#hey how cool would it be if i wrote a story from the point of view of someones reflection

[teencopandthesourwolf]

so i'm supposed to be working on my sterek wip—and i am! i wrote about 1k today—but bc of all you lovely mutual's and folk i follow now also into buddie (main culprits being @inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius and @angela-feelstoomuch) and ofc bc of bi!buck confirmed, i've started ploughing through 911 over the last few weeks like a bloodhound chasing a rabbit through the woods and have consequently, inevitably, started a buddie wip. fml. anyways, it's all your lot's fault so here, have just under 1k of my first buck pov buddie quarantine wip and everyone pls forgive my adhd writing brain lol.

.

Eddie was so fucking drunk. And it wasn't really either of their faults.

Because daytimes? When they weren't on shift? They were easy.

In the daytime there was just so much stuff to do with Christopher. So many games to play and so many cool things Buck was finding he could teach the little guy. And there were things that Christopher was teaching Buck, too, like, did you know that a crocodile can't stick out its tongue? Because Buck didn't, not until Christopher told him. And how cool is that?

The three of them—Buck, Christopher and Eddie—had started a Strip Jack Naked tournament and they now played it every night that he and Eddie were home, just before bath and bedtime stories. Turns out Christopher loved card games, and loved the rude name given to Buck and Maddie's childhood favourite even more, because what ten year old wouldn't? There was obviously zero stripping involved; Buck didn't even know why it was called what it was called, only that it was super fun, and just about easy enough for Christopher to learn but not so easy he'd get bored too fast, y’know? And what was funny was that the little dude hadn't even won a single round yet, and that somehow hadn't seemed to deter the slugger in his efforts one bit. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd warned, “Just you two wait,” and had this look on his face that said he was determined to become a grandmaster and beat Buck at his own game—or, even better, beat his Dad and win the prize of Eddie having to tidy Christopher's room for a week (a suggestion of Buck's that Eddie had not been overjoyed about).

In turn, Buck and Eddie had now lost countless games of Mario Kart to the kid; been repeatedly humiliated at Pictionary (the kiddie version); and each had the least amount of kudos points for Misfits, a game that Eddie apparently used to play with his sisters. It was another drawing-type one, where each player took a body section on their turn—head, torso and arms, or legs and feet—and then folded the paper over to hide the result until everyone was done and Christopher would unfold the paper and they'd all cry with laughter at the results. Misfits didn't even technically have any winners or losers, but hey, try telling Christopher that.

Evenings, though? The few hours left between Christopher's bedtime and Eddie and Buck turning in for the night? They were tougher.

Tough on Buck, at least.

See, he'd had this dream, a few weeks back. A dream about—well.

About Eddie.

In the dream, Buck had been washing the dishes in Eddie and Chris's apartment after Eddie had made another attempt at cooking his abuela's delicious Barbacoa recipe (Buck had tasted the real deal once when Isabel had come to stay and Eddie had invited Buck over to dinner), and Eddie had suddenly crowded into him from behind, crushing the length of his body up against Buck's back and reaching around to circle soft but firm hands around Buck's wet wrists. Startled and confused, Buck had open opened his mouth to say something when Eddie had placed his hot mouth onto the sensitive spot on Buck's neck, just below his right ear and—

Buck had woken abruptly, writhing and twitching and groaning, jizz spilling all over his freshly changed bed sheets.

After that, evenings were a challenge.

They were now made up of all the usual fun and dumb stuff that Buck and Eddie got up to, plus the occasionally deeper topics in their lives that they both seemed to struggle with but tried their best to share with each other, but there was also Don't look too long at Eddie's hands, and Don't look at Eddie's mouth while he speaks, and Don't check out Eddie's ass in those jeans I'd told him he should definitely buy when the shops were still open and the world hadn't yet gone to shit and I wasn't losing my damn mind.

Buck had moved into Eddie and Chris's place when Quarantine hit because it had just made sense, and over the course of the last six months he had somehow managed to fall in lust with his best friend.

So, times when they both had tomorrow off work, and when the confinement got to be a little too much, they would drink. Sometimes a little too much. One of them always stayed relatively sober though, just in case Chris needed something in the night, and tonight, Buck had been allowing Eddie to enjoy himself because the guy hardly ever really let his hair down, and he deserved to.

Eddie got giggly when he drank Tequila, Buck noticed.

They'd already sunk a few beers prior to cracking open the bottle of Cazadores Reposado, and after Buck had stopped at two shots but Eddie had continued, Eddie had become progressively loose and was now starting to giggle like a frickin schoolgirl. Which, embarrassingly, seemed to be doing things to Buck—not that Buck had a thing for school girls, jesus no, it was just that Eddie sounding so soft and vulnerable and happy was something that apparently really did it for Buck.

Fuck his life.

The guy also got very touchy-feely on tequila, too.

They'd migrated from the kitchen table to sitting so close to each other on the sofa that they were permanently touching, as well as all the times Eddie kept nudging his shoulder further into Buck's and squeezing his hand on Buck's knee. Then his thigh.

Seriously, fuck Buck's life.

The way Eddie had gotten so comfortable with touching Buck was becoming a majorly uncomfortable situation for Buck to have to deal with. Not because Buck didn't want the attention, but because he really fucking did.

And that was a problem, for a few reasons.

Reason one was that Buck wasn't gay, and didn't really understand these feelings he was having.

Reason two was, as far as Buck knew, Eddie wasn't gay either.

Reason three (and Buck's biggest fear) was Buck being terrified of losing what he had with Eddie. He loved Eddie, and Christopher, and he was pretty sure they loved him back—and he certainly wasn't about to let his rabid and confusing libido ruin any of that.

Drunk Eddie, though? It seemed Drunk Eddie really had it in for Buck tonight.

.

fingers crossed i can finish it before buck goes insane! xp

#here we go! #buddie #buddie wip #buddie fic #pov buck #evan buckly #eddie diaz #911 #911 fic #lemons #wet dream #coming untouched #drunk!eddie #alcohol #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf #plus buddie lol

[evelynsfics]

Life captured in a painting.

I saw more people today, they came by to see the room. The same room everyone comes to see. I watched them briskly walk past all the silent painting and watching candles, they paid no mind to the dust and spiders, they never do, after all. A single goal in mind, they came to see the rusted beds, i'm sure. They all do. Countless pulled towards us by a never ending curiousity. Yet none ever leave. A shame, really. All those bodies have so many uses besides to carry one's mind from awful place to calm, serene dreams.

The light flickers everynow and then, it always has since that day... Well, no point in reminding oneself of things long since purposely forgotten. I don't know why. I never did. They kept me in the dark to stumble and fall, only to join me once they outlived the only usefulness they once had.

Everything was so much simpler when we used candles to light up the halls, back then the painting frames weren't so faded and the paint still held it's vibrant colors. Ah, but alas time eats away even at the most humble of hands.

Once the man died and our house fell into chaos and apathy, once we lost all we had left, then and only then did we realize that we witnessed the end of a bloodline. Years passed with no light, no human contact, and quickly, life as we knew it changed. Mankind has come so far from the last time our family ate together during Christmas, oh but i guess it's to be expected.

Now, we sit wordlessly, watching men and women gape in awe at our beauty. We watch them walk down the ancient, moth eaten rug in the hall, desperate to look at as much as they can. It's always been like this, visitors always looked around awestruck, never quite grasping all we had to sacrifice to obtain all this gold tinted bronze.

They never saw beneath the lies. They never realized. They never knew that our family, entire generations of lives lost to illness and war, was built on fickle lies, ones that would shatter like glass at the softest of touches.

Ignorance is bliss, and in some cases, it is all that stands between a life of luxury and a death of misery and regret.

Is that how they all died? In agony and longing? Longing for a better life? A second chance? A way to undo all the hurt and envy they caused to people that didn't deserve it? Not that we weren't without fault, of course. We always where too quick to judge, too quick to kill in the name of false justice and broken pride. That's how we made our way to the top. That's how it's always been.

Even now, as i watch people dressed in monochromatic tones walk by, strange devices lightning up their hands, i know that i am so much more than them. I've seen so many wonders of nature that their feeble mortal minds wouldn't be able to even comprehend. I've become what i always knew I'd be. Yet, it's so strangely melancholic to watch them freely walk, talking amongst eachother so carelessly, mindlessly laughing at words i can't seem to understand. Oh how i miss being like them.

The scenery before me always changes, the sun sets in such a lovely way, everyday the same yet changing, charming in such a disgusting way. Lives come and go, looking up at us like we're an attraction at a crumbling museum left to rot in it's meaningless sorrows. I, however, am eternal. I will watch a thousand years before i succumb to rot and decay.

For the view behind the picture frame may rot, but as the last of what once was a bloodline of pure power and might, i will last on far longer than the portrait they painted of me in my dying moments.

Some part of me knows they knew what a horrible fate they doomed me to. Some part of me feeds on the hatred they felt for me. Some part of me still feels it, pulsing a soft rhythm inside the now silent paintings.

And i relish in it. It's what kept me alive for so long, is it not?

#hey how cool would it be if i wrote a story from the point of view of someones reflection #my writing #writers on tumblr #writing #another personal favourite #i vividly remember writing this one #the story behind it is really funny #okay so. i was on pintrest being mentally ill as i usually do #and i saw this one picture of a girl in a room w a bunch of mirrors and i thought #but that didnt work out as well as i thought #and because the idea was really nice i decided to try and do it w a painting

[lvrsparadise]

hi pook!

you should write an opposites attract with chris. (i would say matt but i feel like this is more of a chris thing)

like, the reader is calm, patient, and quiet while we all know how chris is.

love youuuu 😽

'LOUD' - C.S

Synopsis - "Can you be quieter?" "Can you be louder?"

Warnings! - profanity, kissing, secret dating.

A/N - literally wrote all of this in class. i get to meet my baby brother today! (5th) by the time this comes out, he'll already be home. Thank you for requesting this pook! love you all ! synopsis sentence not used in story !!

I huff and look out the window of the van as Chris cuts me off, yet again.

“Chris, let her talk!”

“No! Nothing she’s saying is important!”

“And why is that?” Matt looks back at me before looking back at Chris.

“She’s not loud enough to really get her point across.” He’s too loud. He makes an emphasizing gesture with his arms, throwing them out in front of him. 

“Chris, just stop being a dick!” Nick smacks his arm, and it sounds like it hurts.

“Ow Nick! What the fuck?!” Chris grabs his arm and attempts to bend back to the backseat to hit Nick back, but he ends up hitting me instead, and I am furious, and I think he can tell.

His eyes widen quickly, and his face goes pale.

“Oh shit. Sorry ba- Y/N” I have to try and refrain from showing any emotion to his almost slip-up. I nail him with a look for a beat before returning to my scowl.

“You asshole.” I can see the genuine apology in his eyes, and with that, I become a little less mad and kind of just slump back in the seat, looking back out the window.

I hear multiple sighs.

“Now look what you’ve done. Great going Chris.” Nick’s voice is laced with sarcasm, and anger.

“My bad, wasn’t trying to hit her.” He sits back into his seat.

---

A few minutes pass and the subject has changed and Chris has gotten a little quieter. 

I feel my phone vibrate from my pocket and I take it out to see a text from Chris.

Baby♡: i’m so sorry babe, i seriously did not mean to hit you Me: it’s fine. You can kiss it better later (kissy emoji)

A small grin forms on my face as I hear Chris chuckle quietly from the front seat.

“What? What’re you laughing at?” Nick asks as he leans over to try and get a peek at Chris’s phone, but thankfully Chris shuts his phone off in time.

“Nothing dipshit.”

---

After filming, which took over two hours by the way, we finally head back to the triplets house, and just as we pull out of the parking lot, my phone vibrates again, and I already know who it is.

Baby♡: you alright? You’re quiet back there. Me: i’m always quiet. :) Baby♡: true… Baby♡: are you staying over tonight? Me: idk yet Baby♡: pleaseeeee 

I let out a huff of air and roll my eyes.

“Hey guys, is it cool if I stay over tonight? I don’t feel like driving tonight.”

“Yeah that’s fine with me.” Nick turns his head to me and smiles.

“I don’t mind.” I can see Matt shrug from the driver’s seat.

Chris is silent, probably for the best.

“Alright.” I look back down at my phone and grab my headphones from my pocket, putting them in and press play on my playlist as my phone buzzes again.

Baby♡: yay! couch then my room? (context: Y/N 'sleeps' on the couch until matt and nick go to bed, then she moves to chris’s room) Me: like always (kissy emoji)

I hear a chuckle from the front seat before Chris and Matt start talking.

---

I plop down on the chase of the couch with a groan and a fake snore.

I open my eyes just in time to see Chris Nick and Matt bidding goodnight to each other before they separate, all going their own directions.

Chris looks at me as he walks down the stairs to his room.

I huff and wait for Matt to turn off his music before I grab one of the blankets from the couch and walk downstairs to Chris’s room, knocking softly.

“Come in!” I crack the door open to see him sitting at his desk, phone in one hand looking down to it, and the other on the mouse. I smile softly and walk into the room, closing the door behind me.

He snaps his head to me, concern etched on his face.

“I didn’t hurt you earlier, did I?” I shake my head softly, tossing the blanket I brought down on his bed and walking over to him.

“No. It only hurt for a second, but it’s fine now.” I place my hands on his cheeks, gliding my thumbs over the smooth skin.

Swiftly, he stands up, picks me up, and tosses me on the bed before plopping down next to me, enveloping me in a great big bear hug, and I melt into it.

“Good. Don’t want you to be mad at me.” He kisses my forehead, nose, and cheeks before giving me a kiss.

“Never.” I smile and lean up to give him another kiss.

Tags ! ✮

@dwntwn-strnlo ✮ @ssturniolo ✮ @strniolo ✮ @20nugs ✮ @prettysturniolo ✮ @mxqdii ✮ @thetriplets3 ✮ @slaysturniolo ✮ @gwenlore ✮ @opheliaofficial07 ✮ @gabbylovesreading ✮

If you want to be added to the list, all you have to do is ask ! ✮

I love you all !

And I hope you all have a good day and / or night ✮

#l writes! #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #lee and lily

[captianprices40thson]

Just read you're other story, it was awesome. Can you write one with male reader being married to graves and ale and rudy flirting with m/n, but every time m/n is like I'm married but never tells hes married to graves. And one day they are making out on the couch and ale and rudy walk in and are like " NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHY HIM OF ALL PEOPLE. " and " THAT SHOULD BE ME. "

Do you have a man? I don’t see a ring on your finger

Word count: 2.3k

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Graves (jk) None really. A lot of fluff, Los Vaqueros and Graves have beef, Alejandro complains about white people (as he should), 

Notes: Wrote the vast majority of this in class while listening to IT GIRL. You know this is gonna be good. And yes, if you've submitted a request the last three days after I posted my last fic, I’ve started to work on it. Gotten a lot more than I’ve expected so I’m trying my best lol. And Anon, if you want me to rewrite this or make something different, please just ask me to, I really don't mind. I'm not too proud of this one, but I hope I've satisfied you.

(Takes place before the Graves betrayal. Reader is not part of the 141, Shadows or Los Vaqueros, but a secret fourth thing.)

“Come on, Guapo. You’re bluffing.” Alejandro smirked, crossing his arms as he spoke. You chuckled, leaning back against the truck that Rudy was loading up. This wasn’t the first time he had accused you of lying about your relationship status. If you had a dollar for each time, you’d have enough to have another wedding.

“I’m telling you, Alejandro. I’m a married man. How many more times do I have to tell you?” You confirmed for the millionth time, a stupid grin on your face. Truth be told, you didn’t half mind their flirting, it made you feel better about yourself knowing that you still got it. The fact that they refused to believe that you were married, it was sort of funny.

“I don’t see a ring.” Rudy added in after he loaded the final bag onto the truck, a know-it-all look on his face as he walked up to you too. You rolled your eyes, refusing to move from your position because you thought you looked too cool not to. “No one wears rings during active duty, Rodolfo. You see Soap and Ghost wearing theirs?” You spoke back, pushing yourself off your spot on the car for two reasons. Them being, you thought it would be cooler and Rudy was moving to open the door your foot was suffocating.

“No, Ghost wears his ring around his neck. Also I’m pretty sure Soap lost his.” Alejandro commented, making eye contact with you. It wasn’t for long because you immediately closed your eyes as you scoffed.

“Well, that’s Soap for you. I guess I just prefer to not wear mine.” You reasoned, looking over to Rudy, to Alejandro and then over to a whistle that just sounded American. That always made you smile, seeing Graves whistle his Shadows like they were dogs.

“Oh great, it’s the gringo.” Alejandro hissed, causing you to turn your head and shake it a bit.

“Hey.” You scolded him like he was a child and had just said he hated something, which was kind of true. Los Vaqueros had a sort of special hatred for Graves, perhaps it was because he was the most American man you’d ever meet, perhaps it was because he was just kind of an asshole. You’ve been trying to get them to get along, but so far it would only work on Rudy. He was the kinder of the two, it was clear.

“Alejandro. We talked about this.” Rudy chimed in, causing Alejandro to hold out his arms in disbelief. He dropped them to his sides and pointed over to Graves.

“Is it my fault he’s so white? I’m literally being blinded every time I look over at him!” He protested, causing you to chuckle a little. Rudy didn’t let himself smile, although he was internally.

“I know. It is very painful to look at him.” Rudy nodded, placing a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder and shaking his head like he was sympathising with Alejandro after he had been shot or something, not like he was complaining about white people. A valid complaint in most people’s eyes.

“I don’t even say it to any of the 141.” The taller man whisper-shouted, searching for sympathy from you. You smiled, shaking your head as you walked over to him and placed a hand on his other shoulder so you were now one big line.

“Oh yes, you’re very strong, Ale.” You patronised him, talking down to him like he was a toddler. Before he had time to punch you, Graves walked over. Sorry, not walking, strided like the sassy man he is.

“Alright gentlemen. Let’s get this show on the road. You coming with me, Y/N?” Graves smiled, looking over to you. Both Alejandro and Rudy looked over to you, knowing that you always travelled with Graves when you went to go do something. Not belonging to any of their groups, you preferred to travel with your husband.

“Ye-”

“Actually, Y/N will be travelling with us for this mission, Graves. He’s been with you every other time.” Alejandro butted in, placing his arm in front of you like you were going to run off to the man at any minute if he didn’t step in.

“You can’t just decide where he does and doesn’t go, compadre.” Graves tried to argue, but you gave him a look to say it was fine. He nodded, making a little symbol with his hands to tell you that you were to make it up to him later. You had created a lot of those symbols, knowing that it would be hard to communicate all your incredibly affectionate thoughts for one another.

Graves walked away and the three of you turned to the car. Rudy tossed the keys around in his hands, indicating you were to sit in the back because of course Alejandro always had to take shotgun if Rudy was driving.

“Who used this truck last?” Alejandro asked as he opened the passenger’s seat door, sitting down while you buckled in and Rudy turned the keys.

“Uh, It was you last, right Y/N?” Rudy asked, turning back to you. You gave them a thumbs up, your mind replaying why exactly you had used the truck last time. Makeout sessions were not easy to go on base, and the trucks had tinted windows.

“Wait what the…who the fuck did you have in here? W-Why is the seat back like that?” Rudy asked as leant back in the seat only to realise just how far back it was positioned. The taller man held the lever that would pull the seat back up for Rudy and before you could deny anything, Alejandro had something to ask..

“AND WHY DOES THIS CAR SMELL LIKE JAPANESE CHERRY BLOSSOM? WHO THE FUCK DID YOU HAVE IN HERE?” He yelled, causing Rudy to laugh to himself at seeing your guilty face.

“THAT'S JUST HOW I LIKE TO DRIVE!” You lied, trying to come up with an excuse for why the truck was like this. You were sure they didn’t believe you, but they didn’t say anything about it for a moment.

“Sureee, we believe you, love.” Rudy smiled, starting up the car and beginning to lead the rest of the group to the relocation point. You looked over at your hand in the backseat, wondering why you had chosen not to wear your wedding ring. Sure, it was impractical as hell to have on the field, but you could easily attach it to something else, like a necklace. 

“What’re you thinking about, carino? Tryna make up a personality for your fake husband?” Alejandro asked, looking back at you from his chair. You frowned, like a full on cartoon downturned face.

“He isn’t fake, forehead. And what I’m thinking of is none of your business.”

“Oh I get it. It was sexual. You were totally thinking about Rudy and I.” “Don’t drag me into this Ale.”

“You helped me dig this hole, Rudy. You’re coming in with me.”

“Why do you make everything about sex?”

“Why do you not?”

“I’m a human that respects everyone around me, Alejandro. You don't…” You decided to tune them out, it was just the same bickering every time that somehow got you roped up in it. You’d heard it all before. They’d argue about something or other and eventually they’d make up when you forced them to, which made them want to flirt with you even more. You didn’t mind the flirting…it just got a bit tiring sometimes.

________

“Hey baby.” Graves smiled as you entered the small section of the base that was dedicated to the shadows while they stayed for the time being. You smiled, walking up to him and embracing the American man in your tired arms, just wanting to hold him.

“Hey Graves.” You mumbled into his shoulder, your voice being muffled by the fabric of his shirt. It was one of your favourites, a dark blue that suited him well. Graves reached a hand up, holding the back of your head and slowly swaying from side to side.

“How were your little cowboy friends? Better drivers than me?” Graves asked, making you groan, remembering how they were flirting with you all trip. The American chuckled at your response, continuing to hold you close.

“They just can’t seem to understand that I’m married. They think it’s impossible…I don’t know whether or not it’s a compliment and at this point, I don’t care.” You groaned, lifting your head up to meet his eyes. His smile, no matter how much of an asshole he was being, was always kind to you.

“Aww, baby.” Graves frowned, holding your face in his hands. You smiled and placed both your hands on his waist, both of you leaning forward to kiss. The two of you had missed the touch that you never seemed to get, this was a rare time.

You both went down to the couch, Graves on top of you as you made out. He moved one of his hands to hold you from the back and you put another in his hair, holding the platinum blonde locks as your passion rose to the surface.

“What the fuck?!” The accented yell caused you and Graves to pull apart and look where it came from. A very very shocked Alejandro and Rudy stood in the doorway, both caught off guard by the situation.

“W-What are you two doing here?” You asked as Graves pushed himself off of you so you could speak to the two men. They never visited this part of the base on purpose, avoiding Graves and his shadows like the plague.

“What are you doing here?” Alejandro retorted, pointing to the two of you with a confused look on his face.

“I’d say its pretty obvious what my husband is doing here.” Graves butted in, pointing to you with his thumb, causing both Alejandro and Rudy’s jaws to drop. You almost let out a laugh, instead choosing to hide your reaction and just look at them blankly.

“W-What did you say?” Rudy questioned Graves, looking over at him and then back to you. It was like he couldn’t believe that someone as sweet and kind as you…was married to Phillip Graves.

“Y/N is my husband. He wasn’t lying about being married, y’know?” Graves smiled a stupid shit eating grin at the two men’s reactions. They both looked over at him, then back to you seemingly in unison. You could only lift up your hands a bit and give a ‘sorry smile’ to them. 

“B-But if not us…why him?” “COME ON, Y/N. YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER!” Alejandro added in, more fond of shouting than Rudy would ever be. You made eye contact with Graves while they yelled, trying to figure out why he was the one you were romantically interested in,

“D-Do you just have a thing for Americans?”

“Is he lying to you about how good of a person he is?”

“What type of car does he drive?” 'HE'S THE WORST, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

“Fuckin white people, taking everything anyone else wants.”  "WHY HIM OF ALL PEOPLE?"

While the two Mexican men started rambling and guessing why you would be with Graves and not them, you and Graves decided to share another kiss while they argued, effectively shutting them both up.

“You two,” You started as now you finally had their attention. “We’re with each other because we love each other…simple.” You smiled, watching them take in the fact that you actually might just love Graves.

There was a silence while they processed that, a deafening silence and if anyone came past the room, they’d assume there was no life in there. It stayed for a minute before Alejandro spoke up.

“This isn’t over, white boy.” He vaguely threatened, making ‘watching you’ hand gestures and walking out of the room backwards, maintaining eye contact with Graves the whole time. 

“What he said.” Rudy added on, quickly walking after him, just keeping his head forward. When Alejandro bumped into the wall while trying to exit, Rudy grabbed his shoulder and they both muttered something to one another, Alejandro rubbing his head as he left.

“Were they high? What was that?” Graves asked, completely confused on what just went down. You didn’t know whether to defend them or not, because to be honest, you thought they were as well.

“I have no clue…” You whispered, turning back to Graves and laying back down on the couch in the position you were in before. The blonde saw this and smiled, laying down back on top of you, not kissing you, just laying there.

“We can deal with them later.” He whispered, closing his eyes and just laying there with you. You smiled, placing your hand in his hair and mentally preparing yourself for whatever the dynamic duo were going to try next. You had no idea what it was going to be, but you just hoped they wouldn’t resort to trying to kill Graves. But, there was no saying what those men would stoop to to win your affection.

#Alejandro Vargas #rodolfo parra #Alejandro Vargas x reader #Rudy x reader #Rodolfo parra x reader #alejandro x rodolfo #Rudy #Rudy cod #Alejandro cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #Male reader #Call of duty x male reader #Graves x male reader #Phillip Graves #Phillip Graves x reader #fiction #call of duty #cod #Fluff

[momowritings]

Love Bites

You gave Toji Fushiguro a sweet tooth he doesn't want to get rid of.

Baker Fem Reader x Toji Fushiguro

word ct: 15.1k, 11 Chapters

Preview: Down the street Toji finally gets in his car and closes himself off from the nipping cold. He glances at the boxes of treats in the passenger seat and wonders what he would do with them. He doubts that Megumi would like them when they meet later today, so he would have to drop them off to the white haired freak he works with. He sighs and looks down at the scalding cup in his hand. He takes a sip and grimaces from the taste. 

“This is liquid fucking sugar,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t stop drinking it slowly through his drive. Toji figures he can continue to go to the bakery until he finally gets something that he likes. 

A/N: Fluff, grumpy x sunshine, found family, a little angsty but nothing too bad, marriage proposal, established relationship, (last chapter only: kitchen sex, creampie, oral- fem receiving)

Keeping my promise and slowly trying to bring my longer fics from ao3 over here. This was a short story that I wrote over the holidays. It's v fluffy and sweet, please enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One: Apple Cinnamon Spice

“Thanks for stopping by. Tell your mom I said hey, okay?” You watch the young man leave with a box of cookies and wipe your hand clean. You turn away to tend to the oven beeping in the kitchen, placing the hot racks of muffins on the top of the cooling tray to drag out in the front, then grabbing the bottom trays to put in the out on display. Your glasses constantly slip down your nose and you make a mental note to get them tightened 

You move diligently in and out of the kitchen, the door constantly swinging from your movements, and you don't even notice the brooding man who has been watching you on the other side of the counter for at least a minute now. It isn’t until he moves and blocks the sunlight that is pouring in that you notice his presence and jump. 

“Oh my goodness I didn't even hear you come in! Welcome to our bakery! I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” you start, putting on your friendliest smile you can muster up. You push your glasses up again and get a better look at the man. He doesn’t speak, but you notice his sharp features and  the side of his lip that has a scar running through it twitches ever so slightly. 

“I could start you off with our classic double fudge brownies?”

He stares passively at you, making you falter. “Okay, how about our seasonal treats? We have caramel pumpkin cookies! Or how about our maple pecan mini pies?” 

“‘We… Our’,” he says, finally speaking up as you nervously grip the counter. “It’s just you.”

“Is that a question?”

“An observation.”

“Oh.” You take a closer look at the man and see that his hands have scars on them as well. He was dressed in a suit, no tie and had his jacket on, but that didn’t help your imagination to stay rational. Is he a gangster? you think. My god, Ezra, what did you do?

“How about a drink? We have normal coffees, but right now our apple cinnamon spice is the talk of the town!” 

“I’ll take one of each,” he grunts. 

“What?”

“Make it two of each,” his finger points at the display rack and the display at his knees. “Give me everything.” 

“Oh. O-okay. Do you want a drink with that?”

“The one that you mentioned.”

“The apple cinnamon spice latte?” You ask incredulously. 

He grunts again and that’s all the confirmation you were going to get. “Can I have a name for this order?”

“…Toji.”

“Thank you Mr. Toji,” you beam at him and his lip twitches again. “I’ll get your order out soon enough.” 

You quickly gather all his food, making sure to pick the best cookies and sweets you can find but still feel like it wasn’t good enough. You had filled up three boxes with treats before you finally completed his order, and then rushed over to make his drink. 

“Make it real hot for me,” he grumbles behind you. You look over her shoulder and nod, but it doesn’t get another response out of him. You ring up his order, absently pushing up your glasses, waiting patiently for him to pay. He hands you a roll of cash and your eyes widen in surprise. 

“That’s way too much, sir. You only owe me 61.75.”

“Share it between you and whoever is supposed to be here with you.”

“It’s just me,” you grimace. “I can’t accept this. However, I can take $61.75.”

Toji stares you down and you can feel your resolve crumbling beneath his gaze. Despite having green eyes, Toji’s were dark and unwavering. You weren’t sure how long you were stuck in his staring contest but he finally relents and hands you a single one hundred dollar bill from the roll. 

“Can you break this then?”

“Yes! Yes, I can do that,” you grin and hand Toji back his change, your fingers slightly brushing over his own. 

“So cold,” he murmurs and his eyes flicks to yours. Toji takes in the roundness of your face, your big brown eyes that seemed even bigger through the lenses, your full dusty pink lips. Your hair was held in a low bun under a hair net, but he would see a few curls springing through the holes, vying for escape. 

“Hmm?”

“My order?” He juts his chin out to the boxes and you scramble to get them for him. 

“Right. Sorry! Please, come back soon!” You wave him goodbye as he leaves, watching his broad frame disappear into the street. When you can no longer see him you release a deep breath, deflating behind the counter, all the stress from the interaction leaking out of you. 

“I really hope he doesn’t come back again,” you whisper to yourself, but you only have a moment before somebody else walks into the store and your smile stitches itself back on your face. 

Down the street Toji finally gets in his car and closes himself off from the nipping cold. He glances at the boxes of treats in the passenger seat and wonders what he would do with them. He doubts that Megumi would like them when they meet later today, so he would have to drop them off to the white haired freak he works with. He sighs and looks down at the scalding cup in his hand. He takes a sip and grimaces from the taste. 

“This is liquid fucking sugar,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t stop drinking it slowly through his drive. Toji figures he can continue to go to the bakery until he finally gets something that he likes.

Chapter Two>>>

#minimoe #momowritings #black fem reader #x black reader #jjk #toji fushiguro #jjk fanfic #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x reader #kid megumi #sukuna ryomen #nanami kento #gojo saturo

[luna-rainbow]

Thanks for your answer for the last ask.

What is wrong with the writers of the new MCU material? Do they just hate Bucky, especially the writer of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier (he's NOT the Winter Soldier anymore!)? Did Bucky kick their cat or something? This hatred and victim blaming is not justified! "Oh Bucky's just a cray-cray psycho killing machine with cool metal arm but probably belongs in a padded cell. Lol he says he had no choice such a lame excuse..."

Soo…I don’t know if people still remember the rumours from back in 2021 and I don’t know how much of it is true, but my guess at it is this: there were supposed to be two main writers on the series. Spellman was supposed to take Sam’s story, while the other guy wrote Bucky’s story. For whatever reason, the other guy quit before he finished, and didn’t give the writing team enough time to put things together.

From a story craft point of view, Bucky’s story in TFATWS reeks of first-draft-ism. It’s a scattered plot of events that don’t quite string together, and a self-contradictory characterisation that hasn’t yet been smoothed over (but was made a little more believable by Sebastian’s efforts). You can tell some central character themes had been planted in the first draft — the PTSD, the guilt, the messy way he’s trying to relearn how to interact with people (Yori, Sam and later the Wakandans), the struggle with breaking free of his past. These were all strong, interesting character beats for Bucky to work through, and it honestly could have been a good story. And I think that’s when the original writer bailed.

When Spellman picked up this draft, he was pressed for time, he hadn’t watched CATWS and he never thought he’d needed to know about Bucky’s story, so he reads TheMovieSpoiler summary of the movie and tries to piece the rest of the story together. But Bucky’s not his priority nor his interest. There’s already beats of the story that were planned and have to be there for IP reasons. So beyond what was already in the first draft as mentioned above, Bucky is made to be the fall guy to make the rest of the plot happen. Zemo’s release — well we can’t make Sam help break out the criminal that killed an African king so we’ll make Bucky do it, who cares if it makes no sense for his character. The counselling session — the show’s few moments of levity, doesn’t matter that it makes no sense but hey, forced homoeroticism is hilarious, isn’t it? The Wakandan three-way fight — I may be remembering this wrong but I think Skogland said it was one of the first scenes that she had planned for. That fight had to happen, and again Bucky was made to provoke the Wakandans to the point Seb had to step in and say, almost literally, “he would not fucking say that” to make them wind back the animosity between Bucky and Ayo. Sam’s suit — oh no we can’t have Sam asking for it himself that would be too egocentric, we also can’t have Wakandans offering because well, not like the plot actually made Sam a strong ally for Wakanda, so we get Bucky asking for Sam’s suit to be made minutes after he fixes his mistake of releasing Zemo. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense if it’s Bucky doing it, cos I really think by this stage Spellman didn’t give a shit about a character that wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility in the first place. It’s like when you’re doing group project and your teammate bails on you, you’re gonna do just enough to get that pass but you ain’t putting in the effort for a distinction cos just looking at the unfinished work is pissing you off. So then Bucky also becomes the token white male who pushes all the wrong buttons during the few token racism scenes cos we gotta make Walker have some redeemable qualities and he’s already a dick so we can’t make him racist too.

So instead of having a thoughtful story about a veteran trying to grapple with his guilt and PTSD and lack of agency and making some mistakes along the way, you get a weird disjointed plot of some guy…with some bad dreams…who randomly does things for no good personal reason…who gets made the butt of the joke for the stuff he’s experienced cos he’s got a metal arm and super soldier serum how hard could it have been he just needs to go and apologise for killing people while simultaneously having multiple poignant scenes portraying his lack of agency.

Every writer who tells you “a hero is only as interesting as the villain” just secretly wants to write a simpable villain. And when that writer isn’t very skilled, you get the disaster of TFATWS where a lot of effort is spent on making Zemo funny and personable, and Walker nuanced and sympathetic, instead of making either of the titular heroes funny or personable or nuanced or sympathetic. And yeah, I really don’t think Spellman ever cared enough about Bucky to want to make him sympathetic…or a hero. Remember when he said Bucky pulling open the van door was the first time Bucky has ever been a hero? Fuck right off with that.

#bucky barnes #tfatws critical #asks

[icarusignite]

Hey Author, I wanted to ask if you could maybe write a story about ! Sihtric x reader! Could you perhaps write something where the reader is the younger sister of Ragnar, Uhtred and Thyra. In sihtric's age.

Maybe she could have met him in the forest when the two were children and became best friends from that day on. Nobody knew about it because the families are no longer good. Years later, when Kjartan kills the parents of the reader and Uhtred. the reader goes with him and Brida. She is younger than Uhtred and brida maybe Uhtred could teach his little sister to fight and she will be a shieldmaid maybe even the best!!!

When sihtric joins uhtred, the reader is very happy. Sihtric loves the reader, but thinks she would never want anything from him, so he marries his wife from the series

The relationship between the reader and sihtric becomes very bad due to the married

The reader is angry because she doesn't like his wife, she’s jealous and she is very hurt. And she makes him feel her anger!!! Maybe we could have a little fight with his wife, that would be cool.

At some point I don't know how they could confess their feelings for each other.

I love drama in story’s like that. I hope you like it too and it gave you ideas to write it. Maybe you could say if you write it.

Thank you, your reader 🫶❤️

#drama #brokenheart #anger #bestfriends #love

I am so jealous that she is his wife. I just don't like her😑

I have to put my cell phone away, otherwise it will be broken later

I wrote a similar request to another author, but I thought I could also ask another one, hope it doesn't bother you! 🫶

Heyyy finally got this done. It is longer than I expected lol cuz I wanted to give them a shared background story lol. I tried to add all the requested components but his wife just isn't his wife yet so he was planning to marry her but then ofc he changes his mind after the reader rages at him. I love angry confessions lol.

Cheers, hope you enjoy the story 🫶

Word Count: 4.8k | AO3

In the heart of the forest, the sun shone through the canopy of leaves and the birds sang a merry tune. A group of children ran through the underbrush, their laughter echoing through the trees.

"I saw a wolf, Uhtred, I saw it, it had sharp teeth and yellow eyes!" Brida shouted excitedly, brandishing the branch she held in her hand as a pretend sword.

"Brida, Uhtred, don't let them get to me," Thyra shouted from the platform the children had built in the trees. "And protect my little sister!"

"I am a warrior like Father and Young Ragnar. I don't need Uhtred to protect me!" you shouted back at Thyra, who only rolled her eyes at your childish antics. 

"Father and Young Ragnar are much bigger than you, you cannot possibly be like them!" Uhtred laughed.

You crossed your arms and glared at him until he raised his hands placatingly.

"Now then, what shall we do about the wolf?" you grinned. "I say we skin him and gift his pelt to the lady of the hall."

Your hair whipped around your face as you fought your imaginary foes, eyes bright with determination and a fierce sense of bravery. You took careful steps, your feet moving in sync with your makeshift sword, as you circled around the supposed wolves who were coming for your sister. Suddenly you heard the sound of branches snapping and twigs crunching underfoot, signalling the approach of another person to your little corner of the forest. You instinctively raised your branch in front of you, ready to defend yourself and your friends against any potential enemies. 

"Did you see that?" Uhtred's voice wavered and everyone's necks turned in the direction the noise originated from. 

A figure stepped out from behind the trees, making Uhtred and Brida freeze. 

"Uhtred?" Thyra's panicked voice came from her spot in the trees. "What is happening?"

"Stay up there!" he warned, grabbing your hand along with Brida's and pulling back a few steps. 

 "It's Sven, Kjartan's son," Brida breathed.

"Sven?" Thyra's voice shook.

"He won't hurt you," Uhtred reassured.

You pushed Brida and Uhtred forward, "But he'll kill you, so go!" 

"What, we're not leaving you!"

"And I will not leave my sister. Just go, please."

Several other young boys, Sven's friends presumably, tore out of their hiding places, giving chase to Brida and Uhtred as they sprinted away. One of the larger boys made his way toward the tree Thyra was in. You ran after him, hoping to get to him before he reached your sister. You tackled him to the ground but he easily threw you off to the side before going to haul Thyra out of her hiding spot and toward Sven.

"Don't touch her. Don't you dare touch her!" you shouted, and another boy grabbed you by the hair and yanked your head upward.

"Shut your yapping mouth or you'll be next bitch," he murmured into your ear.

Thyra whimpered as Sven cornered her against a tree, sword in hand. 

"Uhtred! Uhtred!" she wailed and it made your heart race. 

You knew Sven was going to do something to her, you could see it in the smirk he sent your way just before he reached forward and ripped the top half of Thyra's dress off her shoulders. A broken sob escaped her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make herself small. The sight set your nerves on fire. With an animalistic screech, you headbutted the boy who was holding on to you. When you slammed your head against his nose, you heard a satisfying crunch and he howled in pain as blood gushed down his face. You gave another holler before you ran and threw your entire weight onto Sven, forcing him away from your sister and managing to knock him onto the ground.  You watched out of the corner of your eye as Thyra fled the scene, screaming for Uhtred and Brida to come to your aid. One of Sven's friends pulled your small frame off him easily, and dragged you deeper into the forest, pinning you against a tree with his arm across your neck, suffocating you. You twisted in his hold and kicked him between the legs, making him drop you so that you could crawl away. Sven was right there though, and he grabbed your jaw, turning your head so that your eyes met his. He was several years older than you and now you were frightened. 

"Hmm, you're not as pretty as your sister, but I suppose you'll do," he snickered.

You closed your teeth around his arm, biting down until you tasted blood. He swore and when he went to pull you off, you drew back to punch him. And then you were raining blows down frantically upon him before he had a chance to get up. His hand scrambled around for his sword and brought it up in a deadly arc across your face. You flinched at the burning sting and he used it to his advantage in order to throw you off him. He stood there frozen for a moment, just watching your crouching form on the floor, your hand pressed tightly to your cheek as you took in deep shuddering breaths and blood seeped from between your fingers. Perhaps he then remembered who your father was because he turned and ran, his cruel friends following close behind. 

"Are you...are you alright?" came a timid voice after a while, and it made you jump. 

"Who-Who's there?"

You blinked through teary eyes to spot a young boy around your age step forward from behind a nearby tree. He looked at you with concern, his eyes taking in your injury.

"Are you okay?" he asked again softly.

You shook your head, fresh tears streaming down your face. You were terrified, hurt, and you couldn't quite remember the way home so you were also lost. 

The little boy took a step closer, his eyes reassuring, "Don't worry, I'll help you."

You cringed away from him, "Who are you."

"I am Sihtric. I won't hurt you."

"Can you help me find my way back home, I don't remember the way," you whimpered.

Sihtric took your hand and started to lead you out of the forest. You clung to his hand tightly as he led you through the forest. You were still scared, but somehow his presence brought you a sense of comfort and safety. As you emerged from the dense cluster of trees, you could see your home in the distance. Your heart leaped with relief, and you began to quicken your pace, Sihtric keeping pace with you, never once letting go of your hand. As you drew closer, you saw both your parents standing at the door looking out anxiously. When your mother caught sight of you, her eyes lit up and she rushed towards you, scooping you up into her arms. You winced, your left hand still pressed up against your face. She let out a gasp and carefully pried your hand away, and showed the angry red line, that ran from your cheekbone to your chin, to your father. Earl Ragnar swore loudly before taking up his sword and leaving the house in a fury to confront Kjartan and his son, already having been told the story of what happened by the other children. 

"Is-is Thyra okay?" you whispered to your mother, making her smile affectionately.

"Oh my darling girl, look at the state of you, and you're still worried for your older sister. Thyra is perfectly fine, she just had a bit of a fright, now let's get you inside and cleaned up hmm?"

Sihtric lingered outside your door, uncertain of what to do. Your mother noticed him standing there and approached him, still clutching you in her arms.

"Thank you for bringing my daughter home," she said, her voice kind. "You're a very brave young boy."

Sihtric just shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, "It was nothing, I'm just glad she's okay."

As he turned to leave, you grabbed his hand. 

"Wait," you said. "Will I see you again?"

"If you like...?" he gazed up at your mother in hesitation. 

Your mother nodded, her lips turning upward, "You are welcome here anytime."

You grinned shyly, the memory of your adventure already fading into the background, "We can explore the forest together then, just like real warriors."

With a wave goodbye, Sihtric turned and disappeared back into the woods, leaving you with a newfound sense of wonder and the excitement that comes with making a new friend. From that day forward, Sihtric became one of your closest companions, spending endless afternoons exploring the forest and getting into all sorts of adventures. You always looked out for each other, and the bond you forged that day in the woods never wavered. Even though his father had been banished by yours, he continued to find ways to meet with you in the forest, a place where he didn't have to be Sihtric Kjartansson, a bastard child of Kjartan the Cruel. He was just Sihtric, your friend, and perhaps more, judging by the lingering glances you both often exchanged.

This continued up until that fateful day when your entire world was burnt to the ground. You had lost everyone, your parents, your grandfather, and your beloved sister. Your older brother Ragnar the Younger had been away and you felt yourself all alone in the world, that is until Uhtred and Brida took you in. Uhtred felt a strong sense of responsibility for you, being one of the last surviving members of the family that had so lovingly raised him. He had been unable to save Thyra from being taken but he swore to himself that he'd never let harm come to you. 

As the years went by, your childhood wish came true. You had indeed become a fierce warrior, and Uhtred made sure that you knew how to protect yourself and others. You fought in the Battle of Edington against Skorpa and made a reputation for yourself, but the young boy with whom you had spent your childhood days remained a fond memory you found yourself often reminiscing. 

______________

It was in King Guthred's camp in Cumberland where Sihtric finally found you again. He had been sent there to infiltrate the camp and abduct Uhred but when his band of spies attacked, you were the first one there to save your brother, along with Hild, Halig, and Clapa. He had recognized you immediately, the fierce young woman with sharp piercing eyes reminded him of the little girl in the forest whom his half-brother had maimed. However, when you first saw him, you had only looked at him with disdain. He was just another miscreant to you, sent to harm your brother, and you could not imagine him as your childhood companion. He felt his heart sink at that, at the malice in your eyes, at the fact that you did not seem to remember him at all. 

Once he had sworn his allegiance to Uhtred, he made his way to the great hall, where you sat conversing with Gisela. He wanted to talk to you, to hear you speak. Gisela caught sight of his yearning gaze on you and gave him a knowing look. She excused herself and left you sitting there all alone, giving Sihtric an opportunity to take her spot. He settled himself beside you, taking a moment to map out the planes of your face. He had waited years for this moment, to see you again, but now that it was happening, he was unsure how to proceed.

You looked at him and raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "I hear that you will fight for Uhtred now?"

Sihtric nodded.

"You better not betray him, or I'll stick a knife in your throat while you sleep."

A laugh burst out of him and he looked at you with soft eyes, "You are exactly as I remembered."

"Am I now?"

"Do you not remember me?"

You sighed, "Of course, I remember you. How could I ever forget?"

"Well the way you were looking at me like you wanted to take my head off, certainly didn't feel like you remembered me."

"You know you did try to hurt my brother."

"Right...I'm sorry for that by the way. You have my word, I will never betray him."

You twirled your dagger between deft fingers, "I'll hold you to that."

Sihtric laughed again, "Gods, I've missed you."

Your heart skipped a beat. You had always felt something for him but never dared to act on it.

"You did?" you asked, surprised.

He nodded, "I thought about you all the time, wondering where you were and what you were doing. If you were well. And then I heard the stories, of your brother's victories, and they always spoke of his brave sister who fought beside him."

You felt your heart swell with happiness. For the rest of the day, you and Sihtric continued to converse, your exchanges growing more relaxed as you fell back into the familiar comfort of knowing each other. You both shared stories of what you had been doing since you last saw each other.

Sihtric hesitated for a moment, then gathered up his courage to ask you the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since you had been separated, "Are you perhaps with someone now?"

"Why, are you asking because you're interested?" you gave him a playful smirk.

Sihtric's cheeks flushed red as he stumbled over his words, "I... well... I mean... that is to say..."

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. And gods no, me with someone? What an absurd idea. Although... I might be open to offers."

You winked at him.

His eyes widened in surprise and he cleared his throat nervously, "I, uh, I wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"My brother does enough of that for the both of us. Someone's gotta stay sensible and keep him out of trouble, especially since Brida isn't here to do it anymore."

You chuckled at his discomfort and reached out to touch his arm. 

Relief washed over him, and he smiled shyly, "That's good to hear."

You shoved his shoulder, "Good to hear? I am glad my lack of companions brings you such joy Sihtric."

"That is not what I meant and you know it."

"Oh really, so what did you mean then?"

You bat your eyelashes playfully and he rolls his eyes. 

"You haven't changed one bit."

"Perfection doesn't need to change Sihtric."

"Oh very funny."

What he didn't say out loud was that you were indeed perfect. To him at least. He had spent the past few years of his life missing you and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. He kept his admiration to himself as he listened to you speak, feeling a deep yearning in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to tell you how he felt, to take you in his arms and never let go. But he was afraid. Afraid of ruining the friendship he had just rekindled. Afraid of the disappointment he would feel if you rejected him. He wondered if you knew how he felt. Did you have any idea of the effect you had on him? He doubted it. After all, you had been children when you had last seen each other. Maybe you had moved on and found someone else. Maybe you didn't even remember him the way he remembered you.

As the next three years went by, you fell into an easy routine with Sihtric. He was part of Uhtred's inner circle and you were his beloved sister so the two of you were seldom separated. Your teasing banter and friendly competition entertained everyone in the group and soon they were all making bets regarding which one of you would be bold enough to confess to the other. The feelings you two had for one another were obvious to everyone, everyone except you and Sihtric it seemed. Even your brother often sent teasing smiles your way when he paired you with Sihtric for tasks. Perhaps this was why the entire group was flabbergasted when Sihtric asked for Uhtred's blessing to marry. 

Uhtred had mentally prepared himself for Sihtric to eventually ask for your hand. He would ask you for your opinion of course and if you were agreeable, he would have been more than happy to bless the union. 

"Who is it that you wish to marry Sihtric?" he raised an eyebrow.

Finan sniggered behind him, sure that his companion would utter your name. You were all on the road back to Winchester and it had been a dull journey so far so he was curious at this new turn of events. You had to admit, you found your heart racing at his request as well. You held your breath, not daring to hope. 

"Sidgeflaed, Lord," Sihtric replied.

"Sidgeflaed? The whore in Winchester you've been spending a lot of time with lately."

"She says she loves me, Lord."

Finan snorts and Sihtric squared his shoulders defensively.

"I swear, she says she loves me!"

"She would. Sihtric she's a whore," Finan chuckled. "What she loves is your silver."

The entire group burst out into laughter.

Sihtric kept his attention on your brother, "I wish to marry her. She says she loves me and I love her."

Uhtred noticed your rigid form out of the corner of your eye. Your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping your horse's reigns and your jaw was clenched tightly. He could tell that something was bothering you and he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.

"I will speak to Gisela when we arrive at Winchester and then perhaps I will let you marry your girl. But in the meantime, you are to give her no more of your silver."

You felt a pang of jealousy and sadness at his words. He had chosen someone else. You thought that perhaps now since you had been reunited, he might've chosen you. You kept your emotions in check long enough to flash Sihtric a strained congratulatory smile, but inside you struggled to hold back tears. And then your sadness turned to anger, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. How could he marry someone else when you had loved him all along? You wanted to scream at him and ask him why, you wanted to beg him not to marry this other girl, you wanted to run away and never see him again, you wanted to see him every day of your life. Instead, you kept a placid smile on your face and once you all reached your destination, you were the first one to bolt home, leaving your brother to deal with your horse. 

Gisela looked up in surprise when you burst through the door and rushed to your room, the door slamming behind you. Once you were in the private confines of your chambers, you let the tears flow freely. A few moments later, there was a soft knock on the door. You quickly wiped your tears and tried to compose yourself as your brother's wife, entered the room. She had been there for you ever since she married Uhtred, almost like a second mother. 

"Oh, my darling, what's wrong?" she asked gently, placing her arm around your shoulder.

You sniffed morosely, "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Well, you don't look fine."

"It's really nothing. I am just being immature, it's no big deal."

Gisela's lips turned upward as she ran her fingers through your hair, "I have two kids under the age of seven. I think I can handle immature."

You just shook your head and leaned against her, allowing her to pull you into a tight embrace, her comforting scent calming you down. Just then, someone cleared their throat loudly and Gisela looked up to see her husband smiling down at her.

"Am I interrupting something?" Uhtred asked.

She shook her head, "No, your sister is just upset, but she refuses to tell me why. Perhaps you can shed some light on this matter?"

"No, you can't tell her. She's going to think I'm being childish," you whined from the crook of her neck.

Uhtred sighed in fond exasperation, "Sitric has asked for my permission to marry."

Gisela's brow wrinkled in confusion. Shouldn't you have been happy if that was the case? She had watched you become close to him over time and she knew how fond you were of him. 

"To marry someone else," Uhtred clarified.

Her eyes widened in understanding as she rubbed soothing circles on your back, "It's okay love. It's okay to be upset. You are a strong and resilient woman and you can get through this." 

"Shall I refuse him?" your brother asked, making you shake your head frantically.

"No, I am just being selfish. I want him to be happy, and if... if that other girl is the one he loves, then I will try and be happy for them. I don't want to get in his way."

"If you say so."

After Uhtred left you alone with his wife, you wrapped your arms around her once more.

"Thank you, Gisela. You're always so kind to me."

Gisela smiled at you warmly, "Of course, my dear. That's what family is for."

Over the next few days, you made it your priority to avoid Sihtric at all costs, going out of your way so that your paths didn't cross, and when meeting him was inevitable, you made sure that you interacted with him as little as possible. Your tone when addressing him was cold and clipped, only saying what was necessary. It was obvious to everyone that you were trying to distance yourself from him and eventually even Sihtric picked up on your strange behaviour.

He had been trying to find a chance to talk to you alone ever since his first announcement regarding his matrimonial plans. He sensed the strained tension that lingered in the air whenever you were around him, and it filled him with a sense of despair. He was doing this all for you and now you wouldn't even look at him. He thought that by marrying someone else, he would be able to take his mind off you. He didn't want to push you into something you did not want and ruin your friendship by confessing his feelings but now it seemed that he had only made things worse. He had to make things right again somehow. As luck would have it, he spotted you walking down the street alone one day. He called out your name, hurrying to catch up to you. 

When you turned around and saw him coming towards you, you tried to quicken your pace, hoping to avoid him, but he was much too fast. He grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby alleyway, away from prying eyes. You aggressively yanked your arm away from him and glared. 

"What are you doing, Sihtric?" 

"I had to talk to you," he responded, his voice low and urgent. "You've been avoiding me, and I need to know why."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," your voice was flat as you fixed your eyes on something over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. 

"Damnit would you at least look at me when I'm speaking to you."

"No."

"Why are you acting like this? Would you please talk to me."

"Just leave me alone Sihtric. Go spend time with that whore you've been humping. You should get to know your future wife some more," you spat out.

Sihtric flinched at the venom in your words. Your entire body was tensed and you blinked rapidly a few times as if to hold back tears.

"I can't leave you alone," he said, his voice rising. "You're my friend. I care about you. I need to know what's going on."

"I am not your friend, don't you dare call me your friend. You do not care about me at all!"

"How can you say that? What have I done? Would you at least tell me?"

Your face hardened, "If I was really your friend, you would have told me about Sidgeflaed. You never even mentioned her."

"Is that what this is about then? You're upset that I told your brother before I told you? If that's the case then I'm sorry you had to find out like that," he approached slowly, arms reaching toward you.

You shoved him away, "You don't get it, do you? You still don't get it."

"Then explain it to me... please."

"You're marrying her! How could you marry her? If you really cared about me, you wouldn't be breaking my heart like this!" you screamed at him then, and tears streamed down your face. 

"What?"

"How could you marry someone else Sihtric? How could you do that to me when you know how I feel about you? Do you expect me to attend your wedding with a smile on my face? Congratulate you for every child you have with her?"

"What do you mean I know how you feel about me?"

You turned to walk away, and Sihtric couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed your arm again and spun you around to face him, pushing you against the wall, his face inches from yours. 

His voice rose in anger, "You know what, no! You don't get to say something like that and walk away from me. What did you mean when you said I know how you feel?"

"You know very well what I meant. Do not humiliate me any further," you gave him a weak laugh.

Realization dawned on his face as his eyes widened.

"You have feelings for me?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, "What does it matter? It's not like you feel anything for me."

Sihtric scoffed derisively, "That is the furthest thing from the truth."

"Huh?"

"Don't act like you don't see it. Like you never saw the way I've always looked at you."

Your eyes narrowed in anger, "How dare you? You never once told me how you felt. How dare you blame this on me?"

"I'm not blaming-" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry okay. I'm sorry I hurt you."

"That doesn't change anything. You're still marrying her."

Your voice broke at the last word and Sihtric's heart clenched at the sight of your melancholy expression.

"I'll try to be happy for you. I swear it. You-you should be able to be with the person you love most and I will make my peace with the fact that it will never be-."

"I don't want to marry her!"

"But-"

"I thought that by marrying someone else, I could forget about you. I was wrong. I can't forget about you."

"Oh don't pretend to care now."

Sihtric tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and ran his fingers down your jaw. 

"I care about you more than anything," he whispered, stepping infinitesimally closer. "I love you."

"You do?"

"Weren't you listening silly girl? It's you I love, it's you I wish to choose."

"I don't appreciate being called silly," you sulked. "And you're really not going to marry her then?"

"No. No, I can't keep lying to myself."

"You really hurt me you know."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Sihtric begged, his voice pleading. "But please, just give me a chance to make it up to you. I love you. I always have, ever since we were children, and even when I couldn't see you, I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn't want to ruin what we had by telling you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had always secretly hoped that he felt the same way, but had convinced yourself that he didn't. Now, standing in front of him, you could feel the tug of your shared history and the depth of his emotions.

"Please, just one chance. Let me show you how much I care about you. I promise to never take you for granted again," Sihtric continued sincerely.

"Okay," you murmured, your voice softening. "Okay, I'll give you a chance but if you hurt-"

"Never. I will never hurt you again."

Sihtric brushed the remaining tears from your eyes tenderly and smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He couldn't resist the pull he felt, because then he was leaning in and pressing his lips gently against yours, unsure if you would reciprocate.

You were caught off guard by the suddenness of the kiss, but as his lips moved against yours, you felt your heart stutter in your chest. You closed your eyes and kissed him back, allowing yourself to be swept away by the rush of affection you felt for him. 

You both stood there for a few long moments, lost in each other, oblivious to the world around you. When he pulled away, Sihtric grinned.

"I suppose I'll have to ask your brother's blessing again," he looked into your eyes hesitantly. "That is if you would do me the honour of allowing me to be yours?"

"Yes. Yes of course."

"Thank you."

He pressed a delicate kiss to your scar and then you were pulling him back towards you by his collar, mouths pressed in a passionate embrace as you both gave in to the undeniable attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for years.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he mumbled against your skin like a prayer. 

#the last kingdom #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson #finan x reader #osferth x reader #tlk sihtric #uhtred x reader #tlk #tlk uhtred #tlk finan #tlk osferth #tlk alfred #tlkedit #tlk gifs #sihtric imagine #sihtric oneshot #sigtryggr #sigtryggr x reader #ewan mitchell #aemond x reader #fluff

[lizthewriter]

as the banks begin to break / sirius black

PAIRING  adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader

SUMMARY  you run the blood analysis for another mystery body - perfectly healthy, no suggestion of how the person died. it was frustrating going back to your boss with nothing. another mystery. and then, you're much too fed up with the feds taking away your stiffs. you take it upon yourself to investigate the mystery of this body further.

"magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

TAGS  adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader, mystery fic???, (3) question marks, idk i thought the concept for this was cool and wrote it because why not, intrigue, reader obviously DOES NOT believe in magic, harry potter and the deathly hallows

QUOTE  "too tempting not to touch, / but even though it shocked you, / something's electric in your blood," - various storms and saints by florence + the machine

WORD COUNT 3.6K

WRITTEN  1.6.2024

you -

hey, boss wants you to run blood analysis on this john doe we got earlier today. ran his fingerprints through the system, but we came up with nothing. he doesn't expect for you to get a hit, but he wants you to try anyways. i faxed you the preliminary report. send boss your results asap. see you tommorow!

you listened back to the message on your machine before getting to analyzing the blood sample left on your desk. your dear friend and the medical examiner on your team, james, had examined another one of those odd stiffs this morning. dead, but for some reason, no one could figure out how. there had been dozens, if not more than a hundred, in the past two years like this one. more on record in the last century, but the precinct hasn't seen numbers like these since world war two.

this paticular victim was different than the others, however. all other bodies had been identifiable - meaning the police was able to figure out who had died and notify next of kin. this one wasn't - no form of i.d, no money (other than some odd gold and silver coins, most likely worthless), no fingerprints in their databases. you probably wouldn't get a hit on the dna, but you could try.

there was another reason this john doe was fascinating. despite the fact that it seemed like he fell off a building, the preliminary report showed that he recieved the injury post-mortem. james' examination of the body concluded that he must have fallen more than forty stories, but the buildings nearby were less than five stories.

dead bodies don't just fall out of the sky.

you ran the dna profile you had through the national dna database - and surprisingly, you had a pop-up on your screen.

paternal match - scott constance moody

"born august 17, 1912, relations, history, blah blah blah, arrested for public drunkness and indecency on multiple occasions . . . last known address."

the door to your lab slammed open - in anticipation, you immediately closed the file and turned off your computer.

"have any evidence for us this time?" at this point it had become routine. thompson from "mi5" would whisk away the bodies, claiming something ridiculous like "drug deal gone wrong" or "national security risk," looking and acting very much like someone working for a secret government agency trying to hush-hush a deeper plot afoot.

"nope," you responded with an attempt at a solemn expression. "unfortunately, the blood analysis was a dead end. he's just some guy, i suppose."

"we appreciate your discretion," he responded, shaking your hand firmly. you mean you appreciate me not complaining to the other guys at the precinct. certainly is suspicious that an odd-looking fed comes taking dead bodies as much as he does. even if you were to raise suspicions, who would believe you? you were a female nerd practically living in a back closet while the big, strong men handled the real world. he left with nothing else to say.

you turned your computer back on and opened the file again. you scribbled down the address and just as you were about to leave, you looked back down at the dna profile for doe and found something g peculiar. an odd gene marker you had only ever seen a few times before - including your own blood. you drew the profile closer to you, staring down at it. you had never been able to figure out what it was. six years of higher education had taught you nothing and the fancy, hot-shot professors you had take a look couldn't even understand what they were looking at.

what is up with this guy?

-

you knocked on the front door to an old house, out in the country. pastures of green painted in the skyline, cows and barns littering the landscape beyond it. beautiful, quiet, humble. a very fitting place for an eighty-four year old man.

you saw someone glance through curtains in a window. they disappeared soon after and didn't answer the door. you knocked again and pulled out your police badge. "scott moody? london police, i need to speak with you." you hoped your tone seemed formidable enough. you weren't a cop, you were a forensic scientist, but you needed to speak with him. you needed to understand these dead bodies and the only way to do that was to investigate this moody guy.

finally, the door swung open, and a rather gruff and grumpy man answered. "will you stop that racket? what the hell do you want, girlie?"

you drew in a breath. what should you tell him? you didn't want to lie - that felt cruel. but at the same time, you could suddenly understand why your colleagues seemed so drained after sharing the terrible news to family members. the pressure weighing your stomach was sickening.

"i'd like to ask you some questions about your son, mr. moody. do you mind if i come in?"

"yes, i very much do mind! what's someone like youse interest in my alastor?"

"alastor . . . sir, i'm very sorry to tell you this, but . . . well -"

"out with it, girl!"

"your son died. approximately at twelve forty-five last night. the circumstances of his death are rather . . . under investigation. i just need to gather more information, to find out who killed him."

the man looked genuinely concerned (which suprised you slightly, considering how rude he was) and took a shocked step back. he glanced back inside his own house and then at you. "there's nothing you can do," he said weakly, then shutting the door in your face. you shouted for the man, pounding on his door, but got no response. in a huff, you stormed back to your car and slumped in the driver's seat. you ran a hand down your face - how could you ever think that you could be an investigator? you? you laughed at yourself - so full of yourself, you were neck deep in your own shit. never were you to pull a stunt like this again, not if you wanted to get fired.

as you started the car and swung your gaze around to back out of the driveway, you caught the man sitting out the side window, tying a note to a - was that an owl?

perhaps he was sending a message to someone - through an owl, like a homing pigeon. you had only one instinct.

follow the owl.

-

driving through the chaos known as the london streets while chasing a bird was a nightmare, but somehow you managed. here you stood, looking out upon a charming old row of houses. the bird had flew to one in the middle, the exterior bricks blackened compared to the crisp pastel orange of the other houses. someone opened the window, letting the owl in, and then closed the window.

you decided to sit there and wait. wait and wait and wait. for what, you didn't know. for the owl to come back out? for you to build up the guts to knock on the front door with very many questions? no, that was a bad idea. who knows who is in that house, what they're doing. so you waited for someone to come out and luckily, they did. a man with long, black hair strutted elegantly down the steps to the front door and down the road. you got out of your car and decided to follow him.

you don't know what had gotten into you recently. the million questions swirling through your head had apparently begged enough to be answered that you just had to oblige, no matter the consequences. the man was dressed rather odd, you noticed. a grape-colored velvet suit with tailcoats, a mustache like your grandfather had worn. he dressed like a man out of time.

when he stopped walking, you stopped. when he started again, you were right on his ass (well, feet away, but still). he took a laise through a farmer's market, glancing around himself a few times before leaving without buying a single thing. he walked down the road and turned into an alleyway. naive as you were, you followed him and found the alleyway empty. only trash littered the ground.

stepping forward, you peeked behind dumpsters and other barriers of the sort. deciding that he must have disappeared somehow, you turned around with a sigh . . . only to be shoved up against the wall by the very man you had been following.

you had two first impressions of the man. the first was that, now that you could observe him up close, you noticed that he was devilishly handsome. the second was that he had a stick pointed at your throat and seemed rather impressed with himself for it.

"you have about ten seconds to explain why you're following me, hm?" his hands were gripped around the fabric of your collar shirt, bunching up the neatly ironed cotton. so much for looking polished. "who are you? fudge's minon? death eater?"

"i'm a member of the police - if you'd only give me a moment to show you my badge -"

"not a chance," he responded, pressing the stixk further into your neck. really, is that supposed to intimidate me? you thought in annoyance. "who are you really?"

"i'm telling the truth."

"how did you find me?"

"i followed you from that house on grimmauld place."

"how do you know about that?"

"following the homing pigeon - well, owl - that scott moody sent."

not only did he seem cautious, but nervous now. "did dumbledore send you?" he asked dubiously.

"i honestly have no idea who that is." memorable name like that, you'd definitely remember him. no, he seemed to be quite odd to you.

"why were you following me?"

you sighed. "i'm invesitgating the death of alastor moody."

although a sadness washed over the man's face, there was something behind his expression that said he already knew. he placed the stick back into the inner pocket of his coat. "you said you were police?" you nodded.

"so you're a muggle," he mumbled. was muggle some new slang term for cop? you didn't know and even more, you didn't care. then, a realization spread over his face.

sirius -

it shouldn't be possible - if you were a muggle, how could you see grimmauld place? because of the many peotective enchantments and ancient runes safeguarding the black house, only those who were wizards should be able to see it. yet, you had watched him walk right out the front door.

"you - you're looking into moody death?" he asked. he supposed it made sense. no one knew during the battle where they fighting high in the air - it was the heat of the moment after all. it only makes sense that muggle police got to his body first. still, he couldn't understand how you could have seen the house of black.

"his case is part of an ungoing investigation into the dozens of deaths of citizens across greater britain in the past two years." ah. so the muggles were catching on to voldemort's dirty work.

"let me guess. they were all perfectly healthy, showed no signs of deah whatsoever?" he asked. of course the muggles were going insane about it. people dying left and right without them even knowing what, or who, was causing it.

"yes, how did you -"

"just a hunch," he shrugged in response to your shocked expression.

"if you know something, you must tell me," you said rather firmly, though it seemed you were under the delusion that you had any sort of authority over him. your tone was not as strong as you may have liked.

"i'm afraid i cannot -"

"cannot what?" you barked back - now that had some bite. his interest was peaked now - what had your wand in a knot? "there are people dying. these dead bodies keep showing up with no sign as to how they died. moody aparently just fell from the sky! dead bodies don't just fall from the sky," you told him with an incredulous laugh. "now you are going to tell me everything you know about these bodies, or i swear on the bloody royal throne itself that i'll - i'll - get it out of you!"

you -

"you cannot just bring some muggle girl - if she really is a muggle - into our headquarters! are you barking mad? and don't you dare make another one of your mutt jokes or on merlin's grave i will -"

"that's quite enough, andromeda," responded a rather polite and calming male voice. there was a murmur and the same man let out a sigh. "at least let the man speak first."

"fine!"

"she saw grimmauld place, she knows about moody! she didn't bloody well seem like one of voldemort's spies, she didn't even know what 'death eater' meant. besides, what was i supposed to do? let her go blabbering to other muggles about this?"

"you could obliviate her."

"i would, if i had ever learned how. besides, it's not ethical, taking away someone's memories like that."

"this is war, black - desperate times call for desperate measures."

"now why don't you get back to shoving your greasy nose down some potions notes, snivellus, and let us grown-ups -"

"you arrogant -"

there was a sudden clammer of noise, the sound of several falling to the ground and pots and pans banging all over the place. a loud thwip! and sudden silence. "stop it! the both of you! has anyone actually bothered to question her?"

there was another round of silence before the door in front of you creaked open. the man who had pinned you up in the alley, black he had been called, looked rather dismal as he invited you into the room.

after your little speech, he requested you joined him in his house. well, you were not expecting the dustiest, blackest house you had ever seen. the entry hall was so thin, you could practically feel the walls caressing your arms. you waited in the entrance hall, outside the door to the kitchen, while he talked with his . . . friends? their conversation was all very confusing, talks of war and the like. were they also part of some secret agency? you weren't sure so you remained cautious.

"hello," you said to all those in the room, your voice trembling nervously. there were six others littered across the room. a rather dreadful looking man in the corner, with a hooked nose. he looked at you with distaste. black stood at the end of the table, his palms planted onto the table. another woman with hair almost as black as the walls, who sighed at your entrance. another man, scars barraging his face, with rather kind eyes. a man with umber skin, dressed in deep blue robes decorated with silver. and finally, a redhaired woman with a rag thrown over her shoulder, a knife in hand as she stood near a cutting board.

"hello," said the scarred-man, a warm smile making your shoulders sag a bit in . . . relief? comfort? "do you mind introducing yourself?"

you revealed your badge to all and recitind your name. "i'm a forensic analyst for the london police," you recited for the third time that day. "earlier this morning, the body of alastor moody was discovered. aside from the head injury he sustained from - well, we're not exactly sure - he seemed perfectly healthy. our medical examiner has concluded that he sustained the injury after his death. as of this morning, his body was taken by an operative of a secret government agency. there have been dozens of other bodies like this over the past couple of years. i've taken it upon myself to investigate this . . . occurence. this morning i tracked down moody's father, who sent a courier - owl - here."

"and is that everything?" black asked with an arched brow, as though he thought you were hiding something. which, ot be fair, you kind of were, but it was a small, unimportant detail and rather ridiculous really. just an irrational price of science that most likely had no relevance to the murders or perhaps a suggestion towards a broken coder in your lab - "well is it?"

you hesitated to answer but felt rather intimidated by the people surrounding you. perhaps sharing everything would be ideal, even if they thought you were barking mad. "well, erm - there's this one thing. do you know what dna is, mr. black?"

black shook his head and the others looked rather confused.

"i do," the scarred man spoke. "remus. a pleasure."

you gave him a polite nod in response. "a blood sample is taken from every body that goes through the police, and we run it through our systems and upload it to a database. moody had a gene marker in his dna - an odd one. one that shouldn't be there."

remus tilted his head, indulging you. "i've had old professors look at his results, even after I reran them. they thought something was wrong with the data. that i should run it again. but i know it wasn't wrong . . . i have the same gene marker in my dna. i'm not mad. it means something. even if others can't see it."

remus looked puzzled for a moment, but as a hazy look crossed his eyes, you could see his demeanor change rather swiftly. he straightened up, and glanced towards sirius with his mouth agape.

"what is it remus?" sirius asked with concern.

"i think that she's found a muggle's way . . . to prove the existence of magic."

sirius -

no. it couldn't be possible. it simply wasn't. if remus was right, if what he said was true, not only did this mean there were rather heinous repercussions for the wozarding world, but . . . you would be in danger.

suddenly, snape stood up from his chair rather suddenly, his eyes latched onto you. his hands still wrapped around the arms of the chairs, gripping them so tightly his knuckles were white. "everyone except sirius and the girl . . . out. now!"

the others were reluctant to leave the room, but they all filed out eventually. dumbledore trusted snape, even ordered snape to kill him, so they all would have to trust snape . . . even if sirius didn't want to.

snale turned his poisonous gaze on you. "sit down."

you followed his instructions, though cautiously, and took the closest seat next to sirius. sirius hoped that implied there was some level of trust between you two, seeing as you'll need it since he couldn't let you leave grimmauld place. "while it seems you haven't been filled in, i find that i cano that rather quickly for you. magic is real and a select number of individuals can possess it - you must be among those people, seeing as only those who are magical can see this house. there has been a wizarding war for over the past three decades, lead by a man named voldemort. the goal of him and his death eaters are to kill or otherwise enslave all those who are non-magical, also known as muggles. do you understand?"

you seemed to be flabbergasted by the assault of information and it's implications, and though you were slow to believe, you simply nodded your head. sirius placed his hand on the back of your chair, protectively, almost territorially.

"snape -"

"do shut your mouth black," snape spat. "a seer, or a prophet as muggles might know them, made a prophecy not long ago. the chosen one becomes the chosen two when eighth month approaches. for someone undesireable as any, she will be hunted down like the dog. she has discovered something no muggle should know. the power to vanquish the dark lord rests in the hand of fate - and should that hand choose to vanquish her, all hope of defeating the dark lord is lost."

"snape, what in the devil's name -"

"do not interrupt me, you -"

"no!" sirius exclaimed, slamming the goblet he was holding down on the table. wine spilled out from the cup, dripping down the rusted golden edge. "that is quite enough. i'm sure our guest has gone through enough the past day. she is famished and tired. let her rest and perhaps then we can discuss whatever nonsense you're blabbering on about."

sirius turned towards you with a softer expression and gestured for you to follow him out. you glanced back at snape, he noticed, if just for a moment. but soon enough, the two of you were in the foyer sitting across from each other.

your head was buried between the palms of your hand - it was obvious that you were distressed. "are you all right?" sirius asked softly.

"all right?" you asked, glancing up at him, your tone incredulous. "all right? no, no, i am just fine. you know, I just found out magic is real and there's some wizard war going on that no one knows about. yeah, this isn't news to me at all! you know, i get to work flying around on my little witch broom like everyone else! no i'm not all right!"

"we actually do use brooms as a model of transportation, that's not a myth," sirius told you, rather factually. you didn't seem very amused by his short educational bit. "look, i know this is overwhelming -"

"why should I even believe you?" you asked, tone rising in volume, though more out of worry than anger. "i mean something inexplicable could explain moody's death, but magic? magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #harry potter #— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]

[angelagiarratana]

You Make It Easy

This is really similar to a blurb I saw last night but I wrote this early yesterday so….

The day you and Ang decided to tell the cast and crew at Smosh, you knew she was going to sneak it into every shoot. Really just to fuck with you. She knew if she played her cards right she could win any game, get you to laugh, blush, forget what you were saying, and you saw it in her eyes. It became a thing. People at work knew it was happening.

"You guys really waited for me, and then just took me out!" Angela waved her cast around for emphasis, the whole table laughing at how fast she lost UNO. "AG at least, we waited?" You and Courtney both puppy dog eyes at her, Arasha staring at Angela, waiting for her next move. Keith was already on it, "This is the part where Angela flirts with Y/n, she blushes, and everyone laughs at Angela's joke." Keith deadpanning at the camera. Angela was offended at Kieth exposing her newest bit like that. She went from feral guinea pig to cool as hell when she started flirting with you on camera. "Hey now!" Courtney slapped the table, "It's cute! Okay? Y/n absolutely melts and Angela gets that dopey look in her eyes!" Everyone laughed and moved on. What no one saw was Angela asking Keith if she should stop or tone it down for the sake of everyone. Keith hugged her, "Angela if I had an issue with your comedy I would come to you about." High fived her good hand and winked at her.

This time, it wasn't so sweet, it was alright hilarious. Angela was sitting on a stool along with Courtney, Ian, Chanse, and Amanda. You were waiting for your turn trying to think of literally anything, "Y/n! You're up!" Kiana called from behind the cameras. "Fuck it." You grabbed the first prop you could and walked out. You looked down at your hand to find Angela's phone, why was it on the prop rack? Great question! Your eyes went wide and you knew exactly what to do. You opened the camera and squatted awkwardly, filming them on the stools, "Wait could you do that again? It was really funny! I wanna put it on my Instagram story!" You moved closer to her, almost in her face. Courtney spitting. Angela held it in by avoiding eye contact but the second your eyes met, she lost it. Water flying directly onto your shirt, pants, hair, and her phone, "AG! You fucking spit on me!"

There was a beat, you swear you heard The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly playing. You saw the gears turn in her head, she made direct eye contact and said, "You act like it's the first time." Dead serious, straight face, and just stares at you as everyone loses it. Ian, Chanse, and Amanda all spit. The cast in the back comes walking out dying. Shayne is off-camera screaming. Your face goes bright red, your brain short-circuiting not knowing to laugh, run, or shoot back at her. You eventually give up, finally breaking eye contact and chuckling loudly. Your ribs hurt from laughter. Angela just sits on her stool, smug as hell.

After the shoot, Amanda walks up to the couch you were lying on giving you the cool mom look. You hid your face with your hands feeling very shy about Amanda knowing your sex life. She has such mother energy to her that just, made you feel so nervous about this. "Now, Y/n. I learned something very interesting about you today." She sat down at your feet. From behind your hands, you responded, "Yep." She tapped the back of your hand, "I can't hear you." She was fully accepting the bit at this point, trying anything to get you to take a deep breath. You moved your hands finally seeing the mom look she was wearing and laughed loudly. Amanda relaxed her posture and uncrossed her legs, fully becoming Amanda again. "No seriously how are you feeling?" She grabbed your ankle, "Angela is somewhere freaking out that she crossed a line with you and HR." Your heart dropped and you sat up, "Where is she?" You were on your feet Amanda following behind you as you walked.

Checking room after room, closet after closet until you finally found her outside sitting against the building. Amanda stayed inside but stood by the door. Angela saw you approaching and used her hand to brush away the dirt from the ground beside her. You smiled sadly at the action and plopped down beside her. Pulling her head onto your shoulder and hand into yours. She sniffled from your shoulder, "I'm sorry." You kissed her temple, "You don't need to be. It was funny. If it was an issue I would've lost it and silent laughed." She hummed. You rubbed her hand with your thumb, "And no one from HR or Ian or Zoe is looking for you. They would've said something during the shoot." She sighed, "Yeah. I just take things too far sometimes." You squeezed her hand, "You're in your head love. Everyone takes things too far once in a while, we're human. I wouldn't say it's something you do. You don't have to think that about yourself." She sniffled. There was a comforting silence.

After a few minutes, Amanda stuck her head out the door, "Hey, I don't want to interrupt but they're ready when we are. Kiana said no rush." You smiled and thanked her. She nodded and gave you the 'how is she look?', you smiled and mouthed 'she's okay'. She closed the door and went to grab both of your phones, water bottles, and a snack for Angela. Anglea picked her head up and looked at you. She took in the warmth of your gaze, how your hair was slightly moving with the wind, and how radiant you are. "Thank you for always knowing what to say." You smiled wide, "You never have to thank me, you make it easy." She pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and gave a look so full of love she didn't have to say it. "I love you too."

#angela giarratana #smosh #starkid #angela giarratana x reader #angela giarrantana fanfic #npmd

[coldresolve]

are you a torture apologist, or are you just dumb

... said with all the due diligence this subject warrants, etc etc. i’ve written posts about this before, it’s fallen on deaf ears, people either aggressively ignore it, or they go out of their way to take me in bad faith, and when the latter doesn’t work, they fall back on ye olde reliable: tone policing. but we’ve had that conversation too, haven’t we? it’s my culturally determined value of blunt honesty versus your culturally determined value of politeness. i express my opinions in a way that’s admittedly harsh and hyperbolic, and in so doing, my intention is to treat you like someone who is mature enough to distinguish my point from its delivery, and emotionally well-adjusted enough to deal with whatever the fuck some rando on the internet has to say about what you wrote. i also do it because its more fun this way. are we still cool? ffs lol

the thing is, right, it’s fucking easy not to write torture apologia. very straight-forward and simple, in my humble little opinion. you learn what the usual arguments are, and then you try to avoid accidentally making them – a bit like how, when you learn that white supremacy is a thing, you typically then go on to try and not write some wildly racist shit. same principle.

and i genuinely don’t understand why people are so opposed to this, specifically. they don’t know they’re doing it, which is fine, but then when you try to let them know they’re doing it, on the off-chance they even acknowledge that you said anything, they’ll hit you with an “its just for entertainment,” or “it’s not that deep.” so you tell them they sure seem to spend an awful lot of time weaving torture apologia into their vapid, shallow entertainment. and they don’t like that, jesus. but what else are you supposed to say?

i figure i just havent bullied people hard enough about it, honestly. and by bullied i mean pointing out the mindless use of torture apologia as plot points in the slop everybody writes. i would happily tell all of this directly to the writers of 24’s jack bauer, but those guys aren’t here, so.

you probably won’t be surprised to learn that the majority of the myths surrounding torture are rooted in facistic, reactionary thinking. might makes right is big among people who endorse corporal punishment; the ends justify the means is in play when governments try to excuse the use of t-, ahem, enhanced interrogation tactics. allegedly.

and among a much, much longer laundry list of bullshit i’ve seen spewed – oh, not by shady governments, but by you:

torture as an interrogation method yields reliable information

some forms of torture are more sophisticated than others

torture makes people obedient

torture used as a punishment deters unwanted behavior in others

brainwashing is a thing that is possible (usually through torture)

it’s not torture unless it leaves a physical mark on the body

see to me, it’s fucking easy to rework that scene in your story where torture results in the perpetrator gaining trustworthy intel. fucking easy to reconsider that arc where a character gets rewired by torture into passive obedience. fucking easy, when writing a story, to not accidentally send the message that torture is a tool that works. but hey, allow me to really dig my teeth in.

you drumming up your torturer as “skilled” in the “art” of torture feeds real nicely into the myth that torture works as an interrogation method, here under the condition that you should at least do it properly. is that what you believe? or do just believe that there’s an extra special way to cause extreme physical or emotional destress in a person which, for vague unspecified reasons, superceeds all the other, more amateurish ways one could go about it? the former would make you an direct torture apologist – the latter, a fucking twat. ask yourself why “some torture methods are more sophisticated than others” is an idea that needs to be perpetuated. who benefits from that idea? who would feel really validated by that idea? which government on this green earth of ours, hypothetically speaking, could use this idea as a way to paint their own acts of torture as more cultured or civilized than, say, hypothetically speaking, the torture used by those other nations where the brown people live? allegedly.

alternatively, your little good boy slave fantasy seems to imply that being subjected to torture will make a person obedient. is that what you believe? is it true that might makes right? say, wouldn’t state-sanctioned corporal punishment be justified as a tool to make people obey the law, then? no? okay, hear me out then, cause this is really out there, but. could the idea that violence is a tool that makes people more compliant with the demands of their aggressors, possibly maybe perhaps, be something you only find it acceptable to greenlight as the result decades of war propaganda? naaaaah. fiction isn’t reality, and it means nothing, and victims of torture are weak and malleable and broken, and also what they say can’t be trusted cause they have no real fucking agency anyway. fuck me.

“but elias,” i hear you say, “how am i supposed to write an interesting story that features torture in a way that’s in accordance with scientific consensus on its effectiveness and/or consequences? realism and compelling storytelling are diametrically opposed to one another!”

here’s my take: you just straight up lack creativity. cope and seethe.

if you’re interested in writing about torture, read up on what it is, instead of assuming everything you’ve been told by military-sponsored action movies is true and valid. we’re talking about some pretty extreme facets of human behavior and psychology here, but ones that none the less exist in reality. the bare minimun is to not buy in to the myths and propaganda surrounding it. the next step is to write what it can look like in reality. the big boy galaxy brain move is to write torture in a way that challenges the status quo on how we culturally view torture, and how all these false myths affect victims and perpetrators alike. you just have to fucking think about it.

torture for information doesn’t work – but your perpetrator might be convinced that it does. so instead of going the easy route and proving them right – explore how they're wrong. show torture failing. show your perpetrator’s desperation as they gain nothing. they conceptualize their actions as the lesser of two evils, but whoops, there is no second evil. hows that for a change?

is there such a thing as “torture lite?” does it make any real difference whether it leaves a physical mark behind or not? where do we draw the line between interrogation and torture? is that question not interesting enough for you?

is complying with demands under threat of torture the same as genuine obedience? maybe your victim is forced to pretend in certain ways, through feelings of absolute powerlessness. their survival is pitted against the guilt that comes from following the demands of their perpetrator/s. the sense that they’re betraying themselves, the hatred they feel against their aggressor for making them obey, which is otherwise completely uncharacteristic of them. they’re never reduced to a blank slate, there’s always an internal conflict. what if they reach a point where they have nothing left to lose? real torture makes people more defiant. human beings are amazing at adapting to impossible situations. how is that not a wicked fucking cool thing to explore?

brainwashing isn’t real, but your victim’s loved ones believe that it might be. this means that their attempts to talk about their complex feelings toward the more humane sides of their torturer, or recount moments of a strenuous mutual understanding, are met with vehement denial from the people who are supposed to facilitate their recovery. “don’t talk about him like that, he hurt you.” and a desperation to get people to understand that it’s just not that simple. they’re not just saying it because they’ve been brainwashed – people just aren’t black and white, torturers included. the way they feel compelled by the pressure of their loved ones to just… keep quiet about that aspect of their trauma.

here's a fun fact: not only is torture absolutely useless at everything it sets out to do, but rates of PTSD are equally high among victims and perpetrators. the latter is something called participation-induced post-traumatic stress, or perpetrator trauma. you see it in murderers, too. nobody talks about that. and i get it, it’s a touchy subject, we wouldn’t want to portray torture as something human beings do. but, and here’s my counter-argument: maybe reality is just messy and complicated. and maybe exploring that messy complicated reality in fiction can serve as something interesting and worthwhile. emotionally cathartic. no?

if you read up on torture in psychological studies, regarding the psychology of both victims and perpetrators – and possibly also read some sociological studies about how governments have used a lot of the myths i’ve mentioned about torture to excuse their own actions (allegedly) – you start to get an idea for just how comprehensibly it fucks with people, and how effective that propaganda machine has been. real life torture is not rare. torture will continue to not be rare as long as people believe in the idea that it is useful. so maybe it’s a good idea to approach the subject with a little bit of thought beforehand, you know? we could approach fictional depictions of torture with the same amount due diligence we take with the topic of rape or child abuse, instead of, you know, literally affirming all the myths that justify its use and then brushing off criticism like mine in that aggressively uncritical fiction-isnt-reality,-depiction-isn’t-endorsement,-zero-further-introspection way.

or whatever. maybe im just a big meanie, i must be fun at parties, etc

#inspired by 10k notes on my last rb proving there are sane ppl on this site. im starting this discourse again okay idc #im happily dying on the hill of 'maybe don't gargle the balls of US war propaganda in your whump fic' tbh #other #torture #media literacy #media criticism

[partyanimal167]

Hey i saw your post about wanting to do some law fics and i had an idea how about a law x fem or gn reader that is a excellent sworddswomen and can take out someone even with their sheth still on! ( like kagra from fairy tail the anime) but the catch is that when not fight shes super awkward and shy and flustered with him (because he saved her and she attracted to him and his character)Also could the fic being about their first meeting like asking her to join his crew and after time becoming a thing and going to dressrosa together, it could start with law telling the straw hats how they met

(Sorry i know thats a lot but i’ve had this idea for while now and would really appreciate it you can do it but its too much please let me know i dont want pressure you❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️)

Hi!!! Thank you so much for requesting. I'm super nervous to write about Law, but this is a really nice prompt to use. Plus, I'm so stoked that you referenced Kagura! I love Fairy Tail; that was the first fandom I wrote about when I was younger lol. I'm going to try to incorporate everything you wrote. I hope you enjoy it~

She's Just Shy, ok...- Law x F!Reader

CW: Fluff, canon au, nongraphic action, awkward reader (mood)

In hindsight, Law should have realized he wasn't lucky enough to have a normal person on his crew...but she was special to say the least...not that he would say it.

Law was trying his hardest to not break his mug as he watched you going at it with the Strawhat's swordsman. It was his fault though. He had been too deep into his studies and planning, so after continuously rejecting Zoro for a sparring match, it made sense that he would go after you. You were more of a challenge really. Law flexed that strength of his sword at any hint of danger, but you, oh, you weren't bothered by any threats at all. Few could tell the story of seeing your blade at all. A swordman's that used only her sheath, yeah Zoro would be all over that.

"TRA!!!"

Law nearly jumped out his skin when Luffy appeared hanging upside down from a rail. He grumbled into his mug. "What!"

He only laughed. "Y/n is so cool~ I bet Zoro is happy to have a strong person to fight with." he grinned. Law only grunted. "Hmm, maybe she could join my crew. OI! Zoro! Ask Y/n to-," Luffy groaned after being hit upside his head. "Nami! What was that for?"

The navigator rolled her eyes. "You can't go trying to steal people's crew members. What if someone tried to recruit Zoro?"

Luffy understood her point but still whined. "But she's so strong~ Zoro would like it!"

"She's not a pet!" Law argued back.

Luffy laughed. "Ooo, what about a competition! Y/N, would you join my crew if I beat Toroa at a game?"

You skidded across the floor and smiled at the goofy captain. "Sorry Lu-chan, I can't leave my captain yet." she beamed even as she blocked an attack from Zoro without looking. "I owe him too much." she grinned before turning her attention back to her opponent while Sanji threatened to starve Zoro if he so much as got a cut on your skin.

Luffy pouted. "Boo, I want her..."

"Be nice captain." Robin lightly chided. She turned to the doctor. "I am curious though. How did you two meet, Tra-guy?"

Your ears picked up the question. "Cap-captain, no! Don't tell them!" you nervously stammered and waved your hands.

Zoro raised a brow. "Why not? Couldn't be that bad." he grabbed a towel and tossed it to you. You wiped your face, neck, and bosom. He gulped down some water.

Seeing that your attention was back on him, Law relaxed a little. "It's nothing dramatic." he grumbled. "More embarrassing for me really..." he muttered.

"Huh???" everyone asked. For the doctor to admit that and not hold back was certainly something.

Law reclined back and spread his arms out. "I needed some assistance..."

~~~

You were finally able to relax and enjoy the warm weather after spending the morning training. Sitting and meditating was a great way for you to recenter before continuing about your day. You found a nice tree and were wrapping up when a heard some loud commotion nearby.

You opened your eyes to see a group of shady-looking men running away. A few moments later, an anxious looking polar bear was running around searching while tears seemed to be flowing from his eyes. You cocked your head to the side curiously. The polar bear cried out. "Captain is going to kill me!!!"

His uniform seemed to be unique enough from the townspeople, but not quite individualistic. You stood up and stretched. You weren't sure what to do about what you saw and decided to head back to your solitary home in the woods.

You left the busier town and continued walking casually in the woods. You knew this path well seeing as this was your childhood area filled with palm trees and secret waterfalls. You neared the summit of a hill and tensed as you felt an odd, distinct air. You dodged a knife thrown at your head and rested your hand on your sword.

A few of those men from before jumped out of the bushes. "Hehe, seems the rumors were true. What is a woman like you doing with that on your hip?"

"Looks expensive too." another added.

You met their greedy gaze with little interest. So they're robbers. You took a couple steps forward dismissively before they jumped to attack. You quickly reacted and swung your body around to dodge. You shifted on one foot before swinging the other to land in one guy's face. It would have been an easy conflict except more men appeared.

You grumbled before tying up your hair and pulling your sword from your waist.

"You got some moves, missy. But now we really know you don't need that sword. Those work better when they're out of their sheaths." he commented rudely.

You took an offensive stance and dashed to quickly to slice the shocked robbers. It only took a couple slashes or two before each man fell to the ground with serious wounds. You rolled your shoulders before sighing. You just saw them not so long ago, so their stolen goods were probably still on them. You peaked in a couple bushes before pulling out a long sword. It was heavy in your hand. You wondered how hard it would be to find its owner. Oh maybe, that polar bear would know. You continued to admire the blade when you felt the air shift once more. You turned around to see a man bring up a large hammer to swing at you. You tensed to move, but-

"Room."

An odd light feeling surrounded you for a second before you were in the grasp of a stranger. You looked up confusingly as someone could just hold you with one arm then watched as the man froze. "You're- you're-, you're the Surgeon of Death!" the man only tch-ed at the accusation before rotating his hands and muttered. "Shambles."

You watched in shocked as the various men's body parts were dismembered before shuffling around and mixing with each other. Most of them were still knocked out though and wouldn't realize the uncanny circumstance until they woke up.

The man gently placed you down and you clenched onto the sword while bowing. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I should have totally seen that coming. How embarrassing!" the words blurted from your mouth.

The man's gold eyes looked at you with uncertainty. "Don't mention it..." he paused before reaching his hand out, "my sword, please."

You looked at his hand then clenched tighter on the sword. "Oh, huh, is this your sword?" you laughed awkwardly. "Oh jeez, heh, sorry here-,"

"Captain!!!" a high-pitched voice echoed up the hill before the polar bear from before appeared with tears still flowing.

You brightened! "Oh bear-chan!"

The bear stopped and looked at you. He immediately took a defensive karate pose in front of the man. "Did you take my captain's sword! You- you-, woman! I'll"

"Bepo," the man interjected annoyed. "This woman just defeated these robbers. Show her a little respect." The other immediately dropped his pose before bowing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Thank you for recovering, Kikuko!"

You scratched your cheek awkwardly and waved your hand. "Ah no problem at all. He saved my life!" you then turned and finally handed back the sword. "Thank you, again." you bowed. You straightened up. "I'm y/n."

The man seemed to relax more with the sword at his side finally. "Trafalgar Law. I'm sorry if we caused you trouble." he looked at his subordinate. "My sword was taken away while he was on watch."

"I'm sorry, Captain."

"Tch, this is why I don't take naps..." Law muttered. "We'll leave now. I don't want to bother you more."

"Wait!" you called out. "I have to repay you! That guy nearly took off your head."

Law shook his head. "If anything, we're even. I saw how you fought; you would have been fine."

Your face warmed at the compliment. "No, I insist!" Law seemed to see your stubbornness despite the flustered appearance.

"Fine."

....

Law should have known better than to get his hopes up at your seemingly normal appearance. After meeting you a couple times while at your island, you proved to have a formidable reputation that had the Marines constantly trying to recruit you though you continued to reject them. As you two got along, you were amazed by Law and his crew's tales of travels and adventure. You recalled all the commotion that happened when the Worst Generation was at Sabody as well as the Marineford War. You never planned on being a pirate necessarily, but you had your own goals that meant you needed to leave home.

Law didn't know why you were so nervous to speak to him all the time, so he was shocked when you were able to as him to join his crew without a stutter. He wasn't sure what to think. You were strong and smart. And as much as he thought that another mouth to feed would be a bother, he couldn't deny that you would be a good addition. He'd hope that you at least learn to hold a conversation with him without playing with your hands.

~~~

"Law!!! You're so mean!" you wailed as you pushed your chest against the back of his head. He immediately blushed and tried to push you off. "I'm so embarrassed!" you clung onto him.

"Oh my god, I don't know why!" Law argued. You continued to fuss and Law shyly babied you in his arms.

The Strawhats were shocked by the softer scene in front of them. "He's surprisingly soft..." Robin noted.

Luffy groaned. "Oh boo, Tra is so lucky. No way she'll join us now." For some reason, he understood now.

~~~

*sprinkles in some slight jealousy because we like that here.* Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it @dancingnewcat Please let me know how it is. I'm so happy to finally get a request~

Until next time~

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #one piece x y/n #femreader #canon au #fluff #stewie writes #requests #mine #partyanimal167 #the heart pirates #the strawhats #luffy

[evelynsfics]

Life captured in a painting.

I saw more people today, they came by to see the room. The same room everyone comes to see. I watched them briskly walk past all the silent painting and watching candles, they paid no mind to the dust and spiders, they never do, after all. A single goal in mind, they came to see the rusted beds, i'm sure. They all do. Countless pulled towards us by a never ending curiousity. Yet none ever leave. A shame, really. All those bodies have so many uses besides to carry one's mind from awful place to calm, serene dreams.

The light flickers everynow and then, it always has since that day... Well, no point in reminding oneself of things long since purposely forgotten. I don't know why. I never did. They kept me in the dark to stumble and fall, only to join me once they outlived the only usefulness they once had.

Everything was so much simpler when we used candles to light up the halls, back then the painting frames weren't so faded and the paint still held it's vibrant colors. Ah, but alas time eats away even at the most humble of hands.

Once the man died and our house fell into chaos and apathy, once we lost all we had left, then and only then did we realize that we witnessed the end of a bloodline. Years passed with no light, no human contact, and quickly, life as we knew it changed. Mankind has come so far from the last time our family ate together during Christmas, oh but i guess it's to be expected.

Now, we sit wordlessly, watching men and women gape in awe at our beauty. We watch them walk down the ancient, moth eaten rug in the hall, desperate to look at as much as they can. It's always been like this, visitors always looked around awestruck, never quite grasping all we had to sacrifice to obtain all this gold tinted bronze.

They never saw beneath the lies. They never realized. They never knew that our family, entire generations of lives lost to illness and war, was built on fickle lies, ones that would shatter like glass at the softest of touches.

Ignorance is bliss, and in some cases, it is all that stands between a life of luxury and a death of misery and regret.

Is that how they all died? In agony and longing? Longing for a better life? A second chance? A way to undo all the hurt and envy they caused to people that didn't deserve it? Not that we weren't without fault, of course. We always where too quick to judge, too quick to kill in the name of false justice and broken pride. That's how we made our way to the top. That's how it's always been.

Even now, as i watch people dressed in monochromatic tones walk by, strange devices lightning up their hands, i know that i am so much more than them. I've seen so many wonders of nature that their feeble mortal minds wouldn't be able to even comprehend. I've become what i always knew I'd be. Yet, it's so strangely melancholic to watch them freely walk, talking amongst eachother so carelessly, mindlessly laughing at words i can't seem to understand. Oh how i miss being like them.

The scenery before me always changes, the sun sets in such a lovely way, everyday the same yet changing, charming in such a disgusting way. Lives come and go, looking up at us like we're an attraction at a crumbling museum left to rot in it's meaningless sorrows. I, however, am eternal. I will watch a thousand years before i succumb to rot and decay.

For the view behind the picture frame may rot, but as the last of what once was a bloodline of pure power and might, i will last on far longer than the portrait they painted of me in my dying moments.

Some part of me knows they knew what a horrible fate they doomed me to. Some part of me feeds on the hatred they felt for me. Some part of me still feels it, pulsing a soft rhythm inside the now silent paintings.

And i relish in it. It's what kept me alive for so long, is it not?

#hey how cool would it be if i wrote a story from the point of view of someones reflection #my writing #writers on tumblr #writing #another personal favourite #i vividly remember writing this one #the story behind it is really funny #okay so. i was on pintrest being mentally ill as i usually do #and i saw this one picture of a girl in a room w a bunch of mirrors and i thought #but that didnt work out as well as i thought #and because the idea was really nice i decided to try and do it w a painting

[goodluckclove]

Hey. Stop scrolling for a second.

You scroll through writeblr a lot, don't you? I get why. Lots of fun people, interesting concepts and prompts. But maybe you haven't taken that jump from collecting resources on writing to actually writing.

Once again, I get it. It's daunting if you've never done it before. I've been doing it for a while and I genuinely can't think too hard about the act itself as it happens or else I get all sweaty and confused. I flopped spectacularly at a game of Scrabble tonight because I just ran out of words to think of and I'm in the middle of my 13th novel. Writing to me is like side-eyeing the sun - but that's besides the point.

What I mean is that you should do it. That idea that you think could be, might be, maybe has potential. More than that, I think you should do it right now. Right now.

Ooh but Clove, it's one AM and I have to do open heart surgery tomorrow. Cool. Write three sentences and go to sleep, then see if you want to do more after you get your license revoked.

But what if it's not good? Okay. What if it isn't? But what if it isn't, and it GETS good later? Or what if it isn't, but then later in the story you find a way to make those three initial sentences make sense? Three sentences isn't a story, unless you're Ernest Hemingway or a Haiku Man. Moving on.

Clove, where do I start? Honestly if you've never finished a project, or really never wrote anything at all, maybe just start at the point that sounds the most interesting in your head. To find the process that works for you takes work and experience so maybe for now you get dessert for dinner.

But I don't have an outline/character sheet/world map/mood board/playlist/ECT! Cool. Maybe that's an issue. Maybe it isn't. There's only one way to find out.

But it's hard! It's hard at first and then it gets easier. It's a muscle. You work at it consistently and you'll get to a point where you struggle to remember what it was like to not know how to write.

But it's painful! Hah yeah. That's kind of the more honest issue, isn't it. It's easier to think that your idea WOULD BE GREAT rather than face the fact that you might not be able to MAKE IT GREAT. That fear isn't based in reality, though. People like different things. You might write a work that you're displeased with in one aspect and find that it's changed someone else's life for a completely different reason.

What if I'm not a good writer? I struggle with this a lot and I've been published. It doesn't really go away even when people cry at your work and heap praise on it. But if you like to do it, if you would still be doing it even if there was no end promise of fame and success, you should do it.

What if I'm not a writer at all? I used to ask myself that. There are lots of answers to this question so I can only give my own: you are a writer if you write - past, present or future. If you haven't written in a long time but you're trying to get back to the craft, you are still a writer. You just have to keep trying.

What we do is half-trade, half-religious act, and because of that it is easily one of the weirder passions. I don't really get why people romanticize the field but at the same time I guess it seems pretty magical at times. As a writer, though, our job is to be the proverbial Man Behind the Curtain. You have to know how the magic trick works enough to do it successfully, but you also still have to be amazed. It's weird. I don't know why I do it.

I still do it though.

Write three sentences. Right now. Why not, right? If you send them to me in an ask I'll read them, or you can send them to me at my email address that I posted a few posts back because I'm old enough to know online safety and choose to ignore it. Or just do it for yourself.

Make something. You deserve to be a source of creation.

#im a little drunk #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writing #on writing #authors of tumblr #creative writing #write #actually writing #writing prompt #writing inspo #writing inspiration #i need more people actually writing

[steamberrystudio]

19/11/2023

Hey everyone! Time for the bi-weekly tumblr update for Steamberry stuffs!

Summary

Finished writing all routes up through the end of chapter 9

Started working on editing for now

Added in-game achievements

Received some new BG art

Ramble

Okay, so writing-wise, I wrote Yren's content up through the end of chapter 9. Also revamped my end-route summaries for Yren and Raif.

The current word count is 426,000 words.

But I decided to hold off on finishing the endings for the four remaining routes. The main reason for this is that I have planned a lot of early-story changes that are going to shift the trajectory of the route endings. And I was really struggling with how to construct the route endings with those planned changes in a more nebulous state.

I usually try to avoid working out of order because I find it is not conducive to forward progress. But there are some points when you have to break the rules and go back to make important edits because you need them there in order to be able to move forward.

I'm kind of at that point.

So I decided I would fully edit Asher's route, which will allow me to inject all those planned changes into the story which will make it much easier to construct endings that call back to that earlier foreshadowing.

So writing-wise, that's what I've been doing this week. I am currently up to Chapter 6 in the edit (which means I'm a little less than half through the route).

Other Stuff:

I have received new BGs of course. Those are coming in at a fairly steady rate of 1.5 - 2 weeks each.

I also have decided to add in-game achievements to WSC. I've been thinking about it for a while but putting it off since I know that one more screen (like an achievements gallery) means more tweaks to the UI. But I finally sucked it up and did it anyway.

I've also been playing with a colour slider for Wil's sprite. I'm not going to go into detail about it here because I've talked about it more in depth on Patreon and will continue to post most of the details there.

But the idea is that instead of choosing from 3 skin tones and 2 hair colours, there would be colour sliders allowing for a much greater range of selection. One of the big concerns with colour sliders is whether or not the recolours can be made to look as good as recolouring manually - which has always been why I've stayed away from them. 

The more complex shading styles have always struggled with colour sliders. But a developer friend - Feniks - has made a really cool and dynamic shader that actually can recreate even painterly or non-outlined art styles with incredible accuracy.

Using a slider is really useful because it increases the variations the player gets while *reducing* my work load. Instead of having to recolour manually, I would actually only need to colour everything once in grey scale.

Of course, it's not as easy as just dumping in the code and art. It requires some experimentation and learning but right now it is looking like I will be able to make it work. So I may be able to show off some examples in the future.

Screenshots:

None this time...

Upcoming Weeks:

I am currently editing Chapter 6 of asher/common routes and there are some pretty substantial edits I have to make.

It's always tricky to estimate what I will get done editing wise because editing does not flow at a more or less even pace like writing. Chapter 5, 6, and 7 had (and will have) major updates and changes so it may take a while to get through them. Though I'm already through with Ch 5. So...that's one of three.

Anyway.

And I'm also working on the GS lore book, still (LoL. 🙃). Someone today reminded me that I still need to go through all the deleted content to see if anything is salvageable for the lore book too.

😭

Thank you so much to that person (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. And you need to answer for your crimes, my friend.) 👀

#gilded shadows #whenstarscollide #indie otome #amare game #devlog #updates

[strawbs-screaming]

☆ how the boxers were as children ☆

Hey besties, sorry for dissapearing i was busy decaying, enjoy my cringe ass writing

Glass Joe

- Really sleepy & an edgelord, he was the kid that had hair covering the side of his face in middle school

- his parents always said that he wouldnt really be able to take up boxing due to him being a natural coward, jokes on them Joe isnt scared to get hurt (physically)

- loved reading old writing, especially gothic literature, he has a soft spot for dark writing

- wrote cringy edgy poems about every crush he had, his parents sometimes pull them out to torment him

- tried to start his own band, failed miserably

- still attached to his edgelord phase very much

- if he was a teen during the 2000-2010's he def would have a edgy wolf oc and a Deviantart account

Von Kaiser

- sickly victorian child + little german boy hybrid

- his parents always spoke with permission so he also started copying them, leading to him always interrupting people by saying "can i ask something?"

- had that one little german boy outfit, along with the huge ass lollipop and dumb hat, anytime someone pulls out his childhood pictures he prays they dont whip out those photos or he will get bullied recklessly

- NEVER EVER cursed until the wonderful age of 15 when he yelled out the word "fuck" after dropping a wrench on his foot, his dad wasnt even upset he was more concerned because holy fuck his child dropped a wrench on their foot

- got sick really often, he was out here being asked to be taken out into the garden one last time before you all posers

Disco Kid

- that one kid who had a really cool dad that let him do anything as long as he didnt blow up the house

- Really creative, writing up stories with pictures, his grammar wasnt really the best (along with his writing) so his parents had to read "the addventours off the brince" and hold in their laugh

- He was the kid who performed an entire ass dance choreography to get your parents to accept the sleepover invite

- got introduced to Disco music by his dad, got obsessed with it instantly and started dancing everywhere

King Hippo

- ate glue

- never spoke with anyone, Just beat up anyone picking on him and no one messed with him ever since

- people just gave him paper to eat, fresh with colored pencils

- liked to play make believe with his plushies

Piston Hondo

- He let you copy off his homework, i think that tells you enough

- everyone only recognized him for being a smart ass, not being creative and that really upset him

- played chess a whole lot, joined tournaments and won some medals

- academic burnout hit him like a train

- for a while, art and writing was his only escape from stress & pressure, he journaled about his feelings and drew his soul out, due to this he struggled to express his feelings without words

Bear Hugger

- chased everyone around with a spider then ate it, he was so evil for what

- never actually went to school, his parents lived out in the woods and homeschooled him since no one likes walking 2-3 hours straight just to suffer in a seat

- He always had a interest in animals, him and mrs bear go are childhood friends, mrs bear met him when she was a cub, due to this he got spared by mrs bears mom and suddenly had a 2nd mom, once his family realized that their son got adopted by a bear, they kindly let the bears in and treated it like it was normal

- loved fishing with mrs bear, he taught her how to use a rod and she taught him how to catch fish with his bare hands

Great Tiger

- so called "self sufficient" When he was just used to being alone and kinda accepted the fact he'll never have proper friends

- created the most batshit insane scenarios with his clones that would make the average hollywood movie maker shed tears, these gems include: divorce, murder, crime, assault and tea parties

- talked to himself a whole lot to the point where his parents took him to a therapist

- never really made friends, Just made himself his own friend

Don Flamenco

- oh no.

- his dad basically hated him, insulted him a whole lot, made fun of him, literally just made him insecure, when he got the opportunity to escape his dad by boxing, he took it without hesitation and got out of there

- was never really home, he was always out with friends to avoid his dad back at the house

- emotional stability? Who needs that when you can ignore your problems?

- people pleaser no matter what he says

Aran Ryan

- greasy ass bitch

- his parents didnt teach him shit, you think tigers parents didnt care about him? They'll look like helicopter parents next to them when they see what aran has going on

- had bad hygiene, only learned to shower and take care of himself in the 5th grade, thanks to that and his name, my boy got bullied and developed his behavior to defend himself from people

- Always ran from school & home, he had a hide out from away from home and a bit close to school to escape whenever he had the chance, he always dissapeared for a few weeks (sometimes months) and nobody really went looking for him, either from knowing he'll return sometime or they just dont care enough

Soda Popinski

- lonely, him and tiger are the difference between feeling lonely vs being alone, he doesnt handle loneliness well

- grew up with his grandpa & his stories, always loved listening to them and copied him whenever he wanted to tell a story

- never had a proper social life due to having to take care of his grandpa + him getting concerned about soda whenever he was out for too long

- spent most of his time crying from loneliness, away from him

Bald Bull

- precious!!! Was really shy and had a rounder face that everyone in his family pinched like crazy

- extremely sensitive & emotional (he still is hes just bottling it up shh)

- stuttered a lot, think about that one "have you ever had a dream you could you can't you would you you could be anything" kid

- was really short and just shot up one day

- scaredy cat, could be scared from anything, including: bugs, darkness, thunder, needles, sharp stuff, blood, death and alcohol (he also still gets scared easily but shh shut up)

- Always snored in his sleep, inherited it from his dad

Super Macho Man

- obsessed with sharks, dinosaurs, trucks and cars, basically got obsessed with anything he found cool

- his parents spoiled the living fuck out of him, no dime left unspent on him, no quarter spared

- Always lied about having something at the playground, sure Macho i trust the fact that you have "every dinosaurs teeth" 100% never doubted you for a second

- his parents love language was money so it got passed down to him, they were just throwing money at him and fucking off

Mr Sandman

- oldest child in his family, has 4 siblings and loves them all very much, had to help his mom & dad take care of them since they were a handful

- started boxing early so he was never in school that often unless it was 99% neccessary

- slept a lot thanks to him being tired constantly from rushing around

- knows how to do hair & make up from his younger sister

#punch out #headcanon #punch out wii #punch out headcanons #don flamenco #glass joe #piston hondo #aran ryan #bald bull #great tiger #this was so fun to make yay yay yippee #sorry for dissapearing i was mentally going downhill #i am drained eughshhs

[severelystrangewriter]

(Bad) First Impressions (Flufftober 2023 Day 2)

Pairing: atsushi “akkun” sendo x female reader (platonic)

WC: 740

Warnings: cursing, petname (princess), reader punches akkun in the nose (mentions of blood)

Summary: your first meeting with akkun doesn’t go so well

Note: so i originally wrote this for an oc of mine but i turned it into x reader just because. it's something i thought was funny and fit in with the theme of how these stupid kids meet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your first impression of your friend Atsushi Sendo was not… the best to say the least. Your first meeting was under less than spectacular conditions that, when looked back on, caused you to cringe.

You’re Takemichi’s twin sister, (Y/n) Hanagaki. If there was one word to describe you, it would be protective, maybe a little overprotective. Especially when it came to matters regarding your brother Takemichi. He was always a bit of a crybaby and you felt the need to watch over him.

So when Takuya and Takemichi met up with you at the park after school, the latter sporting a fresh black eye and a bloody lip courtesy of some guy he looked at wrong during the entrance ceremony, to say you were pissed was an understatement. 

You didn’t even let them finish their story before you were demanding he point out this “Akkun”. And it was your lucky day because he just so happened to be approaching the park with two other boys. He had red hair that was styled in a dumb-looking pompadour and his hands were in his pockets as he walked.

“Hey!” You barked, marching right up to the boy and pushing his shoulder hard to get his attention.

“(Y/n)-!” Takemichi’s eyes widened as he ran after her.

“You got a death wish or something?” Akkun’s tall friend with slicked-back black hair asked, stepping forward.

“Can it, string bean,” You pointed at him. He was thrown off by the fire in your eyes and he promptly fell silent.

You then pointed at the redhead, “You’ve got some fucking nerve thinking you can mess with him.” You jerked your thumb towards Takemichi.

Akkun simply rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it princess?”

You fumed, taking a step closer and getting in his face, “If you wanna fight so bad, you take it up with me! Then we’ll see how much you wanna laugh after I kick your ass!”

“(Y/n)-” Takuya tried to grab your elbow and pull you back, but you yanked it from him and stood your ground.

The boy you were threatening scoffed, “I don’t hit girls.”

“Neither do I,” You snarked, “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

And as quick as lightning, you shot your fist out in a right hook, sucker-punching him straight in the face. He staggered backward, clutching his nose with a surprised shout and you stepped forward to grab him by the collar. His nose was bleeding and he looked dazed.

“If you ever try to mess with my brother again, I will make you regret ever being born,” You hissed.

“No, wait! (Y/n), we’re cool now!” Takemichi frantically waved his arms, 

You snapped your head to your brother who was apologizing profusely to the guy still in your grasp.

“Excuse me?” You asked.

“They’re friends now,” Takuya explained. It took a second for your friend’s words to sink in.

“You couldn’t have told me that before I hit him?” You questioned Takuya who rubbed the back of his neck.

“W-well we were trying, but you get kinda scary when you’re mad.”

“Oh.”

You looked at Akkun who simply blinked back, like he was still processing what just happened. Then you loosened your grip and slowly smoothed down the front of his shirt with a sheepish laugh.

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Then you widened your eyes, “Oh gosh, your nose! Here, I’ve got some tissues in my bag.”

While you were rummaging in your bag, Akkun’s other friend, one with red glasses, waved a hand in front of his bloody face, but Akkun remained unblinking. It wasn’t until you procured your pack of tissues and handed him one that he shook himself of his stupor.

“Thanks,” He muttered, bringing it to his nose.

“Yeah, no problem,” You replied. Then you winced slightly, “But uh, sorry.”

Akkun shook his head, “Nah, it’s fine. That was one hell of a punch.”

“Thanks,” You smiled slightly, feeling a little better about the situation.

No, punching someone in the face is not how one would make an ideal first impression. But Akkun was surprisingly understanding, and he actually admired how you stood up for your brother, even commenting on how Takemichi could stand to learn a thing or two from you.

While it might not have been ideal, it certainly was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between you and the Mizo Middle gang.

#tokyo revengers #atsushi sendo #sendo atsushi #tokyo revengers akkun #atsushi sendo x reader #akkun x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #x reader #fanfiction #flufftober #kace writes