#this was initially drawn out while i was home for winter break and terrified by the concept of having to go back to work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mkstrigidae · 3 years

Text

Current WIPs and Fic Concepts

I promised I would do this yesterday, and then I forgot!!! (I was very sleep deprived). Anyways, here are a bunch of the WIP premises that I have in my 'unfinished drafts' folder. Most have at least a few pages written for them, but I love them all! ☺️💕

- A Santa Clarita Diet AU (Jonsa) Takes place in sunny southern California, where a shitty dinner at a mediocre restaurant turns into a huge problem for Jon and Sansa when Sansa's heart stops beating. Although she seems fine, Jon is flabbergasted several days later as he watches his wife- who alphabetizes their pantry and refuses to let anyone wear shoes in the house- rip the throat out of one of the sleazy new partners at their law firm, eating half of him before anyone processes what's going on. Hilarity ensues as Sansa's inhibitions and filter disappear, Arya ropes an extremely confused Gendry into helping figure out what the hell is going on just because he moderates the zombie forum on reddit, and Jon tries to deal with the fact that the woman he loves more than anything is now a humanitarian. He really could use a drink. (This one is actually mostly complete, but i need to refine a few things- i really love it. It's as gory and irreverent as the show, so viewer discretion advised, but it's a BLAST to write).

- A Thor/MCU AU (Jonsa, Steve Rogers/Sansa)- Asgardian prince Aegon is banished to Midgard after one too many arrogant decisions, and is promptly hit by a van containing Dr. Sansa Stark, Dr. Barristan Selmy, and Margaery Tyrell- two astrophysicists studying wormholes and Sansa's best friend and pseudo-intern. Marg yells at him, he yells back, Sansa tases him, and Barristan didn't sign up for the kind of heavy lifting that getting a 200+ pound slab of muscle into the back of a van takes. And then Aegon's younger brother, Jon, shows up, in the middle of an identity crisis because, apparently, he's adopted. He wasn't intending to stay, but he's rather drawn to Dr. Stark and her brilliance, and against her better judgement, she starts to trust him, and maybe even like him. This story is in about three parts so far- the first is based on 'Thor' and the second on 'The Avengers' and are fully Jonsa, and the third started as a family bonding story between the Stark kids and Tony (Ned and Tony are second cousins, and Ned was really supportive of Tony in rehab without expecting anything in return), and accidentally turned into a Steve Rogers/Sansa Stark story, which is a pairing i am HERE for. A lot of this one is written, but it needs some fill in before publishing, although it's one of my favorites that i've written to go back and actually read.

- A Star Wars AU (Jonsa) where Sansa and Arya are Alderaanian princesses who are off planet when Alderaan is destroyed- Sansa as a senator and Arya as a pilot, both working for the rebellion, and jon is a smuggler who does not know how all of these people got on his ship and why two princesses are sassing him. His copilot, Tormund (yes he's a wookie), thinks it is hilarious. I started this one just the other day, and it's already thirty pages long, most of them involving Sansa and Arya sassing people. Dany is a leader in the rebellion, Roose Bolton is the emperor, and Barbrey Dustin is a disgruntled former jedi trying to live in peace on a remote planet until another Stark crashes into her life and harangues her into teaching again.

- A witches/magic AU (Jonsa) where the Starks run an apothecary and spellcasting supplies shop. Jon had been completely in the dark about magic before his mother confessed to being born into a family of witches. He finds himself traveling to her hometown, trying to understand her world more clearly, and what it means for him. On the way, he develops something of a crush on the red-headed shop clerk who brews the best headache potions in town. Featuring lots of magical shenanigans, this is one of my favorites in the folder :)

- A 24 hour diner AU (Jonsa) where Jon is a local mob boss, and Sansa works the late shift at Seaworth's diner to buy textbooks for the PhD she's working on in botany. Sansa's running from memories, and Jon has a soft spot for the red-headed waitress who always remembers how he likes his coffee.

- An East of the Sun, West of the Moon AU!!! (Jonsa) This is one of my fav fairy tales, and of course i couldn't resist Jon as a direwolf striking a deal with the starks!

- A Roomates AU (Jonsa)- Arya, Jon, Tormund, and Sam have been renting the same house together off Winterfell's campus for years- but when Sam moves in with his girlfriend, they need one more person on the lease. Sansa, about to relocate to Winterfell for grad school, finds out that her boyfriend has been cheating on her and that her housing plans have fallen through, all on the same day. Needless to say, she's a bit upset when she calls Arya to relay the news. There's a simple solution here, if Arya and Tormund can stop teasing Jon about his crush for five minutes. (any excuse to write tormund and arya roasting jon, tbh).

- A Fae AU (Jonsa)- When Sansa, a baker living in the city, washes her face in an enchanted spring on a camping trip, she gains the sight as a result. Suddenly able to see the fae underworld all around her is disorienting and terrifying. Sansa tries to conceal it- afraid of what might happen if the fae around her know that she can see them- but slips up, and catches the attention of Jon Snow- one of the lords of the unseelie court.

- A nuclear winter wasteland AU (Jonsa)- (?? I don't even know how to describe this premise, haha) where the Starks are living and running the Free Winterfell settlement in Siberia after a worldwide nuclear meltdown. Before the fallout, Sansa was one of the world's preeminent researchers in plant genetics and pathology, and works at the settlement to create newer, disease and radiation resistant crops to distribute for free to other settlements, aiming to break up the monopoly that Lannister Corp has on the market. Jon is a scavenger, searching throughout Siberia for his sister Rhae who disappeared several years previously. When he runs across Arya Starkovna, helping her fight off another band of radiation ravaged scavengers is just instinct- he doesn't think twice about it. In thanks, she brings him to the Winterfell settlement, where her brother Robb offers Jon sanctuary and resources, in exchange for serving as a bodyguard for Sansa when she travels to other settlements. Sansa is not particularly thrilled by this arrangement, but given that multiple parties seem to want her dead, she doesn't have much of a choice but to accept his company.

- A reincarnation AU (Jonsa)- of sorts. Robb is an archaeologist who finds a strange set of runes at a site up north, and immediately calls in Jon Snow- a historian and expert in said ancient language, as well as an old university friend of Robb's. When he arrives though, Robb shows him their most valuable finds- two mysterious ice blocks, with what appear to be perfectly preserved bodies from over a thousand years ago. No one could ever have imagined that either of them were still alive, but when the ice melts, revealing two very alive girls, the entire crew is instantly buried in NDAs, and given an assignment from the Westerosi government to figure out what the hell was going on. Sansa and Arya wake up, extremely confused about the world they live in, trying to adapt and mourning all that they've lost, even as the people around them wear familiar faces.

- Soulmates AU (Jonsa)- (Yes, another one, I love this dumb trope) Trauma surgeon and medical resident Sansa Stark is having a very bad day, and ends up meeting her soulmate during what she thinks is a mugging gone wrong. Fortunately, he’s not the one mugging her, just an intervening bystander, but she ends up slightly shot nonetheless. Sansa’s fretting about bleeding on the upholstery in his car, but Jon is a bit more worried about her injuries than the blood stains. He’s a bit confused when she threatens him if he takes her to a specific hospital, nearly has a nervous breakdown when she insists on doing her own triage, and is very charmed when she insists on ice cream after taking pain meds at the hospital. On Sansa’s part, she’s a little less concerned about being shot, and a bit more concerned about whatever weird first impression she’s making to her soulmate while high as a kite on pain pills. (this one just needs some tweaking to be postable- I'm not sure if it's going to be a oneshot or a series, but i love what I have already)

- A Demon/Archivist AU (Jonsa)- where Sansa works in the university's historical archives in Oldtown, and is learning to restore old texts with her fellow student and friend, Alleras (Trans Sarella is an amazing concept). When Joffrey Baratheon shows up with a pile of old books from his family's library to donate, Sansa is eager to get away from his sleaze, and accidentally takes one of the books home with her in her rush to leave. Unbeknownst to her, it's more than it appears, and when she leaves it open overnight, she accidentally summons forth Jon- an ancient, powerful, and extremely annoyed demon who is under a curse, and now hers to command. As Jon and Sansa try to get used to this new normal, the Lannisters (unaware that Joffrey had donated the tome) try desperately to find the book and it's owner, wanting Jon's power for themselves, and putting Sansa in considerable danger unless she can figure out how to break Jon's curse. Fortunately, she's a pretty good researcher, even if Jon is initially a bit of a grump. (This is based on a total wish-fulfillment mary-sue type premise for something I wrote when I was thirteen, and I revisited it and wanted to see what it would look like if i took it very seriously, and i am really enjoying it so far. It's a love letter to the terrible, heartfelt writing i was doing in middle school that created the foundations for my writing today, and so much fun).

The one that I am MOST excited about though:

- A Pacific Rim AU!!!! (Ned/Cat, Gendrya, Braime, Sansa/Jon Umber)-Twins Sansa and Robb Stark have always been completely in tune with each other, and when your parents are Jaeger pilots and your mother invented the neural handshake, what option is there but the Jaeger academy? Sansa studies to be an engineer, but ends up copiloting the Jaeger 'Winter Wolf' with her twin brother, after they lose Ned Stark to cancer. When Robb is ripped out of the conn-pod and killed by a kaiju while he's still connected to Sansa, she barely manages to kill the creature before stumbling back to shore, traumatized, grieving, and swearing that she'll never pilot again.

Unfortunately, the Kaiju don't stop just because Sansa does, and when the end of the world is imminent, Marshall Catelyn Stark orders both her daughter and former pilot Jaime Lannister (who lost his twin and copilot, Cersei, several years previously) back to Hong Kong for one final stand. Forced to face both her demons and an irate Arya, furious that Sansa had abandoned the rest of them after Robb's death, Sansa and Arya have to figure out how to pilot Winter Wolf together before the apocalypse comes for them all.

Featuring Marshall Catelyn Stark (commander of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, inventor of the neural handshake, former Jaeger pilot, and BAMF), Sansa x Jon Umber (Yes i know it's a rare pair but i've always kind of loved the idea of them, even though we know so little about him), Kaiju parts dealer and smuggler Petyr Baelish, bickering kaiju biologist Dany and theoretical mathematician Jon Snow, LOCCENT officer Theon, lots of snark, lots of angst and heartfelt conversations, and a weird friendship between snarky-grieving-asshole Jaime Lannister and kind-quiet-grieving Sansa Stark, who are the only two people in the world who know what it's like to lose a copilot and a twin in the drift.

Thanks for reading guys!! There are more, but some of them I just don't know how to explain quite yet, haha. I'd love to hear what you guys think about these!

#my writing #fanfics #fanfic wip #jonsa #jonsa fic

31 notes · View notes

writersrealmbts · 4 years

Text

Frosted Glass: Part 1

Description: Yoongi is in love with the princess of another land, and he’s given the opportunity to court her, with the help of his brothers. You are the princess of the country south of the frozen kingdom, but you’ve gotten a deadly disease and your only home is to venture and live in the icy north. Will Yoongi be able to win your hand with the help of his brothers?

Warnings: N/A

Posted: 01/25/2020

Tags: Yoongi x reader, Prince!Yoong, Prince!Jaebum, Prince!Yesung, Prince!Yeonjun, Prince!Hwall, Frost Prince, Jack Frost! Yoongi

?: 1,255 words

A/N: I’ve been working on this for a while, I really hope you guys like it. It’s going to be alternating views for each part. This part is Yoongi, next is Y/n. I chose guys from other bands to be his brothers, and I chose people I thought looked at least a little like they were related. I really hope you guys like it, idk if I could stand this being a flop.

Yoongi drew designs on the window panes, knowing that in just a little while she would wake up and rush to see what he had drawn before the sun came and destroyed the delicate designs that she loved. He loved this time of year, especially in this part of the kingdom. His secret morning conversations with the princess.

Her face appeared on the other side of the glass, looking tired. Pale.

She visibly sighed, looking over the incomplete design that he didn’t dare finish now that she was awake earlier than normal. She had bags under her eyes, and her nose was red. Her hair a mess around her shoulders instead of the loose braid she normally wore. She also held a blanket around her shoulders like a cape.

He frowned a bit, able to see that she was sick, and wishing he could fix it. But he couldn’t.

She touched the pane, making a clear spot in the middle of some of the thicker frost.

Yoongi almost pressed his own hand to the glass as her body was wracked with coughs that he could hear through the glass, so intense that she was crouched on the floor gasping for breath.

Maids came rushing in, some helping her up and back to the bed while another snapped the heavy curtains shut, shutting Yoongi off from the princess he had grown up with.

He floated to the ground, frowning at the grass as he walked toward the forest.

“Winter can’t come fast enough,” One of the gardeners was saying as they group headed toward the orchard. “I heard the princess caught that illness, the one that witch created. Only extreme cold has been able to stop it.

Yoongi winced as they walked through him, looking after them as the two that walked through him shivered.

“Well, looks like the frost-man has been here. Might get that cold sooner rather than later this year. Otherwise someone might have to take the princess to Old Man Winter, and she’d never come back from that. Everyone knows he’s trying to find princesses for the Frost Princes.”

“Really? Well, they’re the closest kingdom anyway. The others are a couple days sailing after a two week trek through Bomnal Pass, which is in the snow kingdom anyway. Be nice to have a sort of alliance with them. Might make traveling through easier.”

“But, they’re not exactly human, are they?”

“Not our problem. The Princess will die otherwise. She’s the youngest daughter anyway. It’s probably the best she could do.”

Yoongi had heard enough, taking to the air and heading back to the castle.

His older brother, Yesung, was waiting on the balcony to Yoongi’s room.

Yoongi touched down and knew he was in for a talking to.

But Yesung didn’t say a word, looking out at their world, glistening in frost.

“Hyung?” Yoongi asked, a little nervous.

“Hiding,” He explained. “Delegation from the Desert Isles.”

Yoongi shuddered. “Where’s Jaebum and Yeonjun?”

Yesung flipped up a sheet of ice, then flicked it away to shatter on the ground below. “On their way. Where have you been?”

“Our neighbor’s kingdom. It’s frost season there.”

“You went and saw her again, didn’t you?” Yesung sighed, shaking his head.

“Hyung,” Yoongi started, hearing how small his voice had gotten. “She has the summer sickness.”

Yesung looked at him, standing up straight and turning to lean against the rail instead. “That’s the one where they die without cold?”

Yoongi nodded.

Jaebum and Yeonjun came into Yoongi’s room without knocking, both looking slightly terrified.

“They had to go to the hearth-room, and the prince was throwing a fit,” Yeonjun explained, looking apologetic. “But I got a letter from Hyunjoon. He’s going to be home next week for break, then go back to finish, then be home for winter solstice.”

“Good, it’s about time he came home.” Jaebum came out and leaned on the balcony looking out. “Feels warmer today.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure, but he had just come from a warmer place entirely. “Hwall say anything about how he was doing at the academy?”

“Father told us he was graduating at breakfast,” Yesung informed him, a hint of reproach in his voice. “Jaebum covered for you. Again.”

Yoongi nodded, meeting Jaebum’s gaze and dipping his head in thanks to his younger brother.

Yeonjun was still smiling. “How is the southern kingdom?”

“The princess has Yeolbing Fever,” Yesung said dryly. “Which means it’s only a matter of time before we either have to pay our respects, or we’ll be welcoming them to our kingdom. And then one of you will be marrying her. Father will be pleased if that does happen. Might send an invitation beforehand.”

“What about you?” Yeonjun asked.

Yesung looked at Yeonjun, then met Yoongi’s gaze. “The King of Godeuleum is to marry a princess of the Ice Mountains. My mother was an Ice Princess. My wife will be as well.” Yesung didn’t look at them as he said that.

Yeonjun’s gaze fell.

Yoongi knew his oldest brother meant nothing by it, just pointing out the tradition of the kingdom. But it was another reminder that Yoongi and his three younger brothers were all born from a woman that the kingdom didn’t see as a proper queen. They were respected, but it was very clear that Yesung was the crown prince. The younger brothers would earn respect by doing things that would make the kingdom prosper. The age gap was the biggest issue between the brothers. And Yoongi had taken the brunt of any sort of backlash from the citizens of their kingdom, carefully protecting his younger brothers however he could.

“Then maybe we should propose inviting the princess for that intent to father. He would like our initiative.” Jaebum let a hand drop on Yeonjun’s shoulder.

“He would question where we got the information,” Yesung countered stoically.

“Then we don’t tell him about her being ill, we just suggest that there could be a benefit in making an alliance with the only country we share a border with,” Yoongi proposed. “If I’m right, then by the time our message arrives at their castle by traditional courier—which father prefers—they’ll be desperate to cure her. She’s the third princess of the kingdom and sixth in line for the throne. An alliance with our kingdom would be to their advantage.”

“You cannot propose it, he’ll know where you’ve been,” Yesung said, shrugging a little.

“He knows I’m studying geography, I could ask him about her kingdom,” Yeonjun offered, glancing toward Yesung for approval.

“Or Jaebum could suggest it since he’s been reviewing our current treaties and past alliances,” Yoongi suggested instead. “Father would know we were planning this if you brought it up suddenly.”

Jaebum nodded. “I’ll do it. It’ll be natural since we know that Hyunjoon is coming home after the winter-solstice, and that maybe makes us think that we should start thinking about marriage. He will have a problem with you not being married first, though, Yesung-hyung.”

He nodded curtly. “Give me a week. I’ll head up the Ice Mountains.”

Yoongi felt a little bit of relief and excitement. “Thank you, hyung.”

His older brother shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. She has to survive to get here. And who knows who she’ll end up with.”

Yoongi dipped his head as his brother passed, exiting his room, but he felt a strange sort of happiness. He had an advantage. Y/n was one of his oldest friends, after all.

Next Part

Masterlist. Yoongi Masterpost.

Tagging: @alex--awesome--22 @bryvada @missmoxxiesworld @knjhe

106 notes · View notes

kazosa · 5 years

Text

Fireflies: “Why did you run?”

Summary: Daryl didn’t know what to do after things had gotten physical in their relationship.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: I say what I please in colorful language. Implied smut. Anger.

Word count: about 3500

a/n: This was written for @spnhollis milestone challenge the prompt I chose is in bold in the body of the story :)

Masterlist

Tags: @coffee-obsessed-writer @sorenmarie87 @his-paradox

The weather had finally changed. Longer nights and shorter days brought cooler temperatures. Ever since the night of the fireflies, you thought maybe things would shift for the better for you and Daryl. Not that they weren’t good, but you were getting a little tired of the dance you two were doing. Instead, he still slept on the porch and he’d acted like he suddenly didn’t know you. The man who got you sea turtle earrings, the man who gave you a library because he knew you liked books, suddenly didn’t know how to be around you. He still slept on the goddamned porch… It made you mad just thinking about it.

It wasn’t his fault, though. You hadn’t tried very hard to get him to talk. You thought maybe he needed space to deal with it all, so you gave it to him, but then… it back fired. He would be gone on runs or hunting for longer periods of time. You told yourself he needed to because winter was coming and the community needed food and supplies. The moments of doubt and worry became more frequent. The library, at least, kept you busy. The nights were what did you in. Knowing he wasn’t there, sending you back into the terrified loneliness you first felt in Atlanta. That was when you knew you were totally alone in the world; when you knew Alan was gone and your precious boy…

With the weather changing, it brought you more frequent headaches and bouts with arthritis. The years of leaning over patients and the back breaking work that came after put you in frequent battles with pain management. The change in weather was bringing with it a storm. Even if it didn’t look like it outside, you could feel it in your bones.

Throwing back the covers, you cussed Daryl Dixon and Mother Nature in one breath as you went to the bathroom to find your pain pills and maybe some relief. Of course, you hoarded the pills, saving them for only the most dire of circumstances. Certainly your pain level quantified use of your valuable commodity. The first flashes of lightning lit your way to the bathroom and you raised your middle finger at the window. He’d been gone a long time, this time, over a month. Even though he was being stupid, you still hoped he was okay.

There wasn’t much in your medicine cabinet to begin with, so finding the meds was easy enough. You tapped a luxurious 3 pills into your palm and popped them into your mouth. Not bothering with a cup, you ran the tap water and drank from it like a water fountain. As you went back into your room, instead of getting back in bed, you grabbed the thick blanket off the foot of the bed and went out to the front porch and the swing.

The house wasn’t stuffy, but it wasn’t catching the much cooler breeze from outside, either. As soon as you stepped onto the porch, you were glad you brought the blanket. The breeze had picked up considerably and you were grateful for both the breeze and the hope that it would help your headache pass. Wrapping the blanket around you, you laid on the swing and let the breeze and porch swing take away your worries and pain as you drifted off to sleep.

He was going to say something. In this world, when you spend enough time with someone, you get to where you can just about read ‘em like a book. Daryl just wanted to eat in peace and go to sleep, not that he was getting much of either. If he wasn’t thinking about (Y|N) in the daytime, he was dreaming of her at night. He’d come to realize that what he was feeling must have been true love and it scared the hell out of him.

“Daryl,” Aaron poked at the campfire, “I’ve enjoyed your company these last few weeks.” He set aside the stick, happy with the fire. He knew better than to wait for any response from Daryl. His stoic companion was still there and that would do. “Whatever it is you’re working through out here, you need to talk about it. Why are you out here with me, not talking, instead of home with (Y|N)?”

Daryl’s eyes flashed up to him briefly. It finally made sense.

“Then you definitely shouldn’t be out here. You should be home, talking to her,” he said.

“What the hell do you know about it?” Daryl growled. “Why’re you out here? Shouldn’t you be home planning a brunch or something?” he threw a twig in the fire, unable to look him in the eye.

Aaron smirked. He knew Daryl was bothered by something and being a dick was how it manifested.

“Eric can handle that just fine on his own. If there was something bothering me in regard to our relationship, I’d be at home working it out with him,” Aaron said. “Whatever it is, you need to talk to her… You don’t want to move out, do you?”

The thought had crossed his mind. He barely had claim to the house. It was (Y|N) who kept him there. He wanted to run, but he also couldn’t leave her. This was the longest he’d been away from her since they met. He’d wanted to clear his head in hopes of finding an answer.

Daryl shook his head slightly. “No,” he mumbled.

“We’re going back tomorrow,” Aaron announced.

“Maybe you are,” Daryl countered.

There was a ‘buddy system’ in place which Daryl tended to ignore unless it suited his needs. He didn’t have to go anywhere.

“If I show up without you, not only will I be strung up by your lovely housemate, she will hunt you down,” Aaron knew she would, too. (Y|N) was a force to be reckoned with and not someone he wanted angry with him. “If you care about her, you owe her an explanation.”

What did (Y|N) even see in him? Daryl dug in the dirt at his feet with a stick trying to figure out what to do. When he laid down for the night, he was still thinking about her. He missed her. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small piece of wood shaped like a turtle. She’d nagged him to get her tools for carving and woodworking, not expecting that he would receive the carving in return. It was even stained green. The shell was sanded, but not completely smooth. She etched patterns in the shell. He used his thumb to flip it over in his hand.

“The spot in the center of the bottom plate protects their heart,” she leaned over him to point out the detail.

“What’s that?” he held it close to see the etching.

“My initial. Artists sign their work,” she explained.

“Is that what it is,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him and reached to take it out of his hand. Moving it out of her reach, it forced her to press against him.

“Uh-uh, you gave this to me,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“But you don’t want it,” she said.

“Never said I don’t want it.” He liked it fine. He especially liked how she felt against him.

She no longer reached for the carving. Instead, her hand rested on his chest over his heart, her fingers gently tapping there.

“It’s a sensitive spot, Daryl, wood or not,” she said and pulled away, her hand touching his cheek before leaving him alone on the couch.

He hadn’t liked her leaving him. Her absence had left him feeling cold and empty. He’d gotten used to her being close. He didn’t know what to do except to go home and try to explain. It would take at least a day to walk back, maybe two.

Sleep didn’t come easy and when he finally did go under, he dreamt of her again. It was the same one as always. The world wasn’t dead. They had a life together. They were on the porch of their house, on the swing, a couple of kids running in the front yard. For a while, he’s happy, they’re happy. He always wakes up when the kids and (Y|N) are dead and he’s alone again, covered in their blood. Sometimes he was the walker that ate them… either way, their blood was on his hands.

You woke up in your bed. You knew you’d been exhausted but you were sure you’d fallen asleep on the porch swing. The sun seemed to be high in the sky, but the curtains were drawn. You sat up in your bed, your eyes adjusting as you looked around the room trying to figure out what was going on. A crack in the curtain just reached the floor by the bathroom door. Daryl’s pack was there. Was he back? You were still wrapped in the blanket you’d taken with you the night before. Had he picked you up and brought you inside?

In your bedside table drawer, you pulled out your knife and removed it from the sheath. As quietly as you could, you left your room to check the rest of the house. You didn’t have to try hard, whomever it was, was in your living room going through bags of stuff on the floor.

“Where the fuck have you been? You’ve been gone for months. I thought you were dead. I went looking for you…” your emotions were barely contained. The urge to cry was strong. You wanted to kick his ass for leaving the way he did, for making you worry. You’d fallen so hard…

He got off the floor but didn’t move toward her. She was talking with her hands and there was a blade. She was upset and he knew she had every right to that anger.

“Met up with Aaron,” he said.

“Aaron left three weeks ago. You’ve been gone over two months,” your feelings were hurt. “What happened, Daryl?”

“Needed to hunt…” he knew he was stalling.

You shook your head at him. “Don’t give me that shit. Why did you run?!” He wasn’t prepared. “I don’t understand how you could just take off like that. Did you do all of that just to get me in bed?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” he kept his voice calm.

“Then, what was it like, Daryl? What was so bad about me that you ditched me like some cheap whore? It would have been better if you’d just screwed me right from the start. There wasn’t a need to make me fall in love with you.”

Daryl felt even worse and more conflicted. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the life he had with her, but she’d said it, she loved him and he’d hurt her.

“What’re you doin’ wastin’ that on someone like me?” he banged his chest. “No-good, trailer-trash drop-out who only looks out for himself?!”

“That’s not true,” you shook your head. “You look out for everyone. I didn’t waste anything on you.”

“You hated me. Shoulda kept on. I took off ‘cause I can. I didn’t give two shits about you when I did it, neither,” he went on, taking two steps closer.

“If you’re such a bad person who doesn’t need anybody, doesn’t give ‘two shits’, why’d you come back? Why did you pick me up off the porch swing and put me in bed? Have you suddenly learned how to work with yarn, or is that bag full for someone else?” you moved forward. You could almost touch him now. Realizing you still had the knife in your hand, you laid it on the table behind the couch. The fear of his answer kept you rooted in place. “Why did you run?”

He didn’t know what to say. How could he, when he wasn’t even sure of the answer? She deserved an answer. He owed her at least that much.

“I don’t know,” he looked down. “Never had no one give a damn before...all this,” he stretched his arms wide. “This… was for rich people. Maybe I feel like all this is for other people.”

You had been forced into so many unwanted situations. You didn’t want to go to Atlanta. You didn’t want to leave your boys again. You didn’t want to go to Woodbury. The prison was your only choice, but you went because everyone else was, too. Leaving the prison had been no one’s choice. Living with Daryl hadn’t even been your choice. Then you had chosen to embrace the feelings that had been growing and told him of your love. And what had your confession gotten you? He left you for two months to run through every moment you ever spent with him to figure out what you did wrong.

He hadn’t told you everything from his life before, but you knew enough to know it hadn’t been easy, or good, even before his mom died. You’d even had the displeasure of being acquainted with his brother Merle, while you were at Woodbury. If Merle were any indication, you could easily understand how Daryl would be untrusting.

“When I said ‘I love you’,” you thought carefully, “I was sincere. I wasn’t saying it to manipulate you.” He shifted on his feet and looked like he wanted to say something but remained silent to let you continue. “Nothing has to change...but maybe you could sleep in my bed now...instead of the porch? Maybe we could just accept that there’s something pretty serious between us?”

He might never understand why she wanted him. He was away long enough to know that the ache in his chest was because of her and missing her. It was the lightness he felt when holding her after that had scared him. Hell, everything about her scared him.

“I don’t know how to be with someone…” he was going to fall apart in front of her if something didn’t happen soon.

“Daryl,” you took a step closer, “We’ve already been together for two years. Practically attached at the hip since the prison.”

“Yeah, maybe, but not like it was with him. Least you’ve done this before. I don’t know how to be that for you,” he said.

You reached out your hand and he let you take his.

“It wasn’t the same with me and Alan the way it is with you,” you said. You felt so raw and like you were betraying his memory. “I loved Alan. We were happy. We got along. I think if we didn’t have...our son,” a painful lump rose in your throat, “I don’t know if we would have made it. Like, if I had been home when this happened, we would probably have died.”

“So I’m just good to keep you alive, that it?”

You held his hand tighter, “No. Dammit, Daryl. That’s not what I mean. Alan was always a “wait and see” kind of guy. He didn’t take action. It was always me who had to make the tough decisions. I got out of Atlanta because my instincts told me I would be dead if I stayed. With you, I don’t have to worry about you getting locked in fear. I know you’ll have my back no matter what. I love that I can be my true self with you. I’m not anyone to you but (Y|N) and that means so much. Yes, you keep me safe, but it’s so much more than that…”

He let go of her and grasped the sides of her face and neck pulling her mouth to his. She softened immediately and melted into him. One hand lightly grasped his forearm, her other arm wrapping around his back. He knew he would love and protect her in any way he could. Never had he considered himself a lucky man, but he did know a good thing, a good woman, when she was right in front of him.

Pulling away from you, he’d left you breathless and aching for him. It was hard not to compare him to Alan. Daryl sparked emotions in you that ran far deeper than anything you and your husband ever had.

Daryl held you to him. His strong arms reminding you of how secure you were with him and in more ways than one. He’d moved his arms to encircle your waist, hands clasped at the small of your back.

“You’ve got me. I’m your guy, whatever that means in this world,” he said.

You looked into his beautiful blue eyes, your fingers moving aside stray hairs that had fallen across his face.

“Did you just propose?” you teased, forgiving him for everything and trying to lighten the mood.

He leaned back, a brief moment of horror flashing over his features. “Can’t you be serious for 5 minutes?”

You smiled, “I thought you knew me better. Besides, life’s too damned short to have a bug up your ass the whole time.”

“Yeah, I know you and still tolerate your ass,” he said, not letting you go.

“You liiiike me,” your voice was sing-song, “you looooove me, you want to maaaarry me.”

You kissed him again, the ache for him returning.

“Got one part of that right,” his voice was soft.

“You gonna marry me, Dixon?” your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Love you like crazy,” his voice rasped.

“Love you back,” you said. “You run again, I’ll come for you.”

The look in her eyes told the truth of her words. Hell, she’d probably string him up like Aaron had said. It wouldn’t happen, though. He wasn’t going anywhere without her. He swept her up in his arms again.

Daryl startled you when he picked you up, making you grasp at his broad shoulders.

“Holy shit,” you muttered.

“Twice in one day. Don’t feel as heavy this time,” he observed.

“Watch it, Oscar,” you warned, knowing what he really meant. “To the shower.”

“I wish I could have been there for you,” he said as he carefully brought you into the bathroom. “In Atlanta.”

Your feet back on the floor, you looked up at him, “You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

Hours later, you were lying in bed with him and your finger traced the scars you could see on his body. It wasn’t cold in the house, but you enjoyed the warmth of him against you. His skin smelled of soap, sweat, and the warmth of your most recent lovemaking. Your head laid on his chest, his heart drumming a comforting cadence. His fingers trailed down your back and up again, threatening to put you to sleep.

“Other people do this?” he asked. The only thing he had for comparison was what he saw on TV and movies years ago.

You knew what he meant, “No. I don’t know. In my experience, most guys just pass out or skip this part.” Your leg was slung over his while his other leg was bent, his foot flat on the bed.

“Their loss,” he murmured. His hand grasped your arm that was draped over his body. “He do this with you?”

The hand that was moving in a soothing rhythm down your back stopped as he waited for an answer from you. Shifting your body, you rested your chin on the back of your hand on his chest.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re you and I love you. If you want to, it’s good. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too.

“Do you ever not?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you just need to FUCK and if you don’t work it out, then…”

Daryl could barely make eye contact with you for more than a second at a time. It was one of the few pleasures you had in this world to make Daryl uncomfortable. You couldn’t help but grin at the pink that had returned to his cheeks.

“Like angry fuckin’?”

“Yup, that shit is hot,” you agreed.

“That what this was?” he asked.

“Started that way… Was mad at you… but glad you were back…”

“Should make you mad more often.”

“You should not. You ever make me worry like that again, you won’t be able to run fast or far enough, Daryl Dixon,” you warned. “What made you come back, anyway?”

He could’ve been a smartass but (Y|N) was smartass enough for both of ‘em. “Realized I didn’t want to be without you. However long I got left, wanted it to be with you. Lookin’ at your face,” he touched your cheek, “listenin’ to you nag me…” he paused. “I could go on without you, but I’m tired of bein’ miserable. I want you and…

...I want to be happy.”

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #y/n x daryl dixon #daryl dixon fan fic #reader insert #fireflies #kazosa #twd fan fiction

114 notes · View notes

ma-at-thought · 6 years

Text

Once Upon a Winter's Veil Eve...

Noralin tore her eyes away from the romance novel she’d been devouring for the better part of an hour. That Sunspell man certainly had a way with words; his tale of forbidden love between a sailor and a siren had sucked her right in and taken her away from the hustle and bustle of the gloomy Tranquillien post office. The holiday rush to mail Winter’s Veil gifts had died out two hours ago and she had been grateful to find herself quite alone.

Until that damn bell tinkled above the door, signalling the arrival of another customer. She huffed and scowled at her book, stuffing a thin strip of silk between the pages to mark her place before she slammed the covers shut and shoved it aside. Lifting her chin, her lips curled in a grimace, she choked on her air a second later and pushed back from her desk, eyes enormous in her heart-shaped face. Her mouth opened and closed, desperate to form words, but only a strange keening sound left her throat. She shook her head, hands held out in front of her to ward off the man who glided up to the counter like a ghost.

A lopsided smile stretched his full lips and his peridot eyes gleamed like burning coals in a face so painfully beautiful, it could have made angels cry. Pearly hair tumbled out of his cowl and over his shoulders, a stark contrast to the midnight cloak that covered him from head to foot and he leaned over the counter, leering at Noralin. His hand moved with the speed of a striking viper, disappearing into the depths of his cloak, and she gasped, emitting a strangled squeak. The air crushed her, squeezed her lungs until she felt that she might never draw a breath again and she had the sudden, irrational thought that he might whip that hand back out, scratching all the flesh from her face.

Why did you have to come here again? she cried inside her head, but her tongue refused to speak the words. The first time she had seen him, he gave her nightmares, horrible dreams that left her trembling and sweating in her bed. Terrible reenactments of all the mistakes she had ever made in her life, magnified a thousandfold until she woke up screaming with scalding tears pouring down her cheeks. Only in the last month had the dreams stopped haunting her and now, she heard only echoes of their presence when she slept. Had he come to finish the job? Would he lacerate her body as he had torn up her mind?

She gulped, wide eyes glued to the hand that slowly withdrew from his cloak. The tall man plopped a stack of gifts on the countertop, all of them wrapped in shimmering crimson paper and tied together with an amber ribbon. Three boxes, each one bigger than the last, sat in front of Noralin, and two thick envelopes had been tucked inside the neat bow that crowned the mountain. He turned the presents to face her and one clawed finger tapped the name scrawled across an envelope in gold ink.

Her eyes searched his face, unable to look away from his mouth and his grin stretched wider, crimson talon tapping harder against the parchment until the steady rhythm invaded her ears and forced her to look down. Noralin leaned forward–slowly–and squinted, reading the name written there. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the tall man and nodded once. Satisfied, he folded his arms inside the sleeves of his shroud and turned away, stalking out of the post office with the lazy grace of a jungle cat.

As soon the bell chimed again, indicating his departure, the heavy atmosphere cleared and she found herself able to breathe once more. Noralin sucked in air, drawing it deep into her lungs and she pressed one hand against her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. It was not the first time the strange elf had delivered gifts and letters on her shift, but each time he showed up, she found herself both fascinated and terrified of him. Looking into his eyes was like gazing into the abyss of the Twisting Nether: though nothing seemed to be there, you knew something lurked inside, waiting to suck out your soul and everything that made you you.

Slumping forward, she sighed and cast the stack of gifts another wary glance. The addressee popped out at her and she bit her lip, frowning as she read the name a second time. Written in an elegant, looping hand, one envelope read: FOR LAERETH BLOODHAWK, WHO COULD BRING A STATUE TO TEARS.Noralin’s face scrunched up and she cocked her head, puzzling over the strange words. Her eyes slid over to the second envelope. FOR LAERETH BLOODHAWK, WHO COULD TEMPER STEEL.

She scratched her head, baffled. Had the frightening man written these odd words? What did they mean? He had sent letters and left gifts to be delivered to the notorious captain on more than one occasion, and each time, they were marked with unusual phrases. More than once, she had thought to ask Laereth about the words this man offered him, but she found him almost as scary as his admirer.

Laereth, however, was scary in a different way, she mused, tucking the packages into a cubby to await their recipient. Where this strange man scared her because he seemed an empty void looking for something to fill itself, the captain had too much inside himself. It thrashed around in his eyes, waiting to spill out and envelop the whole world.

Plopping down on her abandoned stool, she dragged her book back over to herself and resumed her place, using the love story to try to forget the way all her hair stood on end when confronted by the tall man. When Laereth arrived toward the end of the evening, she offered him a timid smile and fetched his mail, passing over simple letters that did not bear odd phrases in expensive ink. While he sifted through them, she produced the neatly wrapped packages and pushed them across the desk with gentle hands.

“Er, those are not all,” she murmured, her voice low and soft. “These were… delivered today.”

Emerald eyes shifted away from the plain envelopes in his hand and Laereth frowned at the boxes stacked in front of him. His gaze went straight to the letters tucked into the ribbon and he found his name glaring back at him. Tucking his letters into the satchel slung over his shoulder, he reached out and traced the fine runes addressing the packages to him, and one brow inched up his forehead.

“Who delivered these?” he asked in a voice that sounded like gravel sliding down a mountain. Jade eyes popped into his head, accompanied by a smile full of huge, crooked teeth and surrounded by hair like darkest ink. She had given him a gift once before, wrapped in silk cloth the same crimson of this paper and tied with a ribbon that matched this amber string.

“He was… well…” Noralin trailed off and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stave off the shiver that threatened to crawl up her spine. She hunched in on herself, grimacing. “He’s brought a couple of things for you. At least three, I think. Once at Winter’s Veil last year, then two letters over the last few months. He’s…” Her hands sculpted the air, molding it as if she could shape the mysterious giver into life in front of him. “Tall. Always wears a dark, heavy cloak. He has the face of the god of beauty, but he… he smiles like he knows something you don’t. The first time I saw him, he wore a mask…"

She shuddered, remembering that creepy bone mask all too well. Laereth’s brow arched higher and the corners of his lips turned down, tucking into his cheeks. Her initial description left him drawing a blank, but the addition of the mask had him drawing a few conclusions. He snatched the gifts up and slipped them beneath one arm, holding them close to his body. Before Noralin could ask him about the strange man who had brought him so many letters, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the post office, his long legs eating up the ground faster than a starving wolf could devour a deer carcass.

Upon arriving home and sequestering himself in his chambers, he settled the packages on the his table and stared at them for several moments, wondering what his mysterious giver could have possibly given him this time. He had a feeling he knew what the envelopes would contain, but what had she stuffed into the boxes and wrapped so carefully? What had drawn her eye and made her think of him? One finger tapped the corner of a present and he smirked, admitting–if only to himself–that curiosity bubbled inside him like soup in a pot and he didn’t know where to begin with the gifts. Which one should he open first?

His hand moved on autopilot, plucking one of the envelopes from the ribbon and he snorted at the words scribbled on the front. “If you were a statue, I would eat my sword,” he muttered, breaking the nondescript seal that kept the flap shut. Sure enough, he found several stanzas of poetry written inside and he gazed down at them, one corner of his lips curled as he read.

I See Hell in Your Eyes, proclaimed the title and his smirk grew wider and wider with each line.

In a face carved from granite burn emerald flames that baptize a demon sculpted of pure stannite. I see hell in his eyes.

With hair like the blood spilled when an unfortunate soul dies, who knows how many he’s killed? I see hell in his eyes.

He smiles like a villain who wears a hero’s altruistic disguise. But nothing escapes from his stare. I see hell in his eyes.

His calloused hands wield shield and blade with a strength that can brutalize corrupt lord, sneaky spy, and false maid. I see hell in his eyes.

Built like a battle tank, he stands at enormous size. Never speaking straight or frank, I see hell in his eyes.

His tongue causes twisters and the foolish, chastise, leaving heartache and verbal blisters. I see hell in his eyes.

O, when he turns his piercing gaze on maids, he gives them butterflies. His mind is a winding maze. I see hell in his eyes.

He spits words that tangle me up and cause me to despise him. I often want to strangle him. I see hell in his eyes.

But o, when he was stroking my dark hair, the surprise left me choking. I see hell in his eyes.

The devil wears a grin brighter than the sunrise. And he lets nobody in. I see hell in his eyes.

His smile lights his face and harsh lines, civilize. Friendliness seems so out of place when I see hell in his eyes.

Then he opens his mouth in order to emphasize how my opinion of him flees south. I see hell in his eyes.

With my fingers, I would map his features and memorize them, though I know his kindness is a trap for I see hell in his eyes.

He complains that ladies find him a romantic hero they idealize. So many have tried to bind him. Do they see the hell in his eyes?

A violent animal swims and lurks beneath his skin. You can’t normalize the pain promised in his smirk. I see hell in his eyes.

O Bloodhawk, how you break me. Another monster can recognize the beast yearning to come awake. I see hell in your eyes.

Folding the parchment, he set it aside with some care and reached for the bow that bound all the gifts together. He unraveled it with ease and plucked the smallest box from the top of the stack, peeling back the paper with eager hands and peering inside. Fitted into a neat bed of crimson velvet lay a polished steel dagger inscribed with strange runes. Rubies and garnets gleamed, sparkling like flames in the dagger’s ivory handle; given its spiral design, she must have carved it from the horn of the unicorns that grazed the summer fields of Suramar and he snatched up the small note that accompanied the blade.

I know that you prefer a bloodied sword and a hefty shield to do your dirty work, but this blade is not meant for carving up your foes like a Pilgrim’s Bounty goose. Certainly, it is sharp enough and strong enough to open up a chest cavity and slice into a beating heart, but more importantly, it is meant for protection. Carry it with you into battle and when you find yourself overwhelmed, repeat the phrase written below to even the odds. I am sure you are wary of any gifts given because you are a suspicious bastard, but as much as I hate you, I would not give you a gift to harm you and I would not see you dead.

Yn y frwdyr, galwaf arnaf i hyd yn oed i fyny'r gwyrthdaro hyn.

Also, yes. That is a unicorn’s horn. You have no idea how hard they are to catch.

A soft huff left him and he lifted the dagger from its velvet bed, inspecting the craftsmanship. His thumb tested its edge and came away bloody, the cut so fine that he could not feel it. He had to wonder what the inscription meant and what the blade could actually do to help him, but without the little mummer there to shed light on the situation, he could only guess what she meant by “evening the odds.” Thank the Titans she’d bothered to leave him a pronunciation guide for the strange incantation. Rolling his eyes, he replaced the dagger in its bed and went for the next gift, laying the note on top of the first poem.

Inside this second box, he found a thick sheaf of papers, bundled by more amber ribbon. The cover page bore the title Flight of the Bloodhawkin elegant letters, and beneath that were written three names in succession: Ren'avain Ia'hel. Calaglin Dawntreader. Irrylath Oir'rythin. A note had been tucked into the ribbon and he pulled it out, flipping it open to read her next explanation.

I had help writing this. It is neither symphony nor tango, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Freed from the ribbon, he flipped through the pages and found a wealth of sheet music, all of it written for the guitar–at least, the melody was meant for the guitar. It had both piano and percussion accompaniment, and after perusing the first several measures of the song, he found it heavy and thrilling. Enough to set the blood to pumping and he could imagine the thunderous beat of the drums like horses’ hooves pounding the battlefield while a storm built over the clashing forces. In his head, the piano became the shouting of men locked in combat, sharp, shrill notes like swords striking shields. Lips pursed, he set the music aside and allowed the soaring melody to fade into the background of his thoughts, colouring them with bloodshed.

He reached out for the third box and set the second envelope aside, choosing to save her words for last. Opening this present revealed a thick book and its tooled leather cover had been inscribed with the words The Slumbering Depths.Arching a brow–what in the world possessed her to give him some silly action/adventure novel when he lived action and adventure daily?–he removed the book from the box and plopped it down on the table, prying open its cover to find a dedication on the first page, written in her small, neat hand.

I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong and I revel in your incorrectness. No, this is not a book about visiting the sunken cities beneath the Great Ocean, nor is it about some daredevil rappelling into the depths of Deepholm. You are lucky I am such a painstaking scribe because this is a book sure to tantalize you and have your reading well into the night, until your candle burns down to nothing. I found the original manuscript in the decrepit halls of Eldre'thalas, but the pages were so worn and fragile that to turn them nearly caused them to crumble into dust. Instead of giving you the original–which you might not have been able to peruse–I chose to copy it down for you in modern, easy-to-read Thalassian. I hope you enjoy it.

Browsing through the pages, his eyes steadily grew wider and rounder and he drummed his fingers on the table while he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Surly brat. She had given him a book he did not already possess, a wealth of knowledge thought lost to time and he found himself wanting nothing more than to relax in his chair with the information spread over his lap, devouring each line until he had memorized everything the pages had to offer. The Slumbering Depthsdetailed much of what the ancient Kaldorei had suspected or learned about the Old Gods who tried to unmake their world. It depicted the myths they had created about their deities, about these creatures of destruction, about the darkness that lurked behind every corner and whispered wicked desires into their minds whenever they ventured into the shadowy places of the world. It talked about the deviance and evil that slept beneath Andrassil.

With his gaze still glued to the black leather cover of the book, he reached for the last envelope and cracked it open, unfolding the parchment. Another poem waited for him, along with a brief message that simply stated Merry Winter’s Veil, and he read the words she left for him with greedy eyes.

Skyfall

A crimson sun sets like a burning eye winking out over a battlefield strewn with the dead, and a sentinel stands proud, his heavy feet are sinking into the mud where the valiant and unrighteous have bled.

On the other side of the sky, a blood moon climbs to its zenith, glaring down at the dying earth below and all the petty men who have paid for the crimes with their flesh. And the inky, carrion crow

scavenge amongst the remains; they pluck eyeballs from skulls and gulp them down like gluttons seated at bountiful feast. Their raucous cries shatter the silence and break up the lull in the fighting; they pierce the sharp ears of the beast

who wipes his blade on the creased leather jerkin of a young man felled in the prime of his years. The battle he fought, he views as a labour of love, a necessity. He will be lauded by his awestruck peers

who witnessed true brutality in the heart of the field when he slipped the shackles that kept him bound, and with steel blade and with rounded shield, he cleared a path through the battleground.

A path that allowed his massive army to sweep through and lay claim to the prize sitting at the heart of the massive stone keep. Hell burns in his dark emerald eyes.

And that hell spurred on all the brave men who swore themselves into his noble service; a fighting force that he trained to stomach the gore he created, when weaker hearts might be nervous

to find themselves in the presence of a bloodthirsty lion tearing out throats and disemboweling men. But they’d follow him to the nether, this last crimson scion, they’d dog his steps to hell and then back again.

What about this wild monster inspires such faith in selfish hearts who only seek to destroy for the gain they can get? This battlefield wraith can see through any sly general’s ploy

and deploy his men with unwavering surety into traps that other lords might spring on their own foolish heads. He won’t fade into obscurity when his praises all the wise bards will sing

for the ages, for the centuries, for the millenia to come; other legends might be born and then die. But when a storyteller lifts his lute, the strings to strum, you can be certain that the skies will open and cry.

They will cry scarlet tears in the comets that streak through the clouds and plunge into the earth, and create disaster akin to the havoc he wreaked ‘til the day that he died, from his glorious birth.

They will cry with the rain that hides the burning sun, they will cry in the scream of the squall. They will cry every time his bold legend is spun by a bard, when he sings of Skyfall.

A hawk cannot fly forever, skimming over the clouds. Eventually, the stone tower standing tall will crumble to the ground. Even a proud back will be bowed, but he will live on in the tale of Skyfall.

I will ensure it be written, in blood or in stone, or carved into the skin of his foes and their progeny after them so his story is known and I’ll be certain his legend always grows.

‘Tis the least I can do for the man who outstretched a worn hand to me—for the man who had the gall to befriend me. From death’s ledge, he fetched me. Laereth, live on in my Skyfall.

#Long Post #Such wonderful gifts!#Laereth is pleased #It's all just delightful #<3 #Thank you #submission

2 notes · View notes