#stained glass is fun because your can really see just how much i cannot draw lineart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

God please can I get anything with Rook hunting down his escaped darling? This man has a thing for chasing you down you cannot convince mo otherwise

I’ve been meaning to write a special headcanon/scenario post about Pomefiore to celebrate the release of Chapter Five, but,,, this’ll have to do, for now. I’m doing a disservice to the best dorm, but hopefully, some Rook content will delay by inevitable shame.

Title: The Hunt.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Strong Predator/Prey Themes, Implied Stalking, and Mentions of Death.

You really used to think Rook was just on the extravagant side.

That’s how it’d seemed when he first introduced himself, dropping to one knee and pressing his hand to his chest, declaring something loud enough and incoherent enough to draw the eye of every onlooker within earshot. Some of his actions were questionable, his gaze often leaning towards the unnerving side, but you’d never thought he was villainous, he hadn’t seemed to want to do harm. He meant mischief, as far as you could tell. He didn’t try to hide the way he watched the more particular members of the student body, but he never took anything beyond a picture. He never made a secret of his fondness for you, but his affection was a fleeting thing - he’d said as much himself a dozen different times. You figured Rook would move long as soon as something newer and shinier came along. You thought he was just having fun.

You supposed you weren’t wrong. He had been having fun. He was still having fun.

It just wasn’t fun for you, anymore.

“Mon cœur,” Rook called, the familiar term of endearment stretching into something twisted, something perverse as it echoed through the lifeless woods. The forest surrounding the Pomefiore dormitory was always dark, always daze-like, always horrid, but tonight, it felt especially misleading, as if the trees themselves were uprooting and rearranging to guide you in any direction but the one that’d lead you away from your hunter. That’s what he was now, really, your hunter. Rook had a way of making his prey feel like pets, of making you feel like a partner rather than another trophy for him to decapitate and mount on his wall, but all of those blissful lies and domestic fantasies had dissolved into thin air the moment you slipped out of your chains and threw yourself out of that elegant, stained-glass window of his. It’d been a stupid move, in hindsight, you were only doing damage to yourself and giving him a blood-trail to follow, but a lifetime of picking crystalline shards out of your skin would be less agonizing than another minute spent in his captivity. You just wished his footsteps hadn’t fallen in-tempo with yours so quickly.

“You really should come out, (Y/n).” His voice was calm, projected with the all the tranquil serenity of a man who already knew he’d won. It wasn’t close, it wasn’t deafening, but the fact that you could hear him at all was damning. It meant he’d be able to hear you, too, even if you had no plans to announce yourself so blatantly. “I know you love your games, and I do want to play with you, but staying up so late is bad for your skin, no? And you must be so tired, dear. If you put an end to this silly show of defiance now, I may even let you sleep in my bed, rather than the cage where you belong.”

You didn’t respond - you wouldn’t have, even if you hadn’t been hiding. Pushing forward, you drove yourself to run faster, to escape both his cage and his bed. There was a clearing in your path, a spot where the leaf-canopy broke apart and the ground grew barren, harsh moonlight seeping in like an unwanted thought, but you skirted around it, following its borders until you found the spot where the foliage was at its thickest. You didn’t think as you forced yourself into the narrow space between branches and trunks and vines with so many thorns, you had to wonder if you’d die of blood loss before Rook got a chance to wring your neck himself, only pressing a hand over your mouth and doing your best to control your panting. You just had to stay put for a minute. You just had to give him time to move on. Then, you’d be able to circle back and beat on every door in Pomefiore until someone recognized you as the student who’d gone missing weeks ago. Then, you’d be safe.

Rook, on the other hand, had no reason to tuck himself away. He stepped into the large clearing without hesitation, letting out a long, labored sigh as he idly glanced towards his surroundings. He must’ve begun his chase as soon as he noticed you’d gotten out, his intricate wardrobe cut down to little more than a black shirt and an insulated, camouflage jacket, both doing leagues more to block out the biting cold than the simple button-down shirt you’d been given to wear. He hadn’t had time to choose a proper weapon, either. Rook preferred traditional bows, the kind without cogs or cables to alleviate the tension of the draw, but he was carrying a simplistic compound bow tonight, made for efficiency and speed rather than enjoyment. Made for maiming his target, rather than indulging them in their rebellion, an arrow already knocked and ready to be drawn back at the first hint of an opening. “Perhaps I should call you mon ange, instead, considering you’re so eager to fly away.” Another sigh, this one accompanied by a graceful turn on his heel and a smooth survey of the forest. His eyesight was good, but it couldn’t be that good. You could barely see your hand in front of your face, where the shadows were their deepest. “Wouldn’t it be easier to come out on your own? You know how much I hate having to drag you home.”

Liar. That dirty, filthy liar. He’d already dragged you away from Night Raven, he’d already dragged you away from your classmates and your family and your friends, and all because he was under some deluded, pathetic notion that he’d only be able to love you - truly love you - if he nailed you to the ground, first. His gaze wandered, he was the one who couldn’t be trusted to keep his promises. He’d just wanted to ensure you’d still be there, waiting for him with open arms, when he got back from all his many expeditions. He’d imprisoned you, and he’d delighted in it, reveled in the joy that came with a source of companionship he’d be able to bleed dry. He was only unamused now that you’d refused to let him cut you open.

You could feel your cheeks begin to flush in anger, your nails curling into your palms, but that did little to stop Rook from going on. Always going on, never stopping. You hadn’t realized how much you hated the sound of his voice until you’d been forced to listen. “I’ll admit, I’ve been busy, lately. Have I been neglecting you?” He laughed, the sound airy, non-commital. As if it suddenly didn’t matter if you came out, as if he suddenly didn’t care. “This is childish, is it not? I mean, I never thought you would stoop so low just to buy for my attention.”

It was so little, it was nothing, just a shift of your weight in the barest hint of a reaction, but dried leaves and twigs seemed to crack under your feet as if you’d thrown your biggest tantrum yet. You reacted immediately, scrambling to free yourself from your constrictive hiding place, but Rook was so fast, he was so ready. It was all you could do to catch a glimpse of his bow as he took aim, your efforts to escape from his line of fire turning out all-but futile. You pressed yourself against the nearest trunk, but in the end, he was the one who faltered, his arrow barely grazing your bicep, cutting through your sleeve but only leaving a thin, red line in your skin, the shallowest wound he’d ever inflicted. You allowed yourself to smile, you allowed yourself to laugh, but Rook didn’t move to fire again, only slinging his bow over his shoulder, slotting it into place as if he wouldn’t need to use it again. Not on you, anyway.

“You really should come out,” He said, one more time. “These kinds of things tend to get rather ugly when they’re not given the proper treatment.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what he meant, but before you could gather up the confidence to ask, something sharp and frigid pounded through your injured arm, stretching from your fingertips to your shoulders, and out of reflex, you glanced towards the cut. A pale, lilac fluid was smeared across your skin, dripping from the small wound, the color so faint, you hadn’t noticed it before. The same shade of purple that coated his arrowhead, even after it’d buried itself in the ground.

Oh.

That made sense. For Rook, at least.

You hardly tried to resist it, your body buckling under its own weight, crumbling until you were little more than a mass of stained clothes and writhing limbs, every part of you contorted in agony so vivid and bright, the darkness seemed to dissolve, kept at a faithful distance by an unmoving wall of white-hot pain. It was relentless, it was ruthless, and it only got worse as Rook’s calloused hands took hold of your tense form, lifting you off the ground and pulling you against his chest, cradling you as gently and as tortuously as he could. His hum was liked a needle to your ears, the click of his tongue as fatal as a dagger to the back of your neck, but even then, you knew it wouldn’t kill you. No, no, that’d ruin Rook’s fun. That’d be too merciful for him. That’d be too kind.

And to think, you’d almost forgotten the flare your hunter was capable of.

597 notes · View notes

chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (76) || atz

Tortuga is not happy to have you back.

“You were the man who took our town leader hostage! You cannot simply just stride back onto port and walk here as if you have not just committed the gravest of sins!” A portly man dressed in velvet and gold waves so furiously that his expensive silk cravat has become stained with sweat. “You, hooligans, don’t ever come back to this town!”

Wooyoung simply shrugs and makes to pick his ear with his pinky, entirely without a care in the world. You kick him in the shin and he yelps, shying away.

“Say you’re sorry!”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” He protests, and Yeosang tilts his head back slightly in the middle of negotiations to fix Wooyoung with a glare so menacing you can practically see the darkness rolling off him. Wooyoung must feel the same sensation - of death stepping across his grave - because he shivers and rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe I might have done a thing or two-”

“This man… utterly unbelievable!” The official continues to rant, and even the soldiers lined up behind him are starting to wince from how piercing his voice is. He jabs a finger at Wooyoung ferociously. “I respect you, Pirate King, but the disrespect this man has shown us! Breaking into the officials’ town headquarters! Knocking out the guards! Dragging the head of this town out of his chambers in his… in his sleepwear! Preposterous, I tell you!”

Hongjoong raises his hands, a calm smile on his face to placate the official. “I deeply apologise for my crew member’s behavior. It must have been a terrible experience, but I can assure you my crew regrets his actions and is extremely repentant about his behavior.”

You look dubiously at the supposedly repentant man.

“He sleeps naked.” Wooyoung whispers loudly into your ear, a cheeky smile decorating his face. You stare at him, and then shake your head. He’s incorrigible.

“However, I ask you to understand that the situation at hand was dire, and that we had no other choice in order to go after our captain. As thanks for letting this matter slide, we’ll compensate the town head appropriately.” Yeosang’s angelic smile is at full power, and for a second you’re almost blinded by the halo settling above his head. The bag of gold coins in his hand (polished by Wooyoung for the whole of last night as punishment) somehow seem dull in comparison. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

The official’s eyes are like magnets, drawn to the gold. You can almost see him licking his lips. “... compensate?”

“Very handsomely.” Yeosang shakes the bag once. The sound is more alluring than any symphony or sirens’ song to your ears. Apparently, that must be the how the official feels too, because his hand reaches out to touch it, before he jerks it back to his chest, coughing lightly. “Well then, I suppose it couldn’t hurt just to let it go just this once...”

A soldier behind the official rolls his eyes to heaven in exasperation.

“However! That man is not allowed to step foot into the town, and must stay on the ship at all times. This in nonnegotiable. Also,” Yeosang hands over the bag of gold, and the official beckons Hongjoong closer. “There have been... ah... rumors... among the townspeople... Royal Navy... searching for a woman.... bounty... alive... five thousand...”

You glance over at Wooyoung, who’s sulking miserably. “You kind of deserve it. Although... thanks for doing it, to get captain and I back.”

At your words, Wooyoung instantly brightens. “No problem! It was the most fun I had in weeks anyway!” You send him a flat look, intent on chiding him, but then your captain calls your name.

To your surprise, his lips are drawn into a thin line, and there is a furrow to his brow that definitely wasn’t there before. “Chin Hae, do you... remember ever encountering the Royal Navy before meeting us?”

Frowning, you shake your head. There’s tension would tight into his face, and you feel something in your stomach sinking. “No. Why?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to answer, but then closes it with a sigh before he can say another word. He wears a fond smile as he ruffles your hair gently, lithe fingers carding through the strands. “No matter, this isn’t the place for it. Will you come see me in the captain’s cabin tonight? We have some pressing matters to discuss.”

When he walks away, the smile melts into a grim, worried look on his face.

>>>

“Your legs are starting to hurt?”

San’s expression is filled with concern as he crouches in front of you, gentle fingers kneading and massaging your calves with practiced movements. You nod quietly, watching him as he works. “Yeah. Honestly... the same thing that happened with my hand might be happening to my legs, master.”

His fingers still, and when he looks at them, they come away white. San rubs at his temples, his face drawn taut with worry and something bordering dismay. He stares at your legs as if they could give him an answer to this question. “But this isn’t supposed to happen. Nothing happened to them, you didn’t get hurt, or stabbed, or-”

Your heart warms at the desperate concern burning in his eyes, and you reach out your hand to take his into yours, gripping it gently. When his pained gaze meets yours, you do your best to put on a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, master. I have no intention of dying. You’ll help me out, won’t you?”

San looks at you for a moment with his mouth parted, as if surprised, before it draws into a sharp, determined line. He squeezes your hand back tightly. “Of course I will. As if I’d let anything happen to you!” He rises to his feet, gestures over to the multitude of books and scrolls haphazardly piled and stuffed into every nook and cranny of the sickbay. “There’s got to be something here somewhere similar to your condition, and even if there isn’t, it’ll be somewhere in Tortuga. If it exists on this earth, I’ll definitely find it.”

Something hot stings behind your eyes, but you blink it away, gripping San’s hand tighter. “Hey, master... I... really want to live, you know? I want to keep sailing with the crew... and I want to be with all of you forever. You know that, right?”

It’s fear.

The ugly, twisting feeling coiling deep in your belly is fear. Fear that you’ll never feel the warm sunlight on your face again. Fear that you can never talk and laugh and cry with the crew again. Fear that everything might be coming to an end; an end that you simply cannot come to terms with.

You’d do anything. Anything to stay with the crew, and keep on living.

“Silly apprentice.” San rests a tender hand on your head, looking at you with so much affection you could cry. “Of course I know, because that’s exactly what I feel as well. If there’s any way, I’d take it in a heartbeat! Even if it means getting rid of captain!” He jokes, and you snort, swatting him on the arm.

“Don’t be silly, master, both you and I know that you’d never do that.”

San grins, a large cat-like smile spreading across his face, and rises to his feet, striding over to his workbench.

“Hey, we’re going to cure you. This is your master you’re talking about! You know,” he turns back to give you a little wink, “back in my home village, they called me something of a medical prodigy.”

You rise to your feet, heart so full you can barely feel the pain in your legs and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Then, master... I’ll be counting on you. I’d help you out, but first, there’s something I need to do.”

“Something you need to do?” San peeks over, curiosity brimming in his eyes as you fish out a red fox fur coat from beneath your pillow. A sly smile turns up one corner of his mouth. “Oho. Is that a gift for a certain someone?”

You poke at his side playfully. “He lost his jacket, so I thought I’d make him something to thank him. Why, unhappy you’re not getting one as well?”

San pouts and turns away, arms crossed. “As if! Now get going, I need some silence to concentrate, so shoo!” Under his breath, he mutters, “stupid captain stealing my apprentice... stealing her first handmade gift... maybe it’s really time to get rid of him...”

Giggling lightly, you step around him and out of the room, the fox fur gathered in your arms. It’s soft and warm and light, perfect for a sea voyage and comfortable to wear. You only hope your captain will overlook the some of the stray threads sticking out here and there; your sewing still isn’t perfect, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

As you step out onto the deck, empty save for loose coils of rope and a pair of wooden cleats lying on the floor, you glance down at the fox fur in your arms.

You’re going to be giving him a gift... that you made with your own hands.

What if he doesn’t like it? The thought pops into your mind and you groan, burying your face in your hands. Your cheeks feel hot, and you step over to the side of the ship to cool off and calm down. Beneath you, the ocean is like a mirror of glass, stretching out as far as the eye can see.

Calm down, Chin Hae, it’s just a jacket. And even if he doesn’t like it, so what? You could just give it to someone else!

With that thought in mind, you clench your fist, ready to get it done and over with. But before you can go, there’s a strange sound from beneath you, and you glance down in surprise as the water.

To your shock, the surface of the sea begins to ripple and swirl, disrupted by whatever’s beneath it. You can feel something rising, coming up to the surface, and its intent focused solely on you and you alone. Something in your mind screams for you to run, but your feet only stay rooted to the spot, your hands trembling and cold sweat running down your neck.

What is this?

And out of the depths emerges...

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w;ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

79 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

in the night, ii.

read part one! dedicated to my beloved wofe @periminkle because she loves assassin!kook and so do i. i honestly dunno how many parts to this non-couple couple i’ll do but ... i cannot resist them. oops.

pairing. jjk x reader. rating. ... general? tags. soft romance in the form of: pining, cuddling, playing chess like losers, using a hotel room for the lamest reasons. maybe a very lil bit of angst if you squint at the right times. it’s just them being... them? ig. wc. 1.8k. beta reader. @hobi-gif 💛

“You know, when you asked me to meet you here, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

He can’t help but laugh, the sound teetering off his tongue into the tepid lake of espresso sitting in his cup. You’re glaring down at the board, hand poised at your side. You’re so focused - more so than when you’re stitching him up.

He wonders, idly, whether that should worry him. It won’t.

“You’re not having fun?” He hums, the slyest smile passing over the rim of ceramic, a certain twinkle in his stare. It’s possible he’s overtired - he hasn’t slept in what feels like ages - but there’s something awfully amusing about the sight of you, brow knit and mouth pursed into a grimace he seldom sees. “Got something else in mind, Doc?”

You don’t humour him with a response, advancing your king to C7.

“You sure about that one?”

“Yes.” It snaps past your lips like cinnamon bubble gum.

Seeing you so riled up - not quite irritated but overly competitive - makes Jungkook snort, setting his cup down with a soft, drawn out sigh.

“Come here.” It isn’t readily clear where he means but he leaves it up to you, watching you keenly.

You’re having none of it. “Make your move.”

“Come here,” he repeats, just that bit harder. The edge doesn’t reach anywhere but his words; his eyes are still a little tired, half-lidded and dreamy. They pair nicely with the full of his cheek, how it ticks rounder and reveals a singular dimple. Your weakness - or so he’d like to think.

It’s with a surprising amount of dramatics that you remove yourself from the opposite seat, folding yourself into his lap with only a handful of movements. He welcomes your weight, curling an exhausted arm around the shape of your waist.

With your back to the arm rest, you settle with your head against his shoulder, nose cold against the column of his throat. He can even feel the steel of your glasses, gold-rimmed and delicate.

“Bored?” The tone of his voice is lilting, teasing, dressed up with laughter. It disappears into your crown of velvet, loosely braided and knotted behind your ear in your signature no-fuss fashion.

“No.” But it isn’t very believable because you certainly sound unenthused.

He tries again, with fingers that flex into the soft, bare flesh of your thigh; his other hand guides your chin, drawing your attention fully from the abandoned chess set. “Want to order room service?”

It’s the least he can do, he figures. Something to ease whatever mocking resentment seeps out of your skin - much like his had only hours earlier.

Note to himself: pick up some new clothes.

“I want every dessert on the menu,” you finally relent, with a terribly serious set of your jaw and intensity in your eyes.

He snorts, again, squeezing the yielding softness of your hip in his broad palms. “I’ll call down and order. You go take a shower or something.” It’s not as dismissive as he means; the blouse you’d worn over is stained red, the colour bleeding garishly over cream silk. It even marks your skin now, caught beneath your nails and over your wrists.

“What - it’s not a good look on me?”

Your feigned affront is addictive, coaxing in a way he’s utterly defenceless against. Still, Jungkook rolls his eyes - an exaggerated reveal of bright white sclera - and levels you with a look that might serve him better than the gun that rests on the coffee table. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Doc.”

“But you do stupid things all the time.” You’re not wrong and if there’s anyone worthy of calling him out in this same way, it’s you. Doesn’t mean he takes it any more kindly, glowering at you so heavily he thinks you might be enjoying it.

“Name one time,” he retorts, fully on the defensive. Even though he knows you’re right. Even though he could list off just five things since last night.

Getting ambushed in his own home

Cracking some not-so-poor guy’s skull on the corner of his Nakashima dining table

Asking for you to make a home (or rather, hotel) call

Asking for you at all

Asking you to stay

He hopes you won’t catch onto the last three.

“That time I told you to not overextend yourself after you cracked three ribs and you came back the next day complaining because you’d piledrived a guy through some scaffolding but, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?” Okay, you have him there. “Or the time I told you to take the pills in the left drawer and you took the ones from the right and ended up passed out on my floor for twelve hours?” Another solid and mildly embarrassing example. “Or—”

“Okay, okay.” A single hand held aloft in the universal sign of stop; the other remains comfortable around your waist, digits tracing figure eights over the porcelain skin beneath your top. “I get it.”

You’re undeterred, pushing forward with abandon. “Or inviting me to a hotel to not only stitch you back together but also play silly children’s games?”

“Hey - chess is fun!” And so were Gin Rummy and Speed, the other two activities he’d foisted upon you post-sewing session.

“You’re an idiot,” you state, with a surprising amount of affection. He doesn’t mind when it comes like this, dipped in honey and rolled in fairy floss. It satisfies his sugar craving, filling the spaces between his molars with cavities.

“You still came,” he challenges.

“Just adding it to the dozens of favours you already owe me.”

He grins, roguish and far too handsome for his own good. Even tired, with lurking shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unbelievably bright - like it’s radiating out of him. It’s quite funny when he’s speckled in gore, blood tainting tanned skin and reminding you that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows.

“How will I ever pay you back?”

You’re close - far too close, even sat in his lap. Jungkook can see every freckle on your face, every lash that frames the prettiest stare he’s ever seen. He has to remind himself he’s waiting for an answer; it’s hard when all he wants to do is kiss you.

He thinks you must want it too, by how the silence stretches on, catching the pair of you like a Chinese finger trap.

“Doc?” Barely a word, made in a whisper.

Can you feel how his heart beats, trips and fails to right itself when you’re so close he can smell the coffee on your breath? Is it your medical training that gives him away? Or maybe just the fact that you’re attuned to everything about him because he’s, well, him?

Your big stupid idiot, for all intents and purposes.

He wants to ask. He wants to kiss you. He wants a hundred mundane things (like playing cards and eating sweet treats) only with you.

You tear it all away with a pat to his head and a wicked smile. “With all the dessert in the world.”

He scowls then, the expression wolfish and touched with agitation. It presents in the narrowing of his stare, his sharply set jaw. “Sounds like pretty lame payback to me.” Can you hear the edge of petulance, how it colours syllables the faintest shade of goblin green?

“Got something else in mind, Jeon?”

Having his words thrown back at him only makes him laugh. It reverberates out of his bare chest, filling the quiet of the luxury suite; it bounces around just as you do, leaping to your feet with a grace he can’t mimic. He’s mesmerised, as he always is, gaze trained on you - your loosened bun, the curves of your back, how you look in the jeans that look nearly painted on they fit you so well.

“Grab a bath, Doc,” he returns - less of a suggestion and more of a demand.

“Better have those desserts once I’m out.” A threat rather than a joke, though you’re far too unassuming with your old lady glasses and wide, expressive stare. For your sake, Jungkook crosses a heart across his chest and nods solemnly, earning him a devastating grin that works far better than your intimidation.

“Have I ever let you down?”

You’re already gone, a trail of your clothes left like breadcrumbs. He still hears you. “I mean - you did bring a knife fight to my door.”

“We don’t talk about that!” He calls back before the sound of running water takes over, distorting your laughter. Neroli and cedar wood comes - your signature scent. He can’t help the way he inhales deeply, satisfied, as he plucks the room phone from its holder. It’s an addiction, a second nature action that he can’t help, whether you’re curled in his arms or tending to his broken, bleeding body.

It’s dangerous, he knows.

His old mentor would tell him don’t get involved, Jeon. That living a life like this came with sacrifices. Things he’d never really cared for - at first. But now?

He daydreamt about them more often than he should, in all the quiet moments in between. They painted the prettiest pictures in his mind, wishful thinking in the form of everyday occurrences: coffee in the morning, you in his (unstained) clothes, drives in the countryside, a bed shared at night.

All because of you and your healing hands. He’d never thought you’d be so good at your job, stitching him up inside and out.

It’d be better if he left, packed his ruined clothing and stopped appearing on your doorstep. It’d keep you safe - and him, too. Relationships meant weakness and in his line of work, weakness was something to be exploited, like an open wound with a thumb pressed into it.

Instead, he waits until the cart of desserts appears - lemon tarts and basque cheesecake and a dozen other things that scream diabetes! - and wheels it right into the bathroom, closer to you, because he always wants to be closer to you.

“These don’t look like apples, Doc,” he hums, settling himself on the back edge of the tub, careful not to dislodge the towel that’s folded beneath your neck. The wet of your hair seeps into the material of his pants, sticking cloth to sinew and brawn.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away but a tray of desserts will keep me here forever.”

“You planning on living here?” Quipped with an offering - a cocoa masterpiece of four layers, held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Might as well milk it,” you tease, accepting the bite with love in your eyes and a tongue that sweeps, just barely, over his suddenly electrified skin. He knows what you’re doing just as well as you do; it’s next to impossible not to lean into the desire, slide the digit home and press down into muscle until you’re drooling around it.

“Might as well,” he echoes, those same fluttering pink hearts reflected in his stare.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

142 notes · View notes

nervousmendes · 4 years

Text

Drunken Haze | Shawn Mendes

Shawn x reader (smut)

a/n: this was a failed attempt at writing smut for the first time. (it's very mild, mostly just sexual tension and making out) do check out more of my work on my masterlist right here

summary: Shawn sees the reader at a bar and makes a move.

warnings: mild smut (making out) and very little swearing

Cez does his fair share of research when it comes to choosing a bar to spend the night at, and when you're in Paris (yes, with a French accent) it's totally worth it. Brian walked in first, Shawn and Cez not far behind. "Man I'm so getting shit-faced in here." he sighed as the three of them observed the fancy lights, furniture and wall hangings, taking in the scent of alcohol and cigerettes suspended in in the warm air of the closed space. Cez being the only bright one in the three, quickly spotted an empty booth in the lounge but Shawn's eyes fell straight on a blond haired women, her black dress hugging her hips so well and her toned legs crossed one over the other while she tipped her head back, letting the expensive wine in the glass she was holding flow into her system.

There was something about her that intrigued him. Maybe it was the confidence she radiated, the way she sat with her back poised, the way her silky hair flowed down her shoulders or maybe it had something to do with how her skin glowed in the dim lighting. He felt the urge to approach her, like she pulled him towards her. And it was as if his legs knew what his heart wanted when they started making calculated steps towards the bar counter that she was facing. His thoughts went every which way trying to figure out what to say as he took the stool exactly beside her's, completely ignoring the five (or more) empty stools on his other side.

"Hey." He internally patted himself on the back for sounding a lot more confident than he actually was.

"Do I know you?" Her face broke into a polite smile, and her thick french accent dripped with the words she spoke out of her red stained lips.

"Maybe?"

Too cocky.

"You don't give me a businessman vibe." She said looking at him from head to toe. Looking. She saw the black denim that covered his toned legs, his satin, white shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and the little scar on his cheek that gave his soft facial features a more rugged look. Shawn watched her keenly. His hand went to his hair, fingers pushing a stray curl out of his eye.

"What makes you think I'm a businessman?" He turned in his stool and rested his arm on the bar counter to make her shift her vision from his face to his forearm that flexed under the thin fabric.

"They're usually the cocky ones." He was searching for what to say slightly taken aback by the fact that someone found him cocky, considering that no one has ever called him that before, not in a bad way. He wasn't offended, just surprised. In fact he liked that the whole 'be confident' thing was working.

"But you seem nice, I'll give you that." She chuckled while twirling the empty wine glass in her small hand.

"Will you let me buy you your next drink?"

She considered it, and almost nodded yes for affirmation but then her brows drew in an L shape. "I think I've already had too much to drink." She was mentally trying to count how many times the bartender filled her glass with Chartreuse.

"So why don't you tell me your name, mysterious, handsome, American man?" She said leaning close to him. The already deep cut neck line of her dress plunged down even further, dangerously low, making Shawn draw in a sharp breath through his mouth.

"I love mysterious and handsome, but I'm actually Canadian." He narrowed his eyes at her with a smirk and she couldn't help but smile.

"And nice to meet you, I'm Shawn. Et toi?"

"I can tell you skipped your french classes often back in school." She broke into a chuckle, making Shawn grin right back at her, his face very close to hers.

"You know nothing about me, but I'm afraid this one's true." He whispered, his minty breath fanning her face. She laughed again while placing her hand on Shawn's toned bicep that was rested on the countertop.

"You're funny." Her gaze burned into him.

"I wasn't even trying." Liar.

"I'm guessing that's a lie." They never broke eye contact.

"For someone that guesses a lot, you're pretty accurate."

"You know nothing about me." She said just like he did a minute ago, her lips almost grazing his making sure to not touch them. What a tease.

"How about," the tips of his calloused fingers went to her bare shoulder, "I start with knowing what those pretty lips of yours taste like?" and stroked the soft, supple skin on her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

"That's a good start." She inched closer.

"So is that a yes?"

Instead of giving him an answer, she touched his lips with hers, hands going to either side of his neck. He covered her mouth with his, tasting the expensive alcohol she had been drinking all night. He nudged closer to get a better angle, his large hands taking purchase on her waist. Their tongues danced with each other's, deepening the kiss. He moaned under his breath when she licked the roof of his mouth, and he used that as an opportunity to suck on her lower lip. Her nails scratched his scalp, tangling her fingers in his long, soft curls and she quickly figured how much he liked it from the way he kissed her harder in response to tugging his hair. She broke the kiss for air, he assumed but then when he pulled her in again, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I live only ten minutes away, let's get out of here." She was breathing heavily. He nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before getting off the stool and helping her down shortly after. He left a quick text to Brian asking them to carry on with whatever they were upto and rolled his eyes at Brian's response telling him to "not bust that nut too quick". They got in an Uber and sat beside each other, lips red and swollen, breath heavy, and their thoughts everywhere. They didn't say a word to each other. They didn't know what to say but they were both trying to reach out for some sort of connection. She cleared her throat in an attempt to gather the right words before she spoke. Her eyes were set on her hands that played with the hem of her dress.

"Is now a good time to tell you.." He looked up at her, signalling for her to go on. She gulped, "that I actually know who you are, and I acted like I didn't because I didn't want you think of me as someone who would see you as an object just because you're a celebrity." She made air quotes on the word 'celebrity', like it was such a weird thing to say, a word that gives a human, with a little fame they never knew was coming their way, the title of an object.

"That is the best decision you ever made. If I knew you knew I'm sure I wouldn't even have made a move. You have no idea how glad I am that you did that."

She finally dropped the hem of her dress and looked back at him through her long eyelashes. That was it, there was no holding back anymore. Shawn's lips crashed into hers and she kissed his mouth back with that much force, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. His one hand went around her waist, palm flat against the small of her back, and the other was tangled in her beautiful, blond locks.

Their lips didn't leave other's even while unlocking the door, and just like you see in the movies, they kissed their way into her bedroom until Shawn's legs hit the cot and his butt landed on the soft spring mattress of her bed. She kicked off her heels and threw one leg to his other side, her knees on either side of his legs, straddling him. His hands slid down from her waist to fill his palms with the flesh of her toned bum. He cooed as he kneaded them with every movement she made sitting right on top his hard-on that strained his tight denims. Shawn drew his lips away from her mouth to leave wet kisses down her jawline and along the expanse of her throat. He attached his lips to the spot under her ear and sucked on the skin there, causing a shivering moan to tumble down her plump lips. He explored her neck and her chest with his hungry lips, tasting the lavender flavour of the soap she lathered on herself earlier that evening. Somewhere along kissing and a lot of exploring later, all the clothing they helped each other get rid of were scattered on the floor, sweat covered bodies moulding and crashing to give each other the climax they longed for.

(I cannot write smut for shit so I cut the crap out and got to the point.)

She woke up to the warmth of the sun shining on her golden skin through the half drawn blinds, feeling a mild headache from all that she had to drink the previous night. That's when she remembered him. She jutted her head out of her pillow to see that his clothes weren't on the floor anymore. She shifted under the sheets to find an empty bed beside her and a post it note neatly placed in the centre, exactly where he slept. She took it in her hand, squinting until she could read what it said.

Sorry, I left without saying goodbye. I'm playing a show today and I have to be there early. Last night was really fun. x

- S.M

Her lips formed a shy smile and her cheeks were tinged a shade of red as she recollected the events of last night. She folded the piece of paper in her hand contemplating whether she had to throw it or save it. She looked down at it one more time, and that's when she noticed that something was written on the other side. She turned the post-it around, to find a phone number written on it and under it he'd written, "maybe I'm glad I didn't say goodbye".

She laughed to herself, carefully placing the paper in her journal, already excited by the idea of seeing him again. She met Shawn less than twenty four hours ago and hardly knew anything about him, but there something about him that drew her in, made her want to get to know him better and of course feel that pretty mouth of his between her legs once again.

_______________________________________________

I'm thinking maybe I'll do a part 2 to this so let me know what you think. Hope you liked this one. Reply to this or leave me a message if you want to get added to my taglist!!

#shawn mendes #shawnblr #shawn mendes fanfiction #fanfic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes imagines #shawn x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes tumblr

100 notes · View notes

drawlfoy · 5 years

Text

Soft Spot

masterlist request guidelines requests are open!

pairing: draco x hufflepuff!reader

request: yes! there are two of you who requested something very similar, so i’m knocking this one out first to take care of both of you!

summary: you’ve had a crush on draco malfoy for as long as you can remember,...but the funny thing is, you’ve never even spoken to him. he’s mean, he’s spoiled rotten, he’s everything that a hufflepuff could ever want...but you will keep it a secret, right? won’t you? because it’s not like he even knows you exist...

warnings: language and cringiness

a/n: this is gonna kinda be my farewell fic for the summer, something that breaks my heart. i’ll be slowly drafting other requests and i WILL start posting that dramione one once it gets to late fall for the ~aesthetic~. thank you to everyone reading this! you’ve inspired me to keep writing and growing my skills. i love each and every one of you, and i hope you enjoy this last little tidbit of my writing for the summer! but also... i might have a little cringe surprise of a fic i already wrote like 6 years ago saved for later on. this isn’t goodbye, it’s just a see you later!

also... i don’t really know if seekers shake hands at the beginning of the match. i think it’s just the captains but like....let me live and let the plot thrive in a slight harry potter AU where seekers shake hands before games okay

music recs: 1980s horror film II - the wallows

word count: 3,383

tags tags tags! @accio-rogers @geeksareunique

also i literally cannot believe myself i was supposed to write this over a period of a week not 3 hours wtf

“The more concise the flick, the more concentrated your magic will be. No, no, Longbottom, I said concise, not unhinged...try again.”

Y/N watched sympathetically as the Gryffindor struggled to turn the vinegar into wine, Professor Flitwick peering over his shoulder and cringing as the boy flailed about.

“Poor Neville,” Hannah murmured to her right, her vinegar already having been turned into a deep crimson. “You’d think they’d let up on him by now and just let him do his thing with Herbology.”

“Yeah, but then again, he is abnormally talented at that,” Y/N said, watching the boy carefully. “He probably has the skills. He just needs to tap into them.”

Hannah smiled at her, leaning back into her chair. “Oh, Y/N, always seeing the best in everyone.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m just optimistic.”

“Are you, now?” Hannah leaned forward, wiggling her eyebrows. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it takes more than just simple optimism to have a crush on--”

“Hannah! Quiet!” Y/N’s cheeks flamed at the suggestion. “You’re talking too loud.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She rolled her eyes, still wearing a mischievous grin. “It’s just so funny to me. Have you ever even talked to Mal--”

“Do not say his name!” Y/N hissed. “And...yes, for your information, I have. Last year he bumped into me. I said ‘sorry’.”

“And?”

Y/N looked puzzled. “What?”

“And what did he say back?”

She blushed even harder, slinking down in her seat. “Okay, okay, he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and kept walking.”

Hannah grunted, looking entirely unimpressed.

“At least he didn’t say anything mean! That’s an improvement!”

“Y/N, I love you,” Hannah began, “And I think you need to have slightly higher standards.”

“You antagonize me,” Y/N moaned, dramatically throwing herself over her chair. “Let me have a little fun. I know nothing’s going to come out of it. So do you.”

Hannah giggled. “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. And if something did come out of it....” --Y/N laughed at that-- “...I would still love and support you no matter what. Besides, I think Nott is kind of a catch. Think you could set us up once you have your own Slytherin?”

Y/N smacked her arm good-naturedly. “Anything for my Han--”

“Ladies,” Professor Flitwich greeted. “I’m not seeing much magic occurring over here.”

“We’re done, Professor,” Hannah responded, motioning to the two charmed goblets of wine. Y/N simply nodded along, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the eyes of all of the students in the room. It had grown silent, and it seemed as though the Slytherins over in the corner were smugly awaiting a deduction of points from the Hufflepuffs. Draco Malfoy looked entirely uninterested, choosing to absentmindedly levitate a quill instead.

“Very well.” Flitwick nodded briskly. “But I would prefer if you two took your conversation out of my classroom. It seems as though you both have a grasp on this lesson and no longer need to be here...if you so wish.” There was a twinkle in his eye that reminded Y/N why Flitwick was one of her favorite professors.

“Thank you, Professor,” the two said in unison as they began to pack up their things. Flitwick waved his wand, effortlessly changing the wine back into its original form.

The Slytherins began chattering again, filling the room with its usual ambiance.

“Malfoy was looking at you,” Hannah hummed into Y/N’s ear.

“No, he wasn’t,” she responded. “I saw him. He was levitating a quill or whatever.”

“Not the whole time. And, oh, the way he was looking at you...total fuck-me eyes.”

“You’re gross, Hannah,” Y/N managed in between laughs. “Was that before or after he stood up on the desk and confessed his unconditional love for Hagrid?”

“During. He always did strike me as a polyamorous guy.”

“Stop!” Y/N burst into a laughing fit, drawing some attention to them as they walked out the door. “You’re bad!”

Hannah chuckled a bit herself, skipping down the corridor. The fall afternoon sun shone through the windows, casting a warm glow on everything inside. Y/N jogged up to meet her, struggling to shove the last of her supplies into the right pockets of her satchel.

“Slow down, will you?” Y/N called, stopping to catch her breath.

“Damn, Y/L/N, you really expect to be able to seek this weekend? With that lung capacity?” Hannah joked, skipping back to her.

“Says the person who has never played a single match of Quidditch in her life,” Y/N countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, you got me there.” Hannah raised her arm in a surrender. “I watch you enough, though.Speaking of watching you...”

She sidled up close to Y/N, shoving her playfully. “How does it feel playing your very first game against...Slytherin? With Malfoy as the opposing seeker?”

“Oh, stop it,” Y/N groaned. “It’s nervewracking enough. I saw how he treated Harry in the last game. He plays rough.”

Hannah’s eyes widened.

Uh, oh. She only ever did that when she was plotting.

“That’s it,” she sang, skipping circles around a confused Y/N. “That’s how you’re gonna find out if he has a soft spot for you!”

“Huh?”

“You just said he plays dirty with Harry,” she explained. “And I’ve seen him mess with Cho too. If he’s nicer to you and doesn’t shove you off your broom...then you know that he likes you!”

“Hannah, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Y/N admitted, beginning to walk forward again. “First of all, even if he did like me, why would he be willing to be nice to me in front of the entire school? To a half-blood Hufflepuff? He couldn’t, it would ruin his reputation. And second of all, there’s no way he does like me. You said it yourself...he’s never said a word to me.”

Hannah sighed, cracking her knuckles as she looked at the stained glass on the ceiling. “That’s true. But you liked him even before you talked to him. Why do you assume he couldn’t feel the same way?”

“Because he’s a Malfoy, and I’m not his caliber,” Y/N said, her voice flat.

“And how come you get to decide what his caliber is?”

Hannah’s suggestion rattled around in Y/N’s head. It frustrated her--it really did. She was supposed to be training for her very first match, not daydreaming about how Draco’s hair would look under the setting sun of the pitch. But she couldn’t stop.

She started paying even more attention to him, if that was possible. She stole looks at him from across the dining hall, watching as he rolled his eyes and laughed at something Pansy Parkinson said. Now that she thought of it, she rarely saw Draco without Pansy...but she couldn’t decipher if that was a mutual decision or if Pansy clung to Draco like Hannah told her she did.

On Friday night, instead of discussing strategy with the captain, Zacharias Smith, she was watching a particularly interesting scene at the Slytherin table. Pansy was pushed up next to Draco, whispering whatever she was whispering into his ear. He didn’t look thrilled, but he certainly wasn’t pushing her away. Anger boiled in her chest, so much so that she almost didn’t notice the tap on her shoulder.

“Y/L/N.”

The firm male voice finally caught her attention as she spun around to see Blaise Zabini looking down at her.

“What?” Her tone was sharp, clipped from what she had just seen over at his table.

“Malfoy wants to talk to you,” he said blankly. “You are the seeker, right?”

“Er...yeah.”

“Come with me then, we don’t have all day.” Blaise grabbed her arm, hauling her up rougher than she would’ve liked. Hannah shot her a shit eating grin which Y/N did not return.

She was too nervous. Why would Draco want to talk to her?

Blaise dragged her across the Great Hall as the rest of her house curiously watched. The Slytherin table, hostile as ever, quieted down to a hushed murmur as she neared the group that always surrounded Draco.

“Here,” Blaise spat, pushing Y/N forward to him. She stared daggers at him in response. No, she was most certainly not in a cheery mood today.

“I said bring her over, not drag her by her hair,” Draco said, slowly dragging his eyes over her. She flinched in response, not quite knowing what to say.

“What for?” Her voice was strong, something that surprised her greatly.

He raised an eyebrow as Pansy scowled in the background. “It’s concerning our match tomorrow. I want to propose a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes.” Draco sighed, looking rather irritated that she hadn’t caught on yet. “You agree to not catch the snitch, and I’ll give you something that you want. Galleons, perhaps?” He smirked.

“No, that’s quite alright,” Y/N responded breezily, instead focusing on quelling the raging blush on her cheeks. The way that Draco looked at her made her feel like he could see into her soul, and she couldn’t tell if she liked it yet. “I’m perfectly content with just playing a fair game.”

“A fair game?” Draco snorted, and the rest of his friends followed suit with canned laughter. “I think you’ve forgotten exactly who you’re playing against, love.”

“If you’re so good, then you shouldn’t have to bribe me,” Y/N shot back before she could hold her tongue.

Wait...what did he just call me?

Draco shrugged, seemingly unbothered, but Pansy sprung to his defense. “Draco, I think you ought to teach this little Hufflepuff to mind her manners around you.”

Y/N, stunned by her realization, simply stared at him, waiting for a response.

“No need, Pansy,” he said, holding eye contact with Y/N. “There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow. You can...er...go now.”

Blaise seized her arm again, but before she could move to yank her arm out of his grip, Draco’s voice broke the silence again. “Zabini, I hardly think that she needs an escort.”

Dazed, she pulled her arm away from him and dashed off. Hannah was waiting back at the Hufflepuff table, her plate long forgotten.

“What was that??” she squealed, nearly bouncing in her seat. Y/N just stared at her.

“He called me love.”

Thankfully, she had long cast aside her thoughts of a particular white-blonde by the next morning. Y/N was so nervous that Hannah nearly had to force down her toast.

“C’mon, you need the energy!” Hannah pleaded. “At least drink some water. I can’t have you passing out on the pitch! Hufflepuff needs you!”

Zacharias, or Arias, as he asked her to call him, was sitting next to her, calmly going over the strategies for the game.

“You really do need to eat,” he informed her. “I know you feel like you’re gonna vomit, but you’ve just gotta force it down. You’ll thank me later.”

Under his watchful gaze, Y/N began nibbling on her toast, forcing it down.

“Atta girl,” he praised. “Anyways, your biggest worry right now isn’t the Beaters...it’s the other seeker. Normally it wouldn’t be like that against, say, Gryffindor, but you’ve seen how Malfoy plays. He isn’t afraid of a few fouls.”

Y/N nodded, the nausea returning.

“But you’re smart, and I chose you for a reason,” Arias said, patting her shoulder. “You’re going to do great. I know it. And our Chasers are great, so even if you can’t catch the Snitch, we’ll be okay.”

She nodded again, leaning into him and blinking hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a pair of ice grey eyes trained on her.

“...and I want a clean, fair game today,” Madame Hooch finished. Y/N was ashamed, but she’d spaced out on the entire speech, instead focusing on how nervous she was.

She was obviously shaking, and she felt even more pathetic standing across from the Slytherin team. They were all buff and tall and scary looking, and she was short and shaking.

Arias placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Don’t worry, Y/N/N. It’ll all be over before you know it.”

She nodded, swallowing to try and combat her dry mouth. It didn’t work, especially when she saw that Draco was watching her with an amused look on his face. When she caught his eye, he raised an eyebrow quizzically at her and smirked.

Arse.

“Seekers, shake hands.” Hooch’s voice cut into her thoughts. Arias prodded her forward, and Y/N complied, stepping closer to Draco.

He clasped her hand firmly, leaning forward just a fraction.

“Don’t be so scared,” he stage-whispered. “We’re playing a fair game, remember?”

At this, his Slytherin teammates chortled in the background as Arias frowned.

“Leave her be, Malfoy,” he hissed, pulling Y/N back to the Hufflepuffs. “I swear, if you lay a hand on her, I’ll...”

“Relax, Smith, I’m not gonna touch your girlfriend,” he drawled.

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Mhm.”

At Hooch’s command, the two captains stepped forward and shook hands, Arias glowering at Malfoy and Malfoy smirked down at him.

The game started before Y/N knew it, and suddenly, her worry slipped away. She was no longer a lowly Hufflepuff--she was a seeker, and a damned good one at that.

She had watched enough Slytherin matches to know Malfoy’s dirty strategies. He generally relied on faking out the other seeker, which she found a rather cheap tactic.

Y/N decided to just take a few wide sweeps around the arena, dipping up and down through the air. Draco clearly hadn’t seen anything--he was flying in lazy circles much higher than her, clearly trying to get a higher vantage point of the arena to search for the gold glint in the air.

Speaking of which...when she flew past the Ravenclaw section, she caught a glimpse of a slight shimmer in the air.

No way. This early in the game?

Y/N squinted, pausing in the air for a second. The gold shimmer moved again, just a few hundred feet away from her.

She’d spotted it!

Glancing up, she saw that Draco was watching her intently. As casually as she could, she began making her way towards the Snitch, still flickering around a little next to one of the columns of the pitch.

When he turned away for a second, Y/N gunned it, speeding towards it. It began to move away from her rapidly, but at the same, time, she was gaining momentum.

“And it appears that Y/N Y/L/N has spotted the snitch!”

The Hufflepuff section roared as she closed in on the distance. She began stretching her hand out and was just inches away from it when something lightly bumped her shoulder.

Draco.

He moved so his shoulder was pressed to hers, keeping up with her exactly and leaning forward, mimicking her movements.

“You’re not half bad, you know,” he mused as nonchalantly as the whistling air would allow.

“I do. Same with you.”

Y/N’s broom was going as fast as it could without being uncontrollable, and it seemed that that was the case for Draco as well. His arms were longer than hers, though, and he was just inches from grabbing the snitch.

She could’ve just shoulder checked him to throw him off balance like she had seen him do so many times, but at the same time, he could’ve as well--but he wasn’t.

In a sudden stroke of creativity, Y/N dived down , throwing Draco’s attention off just enough to lag behind for the briefest of seconds. Darting forward, her fingers managed to close around something cold and vibrating with energy.

“HUFFLEPUFF HAS CAUGHT THE--”

Her head was heavy in the middle and light at the sides. Had it always been like that, or was she just hyperaware of the fact?

Her surroundings were dimly lit with a single candle, but even that hurt her eyes as they fluttered open. She vaguely recognized that it had to be nightime--wherever she was. Y/N tried to sit up, whimpering as the small of her back ached.

“Whoa, slow down,” a familiar voice cautioned. It was posh and male, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Mmmhmm.” Her acknowledgement of the person speaking to her was unrefined and embarrassing, but she didn’t care. Whoever it was clearly cared enough to watch over her.

The memories came flooding back...the sensation of the snitch humming in her hands, Draco flying next to her, awe written all over his pretty face..but then the white hot sensation in her back, the sudden halt of her broomstick, the rushing motion as she plummeted to the ground...the boneshattering impact, the sounds of Draco wailing for help...

But then it cut off there.

With newfound energy, Y/N hoisted herself up, taking in more of her surroundings. It was most certainly at some hour in the night in the Hospital Wing. A figure sat at the chair next to her bed, and a candle illuminated the currtain surrounding her.

She squinted at the figure. “Who are you? I can’t see.”

“Oh.”

Dark arms rustled about, pulling out a wand and whispering Lumos. A ball of light revealed a very disheveled looking Draco Malfoy. Y/N gasped.

“Sh, you’ll wake Pomfrey up,” he whispered. “It wasn’t me who hexed you. It was Harper.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “I know.”

“You do?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, his mouth agape.

“Of course I do, I heard you yelling for help. I wouldn’t do that to someone who just hexed me.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Bet you wish you took that bribe now, huh?”

Y/N snorted. “No. I won.”

Draco just shrugged again. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great.”

“I figured.” He shifted in his seat a bit. “Listen, I...er...”

“What?”

He scooted forward just a few feet. “I’m sorry for trying to bribe you. I’ll be honest, I was just kind of looking for a reason to talk to you. Winning this match would’ve just been the cherry on top.”

“You...what?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Stop it right now. What did Pomfrey give me? She must have me on some hard stuff...wow...”

He laughed, leaning forward even more. Y/N could smell a clean whiff of pine and black tea. “No, no, you’re not on pain potions. That I know of, at least.”

“So you’re telling me the truth?”

“Why would I wait her for...I don’t even know how many hours for you to wake up only to lie to you?”

“You were here for the entire time?”

“I mean, I had to shower and eat, but yeah, basically.” He cleared his throat, carding his hand through his hair. “I find you kind of interesting. Always have. Is it a crime to want to get to know you more?”

“I must be dreaming,” Y/N muttered, turning her eyes up to the ceiling. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“My parents aren’t as strict on half-bloods,” he hastily said. “And your academic and athletic record kind of...outshine the fact that you’re a Hufflepuff.”

“Charming,” Y/N responded dryly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that...” He wrung his hands together, gazing down at them instead of meeting her eyes. “I’m saying that I have...I don’t know, a soft spot for you? And if you feel the same way, I think it’d be, er, interesting to maybe see where this goes.”

“You’re saying that you have a crush on me?”

The abruptness of her comment caused her to shyly look away at the ground.

“No, look at me,” he murmured. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Y/N let out a lengthy exhale.

“What is it?”

“Could you tell? That I’ve had a massive crush on you since, well, forever?”

He shakily laughed. “Oh, thank god.”

“Well, could you?”

“Hm.” Draco thought for a few moments, placing an elbow on her bed so he could rest his chin in his hand. “Yeah, kind of. I couldn’t tell if I was overanalyzing everything, though.”

“You weren’t,” she assured him, turning to face him again.

He stared at her for a few seconds, his soft grey eyes wide with wonder. Inching his free hand closer to her, he paused. “May I?”

She smiled then, ignoring how her face hurt. “I mean, you waited hours for it.”

“No,” he corrected. “Years.”

With that, he gently slipped her hand into his, rubbing slow circles onto it as she drifted off to sleep.

final a/n: me: so i’m not posting any more imagines until i’m literally into college and an adult! also me: here’s a fic i wrote in two hours because i couldn’t focus on my sat prep! also so so so sorry for any spelling mistakes/plot holes/grammatical errors in here. i just slammed this one out

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #harry potter

2K notes · View notes

ziracona · 4 years

Note

Hi! I just realised I havn't popped in in awhile. Do you have any headcanons u feel like sharing about the newer survivors?? (I love them all, they're so cool but I think imma have to say cheryl is my bby gurl. she's tired. let her rest.) also. i am. going insane. from a toothache :) - Sleepy

Hey! Hope your tooth pain clears up! I’m so sorry—that’s one of the worst. : /

Hmmm, I do, but I’m trying to think of ones I haven’t said in asks before. 😬 Unfortunately my memory of fictional characters is great, and my memory of what I said in asks is shitty. :’-]

I don’t know the newer survivors—except Nancy and Steve—as well as I do the older ones, because I’ve never written them, and I haven’t played Silent Hill. I like Zarina, Yui, and Cheryl a lot though. Poor fkn Cheryl can join Quentin in the “Please God, just one good day?” Existence. Rip to them both. 😭

Poor kid gets out of hell once, and ya throw her back in. :’-]

Let’s see—headcanon I am fairly sure I haven’t already shared. I think Yui and Min would get along really well, and Jane and Zarina would too.

Yui hates the serial killers especially, from her own personal experience, and goes to bat hard against them every time.

Ash flirts with everyone to a point it’s even more than Ace does, and for a while it becomes a competition between them to see who can flirt more and better than the other (not in a shitty way—everybody knows they have the competition going on and it’s more a ‘I can act better than you’ than a ‘I can win more hearts’ one.) Ace is declared the winner in class, Ash the winner in sheer quantity he’s able to churn out, and they agree to call it a semi-draw. It’s actually a really fun week for everyone, because they’re all constantly being complemented and flirted with in a way they know is performative and seeks 0 real actions from them in return, so essentially they are just showererd with ‘drunk girl in a bar bathroom’ levels of praise for seven days.

Felix and Nancy are the only two with significant others waiting back home, and they bond over talking about their wife/boyfriend and sharing stories and having someone around who understands that specific brand of pain and can encourage them that they’ll make it back home.

Tapp is a dad, so he gives Felix a lot of advice on stuff since he was an expecting father. Not so much “do this” advice, since his relationship with his family didn’t go so well, and he feels like he’s in absolutely no position to teach—more like “It’s okay. Women have been giving birth for thousands of years. She’s gonna make it just fine even if you’re not home yet, and you’ll get back to them. And I’m gonna teach you some of the tricks so you’ll be ready when you do. You can even surprise her by already knowing how to change a diaper and warm a formula bottle. I’ll show you how to do it,” and talking him through some of the stuff he would have been able to learn from infant care books. It’s sweet, but Tapp almost dies when Jane says its “Very heartwarming” and teases him, so they cut him some slack. Felix is really appreciative. Laurie has taken care of a ton of kids, and gives him some advice too, and so does Nancy, who had two younger siblings.

Steve is a disaster who suffers from “I like you and you are a girl, so *pigeon meme* Is this falling in love?” syndrome. Gets shot down hard by Laurie, who is ridiculously pissed at him for bringing it up during a trial when their lives are on the line, but after he gets over being super awkward around her, and she reaches out to be like, ‘Look, dumbass, why did you even like me?’ And he’s like ‘...because you’re, uh, really cool? A-and pretty? And...’ and eventually she’s like ‘Buddy, you don’t even really know me. You’re just lonely. You’re not in love with me, you just want to be, because you want to be in love with somebody, and that’s not gonna cut it, for me, or anyone. Be in love with a person—not with the concept of being in love. And for that to happen, you have to know them first.” And since Steve is good af self-improvement, he realizes she’s got a real point, and tries to find his worth outside of needing a girlfriend, and becomes both a lot happier, and one of Laurie’s closer friends. (Side note—this extends probably only to my initial Steve ideas. I had the idea batted around that in that universe, Stranger Things /is/ an existing show, but it’s based on a mix of urban legend and history from the 80s, and Nancy and Steve are the version from the actual 80s, and I think in that pitch Steve is dating Barb, who is still alive, and already worked through this specific issue, because many things happened differently for wild comedic ‘But in the show’ effect, becuase both them repeatedly going “WELL REALITY WAS A LITTLE DIFFERENT” when like, monster hunting shit from the show won’t work on the Demogorgan, and *Spit take* “THEY HAD ME HIT ON ROBIN?” “Ewwww” “YEAH ewww! She’s basically my lesbian little sister! We’ve been best friends since grade school! What the fuck :’-]” make for amazing joke potential. )

Cheryl starts having nightmares where she sees things from the Entity’s eyes she was never meant to see, and finding out dangerous amounts of information this way. The Entity decides at some point this is too big a threat, but because it’s proud, it doesn’t want to just kill her, as that would be admitting a human is a threat, so it starts having killers gun for her mercilessly to try to get her to give up, and the poor girl is in agony.

Zarina documents stuff form the realm constantly, and has a careful scrapbook collection of all notes and paraphernalia from past survivors. She also keeps conspiracy pages tacked together trying to figure out who they were becuase they deserve at least the justice of people somehow knowing how they died and what they went through. Laurie is a big help with this, and so is Claudette, who has been keeping stuff for a long time.

Yui is very no-nonsense, and protective. She gives off strong big sister vibes. She especially also loves board games/puzzles/other games like Shogi or Go and such, and Dwight and Adam create game pieces for her to play Go with when she mentions how much she used to like that kind of thing, and Yui is incredibly touched, and makes several other ones for people to play with too, and it becomes a very enjoyed pastime between trials. It’s engaging and competitive, but much more relaxed and low energy than sports or training or going for a run, so it’s a great alternative. Meg gets super into making puzzles, and all the artists do too, and take turns painting pictures on boards, cutting them into puzzle pieces with extreme painstakingly slow care, and then doing puzzles together. Jake is invaluable in the actual cutting pieces out area, but actually enjoys to do it.

Felix knows a lot more than anyone else about the Entity when he’s taken, so he spends a bunch of time with the research team trying to recall whatever he can from his childhood and sharing any information he has, then just stays on it because he wants to. He’s desperate to meet Benedict Baker someday himself, becuase that man seems to get around, and he really wants to know what happend to his father.

Everyone becomes protective as fuck of Cheryl when the Entity starts targeting her, and someone—I think Kate and or Meg—probably both together—as a one-off joke call themselves her knights at some point, becuase they’re running such dedicated protection detail, but it becomes a whole thing, and several more start to do it. They’ll like ‘fist clasped arm across chest at attention, quick bow’ when they see her, and it’s goofy as fuck, but it helps a lot making Cheryl’s reality more bearable. Plus, it’s really sweet. Nea gets in on this and comes back one day with a little daisy chain she made cause she was bored, sees Cheryl, it clicks, runs over and offers it as a ‘favor’. Zarina sees and comes back later that day from a trial and kneels and presents Cheryl with a rescued toolbox with a brand new part. This becomes increasingly common and extravagant, and Cheryl /cannot/ deal, but it’s like, genius, becuase it takes exactly this level of surreal goofy friend bullshit to distract from the hell she is living. She ends up just regularly having someone come back from a trial or trip to the woods, salute with an arm across their chest, bow, and present her with anything from a pinecone or pretty rock, to flowers or a medkit, to a salt statue or key, to a painting or hand made bracelet, to a makeshift weapon or a pillow. Everyone always tries to outdo each other, so the gifts tend to be extravagant. Zarina considers herself Cheryl’s righthand woman/personal knight by chocie, because she wanted a cause to fight for and has found one she truly loves, and she makes Cheryl her favorite gift so far, coming up to her at the end of a long day, after a very bad trial where Cheryl was mercilessly and slowly killed by the Pig, kneeling, and offering a thick shard of stained glass from the chapel, made sturdy and held in place with a few chunks of soldered and wrapped iron along the blade and down the grip, forming a razor sharp and reinforced stained glass knife.

#ask #Sleepy #headcanons #dead by daylight #dbd

17 notes · View notes

imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 4 years

Text

Return to Me - Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen: Trust in Me

A/N: Hi all! There’s a lot of fashion in this chapter, I think like four different outfits, so bear with me. I hope you all like this chapter! This lays the foundation for some good shit coming up, and I’d once again like to apologize for the pain I cause all of you. I promise, this story will have a mostly happy ending, I just want to torture you all a bit before we get there! As always, let me know if you want to be tagged and what you think! (Also WOW I forgot how good he looked in TROS)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Word Count: 4,466 Synopsis: Although it seemed unlikely, the reader’s gathering was a success, and the planet of Manaan has agreed to supply the resistance with some much-needed help. Poe, Leia, and Black Squadron head to Serenno to accept these gifts, but another dinner party stirs up hard feelings between Poe and Lin, which eventually boil over into the tensions Poe and the reader are already feeling.

Tag List: @xeniarocks, @too-many-baes, @araceli91103, @idocarealot, @treblebeth, @treestarrrrrrrr, @thescarletknight2014, @charlottie2998, @ibikus, @mellow-f1, @mrsdaamneron, @trustme3-13, @missjess71, @ella-solei, @minelskede, @gleigh42, @usuallyweepingnacho, @givemethatgold, @and-claudia, @constantdisgrace, @wordsinwinters, @readingvogueonprivetdrive, @trshbb, @kaitlynw011, @ihave2muchtimeonmyhands, @fairytalesforever, @thanos-jeep, @mixedfandxms, @pastelbunny1501, @emotionalcal, @daniellajocelyn, @getyourselfaunicorn, @spider-starry, @jimhalpertcanbuymelove, @angelicaxhouston, @roserrys

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

You awoke that next morning, your hand still firmly clenched around Poe’s mother’s ring. The sun had yet to rise over Theed Palace, although it was threatening to soon. As always, you had a dreamless sleep.

You were reluctant to take off the necklace as you got out of bed but were certain that no one else should see it. It would be another little bit before Nové and Loré would come to get you ready for the day, and you decided to capitalize on the time. Your braid from last night looked fine this morning, so you left it alone as you scavenged through your wardrobe for something to wear for today. You pulled out a gown and accessorized it with different jewels, except for the one you wanted to wear most.

Early morning, before light had broken over Naboo was your absolute favorite time to be in the palace. Although you truly felt that every part of Naboo was breathtaking, there was something magical that happened in the castle when the first break of light started to spill through the stained glass windows, shining a kaleidoscope of color across the long, tall halls. Few guards or workers were out for the day, so there was a quiet calm in the air as you moved down the hallway, gazing at the different colored light that touched your feet as you moved.

Through habit, you made your way towards the throne room, but on your way down, you heard a noise coming from one of the meeting rooms attached to the nearby hall. Carefully, you crept closer to the room, hoping to listen to who was speaking. Whoever was in the room, though, was talking so quietly that you couldn’t hear them until you were visibly standing in the doorway.

“Your Highness,” Broden said, sitting up. He was slouched in his seat, his finger on his forehead indicating that he had been up all night.

“Too early for a meeting, don’t you think, my lord?” you asked, stepping into the room. He motioned to the chair to his right and you took a seat.

“I was just waiting for a call from General Organa. I wanted to inform her of the success of yesterday’s dinner.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a success,” you said, looking at him curiously. “We got some promising responses, but—”

“I got a transmission last night. Senator Rebianakl of Manaan is dropping off supplies to Serenno today.”

“Really? What kind of supplies?” you asked excitedly.

“A ship or two, weapons, everything they can spare, she said.”

“That’s wonderful,” you said.

“I know. So, you’ll be coming with us to Serenno to accept their generous gift, won’t you?”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” you said, drawing back slightly.

“Why not? It’ll be the perfect opportunity to show off—”

“What?”

“You,” he said simply. “You’re the reason Manaan is giving us this wonderful gift.”

“That’s not true, it’s because of Lin. He was the one who convinced Avania.”

“True, but you cannot deny the spark you put in people,” he said kindly. “And this will help the Resistance. If you want to rebuild the Republic, in whatever capacity you desire,” he added, when you began to argue, “Then you should be there. The first step is the Resistance, the next is the Republic.”

“Without the Republic, the Resistance is just a bunch of outlaws.”

“You don’t believe that, and I don’t think the galaxy believes that either. Is there a reason you don’t want to go to Serenno?”

“No,” you said quickly, “I just want to be clear that I’m not going to be the one leading the Republic.”

“Or the Resistance?” he asked. You rolled your eyes.

“Of course not,” you said. “I want to do what’s right for the galaxy, but I am attached to Naboo and Naboo only.”

“I know,” he said. You sighed and smiled at him reluctantly. “So you’re really not coming with, then?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I need to meet with my council and figure out what’s next for our people, anyways.”

“Of course,” he said, “Would you like me to stay as well?”

“I think I can handle them for myself.”

“Very well. I should be back by tonight.”

“No need to worry, Sarsa,” you said with a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will.”

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

“Why are we going to Serenno, though?” Snap asked, following Poe through the jungle of Yavin-4, on their way back to Kes’s house.

“Because that’s where our base is supposed to be,” Poe said.

“Why don’t we just tell this count that we’ve found a new base?”

“We don’t have very many allies right now, and Leia wants to make sure we don’t lose any. We don’t really know if we can trust him, but until we’re sure we can’t, we can’t risk losing him as an ally. General Organa wants us there to accept the supplies with Lin Ral.” Snap nodded and looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing. This is the same count who’s supposed to be marrying Y/N, though, right?”

“He’s not supposed to be marrying her,” Poe grumbled, “Her parents would just really like him to marry her.”

“And how do you feel about all of this?”

“Well, I’m not thrilled that my ex-wife is being pursued by him, but there’s not much I can do.”

“Except plan a romantic attic date, right?” Snap asked. Poe looked back at him and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“You going to be okay around Lin Ral?” Snap asked.

“I’ll figure it out,” Poe said, giving him a tired smile.

“Good. While we’re on the subject of relationships, maybe we should talk about Suralinda, too.”

“I’d rather not,” Poe grumbled.

“Come on, at least tell me what happened so I can keep up to date when the two of you either sneak off to a storage closet together or glare daggers at each other.” Poe let out a small laugh and nodded his head as they neared his home.

“Sura and I are done. We’re great friends, and we’re better off staying that way.”

“Plus, you’ve got that pesky ex-wife of yours around,” Snap said with a smile.

“Plus, Y/N’s back,” he agreed. “It was stupid to get caught up with Sura. I know I hurt her, and I’m sure Y/N would be hurt, too, if she ever found out. I was just . . .”

“Lonely,” Snap finished simply. “It’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with that. And as far as I’m concerned, Y/N would have nothing to be angry about. You’re divorced, you don’t owe her anything.”

“Except that I’ve told her I love her every time I see her,” Poe said. “And I do, I absolutely do, I just don’t know how Suralinda fits into all of this. If what happened between us needs to be explained to Y/N—”

“You know,” Snap said, clapping Poe on the shoulder, “I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. Don’t let this stuff trouble you.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. Which is why this trip to Serenno is doubly fun. Not only do I get to see the man who is trying to seduce Y/N, I also get to deal with the process of accepting the gifts from Manaan and schmoozing with the politicians.”

“Your favorite kind of day,” Snap said sarcastically.

“Exactly.”

They each dropped the bag of needed supplies at their feet right outside the door to Kes’s home. Snap wasn’t more than two steps up when Karé swung open the door. She beamed at Snap and wrapped him in a big hug, kissing his head every so often, as if on the short trip to the base, he had been in mortal peril.

It was hokey and overly emotional, but Poe couldn’t help but wish that you were the one coming out of his father’s house and wrapping your arms around him as you gently kissed.

He realized he was staring much too late, and by the time he did, Karé had already thrown the apple in her hand at him.

“Hey, Fly Boy, eyes to yourself,” she spat. Snap chuckled at her and laced his hand in hers. “You guys about ready to go?”

“Yep,” Poe said. “Got everything we needed from the base.”

“Perfect. I’ll let General Organa know.” She started to walk back towards the house, her hand still firmly in Snap’s. She pulled on his hand gently and he followed her into the house, leaving Poe outside alone for a few moments.

“Off to Serenno?”

Poe turned around to see his father walking up to the house, a basket of the freshest picks from his garden in his hands. The weight was clearly straining on his father’s old shoulders, so Poe quickly jumped down the steps and helped his dad carry it up onto the porch.

“We’re heading out soon,” Poe said, wiping the dust off on his pants.

“You’ll be careful,” Kes said.

“Always.”

“Then I’ll see you when you get back.” Kes wrapped him in a quick hug, pulling away just as Leia walked out of the house with Snap, Karé, and the rest of Black Squadron.

“Ready, Commander?” Leia asked with a gentle smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The flight to Serenno was quick, too quick for Poe’s liking. He had secretly hoped that on the way to Serenno he would run into some kind of snag that meant he wouldn’t have to rub elbows with the political elites of Serenno and Manaan, but as he made the smooth landing on Serenno’s surface, he knew he was in no such luck.

Lin Ral was waiting at the entrance to the castle on Serenno, an aggressively polite smile on his face. Leia smiled back at him gently, so Poe knew that he must, too. He gave him a polite nod and a little smile as they stepped up to face him. Poe looked up at the man, the one who was trying with all of his might to seduce you, and tried to figure out whatever he could about him from his welcoming presence.

“Welcome,” he said, “It’s good to have you back, General Organa, and I can see that you’ve brought Black Squadron with you.”

“Yes,” Leia said, “I thought it would be best to have them accept the gifts from Manaan with me as they are the ones who are going to be using them. May I introduce Commander Poe Dameron?” she said, motioning to him. Poe suddenly stood up straighter, trying to reach eye-level with Lin as he shook his hand.

“I’ve heard many stories about you, Commander,” Lin said with a jovial smile. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

“Thank you. You as well, my lord,” Poe managed to say without a grimace.

“Senator Rebianakl will be here shortly. Let me escort you to the hangar,” Lin said, leading the group. He made sure to fall behind the group and ended up walking step in step with Suralinda.

“I wonder what stories he’s heard about you,” she said with a smirk. Poe managed a chuckle and shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“And I wonder from whom,” she said, flicking her hair behind her back and walking away from him. He looked down at his shoes, knowing that Sura had yet to forgive him. As he stepped onto the hangar, Leia pushed his shoulder, drawing his eyes upright to see Lin Ral greeting a woman from Manaan. Leia was called up and exchanged pleasantries with Senator Rebianakl.

Poe studied the gifts she had brought. Three ships, two brand new X-Wings, and a cruiser that was only a little bit smaller than the one that had been lost with Vice Admiral Holdo. Rebianakl beckoned them all forward, and as they each surveyed the ships, they found crates full of ammunition and weapons, and food and survival supplies.

“So, what do you think?” Poe looked to his left and saw Lin standing next to him. Poe nodded and looked back at all the supplies.

“I think it’s going to bring some great help. We have a lot to thank Senator Rebianakl for.”

“I’m glad you agree,” he said with an obnoxious smile. “We’ve invited her to dinner, and she’d like everyone to join us.”

“Everyone?” Poe asked.

“Everyone,” Leia said, stepping forward. Poe looked into her eyes, finding no chance of a discussion available and nodded his head.

“Black Squadron will be there,” he said, to both Lin and Leia.

“Splendid,” Lin said, “I’ll inform Senator Rebianakl.”

Leia gave Poe a smirk as she stepped away, discussing something with Kaydel Co Connix. Poe looked across the hangar and found his squadron as he often always did, grouped together. He moved over to them and gave them a lackluster smile.

“What is it?” Jessika asked.

“We’re all having dinner with Senator Rebianakl,” he said with a frown.

“I’m not changing out of this jumpsuit,” she stated plainly. “I don’t even have anything else to wear.”

“Don’t worry,” Suralinda said with a smirk, “I think I have something that’ll fit you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Jessika complained as Karé and Suralinda pulled her out into the hall. Snap walked up next to Poe and bumped his shoulder.

“Excited for dinner?” he asked.

“Oh, just thrilled.”

“Hey, maybe Lin Ral has a jacket you can borrow,” Snap said with a grin.

“I think I can manage,” Poe said, shaking his head with a laugh as he walked away from Snap.

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

“I didn’t join the Resistance to schmooze with the elites of the galaxy,” Poe said as Leia inspected his outfit, pulling on the sleeves of his jacket.

“You joined the Resistance to fix the galaxy,” she said, dusting off his shoulder blades, “And that’s just what you’re doing. And relax, Poe, you look great.”

“Well, I never said I didn’t,” he said with a smirk. Leia smacked his arm as she walked away, whipping the cape of her jacket out behind her.

“Don’t you look spiffy,” Jessika said, walking into the room, turning Poe’s attention. His eyes widened when he saw what she was wearing, but a smile washed over his face, too, at his friend who never liked to get dressed up, looking beautiful.

“Where did you find this?” Poe asked, stepping up to admire the billowy sleeves of her shirt. “You look great.” She rolled her eyes, but a slight blush fell on her cheeks.

“Suralinda. She had matching looks for herself, Karé, and I.”

“No kidding,” Poe said appreciatively. The doors to his left opened again and Karé and Suralinda walked in wearing their matching outfits. As if he couldn’t have smiled anymore, Poe grinned even larger.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Poe said honestly.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Snap said, walking into the room after the women. He wrapped an arm around Karé’s hip, matching Poe’s grin. “Hey, we look pretty good. Maybe we do have a future in politics.”

“Doubtful, knowing your manners,” Poe said, leading the group out the same door that Leia went through a few moments ago.

As they walked in, Poe took in the room around him. The halls of the Serenno dining room were very similar to the rest of the castle. Dark, nearly black marble walls covered the room, making the lighting covering the table illuminate eerily. At the head of the table was Lin Ral, and to his left and right, Senator Rebianakl and General Organa. An array of food had already been laid out on the table, and when Black Squadron entered, Lin beckoned them to the chairs around the table.

Poe took a seat next to Lin Ral’s mother, Neamia, and locked eyes with Leia, who he was sitting across from. The meal started as formal meals usually did, with the conversation turning to policies first and foremost. Poe managed to drown most of it out, adding a polite ‘ah’ and ‘mmhmm’ every few moments when the conversation went his way. However, he could barely withhold his contempt when Rebianakl said the thing he hated most about politicians.

“I hope that our donation will be remembered, my lord, when Manaan needs support in our new Republic,” she said. Poe couldn’t hide his contempt as he looked to Leia for a reaction. She quickly shook her head, forbidding him to speak his mind as Lin answered her.

“Of course, Senator. I just discussed with Queen Bhavisama last night that once all this business with the First Order is finally settled, we will have to start thanking everyone who helped us.”

Leia’s foot found him underneath the table as Poe started to open his mouth. He gave her wide eyes, and though it was clear that she wanted him to shut up, he couldn’t. Hearing Lin refer to you and him as a ‘we’ sent white-hot rage through his body.

“I was under the impression that Queen Bhavisama,” he said, the name tasting sour in his mouth, “Didn’t want to be a part of the new Republic.”

“I’m not sure I got that from her,” Lin said, a smile still on his face as he looked at Poe. “She is on the side of democracy, and therefore, the forming of the new Republic.” Poe plastered a fake smile on his face and nodded.

“Of course, but she’s still the queen of Naboo.”

“I think you’re underestimating everything she’s capable of,” Lin said, his smile falling ever so slightly.

“I think you’re not letting her speak for herself, or at least just not hearing it when she does.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you were so close.”

“Come again?” Poe asked, leaning over the table to give Lin a dangerous look.

“Well, it just seems that you know her so well to know exactly what she wants and doesn’t want.”

“Bhavisama and I are good friends,” Poe said, his fake smile from before completely gone. “I’ve known her for a long time, I think I’ve gotten her pretty much figured out.”

“Well,” Leia said loudly before Lin could counter, “Since Y/N isn’t here, I think it’s best not to argue about what she does or doesn’t want. I do know, Senator,” she said, turning her attention back to Rebianakl, but leaving a burning gaze on Poe, “That Bhavisama was very thankful for your generous donation and did want to extend her thanks.”

Senator Rebianakl smiled back at Leia, and the issue was put to bed as dessert was served. Poe stabbed at his food, but couldn’t bring himself to eat the sweet, chocolatey pie in front of him.

When dinner was over, he and the other members of Black Squadron were the first ones to stand. They had exchanged many looks during dinner, and after his interaction with Lin, he wanted to get as far away from Serenno as possible, as quickly as possible.

“Poe,” Leia said, standing just as quickly. “Walk with me, won’t you?” she asked. He nodded and quickly exchanged a look with Jessika. She gave him a polite smile and escaped from the room with the rest of their squadron. Poe offered his arm to Leia and led her out of the room, back towards their new ships.

When they were in an empty hallway, she pulled her arm from his. Poe looked into her eyes and saw the lecture coming even before she opened her mouth.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked.

“What was what?”

“Don’t play stupid, Dameron. Just last night I have to keep Javos from embarrassing Y/N, I never expected I’d have to do the same with you.”

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass Y/N,” he said weakly, “I was just—”

“Look, what Lin said was stupid. I heard it, too, but he’s still our best chance right now. Even if he is trying to court Y/N.” Poe nodded and set his jaw. “What you did in there was also very stupid.”

“I know.”

“But you were right,” she said softly.

“How’s that?” he asked. Leia sighed and shook her head gently.

“Y/N is still just queen of Naboo. She doesn’t want anything to do with the reformation of the Republic. Her parents want to paint her as the figurehead of the movement, but that’s not at all what she wants. I think you were right to stand up for her, even if you did it stupidly.”

“Ah, there’s that classic Leia compliment-insult.”

“And you’ll hear many more if you don’t get your act together,” she said, looking up at him. “I can’t take any more setbacks.”

“I know,” he said, dropping his head. She patted his cheek softly, turning his eyes to her.

“Now why don’t you go help the rest of your squadron pack up and we’ll leave this curse of a planet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe said with a smile.

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

Another long day had you feeling exhausted, craving nothing more than to fall into your bed and sleep for hours, but you still had to reach out to Leia. If you were going to be meeting with potential future members of the Republic, of course, she would want to know about that. You typed in the codes to contact Leia, but nearly fell asleep before a Holo appeared on the screen.

“Oh, hi,” you said, looking up to see Poe in Leia’s place. He smiled at you, making you smile back, feeling a twinge of excitement in your stomach.

“Hi.”

“I was expecting to get Leia.”

“Yeah, yeah, I figured. She’s not here right now. I just saw she was getting a transmission so—”

“Sure,” you said, “How are you?”

“Good. We just got finished up packing all of the supplies from Manaan. We’ll be taking off pretty soon.”

“You’re still on Serenno?” you asked in shock.

“Yes, Lin Ral wanted us to stay for dinner with Rebianakl.”

“You sound less than enthused about that,” you said with a smirk, “But you do look good.”

“Thanks,” Poe said with a smile, looking down at his suit jacket. “You know I’m not a big fan of fancy banquets and dinners.”

“You just don’t like the people,” you said.

“Very true. They’ve all got their own agendas that they try to work to their favor.” You nodded your head gently.

“Was this dinner like this?” you asked.

“A little,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

“Just a couple things Lin said during dinner.” You sat up in your seat to look at him better.

“What did he say?”

“Basically, that you were going to lead the new Republic.”

“Yes,” you said with a sigh, “ He is under the same understanding as my parents that I’m going to be joining the senate once I’m done being queen.”

“And I may have argued with him about it,” he said reluctantly.

“Argued with him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I just stood up for you, saying that you weren’t interested in joining the Republic like that.”

“Well, I appreciate you standing up for me,” you said, “But you really shouldn’t argue with Lin.” Poe rolled his eyes. “Poe.”

“No harm done,” he said with a brush of his hand, “If he’s too stupid to realize that the base we’ve created on his planet isn’t fake by now, I’m sure one conversation with him about you isn’t going to throw him off.”

“Lin isn’t stupid, Poe. If it really is the Resistance’s goal to fool him into thinking that Serenno is the new location for our base, then they’re going to have to do a better job than leaving a few officers in a situation room every few days or so.”

“It’s not just Lin we’re trying to fool,” Poe said, “It’s everyone. We don’t know who we can trust.”

“I know, but you can trust me,” you said quickly. “And I trust him.”

“I know you do,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just . . .”

“Just what?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s been two years, Y/N,” he said carefully, “Maybe you aren’t thinking as strategically anymore.”

“Meaning what?” you asked.

“Meaning, I think you think more like a queen than a Resistance fighter sometimes.”

“That’s because I’m not a Resistance fighter anymore.”

“I know, which is why—”

“Why you don’t trust my judgement?” you interrupted.

“That’s not what I said, baby,” Poe said, leaning into the frame slightly. He had a tired look on his face.

“It is. I have assured you a million times that Lin is loyal, yet you still don’t believe me, and even go out of your way to insult him.”

“I believe you think he is loyal!” Poe exclaimed. “But the more I get to know him, the less I like about him. There’s something off about him, you’ve got to admit it. Even Leia sees it.”

“And what, I’m just the only one stupid enough to fall for his rouse?”

“I didn’t say that either,” he said with a frown.

“Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” he said with a frown. “We just can’t be taking risks right now, and he feels like a big one.”

“You thought that of me once, too,” you said delicately. Poe’s eyes widened. He nodded his head and his whole face fell into disbelief.

“Right. Look,” he said, glancing off to something, or someone, you couldn’t see, “I need to go.”

“Sure,” you said, looking away as tears started to prick in your eyes.

“I’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe.”

“Yeah, you too,” you said quietly. He turned off his commlink before you could, surrounding you in silence in the small room you were in.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #star wars imagine #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #sw #sw imagine #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction #return to me

93 notes · View notes

mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

Forget Me Not Chapter 29 ~Before We Do~

"if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in holy matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Jamie's gaze swept over their families and friends sitting on the benches. The church was small and intimate, with high ceilings and ornate stained-glass windows. The lilies were creamy white, and the faint scent of incense hung in the air. And Claire looked beautiful, from the flowing trail of her sheer lace veil to the elaborate pearl-encrusted train. She gazed at him with evident love, her beaming face a reminder of why he had fallen in love with her all those years ago.

And then the unforeseen happened.

"I object," a deep male's voice reverberated.

Loud gasps of shock permeated the air, and Claire spun around, her eyes filled with disbelief.

What the fuck?

Dressed in a sharp black suit, Frank stood up, arms extended as if in a last-minute plea. "Claire, I tried to move on, but you're the only one I've ever loved. I can't let you marry Jamie if there's still a chance for us."

For one endless, horrifying moment, everything went dead quiet. Jamie froze, his mind unable to compute the disaster unfolding before his very eyes.

Claire's face looked unsure as her gaze flicked from Jamie to Frank and then back to him again. "I'm so sorry, Jamie. It's always been Frank all along."

Another gasp from the crowd. The priest's jaw fell. Jamie watched in a daze as Claire dropped her bouquet of flowers and took a step back away from him.

"Claire?" he whispered, swallowing past the panic that threatened to choke him. "Why are ye doing this?"

Claire just shook her head, lifted the skirt of her dress and ran towards the door.

He stood frozen on the spot, unable to move or utter a word as he watched helplessly the love of his life run away from him.

The door of the church slammed shut.

Jamie shot up, the scream trapped in his lungs. Sweat ran down his body, and his heart hammered painfully against his ribcage. In a state of haze and panic, he reached out for Claire, but she was gone. Grasping for something to ground him, he grabbed her pillow and clutched it against him. It was still warm from use. He dragged in a breath, drawing in as much of her essence as he could to calm his pounding heart.

Finally, fully awake, he got up and swung his legs onto the side of his bed. Leaning over, he placed his hands on his knees and calmed himself. He heard Claire's voice in his head. Long, slow breath through your nose, hold ... and count to three ... and exhale ... and relax. And he did just that.

It had been a while since he had nightmares and all had been of the shooting incident with Annalise. The bad dreams had stopped ever since he and Claire got back together. Sifting through his alcohol addled brain, memories of the night before came rushing in. There were snippets of his stag party, and then there were fragments of Claire's friends urging him to strip. The most vivid recollection of them all was Claire's impatience to get him out of his clothes once they were alone in the house. The thought of it flushed out the lingering bitter taste of the nightmare and replaced it with longing and anticipation.

It was their wedding day tomorrow and remembered he wouldn't see her until then. She was somewhere in some undisclosed location with Geillis, Lousie and Jenny. They were being prepared and pampered for the big day. He wished she had woken him up before leaving.

Pinning his bad dream to wedding jitters, Jamie quickly showered, dressed and made his way to the kitchen. He found Willie multitasking, pouring coffee into a mug, sifting through unopened mails with a phone tucked beneath his ear. A rapid stream of promises and assurances flew through the air. "Aye, dinna fash. Everything is in order, and we have the kilts ready." Pause. "Aye, we won't be late, and we'll be sober. Alright, I'll see ye tomorrow. Have fun." He put the phone down and let out a huge sigh. As soon as he saw his brother, he rolled his eyes. "Women think we can't function without them."

Jamie smiled and grabbed a coffee. "And yet, almost every day, we're relegated to the kitchen just because we're cooks."

Willie shook his head, poured them both a Bloody Mary from a pitcher and slid one over to him. "Drink. Just a wee hair of the dog to get ye going today. So, does Claire nag often?"

He choked out a laugh. "Is being ordered about the same as nagging?"

His brother's lips curved in a knowing grin. "Aye, definitely, but I ken ye wouldn't want Claire any other way. Oh, by the way, did ye have another one of those nightmares? I thought ye stopped having them."

Jamie stared. "How did ye know?"

Willie sipped his concoction. "I heard ye shout. Are ye still having bad dreams about the shooting?"

Jamie shook his head. "It wasn't the shooting. I dreamt Claire left me at the altar because of Frank."

"Really?" He braced both hands on the countertop and let out a whistle. "Frank, yer mate back in high school? A bit odd to be having a nightmare about him. The shooting I can understand. That was traumatic. I still have bad dreams about it too. But Frank?"

Jamie sat on the stool and massaged his throbbing thigh. "Claire was infatuated with him almost all her life."

"Ach, bràthair, are ye still bothered about that? Surely not."

He winced, feeling slightly embarrassed, but he forced the words out. "It's not about Frank. It's what he represents. Successful, a decent bloke even if he was a dickhead back then and he's making loads of money. I hope I'll be enough for Claire."

Willie nodded, lapsing into a thoughtful silence. "Ye will always be more than enough, Jamie. Ye and Claire share an incredible gift. There's a bond between the two of ye that is quite extraordinary and undeniable. Ye ken well, sometimes the mysteries of attraction cannot be explained through logic." He paused, trying to find the right words. "What I'm trying to say is, ye are both incomplete without the other. I dinna ken how else to explain it, but maybe, just maybe, it's the faults and cracks in yer personalities and hearts that become the very hinges that hold ye together. I dinna ken. But whatever it is that is between the two of ye, there's nothing in this world that could compete with the kind of connection ye both have. Ye and Claire are meant to be, that's all ye ever need to know. And that is more than enough." His answer was full of conviction and surety, it almost made Jamie choke with emotion.

"And ye loved her too," Jamie whispered.

Willie reached out and playfully ruffled his hair. "Aye, I did. Anyone in their right mind would love Claire. And I will never stop caring for her, Jamie ...as a brother."

"And ye? Are ye happy with Geillis?"

He slipped both his hands in jeans' pocket and smiled. "Geillis is a handful, but, aye I am very happy. We do argue a lot, though. Perhaps it's because of our age difference, our stubbornness ...I dinna ken. But one thing for sure ... she does keep me on my toes. And I must admit, making up after a fight is the best part," he admitted, winking mischievously.

This time Jamie laughed, a weight lifting off his shoulders. It was not often the brothers talked at a deeper emotional level, and it felt great. And he knew from then on, something shifted between them. "That's good. I want ye to have what I have, Willie ...and that's happiness."

An uncomfortable silence lapsed.

"Stop! Ye're getting all soft on me, wee bràthair!" Willie joked, shoving him lightly on the shoulder and pushing the Bloody Mary in his hand. "Drink up, ma is expecting us for brunch. She might need a bit of help. Mind, Jenny is away with the bridal party."

Jamie was about to grab his drink when his phone vibrated. He glanced at the ID. "It's Claire..."

"Alright. I'll leave ye to it. I'll put our kilts in the car."

Jamie nodded and clicked on the phone. "Hey, ye didn't wake me up before ye left," he scolded gently, tidying up the countertop and putting empty cups into the sink. He could hear music and giggles in the background.

"I know, I'm sorry, but ye had a lot to drink last night. You needed your sleep."

Images of last night's escapade after coming home from the pub flashed in his head. "Weel, ye didn't seem to think I needed sleep then. Ye couldn't wait to take my trousers off," he teased. He was quite sure she was blushing and wished he could see her face. "If I'd known striptease turns ye on, I would've done it sooner. Yer hands were all over me."

"Aww, was I too rough on you?" she asked in a husky voice. Jamie caught the amusement in her tone. Oh, she was bold when there was a distance between them.

"Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Christ, I want ye now, and ye're teasing me. Ye think ye can go in a bathroom or something ...away from the lassies? Facetime maybe?" He craned his neck to see where Willie was. Looking through the window, he saw his brother was on the phone.

"Jamie! You just have to wait until our wedding night," she admonished, pretending to sound shocked. He could tell she was turned on by his suggestion as he was.

But then he saw Willie making his way back to the house. "Fine, I'll let ye go. But I promise ye there will be retribution for leaving without saying goodbye this morning."

She giggled. "Enjoy your brunch and tell ma and da I love them." He heard Louise in the background calling out to Claire to try her wedding undergarments on. He groaned.

"Will do," he replied, tamping down his frustration.

"And Jamie?"

"Aye?"

"I love you, and I can't wait to be your wife."

"I love ye too, Sassenach. Now go before I use the location app on yer phone to find ye." She heard her laugh before the phone went off. Shoving the phone on the back pocket of his jeans, he smiled and tried to shift his thoughts to puppies and nuns, instead of thinking of Claire. He sighed, and he knew it was going to be a very long day, indeed.

..........

Brunch was perfection. Jamie, Willie, Ian, his parents and Murtagh, feasted on Eggs Benedict, waffles and fruit salad. After their meal, Jamie stayed behind to help his mother clear up while the rest went fishing.

Once all the dishes and cutleries were put away, Ellen made coffee, and Jamie settled back on the wooden chair, waiting for his mother to join him.

"Ma, did ye ever think you'd fail when ye first started the hotel?" he asked. "It was a lot to take on while running a household and raising four bairns."

Ellen smiled and sat next to him. "Of course I did. And I was scared, but I had yer da at my side. There is no shame in hard work or failure. Only in not trying."

He took a sip of his coffee. "I ken the hotel was da's dream. But ye ...ye always wanted to be an artist. I've seen yer paintings from when ye were young."

"Ah, that is true, son. It was difficult to give that part of myself up. But it wasn't only me who had to make sacrifices. Yer da had sacrifices of his own. We took it upon ourselves to run a hotel and never looked back. We had a few regrets and heartaches along the way, but our path has led us to three wonderful children and Claire. We never realise at the moment what our futures hold, but sometimes we must go on a leap of faith."

He sifted through her words, thinking of Claire being orphaned at such a young age. Fate had brought her to Lallybroch and to him. It was easier said than done to believe each moment, good and bad, has a purpose.

"Do ye remember what I told Claire the first time she asked about her real parents? She was about ten years old, I think," Ellen asked as if reading his thoughts.

Jamie blinked. It was the day Claire came home from school, looking sad. It was also around the time when her uncle Lamb recently died. She had come to him asking if her parents were really dead or if they've abandoned her in Scotland. It was apparent the bullies in school had given her the idea. "Aye, of course, I remember. You explained to her what really happened. And she asked ye if she was worthy of love because she felt abandoned and the kids in school were constantly mean to her. And you told her she was loved and had worth, and one day she'd see it."

She smiled at him. "Aye. And do ye remember the last thing I said?"

He played back the conversation in his memory. "Ye told Claire she was searching for something and that one day she'd find it. But she'd need to be brave enough to think she deserved it."

"Aye, that's right, my sweet darling boy. And that applies to ye too. All the hurt, losses and disappointments are part of who we are. The setbacks need not take over, and being brave does not mean the absence of fear. Loving someone and letting someone love ye is the hardest and most courageous thing ye will ever do. It's all about the choices ye make. Just like the choice Claire made in life. She could have chosen to cower in the corner and wallow in self-pity after what life had handed her. But no. She chose to fight, to love and to pursue happiness despite all odds because she believed, that she too is deserving and worthy. And ye need to believe that ye are worthy too."

He shifted in his chair. "It has always been Claire for me. Although, in the beginning, she only saw me as a big brother and as a friend."

Ellen threw her head back and laughed. "That's what ye thought. I've seen the way she looked at ye when ye weren't looking. But it was a good thing ye both didn't know what ye felt for each other back then. Otherwise, there would have been problems, especially living under the same roof."

"Aye, ye're probably right ...we were too young. I just want to make Claire happy, ma. She's been through a lot. I must have done something right to be deserving of her."

Ellen's smile was pure joy and pride. She reached out, twining her strong fingers with his. "Ach, lad, ye have the wisdom and gentleness that humbles me. Mind, ye've been through a lot too. I've watched ye grow up into a man I'm proud of, and ye are most certainly deserving of her as she is of ye. Ye've seen her at her worse and yet ye love her. Ye are Claire's other half, and she adores ye. I've always known that fact deep in my soul. Ye've continuously had each other's back and nae matter what life threw at ye, ye eventually found yer way back to one another. It only made sense that ye both fell in love."

Jamie stared at his mother. Her voice echoed to a place inside his soul, back to a time when he almost gave up on Claire and himself. But then another image took hold, one of Claire's face, open and laughing, her eyes full of love as she kissed him, held him and showed him everything was possible.

An odd nudge stirred in his heart. "What if I fail, ma?"

Her hand squeezed his harder, and she looked at him with tenderness. "Ach, there will be times when ye will fail, I will not lie. And when that happens, ye get up and try again. The prospect of joy and disaster is part of the package when ye love someone. Marriage will not be a walk in the park, mark my words. There will be sacrifices, heartaches and loss, but there will also be rewards that will make it all worth it. With Claire by yer side, ye will find the strength. I know because I raised her like my own. And that lass is a fighter. And I ken she will keep ye right."

The emotions snuck from the pit of his gut, took root and began to bloom. "Thank ye, ma."

Ellen stood up, took him in her arms and held him tight for a very long time. "Dinna fash, lad. Ye are more than enough for Claire," she whispered, stroking his hair.

..........

"Claire? They're ready."

She turned and smiled at Jenny, Geillis and Louise. They seemed to have forgotten to breathe as they stared at her in awe. "How do I look?"

Jenny shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "So bonnie, I cannae even talk. And here I thought I was going to be the first to get married."

Claire's hair was twisted up into a spill of elegant curls, the veil cascading past her shoulders, highlighting the clean, sleek lines of the dress. Just like her, the bridal gown was classic, with its fitted bodice and a crisscross of shimmering pearls cinching the waist, then falling smoothly to the floor in sheer chiffon. Her simple heels added to her graceful stature. She held a small bouquet of forget-me-not and lily-of-the-valley, mixed with greens and tied in a rustic style.

Geillis sniffed. "Aye so very bonnie indeed that our wee fox cub will try to rush ye through the reception. But we won't let him." With her warm shade of burnished copper hair done up in French twist and pale skin, the soft blue tulle bridesmaid dress looked perfect. The girls had been excited about the dresses from the moment Jenny had shown a drawing sample. With a flattering V-neck, the dusty blue chiffon held a top layer of silver shimmer to make them look as if they were lit up.

Louise fanned her hand in front of her face. "Aww you're going to make me cry, and I don't want to ruin my make up."

Claire laughed. "Oh, look at all of you. So, so beautiful. Thank you so much for everything. I know I wanted a simple wedding, but you lot made everything extra special. I love you all so much. How do I get to be so blessed?" They all gathered around her for air kisses and quick hugs. Steadying herself, she drew in a deep breath. "Please, tell da, I'm ready."

Brian stepped in. "I'm here, sweetheart."

Jenny gave a long sigh as she looked at her father. "Ach da, ye scrub up well, and ye look dashing." Then she turned to Claire. "We'll wait outside. I'll check and make sure everyone's in place. That should give both of ye a few minutes before the ceremony."

She nodded to the girls who left the room giggling. Then she faced the man who had been a father to her for most of her life.

"Da! I'm getting married!" Emotion struck her hard. She gazed at him, dressed in full glory and her throat tightened. He wore a traditional kilt paired with a Prince Charlie jacket, waistcoat and blue-grey ruche tie. The Hunting Clan Fraser tartan was in hues of blue, red and green and was accessorised with the customary sporran, black kilt hose and polished, black brogue shoes. He was as tall as his sons, and he looked handsome and distinguished with his thick dark hair peppered with gunmetal grey and piercing blue eyes.

" Mo nighean, ye look like a princess," he said gruffly, taking her hand to kiss it. "Yer parents and uncle Lamb would be so proud."

She smiled, tears threatening to spill. "I wish they were here, da."

"I know, sweetheart, but believe me when I say, yer parents are here. How do I know? I know because ye exist," he said, touching her cheek tenderly. "And even if ye weren't marrying Jamie and even though ye are not my flesh and blood, ye were and always will be the daughter of my heart. And I couldn't be happier now that ye will carry our family name."

Childhood memories in Lallybroch flickered before her, of all of them laughing as they gathered in the kitchen. In the confines of the Fraser home, she was loved and cherished, and she belonged. "I love you, da," she said. They were the only words she could utter as emotions threatened to overwhelm.

"And I love ye, Claire," Brian replied. "I have loved ye every day of your life ever since I laid eyes upon ye. I will love ye for every day of mine and more."

She was about to say more, but Geillis peeked at the door and smiled.

"It's time."

Brian met her gaze and smiled. "Come now, sweetheart, let's get ye married. We don't want to keep Jamie waiting. He's been asking every few minutes when ye will be ready. If we make him wait some more, God knows what the lad will do."

She laughed as Brian tucked her hand in his arm and escorted her out of the room and made their way to the chapel.

#melodyheart #forgetmenot #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

2 notes · View notes

themadlostgirl · 5 years

Text

On The Precipice

*A protective boi*

Prompt: Y/N gets trapped on a ledge and while she flies to freedom Peter falls for her.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

---

I was between a rock and a hard place it seems. Literally. I was wedged between a boulder and a tree hiding from the Lost Boys. This is my life. Running from wild boys and wondering how in world I ended up in this situation.

When I was taken to Neverland I thought that I was doing a good thing. I was keeping my little brother from being taken away from his family. Not mine. The only reason I was there was because he refused to leave the orphanage without me. The parents had money and I was close to being able to be on my own so they took me too. They were kind. Loved my brother. Liked me. Treated us well.

Then the shadow came. It reached for my brother. I chased it off with a candle but it came the next night too. I was able to deter it again but I only seemed to make it angry. I knew it would come again and so I hid my brother in the closet and let it take me instead.

Now here I was. Trapped on an island and used as new toy for these boys to play with. It was like a hellish version of hide and seek every day. So far I had been able to elude them. I didn’t want to know what happened if they ever caught me.

“How did you fit in there?” My heart jumped into my throat at the sudden voice. Up above me was Peter Pan. It didn’t matter where I hid he always managed to find me.

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed at him in a whisper.

“They passed you a long time ago. You can come out now.” he said.

While I was still skeptical about the leader of the Lost Boys and self-proclaimed ruler of Neverland I knew that he wasn’t lying. He never let the Lost Boys know where I was. As cocky and cold as he could be he was still the only one here that I trusted, as little as that was.

I shimmied out of my hiding place and pulled myself up into the tree next to Pan.

“Tight fit?” he smirked at my scraped arms.

“That obvious?” I wiped at the bleeding cuts.

“Here,” he waved a hand over my arms and the cuts closed.

“Thanks.” I muttered.

“Still don’t like it here?”

“What part of being chased by a pack of boys is supposed to be inviting?”

“It’s...fun.”

“Fun? Is that what you’ve been calling the terror and fear for my life?”

“It’s not like the boys would hurt you.”

“What are talking about? What else would they do to me? Have a tickle fight?”

“It’s a game.”

“I don’t like that game.” my hands started to shake, “The things they say when they’re hunting me...it doesn’t sound like a game.”

“What are they saying?”

“Stuff…it doesn’t matter.”

Pan placed a hand on my shoulder, “Y/N--”

“I think we missed her.” The sound of the boys returning silenced us. “How is it she keeps getting away?”

“It’s that stupid head start you give her.” Another one of the boys said.

“It adds an element of challenge.”

“Well I’d rather just have her already.”

“I think we need to start searching at night. Find where she’s sleeping and get her then.”

“That’s a coward’s way of doing it.”

“Like you don’t want to get your hands on her already. Girls have softer flesh. There’s a lot you can do with it.”

“And what do you plan on doing with it, Vick?”

“You know what, man.” the boys laughed.

Pan’s grip on my shoulder had gotten tighter. “Vick...”

“Pan!” the one boy, Vick, pointed up at the tree we were in, “You got her! Care to toss her down to us?”

A whirl of wind engulfed me and next thing I know I wasn’t on the tree branch but inside a treehouse. It was nicer than any treehouse I had ever seen before. A small bed in one corner, a tiny table littered with papers and pencils, stained glass windows that cast the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Above us little glass vials and dreamcatchers hung form the ceiling.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“My treehouse.” Pan was pacing around the room, “As long as you’re up here no one will find you.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you care if they find me or not?”

“Cause you’re one of us. They shouldn’t be doing that--saying that--I thought it was all in fun. Not this…I’m gonna fix this. You just stay up here and don’t touch anything.” with that he was gone again.

Okay. That was strange. But at least I was away from those boys.

What did Pan mean by me being one of them? I was a prisoner here. I’m not one of those little monsters.

I know Pan said to not touch anything but after a couple of hours of being up here I started poking my nose into everything. The papers on the table was a mix of logs and drawings. Under the bed was some extra clothes of his. I was shaking out a tunic when a little pouched dropped to the floor. Now what was this?

I opened it and inside was a bunch of greenish sand. Fairy dust. I heard Pan mention this stuff before. Among other uses, it could make someone fly. You needed belief to make it work though.

This could be may way out of this hellhole. I stuffed the pouch in my pocket for later.

Pan returned later that night with a bowl of food. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Thanks” I took the food, “Where have you been?”

“Trying to get some sense knocked into the boys. Apparently they did not know that they weren’t supposed to be hurting you. Now they’ve turned it into this whole thing and I need to wrangle them in.” Pan collapsed on the bed.

“You really don’t need to be going into all this trouble. I can handle it myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to be handling it. You’re a Lost Girl. You should be having fun with everyone. Not fearing them.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“What?”

“That I’m one of you? You stole me here. I am literally hunted everyday because they see me as something to hurt. I am not part of this world. I don’t want to be.”

“Sit.” Pan pointed to the space next to him, “Why do you think you were stolen?”

“Because that dumb shadow of yours tried to take my little brother. He had a good life so I let it take me instead.”

“If your brother liked his life so much then why did the shadow come in the first place?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The shadow is drawn to people in the same way people are drawn to my pipes,” He held up the pan pipes, “Have you heard me play before?”

“Yeah. I hear music every night. I didn’t know it was you.”

“It is.” he started to play a soft tune, “Did you know that this pipe is magic?”

“How?”

“It can only be heard by lost children. People who feel unloved. People who don’t think they have a place or a home. People who are lost. It’s those type of people that my shadow finds.”

“But my brother loves where he is. Loves his life.”

“Did you? Did you love where you were?”

“The shadow…”

“It wasn’t there for your brother.”

“That doesn’t mean I belong here.”

“It could.” his eyes were boring into my very soul. “We just need to get the boys under control first.”

“Thanks. But I’m not holding out hope.”

“Just stay up here for now. I’ll take you out when things are safer.”

“Pan--”

“Non-negotiable. Stay.”

He blinked away and I sighed. I left the treehouse and stared down the tree. I was much higher up than I had thought. I couldn’t even see the ground from this perch. Climbing down would be suicide. Guess I’m staying here.

It wasn’t all bad. Pan had brought me some stuff to keep myself entertained and always remembered to bring plenty of food with him as well. His visits to me became more numerous as the days went by. Not just to drop off food or things to do but he would stay to talk with me. Mainly he would vent about the Lost Boys but after he was through with his frustration the conversation would turn to more pleasant topics.

I even started referring to him as Peter as was a wish he expressed one day when he was teaching me how to play chess.

Eventually he was coming to the treehouse to simply relax in my company. I’d be sitting on the bed reading and he would come to lay down in the spot next to me. One of my hands flipping the pages of my book while the other played with his hair. It was almost domestic.

“Peter?” I closed my book. “May I ask you something.”

“You know you may.” he shrugged.

“When can I leave the treehouse?”

“When things are safe for you.”

“When will things be safe for me?”

“When I can convince the boys not to harm you.”

“And how much longer will that take?”

“As long as it needs to.”

“But Peter--”

“No!” he snapped, “Why are you so determined to get out of here? We have fun, don’t we? It’s not bad up here.”

“That’s because you can leave. You don’t have to sit up here for hours at a time by yourself waiting for something to happen. I may be safe but I am going stir crazy. Can’t I leave for just one afternoon? Surely if you’re with me then none of the boys can harm me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It really is though.”

“No. My answer is final. You are going to stay here where you are safe and that is that. Understood?” He fumed.

“Not like I have much of a choice.” I muttered and stalked out of the treehouse and sat down on the large branch outside.

“Y/N,” Peter followed after me, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just don’t want to take any chances.”

I refused to answer him.

He sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll be back with dinner.” With that he was gone.

I can’t. I cannot keep doing this. Every time I bring up the option of me getting out of here he refuses. No more.

I’m not staying here anymore. I am not some little pet bird that Peter can keep in a cage to play with when he likes. If he hasn’t gotten the boys in line by now then I fear I may stay in this treehouse forever. I pulled the pouch of dust from my pocket. I could fly away from all of this. Go somewhere and start a new life far from all of this.

There was no real room to fly here in the trees so I’d have to climb down and find an open spot to take off. If this worked at all that is. My descent down the large tree was terrifying and more than once I thought about returning to the treehouse and freedom be damned but soldiered on.

I nearly cried for joy when I saw the ground and relished the feel of solid earth below me. Now I just need to get to a clearing. I moved quickly but deftly through the jungle. Pushing myself into the shadows of trees any time I heard a noise. After all these weeks of practice I had gotten rather good at hiding.

A tune started to drift across the breeze and drew my attention to it. Peter…

Without thinking I started to head towards the source of the music. The hypnotizing melody putting me at ease and drawing me closer. Then it stopped as abruptly as it began.

“I didn’t think that would work.” A voice from the trees called. My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized it wasn’t Peter playing the pipes this time.

Vick emerged from his perch and smiled sinisterly down at me. “I hate to have to pickpocket the leader but desperate times call for desperate measures. And you have been missing out on all the fun, darling. You must have had a really good hiding spot this time.”

More boys started to reveal themselves from the shadows. “I’m afraid that we’re not going to give you a headstart this time though.”

I ran. I turned tail and ran as fast as my legs could go. The boys whooped and hollered behind me. By making some sharp turns and throwing myself into quick hiding spots I was able to keep ahead of them for a time. They were too close this time. It was taking everything in me to keep moving. I can’t keep this up much longer.

I turned my head for one moment to see if they were gaining on me. My foot hit air and then nothing else as I fell over the side of a cliff.

My hands scrambled across the rocky face of the cliffside cutting my arms to shreds and probably fracturing if not entirely breaking my bones altogether. I landed hard on a small ledge, barely enough room to keep myself balanced but at least I wasn’t falling anymore. I wasn’t even aware that I had stopped until I calmed down enough to notice I wasn’t hurtling to my doom. I squeezed myself as close to the cliff wall as best I could. Every part of my body hurt. My arms were already their own mess but the landing had shaken me to my core and my legs were throbbing from the impact.

A few feet from where I landed I shrieked as another body went sailing past me and fell into the sea below. Was that Vick? I would have enjoyed that more if it wasn’t for the fact that it could have easily been me if I hadn’t hit this ledge.

I stared up the cliffside and my vision tunneled. The top was so far up. Even if I had any remaining strength trying to climb up would be suicide. Looking down wasn’t any better. The waves still loomed far below, crashing against the sharp boulders scattered around.

What do I do? I am in no condition to climb. Climbing up the cliffside is impossible and continuing downward is certain death. No one up there would be looking to rescue me either.

Am I...am I going to die out here? This is not how I am going out! If I’m dying it is going to be by the hands of a sworn enemy that my brothers in arms will murder so to avenge me and that is that.

I took a deep breath and looked at my situation more carefully. Can’t climb. Can’t fall. Can’t call for help. There was only one other option. I felt in my pocket and breathed a sigh of relief when I felt the small pouch of fairy dust still there. I can fly out of here.

All I have to do is believe. That’s what Peter said anyway.

What if my belief isn’t enough? What if I jump and all I do is fall? If I do nothing then I’ll die anyway. Even now I can feel the ledge holding me starting to give way under my weight. I need to do this now.

Slowly I found a hold on the rocky wall and pulled myself to standing. More of the ledge crumbled away. My toes poking over the precipice of the ledge. I opened the pouch and took another deep breath.

“Here goes nothing.” I said. I poured out the fairy dust and jumped.

~~~

This was bad! This was so very bad!

Peter had gone back to the treehouse to see Y/N and his blood went cold. She was gone. He felt for her presence and found her just in time to see she was being chased by Vick. Before he could stop him he watched with horror as she stopped looking where she was running and went tumbling over the edge of a cliff.

“Y/N!” He ran to the edge and saw that she had stopped falling several feet below. Too far down for him to be of any help. With his reserve of fairy dust from his treehouse being pilfered there was no way for him to get down there either.

“Hey, Pan, can you believe that clumsy little thing--” Vick’s words were cut off by Peter’s hand wrapping around his throat and throwing Vick over the side of the cliff. He should have done that at the start and then maybe the boys would have fallen in line sooner. The others scattered like frightened sheep which was the first smart decision they had made all night.

Peter was devising a plan with a pulley system and some long vines when he saw Y/N start to stand. What was she doing?

“Y/N!” he shouted but she couldn’t hear him that far away.

Then she jumped. The scream was caught in his throat. Too intense to let free.

He watched helpless as she fell once again. Then there was a spot of green against the dark blue of the ocean. It started to grow bigger as it rose slowly at first then shooting up into the air. He knew what that was. “You sneaky little thief.” Peter smiled.

Y/N rocketed up the cliffside sending Peter rolling back from the edge as she narrowly missed colliding into his head. He could make out the distinct sound of wild laughter as she flew higher and higher into the sky before zipping out across the island.

“I love that girl.” He spoke aloud and chased after her from the ground. She was going to need tending from that fall.

#ouat peter pan #peter pan ouat #ouat #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader #neverland #request

265 notes · View notes

nish-s-random-writing · 6 years

Text

“LaDiDaDiDa”

USUK/UKUS Hitman Jones fanfic

words:1749 summary: Jones was just having a little fun, but somehow he ended up getting tried in court. Well, he supposed it was up to his Arthur to bail him out. Again. Most likely with a lot of murder involved. warnings: blood, murder, abusive-ish-kinda relationship, death mentions, physical harm, court proceeding that isn’t a court proceeding that might offend an ace attorney fan (a/n): well, I threw the truckload in here, didn’t i? Inspiration was from the many vines of Hitman Jones with SonReal’s “Can I Get A Wtiness?”, or, y’know, the one that goes “I am the man~” Enjoy! :D

_______________________

“Your honor, if I may intrude-“

“Get your feet off ze table!!!”

“Geeze, judge, no need to be rude.”

I could feel stares on the back of my neck. I smiled, knowing the jury was paying very close attention.

Ah, yeah, I was in another courtroom this time, being tried again. It was just a little slip yesterday—myself having a bit of fun; it was simply by chance that they found me with blood on my hands. Luckily, they’d never find who it belonged too, though the murder reports frolicking around Ney York was enough for them to arrest and try a random stranger in an alley with his hands stained red. Ha ha.

Arthur would be so mad.

The courtroom was big, empty, comprising mostly of auburn wood and a marble floor. It would be easy to start a fire in here. The seats were wooden—and a little creaky. I liked the sound. I rocked back and forth on my heals, making the chair squeak, making the noise echo, and making the German judge in front of me look like he was about to have a stroke.

That would be nice, wouldn’t it? To kill someone without doing anything more than bouncing your heels.

“Stop it! You- you…! Ah, does this man not have a name?” The judge yelled and rand his fingers through a bunch of frayed papers on his desk, those of which he immediately began to organize into a neat pile. Ah, a neat-freak. Extremely easy to piss off.

“No, your honor, I was born nameless and covered in blood,” I declared with a grinning mouthful of teeth.

The judge’s blond brow twitched. “What are you saying?“

“Well, I ain’t lyin’! Not everyone’s born with a predetermined name and you can’t tell me you flew out of your momma’s vagina all squeaky clean!”

“Enough!” He growled and banged his hammer-thingy on his wooden thingy. The already quiet courtroom seemed to hush even more. Above the angry German, the clock read 11:56, almost noon. The harsh sunlight was already beaming through the windows to the right.

“You,” The judge started again. “You have no name, no record, no face recognition. Who are you? A foreigner?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I could be Japanese for all you know.”

He tucked in a breath. “You—! Be straight with me, young man!”

“Sorry, I’m, like, really gay and I find dicks hot so it’s a no-can-do there!”

He gaped like a fish, surprise on his face. A snicker or two came from the jury stands before he silenced them with his hammer.

“Listen here! You have numerous offenses already—refusal to cooperate is one of them! Having no records makes you highly suspicious. This cannot be tolerated. I am breaking numerous procedures here and it pains me so, but answer me one thing, if you will not answer anything else! Whose blood was on your hands and what were you doing with that baseball bat?”

The judge leered, inching forwards with his hands on the table. He was daring me, behind his glasses. I offered a lazy stare behind mine. Above him the clock read 11:59

“Uhh, I plead the fifth?”

His hands were rammed on the table and he collapsed back in his chair. Then he was fixing up the disturbed pile of papers.

“Hey, what kind of trial are you running here, judge-y?” I teased, leaning back on my arms behind my head and bringing my legs up on the table. “No prosecutor, no defendant. Just you and, uh, the jury?”

“I’m early. They arrive at noon. And you have no rights to speak to me!” He snapped.

“You have no rights to speak either, bro. We’re in the same boat. What? I don’t even get a lawyer?”

Right, on the spot, the clock reading 12 noon, the double doors on the other side of the room burst open in a flurry and all heads were turning. In walked a blond man in a posh, tailored, black suit, outfitted with a nice green necktie. He had a briefcase in one hand, a phone in the other, and shades over hidden eyes.

“I am Lovino Vargas, replacement lawyer for the defendant, your honor,” he introduced, Italian accent heavy, as he came to drop his suitcase next to me.

“Um, Mr. Vargas. Ah—w-wasn’t Feliciano supposed to be his—“

“My brother cannot come today. He has gone down with the cold, you see. I replace him for today.”

With a quick scan of his papers, the flustered judge nodded an affirmation. “So you will.” He breathed, relaxed, and slumped subtly into his chair. His fingers, however, remained fidgeting with the papers.

And the man sat next to me, unwilling to look my way. Still, I grinned at the sight of thick, fuzzy eyebrows above the shades.

I leant in with a whisper, “Hey, Arthur.”

“Shut up, Jones.” He muttered quietly, lips barely moving. “Jesus Christ, must I rescue you every time, you good for nothing idiot?”

“I recall a time I rescued you, Artie.”

“Shut it.”

The jury had begun to mutter and the judge was, once again, distracted by his papers. They were waiting for the rest of the court. They would never come.

“Hey, Art, when’s it gonna go off?”

“About 12:04,”

“But that’s about-“

“Oh! For the love of god!” He cried out loud, throwing his hands up in the air. The jury and judge immediately turned to him and I tucked myself into my seat, hands in my lap and head down looking meek and embarrassed.

“This, this criminal has to use the restroom, your honor! He has been bugging me for the past minute. Please, to appease this man, may I take him there?”

Despite the strange sentence, Arthur’s was as convincing as always; his voice was a holy grail of genuine emotion and persuasion. And he pulled it off, for the judge fumbled and blinked.

“Ah, y-yes. Take, um, take a guard, will you?”

Two were posted at the front door. Wearing all black, bullet-proof vests and carrying a rifle each. Arthur pulled me up from my seat. How would he handle this?”

“Oh, your honor, may we take both of these men? I do not trust this criminal.”

“Um, y-yes! You shall. Go on, then.”

Maybe it was just this guy being terrible at his job, or maybe Arthur had gotten something in his drink earlier. Whatever it was, I grinned happily.

“Thanks, Mr.Vargas. Man, I really gotta do number two, if you know what I mean.” I stated as I walked down the aisle. Both guards each took one of my arm and Arthur walked behind them.

We emerged into a brightly lit hallway that took a sharp turn just three doors down. The floor was the same white marble and a potted plant stood in the corner. I had a feeling that the bathroom was a long way off.

Upon turning the corner, everything looked the same for a long way, but the pressure on my arms were immediately relieved.

I turned to Arthur who had a bloodied stainless-steel knife in his hands. He was posed casually with his arms at his sides and stood above two crumpled heaps of black-clothed guards. He knelt, wiped the knife off on a guard’s shoulder, and stuck it back in his inner breast pocket.

“Come on, Jones,” Sighed Arthur and he began to walk down the hallway. I followed at his heels, grinning.

“Thanks, babe.”

“You don’t call me that, you fucking idiot.”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that!” I couldn’t help my giggle.

Immediately, I was pulled into a room and thrown to the floor. It was an office room, with a meeting table, a few chairs, some filing cabinets and a long window on the other wall.

Arthur stood above me, sneering, his shades now off and his green eyes glinting with anger. He locked the door.

“You absolute fool!” He spat, now back to his old British accent. “Do you realize how much danger you’ve put us in? They know your face now, Alfred! You are a lead to them now.”

“Relax, Art. A fire’s gonna break out in their records room after your bomb goes off, and I put a bug in their system so it’ll crash for a bit. Also, I deleted every little bit of record they have on me, so no worries!”

Despite my obviously brilliant justification, I was met with a harsh slap to the side of my head. I laughed.

“Fucking idiot! Think you’re so cunning, so brilliant, so sneaky. You think you’re the best hitman that’s ever been, huh?” Another smack, harder, drawing blood from my lips. The iron taste… delicious. “you’re nothing but a helpless fuck who I have to bail out every time you get caught!” Another lie from him. Another smack from him. “Useless!”

“If I’m so useless, dear Artie, why do you save me each time? Why not let me rot?” I grinned, excited, biting my lip just to get another drop of that metallic taste.

And Arthur smiled back.

“Because, dear Alfie,” he said, gently cupping my chin in the hand he used to hurt me. “I don’t plants seeds just to throw away my harvest.”

In the distance, the explosion went off. The bomb in Arthur’s suitcase which would have killed everyone in that court—everyone who’d seen my face. A vibration that shook the room at the edge of my fuzzy vision. Neither of us acknowledged it.

And he licked my lip, tasted my blood, sent a shiver down my spine, before he got up and offered a helping hand so I could do the same.

And it was always like this. Well, not always.

He had to find me first. He had to break me first. He had to quench my spirit with sharp words, harsh beatings, and biting psychological hurt. He had to crush my mind and body, before resurrecting me with a renewed vigor, a different flame, a different spirit. He brought me back half-dead, and that was why I’m alive.

No, I’m not the old me. No, I’m not flawless, I’m not the best. That was Arthur. I don’t say sorry, I don’t care about manners. I’m not perfect.

But I am who I am, the man Arthur broke into shape. And he’ll keep breaking me as he pleases, despite it being enough, because in his logistics, why not?

Yeah, I love him for that.

#usuk #ukus #fanfiction #hitman jones #aph america #aph england #au #aph germany #one shot #hetalia #usukus #alfred f. jones #arthur kirkland #usuk fanfiction #ukus fanfiction #nish #fanfic #assassin kirkland

27 notes · View notes

myaekingheart · 6 years

Note

All of them for the writing asks 😁😁😁

HOLY CRAP HONESTLY THANK YOU xD

Writer Asks

Was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? Or did it spring up when your older? Or is it just a hobby? I’ve always been a writer, regardless of whether I necessarily knew it at the time. I’ve shuffled through some other career ideas– when I was little, I wanted to be a veterinarian, and then in middle school I liked the idea of modeling– but at the end of the day, writing is what I always came back to. I used to come up with elaborate storylines when I played with my Barbies and hog the computer on Microsoft Word making shitty stories that I’d print out and staple together and draw covers for. I don’t think I really considered it a viable career at the time, but now I know that writing is what I’m meant to with my life above all else and that if I lose every other opportunity that comes my way, I’ll be fine so long as I can still write.

Overall, would you say you are more driven by plot or characters in writing? (What makes you more excited about an idea?) I think, truthfully, a little of both. I love thinking of cool ideas and ways that my characters will fit into them. It’s exciting to think of their lives and the things that can happen to them that will make or break them. I love seeing my characters happy and getting what they want, but I also love when things don’t go their way and when something completely breaks them. The torture is fun to see. I am sadistic.

Give an overview/description of some of your past stories. (Only if you are willing, of course!) Oh god, okay, so I have a couple. There was this one story when I was a little kid that I came up with, I forget the name of it, but the basic premise was that there was this disease and you turned every color of the rainbow ROYGBIV style and then when you reached violet, you died. I had another one I was working on fifth grade called “The War of Sacawragi” that I cannot for the life of me remember what it was about, but I remember rambling about it to my friends one day at lunch and being all hyped about it. Maybe it had to do with a refugee woman fleeing a war-torn country with her baby, or to protect her unborn baby, or something like that? I never finished it, and I lost what I did write when my computer at the time broke, but I don’t know. I don’t think I totally care that it’s gone? Maybe one day I’ll revisit the idea, but for now I don’t really care.

INSPIRATION. What inspires you the most?Images, music, movies. Sometimes history and mythology. A plethora of things.

Do you have an idea for a story you don’t feel you can write at this current time? (Whether it be because life is busy right now, you need to do more research, etc.) I have a couple ideas for stuff I want to write, but I just don’t feel the motivation to quite yet. It’s tough, because I’m deep into writing From Upon the Golden Thrones (my Narnia fanfic) and focusing so much on the following sequels of that that I feel like I don’t want to start anything original until I finish that. Which sucks because I know original work is what’s going to bring home the bacon and shit but I just care so much about this goddamn fucking fanfiction that I cannot get it out of my head. Plus, I feel like I’m at a spot in my life right now where pouring more energy into writing fanfiction is acceptable because I’m in college rather than out in the working world depending on churning out original stories to earn a living. Once I graduate college, I’m terrified I won’t be finished with these Narnia stories and will have to give them up for the sake of focusing on my career, which makes me incredibly sad because as stupid as it may sound, I have never cared about any of the other stories I’ve written (original or otherwise) as much as I care about this fucking fanfic.

Favorite POV to write in? (As in First, Third, or maybe a specific character?)I really like third person omniscient. I used to write almost exclusively in first person but I felt like that was really restrictive to me. I like the way third person omniscient feels like playing God– you know exactly what everyone is doing, where they are, how they are feeling, but the characters don’t know shit and it’s kind of fun to fuck them up like that. It’s fun to know stuff they don’t. Plus, I really like paying attention to everyone’s take on a situation. I like delving into their internal monologues when something happens, good or bad, and how they interpret those situations. I like my readers to know what’s going on in my character’s heads and how they view the world compared to one another.

Favorite writers? Have they influenced you at all? Obviously CS Lewis is a fave. I just love the way he was able to interpolate scripture into fantasy. I’m not a wildly religious person but Narnia is the closest thing I’ve felt I’ve come to religion in my adult life, like Narnia makes me feel a particular way that nothing has ever made me feel before. I think that is also in part to my Irish heritage, and knowing much of Lewis’s inspiration for the landscapes of his book was inspired by his homeland. I actually wrote an entire essay about this for one of my classes last semester. I’ve never really been as big a fanatic of any other writers as I am with CS Lewis, much in the same way as I approach my music tastes-- I more often than not like particular songs rather than whole bands. Much like Nirvana and Beartooth is to my music taste, CS Lewis is the one artist whose work I am a wild fan of (even if the only other work of his that I’ve read outside of Narnia is Out of the Silent Planet).

If one cliche could be eradicated from writing, which one would you pick?The idea that everything has to be romance, and that every romance has to be a certain way. I like the stereotypical chick flicks as much as the next woman but I like complicated love that waxes and wanes. I like love that has a purpose, that at it’s core is hopeful but that rips your insides apart and makes you realize things about your life you never knew before. I like love that is based on more than just the superficial things. Situational love, childish love, war-torn love, all of that good shit. I prefer love that is real and raw and it hurts because it pays no mind to caution in the literary sense. I’m tired of the love we always see in YA lit where everything is meant to be poetic and flowery. Give me blood and sweat and tears. Give me something that’s real. That’s the kind of love I enjoy reading.

Favorite cliche or trope? I like the comedic stuff a lot, like funny misunderstandings. I wrote one into the last posted chapter on my fanfic that I was pretty disgustingly pleased with. I’m really bad at writing comedy but I try. I don’t know if this is necessarily a cliche or a trope, either, but I adore bildungsromans. I live for character development.

Do you have to force yourself to write, or is it something you want to do? Half and half. I feel like my will to write exists on a spectrum. On one end, there is the idealistic mix of motivation and inspiration where I sit down and the words just flow out of my fingertips and when I look back at these chapters, I typically have to do very little editing because I was so deep in the zone and so focused on what I wanted to write and I did that. On the opposite end is the numbness of feeling zero motivation and zero inspiration. It’s like sex-- I’m just not turned on and not thinking about sex whatsoever. And that’s fine. You don’t need to write 24/7. The worst is when I fall somewhere in the middle, which is where I am most often. I either have all the inspiration and no motivation or all the motivation and no inspiration. Most frequently it’s the former. I think about my current story constantly and yet more often than not, I never have the strength to open up the word document and actually work on it. This has been especially true this past month, when I went on a three day writing binge and wrote eight chapters only to find on day four that the file got corrupted and I lost all of my work.

Share a passage from one of your works and tell us why you liked it so much. Oh god, this is dangerous. One of my favorites is a scene in Chapter 12 of From Upon the Golden Thrones, but it’s too long to copy and paste here so instead I’m going to use a passage from Chapter 9 instead: As night swept across Narnia, the bad dreams took hold once again. Eilonwy’s breath hitched, tossing and turning as fearful visions paraded through her head. Peter snapped awake the moment he heard so much as a whimper, climbing onto the edge of her bed to try and soothe her awake. Her eyes fluttered open, brimming with tears, hands trembling wildly. “It’s okay, Ellie, everything’s alright. It was just a bad dream” he whispered, petting her hair. She shook her head and burst into tears. “It never ends…” she whined, burying her face beneath a mountain of pillows. “I want to go home!” “Ellie, shh, you are home” Peter replied but the huntress shook her head in great protest. “This isn’t home, this is hell!” she screamed. With a sudden jolt, she sat upright and began throwing pillows left and right. “Eilonwy, stop! Please!” Peter begged but she refused. She launched pillow after pillow into the wall, toward the window, knocking things off her vanity and even cracking it’s glass. She kept going until the entire room was drenched in a blizzard of feathers. It wasn’t until the window creaked open and a soft breeze blew through that Eilonwy finally began to calm down. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the mattress and wept softly, tears staining her cheeks. Peter swatted at the downy rain, climbing into her bed and wrapping his arms around her tightly. She sighed and fell into him, far too tired to fight him off, and deeply inhaled the sweet smell of his skin. “It’s alright now…everything’s alright” he whispered, gently rocking her back and forth like an infant. “It never ends…” she repeated softly, her hot breath grazing Peter’s collarbone. Not knowing what else to say, he sat there in silence continuing to rock her and hug her tight in hopes that perhaps he could glue all of her broken pieces back together. As she slowly drifted back to sleep, however, a quiet murmur caught his attention and sent his heart soaring. In the softest tone imaginable, she breathed a quiet “I love you…” And finally, Peter received the confirmation he had been searching for. She officially loved him back just like he knew she did. I love this scene so much because it’s finally this breakthrough with the relationship between these two characters. In the entire first installment, they’re getting to know one another and learning about each other and experiencing these scary, foreign feelings and they’ve come so far since then at this point, and Peter wants nothing more than for her to reciprocate his feelings for her, and this is the scene where he finally gets it and he’s over the moon. As for Eilonwy, she really struggles with the whole concept of attachment and affection and so this is a really pivotal scene for her, as well, and one that affects both of them heavily long after it’s happened, both for better and for worse.

What is the worst writing advice in your opinion? I’m not sure this is even really advice but the worst, in my opinion, is the pressure to write literary fiction rather than genre fiction. Stick literary fiction up your ass and smoke it. I don’t give a shit. I’ve noticed more than anything that in my college writing classes thus far, there’s this desperation to drill literary fiction into our heads, to convince us that it is the only fiction of quality and that genre fiction is trash. I completely disagree. Genre fiction is so much more liberating. Shit actually happens in genre fiction. Yeah, some of it is cheesy and commercialized but to say genre fiction, especially genre fiction of today, is worthless is to completely disregard the amazing, accessible commentary it’s providing to people of all ages, socioeconomic statuses, races, genders, etc. Genre fiction is giving us characters we can relate to, characters that we see ourselves in whether they’re transgender or of color or struggle with the same mental illnesses we do. It can give us both an escape from reality and a comfort within it by showing us that we are not alone and that we can fight our demons just like the characters in these books do. So I say fuck your literary fiction. Genre fiction has given me far more than literary ever has.

What is the best writing advice? The best writing advice I can think of is to write what you feel. I’m a firm believer in the idea that our best writing comes from our emotions. We kind of have to keep them reigned in to a certain degree, I think, in order to keep control over the language and the emotion but if your words aren’t fueled with some sort of feeling, then to me it’s like staring at a plain piece of cardboard. There’s no meat in the message.

Character names. How do you come up with them? It depends. Sometimes I see a name or even a word somewhere and a character shows up in my head. Sometimes I just pin random names to people. Sometimes I go onto those baby name websites and look up something meaningful that fits the character both in sound and in definition. And sometimes things just come together, like with my original character in my Narnia fanfiction. Her name is Eilonwy like the character in The Chronicles of Prydain. I’ve never actually read the books, but I like the long-forgotten Disney movie inspired by them. The name was just really interesting and pretty to me, and I really wanted to use it. At first, that was all it was: just a superficial reason. I was fourteen when I first came up with the initial idea for the story, so of course I didn’t have any deeper reasoning behind “It sounds pretty!” Now that I’m older and more thoughtful about my writing and shit, though, I’ve come to find that the name holds much deeper meaning to the story than I ever could’ve imagined which feels great. I love when things just randomly work out like that.

Do you tell friends/family about your writing, or do you keep it a secret?They know I write and some know what I write about but I don’t make too big a fuss about it. If I’m deep in a writing binge, I’ll post my pride on facebook like “I’ve written such-and-such word count so far!” or whatever. For the most part, though, I keep pretty quiet. I’ll share when I have to, like in writing workshops, but in regards to my fanfiction, the only person I really ramble to about it is my best friend. She’s heard all the spoilers and given me feedback on paragraphs I was either proud or unsure of. I’m really grateful for her feedback, and that she lets me fangirl over my own work when I need to!

What are some of your favorite words to use in writing? I don’t know if I have any favorite words. I have overused words, but I don’t know if I have any favorites.

Opinions on smut? Good if done right. I’ve tried my hand at my fair share of smut and when I look back at the stuff I tried to write for my last finished fanfiction, a Jack Frost x Violet Parr American Horror Story AU, I cannot help but cringe. I had the hot and heavy shit down pat but situational appropriateness was not entirely grasped. But then again, I was sixteen and a virgin when I wrote that so of course I didn’t have any realistic handle on it. Looking back, I’m just proud of myself for even writing something of that length because as problematic and cringey as it is to me now, that was the story that really confirmed I had the stamina to write novels. Up until that point, I had never written a full-fleshed, novel-length work. Now I’ve written two more and am working on a fourth. But anyways, about smut, my approach has shifted since then. Nowadays, my guidelines are to do it only when it’s appropriate to and to do it tastefully. Less is more. I care more about the emotion in it now than I do the physical act.

Is there anything you have found that you cannot, under any circumstance, write about?I’m not sure. I can’t think of anything right now off the top of my head, because refusing to write about something and finding difficulty in writing about something are two completely different things. There’s lots of things that are difficult for me to write whether it’s because they’re not my strong points (like humor) or because I feel inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to do as much research as I can to write them. If I care about a situation or idea enough, I will go that distance. I don’t know if there’s anything I would shy away from writing, including triggering material. I’ve already done stuff regarding rape. I write a lot about anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, even some PTSD. I don’t think there’s anything I’d shy away from writing.

Creative nonfiction. Have you dabbled with it? Do you like writing about your own life?I honestly love writing about my own life. That makes me sound really narcissistic but I mean, I’m telling the truth. There’s this one quote from a movie called Stuck in Love that I absolutely adore, it says “A writer is the sum of their experiences.” So much of my writing is inspired by my own experiences, and while I certainly don’t think you have to have experience in something to successfully write about it, having that extra layer of knowledge on a subject really adds realism and meaning to something. I can fake it, sure. I did that a lot in stories I wrote for my community college creative writing class. I wrote one story called Princess about a girl auditioning to be a face character at Disney World. I’ve never done that, though I’ve done a lot of research because I desperately want to. People thought I had actually experienced it. I wrote another about a young woman in the hospital for an eating disorder who desperately wanted a baby. While I’ve never been hospitalized for an eating disorder, I do struggle with one and my greatest fear is losing the ability to have a baby because of it so even though it wasn’t something I directly experienced, I channeled my fears and feelings into it. At the end of the day, I think so long as you’re passionate about something, you can successfully write about it and make it believable. But back to the question, one of the experiences I look to for inspiration most often is my love life and what I’ve been through with that. I’ve never been abused or cheated on or any of that bullshit, but I’ve had a very interesting history with my boyfriend that hinges on not only romance and compatibility like in all relationships but also in self esteem, grief, family, and the past. I’ve written quite a handful of short stories based around it, and some of the not-so-lovely feelings that have come from it. (Disclaimer: This is not to say my boyfriend and I are unhappy or in an unhealthy relationship. We just haven’t always had it easy and early on, I had a really tough time coming to terms with some things that I’m not going to go into detail with right now).

Allusions and references to other works. Thoughts? Do you like to use them?As a fanfiction writer, I feel like I’m obligated to say yes since that writing mainly takes place in other people’s works. At it’s foundation, though, I love allusion. I’m a big fan of fairytales and I have some interest in Greek mythology, as well, so I like taking inspiration from those and alluding to them in my stories. It’s easy to do in my Narnia fanfiction, especially, because it already alludes mythology and also religion which can tie into fairytales. Eilonwy, my OC, is a very heavy reference to the story of Snow White, as well as to Adam and Eve and Joan of Arc. I think it’s fun to tie certain things into shit like that, and I love when everything connects and makes sense.

What do you think characterizes your writing?My style and approach. I command the language a certain way where I try to sound cohesive and intelligent but also pump those big words with emotion and meaning. I don’t really know how else to describe it; my best writing comes when I’m in that zone and the words are just flowing out of me. I like trying to express abstract concepts in ways that feel tangible, too. I think tangibility is a big aspect, too. As an adjective here it probably doesn’t make much sense, but there’s something about my writing that I feel gives it this kind of tangible quality, almost. I like being able to feel the emotions and words in the air around me like oxygen. I also think the fact that I don’t like to shy away from anything helps to characterize my writing, too. I like to pull out all the stops. I don’t like censoring myself for the sake of comfort or digestibility. Maybe that makes my work kind of hard to get through but still. I feel like you have to have a stronger stomach for my work because I will not resist uncomfortable topics or scenes. Rape, gore, anxiety, whatever. I don’t shy away from any of it.

Do you control your characters, or do they control you? For the most part, I have pretty decent control over my characters but sometimes they like to go their own way and screw up the plan. Sometimes it’s for the best, but I’m the kind of person who likes to strictly stay to the path I’ve mapped out so more often than not it’s a nuisance. That resistance can be a real struggle, too, because sometimes where my characters take me flows nicely but it would mean reworking everything so I have to go back and try and channel that flow into the right direction.

Are there any misconceptions people have about your writing? I don’t really know. I try to be as clear as possible about what is happening and what I mean when I say certain things. If anything, they’d probably mistake me for a psychopath.

Best compliment someone has given you about your writing.I think the best compliments are honestly the ones where people are just straight-up fangirling. I love reading people’s reactions to my works, especially when they love it and want more of it and are screaming at their computer screens because of choices the characters have made. I had one person even send me a message telling me that they love my story so much, it’s all they can think about and gives them motivation to live (in a non-suicidal manner) and implored me to keep writing. That’s the kind of feedback that really motivates me to keep doing what I do.

Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer? In five years, I hope to be a published author with at least a small repertoire of original work under my belt and out in the open. I know it might take longer than five years to get there but I’ve come so far already and I think if I have the passion and the will to do it, I can get there. The end goal is to just get my stories out there and accessible to the public in hopes that someone may find something in them that they relate to, that helps them feel less alone, or that they just enjoy reading. The day I find my name on a bookstore shelf is the day I will feel as if I’ve truly made it (which brings me to another point about my opinions on paper versus digital publishing but I think that’s a rant for another post-- I’ve already made this one long enough!)

#ugh honestly thank you so much for this hahaha #writing stuff #ask memes #answered asks #magnificent-north #ramblings

1 note · View note

kidslovetoys · 3 years

Text

Easy Christmas Crafts

“Every child is an artist. The problem is to remain one when we grow up.”

Pablo Picasso

Do you cheat when you do craft activities with your child?

Do you 'fix' mistakes and tidy up the messy bits?

How does your child feel about that?

When we embark on a festive, creative activity with our children, we are often consumed with producing something that is universally recognisable, accurate, aesthetically pleasing or that mirrors an example made by us. We set up the activities with carefully selected resources and we hold those little hands to ensure the prints and marks go in just the right places. We adorn their marks with our own, to really make sure the end product looks as it was intended to. Then, perhaps, we photograph and display the work on our social media platforms and in our homes, to show the world what those little hands can do. But was it truly those little hands? Or was it really our grown-up hands, that have lost the art of, well, art?

What about the children? Where do their own thoughts, skills, ideas and wonderings come into the process? At what point during the carefully planned and prepped activity, does the child become passive and disinterested? When they are visiting home in 30 years and they see the immaculate handprint Christmas wreath displayed proudly on the mantlepiece of their family home, are they looking at anything more than a physical indicator of how small their hands were when they were 4? Whilst there is a place for the odd hand or foot print picture, there are so many other wonderful crafts and activities that we can arrange for our children during the festive period, that allow them to play more freely, create more honestly and produce things that they are truly proud of.

The post ‘Down with Pinterest-friendly craft ideas!’ reminds us of the importance of open-ended resources and how this freedom to explore and create can really support children’s development in ways that recreating Pinterest products simply cannot. Activities that value the process over the end product, ensure that children are engaged, enthralled, immersed and excited throughout the task. By celebrating these creations, we are actively showing our children how much we love and are proud of their ideas and abilities, by investing in their unedited, honest art and sharing this openly with the most special people in their lives. After all, ‘Art has the role of helping children become like themselves instead of more like everyone else’ (Sydney Gurewitz Clemens).

Here are some simple, cost-effective and easy Christmas craft activities that you could carry out with your children:

Making Paper chains

You can buy pre-cut paper-chain strips - and for the youngest children this might be OK - but best of all is to make them from scratch. It's hard to overstate how important cutting, sticking and glueing are for your child's development. Using both hands together, or bilateral co-ordination, is an essential skill. One hand to hold the paper steady while the other uses the scissors or glue. There are other learning opportunities, too. You could count the chains as you go, measure the length needed or length achieved, therefore developing skills in maths and problem solving. And, best of all, have lots of fun.

Tip: Using those squares of shiny, gummed paper that we are all familiar with from school is an easy way to make paper chains, but you can get by equally well with plain white paper. Just rub the side of a crayon across the entire sheet on both sides and you have a unique material packed with home-made charm.

Paper snowflakes

I think we all remember making these at some point or another! Folding a paper circle into eighths (maths) and cutting small shapes into the sides (cutting, fine motor skills and hand/eye coordination) before opening it up to discover what pattern we have made. Children love the anticipation of finding out how their snowflake will look and will likely make adaptations to their cuts and snips each time they produce another one, therefore applying new knowledge to existing ideas and stretching them beyond their capabilities.

Tree decorations

Children can draw and design their decorations on card before cutting them out and decorating them with paints, environmentally friendly glitter, stickers, buttons or any other decorative items you may have to hand. Then, using PVA glue to stick them together, punch a hole and use a ribbon to hang them on the tree. There are so many skills involved with such a simple and easy activity such as applying the right amount of glue, positioning a hole in the right place, threading the ribbon through, selecting and using different decorations. Children love to let their creativity run wild with their choices in shape, design and decoration, and then they get to see their beautiful decoration on the family Christmas tree, which is a huge confidence booster because it is 100% their creation.

Salt dough decorations

Salt dough is a cheap and more readily available option than clay. It is easy to make, dries hard enough to paint/decorate and will last many years in the Christmas decorations storage box in the loft!

Using the salt dough recipe here, you can allow children to create their decoration shape, or use cutters and objects to make prints and patterns in circles or balls. Children can create the shape and then after baking the items with help from their adults, they can be painted and adorned with all manner of festive decorations. Conversations during modelling with dough or clay are wonderful! Lots of talk around texture and shape, ideas and stories. Children often change their ideas as they progress and talk you through what they are thinking.

Potato print wrapping paper

Buy a roll of drawing paper if possible as this works well with wrapping gifts as opposed to A4 (although that will work just as well for smaller gifts). Cut a potato in half and carve some shapes into the ends. The children can use these potato stampers to create patterns. They will naturally explore tessellation, pattern, grouping shapes, counting and concepts of space and measurement.

Pine cone decorating

There have been a lot of opportunities for being outdoors lately during walks and you may have stumbled upon some pine cones. Collect some pine cones and, using PVA glue, adorn these with splendid Christmassy things like environmentally friendly glitter, any craft items you may have in the home such as pom poms or stickers. Tie a ribbon or string to the top and make decorations to hang on the tree, or just for placing around the home.

Christmas card collage

Using old or unused cards and wrapping, alongside some safety scissors and glue, allow children to cut out shapes and pictures and create their own Christmas collage! They may wish to tell a story, catalogue things they like or simply create something decorative. This offers children the chance to cut around shapes and pictures, developing cutting skills.

Snowglobes

Using old jars, biodegradable glitter, glycerin and water (or baby oil if you do not have this) and some objects to stick inside the lid of the jar, children can make an effective snowglobe. This activity is very scientific in nature and there are opportunities for conversations about how and why things work the way they do such as how the water/oil stays in the jar, why the glitter moves more slowly or how the light reflects. Then, at the end, watch their eyes as the glittery snow falls down through the liquid.

Making Christmas stockings/sacks

Using an old bag for life, old clothing or fabric, socks, or some cardboard cut into the shape of a stocking, children can decorate with anything to hand (buttons, stickers, shapes, pom poms, photos). You could introduce sewing or fabric glue with older children and allow them to really let their hands get busy with new skills and thought processes.

Wrapping presents

At this time of year, we tend to have a lot of excess boxes from online deliveries and purchases. Children always seem to gravitate towards the good old fashioned cardboard box as it represents freedom to be anything they wish! They could wrap them, tie bows on them, make up presents for others, or just decorate them as Christmas props. Perhaps they want to turn one into a present costume or hat. The options are endless, but the process of creating the end result is going to involve a lot of different skills and ideas along the way.

Icing Christmas biscuits

This could can be as basic as taking an existing cookie or biscuit and simply icing it with a variety of sprinkles, or baking them together and then decorating in any way they choose. Mixing icing to the desired consistency, using it with different utensils (piping bag, spatula, spoon etc) and then waiting for it to set and be ready for eating, will support development in science, understanding of the world and the properties of various liquids and mixtures, patience, resourcefulness and consequence.

Christmas cards

Folding (maths, fine motor skills, hand/eye coordination), decorating (creativity, colours, confidence, expression), writing, sealing, sending. An oldie but a goodie! Children enjoy all of the stages of making cards and they can really feel a sense of pride when the card they took so much care in making, is sent to someone they love and care for.

Stained glass windows

These are fabulous! Using tissue paper and sugar paper or card, cut the frames out by folding and cutting shapes into whatever patterns the children choose. Stick the tissue paper over the spaces created and then stick to the window. Children can really play with colours, shapes and experience the illusions shadows and silhouettes can make. Children may need a sample to help them with the initial concept, however this shouldn’t be something they are expected to copy, but rather an example to inspire and guide them. Christmas is a great time to do these activities because shapes such as stars, Christmas trees and snowflakes are familiar, recognisable and easy for children to cut out, if they choose to.

Junk modelling

Christmas often accumulates a lot of waste packaging. You could provide your children with a crate or bag of boxes, wrapping paper, cardboard inserts, plastic pots/bottles, tags, sweet wrappers, packaging fillers such as shredded cardboard or polystyrene. Along with some glue, scissors, decorative papers, pens/crayons to construct and decorate, let the children model something. Junk modelling is a wonderful way of supporting children’s problem solving skills by posing different opportunities to solve problems (why wont the cylindrical tub stick to the cardboard box? Could I do anything differently to make that work?). It also supports their gross motor skills such as lifting, reaching and stretching, as the objects are bigger and more difficult to manoeuvre than small, tabletop items.

In all of these suggested activities you will find opportunity to explore every area of development. There are chances to introduce new vocabulary, extend existing ideas by asking questions, model your own thinking by talking out loud about what you are doing or how you could approach something differently. There are opportunities to develop maths by using mathematical language (is this big enough? How many will we need? Are there more or less here?), counting, measuring and estimating. Science is introduced with mixing, experimenting, hypothesising (I think I will be able to do this because…). You can encourage children to express how they feel, articulate their thoughts and ideas. You can help them to develop physical skills from both large scale movements to small fingertip work. Children will engage in highly focused, deep play, that is powered by their own ideas and motivation, thus empowering them and their ideas. The end product may not be a perfectly replicated Pinterest reindeer, but it will be something your child has enjoyed making and is pleased as punch with in the end.

from One Hundred Toys - The Blog https://ift.tt/2JLhWiu

#One Hundred Toys

0 notes

thesecretsantaofdoriangray · 6 years

Text

Two Birds in Flight

My (@thisblogislit-erature) gift is for @queersandcommies! One of the things you wanted was “Something in London where Dorian is nice to Basil,” so I wrote this. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you like it!

Word count: 2,007

Sunlight streamed into the studio through the open window, illuminating the pages of the, admittedly, rather dull novel that Dorian Gray was only pretending to be interested in while his friend worked on his newest masterpiece.

Dorian raised his head and watched as Basil Hallward delicately swept his brush across his canvas, an entire forest sprouting from the tip of the paintbrush. Despite only knowing him for a couple of weeks, Basil had begun to invite Dorian over nearly every day while he was painting, and even though Dorian had come to admire Basil’s skills immensely, he still had not grown completely comfortable with basically doing nothing in the studio while Basil worked. But as long as his company made him happy, Dorian did not mind too much.

Dorian stood, placing the book down, and crossed to the piano. He passed his hand over the smooth ivory keys, sat down, and began to sift through Basil’s collection of music, finally settling on a selection of Liszt’s compositions.

He started off quiet, so as not to startle Basil, watching to see if he had any reaction to the music. Basil’s concentration did not break from his work, as Dorian expected. He never understood why Basil was always so insistent on his presence while he was working, since he never paid attention to anything other than his art. Perhaps he really did enjoy Dorian’s company as much as he said he did. His adoration was still something Dorian had not quite gotten used to. His grandfather had been distant at best, cruel at worst, the Radleys, his current guardians, left him to his own devices, and everyone else he considered himself close to really did not know much about him besides any of the awful, twisted rumors about his mother that they might have heard and foolishly believed. Basil’s attention was unprecedented, but not entirely off-putting. Even, perhaps, a bit … pleasant. Yes, Dorian admitted to himself, he really did like Basil’s friendship towards him. It was definitely something he could get used to.

He played the final notes of Liszt’s piece, the soft ending chord fading as he reached to turn the page for the next song.

“That was beautiful, Dorian.”

Dorian turned and saw Basil looking at him, a smile on his face. “I am not used to music being played while I paint, but it was quite lovely. Almost as lovely as yourself.”

Dorian laughed, stood, and strode over to Basil. “Stop, that cannot possibly be true. Have you finished your picture yet? As much as you like my being here, I cannot entertain myself by reading dusty old novels and playing piano for hours at a time when I know there is someone perfectly capable of entertaining me himself right here in the room.” He sat down on the bench next to the artist.

Basil shook his head at Dorian. “It is the truth, Dorian, and you should know it.” He turned back to his picture, brushing the most delicate leaves onto the top of a tree. “And you know I have to get this painting finished by the end of the week. I have no time to entertain anyone, even you, despite how much I want to. I do want you here, however, because you … inspire me, shall I say. You give life to my art. Without you, my art would be nothing. I would be nothing. I apologize for boring you, but please know that I need you here, or else … I might as well be dead.”

Dorian hesitated, then laughed. “You are so dramatic Basil! Sometimes I think you would have suited the theatre better than painting. Then I remember that, in a way, are they not the same thing? Or, at the very least, closely connected?”

“How do you mean?” Basil asked, most of his focus still on the picture.

“Well, they are both art, despite being different kinds of art. Still, in painting you act out a life you want to live through a stagnant medium, and in acting you paint the life you are told to live through a wandering medium,” Dorian rambled, not fully aware of what he was saying, transfixed by the small strokes of the brush against the canvas.

Basil stopped and looked at Dorian, his usually warm copper eyes darkened with … was that suspicion?

“What?” Dorian asked, suddenly defensive, that horrible feeling he used to always get when his grandfather would accuse him of something he had nothing to do with creeping back into his chest. That tight, hot feeling of indignation mixed with shame.

“Nothing, it is just … that sounds so much like something another friend of mine would say,” Basil said, his voice hesitant.

“Oh? Who is this other friend of yours?”

Basil scoffed, turning his head back to the picture. “No one you should ever concern yourself with, Dorian. You are too good to associate with him.”

“And you are not?”

“I am used to his poisonous personality and theories. Someone like you, someone so pure, should not even be in the same room as him, let alone start a friendship. I am sorry I spoke of this friend, and I ask that you forget I ever so much as mentioned him. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Dorian, a bit disappointed at Basil’s insistency, but trusting nonetheless, replied, “Yes, yes, of course, if you are so adamant about it. My curiosity is piqued, however. If I ever do get the chance to meet this mysterious friend of yours, I am not sure if I would be able to turn down the opportunity.” At that, Basil furrowed his brow and tightened his lips. “Oh come now, dear Basil, I am not being serious. Since you don’t want me to meet him, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Basil took his brush away from the picture and contemplated it for a moment. “What do you think of it so far?” he asked, swirling his brush in a glass of water and cleaning it off on a paint-stained cloth.

Dorian gazed at the painting. The limbs of the trees stretched out, tangling together and reaching towards the heavens. The verdant grass was swept to one side, pushed down by a breeze frozen forever in the paint. The sky was the color of a shining aquamarine, dotted with wisps of clouds. He pointed to the top right corner of the canvas.

“I think you could add something right here.”

Basil stared at the spot for a moment, then dipped his brush in the same dark brown he had used for the trees. In a couple of short, precise strokes, he had given life to two birds, flying above the treetops.

“Is that the right ‘something’?” he asked.

Dorian smiled. “It is the perfect something. Why only two, though?”

“Well,” Basil said, turning to meet Dorian’s clear azure eyes, the same color as the painting’s sky, “there are only two of us, are there not?”

Dorian’s face grew warm and he ducked his head, trying to hide his smile, his heart fluttering like the birds’ wings would have, if they had been real. “Is that what you think of us as? Two birds in flight?”

“Yes,” Basil nodded, “and I hope neither of us ever lands.”

~~~

Two weeks later, Dorian arrived outside of Basil’s door, a near daily tradition now. As he waited for Parker to let him in, he drummed his fingers on the package he held impatiently.

Ever since that day when Basil added the two birds to his painting, Dorian had been consumed with the desire to get the perfect gift for him. After all the kindness Basil had given him, he felt like he had to give some back in the slightest way. He had agonized for days over what would be the perfect item, and as soon as he had decided on it, he felt as if the day it was ready could not have come soon enough. He had scoured London for the best person to make it, and would not accept it until it was the perfect embodiment of what Basil’s kindness had felt like to him.

Parker opened the door and led Dorian to the studio, like usual. Once he entered, Basil stood up to greet him as he took off his hat, his gilded curls falling over his forehead.

“Good afternoon, Dorian,” Basil said with a smile. “Parker brought our drinks just before you arrived. Would you like to go out to the garden?”

“That would be wonderful,” Dorian replied, taking the drink Basil handed him.

Once outside, they sat on the bench on the opposite end of the garden from the giant flowering lilac bush, the heady scent drifting towards them on a soft breeze. After taking a sip of his drink, Basil commented, “I finally got someone to come down and hang up that landscape in my room. I am glad I did not give it to Agnew. I needed something on the wall in there. It is strange how, despite being an artist, I have very little art on the walls of my own home.”

“Why didn’t you give it to Agnew? You were offered a great sum of money for it.”

Basil shrugged. “The money is not what is most important to me anymore. I am paid now in memories, most of which contain you.” A red blush crept into Basil’s cheeks as Dorian tried to fight back his smile. “You were what made that painting good. I didn’t want to give it up for something I already have.” The two looked at each other and smiled. Basil’s eyes drifted down to the package sitting in Dorian’s lap. “May I ask what you have there?”

Dorian’s smile grew wider. “It is interesting that you brought up that painting, because … well, I had wanted to get you something … to thank you for being a wonderful friend … anyway, here you go.” He placed the package in Basil’s hands.

Basil slowly tore open the paper and slid out a leather-bound book. He turned it over and gasped lightly.

“Two birds in flight!” he exclaimed softly. He lifted the cover and flipped through. Each page was an empty white sheet, ready to be filled with drawings.

“Oh, Dorian, it is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. Thank you so much,” Basil sighed, clasping the book to his chest and smiling at Dorian.

Dorian smiled back. “I am happy you like it. I just hope you know how much our friendship means to me.”

Basil’s smile softened, and he placed his hand on top of Dorian’s “I certainly hope it does. It means more to me than you will ever know.”

“What do you think will be the first thing you will draw in here?” Dorian asked, tracing the wing of one of the birds.

Basil’s eyes followed Dorian’s finger, then traveled up his arm and finally rested on his face, taking in each detail, as elegant as a Greek sculpture. His mouth curled in a small smile. “I think I have an idea.” He looked back down at the sketchbook. Images of Dorian dressed in the costumes of the ancients filled his mind, and he longed to spill them onto the pages. “Yes, I have some ideas. But for today, all I want to do is be with you.”

“I like that plan very much,” Dorian assented. Across the yard, the lilac bush rustled, and two birds burst from the top of it and soared into the sky. Dorian leapt up from the bench. “Just like us!” he cried, nearly spilling his drink in his excitement.

Basil laughed, clutching the book and watching Dorian’s sparkling eyes and flushed, happy countenance. Dorian turned to Basil, beaming at his friend’s joy. No, he thought, I don’t believe either of us will ever land.

#dorian gray #basil hallward #oscar wilde #the picture of dorian gray #writing #submission #thisblogislit erature #queersandcommies

10 notes · View notes

wingedchickadee · 7 years

Text

Cracked Regret

OKAY!! SO! SPOILERS FOR Who Killed Markiplier, so uh, don’t read this if you want spoilers? Yeah? Cool! I loved that series so much….like so much. So many feeling and stuff AH.

WARNING: Self hatred, Isolation, Abuse, murder, death.

You are trapped here in this mirror with a spider web view of the world. He….they left you. Damien and Celine left you in this mirror! How you don’t know, but…none of this makes any sense anymore. You died and William shot you and- No. No you can’t think of that. Of William’s face and…Damien seemed…or was it Celine. Whoever it was made your face seem angry, and remorseful, and hurt. You heard screams and shouts from the other room then silence. No one walked back to your mirror. Not until police showed up, lugging body bag after body bag. Or well, a few. You lost count. They did tests on your mirror. Huh, only a few days and you’re already attached to it. Well it is your new home. You guess they must have thought someone was hurt by your glass, because well, it was cracked. Nothing though. Magic broke it. If you had a voice anymore you would have scoffed. Magic. Fucking magic. You took Mark’s invitation because it would be fun, not because you wanted to…fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re de..dead. It hasn’t hit you before, not fully. It stilled all seemed like a twisted dream to you. That you drank to much and maybe mixed some boozes that shouldn’t have been mixed. But no. No no no. The light has changed to much in the windows for it to have been a dream. You’re dead. Trapped in a cracked mirror. Fuck. You see days turn into weeks by the light in the windows. There you sit. Damien and Celine never return, neither does William. You…miss them.. A stranger comes by. He seems to be appraising the house, the items, you..well your mirror. “The broken glass has to be replaced, and blood stains cleaned up obviously.” NO! THEY CANNOT TOUCH YOUR GLASS! The appraiser steps back in shock, his eyes widening. His fingers have small cuts in them and he stares. “The glass has…it has to go…” No. One. Will. Touch. Your. Glass. The appraiser clutches at his arms; dark red stains appearing on the white shirt he is wearing. Small cuts on his cheeks. He runs out of the room. The house is sold and your glass stays cracked. It is a nuisance to see out of it, but, you’ve grown attached to it. Attached to the gift that Damien..Celine…Damlin, that works better. That Damlin gave to you. You miss them so much. Someone buys the house, and she tries to replace your glass too. No one will touch it. You hurt her too. She stops trying to remove the glass after the third try. Her husband never tries to. Everything is peaceful. But then you hear shouting. No no no not again! You hear screams, a bang, and her body falls. No! NO! The husband appears above her body, a gun in his hand. No. Not another death. She will not come back. There is no Celine here this time, no dark magic anymore. You stare at her husband and feel anger swell. How. Dare. He. A pause, then his neck starts to bleed. Cuts appearing all over his body and he crumbles to the floor. Two dead bodies. Now you wait. You close your eyes and hear the police sirens. The appraiser. The screams when she tries to remove your glass. Still no William, no Damlin…no one you knew. Chef or the Buttler or even George doesn’t come back. You want to see someone you know…anyone you know… You distance from the reality in front of your mirror. Only attaching any focus to when someone comes near your mirror. If it is a child, you are gentle. But an adult? No mercy after the first time. You never see anymore. Just feel. No point. There is no point when you will never see your friends again. The only jolts back to seeing is when someone commits murder. This house you swear, it draws out the worst in people. The worst are….are when the kids… It has been almost ten. Maybe. Maybe twelve. You aren’t sure. You think just ten. In and out of focus. Some murders and some anger. Then it is hot. So hot. What is- Your focus snaps back to the stairs and windows in front of you. Everything is red and orange. Fire. Shit everything is on fire! No no no please no you want to do things. You want to find Damlin or William again. You want to see them! You want to leave this mirror! Please no! Then you can’t see. The distorts and goes black. The glass melted. You’re left in darkness. Pitch black. Almost all silence and the nothingness of the black void here. You slip completely away. Nothing is tying you to the reality out of the mirror. Nothing. All that’s left to do is think. Thinking is terrible for you, because all there is to think of is guilt. Guilt and regret and anger. You aren’t angry at Damlin, or even…you aren’t angry at William anymore. Not really. You’re angry at this fucking situation. Guilty you couldn’t save anyone… And regretful for that, and what you could never do, or say. How could you not have saved a single one of them?! Sure Damien and Celine and William are all up and standing, but, not really. The first two are combined and could possibly just me a mesh of anger and revenge. While William…you saw how he was. He was unhinged by the end. Your body rising was clearly a joke, it had to be. You wish it was. It wasn’t. This is far to long to be a dream and…unless this is inception…you really are dead, trapped in a mirror, with so many of your friends dead or changed and.. Suddenly there is light again. You can see. You don’t…look though. Not really. To have light means that someone replaced the melted and bent glass, maybe even the frame. You wonder why you didn’t vanish with the mirror being destroyed. Maybe it’s the world in mirrors, and not well, the mirror itself. You never bothered to see if you could go to another mirror. No point. No one could see you. You couldn’t leave. “Well don’t ignore me old friend.” You snap towards reality. You see your…face…no. This is Damlin. You remain silent. The will or drive, maybe even capacity to speak, has been dead a long time. A very..long time. “What? No words for me? I went through all the trouble to repair your mirror. Not even a hello?” You tilt your head. Could he even hear you if you wanted? Or is he…he is probably just hoping you can. You turn away. Before you wanted to see them again. But now? You just want to be left alone in silence. “Aww don’t be like that. You’ll have a new home soon, one with a much better view.” You do not look back on reality for awhile. Simply letting Damlin speak to you. Your voice sounds…odd to yourself. It is curious what your current mirror-voice would sound like. You do not try it out. He speaks to you often. Talking about is day, how…how William is. You ignore him. You do not want to see what he has become in your body. You do not want to see how much he has changed. How much they together have changed. You miss them, and miss the memories you had of them. Of Damien…mainly Damien… Of college memories and… One day it happens. Damlin is just rambling about…something. Anything. You don’t care. You are done. You are done staying here. You are done listening to his rambling. You utter your first words since you were trapped. “Fuck you, I am done with this.” And then you start walking away from reality. Further and further into the mirror world. You hear Damlin’s pleading cries for you to come back, to keep speaking. “No! No please don’t leave! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Come back!” No. You are done with this. You ignore him, and keep walking. Never looking back.

#who killed markiplier #spoilers #death #abuse #murder #isolation #self hatred #wing writes

18 notes · View notes

alonstory-blog · 6 years

Text

A Lon Chat

So we did the first chat for patrons tonight, on Discord. This is an edited transcript. This is an example of the kinds of chat we’ll be doing at the $5 and $10 reward levels.

We covered some of the upcoming story, world-building, color palettes and web design.

Transcript behind the cut

Jenrose-Today at 5:06 PM

So I've been working on Lon Ago and Far Away this week, along with completely revamping both websites and my Tumblr.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:07 PM

Excite!

Jenrose-Today at 5:08 PM

I'm pretty pleased with the way the slideshow came out on lonstory.com

So anything specific you want to ask questions about or talk about tonight about the story?

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:10 PM

I have a question about A Lon Story

Specifically A Lon Beginning

Specifically

Where did Kel learn to introduce themself?

Who is Kel introducing themself to often enough to do it smoothly?(edited)

Jenrose-Today at 5:11 PM

Mama talks a lot to the critters and probes. Mama has to talk a lot to teach Kel language and knows this

When Kel explores a new section of the forest, they introduce themselves to the trees.

One of the interesting changes about having the neural interface active is that over time the trees may start answering back.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:13 PM

Gotcha. Explains the chattering to the bugbot, too

Jenrose-Today at 5:14 PM

Mama knows there are other people on Lon and has been working at teaching Kel conversational skills with the knowledge that at some point in the future they're going to have to leave their little corner of the planet and go out into the world.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:14 PM

Speaking of which

If Kel were to climb up the outside of that mountain and look out at the view?

What would Kel see?

Jenrose-Today at 5:17 PM

There's a lot of rock and forest and a valley. It's not a huge valley, but winds away along a river. There was a lot of erosion before Ama started terraforming, so the topology is kind of post-erosion planted. But this is a relatively young area of mountains. Basically the mountains are jagged but the valley is not.

There was a glacier here, before.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:18 PM

Ama-made or natural or...?

The glacier I mean

Jenrose-Today at 5:19 PM

Oh, the planet was pretty cold before Ama got there. One of the first things she did, terraforming, was to shift the albedo to warm things up. This was a pretty rapid process at first, but she has a pretty good handle on albedo control since one of the major projects she was designed around was stopping global warming.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:20 PM

Quick layperson's definition of albedo? Wikipedia isn't helping

Jenrose-Today at 5:20 PM

The equator was temperate enough, but Mama and Kel are pretty far south.

Albedo is "brightness"

That is, how much of the sun's radiation is reflected back into space

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:20 PM

Ohhh

Jenrose-Today at 5:20 PM

A bright white planet will reflect a lot and tend to be colder

A pitch black planet will absorb most of the radiation and be much hotter

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:21 PM

So she made the planet darker

Jenrose-Today at 5:21 PM

Part of the problem with global warming on earth is that the snowcaps have a very high albedo and when they melt, heating is accelerated

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:21 PM

Ohhh

Jenrose-Today at 5:21 PM

So she made the planet darker and that warmed it up, early on, while there was nothing alive on the planet

The early years on Avalon involved a ton of "mousetrap bots" spreading across the planet to accomplish this albedo shift and to start growing the power network.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:23 PM

Got it.

So there were glaciers before she got there

Probably a lot

Jenrose-Today at 5:23 PM

Yeppers. And glaciers create plains and smooth valleys, but wear less on the mountaintops.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:24 PM

Because water goes downhill.

Jenrose-Today at 5:24 PM

So they live in a glacial valley, but the glaciers are greatly reduced.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:24 PM

(I took two terms of science classes dedicated to water going downhill)

Jenrose-Today at 5:26 PM

There are a couple of continents on Lon, but they actually are on the "mainland" they're just not in an otherwise settled part of it. It's one of the higher mountains behind them, and not particularly easy to get to, but well placed for a communications station.

Because it has a good line of sight to Ama's asteroid and is high up and low interference from the power networks on the ground.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:28 PM

Carefully chosen by Mama I take it?

Jenrose-Today at 5:28 PM

Carefully chosen by Ama, actually. Mama didn't mean to end up in the current situation.

That was something of an accident.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:29 PM

Are we going to learn more about that in story

Jenrose-Today at 5:29 PM

Absolutely!

I mean, Mama is consistently putting off Kel's questions about where she was when she was "resting"

The next part of the story is about the years following A Lon Beginning, and follows Kel as they learn about where Ama came from and why. The answer to "Where was Mama?" requires a lot of careful pre-teaching

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:31 PM

Which answers my next question

Which was, "What do we have to look forward to in Lon Ago and Far Away?"

Jenrose-Today at 5:32 PM

Kel gets to meet a new person, and gets to help make snakes.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:32 PM

Snakes are a good starter animal

They're so easy

roll roll roll

Jenrose-Today at 5:33 PM

Well, they operate strongly on instinct, and don't have fiddly little limbs

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:33 PM

I'm still picturing play-dough

Jenrose-Today at 5:33 PM

hahahaha think more "genetic resequencing and ova generation"

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:33 PM

But see I have no visual metaphor for that

Speaking also of which

Jenrose-Today at 5:34 PM

They're going to 3d print a snake egg

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:34 PM

Oh okay

If good fortune falls from the sky and a Patreon decides to sign on at the sponsor an artist level

What's your first priority for Things Someone Else Illustrates

Jenrose-Today at 5:35 PM

#1 The house as seen from outside. It's basically a hobbit house with a buckydome on top (only instead of a buckydome, it's much, much more... granular) in a forest clearing.

#2 Kel with Mama

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:36 PM

Neat!

Jenrose-Today at 5:36 PM

#3 The house interior

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:36 PM

^^^^^^^^

I want to see that!

Jenrose-Today at 5:36 PM

#4 The whole communication room

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:37 PM

I want a floorplan of the whole setup tbh

Jenrose-Today at 5:37 PM

Oh, a floorplan I can probably do, but I'd have to shift gears away from writing for a bit.

Because I'd have to re-learn the 3d home software

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:38 PM

I can't imagine making 3d home software spit out solarpunk is gonna be easy

Jenrose-Today at 5:38 PM

They're just shapes. I might be able to do it in sketchup make

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:38 PM

I can't even make it spit out regular ol' rooms that are the way I really picture them

Jenrose-Today at 5:39 PM

Anyway, the way my brain works, I can get into "graphic design mode" and do art, or "web design mode" and do web design and web graphics, or "writing"... so I tend to do writing for a while and then shift gears to illustrate. It's part of why it would be so much faster for me to have someone else handling the art and web--I wouldn't have to keep shifting gears away from writing.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:40 PM

nod

Jenrose-Today at 5:40 PM

It was a huge hurdle for me to get into the mode of art design for this, honestly.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:40 PM

Well you did pretty well all things considered

Jenrose-Today at 5:40 PM

Thank you!

It actually took finding Craig, getting his permission to use the glowing flower pictures, and discovering Pixabay to get off the ground with it.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:41 PM

That's where you got the photos of like the girl and the salsify and stuff?

Jenrose-Today at 5:42 PM

Once I discovered pixabay and pexels (two copyright-free, no attribution required photo repositories that act as advertising freebies for the big stock photo catalogs) I was off and running

I have a lot of skill with photo manipulation and very little actual drawing skill

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:42 PM

So there has to be something to start with

Jenrose-Today at 5:42 PM

There really does.

I cannot even start to explain how many hours I've spent looking for the base pictures

Like, the "La Petite Android" picture? Has something like 20 different photos in it, composited. Anything planetary is from Nasa.

But Ama herself is composited out of like, 7 people plus an asteroid and some spiderwebs and broken glass

Which is, you know, appropriate for an android with 50 personalities who builds herself out of data and the available materials.

I posted at the $10 level a new picture called "Bubbles of Memory" which is a fun mashup of actual bubbles and glass sphere photographs

That picture shouldn't be done yet, but I forgot where I was in the story, made that, and then realized I hadn't talked about those things yet in chapter 6. They're more "chapter 9" (chapter 2 of Lon Ago...)

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:46 PM

Hee!

Jenrose-Today at 5:46 PM

oops?

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:46 PM

Some of those reflections look really familiar...

Jenrose-Today at 5:46 PM

They're actually not! Apparently everywhere looks like Oregon

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:47 PM

I knowwww. How???

When I actually travel to places they look nothing like Oregon

But the photographs do!

Jenrose-Today at 5:47 PM

It's like strip malls. They're all identical everywhere.

Trees is trees and we've got a lot of trees.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:48 PM

That's depressing

Jenrose-Today at 5:48 PM

I'm really fascinated by your user icon, the compass rose is delightful.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:48 PM

Thanks it's a stained glass piece I stole borrowed for this purpose

Jenrose-Today at 5:49 PM

Also I've been in "color picking" mode so there's that. Someone needs to ask me about how I chose the colors for the website because a LOT of thought went into it.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:49 PM

ahem

How did you choose the colors for the website, Jen?

Jenrose-Today at 5:49 PM

Anyway, your icon is high contrast but engaging, so I approve, lol

Alright, so first priority for me, since I always do the web at night, was to avoid glaring whites and blacks

Also, I see a lot of chromostereopsis, so a red-black is going to look farther away to me than a blue black.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:50 PM

I thought I noticed some of that at play

Jenrose-Today at 5:50 PM

So I messed around and found #140000, which is this sort of inky burgundy black, and the fact that it's a little red means everything on the page is going to have a little more dimension for me and anyone who sees the way I do.

Second priority is a "white" but I wanted something easy on the eyes. So that gives us the "pale", an ecru-ish color.

It helps that they look good together.

So then we need accents. A little darker for the ecru, and a little lighter for the red-black.

I've got a google doc with this all laid out, I know you're shocked.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:52 PM

A google doc? What a departure.

Jenrose-Today at 5:52 PM

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wzMc-a0WZwSaxb7MLbK5a1Sk4ob7K59AriRY8thPBUo/edit#

Google Docs

Lon Colors

Lonstory.com color scheme Light: #f6f4f5 ___________ Accent:#d5c8c0 ________ Dark: #140000 __________ Accent #724e4e ______ Blue: #2589cb ________ Accent:#a1cbe5 ___________ Light text: #d5e5ef_________ Dark blue: #1c699d ___________ Purple #9027ab ________ Accent ##b030cf__________...

In the doc, any underlined section is actually a color swatch sample.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:53 PM

How you do that

I need that

I have a css stylesheet that needs HELP

Jenrose-Today at 5:54 PM

Just use underscores, highlight the underscores, and pick the background colors

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:54 PM

How do you pick the background color based on a hex code

Jenrose-Today at 5:54 PM

Every color picker I've found has an option to enter a hex code. I use photoshop to find the hex code, but any color picker, you pick the color, it pops up a hex code.

Since css uses hex codes, having a list of hex codes is hecking useful.

https://color.adobe.com/create/color-wheel/

Adobe Kuler

Color wheel | Color schemes

Create color schemes with the color wheel or browse thousands of color combinations from the Kuler community.

Try that. If you scroll down, there's all sorts of color tools handy.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:57 PM

What I meant is when you're using google docs it usually asks for the rgb and not the hex I think

Or at least it does on mine

But this one gives both so.

Jenrose-Today at 5:57 PM

Pick "custom"

Then paste in the hex code

Give me a minute and I can make a screen grab.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:57 PM

Nice

(Come for the Word of God, stay for the web design tips!)

Jenrose-Today at 5:59 PM

rofl

I gotta upload this pic somewhere, hold on.

teasugarsalt-Today at 5:59 PM

No you don't

You can upload it straight into the chat

Jenrose-Today at 6:00 PM

dude okay

http://jenrose.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/Screenshot-47.png

teasugarsalt-Today at 6:00 PM

Should be a little plus sign next to where you type

Ohhhhhhh

Okay!

Jenrose-Today at 6:01 PM

Anyway, there's the hex code entry spot

Also I have too many tabs open

So if you look through a typical wordpress theme, for example, you will see dozens of colors, and they're all different and a lot of them are REALLY SIMILAR.

This bugs the hell out of me

This is what happens when people eyeball every damn color

teasugarsalt-Today at 6:02 PM

<.<

>.>

Jenrose-Today at 6:02 PM

If you enter hex codes, instead, then all your blacks are your "correct" black

all your pales are "the correct pale"

teasugarsalt-Today at 6:03 PM

I may or may not have done a lot of eyeballing and guesswork to tweak my forum

Jenrose-Today at 6:03 PM

And your accent colors can be carefully controlled to coordinate/contrast as desired

This is a learning process

My primary objection is when people make a "professional" theme that's supposed to be for businesses and there are 16 shades of black

Anyway, you'll notice i have like 8-12 colors in each site

And they group in families... a couple light creamy colors that would be on the same paint chip, a couple of dark colors, ditto, some blues, some accent colors. I pulled the blues and accent colors directly from my artwork.

teasugarsalt-Today at 6:05 PM

So 50 shades of grey is about bad web design?

Jenrose-Today at 6:05 PM

hahahaha yes

really really bad

(And with that, we ended the chat-- @teasugarsalt is my actual sibling, who has been extremely involved in keeping me going on this story.)

#a lon story #a lon beginning #lon ago and far away #chat transcript #meta #web design #color planning #worldbuilding

3 notes · View notes

imagine-that-haikyuu · 7 years

Note

akkaksisjjdu /sobs now that I know you're cool w soulmate aus I gotta do this. you know that soulmate au where whatever you write/draw on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin? can you write one for tsukishima? 🌚🍟

are you sure about that, anon????? also, i have to apologize because thisisn’t exactly what you asked for but many elements in this resembled what wasalready in what I had written for the soulmate!au and decided in the end thatthey should be combined (unless you also requested soulmate!au)

but i’ve mentioned before that i took a differentapproach to this and i have a lot of notes about this that i think are relevantbut this would get long and i cannot just put some of them here and others in the tags, so i’m probably going to put them in the separatepost so anyone interested in them can read my notes about it

since i’m combiningtwo requests here, it makes sense that this is long, i suppose

EDIT: the notes are here

There’s a logic to everything in life; the worldfunctions as one large system made up of smaller systems. Tsukishima Kei knowsthis much to be true, and from a young age, his way of thinking molds aroundthis line of thought.

Also at a young age, Tsukishima met his soulmate.Everyone went on about how he was one of the lucky ones, about how rare it wasfor someone to find their match before they turned ten. He wasn’t so sure aboutthat.

His mother had taken him shopping at a department store onthe day he met you. He was five-years-old. When he got restless, she droppedhim off at a play center to keep kids occupied under supervision whiletheir parents shopped. You were there too, seated at a brightly-colored plastictable with two other kids. They happily colored away, the markers squeakingwhen pressed too hard to the page. Your page was already full, however coveredin words both real and nonsensical for the sake of rhymes, and with no freshpaper in sight you decided to make your arm your new page.

There wasn’t any point in coloring if there was nothingelse to draw on, so Tsukishima made his way over to the bins of toys across theroom. It was only when he reached for one of the dinosaur figures from one ofthem that he noticed black lines appearing on his forearm. In the next fewmoments, the lines came together and he recognized the kanji enough to know itsaid, “sky.”

Even though his glasses never remedied his peripheralvision, only a quick glance out of the corner his eye was enough to catch thatyou were drawing on your skin with a black marker. That, and the word rhymedwith the words you had written on the page that he saw before.

At first, he liked the little drawings and writings thatwould appear on his arm during school. Sometimes, he drew or wrote somethingback. You two had lots of play-dates since your first meeting, but somethingabout this form of communication was a little thrilling. It reminded him ofwhen Akiteru would puncture the bottoms of paper cups and thread a stringbetween them so they could whisper to each other and still hear each word withperfect clarity. Sure, anyone could see what was on his skin if it was visible,but whatever was there was only meant for him.

The novelty gradually wore off.

It first started when he was eight, and had to dress up for aformal family event. That afternoon, you decided to cover your arm from wristto elbow in an aimless stained-glass pattern. With paint, of course. The colorsbled onto the sleeve of his white button-down. Tsukishima had to wait while hismother called yours to have her wash the paint off your arm. It didn’t matter,though. The shirt couldn’t be salvaged after that, and Akiteru had to lend Keihis sport jacket to hide his stained sleeve.

From there, you didn’t draw or paint on yourself anymore.In fact, the only time either of you’d see mysterious markings on your skinwould be accidental. You’d find the tips of your fingers a muddy turquoise whenTsukishima got paint on his during art class. He’d wake up on a Sunday morningonly to find doodles on his face because you were the first to fall asleep at afriend’s house the night before.

In middle school, you began writing. It started withwords at first, and then sentence fragments. Tsukishima often found themscrawled along his arms. They were almost always some strange, abstractdescriptions and often disjointed in nature. After sometime doing this, you called him.

“What do you think?” you asked.

Tsukishima stared down at his arm and read the words overagain. There wasn’t any point in trying to understand them; he never would.They didn’t follow any line of logic as far as he was concerned.

“I don’t get it,” he said. After a huff, he added, “Whatare you doing?”

“I’m writing a poem! I found this book in the library andit was really weird and a didn’t make sense, but I kind of liked it. I wanted totry and write like that poet.”

He looked down at the words again, brows furrowing.“Couldn’t you just write it down on paper?”

You hummed. “Well, the only paper I had on me had mynotes on it from class and I didn’t want to forget it. And…”

“And?” he urged when your voice trailed off.

“And, we haven’t talked or seen much of each other in awhile,” you sighed. “It seemed like a fun way to reach out to you.”

The first part was true. While play-dates had been aregular thing in the past thanks to your parents, those kinds of arrangements were unnecessary once you moved up to middleschool: you both were old enough to make your own plans, granted you wouldstill have to ask permission beforehand.

Now that you weren’t little anymore, Tsukishima concludedthat the two of you were just too different. At age five, every whimsicalfantasy you had as a kid was normal at the time. At age eight, those absurd“what if” questions you’d ask him were normal. At age thirteen, these thingswere not normal. Even if you were trying to be funny or cute with them, itwasn’t coming off right.

For the past few months, he wondered exactly how you hadended up being his predetermined match. It could have been a blip in thesystem. It wouldn’t have been the first time; there’s billions of people inthis world, after all. While the idea of soulmates is inherently romantic, thereare plenty of reasons at why someone’s soulmate wouldn’t necessarily be who they’dend up with.

But even then, they’re supposed to be the person whounderstands you the most. Whether or not you understood him didn’t change thefact the he didn’t understand you. To Tsukishima, you were a box full of puzzlepieces from completely different puzzles and he couldn’t put you together even if he tried.

“Kei, did you like the poem I wrote for you?”

That enthusiasm that you would have normallyhad when you’d ask that kind of question wasn’t there. You weren’t askingbecause you wanted to boast something you were proud of and wanted your pridestroked a little more. It was quieter and more concerned. Maybe even a littlescared.

He didn’t answer your question at first. If he wanted tobe honest and say no, you’d probably ask him a lot of questions after about whyand he didn’t feel like answering them. If he wanted to lie, it wouldn’t matterbecause the fact that he hesitated before answering said enough for him.

He decided to not to answer it at all.

“I have to go now, ___,” was all he said before hangingup the phone.

Two years go by. High school begins. Attendingseparate middle schools only exacerbated the idea that you were incompatiblewith each other. The distance made it excusable to not bother trying to figureit out. But going to same high school and being in the same class on top ofthat made it painfully obvious how even being in the same room did nothing toforce either of you to address this.

Finally, one day after summer break, you wrote a word uponyour wrist again for the first time in a very long time.

The word you wrote was, “edges.” A week later the word, “hammer”appeared on his arm before lunch. He decided he was just going to end it there.

Tsukishima approached your desk and spoke to you for the first time in years.The much higher voice you were used him having was gone. The almost bored tonereplaced the brightness it once held from his childhood–although it startedfading not long before you two stopped talking. Even though he’d been called on plenty of times to answer questions in class, you still couldn’t adjust to it.

“Please stop writing arbitrary words on us. I’ve gottentoo many questions about whether or not I really had ‘edges’ tattooed on myforearm last week. Even more when I bothered to explain it.”

You looked at him rather stone-faced, but then turnedyour attention out the window. After taking a deep breath, your expressionshifted, looking more forlorn than anything.

“They’re not arbitrary,” you mumbled. “They’ll make sensein the end.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you took his silence as amark of confusion.

“You remember the first word I wrote, right? The firsttime we met?”

Of course, the word “sky” couldn’t leave him. How manypeople swooned over it when they found out that was how you two found eachother? Well, he supposed it could have been something stupider, like one ofthose words you had made up that day. He answered affirmatively in only a word.

“Good. And you also remember last week’s word. Rememberthis week’s word too. I don’t know when the next important words will come tome, but don’t forget them when they do.”

“Is this supposed to be a game or something? What are youdoing?”

“I’m writing a poem.”

The conversation sounded awfully familiar.

“If you want to write a poem, that’s fine. You can dowhatever, but stop writing it on me.”

You reflect on his words briefly, and your lips tugupwards into what could be a smile. “Do you mean ‘on’ as in physically on or‘on’ as in ‘about’?”

Tsukishima’s eyebrows knitted together. If circumstanceshad been different, he might have laughed at that and teased you about that beinglame play on words. Instead, he begrudgingly gave in. “We’re getting nowhere. Just do whatever and I’ll roll my sleeves down until yourdone with this.”

He turned to go back to his desk.

“After you memorize each word, right?”

This question also went unanswered.

However, he was not immune to the white bear problem:when one tries not to think about something, they inevitably are forced tothink about it. Such was the case whenever a word appeared on him. Either way, it wasn’t particularly bothersome or difficult forhim to memorize one word at a time in a list of unconnected words. The factthat they would appear in sporadic intervals, but never less than a daybetween them sometimes, helped in that way.

The inconvenience was that it had to show up somewhere onhis body. There wouldn’t be any warning from you either. One night he went tobed and woke up to find a new word scrawled across one of his wrists. By thebeginning of October, you wrote the last word you wanted him to remember. That was it for now. Assuming the words hadcome to you in the order you intended, he couldn’t string together anythingcoherent from them.

Sky. Edges. Hammer. Light. System. Black. Tick.

“Well, those are only the key words from it. One day, I’llshow you the rest,” you explained.

“One day” came in about eight. His hand was bandaged and a little bloodystill from the match earlier that day, but the words appeared well enough belowthe edge of the bandages for him to read each word clearly. Maybe Akiteru told you whathappened and helped you figure out where on your arm you should start writing.

No. You had been there to watch. He didn’t know for sure,but it felt exactly like something you would do. He rolled his jacket sleeveback down so his teammates wouldn’t see, but uncovered it when washing his handsin the bathroom. Only the first word, “sky” was contained in the four lines oftext.

On the bus ride home, seven different lines appearedwhere the first for had been. “Edges” and “hammer” showed up in them, and afteran hour or those lines were scrubbed off and replaced by the next set. Thiscontinued until nightfall.

Tsukishima stared at the last set of words on hisforearm. For the first time in a very long time, you had written something tohim that made some sort of sense. There was still a clear attempt at the abstract, but it was accessible enough. It was a small one, but he smiled. This wasthe first time you made him do so in five years.

The next day your doorbell rang. It was unexpected but at thesame time, expected too, that you found Tsukishima in the doorway when youanswered it. Neither of you said anything, but you let him in. You lead him to siton the walkway outside like you used to do before the chasm between youappeared. You’re not sure how much time passed—it was at least ten minutes, youwere sure, or it felt like that—until you finally spoke up, voice quiet.

“I asked Takeda-sensei one time if he knew anything aboutincompatible soulmates,” you started. Abrief glance in his direction was enough to see the almost undetectableconfusion on his face. “Well, it goes without saying that Modern Literature ismy favorite subject and he’d become my favorite teacher. I bring my poems tohim to workshop a lot.”

“Oh,” is his only reply. It wouldn’t have been hard forhim to figure out, but he never gave it any thought until then.

After a brief moment of silence, you continued, “He saidit was uncommon but also not unheard of. That there are times that thingsbetween soulmates just don’t work out, sure, but also that not every set of soulmatesis matched up for the same reason. Sometimes you’re not paired with the person whounderstands you better than anyone else, but rather the person who forces youto think in a different mindset and to look at things other than how you wouldhave on your own. They’re the person who looks at your first draft and asks ‘Well,what if you did this instead?’ because they think it will push you into creatingsomething spectacular. They may not be yourother half, but they are the person who ends up bettering you.”

There was another long silence between you two, but not as long as before and certainly not as tense. With a soft laugh, you placed your palms behind you on the walkway and leaned back onto them.

“It took us a while to figure that one out, huh, Kei?”you asked. “It was something sosimple the whole time.”

You glanced towards Tsukishima again, to find his gazefixated on the ground. His arms were crossed loosely in front of him, elbowsagainst his thighs to prop him up while he leaned forward. The hand injuredthe day before, rested on top of the opposite arm.

“It…makes sense,” he said. “Your poem was still somethingyou would write, but I was able to grasp most of it. Maybe because I knew aheadof time that it was going to be about me, or maybe because you tried to make itobvious.”

“Yeah. But it won’t come together the same way if someonewho didn’t know anything about you read it. Writers aren’t supposed to tell youexactly what they want you to get from their work, but I’m starting to learnthat there’s someone I need to make exceptions for.”

“But this is only the first draft,” he said. “You’remissing a lot from the third system that I’d have to fill you in on. Afterthat, there’s a fourth system and it’s just starting now.”

He smiled. It wasn’t the big grin you remembered seeingas a child, but you can’t remember the last time you saw him smile at all. Inturn, you beamed right back at him. Whether or not you were lucky to have foundeach other at such a young age was moot. Maybe it took too long for either ofyou realize that you’d have to work at this, that it wasn’t going to clickinstantly. Most people around your age were only first meeting their soulmatesnow, so maybe it wasn’t unusual that it would take around ten years to findyourselves at square one along with them.

And that’s okay.

~*~

You said to meonce, “The world is systematic”That may be true butI remember youcame to me from the sky.Your wings weren’tarms, no feathers on your back.

The first system:We started withoutorder only to be sculpted by edgesFrom the worldaround us, left out in the sun to bake and take shape.

I know that ahammer came down on you—Not a hammer really, but a dimming light(with an albatross around his neck)—andShattered what youknew yourself to be.

I didn’t see it, didn’thear the noiseAnd only learnedwhy from the hushed voicesOf the stars thatsaw it all and from the light himself

There weren’tdirections on how to put you back together.It wasn’t my placeto anyway.System number twobroke downQuietly,In the same wayfireflies float at night.

System three washalf-working when you found it.It went somethinglike this:

You’re worriedyou’ll get stuck in the rain, or take a shower,Only to find thewater running off your body turns black.This is not a badsign and you know this.You know there’smerit in being a well-oiled cogAs long as the clockneeds you to tick tick tickThe problem is theimages of unused gearsPiled high in theback of your mind when the firstGraying dropletsstart pooling at your feet

Because systemthree can be fixedBut not by you, youdecided.You decided thisbefore you knew of it.Maybe it didn’thave to be system three.It could be thetenth system, the twenty-third,All broken too, butyour mind was already made up.

And from a listwithout order, this is what it tookTo change that:The sunThe stars who sawyou shatterA flock of crowsA cat and an owlThe dim lightthat’s starting shine again and trying to put system two back together (the albatross flewaway)An eagle

To you, this ispainfully obviousBut I did forgetone:

A firefly circlingaround the moon

Now it’s learning howto turn the unpredictableInto logic and lines,it can comprehendFind gaps in the process, anticipate them tooBe the cog that stops the stuttering hands of a clock

To shine again and fly with the wings that were missingWhen you fell from the sky before meNo. That’s not right.They had always been there.

System number four is still a work in progress.The cogs understand they don’t meshBut they want to.Especially as the clock stutters again,When fingers first intertwine,When arms first embrace the familiar unfamiliar body,When lips meet for the first time.

This is normal for the fourth system.The cogs understand they don’t mesh.But they find that they can file their teethRe-shape them just enough thatEven a drop or two of oil will turn the wheel with ease.

They’ll make up for lost time.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! scenarios #tsukishima kei #soulmate!au #request #admin rachel lauren #and now i can never write a soulmate!au ever again #jk jk #i like doing them #anonymous

78 notes · View notes