'or in crown form'

anonymous asked:

magical tattoos? like tattoos with special properties or they move around on skin or smth?

  • After turning 18, every kid is required to go to special tattoo parlor where the town’s resident mage gives them a tattoo. No one knows what the tattoo will be until it’s done, not even the mage. The tattoo forms itself into a symbol that will become very important in the person’s life. On Character A’s 18th birthday, their tattoo forms itself into a crown.
  • Character A convinces their best friend, Character B, to go get a tattoo. Not wanting anything big, Character B gets a small flower on their back. The next morning, Character A gasps when they see Character B’s entire back covered in vines and leaves and flowers, and they only seem to be spreading further.
  • Everyone gets one tattoo in their life, and that tattoo gives them a power of their choosing. Character A really wants the power to see through objects, so they get a pair of eyes. However, after a series of visions, they come to realize the power that manifested was actually seeing into the future.
  • “I’m a mage and have been searching for an apprentice for years by pushing a little bit of magic into everyone tattoo I give, just to see if anyone reacts to it. None had, until I gave you yours. The second the needle touched your skin, ink started flowing into patterns everywhere. Please stop freaking out” AU
  • When tattoos start appearing on one’s body overnight, it’s a sign that they’re meant to join the War of Magic. However, Character A’s parents are major pacifists and hate the war, so Character A begins their own struggle as they try to hide the growing tattoos their parents.
  • “I’ve been told all my life that moving tattoos were normal – a sign of being healthy. But I don’t think that means the tattoos are supposed to come off of my skin and fly around? Cause that’s why I’ve been hiding out in my room all week” AU
youtube

In this video, the Slow Mo Guys prove that pouring molten copper in slow motion is every bit as satisfying as one would imagine. Because they pour the metal from fairly high up, they get a nice break-up from a jet into a series of droplets; that’s due to the Plateau-Rayleigh instability, in which surface tension drives the fluid to break up into drops. Upon impact, the copper splashes and splatters very nicely, forming the crown-like splash many are familiar with from famous photos like Doc Edgerton’s milk drop. The key difference between the molten copper and any other liquid’s splash comes from cooling; watch closely and you’ll see some of the copper solidifying along the edges and surface of the fluid as it cools. In this respect, watching the molten copper is more like watching lava flow than seeing water splash. (Video and image credit: The Slow Mo Guys)

Iconography of the Ainur

It’s pretty common for deities or saints to have certain symbols attached to them for artistic or teaching purposes, especially in preliterate societies or places with low literacy. So it seems a pretty reasonable idea that the Ainur had their own symbols developed by the elves and later adopted and modified by the Edain.  (The dwarves have no such parallel system. Language and writing have such a sacred character to them that calligraphic inscriptions serve this purpose.)

The pre-sundering elves of Cuivienen created the oldest symbols, and those continue to be used among the Moriquendi and the elves of Middle-earth. From these ancient symbols, the Amanyar elves developed a complex system to help identify the subject of an image in their art, such as the number and placement of figures, their gestures, setting and objects that appear with them. 

The Valar have a particularly standardized set of iconography associated with them. When the image is an Ainur’s humanoid form, they have a nimbus of radience or a crown of stars surrounding their head. The icon can take the place of the Vala it represents, or simply be a sign of influence or presence. The most common symbol type is animal.

  • Manwë - an eagle, a cloud, or a wind. Eönwë is specifically represented as a falcon, and other maiar as other birds of prey active during the day.
  • Varda - stars, of course, but occasionally an owl, a noctural bird of prey to match her husband’s eagle, or rarely a bat (Amanyar only, used only during the Years of the Trees). Ilmarë and her other handmaidens use a cat, ocelot, or leopard.
  • Aulë - an anvil or a smith’s hammer, raw crystals; his only animal symbols are corvids like crows or ravens
  • Yavanna - It would be inappropriate to represent Yavanna with any animal, since they feed on her plants. Instead elven artists use ripened wheat or fair trees with straight trunks. Some pollinators, like bees may be used. Yavanna’s maiar are animals that eat only nuts or fruits, the rationale being that they are helping the tree disperse its seeds.
  • Ulmo - Use of an animal symbol for Ulmo is unusual; most commonly he is a tall, foam-crested wave. But when an animal is used, large predatory fish, squid or octopus are common. No animal that must surface to breathe can be used. Ossë’s symbol is a Killer Whale, an Uinen has dolphins & porpoises. For his other maiar, various water-going animals that cannot breathe in the water are used, like whales, seals, or sea turtles.
  • Namo/Mandos - Using any living thing to represent the Vala of death is taboo. A pair of scales, an animal skull, or an hourglass are his symbols. For his maiar, the elves created a race of special mythological creatures: black coated, predatory animals with bare skulls as their heads and ghost lights in place of eyes. 
  • Vairë - Her symbol has quite the history. Her ancient, original symbol is the spider and spiderweb, but those fell out of use among the Amanyar and Sindar thanks to Ungoliant and her spawn. The Avari, Nandor and their Silvan descendents continued to use it until spiders began to plague Mirkwood. The spider was replaced by symbols of weaving like the loom, shuttle, and spindle.
  • Irmo/Lórien - He has several. The butterfly or moth, because they are animals that metamorphose from one form to another, and the Gardens of Lórien are filled with them. Colorful frogs, especially poisonous ones. Peacocks, for the ‘eyes’ on their feathers. Poppy flower, for its narcotic properties.
  • Estë - the serpent, for her role as healer. The turtle or lotus as representations of her island where she sleeps.
  • Melian - nightingale 
  • Nienna - a teardrop or tear tracks. White or grey doves. For the Amanyar, elephants, because they can cry and feel grief for a lost family member.
  • Oromë - a horse or a hound. He is a rare case of a repeated symbol; a falcon or hawk is also used, but it must be hooded or jessed as when used in falconry. Oromë’s maiar are most often represented by animals that hunt in packs, like wolves or lions, sometimes solitary predators. They are always predators.
  • Vána - flowers or songbirds, and hummingbirds who drink from flowers.
  • Tulkas - the boar, bull, or ram. Implements of war may be used, but since Tulkas is famous as a wrestler, are less common.
  • Nessa - a doe, hare, or gazelle. Among the Edain, she gained the symbol of the Horned Doe, a doe with a buck’s horns.
  • Tilion and Arien have special symbolic markings of their own. Tilion is always crowned with the moon (which moon phase varies), as Arien is crowned with the sun.
  • Melkor: We do not speak his name, we do not write his mark
  • Mairon/Sauron: too many Eyes

Les Amis: Cosette

She gazed at the butterflies on the flowers, but did not catch them; gentleness and tenderness are born with love, and the young girl who cherishes within her breast a trembling and fragile ideal has mercy on the wing of a butterfly. She wove garlands of poppies, which she placed on her head, and which, crossed and penetrated with sunlight, glowing until they flamed, formed for her rosy face a crown of burning embers.

The Gatewatch Have Failed Each Task So Far

There’s been a lot of talk on my feed about how the Gatewatch are just waltzing through the challenges they face like a home-made banner at a pep rally. While they are all currently whole in body, and the perceived threat from each plane is no longer actively threatening, follow me down this line of thought.


The Gatewatch have failed at what they have set out to do, every time.

Their name is synonymous with failure.

Keep reading

the “Horus-name” of King Sesostri I (ca. 1961–1917 BCE),
detail from the White Chapel of King Sesostri I at ‘Ipet-Sut’ (“Karnak”), the highly sacred Precinct of the God Amon-Ra at 'Uaset’-Thebes:

ˁnḫ-mswt , whose meaning is “Living of Births”

Horus is represented in His form of sacred falcon (wearing the Red Crown) perched on the top of the palace facade (the “serekh”) where is inscribed the Horus-name of the King

Jewellery vocabulary

Originally posted by yesiamarebelliousflower

jewellery - bijuterie, bijuterii (f)

  • jewelry box - cutie de bijuterii (f)
  • bracelet - brățară, brățări (f)
  • anklet - brățară de picior (f)
  • wristwatch - ceas de mână, ceasuri de mână (n) - it can be reduced to only ceas
  • clip - clips, clipsuri (n)
  • earrings - cercel, cercei (m) 
  • necklace - colier, coliere (n)
  • chain - lanț, lanțuri (n) - also using the diminutive forms lănțișor, lănțișoare 
  • beads - mărgele (f) - from sg. mărgea
  • pearls - perle (f) - from sg. perlă
  • pendant - pandantiv, pandantive (n) 
  • medallion - medalion, medalioane (n)
  • ring - inel, inele (n) 
  • engagement ring - inel de logodnă (n) 
  • wedding ring - verighetă, verighete (f)
  • men’s ring - ghiul, ghiuluri (n)
  • tiara - tiară, tiare (f)
  • crown - coroană, coroane (f) - also using the diminutive forms coroniță, coronițe for the ones worn by women
  • hairpin - ac de păr, ace de păr (n) 
  • tie pin - ac de cravată, ace de cravată (n)
  • cufflink - buton, butoni (m) - possibly found as buton/butoni de manșetă too
  • brooch - broșă, broșe (f) 
  • stone - piatră, pietre (f) 
  • diamond - diamant, diamante (n)
  • link - verigă, verigi (f)
  • clasp - închizătoare, închizători (f)

Note: I added the plural forms for this set, considering that many have troubles with them. In case I have forgotten something or you want me to add other words, please say so. Same if you find any mistakes. Thank you.

anonymous asked:

hello! what are you up to academic-wise lately?

hello!! thanks for the question about school stuff!! i’ve been so busy with school i’ve barely been on here, so sorry about that, haha!! i just turned in my division II portfolio in the hopes that my school (hampshire college) will accelerate my timeline so that i’ll be able to graduate a year early!! keep your fingers crossed for me, folx!! (otherwise i’m graduating at least a semester early so it’s still a win-win)

in terms of planning for my senior thesis/division III project, i’m currently in the process of writing a 1960s adaptation of hamlet (check out more on that on my personal) in sonnet form!! the entire play will be written in a crown of sonnets, which is super hard but also a fun challenge!! i plan to fully realize the production some time next year, so stay tuned on that front!!

a major part of what i study is the way history and identity inform the way we perform, create, and direct theatre, so i’m working a lot with the concepts of blood memory (a theory in africana studies) and haunting (a theory in queer studies) to inform my work!!

please feel free to ask me about college/shakespeare in school/my div anytime, here or on my personal!!

our tale ends here

i spent the past two weeks trying to convince my grandparents but they still won’t allow me, oh well, time to give up ;-; i will just be here, writing bc i’m stressed and i haven’t done my shs requirements.

                                                        ***

                                      our tale ends here

           Blood drips on Chuuya’s fingertips as the sound of gunshots and battle echoed on his ears. There’s the smell of blood and death everywhere he goes ― countless of dead bodies sprawled on the ground like ants.

“Oi.” His voice wavers. “This better be a fucking joke, Dazai.”

Dazai laughs; the choked laughter edging Chuuya to tears. Death is an everyday occurrence, given their line of business but he never would’ve expected it to be this early. “I’ve…always lived on the…thread, Chuuya.”

“And you are fucking surviving this so stop wasting your goddamn breath.” Chuuya applies pressure to Dazai’s wound. He knows, he knows but he refuses to accept it. He knows but he chose to ignore the pool of blood Dazai is laying down, his eyes on the verge of extinguishing light and his body as pale as sheet.

“You bastard.” Chuuya curses and suddenly he couldn’t stop the tears anymore. His grip on the cloth pressed on Dazai’s wound tightens. “Did you think you were immortal? What possessed you to catch that bullet, you bastard.”

“I finally achieved my dream, Chuuya.” Dazai weakly says; his breathing ragged as seconds pass. “Too…bad I… couldn’t do it with…a beauty.”

“No one in their sane minds would commit double suicide with you.”

Dazai laughs slightly ― a choking, almost painful laugh for Chuuya to hear. It was like his throat had constricted, a sudden clog up on his esophagus as he tried hard not to let himself break; he didn’t want to let Dazai see his weakness, especially in his final moments.

“Now that I think about it,” Dazai murmurs, eyelids closing slowly. “Chuuya…”

“Dazai.”

“I… want to… live longer.”

Chuuya halts; his tears flowing like a never-ending river; slowly mixing with Dazai’s blood. “I want… I want to see Akutagawa and Atsushi’s… development. I… want to see Kyouka… finally accepting herself. I want… there’s so many things I want.” Dazai’s laughs. “But… everything I want would soon disappear, just like… Chuuya.”

“I’m here, waste of space.” Chuuya tries to make his voice the usual; but with Dazai dying on his arms proclaiming that he wanted to live longer; he wondered if he was able to keep his voice firm. “I’m not going to disappear, you shit.”

“I know,” He chuckles and hums slowly. “Chuuya…”

“Yeah?”

“Marry me.”

Chuuya stops and arches a brow ― too bad he can’t hit Dazai. “Oi, stop joking around!” Dazai laughs and with a weak hand, he slowly pulls a box out of his coat and Chuuya’s tears are flowing again and this time it wouldn’t stop. Fucking damn it, Dazai Osamu!

“Dazai…”

“Marry me, Chuuya.” Then, Dazai laughs. “It may not be the most normal setting, but when have we ever followed normal procedures Chuuya?” He opens the box weakly, smiling at Chuuya whose tears doubled when he sees the ring.

It’s a thin band of black ring forming a crown in the middle. “What would a King be…without his Queen?”

Chuuya nibbles his lower lip. “Double Black?”

Dazai smiles; it’s a genuine rare smile. His hand weak stretches to caress Chuuya on his cheek as he slips the ring to his finger. “Double Black.”

“Then yes.” Chuuya’s tears falls as Dazai’s hand falls beside him. Dazai’s breathing ceased but there is a peaceful smile on his face. Chuuya cradles his head closer to him, tightly hugging Dazai’s body. “Wait for me to finish it, asshole.”

***

“Hey Chuuya, if I died, what would you do?”

“I’d throw a fucking party. Good riddance.”

“Chuuya, if I died, don’t activate Corruption, ever.”

“I wouldn’t let you die, asshole.”

***

“I’m sorry.” He says as he stood up, the ring glinting on his hand. “I’ve had enough of this war.” He takes a deep breath. “Oh grantors of dark disgrace, you need not wake me again.”

Flower Crown Queen - Loki x Reader

Originally posted by god-of-my-heart


The sun hung high in the sky like a glistening gem above you. The grass beneath you was soft and dry, your flowing robes spread around you were overlapped with his.

Loki’s fingers were intertwined with yours, his thumb tracing patterns over the back of your hand.

“You’re my queen.” He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your fingers.

“Am I, my King?” You asked teasingly, propping yourself up on his chest.

“Always.” He murmured, the sunlight giving his eyes an aetheric glow. He brushed a thumb across your forehead, “And now you have a crown.”

A tiara of silver flowers formed across your forehead, the silver flowers weaving into delicate patterns with Loki’s gentle touch. You couldn’t help but gasp, which caused Loki to smile. “Stunning.”

“You need one too.” You stated.

“I am no King.” He said, a tint of bitterness scarcely hidden under his affectionate tone.

“You’re my King.” You moved off him and started to pick the pretty wild flowers around the clearing. They were purple and yellow, red and pink, large and small. You weaved them together between your fingers to make him a headpiece as he watched with a hint of a smirk.

When you were finished, you mock curtsied to him, “Your Highness.” You placed the floral crown gently on his head, he smiled at you, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone.

“My Flower Crown Queen.”

Masterlist

Peter x Reader: Reunited

Prompt/ask: Anonymous asked: You should do a Peter x Reader one where they’re both so mad at each other, they end up making out kinda like the argument he and Cas had in PC when returning from Miraz’ castle.

Word count: 701

Warnings: Slight angst 

Setting: Golden Age


When the small creaking of the gates being opened sounded through the castle, you knew who it was almost instantly. Everyone did.

You set your book by the windowsill calmly, rising from your seat. 

You were delighted yet justifiably infuriated by the return of Peter Pevensie. In the months Peter had been away, not a single letter arrived on the steps of Cair Paravel. Not a single word or reassurance that your husband-to-be was still alive. 

But the sound of heavy footsteps now ascending the marble stairs disproved your worries-while simultaneously making your anger surge.

 A small knocking came from your chamber door, just as you had expected.

 As you turned your head reluctantly, the deep blue eyes of Peter Pevensie met your own. A smile formed on his lips instantly. He set his crown on the mantle above the small fireplace by the door without hesitation, not breaking eye contact.

Peter’s smile slowly began to fade as he became aware of the look on your face. He parted his lips, almost in pain, and let out a small sound that sounded vaguely like  “I’m sorry.” He straightened his shoulders.

“Y/n-” 

You shook your head, a small buildup of tears beginning to form in your eyes, partly from relief and partly from frustration. 

How could you?” You uttered in the softest of tones. “I thought…we all thought…” 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Peter said, almost casually, his smile appearing again as he took a step towards you. 

“Yes Peter, you are. You’re here, and yet-” You paused to let out a small, harsh laugh, “You aren’t really here at all.”

 Peter looked puzzled.

 “You know,” You began in a cold tone, taking a few steps towards him as your anger built up, “When none of us heard from you, your brother began to think about planning a memorial.” Your expression stiffened as you saw Peter looking confused as ever. 

“Well?” You inquired, almost in a shout, as if waiting for Peter’s response. He said nothing, but you could see him starting to get more frustrated himself. You shook your head violently, taking a sharp breath. “What were we supposed to think when you didn’t send a sign? When you didn’t contact us? What were we supposed to think when you, Peter, specifically told us to start worrying only after six weeks had passed without hearing from your army?” 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted almost instantly. “I have been waiting for you for 16 bloody weeks, Peter Pevensie!” You yelled, a sob making your voice crack slightly. 

“I was at Battle, for Aslan’s sake!” Peter exclaimed finally, his tone rising above your own. “What did you want me to do-write little letters to home every day? Oh yeah, let me jot down a little summary of my day as I plan the attack on countless neighboring regions!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have promised me a letter!”

 Peter started taking short strides towards you now, fuming with each step. “Why are you so eager to see me after all? You have my brother to satisfy your needs, don’t you?” You saw a small tear running down his hollowed cheek as the anger continued to build in both of you. “Why wouldn’t you just forget about me, when you believed I was gone?” 

You growled lowly, your anger mixing with sobs of relief and sadness. You had finally had enough. As if by instinct, the two of you suddenly had your arms at the other’s waist. 

Without another word, Peter was leading you to the large oakwood wardrobe in the center of the room, pushing you against it in the most delicate yet passionate way. You could feel the intricate designs carved into the wood on your back as Peter’s hands rested at your side.

 Neither of you knew what was happening, but all you felt was a pair of cold, rough lips against your own and a stabilizing hand at your waist. And suddenly, all at once, every sense of anger you felt was replaced by pure relief to have Peter back, to feel those lips against yours yet again.

You had to admit, you missed your King.

LINEAR ENAMEL HYPOPLASIAS (LEH)

(Photo source: Museum of London via Flickr)

While they are not considered pathological by some anthropologists because they do not present clinical symptoms, enamel hypoplasias are caused by physiological stress early in life. These are deficiencies in enamel thickness or the quantity of enamel, which happen during the secretion of the enamel matrix (Goodman and Rose, 1990). They occur when a wider-than-normal band of ameloblasts (enamel-secreting cells) cease matrix production early, resulting in the formation of bands, pits, furrows, or even entire areas of missing enamel (Hillson and Bond, 1997).

The image above shows an example of a bioarchaeological specimen with linear bands of missing enamel. Permanent adult dentition is formed within the alveolar bone of the maxilla and mandible, in pockets known as tooth crypts. Enamel is an extremely hard substance with a much higher mineral content than bone which is deposited on the surface of teeth while the tooth crowns are being formed in the crypts. Enamel is only created once in an individual’s lifetime, and cannot be produced or re-deposited later in life. If a juvenile individual does not receive proper nutrition or suffers other forms of physiological stress (i.e. disease, metabolic disorders), this can lead to a cessation of enamel formation by ameloblasts so that the limited mineral intake can be redirected towards other processes (i.e. bone growth) (King et al. 2005). Therefore, when the permanent adult dentition erupts (assuming the child survives the period of stress), their teeth will have areas of missing enamel, which are permanent.

LEHs can help bioarchaeologists and forensic anthropologists understand if there was a period of physiological stress in an individual’s life if they are present, although the exact cause or deficiency cannot always be pinpointed. They are rarely helpful in making an identification for forensic cases, but are usually noted in reports, regardless!


References:

Goodman AH, Rose JC. 1990. Assessment of systemic physiological perturbations from dental enamel hypoplasias and associated histological structures. Yrbk Phys Anthropol 33:59–110. 

Hillson S, Bond S. 1997. Relationship of enamel hypoplasia to the pattern of tooth crown growth: a discussion. Am J Phys Anthropol 104:89–103.

King T, Humphrey LT, Hillson S. 2005. Linear enamel hypoplasias as indicators of systemic physiological stress: Evidence from two known age-at-death and sex populations from postmedieval London. Am J Phys Anthropol 128:547–559.

Follow zygion for more anthro fun!

Jon and Sansa discover childhood and acceptance

He doesn’t know what he expects to see when he finds Sansa alone and curled under the weirwood tree but it is not this. Sansa’s head is bowed down low, surrounded by blue winter roses. He steps closer, the crunch of snow between his boots echoing loudly in the Godswood. Her head whips up, blue, large eyes now focused on him. He flinches at the intensity of her stare, feeling like a boy under her gaze.

“Jon, what are you doing skulking around?” She asks, pushing the roses out of her way. He scowls and walks closer to her. His hiding spot now outed.

“I wasn’t skulking,” he grumbles but he sits beside her. Sansa doesn’t pay him much attention, her attention now back to her flowers. He watches her curiously as she twists the thick stems around the other, breaking off the thorns. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy from the cold and her hands are red and scratched up but Sansa doesn’t seem to care. He is suddenly reminded of the little girl that she used to be, making a crown and then forcing Robb to crown her and proclaim her the Queen of Love and Beauty. There is no Robb to crown her, only him and he is a poor substitute.

He watches her, curiously but she still pays him no mind, her fingers working furiously over her work. He smiles at the sight of her stooped over like this and working at making a crown of flowers. Despite what Sansa may say, there is still something of that girl inside her. She is not a ghost or a phantom, she sits right before him, making a crown of flowers just as she once had.

She lets out a delighted gasp and lifts it up proudly. He smiles at her joy and happiness. If there is still some of the girl in Sansa after all that she has faced, perhaps, there is some of the boy still in me, he thinks to himself, feeling the warm bubble of hope, fragile and easily squashed but in existence, all because of her.

He waits for her to place the crown upon her own head or to ask him to do it, naming herself queen in the only way she can now. She does neither.

“Lower your head.” He stares at her wide-eyed and Sansa flushes at his gaze. “You’re a king without a crown. I made you one.”  He obeys her, his mouth thick and heavy with words he cannot say, words that he doesn’t know how to form. She places the crown of flowers gently upon his head. He can feel the heat of tears behind his eyes but he raises his head once she places it on his head.

“Long may your reign be my King.” He wants to open his mouth and rebuke her. His name is Jon. He’s no king but her bright and hopeful gaze stops him. He thinks that this is a game as much as it is acceptance of him. He keeps silent, accepting the crown of winter roses and accepting his new title.

Sansa’s face is bright and flushed and shining. It is part girl and part woman and part advisor but it is Sansa, all of it is the woman, girl that stands before him. That thing that has slowly been inching its way into his chest, finally, finally settles into space.

Tell it to the Marines - Swan Maiden/Soulmate AU

[A hope-you-feel-better short AU for @tsume-yuki, hope you enjoy it!]

Ace had the mantle for as long as he could remember.

It always appeared in his possession if he traveled too far, materializing out of the air like magic. Falling across his shoulders like he’d never left it behind, nailed down deep in the chest at the end of his bed. The strange looks he’d received while walking into town with a collar of feathers around his neck were too much, so he tried getting rid of it.

Selling it was pointless because it would always come back.

Burying it did nothing.

Throwing it into the ocean, again, did nothing.

Burning it had no effect either, though it was gone longer than usual and he’d fallen into a deep depression during that entire span so he never tried it again.

Sabo had been fascinated, wondering if it had any other powers and overall had been the reason he came to accept the mysterious coat. Luffy just became all starry-eyed and asked where he could get one too. He’d been disappointed when Ace couldn’t give him a direct answer.

It wasn’t until after he left Dawn Island and became a pirate that part of the mystery was solved.

“That’s a Valkyrie’s cloak ,” Marco murmured in surprise, when the cape faded into existence around his person. The black and red feathers were all ruffled in an agitated manner, reflecting Ace’s mood as he sat glowering on the Moby Dick’s deck. “How did you come across something like that?”

It turned out that Marco was much older than he appeared. Much, much older. And knew what the mantle signified.

He’d been chosen, by some divine providence, to be the husband of a Swan Maiden.

A Swan Maiden or otherwise known as a Valkyrie, a mythical female warrior that served as protectors of the King of their choosing.

What the hell?

Ace laughed in the man’s face once he’d gotten over the shock of his explanation, because it was just that ridiculous. Who in their right mind would choose him of all people to marry such a powerful figure? He was the demon child of the late Pirate King. There was no way a woman (or any woman for that matter) would find it beneficial to be burdened with him as a husband. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Or so he thought.

He very much wanted to eat those bitter words the first moment he laid eyes on her.

She was on Luffy’s crew, his little brother her chosen King (because of course Luffy was that lucky, why wouldn’t he be). Riskua was her name, hair the color of a crimson dawn and eyes so startlingly yellow they could have very well been plucked right from a beast’s skull. She was a warrior, fierce and loyal. Vicious as a hurricane in the heat of battle.

And to him, she was as radiant as the sun.

It was no wonder he was tongue tied, the moment she strode up to him and gave a beauteous smile, her yellow eyes melting into warm amber.

“I see my favor has guarded you well. It’s good to finally meet you, I’ve been waiting,” she says, and Ace nearly faints.

He returns her mantle, and the red and black wings that burst from her back only add to her feral beauty. The Straw Hats crew give the appropriate applause, ‘oohing’ and 'aahing’ as she flaps the wings experimentally. Ace smiles as she takes to the sky, her wings beating powerfully through the air, her form shifting to that of a black swan, the crown of her avian head as red as her hair.

His heart soars with her and he knows now that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

They later sit beneath the stars, huddled among the feathers of the mantle, two hearts beating as one at last.

Loneliness

First of all, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who’s commented/liked/reblogged on my posts! This is long overdue and honsstly I’m blown away by the reaction you giys have had to my writing, I’m really grayeful for all of you xx

This is just a little thing I wrote at eleven o’clock at night. I didn’t have time to edit but the idea just came to me and I wanted it all out and published. Sorry for any mistakes that might be in here but I hope you guys like this. There’s not really a category for it, but I suppose it’s generally hurt/comfort. 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of panic attack symptoms, blood, knives, hostage situation. It’s not incredibly graphic, but it’s definitely there and not totally brief. 

The wave of sickness hit you like a tsunami the moment it happened. While carnage grew around you with collapsing buildings and fires and burst water pipes, you shrank into a curled foetal position in the back of an ambulance. 

You were one of the last civilians to have been evacuated. 

You remember tearing a door open and ushering the men and women who worked in the office into the designated safe zone where they were to be taken out of a twenty mile radius to safety. 

You remember seeing flashes of Iron Man skirting between buildings, the crash of a patriotic shield, arrows cutting through the sky to meet their targets. 

When you later thought about it, you were glad that there were no children being held hostage like you were - if you were hanging by your fingertips almost ready to fall into the pit of insanity, then how could a child handle that? 

Your first guess was Hydra. After the intel had been released, along with all from an organisation called SHIELD which had been strictly formed in the first place to destroy the former, it seemed to make sense. You were held for more than twelve hours, having been kidnapped from your workspace along with thirty of your colleagues. You remember the agents releasing some kind of gas from canisters they rolled out across the office space. 

Apparently, if there was one collective weakness the Avengers had, it was innocent civilians. You think that’s what you liked most about them. 

When Sergeant Barnes had burst open the doors and taken the guards out single-handedly, you took the task of ushering everyone else out where several other agents were evacuating the area and taking you back to the city. 

Unfortunately, that’s when things went wrong. From the hands of an agent that had just been taken down, a serrated knife skidded across the concrete floor and stopped only inches away from you. Simultaneously, the second Hydra agent the soldier had been fighting was knocked to the ground, almost flying into the corner, his head smacking against the blackening drywall, his body going limp. You could see a bloody wound form near the crown of his head, his eyes glazing, but he wasn’t unconscious. 

When Barnes slid the gun back in his holster, scanning the area, looking to the side opposite to where you were first, the agent’s fingers fumbled with the gun lying close to his hand. You watched them slowly and clumsily curl around the handle, index finger edging towards the trigger.

You found yourself rolling to your side, sliding the knife in your grasp, and skidding to where he was lying, knocking the gun from his weak grasp, taking the knife and then -

You heaved and then gasped for breath, pushing the shock blanket off your shoulders desperately and placing your head in your hands, fingers reaching up into your hair. The cold air fanned over your neck and your hands and seeped through your clothes but it was more comfortable than you could hope for. 

Hot tears formed in your eyes and your throat tightened; you were just about breathing. Just about hanging by your fingertips. 

You remember being escorted out of the warehouse and being ushered into the ambulance, the blood-stained knife tight in your grip being pried away while you stayed silent in shock. 

You choked on your breath as you failed to keep your tears at bay. 

‘Ma’am?’ 

The voice was a little edged but still gentle. Kind of like the fuzzy blanket the paramedics had given you. 

You lifted your head slightly so that your eyes peeked over the protective cage of your hands. 

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his tone the same. 

You bit your lip and, to your frustration, more tears formed in your eyes. 

It was one person. One really bad person. Someone you assumed had volunteered to be bad. You read about Hydra. You knew what they had done, specifically what they had done to the man whom you had - technically - saved from a bullet, the man who was crouched in front of you now. 

So why did it feel like this? Why did it feel like throwing up and feeling empty at the same time? Or like you were caught in a flood and standing completely famished in a desolate world? 

‘I killed someone,’ you murmured. Your voice was quiet and almost swallowed by the gentle breeze but gritted and grounding, rooting your words, anchoring them around you. 

Barnes nodded softly. ‘I know. That saved me, what you did. I should thank you.’

Your eyebrows creased into a slightly pained expression. ‘That doesn’t help,’ you said, your tone almost apologetic. Maybe he was trying to help but you weren’t sure what kind of ladder you needed to climb out of the ditch you had stepped in. 

Bucky frowned but not because he was hurt by your response. He stood up and sat down next to you in the entrance of the ambulance, keeping a respectable distance from you. 

‘I’m sorry I put you in that position,’ he said. ‘It’s my job to keep you safe.’ 

You shook your head, the motion so subtle it was almost as if you hadn’t done anything. But because you had been so still before, the movement was noticeable. 

‘Don’t apologise,’ you murmured, trying to sound consoling. You clasped your hands together, elbows tucked in as you clamped your hands between your knees, curving your body into a smaller shape. ‘Does this ever go away?’ 

Bucky hesitated. ‘This type? I hope it will. That guy wasn’t innocent in any form of the word.’ He paused. ‘I knew him.’

So you killed someone who deserved to die? The image of the knife piercing - … of it being used by you. It wasn’t the person, it was your actions. You did it. You didn’t feel the same way you did before. 

‘But I killed him,’ you whispered.

Slowly, giving you time to make him stop or to move away, Bucky put his hand on your knee. The touch was light, with a feather-like fragility something with his stature shouldn’t possess but somehow did. 

‘I-I understand,’ he started. ‘I don’t wanna tell you how to feel but, I’ve done this before.’

Your mind was skeptical. Barnes never intended to commit those murders done by the Winter Soldier. 

‘When I was in the war,’ he said softly, ‘it’s like that.’ 

It was quiet for a while after that while your mind replayed the scenes from before, while your heartbeat steadied one moment and then raced another, keeping an uneven pace. Slowly, your head was starting to feel less and less as though it were filled with brick dust. 

It had sounded like he didn’t want to elaborate and part of you guessed that it was because he didn’t want to haul his own pain onto someone who was going through their own. He didn’t want to draw attention away from you when you were objectively less able to deal with it. 

But you couldn’t deal with having attention right now. 

‘Tell me more?’ you asked weakly. 

Barnes looked at you as though asking for confirmation and then let a tiny self-deprecating smile appear briefly on his features, his eyes hardening with regret. 

‘They made it sound amazing,’ he said softly, eyes on the ground in front of him. ‘Fighting for your country, doing what was right, not only because everyone who wasn’t fighting on our side was a Nazi but because it was just un-American not to.’ His eyebrows creased, expression hardening. ‘But you get out on the front line and suddenly not every opposition is a Nazi who’s out to tear your heart from your chest. We were all kids fighting a war that wasn’t ours.’ He clenched his jaw and then released the tension. ‘I killed guys by my own accord who didn’t deserve one bullet.’

You wiped the dried tears from under your eyes and your cheeks, drawing your sleeve over your fingers, lip trembling. 

‘I’m not trained,’ you whispered brokenly. And not in the sense of using weaponry but in the way that taught you how to stay in the mindset of the job. You were literally mentally unequipped to handle this. ‘What - what do I do next?’ 

Barnes looked at you apologetically. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But I have a lot of good days lately. It’s the worst answer, but give it time.’

You nodded numbly and sniffed, clearing your throat and looking around you. You were one of the few civilians left here, everyone else having been escorted back to their homes or hospitals or wherever they wanted to go. 

‘Where are you going back to?’ Barnes asked. ‘You gonna be alone?’

You didn’t want to go anywhere that had people who didn’t know what you were going through. So going home alone seemed like the only viable option.

‘I’ll be fine.’

You didn’t know how to deal with this. But you told yourself that you just had to figure it out because what choice did you have?

Barnes looked a little doubtful, uneasy and unenthusiastic to let you go by yourself. 

‘I don’t want you to be alone,’ he said. ‘If you wanna talk to me or if you just don’t wanna be by yourself …’

You looked at him, studying his sincere blue-grey eyes. This man was worried about you. You and your modest, self-deprecating self. You felt so emotionally drained that you couldn’t fight it. You were willing to admit that maybe, just this once, you deserved someone’s attention, someone’s help. 

So you nodded. ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’