curse not a gift

@wecalleverythinglove has written an absolutely amazing Ella Enchanted AU where Yuuri is gifted cursed to obey everyone and Victor is a prince, mesmerized by a boy sitting in the cemetery…

I can’t put into words how cute and fluffy with just a dash of angst this fic is. There are so many moments to visualize, it’s amazing, so it was difficult to choose… but the scenes these two share in the nights alone, sitting on rooftops or in towers, just watching the stars together… It’s so beautiful :’)

x-men’s inherent flaw in its storytelling is that it always has mutants with useful powers telling mutants with actual curses to be proud of their powers 

“you should embrace your gifts” says Orgasm Dude, the dude with the power to give anyone an orgasm

“yeah thanks” says Will Explode If He Gets A Boner Man 

The Signs as Witches

Aries: uses bodily ingredients such as hair or teeth or nails, wild and free and howling at the moon, fire tells them what they want to know, embraces all but does not tolerate betrayal, gifted in the use of poppets and curses, full of energy and static and power

Taurus: a collector of many things, uses crystals and herbs, proficient in kitchen magic, has an inner strength that knows no bounds and no true master, a home full of colored glass and jars filled with anything you could ever need, rooted and able, wears robes with many many pockets

Gemini: a card reader and game changer, spoken spells fill the very air with magic and potential, an avid learner and sharer of their craft, books and tomes and candles fill their space, knows the power of words and names, tattoos sigils and spells all over their body and they seem to move when you aren’t looking, vast and uncontainable

Cancer: rests under the moon and whispers magic in their sleep, uses astral projection to explore and learn and play with ghosts, elaborate and detailed dream diary, deep understanding of astrology, somehow already knows what you’re going to say, mysterious and soft but only on the surface, a knower of secrets, sleepy eyes, lives in a tree in a misty forest and makes friends with the plants and spirits there

Leo: strongest in the day and has eyes that light up the night, mighty voice and skilled hands, breath carries a spark, animalistic energy you can feel when they look at you, makes their own spells borrows their own power, incredible visualization makes their dreams realities, difficult to look at directly for reasons you don’t really understand, wild hair and adorned in gems

Virgo: techno witch, weaves magic into code and text, keeps a blog as their book of shadows and altar, urban magic, has a restless mind and busy hands, deletes negativity out of their life, has much information to share despite their hollow look, eyes are lit from the inside, their phone is full of pictures that keep moving and notes only they can read

Libra: covered in veils and breathes perfume to hide themselves and confuse you, summons creatures and demons to do their bidding so their hands remain clean, almost transparent at times like a ghost or vision, is stronger than they look and delights in you not knowing their power, their mouth is almost always moving but you can’t hear what they say, soft to the touch but their skin is cold, trinkets and charms and chains adorn them and their home

Scorpio: eyes and nails are dark and caked in black, frequents graveyards and learns from the ghosts and crows, solitary witch who makes friends with bones, will help you learn what you want to know for a price, is afraid to sleep, quiet and haunted, is reborn each new moon, is full of knowing and fog and promise, takes a lock of hair from all they help, you feel them in your core

Sagittarius: rides their broom with reckless abandon, plays with the children on Halloween and shows them magic is real, their home has legs and never stays still, keeps many familiars and most are birds, gifted in charms and potions and sells their work with a smile, you can hear them laughing with the moon at night, chapped lips and wide eyes, magic is erratic and spontaneous and they couldn’t control it if they wanted to

Capricorn: loose black and gray clothing that flows when they walk, keeps a pouch of salt around their neck at all times, face is often covered or hard to see, protection spells and sigils are their innate ability, the floor trembles when they are angry, always watching watching watching, lives in a stone cottage covered with moss and scrawlings and carvings, other witches are silent around them out of fear and awe

Aquarius: hermit, storm witch, plays with rain and dances with lightning and shouts thunder, keeps trinkets and mementos in small jars around their bed, asks favors and learns from the clouds, raw and swift and ready to act, soft as a summer rain and cold as hail, hair is full of leaves and wind, feet are dirty but their mind is clean and sharp

Pisces: smells of salt and dressed in rags and burlap and pearls, misty eyes that look through you and deep deep down in you, water witch with a soft face and an ocean for a heart, thing of the sea, empath who sometimes knows you better than you do, bottles own tears and keeps them for spells, witch of all trades master of none, head is full of crashing waves, overflowing with magic and wonder

They say that if a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die.
But no one talks about what happens when you break a writer’s heart.

How this gift of immortality becomes their curse.
How they keep you alive in their poetry even while it kills them.
How they recreate the crime scene on paper.
Words spread out like map coordinates
Looking for where things went wrong.
Writing down the word ‘forever’ and
Wondering how those three syllables sounded like an eternity when you said it.

Every poem they write is a sketch of your face; as if their pen only knows how to make posters of the people they miss; each full stop a reminder of your freckles; each semicolon an image of your sideways smile and the dimple under your cheek.

Every poem is just ‘I still love you’ written in code.

Every poem is a letter unsent; because if hearts were mailboxes you wouldn’t have one.

Every poem is an attempt to soothe the ache in their left chest; to let inked words bleed instead; to shrink the memories into sentences.

Every poem is the Heimlich maneuver; so they write until the words locked in their throats fly out like freed birds and bruised lungs can finally taste oxygen again.

Every poem is a paper boat called acceptance.

Every poem including this one.

—  When you break a writer’s heart by Ceres // @mentamorphisis
10

You remember this? My dad and I used to build model airplanes. And this, this was my absolute favorite. Tenth birthday. This is a Nieuport 28. It’s the same plane Quentin Roosevelt flew in World War I. When you were about two years old, you got your hands on this, and you broke off one of the wings. I spent about an hour with a hot glue gun trying to fix it. It ended up in about 20 pieces instead of 2. Quentin, sometimes trying to fix something only makes it worse.

Gift AU Idea

The thing about the Gift, is that you never quite know what you are going to get, and what it’s going to cost. 

It sometimes cost a lot, and early - for such little payback that it hardly seemed worth it. It sometimes cost nothing anyone could ever know - and changed a whole life. Sometimes it was a gift at birth, and sometimes a curse before death, but it always happened. 

When Jack Zimmerman was born, his parents were beyond thrilled. He was a weird looking baby, but my god, they loved him more than they ever thought would be possible. That first night, at midnight, a light filled up the dark room and formed a fae shape, indistinct but instantly recognisable. 

“I will take his first last breath.” The solid light said, before fading completely. Bob, who had his ability to grow a beard taken as payment for his ability to always land a solid punch, and Alicia (who lost all her memories before she was 4 so that her smile could light up a room) looked at each other and blinked. 

Because what the hell did that mean? 

-

When the light filled the hospital room where one Eric Richard Bittle lay sleeping, both his parents were wide awake and trembling. Susan lost her ability to read at 19, and Coach lost his own name three weeks after his 4th birthday, and both knew the sting of a ‘gift’ that never really lived up to the price they paid. Neither of them wanted their darling baby to suffer - to lose anything. They wanted to give him the world. Coach glared at the light while Susan hid her face in her hands. 

“That’s my son and I swear to all that is good in this world if you hurt him, if you hurt my boy-” his voice broke at the end. He’d paid a high price for his gift, lost his name and gained only the ability to write with both hands. Susan had it worse - she remembered words, her love of books, the simple skill of reading labels or instructions - gone now… all for the knowledge of when it was best to pick the ripest fruit. 

And god, he feared for his boy. 

“I will take his joyous childhood.”

And Coach found out that it was impossible to punch a living light.

-

Sometimes you met people who had the same gift, or paid the same price. Shitty lost his name, just like Coach, and Bitty was pretty sure thats why he trusted the mustachioed man so much. His gift was never feeling cold. Ransom lost his birthmark and Holster lost his first love - and gained each other, a soul bond so strong that sometimes it was difficult for them to tell who was feeling what. Lardo swapped her appendix for the ability to see in the dark, Nursey lost his spatial awareness for his love of words and Dex lost his calm. Dex wasn’t quite sure what he got, which wasn’t all that uncommon because really… in a world where your sense of smell can be traded for the ability to flip a pancake… sometimes it just wasn’t easy to work out what your gift was. 

Chowder lost his baby teeth for his joy of life, Johnson his ability to tell the time for some weird alternative universe only he could see. 

Jack lost his first last breath on the bathroom floor of a nondescript hotel room for a second chance - Bitty lost his carefree childhood with every taunt and shove as he grew up. 

Bitty figured that the price was okay. He could make the best pies anyone had ever tasted. 

Sometimes Jack wondered if it was worth it. 

And of course, sometimes… you got it wrong. 

-

Bitty always knew his childhood was going to suck. His mamma and Coach did their level best to make sure that home was safe and secure, but it didn’t stop the nightmares at night, the fear of monsters under the bed or the sheer god-awful time at school. The only time he was ever at ease was in the kitchen, where his mamma taught him to bake using her own way of things, never needing to measure, never relying on a recipe she couldn’t read. So, Bitty, and his parents, always just assumed that he was going through hell as a kid, so he could bake. 

Coach hated it. Coach hated a lot of things, but seeing his son scared and frightened one too many times had taken its toll on the man. They moved three weeks after the supply closet incident. 

All for the sake of some stupid pies, his son suffered. 

He never did eat a single one. 

-

It wasn’t until Bitty got to Samwell that his actual gift turned up…

Parallels

Originally posted by donewithjeon

 Taehyung x Reader

soulmate au, angst, sort of historical au?

 5.1K words

If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that the purpose or your existence was to love Kim Taehyung, and his was to love you. Throughout countless lifetimes the two of you have longed for each other, but just like parallel lines, though your souls always seemed to be travelling in the same direction, it was impossible that they could ever meet and become one.

Author’s Note: This was inspired by the Fallen series which I read when I was like 12 lmao


You were no longer sure who, or where, you had been the very first time you laid your eyes on Kim Taehyung.

So many lifetimes blurred together into one, your existence was so scattered throughout time you had begun to lose track of it.  But in each life, no matter who you were, regardless of whether you lived a life of luxury or one of extreme poverty, he was always there. Your existences were irreversibly intertwined.

You didn’t know why. You didn’t know how. You had no clue if there were others in the world who lived through multiple existences, or if any of them remembered each individual life the way you did. In no life had you ever dared ask, for fear of sounding crazy or being whisked away to the closest asylum.

In some lives you were close to him. In a few, you even grew up as childhood friends. You remembered those lives more clearly than most. One in particular that you remembered with a shocking clarity was England in the 1600s. Your family lived on and ran a small farm out in a tiny rural village. It had been a tough life, getting up at the brink of dawn every morning and not returning from the fields until the sun finally dropped behind the earth, but the hard work paid off and there was always a sufficient amount of food. You could still feel the wonderful sensation of the cool, crisp early morning air against your skin, even now.

Taehyung’s family had owned a bakery and every morning, just as you set out to work the fields, his mother would send him round to deliver bread in exchange for milk.

Even from a young age, you’d felt the pull towards him, that feeling which was now so painfully familiar. He was like a magnet, he could only be resisted for so long before you had no choice but to give in.

For some reason, you’d thought in that life that perhaps things would be different, perhaps it wouldn’t end in the same fashion that all the others had. You were no longer sure what had caused you to think this, maybe getting to spend so long by his side had lured you into a false sense of safeness. You weren’t as foolish now as you had been then. You’d learnt the hard way that there were never any exceptions.

You still dreamt about that life sometimes. You dreamt about the way the long honey coloured strands of wheat matched his eyes and the sound of his laughter getting caught between trees in the nearby forest as you played together. But more vividly, you were haunted by the shy, gentle first touch of your lips to his, you were tormented by that fleeting moment of happiness that had existed just before everything crumbled away to dust.

In other lives, however, Kim Taehyung was painfully out of reach. One of you would be of a much higher status than the other, meaning any attraction you felt was forbidden. You could recall a few lives where you ended up being born into a wealthy family and Taehyung had been employed by your family in some way. He had once been a gardener, and another time a cook, and you were fairly sure he had also been a stable boy at some point. But you hated those lives the most. Any interaction with him was dialled down to a minimum and it made your chest ache awfully. Those lives were made of nothing but longing glances and sad smiles.

Kim Taehyung never seemed to remember you. Unlike you, he seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that he had lived hundreds of times before, and that you had been present in each and every one of those existences.

Needless to say, it was heartbreaking to look into the eyes of the man you’d loved for centuries and for him to have absolutely no clue who you were. But it was even more heartbreaking to watch as he fell hopelessly in love with you. The dreadful cycle was doomed to repeat over and over, possibly for eternity.

Because the two of you could never be together.

In every life, without fail, the first kiss with Kim Taehyung was also always the last. You’d spent so many days and nights in complete anguish, wondering why the two of you had been cursed with such a cruel fate.

Because after every first kiss with Kim Taehyung, your body would burst into flames.

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  • Sonny, after 96,000: That's it! I'm gonna do everything I can to make the barrio and the world a better place! Then we'll see who's cute! *sneezes*
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Long Angsty Sterek Fics

All at least 20k words long (by request)

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn’t expect and aren’t sure they approve of….

By Any Other Name by entanglednow

He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he’s on the run with. But he’s pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Permanent Fixture by linksofmemories

Derek is Scott’s older brother. Stiles is Scott’s best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

Don’t Speak by fatale

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something’s wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can’t understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it’s gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he’s lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla)

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

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You’re a brutal masterpiece, you’re a velvet human being, your silence is more like a painted symphony. Stars cannot be compared to the beautiful scars on your hands nor to the softness I see in your shady eyes. You’re such a holy soul gifted with melancholy, you’re damned, you’re cursed and you’re a living tragedy.

‘inlustret lumine.’  - let the light shine.

I started a new sketchbook today to commemorate my own birthday (i know that sounds lame but fresh starts are always satisfying) and to start it out I drew a scene from @torestoreamends‘s gift fic ‘Time Turns’! (Thank you Philippa!!) 

Thank you to everyone in the fandom for being such lovely people, I am truly blessed to be here with you all and you guys are the best birthday gift one can ask for <3