#Sunlit Silence comic

[alakotila]

✨they should kiss, too✨ Sunlit Silence is a webcomic, and you can read it on Webtoon, Tapas, and Patreon!

#Sunlit SIlence comic #webtoon #tapas comic #queer books #trans character #t4t #art #clip studio paint #webcomic #achillean #transmasc

[cosmerelists]

Ranking Various Cosmere Fantasy Swears

If there's one thing Brandon Sanderson likes, it's avoiding any real swear words in favor of Fantasy Swears. I am genuinely a huge fan of this technique. So here how I'd rank some of the ones I can remember! (And thanks to 17th Shard [here and here] and to Reddit for compiling some lists!).

#14: Colors (Warbreaker)

This one feels a little bit...lazy, I guess? Like yes, Warbreaker's magic is color-dependent, so colors are a big part of the world-building, so I guess it makes sense that people use it as a swear. But it feels like if, in fantasy USA, people swore by "eagles" all the time: "Eagles! I dropped my hamburger!"

#13: Moons (Tress of the Emerald Sea)

I mean same problem as with "colors"! Yes, the moons are a big aspect of the worldbuilding, but it just feels like a semi-boring swear. Although maybe that's just the swear that Tress tends to use.

#12: Shadows/Shades (Shadows for Silence/Sunlit Man)

Okay, maybe this one is a bit boring, but anything Threndy-related gets extra credit from me. So therefore I think this is one of the least boring of the "basically boring descriptors of world building elements" swears.

#11: By the Lord Ruler (Mistborn)

I mean...eh. This one is world specific, but it's basically like swearing by god only in this case the god is the Lord Ruler, right? It makes sense 'n' all but isn't as interesting as some of the later ones.

#10: By the Survivor's Scars (Mistborn)

This one is better because it's more specific--Kelsier's scars are rich with meaning, and swearing by them does feel like it carries cultural weight.

#9: By Harmony's Armbands (Mistborn)

Putting them all in a line like this...I just like how they get ever more specific. Now we're swearing by Harmony's feruchemical armlets? Okay!

#8: God Beyond (Shadows for Silence)

I mean, Threnody is, like, haunted by a god's corpse, so I think any of their god-related swears are more interesting as a result.

#7: Nights / Nights afire (Emperor's Soul)

I like this one because I just don't know what it refers to and it seems kinda creepy. What are nights on fire for??

#6: Rust and Ruin (Mistborn)

Frankly, the alliteration gets this one extra points. And "Rust and Ruin!" just feels like a good thing to shout when you've stubbed your toe.

#5: Storms/storming/Stormfather (Stormlight Archive)

I know this one SHOULD lose points for being exactly the sort of boring descriptive swear I maligned above...but I enjoy this one simply because it's such a clear linguistic stand-in for "fuck" and that leads to such amusing translations as "Kaladin Fuckblessed" or the "Fuckfather" and that just never stops being funny to me.

#4: Herald body parts (Stormlight Archive)

I didn't notice until looking at various compiled lists of Cosmere Fantasy Swears, but Rosharans really like to swear by specific Herald body parts, huh? From here: Kelek's breadth, Kelek's tongue, Ash's eyes, Ishar's soul, Nalan's hand, Pali's mind, Talat's hand...I'm a fan of this. It's interesting and feels culturally relevant.

#3: Glories Within (Stormlight Archive)

This one is just Szeth so far, but people speculate it's probably a Shin curse. That makes it interesting to me since we don't know a whole lot about the Shin. What inner glory are they using to swear?

#2: Starving (Stormlight Archive)

This one is pretty similar to "Storming," I suppose, in being a pretty clear linguistic stand-in for "fucking." But I just like that the food-obsessed Lift has her own personal swear relating to starvation.

#1: Lowly/Highly (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

I'm a big fan of the lowly/highly thing from Yumi & the Nightmare Painter, where words can be linguistically marked as meant in either a high way (complimentary) or a low way (insultingly). It's fun worldbuilding and leads to some comic beats in the novel. Plus, this post tickled me greatly: https://www.tumblr.com/cabinetcreature/722030379790401536?source=share. It's so true!

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Stormlight Archive #Warbreaker #Mistborn #Sunlit Man #Tress of the Emerald Sea #Yumi and the Nightmare Painter #Shadows for Silence #Emperor's Soul

[nashdoesstuff]

Dream Tournament Fanmade Content MASTERPOST

hey y'all! so, i figured, and since @tehrogueva was asking, i got the idea to make a masterpost for your content for the DT! let's get your awesome stuff organized!

COMIC SERIES/REPEATED MEDIA [concurrent series with content for a specific character leading up to their elimination point]:

@/sunlit-witch's dawn v. [character] comics:

bwb's first encounter

dawn whining about the height of his alternates

dawn questions why the tournament ended

dawn enters arena with og dream

dawn loses

osd!nightmare's wild goose chase comics by @/cakesmelons

nightmare encounters leviathan [first]

nightmare encounters shattered [second]

nightmare encounters molten and rem [third]

final [dream v. osd]

osd!nightmare's wild goose chase media by @/calcium-cat

osd meets shattered

shattered meets nightmare?

one-shot chain

final [dream v. osd]

FIRST ROUND:

Shattered!Dream v. Shattered!Monarch

@/galacii-gallery's propaganda art

@/wishingstarinajar's propaganda art

OSD v. Leviathan

@/orbital-inclination's watercolor painting

leviathan overwhelmed by cuteness by @/skumhuu

Molten!Dream v. Silence

@/syxadel's molten propaganda

@/dryemiddi's propaganda art

mini silence sketch for a silencesweep follower by @/dryemiddi

Swad v. Oneiros

@/wishingstarinajar's propaganda art

Empireverse v. Negative

n/a

Malltale v. Modernverse

@/ask-modern-verse's modern propaganda art

@/ask-modern-verse's modern!dream waves goodbye to mall

Dawn v. BwB

@/the-kk-crow's mini comic

@/sunlit-witch's first comic pages

dawn complaining about the height of his alternates by @/sunlit-witch

dawn questions the tournament ending by @/sunlit-witch

goldie [bwb] being quite the homicidal apple by @/wyrm-in-the-apple

goldie [bwb] cheers up dream by @/wyrm-in-the-apple

bwb dream freaking out over a camera by @/the-kk-crow

goldie [bwb] being homicidal 2.0 by @/wyrm-in-the-apple

Dream v. RESET

n/a

ROUND TWO

Shattered v. OSD

@/cakesmelons' first comic

@/calcium-cat's first comic

shattered's reassurance by @/galacii-gallery

osd has a gift for shattered by @/dragonfire1000

nightmare encounters shattered? by @/calcium-cat

shattered's unhappy by @/dragonfire1000

shattered's unhappy 2.0 by @/the-kk-crow

"win or lose" by @/galacii-gallery

shattered wins in spirit by @/wyrm-in-the-apple

@/galacii-gallery's gift to the simps

Molten v. Swad

swad intimidates molt by @/orbital-inclination

Empireverse v. Modern

modern gets excited by @/ask-modern-verse

modern!ink is a pain in the behind by @/ask-modern-verse

modern!blue invites modern!dream for drinks by @/ask-modern-verse

Dream v. Dawn

Dawn meets OG by @/sunlit-witch

Dawn loses by @/sunlit-witch

SEMIFINALS

OSD v. Molten

@/cakesmelons' second comic

@/calcium-cat's oneshot chain

molt invites osd for ice cream by @/orbital-inclination

Empireverse v. Dream

n/a

FINALS:

"Going Back The Way We've Come" by @/annaraebananawriter

@/papple's "callback"

osd's winning sash by @/papple

@/calcium-cat's sneak peek

@/cakesmelons' third comic

@/cakesmelons' final comic

@/calcium-cat's final comic

OTHER [content that was for the tournament but otherwise unsorted]

@/ask-modern-verse's reblog chain for dawn v. bwb

asking for pictures

sneaky shot!

host harasses modern!dream

host harasses modern!dream pt 2

host's ask for @/ask-modern-verse about the tournament

modernverse's crew responds to dream participating in the tournament

everyone gets ice cream by @/wyrm-in-the-apple

tea party by @/papple

silence's origin fic announcement by @/dryemiddi

let me know of anything i missed!

this took so much longer than expected and i need sleep.

#dream tournament #masterpost #dream tournament masterpost #nashdoesstuff #dream aus #nash's shenanigans

[kaiismydivineruler]

You are my favorite Adventure - Kit Walker x reader.

Picnic fluff

Song: Can't help falling in love by Elvis Presley

Bathed in the warm glow of the sunlit meadow, Kit Walker unfurled a vintage blanket, setting the stage for a charming picnic. A soft breeze carried the scent of wildflowers as a playlist of timeless tunes played from a portable radio, creating a nostalgic ambiance.

Amidst bites of sandwiches and sips of lemonade, Kit shared animated tales of his latest adventures. "The jungle had this ancient temple, covered in vines," he recounted, his hands illustrating the wild encounter. "And just when I thought it was all calm, a mischievous monkey swiped my hat!"

Your laughter echoed in the meadow as you imagined the comical scene. "A jungle nemesis, huh? Your adventures never cease to amaze," you remarked, reaching for a slice of watermelon.

Kit grinned, the sparkle in his eyes revealing the thrill he found in these stories. "Every adventure needs a bit of chaos, don't you think?" he mused, a playful glint in his eye.

The conversation seamlessly wove between thrilling escapades and shared dreams. Amidst the tales, there was a palpable connection, a shared understanding that went beyond words.

As a soulful melody played, Kit's demeanor softened. "You know," he began, his tone sincere, "amidst all the chaos, you're my favorite adventure."

Your heart skipped a beat, and a warmth spread through you. "Smooth talker," you teased, your eyes meeting his. "I bet you say that to all the jungle creatures too."

He chuckled, the sound creating a comforting melody. "Only to the ones who steal my heart," he replied, his gaze lingering on you.

The music provided the perfect backdrop as Kit reached for your hand. "Care for a dance?" he asked, a hint of romance in his voice. The world around you faded as you swayed to the rhythm, wrapped in each other's arms.

"I could dance with you forever," Kit whispered, his breath warm against your ear. The meadow transformed into a romantic dance floor, and the music became the soundtrack to your own love story.

In a moment of shared silence, Kit cupped your face, and your lips met in a tender kiss. The world ceased to exist, and you were enveloped in the timeless embrace of love. The melodies lingered like a promise in the air, carrying your shared laughter, stories, and the magic of that sunlit picnic into the vast canvas of the sky.

#kit walker #kit walker x reader #fluff #american horror story #elvis presley #picnic

[ser-rctslcyer]

The seaside 🌊 - What are things/aesthetics/feelings (Obscure or mundane) that remind you of your f/o in particular?

Sunlit sea☀️ - What nicknames or terms of endearment does your f/o use for you, and which are your favorites?

Moonlit sea 🌙 - What nicknames or terms of endearment do you use for your f/o, and which ones are their favorite?

for william, moon boys, & eddie 💞

Buckle up because this is a long one!!!

The seaside 🌊 - What are things/aesthetics/feelings (Obscure or mundane) that remind you of your f/o in particular?

Well it would be weird if I didn't say it but anytime I look at a deck of cards I think of him. The usual plain white and red decks remind me of him the most and I feel always tempted to get an extra pack just for him, even though he's has "a perfectly fine and useable" one already.

As weird as it sounds, white noise reminds me of William. Just hearing everything whirring around, reminds me of how often we spend our time together, sitting in silence and just soaking up each other. Even on our bad days, just being in the same room with one another and letting the vibrations from the ac bounce and echo over the room is also quite nice.

Sunlit sea☀️ - What nicknames or terms of endearment does your f/o use for you, and which are your favorites?

He's doesn't tend to use nicknames frequently, as he's still adjusting to having someone who cares in his life. Though when he does, he uses Day-Day, which makes my little heart sing. I was never sure if he would use my childhood nickname, but after one nice night out and trying to get ready for bed when I was a little too amped, he blurted it out. It took me by surprise, but I couldn't stop grinning and begging him to say it again.

He's the same way with terms of endearments and those are thrown out sometimes when we're out, mostly in private though and doing other personal things. He only uses two, which are baby and love, and honestly I couldn't tell you which I love more. Every time he calls me one of them, I can't help but to smile.

Moonlit sea 🌙 - What nicknames or terms of endearment do you use for your f/o, and which ones are their favorite?

He was the kid that got nicknames even though he never wanted them but no one ever stopped, so he's got a bit of resentment to them. La Linda and Cirk only get a pass because they're his real friends. The one and only nickname I get to use is Will, which he loves, especially when I hold him or have my hands in his curls.

(To be honest, I think sometimes his name may trigger him since ya know his full legal name was used to ruin his entire image and I just don't think he wants to be called it often. I think its why in the movies, he lets La Linda call him any other name under the sun and why he tenses up when Cirk knows who he is; because it's something he's actively trying to avoid)

The seaside 🌊 - What are things/aesthetics/feelings (Obscure or mundane) that remind you of your f/o in particular?

Marc - Button-up shirts, mainly plain solid color ones in dark blues, greys and blacks. Hoodies as well because Marc eventually started picking more clothes out for himself, he found hoodies make him feel the most comfortable. Also my guitar (which i probably don't remember how to play before you ask).

Jake - Jake has an affinity to reading almost akin to Steven, but he reads more horror, sci-fi and comic books. He's got his own comic collection going, and we often swap and share stuff we're reading just to see if the other is into it. We 100% had our own little book club over Mary Shelley's Frankenstein because why the fuck not.

gloves/books (horror/comic/sci-fi)/

Steven - All my journals and pens because Steven and I collect a lot of journals we swear we'll use. We also just have a bit of an addiction to collecting pens we find are good, look cool, etc. There's also my LOTR Extended Edition Boxset, because we often put that on and just relax with one another.

Sunlit sea☀️ - What nicknames or terms of endearment does your f/o use for you, and which are your favorites?

Marc - He must call me baby and I absolutely adore him using it. He doesn't feel the need to use anything too far out or sappy.

Jake - There's a plethora of names he uses for me, some of which seem a little offensive but he means it in a playful way. His favorites are cariño and sweetheart and I love each interchangeably.

Steven - He calls me 'his Day-delion' and although that nickname came from not my brightest middle school moment (i had a dandelion shoved into my mouth) the way he says it, is too adorable for me not to enjoy it. He'll call me baby or love and I adore when he calls me love.

Moonlit sea 🌙 - What nicknames or terms of endearment do you use for your f/o, and which ones are their favorite?

Marc - I love showering him in all different types of pet names and Marc suffers because too much affection makes his brain melt. I often call him baby, pretty boy, sweetcheeks, to which he flusters at.

Jake - Now he doesn't get too flustered from pet names like baby but hon or honey sure does get him. I think it because he's always invested in older shows and those terms of endearment make he feel like he's living his best normal domestic life. Sometimes I will call him Jake-baby and for some reason he adores that.

Steven - There's a lot of cutesy ones I use for him because I love hearing his little laugh every time I use a new one or one he enjoys. His favorites I use are cutiepie, darling, and angel.

The seaside 🌊 - What are things/aesthetics/feelings (Obscure or mundane) that remind you of your f/o in particular?

All my dragon statues remind me of Eddie. The sheer amount of DnD we talk with one another and also talk about fantasy is probably why it does. He enjoys my little collection of dragon things, even the old clay pot I made when I was in elementary school/

Sunlit sea☀️ - What nicknames or terms of endearment does your f/o use for you, and which are your favorites?

He constantly refers to me as Day-Day to anyone because he finds the nickname very very cute. Will use it with his puppy eyes to convince me about whatever batshit idea he might be having.

He does call me baby, sweetheart and hottie and he's very playful about it which is cute.

Moonlit sea 🌙 - What nicknames or terms of endearment do you use for your f/o, and which ones are their favorite?

He does not like his full name being used ever which is what he told me a few months into our friendship. He wasn't very keen at first for any sorta nicknames until I called him Eds once and then he wants to hear it all the time. Edbear he also enjoys for how silly it sounds but he guess it fits him (and I very much agree).

He loves to be showered in endearments and I love giving him every one. There's a bunch we go through but I mainly use sweetheart, babyboy/girl, sweetpea, and little demon when he's being an absolute terror. He loves babyboy/girl and sweetpea the most!.

#loser’s circus of f/o’s #spilt the deck ❤️♠️ #spinning through the moons 🌑💫 #​​dragons dungeons and metal 🎸 #my day was so long-- and this took me forever; pleab forgive #i sleep now

[wakandan-smuts-forever]

Birds, Bees and Panthers- Part II (humorous smut)

@tchallasbabymama​ @impremenior

(Note: i know I said T’Challa was three, but im making it 31 months because I might have misestimated the behaviour a little)

Here’s my masterlist, and askbox!

To tell the truth, that wasn’t exactly their best orgasm.

T’Chaka did manage to bring it around the awkward pause, but it was a certainly strained, considering their newly acquired knowledge of two little ears just a little way down the hallway. 

Besides, Ramonda looked a little embarrassed, and at the same time suddenly gained a motherly air at the sight of her son. 

In pregnant silence, they pulled on something more modest than just the sky and carefully removed all traces of their release. Once or twice, Ramonda caught her husband’s eye and they began smiling, seeing the comical side to their situation.

They stepped out of the room together, into the hallway.

 It was a rather grand one, for someone’s private quarters, with a sunlit pool in the center and elaborate pillars that reached to the transparent ceiling. And T’Challa was crouching on the floor next to an indoor plant just a few feet away from their door.

Through an unspoken communication, T’Chaka went first, and approached his son. He knew this was something that should be handled very carefully. Ramonda nodded and glanced at her son, before proceeding down the hall to attend to her pending notifications on her kimoyo beads. A flurry of thoughts ran through the Kings head.

‘Could he have taken our position as an aggressive? or his mother’s moans as pain?’

The King knew that his son had seen something that could be quite... imprinting.

As he got closer, T’Chaka saw that his child had taken to closely examining a nearby trail of ants. Caught in marvelous rapture, T’Challa was breaking tiny bits off his snack and trying to place them on the backs of his favorite ants.

“You mush eat your dunch, omcinci (little one), you need to walk so much, eat your dunch..” - he heard the boy whisper to the ants.

“Ants are very intelligent creatures, T’Challa,” The father knelt down beside his son. “They usually eat their own lunch...”

T’Challa only spared him a short glance before returning to analyzing the colony again. “But you always tell me to eat my dunch...”

T’Chaka grinned and affectionately rubbed the boy’s little head.

“ That’s because you’re still small Unyana kam, when you grow up, you will also eat your own lunch. Without anyone telling you to.”

“But Baba, these ants are also shmall... I can hold twee in my hand!” He stretched out a chubby palm to prove his point.

T’Chaka nodded seriously. “But these are grown up. Ants are smaller when they are small.” he showed him a thumb and index finger nearly touching.

“That’sh very tinyy!!” The baby exclaimed, now looking at his father.

T’Chaka leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. “You were just as tiny when you were inside mama...”

“Was I thish tiny?” T’Challa pressed two fingers together and held it up.

“Tinier...You used to be just a few cells!”

T’Challa seemed to digest that for a moment.

“How did mama g’dow the shellsh?”

“She had half of them, and I gave her another half,” T’Chaka smiled. “both those halves become one baby.” 

The Prince was lost deep in thought, examining his snack bowl now.

“Do you want to ask me anything, T’Challa?” The King inquired carefully after a pause

“Hayi...” he gave an immediate answer, shaking his head.

“Ewe,” He followed a second later, looking back up.

“What is it?” His father said, taking one miniature hand in his own huge ones.

“What were you doing to mama in the bed-droom?”

“Oh, we were making love, T’Challa,” T’Chaka explained. “married people sometimes kiss and hug to show their love for each other.”

“What did you make?” T’Challa asked curiously. 

“It’s not a material thing, Unyana kam, you can’t touch the love that is made.” The king chuckled.

“Then how do you know it’s made?” the child pressed on.

 “We can feel it... just like the wind. You can’t see the wind, but you can see it move things and make noise, right?”

“Ohh...” T’Challa was satisfied with the explanation. “Sho you and mama were moving thingsh and makin - noishe becosh... becosh the love was b’dowing on you?”

“Welllll... you could say so. In a way.” T’Chaka was just a little amazed by the comparison made by a two year old.

“Ish that why you were holding mama down? So she would’n b’dow away?”

T’Chaka was very tempted to let the child believe that, and escape the early explanation of adult desire and arousal to a two year old.

But he knew that it wasn’t exactly a good way to avoid it, since T’Challa could find out about something on his own and either lose a little trust in his own father or think that sex and sexual attraction was something bad.

“It doesn’t work exactly like that, T’Challa,” He found himself saying. “When you grow up you’ll understand abstract things better, and in full truth.” 

“Abt- ab ‘shdac??”

“ It means things you can’t see or hear, or taste, or smell, or feel on your skin.”

T’Challa crinkled his soft brow into a cute frown. “Like... love?”

“Yes, like love., among other things.” T’Chaka kissed his son again, this time on his cheek.

“But I can understand love...” the toddler said softly, placing his chubby fingers on his father’s beard.

“You can, T’Challa,” T’Chaka reassured him cradling the smaller hand gently “But there are different kinds of love, and it is hard to explain something to someone who is not old enough to feel it yet.”

His son buried his face in the crook of his neck and made a tiny noise of agreement. T’Chaka held him there for a second before picking him up.

“Now do you want to ask mama anything?”

#Ramonda x T'Chaka #toddler t'challa #baby T'Challa #babyvengers #black panther smut #black panther humour #humor #funny stories #sex ed #birds and the bees #birds bees and panthers #humorous smut #t'challa #cute t'challa

[ariel-seagull-wings]

TOP 12 CINDERELLA PORTRAYALS

@superkingofpriderock​ @metropolitan-mutant-of-ark​ @lachica50​ @sunlit-music​ @princesssarisa​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @amalthea9​ @captain-dad​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ @theancientvaleofsoulmaking​ @anne-white-star​ @littlewomenchannel​ @lieutenant-hel-odinsdottir​ @filmcityworld1​ 

Rodopis. Ye Xan. Cenerentola. Cendrillon. Aschenputtel.  Aschenbrödel. Zolushka. Cenicienta. Gata Borralheira. Cinderella. The heroine has several names around the world, but all of them experience the same tale: young ladies who are opressed and marginalized by father and stepfamily, but, thanks to their kindness and bravery, receive assistance to rise from the ashes more strong and beautifull, learning to love themselves and eventually finding the love of a prince that will make them happy. The tale is very old, its first writen version dating back to Ancient Egypt, and has been told, retold, writen and rewriten in several different versions, and has been adapted into a variety of media like cartoons, films, radio shows, and comics from around the Globe, wich possibilated anyone to choose their favorite versions. And today, i will share with my favorite portrayal of one of the most iconic fairy tale heroines of all time.

12º Daphne Zuniga in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child (1995)

This animated fairy tale anthology series produced by HBO camed with the twist of transporting well known european versions of fairy tales to different cultures, like China, Cuba and the Caribbean. In this episode, they adapted Cinderella by setting the story in a Kingdom that had culture and population inspired by Mexico, making it one of the first portrayals of the character as a mexican, wich turns it a very significative work. Cinderella herself could show a bit more range of emotions, because in this portrayal she is at her most passive, her voice is always very sweet and low and she rarely her smile facial expression, but the character design and how she interacts with the colorfull and creative world and characters in the episode still makes it wort checking it out.

11º Aylin Tezel in Sechs auf einen Streich (2011)

Grimm’s Finest Fairy Tales (Sechs auf einen Streich in Germany and Holland) is a live action TV Movie anthology series from Germany made between 2008 and 2019. In 2011, they released their adaptation of Cinderella (Grimm’s Aschenputtel) staring german-turkish actress Aylin Tezel. Tezel brings a sense of playfullness to the role, as well as a sense of altruism in helping the servants in her Stepmother’s house and a wild free spirit that she fights to keep despite the opressive rulling of her Stepmother over her life. She is basically borrowing some elements of the humanity that other actresses before her brought to the role, while making this version of the character her own, wich is not easy feet, and deserves all the praises in the world.

10º Mitsuko Horie/Lara Cody in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

Another fairy tale anthology series, this time made as a japanese anime that, despite the title, didn’t necessarily limited itself to the tales written by the Grimm Brothers. But in the case of this Cinderella episode, the Grimm’s version is the one they choosed to adapt, excluding the gory element of the sisters cutting their feet. This encarnation of Cinderella is probably the one with the most highlighted innocence, wich could both bring people to love and help her, but also be turned against her by the villains. The moment where this is most explicit is when after returning from the ball, she casually comments with the birds about the tree that gaved her the ball gown to wear, without knowing that the Stepmother is listening, and later her Stepmother not only locks her in the attic, but calls a woodcutter to cut down the tree, leaving poor Cinderella to suffer in deep guilt. It’s not often that a Cinderella adaptation explores the character’s innocence having negative consequences for her, and that is what makes this portrayal of one the most refreshing.

09º Maria Kawamura in Cinderella Monogatari (1996)

The Story of Cinderella (Cinderella Monogatari) is an Italian-Japanese anime television series of 26 episodes, wich were later edited into a two part feature lenght movie. This Cinderella is the 16 year old daughter of a rich Duke who dreams of someday going to live in a castle, having her own horse and many friends. But those dreams start to become remote for her when her father has to make a long travel and her Stepmother and Stepsisters reveal their true faces: Cinderella is taken out of her room, turned into their servant, often receiving hard tasks in short spans of time, and several times is exposed to situations of danger and harm by her Stepmother, like when she is unfairly framed for stealing grapes from the royal vines. Her situation is one of the most vulnerable, and troughout the series we get nervous to see if she will keep being a hopefull teenager, or if the hardships will crush her spirit despite the support that she has from her friends.

08º Ilene Woods in Disney’s Cinderella (1950)

Going from a teenager who has just recently started to experience adversity, to a grown adult who has experienced adversity since childhood. Having lost both of her parents as a child, it becamed more easy for Lady Tremaine to lock Cinderella away from the world and educate her to be an apparently perfect servant who does every domestic shore well, fast and without any sign of complaints. But, when she is alone with her animal friends, is the moment that Cinderella voices her fealings of fear, longing, anger, sadness and tiredness, dreaming of someday becoming free. She also gives them food and handmade clothes, showing how thankfull she is for their friendship, and this inspires the animals, as well as the Fairy Godmother who sees everything, to want to help her. And in her night out at the ball, she shows a natural grace and sweetness that charms people like the Prince to instantly fall in love with her. Basically, an inspirational role model.

07º Gemma Craven in The Slipper and The Rose (1976)

An intersting bridge between Disney’s Cinderella and Cinderella Monogatari. Like Disney’s Cinderella, she is a grown adult orphaned of both parents. Like Cinderella Monogatari, since her father died when she is an adult, her entrapment into servitude is more recent, wich makes clear that she has difficulty with domestic shores and also gives her a more intense will to rebel, to the point that this is one of the few portrayals of Cinderella that says “I hate you” in her Stepmother’s face. And the rebeliousness is well mixed with a very romantic personality that specially shines after she falls in love with the Prince, who is also an idealistic rebel that matches perfectly well with our relatable heroine.

06º Drew Barrymore as Danielle de Barbarac in Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998)

In american cinema during the 90s, it was growing in popularity the fantasy heroine who was a warrior rebel and an intelectual bookworm. Capitaling in this fenomenon, Ever After: A Cinderella Story, was made, eschewing the magical elements in favour of Pseudo-Historical Fiction retelling.

The story begins when The Brothers Grimm are invited to the home of a French noblewoman who tells them how much she enjoyed their story of Cinderella, but that they got some details wrong. She then proceeds to tell them this story: Danielle de Barbarac  is the beloved only child of the widowed Auguste de Barbarac and his late wife, Nicole de Lancret. When she is eight years old, he remarries the Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent (Anjelica Huston), and brings her home along with her two daughters, spoiled and cruel Marguerite and gentle but weak-willed Jacqueline. Shortly thereafter, he dies, leaving Danielle to the care of her stepmother, who already resents the love that he displays to his daughter (especially as he calls for her over his wife in his final moments), and the estate's three devoted servants - the housemaids, Paulette and Louise, and the retainer, Louise's husband Maurice. The movie skips ahead ten years, to when Danielle is eighteen. Their estate has fallen onto hard times and things keep "disappearing," to the anger of the Baroness. Danielle has, of course, become a virtual house slave to the family, but takes comfort in the familial love she shares with the servants and the kindness she receives from Jacqueline. One morning, she is gathering apples in the estate's orchard when she spies someone stealing the horse of her late father. Enraged, she chucks apples at him, ultimately causing him to fall. It turns out to be the Crown Prince of France, running away from a father who wants to marry him off. To buy her silence, he gives her a great amount of gold. Danielle and the Prince meet again when Danielle, disguised as a courtier and using her mother's name, goes to the castle to rescue Maurice, whom the Baroness had sold into slavery to pay off some of her debt. The Prince is intrigued by "Nicole's" beliefs and courage, and asks to meet her again. A courtship ensues, in which Danielle keeps trying to tell Henry that she is really not a countess and the Baroness gets increasingly suspicious of Danielle's odd appearances and disappearances. The King and Queen, desperate to marry their son off, are delighted that he has found a girl... but are keen to meet her, something Danielle wishes to avoid. Meanwhile, Leonardo da Vinci, who has been invited to court, befriends both Danielle and Henry and everything seems to be going along well, save for Danielle's growing anxiety about maintaining the masquerade.

Barrymore’s Danielle channels the idealism and dreaminess of the Cinderella character trough her love of books, specially Thomas Moore’s Utopia, and also expands the rebeliousness brought by her predecessours by being writen as skillfull in swordfight, making her able to save herself and the ones she loves in more than one ocasion, wich was a very new take. At least for american audiences in the 90s, anyway, but we will get there later...

05º Brandy Norwood in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1997)

When i was kid i watched mainly three film versions of Cinderella: the 1950 Disney animated film, Ever After: A Cinderella Story, and this TV Movie production of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical released by the Disney Channel. It was one the first examples of a diverse, colorblind period fairy tale production i remember seeing, and it was an important mark for me ever since.

As played by pop singer and actress Brandy Norwood, this encarnation of Cinderella is a courteous, gentle young woman who is nevertheless unafraid to speak her mind, ocasionally making snarky comments as a way to cope with her stepfamily’s abuse. But she is still shown to need some boosting in confidence by her Fairy Godmother, who teaches Cinderella to see the valour and beauty in herself, and never stoping asking for the impossible.

04º  Lesley Ann Warren in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1965)

Whereas Brandy Norwood’s Cinderella would more easily find a way to confront others who mistreated her and become a confident person, Lesley Ann Warren’s Cinderella was a more shy and frightened person, who had to take a more slow path into becoming confident and take her chance of happiness. Because of that, the viewer has the more intense feeling that when she goes to the ball in the beautifull magic gown, she is a more glamorous and happy person, different from the meek and sad lady who usually hides around the fireplace. This was Warren’s first starring role, and we must commend her for portraying two faces of the same character in her debut as a leading lady.

03º Jennifer Beals in Fairy Tale Theater (1985)

The most simple, straightforward adaptation of Charles Perrault’s Cinderella ever made, and the simplicity is its greatest strenght. That strenght is personified in Jennifer Beals’s performance as the title character. This Cinderella is the quintessential no nonsense girl next door, who even tough finding herself in a situation of unimpowerment, always refuses to accept the absurd injustice of her exploitation as a servant, speaking her mind clearly to her stepfamily. This make all the more satisfatory when she receives the visit of her Fairy Godmother, and is reward with the deserved rich and happy life that she was loosing hope of ever receiving.

02º Libuše Šafránková in Three Wishes for Cinderella (1973)

This czech film is one of the first cinematic portrayals of Cinderella as a wild, adventurous, free spirited trickster character, who with the help of three wish granting magic nuts, can go outside and woo her beloved Prince. She enjoys horse riding, trowing snow balls, and hunting, as well as wearing pretty dresses to dance at balls. A highlight is when she cleverly hides her face with a veil to avoid being recognized by her stepfamily, and teases the Prince with riddles about who she is. You can see that she oppened the door for portrayals like Barrymore’s and Tenzel’s.

And my number one is the version that opened the door for her and many others...

01º Leslie Caron in The Glass Slipper (1955)

In this ballet-movie, french-american ballerina and actress Leslie Caron portrays Ella, a girl who not only is abused by her stepfamily, but also ostracized by the people in her village due to constantly apearing covered in ashes and not being traditionally beautifull with her short hair and big teeth. Because of that, Ella grows into a lonely, awkward and agressive person, whose only refuge is the prophecy of a fortune teller who told that someday she would live in the beautifull Palace of the Duke, and the daydreams in wich she imagine herself as a gracious ballerina. One day, Ella meets two people: Mrs Toquet, an old lady who everyone calls crazy, and a young man who presents himself as son of the Palace’s Cook, but is secretly the Duke’s son, Prince Charles. Those two are the first people who treat Ella with kindness, and because of that, she slowly blooms into a more merry person, who learns to love herself and accept the love of others.

This adaptation is very influential, being one of the first where the heroine’s birth name is Ella (wich would be later used in Ella Enchanted and Disney’s Cinderella 2015), one of the first that makes the supernatural elements more subtle (paving the way for Ever After’s complet schewing of them), one of the first that portrays a more angry and rebellious Cinderella (paving the way for Three Wishes for Cinderella, The Slipper and The Rose, Fairy Tale Theater, Ever After and Aylin Tezel’s 2011 Cinderella) and one of the first to make her meet and fall in love with the Prince before the ball, without knowing his true identity (paving the way for Three Wishes for Cinderella, Ever After , Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella 1997 production and Aylin Tezel’s 2011 Cinderella). 

And because of how awkward and agressive Ella acts in her everyday life, her ballet daydreams and the transformation in the mysteryous “belle of the ball” feels more radical, like two different faces of the same coin, thanks to Leslie Caron’s full of range performance. For being the version that brought the raw humanity to Cinderella, influencing several portrayals ever since, is the reason that Leslie Caron is my number one favorite portrayal of Cinderella.

Honorable Mentions: Kim Crosby in Into the Woods (1987), The Triplets (1998).

#cinderella #fairy tales #genre fiction #fantasy #literature #folklore #pop culture #wallpaper

[blankdblank]

Dimensions

Reader and Loki are trapped inside an inter dimensional cube thing some villain decided to trap them in after having seen how the Avengers team is such a mess and decided to pick the quietest of the bunch and test how stupid they really are. Little does he know they are the overlooked brains and backbone of the bunch who leave breadcrumb flag markers in each world they beat and break out of to find the next. Each with the equivalent of chicken killing hatred from Skyrim where everyone tries to kill them for no apparent reason.

Loki reaches the final world and spots Reader with a book reclined on a sunlit stone railing near the seaside in a picturesque town. The only catch they are wearing a fake mustache. In his haste he races over to the first shout of his name and pauses in the sudden fruit salad hat placed on top of his head. The silence was what had him turn to see everyone in town turn around and head back to their tasks.

“Been here three months never thought you’d make it here, cupcake.” He looks back to find them offering the cupcake on a plate beside an unclaimed cup of tea. Both of which he accepts and climbs into the rail across from them.

“Care to explain the fruit?” Taking a much needed sip of the tea.

“Comic book dimension. Just add a hat, glasses or fake mustache and you’re someone else entirely to everyone around you.”

“What have you been up to for three months?”

“Well, I’ve just been elected as Mayor, opened a small bakery on the end of the block and I have a hat that has people know me as the hooligan who keeps throwing bags of rubber ducks coated in glitter onto every parked car and truck near the eastern side of the park. Also been considering taking up a new persona to take on the prick who runs that paint studio. Not sure what appearance I’ll take yet.”

“Why haven’t you left yet? Surely you were not waiting for me.” He said with a pang of hope and self deprication in his voice.

All Reader did was point and giggle, “Thought you’d not want to miss him.” Loki turned his head to see his half naked brother sprinting away from the shouting mob. “Keeps trying to tell me he can reason with them. Apparently Mr Bad Guy wasn’t too amused with his first choice and wanted to grab a few rings down on the brilliance tree. Been two weeks and he still insists on sleeping and bathing where they can get to him instead of the Mayoral Manor.”

That turned Loki’s head with a deepening smirk, “You have a Manor?”

Reader giggled and swung their legs off the rail to hop down and lead the way. “Come on, it’s ducking awesome. Got a jag with the job too.”

“Ducking?”

“Oh ya, can’t curse here. You should hear what they’ve censored Hela to. Just downright hilarious. Hired her as a living statue before they tarred and feathered her last week though. Trapped her in a trampoline shop. Was not pretty.” At the Jaguar Loki smirked in accepting the keys so he could drive while Reader showed him the way to the Manor just past his beyond pissed off sister in an awkward pose accepting coins in the box in front of her until her designated lunch break in an hour.

#Loki x reader #odd but adorable #fake mustache #move down #dimension hopping #hela’s alive #Odinson trio bonding

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

it’s a saeradan & candaith, feat. Candaith Is Fine(ish). spoilers thru wildermore interludes (mid-vol3) for whom it may apply

Andrath is quiet and the old fort is deserted. The Greenway is empty but for the creak of the wagon wheels and the breath of the horses bearing them home. Radanir had left them days ago, heading back into trouble alone but for Glorengúr. Erebrandir and Thordal go on without complaint, and Candaith watches the sunlit valley in contemplative silence. Saeradan starts humming as they pass Bree, some hobbit homecoming-song he probably picked up from Halros, and within the hour they roll to a stop outside Saeradan’s cabin. It feels far longer than a handful of weeks has passed since Candaith last saw the place, longer even than Saeradan said had passed since the Forsaken Road.

Saeradan climbs down from the wagon bench and stretches before helping Candaith down, careful not to jostle him. Candaith grits his teeth, even the gentle impact with the ground sending a line of burning pain along his spine. Saeradan says nothing, but his face tells of his concern loudly enough. Candaith takes a deep breath and straightens as much as he can without tearing open the stitches. Again.

“I’ll see to the horses?” he offers. It shouldn’t involve too much bending or carrying of things. Saeradan gives him a knowing look and tosses a small iron key his way.

“The brushes are in the back closet now,” Saeradan says. Candaith rolls his eyes good-naturedly but accepts the lighter duty while Saeradan unhitches and settles Erebrandir and Thordal. 

Candaith hasn’t truly been able to visit Saeradan here since Yule at least. In the years since he left Esteldín to spend nearly all his time in the wilds, Saeradan’s has come to feel as much like home as his little camp in the shadow of Amon Sûl. The setting sun streams golden through the westward-facing windows and the whoosh of displaced air as Candaith opens the doors sets flecks of dust dancing. 

They haven’t been gone so long that there’s more than a fine layer of accumulated dust- indeed, Candaith’s own part in the Grey Company’s journey seems almost comically short now, cut down in a damp cave not a week from home. He sighs, sets Saeradan’s key on the table, and opens a closet door. It’s empty, the wood paneling water-stained. “Right.” He goes to the back closet.

"What happened to the front closet?" he asks, joining Saeradan with the better-kept horse brushes that haven't yet been relegated to road use.

"Do you remember that leaky patch in the roof?” Saeradan takes one of the brushes and sets to work on Erebrandir’s coat.

“I thought you were going to fix that before the snows started.”

“There were more pressing things to worry about,” Saeradan says. “We had an unseasonably warm day just after a snowstorm, and all the snow melting at once washed a whole section of the roof away.” He holds up his hands to suggest a hole almost a foot and a half across. “I patched it, but once it gets warmer it will need a more permanent fix.”

“How is half of the roof just looking for an excuse to collapse on you not farther up the list of things to worry about?” Thordal snorts and Candaith takes it for agreement with his assessment.

“It’s hardly half the roof,” Saeradan grumbles. “And I just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

“No one else stopped here long enough for you to talk them into helping you, you mean?"

“Perhaps,” Saeradan says, a smile fighting for control of his face. Candaith laughs, and hides a flinch at the twinge of pain it causes. Saeradan never has cared for climbing up to even this low roof. Candaith has done it in his place more than once over the years.

Candaith pats Thordal and straightens carefully. Infuriating as he finds it, it does still hurt to strain his back at all and he has little choice but to leave the last of tending to the horse to Saeradan. Thordal is a fine animal, but Candaith misses his own Menethir. There’s no knowing what became of her anymore, though. The Grey Company had most likely taken Menethir and the other horses of those who had fallen on the Forsaken Road with them when they continued south as spares. After what happened beneath Methedras, though, little though Candaith knows of the details, they would have had no need for so many steeds. The Falcon Clan had not been able to take them into the tunnels with them, and it would have been absurd for all of them to follow the survivors of the Grey Company. Perhaps some of the horses went free in Dunland, or else found their way to sympathetic Rohirrim farther south. Candaith hopes Menethir remained among the Dúnedain, for his part.

He manages to get his pack and Saeradan’s into the house without causing himself further hurt (or catching Saeradan’s worried attention) and finds himself at the back of the tall wagon, hand hovering at the waxed cloth that covers them. His back throbs with a dull, deep ache in counterpoint to the sharper pain when he pulls back the cloth and sees the shrouded bodies again. Four crates sit in the wagonbed between him and them, their sides stamped with scratched-out red talons. He won’t be able to lift these without tearing the stitches- he had tried, just after they left Lhanuch, and his startled, pained scream had nearly sent Saeradan into a panic. For the sake of his friend’s nerves, Candaith leaves the crates alone this time.

It’s not as if there is much other reason for him to be here, then, but he lingers, almost reaching out to touch one of the bodies.

This isn’t all of them. That fact hurts almost as much as the fact that at least this many of them are dead. Not all of the bodies had been fit to travel, Saeradan had told him, sighing against the memory. Those had been laid to rest in the shadow of the mountain, far from their homes. The rest are here before him, waiting for Candaith and Saeradan to find them somewhere to rest. On the top lie those who had not been so lucky as Candaith on the Forsaken Road.

He remembers it in flashes- the waves of shades had seemed a test for Britou’s amusement at first, but they showed no sign of stopping and as their otherworldly glow had shone on his Bebarahir a wild, desperate plan struck him. There was a flash of relief as it seemed to work, then pain, and then fear and a terrible biting cold. Laughter rang on the stone walls and lightning flashed, falling farther away with every heartbeat. A pebble clattered along the floor, and all he could think was to grab for it as his sight went dark. There was more after that, but it was even hazier and riddled through with long, dark silences he fears to look too deep into even in memory. 

“Candaith?” Saeradan’s voice rounds the wagon. The sun is setting rapidly and the night is growing chill. “If you set yourself bleeding again I swear…”

“Fear not. I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience, either,” Candaith says. His voice is far unsteadier than he expected. Saeradan sets a hand on his shoulder and he takes a deep breath. He manages a smile that he hopes is reassuring for Saeradan. “You don’t have to worry so much, you know.”

Saeradan scoffs and lifts one of the crates. “You spend a month thinking one of us is dead and see if you’re half as calm as I am.” Candaith chuckles and holds the door open for Saeradan.

Candaith carefully lights the wood-stove and the lanterns Saeradan keeps in the room that’s one part storage and one part guestroom. Saeradan keeps enough long-lasting food here even when he plans for a long absence that they don’t have to resort to trail rations or walking into Bree. Candaith isn’t sure he can deal with the Breelanders’ coldness tonight. By the time they have eaten and Saeradan has brought all the crates inside, full night has fallen. Saeradan pulls the lanterns closer and opens one of the crates.

The four wooden boxes contain the personal effects of the fallen, destined for their families back home. Their gear, if it had been usable or not simply taken by the Falcons, had been sorted through and distributed among those who remained. Candaith’s own things, less whatever he had borne with him onto the Forsaken Road, had met the same fate, and it had been a strange thing indeed when Saeradan handed him a small canvas bag bearing his own name in Nethraw’s small, neat script. There wasn’t much in it- his journals, a few trinkets he had collected, an old silver ring like woven leaves that sparkled in the firelight. His mail had been rendered useless by Britou’s supernatural blade, but it should be repairable in the right hands.

They sort the contents of the crates into several piles on the table depending on their destination, some to Esteldín or Tinnudir or the Angle or any number of other smaller towns and homesteads. Candaith picks up a delicately-made leather satchel labeled Himeldir and sets it back down heavily. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Saeradan looks up. Candaith catches his eye and shrugs helplessly.

“It’s no accident that the shades turned when they did,” he says. Piecing his memory together with Radanir’s description, there’s little question that the Oath-breakers had come for the Grey Company only after his attempt with the ring. Saeradan grasps Candaith’s wrist.

“Do not blame yourself,” Saeradan says. His eyes are hard and flat but his voice is gentle. “It wasn’t you who raised a blade to our brothers.” Candaith pulls away.

“But before I opened my mouth, the shades attacked only to toy with us, not to kill. Perhaps if I had stayed silent-”

“Do you believe they intended to let you return from the deep chamber?” Saeradan demands. Candaith hesitates. He remembers Britou’s laughter, the endless attackers- the bones in the other deep tunnels.

“No,” he admits softly. “He did not wish us to leave.” He sighs. “Himeldir was right. We should not have gone there.”

“What the Oath-breakers’ chose to do was beyond your control,” Saeradan says firmly. “And… we did learn that they would hold to their original oath, if Aragorn truly will release them.” Candaith looks at him.

“We know that for certain?”

“They believed it enough to leave the Road,” Saeradan says. “The tunnels were empty but for rats when Radanir and I found you.” 

Candaith deflates. Some good may have come of it, at least, but it didn’t need to cost so many lives. His own life Candaith would have been willing enough to give for this, for something he believed in the way so many of the Dúnedain believe in Aragorn, but he would never have traded the lives of the others if he had the choice.

“I’m glad Radanir and I left Tûr Morva when we did,” Saeradan says abruptly, breaking the heavy silence. “If we had missed the Oath-breakers’ departure- or worse, continued south on a road that may yet claim the lives of all the Company, never to come this way again- who knows how long it would have been before someone found you?” It’s not something Candaith had considered before now. The look on Saeradan’s face, pensieve and distant, says he has considered it quite a lot.

Candaith thinks of the long, hazy gap in his memories and shudders at the thought of spending even longer there. Saeradan looks at him apologetically.

“Sorry.” Saeradan takes the last of the bags and sets them in neat piles near the door. The crates marked with the sign of the Falcon he breaks and feeds to the fire. He dusts his hands off once he finishes and takes a small wooden box from a shelf. “Do you want to play a few hands?”

Candaith smirks. “I know better than to play cards with you, by now.”

Saeradan shrugs. “Knowing better rarely stops you.”

True enough. It requires little enough true focus and the routine of it is soothing, as if this were any other night Candaith came to visit over the last twenty years. Saeradan doesn’t even bother to cheat, for the most part. Eventually Candaith yawns and Saeradan shuffles the cards away. They have more grim business to get to tomorrow, but for now Candaith enjoys the sleepy peace. Saeradan insistently checks Candaith’s wound and allows Candaith to badger him into pasting one of Mandan’s salves over his own badly bruised shoulder before they retreat for the night.

“It doesn’t smell that bad,” Candaith laughs as Saeradan tries futilely to scrape all of the excess off his hands.

“You’re not the one who has to try to sleep through it,” Saeradan grumbles back. He gives Candaith a careful but solid hug before leaving him to the guestroom. “I am glad we found you there,” Saeradan says very quietly. There is something raw in his voice, buried under the quiet and the earnest sentiment. Candaith tightens his hold on Saeradan, wary of his shoulder. “And I’m sorry we didn’t return sooner.”

“You were rather busy elsewhere,” Candaith points out dryly. “But I’m glad you brought me out of there, too. Thank you.” He sleeps better that night than he has in some time and wakes refreshed, and hopes that strength will carry him through the next leg of this journey.

#lotro #so this one was actually more 'sad abt rangers' than i remembered it being #but uh #it's a thing? #est verse stuff #technically #my stories #fun times in the sad about rangers tag #saeradan #candaith

[alakotila]

Happy Valentine's Day! I make fantasy romance webcomics, very cute, usually Achillean & very 💖🧡💛💚💙💜, and most, very 🏳️‍⚧️ (first four images have at least one trans character in them)

#cute #art #fantasy #fantasy comics #queer comics #lgbt comic #gay books #elves #space is gay #sweet romance #transmasc #trans joy #achillean #Alakotila #Spidersilk comic #Fell Swoop comic #Sunlit Silence comic

[beerecordings]

Just a quick sweet one-shot about fae Jameson comforting Henrik. I got to thinking about JJ’s dog forms after that ask and how they’d probably need like a fake service dog harness to get him into places when he doesn’t want to be human, and then I was like “well it’s not really that inaccurate, because he would protect and keep them steady like that through panic attacks or anything like that” and then I typed this up real quick. it’s got all the myth boys in it but it’s mostly about Henrik and Jamie looking out for each other.

Trigger warnings for mentions of imprisonment, stalking, blood, and animal attacks.

The long nails of his black paws clack cold on the linoleum floor of the doctor’s clinic.

“It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming!”

He lifts his small snout in the air, but he knows every scent already – bubblegum shampoo and a well-worn red sweatshirt that smells like nothing else, the salty ocean sting that never stops clinging to Chase’s skin, the clean heat burn of the star spirit in love with humanity.

Nothing is coming.

“It’s going to drag me away!” screams the human healer on the wall behind him. “No, no, no!”

The human can howl like a wolf left to die. The black dog bears fangs and holds still as hot fleshy human hands dig deep into the thick curls of his fur.

How long, he wonders, was the human pursued, chased across mountains and rivers and country lines, away from his family and all that he knew? Jameson can see him now, thin and pale on the seat of one of those speeding metal slugs that run along railed teeth, stinking of oil.

Train, his brain offers, something Marvin taught him in his frank, self-satisfied way, happy with himself for remembering a human thing, happier now to pass the knowledge along to Jameson. When he said it, Jameson realized he had known the word already, but the excitement of watching the humans build and build and build, faster and bigger and blacker every day, has long since left him.

The plastic rims of the human’s glasses shove into his side. Still he does not move.

Wet salt and broken hiccuping sobs pant against his fur. Soft hands stroke down his spine, tugging at him, scraping at him, dragging tears across his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” wails Henrik. “I’m sorry, don’t leave me alone.”

He bows his small dark head, motionless. Tonight he does not move. Tonight the man can touch him. In the whole world, only two men are allowed to do so, two men and a star and a sealboy.

After all, Henrik would do the same for him. Henrik was the one what stitched him up on the night he was dying and didn’t want to live anyway. He bit and snapped at his hands and trembled like a wild animal, and the human must have seen the memory of his old hunter flickering on the surface of Jameson’s body, but still he did not turn him away, just took deep breaths and held him down and stitched him back together, his hands slicked in fae blood, saving his life in silence but for the sound of his hand brushing along Jameson’s heaving flank.

He turns slightly, so his body guards Henrik where he huddles in the corner, grasping at his fur.

Nothing is coming.

Henrik presses his face to his fur, crying.

Nothing is coming.

“You don’t know how big it was… how it would stare at me… great golden eyes, the heady horrible face of the bull… or the wolf’s teeth pricking at my throat, draining out blood I never asked for. I never asked to be lucky. Never asked to be hunted just because I have six big brothers and six big uncles and more vision in my eyes than I know what to do with.”

Nothing is coming.

He puts his paw on Henrik’s knee.

The human breathes, shaking, snotty and crimson-faced, his glasses askew on his nose and his shirt stained with sweat. Jameson doesn’t care. When he was very small he didn’t understand why humans cry, but he does now. He has now. It’s okay. Nothing is coming. Henrik scratches his chest. He is a curly black sheepdog. Sturdy and small. If anything ever came after him he would tear its ankles to shreds and then turn into a bear.

Nothing will harm him.

For hours they’ve been curled up on the floor of the clinic, hiding from the others. Henrik doesn’t like for anyone to see him like this. All he had to do was step into the mudroom where Jameson sometimes chooses to stay, the fake service dog harness they bought illegally clutched in his shaking hands, and Jameson got up and lead him to the safety of his secluded little clinic.

Everything’s okay. Nothing is coming.

“I’m sorry I’m such a coward,” Henrik whispers, listing against his side. “I’m sorry I – I’m sorry I… I’m so tired of being scared all the time, for nothing, for nothing. It’s gone, and still, it never stops haunting me…”

Jameson stares dead ahead, still beneath Henrik’s hands. He remembers the cold iron bars of an abandoned, unrusting cage, the tiny onyx body of a kitten shaking against the sting of it, feeling his essence turn molten, eaten alive for a hundred years, until at last the golden hands of the star and the heavy red gloves of the man came for his emancipation. And yet he feels himself constantly surrounded by the cold white wrath of the cage that bound him.

Tonight, though, there are no bars. There are just the human’s hands, hot and grasping, brushing slowly down his back, and the steadying sound of his quiet breath.

Henrik leans heavier on him. That’s okay. He makes himself grow. A bigger sheepdog now. Henrik slumps against his back. He makes himself a big black husky. Henrik is asleep. It’s okay. He can be a bear-hunting dog. Big and black, with a human laid across his back, exhausted. He can be anything Henrik needs him to be. It’s a good thing he took the harness off already.

The little rectangle of metal in Henrik’s coat begins vibrating. Jameson stares at it, his dark eyes blinking, his soft dog’s chin laid out on his paws and Henrik laid out on his strong ribs and spine. The voicemail tone sounds and Jameson closes his eyes, listening to the familiar voice of the sealboy frizzling through the speakers.

“Uh, hey, Schneep, just calling to check in. I was going to see if you wanted to watch something, but you’re, uh, not in your room. Hope everything’s okay? You know if you need anything you can call me, okay? I – ”

“Amata!” Marvin’s voice is eager and bright. Always. Jameson’s ear twitches warmly. “Is that my doctor? Henrik! I love you! Where is he, let’s play a game! No, wait, let's watch a show!”

“Marv, he didn’t pick up. I’m just leaving – ”

“Didn’t pick up!” A third voice, immediately worried. “Why didn’t he pick up?”

“Come on, Jackie, I’m sure he’s just – ”

“Schneep, when I said nobody was allowed to disappear without telling me why after what you pulled last month, I wasn’t joking. Where are my sneakers, Chaser? We're going to the clinic.”

“Yay! Jackie, carry me!”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t you think you’re being just a little overprotective?”

There’s an indignant spluttering just loud enough to be comical and then the beep of the voicemail ending. Jameson sighs, low and warm, and turns just enough that he can lick the back of his human’s hand, making Henrik shift just a little, rubbing his face into his fur.

Nothing is coming. Nothing is coming. Nothing holds him. Nothing will steal them away. They’re free. They’re free. Nothing is coming.

Except, of course, one worried superhero, one exasperated shapeshifter, and one very cheerful star spirit in the shape of a happy white cat, curled up in Jackie’s arms, excited to be going for a late night walk to his favorite doctor’s clinic.

“Schneep!” Jackie’s voice is a ringing bell twenty minutes later and Henrik jolts anxiously, a gasp shuddering on his mouth, only to calm again when he feels his fingers curling around Jamie’s fur.

“Hm, what?” he calls, pushing his glasses back into place. “Who?”

“Schneep, you nerd, didn’t you hear? Missing movie night is no longer an option in our household! Mister Mother Hen here can’t let you out of his sight for ten minutes without throwing a fit, now, can you, Jackie?”

A cat yowls a delighted greeting and Chase goes “yowch!” as Jackie’s fist connects with his shoulder, sending him into whining protest and Jackie into big, chest-shaking laughter, their footsteps moving towards the back of the secret little clinic where they have been saved and healed a hundred times.

Henrik sits up straight, trying to put himself together, relieved to find that he can, for the first time in hours, breathe deeply when he tries. He remembers what Jameson is with a sudden clarity and pulls his hands away, hoping he hasn’t offended him, but Jameson only turns and looks at his open hand, setting his chin down inside the curve of his scarred white palm. Henrik chuckles wearily and reaches down to scratch between his ears, his heartbeat settling. The stomping of feet down the stairs sends one burn of anxiety rising through his chest, but Jameson does not bark or growl, and he knows that he is safe.

“What are you doing down here, bud?” asks Jackie, worried, appearing before him, big and safe and holding a warm friend, Chase smiling a reassurance before him.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” sighs Henrik, closing his eyes. “Just trying to avoid Marvin’s pick of movie.”

A mournful cat wail fills up the stairway, Marvin flopping dramatically back into Jackie’s arms as though struck dead, and rich free laughter like a wave of sunlit water warms the shining curly fur along the back of the great black dog.

-----------------------

Taken from my Mythology AU - Chase is a Selkie, Marvin’s a star spirit, Jameson’s fae but likes to look like a little black dog, Henrik’s the seventh son of a seventh son, and Jackie is Jackie! While I do not have current plans to continue this AU and work on it as the inspiration takes me, you can send prompts or specific scenes in this universe the next time I open requests.

#bee writes #schneeplestein #writers of jack #jameson jackson #mythology au #seven seven henrik #fae jameson

[alarawriting]

Poetry Monday: The Atlanta Triad

This is actually three poems, one of which I’ve set to music.

I wrote these in Atlanta, age 24 I think, after failing to acquire my master’s degree and while my then-boyfriend was suffering from mental health problems that caused him to shut down and distance himself from me.

The song “Oblique” will be posted separately, after this.

Oblique

So here I am Writing poems again When I thought There was no need anymore Had sufficient voice to speak But the silence closes in again And now I need a voice that's oblique

I remember Summer, two years gone Sitting in the sunlit grass As you held me in your arms Full of hopeful dreams that seemed so close Within our reach, achievable-- Tell me, where did it all go wrong?

 I could speak of the emptiness of my goal I could speak of the future that you sold But I'd learn to live for now Survive and struggle through somehow If if were not for your love going cold

 Is there any way to say this Without sounding a cliche? Here I am writing of broken hearts I never thought I'd see the day I've written so many poems for dreams Singing of loss I never knew-- Is it possible to tell the truth this way?

 I could speak of the destinies we failed I could speak of habits old and now grown stale But the reason has no meaning I am drowning in your death of feeling Freezing in the cold that my soul knows well of old

A Meta-Poem

 She thinks she's so tortured. So sincere. Doesn't she know it's been done?

The oldest feeling in the book And now that it's real She's writing broken heart poems.

 When she's written for so many other lives Pretended to griefs she never felt Does she think now we take her seriously?

Everyone's heart eventually breaks. What a sophomoric topic for poems.

Another Meta-Poem

 Shut up!

I can't even hurt without you telling me it's dumb! Can't even write a poem without you saying it's been done And you never let me speak To friends or family I am drowning in the silence and you tell me that I'm weak. "Read another comic book." "Go and watch some more TV." "Push it all under the rug and maybe it will go away." And to soothe me you say that it will go away That in five years's time I won't remember this pain That this poem in itself is a waste

Got a better idea, you know-it-all little bitch?

#poetry #poetry monday

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter Seven

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Nothing really to say today. This one tried to kick my but I told myself I had to get it out before I could start FFVIIR, which really worked for kicking my own ass into gear XD hope y’all like since we are officially past the “can Izuku see Katsuki 🤔” hurdle lol

****************************

Dropping his arm across the back of the couch behind Eri’s head, Izuku keeps his eyes forward on the current candy colored cartoon on the TV’s screen. It’s an old one, at least by Eri’s standards, but it seems to have captured her attention all the same with its brightly colored heroes fighting the doom and gloom of villains.

Shifting his gaze to the corner of his eye, Izuku sneaks a glance at the small girl beside him as she watches. Hands folded around a small mug of juice, mirroring the way he’s holding his own coffee, he notes the way her attention is rapt on the television even as her mouth is downturned into a small pout.

It had been almost a week since she had mentioned Kacchan going missing, and just two short days since she’d finally stopped asking Izuku if he’d seen him. That would have given him some small hope that she was getting over the loss of her imaginary friend if it wasn’t for the stubborn look of discontent that still clung to her features.

At first, he’d tried treading lightly, avoiding any proverbial landmines that might exacerbate things, but that had only proven harder and harder to do as Eri continued to act downtrodden.

So he did the only thing he could think to do, and turned to his mother for advice.

Well, Izuku, there isn’t much you can do. Even you had needed some time when your imaginary friend had disappeared.

Thus, time was what he was giving. And if he just happened to fill that time with Saturday morning cartoons, flavored with his own parental worry, then so be it.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is still gruff with sleep as she speaks, turning her attention away from the television to look up at him with wide eyes. Izuku feels a sharp stab at the center of his chest as he notices they way they’re a little watery.

“What is it, Eri?” He asks, words a soft shade of concern. There’s a brief flicker of doubt that dances across her features as she worries her lip between her teeth before speaking once more.

“Do you think Kacchan doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?”

Her question is said so quietly, barely a hush, but it lands like a cleaver. Swallowing down the sudden heartbreak that’s sharp and bitter at the back of his tongue, Izuku carefully takes her mug and moves forward to set both his and hers on the coffee table before them before pulling her into his lap.

“I don’t think anyone could not want to be your friend,” he says, trying to sound assuring as he gives her a small squeeze. Holding her close for a moment, he continues, “but if he doesn’t, then I’ll kick his ass.”

That earns him a peal of wavering laughter as Eri twists in his hold so she’s facing him before throwing her small arms around his neck.

“That’s a bad word!” She giggles.

“Yes it is, which is why you shouldn’t say it,” Izuku hums, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth as he feels her return the squeeze. It isn’t much by way of reassurance, but he hopes that it at least means she’ll be okay.

“You going to be okay while I take a shower?” He asks, still holding her close. Eri’s answering nod brushes against his shoulder.

“If you need anything—” Izuku starts before getting cutoff by her leaning back, fixing him with a bright smile as she finishes his sentence.

“Just holler!”

“Good girl,” he praises, giving her a quick peck on the cheek and earning another giggle. Gently lifting her off of his lap, Izuku places her back on the couch where she had been sitting.

Eyes roaming across the room with his shift, they pause on the corner wall and the framed pictures that decorate it. Gold and ruby colors his vision as he feels his expression change into something steely.

“And if anyone knocks?” He asks, tone brusque as he leans forward to grab his mug and stand.

“Don’t answer the door no matter what!” Eri says, repeating the words like a learned mantra as she raises her arms in front of her like an ‘x’.

“That’s my girl,” Izuku says, turning over his shoulder and walking toward the kitchen. Mouth cracking wide with a yawn, he drops the empty cup into the metallic sink. The bright sound of porcelain against the metallic surface clatters around the kitchen, filling the otherwise quiet space with the loud sound.

It’s lost on him, though, as a spark of sunlit gold draws his attention outside.

Bakugou Katsuki.

The name rolls through his mind as Izuku sees the blonde standing outside their gate, just as he had that very first time he’d seen him.

His breath catches in his throat, held by the clutch of deja vu as he watches the man stare at the house with his mouth downturned, thought buried deep in the divot between his eyebrows.

With more force than necessary, Izuku pushes away from the counter, quickly rounding the corner and rushing out the front door without even bothering with shoes. The cool morning air sends goosebumps racing down his bare arms, and a jolt of cold rockets through the soles of his feet as they meet the pavement of his doorstep.

A near opaque puff of breath clouds Izuku’s vision as the door slams shut behind him, cutting through the early morning quiet. It causes the blonde’s attention to snap down to him, the gilded light of his hair cutting through the haze of Izuku’s thoughts as his ruby gaze captures his own emerald one.

Holding Bakugou’s stare with a hardened one, Izuku feels the racing heat, thick and heady like a wildfire, as it builds itself in the space that stands between them. Schooling his features into something stern, he watches with piqued interest as Bakugou’s twists into a weird shape of shock and rage.

For just a moment, Izuku wonders if maybe angry was just the blonde’s default.

“You’re starting to make me wonder if I should be worried about you,” he hears himself say, though he can’t recall ever having the thought to speak in the first place. It isn’t lost on him how harsh his tone sounds, and maybe later he’ll take the time to feel bad about it.

A visible roll of apprehension bristles through Bakugou as he leans into the gate separating him from the yard. Hands bracing along the metal grate, Izuku can’t help but notice the way the skin of his knuckles goes white with his grasp.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He growls, mouth twisting into a challenging sneer. Even with his own hands fisting at his sides at the defiance, Izuku’s mind stupidly supplies the unhelpful observation that Bakugou is attractive.

Made of sharp, strong lines and with eyes the strangest shade of fire, he looks like the kind of challenge that makes heat pool deep in his stomach.

Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in all that, though.

“What are you?” Izuku asks, finally unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Eyes widening in an almost comical way, Bakugou pushes impossibly closer to the gate as if he might be able to push through the metal by sheer force of will.

“What—”

“Yakuza?” Izuku cuts him off, more to himself than anything. It only serves to turn Bakugou’s look of sour contempt into one of bright confusion as he continues to stare at him. The sunlight illuminates his gaze, and a stray thought swirls itself around Izuku’s mind wondering if his eyes would look like rubies if he moved closer.

“Do I look like fucking yakuza?” Bakugou asks, and it’s just shy of humored now. A feather shock of electricity drags down Izuku’s spine at the sound of his dry laugh.

“No,” he answers truthfully, finally stepping forward off the front step and onto the paved pathway to the gate. The biting chill beats back the sudden warmth of his skin.

“You look more like some common thug.”

A growl, pitched low and menacing, rips through Bakugou’s throat as he throws the gate open, stomping loudly into the front yard and stopping just a few feet from where Izuku stood. His breath stalls in his chest as he realizes the blonde is a just tall enough for him to need to tilt his head up to meet his gaze.

“Oi!” He snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at Izuku. “Who the fuck are you calling a thug, you stupid nerd? I’m an upstanding citizen!”

Izuku’s answering laugh is bright and genuine, and only serves to push Bakugou’s scowl deeper.

“Some upstanding citizen you are, staring at peoples houses and occasionally breaking in.”

Echoing the blonde’s own statement from their first meeting, Izuku watches as Bakugou drops his hand to shove it deep into his front pocket.

“Yeah, well some fucking cop you are standing outside looking like you just got done with a roll in the hay,” he shoots back, dragging his burning ember stare down Izuku’s frame. Starting from his ruffled bedhead, and lower to linger where his old threadbare tank pulls across his chest, before raking along his low slung plaid pajama pants.

Heat bleeds across Izuku’s cheeks and burns across his chest as Bakugou’s gaze springs back up to meet his once more. Lost for words, he feels his mouth open and close around the million of things he can’t think to say.

His silence is met by Bakugou’s confrontational look, turning the moment into a standoff that turns the air alive with buzzing electricity.

“Kacchan!” Eri’s voice splits the tension, sending it fluttering away like confetti caught in a breeze as Izuku turns just in time to see her small frame rocket out the front door.

Kacchan? But isn’t that—

“Eri!” Izuku shouts, fingers just missing her shoulder as she runs by and launches herself at Bakugou. Confusion muddles his thoughts, slowing them to a crawl as he watches the way Bakugou seems to catch her on reflex.

His expression, seemingly stuck in a hardened state, softens as he drops down to her level and ruffles her hair.

“Hey, brat,” Izuku hears him say, and something about the fond tone his voice adopts lights anger at the tips of his nerves. Closing the distance between them, he scoops Eri up before taking two steps back.

“How the fuck do you know my daughter?” He snaps, meeting Bakugou’s scowl with his own as he ignores the way Eri squirms in protest.

Pointed silence is his only answer as Bakugou stands to level their glares.

“Let me rephrase,” Izuku says, feet shifting into a steady stance as his free hand pulls upward in a fist.  “You’re going to tell me how you know my daughter, before I have to make you.”

A dangerous smirk curls along Bakugou’s lips as he starts to shift to mirror his pose.

“Daddy Izuku!” Eri’s voice pitches high as she pushes back against his shoulder to look at his face. Mouth twisted in a petulant pout, it would be cute if Izuku wasn’t so focused on the tense man before them. A strange expression twists his features, pinching his brows together as if he’s searching for what to say.

A snarl already prepped on the back of his tongue, Izuku opens his mouth around another demand when he feels Eri’s small hands grab at the sides of his face. Vision filling with her steady look, he finds himself on the receiving end of her stern gaze.

“Kacchan is my friend! We met at daycare!” She huffs, keeping her look of childish intimidation on him. The statement pushes confusion deep between his brows as he flicks his eyes between Eri and Bakugou.

Letting her small hands fall away from his face, Eri finally smiles, as if trying to reassure him.

Brain circling around her words, Izuku finally fixes his attention on the blonde, whose mouth hangs slight unhinged around a silent sound.

“Why didn’t you just say so from the start?” Izuku asks, suspicion hanging off the ends of his words. He doesn’t have a reason not to believe Eri, but that doesn’t do much for the distrust buzzing around in the cage of his ribs.

Time crawls as he waits for anything from Bakugou when the blonde finally settles back into a normal standing position and scratches at the back of his head.

“Kinda hard to have a conversation when your face is shoved into carpet,” he says gruffly, as if the words are being pulled from within him by force. His crimson gaze flicks to the ground at Izuku’s feet as he speaks, and if he didn’t wear the same look of bitter confrontation, Izuku would think that maybe he was being sheepish.

“Told you I was sorry about that,” Izuku grumbles, heat brushing over his cheeks once more as Eri squirms in his hold. Setting her down, he continues, “ we don’t do too well with strangers around here.”

“Yeah, you said that before,” Bakugou huffs, snapping his stare back up just in time to recapture Izuku’s. It lands like a punch to the center of his chest as it sends his breath rushing out of him on the back of a sharp gasp. Freezing him in place, Izuku isn’t sure if he’ll be able to breathe again until suddenly Bakugou looks down.

Before him, Eri grabs his hand.

“Let’s have juice!” She says excitedly, grin wide and blinding. Something close to panic skitters wearily across Bakugou’s face, and when he meets Izuku’s gaze again, it’s with a silent question and plea. It’s a cresting wave that washes away the lingering burn in Izuku’s lungs as he finally sucks in a cooling breath and smiles.

“Why don’t you come inside for some coffee or something,” he asks, reframing Eri’s exclamation into an invitation.

Looking between the two Midoriyas, Bakugou seems to deflate, finally nodding slightly.

“Okay,” he says quietly, causing Eri to cheer. Dipping his chin in genial acknowledgement, Izuku tries to ignore the way his heart kicks up in double time as he turns away, heading back inside as Eri pulls Bakugou along behind him.

**************************

#bkdk #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #AS OF THIS CHAPTER THINGS WILL REALLY START TO GET GOING #IM SORRY I DID MENTION THIS WAS A SLOWBURN RIGHT?

[who-is-susie]

idk if i'm late but Chara + jealousy/envy!

Np at all, I can still take these. When I first saw this ask I thought of chapter 4 of this fic, so check that out too if you want.

Anyway, put this one under a read more because it’s a little longer than the others. Sorry if the ending feels rushed, wanted to keep this kinda short (and also get to class)

Monsters and humans alike amble across sunlit paths, weaving in and out of shops and restaurants or resting along conveniently placed benches or the edges of a water fountain. Frisk walks hand in hand with Toriel into one of these stores and Chara follows behind, a meandering soul with nothing better to do than watch their family experience the life that they could never provide for them. Sure, they’re happy that monsters finally got their happy ending. Watching them sit comfortably in the sun and just stare up at the sky with such contentment, or laughing at the younger monsters as they accustom themselves to human culture or the weather or the neverending expanse of world that’s been opened up in every direction. But every now and then, a little twinge twists at their gut knowing that they can never be a part of that experience. When Toriel holds Frisk’s hand, and tucks them in at night, and gives them pie or advice or a hug, when Asgore ruffles their hair or teaches them about flowers, Chara can’t help but be a little petty, knocking over a watering can or turning the heat up an extra bit so everything Frisk makes is just a little burnt.

One day when they were particularly lashing out, they came across a Hershey’s kiss and a note on Frisk’s desk.

DO YOU WANT TO TALK?

They huffed a bit then grabbed a pencil to respond. It’s a little difficult to write without a corporeal set of hands and their handwriting comes out in shaky block letters.

MAYBE

It’s gonna be a hassle to keep up a conversation like this, and they aren’t even sure what they’d say if they started one, but when you haven’t spoken to anyone for years, you kind of ache for whatever you can get. Besides, Frisk is stubborn as hell. Chara couldn’t stop them from playing therapist before and they sure won’t be able to now.

When Frisk returns to their room, it takes a while for them to check the paper, but when they do, they light up a bit and sit down next to the desk. They sign to the air, “Are you here?”

Chara chuckles a bit as the situation reminds them of every Ouija or mediation interaction ever. They grab the pencil.

YES

“Good, are you okay?”

I’M DEAD

They laugh then amend their statement, “Are you feeling okay?”

I DON’T KNOW

NO

“What’s wrong?”

They think about it, not sure how much to say or where to start. They’re dead for one, but that’s been established. But not dead enough. When they were alive, they never really believed in an afterlife for humans. Once dead, they figured they’d stay that way. Now more than ever, they wish that they would. They’re upset, more than a little invisible, lonely, and useless.

“Are you angry?” Frisk prompts.

YES

They suppose that’s part of it.

“At me?”

They consider it. They lashed out the most at Frisk, so that would make sense, but when they mentally try to apply anger at them directly it falls flat.

NO

“At Toriel?”

Kind of. It really sucks to see her so at ease with Frisk, treating them like her own child, giving them Asriel’s clothes and Chara’s toys. They really want to be mad at her for moving on so quickly, for being so happy, but that doesn’t stick either.

AT MYSELF

The monsters deserve their happy ending. They helped you and accepted you from the very moment you fell into their lives. They could’ve treated you like a burden or a threat, but even though you held the key to the freedom of their entire race, they put your life first and made sure you lived the best one they could provide. Maybe after you died, they could use your soul and make their way out but you went and destroyed that for them too. You’re jealous that Frisk was able to succeed where you could not and now they’re reaping the rewards of their success and you’re stuck watching through a wall.

Frisk hugs the air in a very sincere embrace. It looks very comical as Chara isn’t even floating right there, but the sentiment is felt regardless. Frisk reassures them of their worth and makes a promise to speak with them more often, about feelings, life events, memories, whatever is needed at the moment. Though regrets and insecurities are natural, they won’t let Chara suffer in silence. Chara is glad that this human was the one to wake them up, and overtime they become a support in return as well. Nothing is perfect but at least they aren’t alone.

#chara #frisk #undertale #ghostchara #postpacifist #started writing this last night but then my friend called and by the time we hung up it was time for sleep #hello fish thank u for ask~ #write away

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

45 for Asa and Solas

45. “I have never felt this way about anyone.”

I haven’t finished this romance yet and I don’t remember any of what I have done but I am vaguely sure that this is a line that Solas actually says, or something close to it. maybe.

There was a time that Asa really made an effort to be good with people. It hadn't come naturally to her but she had tried to learn all of those unspoken rules of conversation and interaction and catalog them and she had, for a time, been successful. She has good memories of the arlathvhen the year before she got her vallaslin - the year before the first time in her memory that Templars tried to come after the clan and one grabbed Esti by the wrist when she tried to throw fire at him and Asa cleaved the shemlen's head open and decided then that the clan didn't need another charismatic leader. What they needed was more the avatar of vengeance that she decided to become when she got Elgar'nan's vallaslin patterned on her face, with suspicion and a big sword at the ready. And it served her well enough right up until she fell out of the Fade with a mark on her hand that made the shemlen decide she was a leader.

And then it was trying to pull out all of those old lessons all over again to figure out how to interact with people. Varric, Sera, Bull, Dorian - it's easiest with them. They all brush off anyone else's attempts to probe their emotional depths or respond in kind to whenever she breaks out one of her flirting scripts because she can't remember how surface-level platonic friendliness is supposed to run.

She's been called inflexible by many people, which is good as a warrior, but bad as a leader, and especially bad when faced with an actual serious conversation about feelings. Romantic feelings, too, with her - lover? No, that word doesn't feel right, but she doesn't know what would, and she certainly doesn't know how she got here. It makes her feel only a little better that she's pretty sure Solas doesn't really know how they ended up at this point, either.

Which brings her to this moment, or the past several moments, since her brain wrapped itself around the words "I have never felt this way about anyone" and tried to figure out how she's supposed to respond to that.

Joke? No, no, bad: he's called her vhenan and she shouldn't brush this off, especially from someone as guarded as Solas tends to be. Opening up is good: do not ruin it with something like "yeah, I'm not surprised that you haven't" or a remark about that one time that Blackwall and Sera asked him if he's had relations with spirits.

Romantic confession of her own in turn? "I haven't either" isn't true, and "I love you" feels like too much. She's still grappling with what that might mean. What else is there besides those? There has to be more than those. What is the proper response here?

Shit, it's been an awkwardly long silence, the kind that he might be starting to interpret to mean that she doesn't have any feelings for him at all. She has to say something. 

"Thanks."

Fenedhis, that's not right. 

"Wait, I mean - I'm bad with words is what I mean, first, I think you know that."

"I do."

"Good, so I'm just going to - go back and pretend I said something like - I... am glad I met you?" That's not supposed to be a question. "I'm glad I met you. And I have feelings for you, too." Awkward weirdly formal phrasing, but Creators, why couldn't she have led with that? It would have worked well enough. "And it's pretty evident that I haven't had much practice at this with anyone either." Self-deprecation always works wherever comical vanity doesn't.

And now he's going to say something in response and she's going to have to balance herself again on the thin bridge of Appropriate Responses. Creators, she shouldn't wish that they were having this conversation, instead of on the balcony of her personal quarters in a castle that belongs to her overlooking snowy sunlit mountains, in the Hinterlands or the Storm Coast or anywhere where a bear attack could interrupt and save her.

I want everyone to know that Asa is really smooth whenever she’s jokingly flirting back and forth with Dorian, but then with Solas, Asa’s entire flirting technique was to just like singlehandedly take down a bear or a pack of Templars and then just kinda flex her arms and wink at Solas. the jury is still out on whether it’s worse that Asa thought this was a good idea, or that Solas was taken in by her anyway.

#trash kid writing #asa lavellan #this was half a character study of me figuring out how to square away asa flirting with everyone #with asa being like....really bad at being a people #she's a weird mass of contradictions and awkward encoated in murder and spite and rage #runningwolf62

[windwardrose]

TiRules: Answer 21 questions then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better.

Tagged by @kineticallyanywhere

1. Nickname: Windward is my self-given nickname but tbh I mostly get called my name offline. Although I am obscurely delighted when I’m in costume and someone calls me by the name of the character.

2. Zodiac: Can’t recall for sure; my favorite constellation is the Big Dipper though!

3. Height: 5′3″ I think.

4. Last movie I watched: Legit not sure... I’ve watched mostly shows; maybe Thor: The Dark World via Amazon while I was sick and depressed last autumn? No - What Still Remains with some of my grad school classmates, where we had a great time yelling at the protagonist to Make Good Choices

5. Last thing I googled: A spoilery thing for my current story. Before then, a not-spoilery thing for my current story - “symptoms of sepsis.” Non-spoilery because I decided not to utilize the info. Thank me later, character.

6. Favorite musician: Currently obsessed with Alan Walker’s music, but long-standing fondness of the Piano Guys, John Rutter, and Antonio Vivaldi (yes, I like classical).

7. Song stuck in my head: Tim Be Told’s “Starlight.” I was listening to it this morning, so that explains it.

8. Other blogs: None I will acknowledge. (As in, I was required to write blogs on random class-related topics when I was in undergrad, and I also had a book review blog when I was much younger, but I’ll stick to Tumblr for now.)

9. Do I get asks: No, because my blog thingy doesn’t have a mechanism for them. I would like to make it possible at some point, though.

10. Blogs following: 131, but a lot of them don’t post. I would guesstimate that most of my dash content comes from a couple dozen reliables.

11. Amount of sleep: 7 hours is what I’m supposed to be getting and is usually managed. 8 is happening more often than it used to.

12. Lucky number: 7? Not sure.

13. What I’m wearing: Fleecy black Target sweatershirt hoodie with flower embroidery on the shoulders, over a youth group retreat tee, plum-colored stretch jeans and my beat-up black leather Merrell boots that I’ve had since I was in high school

14. Dream job: Occupational therapist by day, writer by night, service dog trainer whenever. With a side of custom cosplay sewing commissions.

15. Dream trip: A cool city with a fandom convention going on at the time, and with friends to come along. Current vague plan is Emerald City Comic Con some year that Critical Role is doing a live show.

16. Favorite food: Pasta. It’s tasty, versatile, cheap, and requires low levels of executive functioning to prepare.

17. Play any instruments: Piano, flute, handbells!!! (I miss them), currently starting fingerstyle guitar

18. Languages: English, some Spanish, a touch of Latin for medical and religious subjects

19. Favorite songs:  Flares by The Script, Alan Walker’s Faded, Tim Be Told’s Mighty Sound, choir pieces too many to enumerate but special note to Allegri’s Miserere mei, Deus

20. Random fact: I’m a little bit afraid of heights, but I like to test them out safely because it feels like an Adventure Topic of Relevance. So I will try high ropes courses, safe rock walls, etc. and just squeak and scramble and tremble and make the best of it because I would like to be better at it.

21. Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Muddy leather, pleats, scrappy dark jackets, uncombed curls, Christmas Eve candles, a puppy under the chin, tarnished metal, cups held between both hands, sharing a blanket, sparrows outside a cafe, fitting perfectly into a small space, the noise that flags make in a brisk wind, sunlit stained glass in a dim vault of silence

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Tagging: @windsroad, @praise-the-lord-im-dead, @valiantarcher, @one-esknineteen, @abadpoetwithdreams, @throwaninkpot, @lover-of-the-starkindler, @cydrag0n if any of them care to, I know that isn’t 21 but it’s Some :)

#ask meme #it me #life #things i get up to