when the sun did. The scratches you'd left on his forearms remained a week after. But the hole Seungkwan's presence left has yet to fade.

Neither of you spoke of the boy in that time. He still doesn't know if that's for better or worse. Chan's terrified you'll shatter if he so much as whispers the boy's name. But to act like he never existed in the wake of it... well, that just doesn't feel right either.

But Chan knows there's no proper way to grieve. He figured that out at the beginning. He'd had damn near a year to mourn everyone he ever loved, you've only had a week. He knows with time, acceptance will come. But it kills him not knowing how to help.

So instead, Chan does the hard stuff.

He buries Seungkwan. Next to his garden, so that next Spring he can watch it grow. He stacks rocks as a makeshift headstone and plucks dried, stiff asphodel from the garden to make it look neat. He rearranges the bookshelf into a tiny shrine of Seungkwan's things. His favorite books he'd read over and over. A silver ring, with some date Chan doesn't know the meaning of carved into it. A liquor bottle that he used as a makeshift vase with the last flowers he picked still in it. Long dead, but the petals somehow still holding on. Replaces one of the bronze picture frames of strangers with a photo he found tucked away in Seungkwan's bag. One of him and two other people he assumes are his parents.

And when he's done, he lights a candle, the flame drawing you out like a moth.

"What is this?" you croak. It's the first you've spoken to Chan since it happened.

"Something to honor him," Chan whispers, keeping his gaze locked on the flickering light. He's too scared to see your reaction. Afraid you'll break down again. Afraid you'll hate it and scream that he has no right to mourn someone you loved for longer. Afraid that if he sees your tears flowing, he won't be able to stop his own.

Because he also knows part of you still resents him for that night. For grabbing your waist and stopping your momentum from hurtling towards Seungkwan. Robbing you of the chance to hold and comfort your friend one last time. Your screams echo in his head as a reminder whenever your gaze refuses to meet his or you shrug away from his touch.

But then your head falls to his shoulder like an olive branch stretching across a battlefield. Your sniffles break through the silence. Chan hesitantly pulls you closer, and when you don't flinch away, he does even more so until your full weight is against him.

When Seungkwan was here, there was rarely a moment of silence. But now, the house, and you, are quiet. And all Chan can hear are the sounds of heartbreak. Never before had he thought it could be so incredibly loud.

The cold air sneaks in sometime around mid-November. Bringing with it longer nights and temperatures low enough to warrant nightly fires again.

You haven't talked much since the night you cried your heart out on Chan's shoulder. Operating more like a zombie replicating past routines from life before. Wake up. Scavenge. Eat. Sleep. So when you offer up the first ounce of interest in something other than your daily routine, Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.

"I miss the ocean," you mumble, solemn eyes looking down at the crackling fire. The tip of your nose red from the chill.

"We can go if you want... If it would make you happy." He says though he'd settle for content. To bring you back, he'd do anything.

You nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And Chan makes it happen.

Maps out the closest beach. Rigs up two rusty old bikes he found in a shed. Packs enough provisions just in case. All for the sake of maybe returning with a sliver of the person you used to be.

The two of you easily find the rocky formation looking over the dark sea, waves raging below. It's here, that Chan truly realizes just how much of a shell you've become of your former self. The way you inch closer and closer to the sharp edge is lifeless. Like a magnet being pulled at with no will of your own. It lodges a dagger of dread through the center of his chest.

"Don't go so close, you could slip." Chan doesn't know if you can't hear him over the crashing waves below or if you simply choose not to. But your feet keep moving and Chan's feel cemented to the ground.

"That's close enough!" He calls.

Again, nothing.

Your toes hang over the edge now, hands in your jacket pockets. Raging waves slam against the cliff, reaching up for you. You close your eyes and point your nose to the sky.

Wind rushes around Chan. His shoes slip on the slick rocks below as instinct takes charge of his momentum while his brain remains frozen in panic. His lungs refuse to work until his arm can hook around your torso. Yanking you back with such a force it throws the both of you off balance. It isn't until his back meets solid rock that he finally gasps in a sputtering breath. The dull throbbing is instant, but the full weight of you atop his chest is comforting.

Chan desperately scrambles to collect you in his arms. Pulling your back against his chest so that he can curl around you like a protective barrier from the world.

"I wasn't going to jump." You whisper. But he feels no comfort from your empty words.

"Please don't make me lose you twice." He pleads like a child, rocking you in his grasp. The salty spray from the ocean mixes with his tears until he can't tell what is what. Right now, the only thing he's certain of is the one in his grasp. The feeling of you in his arms, safe, and he doesn't want to ever lose that. Call it selfish if you must. Lee Chan will wear that title proudly.

There's a rush of déjà vu as you crumble, muttering Seungkwan's name between wretched sobs, nails deep in his forearms. Sobbing about how you miss him, how unfair it is, everything you've been holding in since. Chan holds you tighter. Scared you'll slip away like the tide. Like Seungkwan did. Plunged into cold, thrashing darkness.

He prays to whatever merciful forces have forsaken him to please not do the same to you.

It's a silent trip back to the townhouse and you all but collapse from exhaustion the second you're through the door. Dragging yourself over to the couch and immediately curling into a ball. Chan takes the liberty of lighting the fire before sitting down beside you. He opens his arms, and to his surprise, you accept, letting your head fall into his lap. His arm securely drapes over your torso, though you're quick to cradle his hand. Hugging it to your chest so that his palm can feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

Chan lets out a long-held sigh, counting each beat like a lullaby. Then focuses on the rise and fall of your chest. Letting the steady swells ease the adrenaline from his system.

For a second, life is okay. Happy, even. Like how it was back before the world ended. Before he broke your heart. When he didn't care about anything except you and passing chemistry.

"I'm scared to lose you." When you say it, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. "I always thought maybe, because we'd made it this far, that meant we were somehow immune. That the worst was over for us."

You pause to take a deep breath. But Chan doesn't push, simply thankful you've finally decided to let him shoulder the weight you carry.

"But if Seungkwan can die, that means you can too. Then who do I have?"

"I'd never leave–"

"You can't promise that," you drop to a whisper. Compensating for the waver in your voice. And you're right, he can't. Not in a world as cruel as this.

But he wants to.

"I don't believe in this world anymore. Not after what it did to him."

"Can you believe in me?"

Your answer doesn't come in the verbal form. Nor does it come quickly, which makes Chan think he's officially lost you. But then your fingers thread with his, squeezing in a way that he can only describe as feeling like pure hope.

Chan can't remember when the turning point was. All he knows is that today, months after the ocean, life feels peaceful once more. The Spring breeze is gentle against his skin as he lays in the soft grass with your head on his stomach. Surrounded by the aroma of the newly bloomed tulips that far outshine the rest of the garden.

He doesn't have as nearly green of a thumb as Seungkwan did, but he's proud. The garden is lush, green, and full of life. A little chaotic, but beautiful nonetheless.

Chan had even managed to revive the hydrangeas Seungkwan was so fond of.

You point to clouds with upturned lips, remarking on their resemblance to various animals. It's not the first time he's been lucky enough to catch you smiling in the subsequent months. But he knows to cherish each one more than he once did.

There's still a chill to the spring air and Chan tugs at his sleeves. Ignoring the incessant urge to animalistically claw at his arm. At the itch so deep under his skin, it feels like it's in the bone.

[64-jungle-planks]

Night at the Museum: Redesigning Characters (Bonus)

Character profile: Napoléon "Le Petit Caporal" Bonaparte

This character is based off of and takes inspiration from the historical Napoleon Bonaparte.

Real Name: Napoléon Bonaparte

Nickname and Meaning: Le Petit Caporal - A term of affection from his soldiers

Age: 40-41 (Late 1809, early 1810)

Time Period: Napoléonic era frace

Family: Josephine de Beauharnais (ex-wife), Marie Louise (wife)+ seven siblings none of which were brought back besides Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte- his nephew

(Headcanons under the cut)

Based on/taken from History:

Pompous

Very overly confident.

Egotistical. He hasn’t seen his own downfall yet and feels he can win more.

On December 2, 1805, in his greatest victory, he defeated the combined Austrian and Russian armies in the Battle of Austerlitz.

signed treaties that created the Grand Duchy of Warsaw

Late 1809, early 1810, Napoléon’s roughly around 40-41

Still loves Josephine, but planning to divorce.

Upset she wasn’t remade alongside him

From Napoléon's memory, Joseph Bonaparte is king of Spain, but isn’t doing well.

Stupidly cute smile

+ Sensitive + Honest + Intelligent - Nepotist - Aggressive - Forgets other people have feelings

My own silly headcanons:

Has put on weight, he’s not used to fighting with it.

Napoléon likes to steal pop-it’s and water wigglers from the gift shop. He always has to have something in his hands to fidget with- normally it’s his gloves or a snuff box or taking apart and cleaning his pistol. Now that he has access to modern fidgets, he likes to taking the green ones.

He also really likes clicking mechanical pencils

He loves inventions that make life better in little ways. Canning food was invented in his life (he’s actually the one who offered a prize of 12,000 francs to improve the food preservation methods that existed at the time which led to canned food being invented) but there was no simple way to open the cans. He loves can openers- taking them with the promise of returning them to just take apart and put back together.

If your gossiping, he obviously eavesdrops. Napoléon cans and will butt into your conversation about someone and listen like you’re saying the most interesting thing in the world. If he can’t come over to you, he will do the lead paint stare at you.

Still acts like he’s emperor.

Originally thought the average height of humans gained a lot of height. He was envious up until he learned whoever created his mold got his height wrong and he’s 5’2”, not 5’7”, then, Napoléon was just pisssed off.

He loves to infodump about his victories and will call over his men to help act them out, sneaking small fibs in to make himself look even better than he already does. If you ask him about his losses, you’ll only get a stare in return and a quick “Non”. (Credit @frombottlealleytotheharbor)

“Hey, do you remember [insert battle he lost]? What was it like?” “…Non.” “But… weren’t you there?” He starts walking away. “Non.” “But—“ “NON!”

He gets into fights with Al because Al is someone who clearly doesn’t respect him. The Capone trio love to tease him - especially Frank and Al. Ralph watches with a grin, which is somehow even more infuriating to Napoléon.

Sometimes getting out of his box, he looks like a well-loved stuffed animal. It takes him a moment to get himself together.

Loves watching true crime and reality TV shows. Isn’t the biggest fan of Horror movies.

Somehow got his hands on a cigarette, absolutely died after one puff. Napoléon threw it onto the ground and stomped off coughing, vowing to never do it again.

He’s so very envious that Al and Ralph had even a bit of time with their sons while they were alive. François Charles was born after the time he was made, and it makes Napoléon feel so homesick and want his kid- one that he doesn’t even know. He absolutely adores Louis Napoleon, who he only met a few times.

Loves ABBA, originally he disliked, but he's grown to like it now that he knows the meaning

I gave him his Laurel wreath just because I thought they were cool and also to show that he's still very pompous and full of himself.

Unfortunately no doodles, I haven't had time!

Étienne Champenois belongs to @lidensword and Gustave Bréant belongs to @all-yn-oween

Frank, Al, Ralph

[earthry]

Papas and Arranged Marriage (Regency AU Headcanons)

sfw mostly, mild reference to sex but nothing descriptive. reader x papas, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, tw: talk of weight loss from depressive episode. inspired by pride and prejudice for the most part.

Primo

The Emeritus family boasts wealth and status, and though your parents offered your hand, the chances of the proposal being accepted were very slim. The Emeritus brothers were always receiving and rejecting proposals, after all.

Primo never married because he never fell in love, but he ends up accepting your proposal due to the fact that he’s not getting any younger and he would at the very least like to have someone by his side for the last decade of his life.

You were a little dismayed by the fact that Primo was much older than you, but from the first moment you meet, he’s a gentleman. Courts you properly despite the marriage being arranged. You’ve more than a little charmed by his modesty and humor.

You leave that first meeting feeling butterflies in your chest you never thought you’d experience.

Spends a lot of time with you so that you can learn more about each other and choose the best flowers from his garden to gift you every time you see each other.

Always takes your hand in his and presses a gentle kiss to it.

The fact that he’s older actually gives him a edge, he’s very well versed in the art of seduction (in other words, the slow courting to bringing you to his bed, it’s all a very sensual and pleasurable process).

He ends up falling half in love with you by the end of the first month of meeting you and on your wedding night, he confesses his love wholeheartedly as he holds you in his arms.

Enjoys spending sunrises in his garden with you snuggled in his lap as you share stories and conversation over tea.

Secondo

Bitter old man who breaks your heart from day one and regrets it as he slowly gets to know more about you.

At first viewed the marriage as purely transactional and told you he would be a good husband but never fall in love with you so don’t have any expectations.

The wedding itself was lavish and a huge party  because it’s Secondo (who had a lively night), but for you, you were very lonely. You were the first to retire to your rooms.

He’s attentive to your needs but emotionally distant and you resign yourself to your loveless marriage. Though you sleep in the same bed, he never touches you. You assume one day— probably soon, he’ll probably find a mistress and the thought makes your heart ache.

As you live together he begins to learn more about you; especially as you get more comfortable around him. The first time you snap back at him he’s taken aback but also impressed.

Your confidence only grows from there and he learns how headstrong and witty you are.

One night as he’s staying up late to work to figure out a hard situation, you make an off handed comment about something that catches his attention; it ends up solving the issue he was struggling with and since then, he’s gone to you for advice more than a handful of times.

Secondo finds himself drawn to you more and more and one day, you wake up with your arms wrapped around him like a koala. He’s staring right at you and you immediately apologize, letting him go and untangling yourself, but he stops you. He says it’s okay and he doesn’t mind.

You agonize about this all day, and end up crying to him and telling him not to get your hopes up— this breaks his heart because he didn’t expect to fall in love with you but he has and his previous words at the start of your marriage haunts him.

He comforts you and takes you in his arms and promises that he’s serious and that he was a fool.

You share a kiss— a real kiss, tender and sweet and full of emotion. You end up crying again, but this time with happiness but it alarms Secondo all the same. You end up laughing through your tears and telling him he’s an idiot and he pouts but woefully agrees you might be right.

Redoes your wedding night, ravishing you and treating you the way he should have that fateful night. He kisses apologies against your skin, intertwining your fingers together as he makes love to you. He makes a vow right then and there that he will always do his best to make you the happiest wife ever. He tells you he will be a good husband and he will love you for the rest of your lives together and even after.

Terzo

Didn’t really agree to the proposal but Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator threatened his inheritance if he didn’t accept. The marriage was mostly to keep him in check because of his behavior and constant partying and troublemaking.

Actually pouted when you told him that you wouldn’t sleep with him until your wedding night. The few times he tried to tempt you before time, you gave him a run for his money, leaving him horny, strangely still aroused, and confused.

After he realizes that you won’t be just another one of his conquests and that you’re serious about this engagement; serious about this marriage, he become a little more mature about the whole thing. Which is a good thing because you’re about this close from calling the whole thing off.

Tries to court you properly; the first time he does so, sending you a proper letter and having flowers and gifts delivered to you, you are suspicious. 

You interrogate the poor man the next time you meet in person and he apologizes for his previous behavior; you’ve caught his intrigue and he wants to make things work between the two of you.

Begrudgingly, you accept his apology and tell him that he’s on thin ice.

From there, he’s on his best behavior which stuns and surprises most people including Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator (”Maybe this was a good idea, after all.)

On your wedding night, you expect Terzo to jump your bones immediately but at this point he sees you for so much more than just another body; he’s already half in love with you and takes you to bed slowly, taking care to go at a comfortable speed and to be attentive to your needs. He’s a good lover, after all, and he’s eager to prove it to you.

In the morning, you wake in his arms with him gazing at you with affection. He kisses you good morning and tells you that he’s a very lucky man. He admits he’s falling in love with you and you tell him he’s cheesy-- he blushes and flusters and is about to protest when you catch his lips in a kiss and tell him ‘me too’. 

Copia

The youngest of the Emeritus Brothers, and your childhood best friend. The two of you would get into all sorts of trouble as kids and you were often scolded by your parents for playing with him. Despite his high standing as a Emeritus, they thought he was much too strange and odd for you, their beloved only daughter.

You would always disobey their orders to stay away from him, and when the two of you were of age, social balls and parties were spent at each other’s side; gossiping and giggling about others and sneaking out to the garden for a more quieter atmosphere where he could let his rat out of his pocket.

When he first received the news that he was to be married, he was heartbroken. He’d always imagined it to be you by his side— but your parents always refused any request of his to court you.

The news of him being engaged hit you hard. You locked yourself in your room to cry and refused to come out for days. When you finally came out of your room, your parents scolded you and told you to move on. You were of age after all, and would soon be married off as well.

You were out with a chaperon one day when you passed by Copia with his fiancé, escorting her to a beautiful restaurant. Your favorite restaurant, actually. When you return home, you lock yourself in your rooms again and refuse to eat.

You’re so miserable that your health begins to suffer and you fall very ill— this alarms your parents who despite their strictness, love you very much. They call many doctors to see you, but none are able to help.

Word of your health reaches Copia who visits you immediately; he’s still very much in love with you. Your parents reluctantly let him visit, mostly due to your pleading.

You cry as soon as you see him, and he rushes to your side and takes you into his arms. He’s alarmed by how much weight you’ve lost, how pale and sickly you look. He comforts you, tells you he loves you. Reassures you he will always be there for you. You’re too tired to do much except for nodding and sniffling against his shoulder. Eventually you fall asleep and he carefully untangles the two of you to speak with your parents.

After a long and excruciating talk, he gets your parents to agree to let him court you— he cancels his current engagement despite the backlash, and the next time you wake he’s by your bedside with a bouquet of roses.

Your recover little by little after that, and on your wedding day you both cry during your vows. In the morning, you wake in his arms to him snoring at your back and you couldn’t be happier.

[eccentrcks]

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐂: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞.

This gorgeous artwork of Marlene was made by my talented baby sister. Give her some applause for this! 🫶 I also made a taglist out of boredom, so don't mind me. Taglist to those who inspired me to make this profile and ref. sheet: @revnah1406, @welldonekhushi, @littlemissclandestine, @alypink, and @darkhazard19.

⎯ 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡:

Name: Marlene

Full Name: Marlene Jamie Monroe

Alias(es): "Mona" (General nickname by her family), "Marlie" (childhood nickname), "Chicky" (Captain Price), "Squirt" or "Baby Girl" (Phillip Graves), "Marl" (David Mason).

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Irish, Native American, Welsh.

Hair Colour: Chestnut brown.

Eye Colour: Light brown

Height: 5’11” (181cm)

Weight: 187lbs (84.8kg)

Body Built: Athletically average.

Languages Spoken: English, Irish, Gaelic, Welsh, Cree, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Bulgarian, Mandarin, French, German, Portuguese, etc.

Date of Birth: August 29, 2002.

Place of Birth: Fairbanks, Alaska.

Blood Type: AB-

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: N/A.

Status: Unknown.

-

⎯ 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦:

Myers-Briggs Type: INTJ-T (The Architect)

Calm and reserved: Despite having her moments of being a spitfire, she is actually a well composed individual and this really helps her in matters of survival. Although pretty social sometimes, then she can be completely asocial, Marlene is not exactly the kind of person who wouldn't instantly show her actual personality to others whom she'd just met. She handles stressful situations with the pressure very well most of time.

Selfless and loyal: Marlene may be an impassive and hardened young woman, but she has a good soul and heart. Those who are lucky to be a genuine friend of hers are privileged to see her display her true self at most times. Has the tendency to put others before herself. Marlene's love language is giving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch- which the latter is a rare thing of her to do frequently as a young adult now. Keeps it discreet though.

Tough as nails: She is unbelievably durable and endures a lot of life-threatening situations. Often gets underestimated by others, but tends to straighten them up with a surprise. It still hurts, yes, although she just quickly learns how to suck it up and keep going without letting it drag her down.

Jaded and weary: It's safe to mention that Marlene didn't had a normal childhood and went through a lot of hardships growing up with a paranoid survivalist of a mother. Kind of a sore spot for her to be asked about. Has a bad case of PTSD and denies her clinical diagnoses constantly. ("I'm fine." is her favourite saying) Has a complex relationship with her mother, her only parent that raised her this way, which means Marlene cares and resents her at the same time, yet she internally respects the woman who taught her most of everything she knows. She suffered from losses who were dearly significant to her... somethings she isn't ready to openly talk about. So the girl is just simply exhausted from existing.

Adaptable and intelligent, also a polyglot: If thrown into an environment that Marlene hadn't been in before, she will learn and adapt if it's necessary. Growing up traveling with her mother had taught her some things. She's quite a multilingual genius, speaks and read around 37(ish) languages, but also graduated high school at sixteen before attending Stanford University and finishing in three years for her computer science degree. So in a shorter summary, she's an eager and fantastic learner.

-

⎯ 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦:

Primary Weapons: Knife, Karambit neck knife, Remington 700PSS, HK-MP5K, HK-MP5A3, TP-82, XM177E1, and Pipe Bombs.

Fighting Style: Hand-to-hand combat, some MMA.

Special Skills: Great at reading others' body languages and sensing danger.

Talents: She can learn to speak at another language in a short span of time, craft explosives such as a pipe bomb within an hour if she has the resources, and create traps with the right stuff.

Shortcomings: Can get paranoid most of the time, chronically insomniac, has some trust issues, and suffers from terrible migraines.

-

⎯ 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬:

"Born and grew up outside of Fairbanks in an isolated cabin for five years of her life with her mother, who had Marlene at eighteen, and mostly traveled around on the road after. She grew up with tough love and Melissa, her mother, was fiercely overprotective with her only child. Once they settled somewhere in California when she was eight where Marlene finally got enrolled in a public school where her peers would eventually learn about her intellect. She never knew how, or where, her mother earned her huge incomes to financially support themselves, but knows Melissa just has an every important job whenever she isn't home. Besides, whenever her mother was confronted, she was just met with a firm look by her and the woman stating that it's none of her concern as Marlene should just focus on herself. Eventually this led to her rebellious behaviour before incidents occurred and slowly shaped Marlene into a withdrawn teenager in college."

"Her history with Taskforce 141 was purely platonic. Met them through her mother, one by one when she was an teenager, before the group realized she was Melissa's baby girl and they all knew the same woman who met each of them outside of their occupations. She've met Phillip Graves when she was a kid when he came by to confront her mother before a father-daughter bond was formed between them since then. David Mason is her godfather and one of the people whom Marlene looks up to- much to Graves' dismay."

"When she was done with college at nineteen and the year 2021-[REDACTED]."

"Until 2022, she was brought into the CIA's custody in middle of a late evening walk, more like by Taskforce 141, and interrogated after some evidence of her was caught stealing some invaluable intel and secrets, appearing as one of their employees, before she was picked up by a black van after that. She kept denying the accusations and evidence for weeks until Graves, allegedly dead at the time, safely liberated her despite Marlene being in a frail condition with the help from David Mason and proof that she was truly innocent. Someone had framed her."

"Then not too long hours after she was brought into his protective custody, no one knew who helped her other than the fact that she escaped CIA's custody, as one of The Shadow Company's bases was attacked. Mostly everyone made it out, but Marlene who was soon announced dead after she passed out from the blood loss with the base getting bombed into nothing once they were forced to leave her behind. Leaving Graves and David angry, distraught, and vowed to avenge her once they find the culprits. Her remains were never found after that."

Theme song: Methods of Madness by Secession Studios.

*Profile will be be updated once the story progresses and kept her backstory vague(ish) for now.

[zapreportsblog]

Hello I love your writing. Would like to request a gem reade/Marcus

We all know Marcus lost his mate so when he sees the new intern secretary come in after the last one got eaten. He’s so moved and thankful that he has a new mate 🥹🥺 my man was dead inside and after centuries this sweet juman that’s so innocent and caring now is his mate 🥺 I jus want them to go on romantic date on one particular nigh they are talking about literature and his lif e on a moonlight stroll. The night ends with them having a passionate night together. Fem reader was shy but Marcus is a wonderful lover and she’s so happy to be with him. Her last partner had been so abusive she feared falling in love again but Marcus was so attentive,protective and romantic 🥹

Awww poor baby is getting the happiness he needs

❝nothing like what I imagined❞

✭ pairing : marcus volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : the moment he laid eyes on her he knew she was his second chance at life, it’s unheard of vampires having second mates but now that’s he’s found his he will do all that he can to make sure she knows she is loved

✭ authors note : this song was definitely heavily inspired by the song “baby I’m yours”

✭ twilight masterlist

In the dimly lit corridors of the Volturi castle, Marcus moved with an air of quiet contemplation. His presence was often overlooked by those who were consumed with their own ambitions and intrigues. Yet, his gift of sensing emotional ties among individuals allowed him a unique perspective on the world around him.

One day, as he made his way through the grand hallways, his attention was drawn to the entrance of the castle. There, a new intern secretary had just arrived, replacing the previous one who had met a gruesome end. Marcus watched from a distance, his crimson eyes focused on the young woman who had captured his attention.

The moment their eyes met, a surge of emotion flooded through Marcus. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in centuries, a deep and powerful connection that reached beyond his usual sense of emotional bonds. He stood there, rooted to the spot, as he realized the truth—this young woman was his mate.

His heart, which had long been dormant, seemed to awaken within his chest. The mate bond between them was stronger than anything he had felt before, a tether that bound them together across time and space. Marcus was moved, both surprised and thankful, that fate had granted him another chance at love.

As he watched her navigate her new role within the castle, he kept his distance, his emotions a mixture of anticipation and restraint. He knew the dangers that surrounded them all, the complexities of their world that often led to heartbreak and loss. But this time, he was determined. He silently promised himself that he wouldn't allow history to repeat itself.

Over the days that followed, Marcus observed her from afar, a mix of longing and caution in his gaze. He kept his new discovery hidden, knowing that revealing such a bond could attract unnecessary attention. He continued to perform his duties, all the while his thoughts and emotions were intertwined with hers.

As time passed, Marcus found himself drawn to her presence more and more. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing day, a force that couldn't be denied. He felt the weight of centuries lifting from his shoulders, replaced by the hope and possibility of a future he had thought he might never experience again.

In the shadows, Marcus remained patient, his love and determination hidden beneath his stoic exterior. He knew that their journey would be filled with challenges and obstacles, but he was prepared to face them all. For in this young intern secretary, he had found his mate, a connection that transcended the darkness of their world and promised a new chapter in his immortal existence.

As the days passed and Marcus's connection with (y/n) grew stronger, he found himself unable to suppress his feelings any longer. He knew that he had to tell her the truth—the truth about the mate bond that bound them together. He couldn't deny the intensity of his emotions, the longing he felt for her presence.

One evening, as the sun set and cast warm hues across the grand halls of the Volturi castle, Marcus found (y/n) in a quiet corner of the library. He approached her with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, his crimson eyes focused on her as he cleared his throat.

"(y/n)," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "may I speak with you?"

Startled, she looked up from the book she had been reading, her gaze meeting his. A blush crept across her cheeks as she nodded, her fingers nervously clutching the pages of the book.

"Of course, Master Marcus. What can I do for you?" she asked softly.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his emotions swirling within him. He reached out to gently take her hand in his, a silent gesture of comfort and connection.

"I want to share something with you," he said, his voice low but steady. "Something that has been on my mind since the day you arrived."

Her heart began to race, her curiosity piqued. She looked into his eyes, sensing that there was something significant he was about to reveal.

"You see," Marcus continued, "when I first laid eyes on you, I felt a bond—a deep and powerful connection that goes beyond what I've experienced before. (y/n), you are my mate."

His words hung in the air, a confession that held weight and meaning. Her eyes widened, her heart pounding within her chest. Her past experiences had left her cautious and guarded, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"I understand if this is overwhelming," Marcus said gently. "But please know that I am not like your previous partner. I am not here to hurt you. I want to protect you, to be there for you in every way that I can."

She bit her lip, her emotions conflicting within her. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he meant what he said. But the fear of being hurt again held her back.

Marcus could sense her hesitation, her inner turmoil. With a soft sigh, he continued, "I understand that this is a lot to take in. Perhaps we can take it slow, allow our bond to grow at a pace that you are comfortable with. You have my word that I will always respect your feelings and your boundaries."

Touched by his sincerity and understanding, (y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest. She looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of deceit. But all she found was honesty, vulnerability, and a genuine desire to make her feel safe.

"Thank you, Master Marcus," she said softly, her voice laced with emotion. "I appreciate your patience and understanding. I'm just... trying to navigate through my own fears."

“Please just call me Marcus,” he says before nodding and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I will be here every step of the way, (y/n). We will face this journey together."

As the evening continued, they sat together in the library, sharing stories and getting to know each other. The library's soft ambiance provided a comforting backdrop to their conversation, and in that moment, they both realized that their bond was something worth exploring—a connection that held the promise of healing and a love that could stand the test of time.

After a few weeks of talking in secret Marcus got (y/n) to agree to a date. So now under the shimmering moonlight, Marcus and (y/n) strolled along a cobblestone path, their steps accompanied by the gentle rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

The stars adorned the velvety sky like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the surroundings as if nature itself was setting the stage for their romantic evening.

As they walked, their conversation flowed seamlessly from topic to topic. They spoke about literature, exchanging thoughts on classic novels and sharing their favorite authors. Marcus shared stories from his long life, giving (y/n) glimpses into different eras and cultures he had witnessed.

"I've always found solace in the words of poets and authors," Marcus said, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Literature has a way of capturing the human experience, of transcending time and connecting us to the emotions of those who came before us."

"I completely agree," (y/n) replied, her eyes sparkling as she listened to his words. "It's like stepping into different worlds and experiencing a multitude of emotions through the characters' journeys."

As the night deepened, they found themselves by a tranquil pond, its surface reflecting the moon's silvery glow. They settled on a comfortable spot beneath a tree, where a blanket had been laid out for them. A bottle of wine and glasses were placed nearby, casting a warm and inviting ambiance.

"(y/n), would you like some wine?" Marcus asked, pouring a glass for himself.

She nodded with a smile, accepting the glass he offered. They clinked their glasses together before taking a sip, the taste of the wine mingling with the atmosphere of the night.

Their conversation continued, becoming more intimate as the wine flowed. The air was filled with laughter and shared stories, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, (y/n)'s cheeks grew flushed from the wine, and she looked at Marcus with a mixture of boldness and vulnerability.

"Marcus," she began, her voice soft and slightly slurred, "I've been wondering... Do you feel an attraction towards me?"

Marcus met her gaze, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. His lips curved into a gentle smile, and he nodded. "Yes, (y/n), I do."

Flushed and slightly flustered, she took a deep breath. "Well then... I'm not sure how to say this... But, Marcus, I want you to take me."

Marcus's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Take you where, (y/n)?"

Her gaze remained steady as she said, "Take me, Marcus. I may be a little drunk, but my mind is clear enough to make this decision. I want to feel loved."

A moment of silence hung in the air as Marcus absorbed her words. He placed his glass aside and gently took her hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

"(y/n)," he says, his voice so soft that her name barley comes out as a whisper.

There was a sense of both nervousness and excitement that filled the air as Marcus leaned in closer and gave (y/n) a gentle kiss on her forehead. His touch felt warm and comforting, and (y/n) could feel her heart beating faster as their lips met.

His hands gently traveled down her body, exploring her curves and curves until he gently caressed her body and they embraced each other tightly.

Their passionate kisses were filled with so much emotion and desire as Marcus was a gentle, loving, and attentive lover. He explored every inch possible of (y/n)'s body with kisses and caresses, and as their bare skin met, (y/n) felt as if she was being surrounded by a powerful, consuming love.

“Come, not here.” He says scooping her up into his arms quickly and whisking them away to his bedroom. The bedroom door had just barely been closed before (y/n) found herself on the bed eyes wide and cheeks flushed red as she stared up at the towering volturi leader before her.

“If I’m to take you, then I must do it right.”

[thewordkeep-ffxiv]

The Meaning of a Smile

Gift drabble for one of my dearest friends, who inspired me with a remark about Leif's smile.

Please scroll through the pictures for the full story!

A plate of food is placed in front of Leif. He sees the flecks of delicate seasoning on the plucked quail, the sag of tender meat off the bone from a perfect, even roast, the heat of the bird touching his lips, the aromas of sustenance serenading his nose. A meal prepared in minutes, served to him with only an exchange of coin as payment versus the months of toil he was used to. A pleased smile.

Sitting at his tree hut, he hears the cadence of monsoon rain drum against the reinforced wood and clay. A candle burns near him for warmth and illumination. His pelts remain dry, as do his clothes. The wind rages outside, palm trees bending to tempest will, but the Viera looks on calmly. He had spent months building this shelter, years altering it to perfection, all paid off in the privilege of watching the rain fall outside instead of enduring it. A relieved smile.

Gears crank, pipes whistle, and pulleys hiss, Leif familiar with their song. He had learned what every button activated, what every faucet engaged, what every lever released with the same ease and familiarity he had saved for swinging through the trees of his distant jungle home. Machinery once intimidated this former tree dweller, the scent of oil and gun smoke heralding violence and loss. Leif now controlled what controlled him, faced what he once feared, and came out the better for it. A proud smile.

Hands grip the bow and arrow with an assured presence of one whose very life depended on the instrument. Leif is slight of build, his hair fair, his face pretty, his eyes captivating. Soft, unassuming, an easy target. His opponents learned quickly that behind the gorgeous façade was a warrior seasoned in battle, an assassin who had seen and tasted blood, a guardian with something to protect. He was not a pushover and would not be taken down by force. A target? No. To glimpse him was to be targeted. A triumphant smile.

Leif remembers the story of each scar—the catalyst that caused them, the events that created them, the pain they inflicted, the turmoil they wrought while healing, the memories they left behind. They told the story of a survivor, a protector, and a soldier who would die to defend all that he loved. Scars meant he lived to procure more, to gain more stories, and he regretted not a single one. Each scar was part of a course described to lead him to his love. A confident smile.

There is a notable warmth to waking up beside someone versus waking up alone that Leif craved. To watch his lover sleep, to study his lover’s features, to brush his fingers against platinum hair. To see those eyes flutter open, rose-colored gaze smiling at the sight of him before that smile reaches those kissable lips. Leif basks in the musky-fresh scent of him, in his soft greeting like the comforting rays of the morning sun, of the feel of his skin beneath wanting fingertips. Never does Leif feel more at peace than in these little moments, and he wishes they could last forever. A sweet smile.

Leif stands against the regret that threatens to bar him from action, shame that fights to keep him sulking, trepidation that steeps his heart in doubt and stills his hand from the path of atonement. His heart will weep, his soul will scar, and his constitution will dim from the weight of what he had said, what he had done, but the flowers he holds tap into his essence, to his intention, and shine bright with remorse…and with hope. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I will never hurt you again. I love you. Will the words of his heart be received? Will his actions of love withstand the shadows of the past? Can he move forward, hand in hand with astin min, defective and damaged as he is? A hopeful smile.

[skippyv20]

M’s weight loss is too drastic and has aged her face terribly. She’s a cross between haggard and leathery. Someone should Photoshop bananas with “inspirational” messages on those shorts she’s wearing.

Perhaps this year for Christmas, she should be gifted The Bible For Dummies.  

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[deusexmachinawitch]

Weekend Success Stories

Disregard what happened in this post, I want to make a list of all the things I manifested this weekend. Now that I slept for like 12 hours and processed things better, I really looked back about all the things I wanted to manifest besides SP and I really succeeded like A LOT of them.

☆ Free trip

The reason for my trip was that I wanted to attend the concert of a group of friends. These girls are some sort of "idols" in my country and they do concerts across the anime conventions or clubs in a city 6 hours from me. They sometimes come to my city but that's really rare. Because of several expenses regarding to my health, I didn't know if I could make it to this trip but I really wanted to go because one of the girls, who is now my friend, has been my inspiration and my oshi/bias for years. Her energy really inspired me to change for the better and become more bold since I was really timid and self-conscious of myself. So I promised her that I would always support her and encourage her like she did with me and we both would strive for our dreams and goals. At first I was afraid to go because of meeting SP, but my promise with her was stronger than that since she came before SP ever came to the picture. So I really wanted to see her and give her my support, also to show SP that his existence wasn't going to make me stop supporting her.

I affirmed hard that I wanted to see the concert no matter what and suddenly I started receiving money from small jobs I did and friends that owed me money, discounts on hotels and one of my roommate's friends being in that city the same weekend so he could drive from the hotel to the venue and then take me back home by car. My roommate, who is like my Mom, also gave money to his friend to make a stop during the roadtrip back so I could have dinner. He also sent me money to buy merch from the group with a note saying "Thank you for doing the groceries and cleaning before leaving, sorry for being a mess because of my depression. Enjoy your weekend". So it was really sweet. So basically, I barely spent on this trip.

☆ Desired Appearance (Looking quite young for my age, clear skin, weight loss disregard what I was going to eat that weekend, silky beautiful purple hair like my favorite anime character, free products)

One thing I already said is that I'm in adult age. I really don't look my age but I was starting to have a very tired appearance that made me insecure, especially the last months leading up to the breakup. I really hate seeing pictures of me from a few months ago because of the weight gain and tired appearance.

I kept affirming that I wanted to look like Senjougahara from Bakemonogatari since she has been my inspiration for the longest time. I wanted to have clear skin and very long healthy purple hair.

So my hair started looking pretty silky, it grew like INSANELY LONG in two months. My hairstylist actually came to visit me and did my hair for free because I helped her with her moving to a new place a few months ago and I got my hair dyed, treated and got free hair products.

Also, there was a huge makeup and skincare product sale and my friends gifted me stuff from the sale. I also got a free new outfit just for the trip for dirt cheap.

Not to mention, I kept getting invited to eat and I actually lost weight despite all I ate and also after measuring me, I lost some centimeters as well so I'm really happy about that!

☆ Everyone missing me and people noticing the glow up (+ someone actually gifting me the specific ribbons I actually wanted)

After the breakup, I actually disappeared from social networks and barely answered messages. I wanted to focus on my LoA journey that I went into stricter mental diets more and more. But I wanted everyone to miss me and care for me but also notice that I did this disappearance to have a better mindset and feel good in my skin.

After I arrived to the venue, everyone actually showered me with attention. My friends said that probably SP acted out like he did because I got all the attention on me, actually looked much better without him and he looked rough even though he was the one that broke up with me.

I received hugs and attention from everyone, including my SP's bias. Plus my bias hugged me a lot and took a lot of pictures of us and posted them on social media. Not to mention that we both look so pretty in the polaroids we took and I have a polaroid with my bias hugging me (suck that, mean SP).

Also, a girl whom I know from social media and kept seeing me in cons, came to hug me and said how much she missed me because I was an inspiration for everyone because I keep encouraging others even in my darkest times. She found out I was coming because people told her in secret that I was on my way and she came running to see me to tell me to not stop doing what I'm doing and to keep having a wonderful heart.

But the most shocking thing for me was that, I was doing @fleurlx's "Badass Alter Ego Challenge" to become the person who I wanted to become. I took note about the clothes and such, but one thing I wanted were a pair of black ribbon clips that were long but not too big to not look "cartoony", but I really couldn't find them anywhere. But suddenly this girl tells me she has a gift for me and it's the EXACT SAME RIBBONS I IMAGINED. She said to me that she always loved my purple hair and it was getting longer and longer, so she went to a store to find me a "welcome back" gift and felt drawn to these ribbons for some reason and hoped I liked them. I thanked her and wore them on the spot, she was really happy and stayed with me as well. Plus she shamelessly plugged my socials to everyone lol. Guess I have to come back, at least for people like her, I'll also take a lot of pictures with the ribbons, because she believed in me and gave me the final piece to be my alter ego, my best self... Which is not only the ribbons themselves, but the love of people who believed in me in my best and worst.

I was also randomly gifted a nail polisher and overnight hair rollers so I wouldn't ruin my long hair with a iron curler if I wanted to try having princess-like curls.

☆ Do something fun that weekend that could help me feel more powerful about my self-concept

I know this sounds abstract but I had a whole day off before the con, so I didn't know what to do. The thing is that, my hotel was very far from the main city but not far enough to not have public transportation. I decided to trust the Universe on the hotel it manifested to me because it was cheap and the area wasn't a dangerous one.

I did well on trusting the Universe, because there was a party for the anniversary of an arcade and I actually secretly help restore and fix arcades. So people who were aware of me but have never seen me in person (because they just bring the machines to the workshop and I just go in hours where no one's there), sent me an invitation when they were told by my roommate that I was actually like a 15 minutes walk from their arcade.

The thing is that they were shocked that I was actually a girl, that I was someone they have seen before at cons and someone quite well-known and that I was keeping this a secret. I actually told them that I appreciate my privacy and I prefer to be humble about my skills. I actually ended up helping them fix an arcade while being in a pretty dress then just hijacked the arcades I liked for myself, especially MaiMai.

I got flirted on by several people, got several new followers and kicked everyone's ass in MaiMai whenever someone challenged me. And related to the DR manifestation, everyone thought I was WAAAAAAY younger my actual age and that made me feel great.

I think the best comment I heard was "WTF, you're so cool and so pretty! I didn't know what to expect when I heard that the second technician of xxxxx was a shut-in that just ate snacks, played Splatoon and just listened to idol music in the workshop. No wonder you don't want everyone to see you, people would either try to flirt with you or harass you because gamers be like that". I'll take this to heart and continue being a shut-in, the main technician of the workshop actually protected my identity for the same reason this person stated after all (he's a childhood friend and protects me with his life).

☆ Small mean manifestations

Because SP was mean with everyone including myself, I manifested for his bias to not pay attention to him and for the weather to be suddenly rainy when he went back home so he has something to think about his behavior on his way home.

So his bias had to leave because she had to go do other things and IT DID RAIN AS SOON WE ALL HAD TO LEAVE. I was leaving by car so I had no problems, but I saw SP running to the train station without an umbrella.

While I still care about him and I want to revise him since I do love him, I wanted him to think about what he had done to everyone and how childish he was by being ignored then having to leave to his house by himself and in a hurry. I wanted the Universe to teach him a lesson so he grows up, especially because he really caused several scenes during the con with several people and disturbed people attending.

I also manifested for the group to not have any concerts til late Fall so he has nothing to do during the Summer and stays home to think about what he has done and actually the group announced the won't have more concerts til at least October. But I also manifested to be closer to my bias disregard that and she is talking to me more and making plans with me to livestream together or hang out during the Summer! In fact, she accepted the offer of performing a solo concert at my city at the arcade next to my workshop and my childhood friend told me he would actually close the place out for it to be a private live but prepare equipment to livestream it! She also told me to check matching clothes!

Long story short...

Affirm and persist and winning is my only option!

Plus, I don't care about what happened with SP anymore because I think the Universe did this to show him how much of a God I am, what he is missing and to make him realize his behavior. So I didn't have a loss! I only won!

Well, time will bring him to me for sure as a better person.

I also want to thank my roommate, my LoA buddy, my childhood friend, the amazing and friendly @loass-angel AI and a certain LoA coach from the Elysian Discord for supporting me during this weekend and enduring my spams lol.

Thank you all for reading!

[veritas-rpg]

Inspired by inquiries about the types of characters that we could see thriving at Daehan University, we've compiled a list of character archetypes to spark your creativity. Feel free to choose any of these character templates or use them as inspiration to create your own character. Just make sure to mention your choice in your application form so we can update the list accordingly. That being said, here are some muse ideas that we think can seamlessly fit into the tapestry of Daehan Institute:

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Intellectual : A brilliant intellect, possibly a top student fully devoted to their academic pursuits. They tend to be reserved, not necessarily by choice but due to their lifelong dedication to studies. This reserved nature provides ample room for character growth if you choose to explore their journey of discovering that life holds more than just academia. Moreover, they could seamlessly integrate into the Dead Poets Society, finding kindred spirits who share their passion for knowledge and self-discovery.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Socialite : Born into opulence and privilege, from the most prosperous of lineages. Personality-wise, they might exude arrogance, boundless ambition, and a relentless competitive spirit. With a family history deeply rooted in Daehan University, the weight of tradition and expectations rests heavily upon their shoulders. However, beneath the facade of upholding tradition lies a compelling twist — the struggle they face in living up to these lofty expectations, gradually succumbing to the immense pressure. This character archetype can effectively introduce and explore the complex web of social and class dynamics within the setting.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Romantic : A devoted enthusiast of literature and the arts, they possess a profound appreciation and insight into their passion. However, their ardor clashes with their family's expectations. Whether hailing from a privileged background or as a scholarship recipient from more modest means, they face a pivotal choice. Will they pursue their dreams against the wishes of their family, or will familial obligations compel them to set aside their aspirations?

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Skeptic : A defiant character, or maybe someone who prefers the shadows. Whether conspicuous or discreet, they possess a keen perception of the unsettling occurrences within Daehan University. They dare to challenge the institution's long-held traditions, principles, or ethical standards, making them an ideal candidate for the Seekers of the Veil society.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Haunted : A character marked by a haunting trauma that continues to cast a shadow over their present. Perhaps they endured the loss of a beloved figure under mysterious circumstances, with the added twist that this individual was a fellow student at Daehan. Driven by an unwavering determination to unearth the truth, they embark on a relentless quest to delve deeper into the eerie mysteries lurking within the hallowed halls of Daehan University.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Guilty : An individual who committed a heinous crime, escaping justice through luck or connections. Now at Daehan University, they relish their second chance, but the past may catch up with them. Ideal for exploring thrilling narratives and the desperate measures they'll take to protect their secrets.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Fallen Prodigy : Once a child prodigy pushed to the brink by overbearing parents, this muse suffered a burnout during high school, leaving them cynical and deeply insecure. Now at Daehan University, they aim to rekindle their academic passion and find redemption, possibly through one of the secret societies.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ The Medium : Gifted with the ability to sense the supernatural from a young age—or so they believe. This muse has witnessed unexplainable events on campus. Silent and enigmatic, they hold secrets that can uncover the supernatural and occult aspects of the roleplay.

[luciel-anciel]

Warmth (Red Son x MK) (Angst)

This was actually inspired by one of @dez-ku 's ideas so props to them! I appreciate you for allowing me to use your idea and being able to write & post it TvT

TW! Angst, Mental Breakdown and Implied Character Death

========================

Red Son stared at the dancing flame on his palm, a miniature representation of the one he had lost—MK. The flickering fire took on familiar contours, shaping itself into the image of his beloved. Red Son couldn't help but watch, his eyes reflecting the play of fire as it twirled on his hand, echoing the presence he so dearly missed.

Its fire gleamed and made a comforting crackling noise. The demon stared at it longingly; His luminous eyes reflected the fire and watched as it danced on his fingertips.

The fiery silhouette illuminated Red's distinct facial features, showing the puffiness of his eyes.

The silhouette was a painful reminder of what life truly is. Red Son loved MK profoundly, the only human being that made him open his eyes and that the world could offer so much more, so much love—but the reality of his absence lingered.

He longed for his presence, he hated how he dearly missed every aspect of his beloved mortal, even his corny puns or the way MK used to laugh so loudly that it would hurt his eardrums.

Oh, how he missed every inch of MK.

Even all the flaws, that irritated him.

The demon let out a bitter chuckle, it had been years since his untimely departure— time was such a cruel mistress.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks before evaporating into steam. Oh how, he would give his soul to have his lover in his arms!

He trembled down as his knees shook, being crushed by his weight.

Pain and grief surged through him, the flames intensifying in response, seeping through the surroundings, consuming everything in its path.

The fire that was once on his palms, spread across the house, devouring pictures, gifts, and mementos shared with MK. Red Son's cries echoed in the fiery chaos, the pain of loss overwhelming him. Clenching the fabric over his chest, he felt the searing agony, the fire of grief burning as fiercely as the flames that now engulfed their shared home.

Amid the devastation, Red Son looked up, his tear-streaked eyes fixating on the vivid image of MK, replicated in the flames. It beckoned him with an outstretched hand as if urging him to rise. Red Son, hesitant yet desperate, reached out, finding solace in the warmth that didn't fade away this time.

Together, they let the house burn to ashes, the physical remnants of their shared life turning into memories consumed by the flames. Grief overwhelmed Red Son as he allowed both his internal and external worlds to be engulfed by the all-consuming fire.

He let the house burn to ashes, with him in it—the memories turning into ashes.

What was the point of trying to save it?

What even was the point of trying to save himself? It only gave him pain. Looking at the sweet little trinkets and knowing those stayed longer than his lover, what a bitter reminder. He cried out, letting out all his cries, his screams.

Red son couldn't live without him.

His throat hurt, it burned but he couldn't help it, he screamed out in pure agony.

The grief consumed his entire body, the same way as he allowed his flames to consume him all.

In the end, only fragments of memories remained, a poignant testament to a love that had been, and a pain that persisted even in the ashes of what was once their home.

[seasmoon]

details for her TSAHIK and TSAKAREM timelines:

except for a few exceptions, the metkayina are matriarchal and matrilineal across all reef-dwelling tribes. just as ao'nung would become their clan's olo’eyktan, tsireya would inherit her mother's role as primary spiritual leader and tsahik, which is considered the more important title. they were to become a brother-sister duo who would protect their clans histories, health, and way of life. (inspired by chats with @skorakstxey! and skora's understanding of the various unique dynamics of olo’eyktan and tsahiks across the diversity of the jungle-dwelling na'vi, such as an olo’eyktan and tsahik who were sisters)

ao'nung was slightly hostile and mean-spirited to lo'ak from the moment they met; primarily because he did not approve of the way lo'ak ogled his sister. teasing and mocking lo'ak's appearance as soon as he could get a word in. it is obvious he seemed to take after ronal, who was wary of the sullys' "demon blood" and could be overtly traditional. ao'nung had his own duties that he had to live up to as future olo’eyktan, and that included making sure that tsireya did not get "distracted" by these "outsiders". in his own way, he is overprotective. but, underneath the machismo, he is bold and fun-loving, internalizing the weight of responsibility set upon him by acting overconfident and carefree. he and rotxo were experienced with going beyond the reef; skilled swimmers, always coming back safely because of their own knowledge and skills as reef na'vi. with that in mind, it was obvious that ao'nung's intentions for taking lo'ak beyond the reef were malicious. a dangerous trick. ao'nung would later regret that choice; realized that, surprisingly, he shared a lot in common with lo'ak.

all reef-dwelling na'vi could spend as long as two hours underwater or diving, primarily for hunting and gathering food. their bodies were perfectly adapted for swimming, with enlarged lungs, eyes with an extra pair of translucent inner-eyelids, and bone structures designed to excel in diving. they share some similarities to bottlenose dolphins: lighter bones than land mammals, with an exceptionally flexible backbone, due to the reduced interlocking of individual vertebrae and the development of large fibrous discs between them, to allow powerful undulations for swimming. their ribs and spine are connected somewhat elastically, to allow the ribs to collapse during deep dives, and they have "spleens" larger than average land mammals to store oxygen for such occasions. this allowed them to be incredibly flexible, which accounts for their excellent reflexes in the water. additionally, their skin is well supplied with blood vessels that can shunt blood to the surface or deep within by the constriction and relaxation of tiny muscles that close or open up flow through blood vessels. when it was necessary to retain heat, arteries surrounded by veins acted as a counter-current heat exchange measure to ensure that blood from their body heat is returning from the arms and legs, retaining heat in the core and minimizing heat loss through the limbs, allowing reef na'vi to stay warm in the water for hours. for extra help/luck, they ate their first catch of fish as soon as it was caught, alive, raw, thanking the sea (eywa, great mother) for her gift and favor.

tsireya's feelings for lo'ak would be considered "platonic" by human-western standards. to metkayina, it is not that simple. the love was there, but it was loyal to the safety and harmony of her people; she considered lo'ak (and to an extent, the sully family-tribe) as a part of her people. as a teacher, she felt she needed to support lo'ak's journey in learning the way of water, be focused and compassionate in their lessons whenever lo'ak could not. eventually, lo'ak learned a lot from her; enough to save jake, his father, from drowning.

tsireya felt a strong kinship with neteyam, too, as she understood the feeling of bearing the weight of a great, predetermined responsibility. however, she was restrained and respectful, almost distant; due to their standings in their respective societies, she could not admit anything beyond a reserved friendship between them. and neteyam seemed to be a smart, fast-learning student, who did not need private lessons the way lo'ak did. truthfully, he was who she was referring to when she admitted via sign language to her tulkun spirit-sister that she "met a boy". this explains why lo'ak looked somber when he was watching her sign it, further convincing lo'ak that he needed payakan as much as payakan needed him.

tsireya was always supportive of kiri, and wanted to help her deal with her own sense of 'individualism' and isolation from the group by encouraging her to interact with the flora and fauna of awa'atlu. unlike her brother, tsireya showed a vested interest, from the very beginning, in helping the sully siblings learn the metkayina's ways. it was her duty as tsakarem, and as their designated teacher.

[londonhalcyon]

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays @tojiriki! I was your Secret Santa for this year’s @hphmsecretsanta.

For your gift, I wrote a fic involving Talbott and your MC Nancy. Thank you for answering my anon ask to help me to get to know Nancy a bit. I hope I wasn’t too far off!

Here’s the first part of the fic. The rest is available on AO3 here. Hope you’re enjoying the holidays!

“Flawed Phials”

Toward the deep black water

beneath the arches,

the swan floats slowly.

Into the dark of the arch the swan floats

and into the black depth of my sorrow

it bears a white rose of flame.

- F. S. Flint

Talbott reread the last stanzas of the poem aloud, just under his breath, quieter than Madam Pince’s superhuman hearing could catch. Imagism—simplicity, clarity of expression, and precision, without excess of verbiage. Feelings and meaning through concrete, detailed images. He could feel the narrator’s somberness—perhaps an admiration for beauty and light in darkness, perhaps some mourning for their loss. It was an excellent way to deliver a message, he thought.

But what if he should take a different approach? There were centuries of poetic movements and scores of groups within those movements and hundreds of styles within those groups. So many ways to tell someone something. So many ways to convey admiration. He could write a Shakespearean sonnet, or a series of haiku, or abandon structure altogether. 

He stared at the blank piece of parchment before him, quill motionless in his hand, and then shifted his gaze back to the castle of books he’d inadvertently built around the desk. He suppressed a groan. It was no use. He had gone through every poetry collection in the Hogwarts library, from the works of scholars from ancient Greece and distant Chinese dynasties to the stanzas of French revolutionaries and English journalists, and he had yet to find the inspiration he sought. 

Why was this so hard? He wrote poetry all the time. He’d never had this much trouble before. 

He’d never written a poem like this one, either.

Half-heartedly, he turned another page in his book. He hadn’t gone through many of the more contemporary poems yet. Maybe he could search for inspiration there next. 

“Hi, Talbott! What’s that you’re working on?”

Startled, Talbott swiftly dragged the book over the parchment. The blank parchment. That he hadn’t written anything on yet. 

Brilliant move, Winger. You’re not acting suspicious at all. 

Nancy had appeared next to him with a quizzical smile. “I didn’t forget an assignment, did I?” she asked, a little worriedly. “I thought the term was over.”

“It is,” he said. “I’m just, er, writing a letter for… Yeah, just writing a letter.”

“Oh.” Her smile quirked even more. “Then what are all the books for?”

“Reading,” he said, which was the daftest answer he could have given. Of course books were for reading; that hadn’t been her question. No one checked out a whole fortress of books for a bit of light reading—not even a Ravenclaw. But he didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press, to his relief. 

“Well, er, I always enjoy a good book,” she said. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. She adjusted her glasses—took her time before she settled on the right words. “I came to ask you—Dumbledore needs volunteers to put up the last of the Christmas decorations. Not many people are here over the holidays, and Hagrid and Flitwick already have so much work to do. I’m on my way to the Great Hall to help out. Would you like to join?”

“You’re staying for Christmas again?” he asked. He wasn’t entirely used to the concept of people who had families choosing to stay away from home during the most family time of the year. He wasn’t complaining; he understood—in Nancy’s case, probably more than she knew. It was just…he wasn’t used to it.  

“I am,” she said. “I think it’ll be fun. It’s almost better, in some ways, to spend Christmas with friends, don’t you think?”

“I…suppose.” That was something else he wasn’t used to. The friends part, specifically. 

“I’ll still write to my family, anyway.” She fidgeted with the ends of her hair. In the soft light of the library, her dark locks were a rich brown-black. “Sooo how about it? Want to decorate with me?”

“I can’t,” he said, too quickly and with too little thought. “I need to finish my, er, letter.” Which he did, sort of. He’d been working for hours with nothing to show. Belatedly, he added, “Sorry,” because he often forgot to say sorry (not that he didn’t mean it; he simply forgot to communicate it), and people didn’t like that. And he didn’t want Nancy to not like him.

Her face fell, a sign he had messed up anyway. “Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “That’s okay. Maybe later, then.”

She trudged away. The candlelight fell across her retreating form, granting her dark hair a gentle glow where it tumbled past her shoulders. Talbott looked away. His gaze fell to the book of Flint poems, open overtop of his blank parchment. 

But as the moon creeps slowly

over the tree-tops

among the stars,

I think of her

and the glow her passing

sheds on the men.

Talbott slammed the book shut, heart pounding unexpectedly. Madam Pince hissed at him from some dark corner of the library. On second thought, maybe Imagism was too direct. There were other ways to convey a message.

Quickly, he shoved all the books on a return cart, gathered up his quill and parchment, and bolted from the library, ignoring another furious hiss from Madam Pince. In the corridor, he saw green-trimmed robes about to round the corner. 

“Nancy, wait!” he called, walking as fast as he could without breaking into a full sprint. The Slytherin politely waited for him to catch up. “I changed my mind. A break would be good, I think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Library was a bit…stuffy.”

Her lips pulled into a broad grin. She clapped her hands together. “Great! This will be so much fun! I mean, decorating’s already fun, but it’ll be extra fun with you.”

“I don’t know if I’m any good at it. It’s been a while since…” 

A white feather necklace draped around his neck. Red-petaled flowers crowding a chipped table. Peppermint on his mum’s hands. Paper snowflakes stuck to a pale blue wall. Music from a crackly wireless. His dad’s foot tapping in time. 

Since my last proper Christmas.

“Don’t worry! You can’t get it wrong, not if you’re having fun.” She did a little spin so that she was walking backwards in front of him, hands behind her back. “You know, if you’ve been in the library all day, we could work outside. Hagrid set up a huge Christmas tree in the training grounds, and he hasn’t had the time to make it pretty. We could do it, just the two of us…if you want.”

He looked down at her (he had to; she was shorter than him) and looked at her grin, and he didn’t think he could say no if he wanted to, because his heart kept pounding. Outside would be good. Compared to the Great Hall, almost no one would be outside, so he wouldn’t be crowded. It would just be…just the two of them.

“Sure, let’s do it,” he said, before he could lose courage. “I prefer being outdoors.”

“Great! It’ll be cold out. Want to meet at the entrance hall in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Perfect. See you then!” She dashed off towards the dungeons, robes fluttering behind her. Talbott watched her go, feeling the sudden urge to take off into the winter mountain air and fly until his heart calmed down. He restrained himself, though, and instead walked to Ravenclaw Tower to retrieve his cold weather clothes.

London, my beautiful,

I will climb

into the branches

to the moonlit tree-tops,

that my blood may be cooled

by the wind.

That was it. No more Flint poems for him.

[Link to the full fic on AO3]

[whumpcateyes]

So! A little gift for any writers who want it

I have asthma, anemia and have had Covid twice(neither time was my fault but that’s another story)

These things have left me with some *issues*

So, I thought it might be fun to try and talk about it for writing inspiration and 1st hand reference

(Content ahead: exhaustion, loss of oxygen, lightheadedness, etc)

Breathing issues:

It’s like I’m always wearing a sports bra, this isn’t like a getting better or worse thing, just a constant. There is always this tension in my chest in muscles that don’t exist. It kinda feels like a mattress pressing down on top of me at all times

Every breath is not enough, I often breathe with my mouth because I can’t take a deep enough breath, but taking deep breaths makes me light headed, so breathing exercises for anxiety just make me lightheaded(which, as you can guess, does not help the anxiety)

Being outside helps immensely(it doesn’t fix it, but cold, sharp air feels better)(bonus points make your underdressed Whumpee escape outside for a breath of fresh air in winter, shivering in the cold because it’s the only place where they still feel alive)

When I’m not getting enough oxygen, I start to feel it in my arms, neck, and face. I don’t know if this is a good description, but it’s like my muscles get heavier and tighter, but my skin and flesh feel lighter and numb

Constant. Yawning. You just keep fucking yawning, you cannot stop

Dark, noticeable circles around your eyes, they don’t fade or go away. You look like a raccoon, you look like you just woke up from the worst nap of your life. Almost all of my friends have told me that the first thing they notice about me is the circles

Exhaustion

I am Always Tired. Every day is a little different. Sometimes I stay at a constant 40% energy all day, sometimes I start at like 20% then jump to 35% in the evening, sometimes I cannot get above 10% no matter what I do. And you can never predict when it will happen.

Sleep doesn’t help, caffeine doesn’t help, my medications(vyvanse and an antidepressant) do their best but it’s not enough. I used to start my 8hr shifts by drinking a monster energy and praying that I could stay awake

Exertion of any kind feels terrible. Already tired + can’t get enough oxygen + being on your feet for a long time = you feel seconds away from passing out at all times, you are achy and can’t think straight, your vision and body feels light and flat as if your flesh has been replaced with helium, but your bones have been replaced with lead. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the thoughts in your head, especially understanding instructions

I take frequent naps, usually on the couch, but generally whenever I can. If I rest my eyes, I get really sleepy. Sometimes I’ll take a nap less than an hour after getting up in the morning

There is a limit on what you can do each day. I plan my routes through tasks to conserve as much energy as possible to prepare for any unplanned events.

Emotional shit:

It makes you feel useless, I’ve never been an athletic person, but if I get out of breath, which isn’t hard, I stay that way for 20+ minutes and it makes me feel wimpy

You feel like you can’t pull your weight with the people you care about, because you can’t move your body enough to stand and help them. Every task feels like trying to climb a mountain because you are so so tired

Nothing feels entirely real, like you are watching a recording of your own life

It’s hard to get out of your head

You feel like you’re worse than your younger self(which is stupid because I am fucking 18), you feel like everything about you is getting worse, it makes you question whether you deserve any support you’re getting.

Every day feels like a waste

Frustration, constant frustration on not being able to do easy tasks in a reasonable amount of time.

Sometimes it’s easier to crawl around on the floor, because it’s hard to be in your feet



Possibly entirely unrelated but I haven’t seen enough about them:

Head rushes!!:

Sure yeah sometimes it’s not so bad but here’s the steps to a very very strong head rush

Stand and stretch(the stretching is what does it)

Everything goes blurry and you feel lightheaded

Your vision goes dark as if you closed your eyes

You feel weak, you sit down sometimes you fall over

Sometimes it’s like you black out for a few seconds, and wake up on the floor

You shake uncontrollably, trembling like you’re cold

The shaking calms, your visions fades back and you can control your movements

You feel a little unsteady for a few more minutes after