#yes i remade this and yes this will be the last time i promise

[merwynsartblog]

HELLO TO MY BLOG!!

Names Merwyn and im a self taught multifandom artist (prefer he/him but any pronouns is fine by me <3 im bigender lol) Sideblog is a rp blog @thescarecrowmailman!! i usually do whatever i really want. I change fandoms like a switch and just be hooked for a few months (sorry bout that) (also my motivation goes nuts like ill pump out 3 pieces of art a day to just silence for a few weeks)Im very anxious online due to some shit i dealt with online im can seem very aggressive but im pretty chill just dont like. send awful threats to my friends and ill wont be at your throat lol I do have sorta an age limit. I prefer 14+ on my blog due to me and a friend of mine dealing with a certain type of youngens we really dont wanna deal with. but if your younger i rlly..cant do shit. just dont be creepy and dont be weird and force shit and we cool im heavily into: The kirby series, Mario series, object shows, mad rat dead, pizza tower, antonblast, my ocs + friends ocs, and alotttt more i guess a warning on my blog i post alot of oc x canon + oc stuff so if you dont like that get out/nm (also if you get triggered by one of them somehow i always have a made up tag for each oc so u can block it <3) i also post drawn gore/suggestive/angsty stuff so if you dont like that you can leave so i dont trigger ya also i have a basic sorta dni. no gross ship stuff/fetish/nsfw/lgbt+phobs/etc here. yall are not welcomed. if i find yall followin me i will block you on sight. (if you support gross ships like minor x adult and stuff like that fuck off. end of story) i guess the only last thing i need to say is you are free to tag me in whatever you like + your able to draw my ocs. just dont do hateful shit and we all good man also that my inbox is on 24/7 i really dont care what ya send me- just know if its gore or someshit im callin ya ass out lol uh enjoy the blog <3

[eventinelysplayground]

One Last Dance

This story was loosely inspired by the song Just One Last Dance by Sarah Connor (YouTube link provided). That song just brought Nokto to mind and then I got this idea from it and the serious feels it gave off, I had started it months ago but finally pulled it together. The story pulls a tiny bit from Nokto's route in general as well as chapter 19s premium story and his chapter 0. Don't have to have read the later two to enjoy it as always just a nice tie in. WC approx 1305.

Nokto leaned against the doorframe and watched as Emma stood in front of the mirror gazing at her reflection. The dress was new but familiar, a recreation of the dress she wore the very first night as Belle.

Nokto: You're quite the looker you know, and you look extra nice tonight.

Emma: Nokto!

Emma turned at his voice and Nokto couldn't help but let his gaze wander over her whole body and he smirked when he noticed the faintest blush to her cheeks even after all these years.

Nokto: May I have the honor of escorting you, my lady?

He noticed Emma looked skeptical but she took his outstretched hand and let him lead her away. They walked through the palace halls until they came into view of the ballroom doors. There were servants stationed at them that bowed and quickly opened the doors as they approached.

Nokto: You can retire after you've closed the doors behind us.

Servants: Yes your majesty.

Inside the ballroom a small table was set up decorated with candles and roses. A light meal was set out on it and Emma's long time maid stood quietly by. Seated at the piano fussing with sheet music was Yves' son.

Emma: Nokto what is all this? I hope you didn't go through too much trouble, you know what the Dr said…

Nokto lightly placed a finger on Emma's lips.

Nokto: I promise you I didn't overexert myself. I just felt like doing something special, that's all.

Many things may have changed over the decades but Emma's bright eyes remained the same as they were that first day they met. He could see she was concerned for him and he gave her a sly grin. He knew for a little while now that he was almost out of time and that's why he had planned out this night for the two of them. They ate and reminisced about their life while soft music played. Once the meal was over the maid picked up the dishes and bowed before leaving.

Nokto and Emma were completely alone except for their nephew. The music stopped and a livelier louder tune started. Nokto stood up and took Emma by the hand leading her to the middle of the dance floor.

Emma: Nokto…

Nokto shrugged at Emma's frown as he placed his hand around her waist.

Nokto: You know if we dance then you won't ruin the mood with that frown of yours.

Emma: I'm not frowning.

Nokto: You've always been a bad liar.

Nokto couldn't help laughing as Emma's frown turned into a pout. They danced in silence for a while before Emma spoke.

Emma: Are you wearing your old outfit or did you have it remade like mine?

Nokto: It's a new shirt and vest but the rest is original. It's a shame your original dress got torn so badly.

Emma: It's fine, honestly I'm surprised it wasn't us that ripped it.

Nokto laughed at Emma's whispered words.

Nokto: Maeve could have had better taste in men but oh well. Let that jangler’s son learn how expensive not waiting to remove a dress can be.

Emma: Speaking from experience?

Nokto: Hmmm we did damage an awful lot of your dresses early on.

Nokto was happy to see Emma with a genuine smile. Lately her smiles were always tinged with sadness and he hated it, just then the sunset glow caught Emma's face and Nokto sighed.

Nokto: I still remember the first time I saw you. You were standing on the palace steps looking up at it in wonder.

Emma: That was so long ago now.

Nokto: I guess so.

Emma: Hey Nokto, what was your first thought about me? Knowing you it was probably something dirty.

Nokto startled at the sudden question.

Nokto: Honestly I thought you were bad news.

Emma: What?

Nokto: It was your eyes, they've always been so bright and curious and pure. I couldn't stand to meet your gaze. It was like you were light and I was darkness and the two can't coexist.

Emma: I see.

Nokto: What about you, I know you didn't think I was a real prince but what about your first thought?

Emma: Oh, well… honestly I thought I should stay far away from you and I spent most of that first night regretting ever getting into the carriage with you.

Nokto just grinned as Emma looked away from him in embarrassment. He wondered momentarily how different the last forty two years would have been had they listened to their first instincts. They continued to dance in silence for another short while before Nokto spoke.

Nokto: I wonder what the next Belle will be like.

Emma: I'm still a bit surprised you left Jared in charge of choosing her he's barely eighteen.

Nokto: Well I figured with his connections to the position. I mean being the grandson of one Belle and the nephew of another he has a certain understanding of the role nobody else does.

Emma: Ya that's true.

Nokto: Jared told me a few days ago he thinks he found her.

Emma: I didn't know that.

Nokto: Ya, at least everything should go smoothly this way. Well until the boys get a hold of her anyways, I hope she's strong enough for it.

Emma: I'm sure she'll be fine. I mean I survived the eight of you.

Nokto: True there were eight of us but only one sly fox, she has two to deal with.

Emma: Yes but they have five older sisters who won't hesitate to put them in their places if they get out of hand. Some of your brothers well…

Nokto could hear the sadness starting to come through in Emma's voice as she paused to compose herself.

Nokto: I don't want you to worry, ok. You have our kids and you still have Evie and Clavis. How the hell Clavis is out living me I'll never understand. I thought his wife would have poisoned him decades ago just to get away from him but I guess running off to Jade worked just as well.

Emma: Nokto…

Nokto: It's okay Emma. Truthfully had I never met you I would have been dead a long time ago you know the kinds of stuff I used to do. Instead I had forty two years of the most unpredictable and amazing life. All of it happened because you gave me your love. I still wonder sometimes why you ever gave it to me.

Emma: Once I got to know the real you I never had a choice. You had stolen my heart before I even realized it.

Nokto: Even now you still outclass me.

Nokto pulled Emma closer to him and they continued to dance. When the song came to an end Nokto turned towards their nephew and gave him a slight nod. At that signal their nephew got up from the piano and left the ballroom, closing the door behind him.

Emma: Oh, I guess we should head back then.

Nokto: Not quite yet. Just one last dance, just the two of us. Please?

Nokto waited for Emma to nod before he started leading her in another dance, the same one as the first one they danced all those nights ago at the Dukes party. It was like all the intervening years had melted away and he saw her as she had been back then, back before everything so unexpected had happened. Nokto leaned in close and brought his lips to Emma's ear.

Nokto: I told you back on the first night we ever made love I could lose myself in you. I've never been so happy to have been so lost, I love you Emma.

Emma: I love you too, Nokto.

Nokto pulled back and gave Emma a sly, seductive grin before kissing her deeply.

[samfrancis94]

6 Question Game!

Thanks @astrandofgold & @pandora-writes-stuff for tagging me, luvs!

Last Song: 'promise' by Kohmi Hirose. Y'alls remember the 'geddan' meme? Yeah, there I was innocently scrolling through InstaReels, and guess what decided to pop up? Gave me a right good laugh; I hadn't seen this meme in so long and to see it there, remade for the Gram!

Last Show: Derry Girls. I have just finished my first rewatch. Now I am on my second! I can't get enough of this show at the moment; it's hilarious and surprisingly sweet at times. Plus, I really love the characters a lot.

Currently Watching: Derry Girls. :)

Currently Reading: The Sandman Volume III, They Both Die At The End, The Amber Spyglass, Wheel Of Time #1: The Eye Of The World. [There are probably others that I have started, but haven't really continued, but yeah these are the ones I am focused on right now]

Current Obsession: Derry Girls. :')

Unrelated Obsession: True crime. Casual obsession, mostly, but yes, I do find myself gravitating towards this quite often on YouTube especially, and when I am looking for documentaries on Netflix.

Tagging @cosmiccrusader (@voidoutbt), @savage-rhi (and anyone who sees this who would like to hop on!)

[planetofsnarfs]

PO'ed, an infamous relic of the early days of FPS gaming, is getting a remaster from Nightdive Studios. Yes, it is April Fools' Day, and no, this does not appear to be an April Fools' joke.

PO'ed: Definitive Edition was announced today with an extensive trailer and listings on Steam and GOG promising "updated visuals, antialiasing, increased frame rate, and redefined controls, and up to 4K 144 FPS performance." On top of PC, the game is also coming to PS5, PS4, Xbox Series X and S, Xbox One, and Nintendo Switch. Nightdive says to "stay tuned" for a release date.

If you're a reasonable person who does not spend your nights watching YouTube videos about obscure '90s games, you might be asking what PO'ed actually is right about now. Developed by a small studio called Any Channel, PO'ed first launched for the 3DO back in 1995, and like many games for that ultimately doomed platform, it was soon ported to the PS1.

In the most basic terms, PO'ed is a first-person shooter in the mold of the original Doom, but much, much weirder. You're a chef who's turned out to be the last human standing after your ship was hijacked by aliens, and you've got to take down the bad guys with an array of non-standard weapons including power drills and frying pans. The aesthetics are all '90s gross-out kitsch, with enemy designs including a pair of buttcheeks with legs attached. You might argue that this sounds like a human that's been cut in half, but I promise you, it's a full-on butt monster.

These days, PO'ed is mostly remembered as a surreal curiosity of the '90s, but it's a pretty unique take on shooters that offered much bigger levels than the games that had come before. It also gave you a jetpack to quickly fly through those levels, and we all know that jetpacks make every game better.

I'm sure there's somebody out there with enough nostalgia for PO'ed to be calling for a remaster, but I can't imagine there are that many of them. But that's what's so neat about this announcement. The historical greats of gaming history have generally been rereleased, remade, and remastered a dozen times over, but now a bizarre historical footnote like PO'ed is getting another chance at life. I'm not sure it's earned that chance, but I'm glad it's getting it all the same.

[dubconartist]

Chapter 2 of my Corintheus fic is finally up. It's been sitting in my Google docs for awhile because I wasn't satisfied with it. But it's out now and I hope y'all enjoy it. ✌️

Linkity link to chapter two

Or if you want to read under the cut

Henry fell loosely onto the bed and rolled over to watch the handsome blond prowl over him and settled languidly between his parted legs. Henry was already down to just his y fronts and this gorgeous stranger hadn't even so much as taken off his sunglasses. He felt exposed in the best way possible. The blond gave a short hum and trailed a hand lightly down the hair on Henry's chest.

"I am going to do unspeakable things to you." Cori grinned wolfishly.

"Promise?" The man on the bed challenged. Cori produced a length of nylon rope from the side table and raised his brows in question. "Yes, please."

Cori caressed his limbs as wrapped the ropes firmly. Henry felt secure, relaxed, cared for.

"Can you get out of those?" Cori asked. Henry tugged on the ropes, twisted in them. He felt held.

"No." He grinned up at the beautiful man above him.

"Good. That's good, baby." Cori pulled his jacket of in a smooth practiced motion and for the first time Henry saw the knife holster around his chest.

"...Fuck." Henry pulled against the ropes, as he stuggled the unbreakable fibers bit into his skin.

"We will, baby. But," Cori pulled off his glasses, teeth bared in a wild grin on all three mouths, "I wanna taste you first." The Corinthian crawled atop his victim, taking his time, knowing he wasn't going anywhere.

Henry would jolt awake that morning with a cold, nauseous, feeling in the pit of his stomach, relieved that it was only a dream.

~•~

He had feared being remade, being altered in ways he could not control. The reality of it had been entirely different. He had enjoyed the pain of Morpheus' careful hands twisting and tearing within him. And his renewed loyalty to his King had not been altered into him but had sparked to life on its own when Morpheus had plunged his hand into the nightmare's chest. He had forgotten how cruel his King could be and oh how he loved cruelty.

He could feel and catalog each alteration as it was being made and he knew he was still, mostly, the same nightmare. He could fight his new urges, he could work hard and undo what had been done, but why would he? Once you killed a human in the Waking the fun had pretty much ended. Keeping it in the Dreaming he could visit someone over and over and over. They don't remember they should be afraid until they wake up crying for their mothers. He already has so many plans for Henry.

The only thing he misses was the way eyes tasted stronger in the Waking. Missed the feelings and memories and life rushing through him. But he's got something better now, he thinks. If it's something he'd be allowed more than just the once. He'd felt everything and it had been so much, too much, and he didn't want it to stop. When he came back to himself he had been dizzy and sticky with his own spend. Morpheus had stroked his hair and kissed him softly until he had stopped shaking.

~•~

"Hes already back on the job!"

"Already!?"

"Mhm, sent into some poor blokes dreams last night."

"It took Morpheus years of planning and constant tinkering to make The Corinthian. I just don't see how a few hours of work could be enough to fix everything that was wrong."

"Mhm, mhm. I don't trust it. I know, I know Lord said he was 'corrected,' whatever that means, but after what he did? 'M not sure you can fix that."

The Corinthian lurked, as he was wont to do, just out of their sight. Anger flared in him at their words. He could make them eat their words, or at least their own tongues. They could learn to keep their mouths shut. He could teach them.

He reached under his jacket and wrapped his hand around the cold hilt of a knife. He flexed his grip a bit, settling into the familiar feeling, then snapped the knife back into its holster with a shaky huff. Instead he stepped into their sight, all three mouths grimacing at the gossiping dreams.

They two creatures gasp and hurried off with cries of "Sorrysorrysorrysorry…" and "Please don't hurt us, please!"

The Corinthian did not follow. He only stood for a moment, jaw tight with anger at them for their words, and at himself for very nearly proving them right. He needed to be in the presence of his Lord. That would distract him.

~•~

The Corinthian stalked into the busy library still fuming from his interaction with those gossiping dreams. A few heads turned his way with nervous expressions. He ignored them and made a beeline for his Lord who was sitting at a large table, several books open in front of him.

He sat himself in the chair next to Morpheus, without a word, a decision that would have been far too presumptuous for even the other major arcana. But The Corinthian knew his Lord better than them, he knew him better than anyone now. He saw the slight upturn of Morpheus' mouth. His King's almost smile that most never noticed. The Corinthian let himself put his head down on the desk and rested for the moment.

Lucienne carried several more books over to the table and gave the briefest raised brow at The Corinthian sitting with their King but did not say a word. He knew that even if she found his presence objectionable, (he does not care for reading) Lord Morpheus was allowing him, and it was not her place to question their King's judgment.

There was a gentle little tapa tap tap along the desk and suddenly there was a small feathery face tilting into The Corinthians eyeline.

"Hey buddy, you good?" The Raven asked in a tone that said he already knew the answer.

"Just peachy." He didn't bother to sound convincing.

"Right, well anyway, we haven't been introduced. You're that spooky serial killer nightmare, right?" The bird didn't seem at all bothered.

"That's Me." He was half interested in the fact that the raven wasn't afraid and half tempted to pick up one of the studier books and use it to smack him into a cloud of feathers.

"Well, nice to meet you." His tiny clawed feet shuffled a little closer as he tipped his head, "I'm Mathew, the new guy. I'd shake your hand but-" He gestured with his wings.

The Corinthian wondered what it must have been like, to open your eyes one day and be something entirely different. The urge to needle, to offend, bubbled up within him."How'd you die?" He asked pointedly."Would I like it? Was it gory?" He grinned viciously at the bird.

"Well I was kinda out of it, but apparently." Well, now The Corinthian was genuinely interested. He absolutely wanted to hear all about this.

Morpheus looked up from his pages with a small roll of the head that said can you two keep it down.

"Oop, sorry boss man. We'll take it somewhere else, yeah?" Mathew said. There was no reverence or propriety to his words. As if the King of The Dreaming was just a pal of his. The Corinthian decided he liked the bird and even let him hop up on his shoulder as they left their King to his work.

~•~

He had been allowed back into the Waking.

He wasn't alone, Mathew had brought him along to spy on some mortal. "I could use a hand." He had said, the throne room had been unusually busy and several dreams had volunteered to help the raven.

Dream had not even hesitated, "If you wish, The Corinthian could accompany you." He had left the throne room, head held high, in the face of disbelieving dreams.

Now that he was in the waking world he felt terrified. The Old Corinthian seemed to be screaming out. Every person he passed, he imagined killing. Every item he saw, he knew how to turn it into a weapon. Every street was a way out. He could ring the bird's neck and book it.

He did not. He did his duty, chatted with Mathew, charmed the few mortals he had to talk to, and returned home.

~•~

They reported to the palace. Dream dismissed Mathew but asked The Corinthian to stay a moment.

"How did you find returning to the waking?"

The Corinthian tensed "I behaved myself. It was fine."

Dream gave a hum of acknowledgement, "indeed you did, but how did you feel. Being amongst them once more. You must have been tempted were you not?"

"Was this a test? Let me think you'd let me loose just so you see if I'd fuck it up all over again!"

"It was no test. I merely wish to know how you felt. I know you would not harm them."

The Corinthian gave him a doubt-filled look. "I wanted to. Every damn pair of eyes I saw. I want to take them. I wanted to hurt them. Liked the idea of it. My head was so full of all the shit I could do. I…I don't know if you fixed me enough. Everyone's been saying it too." He was trembling now. Dream wrapped an arm around his waist and began carding his fingers through his short blond hair.

"You would despise your role in the Dreaming if you did not enjoy cruelty, my Nightmare. This was not intended as a test, but perhaps it may serve as proof to yourself and any others that doubted you that you are exactly as you should be." He kissed his temple softly. "You were tempted and yet you return to me, little one. Perhaps I should reward your loyalty."

Dream rested his forehead against the Corinthian's, there breath mingling for a moment as the room around them shifted. Pulling back Morpheus guided The Corinthian to the same bed he had woken in after his lord had fixed him.

He had doubted he would be permitted this again. He had thought his Lord had merely been indulging him, letting him show his gratitude the only way he knew how. Only now Dream was pushing him into the bed, nipping hungry kisses anywhere he could reach as he dragged The Corinthian's clothes off him as he went.

Morpheus set the knives down beside the pillows. "My perfect creation, tell me, what would you do to me?" He was kissing down his bared chest.

"I. My Lord." His voice was broken.

"What cruelties would you visit upon me? Here in our domain you may indulge as you please."

"I. I would use my knife. Open you up. Feel You From The Inside like you did me. Own you like you own me."

"Very well." Morpheus had a dark sort of mirth in his eye as if inviting The Corinthian to do his worst.

The Corinthian grabbed Morpheus by his wild tufts of hair and threw him onto the bed. He spared no thought for his clothes, cutting them open with his knife until his Lord was bare before him, laying atop the scraps of what had been his clothes.

He placed the knife on Morpheus' pale sternum and pressed until a small pool of red welled up around the tip of the blade, at the same time he pressed himself against Morpheus' unprepared entrance. As he entered him, he dragged the blade down slowly leaving a long deep cut along his belly. Morpheus cried out, hands shooting up to grip onto his nightmarish lover. He squirmed underneath his attention, both forms of penetration painful.

The feeling of his lord around him and the sight of his flesh tearing under his knife was almost too pleasurable. He slid his hand inside the wound, fingers exploring, almost gently. "Oh, god." He pulled out most of the way and set his hips into a steady rhythm as he dragged his fingers along slick, strange shapes within his Lord.

"I have been addressed as such before." Dreams voice was slightly reedy with pain.

"Oh he's funny. I'm wrist deep in his guts and he's funny." He pinched whatever bit of innards were currently under his fingers and a discomforted noise came from Morpheus' throat.

The Corinthian placed one hand next to his King's head to brace his thrusts. Morpheus muffled whines and cries against the nightmare's wrist.

"Am I really hurting you like this?" He scraped his nails along something solid within him and watched Morpheus arch up, clenching his eyes shut as tears ran down his cheeks

.

"Y-yes." The King said, "I want to feel it." His nightmare looked at him curiously. Morpheus' desperate fingers kneaded into his shoulders as they moved together.

"You like when I hurt you?" Morpheus didn't say yes but the way he was meeting his thrusts gave him his answer

.

"You are. The only one. I would allow to." He said between pants.

"I'm the. Only one. -Oh fuck- That'd. Dare. -Hnnn- You're not very. Approachable. M-my Lord."

Morpheus huffed a laugh and gave him an honest to gods smile. "Do you think I should. Make an effort to. Be this. Yielding. With my other subjects?".

"Not on your life my lord." He thrust in harshly with both his fist and his hand. Morpheus winced as he moved things within him, digging his fingers in deeper as he rolled his hips at little harder into the body below him. He wondered if Morpheus always gave himself internal workings or if he made all this just for him.

"Now I think-" He plunged his hand downward as he stopped his thrusts pressing himself as deep as he could and Morpheus understood what he was doing "there we go! Fuck that feels good." He had a hold of Morpheus' large intestine moving it back and forth, fucking his own fist inside his Lord.

"Ah…ah!" He moved his hand and hips together, using Morpheus as nothing but a sleeve. Morpheus curled forward as if he wanted to watch the gore within himself being used for the nightmare's pleasure. He made no complaints, no move to stop him, he only writhed below him and let tears roll down his temples into his mess of hair.

The Corinthian released his grip on himself through his King and explored Morpheus' pelvis from within, looking for something else as he continued to fuck hard into the body below him.

He pressed down and Morpheus gave a punched out moan as he pressed on his prostate from both sides. The Corinthian pressed hard as he thrust in and Morpheus arched up with a shout as he came across his own bloodied chest. He felt it through the thin membrane of flesh as he filled his Lord and Master's with his own spend.

The Corinthian surveyed the mess they'd made of his King as he eased himself out of Morpheus in two different ways. He ran his hands, one stained red, along Dream's pale flesh leaving streak marks through the blood and cum on his skin. Morpheus grabbed his hand and pulled it to his mouth, sucking the fingers clean. The Corinthian nearly collapsed atop him groaning into a kiss.

He pulled back a few inches stroking his King's temples as he looked into his eyes. "May I?" His fingers traced gentle patterns into his temples " -taste them again?" He clarified in case he was misunderstood.

"If you wish it. When you wish it."

[luxmaeastra]

Ahril turned at Sebastian's hiss. He followed his gaze and chuckled softly. He clapped him on the back, his voice clipped.

"No flirting."

He stepped away moving to follow Maeve through the hall. A kingdom of Asteri, Etele's kingdom. One she'd finally wrestled from Cassandra. Sebastian should be watching the dias, her and her siblings. He should be focused on how her brother Korok followed Achlys as she moved through the room.

He really shouldn't be contemplating dancing with her. He swallowed turning from Natalia to sip at the Bloodwine. It was spiked with Asteri blood and it made him dizzy. Maybe it was a gift for the Valg, an acknowledgement that they were equals in this party.

He could see the Daglan bones and meat along the tables. The Wyvern had been contained and slaughtered. Cassandra's favorite mounts taken and remade into whatever they wanted.

No one wanted the reminder that the Daglan had tried to stop the ritual. That they'd been blessed to keep their raw magic as they bred while the Asteri and Valg hadn't.

He worked up the courage to approach her a few hours later. She looked beautiful, carved from the Darkness itself. If he wasn't already bound to another queen he'd bow to her. He'd pledge his heart and soul to her as he should have done when she became of age. He would have knelt before and taken the blood-vow as their parents would have wanted.

"Do you want to dance Natalia? I promise I won't step on your toes this time."

He winked holding his hand out. Did she remember that dance lesson? Did she treasure those moments like he was beginning to?

The shift, the change. The day that Cassandra's kingdom fell was a day of turmoil for those of then unlucky to be her hostages. Yes, hostages. They were never sweet children she took in, they were never anything more than a chip for them to play. Held against their parents, a threat that should someone dare rise up their loved ones would be hurt.

She couldn't remember the last time she had seen her friend, or seen those she had known in those halls. Coming to the Kingdom of Atseri had not been a place she thought she would end up, but here she was walking amongst the various faces. Some she knew, some she didn't.

She held her glass in her hand, barely touching a drop as her focus continued to be on all those around her. Even if she was freer than she was once before, she knew how quickly they could change.

Her attention snapped toward him when he approached, she had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn't seen him. Him, Sebastian. Another constant in her life, one which made her heart tighten.

"I should hope not, you have had time to improve since then," she chided as she put down her glass, her hand extending for his - a distraction. "I would be delighted to dance."

[touyaz]

trade-off.

pairing bakugou katsuki x fem reader

word count 1,675

notes bkg isn’t even super dark in this, he’s just a man in love ;(

WARNINGS smut, dark/ yandere bakugou, noncon/ dubcon, stockholm syndrome, implied kidnapping, spanking, oral (f rec), fingering. no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

+

"I know it hurts, honey," Bakugou placates, voice uncharacteristically quiet and caring, soft to soothe your discomfort. His palm, clammy and hot to the touch, comes down gently this time, rubbing circles over your ass. You wince regardless, but use the moment of reprieve to take in deep breaths. Whimpers still hiccup out of you and your heart begins to race when his hand lifts from your body — you've never missed his touch more than you do right now — but instead of his palm soaring down in another spank, it trails along your back, following the curve of your spine. "But this is what happens when you don't do what I say."

"I'm— I'm sorry," you stutter. You've lost count of how many times you've sobbed that phrase in the last 30 minutes, and though it has seemingly had no effect on Bakugou, you say it again anyway. "I'm sorry, I'll listen, I promise."

He hums, drawing mindless shapes on the expanse of your back. "What number are we up to right now?"

The mention of his cruel attack on your body makes you freeze in your spot, draped over his lap like a pliable blanket, but you're quick to answer lest that bring back his anger. "Fif— Fifteen."

"Fifteen… And how many did I say you'd get?"

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five," he echoes, voice sounding intrigued yet distant, as though he's lost in thought. You dread the ideas floating about in his mind, wondering if he's thinking of increasing that number, or changing your punishment. "That's a big difference, sweetheart."

You don't know how to reply, so you send a prayer that he's feeling merciful despite your earlier stunt. The dishes can be cleaned and the food can be remade, but the damage this has done to your pride, to your mentality, is irreparably scarring.

The tips of his fingers tiptoe up your back as he speaks. "You're really sorry?"

You nod, answering him with a frail "yes, I'm really sorry, Katsuki" — throwing in his name because he loves hearing that from you — "I shouldn't have acted out earlier. I'm sorry for being a brat."

"Alright. We'll stop at fifteen then." You want to melt into his lap with relief, eternally grateful that he's decided to end your suffering early, but your happiness is cut short when he continues, "You'll make up the remainder in a different way."

"Huh?" escapes your mouth before you can stop it, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle instead of berating you for speaking out of turn.

"Instead of ten spanks, you'll give me ten orgasms. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

No, it doesn't. Not in the slightest. But his question isn't really a question when the only answers are yes or yes.

"Y-Yeah," you mumble, and then, as he's expecting, you add on, "thank you, Katsuki."

"You're welcome, honey. You're so good for me, you know that?" he says, smiling down at the handprints painting your rear. He almost wants to add some more despite everything he just said, but he's never been too good at coping when you start bawling your eyes out. He's never gone back on his word, so he better get started on those ten orgasms.

He goes through the process of rubbing a soothing cream on your ass, and you almost fall asleep to the soft, rhythmic motions, but he keeps you awake by murmuring into your ear and littering kisses across your shoulder blades.

When the pampering draws to a close, he lays you down on the bed, a pillow propping up your lower half as he settles between your parted thighs. The elevation helps keep pressure off of your rear, and Bakugou easily steals your attention as he nips his way up one thigh and then down the other.

"You ready?" he asks, breaking away from where he was sucking a hickey onto your skin. "I want to hear a 'thank you, Katsuki' each time you cum, understand?"

"Yes, Katsuki."

Your nerves are alight with tension, hands clenching the sheets as he pecks his way to the apex of your thighs, and your muscles twitch in anticipation of what's to come. He starts off with long, languid licks to your folds, following the line of your slit with slow brushes of his tongue. His lips wrap around your clit and he hums, the vibrations making you buck up against his face. He chuckles, and the sound sends shivers down your spine before he goes back to moaning around the little bud. His groaning draws out your essence just as he planned, and when he sees the juices trickle out of your pussy, he releases your swollen pearl in favour of savouring your taste.

His hands join the fray, thumbs pulling apart your lower lips so his tongue can slide into your needy hole. You clench around the muscle at the breach and a smirk tugs at his lips for getting you worked up so quickly. With one hand now holding you down by the hips, and the other circling your puffy clit, his tongue fucks its way in and out of your pussy, making a show of slurping up your arousal.

The noises are obscene as they invade the room, sounding wet and filthy; Bakugou groans loudly every time a drop of your essence falls on his tongue, and you scream his name in response, sobbing for him to give you more, more, please, need more.

It isn't long before you're falling apart on his mouth, his nose brushing against your clit each time you rut against his face to ride out the high of your first orgasm. You slump into the mattress, the waves of your release slowly washing away as all your built-up tension rolls off of you. It takes longer than you'd like to admit for you to gather your bearings — especially after just one (of many) orgasms — but you soon realise that Bakugou has been patiently waiting that whole time, not saying a word.

When he raises a brow at you, you understand that he's expecting you to say something.

Moments later, it finally clicks, and you gasp out a "th-thank you, Katsuki!"

"Losing your head over one little orgasm, huh, sweetheart?" He grins, lewdly licking away the arousal that coats the lower half of his face. Spit and cum form a glassy sheen over his mouth, but he's uncaring of the mess that drips down from his face as he dives back between your legs. "Better get ready for another one, angel face."

Another one, he says, then proceeds to make you cum twice more with his tongue alone. Then he pulls you apart with his fingers — curling against your velvet walls, tapping against all your sensitive spots — before he wields both his hand and his mouth, using his tongue to flick over your sensitive button as his fingers stretch you out for something bigger.

Soon, his other hand replaces his tongue on your clit, drawing messy figure-eights over your clit as he slips his tongue into your cunt too. He drools all over your folds, pulling away only to spit on your cunt and use his fingers to fuck that into you. It's messy, downright disgusting, and you should be turning away and screaming at him to stop because it's too much, but you chase the feeling of another orgasm mounting.

Your back is arching off of the bed, wound tight like a bow, but the aches haven't settled in just yet, so you continue humping Bakugou's face so he can reach further, licking his way deeper into your cunt to bring you to new heights.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm so close, plea— Katsuki, please! Please!"

He growls against your pussy in lieu of a reply, slipping a third finger into your soaked cunt; his tongue is sliding everywhere it can to bring you pleasure, mouth drinking in all your juices, teeth nipping at your folds, but it's when his lips latch onto your clit and suck that you cry his name and lose yourself to get another orgasm. Your eyes roll back as your mouth stays open in a silent scream, panting as he continues pumping his fingers into you, twisting them this way and that to roll out your high and elicit more pretty moans.

There's an ocean of spit, cum and drool flooding the sheets and Bakugou's face. Your thighs are absolutely drenched in sweat and sex, but neither of you can bring yourself to care about the mess. Instead, Bakugou focuses his attention on the breathless "thank you, thank you, thank you" you're whimpering, like it's your favourite prayer. It's barely discernible as he overstimulates you to the point of pain, wet fingers sliding out of your pussy to rub against your clit.

"C-Can't," you grit out, thighs quaking and toes curling as he ignores you. "Stop, please, it's too much, I can't— no more—"

Your orgasm bleeds into another, or just stretches out into one extremely long, painful one, but either way, by the time Bakugou slows his ministrations, your body is spent and all you want to do is melt into the bed. You feel like you've taken a tumble down a steep hill, your entire body aching and screaming for sleep. Your legs are numb, though you can feel them twitch every so often against the bedsheets, and your head feels light and hazy, like you've just woken up and haven’t quite escaped sleep's sweet clutches.

Bakugou clearly has different ideas flitting around in his mind as he sits on his knees between your legs, bringing his fingers (that are positively doused in your cum) to his mouth to taste your release. He grins around his fingers, popping them out so you can see them shine with his saliva before they drop to undo his belt buckle.

"There's no time to rest, honey. You didn't thank me for the last orgasm, so you still owe me five more — and there's no way you're getting out of your punishment this time."

[stargazer-balladeer]

it’s my birthday soon and i’ve always felt lonely during my birthdays— so if it’s alright, can i request headcanons for scaramouche, xiao, and albedo with an s/o who only locks themselves in their bedroom because they don’t feel special enough to even celebrate their birthday? thank you 🥺

S/o’s birthday but locks themselves in their rooms because they don’t feel special [Genshin Impact]

Characters Included: Albedo, Scaramouche & Xiao

Notes: 👁👄👁 the title is so long- i don’t know how to shorten it- hshshs. Btw, HAPPY ADVANCE BDAY ANON-!! I KNOW THAT FEELING ANON- SO UR NOT ALONE 🤧🤧 if you want to talk, you can msg me anytime-! You deserve to be showered with love-! Hope ya’ll like this!

Reader’s Gender: Neutral

Warning: none

[aether, childe, diluc, kaeya, venti]

Albedo

As much as Albedo wants to remember your birthday, he just forgets because of many things running through his mind. Especially when it comes to new discovery. He’ll be so sorry when he remembered that your birthday was today-

At first, Albedo had a hard time looking for you. He asked everyone- yes even Diluc, Kaeya, Jean, Klee, everyone- but no one has seen you. Which made him worried since no one has seen you the entire day—

He would literally tear down Mondstadt trying to find you until he remembered that he hasn’t check your house yet. When he finds that you’ve been locked up in your room the entire day, it literally broke his heart- ;w;

He would feel like it’s his fault that you don’t feel special, like bro- he would have a sad puppy face on. He will put his hands on either side of your face and make you face him-

“You are special. You are like the sun. You are like a (God/Goddess). Even if you don’t feel special yourself, you’re special to me. And since you’re my beloved, my (prince/princess), you deserve all the happiness and love in the world. You deserve to feel special on your special day. So smile, I don’t want to see any tears.”

Albedo would do anything you want, probably to make up his forgetfulness- :p if you want cuddles, then cuddles you’ll get. If you want a cake or something, he’ll try to bake something, no promises though. (Its the thought that counts, right? 👀).

Albedo would use his ability of drawing and bringing them to life. He would draw all sorts of things, bunnies, squirrels, flowers, and others. He knew that you love watching him draw and bringing them to life. It honestly warms his heart knowing you love what he’s passionate about.

If you want, Albedo could talk to you about all the things he found out recently. All of the research and things he discovered. If you ever question some things regarding about what he discovered, he would happily try to explain it. (It’s honestly adorable seeing him explaining the things he discovered in his research- 🤧)

At the end of the day (around 11-), he would cuddle with you while laying beside you. Every so often, he would press a kiss on your head.

“Happy Birthday, my love. May many more to come... the next time your birthday come, I promise we’ll celebrate it together properly.”

Scaramouche

If you think that Scaramouche doesn’t care about your birthday, then you’re right-! 😃 I’m joking- (unless-). He honestly wants to spend your birthday together with you, but his duty as a Harbinger comes first.

Believe me when I say he feels guilty. Leaving you alone on your special day is honestly low, even for him. He would definitely try to finish all of his missions immediately to get back to you. He would do whatever means necessary to finish them all immediately (he might or might not have sacrificed some people in the process- 👀).

You can imagine his confusion when he couldn’t find you anywhere. He already has something set up for you, all he needs is the birthday person themselves. But he couldn’t you anywhere.

Someone better tell him to check your room or else he would literally tear down the Fatui headquarters just to look for you-! He seriously need to manage his anger- 😓

Scaramouche would find it weird to he finds out that you’ve been in your room for the entire day. At first, he didn’t understand why you’re doing this. But soon, he’ll understand. Afterall, he might’ve done that before..

This guy has no manner whatsoever as he just entered your room like he owns the place- one look at you and the next thing you know is that he’s pampering you- like he’ll be preparing a bath for you and choosing an outfit for you (he’s a fashionista, change my mind 😃). Like bro, who are you and what happened to Scaramouche?

“Tsk. You’re quite a handful, you do know that, correct? Making me go through all this effort to comfort you. Now tell me, who put that idea on your head? Was it your family? Was it someone else? I honestly want to murder whoever put that idea in your pathetic head. ‘Not special to celebrate your birthday’? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Everyone deserves to feel special, even if its for one day. Now, stop being stubborn and enjoy it-!”

Scaramouche would pamper you so much, like his personality did a 180- he would be pressing kisses all over your body and praising you like theres no tomorrow. He would help you dry yourself and put on the outfit he chose for you. If your hair is long, he would help styling it.

He would take you on a fancy dinner date (this guy is also rich, fite me—). He would honestly spoil you lmao- so enjoy it while it lasts- 😃

“Don’t expect this everyday, okay? I’m not gonna put much effort the next time... still.. happy birthday, my beloved. Don’t ever feel like you’re not special when you’re special to me.. if you ever feel sad, come to me. Thank you for putting up with me.”

Xiao

(Yes I’ve remade the Xiao banner again- 🤧🤧 im very indecisive ik-)

Celebrating birthday? What’s that? Xiao honestly didn’t think much of it since centuries pass by with his day of birth passing each time, he never really thought much of it. Never bothered celebrating it.

But when he found out (from Verr or Rex Lapis/Zhongli) that the mortals celebrate their birthdays, he honestly doesn’t have a clue on how to celebrate it. So he might seek the help of Verr or the Traveller.

He does his best. Please give him credit for trying- ;;w;; He’ll try his best to make something for you. It won’t be anything grand. A simple picnic near Wangshu Inn with some Almond Tofu and other food-

So when the day of your birthday came, Xiao is nervous. He doesn’t know if you’ll like the surprise or not. But when he started to look for you, he was confused when he couldn’t find you before growing worried.

Unlike the other bois, he would immediately check your room before tearing the place down- when he finds you there, he’s honestly confused again- (poor bby, always getting confused- ;;w;;). When you explain to him that you just don’t feel special during your birthday, Xiao would get worried and upset-

The first thing he does is hug you. Like this is the only thing he knows about comforting someone- its not like he encountered humans that needs comforting- ;w;

“I.. don’t really know what it feels like to not feel special on your day of birth but.. you’re special to me. Isn’t that enough?”

Like broooo, he looks like a sad puppy- he’s honestly lost on what to do. You might as well need to comfort him too 😅. He would try to shower you with affections before dragging you to the picnic he set up.

He would be so relieved if you like or love the picnic he set up. As much as its embarrassing for him, he would allow you to feed him and, if you let him, feed you in return. He will continue to press some kisses on your face, head and hands. Because, like, u really deserve it- 🥺🥺

He would bring you to the highest mountain just near Wangshu Inn and enjoy the view, and possibly go stargazing with you. I can see him knowing how to make a flower crown for some reason :pp so he’ll make a flower crown out of Qingxin flowers and place it on your head-

“Happy day of birth, my love. Even as more days of birth come, I promise to make you special. Even though it’s not the grandest, I hope that my efforts and love will be enough.”

[x] Main Page || [x] Mondstadt Page || [x] Liyue Page || [x] Fatui Harbingers Page

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.” You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022)

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent is the unhinged, hysterical, unexpectedly warm film you didn’t even know you were craving. This movie could never be remade because with any other actor, at any other time, it just wouldn’t work.

Actor Nicolas Cage (playing himself… sorta) is not the star he used to be. He’s divorced, can't connect with his 16-year-old daughter Addy (Lily Sheen), and the role he was asking for has gone to someone else. It's time to call it quits but before he can retire, he has some bills to pay. He accepts to attend the birthday party of billionaire Javi Gutierrez (Pedro Pascal) for $1 million - only to be recruited by the CIA, who believe his host is a world-renowned criminal.

Nicolas Cage has acted in every genre. He’s been award-winning good, and so bad he’s become a cult figure. That last one is particularly relevant. It means we have two kinds of Nicolas Cage fans. The first only like him in the likes of Ghost Rider and The Wickerman (2006). The second… just watch movies and remember all the good ones they saw him in. Could be Moonstruck, could be Face/Off.

Whichever team you cheer for, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (fantastic title) has something for you. Want a crazy performance? You’ve got it. More than once, Cage must confront “Nicky”, an imaginary, younger, more successful version of himself. His lines are for the ages. It’s the kind of thing you could never imagine so-called “serious” actors even considering but this man does it with wild abandon. It’s hysterical and uncovers a more serious, meta-level on which this movie can be enjoyed.

This is a fictionalized version of Nicolas Cage. The man does not have a daughter and as far as I can tell, has never considered abandoning the art of acting. This movie is fiction but it’s so fake it becomes real. When we hear him discuss The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari, what he’s saying can’t have been scripted. When he describes why he wants this role that totally wouldn’t fit him, you’re brought back to that time you saw him in Con Air. You wonder if this scene hasn’t played out in real life - albeit a little differently. More than once, the script pokes fun at his career blunders but it’s done with so much affection he must’ve approved it, maybe even suggested it to director Tom Gormican (who co-writes with Kevin Etten). There are so many references to Cage’s past films you'll find yourself looking fondly at his career - warts and all - and falling in love with the man all over again. This Nicholas Cage is passionate about acting. He’ll take a role just because it’s challenging, contains some cool dialogue because it allows him to do some stunt he’s never done before, or reminds him of something he loves.

The plot is wonderfully absurd and completely unpredictable. You think you know where things are headed but then someone will be dual-wielding pistols and you’re thrown completely for a loop. Is this scene real? Is it a fantasy inside Cage’s head? Something else? One thing’s for sure: it’s wonderful and teeming with creativity.

This is one smartly-written script packed with so many details there’s no way you’ll catch them all on a single viewing. Equally surprising are the quieter scenes with Pedro Pascal. He and Cage are so good together you kind of want the opening scene that promises action to just… go away so the whole movie can be about them just hanging out. Can Tom Gormican have his cake and eat it too? Yes. Even better, it then manages to say something about filmmaking without wagging its finger at the audience and also gives us more of that classic Nicolas "Action" Cage we got to love so much in the ’90s.

Wholly original, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent has big laughs in all sorts of unexpected ways. It's bug-nuts and if you want funny but not that wild, it's that too. Maybe this is what we wish Nicolas Cage was like. Maybe this is what he really is like. Either way, it's an experience you won't soon forget. (Theatrical version on the big screen, April 20, 2022)

[sleepyseguin]

tyler seguin | i still see your face (nsfw)

summary: you and tyler break up. it’s harder than you thought it would be. 

a/n: highly recommend listening to driver’s licence by olivia rodrigo to get the whole vibe. my spotify must think i have a problem by the constant repeat. 

It’s not like you haven’t had a break up before. It’s just that this one feels different. Raw. A ragged edge that’s been torn. You drink too much beer and sleep too little. Your friends rally around you, of course they do, drag you to clubs with too many teenagers, tell you they never liked Tyler anyway. But the lie is thin, and in the dim bathroom of the bar one says, but why did you guys break up? What happened? You blink at her, mouth tasting of tequila. I don’t know.

-/-

Of course you know. You’re an adult. You made this decision together, sat on his couch. One of his throw pillows hugged to your chest so he couldn’t see the way your hands were shaking.

“If this is really what you want,” Tyler had said, and you could hear the scratch in his throat, the way his eyes shone too bright. Unshed tears.

 You hadn’t been able to speak, tongue too thick, hot tears on your cheeks, fresh ones ready to replace as they dried sticky on your chin.

 He was away from home too much. Your lives were going in different directions. You had opportunities to travel with work, and it’s not like he could come with you. It was best to do it now, a clean break, rather than struggle on, slowly tearing.

 You’d cried all the way home from his house, struggling to keep the wheel straight. Your mother would have been horrified by the reckless driving. When you’d finally dared to look at your phone, that first night alone, Tyler’s text made you sob all over again. I love you. Always.

-/-

You talk to him, sometimes. You can’t help yourself. It’s like an itch that becomes unbearable. You have to scratch. Meaningless text message chains. How are you? Fine, you? I’m okay. I miss you. I miss you too. You know it’s not helpful, not the path towards healing that your married friends preach. But it makes it easier to sleep. Knowing he’s still out there. It’s a blissful kind of agony when he texts you unprompted, in the middle of the night, sometimes the middle of the afternoon. I think of you all the time or I dreamt about you or I thought I saw you at the game. Your own misery overwhelms. Winter sets in. You struggle through grey days, take the long way home to drive past his street. Pray you don’t see another car next to his.

-/-

You cry on the phone to your mother, great big sobs like a child does when they’ve lost their favourite toy. She tells you she’ll fly out.

 “No, it’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can do this.”

 “You can,” she assures, but the surety seeps away as soon as you hang up. A bottle of wine in front of the television. Take out. You’re either starving or not hungry at all now. You only watch ten minutes of an episode before you’re switching to the NHL channel. It’s too hard to forget the schedule. It’s like a reminder in your brain when you wake up in the morning, he’s playing today. You used to nap together, in the afternoons before games. The weak sunlight, the dancing dust mites. A Friend’s episode turned low. Tyler would reach for you in his sleep, nuzzle into your neck. Like he could never get close enough. Like he knew you would leave one day.

-/-

A mutual friends birthday. You’d tried to make excuses, but even you didn’t believe them.

 “It’s worse to avoid him,” your friend says, “It will only make it harder later.”

So in an effort to do the Right Thing, to be a Big Girl, and Move On, you find yourself drinking too strong punch, pieces of apple and orange floating in a plastic cup, leaning into a guy you just met and laughing too loud.

 And it is fun. For awhile. A mix of old friends and new. Loud music. And for most of the night, he’s not there. He’s so late you think he’s not coming. And you pretend you’re crying because you’re relieved and not because you’re disappointed. You’ve been smart enough to take yourself to the bathroom for the small meltdown, bent over the counter and taking deep breaths. You’re too old to be getting this smashed at a house party. It’s hard to focus on yourself in the mirror, bending light. It’s a good thing he’s not coming, you tell yourself, and wish you could believe it.

 You’re headed to the kitchen, the sink full of ice and hiding your drinks. Tyler is there. Tyler is there, standing in the hallway, talking to the host. His big hand makes the beer he’s holding look like a kid’s toy. He’s laughing, crinkly eyes, the sound reaching you. Slapping the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the joke. He’s so happy. How can he be so happy?

Dark eyes meet yours, the fall of his mouth from the grin. He goes to say something, call out maybe, but you’re turning away already, pushing back into the lounge room, the backdoor. Fresh air. Cold crisp of a Texan winter. The weather reporters are saying it might snow this year. He finds you. Of course he does. In the back-garden, looking up at the moon, counting stars. Your name in a familiar voice. The way he says it makes your heart hurt. You can barely look at him, the grass moving under your feet as you turn to face him. Curls peeking out from under a beanie. Black hoodie, dark jeans. You recognise the hoodie. You used to wear it to bed sometimes.

 “Hi,” you say, trying to be causal, wanting desperately to be, but at the same time you’re reaching out, clinging onto his arm. Don’t ever let go again.

 Tyler smiles, sad and small, “It’s nice to see you.”

 “Yeah,” you breathe, head back, gazing up at him. The moon has nothing on Tyler. Come back to me, you want to say, but this is your fault. You did this. You made this happen.

 “I wanted to talk to you,” he says, and you think yes, yes, just ask me, I’ll come back I promise, “I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. It’s too hard.”

 “Oh,” you say. It suddenly seems so much colder out here. “Okay.”

You watch him walk away, back into the house, the light of the party. And if you cry in the Uber on the way home, no one else has to know.

-/-

The first time you sleep together, afterwards, you could almost convince yourself it’s an accident. Not talking hadn’t lasted long. A loss, a commiserating text, a wish to just go back to the way things were. We can, you’d said, just for one night.

 It’s almost awkward, the way he’s a stranger around you again. He looks tired, sore, sweatpants and a hoodie. Pink cheeks from the cold outside. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling around his ears. You want to stay here, like this, forever, letting him sit you down in the bed, holding your face in his big hands to kiss you from where he stands between your knees. The way Tyler says your name, wanting, needy. The press of his body on yours. You missed this. You missed this so much. It would never be the same with anyone else. The way he touches you, so carefully, so purposefully. He knows just how you like it, just how you work together.

 It’s a habit, for you to be on top after a game, not worth making him expend any more energy. But he fights you for it, doesn’t let you settle, rolls you over onto your back again. You protest, mildly.

 “It’ll make you sore,” you say, can’t stop touching him, his hair, his face, his back, his chest. His skin is warm from the hoodie.

 “Don’t care,” Tyler says, a crooked smile, nudging his nose against yours, “I want it like this, want to see you properly.”

 Your heart is broken and remade simultaneously. It’s all you can do not to pull the doona over both of you and hide forever, keep him here like a prisoner. Cherish him for an age. His mother would never forgive you.

 Your body aches for him, as he nudges open your legs, kisses your mouth, your neck, your breasts. You should take your time, enjoy it, the last time, but you can’t help but surge towards the end.

 “Want you inside me,” you whisper, fingers on his hips, angling him.

 “Yeah,” Tyler rasps, aligning himself, “Fuck. Yeah, please.”

The relief of him sinking home, the opening of your body to him. It’s too easy, almost, the rhythm he settles into. Your legs tight around his waist, groaning when he pulls one up over his shoulder, finds a new angle. A big hand palming at your breast, the way he says your name, thick and low. You come a few moments before him, get off on the way he watches you, holds you, fingers caressing just above where he slides in and out of you. It takes everything not to cry, the final release, the drop of endorphins.

 Tyler shakes when he comes, a whole body shudder as he holds himself deep, panting against your ear. You stare at the ceiling and blink away tears. How could you ever have walked away from this? Nothing feels right unless he’s here.

 Later, he gets up to leave, but you reach out before he can get out of bed.

 “Please stay,” you whisper, pathetic. Tyler’s a shadow in the dark, but he’s warm when he slides back under the covers, gathers you up against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat as you fall asleep.

-/-

It takes you another week to swallow your pride. You call your mother, again, cry on the phone, again.

 “I think I was wrong, I think I made a huge mistake.”

 “If he is who you say he is,” she counsels, “He’ll forgive you.”

 “What if he doesn’t?”

You’re convinced that someone will be in your parking spot the whole drive to his house. A new car. A girl’s car. You can’t breathe along his whole tree lined street, until you see the empty spot. Like it’s waiting for you. Like it has been this whole time.

 You almost slump into him when he opens the door, the relief, the grief. He’s surprised to see you. Sleepy. Got in late last night from a Roadie. The dogs are everywhere at once, bumping you into each other as they try to get a cuddle. Tyler stumbles into you, forced by Marshall’s heavy tail. Your hand on his ribcage, steadying. Are you really going to do this? On his front step? Behind him, you can see your red coat on the coat hook. So that’s where it was. You’ve been looking for it in the cold. And he’s kept it, this whole time. Waiting for you.

 “I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tyler shakes his head, confused, furrowed brow, “What’s going on?”

 “I made a mistake. I made a stupid mistake. I got scared, and I panicked. The truth is. I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And it’s scary. I’m so scared. But I shouldn’t have taken it on you like this. It was wrong. And if you can’t. If you can’t forgive me I understand. But. I really, really want you, too.”

 He says your name, quietly, prayer like. Your hand is still on his chest.

 “Are you sure?” He asks, and the dogs are still all around you, the front door is wide open. Tyler’s socked feet on the porch.

 “I’m so sure.”

And he’s laughing. He’s laughing. And he’s kissing you. Warm and fresh and familiar. And then you’re laughing and then you’re crying and Tyler is just holding, holding, holding you.

And along the street, a warm breeze blows through the trees. The promise of summer.

[shadowofahope]

Don't Tell Me What You See

Golden

Warnings:

Pairing: Jimin!BTS x reader

Author's notes: Which ending is your favourite?

masterlist

It had almost been a year to the day since you had lost consciousness on the veranda of the dorms. And everyone was slowly piecing their lives back together. Some semblance of normalcy. Friendships needed to be rebuilt, trust remade and forgiveness offered.

The tension in the Bangtan dorm was suffocatingly thick. Taehyung struggled to contain himself when in Jimin’s presence. Yoongi maintained a courteous but cautious distance from him, opting to stick himself to Tae in order to keep him in check when working.

The two friends hadn’t talked since that night. Their conversation was less than pleasant, Jimin only able to express shock, and Tae only being fueled by anger, his words spitting out of him like acid. He knew it wasn’t purely Jimin's fault, but he couldn’t take it out on you…. Not any more.

Walking along the river side, Taehyung makes his way idly. Not really thinking about where he’s going, he just felt claustrophobic in the dorms. Slowing his steps, he looks up to see a light festival. The same one you, him and Yoongi had been to last year. His eyes glaze over remembering the good times. The only true few times he now knew you were happy.

Trailing around the strings of lights, his gaze focuses on a figure leaning against the rivers railing on the far end, behind the canopies. The lights reflect off of the water creating a golden vibrant glow. Concentrating on his breathing, he forces one foot in front of the other, heading in the figure's direction. Almost like someone was pushing him forward a golden haze he hadn’t noticed before dusting his feet. Unable to stop himself, until right next to the other male. Leaning back against the railing, he inhales deeply for one final time. Now or never.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been taking it out on you.” Taehyung finally says, staring at the lights of the festival. “I know it’s not your fault.”

“No, I am to blame.” Jimin contradicts, unmoving from his position. Unable to look at his friend. “I should have known-I put her through so much. It’s all my fault. You have every right to be furious with me, to never want to speak to or see me again.”

“She knew what she was doing Jimin.” Taehyung sighs, it wasn’t a lie, because even at the end you knew. “She made her choice and allowed you to do the same. I’m just angry because... ”

Choking on his own voice, he tries to fight back the emotions he’s been hiding away, hiding away for so long. But they are bubbling to the surface and his self made dam breaks.

“....she broke her promise.” Tears streaming down Taehyung's face as he looks up to the Kosmos.

“I wish she told me.” Jimin whispers, eyes still trained on the glowing golden shimmer of the river..

“Would you have trusted her if she did?” Taehyung asks hoarsely, swallowing hard to regain himself. “Would you have wanted to stay bonded?”

Jimin doesn’t answer at first, but then slowly shakes his head no.

“Honestly, are you happier now that you don’t have a soul bond?” Taehyung asks. Deadpanning at the now golden glistening lights, as the happy atmosphere of the festival dims in his eyes.

Jimins whole body tenses, he’s unsure of what to say. How to answer...does he lie or tell his friend the horrible truth?

“Please.” Taehyung breathes, pleading. He needs to know, he’s desperate to know if what you’ve chosen was in vain.

“Yes. I feel a huge sense of relief, no more anxiety…..” Jimin speaks softly. Choosing not to lie. Picking his words carefully. “Just an overwhelming feeling of guilt and disgust towards myself.”

“Don’t.” Taehyung stops his friend. “That’s not what she would have wanted. We both know that deep down.”

“Taehyung-ie - can we….are we… I don’t want…..” Jimin lets out a small sob, shoulders hunched up. Refusing to make eye contact. “to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either.” Taehyung sniffles back any remaining tears, still not looking at Jimin either.

Then a golden shimmer catches his eye towards the light festival. His gaze follows a glittering golden shimmer weave through people in the air, like an opac cloud moving with purpose and direction. In the instance of a blink he sees your transparent form standing down the end of the path, smiling at them fondly. Nodding your head you scrunch your nose. Taehyung smiles at you, finally feeling the weight of everything lift from his body. He nods back at you.

A couple passes by in front of you, and it's as though you had evaporated back into the golden shimmer. The cloud swirls around momentarily before racing towards the darkened night sky.

Letting his eyes drop down to the ground. He chuckles lightly to himself.

“How about this,” He hums, finally looking at Jimin. “Let me show you around this festival, Y/N loved the lights.”

“I’d really like that.” Jimin smiles as he straightens up and turns to him, at long last returning his gaze. And for the first time since that night they both felt like they could breathe again.

Finally Warm || Stars || Coral Reef || Golden

💜♾💜♾💜

Taglist:

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@allyyinwonderland @danietoww04 @kaithezaftig @kookachuwu @megjoonyeol @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue

[empire-of-wildfire]

HOLIDAY SURPRISE

A @starseternalnighttriumphant X @empire-of-wildfire CHRISTMAS MINI-FIC COLLABORATION

a/n: here’s the first part guys!! We hope you guys enjoy it! Sorry for those of you that saw this yesterday, I’m not sure why tumblr decided to post it almost 24 hours early. Send me or Hannah @starseternalnighttriumphant an ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Cassian Laskaris’s personal phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, causing him to frown. Almost no one bothered him on his phone while he was at work, so he fished it out of the deep pocket and looked at the name that flashed on the screen. A sigh followed by a small smirk, he answered the call and put the phone up to his ear.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Funny,” Rhys answered, voice full of amusement. “I was just checking for cold feet.”

“Are you sure you meant to call me and not Feyre?” Cassian drawled.

“Hers are warm and currently playing footsie with mine.” There was a shuffle and Feyre’s tinkling laugh in the background. “I just want to make sure you’re actually coming.”

Rhys’s worry was genuine, but it still grated Cassian’s nerves. He had promised his found brother he would be there for his wedding, and Cassian was many things, but he never broke his promises to the people he loved.

“Yes, bastard brother of mine,” Cassian sighed, spinning in his office chair. “I leave in the morning. I’ll see your ugly face tomorrow.”

His door opened, a beautiful dark haired, deeply tanned skin woman walking in, her hips swinging. Emerie smirked at him, holding a folder, and he took his time dragging his eyes over her. She looked extremely good in that tight black dress and he wanted to—

“Are you still there?”

“Sorry,” Cassian muttered, leashing his dirty thoughts. Now wasn’t the time. “Yes, Rhys, I’ll be there. I have everything set up, I’ll see you around one or two p.m.”

He hung up before Rhys could say anything else, turning his womanizing smile towards Emerie. She had started at the firm less than a year ago, and Cassian knew he shouldn’t have spent most of the time fooling around with her. But she was a good distraction, and she didn’t want anything from him besides friendship with benefits. She was also the only woman that had lasted this long in the past four years since he’d left Velaris. Most women only made it a few weeks, maybe a month or two.

“Dinner tonight before I leave?” he asked as she handed him the folder containing his next high profile law case.

“My pleasure,” she purred, winking as she left.

-

Despite Rhys’s protests, Cassian had decided to rent a car and stay at one of the two hotels in Velaris. He hadn’t been home once in four years; he felt awkward even being back in his old stomping grounds without the subtle tension his presence in Rhys and Feyre’s home would bring. He didn’t fit in anymore, and though his brother would never admit it, Cassian knew it was better to keep a distance. And he knew Rhys and Feyre would be busy with wedding planning, and his intrusion in their house would probably create more stress since he was staying through Christmas until the day after New Years, their wedding on the very first day of the year. Rhys and Feyre were disgustingly romantic like that.

After checking into the hotel and letting Rhys know he was on his way, Cassian decided last minute to take the scenic route to his brother’s home. He wasn’t sure what had pushed him to do it; curiosity, maybe. He hadn’t been home in four years.

Velaris hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d been gone. Honestly it was like looking into a time capsule— everything was almost identical to how it had been when he’d blown out of town to chase his dreams. Driving through the small town, he was immediately transported back in time to his high school and college days.

Ahead on his right was the park where he’d met Feyre, Nesta, and Elain not long after the Archeron family had moved to Velaris. He still remembered that night perfectly: he’d been having a normal conversation with Azriel when Feyre walked over, her sisters in tow, and his entire world had stopped the moment his eyes fell on Nesta. She was without a doubt the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Dressed simply in a gray t-shirt dress and sandals, her long golden brown hair was braided around her head. Cassian remembered marveling, knowing that something so intricate had to have taken quite a bit of time. Nesta hadn’t appreciated the staring, and made sure to tell him as much as soon as she walked up to him.

He abruptly shook himself out of the memory, trying to focus on driving so he didn’t get lost in his past and the girl who still haunted his dreams even four years later. But then just a bit further down the road, there was the restaurant where he’d taken her on their first date, almost a year after he’d met her. It had taken him so long to get her to go out with him, he honestly thought she’d just agreed to get him to leave her alone. But that night he’d walked her to the door and he’d said goodnight, not wanting to push her too far. He had moved to leave when she’d grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him. Nesta was the kind of girl who knew what she wanted, even back then, and that first kiss broke and remade him all at once.

The entire drive to Rhys’s house was a lot of the same. He passed their spot, a hidden trail leading back to a small lake that he’d taken Nesta to after six months of dating, which was where they had their first time. He still sometimes got embarrassed at how awkward he’d been then. He passed the Archeron’s old house, now occupied by a different family, which was where he told her he loved her for the first time. Everywhere he turned, memories of him and Nesta haunted him like a ghost. It left him unsettled, that despite years of silence and trying to forget and move on, Nesta was still so much a part of who he was.

He was glad when he finally pulled Rhys’s driveway, able to put the memories of the past to bed and focus on the present. His excitement at being home increased exponentially as he got out of the car; he’d missed his brothers, and despite how infrequently they communicated he still loved his family fiercely.

He knocked on the door twice and within seconds it was opening. He hadn’t expected it to be the tall and lithe woman his brother had been in love with nearly a decade, but his grin was genuine as Feyre laughed in delight and all but jumped into his arms, hugging him tight. He wrapped a strong arm around her, hefting her up as he pushed further into their house. He set her down and he ruffled her hair when she looked back at him.

She batted his hand away. “I was worried I wouldn’t recognize you.”

He raised a brow. “I’m hurt. It’s only been a few years.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and turned towards the staircase. “Rhys, my favorite brother is here!”

Cassian laughed as Rhys came down the stairs, shaking his head. “Gone four years and you’re already trying to steal my fiancée, brother.”

The two hugged firmly, and Cassian tried to ignore the tightness in his throat. He remembered the last time he’d seen Rhys in person. It had been a year after he left, and his brother had all but begged him to come home. But Cassian had been so entrenched in his work, climbing up the ladder at the law office he’d joined, and he’d refused. It had led to a huge argument, and though it had long since been resolved, Cassian still thought about it almost everyday.

“It’s good to see you,” Rhys told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I hope you’re ready for some wedding planning because we have about five more seconds before Feyre darling sends you out on a task.”

Feyre’s slim hand smacked Rhys’s arm. “I was going to ease him into it.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, meeting his future sister-in-law’s eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

Feyre rattled off that she needed him to pick up all the stationary waiting at the printing shop, place cards and thank you notes and custom signs to scatter around the wedding venue. She gave him the receipt and told him where it was, even though it was unnecessary. It seemed that nothing had changed in this small town, and that included the local printing shop. He was willing to bet it was still owned by the same old woman that had printed their graduation announcements so many years ago.

The shop was near the town center, and he parked on the side of the road next to the library. He got out and looked at the towering structure, knowing that it used to be the town hall hundreds of years ago when Velaris used to only have a few hundred people. Now it was the library, and his mind drifted back to spending summers there, doing book reports on books he never actually read. He remembered finding Nesta there the next week after he’d met her and her sisters, nestled in a quiet corner with a book in her hands.

He’d been surprised; he’d only known her for a week but she had struck him as the reading type. He remembered he had come up to her to talk to her and she’d hid the book behind her back, a light blush staining her cheeks, taking his breath away which he had tried to hide with a laugh. He’d managed to grab the book from her hands and saw that it was one of the smutty romances that were in the adult section that he and his brothers had snickered at as young teens.

A slight smile turned his lips up as he remembered how embarrassed and angry she’d been, and how she’d gotten him back by “accidentally” spilling her drink all over his pants during lunch. He’d been mocked for weeks.

He blinked, pulling himself out of the memory, shaking his head slightly. Gods, he was going to go insane if he stayed in this town longer than he had to. It was bad enough he was here for over a week. He’d have to stay holed up in his hotel room as much as possible if he wanted to escape wave after wave of memories and nostalgia that seemed to crash into him without any warning.

Cassian headed down the street and grabbed all the wedding stationary from the printing shop. Sure enough, it was that same old lady. And she’d been delighted that he was back in town, patting his cheeks and telling him to come by before he left. He’d given her his charming grin, but he’d left feeling… off.

The drive back to Rhys and Feyre’s house was a blur, trying not to let his mind wander as he pulled into the driveway. Hefting the large paper bags that held everything Feyre had ordered, he walked up the steps and reached for the doorknob with his free hand.

The door opened before his fingers even brushed the cool metal, a figure he’d almost mistaken as Feyre standing in the doorway. She was dressed in dark blue scrubs, her golden brown hair braided in that all too familiar crown around her head. Her smooth, flawless face froze in an expression of pure shock, her full lips falling open as she stared at him.

He knew his own mouth was hanging open, his heart in his throat as he met the steel blue gaze of the woman he had known better than he’d known himself. A woman he’d loved fiercely for almost seven years, a face that haunted his dreams even when he tried so hard to forget her.

He hadn’t seen her, handn’t heard from her, hadn’t even heard her voice in four years but Nesta Archeron’s silky tone still managed to raise goosebumps along his skin as she blurted out, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

-

@werewolffprince

@schmlip-scribble

@justgiu12

@westofmoon

@legallyhermione

@love-is-a-contradiction

@shyvioletcat

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[i-did-not-mean-to]

Day of the living (2/2)

So, here's the second part

Words: 2,4k

Warnings: it's horribly kitschy

Part 1

HC for @laurfilijames

“I will coordinate with the Men. Take care!” Thorin clasped a heavy hand around Fíli’s shoulder.

“I will be right here when you come home; I will not forsake you,” he promised, thinking – again – of his own father and grandfather and of the loneliness of kingship that he wanted to spare his nephew.

“And we will come home, uncle,” Fíli promised, “we will return and meet our little cousin.”

Would they be able to break the curse tearing the line of Durin apart like a badly woven carpet?

“Amad,” Fíli rested his brow against his mother’s hand, “fret not! I shall come back, and I’ll keep an eye on Kí. I swear!”

Dís smiled; her golden boy whose prowess was only overshadowed by his heart. He was so much like her own brothers had been, and she was terrified to lose him or her baby Kíli. They were men now, but she couldn’t help casting her mind back to the time when she had been carrying them under her heart rather than within its shivering confines.

Then, she caught her sister-in-law’s eyes and nodded slowly; once upon a time, she had been alone, condemned to wait in the throttling silence of empty rooms, but she was on her own no longer.

“Wives, daughters, our day has come!” she called into the now slowly emptying room.

A new buzzing, low and intense, started to rise as women and dwarrowdams began taking to their respective positions.

“What are you on about?” Thorin turned around mid-step.

“I am defending my home, my blood, my family; what do you think we are doing?” Dís laughed darkly, shoving the king playfully as he scratched his beard in confusion.

He, as well, had to understand and accept that he was no longer alone; in this battle, he would not be crushed under the burden that rested solely on his shoulders. A community, a people, bound by blood and loyalty would be at his side, each soul breathing in time with his, each heart echoing his own racing pulse.

“You mind your part of the battle, and we mind ours, how about that, my love?” The queen smiled and sank into the passionate kiss her husband pressed upon her lips, seemingly unable to walk away from her. “Think of the future, Thorin, not of the past. Be the king who came back, who got to meet his son and raise him properly, be the king who kept Erebor safe!” She whispered insistently.

“You are not alone,” she went on, “I am here, and I will oversee the communication. Look to our rampart, Thorin, I will let you know what we see from above. Dís is here and she will make sure that archers are in place and the gates are barred. Ori’s wife and Óin are preparing to tend to the wounded. You are not alone. When you get frightened – and you will – think of us! Think of those who have your back. Come home!”

A sob broke free from her, but she – resolutely – wiped away the tears blurring what might be the last glimpse she got of her husband, her king, the father of her unborn child.

“I love you until the world is remade, but I’d rather love you tonight,” she grinned bravely and kissed him one last time – insistently – as if to impress upon his lips the map that would lead his steps back into her embrace.

“My king,” Kíli was grinning, biting into an apple, and prodding at his gauntlets to make sure everything was well fastened.

“I am not your king yet, Kí,” Fíli sighed, worried about his younger brother and his fiancée. What value had his life if he was to spend it without them?

“Don’t be daft, you were my king before I was even born.” Life was that easy for Kíli; his loyalty and faith were boundless and effortless; he never doubted his brother or the momentous role into which he had been born.

Fíli let his forehead sink against his brother’s, feeling that bright, vibrant soul connect with his own. Whatever was coming their way, he would be less scared with Kí by his side.

Memories of childish bravado flashed through his mind; yes, he had always been brave for Kíli: he had faced the dark cellars for a treat and the wild outdoors for a prank, Kí’s pudgy hand in his and his joyous babble dispelling his own insecurity. He would not falter if his baby brother needed him, he never had, he never could.

“Love, do you really not want to stay here?” Fíli turned to the one he loved so much it defied his understanding, but she simply grinned and shook her head.

“I am always one step behind you; between Kí and me, we can make sure your flanks and rear are covered.” She exchanged a quick glance with her future brother-in-law who gave her a cheery thumbs-up.

“You don’t have to do that,” Fíli whispered.

“You are my king, my future husband, and I will be at your side for whatever challenge arises. Look at the queen, look at your Auntie, Fí, she has braved Thorin’s mood and stubbornness with equanimity and love; she’s been nurse, politician, diplomat, and tactician since marrying Thorin II.”

He nodded, that much was true, Thorin’s wife had learned to be everything he needed her to be and more; discreetly, she calmed the waves in his absence and excelled in the things he failed at; they were a perfectmatch.

“You are to be a warrior-prince; this is your moment to prove yourself and I will be right there, sword in hand, head in the game.” She shrugged; she was just as good a warrior as any other dwarrow, and her love for the man in front of her only gave her more incentive to go to battle. “I live and die at your side, as is proper for a wife!”

“I love you.” He pressed his lips shortly but sweetly on hers and pinched her ass through the thick, padded leggings she was wearing under her armour. This woman alone was worth facing a thousand orcs; her happiness, her safety, and her future fuelled his steadfast determination to defeat this evil once and for all.

“And I love you. Your uncle is right, let’s go defend our home!” She patted her tight braids one last time before nodding at Kíli and striding confidently towards the gates. The point of no return.

“Daughter!” Dís hastened after her and took her hands into her own. “Oh, I see yet another hope leave these halls,” she sighed, her fingers tightening around the armoured hands of the one she hoped would be the cradle of her own blood.

The younger woman waited for her to go on, wondering if the princess would prohibit her to go.

“Come home! I do not know if you have someone here to tell you that, other than my son – who will be out there with you – so, I beg you to come back to me. What good does it do to gain a daughter only to lose her again?”

Grief, old and gnarly, had surged in the dam’s heart, and her hands grew ever colder.

“We are strong, Lady Dís, we won’t let Erebor be taken from us,” she promised in an insistent voice. One day, she hoped to call this woman “Amad” and see her holding a golden-haired pebble covered in crumbs; she committed this vision to memory – those mournful eyes in front of her filled with quiet glee – and nodded to herself, this was a good reason to unsheathe her sword and wade through blood and misery for half an eternity if necessary.

“Come home and be ours!” Dís pleaded, touching her brow to the younger woman’s in a moment of intimacy that defied and superseded mere words.

With that, they exchanged a short, strong hug and went their separate ways.

It was a long, bloody battle, but – finally – the alliance of Men and Dwarves, aided by a convoy sent out by Thranduil, was victorious,

Thorin had kept to mostly watching his wife’s flags – something she might have stolen from Azog – and dispatching his forces accordingly; he had not been able to withstand the urge to bloody a few orcs, but mostly, he let his heir reap the fame that would cement his reputation.

Over the years, he had learned to trust his heir and his friends; no longer the stubborn loner, the king had learned to use his wisdom, his influence, and his hard-gained knowledge in ways that were to the benefit of all.

Pride swelled in his chest as he looked upon the victorious forces he had led in mind if not in person. Bravery and strength had many faces – from the tireless efforts of his women braving frightening sights and never flinching back to the fearless advance of his nephews and their beloved – and he felt blessed to have recognised this just in time to make the most out of every skill and advantage of his people and allies.

Even covered in blood and mud, Fíli was radiating with joy as he limped back towards the main gates, held up by the woman he intended to wed and his brother who had a bump the size of an egg on his brow.

“Uncle, how fare you?” Fíli grinned, plunging into Thorin’s arms as if he was a pebble again and his uncle had just returned from a long trip beyond the borders of their settlement.

No matter how many decades had passed, the warm smell of Thorin’s skin and the strength of his sturdy arms made Fíli feel safe and protected, and he allowed himself to let his cheek sink against the dirty collar of his uncle’s coat.

“Well, oh so well now I see you, my sister-sons,” Thorin sighed, closing his arms tightly around the one who had come back. His sister’s darling boy, his respected heir, a seed to surpass the whole family tree by his inherent strength and goodness, Fíli meant so much to him personally independently of his importance for the throne and the people he’d eventually reign over.

Time melted in his hands and in his mind, the clock reversed, and he got to rewrite what he had accepted as inescapable destiny: Fíli and Kíli were alive and so was he. They got to go home and see the faces they loved most once more before the end of times, what an unexpected blessing!

I bound Fíli’s leg, a superficial graze that would heal in time, and was about to put a cooling stone to Kíli’s brow when a pair of hands grabbed my hips from behind and whirled me around.

Fatigue and dread melted from my body into the ground upon looking – once again – at the face I knew better than my own for I stared at it out of love rather than vanity: my husband, my love, my life.

“I’ve got it all,” Ori sighed against my lips, unmindful of the hooting coming from his friends, “but I seem to have lost my inkpot. Shame really, I liked that one!”

Chuckles in the background; even injured and just returned from a literal war, those men never fully had shaken off their childhood silliness…and I was thankful for the light within their hearts for it buoyed my own weary soul.

“Oh, you fool man, I’ll get you all the inkpots in the world. Oh, you’re alive,” I cried out, pawing at my leaking eyes.

“And so are you, wife, I saw you make a mad dash for some injured dwarrows out there.” He wriggled his brows accusingly, but his hands were firm and steadying around my hips as he dipped in for another kiss.

“We all did our part,” I smiled and breathed in his warm scent intermingled with blood and sweat.

“I’ll write a nice part about that fiancée of yours!” Ori grinned at Fíli, who beamed with pride, before muttering that he needed to change into clean clothes. I merely shook my head at how nonchalantly he went about the aftermath of the epic battle we had just witnessed.

Task-oriented and unafraid, my husband was a miracle a thousand smart men could not decipher fully within a thousand lifetimes, and I sighed deeply. How I loved him for being such a strange but adorable creature.

In the end, it was my greatest honour and privilege to record and complete my husband’s account of that day.

Words will never do justice to the instant healing in Lady Dís’ eyes upon entering the great hall, drenched in sweat from running up and down stairs tirelessly, and find her family complete. They were sure bloodied, dirty, and smelly, but they had come home as promised.

The queen merely smiled for she had never really questioned that the combined hearty courage of righteous people fighting for a home and a future would ultimately – and against all odds – prevail. Maybe, she also only had blind faith in her husband, the king; we will never know, but she ended up being right.

Not only was Erebor saved and Middle-Earth rid of a part of the infection that choked the life out of it, but the curse that had plagued the line of Durin ended up being broken as well.

For Thorin had succumbed to neither madness nor battle and so, he got to teach and train his heir and successor during long years before abdicating the throne and being uncle and father to dwarrows he was so proud of that their love was a crown he’d wear forevermore.

Also, Fíli the magnificent – war hero and golden prince – became the “sun underground”, shining with fierce passion and boundless kindness through the halls that seemed less gloomy under his reign. Supported and aided by a queen who was light and fire, he took his people into a new age of restoration and solidity.

There is a monument to them, actually, standing just outside of Erebor: dark stone representing Thorin’s steadfast strength marbled by golden veins in commemoration of Fíli’s radiating bravery in finding new paths into a brighter future.

Having his mother, a father-figure in lieu of an actual father, his living brother, and his fearless wife by his side, Fíli had the time, the support, and the courage to grow into the crown and elevate it to a level of prosperity – beyond the merely economical – it might never have known before.

As for me, I saw the sceptre being handed from Thorin – dark, brooding, and mysterious as the moon – to Fíli – radiant, powerful, and warm as the sun – and I knew that I might have been a witness to the best part of the history of my people.

[thanidiel]

Prompt Eleven: "Preaching to the Choir"

CW: address of terminal life conditions, references to child abuse

Why are you—

Actually, no.

Fuck no.

We don’t need to ploy coy with our fucking selves.

You know why you’re having this conversation.

Why you keep having this conversation.

You fucking know.

You need to stop acting like you fucking don’t.

You’re looking for an answer. The sort of answer that you can cling to, obfuscate yourself and your choices around. You’re looking to religion for the exact same reasons that everyone fucking else looks to religion for. Make it easier. Take off the responsibility. Have something to cite because it is too fucking hard to face the World head-on, with nothing else but the nakedness of who you are.

...you want to be told it is okay to be a fuck-up, in this way; in this life.

That it’s just okay.

(And you are told that.)

But then you don’t sleep.

You didn’t then and you still have your suns now, because it haunts you.

Because this haunts you.

Because it’s not okay.

Because you’re smart enough to know how to put yourself into someone else’s shoes. Because how can you make someone grow old with a testament to the life you never had, right there, just right there in every home they have? Because you think of how unfair it is to have this spectre of ten turns, ten turns, ten turns, haunting her, affecting everything she could ever do with her life.

But you promised her seventy, you promised her eighty, and you promised her a spot at your side, on the little shrine, when your bodies go away.

You promised her that your work, what you do, was just fucking fine.

And then you found out it wasn’t.

You found out you danced life away. You found out that what was done to you, a child, was not treatable. You found out that you collected so much strain and so much fracture in your little tiny bones that it is all just aching to collapse all down.

You found out that you’re ruined.

You were fucking ruined from the start.

You never had a chance for life.

Not really.

You found out how getting a fucking suitcase thrown at you last turn was enough to shatter your arm. Just fucking obliterated, and how miraculously lucky you were that there was Leina there, immediately, fixing it, putting you back together with the same sort of glue and cermet that was pressed over your bones hundreds of times in moons. There, all better— except now you know.

You know that you are one good shove, one good hit you just couldn’t fucking scramble out of the way of— and everything, and everyone, and all of these things worked for.

...they’ll just go away.

(And yet you act like this isn’t there.

And yet you don’t tell the people who need to know.

And yet you change nothing.)

...and you just want to be told what you should do.

You just want people, your holymen, to wrest your autonomy just this once.

You want hands you never asked for all over you.

Tell me what to do.

Put me where you want me.

What do you want from me, baby?

Cure me.

Suffer me.

Tell me.

I never asked to play God.

Please stop asking me to write down what happens.

“...Do you think the Gods want you to suffer?—…You feel some part of you would be irrevocably changed. Beyond just your body. But— What would compromise your ethics in choosing a better quality of life for yourself?"

“...I've always felt like everyone and everything that tries to put a hand on my life has tried to put me up among the stars. And all of my work here, in Eorzea, choosing... normal things, has been an effort that will run throughout the thread of my life, to put myself back down to the earth… If I give myself a concession of something grand and so much larger than people, that's not trying to be where I belong, isn't it? And if I say 'yes' now, does my threshold not sink with it?"

“...your dignity preserves your relationship to yourself. With the—————you might as well be being remade in the shape of some other image.”

[passable-talent]

okok so imagine growing up/ training with Anakin as kids in the Jedi temple?? and when he turns to the dark side, you join him and rule by his side???? I- asdfghjjfksa

how did u know that I’m a slut for this kinda shit

i’m not even 100% sure this was meant as a request but anon, you’re in luck, BECAUSE YOU’RE GETTING AN ENTIRE FUCKING FIC OUT OF THAT SHIT

make an entire 70 song playlist just to write this? yes. yes i did. 

As a Jedi Knight, you had been assigned to protect Padme Amidala. Such an assignment had been decided by the chancellor himself- he did so adore Padme, and could not stand the thought of her coming to harm. 

Darth Sidious, you see, had assumed that Anakin Skywalker cared for her deeply, and so needed her alive, for his plan concerning Anakin to come to fruition. He made a single, harmless mistake, one that had managed not at all to affect his plan. 

All that time that Anakin spent with Padme was indeed because he cared for her. She was his best friend- and it was you that he had married in secret some years ago. He did care deeply for Padme Amidala, but not in the same way he felt for his oldest friend in the Jedi Order, besides Obi-Wan. The one he’d grown up with, trained with. 

She was your best friend, and his. The three of you were an unstoppable trio (people notice when three of incredible beauty and power like the three of you enter a room), and you trusted each other with everything. She knew and helped hide your relationship with him, she was the only human at your wedding. 

And when the Republic was remade into the Empire, you sat in her apartment in Coruscant, her loyal bodyguard and best friend. As you always did when you had much to consider, you rolled a ring around your finger. Anakin had given it to you at your wedding. It wasn’t a wedding band, just a simple ring, one that wasn’t too far out of place for a Jedi to wear. But it was your wedding ring, all the same.

Obi-Wan knew that if anyone would know where Anakin was, it was one of the two of you. And he knew that you’d be together. 

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday,” you answered, as you often did for the senator. It helped give her that aire of superiority that served her well. 

“And do you know where he is now?” He pressed, and you looked to Padme. She shook her head. 

“No,” you answered for her again, leaning still against one of the columns of her apartment. You knew she was safe with Obi-Wan, and your guard was as low as it had been in weeks. 

“I need your help,” Obi-Wan said, to the both of you. “He is in grave danger.” You stood up straight, surprised. 

“From the Sith?” You asked. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said, “from himself.” You approached Obi-Wan slowly, until you stood side by side with Padme. “I’m afraid...” Obi-Wan looked to the side, full of sorrow. “Anakin has turned to the Dark Side.” 

It felt as though a hole opened up in the floor beneath you, and you could do nothing but fall. 

“You’re wrong,” Padme said, conviction in her voice, “How could you even say that?”

You turned your face to the side, eyes cast to the floor, and murmured only a single ‘no’.

Obi-Wan pushed between the two of you, still pain in his voice, and you didn’t know how this could get any worse. 

“I-I have seen a security hologram,” he stuttered, voice soft, and you turned toward him. “Of him...” he trailed away as his footsteps stopped, and he brought his hand to his mouth. “Killing younglings.” 

“Not Anakin,” Padme said, “he couldn’t!”

“It can’t be true,” you murmured, shutting your eyes briefly against it all, as though you could block it away. Your thumb went to the ring on your fourth finger, just to feel the metal, and to remember who it represented. 

“He was deceived by a lie, we all were.” Obi-Wan turned, and now his face was hard. “It appears the chancellor is behind everything, including the war.” 

“The Emperor,” you corrected, anger coiling between your ribs, and now you had someone to blame. The same man who had shown so much kindness to you, and your two best friends. And he’d done this. 

“Palpatine is the Sith Lord we’ve been looking for,” Obi-Wan told you both, and you flicked your eyes for just a moment to Padme- she looked surprised, and hurt. As were you all. “After the death of Count Dooku, Anakin became his new apprentice.” She paused, taking it all in, and in her strife took a seat on the nearby couch. 

“Anakin isn’t a Sith,” you said, under your breath, wishing you could convince yourself of it. 

“I must find him,” Obi-Wan said, and your gaze snapped to him. 

“And kill him?" You accused, “He’s been deceived, just like the rest of us. You said it yourself!” 

“He has become a very great threat,” Obi-Wan insisted, and you shook your head, taking a step in his direction. 

“And he can be lead back to the light!” You said, astounded that Obi-Wan could even consider harming him. “Obi-Wan, don’t you see? If you turn on him, it’ll only push him further toward the dark! You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, his master!” You noticed the briefest expression of guilt cross Obi-Wan’s face, and you thought you might convince him to reconsider. 

His eyes flicked downward to the ring, and his resolve hardened, and he stepped back toward the balcony, and his ship. He paused, just outside the walls of the apartment. 

“(Y/N),” he said, and you lifted your chin toward him. “You’ve married him, haven’t you?” 

You kept his gaze, and did not deny it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, turning from you and boarding his ship. 

“Remember what I said, Obi-Wan,” you said, and the conviction in your voice was almost a threat, “If you find him. If he thinks you’ve turned on him, we’ll never get him back.” Obi-Wan nodded, slightly, and left the balcony. 

You turned back to Padme with sadness in your eyes. 

“You know where he is, don’t you?” She asked, and you reached with your right hand to fiddle with the ring on your left. 

“Of course I do,” you admitted, and she walked to you. 

“Let me come with.”

“Padme, love,” you said, “if what Obi-Wan said is true, and he has turned to the dark, I want to keep you as far away as possible. I’ll send Captain Typho down, he’ll watch over you while I’m gone.” Padme nodded, pulling you into a hug. 

“Take my ship,” she said, “so he’ll know it’s you.” 

“Thank you,” you breathed, and when you parted, you felt her run her thumb over your wedding ring. “I promise I’ll bring him back.” 

Mustafar- that’s where he was. You flew there, alone with your thoughts for the entire ride, but you knew that it would be your husband waiting for you when you arrived. 

You touched down on the landing dock, and for a moment, stared across the fiery landscape, wondering if this was your own, personal hell. To lose Anakin, to stand opposite Obi-Wan, to abandon Padme. 

A figure appeared, and dropped his hood, and you’d recognize him anywhere. He ran- and you did the same, opening the hatch so you could meet him. He opened his arms to you, and you fell into them, and if you hadn’t known, you wouldn’t have thought that anything changed. 

“Padme’s ship,” he said, posing a question, and you shook your head.

“She’s on Coruscant,” you said, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “It’s just me.” 

“What are you doing out here?” He asked, and you swallowed hard. 

“I was worried about you,” you said, holding onto his arms. “Obi-Wan...” you trailed off, and thought of your own advice. If there was any chance that the two of them would ever reconcile, it would be affected by your words in this moment. 

“We’ve been told terrible things,” you said, and you saw concern in his eyes. How this loving man before you could have done what Obi-Wan said... it didn’t make sense. 

“What things?”

“They said you’ve turned to the dark side,” you said, nearly in a whimper, but you chose not to specify who ‘they’ where that told you this rumor. He lowered his gaze, and pressed his forehead to yours, and it almost helped. “That you killed younglings.” 

“They’re trying to turn you against me,” Anakin said, holding you gently, and you shut your eyes. Obi-Wan was right, and Sidious had manipulated Anakin. You just had to get him back. 

“Anakin, I want to help you,” you said, and you felt him pull from your grip, slowly. 

“And I want to protect you,” he said, and his voice was so calm, like he didn’t realize the meaning that was behind them. “Only my new powers can do that.” 

As a Jedi, you excelled in decision making. You had strong instincts, and you had been praised in the past that any decision you made was likely the right one. 

So here, you needed to make a choice. A choice as to how you would bring Anakin back to the light. You could push, now, and make him feel betrayed. Or you could wait, and tug him slowly. 

The problem with the plan, the kink in the line, was that Obi-Wan was on his way, searching for Anakin. Sidious likely was, too. If you didn’t pull him to the light now, things would get worse. 

But you were willing to do whatever it took to keep Anakin alive. 

You pulled him against you again, in another hug, and wished that you could spend forever here, wrapped within him. 

“I am becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of,” he said, fingers slipping through your hair the way he would calm you of a nightmare. If only this were another nightmare, and you would wake up, and all would be right again. “And I’m doing it for you. To protect you.” 

You were sure, now, that Obi-Wan was right. Anakin had been taken to the dark side, but you knew he had not yet been lost. You knew you could bring him back. 

“We could leave,” you suggested quietly, fingers knotting into his robes. “Leave it all behind. We don’t have to be Jedi, we can just be together, far away from here.” 

“Don’t you see?” he asked, and as you pulled away, you saw a smile on his face. “We don’t have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic! Now we can be safe, Padme can be safe, the Separatists are gone. I’m even more powerful than the chancellor, (Y/N), I-I can overthrow him, if that’s what you want.” 

You had to make a decision. You had to choose. 

“And together, you and I can rule the galaxy! Make things the way we want them to be, the way they should be!” 

Choose- choose between the Jedi way that you’d been taught all your life, or Anakin. 

You brought your hands to his face, letting your fingertips settle in his hair. 

“Promise me,” you whispered, and your eyes lifted to his. “Promise me that when the day comes, you’ll overthrow the chancellor. Promise me that you’ll choose me over him.” 

“Of course,” he insisted, putting his flesh hand over yours, “It’s all for you, (Y/N).” 

“Anakin,” said a voice behind you, and you whirled from his arms to see Obi-Wan, standing at the hatch of Padme’s ship. 

“No, no!” You said, throwing up a hand toward him, your other to your side as though you were protecting Anakin from him. “No, Obi-Wan, you’ll only push him away! I can handle this!”

“He’s endangering himself, (Y/N),” Obi-Wan said, stepping down the ramp. 

“You brought him here?” 

“No!” you shouted over your shoulder, “I didn’t know he was on the ship!” Turning back to Obi-Wan, you brought your hand up higher, and you’d force him back, if you needed to. 

“Obi-Wan, trust me. He’s fine, he’ll be okay, I need you to go.” Obi-Wan looked at you for a moment, and you saw no trust in his eyes. Your right hand, which once kept Anakin back, slowly rounded to your saber where it hung on your back. 

“Obi-Wan, please. We don’t need to fight.” 

You expected, though, that you would have to. 

But Obi-Wan let out a breath, and conceded, stepping away. 

“Listen to me, both of you,” you said, turning your shoulders just so that you could refer to both of them, but still stand between them. 

“Obi-Wan, you need to be far from here. Far from Coruscant. Take Padme, too- far away. I don’t trust the emperor not to harm either of you.” You made a small motion to Anakin.

“We’ll take care of Sidious. He trusts Anakin, we can remove him. When it’s safe, I’ll let you know, and you can come home.” You could feel the way the air between them bristled, but it seemed Obi-Wan trusted you enough to heed your words. 

“Take Padme’s ship. Fly to Coruscant, then go, as far away as you can.”

“Tatooine,” Anakin suggested, voice dark. 

“Yes, go to Tatooine, and hide, please, Obi-Wan.” 

Without a word, Obi-Wan nodded, and turned back to the ship. You watched as it lifted off, and you didn’t look away until it had gone. You could feel Anakin simmering behind you. 

“Did he come to kill me?” He asked, and you reached for him. 

“No, no,” you soothed, hating yourself with every lie you told him. You knew it was for the best. “He was worried, worried for you, worried that he would have to kill you because of your loyalty to Sidious.” You pet his hair back, holding his face. “But you aren’t loyal to Sidious, see? And now that he knows that, we can all work together. He’ll keep Padme safe until we rule the galaxy.” Anakin nodded, resting his forehead against yours again. 

“When the time is right, (Y/N), I’ll do it. I’ll kill Palpatine.”

“I know,” you breathed, and it almost seemed like everything would be okay. 

~~~

He didn’t kill Palpatine. 

Sidious trusted him, and so did what Anakin asked, keeping you alive and nearby. He called you a Sith, and fashioned a saber for you, its color autumn red, with just the slightest reminder of your former orange. You were allowed to be on his left, when Anakin was on his right. 

In his office at the senate, he was in the midst of a meeting when you ran him through.

It had been two months since that day on Mustafar. Obi-Wan reported that Yoda had disappeared, and most other Jedi had scattered throughout the system. Padme was safe. And you loved Anakin, but he was taking his time to remove Sidious. 

You wondered if it was because of Sidious’ control over him. Possibly, Sidious could sense his intentions. You doubted he could sense yours. 

So, from behind him, beside your husband, you ignited your saber, running straight through his stomach. 

He fell to the floor, and the members of his cabinet looked at you, stunned. 

“Leave,” Anakin ordered, and they immediately obeyed. With Palpatine dead, the empire fell to Anakin. 

When the room was empty, you looked down at the monster on the floor. He was wheezing, and bleeding rapidly. 

With hands almost tender, you sat him up, and rested his head against the desk. 

“With your remaining breath, my master,” you said, sitting back onto the floor, “tell me your plan. Tell me how you pulled Anakin to the dark side. And I’ll tell you why you failed.” He glared at you. 

“I could kill you now,” you offered, auburn saber still in your hand. “But I want to know how to do what you’ve done. To pass on the way of the Sith.” 

“Anakin Skywalker loved Padme Amidala,” Palpatine wheezed, and you raised your chin. “I promised him that I could save the one he loved from certain death. And when she disappeared, he held loyalty to no one but me.” 

“You didn’t count on me,” you continued for him, “If it weren’t for me, it would have worked.” 

“Yes,” Palpatine growled. You smiled, wickedly, and collected your legs underneath you as though you were meditating. 

“You failed,” you said, holding up your end of the bargain, “because while Anakin loves Padme, he married me.” Sidious’ eyes went wide. How he had managed to discuss Padme with Anakin and it never somehow came up that he hadn’t married Padme, you didn’t want to know. 

“His loyalty is to me. And to Padme- who is right now on Tatooine, in the care of Obi-Wan Kenobi.” You lifted your saber, pointing it to him casually, like one might gesture with a pen. 

“It seems, Sidious, I never discussed with you my true feelings for Anakin.” You pressed the saber forward to his stab wound, and the blood around it began to boil and sizzle. You went in slowly, making him groan, having not enough energy to scream. 

“I love him,” you explained, “I would do anything for him.” You slid the saber up toward his chest, and began the same slow press, this time toward his heart, through healthy flesh. 

“And I’ve got to say,” you began, readying to shove the saber forward and stop his miserable, shriveled heart, “I don’t think I appreciate how you’ve treated him.” 

One thrust forward, and Emperor Palpatine was no more. 

With his lungs empty of their final breaths, you snuffed your saber, and turned back to Anakin. He was still sitting in the chair he’d had beside Palpatine, eyes trained to you, shining in intensity. 

“You’re in my seat,�� you said as you stood. You approached him and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him against you. “I’m afraid I’ve taken your place as right hand to the emperor.” 

“Is that so?” he teased, his hands on your lower back. 

“I believe it is,” you breathed, “Emperor Skywalker.” 

No one in the galaxy had ever shared a sweeter kiss. 

-🦌 Roe