EM | BULGARIA | INTP aka the Ice Queen; damaged in more ways than imaginable. multi-lingual; multi-multi-fandom; poetry trash. i hear music in my head.
FANCIES
long windy twirly dresses; high heels; swingsets; fictional characters; making people cry
CURRENTLY
WORKING ON: Skyeward/Fitzsimmons video
Skyeward Fairy tales AU
Elements Series
Her voice comes out in a small whisper, “It won’t be me. I won’t say it.”
Ward’s calloused hands framed the soft curves of her face, the wetness creating an unsettling warmness under his palms. The fractured light filtering through old dusty blinds, highlighting the path of her already fallen tears. Every fiber of his being ached. He didn’t want any of this.
Half in the light but destined to stay in the dark.
Every intention to be strong was currently flying out of his realm of reality. Ward’s voice came out hoarse, “Promise me.”
Her grip on his black henley tightened, desperately trying to reach him “Please don’t make me do this.”
His eyes never left hers, he needed it to be real. “Promise.”
Skye wanted to throw up. They had time to make it out of here. She could make them disappear. They could be happy. She just wanted, for once, to be happy. Her shoulders fell realizing he was right.
He was always right.
At first, her voice was barely audible. Small and fragile, “I promise I don’t love you.” It burned wickedly in her veins.
“Repeat it.” he prompted. The clock was ticking down. Five minutes top until the door busted open and Shield decided to make its presence known.
“I promise I don’t love you.” A little louder this time. Put some effort into it. Maybe if she said it enough it might become true.
Ward knows it’ll never be true. He just needs to believe it for a little while so he can walk away. So Skye can be safe. She’ll never be safe with him.
“Repeat it.”
“I promise I don’t love you!”, Skye yelled. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the fresh set of tears threatening to fall. Ward immediately let go of her face, grabbing the black bag off the bed.
The door clicked without another word leaving Skye standing all alone in the middle of the room. He never gave her a goodbye.
and then the sun rose high above (and your smile warmed me whole)
history is written by heroes, but even they have their fatal flaws;
or: arin is your resident nerd who likes to hold grudges, while kestrel struggles to balance duty and dreams.
+ title credit goes to hades who is the best ever @quakefire. ♥
+ is there even someone who remembers this au? i sure didn’t. sorry it took me a millenia to update, but to be perfectly honest, i didn’t think i would ever pick it up again. but here it is, and maybe hopefully you’ll get to see more of it, if not the completed thing, in your lifetimes. :D
A roaring applause erupted into the room. Kestrel felt like she
had just played in front of five hundred people instead of just fifty.
Her stomach had been in knots at the beginning, before she’d
walked up to the piano. She hadn’t played for this many people before, and she
desperately wanted to impress them, to do well.
The second her fingers hit the keys, Kestrel forgot all about
her anxiety.
When the piece was finished, she stood and looked at her
colleagues. They were all clapping. Searching the room, Kestrel sought to meet
a pair of grey eyes.
and then the sun rose high above (and your smile warmed me whole)
history is written by heroes, but even they have their fatal flaws;
or: arin is your resident nerd who likes to hold grudges, while kestrel struggles to balance duty and dreams.
+ title credit goes to my brilliant brain twin @quakefire. ♥
+ also, much thanks to both her and this asshole @ardeths because they’re real troopers.
♥
“Does anybody want to analyze the cause and aftermath of the fall of the first Valorian empire?” The professor asked. “Objectively,” he added, looking straight at Arin, who was about to raise a hand. The man was still holding a grudge, it seemed. Arin hunched back in his seat and listened as a Dacran girl recite how Ancient Herran and Dacra’s alliance tipped the odds to their favour, leading up to Valoria’s ultimate demise. He already knew all of this, of course. Arin had only applied for this course as it would be an easy way to get the required credits.
Two weeks in and that was proving to be more difficult a task than expected. Arin had already made quite the impression on his Introduction to the Ancient World class’ professor with a rather throughout analysis of Ancient Valoria’s military strategy. And judging by the majority of the class’ reaction, the professor had not been the only one not amused.
Arin was used to making enemies, having the temper that he did. And, when he was willing to be honest, he quite liked the notion. Having enemies granted Arin with the freedom from pretense. In no way did it bother him that the people he’d talked to since arriving on campus could be counted on the fingers of one hand.
“Alright, let me remind you of the deadline for your cultural assignment. I expect to have your essays in my mailbox by tomorrow night. You’re dismissed.”
Filling out of the auditorium, Arin bumped into a blonde-haired girl in his haste to leave. He did not stop and apologize.
the one where daisy skye learned to burn through her grief only by working through it. (…and maybe she finds someone who knows a thing or two about that along the the way.)
no i’m from nowhere near (but i speak the language) and i know the customs here | on ao3. |
Out of
control. Escalating so fast. It all took a moment.
It was not
supposed to go like this.
Skye’s mind
was on autopilot, only vaguely aware of the speed she was running at. The
reassuring thumps of her teammates’ footsteps running alongside her were not
there. She felt their absence like a phantom limb.
She had
been stupid enough to think she could do this on her own.
At the
time, this mission had not seemed at all dangerous. Just a harmless friendly
extraction. How terribly wrong that thought had been.
As she drew
neared, Skye’s nose filled with the sensation of something burning. She could
practically feel smoke on the tip of her tongue. In her experience, fire never
meant anything good.
One wall was made entirely of glass, a lot like the S.H.I.E.L.D. director’s own office. She kept her eyes trained on the constantly moving silhouettes on the opposite side.
Her breathing remained the same. But it was to be expected, she figured, when she’d gone through immense training to keep her heartbeat as steady as possible. This was not the calm before the storm. It was a curtain of appeasement concealing a hurricane.
His fingertips tapped against the chair’s arm. She felt each tap vibrating through her. Her head, however, did not turn to the sound. Another show of her new-found discipline. The tapping was replaced by silence.
Not that Skye would ever feel the silence again. After going through the mist, she found the world was never mute. Sometimes the knowledge was comforting.
“I miss her,” she said, trying to control her shaky voice. “Maddie would’ve known how to get Zoey to bed without fussing and how to toilet-train her and what her favourite foods are.” - Seperation Anxiety
Anonymous:
Bellarke au where the world is black and white before you meet your soulmate and then coloured once you meet them? And if your soulmate dies, the world goes back to black and white? Could I have it from both perspectives please?
I hear you laugh, I hear you sing (you say you wouldn’t change a single thing) (A/N I got about halfway through proofreading this and then I was like “fuck it, I’m a lazy pile of trash.” So sorry for any mistakes!
Bellamy
When he first lays eyes on her, and the greys of the dropship become a little bit sharper and that blonde girl in the corner who had been batting her eyes at him since he first got onto this piece of shit spacepod turns out to be a brunette, he knows that he is completely, utterly, and royally fucked.
A/N: This showed up on my dash and since you all know I am a helpless soul when it comes to Daddy Killian, I dropped everything to write about it:
———
My Love, I’m in Love With You
.
.
They name her Eva Ruth, after Swan’s grandmothers. Eva Ruth Jones — 6 lbs, 8 oz, 21 inches long — born just a day after his birthday, arrived screeching like a bloody banshee after a rather intense (and nerve-wracking) 36-hour labor. She’s a thief straight away, steals his heart (much like her mother had) and makes him fall for her head over feet, the moment he sets his eyes on her squirming, pink, tiny form. Her hair is dark, lashes long, cheeks dimpled and she is utter perfection. When he holds her for the first time, right in the crook of his left elbow, his eyes full of unshed tears and chest aching fiercely, he thinks that he couldn’t possibly love her more than he does right then.
He’s wrong of course.
She surprises him when she’s five — a blue-eyed, blonde-haired (she’d outgrown the dark around age three) child full of adventure and sass (though he’ll swear to his grave that he has no clue where she could have gotten that particular trait from), who remains as stubborn as her mother. They’re baking cookies (well, placing Snow’s pre-rolled balls of chocolate chip dough on a metal sheet), when she gives him a very serious look from where she’s sitting beside him on a stool.
“Daddy?”
He keeps his smile to himself, doesn’t think she’ll appreciate the way he finds her so adorable with that wee furrow between her brows (the same way Emma’s get when she’s something on her mind).
“Aye, Cygnet?” He says the nickname with much affection.
