uncontrolled powers


Ah, ah sketch ^^’’’’ - well, rushed is rushed, but whatever.

So, Mermaid AU. Actually I was very tempted to draw a Frozen Au (Yuri with uncontrolled Ice power, actually), but yesterday (more two days ago, errr) I was talking about mermaids with @arrowsbane and there we are <3 

Intertwined Destinies I: A Great and Terrible Power

In the ‘Intertwined Destinies’ meta series, I intend on taking a deep dive into the mysterious connection between Rey and Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. In this first instalment, I cover their pasts - exploring what might have brought Rey and Kylo to where we find them in The Force Awakens, and how their histories may be paralleled and, potentially, overlap.

The Story of Ben

“I’ve seen this raw strength only once before. It didn’t scare me enough then. It does now.”

In The Force Awakens, we get only the vaguest allusion to the tragedy that sent Luke Skywalker into hiding and marked the start of Ben Solo’s descent to the dark side. The explanation comes from Han Solo:

“One boy, an apprentice, turned against him and destroyed it all. Luke felt responsible. He just…walked away from everything.”

That boy, of course, was Ben - Han’s own son and Luke’s star pupil, who Mark Hamill has spoken of in the following terms:

“[Luke] made a huge mistake in thinking that his nephew was the chosen one, so he invested everything he had in Kylo, much like Obi-Wan did with my character. And he is betrayed, with tragic consequences. Luke feels responsible for that.”

This builds up an evocative picture of Ben Solo’s fall that is returned to in the trailer for The Last Jedi, which actually gives the event a different slant. With trailer-appropriate portentousness, we hear Luke speak fearfully of a terrible power that he failed to take seriously enough before. This dialogue is laid over shots of what we must assume is the destruction of Luke’s temple, including this one:

Here, we see Luke clawing his way free from beneath a pile of flaming timbre. This image alone is extremely striking, and raises an interesting possibility for what might have happened at the temple. It has previously been assumed (at least by me) that Luke was absent when Ben enacted his betrayal and killed his fellow Jedi in training, but this shot represents a strike against that interpretation - instead, it suggests something sudden and explosive that took Luke by surprise and unfolded before he could prevent it. 

Keep reading


botw AU with young Ganondork

post game. 

dark influence of demise hanging over the young gerudo king’s fate.

Once it begins to burst unbearable hatred and anger. This anger can be expressed in the form of hallucinations and other things that can influence the world view (Demise needs to tune the young gerudo king so that his further state contributes to the fulfillment of his plans), but this happens if the “reborn” initially refuses to submit to the will…..and as we see - he doesn’t

i need an entire spinoff about the babysitter from the incredibles getting hired to babysit all the superhero babies in the city because news spread about how she managed to handle jack jack 

she grows up to start a superhero babysitting agency where she specially trains babysitters to deal with babies who wreak havoc with their uncontrolled powers and toddlers who are trying to hide their powers or are learning to control them

In the gardens

Pairing: T’Challa x Reader

Warnings: Angsty-ish, bit of fluff.

A/N: I am taking so long with requests but bear it with me, would you? Feedback <3

Originally posted by buchanstan

Ever since Steve’s team arrived into Wakanda, they seemed to be a lot better; well, everyone except for one. (Y/N) was quiet by nature, but after everything that happened, and the people she had lost because of the men’s stubbornness, she decided to build up the highest walls so no one could reach to her.

Her powers had caused terrible damage, and she promised herself to not use them anymore; she was not completely in control of them, and it almost seemed like they controlled her sometimes. The only place where she could unravel them and feel completely free from her fears were the gardens, but they were usually full of people and full of the king’s servants who were kind enough to ask if everything was alright.

One day, as she started wandering, she found a spot that hadn’t been taken care of in quite a while. It was calling her name, and feeling her protective instinct blossoming once again, she went every day for over a month just to take care of the plants that there laid withering. (Y/N) was not at home, and she was most certainly not safe, but that portion of land somehow needed her as much as she needed it. She moved things around with her powers, feeling completely in control of her telekinesis for once in her life. And she even created a small pond with her element-control. Only her part of the gardens could bring a smile to her heart.

She was often seen carrying a book and running away, not even the few teammates she still had in Wakanda could get more from her than a greeting, and the king himself started to wonder what she did all day and why she pushed everyone away.

Until he discovered her little secret. T’Challa found her sitting on a stone little bench she had made all by herself. It was still a bit rough, but comfortable enough to sit there for a while. He cleared his throat to let her know there was somebody with her.

“Mind if I sit?” T’Challa asked as he pointed at the empty space next to (Y/N). She nodded silently and he sat down. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No—king T’Challa—you—” she stammered—“I was just—nothing.” She shook her head and fell silent again, trying to focus her sight on the book, but she couldn’t help but to look at him from the corner of her eye. The man was not only beautiful, but in his presence she felt tiny, and somehow, safe again.

T’Challa cleared his throat and began again. “You know, I’ve always liked this side of the gardens, ever since I was a child; whenever there was some sort of royal happening, I used to run all the way here and my mother would find me somehow.” He sounded absentminded, but in his mind one thought wandered, and it wasn’t even the reminiscence of his favorite childhood memories, but he was trying to imagine how it would be if (Y/N) smiled; he was most certain that he had never seen her like that. “It always felt like an escape. My father didn’t even knew about the immensity of his own palace…” he chuckled, “so how did you discover this?”

“I just started walking and… I got here.” She shrugged. None of them looked at one another, but (Y/N) could feel how fixated he was on her. “The plants needed some help.”

“I think I could hire you as the gardener, would you like that?”

“If it means I can stay here…” she turned her head to face him, “I would.”

“You know… I’ve asked around for you, but the others said you were not talking to them,” (Y/N) bit her bottom lip almost immediately, “may I know the reason why?”

“I just don’t know what I could say to them…” She shrugged. “My mother used to tell me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, then I’d better keep quiet.”

“Don’t you think that’s a harsh thing to say to a daughter?” He pointed out.

“My mother…” she started, “she was not the kindest woman alive,” she gave him a quick look, “but it doesn’t matter, she’s not among the living anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that…” he gulped. “And were the Avengers somehow like a family to you?”

“They were the closest thing I had to a family, and it ended up just like the first one, and probably just as bloody.” (Y/N) pursed her lips in a thin line. “You know, when I was at school nobody really liked me, and not only because I wasn’t popular. People feared me; kids feared me because at kindergarten I spoke to a dying plant and it seemed to come to live again.” She giggled, but it sounded more like a heavy sigh. “Then, things around the house flew for no apparent reason, and that was when my parents started to fear me too and so I ran away.” Her voice seemed to crack, so she remained silent a few seconds before clearing her throat and starting again. “There were some people looking for me, bad people, and they got to my parents because they were the closest thing to me. They died because of me, because I wasn’t there to protect them.” She inhaled sharply and shook her head. “Then SHIELD found me and I became an avenger. I had a family again, a terribly dysfunctional one because let’s face it, none of them knew how to have a family. We were the outcasts, the weird ones. I felt at home but… It didn’t last long.” She looked at her hands and hid them inside her sleeves. “The things I love never last for long, mainly because I destroy them.”

“I’m sorry…” The king softly said. He looked at her and to his eyes, she had never looked more vulnerable, but it wasn’t the vulnerability that meant weakness; not at all. This vulnerability made her so transparent, like a fragile glass, just a stone away from breaking into a million pieces. She looked very differently from how she did in The Raft, where she looked utterly terrified. (Y/N) allowed her walls to fall apart just enough to let him know why she tried to shut everyone away. But her walls started to build quickly up, and before T’Challa could say something, she was slowly walking away.

He followed her and grabbed her hand, trying to make her turn around. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were getting watery, and a rosy color tried to take over her cheeks. He didn’t know what to do, or if what he was about to do was ok, but he went along with it, and taking a deep breath, his hand went up to (Y/N)’s cheek and gently stroke it. She trembled under his touch and in T’Challa’s mind, the worst fears played.

“Don’t do this, T’Challa.” She mumbled. “Get away from me before it’s too late.” She tried to free herself from his grip. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“How about you let me decide if I want to get hurt or not?” He softly asked, not wanting to let go of her. “And how about you come out of your bedchamber to socialize? I’ll be hosting a party at the palace in two nights, and I’d love to take you as my date.”

“I don’t even have a dress.” (Y/N) stuttered.

“I’m quite sure Ms. Maximoff can handle that for both of us.” He leaned in to kiss (Y/N)’s cheek and bowed his head before saying his goodbyes.

“T’Challa, wait!” She screamed, running her way up to him; who, with long steps, had already gotten a few meters away. “I haven’t even said yes.”

“Well,” he smiled, “I will go by your room in two days and if you’re wearing pajamas, then I’ll know you’ve turned down my invitation.” T’Challa took (Y/N)’s hand and lifted it enough to kiss it, looking straight into her eyes.

And two days from then, King T’Challa knocked on (Y/N)’s golden doors, only to be welcomed by one of the maidens that was in charge of her. Inside the dormitory, Wanda was finishing the last details of (Y/N)’s dress. The king couldn’t help to smile at the sight of such a beautiful woman. She wore a long, navy blue dress that even though it was not tight, it still held on to her curves perfectly. She turned around, almost in slow motion, and smiled back at the dark complexioned man that so fondly looked at her.

She looked like a dream come true; like his own little piece of heaven was on earth, right in front of his very eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” T’Challa said in amusement, “and you look gorgeous too.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, your highness.” (Y/N) smiled as she bowed her head.

They walked together through the hallway that lead to the big ballroom where a lot of people had gathered for a celebration that (Y/N) was not aware of. The couple greeted some of the guests and everyone kept mentioning how gorgeous T’Challa’s companion was. She did not feel afraid of hurting anybody, because having him by her side was enough to keep her mind occupied. She was very grateful for his ministrations to her, and she wouldn’t have enough life to thank him for everything he had done.

Not only he managed to make her speak of her past, but she also felt like she had a friend, someone she could really count on, and (Y/N) appreciated that the most.

Once the greetings and protocol salutes were over, the two were offered a glass of champagne to start the night; (Y/N) was not a drinker, and mostly because of her uncontrolled powers, she declined the drink as asked for some water instead.

“You never told me what you’re celebrating.” (Y/N) mentioned at the table. They were sitting together, and in order to speak to him, she had to lean in closer. T’Challa shivered lightly at the feeling of her breath close to his skin.

“It’s my father’s birthday today,” he explained, “and it’s a tradition to remember the birthdays of a king or a queen. I suppose mine will be remembered one day.” He replied with a soft smile. (Y/N) corresponded the smile with a soft giggle. “Hey! You’re smiling, that’s a progress.”

“I have a good reason to smile tonight.” She conceded. “You know, I never met your father… but he sure as hell did a great job bringing you up.” She sighed. “You’re a great man, T’Challa, and you’re going to be an even greater king.” T’Challa smiled nervously; he was used to receive compliments about his duty as the new king of Wakanda, but if they came from (Y/N)’s lips, the compliments felt a hundred times better and it made his heart beat faster than ever. “I don’t think I can thank you enough for taking me out of my bedroom… I had forgotten how it felt to be with people, like real people.” She shook her head and giggled. Then, she leaned her head on T’Challa’s shoulder and felt how he tenderly kissed her hair.

“Shall we dance?” He asked, after a moment in silence.

The musicians started to play a slow tune, perfect for a romantic dance. The two stood up and headed for the center of the dance-floor. For the first time, (Y/N) felt extremely nervous and self-conscious around the king. There had never been that little space between them; not even at the Leipzig airport, and not even when they were all rescued from The Raft. She shivered when his big hand softly placed on the small of her back, not too low, but not up high. She took a deep breath before relaxing again and taking the hand that he offered.

When she looked up, she could’ve sworn T’Challa’s eyes were in the shape of a heart. He looked down at her and smiled when he found she was looking at him. He looked away with a winner grin and he led the slow movements of their bodies.

“Is there a special person you left back home?” He softly asked.

“No, I didn’t.” (Y/N) replied in a defeated voice. “Love has not been good with me. I told you, I hurt everyone I love.” She quickly looked away. “I just don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for someone. I mean just look at me—”

“I am,” T’Challa cut her off, “and I have done it for a while… and I have to say it; you’re the most gorgeous woman that I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re just saying it to make me feel better.” (Y/N) shook her head in disbelief.

“I wish I did—” T’Challa let go of her hand and placed it on her cheek, cupping it gently—“but I’m not. It’s hard to put it into words, especially with this many people around us, but you’re good enough for me, and you’re so, so good that I believe I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, (Y/N).”

“I—I… I just don’t know what to say.” She stammered. “T’Challa—I—”

“You needn’t say a thing,” he assured her, nodding his head once, “just promise me you’ll never say something like you’re not good enough again. You are good enough, you’re more than good enough, and you don’t hurt the people you love, and you have my word about it.”

Out of a sudden, T’Challa felt brave enough to lean in and gently press his lips on hers before she could argue any more. It didn’t take long for her to realize what the blabbering was about; she wasn’t really sure if she felt the same, or even if she was able to feel something for somebody again, but the safety his arms, walls and gates provided were more than enough to make her consider giving that leap of faith.

“T’Challa, I need you to hear me out on this one.” She pulled away from him. “This is not easy for me, and I… I don’t know if I feel the same about you.”

“I will not push you into something you don’t want.” He assured. “Set the boundaries and I’ll respect them. I like you, but I want you to be happy, even if it means without me.”

“And what if that’s exactly it?”

“We’ll figure that out together, then.” He leaned in, but instead of kissing her lips, T’Challa kissed her forehead as they kept dancing.

Super Shallurklance

@syeriane @shallurklancentric as promised, some cute Shallurklance, but with a cute cliffhanger ;3

“Is everyone in my apartment building a superhero?”
More like Lance is the normal guy who usually ends up taking care of his neighbors after they go out to fight crime and befriends them all, but has a pining crush on three of his neighbors bc fuck he’s too poly and bi to function-

Anyways, Pidge has plant powers and hacking skills, Hunk is basically an earth bender, Keith is a fucking dragon, Shiro can fly and use super strength, Allura is Wonder Woman but has cats, and Coran is the landlord of the building.

There are Major powers and Minor powers. Those with Major powers are usually in the Hero or Villain business. Those with Minor powers are generally sidekicks or civilians. Lance and Coran have Minor powers. Lance can pull water from the air or from anywhere within ten feet. It’s not very strong but it helps to clean wounds. Coran has the ability to bend metals. Enjoy ;3


"Is everyone in my apartment building a superhero?” Lance groaned, eying the pretty new girl moving in.

"No, not everyone. You aren’t. I think she’s the Hero Altea though. The hair certainly matches.” Lance’s above floor neighbor, Pidge, yawned from her spot leaning against the railing next to him.

“As in the city female favorite, Altea? Great. Let me guess, you guys are gonna show her the best place to patch up after a fight?” Lance asked defeatedly, narrowing cold blue eyes at the grinning superhero girl.

“You know it, Lance! I’m not taking chances! Also, do you have any more tea? I’m out of green leaf and I know you have an extra stock somewhere.” Pidge poked him in the side.

Lance sighed. “Yeah yeah, I bought a new box yesterday. Come on, I’ll make you a cup.”

Hours later, an explosion rocked the city and sure enough, as Lance calmly drank his hot cocoa in front of the TV, the news coverage showed the Voltron team plus Altea herself fighting against a massive metal monster.

The Voltron team, aka Lance’s neighbors in the Lion Apartments.

Black, a powerful hero with indestructibility and the gift of flight, his powers mostly originating in his prosthetic arm.

Olkari, a small hero with the ability to manipulate plants to her will, no matter the size. She could also hack anything, which was what she was currently doing to the monster’s mainframe.

Balmeran, the bulky hero with extreme strength. He was known for using the ground and environment to his advantage.

Red, the original partner of Black’s and gifted with extreme, nearly uncontrollable power. His flames could melt anything, as well as change him into a dragon if he felt like it.

And Altea, a woman with super strength, speed, and energy manipulation. Usually sending it out in the form of lightning or beams, usually white or pink, sometimes blue.

The creature went down after a short while, and the camera followed the heroes launching away in different directions.

But Lance knew where they would all end up eventually.

He came back from a quick trip to the supermarket and groaned when he found the lock picked and half open from a cute little vine, seemingly innocent.

“Pidge! What have I told you about breaking into my house through the front door?! The balcony sliding door is always unlocked you know!” The irritated Cuban called as he entered his home, noting the dirty tracks on the carpet.

“And Hunk! I trusted you to keep Keith in line during that fight, and now half the city is rubble! Keith, did you even shower properly before you came here?! Hi Shiro, Miss Altea. Pidge! Get out of the tea cabinet! I just gave you a box yesterday!”

Lance set his bags on the coffee table in front of both Shiro and the startled Altea before marching over to yank Pidge away from his tea storage, a small whip of water putting out a small fire left on Keith’s head.

Lance ushered everyone to a seat on the various couches in the main room. “Okay, who’s first? I got extra gauze this time, and special disinfectant for rust bacteria.”

Lance pulled water from a nearby cup and wrapped it around a particularly nasty burn on Shiro’s arm, the hero Altea looking on in fascination as the water slowly started massaging impurities from the blood and skin.

“So, miss Altea, I’m Lance. I usually patch these guys up after a fight, so I’m guessing they decided to bring you around too?” Said male asked the white haired heroine, raising an eyebrow and using another small water whip to clean up the blood on her cheek.

“Ah, well, Olkari insisted, since you are very trustworthy and she mentioned you keep a wide variety of tea?” Altea admitted, Pidge piping up from her seat trying to wrangle Keith into using an ice pack.

“Call me Pidge! We all live in the same building anyways, and Lance here knows us all on first name basis so we might as well use it ourselves!” The tiny plant hero chirped triumphantly as she managed to headlock Keith and press the ice against the nasty bruise on his back.

“I’m Keith, Shiro’s boyfriend and partner in heroism.” The man wheezed from where his friend was currently crushing his back as she ‘tended’ to him.

Shiro waved with his prosthetic arm. “I’m Shiro, nice to be working with you, Miss Altea.”

Hunk came back from the kitchen, stirring what looked to be a bowl full of chocolate chip cookie dough. “Sorry Lance, I borrowed some stuff for cookies. Also, hi, I’m Hunk and I’m usually the one to feed these people because somehow none of them know how to cook.”

The bulky man leveled a glare at his three teammates, each glancing away with a sheepish smile or a nervous chuckle.

“I kind of know how to cook!” Keith replied defensively, pouting.

“Keith, charred lumps of god knows what does not equal cooking.” Lance deadpanned, finishing his task of bandaging Altea’s arm.

The heroine snorted out a half giggle half wheeze, and Lance had to mentally stomp on the growing attraction in his heart. He already had two impossible crushes, he didn’t need a third…

“Well, my name is Allura. It is nice to meet all of you!” She introduced herself, and the others all grinned back.

“Well now that all the introductions are out of the way, who wants tea? I also have hot chocolate and coffee.” Lance asked, standing up and moving towards the kitchen.

He was sweating from the effort of holding up five separate threads of water. The ones that were currently cooling and healing the burn wounds on the 5 heroes.

Shiro wanted black coffee, Pidge wanted green tea with extra sugar, Hunk wanted a specific amount of sugar and cream in his coffee, Keith demanded chamomile tea, and Allura politely requested juniberry petal tea.

He didn’t notice Keith intently watching him serve their drinks, didn’t see Allura narrow her eyes when Lance swayed slightly, didn’t realize he was collapsing until Shiro practically vaulted over the couch to catch him on his way back to the kitchen.

He did, however, notice the worried voices whispering near him as he slowly woke up to someone stroking his hair. It felt nice, nothing like the stress his job had been putting him through lately or the strain of using his Power too much recently.

He sighed and rolled over to fall back asleep, the stroking in his hair never faltering.

Meanwhile, Allura frowned as she watched Red, Keith, pet Lance’s hair as he kept vigil over the man on the couch.

“It’s strange, normally he doesn’t collapse like that. I always tell him to rest after he uses his Power and take a break now and then, but today must have been a bad day to ask for help.” Shiro murmured, gazing at Lance in concerned fondness.

“For someone who exercises his Power so much, I wouldn’t think something so small as purifying wounds on five people would cause him to collapse. Perhaps he has been working too hard lately?” Allura asked, placing a comforting hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“He isn’t home as much, actually. I’ve seen him come home real late at night and leave at really early hours.” Keith piped up, quiet so as not to wake Lance up.

Shiro sighed. “He has a communication problem, which is surprising for someone who’s so talkative.”

Allura giggled lightly. “I find it quite endearing. You were right to bring me here and convince me to move into this building. I believe Lance will prove to become a large part of our lives. I just hope he accepts us when the time comes.”

She moved over to crouch next to Keith, her fingers joining the Fire Hero’s tangling through Lance’s soft, silky hair. Keith hummed lightly and tipped his head onto Allura’s shoulder.

Shiro folded his arms over his chest and smiled as his girlfriend and boyfriend watched hopefully over the object of their affections.

After all, it was a secret that Black, Red and Altea were not friends, but instead a trio of polyamorous lovers. Not even Pidge or Hunk knew that Shiro and Keith knew Allura a lot more intimately than they’d acted like today.

One day, Shiro hoped, Lance would make it a group of four.

He wished for that day to come soon.


What do you think? Sequel, maybe? :3


Malice in Wonderland - The 3 Scorpio Evolutions Scorpio is a deeply complex and fascinating sign. The musical ubiquity of Fixed fire and water fusing in Plutonian nuclear power exacerbates the intensity of an individual given potential to express three evolutionary levels of consciousness. The shadowy scorpion, high flowing eagle and transcendental phoenix represent multidimensional pillars in the Scorpio psyche and the reserves of energy. The ruler of Scorpio is Pluto, the Roman god of the underworld; associating this sign with dying, multiple ego death, reincarnation, occult studies, transformation and frequent personality overhauls. Looking back on their lives, Scorpio individuals see the resonant photographs of their former selves and shells of older characters. Not all Scorpio people manage to grow phoenix wings, or express the venomous scorpion features, and yet all Scorpio’s possess the indwelling potential to ascend into spiritual flight. Voices of ancestors, cryptic etheric imprints, residual past life trauma and fixed, frozen water line the Scorpio consciousness and develop organic, and seemingly inorganic processes that erupt from the subconscious. Before we are allowed to progress from Scorpio to Sagittarius, we are forced to wrestle the serpent in the Orphicus constellation through the Ascelpius cradle, the healing child of Chiron, suggesting an evolutionary healing process and the acquisition of cryptic universal secrets are the tools for cosmic combat and the passageway through to the Sagittarian light.

The characteristics of the lower evolved scorpion individual are more widely recognised and seemingly more pronounced throughout society. This could relate to the mainstream media’s fascination with dismal, questionable personalities and frequent reports on crime and injustice that illuminate the darker shade of human consciousness. Anger, aggression, destructive defense mechanisms, malice and jealousy are scorpion characteristics which may spill into illegal and contemptuous activity. There tends to be an overwhelming, uncontrollable desire for power and a strong resistance to suppressive figures or moral authority. The scorpion traditionally represents the animal crawling low along the earth but having its sting on automatic reflex. Many examples of scorpion energies are found in politics and corporate looting where the Mars influence strangles water. Tony Abbott, the Prime Minister of Australia is a classic exemplification of the lowest evolved Scorpio. His years as opposition leader tugged politics into a murkier low when attacks on the government targeted character and deceived the public into falsely voting for the opposition. During the a hung parliament when trying to win the votes of the independents, Abbott informed member Tony Windsor, “ I would do anything for this job. The only thing I wouldn’t do is sell my arse, but I’d have to give serious thought to it.” His policies are frequently dismantled to suit corporate interests and act under the investment of bodies who promised the lure of power. Tony Abbott is an example of a Scorpio who sold his soul for a taste of power. There maybe altruistic pangs to improve humanity, though many will attain their authoritative position and have no plans to implement a better collective change. Kundalini energy may be directed to its lowest form of sexual promiscuity or aggression. There may be a desire for immortality, and a reactive and nebulous fear of death.

The Scorpio eagle has managed to ascend beyond some of the Mars fire, although the shadowy side still makes its presence known. The eagle has developed insight to the darker aspect of his personality and makes a conscious effort to dissociate the two from each other. There are resounding business, political and justice seeking energies here although practices may cross into unethical territory. The eagle wrangles with the scorpion paranoia and intrinsic distrust of society at large. Most people are viewed as being potential harmful and fierce psychological defense mechanisms are erupted in self protection. Life’s mysteries, universal laws, life, death and the occult are alluring fascinations and both white and black magic may be experimented with. The eagle begins to take flight and harness the deep profound Pluto energies, the feminine wisdom of water and develop a soaring eyed view of the world. The intrinsic urges to merge with others on a deeper level than the physical begins transpiring, and the awareness of a psychic relation between others develops. While the scorpion may be concerned about primal sex needs void of intimacy, the eagle desires a deeper, emotional communion. They will typically strike without warning, indulge in some sleuth activity and negotiate dark impulses when it comes to justice seeking and neutralizing society’s imbalance.

In their travels through forbidden realms, the divine Scorpio phoenix has experienced multiple ego death across his lifetime. The stinging scorpion and shaky eagle has metamorphised into an illuminated, transcendent healing force that can transform anyone in their presence. The universal symbol of medicine; the double snake encircled under wings is a reflection of the Scorpio phoenix and the transcendent healing potentials. Plutonian energy relates to X-Rays, pharmaceuticals, etheric healing, natural sorcery and herbal medicine. The occult wisdom of centuries is conveyed through their incredible empathy and rich, mystical inner life. The phoenix is aware of his vengeful, shadow side and has swallowed the demons to give him power, a greater power, the one he has realised stems only from, and to, love. This is the embodiment of destruction becoming the highest form of creation, where they rise from the ashes of their own obliteration and claim a new life blood. Scorpio phoenix individuals can reach meditative trance states, gifts of prophecy, astral travel and psychic awareness; and many become acclaimed spiritual healers, clairvoyants and travelers who scatter their healing light and love across humanity. I know a Scorpio phoenix who runs a renowned corporate business and remains a charming, kind and engaged employer. As soon as he finishes work, he rips of his business suit, practices meditative bonding with this partner and goes off to teach a class on sun salutation and tai chi. He channels his volatile intensity into scattering his divine wisdom about life and death and promoting interpersonal warmth amongst humanity. You really get the feeling there is so much light just bursting within the surface, and he lives quite a conservative daily life with a rich, personal night spirit. The phoenix is largely concerned with universal mysteries, investigating magic and their contribution of humanity. They are aware of god indwelling, the divine force firing within them and negotiate their potential with this power. Phoenix Scorpio are survivors. Emotionally, they may perish in the ashes of their own destructive nature, but they can also fly and erupt into the most beautiful, soul glowing shooting star.

yellow-eyed-asshats said:May I request some more prompts of a protagonist with massively dangerous powers that they can’t control and it lashes out Please thanks :)  ///  Anonymous said:Some more prompts about that hero who has trouble controlling their powers would be great! Thank you! 

Anonymous said:So about this hero who has trouble controlling their powers and the villain trying to help them with it; 👌 // Anonymous said: could you do a few prompts about a rogue hero who is trying to kill the uncontrollable powered hero because they “are just as dangerous and unpredictable” as any other villain? Thank youuuu!

1) “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not leaving until you come home.”
The protagonist stared at them, wide-eyed, arms wrapped tight around themselves as they shook their head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” They took a step closer. “Because you’re dangerous? Everyone’s dangerous, it doesn’t make you special. Come home. Mum’s worried sick.” 

2) “I can’t control it.” They squeezed their eyes shut, shuddering. “Oh god, you have to help me.” But everyone only seemed to be backing away, their terror making it worse as the power spiked and roiled and felt like it might just rip them apart in the process. “Please, somebody.” Anybody…

3) “Isn’t it better in here?” the antagonist said. Where that power couldn’t be put to use against them either, threat all bubbled up and pretty. Looking back at them with such helpless desperation, searching for reassurance. “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone, I promise. You’re safe.”
“I’m scared.” 
“You’re powerless. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

4) “You said you’d help me-” The protagonist jerked on the spot. “You said you’d help me control it.” 
“No,” the antagonist said. “I said I could bring your powers under control, if you let me. And look at that - they’re under control.” They twirled a demonstrative finger. “Mine.” 

5) “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”
“I know,” the other hero said. They advanced. “And you don’t want to hurt anyone now - so just surrender. Before someone dies.”
“You’ll kill me.” And, despite everything, they didn’t want to die. The power bubbled, revolted, at the very thought. God, they didn’t want to die. 
“This is how you end up on the wrong side. You’re dangerous, you need to be managed.”  

It’s an alternate universe, where Zen is a prince of a strongest kingdom, and MC was adopted as his little sister. But one day, people realized a terrible truth, that MC is a witch. And a witch has to be burned alive, if not, the whole country will be destroyed by her uncontrolled power. But Zen didn’t want to accept this, he didn’t want to let his sister die without doing anything. So he decided to save her, even if it means to stand against his own country, even if it cost him his life, he has to save her.

Or just to die with her without any regrets.


I’ve heard a song called “Sera was never” all day. And it makes me want to draw somethings that cross-over between Mystic Messenger and medieval fantasy world. This song is just sooo wonderful, and I really think about playing Dragon Age right now lol

Uncontrollable Power (Carlos De Vil x Reader)

Request: Hey mate! Could you do a Carlos De Vil x reader where she accidentally hurts him with magic she can’t control, the magic is one where she can takes people’s life force by touching them and using it to keep themselves young, immortal or to regain their strength to fight another? Thanks! (Please make it end fluffillylylyly)

A/N: I honestly had no idea how to end this. So the ending is really bad. I’m so sorry and I really hope this is what you wanted. If it’s not please message me or send an ask.

Originally posted by perryskeet

I grew up learning to control my power. Whenever I touch any living creature I drain their strength. When I was five I tried to save a bird with a clipped wing and it died within two minutes. Fairy Godmother had made me gloves to control the power, but they were lost when I went to the Isle to save Mal.

It was hard to try to stop touching Carlos, but it feels good to finally be free from the gloves. I finally get to feel normal. People don’t give me weird looks when I walk past. I’m finally just a teenager.

Carlos and I are sitting on my bed watching Netflix and he grabs my hand. I pull away quickly, so I won’t hurt him and he frowns at me.
“Why don’t you ask Fairy Godmother for another pair of gloves?” he asks.
“Because I finally feel normal. I can walk through the halls without being the only one wearing gloves. I don’t have to let it seem like my power controls me. I can talk to people without them staring at my hands.” I explain.
“But I can’t touch you at all now! You won’t even let me kiss you! That’s not going to kill me!”
“It might Carlos!” I sit up in bed. How does he not understand how dangerous this is?
“One or two seconds isn’t going to hurt me. See?” he grabs my arm. I try to pull it but he tightens his grip.
“Let go, Carlos! I can’t control it!” he finally lets me go so I shoot out of bed to get away from him. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt him. He follows me out of bed and stands a few feet away, frowning at me.
“If you just get gloves you won’t have to be afraid to touch me.” I can tell he’s getting agitated.
“I know that! But you don’t understand! I ca-”
“Then make me understand!” he screams.
“What do you want me to do?” my voice equals his.
“Use your powers on me.” I stumble backward as the words leave his mouth.
“No, absolutely not,” I state firmly.
“I trust you. I know that you can stop yourself before something bad happens. So make me understand.” he insisted.
“I don’t know Carlos. What if I can’t stop in time? What if I kill you?” I sighed.
“Come on, please. I know you: I know that you won't” he pleaded.
“Fine,” I mumbled

I grabbed his forearm and instantly felt the power surge into my body. He looks at his arm in awe. I can tell his energy is draining fast so I let go and as soon as I do he falls backward onto the bed, unconscious. Immediately I run toward him to try to help but pull away before I touch him. I run out the door to Fairy Godmother’s office.
“You have to come help! It’s Carlos!” I gasp out and run back towards my room, Fairy Godmother following after.

When we make it to the room she runs around me and checks on Carlos. She turns to look at me, a look of confusion on her face. I tell her everything that happened and she shoots me a disappointed look.
“You should have gotten more gloves. They keep everyone safe!” she states.
“About that…”

When Carlos wakes up he looks over at you almost instantly.
“I’m so sorry, I should have listened to you in the first place. I had Fairy Godmother make me another pair of gloves.” I pull my hand out from behind my back to show him. “I promise from now on they won’t come off.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into using your powers and I should have listened when you said you weren’t ready.” Carlos sat up on the bed and smiled at me.
“Thank god you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done. I love you so much.” I held my gloved hand out for him to take.
“I love you too, (Y/N).”

Limitations - Steve Rogers x Readers - Soulmate AU

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

Summary: In which everyone is born with several tattoos that match up with their soulmate, enemy, best friend (etc).Growing up, (Y/N) pondered on what it meant when she only had one tattoo. She didn’t know which one is belonged too, and it frightened her.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: PLEASE READ: this story includes sexual assault, implied rape, traumatic experiences & things that corresponds with those topics. I never do stories based on horrible real life tragedies, most of the time I don’t even have to make a warning label, but today I decided to use a strong topic on what happens beneath the surface of rape/assault victims as a topic of story mixed with a character. I know this is long, but it needed to be said.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: I’ll be updating all my series (and a few request) soon! I hope you all love the four I’ve posted this week! It’s just a thank you for getting me to 1.1k!!

[[ Check Out My Masterlist ]]

<< Request information is in my bio >>

Keep reading

Destiel Trope Collection
Day 15 | Enemies to Lovers

History Class | @navajomouse
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4,755
Tags: Alternate Universe, Hatred, Rough Sex, Happy Ending, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean
Summary: Cas Novak and Dean Winchester despise each other. They’re in the same college class and they fight constantly. Then the professor forces them to work together to pass the course.

A Priori | @thebloggerbloggerfun + @whelvenwings
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 146,277 (WIP)
Tags: Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff!Dean, Gryffindor!Cas, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are headed to Hogwarts.
Castiel, as a member of the old Novak wizarding family, is fully expected to be sorted into Ravenclaw, like all of his ancestors before him. Dean, as a Muggle-born, has no idea what the Houses even are. With a surprise sorting and classes starting soon afterwards, they’re both pitched headfirst into the unknown - and they find themselves in competition with each other almost at once, both of them needing to prove themselves to the people they left at home, and the people with them at Hogwarts.
Over the course of their seven years at Hogwarts, Dean and Cas learn what it means to prove yourself, what it takes to discover who you are, what it feels like to fall in love, and what it is they’ll fight for - what matters most of all.

True as It Can Be | @whelvenwings
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 71,953
Tags: Beauty and the Beast AU, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence
SummaryGrowing up in a small town in Kansas, Dean learned from a young age that there was only one rule that couldn’t be broken, one place he couldn’t go - through the forest, to the long-abandoned Angel’s Hollow. But when Sam disappears, Dean’s left with no choice but to follow his brother’s tracks through the dangers of the wood; little does he know that the most dangerous creature of all lurks not among the trees, but in the Hollow itself. Dean sets Sam free, at the cost of his own liberty - and, bound by magic, resigns himself to living out the rest of his days in the Hollow, at the mercy of the being within. The angel of Angel’s Hollow, however, has a story - is a prisoner, too, as much as Dean is. Only one thing can free them both - but it is impossible. For, after all: who could ever learn to love a beast?

Roost | @almaasi
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 12,260
Tags:  Farm/Ranch AU, Chickens, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hate to Love, Nesting Dean, Woobie Dean, Hurt Castiel, Graphic animal abuse and blood sports (cockfighting), violence, homophobia
Summary Fluffy chicken AU. Dean is a dangerous, black-feathered fiend – a demon in the ring, hell-bent on tearing his opponent apart so that he himself might live. He’s a bird bred to fight. His last match was against the infamous Castiel, a dominating white gamecock with nigh uncontrollable power. The duel was meant to be to the death. But then it all ended; they were put in cages and carted off to somewhere much brighter and greener. Now Dean and Castiel are no longer sparring partners, but yardmates. It’s not so bad. There’s ample food, clean water, and lots of lady chickens. Yet, for some reason, neither Dean nor Castiel feel very inclined to roost with the girls – or murder each other, for that matter.

Angels of the Sea | @envydean
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 53,616
Tags: Pirate AU, graphic violence, angst with a happy ending, prominent character death, hurt/comfort, magical elements
SummaryThe Archangel – a pirate ship run by young Captain Castiel Novak – is unknowingly boarded by two stowaways.
Sam and Dean just needed to get away from their father’s killers and are found stashed away in the storage room of the ship. Raphael is adamant they are killed but Castiel’s heart is too big to dispose of them both.Lives spared, they join the crew, Dean taking up navigation and Sam to the galley and an adventure using Dean’s amulet to find a mysteriously hidden island begins.

Hard to Swallow | @osirisapollo
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 30,280
Tags: Enemies to friends to lovers, implied sexual content, Fluff, Happy ending, humor
SummaryCastiel knows all about the campus bad boy, Dean Winchester. The man’s reputation is spoken of enough that even Castiel has heard the stories. He doesn’t usually put much stock rumors, but he can’t seem to stop the loathing he feels toward Dean for his actions.
With the mistakes of his past looming right behind him, the last thing he needs is another pretty boy playing with his emotions. It’s clear that Dean will be able to get under his skin easily, so he usually does his best to avoid him.
That is until Dean makes him an offer he can’t seem to refuse.
It’s a very simple bet. If Dean loses, he has to give up the indiscriminate sex he’s rumored to favor, for an entire month. If Castiel loses, he must live in Dean’s home for the same amount of time. Either way, the bet would change both of their lives forever.

Out of Step | @blissfulcastiel
Rating: Teen & Up
Word Count: 13,371 (WIP)
Tags:  high school au, marching band, drummer!dean, color guard!castiel
Summary: Dean and Castiel started off on the right foot, so it’s no wonder they have such disdain for each other. Because in marching band, it’s the left foot that’s the correct foot to start with.

Beneath The Surface | @thetideseternaltune
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 1,590
Tags:  High School AU, Teasing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers
Summary“Hey look, it’s Castiel, our resident dork!”
In which Dean appears to enjoy teasing Castiel until one day Castiel finds out that things aren’t always what they seem.

anonymous asked:

I mean if the twist is that she's the one who caused the death of her parents because of her uncontrollable powers would be poetic. Very great theory indeed. Not only does it parallel Kylo's arc in TFA, but it would also explain her panic and hesitance after she's called by Anakin's lightsaber at Maz's castle. She reacted to the Force calling her as if she wanted to avoid a deeply hidden trauma stimulus. She even ran away from it which is so out of character of her!

Yes, I think that would be a fascinating and tragic turn for the story. It would provide such a rich and complex foundation for Rey’s character growth.

Power (Jason Todd x Reader)

Requested by: anon
“Maybe a Jason x Reader who is like Jean Grey (ridiculously powerful but lacks control) and the reader loses such control, but Jason is her anchor and like is able to stop the reader before she destroys like everything”

Summary: You find out about your powers and feel betrayed, hurt and angry. You have no clue what you can do and how to control it.

Warnings: non? Angsty maybe? Bruce is fucking up…

Note: Hope it’s what you had in mind 💜

Your heart felt like a void as you approached Bruce. Darkness was spreading from the depths of it, making your body numb and your emotions run wild.
Your breathing displayed the anger you felt. Your chest rose and fell steadily but heavy, loudly.
You clenched your fists. The hole in your chest bled, poisoning you.

Jason looked up and the smile he wore disappeared in an instant. “(Y/N), what’s up?”

You ignored him, your eyes were glued to Bruce. “Bruce, we need to talk.” You were surprised at how calm your voice sounded the complete opposite to the seething rage you felt. Your fingertips tingled.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:


  • First impression: So pretty
  • Impression now: So snarky and sad and pretty. Also lowkey an asshole, which just makes him better
  • Favorite moment: When he almost manages to turn Pein into a puddle of slime, and totally would have managed it if not for Pein’s ability to bring his Paths back from the dead. 
  • Idea for a story: Akatsuki goes after Utakata first instead of Han and Roushi, but since Utakata can fly, he flips Itachi and Kisame the middle finger and drifts away on his bubbles before they can finish things. Because he’s wounded, he crash-lands outside Konoha, and Iruka finds him and takes him in, not knowing he’s both a jinchuuriki and a missing-nin. 
  • Unpopular opinion: From the start he and Saiken work together the best of any jinchuuriki. 
  • Favorite relationship: With Saiken, because it’s the first time we see a bijuu and a jinchuuriki get along without specifically training for it, which is pretty cool. 
  • Favorite headcanon: He’s the son of the Sandaime Mizukage (seriously, they look too alike not to be related), but his father viewed him in kind of the opposite way that Rasa viewed Gaara: Utakata wasn’t powerful or uncontrollable enough. 
In the Beginning, There were Six.

(Sky Factory AU!! I wanted to make this sound like a creation myth of an old religion. How the world came to be. I can’t do any formatting or anything - I’m on mobile - but I’ll fix this up later. Sorry there’s no readmore. :) )

In the beginning, there were the Six. The Creator came first, erupting into being with nothing but the knowledge and curiosity to craft the malleable essence of the universe into a world for all Things. Manipulating the universe was easy, he would say. He didn’t /need/ assistance to do it, not really. He could do it alone, if he wanted. He was more than capable.

But infinite life in space grew lonely, even for the mightiest Dark God. Tasks grew numerous and tedious. So, after creating the beginnings of a World for All Things, the Creator made the rest of the Six. This group, he titled the Five.

Each of the Created Five had a distinct job. They would be in control of their own parts of creating a functioning World. However, they had to work together – it was only by cooperating would they be successful, guided by the Creator and his knowledge of the creation of the World.

The first of the Five to be created was the Sun King, as he claimed for his moniker. The Sun King was a vain creature, able to command the sun for heat, light, and energy. Much of the rest of the world relied on the Sun King for their abilities to function and he knew it. He usually lent a hand to the Creator’s powers and projects, innovative and curious as well, wanting to create the brightest World possible.

Being the brightest made the Sun King a callous little creature, quick as a whip but incredibly vain. He was quick to anger, sharp as nails. Exhausted and feeling overworked providing light to the world, he created Night – a place where his warmth and power would not reach. His powers and command of the Sun soon became critical to the Creator’s projects and it was only he - and occasionally the other Five - who could calm his wrath and bring forth the light. The two, the Creator and the Sun King, were rarely separated.

Next of the Five to be created were the Dual Gods, the Shepard and the Farmer. Two sides of the same coin, one was rarely found without the other. The Shepard was first gifted with the ability to create sentient life to walk the World for All Things. His Creations, which he dubbed “animals”, populated the empty world that the Creator had provided. The Shepard nurtured his flock, cared for them with the utmost love. It was rare to see the Shepard depart from his pastures to interact with the others of the Five unless he had a new discovery to show his fellow Gods or was demanding another bit of the world to be Created. He worked solely with the Farmer, whose Creations fed and protected his flocks almost better than he could.

For the Farmer created plants and food, something the newly created World of All Things so desperately needed. Under the Farmer’s guidance and leadership, the crops he tended grew to tremendous heights. He spread his gifts to the newly Created world, giving his gift of food to the Shepard’s flocks. Abundance flowed and hunger was a thing of the past. Huge trees towered, forests and plains sprang up wherever he walked. He was a God of Nature and left his mark on the World below.

But like the Sun King and the Creator, the Farmer and the Shepard had a vindictive streak that would be hard to avoid. Each God had a light and a dark side and the seemingly benevolent Gods of Abundance were no exception to this rule. Angered, the Shepard created another Flock. Monsters spawned as a direct retaliation against the Sun King’s seeming laziness, created in the dark of his rest. Death and suffering were introduced to the World of All Things for the first time and nothing the Creator did would stop them. The Creator had made his fellow Gods but could not dictate their powers or where these powers were directed. He could only guide and create, not Destroy.

The Farmer’s revenge was no different. Plants of food and bounty became mixed with plants of death and destruction. He worked on strange projects in far away fields, breeding poison and death to any who harvested or consumed his creations. He also would withhold his benefits from the World of All Things out of spite, creating famine. Millions of the Shepard’s animals perished in these Dark Times, willing the Sun King to return to the skies and the Gods of Abundance to be appeased.

Walking the Line to keep the Gods satisfied and creating beneficial things was dangerous indeed.

After the Sun King and the Gods of Abundance, the last two of the Five were Created to help enhance his World. The Blacksmith was next, a lighthearted God armed with a powerful smelter. He infused the land with powerful minerals and ores, hiding them deep underground for only the very ambitious (or lucky) to find. His talents only fueled the Creator to greater discoveries. His newest Creations - power fueled from burning rocks, harnessing explosions, etc. - turned his brainchild a World into something far more powerful and uncontrollable than he ever could have imagined, alone in the Universe.

The Blacksmith rarely angered, not like his fellows. But when he did, it wasn’t surprising to see mountains pop with liquid metal, hot and deathly. And he had a sharp, bright streak of humor, hiding his precious prizes in a place hardly any could find.

To use the metals of the Blacksmith, to eat the crops of the Farmer, to tend the flocks of the Shepard, and to reap the benefits of the Sun King, the Creator took the next step to create the World of All Things – he created Man.

But Man, the Creator learned, was uncontrollable. They meddled, argued, lived, and died. They used too much. They asked Questions.

To help handle Man, to combat the Monsters that crawled around the world, to bring the Questions of Man to the Gods, the Creator made the Last of the Five. Every pantheon needs a trickster God and a God who fought for the rights of the Created, and this was no different. They needed a God who asked Questions himself. Who meddled.

The Warrior was one such God. Armed with the fire torches and sword that became his symbol, the Warrior went out to cure the world of his fellow’s anger. He cleared Down Below of the monsters that plagued them and gave Man another source of light, heat, and energy that did not come from his fellow God – fire. It would cut through the darkest night and keep the monsters at bay. The Warrior also brought back Man’s Questions to the Gods, meddling in their affairs and asking them ‘why?’, propelling the Creator and the other Gods to bigger and better inventions and Creations. While it seemed like he had the smallest job, the Warrior had the most important – protecting Humanity and reminding the Gods to continue climbing to new heights.

Alone, the Gods could not create the World for All Things. But together, their Creations grew to bigger and better heights. Individual jobs blended. New jobs emerged. They went from Six distinct Jobs to the creation of One World.

And the world they created shone bright with the image of their combined power.

nachoguyv2  asked:

Can you mega evolve or use z-moves?

My family only has one mega stone, but its with my brother, and mega stones can’t use it unless we have a license too, something about, uncontrollable emotions and destructive powers. Z-Moves crystals are even rarer, like only three or four was found during an far away island expedition.

ruin [oneshot]

[jon x sansa] In which, out at sea, Jon knows shame was not the best company to keep - not when he had ruin to return to.

[3.2k, contains boats]

[post-season 7 episode 7 coping material]

In her dreams, pain was never part of their reunion.

Their parting had been difficult. The mere mention of him leaving had brought forth worries she never wanted to relive. Nothing good comes of a Stark who ventures South, they had all said, and for generations, it had rung true. Their grandfather, their uncle, their father, Robb – she didn’t need another name to add to that list.

“You’re abandoning your people.” Her worry had come out of her mouth in bursts. It was a wonder her voice did not crack. “You’re abandoning your home.”

It took all of what she had to stop herself. You’re abandoning me.

He only stood in the center of the Great Hall, eyes poignant. He declared he was leaving them in good hands -  in hers - and she could not deny that his trust made her proud. No one had believed she could do it, no, and she was grateful for his confidence. But with the thought of him leaving her, departing to treachery, she could not help but fear for him.

The lords of the north had dispersed, the Great Hall was emptied, but Sansa’s mind was still on their discussion. Unease seated itself deep in her stomach, crackling up her spine as she went about the keep. Why go? Why not send an emissary? Why not tell me? Dozens of questions plagued her as she half-mindedly accomplished her tasks. Before she knew it, the sky was already purple, dotted with stars in the afternoon dusk.

“Sansa,” his voice jarred her out of her thoughts. Sansa looked up; she had apparently, unknowingly, walked to his chambers.

“Jon.” She swallowed a lump in her throat and looked at him. He seemed pleased at her arrival. “I…”

“Come in.”

Jon closed the door behind her. His belongings were already gathered by his bed, ready to be taken on the morrow. Sansa’s stomach churned at the thought. She wrung her hands together as she looked at him.

“Jon, I – ” Suddenly, she found herself at a loss for words. Why was she there? What was it that she had to say?

He studied her for a moment, then heaved out a sigh.  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she saw it, the sincerity in his eyes. “I know I should have asked, or should have told you at the very least. But…”

Sansa waited with bated breath. “But what?” she asked, voice small.

A wistful smile broke on his lips, and he chuckled. “If I had talked to you, I know you would’ve found some way to make me stay.”  

Sansa felt a heft press against her chest. Her voice felt trapped in her throat, but she managed. “I would have. I can be very convincing.”

Jon smiled at her, true this time. “I know. But believe me, Sansa,” he took her by the shoulders, his hands warm through the fabric of her gown. He held her secure and looked at her square in the eye. “I will come back. I promise. Going South will be fruitful for me – I am no Stark, after all.”

She knew he spoke of it lightly to comfort her, but she couldn’t help but frown. But you are, to me. “Words are wind, Jon. The South is a treacherous place. You’re meeting a Targaryen, at that.”

Jon let go of her. His hand went up to her face, gingerly tucking stray hair behind her ear. “I’ll come back, Sansa. Believe me.”

She pulled on his other hand and held it, squeezing gently; somehow sadness and warmth bloomed in her at his touch. She could never forget it, how she didn’t want to let go. How the scent of him lingered in her mind. How she had to steel herself back as she stood in the ramparts the next day, waving back at him, quelling her worries with his attempts at reassurance.    

Since he left, she could not help but long for him. To see him roam around in his furs – the ones she made for him – and find comfort at the sight. To delight in seeing his sullen face break into a smile when they were together. To once again feel his hands cup her cheeks and feel his lips press softly against her forehead. But what she had were only hopes and wants and dreams, too often broken by doubt and reality.

The days turned into weeks, and to console herself, Sansa would often imagine his return. She’d stand on the battlements and wonder where she’d spot his retinue. She’d sometimes imagine dragons hovering over the keep. She had thought of how tired he would be, and how he would want Old Nan’s pies to fight off the cold. But in all of his homecoming’s iterations, pain was never an option. It would always end in a sweet embrace, in smiles they both couldn’t hide. It was supposed to be a celebration, a bright memory against the dull, dark winter.

But life did as life does.

He had seen Arya first. She had bounded up to him, and he had happily taken her in his arms. His joy was unbridled as he set her down and noted how much she had grown. She could see so many questions brewing behind his eyes, but they disappeared as she approached. He kept his gaze on her as she came near; it was only broken when she embraced him, to make sure that he was real.

Her heart had rammed against her ribcage. ‘Thank the gods,’ she had whispered to whoever was listening, tightening her arms around him. His return brought her happiness unlike any other. Warmth filled her as she felt him smile against her ear, her hair. But soon he drew back, holding her by the elbows.

“Sansa.” Her name sounded so sweet off his lips, but it carried a weight she could not understand. She searched his eyes for clues, but he looked away.

A heavy silence fell upon them, and it was then that Sansa knew something had gone wrong.

She held his hands. Tell me, she tried to say, as she pulled gently at his wrists to make him look at her. She ignored the foreign retinue that had entered her – their - castle. Tell me what’s wrong, Jon. Tell me what I can do.

But he said nothing. The grin he had worn when he met Arya was gone; the smile he had as he held her disappeared. In their stead, Jon only spared Sansa a glance, nodded to Davos and their guests, then went on to meet Bran with nary a word.

With each step he took, dread spread through Sansa’s veins. She looked around at their guests for a clue, a hint, for anything, trying to ignore the heaviness that settled onto her chest.

“Are you afraid?” Brienne had asked her once. “If I may say so, my lady, you are more than capable of holding the fort. I am at ease knowing Winterfell is in your hands.”

Sansa had let out a nervous chuckle. “Thank you, Brienne. I hope to do well. But…” She had trailed off as the winter winds picked up. Why was it so hard to say? “What truly worries me isn’t him leaving – it’s how he’ll return, or if he would, at all.”

She then saw her, the Dragon Queen. She stood resplendent beside her steed. Sansa felt her breath hitch as she studied their guest, dread further filling her the longer she looked at her. It was unmistakable. As the Queen set her gaze on the King of the North, Sansa saw it clearly - in her eyes were want, need, and desire.

Maybe Jon never returned, after all.


It was shame.

It took him a while to realize what it was that unsettled him, but the moment he stole away from her cabin, he knew it was shame. It bubbled in the pit of his stomach, then spread to his fingers like wildfire. It was not the best company to keep in the middle of the night – not with the harsh wind howling in his ears, the seas churning below him.

He could remember how it happened. It was clear as day, as if the gods made sure he would miss no detail. From the loaded silence that had fallen upon the room once supper was over, the warm firelight that had flickered against the wooden walls, down to the bitter aftertaste of the wine they had shared – he could recite it all from memory. The wine Davos had given him tasted peculiar – it was a taste he’d never forget. Finest in Dragonstone, his Hand had said, but they both knew it was a lie.

He had drunk the wine willingly; it burned dully down his throat. Its warmth had coursed through his veins, welcome, soothing. But soon it became heat - powerful, uncontrollable, stifling.

Above deck, Jon buried his head in his hands as the wind rattled his cloak. Her cloak. Its scent of fur and worn-out leather was now both a comfort and a curse.

What have I done?

It was unbearable, how he could not forget it. The way she stepped towards him, eyes locked on his. Her eyes were a bewildering purple he had never seen before. As she held his gaze, he became aware of how her wine-stained lips moved as she talked – ‘A minute, my lord?’ - and how as she walked, her hips swayed in tune with the ship’s gentle rocking. He aimed to say no, to refuse, but his head went ahead and nodded.

‘Anything wrong, Your Grace?’ The words sounded strange coming from his mouth. He inwardly frowned as he noticed that he had followed her, that he was now captive in this…Queen’s chambers. Why was he there?

‘Have you an answer to my offer?’

Her voice was soft yet steely. She took a step forward and tilted her head towards one side.

‘I have made…’ He had started, then followed with a deep breath. His eyes wandered to places he would rather not notice. ‘I believe I have made my stance clear, Your Grace. I will not –

‘All you need to do is accept me,’ she murmured. She took another step; Jon felt her breath graze his skin. It took all of what he had to tear his eyes away and focus on anything else – the snow drifting past the cabin’s small window, the furs on the bed, the way the wood creaked as their ship crawled closer to White Harbor. In the flickering flames, the cabin reminded him of the small hearth at Castle Black.

Suddenly, a voice rang out in his head, sparkling, joyous, in jest.

Can you forgive me? Her laughter had been music to his ears. Forgive me.

In his mind’s eye, he could see her clearly. She had been sitting by the fire, his tankard in her hands, her smile so infectious he wasn’t able to stop himself from smiling. But as soon as he thought of her, guilt washed over his delight. Any emotion he felt was then defeated by this odd, inexplicable want – an urge he couldn’t control nor place.

‘Accepting me…would it be so terrible?’ The Queen’s whisper broke his train of thought; her lips were now a hair’s breadth away. Jon willed himself to remember that furnace, a haven where he’d rather be, neatly tucked away by the edge of the world. But his body refused him. The heat had taken over, and it had made him stand still, weak as the Queen laid her hand on his shoulder, tracing the laces that held his leathers together.

He fought to remember her. The feel of her cheeks against his gloved hands, her ice blue eyes that bore wisdom and mystery, the small quiver in her voice whenever she said his name. Jon. But the warmth Sansa brought to him was poison itself. Davos had made sure that he knew it, as if how he berated himself over it thousands of times wasn’t enough.

‘She will be your ruin, Your Grace,’ his Hand had told him. Jon knew it was pity disguised as a warning. ‘And you, hers.’

It had to be done.

Jon groaned and looked upwards, the wind whipping at him as their ship tore through the waves. The stars were still shining, their innocence mocking the disgust in his veins. He could still remember how the Queen smiled as she kissed him, triumphant; how helpless he became as Davos’s toxin took hold of his body. How shameful it was that as the night wore on, he could only focus on how snow drifted across the window, on how the furs were soft against his skin, on how the Queen’s silver hair burned bright red in the firelight.

In that moment, it was enough.

Jon heaved out a sigh. He wished for sunrise, hoping its rays would burn his shame and sin away. But the dark sky only laughed.


“Tell him I must talk to him.”

“My Lady, I’m afraid we can’t. The maester had said the King needs rest, not visitors – ”

He stilled. The wine had addled him, but he’d know her voice anywhere.

“It will only be a minute.”

Jon took a long draught from his flagon and let it roll on the floor once he was done. He thought she wouldn’t want anything to do with him after how he had avoided her these past few days, but he guessed wrong. Was there still any use in resisting?

“Let her in,” he called out weakly.

The door creaked, and after a rustle of fabric, it thudded closed. He sat still in his spot, waiting. The wine had given him a nice numbness, erasing all his fear and guilt of being alone with her. Why even resist?

“Jon?” Her voice was soft, full of concern. He must have looked pathetic, slumped by the foot of his father’s bed. Or was it uncle’s? He had no idea now. He probably looked no inch the King they claimed him to be, nor the Prince Bran said he was.

“I am fine,” he said, barely looking up. He was so tired, oh so tired. Why was it that his troubles never ceased? They only seemed to multiply the longer he lived. “Allow me this night’s rest; I will right myself come morning.”

“I doubt that.” Sansa picked the flagon up and set it away. She sat beside him, folding her legs under, her skirts pooling around her. Jon took in a deep breath and sighed.

A pregnant pause befell them, and in the warmth of his chambers, the lack of distance between them pained him rather than relieved him. The last thing he needed was even more remorse about what he wanted for himself; her being there only made his want all the more real.

Jon turned to her and blinked slowly. A strange mix of guilt and stifled joy came over him as he studied her. In that addled night out on the sea, seemingly so long ago, his mind had done her no justice.

She was so close, it would have been a crime not to take her in. In the orange glow of the fire, her hair burned bright, as if it was flame itself. The Queen’s, in the firelight, was nothing but a pale imitation. He could breathe in the scent of her -  wood, snow, winter rose – and it intoxicated him more than he already was. Her eyes were on him, focused, still holding the curious mix of frailty and strength that always drew him in.

“What is it?” she asked, straightforward, holding his gaze. He could see how his drinking worried her. “We have the Queen. We have her dragons. We have what we need. Is it something you can’t tell me?”

It took him a while to respond. She was so precious, he thought, that he didn’t want to taint her any further with his sins.

“Jon,” she repeated, more forcefully this time. She furrowed her eyebrows together and took his hand in hers. It nearly broke him, how her touch was home, hell, and heaven all at once. “We should trust each other, shouldn’t we?”

Where should I begin? Jon only sighed again as the wine flowed through him. My troubles are nothing in the face of war. But inwardly, they bothered him all the same. Should he tell her about how he was a promised Prince? How he grew doubtful of his place in the North? Of how painful it was for his truths to be undone? How about the transgressions he had committed out at sea, bedding his own aunt? I know nothing, truly. He had done it all to forget Sansa, but all it did was make him want her more. Could he tell her that?

He nearly laughed at himself, at his foolishness. All of his thoughts threatened to tumble out of his mouth, all racing to get out, but he said nothing. He merely leaned and rested his head on the crook of her neck. He felt her tense at his touch, but she soon relented.

I’m tired of fighting.

His fatigue came out in rattled breaths. He resisted no longer as Sansa turned to him fully, immediately taking him into her arms. She asked no questions and demanded no answers; she only offered solace words could not give, comfort only silence could provide.


A few stray snowflakes swayed into the room as flurries drifted across the windows. In the hearth, embers were all that were left. Sansa didn’t know how long they stayed that way, enveloped in each other’s arms, and she couldn’t care less. It shook her, seeing Jon so broken. He had his spells of frustration. He had brooded more often than he smiled. But never had she seen him so desolate, so down, that he couldn’t say anything.

Tears brimmed her eyes as she did her best to soothe him. Suddenly, all her concerns seemed so foolish. The shame she had felt when she realized her longing, her fear of losing him to the Queen, the yearning she had tried to ignore and forget when he was gone – it all didn’t matter now. Whatever it was, this burden that had hurt him so, she wanted him to know that he will not suffer through it alone.

Sansa hoped her embrace could convey what she felt. I will not leave you, she thought as she dropped kisses into his hair. We are together, she thought as she murmured sweet nothings to his ear. You will always have me, she thought as she held him tight against her.

Jon shifted in her arms. She felt his chest rise and fall as he took in a deep breath, seemingly inhaling her scent. Then she heard it – a soft whisper. She could even feel his wistful smile against her skin. His words – a prayer, a creed, a confession - ignited an overwhelming warmth that surged to her fingertips.

His arms circled her and never let go.

‘You can never be my ruin.’


A/N: So this…was basically a leak coping mechanism. Haha! I came across Boatbang leaks and I’m like ‘JFC I have to reverse that STAT’ so I churned this out. I didn’t read up full on the Boatbang details (don’t spoil me, please!) so this is purely my take. 

It was a painful birthing process. Shout-out to this post by @lookingatyousideways who mentioned this fic. I’d been playing around with the Boatbang fix but it was this post that solidified my direction. The whole ‘ruin’ angle came from it. :)

Hope episode 5 bodes well for us! If not, well, there’s always the fics hahaha

I’m still trying to work out the relationship between the mysterious characters we’ve been introduced to who all seem to be around the same age (Arnold Cardenas, Moloch and the Mage) and there are a lot of theories I’m a fan of regarding how they relate to each other. I like the idea that there could be another set of siblings here to provide yet more parallels to Todd-and-Amanda, Eddie-and-Farah, Silas-and-Farson, or that the Mage is the personification of the mysterious boy’s darker magical side, or that Arnold Cardenas is a creation or projection of Moloch’s psychic powers that coincidentally turned up at the diner just in time to see the photos. I’m still banking on the boy being Moloch, but the jury’s out as to whether Moloch is going to be friend or foe.

I’m vaguely optimistic about Arnold’s declaration that “the Mage was the villain; see how he always loses… this was the plan for how it was going to be until it all just fell apart” but it’s still not much to go on. All it tells us was that Arnold was aware of the Mage during his childhood; it gives no indication as to whether the Mage was real or fictional, or whether they ever knew each other. But Arnold’s statement during the same conversation that “my father put the wallpaper up to cover this as punishment” suggests one of two things for me.

Either it’s symbolic of how his parents were cruelly stifling him (physically covering up his creative Wendimoor mural as a metaphor for potentially stunting his psychic powers), or his parents were fully aware that his powers were uncontrollable and dangerous and they were doing their level best to keep him in line for everyone’s sake. Only Arnold is now in a coma in the hospital following a heart attack (presumably) and coincidentally guess whose door also opened when Amanda pulled the Rowdy 3 through the portal to Wendimoor.

Guess which program now looks active.

Guess who may have just woken up.