Janaina Medeiros
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
cherry valley forever
ellievsbear
tannertan36
almost home
will byers stan first human second
🪼
★
macklin celebrini has autism
Jules of Nature
shark vs the universe
No title available
Kaledo Art
occasionally subtle
Mike Driver
Stranger Things
todays bird
Game of Thrones Daily
Love Begins
seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from Lithuania
seen from Peru
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Poland
@couplehundredyears
He gazes across the ocean
The water laps his boat
He bobs and drifts aimlessly
A child forgotten in time.
He has naught a soul to guide him
Only a faded star map in hand
He travels swiftly across the sea
A Lost Boy going home.
He makes his way ashore
And into a world unknown
He meanders summer lit streets
A settler in a settled land.
He finds himself drifting
Still a Lost boy through and through
He meets and parts so bitterly
A lover separated from his lifeblood.
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---
alternatively send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible !
✘ = hugging them . Δ = playing with their hair . ❤ = kissing them . ₪ = asking them out for dinner . ☀ = giving them a gift of ___ ( asker’s choice ) . ♘ = stabbing them . ♕ = bowing down before them . ♒ = lying to them . ✿ = buying them flowers . ☾ = being found shirtless . ♢ = reading them a story . ☂ = giving them their jumper to keep warm . ✎ = speaking in a different language . ✏ = teaching them a different language . ▄ = telling them a joke . ♬ = singing to them . ☹ = insulting a loved one . ஐ = slapping them . ✂ = threatening them . ❃ = dancing with them . ▤ = falling asleep on them . ☮ = waking them up after a nightmare . ♣ = discovering them crying . 回 = patching a wound . ✮ = stargazing . ▓ = caught stealing their belongings . ☽ = wandering alone at night . ♡ = complimenting them . ≡ = offering a place to stay overnight . ☢ = falling over . ✦ = being well-dressed . ❂ = wiping blood off their face . ◎ = taking care of them while ill . ☁ = being caught in the middle a storm with them . ⇕ = holding their hand . ↱ = being lost with them . ☠ = pushing them against a wall .
The Hours Passing
Something was really wrong. There weren’t any curses or villains threatening Storybrooke. There wasn’t a whiff of any trouble brewing. But a nagging, gnawing lump in Neal’s gut told him that something was amiss. He felt on edge and didn’t like it.
Perhaps Emma’s absence left him uneasy. They conquered Peter Pan, saved Storybrooke, got married, and bought a house. Henry, Emma, and he finally got a chance just to be a family. It was a wonderful seven months. The bliss got interrupted, though, when Emma decided she needed to go to Boston. Some of her stuff had gotten left behind and her old landlord demanded she come pick it up herself. Neal had wanted to go, but Henry needed him so he stayed and prepared the nursery.
It hadn’t been too bad, all-in-all. Neal called Emma one day. Emma called him the next. They took turns. Then, two weeks ago those calls stopped. The last he heard from her, she was in Vermont promising to be home well before Halloween. He called the next day – no answer. He tried on Emma’s day – no answer. By then he started to panic.
So as to not worry Emma’s parents or Henry, he made up stories about Emma all the while making plans to go and find her himself. Something was wrong and he knew it. Neal just wasn’t sure what.
One day, while heading out of Storybrooke, he called Regina and told her to pick of Henry after school. He promised to be home soon and explained that business called him away (that was a half-truth). Then he drove and drove and drove. He reached Vermont easily enough. Then, he drove some more.
He checked every hospital, hotel, B&B, apartment building (maybe she’d freaked and decided to rent a place for a little while, Neal didn’t know), police department until there was one hospital left. It was a tiny thing in the middle of a tiny town, but it did have a cancer center, pulmonary/cardiology wing, neonatal/NICU unit, OR, recovery rooms, and it was fully staffed.
Entering, his stomach fluttered as he looked around. The lights, the smells, the sounds – they all made him nervous. What if she’d been in a car accident and was in a coma? What if something happened to their unborn child? What if she wasn’t here? So many things could have happened and he did not like it.
Swallowing the fear, he went to the information desk. As he explained who he was, where he was from, and who he was looking for, the woman looked at him with a sad, sympathetic gaze as she told him which floor to go to. On the elevator, he read the sign. She’d sent him to the neonatal/NICU unit.
The ride up to the third floor was the worst one he’d ever taken. Neal’s stomach did flips and his heart beat fast. After an agonizing minute, there was a bing and the doors opened. He rushed out of the elevator and to the nurses’ station. “Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan’s husband….” He panted. After getting yet another sympathetic look, he followed her.
The nurse did not enter the room, but left him at the doorway instead. She moved on to go and see to other patients. Neal raised a hand and knocked before entering. But he stopped and stared at his wife sitting in a rocking chair at the other side of the room. “Emma?” he whispered, unsure if she heard him over the beeps. He looked around the room and was certain he couldn’t breathe. The medicinal smell was strong. There were wires and monitors everywhere. “Emma?”
@faultysuperpower
Your Obedient Servant
He struggled against both the guards and the binds the guards tied about his wrists. He needed to get away. This was wrong! His papa needed him (now) and it was not like he would be abandoning his platoon for very long - just a little while. He needed to escape. Besides, the dog bite on his leg needed tending. However, the men were stronger than he was and Baelfire was certain his binds were magical. Each time he twisted, they bit into his skin a little bit more.
There was a limit to how tight the binds were. When he felt blood trickle onto his palm, Bae yelped, but stopped his squirming. The trio (his two guards and he) were at their designation anyway. Bae looked up from his spot on the floor and found himself thrown haphazardly in front of the King, Queen, and Princess.
“Sires, we found this soldier abandoning his post,” reported one of the two guards. “And then when we attempted to escort him back to his platoon leader, he attacked and fled into the woods. One of the hounds stopped him.”
“I wasn’t! I mean I was. My papa’s crippled and I haven’t seen him in months. I need to make sure he’s okay,” the lad sobbed, speaking out of turn. “Please, this is the closest I’ve been to home since my birthday. I just want to go see him for a little while. Please. I promise to go right back to my camp by dusk tomorrow.”
theyellowbug:
anonymous asked swan thief + my emotions
All of this Mixed Up
couplehundredyears:
Long lines of yellow crayon were pulled over the paper, followed by dabs of bright red. Once done with a crayon he threw it down. One after another, the drawing supplies skipped off the tabletop. They rolled to the floor with a clatter ignored by Neal. He grabbed without looking. He just kept drawing.
Keep reading
The blonde barely even felt it – the shock of running right into the one barrier between her and the mental ward patient was nothing in comparison to the truth her eyes were telling her to believe. Emma had spent her entire life searching for answers; when she came up with straws, she dug harder into the haystack to find her needle. So she had a pretty good handle on picking out discrepancies. If her gut tugged, or her “ superpower ” screamed, she knew she was on the right track of a lie.
The man behind the windows was Neal Cassidy; that was the truth. Her hands itched with the sensation of a memory, rubbing her thumbs across those cheekbones right before she was pulled into an embrace that told she would never have to worry about feeling –
Keep reading
He clutched the crayon tightly. He continued to trace a black line back and forth on the laminate table. The waxy smell permeated the air and tickled his throat, but not enough to cough. His fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, splayed. The crayon fell. It clanked on the top. Rolling a little, it bumped Neal’s arm. He ignored it. He ignored everything – the buzz of the lighting, the edge of the table biting into his skin, the smell of his drawing tools. It was easier to block than to deal.
Blocking led to blackness. The doctors and nurses around him hated when he slipped into this state. They explained that he needed to confront his demons head-on and deal with the past, but sometimes he wondered why. Why should he? He was never going to forgive himself. He was never going to be able to fix any of it. He was never going to be able to change the past. So why?
Darkness didn’t hurt. Darkness didn’t need thought. Darkness didn’t feeling. It was a state of being. A nagging thought told him it was wrong to let his waking state fade into nothingness. But at least he didn’t have to deal with everything. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t even sure if he would be ready – maybe never and Neal Cassidy was oddly okay with that. At least here and in his dark world he could not hurt anyone else. No one could abandon him. He wouldn’t abandon anyone, either. It seemed like a good way to live. Wouldn’t doctors like it? They were supposed to do no harm and Neal did not hurt while in that state. It was a win-win situation.
It seemed to be a constant state of being – this darkness. Lightness had long been forgotten and discarded. Some days knowing any other thing was out of the question. The light had been long snuffed out. Emma had been his lightness. Leaving her brought the darkness. He supposed it had been caused by him himself. If he hadn’t left then there still would be darkness. No, he hadn’t caused it (not really). August had. August forced him to do the unspeakable. August forced himself to become the last person he wanted to be – his father. He’d promised never to be like him, but he had. Neal tried not to think of that, day in and day out. But, today he failed.
Anguish tightened his throat. A scream ripped out of his lungs. It came as a gurgle. He couldn’t even pinpoint what he felt. Anger? Sadness? Discontent? He had no control of his voice. He had no control over his feelings. He had no control over his thoughts, when he had thoughts. He had no control of his movements. It seemed his body just lived and went through the motions. Everything was automated. Perhaps his mind or the medicines knew what they were doing – perhaps this was a state that would keep him living even if it didn’t seem much like living. A non-medicated Neal would have minded, but not this Neal. He minded nothing. He felt nothing. Most of the time, he thought nothing. Most of the time, he felt nothing – numbness.
Only as the medications wore off did it all flood back. It seemed to want to flood back now, but not quite able. This created a chaotic moment of uncontrollability. And he did not know that his life would be getting much more helter-skelter. He had no idea who was out there talking to his current nurse.
The nurse looked over at Emma. She eyed the woman’s arm and offered a smile. “If it is still hurting by the time you leave, I would be happy to take a look for you. If not, I would suggest icing it when you go home,” she offered before glancing at her patient. She just watched as he fiddled with the paper (mindless shredding with restlessness). “Oh, he must not have been happy with his finished piece,” she sighed. Was he even aware of his actions? None of the staff were quite sure what he knew and what he didn’t. “I am sure he was being too critical of himself. He really is a fine artist, although we are a bit concerned with him creating a fire hazard. Drawing is almost all he does. It keeps him calm.”
She looked at the drawing of a very happy Neal and Emma eating doughnuts. She then looked back at Emma. “It is nice to finally meet his muse. None of his friends here know the truth. He has never said a word about you or his story. Well, he hasn’t said anything really. Not a peep. He’s got selective mutism. He can speak. He just won’t. We assumed it must have been horrific to cause such an extreme case.”
The nurse looked around. The hall was deserted. “It is glad to see you alive. We assumed there’d been an accident. He came so very broken,” she explained. He still was.
She sighed. “His story is quite well-known in Storybrooke. If you go to the library or the archives you can read all about it,” the nurse began, figuring this woman ought to hear the story (it was unlikely Neal would be able to tell her himself). “One night, ten years ago, he and another man arrived in a yellow VW. They were the first visitors Storybrooke had had in as long as anyone could remember. The driver dropped Mr. Cassidy off and just left him here. Graham stumbled upon him, breaking down in the middle of Main Street. They ended up in a fight and Mr. Cassidy somehow got a hold of his gun. Long story short, he ended up in emergency shoulder surgery and then he’s been here ever since.”
The nurse sniffed as she thought of that night and looked back into the room. “We only knew his name because of the wanted poster clutched in his hand. We almost called and reported him. After doing some investigating, we discovered that his boss had framed Mr. Cassidy for the accused crimes. I don’t know if he knows he’s a free man. We don’t know what he knows except his past. He seems to remember that too clearly,” she added. “I hope I haven’t said too much. But you are important to him and deserve to know what happened – at least as far as we can tell. Were the two of you married? Perhaps you could help fill in some of his past? Dr. Hopper does want Mr. Cassidy to get well, but we seem to have exhausted most of our resources. Anything at all will be helpful.”
Entering the room, she quieted and straightened her uniform. She bent and picked up his crayon from the floor. It probably needed thrown away, but she would leave it for him (at least for a little while). “You are becoming quite the busybody. Dr. Hopper did say you needed a bit of spice in your life,” she encouraged. However, Neal did not even move to respond.
The nurse moved Neal gingerly. She worked to get him straightened in the chair and made sure he sat safely. She smoothed his hair and clothes the best she was able too so that he looked as presentable as possible for guests. “You are his first visitor since he arrived here. I am sure he’s excited,” she encouraged with a fake smile. Neal did not seem to notice Emma or the fuss his nurse was making over him. He stared, glazed and sad eyed, ahead. Bits of paper stuck out from his clenched fist, which the nurse chose to let him hold onto for the time being. The paper seemed to keep him calm and there was no harm in him holding the pieces.
Although all the drawings might be of harm – at least to his visitor. “We plan on straightening up. He does love his drawings so. Dr. Hopper has suggested putting them into a book so that the room is a bit tidier,” she says, pulling out a drawing from under the mattress. It seemed to be nothing but darkness and dots – perhaps the night sky. “He seems to like them all over his room though. If we move them, he has a fit. At least we get a mighty glare. Don’t we, Mr. Cassidy? You are the master glarer.”
The drawings were amazing even if they weren’t professional (as far as the nurse could tell he had no official training). Each held so much detail and depth. They were history. They were storytelling. They were him and his mind. It was clear, though, that they weren’t the whole story. There didn’t quite seem to be a connection between one piece and the other. Perhaps Emma would bring the whole story out.
“I will let you two reconnect. Please, Ms. Swan, if he causes any trouble, do not hesitate to use his call button. Someone will come in an instant,” she assured the woman before leaving the room. The nurse closed the door behind her.
Neal just sat there, staring ahead. He fiddled with the paper shreds he held as tight as he could. For a few minutes, he did not move. He did not blink. It almost looked like he did not breathe. He did though. He moved his head. His lips parted as he stared right at Emma. He blinked once, twice, three times. He dug his fingernails into his hand as if to check if this was real or if he were dreaming. Wincing, he released and all the papers fluttered to the ground. “Emma,” he whispered. “Emma…” Blinking again, large tears rolled down his cheeks.
The Lost Boy and the Writer
Fog rolled through the night-shadowed streets. Dim beams from streetlamps turned fresh rain puddles a glowing red. Warnings personified, but a young man ignored them. He sauntered through the trash-scented alley with determination. It was late and the love of his life was awaiting his arrival.
Dark hair, heavy with rain, hung into his eyes as he kept his head bowed low. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his Salvation Army leather jacket, he fiddled with the lint and stale mints that had made themselves home. The movement was supposed to keep them warm, but it did not work on a night light this.
While he was exhausted from the day and chilled from the weather, he felt more alive than he ever had. His heart swelled with happiness and excitement for the future. This was the first time this Lost Boy did not feel homeless or alone. Neal Cassidy soon would be moving North along with his True Love, Emma Swan. They would start fresh. They would find a home and start a family. At least that was the plan.
From behind a broken chain link fence, a stranger snatched Neal Cassidy from his path. He pinned the startled dark-haired man to a rusted cab and held him there for a moment. Of course, Neal Cassidy tries to fight him off all the while protecting the watches Emma Swan snagged earlier that day.
He’s scared, but puts on a brave face. He rambled on and on about not jaywalking or being the wrong guy. Neal Cassidy panted as he struggled against his captor.
The other man rolled his eyes. He let go of Neal Cassidy’s jacket and backed up. This was going to be an interesting evening. But, he would make sure it ended the right way.
“What?” Neal whispered. His brow furrowed. He clutched the bag of watches closer to him. This guy, taller and skinner than Neal Cassidy, is obviously an unnerving arrival.
August Booth is his name and he’s got as much of history as this Neal Cassidy fellow, but none of that matters for this tale. This is not August Booth’s story at all. His will come with all due course, though.
“Get up,” August Booth said with a sigh and a smile on his face as he does. He was bemused by this man’s reactions. August Booth loved the power play. At this moment, he was in charge.
Neal Cassidy then demanded how he knew Emma. The slip of the name had sent Neal Cassidy into panic mode (more power). He didn’t move. He just glowered at August Booth.
The man in charge figured it was time to dole out a little information. He explained his name was August Booth and that he had a long story. As he spoke, he feigned reluctance. He planted his hands on his hips as he waited for Neal Cassidy to get up.
Neal Cassidy spat his name. He looked like he could spew fire from his mouth or shoot lasers with his eyes. Oh, this man was mad. That was good – very good. But, he needed answers.
This reaction made a full fledge grin spread over his face. “Think of me as Emma’s guardian angel,” he replied with thoughtfulness. He shrugged as if it was no big deal, even though he knew it was a very big deal.
Anger replaced fear. He charged August Booth, ready to fight the other man. “Guardian angel? I’d say you’ve been doing a pretty crap job,” he spat as he stopped just short of August Booth. He raised himself onto tiptoes so that they were eye-to-eye.
Time for more information, August Booth mused. Out loud he embellished. Out loud he gave Neal Cassidy self-doubt and a seed of uncertainty.
This does not help the situation. However, it was pretty clear that August Booth wasn’t about to help anything or anyone. Neal Cassidy launched towards the other man again. He grabbed hold of the faded denim jacket.
He demanded to know where August Booth had been most of her life. He wanted to know why he’d only been looking for two years. That was nothing in Neal Cassidy’s book. Of course he didn’t expect answers; they were rhetorical. “Let me tell you something. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her,” Neal Cassidy ventured.
August Booth shrugged him off. He spewed half-truths (just enough to keep his nose from possibly growing). This world was full of indulgences and temptations. August Booth was not one to deny any luxury that came his way. He wasn’t built that way.
Neal Cassidy demanded to know who August was and chose to ignore the off-kilter statements. He did, however, pull the bag of watches closer. It seemed Neal Cassidy thought that August Booth was playing him and planned on rubbing him blind.
August Booth explained how they’d shared foster homes and promises he’d made back then. However, he left out some information. Telling Neal Cassidy he was Pinocchio would not help the situation at all.
“Well, we promised to take care of each other,” Neal Cassidy pointed out, feeling smug. Taking care of each other was a far better thing in his book. It was not one-sided. What August Booth said almost seemed self-serving.
August Booth laughed. He looked giddy and almost clapped. “You love her. Good. That means you have to do right by her,” he encouraged. This was the perfect situation.
Neal Cassidy rasped a proclamation of devotion. His head cocked. This conversation obviously made him uncomfortable. August Booth made him uncomfortable and very, very angry. He wanted to leave. Emma Swan was waiting for him anyway and he didn’t want to make her wait for much longer.
“Then leave her,” August Booth bargained. A dangerous glint filled his eyes. He stepped forward and towered over Neal Cassidy. This other man would do what August Booth asked – no matter what.
Neal Cassidy shook his head. “Never,” he spat. The word came with venom. Oh yes, Neal Cassidy was mad and he was determined. It was going to be harder than August Booth thought.
August Booth was only mildly annoyed though. He still had the power. He had information. He hoped that Neal Cassidy would believe his words. If not, then he would take matters into his own hands. Hopefully, this other man still believed in magic. He asked him as such. It was an odd question, but a needed one.
Neal Cassidy muttered some sort of non-reply. August Booth didn’t really expect an answer. This other man wasn’t forthcoming with responses, but August Booth knew the truth. It did not further his annoyance.
August Booth spewed vague reasons for why Neal Cassidy would believe in magic even though it was not really necessary. He knew the other man believed in magic and had witnessed magic himself firsthand. However, Neal Cassidy did not need to know that quite yet. In a moment that would be revealed.
Neal Cassidy obviously did not believe him. He scoffed and rolled his eyes even as August Booth pulled open his proof. When Neal Cassidy glances at the paper, he just backs away from the type-written paper. It couldn’t be. August Booth knew who he was.
“There’s a curse. Emma needs to break it. You need to let her go so she can,” August Booth explained. “If you don’t, I will your tell your father and all will be revealed. How does that sound?”
Neal shook his head. “I don’t care. I’m not going to abandon Emma. You’re right, I do love her and I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her,” he confessed, turning away from August Booth and his paper.
“I knew you would say that,” he whispered. “I’m sorry Baelfire.” He leaned over the typewriter and began to type out several pages. He was changing the story, but it had to be done. Once finished, August Booth followed Neal Cassidy. He watched as the glazed-eyed man called the cops at a pay phone before getting into the yellow bug.
August Booth knew it wasn’t safe for the man to drive. He headed to the car. “Hey, buddy! You look like you’ve drank too much. Let me drive,” he said in a perky voice. He gets in and drives and drives and drives until they reached Storybrooke, Maine.
There he drops the man off. With the watches and the yellow bug in possession, he drives out of the town (but not before watching Neal Cassidy lose control as well as lose the enchantment). “It’s for the greater good,” he whispered.
Put an 'Angst please.' in my ask and I'll generate a number 1-10 and see what our muses get! || ULTIMATE ANGST VERSION
Warning: Many trigger warnings (self harm, suicide, rape, etc.) will be included in this list.
Read More
Angst Meme
Under the cut are 30 angsty prompts. Send me “Gimme Angst!” and I’ll generate a number to see what we get!
Warning! Triggers are throughout these plots (such as rape, suicide, ect.)
Keep reading
hospital meme
Your character’s been in a terrible accident and is in the ICU, send me “Please stay” for my muse’s reaction. Feel free to reblog.
Send me “Beautiful” for a randomly generated kiss. You can also send a number between 1-40. A mix of fluffy, angsty, and NSFW.
Keep reading
Pregnancy/Birth Meme
Send me 웃and I will generate 1-21 for a pregnancy starter. Mix of angst, fluff, quotes, and scenarios. You can also go below the cut and chose one to send.
Keep reading
Your muse finds my muse curled up on the bed, crying. Send me a number between 1-35 and I will generate a response. You can send ‘Hush’ for a a randomized response.
Keep reading
Reblog if you’re an indie OUAT CANON RP account.
We are creating a masterlist for every OUAT roleplayer.
OCs click here.
The list is here.
