#i lost my drawing pen and spent a while looking for it

[inuyashaluver]

can you write something for esme morgan please?

arts and crafts - esme morgan

esme morgan x reader

description: in which everyone in the woso community love that you and your girlfriend are an arts and crafts couple

warnings: fluffy es as usual

a/n: our sweet es! thank you for the request! enjoyyyyy❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, esme, met on the arts and crafts table at the lioness youth camp. no one in the team wanted anything to do with it except for you and esme, as soon as it was spotted, you both raced for it.

the two of you just knew each other as teammates, but the time spent at that table grew your bond, escalating in a quick friendship. esme loved to make bracelets and other little crafts while you loved to draw and crochet.

everytime you and esme were at that table, it was peaceful, the two of you lost in your own little world. as time went on, the two of you separately had epiphanies surrounding your feelings for each other, causing hopeless pining for years.

and so, through the encouragement of your teammates, you and esme began to date after 5 years of you being the pining best friends. you confessed to the girl on the bus when you drew her a picture of two little stick figures holding hands with multiple pink and red hearts surrounding them. under, you wrote ‘be my girlfriend? please?’ with two check boxes labelled ‘yes’ and ‘no’. when you placed the folded paper in her hands, you watched as her face contorted from a confused expression into an elated one.

she looks at you with a bright smile, “can i have a pen, please” your eyes widen, the one thing you forgot. “oh, es, i don’t have one” you begin to frantically look through your bag, how could you forget a pen? esme watches your panicked expression, placing a hand on your knee, she smiles at you reassuringly with pink cheeks, insisting that you calm down.

once you were somewhat settled and completely blushed in the face, esme stood from her seat quickly, everyone’s chatter stopping to look at the tall girl with wide eyes. “does anyone have a pen?” she exclaims, moving her head around in hopes she could find one, only to see multiple shaking heads and sorry smiles looking back at her.

“guys, this is actually important, i really need that pen” she pleads, one getting thrown to the back of her head from the front of the bus, she smiles brightly and picks it up, “thank you so much!” she quickly sits down, smiling at you cheekily before taking the paper in her hands, ready to check the box.

suddenly, esme looks at you offendedly, “well turn around (y/n/n)!” you can’t help but smile at her, nodding and turning your head to look outside, you were playing with your hands, incredibly nervous for the blonde’s response. after about two seconds, she gently slips the paper into your hand and you turn towards her, she smiles at you expectantly, giving you a cheeky shrug.

you let out a giggle, gently opening the paper and letting out a big smile. she had checked ‘yes’, you look up at her with love struck eyes, the brightest grin on your face, you pull her into a tight hug, difficult in your sitting position on the bus but you both didn’t mind.

she pulls you close to her with a giggle, humming into your neck as she hides her face there, your breath hitches when her lips lightly graze the point where your neck meets your shoulder. “my lovely girl,” she starts, “why would you even give a ‘no’ option” you pull away from her so you could make eye contact. her eyes were filled with so much love, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

“because i thought you’d say no” you look down at your lap, fiddling with your hands again until she grasps them in hers, pulling them into her lap. “baby, you’re my dream girl, you always have been, i would never say no to you” she smiles, moving to press a sweet kiss on your cheek, giggling when it grows warm under her touch. “you’re my dream girl, es” you whisper, returning the peck on her own cheek.

you both look at each other with bright smiles until you hear some sniffling coming from the seats behind you, turning to see niamh and lauren hemp crying behind you. you both look at them with wide eyes, “why are you crying?” you laugh, your own eyes filling up with tears, “you guys are so cute, took you long enough” niamh lets out a wet laugh, quickly wiping a stray tear on her cheek.

you can’t help but join her, tears falling from your eyes but esme is quick to wipe them away with her thumbs, you smile up at her and she looks at you tearfully. “so cute” lauren added, her eyes flickering between the two of you as you smile at each other cheekily.

—

and so, the rest is history, you and esme had been dating for three years, playing with each other at manchester city and england. you moved in to her house and lived a life full of love and happiness. the two of you had gotten called up for the world cup, both of you were so happy - representing your country, with your girlfriend beside you, what more could you want?

when you and esme walked hand and hand into the world cup base camp for the first time, you were confused by multiple teammates sending you mischievous looks, you had been the last ones to walk in the room. “what is it?” you question, gripping esme's hand a little tighter, she instinctively pulls you closer towards her, the media staff were filming you in the corner of your eye and you and esme were deeply confused.

until you see it, there stood an arts and crafts table, abundant with numerous projects to complete. everyone laughs at you and esme’s bright eyes, you look at each other with big smiles before you run towards the table, the girl yelping as she trailed after you.

“like old times, baby” you coo, looking up at her with a nostalgic grin. both of you were currently transported back in time, both of you not even 16 when you sat at that table with curious eyes, mindlessly chatting and crafting with flushed cheeks.

“it really is, love” she smiles down at you, placing a quick, sweet kiss on your lips. it was well known by the woso community that you were an arts and crafts couple, this would surely be a popular video when it’s released, you thought.

whenever you had down time before or after training, you and esme would sit at the table and craft and chat for hours, sitting close to each other and enjoying the variety of projects.

esme was totally fixated on making bracelets, immediately making you one in the lioness colours to add to your collection from years and years of knowing each other. you react the same every time, clutching it to your chest with a grin before asking her to put it on with a kiss to her cheek.

you on the other hand would crochet, and through all your years of practice, you were extremely quick. you made your girlfriend a beanie in not even two days, due to the cold winter air in australia, she never took it off.

when requests started flooding in to esme for bracelets, she employed you as her second in command, since she’d taught you how to make bracelets years ago, you instantly agreed and joined your girlfriend in her craft.

the two of you would make bracelets to and from training, during down time, even on the planes to different cities around australia. everyone in the team loved to film the two of you, esme even making tik toks for her channel.

“hi, everyone, me and my lovely girlfriend have been making bracelets for our lioness teammates, so watch our series of how we made them!” esme smiles at her phone, you grab her arm and run your hands over it in attempts to keep her warm. she smiles down appreciatively at you and you smile shyly, kissing her cheek and resting your head on her shoulder.

the whole interaction caught on camera, the two of you would never live the simp allegations down but you both didn’t care. the videos were blowing up, many people wanting more of the series and more content of you and esme being absolute cuties.

everyone found it incredibly endearing that you and esme still had a love and passion for your arts and crafts, many of your teammates also feeling that sense of nostalgia when either you or esme would place a carefully crafted bracelet in their hands.

you had made one for esme, all her favourite colours, you had made it so carefully, wanting her to have the most perfect bracelet ever. though, you had secretly been learning a new method of bracelets, one constructed of hearts, it was incredibly hard to keep a secret from your girl but you just had to.

she was sat on the bus before you after a game, waiting patiently in the aisle seat while she edited the tik tok video on her phone.

you keep your hands behind your back, grinning at her cheekily as you attempt to sneak up on her but she sensed your presence before you even got on the bus, feeling as though she could smell you anywhere. when you approach her, she smiles brightly, immediately dropping her phone to her lap and outstretching her arms out to you, gesturing for you to sit in her lap.

you quicken your pace, settling on the tops of her thighs before asking her to close her eyes. she giggles and follows your instructions, feeling you place a bracelet on her hand. immediately, you see her bright grin gracing her features as you carefully tie it around her arm, finishing it off with a quick kiss to her jaw. “open!”

esme’s eyes widen and immediately turn into crescent moons, smiling so brightly at your heart bracelet. “woah! baby! i didn’t teach you this, it’s amazing, i love it!” she rushes out, moving her hand up to cradle your face affectionately, giving you a loving kiss on your nose. “i learnt it in secret” you whisper, the bus slowly begins to move, esme carefully moves you over to sit in your seat but keeping your legs draped over her thighs.

“my crafty girl” she grins, running her hand over your shin in a steady pattern. “do you want me to teach you, essy?” you let out a laugh at her eager nod, grabbing the sports tape from your bag and taping some strings of her choice on your leg, she uses you as a makeshift table.

you smirk when esme picks all your favourite colours from your selection, the girl had clear intentions. of course, she picks it up well, finishing in a short amount of time and presenting it to you with a big smile. you move to place a hand on her jaw and give her a kiss on her lips, intending for it to be quick but esme slips her tongue past your lips. you gasp when she gives you a light squeeze on your thigh, leaning into you until your back hit the window, kissing until you hear a clear of a throat coming from the front of you.

esme groans and pulls her lips from you, looking up to see the mischievous grins of none other than lauren and niamh, just like all those years back. “why do you two get different bracelets to us? it’s so unfair!” lauren exclaims with a teasing grin, niamh nods along to the girl’s words. “yeah i agree, why does she get all the hearts and we don’t?” niamh points at esme’s arm that was resting on your thigh.

“well, niamhy, you’re not exactly my lover, darling but i do love you” you offer her a charming grin, “but i can be” she sends you a teasing wink, esme immediately squeezing your thigh again before lifting her head up to flick niamh on the forehead. “nope! she’s all mine” esme taunts, moving to place numerous kisses on your cheek, causing the both of you to break out into giggles.

“disgustingly cute, the pair of you!” niamh laughs, pulling lauren to sit down again while the two of you giggle and whisper to each other. you both continue to make bracelets for the rest of the team, as well as the staff taking care of all of you. amongst all the chaos, you and esme always had each other to enjoy your arts and crafts with, acting as a bond tying you together. both of you need to be grateful to that arts and crafts table.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you babes, ily hempo

liked by niamhcharles17 and 44,232 others

esme.morgan: my little lover girl, she’s the cutest

view all comments

yourname: you’re the cutest

↳ esme.morgan: no you

niamhcharles17: simps

lauren_hemp: simps

lionesses: simps

mancity: simps

yourname: ENOUGH

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #esme morgan #esme morgan x reader

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Reprieve~ Part 1/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 18 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, mentions of miscarriage

Summary: Grief for her child, her father, her crown. There was no use drawing comparisons- you were certain all of it cut her just as deeply.

A/N: I’m back. It’s my birthday, and I’m giving myself the gift of easing some of the guilt I’ve felt by keeping you on hold with this story for a while😅  in all seriousness, i hope you enjoy. if you have stuck with this story so far, I appreciate the hell outta you. this one’s a bit angsty, but part 2 will include some fluffier moments with the kids, and part 3 will have an awkward dinner between both families. i hope you enjoy🖤

PS, the poll hath spoken, and part 2 should be posted Thurs 3/30, and part 3 should be up Sat 4/1.

Never before had you written so much at any one time.

Your hands ached, practically begging for relief. For how important you believed it was for these letters to be sent out by raven at once- as they were, for you had requested someone stop by every half hour past to collect the letters you had already completed- the task of actually penning the words to paper was not nearly as forgiving as you had hoped it to be.

One of the only comforts you were able to take was that you were in good company.

At the very thought, you looked up from your current letter, which was addressed to Lord Alan Tarly, and over towards your companion, who was seated at the same table, in the chair across from you. As though he had felt your soft gaze, Harwin ceased his own writing immediately, and his hazel eyes snapped up to meet yours. The smile he gave you was a tired one, but genuine. You wondered if his hands pained him as much as yours did.

In a shameless bit of self-indulgence, you allowed more pleasant thoughts to drift into your weary mind. Alone in the quiet chambers Rhaenyra had prepared for the two of you some time ago, it was almost too easy to imagine that you at Harwin were back at home, in your shared study at Highgarden, enjoying a calm evening unwinding after a delicious supper.

It was almost too easy to forget that you were far removed from the Reach, and in Dragonstone, blindly making your way through the aftermath of King Viserys’s death. For the briefest of moments, you allowed yourself to pretend as though you were not waiting with bated breath, passing the time idly until it was decided, by forces beyond your control, whether the Seven Kingdoms would be put to the torch as two Targaryens fought for the vacated seat their father’s passing had left behind.

You brought your focus back to your letter.

To Lord Alan Tarly,

By now, it is likely that the grave news of the passing of King Viserys has reached Horn Hill…

You had lost track of how many of the letters had started in the same manner. But there were only so many ways your sentiments could be expressed, and time was of the essence.

After your arrival in Dragonstone, and once Queen Rhaenyra had had the opportunity to apprise you of the current standing, you and Harwin had mutually agreed that it would be best to write letters to your closest kin and peers immediately. Primarily, the letters that you and your husband had spent the better part of a few hours writing were addressed to the various lords and ladies across the Reach and Riverlands. Throughout the process, you hoped to thoroughly examine those you both knew who might also be sympathetic to the queen’s cause.

First, Harwin had written to his steward, Lord Dannis Chambers, at Harrenhal. He warned him of the grave reality of the impending war, and urged him to prepare the castle and Harrentown accordingly. After this had been achieved, Harwin wasted no time recounting all the atrocious crimes he now believed his brother, Larys, had committed, and advised Lord Dannis that if Larys made any attempt to contact him, he was to be notified at once. Lord Dannis was also instructed to detain Larys on sight, should the Master of Whisperers be so bold enough as to attempt to gain entry into Harrenhal.

But Larys’s treachery had gone undetected for years- you did not believe him anywhere near daft enough to try such an outlandish thing. You had voiced as much to Harwin, hoping it would reassure him, but Harwin was of the mind not to leave any matters pertaining to the kinslayer up to chance.

Next, Harwin had written to his sisters- and by extension, their husbands. The letters proved particularly challenging for him, but completely necessary. Lilyan and Eyla deserved to know the truth of what happened to their father, even if it meant tainting the image they may have had for their other brother. In his letters, Harwin kept the recount of the discovery to a minimum, not wishing to distress his sisters any further than his words were already likely to. He made promises to explain in further detail the next time they met.

Like he had Lord Dannis, Harwin urged Lilyan and Eyla to compel their husbands, Lord Cerran Leygood and Lord Joseth Smallwood, to begin making their own preparations. Neither you or Harwin anticipated Lord Cerran or Lord Joseth to deflect and support the Usurper. Not only had both Lilyan and Eyla served alongside you as ladies in waiting to Princess Rhaenyra, but Lord Cerran, as one of your liege lords, had also pledged fealty to you as Lady Paramount of the Reach. And Lord Joseth was one of the most honorable men you had known; he would uphold the pledge his father had made to King Viserys, and bow to Queen Rhaenyra as his one true successor.

After those had been written, Harwin had written to his extended kin- the houses his mother and father had descended from- and to a few other neighboring houses in the Riverlands whom he believed could be swayed, if they were not already, to support Queen Rhaenyra.

Most regrettably, the Reach was another matter. 

As their liege lady, all the ruling lords and ladies of the land had pledged fealty to you after King Viserys had proclaimed you as the heir to Highgarden and the Lady of House Tyrell. In turn, as you had pledged fealty to uphold Rhaenyra as the true heir to the Iron Throne and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it was expected that all the other houses in the Reach would fall in line, and join you in offering her their support. However, as demonstrated by House Hightower’s heinous deflection and usurpation of the throne, such was not to be the case, and even words vowed by the oldest and noblest of houses could not be taken at face value.

You deemed your first letter, which was addressed to your uncle and steward, Lord Elwood Meadows, to be of the utmost importance. In your letter, you were insistent that preparations be made with the utmost haste. Highgarden stood between Oldtown and King’s Landing, and if army reinforcements were to be called to the capitol from the Hightowers’s stronghold, the army would most likely march through Highgarden’s lands. Until the lords and lady of the Reach declared for Queen Rhaenyra or the Usurper, it was wiser to assume that Highgarden was surrounded by potential enemies, and to prepare the men and supplies with that belief in mind.

You had written to the Reach nobles who you felt confident would support the Queen if war was to come after that. There were at least a few lords and ladies who had never given you cause to doubt their allegiance.

But you had not bothered to send correspondence to Oldtown, or to the Arbor. Your cousin, Lord Garrett Redwyne, had coveted Highgarden and the Tyrell family titles since you had inherited them. As a direct result, your relationship with one another had been severely strained for many years. Though you had no ill will for his mother, your aunt Elayne, placing blind faith on your cousin to uphold his oath and pledge the Redwyne fleet to Queen Rhaenyra would be incredibly foolish. Besides, he was married to Cerelle Lannister now- and whatever gold you might have been able to offer and persuade him, the Lannisters could offer him twice as much, if not more.

By the time Elinda, a particularly favored handmaiden for many years, arrived and informed you that Queen Rhaenyra wished to speak with you, you had just finished the last of your letters, and Harwin his. It was perfect timing, and a perfect distraction from the dull tingling in your hands.

“I shall come with you,” Harwin offered without hesitation, rising to his feet as he reached across the table to gather the last of the small parchment scrolls.

You followed his lead, but both of you paused once Elinda spoke up. “My apologies, My Lord. But Her Grace has requested to speak with Lady Y/N… only Lady Y/N.”

The girl sounded hesitant, and perhaps looked a bit apprehensive, too. But there was no need. In response to her words, a look of understanding washed over Harwin’s face, and he gave you a knowing look.

You believed that he had also caught a glimpse of what you suspected to be a funeral pyre outside the entrance of the castle. Judging by the soft remorse in his eyes, you now knew it to be true. Harwin had more than likely drawn his own conclusions as to the nature of what Princess Rhaenyra wished to speak with you about, and could understand why his presence was not desired.

“Of course,” Harwin relented graciously, nodding to Elinda. Turning to you, he proposed, “Perhaps I shall find our sons, and ensure they have not begun to create any trouble for themselves.”

Whilst your traveling party had begun to settle into their own lodgings, the remainder of the group arrived from the docks, as Prince Jacaerys had arranged. Brynna was tending to Luciya, but your sons had opted to find ways to occupy their own time- most likely they sought to become reacquainted with the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys.

However Derrik and Selwin had chosen to spend their time the last few hours, you did not believe them likely to cause any legitimate trouble. This was in light of the fact that you were all guests, and only welcomed in Dragonstone by the Queen’s will. But there were dragons all around, and tensions were high. Misunderstandings could turn dire in the blink of an eye.

“I will find them,” Harwin reiterated, glancing down at the last of small scrolls upon the table, “right after I give these over to Maester Gerardys to be sent out.”

“That would probably be for the best,” you agreed, albeit a little reluctantly.

But before you could step away from the table to follow Elinda, Harwin stopped you. Mindful of the fact that the two of you had company, he settled for lightly grasping your hand and bestowing a kiss on top of it.

“I will meet with you later,” he promised.

Your husband’s voice was light and reassuring; it was comforting, even. You would hold on to that as you braced yourself for what was likely to be a particularly daunting conversation with the queen.

You nodded to him with a small smile, fighting off a heat that threatened to rise to your cheeks despite your best efforts.

As you were escorted to Queen Rhaenyra’s chambers, you wrung your burning hands together, hoping the gesture would help restore some of the feeling. Before leaving your chambers, you thought you had scrubbed away most of the ink that had stained your hands during your writing efforts. But as you passed underneath flickering torches that lined the tone hallways of the Stone Drum, you caught brief glimpses of a few black splotches that you had apparently missed.

Fortunately, you severely doubted your liege would pay them much mind.

When you arrived outside of the queen’s chambers, you saw that two members of the now Queensguard were keeping post by the door.

The first was Ser Lorent Marbrand. Though he had been elevated to the Kingsguard during King Viserys’s reign some number of years ago, the fair haired knight from the Westerlands had always been a common face among Rhaneyra’s household guard. It was reassuring to see that he had elected to continue to serve King Viserys’s rightful heir.

The second was Ser Steffon Darklyn. The uncle of Lord Gunthor Darklyn bore a much sterner expression than his counterpart. Though Ser Steffon’s face was wrinkled with age, the sheer resolve etched into his features suggested that whatever laid ahead, he did not fear it. His tried and true experience he had gained during his service to King Viserys would undoubtedly be a crucial asset for the queen now.

You nodded to both men in silent greeting as the handmaiden Elinda, who had been escorting you, lightly tapped her knuckles on the closed door. A moment later, you heard a muffled voice bid you to enter from within.

Elinda opened the door slowly, and you followed her into the room cautiously. After stepping a few more steps through a short corridor, you were temporarily blinded by the sun streaming into the open room.

Elinda was not phased. “Lady Y/N, as you requested, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Elinda. That will be all.”

Elinda bowed her head and retreated, closing the door softly behind her as she went.

You squinted and allowed yourself a moment for your eyes to adjust. When your vision became clear once more, you spotted the familiar figure of Queen Rhaenyra across the room. Dressed in the same black gown she had donned that morning, she stood beside a table on the far side of the room, positioned right before the open balcony. In the comfortable silence, you heard the soft lull of waves and the squawking of the seagulls in the distance.

“Come, Y/N. Sit with me.”

Queen Rhaenyra took a seat, and you did not hesitate to heed her order. You crossed the room in a few short strides before swiftly claiming the seat across the small table from where she had settled. The table was bare, save a pitcher of wine and a pair of goblets.

As you made yourself comfortable on the chair, your longtime companion placed another object on the table.

“This is for you and your husband.”

You glanced at the folded piece of parchment as the queen slid it smooth across the table towards you. It was sealed in green wax, with an emblem you had seen no more than a handful of times. But once you recognized it, your interest was piqued immediately.

“What is it?”

“Otto Hightower deemed me deserving of a personal visit yesterday,” Queen Rhaenyra said, avoiding answering your posed question directly, though you suspected her tale would lead to the information you sought regardless. “He hand delivered terms of peace, written by the Dowager Queen on behalf of my half-brother, to all my bannermen who have already gathered here. I did not dare to correct his assumption that you and Lord Harwin had already arrived in Dragonstone, for I feared doing so would put you in further undue danger.”

Admittingly, the thought had not crossed your mind. You had suspected Larys to be the sole perpetrator behind the attack on your traveling party following the departure from King’s Landing. But you had not given pause to consider what Otto Hightower, Queen Alicent, the Usurper, or any other Green for that matter would stand to gain had you failed to reach Dragonstone. Death was one matter, but the thought of you, Harwin, and your children being captured and forced to do as the Usurper bid was another altogether, and one that made you want to shudder. You would have, had Queen Rhaenyra not been watching your every move with keen eyes.

She inched the parchment even closer to you. The seal, barring the emblem of the Hightower in Oldtown, and surrounded by a single crown, was Queen Alicent’s personal sigil. What the dowager queen thought to offer you was beyond your imagination, but it did entice curiosity. You and Harwin had been among Rhaenyra’s most fervent supporters for many years, and you knew Alicent not to be so foolish as to presume either of your loyalties could be bought for some mere gold.

Finally appeasing the queen’s silent request, you took the letter into your own two hands. “You said Otto Hightower brought terms of peace… Is that to say you were offered terms as well?”

“I was.”

“And do you mean to accept them?”

The look that flashed across Queen Rhaenyra’s face was a conflicted one, but she masked it rather quickly. “It matters little whether or not I wish to settle this peacefully. We both know that I cannot. The Usurper has made a mockery of my father’s declaration, and his selfish greed has threatened to plunge the entire realm into a war amongst itself. I have already begun to receive pledges of support, and though I hope I will receive more yet, accepting anything less than my own ascension to the Iron Throne will be a grave insult to all who have already sworn themselves to my cause. Even if I could reconcile myself with all of this, I am not the only one who shall suffer if I accept the dowager queen’s proposals. My children will never, ever be safe. And if you believe my husband will willingly bend the knee to my witless half-brother, you must understand him even poorer than I.”

Her last statement was an odd one, but it was not peculiar enough to comment upon at that moment. You could not picture the Rogue Prince bending to Aegon, not even in your wildest imagination. Every point Queen Rhaenyra had made was completely valid, which was why her next words to you took you by utmost surprise.

“You must take great care to consider whatever Dowager Queen Alicent has offered you and Harwin, Y/N.”

“... You do not mean that we should-”

“All I ask is that you discuss it with Harwin, and that the two of you are absolutely certain of your decision. Whatever you choose will not be able to be undone.”

“Harwin and I have been writing to those who we believe may be drawn to support you all morning,” you informed her, hoping it would persuade her to cease the fruitless conversation.

“I have seen the intermittent ravens being sent out over the past few hours, and I suspected as much.”

By this point, confusion was nowhere near adequate enough to describe what you were feeling. “And you would still have us consider betraying you and throwing our support behind the Usurper instead?”

“I would have you choose whatever you believe is best for your family,” the queen corrected, her tone becoming icy as she fought to make her intentions clear. “I consider you a friend, as I also do your husband. Swearing oaths, even to a king, when you are young and without much to lose is one thing. But we both have more to lose now than ever before. Wealth will come and go. Castles can be destroyed and rebuilt. But the children… The children could never be replaced. And you know as well as I do that not even the gods choose to spare them in times of war.”

She was not talking about Jacaerys, Lucerys, or Joffrey. Not even Aegon or Viserys. As nearly unfathomable as it was, in the silence that followed the queen’s words, you took a few moments to truly contemplate her suggestion.

You pocketed the parchment at once, taking care not to fold it any further than what was necessary. “I will discuss it with Harwin later.”

Queen Rhaenyra looked placated by your response. “That is all I ask. Take the day to decide. In two days time, the Greens will expect to receive an answer from me in response to their proposed terms. It would be best to have your family’s answer by then as well.”

“We shall have it to you even sooner than that,” you promised, knowing that whatever decision you reached with Harwin, you were likely going to be of the same mind.

“Very well. I plan to reconvene my council first thing tomorrow morning. Should you and Harwin decide to join us, I will accept that as your answer.”

“You do not mean to meet with your council today?”

“I have decided to give myself a bit of reprieve,” she answered carefully, reaching across the table to grab the pitcher of wine. Pouring wine into one of the goblets for herself, she continued, “I had hoped the Sea Snake would reach our shores by now, so that I may have an idea of what naval support to expect.”

“The Sea Snake lives?” That was news to you, but it was news most welcome.

“Yes, he does. While I am hopeful that Lord Coryls will eventually offer me his support, I cannot bring myself to rely on it. I must continue to plan how best to proceed with the assumption that only those who have already pledged their support are able to be called upon.”

Of course, Rhaenyra would not turn away any additional allies who would pledge themselves to her. And you believed her caution with Lord Corlys was most wise. However, despite the fact that Lord Coryls had been insistent that Lucerys was next in succession of the Driftmark throne throughout the many years since Ser Laenor’s passing, you had begun to accrue a personal understanding of how drastically a brush with the Stranger could change someone. Perhaps the Sea Snake would change his mind… and perhaps he would feel even more compelled to do so with an appealing offer from the Usurper.

You surmised then, “I suppose you would not wish to hear the details of whom Harwin and I have written to?”

“While I appreciate the efforts you have taken, that will not be necessary right now. You may give me the information on the morrow- should you and Harwin join the council meeting, that is. Perhaps you will have even received a few answers by then. But no- that is not why I have summoned you here. Nor was passing along my half-brother’s offer of peace for your family the sole reason, either.”

“I am a guest, and I am at your bidding- what is on your mind?”

“Should you allow it, I wish to speak with you, friend to friend.”

“Of course, My Queen.”

“Please, Y/N. We are alone.”

It was not the first time Rhaenyra had insisted on dropping formalities, but complying with her requests never seemed to get any easier. This was made additionally difficult by the fact that she was no longer a princess, but queen. Whether it be the manners and proprietary that had been instilled in you from a young age, or simply from the sheer amount of respect you held for her, it was foreign to your tongue to address her so informally. But you found a way.

“You are always welcome to speak freely with me, Rhaenyra.”

You watched in silence as she placed the pitcher back onto the table and wasted no time in raising the goblet to her lips.

“Would you care for some?” she asked after a moment, tilting the goblet in your direction. “The hour is still early, but as Maester Gerardys has informed me that my only other alternative for the pain is milk of the poppy, I consider this to be a necessary indulgence.”

Only a short while ago, the then Princess Rhaenyra had confided to you of King Viserys’s poor state of health, which she believed had been exacerbated by Queen Alicent’s maesters administration of milk of the poppy. In light of this, it was not hard to imagine the new queen would not consent to such a treatment for herself.

For a moment, all that could be heard within the chambers were the waves and seagulls from outside. As Queen Rhaenyra took another sip of wine, you watched your former lady carefully, contemplating what, if anything, you should say.

In the end, you decided to follow her lead, doing away with frivolity and speaking plainly as to what was in your heart.

“I am sorry, Rhaenyra.”

She looked at you then, truly looked at you. It was done in such a commanding way that forbade you from looking elsewhere, even if you had wished to. Initially, you thought she might become cross with your lack of formality- despite her earlier plea. But there was no anger in her eyes, only grief. Grief that, judging by the unshed tears in her eyes, was still painfully fresh.

Grief for her child, her father, her crown. There was no use drawing comparisons- you were certain all of it cut her just as deeply. You shared in her grief, and as uncomfortable as it was for you, it was undoubtedly worse for her.

“I’ve lost my daughter,” Queen Rhaenyra elaborated then, finally looking away. She idly traced the rim of her goblet slowly with her forefinger. “My Visenya.”

She had never confided to you what she had intended to name her daughter, had her hopes been correct. But you would have expected Rhaenyra to grant her child no less of a grand name for her much-desired daughter.

Unsure of what else to say, you praised, “A fine name for a princess, My Queen.”

“It was.”

Though you had your suspicions, you gently coaxed, “What happened?”

Rhaenyra continued to trace the goblet’s rim. Her focus was upon that now, as she recalled the painful tale. A grounding practice, you supposed.

“Princess Rhaenys had flown from King’s Landing. How many days had passed since my father died, we do not know, for Princess Rhaenys was kept a prisoner in her own chambers, whilst my father’s grieving widow and her own spiteful father conspired to crown my half-brother. She witnessed the crowning, Rhaenys. She says the common folk cheered for Aegon, as though he was the one, true king- until she burst through the floor of the Dragonpit with Meleys.”

You tried to imagine the scene that Queen Rhaneyra described. After only a moment, you decided you would have much preferred to have borne witness to Princess Rhaenys’s disruption of the Usurper's coronation than what you had endured on the road to Duskendale. Did Aegon tremble in fear whilst staring into the teeth of Meleys? Did Criston Cole make himself useful in any way, and attempt to protect his new king, or did he too think the end was near and cower? Did Dowager Queen Alicent show any remorse for the doom she had inflicted upon herself and her children, or had she been willing to accept her fate with forlorn resolve?

“She could have burned them all. But she did not. She flew here instead, and told me everything that transpired. When she did, well… I suppose the news was too much. Too shocking. In the end, my own body betrayed me.”

She quickly took a few more sips of wine, as though doing so would erase the memory. For a while, you supposed it could. For her sake, you hoped it would.

Feeling emboldened by the crass conversation, you took the moment of silence to fill your own goblet. Following suit, you knocked the cup back and drank until your throat burned, silently crying for air.

When you lowered your goblet once more, you were surprised to find the Queen’s attention had reverted back to you, giving you an- even more surprisingly- amused smirk.

“It is a relief to see someone so willing to share in my sorrows, rather than to merely suggest ways in which I may overcome them.”

“Most men already presume women to be easily controlled by their emotions. While we know that to be false, perhaps we ought to indulge their assumptions every now and then- lest we lose our advantage of surprise.”

Queen Rhaenyra let out a dry chuckle. “Perhaps.” Then, just as quickly as it had come, the joy fleeted from her. “My Visenya,” she sighed again, before taking another sip. When she set the goblet back down on the table once more, it was with great force. “She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.”

“They will.”

“I suppose now we only need to wait to see if they will accept their sentence willingly, or if it will need to be impressed upon them.”

There was a distinction to be made. You took Queen Rhaenyra’s word as law- if she said she intended to punish those who unjustly usurped her throne, you believed her full-heartedly. But the lack of conviction in her additional statement led you to believe that war itself was not her sole desire. Should war come, it would have only been the means by which she used to secure her ends.

“But enough talk of all that,” she dismissed then, obviously eager to move on to another topic. “There is something else I wished to speak with you about. You left King’s Landing the same day as my family, and yet, you had not reached Duksendale when Lord Darklyn set sail for Dragonstone. He told me that before he left, Harwin had taken to the road to find you for himself. Once I heard of this, I deposed some of my loyal scouts on the mainland, in the hope that they could be of assistance to locate you and your party. Although, it seems that by the time they had begun to search, you were nowhere to be found.”

You said nothing, both unwilling and unable to comment just yet. The mere mention of what transpired during your travels still unsettled you greatly. The ambush, the moments you spent in pure fear for your life, the awful act you’d been forced to commit in your own self-defense… It was too soon. You had yet to come to true terms with it yourself. How could you reasonably expect Rhaenyra to understand?

“What happened, Y/N?” she pried, noticeably more gentle. “I have spoken freely with you- I do hope you know that you are extended that same courtesy. Especially amongst the two of us.”

She had sensed your hesitation.

Although you did not wish to speak of it, you could not bring yourself to lie to the queen either… Omitting certain parts of the tale would, at the very least, make it easier to recount.

“The escort was waylaid by brigands, My Queen. We lost two of our men, and had my husband and reinforcements not located us in time, I fear even more lives would have been lost.” My own among them.

It was clearly not what she had anticipated you to say, and as a result, Rhaenyra looked troubled by this. She gripped the goblet in her hand tightly. “Brigands?” she echoed. “This was a random attack? I do not care for that at all. Roads in the Crownlands are supposed to be very well patrolled.”

You hesitated, torn between deceiving Rhaenyra and confessing information that was not entirely yours to share. In the end, you reasoned that if she planned to take King’s Landing by force, she ought to know about all the snakes that dwelled within it. Gods forbid a certain Master of Whisperers find himself a quick tongue and talk himself out of being punished for sympathizing with the Usurper. Harwin would not let Larys get away with the more personal crimes he had committed against him and the Strong family, and if the queen was knowledgeable of them as well, any attempts to slither away that Larys might make would be futile.

“It has since come to light that the fire at Harrenhal was intentional, Your Grace.”

Confusion flickered over Rhaenyra’s otherwise calm disposition, not that you could blame her. “Harrenhal? What does that have to do with your traveling party being attacked on the road?”

“The death of Lord Lyonel was no accident at all. Someone meant to have him killed, and they meant to claim the lives of Harwin, our sons, and myself along with him. The fire was a plot, meant to look as an accident, just as our attack on the road was coordinated, and designed to appear as entirely coincidental. The orchestrator of both schemes is one in the same.” 

“But… How? How do you know all of this? And who is it that you stake these very grave accusations against?”

“The only man who stood to gain from the death of the Lord of Harrenhal, and all his other heirs.”

A/N: Any feedback is very much appreciated. I hope you guys have had and continue to have a wonderful week🖤

#harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon #ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x reader #ser harwin strong x y/n #ser harwin strong x you #harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x you #hbo #ryan corr #hotd #got #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #harwin strong fanfiction #harwin strong fanfic #ser harwin strong fanfiction #ser harwin strong fanfic

[intrepidacious]

every dream gone

summary: After the events of Winter Soldier, Bucky slowly realizes just how much he lost after his fall.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: bucky being sad; vague mentions of brainwashing and a whole lot of guilt; don't look for a happy ending with this one folks (i'm sorry 🥲)

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i started writing this fic back in september and it took me until now to gather the emotional willpower to finish it. blame this song that inspired the whole thing.

masterlist | read on ao3

It took Bucky a while to remember you, after everything, but he did.

The first memory came back while he was on the run. He'd been in Europe for a while by then, sleeping in freight cars, never staying anywhere for longer than a week, trying to keep a low profile while both HYDRA and Steve were still frantically looking for him everywhere. Those early days were the worst.

He spent most of his time on trains and tried to figure out why he hated it so much.

Being in England calmed him a bit. It was nice getting used to hearing people speak English around him again, and not in a tone that commanded obedience.

He didn't have much to go off, just scattered memories that didn't quite seem to fit together. There was always something off about them, something like the taste of metal where it shouldn't be. This time, the fragments led him to a flea market.

There were only a handful of people dotted in between the stands, which was probably for the best. His long sleeves usually attracted some curious glances this late into July.

He didn't exactly have money to spare for knick-knacks or secondhand souvenirs, but his feet carried him straight to one stand in particular, without him even realizing. His fingertips grazed along the spines of old paperbacks that were lined up like soldiers, but Bucky didn't spare them more than a glance.

He stopped at the next table over, a small frown on his face.

"Look at all those colors, Buck!"

Pastels and acrylics, steel nib fountain pens and piles of hand-bound sketchbooks. The woman selling them looked up from her novel when he didn't move for a whole minute, his eyes fixed on the notebooks.

"You can pick 'em up if you can't decide, you know," she said.

He nodded, blinked, almost embarrassed at the way his fingers shook as he picked up one of the books. It was bound in blue linen, and the deckle edged pages stuck to his gloves.

"You draw?" the woman asked, in a way that was more politeness than actual interest.

"My friend did," Bucky found himself saying.

Hands covered in charcoal. The smell of paper and something else.

"How dare you!" A laugh, carelessly loud and graceless. The most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "My nose looks nothing like that!"

The memory passed through him softly, almost dreamlike, and for a second, he didn't know whether he wanted to cry or scream. He did neither.

The woman was looking at him strangely, but she accepted the note he handed her for the sketchbook, even though it wasn't Sterling.

"Young man," she called after him, and he almost wanted to laugh. "You're gonna need this, too." And she handed him a pen, as if she'd known, as if there was something in his face that told her how lost he felt.

It was cheap, surely, but it was also the first gift he'd gotten in decades, and so he kept it in his chest pocket. Right above his heart.

***

The next memory came not too long after that.

He was sitting in a rundown coffee shop in Edinburgh, barely paying attention to the room around him while he tried putting his past onto the page. The book was filling so achingly slowly it made him want to throw it against a wall most days.

A good chunk of it was about Steve.

Bucky supposed that was to be expected, because he'd been the one to first make him remember, and because it was Steve.

So page after page was detailing pneumonias and ill-fitting jackets and bruised knuckles in Bucky's narrow writing, trying to piece together a life that should have stayed his. It was desperate work, futile work most days, but he tried anyway.

And then the café owner switched stations on the old, dusty radio in the corner, and there was the song.

It took only a couple of notes until the images struck like lightning.

Swinging skirts and heels clacking on wooden floors. The smell of sweat and hairspray and something else. Something like May bells.

"You're quite good at this, aren't you?" Hands tightening around his neck in the most pleasant embrace.

"Only as good as my partner."

How could a simple hum sound so content? "And I ain't exactly called Rogers, either. But you’re the one leading."

"And thank God for both."

A dip, a scream. And that laugh again. He wanted to bottle it up and get drunk on it for the rest of eternity.

When the song ended, Bucky was shaking with it. He'd broken the pen in his hand, and the dark ink smeared all over his palm like black blood.

He didn’t do so well with presents these days.

***

He remembered your name when he heard a mother call out for her child in a park and it stopped him in his tracks because the corners of his mouth started to lift on their own accord. It was like you were muscle memory, your name so deeply ingrained that his body remembered you long before his mind could catch up.

And your name.

Whispered in darkened picture theaters until your skin prickled with goosebumps, shouted across dance halls sweltering with heat, spoken with reverence on dizzying fair rides. Bucky’d said it again, and again, and again, and for so long he couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the taste of it on his tongue.

He tried it out now, and it came out like ash.

The sound of his name on your lips came to him only hours later, because he kept prodding at that part of his mind that kept you hidden from him, kept trying to unlock the gate to his forgotten memories until finally it slid open an inch.

He was trying to make dinner.

He’d not had a warm meal for weeks at that point, but the past few days had been good and he’d bought vanilla extract for pancakes. The sugary smell filled his tiny apartment, but he didn’t even notice at first, not until he opened the window and then turned back to the stove.

“Bucky.”

Like a breath of air that echoed from deep within until it reached him and left him shaken.

He said your name again, called it into the silence of the room. It didn’t answer him.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than going crazy, and so he breathed in again.

“James! It’s almost nine, we’re gonna be late.” Nails drumming against the wood of a dresser. You’d painted it with flowers, purple and blue and yellow. Beautiful.

“And whose fault is that, sweetheart?”

His fingers wrapping around your waist, pulling you close, so young, so human. Your perfume, soft and lingering mist-like between you, and something else. Something like Christmas morning.

Smiles had come so easy to him back then. “I’ve been sittin’ by the door for a good twenty minutes now, waitin’ anxiously for you to finish up.”

“If you’re getting so anxious over me, you needn’t have waited, Buck.”

“I’d wait my whole life if it went you’re comin’ down the stairs, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t noticed he’d slid to the floor, trembling.

The pancakes burned.

***

Your name was so much and yet so little at the same time.

Bucky tried finding any record of you, in libraries, newspaper archives, even using a computer once he figured out how to go online. But you’d been a normal girl, a lovely, perfect, beautiful, normal girl. That had never been enough for the history books.

He had to put you together again himself, slowly. The smallest details took him months.

You would always get holes in your tights and scold him for prodding at them. You used to hate getting your picture taken, but you would benignly let Steve draw you as long as he kept you entertained. You’d liked dancing, and flowers, and sweet things, and somehow, inexplicably, you’d liked him.

“You are the worst date I’ve ever had.”

The taste of whipped cream and chocolate on your lips, and the feeling of your fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck. That little sound at the back of your throat.

“You were saying, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s hand balled into a fist. It wasn’t fair.

The worst part was that you were barely more than the memory of a beautiful dream, hazy and blurred. He was well aware he didn’t deserve good things anymore, but these faint half-images collecting in his brain were nothing short of cruel.

"I can't remember her face,” he told the only person who might have understood, because he himself didn’t. “Why can I remember every single person that I had to ...” He trailed off, dragging his hand over his face. “And yet I can't remember her face?"

Steve's hand was on his shoulder, a gesture that should feel comforting in its familiarity. Instead, Bucky had never felt this small in his own skin.

Wrong shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do," Steve said calmly, but there was a helplessness in his voice that made Bucky’s stomach churn.

It wasn’t supposed to spill out of his own eyes.

***

You would have loved Wakandan sunsets.

They were richer, more colorful than the ones Bucky remembered, but maybe that didn’t actually mean much. The beautiful things had a habit of evading him.

Sometimes, he was selfish enough to wish it had stayed that way, because at least in forgetting, he hadn’t known to miss anything at all. Years and decades worth of lack came crashing through to drown him now, more and more frequent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Or mocking him.

But you would have loved the sunsets, and so he tried to love them, too, just like he was always meant to do.

“Do you have to leave already?”

A sniff, a petulant sigh, his limbs heavy and warm, but resolve unwavering. He’d fancied himself so smart, then. “You know I do.”

Daybreak kisses that tasted contently like sleep. Slowly untangling his fingers from yours, something cool grazing them.

Steve brought back a small package, and that was all that was left to find of the part of the past that he’d shared with you. A thin stack of official papers, the dog tags he’d worn in Austria, and a ring.

Bucky sat down.

He knew, rationally, that you were long gone even before he saw the official documents. He’d never expected you to wait for him when it had always been the other way around. Still, to read it so plainly was like his insides were being twisted into the tightest knot, and his heart, his carefully guarded heart that had only just started to remember its own rhythm stuttered painfully. Like it was sick of this whole dance, the waiting, the longing for something so out of reach. So lost to time.

He didn’t want this, any of this, but there was nothing he could do but stare and wait for his vision to clear.

“There’s something else,” Steve said, his voice far away like he’d been wrapped in cotton. “Do you remember the house?”

A rickety porch swing and a picket fence that needed bleaching. Thorny rose bushes blooming in all your favorite colors. Two spare rooms.

“Are we going to be hostin’ a lot of guests, then?” That smug little curl of your lip he liked to kiss.

“I hope not.” Arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. Always the same gesture, as familiar as the smell. Vanilla and peonies, and something else. “We could find a more permanent use, don’t you think?”

“She kept it. It’s still there.”

Bucky traced the letters of your name with his thumb as if somehow, somewhere, you might have felt the familiar caress. It looked lonely there, all on its own.

Maybe it was lucky that he’d long run out of screams, because he might have never stopped.

“Thank you,” he said, and even though it didn’t seem sufficient, Steve nodded.

Bucky threaded your ring onto the chain of his dog tags and closed it around his neck before he hid them under his vest, the metal like a ghostly touch over his heart.

***

It took Bucky five more years to make it back to New York. Well. Five more years passed.

He’d lost so many of them it didn’t even seem to matter at this point.

The slip of paper had been kept inside an envelope he’d found between the books in Steve’s apartment, waiting for him, just like he’d said it would. At least some things were still there.

The bus drive took an eternity, but his feet found their way on their own accord. They’d known it well, once, after all.

He thought the hardest part would be to turn around the final corner and see it again, but that wasn’t it. He’d dreaded the drawn shades, the overgrown garden, the withered flowers, the faded paint on the front door. Dreading things made them easier to bare, sometimes, he’d learned that.

No, the hardest part was seeing the sign. Cottage for sale.

And the quiet.

The mailbox was battered from decades of wind and weather, but underneath the rust he could still see the remnants of your handprint, cracked golden yellow on the dark metal. It disappeared under his vibranium fingers.

“See? We left our mark now. We have to stay here forever.”

He found the key still inside. He used to scold you for leaving it so recklessly, but you kept losing every spare you got made, and besides, times were different, then. You knew the neighbors. So did he.

“Don’t forget, it’s Mrs Hopper’s birthday on Wednesday, and you promised to mow her lawn.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“And the Sawyers asked if you could take a look at their furnace, because it’s been acting up.”

“You’d think they’d hire a professional for that sorta thing.”

“Maybe you’re just nicer to look at.”

The plot next door had been leveled. The curtains in all the other houses were drawn, even though it was a lovely spring evening.

Bucky’s steps were heavy as he climbed the steps to the red front door. It was like he could hear whispers coming from all sides, his head pounding with the weight of something that was not quite there yet, not quite clear, not quite something.

The key slid into the lock.

“Leave your shoes outside, Buck, you’ll track mud everywhere.”

He almost did.

The first step inside was like going through the looking glass and finding himself in a world so different, and yet so familiar. Because he didn’t recognize the painting on the wall, or the color of the cabinets, or the rug next to the stairs.

But there was that smell. Vanilla and peonies. Something like baking and spring, something like home.

He carefully pulled the door closed behind him, the floorboards softly creaking. Dust billowed.

And then more memories came rushing in, as if they'd been waiting for the moment he crossed the threshold.

"Ready?"

"Yes!" He could feel your cheeks lift in a smile and grinned as he slowly pulled his hands away from your eyes. Could feel the gasp that fell from your lips as you took in the sight in front of you.

"Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it!"

“I love you.”

He thought he saw movement just out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, it was only his own grave reflection staring back at him out of one of the dirty windows. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like the ghosts of the past were surrounding him.

“There you are,” they seemed to say. “What took you so long?”

“Just picking up something sweet for my best girl.”

“This is exactly why I’m gonna marry you.”

“Just that? Really? What about my other qualities?”

“Those I tolerate.”

The plates his ma had given you, the porcellain chipped with decades of use, stacked neatly in the cabinets, gathering dust. Your favorite brass pot was out next to the sink, as if you’d just left it there to dry, intending to use it again in a couple of hours.

In the living room, the horrible curtains your aunt had forced upon you had finally disappeared, and despite everything, Bucky could feel himself smile. The bookshelf was still overflowing.

“We’re gonna run out of space soon, you know that, right?”

“Well, build me a new shelf, then!”

Another promise he’d broken.

He had to go upstairs. He knew it, even though every single cell of his body was screaming at him not to go.

Seventeen steps. The second to last was the one that creaked.

Deciding which door to open first was like choosing his own hell. In the end, the house decided for him, because the wailing behind the one to the far right sounded so alive he almost bolted through the entrance.

It had been locked, and Bucky only realized why when it was already too late.

It was the most desolate room yet, cobwebbed and stale, furniture hidden underneath white linens. A dusty wooden mobile dangled from the ceiling, trembling as the house settled, casting eery shadows over the dirtied green walls.

“Aren’t you a bit overzealous there, love?” He dotted some green on your nose and you shrieked.

“Do you wanna be caught unawares?”

“As far as I know, there’s a bit of a preparation period involved.”

“Hm. Maybe we should just get a head start, then.”

He couldn’t bear it a second time, so he took a lung full of stale air and opened the bedroom door.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Everything smelled like you, had your loving touch on it, had been allowed to live alongside you for all this time when he hadn’t been. The wilted flowers in the vase by the window. A book on the nightstand, your bookmark tucked between the pages because you weren’t quite done with it yet.

You weren’t done yet.

A pair of reading glasses lay on top of it, and Bucky almost laughed because he couldn’t quite picture you wearing them, and then, suddenly, he realized he could picture you, and his hand reached out blindly because he remembered that it was there.

“You know I hate these things.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for a second. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t you want me to have something’a yours to keep me company?”

Your laugh, again, and again. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

The bed creaked softly when he sat down on its edge, the frame shaking in his grip, and hey. There you were.

There was your smile.

It seemed to echo, or maybe he only wished it did.

“I’ll be back so soon, you won’t even notice I’m gone, sweetheart.”

“You better.”

The way you looked at him. Like you really believed him when he told the both of you that everything was going to be fine. That you would be the lucky ones. The exception.

He hated himself for letting you hope, but maybe this was his punishment; to be the one left behind, despite everything.

“I’m sorry,” he must have said, or cried, or screamed, because the house repeated it back to him, over and over.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, there was nothing.

anyone else need a tissue?

thank you so much for reading!! if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or a reblog, or just come scream at me in my inbox. to see the less heartbreaking rest of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #every dream gone

[actual-lea]

Believe it or not, this fic is definitely still a thing so read it if you wanna?

AO3 | First chapter | Previous chapter

"You'd better come and see this," is the first thing that Milo, Theresa's nurse, says to Abigail when she walks through the door. He's out of breath from running halfway down the stairs, and the startled look in his eyes is so alarming that Abigail doesn't even pause to step out of her shoes; she just follows him up to Theresa's room without a word.

When she enters, Theresa turns to look at her. To look at her, not through her, and not her five or ten or God knows how many years younger. Abigail approaches the bed cautiously, in case any sudden movement might break the spell.

Theresa smiles. “Good to see you, Abby.”

Abigail laughs at that, because she doesn’t know what else to do. “Supposed to be my line, you know,” she says. Distantly, she notices that Milo has gone, leaving her alone with her sister for however long this lasts.

Theresa’s gaze, still lucid and more focused than it's been in years, drifts around the room, taking in the small space. When she turns back to Abigail, there’s something like realization in her eyes. “What year is it?”

Abigail hesitates. Informing Theresa of the current date has never been a good idea, based on past experiences. But then, she’s never directly asked for it before. “It's 2007."

Instead of panic, those focused eyes light up with something like excitement. “Bring me a pen.”

Abigail has to leave the room to find one, her movements hurried, almost frantic; what if she returns to find Theresa gone again, lost somewhere in the past, if she’s even conscious at all?

But no, Theresa’s right where and when she left her, sitting up in bed with her hands neatly folded over the edge of her blanket. Maybe it’s only Abigail’s imagination, but she looks healthier, less pale than usual, an impression that’s only helped by the way her face lights up again as Abigail hands her the pen. There's a notepad on the table beside the bed, and Theresa leans over to reach it.

"What is it?" Abigail asks as she starts scribbling.

"It's a long story," Theresa says, and her silence spells out the unspoken implication: there isn't enough time to explain. "Is your passport still valid?"

Abigail blinks. It's been years since she thought about her passport at all. She'd gotten it in preparation for a holiday to Australia that never materialized. That was before everything; before their father's cancer diagnosis, before the accident. "I'd have to check, but I think so," she replies. "But, why–"

"I need you to fly to Los Angeles, and give this to Daniel."

Another blink. "Come again?"

"I can tell you exactly where to find him," Theresa says, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request.

"Are you out of your head?" Abigail says without thinking, and Theresa looks up from the page for the first time. “You want me to make a bloody pilgrimage all the way to the States, just to see Daniel Faraday? Why in God's name would I do that?”

“You want me to get better, don’t you?" Theresa says, unfazed. "This is how I get better. This is how it all starts." She sketches out some sort of diagram while Abigail watches in stunned silence. “On the twentieth of September, this year, you’ll find him at this address.” She flips the paper over and scribbles something down before resuming her drawing on the other side. “He’ll be sitting outside on the north end of the building. He’s carrying a plastic bag and wearing a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.” She pauses and smiles, like she's laughing at a joke only she can hear. “His right shoe is untied.”

Abigail stares at her, bewildered. Theresa's spent years adrift in the past, but she's never predicted the future before.

"I know it sounds strange," Theresa says, as if reading her mind. "But you have to trust me, okay?" She pauses again, looks up, waits for Abigail to nod once, mechanically, before ripping the paper free of the notepad and handing it over.

She blinks at it, more confused than ever. "What...is it?"

"Daniel will know what it means," Theresa says with certainty.

Abigail is quiet for a long moment. This is absurd. Her sister's mind must be lost, again, somewhere different than usual, and yet...

She meets Theresa's steady gaze. There's an almost unsettling clarity there, a firm sense of conviction and purpose that Abigail hasn't seen since...

Well, since before the accident. Before her sister was taken away from her, by the very man that she's being asked to seek out.

"Be nice to him, okay?" Theresa adds, reading her mind again, and Abigail tries not to flinch. "He's going through a lot."

She laughs at that. "Trying to talk me into it?" She looks up at Theresa again. "Honestly, getting to see that bastard miserable isn't the worst incentive I can think of, if–"

But her sister isn’t looking at her anymore. She’s staring down at the blank paper in her hands, thumbnail picking at the side of the pen like she isn’t sure what to do with it anymore.

Abigail’s heart sinks back into the pit it had only just managed to climb out of. “Theresa?” she says gently. “Are you still with me?”

Her sister turns to her, eyes wide and distant. “I had a bad dream,” she says, in a small, childish voice.

------

“So, what does it mean?”

Daniel shakes his head at Abigail’s question without looking up from the page. Gun to his head, he could never have conjured a mental image of her elegantly scribbled handwriting, but seeing it now in front of him, there's no question that the diagram is definitely Theresa’s handiwork.

Nine neat circles, with labels like Event A, Event B, and so on, all connected within an intricate web of lines, four of them named: real time, space-time, imaginary time, and imaginary space. The rest aren’t labeled at all, but instead denoted by equations, complex formulas with vaguely familiar symbols and constants, concepts that he can’t quite wrap his head around anymore, at least not without a cheat sheet to remind him which letters mean what.

"This is…really advanced stuff,” he says, finally, a laughable understatement. “I mean, this is beyond the scale of anything we ever…”

The most inscrutable pieces of the puzzle are the words scrawled across the top of the page: FISSION CHAIN REACTION. The equations all relate to theoretical physics, not nuclear reactions. How would fission factor into any of it? Unless, somehow, that’s what one of the “events” refers to.

But no, that can’t be right. A fission chain reaction describes an ongoing process; he would never call the day-to-day functions of a nuclear reactor an “event” in space-time. It would have to be a specific instance – some kind of sudden, massive release of energy, something on the scale of Chernobyl, or…

He looks up. “Wait, where are you going?”

Abigail turns back to face him with a sour expression. “I’m going home.”

“But, we–" He gets to his feet with a slight wince. “We’ve gotta figure this out, if Theresa–”

“No, you’ve gotta figure it out,” she corrects. “I did what she asked, and I don’t want anything else to bloody do with you.”

He blinks. “But you– You're not even the least bit curious about-”

He shrinks against the wall when she whirls around to stomp toward him. She stops just short of shoving him, though, like reaching the end of an invisible tether. “I've done what she asked,” she repeats through clenched teeth. “So we're finished.”

And then she storms across the grass to a taxi in the parking lot and disappears without looking back.

------

The SUV is still parked by the hospital’s entrance, and so is Abaddon, who watches Daniel approach with a faintly amused look on his face.

“I’ll need full access to everything you have,” Daniel says. “Every single piece of intel Widmore has about the island.”

“Of course.” Abaddon opens the door for him.

“I’m not finished.” Daniel settles into the backseat and pauses to catch his breath while Abaddon gets behind the wheel. “There's some additional information that I… Things I can’t research on my own. Secrets that only someone with Widmore’s influence might be able to get their hands on.” He fiddles with the seat belt. “I mean, really secret stuff. Classified military operations, that sort of thing.”

“That can be arranged.” Abaddon’s eyes bore holes into Daniel’s forehead from the rearview mirror. “In the meantime, Mr. Faraday, I’m here to take you anywhere you’d like to go.”

“I gathered that.” Across the grass, the city bus he’d intended to board pulls up to the crowded stop. He could still make a run for it, theoretically, provided that his lung doesn’t give out halfway.

Instead, he digs his journal out of his pack and gingerly folds Theresa’s diagram to place it inside, along with the photographs he’d taken from his mother’s office in the church - more fragments of the bigger picture that refuses to fall into place.

He finds Abaddon’s eyes, still watching him expectantly. “Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

------

“So, your girlfriend can see the future?” Hurley says.

Daniel scratches his head. “…Yes?” He’s drowned out by a particularly loud truck speeding past on the nearby highway. “Not exactly,” he says instead once the sound fades. How any of the patients milling around the small green space of Santa Rosa can be unfazed by the constant road noise is beyond him.

Hurley waves away a fly from the half-eaten sandwich on his plate and slides his bishop across the chessboard. "Then, how'd she know where you'd be?"

"It's…hard to explain," he says, for what must be the fifth time since the start of their conversation. "Time doesn't move in a straight line for her, it…” His eyes land on the board game boxes stacked on the other end of the picnic table. “It's like a puzzle, with all the pieces switched around. Even though some of the shapes still fit together, the picture doesn't make any sense. But occasionally, a few of the right pieces match up with each other through pure luck, and you get a glimpse of how it's actually supposed to look."

Hurley stares at him blankly. "Uh…"

He shakes his head. "Essentially, a piece of her mind from sometime in the future happened to link up with her mind in the present. That future version of her was coherent enough to realize what was happening, which means that version of her must have gotten better somehow." He taps the sheet of paper on the table. "That's why she gave me this, so that I could set everything in motion to make that future a reality."

Hurley rubs one eye. "I still don't get what any of this has to do with the island."

Daniel stares at an empty square of the board. "I don't…fully understand it, either," he admits before absently making his next move. "But I know that the island can heal her, and that's reason enough to find a way back. I can figure the rest out later."

"Dude, I'm not sure going back is such a good idea," Hurley says with a frown as he captures the last of Daniel’s pawns. "Plus I'm not even sure how you would do it."

"That's…why I'm here, actually." Dan clears his throat. The DHARMA orientation photo from 1977 is still tucked between the pages of his journal, weighing down his pack like a chunk of radioactive metal. There will be no un-opening that can of worms, so he's saving it as a last resort; if all else fails, he can show it to Hurley as proof that the decision has already been made. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the board and picks a piece at random to move. "I think the key to getting back is you, and Jack, and Kate."

Hurley’s frown deepens. "What makes you think that?"

“It's hard to explain.” Daniel shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Uh, it’s your move.”

Hurley moves his queen. “How do you know the island will fix her in the first place?”

“Because… It’s what fixed me.” He clears his throat again in the uncomfortable silence and moves his knight another three spaces to block the queen’s path. "Before the island, I was… I– I had a condition that was…similar, to what Theresa's been living with."

“But, you weren’t in like a coma or whatever before the island, right?” Hurley guesses, to a hesitant nod from Dan. The queen takes the knight. "So, you must've gotten some better without it, right?"

"Yes, but…" He shakes his head and moves his one remaining rook. "It took years, of…specialists, and EM therapy, and–"

"Did you take her to the same specialists?"

He has to stop himself from saying that he could never have taken Theresa anywhere, not without incurring the wrath of her sister. "The process was…prohibitively expensive," he says, grimacing at how pathetic the excuse sounds.

Hurley doesn't seem to notice, or he doesn't care. "I can pay for it."

"I'm not asking you to do that,” Daniel says, shaking his head automatically.

“Why not?” Hurley leans back in his seat. “I don’t know if you keep up with the news, dude, but I’ve kinda got more money than I know what to do with. Even from in here,” he gestures to their surroundings.

Daniel shakes his head harder. “I really can’t ask you to do that. It’s not– This isn’t your responsibility, and besides, if her sister found out it was my idea, she’d never–”

“So don’t tell her,” Hurley says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Look, all I gotta do is talk to my parents, they talk to the finance guy, finance guy talks to the doctor or lawyer or whoever and then boom, everything’s covered.”

“Hurley–”

“So it’s settled!” Hurley says with a grin, like a gotcha, relief in his voice. “I'm gonna pay for it, and she's gonna get better, and then nobody has to go back to the island.” He looks down at the board, grins even wider, and sweeps his own rook across the board triumphantly. “Check and mate, dude.”

#lost #fanfiction #daniel faraday #abc lost #lost show #a place to call home #the way home

[wherearethekidss]

Statuesque

-F!reader/Saiki

-Yeah my bad guys

-When text is 'read like this' it is a characters thoughts

-When text is "read like this" Saiki is speaking through telepathy

-When text is "read like this" it is just normal speech (teehee)

God... Hi this is the for the people who love the slowest of slowburns...

omg send help by the way I have literally never ever in my life decided to write anything, so if it's ass just idk say it's ass and move on !!!

Female reader, she lowkey depressed but who isn't (plus it's not a huge part of the fic). #iloveallofyou

Also hi it's kind of late while I'm writing, I'll probably write some more in the morning, I've never written before so i don't exactly have a schedule lmaoooo

apologies for the amount of cliches, i'm literally in love with cliches !

Word Count- 1,468

______________________________________________________________

'Sometimes I believe I am different I am different than others...'

'But then I get home and realize I'm just trying to stand out, be 'different' in a sense. Not that I mind it, everyone needs a little delusion in their life. I feel like many are only getting by on delusion. '

As she walks into this school, she can't help but feel as if the walls are closing in. Her mind racing with so many thoughts it's hard to breath. It subsides as she walk into her classroom, taking her usual seat in the back. She drags her hands through her hair, feeling the different strands of hair interlock between each finger. Trying to focus on one thought. 'Why is it quiet?'

Peering around the mostly empty classroom, 'makes sense, I'm here early.'

As she's lost in though she notices someone walk through the doors. 'weird... no one usually comes in before the bell'. He walks in and sits down a few seat ahead of her, he looks visibly annoyed.

'you and me both' she thinks, smiling to herself as she looks back down at her empty desk.

She taps her pen on her desk quietly, careful as to not disturb her classmate who has decided to come in extremely early. She sighs, taking out her notebook and opening it to a blank page. she clicks her pen and begins to write her name and the date. She then blankly stares at the notebook in front of her, asking herself why she even pulled it out in the first place.

She decides to just doodle in the margins. Minutes later, a bell rings and students begin filing into the classroom. She feels a weight on her chest as many students begin taking their seats. 'There goes the peace and quiet...' she smiles at her own sarcastic remark as she watches the students joke and laugh amongst themselves.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ear piercing bell shakes Y/N out of her trance as she realizes class is over. She looks down at her notes and sees the paper still only has the name and the date... and the small drawings in the margins.

'great..' she thinks looking around the classroom as students begin walking out to begin their lunch period. She sighs, beginning to put her things back into her bag. Looking up, the boy from earlier still remains in the class, packing his things up as well.

'Maybe he has the notes...?' She shakes off the thought, not wanting to bother this guy who she hasn't even met before. Instead, she chooses to walk out of the classroom, completely ignoring the fact that she learned nothing in the hour that she spent in her class.

Y/N walks up the stairwell, carrying her bag loosely on her shoulders. Walking carefully, she counts the steps as she walks up. When she reaches the top she opens the door to the school's rooftop and walks out, feeling the brisk air. She takes a deep breath, feeling the chilly air enter her lungs. she walks over to a pillar and sits down beside it, leaning her back up against the side. She takes her lunch out of her bag and begins eating it. She just stares out, looking at the view from her now elevated perspective.

She hears the door the rooftop open. She curiously looks over to investigate the cause of the noise.

They boy from this morning walks out onto the rooftop, looking annoyed. Y/N tilts her head as she sees him walk out.

'is he always so annoyed?' She wonders, looking over at him curiously. Y/N smiles to herself, honestly relating to the stranger and turning back to her lunch, eating it quietly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Returning to her classroom, Y/N finds herself staring off into space again. She tries to focus on what the teacher is saying, but realizes it's pointless, and that she would just figure it out later. Turning her attention to the window, she sees snow falling from the sky, dusting the ground with a soft white covering.

'Fifteen more minutes...' She thinks, looking at the clock.

The bell rings shortly after, signaling the end of the day. Y/N gathers her things quickly, not bothering to waste another second in the classroom.

It's not that she didn't like school, no, well she didn't, but still. She felt as though she could be spending her time elsewhere. Where? You ask? Well she wouldn't really know how to answer that last question.

She smiles as she slings her bag over her shoulders, her eye catching the same boy again. 'What is with me today?' She peers over at him. Some boys are talking to him, he still has an annoyed expression on his face, maybe even more than earlier. Y/N giggles to herself, she wishes him luck, or she would have if she hadn't already hurried out of the classroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Y/N walks through the halls of the building, she is stopped by someone. She takes out one of her headphones and turns to give him more of her attention. It's their class rep, Hairo.

"You're not staying to help rebuild the pillar?" He asks in an almost annoyingly enthusiastic tone. Y/N winces as she hears his volume.

"Oh, yeah... I just uh," She says thinking of a way to possibly avoid it. "I just assumed you had enough people already, I didn't want to get in anyones way" Her lie is good enough, but Hairo looks at her with an enthusiastic smile.

"Nonsense, you wouldn't be in the way, we need all the help we can get!" He speaks in a loud tone, putting a hand on her shoulder and smiling widely. "Besides, we only have one person so far, I'm just going to get more materials" He speaks with such confidence.

Y/N sighs and thinks to herself. She honestly thought more people would have been helping. 'How awkward would it be to be there alone with one of my classmates?' She thinks it over in her head before sighing and agreeing to help. 'I hope this doesn't come to bite me in the ass' She thinks to herself as Hairo thanks her and runs off.

She frowns as he disappears behind a corner. She curses herself and turns around, walking slowly back in the direction of the classroom. She shakes her head, wondering why she ever agreed to help with this.

She walks into the classroom and sees a familiar face sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, reading something quietly. Y/N smiles to herself, 'Wow, what a surprise'.

Unbeknownst to her, her thoughts ring in a certain psychics head. He closes his eyes and pretends not to see her, hoping she will just ignore him too. He doesn't like how often he has been seeing her.

Y/N walks deeper into the classroom, walking over to where the broken pillar lies. She sets down her bag and looks over at the boy.

"So... what are we supposed to do?" She asks quietly, mostly to herself, but hoping to get a reply. She looks up from the pillar over to her classmate.

Saiki sighs to himself, not looking up from his book. "I'm waiting for Hairo to get back."

The boy's voice rings in her mind, startling her a little bit. "oh, alright" She says quietly, looking around the room for a chair to sit in. She decides to sit in one close to a window, putting in her headphones and trying to be patient and wait for Hairo to return with materials. She finds herself zoning out again, looking out the window.

She is snapped back to reality after a while by none other than Saiki. "The sun is setting, I don't think we are permitted to stay much longer" The boy says, Y/N stands up and grabs her things. As they are both about to leave, they hear a crowd of students down the hall. 'What-?'

'What, indeed' Saiki thinks to himself, rolling his eyes as he looks down the halls. He doesn't need to look, of course, already knowing why students are parading down the hall.

"Good god." Y/N says under her breath as she sees her classmates helping Hairo carry a log down the hall to the classroom. "Is it too late to leave?" She asks laughing softly as she nudges Saiki with her arm in a joking manner.

Saiki doesn't respond, but feels himself relate to her way of thinking.

Y/N sighs and just walks back into the classroom, with a defeated aura around her. She sets her things back down and gets ready to help her classmates.

'This isn't so bad' is what she thinks as she begins the work, smiling to herself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#saiki x reader #saiki k #saiki #female reader #fanfic #fandom #the disasterous life of saiki k #saiki kusuo

[heather-ouo]

*Ehem*

Enemies to lovers troupe with Vill V and f!reader, but it's also a villain x amnesiac!heroine 👀

lemme try clearing it, Vill V and Y/N were once childhood friends, due to some accident (let's say a sudden honkai attack) Y/N was hospitalised and forgot some memories including her time with Vill-V and all. Rumors spreads wide and reached Vill-V ears that Y/N is dead (which is a false rumor). And she went Otto mode, like she went the Villain way even tho there's a better option.

And then boom, Vill-V and Y/N met again in a battlefield, Y/N sensing familiarity yet couldn't tell why and Vill-V there looking at Y/N in tears.

and the rest is for you to decide LMAO I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE, literally wrote all of this at 11pm 😭

~ your lesbian neighbor

History repeats itself but different

(Villain! Vill-V x amnesiac! GN! Reader) old era

Do not bring your brain when reading fanfiction because some don't make sense, cuz is fanfics logic.

Warning!: Fluff -> Angst ->Fluff, short scene of dumping dead bodies, no proofread ( this thing make me loss three days of brain cells )

Things to remind

“ name ” -> Vill-V personality

(R/m) -> random name

(C/n) -> code name

——————————————————————————————————

Masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Vill-V stares at the battlefield unfold before her, all thanks to the strange core she found on the other day giving Vill-V the power to control the beast she once was against.

Those grey pink eyes lost its shine on the same day she lost you, letting the kind and friendly Vill-V buried in dust replace with the Villain Vill-V, well looks like our main Vill-V is gone.

Let’s take this camera back in time.

. . .

 . . 

  .

 Year: #### 

“ Villy I knew I would find you here! ” The (h/c) said with a smile when they swung the door open causing one of her creations to drop on the floor and you winced at the sound.

‘ Villy ’ that's the nickname you give her when the two of you first meet.

“ (Y/n)! Open the door gently please! ” Vill-V yells from the deeper part of the room.

Every time you budge into her workplace Vill-V purposely places one of her failed creations beside the door where it will fall off when the door bangs /slams against the wall, Saving her time to unscrew the part, letting it fall apart.

“ Sorry! I will clean it up in no time! ” You yelled back as you grabbed the broom behind the door.

A few minutes after you carry all the parts and dump it in the box full of metal and material goods. 

The (h/c) walk to the working table where Vill-V is busy drawing the draft and you make yourself comfortable sitting on the table.

“ There we go! Now Villy.. ” you grab the pen from her hand followed by Vill-V look at you with a slightly annoying face which you smirk at her reaction every time you take the pen.

“ It’s time to touch some grass! ”  ( and so do you * pointing you all who’s in front of the screen* )

The (h/c) put the pen away and grab Vill-V’s hand only resulting in her gripping on the door frame tightly while you try to pry her off it.

“ Come on Villy! You need some break here and there! ”

“ NOOOO! MY TOOLS! MY CREATIO——-MMM?! ”

Simple way of cutting someone off,

Is by kissing them right on the lips.

“ N-Now sh-hush my dear-est m-magician. ( 〃▽〃) ” Vill-V swore to god she saw steams coming from your head while dragging her away.

I must say.. that kiss is very sweet, did (y/n) eat candies behind my back again? Back in that time I was the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed instead you were red as a tomato while dragging me out…

  .

 . .

. . .

“ Ugh… stay in there rabbit! You can't ruin my show like that! ” 

A Child Vill-V sitting on the grass while trying to stuff a small rabbit in her hat which didn't work out as she let the rabbit jump away.

Her parents were proud when Vill-V showed her liking towards magicians and machinists, they cleaned out a workplace in their backyard for Vill-V which he spent most of her time there.

It was not long before her parents' friends came along with you, entering her life bringing a new shine though her daily life since your parents moved beside Vill-V’s parents house.

An energetic yet a little clumsy person you are.

“ Villy!~ woaaa—-! ” Surprisingly the (h/c) did not see the small rock while skipping their way to Vill-V and tripped on it.

Now we have a human ball rolling down the small hill aiming Vill-V who did not heard you called out for her until she heard someone screaming which found you rolling straight at her.

“ WHAT IN THE—- ”

——

“ So that’s why you two have wounds huh? ” Vill-V’s mother said as she was taking care of the wound of the both of you who crashed into spiky bushes due to the accidents.

“ Im sorry Mrs. V… I wasn’t looking.. ” You apologized to her mother.

“ It’s alright dear, also your parents agreed for you to stay overnight here. ”

“ Really!? ” you suddenly lean over the chair causing you to almost fall over if isn’t for Vill-V to pull your back by your shirt/dress or you would facepalm the ground for the second time.

“ You really need to be more careful (y/n)... ” Vill-V looks at you with a worried face while you chuckle at her words.

. . .

 . . 

  .

In short when the Honkai breakout happened in your city few people survive and that includes you and Vill-V who joined the Firemoths, one become the soldier and other become a machinist due to her ability.

Today was your second mission hunting down a herrscher, all gears are ready and your teammates… were some asshole getting all the credits left you in the dust, currently on the helicopter a few minutes before landing.

“ Let’s get this over.. You need to ask Vill-V out for a date after. ” you mumbled while tightening the parachute for landing and grab the Abyss flower which you have been approved to be the user.

* BOOMMM! *

The sound when thunder strikes the plane and explodes at the same time, the doors are open leaving you with one choice while the helicopter is falling and your teammates are knocked out.

The (h/c) jump out and just before they open the parachute another attack is thrown at them, thanks to the falling speed you were unhurt.

After safely landing you quickly speak to the walkie talkie.

“ This Is (c/n) I have found the herrscher! In (city name) center! My teammates are killed in action! I repeat! A herrscher is sighted in (city name) center! Over! ”

Few minutes of silent before Kevin’s voice beez 

“ This Is Kevin, My teammates and I are near the center, we have found (c/n) teammates and the pilot’s bodies, get yourself cover (c/n), Out. ” 

The (h/c) quickly run into some rundown buildings and start to take care of their wounds from the explosion.

“ This is Dr.Mei, (c/n) do you see what power the herrscher is associated with? Over. ”

“ Is something with purple light just like thunder, over. ” 

Suddenly the building starts to break down due to the herrscher hearing voices and deciding to bury you, now with still having the radio on everyone heard your screaming as you are being buried and the walkie talkie was crushed a few seconds after.

  .

 . . 

. . .

“ Hey hey (r/m), have you heard the news ? ”

“ What news? ” 

“ The news of the sixteenth team was wiped out during the hunt for Herrscher of thunder. ”

“ That? I heard from the thirty sixth team that they heard the screaming of the last member before they died. ” 

“ The teams that were sent out were a little traumatized when they got back. ” When they spotted Vill-V staring at them, they quickly get far away from her workplace.

It’s only been two hours after Kevin and the teams got back, she kept hearing the sixteenth team being wiped out news all over the base while having her head buried in creation and herrscher cores.

Strange..

Very strange 

Usually when you return from your mission, the (h/c) would immediately drag her out of the workplace for some fresh air and ignore her injuries all the time.

Vill-V hates the sinking feeling that gets bigger and bigger as the time passes by. She caught a few people who’s talking about the sixteenth team and asked them what happened.

They give her a sympathetic look before spills about what they know and the last line caught her off.

“ The Sixteenth team…... one of them was named (c/n). ”

“ Are you an idiot? (c/n) is (y/n)! ” The person beside them quickly corrected and Vill-V widened her eyes.

“ Ah yea (c/n) is (y/n), Yea so…..” they turned around to Vill-V who was gone.

Vill-V walks back to her workplace, remembering she secretly hid a life detector in your uniform which she stopped checking after you managed to get back to her every time alive.

She slams the door open and searches every inch of the workplace and finally finds a phone size monitor, 

“ Why is it broken at the worst time?! ” Vill-V grinds her teeth, her patience starts to loosen. 

“ Hey Main, let me try to fix it. ”  “Expert” voice echoing through her mind, right she usually leaves the machine stuff to her so maybe..

——

All the Vill-Vs stare at the monitor not wanting to believe the results it's showing.

Her childhood friend is confirmed dead.

The last detection was four hours ago.. and the detector is marked destroyed.

“ Expert” throws the monitor on the ground in anger, every Vill-Vs feels that they are sinking in an ocean and can’t breathe with regrets eating them up.

Vill-V quickly takes control back and locks the door slowly, leans down and hugs her knees, she feels a lump form in her throat as she slowly breathes in… out.. and in again.

Within a few minutes tears blinding her sight and slid down from her face, looking down a bit Vill-V spotted a dity gold gift box under the table beside, your birthday gift which she forgot to open.

Inside she finds a teddy bear with a mini hat like hers and a birthday letter.

What a fool she is.

. . . 

 . . 

  . 

The blonde girl dumped a few bodies on top piles of dead ones, she cleaned up the blood on her hands before heading back to the new base.

She requested to move to another moth base to help them grow in weaponry stuff which the higher up agreed but before she left Vill-V took some of your personal belongings like clothes you frequently wear and your hair brush.

“Mad” carefully extract the DNA from the clothes and you know the rest, none of them works nor having a conscious.

“Mad” was the previous Vill-V. She jailed other Vill-Vs except “ Pride” and “Expert ”.

( Pride was the one In ER that tries to trap Mei in her conscious in chapter 31 i think .. or is it 30? )

——

Turning our attention to you

——

The (h/c) woke up to see white clean ceiling yet they had a strange urge to get up from the bed and ran off to somewhere.

You held out your hand in the air and the bandages caught you off, they don’t remember being injured or something, curiously you sit up and unwrap the bandages to find scars all over it.

“ (Y/n)….” You look over to see a purple haired woman wearing a lab coat followed by a whited haired male who seems to want to place a hand on the purple haired shoulder but quickly pulls back.

“ It’s no use Mei.. ”

Suddenly a transporter who’s carrying a large amount of concrete into the training room brake hard causing all to fall on the floor.

The sound brings you back to some run down building when it suddenly crumbles burying you alive and you saw purple lighting.

Right… you were on a mission and what..?

‘ (Y/n)! Look at me! ” the scene around you changes to normal with Mei shaking your shoulder.

“ waaaaa….. st..op…sha…king mmeeeee! ” You grab her hands.

“ Sorry.. you’ve been staring blankly at the window for six minutes and I got a little worried. ” 

“ Ha ha very funny to shake me like that. ” Forget about the problem in your hand, the trio went out for some food.

You sighed as you walked In the hallway of gods knows where but when you pass by a workplace the strange yet familiar feeling makes you open the door to find no one but some metal and machine parts.

‘ Weird..’ you thought to yourself as you closed the door and continued wondering your way to the cafe.

Little do you know, that workplace belongs to Vill-V.

. . . 

 . . 

  .

Back to the battlefield.

Honkai beasts fight against the Firemoths as they try to make their way to the new base where “ Mad ” falsely reported being taken over and trapped.

The beasts over number the remaining humans thought they are winning the battle but it was not until a familiar voice shouted through the battle.

“ I am the black that devours everything! ” “Mad” scans through the crowd to find the owner of the voice.

“ I am the white that gave birth to everything! ” The (h/c) rise the Abyss flower above their head, the silver parts reflected the sun giving a shine which caught “ Mad ” attention instantly.

“ Before the birth of the world, I existed after the annihilation! ” She can’t believe it… You are alive!

“ Abyss flower second edition! BANISH BLOOM! ” Right you finish a white flash blinding the battle.

After the light dies down a large number of Honkai were wiped out leaving few higher class alive and you one knee kneeling on the ground burned out using the abyss flower.

Vill-V chuckled as tears fell from her face, she turned her back to the battle and walked back to the base then she went to the workplace destroying every little evidence of her trying to bring you back alive.

Before she puts on her act, all the honkai beasts are everywhere in the base and the herrscher that’s once in her control has broken free to start destroying the base.

Vill-V leans on the door and a smile forms on her face while tears fall down.

What a fool is she to believe some shitty rumours, but at least she gets to see you again.

——————————————————————————————————

Masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Friendly warning: don’t start a rumour unless you are getting something from it. :)

#Ouo’s request #Ouo’s ask #Ouo and moots #honkai impact #honkai fanfics #honkai x reader #honkai impact x reader #Vill-V x reader #Villain! Vill-V #Amnesia! Reader

[moonstrider9904]

Pairing: Savage Opress x Fem!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Explicit sexual content. 18+. Overstimulation, squirting, unprotected vaginal sex (please wear protection irl), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, female oral receiving.

This prompt and pairing was a request!

Word count: 945

Kinktober Day 15: Overstimulation

prompt list used | @the-purity-pen | kinktober masterlist | main masterlist | join my kinktober taglist |

You already couldn’t fully make out the details of your own ceiling anymore, and you’d lost count of the amount of times your body had squirmed and writhed onto your bed. You could make sense of Savage’s hands surrounding the unions of your legs with your hips, an effort of his to keep you from wiggling too much, something you’d unconsciously done the longer he spent between your legs.

Your pussy felt wet and raw, your flesh overridden with waves of sparks as Savage continued flicking his tongue over your clit, switching expertly between fast and slow, smaller and broader strokes. Your eyes rolled back and your back arched once more as another orgasm mounted with the rest, and your hips trembled in Savage’s firm grip, your moans softening as you succumbed to an almost mindless state of bliss. 

Despite hardly being able to think anymore, your hand snaked down and you eased your fingers through his horns, pressing Savage harder towards your clit, unwilling to have him stop now.

You felt his lips form a crescent against your flesh before he emerged, his striking gaze looking up at you. “Have you not yet had enough, little one?”

Grinning, you shook your head. “I still need you.”

He gave you another smirk, one you didn’t see, and he dove back into your cunt, feasting on you all over again without a thought of holding back. You moaned out loud with your head pressing back onto your bed, your free hand fisting the bedsheet while you kept pressing Savage into your flesh for more of that sweet heat. Every groan and purr that he gave made you whimper; a beautiful compliment to his already luscious love-making to your pussylips.

Savage wouldn’t dream of keeping you there, aching and still thirsting for more, and as you squirmed in his grip, he slid two of his long, strong fingers inside you and curved them inside your walls, reaching that sweet, forbidden spot. You would dare say he did so perfectly; your body grinded into the mattress and your hips lightly fucked his face as he continued, and the pleasure made you rise, propped on your forearms as you moaned in disbelief of the ecstasy.

By the time you reached your next orgasm, you were screaming. You felt the intense waves pouring themselves inside your walls and on your clit, your body secured only by Savage’s strong hands on you. As your vision went by, you felt a quick, sharp sensation of sheer lust and pleasure pool and release in your pelvis, and you felt your wetness squirting out of you, splashing on his face and drawing a ravenous growl from him. 

Savage took it as his cue to pause, and with a lustful grin, yet tinted with adoration, he looked at you splattered on the bed with your chest heaving up and down.

“Why…” You sighed. “Why have you stopped?”

Savage gave a low laugh. “You really are hungry, little one.”

You gathered enough strength to look up at him, your vision focusing on his features. “Savage?”

“Yes?” His eyes softened a bit as they expected your answer.

But, though you were tired, you grinned at him with passion. “I need you to fuck me.”

Savage laughed. “Do not make a request you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” you said, reaching out for his wrist and pulling him towards you as your features grew desperate. “Please… I need you inside me…”

As you pulled him even closer to you, Savage positioned himself above you. His hand delicately cupped your cheek, holding you like his greatest treasure, while between your legs, he began to slide himself down your entrance. You knew never to underestimate his size; the fullness he could grant you was incomparable to anything or anyone else. Softly, your moaning turned into whimpering, finally feeling the impact of every orgasm he’d given you.

Slowly, Savage began to thrust into you. His lips found yours, capturing you in a tender kiss that matched his pace; in your current state, he wouldn’t need greater speed to make you see stars. He felt as your arms went around his back, your fingers tracing the markings on his skin so delicately it made him smile into you. 

You finally willed your eyes open, gazing into Savage’s beautiful irises briefly before your gaze had to roll back again. Gentle as he was being, you were on another level you’d never known before, writhing at what would be considered merely the beginning by Savage’s standards. 

Pulling apart from the kiss, you bit your lower lip, sighing, a sight you knew would make Savage crave more. You knew you’d been successful when he thrust faster into you, showing only a fraction of his strength yet making the poor bed creak underneath you, its headboard bumping the wall in tandem with his rhythm. Your moans grew louder until you whined and mewled, needy for more despite having already reached your limit when your walls clenched around Savage’s hard length.

You gave out shortly after that, your body falling limp onto the mattress. You could make out the sound of Savage’s soft laughter in the background, hazy as if it belonged in a dream, and soon, you longed for the fullness between your legs. You reached your hand out, hoping to touch him, to convince him to give you more.

Instead, you felt Savage helping you sit up on the bed, later shifting your position for you to be more relaxed.

“Let me look after you now,” he spoke into your ear before softly kissing you on the temple, even though you were already halfway through falling asleep.

#moon's 2022 kinktober #moonstrider writes #savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage opress x reader smut #savage opress smut #tcw smut #star wars smut

[morgansmornings]

SHIPPING INFO /

/ Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

REPOST. Don’t reblog.

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

@brooklynislandgirl While I have gone on to the point of endless circles about how Jayden loves Beth. It is more than a love of being friends. There is such a deep connection, may be not soul-mate status, but close enough that if it were true, then I would have no reason to argue against it. They are a close as they can get as friends, as family, and more. Beth and Jay were created, on paper with pens and pencils, sticky notes and yarn to connect the dots. Looking a lot like a conspiracy board to outsiders. But Turtle and I spent a solid six months, if not more, working out details of the girls' lives and how they fit together with each other. Across different verse and timelines. How they know that the other will be there when all hope is lost and there is nothing left but each other.

All of my ships are near and dear to me. To know that there are those out there that are putting in the time and effort like I am to make the Ship, no matter what shape it takes, to work. I can't give specifics as to why one is greater than another when the reality is that I see them all as stars in my night sky of written words.

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

It would be easier to state what I will not write when it comes to shipping. Meaning I will NOT write things like Non-Con, Age Play, Daddy/Mommy Kinks and closely related themes to the listed ones. I refuse for many reasons that do not need explanation further than I'm just not going to do it.

The Following are Available if the Muns are friends for at least Six Months and are consenting to: Dub-Con could only come up as a suggested plot if I have written with you over a regular basis and that we talk near constant OOC. Toxic and Negative Ships can be brought up provided that we the Muns have a healthy understanding and plot it out over several weeks.

Sex and BDSM topics can be talked about after two months of OOC of conversation. Or if we the Muns feel comfortable enough with each other to talk about such things. But that is a preference of mine.

That being said, I am open to most types of shipping from romantic, to friendship, to familial, and even frenemies. With the clear statement being that, and let me say it loudly for those in the back of the auditorium, COMMUNICATION IS KEY!

For me to be able to write out certain things, I need to know where my partner is at. I will check in with them at every reply, ask questions to the point it might feel like an interrogation to the outside the thread. If it becomes clear that the ship is starting to harm or make my RP Partner uncomfortable, I need them to be honest with me and I will terminate that specific ship and all threads relating to it.

I am not here to get my jollies at the risk of my partner's; mental, emotional, and physical health. Nothing is worth hurting another human being for.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Age gaps do not really bother me so long as again, We Communicate. I do prefer the Muse in question to be over 21 as I am not going to even pretend to enter the Underage thing. It honestly creeps me out now that I am older in real life. I get a few years, but after they are approaching being about five years younger than Jay is where I draw a hard line.

Are you selective when shipping?

I have to say that I am to a certain point. I like the semi-realism of watching Muses meet, grow and interact. Seeing that relationship develop and blossom gives the Ship a certain fondness for me. Something I can look back on and go "Yeah, that was the moment it became something real." I have stated that I am a slow-burn kind of girl, but that doesn't mean we can't plot the past and jump into an established friendship.

I am open to figuring out pre-established romantic relationships, so long as it is not fresh following each other. I need to know you a bit more than a name and a "hey baby, how you doin'" if that's okay.

I will be honest, unless I have known the Mun for a spell and it is something that we have plotted for, Jayden is not going to just drop her panties and say please within the first ten minutes. That is something that I don't feel right about as I think it betrays who she is as a person. Yes, she is an OC of canon characters from a show. But she is more than her parents. She belongs to no one, except maybe Beth and even then Jay does not always listen. She can make her own choices.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

Personally, I like to stick to T.V. standards. If it would be considered rate R, then of course I am going to tag it as such. But for me, I like to take it somewhere more private if the Scene goes to Third Base. Mostly because A) I do not have a lot of experience with writing for the public, and B) It takes days if not weeks to make sure that I am follow where my fellow Mun wants to take things.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

I have several ships that I will go down with. But I understand that life happens. To list them all would keep us here for several hours. And even then I would feel like it wouldn't do the Ships justice. Because I love them all in different ways.

For those standing Ships, it takes a weight off my soul to know that my mutual Muns have taken the time to chip away the near indestructible wall of Jayden's exterior personality to get to that soft gooey center. That they can see she has flaws and still choose to love her on purpose. No matter what that love is.

Does one have to ask to ship with you?,

Don't get me wrong, I would like a head's up that it is something you, the Mun asking, is interested in. If it happens by accident, that is awesome. I'll be fair and honest, unlike my Muse, I am in real life oblivious to people flirting and the associated actions. So if you are subtle about it, I won't see it. And my goal is to not intentionally hurt someone because I was "Madam Not Getting the Hint."

And if I am asked, then I have a better grasp of what direction we want these stories to go. And yes it will change how my Muse interacts with yours.

How often do you like to ship?

I am not looking to force anyone into anything. As it has been a very large Issue in the RPC. Only getting followed for sex and nothing else just isn't my cup of tea. Not to say that you can't do that, I'm just respectfully bowing out of that.

I want us to know each other, to be able to be friends before putting a label on what our Muses are. But I would like to hope that our Muses could have at least and "I tolerate you" and "I would save you from being on fire" kind of ship.

Are you multiship?

I am. Each ship is in their own bubble pocket universes and timelines. Think of them as Pants of Time. There are two choices, and each one taken changes that timeline differently.

That is not to say that I can't enjoy watching other relationships come into being. Even if there are multiple crossover verses with several Muns, UNLESS TALKED ABOUT BEFORE HAND, there is very little butting into someone else's relationships. There is no "Oh my God, Becky you're dating my man! How Dare?!" Honestly cheating plots are not something I am all that interested in? But that is just me.

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

I mean, kind of More or Less. If one happens I am here for it. But even if one never comes up, that is okay too! Sometimes you just see Bob Joe at the park when you walk your dog and exchange a "Still breathing?" in passing.

I have had a standing Mutual that at first our Muses would just annoy the shit out of each other for like a year's worth of multiple threads. And we as Muns were fucking tickled pink by it. To this day I am not sure if He considers Jayden His friend or that woman the bane of His existence. I am looking at you my feathered friend.

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

I have so many that it is silly and that there is very little time to explain them and why I will die on their respective hills.

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Talk to me. Be honest with what you want to see and I will do my damn best to make it happen for you. I sadly cannot read minds from my desk chair. SO in order for us to write something we are both enjoying, I need to have a head start and a map to get to the right path we want to take our stories into.

Tagged by: @brooklynislandgirl

Tagging: Look over there. It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a Meme you are now tagged in!

#More Memes for the Meme Gods | Meme #About the Stoat of Sarcasm l Mun Things #OOC | Notes from the Stoat

[whumpster-fire]

The funniest, and most annoying (to Mr. Underwood) thing that could have happened during the "Demons are very wicked" lesson is if Nathaniel put on the spectacles and accidentally called his master's bluff because his brain went into "small child who does not know the meaning of fear" mode. If he was like "oh, it was scary when I didn't know what was happening but this is just a room full of funky little guys. One of them knocked the jar of pens over like a cat. Someone laughed at me for touching the hot spectacle case. They cannot sit still or stop elbowing each other" and could not take this seriously as threatening. And then figured out that his master obviously put them there so they wouldn't really hurt him. And did something Underwood was completely not expecting. Like ask them what they were ordered to do. Or even funnier, if he just reached out and picked up an imp at random and walked out of the room with it, and all the others were too busy making fun of the victim to stop him, and then they were ordered to remain in the room so they didn't leave it voluntarily.

Imagine Arthur Underwood's fucking face if his apprentice walked in just holding a confused and annoyed-looking imp up like a cat. Or if he was like: "It's been awfully quiet in there, I wonder if the brat actually died of fright," and opens the door to find his six-year-old apprentice sitting there practically buried in small demons, completely unperturbed. Imagine the old prick standing there in utter shock for like thirty seconds with his eyebrows making a bid for freedom while it slowly dawns on him that his exact orders were "when the small boy enters the room, shut the door on him and subtlely frighten him until he puts the spectacles on, then fall upon him and prevent him from leaving, but do not actually inflict injuries." (because he had an hour-long argument with his wife on why this was an appropriate method of teaching a six-year-old based primarily on "My old master did it to me and I turned out fine!" and compromised on not leaving actual scars").

Arthur Underwood, noted cowardly prick who has no empathy for a five-year-old being separated from his parents, and has taken great pains to avoid learning anything about child psychology or interacting with the child in his care more than the bare minimum as a matter of principle, was terrified by demons from his earliest memory, and copied the tactic that had worked on him as a boy, just assuming that the realization that there'd been things in the room with him for the last five minutes that had teeth and tentacles would be enough to cause a lifetime of trauma, and assuming that the imps he'd spent all morning summoning (in his greatest expenditure of magical power in a decade, and an exhausting and draining ordeal for him) would "act according to their nature" and carefully wording his orders to limit what they could do to Nathaniel. It never occurred to him that a six-year-old might react to the room full of imps with curiosity (guess who never so much as glanced at the kid's drawings, never set foot in the kitchen and saw the refrigerator covered in surprisingly good and imaginative sketches of things with lots of eyes and wings and claws), or that the unsophisticated demons he'd summoned would take advantage of a loophole to be less cruel (not that there wasn't vigorous debate on this before Nathaniel entered the room, and most of them were undecided between "piss off our master and undercut his attempt to train a magician to be careful in the future" and "not waste a chance to have a future magician under our power for once," but having someone who could see them not treat them with fear and loathing was such a shock that just about everyone lost their nerve).

The magnitude of his fuckup slowly dawns on him when he realizes that the demon that was giving him the whole "YOUR MOTHER SUCKS FAT COCKS IN HELL" shpiel when he summoned it is allowing the boy to scratch behind its ears (and also flipping off its buddy who's laughing at it behind Nathaniel's back). There is no way of salvaging this Teachable Moment. He cannot order the imps to attack now without shattering the illusion that he isn't the one intentionally harming his pupil and violating his trust. Naturally he dismisses the imps and takes out his frustration on Nathaniel for disobeying and not listening, then seethes over it for months. Somehow he has a feeling the lecture on how the demons were just luring him into a false sense of security wasn't quite as effective.

Three years later, the first time he lets Nathaniel observe a summoning he fucks up Nathaniel's pentacle on purpose and summons a minor demon that can't actually kill him. This does have the desired effect of horribly traumatizing the kid, but unfortunately Nathaniel doesn't believe him when he explains how he did it on purpose to demonstrate what even the slightest mistake can do to you, and Nathaniel thinks Underwood is just a shit magician who tried to pass off his incompetence as "teaching a lesson" and for the rest of his tutelage Nathaniel obsessively researches pentacles and summoning incantations and triple-checks everything his master draws "to develop good habits for when he does it himself." Arthur Underwood pats himself on the back for instilling the lesson well and is blissfully unaware that his apprentice had lost all respect for him and doesn't trust him to do a basic summoning correctly.

#bartseq #nathaniel (bartseq) #based on 6yo me being fascinated by fucked up looking creatures #and picking up bugs I probably shouldn't have picked up and showing them to my family #fictional child abuse tw #arthur underwood being delusional about his competence as a teacher

[narbevoguel]

Hello guys. It's been a while since I made a post like this, but today I wanted to talk about my art. I haven't posted something proper in forever, and to say I haven't spent this entire time at least doodling a thing or two would be a lie, but there's a reason why I haven't been posting much and just keeping my art semi private, or multiple, let me explain (I'll have a TLDR at the end if you don't wanna bother with this, but written awfully):

First, I believe you guys deserve more than some stupid sketches. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy sketching, aesthetic aside, drawing multiple sketches a day is how I pushed myself to experiment new things and just get better overall, plus I draw them fast, so I could pull a bunch of sketches in the time it takes me to color just one, so I could spill one silly idea after the other. I don't know why or exactly when I started to feel like this is just not worth it for you guys, that you deserve more from me than what I put out, that maybe I disappoint you immensely. This isn't even about reach, I don't care about that, this is about me showing something worth to see.

Second, is how I chose to spend my time. Last year was a very busy year for me overall, my job became increasingly demanding at times, lotsa personal issues that stressed me out immensely, which resulted in me using my remaining free time doing other activities, including spending time with people I shouldn't have been so permissive with (except my gang, that's why I made it a New Year's Resolution to annoy you guys more, you know who you are), it became a thing where I was even afraid to say no to them in favor of my art or other me-activities in fear of them taking it the wrong way, which, in a weird way, ended up happening anyway and resulted in long term passive aggressive conflict, and well, all of this negativity and then some, especially combined, made me reluctant to pick my pen up most of the time, which leads me to my next point.

Third, not drawing as often made me lose my momentum considerably. I could draw stuff comfortably without much artblock, if at all, or something I thought looked ugly. It just came out naturally, sometimes without even using references, it was crazy, but I feel I lost that momentum; don't get me wrong, I don't think my art looks worse than before, far from it, I did a comparison a couple of days ago and I noticed that despite all these issues, I have indeed improved a lot, thing is, I still feel it doesn't look good, I can't seem to know where I want to go with it, or what I want it to look like, I have no idea how to describe this feeling of "I hate immensely what I've been doing", maybe I'm beating myself up too hard and this is a result of not sharing anything with you guys, but I want to be comfortable with the characters I always draw before I bring them out again (although for some reason Purah's perfection always makes my doodling easier, she has become my ultimate comfort character it seems, hah).

All that said, I want to change things this time. I'm not sure if I'll post more like I did before, or if I'll post less than I used to, but I want to post things again. Maybe won't start soon, but will definitely do it. I've even been stocking up on traditional materials to pick the pen back up in other ways as well (haven't done this since my college days, so I'm a bit excited), I don't want to make promises I can't keep (you guys know I'm terrible with keeping up with stuff lol), but I will try my hardest to post more finished pictures and less sketches. It might result in me posting less art and/or jokes as before, but we'll see where that leads me. I'm still not sure if I'll continue to keep the sketches to myself or not, but one step at a time, step one is to just stop beating myself up, turns out my negativity knows how to throw hands. If you read ALL to this point, my most sincere thanks, I know it isn't easy to put up with my crap, and if you didn't it's fine, I still love you, in fact, I'll sum it up for you below.

TLDR: I'm a stupid piece of crap that didn't know how to manage my free time which resulted in me developing a very serious case of imposter syndrome and I'm throwing hands back in hopes, no, in expectancy of walking out of it a victor, for my sake, and for you guys as well.

Anyway, thanks for reading, short or long version, and remember, a Purah a day, keeps uh, the heart happy and brain mushy, or something like that.

#long rant #random ramble #I don't know why I wanted to say all of this #I just did #I couldn't contain it #It's like word vomit #It just came out like bluaghgahgaghahg #I'm sorry guys #I love Purah

[yayforocs]

3. What ideas come from when you were little.

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated.

3. Hmmm. I guess the closest thing is like when i First Got Interested In Drawing was middle school, and that was bc my friend @/asphyxiaorange was (still is, too) a really good artist, and i wanted to draw like her! so her art was my first inspiration :V

22. hahahaahahaha i. do not. :') and i probably should.

30. hM okok ok lemme look

ok so i'm not like- hm. i'm not really sure actually :0 i know there was an old undertale piece that i spent hours on and was disappointed with the reception it got when i posted it, but my brother really liked it so that kinda balances that out.

-looking back at the post tho like honestly?? i did get quite a bit of activity on it?? so idk why i thought it did poorly, maybe i just had it in my head that i'd post about The Popular Thing and then i'd Be Popular and was disappointed when it didn't happen dslkgj

i was also looking for like anything that i might not have liked all that much when i posted it but looking back on it appreciate it now, and i'm kinda fallin short on that- there was only ever one piece i really didn't like, and i deleted it entirely from everything so i literally cannot look back on it.

...unless adorkable reblogged it before i deleted it actually holdon

SHE DID. I.

ok yeah no i agree with my past self this isn't great art compared to what i was usually putting out at the time bUT STILL. a lost piece of art, wow. (it's the first pic) (i'm losing my mind i genuinely thought i'd never see this again)

-i know there was a purple guy pic that i'd done like circa 2015 that i was really hecking proud of and happy with but it was for a specific au so only one person got it really, and i was kinda sad abt that. looking at it now, like i can definitely like. the composition is rly good imo, and while i wasn't able to pull it off all that well at the time (the only two brushes i used then were the pen and airbrush) i can defo see the idea. i think if i redid it now it'd look wayyy better- but that one is kinda underrated imo.

ANYWAYS LONG ANSWER FOR THAT LAST ONE BUT YE TY!!

#ask answered #about me #tagging this with characters so i can find that art later #douglas coresilence #avery julia #jesse #robin

[chazakiel-doremi]

Far Off Unhappy Things 1: Hyacinth By Renko Doremi Rodenburg

“What even is a fox?” Reinhild asked Hyacinth, beautiful Hyacinth.

“Hm,” Hyacinth said, looking up from her book. They sat on the porch of Hyacinth’s house, her little wooden cottage, her farmstead. It took her a while to process things, especially when roused from some activity she was engrossed in.

“Oh,” she then said as Reinhild her question reached her. “One of those things trickling in from that other place. Stories. Things. Concepts. A fox is an animal. It tricks men and pulls clever pranks on women, bright red or orange is its fur.”

“That explains it then,” Reinhild said as she ruffled her own red hair, almost but not quite the same colour as the heath growing all around the Lands Lost, subtly different from the colouring of the perpetually-trapped-in-autumn trees. “How do those in the villages know what a fox is, though?”

“They don’t. You’re the fox now.”

“I’m the fox now,” Reinhild whispered to herself. “Should I get some more pomace inside?”

“Hm,” Hyacinth muttered, already engrossed in her book again. ‘Slaves to the Blind Gods,’ it read on the cover. Knowing her, it was either the most peculiar smut or some essay on Old World horrors. Both would probably drive Reinhild mad, but for quite different reasons.

She got up and went inside. Hyacinth her house wasn’t large, but really- nobody’s was these days. In the kitchen she had a couple of bottles of pumpkin pomace, an alcoholic drink distilled from squashed up, ground up pumpkin meat. Someone in a nearby town made it out of pumpkins Hyacinth grew in patches on her farm. Back outside she poured herself another glass, and filled up Hyacinth’s half-empty glass as well.

Tonight was quiet and peaceful, tomorrow would not be.

The sun slowly sank under the horizon. Before long it’d be too dark for Hyacinth to read, and she’d pace around the house for a bit, frustrated that it was too dark to do anything, before finally going to sleep. It was getting late for Reinhild too. There weren’t too many hours of darkness, so she got up and prepared to go to sleep. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a bed, though. Instead she sat upright against the south wall of Hyacinth’s house, so that the first rays of the sun would hit her left cheek first. She closed her eyes and felt around for the comfort of her door, an open book in hand.

It was the next morning indeed the sunlight that woke her up, so she relaxed her grip on Helmatot and got up. Hyacinth was already up as well, pacing back and forth before her door, an open book in hand.

“Restless much?” Reinhild asked.

“I cannot read or sit still when there’s a solid chance I’ll be burying you this afternoon.” Hyacinth replied.

“You won’t,” Reinhild said, laughing. “You’re going to draw runes on my sword arm and a sigil on my back, and in the afternoon you’re going to hold me as the pact enacts its toll on my body. No burying anyone.”

“Do not taunt me,” Hyacinth said.

“I’m not.”

“What do you want for breakfast?” Hyacinth asked. “We’re out of everything except for something salt, something that passes for meat.”

Reinhild thought for a bit, looking at Hyacinth. “Why don’t we do the runes now, then go eat something in town? We need to go in the direction of the forest anyway.”

“I will not,” Hyacinth said.

“Come on, accompany me to town for once.”

“No. I’m going to make you a plate of food, then we’ll do the runes.”

Reinhild sighed. “Alright, have it your way.”

The food was indeed salty, and somewhat resembling meat. It went down well with the remains of yesterday’s bottle of alcohol, though. After breakfast- which was spent in silence with Hyacinth absent-mindedly flipping through the pages of a book- Hyacinth started preparing her brushes, pencils, pen and a variety of inks.

“Go wash yourself,” she instructed Reinhild.

“I’m not that filthy-” Reinhild tried to say but was interrupted by her friend.

“You are. Go to the brook and clean yourself. Grab some things to scrub and dry yourself with from my room.”

“Fine,” she said.

The brook was downhill, right behind Hyacinth’s house.

“Eternal Autumn,” Reinhild cursed as she splashed water over her skin and scrubbed it clean with sheets of fabric, the cold biting into her flesh. As she looked out over the tiny stream, the little wooden bridge someone had built there ages ago, and the endless rolling hills covered in orange, brown, yellow and mottled with green and purple, it was almost a scene from a fairytale.

“Shame for the endless fucking cold though,” she muttered to herself.

Clean- or at least, clean enough that she suspected that Hyacinth would stop complaining, she dried herself off, put on her clothes and leather and went back to the house. There, Hyacinth had shoved most of her belongings to the side, and sat cross-legged in the clearing, her tools beside her. Small candles burned in a circle before her.

“And I thought you ran out of candles long ago,” Reinhild said.

“I have run out of candles to waste on frivolous things like reading, or entertaining your simple mind with the gentle swaying of flame,” Hyacinth said.

“I think I’ll go back to the brook,” she replied.

“Sit down, take off your shirt and be quiet.”

She did. In total silence, dreadful silence that reminded her of vague things that had already happened and of things yet to pass, Reinhild took off her shirt and sat down in the circle of candles before Hyacinth.

Soft tinkling- the mixing of paint, wooden tools tapping against glass and metal pencils being filled broke the quiet that had persisted too long. She shivered as Hyacinth put a sharp, cold shape against her back and slowly drew a circle.

“Don’t move,” Hyacinth whispered.

First a circle, then patterns too complex for Reinhild to track by sense of touch alone. As Hyacinth drew, she felt a chill draw into her body. A chill different from the witch’s demeanour, or the biting of the brook or wind. It was the chill of the dead, stiffening her flesh and hardening her skin. Behind her, Hyacinth started muttering words, poems, to quiet the chthonian spirits the sigil was drawing into Reinhild’s body, so that they would not tear the skin or break her bones.

As the thaumaturgical rigor mortis set in, Reinhild lost most feelings in her flesh and skin.

“Arm,” Hyacinth commanded her when she was done, and placed her hand under her shoulder, nudging her to lift her right arm. “Turn around and give me your arm,” she said, not satisfied.

Hesitant, Reinhild turned around, and Hyacinth grabbed her right arm and immediately started etching the outlines of the runes with a wooden- yet sharp- knife. She was not at all interested in Reinhild’s body.

Her skin cold and hard, what Hyacinth was doing wasn’t really cutting. It was more carving, woodwork rather than surgery. After setting the patterns, she took out brushes and paints. As she inked in the runes she had carved in Reinhild’s tough flesh, a heat started to fill her right arm. As Hyacinth filled them up, the cracks and cuts in Reinhild’s arm started to glow with heat. As she set the final dots of blue paint next to a set of red and yellow, it was overwhelming. Reinhild her arm burned with energy, vigour, and life. Fire leaked from the cracks, lighting up the runic patterns.

“Do you need help putting on your armour?”

“No.”

She struggled to put her armour on. The pieces wouldn’t sit still, it wouldn’t move as fluidly as she wanted, and the straps were too tight and too large. The world was warping and buckling under some kind of strain, and her head hurt with a fever. Colours made no sense and the heath outside might as well have been some construction of endlessly towering painted rolling flames in all the poet’s colours.

“Reinhild,” Hyacinth said to her as she stumbled outside. “Rein? Keep it together.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Words felt thick on her tongue, as if she was coughing up sludge instead of sounds. “My heart’s stopped so walking is difficult.”

Hyacinth shook her head, and dragged her along the long, winding path to the edge of the forest.

Every now and then Reinhild would get frantic bursts of energy, and feel like sprinting the rest of the way, but Hyacinth calmed her down. “Not yet, not yet,” she’d say. Almost completely delirious, Reinhild walked after her friend. The once familiar landscape had warped into an almost unrecognisable cacophony of colour, smell, sensation, all somehow too loud and too bright at the same time. After what felt like a week, an endless week of walking along the blasted heath and dusty trails they reached the edge of the forest.

“Don’t go running off into the forest,” Hyacinth said as they walked along the treeline towards a ruined building.

She was right. Reinhild had been eyeing the forest that marked the border of the Lands. Now, delusional from spells and magic, the forest seemed like an enticing wildernis to get lost in. Get lost in the green, brown and black- crawl on all four, rip out the throat of a boar- “Rein,” Hyacinth said as she saw her salivating, hunched over and growling. “We’re almost there. Hang on for a moment more.”

The stone building had once been an abbey, or perhaps a dormitory for some other place now long lost. They walked in through a crumbled gash in the wall. Inside, on the courtyard, two people were waiting for them.

One was dressed in black, with elfin features like Hyacinth. The other was a young man, in chainmail and colourful cloth. In his hands he gripped a sword- a rapier, more fit for thrusting than slashing, more fit for puncturing than stabbing.

Instinctively, Reinhild reached for her own blade, the shortsword Helmatot. “Not yet,” Hyacinth chided her.

As the young man looked Reinhild over, he became visibly anxious. Afraid. Fear wafted over from him thick in the air, and Reinhild gave in.

“Reinhild,” Hyacinth said sternly but to no avail.

She was already sprinting towards him as she drew her sword. For whatever reason the young man responded by stumbling backwards, which set Reinhild off even more. Gripped tightly in her now burning, blazing, right arm she held Helmatot, and swung it at her opponent hard.

He tried to deflect, but his rapier wasn’t made for that. The thin metal bent the moment the shortsword hit it, leaving it in a borderline unusable condition, and barely slowing down Reinhild’s blow, causing her to hit him hard enough in the sides that he buckled over in pain. His chainmail prevented the sword from cutting him, but that was all it did. Reinhild immediately swung again, but in her dissociative state she wasn’t as skilled as she’d be sober, and cleaved open the man’s skull. The women who had come with him screamed a name.

She howled in victory and dropped on all fours, crawling over to the broken corpse. She tried to get to her opponents soft bits, tender flesh and warm blood, but was frustrated by the armour and cloths in her way, and yelled in frustration.

“Reinhild,” she heard someone call, far in the distance. Someone she knew, perhaps. It didn’t matter. “Reinhild,” she heard someone scream as she finally managed to rip the annoying, interlinked metal rings asunder and sank her teeth into soft flesh. It was sweet, and despite it being rather lean and chewy, had more taste and texture than any preserved meats she had had in recent memory. Plenty of blood flowed from the grisly chunks she tore from whatever it was the flesh belonged to, salty and with a lingering taste of iron. Slowly her mind calmed, lulled to sleep by sweet victory and good food, and she cuddled up to mangled meat and broken armour, and drifted off into sleep.

When she woke up, the sun was setting. She was outside somewhere, and struggled to make sense of her situation.

Slowly but surely, hazy images of a stone ruin and rolling fields came back to her. She was sitting against one of the walls of that ruin, she realised.

“You’ve woken up,” someone beside her said. Hyacinth, beautiful Hyacinth.

“I feel terrible,” Reinhild said.

“You should see the other guy,” Hyacinth said.

“I feel broken. Dehydrated, too. Like my entire body is made of parched leather. My right arm- indescribable.”

“Did I win?”

“You’re still alive. For now. Scattered through the courtyard are the remains of Fleur’s champion.”

“That’s-” she didn’t finish her sentence.

“At least that’s going to make my night easier,” Hyacinth said.

“Why’s that,” Reinhild asked, but then remembered the taste of flesh and tang of blood fresh on her tongue. “Oh,” she said.

“Yes,” Hyacinth replied.

“We should head homewards, then. I don’t want to be out in some field when midnight strikes.”

“There’s plenty of time. It’s not far, and we have until a bit after midnight.”

Reinhild got up, groaning in pain as she did. Blood dripped from the gashes in her right arm. She could feel a wet patch on her back- also blood. At least that was her own blood- in contrast to the dried-up stains on her leather chestpiece and the rest of her clothes.

“Helmatot,” she asked Hyacinth.

“Over there,” Hyacinth replied as she pointed to Reinhild’s beloved shortsword. “I know you prefer it in your hands, but I didn’t feel like being beheaded during your terrible sleep.”

As they walked home, memories came back to Reinhild bit by bit. A strange realisation that this was the same world she witnessed a few hours ago through completely different eyes.

“I want to wash myself when we get home.”

“Not until I’ve disinfected and bandaged you and your wounds start closing up.”

“I’ll freeze to death, then.”

“Then you wash yourself tomorrow. You might get stained still, anyway.”

It was dark when they got to Hyacinth’s farmstead three hours later. Reinhild could barely breathe when she got home- Hyacinth had, to her crippled body, walked at a gruelling pace.

The moment they were inside Reinhild started undoing her armour and kicked away her clothes. She curled up on a rug made out of the hide of some terrible, woolly beast that laid before the fireplace. The eternally burning fireplace that was just slightly too cold to be mistaken for natural fire.

Hyacinth brought her a glass of pomace, which she greedily drank.

She laid herself down again and tried to doze off. She felt unnaturally vulnerable, sleeping without armour or sword, in a building where she wouldn’t hear people outside approaching, nor smell them on the wind. She was too broken to care, and fell asleep.

An hour after midnight it began.

She shook awake, wracked by pain and hunger. The toll had to be paid in due.

“Hunger,” she said, hoarse.

Behind her, Hyacinth embraced her. “I promised,” she said.

“This is worse than opiate withdrawal,” she groaned. “I’m not a child, I won’t scream. I’m not a child.”

Tremors shook her body, and she felt colder than she ever had. Sweat dripped from her forehead.

“So hungry.”

Hyacinth behind her stretched her arm out, and produced a knife with her other hand. She pulled it down her wrist and commanded Reinhild to drink.

Despite being made majorly of paint, Hyacinth’s blood felt, smelled, and tasted quite like the real thing save for the slightest tinge of linseed oil. Memories of the young knight she’d molested came back. The taste of flesh and tang of blood.

Hyacinth’s blood was different. More invigorating, less real. More real than the world around them, less real than Reinhild was. An ethereal pink in colour, though that could’ve been the illumination of the fireplace or her own addled brain.

Beautiful like Hyacinth was, tasted like she imagined Hyacinth would taste.

She howled.

“Be quiet,” Hyacinth said.

“I never know when you’re taunting me,” Reinhild groaned. “More.”

“Do you want me to die of anaemia?”

“More,” Reinhild howled.

Hyacinth tore open her wrist further, and held her arm above Reinhild’s head.

“Closer,” she sputtered as her mouth filled with pink blood.

“You’ll bite me, you animal,” Hyacinth chided her sternly.

“That’s your fault,” Reinhild said.

“That’s your fault,” Reinhild started crying.

“That’s your fault,” she could barely repeat through the tears.

Her face covered in her friend’s blood, her pain waning, she fell asleep, sobbing. Like my writing? Read more over at: https://faroffunhappythings.com/?cat=41

#short story #cannibalism #body horror #problematic fiction #problematic content #far off unhappy things #tw violence #tw cannibalism

[anime-simp-0]

random midoriya headcanons

i love my broco boy so lets throw out some of my personal headcanons for him <3

he listens to alt music

he can draw surprisingly well and has really nice handwriting

he plays with his hair when he's nervous or stressed. like, when he's sitting in class overthinking, he will have his hand holding his head up and will rub his finger across his scalp in the back where it's fluffiest because he finds it soothing

momma midoriya would cook with him when he was younger and he took notes over it so he has little cookbooks of his moms recipes he will make for her when she's had a long day

he gets self-conscious about his body because he spent so long not having the extra muscle he does now and he forgets how defined he actually is

he bites his nail / the skin around his nails when he's thinking or rambling

when he studies he chews on his pen caps so he doesn't destroy his fingers lol he does enough damage in training 😭

he likes the smell of old books and rain

his favorite thing to do when it rains in the dorm is to crack the balcony door so he can smell the rainy air while he studies or sleeps

he gets snappy when he's tired. i can't help but see him waddling down into the kitchen to drink something in the morning after only getting a couple hours of sleep from studying and mineta makes some stupid comment and he just turns and gives mineta that 'you-are-so-fucking-stupid-it-hurts' look and goes "do you ever just shut the hell up" and gets his drink and shuffles back upstairs leaving everyone just like "... holy shit, he's lost it" and then there's bakugo who just huffs because he knows that's how he gets when he's tired so he makes sure not to start shit that day

at least one a week he's almost late to class because he was training late and was too tired to shower so he just decides he'll do it in the morning and every time he thinks he can do it in 10 minutes and it takes 15 to 20 so he's 5 to 10 minutes later than he's supposed to, running across campus with his hair dripping water and while he's holding some food he stole from the kitchen counter between his teeth praying like hell to make it there before aizawa so he doesn't get his ass kicked straight to satan

[fruit-teeth]

Chronicles of Love and War (chapter 17)

The air conditioner in the herbal supply shop hardly functioned, but one might have thought it did from the continual whirring and spitting. Bea lingered behind her sister, watching as she rooted through the shelf of tea canisters. 

“I doubt we will have much time for tea,” Zelda admitted, pulling out a canister of jasmine tea and looking it over. “But you and I will have time to drink it while we sit and watch the world burn, hm?” she laughed at her own comment, before turning back to Bea. “You like jasmine tea, don’t you?”

“It’s all right,” Bea muttered, non-committal. 

Zelda frowned, lowering the canister. “What’s the matter? You’ve been awfully quiet ever since we left Cynthia’s…”

Bea said nothing for a few seconds, but she cleared her throat to try and find her words. “I’d…I’d rather not go to Coldwater Cave.”

There was a long pause. Zelda slowly placed the tea canister on the shelf, taking a step closer to Bea. 

“Why?” she wanted to know, searching her younger sister’s face for answers. 

Bea looked back up, and she confessed, “I’d rather stay behind and look for the base. We have those plans Bill-Bel managed to get for us, we might as well use them. Besides, you promised me I could do that, didn’t you?”

“That was before I knew where The Corrupt was!” Zelda snapped. “I cannot let you out of my sight - we are supposed to stay together!”

“Zelda, I’m not a child!” Bea insisted, offended. “I’m more capable of doing more on my own than you probably think!”

“And how do I know those vermin won’t kill you again!?” Zelda raised her voice, jabbing a finger in Bea’s direction. “I already lost you once, I’m not losing you again! I’ve spent half my life protecting you, and if you think–”

Zelda froze when she noticed that one of the shop's employees was looking at her and Bea with wide eyes. Taking a few breaths to compose herself, Zelda told the employee, “We’re fine, don’t worry.”

As the employee nervously shuffled away, Bea spoke up again. “Zelda…” she reached over, grasping her sister’s hand in hers. “I’m very grateful that you’ve cared for me all this time. And really, I’m grateful I was brought back. But I will be fine on my own - I’ll just go to the base and take care of what I need to, and then you can do the rest. Okay?”

Zelda faltered slightly, staring down at her hands for a moment. Finally, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Bea, hugging her close. Bea hugged her back, and with an ache in her heart, she realized how much Zelda’s hugs felt like home. 

“If you really wish to stay behind,” Zelda spoke after a few seconds of silence. “There is something I must do…”

Bea pulled away a little, meeting her sister’s eyes. “What is it?”

Zelda cleared her throat, and she reached into the pocket of her cloak. She pulled out an old fountain pen, and gestured for Bea to hold out her arm. “Here - I should have done this years ago…”

Bea observed as Zelda used the fountain pen to draw a tiny symbol on her arm and said, "This will keep us connected. Here, I will put the same one on myself.” Zelda quickly drew the same sigil on her own arm, and once she was done, she put the pen away. “If you are in danger, my sigil will glow and alert me.”

“And what if mine glows?” Bea asked. “If mine glows, does that mean you’re in danger?”

“Yes - but I will be fine,” Zelda assured, and she stepped forward to hug her sister. “Those rats should have left the mansion by now…I’m certain the Brainpig incapaciated them enough,”

Bea hugged back once more, sighing. “Even if they haven’t, I’ll be all right. I promise you…”

Since Zelda still had more shopping to do, Bea left her at the herbal shop to return to their home. However, by pure luck, she left just mere minutes before the mercenaries were to arrive at the same shop. 

“Damn, I’ve never seen this place before!” Scout remarked as he hopped out of Sniper’s van. “How long has this been here?”

“Not long, looks like,” Sniper pointed out, closing the driver’s side door behind him. “Must have been one of those new places that opened up when you-know-who started running things around here…”

Bronislava came to join Sniper, looking confused. “‘You know who’? But I do not know who…why do I assume I know?”

“No– that’s not…it’s just a saying,” Sniper breathed a breath through his nose. “Not important right now,” he turned to Spy, who had just stepped out of his own car. “So, you got a plan?”

“Yes,” Spy assured. “Engineer and I talked it over before we came here - we have an idea,”

Inside the shop, Zelda had just put a few potion mixes in her basket when the doors to the shop opened. She did not think much of it, and therefore did not notice the exchange which proceeded to take place. 

“Excuse me!” Spy yelled to the sole employee seated behind the register, catching their attention. 

The uninterested employee mumbled and took off their headphones. “What?”

“Do you have any…” Spy tried to think of something plausible. “Oregano oil?”

“Sorry, we’re all out,” the employee sighed, starting to slip their headphones back on.

Determined to distract the employee so Zelda could easily be captured, Spy pressed on. “Could you check in the back for me?”

The employee glared up at him, but sighed again, standing up. "Whatever," they said as they walked into a backroom, closing the door behind them. 

Sniper came up to join Spy, muttering, “Can’t believe that worked…”

"It always works," Spy affirmed. In that exact moment, he glanced over, seeing that Zelda had noticed him. She stood there, bewildered, her basket of items still in her hand. 

Before either of the men had any time to react, Zelda dropped her basket of items and waved her hands in the air. Large vines erupted from the ceiling tiles, encircling and imprisoning Sniper and Spy. 

“You bastards thought you could bamboozle me, eh?” Zelda snarled. “Well, it isn’t going to work!”

Struggling from within the thick vines, Sniper only grinned in malice. “Oh, really?!”

Zelda's brow furrowed in confusion, but it didn't take her long to discover that someone was behind her. She whirled around, and before she could react, Pyro drove their hatchet into her shoulder. 

As Zelda screamed in agony, the vines pulled back into the ceiling, hurling Spy and Sniper to the ground. At the same moment, the others rushed into the store, quickly surrounding Zelda. 

“We got you, bloody witch!” Demoman announced.

"No...no, you haven't!" Zelda gritted her teeth, clutching her bleeding shoulder.

Before anyone could stop her, she brought her fist down to the floor and brought forth a burst of magic. The floor of the shop split open, and several shelves fell over, bringing bottles and boxes down with it. 

Miss Pauling, who happened to be standing right next to the crack, slipped and nearly fell in. However, much to her luck, Yana happened to be standing there, and she quickly reached in to pull her back up. 

“Merasmus, what are you waiting for!?” Pauling gasped out, stumbling to her feet while gripping Yana’s arms. “Put the cuffs on her!”

“Cuffs!?” Zelda repeated, incredulous. “You really think a silly pair of handcuffs will defeat me?”

“Oh, curb your tongue!” Merasmus snapped, irritated. He used a gust of power to drag Zelda towards him, before brandishing the handcuffs. “This ends now!” 

Zelda’s face fell when she realized these were not regular handcuffs, and she struggled to her feet. “No…No!” She reached her hands up in a fury, using her magic to throw down the lighting fixtures. They crashed to the floor, scattering glass while sparking with electricity. 

Scout shrieked in alarm when a shard of the bulbs struck him. “Ouch! Damn it!”

“That is enough from you!” Heavy roared, tackling Zelda to the ground. He pinned her to the floor, before shouting out, “Cuffs on her! Now!”

Zelda made a screeching sound, but Merasmus did not react to her. He wormed his way beneath Heavy, just enough so he could secure one part of the cuffs around her wrist. Before he could do the other, though, Zelda got one of her feet free and kicked him in the jaw as hard as she could. The heel of her boot instantly left a mark on Merasmus’s face, and he shouted in rage. 

"Oh, you little-," he began, but as she frantically lifted her free hand to conjure more magic, he grabbed her wrist.

Within seconds, Merasmus secured the other half of the cuffs around her wrist, exclaiming, “I’ve got her!” 

Zelda screamed in agony and rage as she wrenched herself free from Merasmus and Heavy, realizing she couldn't use her magic. She tried to flee, but slipped and collapsed right on top of Helen, taking her down with her. 

Helen shouted in alarm, but quickly got back up, grabbing Zelda by the arms and pulling her up. “Did you really think you could get away with this? Hm?” she pulled Zelda closer to her, glaring directly into her eyes. “You really thought you could go up against all of us?” 

Zelda’s face twitched as she glared at Helen, but instead of saying anything, she just spat in her face. Helen recoiled in disgust, blinking a few times and wiping the saliva off of her face. “God– somebody hold her still while I shoot her!”

“I’ll do it!” Miss Pauling offered. 

“Wait!” Heavy stepped in, putting a hand on Pauling’s shoulder, turning to look at Zelda. “Her sister is not here. Where is she?”

Zelda sucked her lips into her mouth, going completely silent. Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Good point…where is Bea?”

When Zelda stayed totally silent, Spy sighed. “She’s not going to talk. We need to make her talk!”

“Ooh! We have just the thing for that!” Medic took a step forward, elbowing Lar-Nah. “You have the truth serum, don’t you?”

“Oh– hang on…” Lar-Nah opened the carrying case hooked around her belt, fishing out a few syringes. “Ah…no, I didn’t bring it. It’s back at the base,” 

“No matter,” Helen waved her off, focusing back on Zelda. “I suppose we’ll just have to take her as a prisoner, won’t we?”

“A prisoner?” Sniper repeated, frowning. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“It will only be temporary,” Helen advised. “We just need her to tell us where Bea is - who knows? There might be some kind of trick up their sleeves that we don’t know about…”

Soldier huffed. “Oh, please! She doesn’t even have magic, and Zhanna blew her up the last time with no problems!”

“True, but consider,” Spy pointed out. “Zelda seems to have some sort of tie to the local government of Teufort. That could mean Bea possibly does as well, and she could use that as leverage against us.”

“Just take her and shut her up in a shed!” Merasmus grunted, frustrated at this point by all the back and forth. “As long as those cuffs stay on her, she is completely harmless. Take her, use whatever truth serum you have on hand to find her sister, and then let me take care of her from there! I’m sure the covens in this area will be very pleased to know you attempted to awaken a demonic entity…”

“Bastards…bastards!” Zelda screeched. “Bastards, all of you!” she tried to flee once more, but this time, Heavy was the one to subdue her. 

“Come with us…” Heavy rumbled at her, tugging her out of the door. 

Bronislava, looked around the shop, mentally tallying all of the destruction. “This…this is not good..” 

“Hey, relax,” Engineer advised her. “This isn’t half as bad as it could’ve been…if I’d had to break out the hydro-pump, this place wouldn’t still be standing!”

Suddenly, the backroom door opened, and the employee stepped out, headphones still in. "Sorry, no oregano oil-" they came to a halt, their eyes widening and their mouth dropping open in surprise. “Oh…oh…oh, my god! What!?”

Spy quickly zipped over, pulling a wad of cash out of his wallet and pushing it in the employee’s direction. “Our apologies - here, take this money and just keep this between us and yourself, all right?”

The employee made a horse and a goat sound before their knees buckled beneath them and they collapsed to the ground in agony. Spy took a few steps back, before turning to the rest of the group and motioning for them to leave. “We need to get out of here.”

With that, everyone piled back into their cars, now with Zelda as a prisoner. However, with Bea still unaccounted for, this battle was far from over. 

Merasmus went to the base site with the others, where Zelda was held captive in a solitary basement room. Helen instructed Merasmus to assemble barricades along the cellar walls to keep the witch from fleeing, despite the fact that the handcuffs had rendered her helpless. 

Along with the handcuffs, Zelda was also tied to a chair, with her feet bound to the chair’s legs to keep her from running. She scowled at her captors the entire time she was shackled, but it was clear that desperation lurked beneath the furious malice. 

Once Zelda was secure, Helen took a moment to walk around her, looking her up and down. “Do you think she’s secure enough?”

“More than enough,” Merasmus confirmed. “Now…you said you had a truth serum?”

Medic nodded. “Yes! Well…Lar-Nah is getting it right now, we will have the lead to Bea’s location in no time!” 

“Good,” Merasmus sighed, and he turned to glare down at Zelda. “Was it worth it, you?”

Zelda started to say something, but stopped herself, looking away to stare down at the floor. 

Watching her expression, Heavy suddenly began to feel an intense annoyance. “You are a monster,” he growled out, taking a step towards Zelda. 

Zelda glanced up, her teeth gritted. “What!?” 

Heavy went on. “You want to summon demons, put whole world at risk…for what? Revenge? Against us?” 

“I don’t care!” Zelda’s voice rasped out. “I would destroy a thousand nations to defend my sister, and I would do it gladly! Not that you would know anything about that, you idiotic–” 

“Do not call him that!” Medic snapped at Zelda, puffing his chest out and getting between her and Heavy, ready to strike her. “You are just asking to get your ribcage inverted!” 

Heavy patted Medic’s back. “It is fine,” he gently moved his lover out of the way, before continuing to talk to Zelda. “I have sisters too. I love them. You know this, because one of them is the one who kill her. I understand you are angry…but you are also very stupid.” 

“I’m not!” Zelda argued, her words full of venom. 

“You are,” Heavy insisted. “If you just want revenge, killing us would be easy, easy for you. You have magic - without this wizard, we do not. But instead, you want to awaken demons? Put innocent people at risk? Yourself at risk? You are stupid! When I want to kill guards who hurt my sisters, many years ago, I just kill the guards. That is all. My sister killed your own, just to defend the man she loves. You understand me?”

Zelda’s face twitched, and she looked away, going silent again. Heavy stared at her for a moment, trying to read the emotion on her face, before turning away with a grunt. “Stupid,” he muttered again, turning to leave. “Am going to see Zhanna…”

"I'll join you soon!” Medic assured, and he gently brushed Heavy's shoulder as he exited the room.

Moments later, Lar-Nah entered the basement, holding her case of truth serum. “Here it is - it might take a few minutes to work, though,” 

“That’s fine,” Helen urged, gesturing towards Zelda. “Just do it quickly!” 

“Do you need any help?” Medic inquired, hovering behind Lar-Nah as she opened up the case and got a syringe full of serum ready. 

"No," Lar-Nah replied, placing one hand beneath Zelda's jaw to tilt her head up. “But stand behind me in case she tries anything.” 

Zelda made eye contact with Lar-Nah as she put the needle into her neck. “Aren’t you Bill-Bel’s wife?” she asked suddenly. 

This made Lar-Nah pause for only a moment, but she proceeded with injecting the truth serum anyway. “I was. But none of that matters anymore,”

“Doesn’t it?” Zelda flinched a little bit at the needle and tried to move her hands, but her attempt was unsuccessful. “He’s told me all about you…you’re surprisingly pretty. Not at all beautiful, though, you understand?”

“Oh, I’m flattered.” Lar-Nah replied dryly, setting down the empty syringe. “Just tell us where your sister is so we can hopefully kill you both and be done with this.” 

There was a long pause, before Zelda let out a gruff laugh. “It won’t be that easy…Bea will realize something has happened to me…” 

Helen crossed her arms, eyeing Zelda suspiciously. “And why would that be?” 

"I connected us," Zelda's voice suddenly became robotic as the truth serum began to take effect. “She’s wearing a sigil I put on her. She returned home to the mansion while I planned to go to Coldwater Cave and awaken The Corrupt. But she is going to be tracking this place down, to take her revenge against all of you. If you go to the mansion, she may not be there. Once she realizes my life is being threatened, her sigil will glow, and she will come after me.” 

“She won’t get far,” Merasmus sighed. “She has no magic. She’s not a threat to us, and all of her team members are dead.”

Zelda’s face twitched again, and she suddenly burst into tears, beginning to sob. 

“Oh, stop that!” Medic scolded her, annoyed. “What does that solve!? Nothing!”

“I lied to her!” Zelda wailed. “I told her that her teammates were dead! I told her I couldn’t bring them back because they were dead and their bodies couldn’t be found! But that was a lie! I lied to my sister…” 

A hush fell over the room. 

Medic’s face went blank, and he leaned in close, studying Zelda’s expression. “Could you repeat that?” he asked, his voice low. 

"When...when I collected her ashes...and when I persuaded Bill-Bel to accompany me...I found one of Bea's teammates, barely alive," despite Zelda's efforts to keep the words from coming out, she relayed the truth as tears streamed down her face.

Helen and Medic exchanged a glance, before Helen reached in and grasped Zelda’s dress collar in her hand. 

“Which one?” Helen demanded to know, her teeth gritted. 

Upstairs, Angelica had just returned from her day out with the children. The moment she entered the base, Spy approached her to inform her what was going on. 

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” he whispered to her. “But we have a prisoner in the basement.”

Angelica’s eyes widened. “Oh, god…a prisoner? You got someone captive down there?”

“She’s not going to be down there for much longer,” Spy assured her. “Once she gives Helen the information we need, she will be out of here, but just…be aware.”

Angelica nodded. “Yeah, sure…” she leaned in, giving Spy a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Ma!” Scout exclaimed, getting the attention of both Angelica and Spy. “There you are! How was the movie?”

“Oh, it was cute!” Angelica giggled, stepping past Spy so she could give Scout a big hug. “How about you?”

“Pretty wild, I gotta say!” Scout hummed, hugging his mother in return. 

At the same time, Lucy and Olivia had stopped to talk with Demo and Engineer about their day (excluding the part where Lucy had thrown a boy into mulch during an argument).

“That’s awesome you had such a good time!” Engineer chuckled warmly, brushing Olivia’s hair with a gentle hand. 

“Yeah!” Olivia nodded enthusiastically. “I hope we do it again sometime…but we all should go to the movies together!” 

“That would be nice, aye?” Demo agreed. “We’re awful busy with this mission right now, lass, but maybe when we finish up, we can do that to celebrate!”

Lucy hummed at the thought, twirling her braid with her hand. “Yeah…I should ask my daddy if we could do that! Where is he?”

“Uh, he’s in the basement,” Engineer replied. “He’s kinda busy - he’ll be done soon, though! How about you girls go and…” he trailed off, seeing Medic emerging from the basement. 

Medic had a blank expression on his face, and he gestured for Engie to come closer. 

“What’s he want?” Demoman wondered, perplexed. 

“I dunno…” Engineer instantly felt a knot of unease in his stomach, and he approached Medic slowly. “What’s up?”

Medic breathed in slowly. “What did Spy tell you about what happened to your father?”

“Uh…” Dell’s heart dropped at the question. “Um - why?”

“Because,” Medic went on. “Zelda just informed us that he’s been in a coma all this time, in the basement of a hospital that’s only an hour away from here.”

#WHOOOOO lets go #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 medic #tf2 engineer #tf2 spy #tf2 scoutma #tf2 scout #tf2 olivia mann #tf2 merasmus #tf2 administrator #tf2 heavy #tf2 zhanna #tf2 bronislava #tf2 yana #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 lar-nah #tf2 sniper #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 soldier #i think thats everyone #tf2 ocs #my writing

[ghostwise]

18? 👀

18. flinders (indulgent AU content ahead.)

Zeferino does not look up from his books when his wife glides into his study.

His glasses are perched on the tip of his nose, eyes fixed on the sprawl of words and numbers, but he sees her clear as day in his mind’s eye:  the way she very slowly turns the doorknob so as to not disturb him, the swish of her skirt, the click of her boots drawing nearer to him, so that he knows just the right moment to glance up and catch her appearing from behind his bookcase.

Now.

Zeferino slides his glasses back into place and looks at her. He sits up and sets his pen back into the ink well.

“Is it suppertime already?” he asks.

“No,” Ahtziri says, and she surprises him, for she wastes no time walking around his desk to stop at his side. She leans against the edge of the desk, her full skirt shifting stacks of paperwork, her arms crossed.

“It is Arlathvhen season,” she says.

Zeferino thinks. Damn his memory; it is good for numbers and not much else. He remembers, only, that he should know what that means.

“Been a while,” he says, finally.

“I should say it’s been a while,” she replies. “It is held only once every ten years, remember?”

“Ah… yes, yes,” he says, though truthfully, he does not know much about these things. He is a city elf through and through, at least five generations back. However, he knows his wife, and after another moment’s thought he peers up at her. “Will you go?”

“Yes,” Ahtziri says. “I have not seen my sisters in ages. It’ll be good catch up, to talk other than in letters. And besides, Zevran needs to see his cousins.”

Zeferino thinks, and thinks some more.

“Might be what the boy needs,” he says finally. “Get his mind off things.”

“Zeferino,” Ahtziri says sincerely, “I think it’s what we all need.”

He blinks at her. Finally, it clicks.

“Ah! Me, too?” he asks.

Ahtziri nods, her smile wide like a crescent moon. He’s caught on quicker than she’d expected.

“But the mill…?”

“One of the managers can run it for a little while!”

“But it’s our busiest season…”

“You say that every season!”

“And I have a meeting with a client…”

Ahtziri laughs warmly. “He can wait!”

Ah, but she has him around her finger as thoroughly as the day she’d first smiled at him. Zeferino looks pleadingly at his wife, knowing it’s a lost cause.

“How long?” he asks finally.

“It lasts a month,” she says. And here, she finally relents, with a sigh, “But you and Zevran can leave early if you wish. I, however, will be content to stay with my clan for as long as it lasts.”

She glances out the window. A wistfulness crosses her features, masked so quickly that Zeferino can only catch it after decades of knowing her.

As she is still perched upon the edge of his desk, it is easy for him to reach out and set a hand on her waist. He guides her smoothly into his lap, where she smiles again, wistfulness dispelled.

“You work too hard,” Ahtziri says, running her fingers through his dark curls. She laughs when, proving her point, fine flinders of wood shake loose from his hair. He’d left before dawn that day, and had spent all morning in the mill. The smell of sawdust clings to him hours later.

He thinks about his life’s work. It is not easy for an elf to accomplish all he has accomplished; though they still must live in an alienage, he deals with merchants and nobles every day. His little family lives comfortably. They are respected by many. He is proud of all of this.

Most of all he is proud of Zevran. The boy is more than capable of taking over the business after he retires. But he has been melancholic lately, spending too much time indoors.

“A month,” Zeferino says finally, and Ahtziri woops in delight, and tugs him into a kiss.

#rinnywrites #dragon age #oc: zeferino #oc: ahtziri #jay i had to google that word and i'm still uncertain lol #google says splinters/fragments so hopefully wood splinters/sawdust is not too much of a stretch #au: good parenting #the zevrents #ares referred to it as the good parenting au a while back and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it tbh #i personally headcanon that zevran's name was meant to be zeferino but it got misspelled/misheard... i am keeping it for clarity's sake #au zev is basically a brand new blorbo his name is zeferino magana-acamapichtli and he is a nerd that can tell you about wood varieties

[little-cereal-draws]

Hi feel free to respond to this privately but Hi, i love your animated videos, especially the shadows ones! What program(s) do you use if you don’t mind me asking and do u have any tips? I would love to start doing animatics but idk how/where to start. Thanks in advance! ^^

Hello! I'm so glad that you enjoyed my videos! My software is not fancy at all and might be a bit of a letdown tbh lol

For drawing I used to use Paint tool sai (which i think is what a lot of ppl use) but it wasn't working right on my computer, it wouldn't let me save my images. I got it off of some Japanese website and it was $19 (USD). Now I use the app that came with my computer. I have a Windows computer. It's called Sketchbook (oOoOh, so fancy lol) and it is limited in terms of brushes and pen pressure but I like it. Very easy to figure out. I also have Krita which I think I had to pay for. I don't remember how much tho, I want to say $15 (USD)?? Maybe? It is much more complex and lets you do things like animate but I don't use it bc I'm too lazy to figure it out lol I know there's a lot of great tutorials online tho. I also know a lot of ppl use Procreate which is much better especially in terms of brushes but it's not compatible w my computer :( Procreate costs $10 (USD) I think.

As for editing, I use Shotcut. It's a free software that I downloaded from somewhere, I don't remember. It is definitely limited in terms of filters, camera angles, and what you can put in it but hey, it's free! The one thing I hate the most abt it is you can't pan. It drives me insane. But it has zoom, text, filters, etc. I used to use Filmora which is also free but is even more limited and I think it puts a watermark on your videos.

Now for tips!

Uhh, I guess the most obvious is practice. I started doing animatics four years ago and I can't watch any of my old ones now, they're so bad lol

Another thing is vary your shot type. If you have a couple ppl doing smth together, do close ups, medium shots, and wide shots. Try different camera angles. It's ok to do the same type of shot a couple times in a row but after a while it can get boring.

An extension of the last point, if a character does smth like knock a thing over or move it or whatever, show the object moving and then their reaction. Reaction shots are very important for character's emotions. Wide shots to establish a setting.

As an extension of that point, watch your favorite show/movie and watch how they film it, when they zoom in, how they frame the characters etc. I've spent so much time doing that lol (WWDITS might not be the best example bc it's a documentary but it should still work pretty well)

In terms of moving characters/making it smooth, layers are going to be ur best friend lol I end up with so many layers when I make a video. It's partially because I'm scared to delete layers in case I need them later but it's also helpful to see a character's last position. If they're on the left and need to move to the right, draw them on the left, copy the layer, and move the new layer a little bit using the original one as a reference point. Continue until they've made it. Same thing if they're moving their hand up or whatever. Use old layers as reference points to avoid jumpiness.

Because animating/drawing in general is hard and time consuming and I'm lazy I try to reuse shots/poses as much as I can. Again if you have a character going from left to right and then later in the video going right to left, save the left to right layers. You can just flip them to make it look like they're going right to left and now you don't have to draw it again! This can be tricky tho bc you don't want your video to get repetitive like I said before. So do it but do it sparingly lol

THUMBNAIL FIRST! This is very helpful. Just make a bunch of little boxes with stick figures mapping out what's going to happen in ur video. It doesn't have to look good at all, it's just so you don't forget what's going to happen/get lost. This is mine for the video of Laszlo and Nadja dancing:

I put notes on this one so I remember what the actions and camera angles are. Since I was copying an already choregraphed dance here, I did that in black and then put in more interesting camera angles in blue on a different layer so it wasn't two minutes of the same full body shot

And uh yeah I think that's it! Hopefully this is helpful!

#asks #animatics #advice #drawing #animating