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vampyrial · 1 year ago

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A World For Her Alone | Sisyphus

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

cw (chapter specific): child neglect, very vaguely implied forced prostitution, death, abuse, poisoning, suicide, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, arranged marriage, infidelity

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: we take a brief intermission from claude's suffering to examine what the fuck is wrong with reader's family

author's note: me and my husband we're sticking together🎵

Claude lingered around your parents’ manor like a ghost after you died. In the middle of the night, every night, he found his way to your bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed you’d died in, remembering the shape your body formed in the sheets. The room still smelled of your blood and sweat, though the room had been cleaned up by the maids as soon as your body was taken out of the room. Your absence was starker than your presence. After the funeral, Diana expressed that she wanted to go home, heavily implying she would leave if he came with her but Claude was no longer beholden to her wants. He had no reason to care whether she came or went.

He was wielding grief as the knife he held up to cut deeper into himself in hope that if he only suffered enough, his hands would wash clean of your blood. But in the end, he had already decided to live, if only because he could do nothing else. Morbid thoughts plagued him, swirling around his head like unquiet spirits begging him to give in. He thought perhaps he should cause his own ruination and this time, live with it. He thought he should make for certain that both of your houses are set aflame and collapsing on top of the lot of you, to bury and burn your sycophant parents, his helplessly selfish wife and even his own child. He thought that nothing should be spared from complicity. He knew not anymore if he truly believed that it would save you, or if this was what some divine terror was willing him to do even still, but he began to long for punishment. It became catharsis, the thought of being punished.

He roamed through the house you grew up in, searching for any trace of you that survived, as if some inkling of you would help him to save what had already been lost too many times. Even so, it was automatic for him at this point, no longer even really a choice. He had no direction, only frantic need pulling him toward the doomed task. He was trying to get to the dregs of a goblet of wine which never ran dry, he kept drinking until he was sick but never satisfied, never finished.

Your parents’ manor was an eerie place, he’d always thought. Wind blew in from an opened window in the hall and the house seemed to breathe, and its hollow bones creaked softly. Despite her gentle ultimatum, Diana could not actually follow up on it, she must have known that but she believed better of him at the time and thought that everywhere she went, he would follow her like a lovestruck teenager again. There were things to be done at manor that she could not neglect as its lady even if he chose to neglect his own duties. She had come into her own as a marchioness, no longer the shy and unassuming lady that lay in bed sick day in and day out. She would not leave the territory without management though he knew she desperately wanted him to come back home. She seemed dazed to return home without her husband for that purpose, for the lament of a sister she had infinitely more right to grieve so egregiously. Even after all those years, the silly girl was only just beginning to grow aware of the disparity of marriage.

Somehow he felt it was hard for her to reconcile that she wasn’t a precious young lady anymore. Even as he was mired in a pool of half catatonic grief, she dared ask him to leave with her because she truly expected he would do so if she did. Had she not grown out of the habit of expecting to be near worshiped no matter what that her parents instilled her? He remembered how she was after your funeral, when he was sitting in the dark of a guest room. She had come to him, tried to hold him, to kiss him; believing all this would be a comfort and not a further indignity. She’d had arrogance enough to look hurt as he pulled her from him and recoiled from her touch. She must have still believed she was the cure to all ills because she was once more in a house where she was always treated as though she truly were.

He found his way to the library where you’d spent much of your life, if Felix’s word was truth. He brushed his fingers along the spines of the books, looking for the one that he left his missive in, the one Diana read and did not want understand. He searched through the categories of books that contained subjects you three would have studied together as he could not remember which particular book it was, but even after pulling all the books and flipping through the pages, he couldn't find the letter. He wondered if you had ever even set eyes on it once before Diana got to. Had it been your catalyst to run away? Had you read the note and understood that the effort of trying to be happy at his side was a fool’s errand? Was he again the cause of your downfall?

As he gave himself to thought of you, he continued looking through your family’s collection of books. It was all fairly standard and even a bit utilitarian, lacking any of the fanciful novels so beloved by many young nobles. He assumed if there were any, they’d be in Diana’s room because they’d be bought for and read by her alone. But there was something that struck him as he roamed around the shelves, his eyes scanning aimlessly for a book that looked as if it had been perhaps been misshelved. It was subtly tucked into the highest shelf but it still stood out to him eventually among droll guides, needlework books and encyclopedias emblazon with gold lettering. It was hastily bound looking more like a journal and it was worn, unlike the rich and well maintained leather of the other books and it was small, leaving a wide gap between the top of the shelf and the top of the book. Its spine did not read a title.

When he pulled the book, he understood what it was. Its title read “The Princess and The Knight,” signifying it was some common, tawdry romance novella. Still, he began to read it, the absurdity of its place in a house so heavy and serious intriguing him. Could this book have belonged to you? Could it have been an escape for you who was locked firmly out of girlhood when you were only just betrothed? When he’d read the title, his mind flashed with the memory of your face as Felix’s body fell into the dirt in front of you. He remembered how fiercely Felix had protected you even in this life. The rage and grief in his voice when he came for retribution. Though he knew you were ever dutiful and if there was love between you and Felix, it was never more than courtly, maybe you had seen this book and it had reminded you of some place where it could be more.

The story revolved around the love affair of a princess from a bloodline with an affinity for magic fleeing her country at wartime and being assigned a knight from the neighboring kingdom she sought refuge in. The two began a passionate and sanguine love affair in secret, all while living under of the tension of war and the threat of both of them losing everything to their love. But when the war was won, thanks in part to the wits of the two characters, and peace spread over the kingdom, she and her knight were able to be wed and live happily ever after. He had been searching for you in the pages, interpreting the knight and the princess, looking for traces of a love you might have had once. He had been looking for you so closely in every word that he hadn’t realized the grander scale of things until the end; when he flipped over the last page to read the epilogue, on the blank side of the page he saw a sketch.

The drawing was finely, intricately done in ink and resembled…Diana. The owner of this book had drawn Diana so vividly, yet there were a few differences in the likenesses of the two. This woman had long spools of curly hair spilling over her shoulders and a mole near her gently smiling lips. She was older than Diana must have been when the book was written. She looked like the heroine that had been described in the novel. For some reason, he found himself fixated not in awe or admiration but in mind numbing shock. He could feel the love that went into each stroke of the pen and a knot formed in his stomach the longer he stared. It was uncanny in a house like this, to find anything that should mark vulnerability or simple folly. He recalled an occasion where your father had gifted her a portrait he’d made of her and their daughter. Though two different mediums, the style looked so similar. From what Claude saw, it seemed that your father seldom made art of anyone but Diana. Your father surely had not been so passionate about a throwaway romance that he had ignored his bias and poured so much love into an image of the heroine.

The only one who could be so brazen as to have a romance novel among his books wherein which they lovingly drew an almost intimate image of a woman, worn with the spine slightly bent from being handled so many times— not even properly hidden away, would be your father. Your father who paraded his illegitimate child, born from a mistress. The revelation gave him pause. What did Claude truly know about Diana? He couldn’t remember having ever asked her if she’d known her mother because she so resolutely accepted the countess as her only mother. But this woman sketched onto the page of a well loved romance, was this her mother? She looked as if she could be. Portraits of Diana hung in exposed parts of the house, he did not seem to care that the custom of having an illegitimate child was to have them separate from one’s “official” family, to not love a child born of one’s own lust so openly. Even if one had a particular love of their mistress and child, he would simply put them up in a nice mansion close enough for him to come and go but your father had your mother raising his illegitimate child. He celebrated her birthdays lavishly and even allowed her to go to the academy. He absolutely refused to hide her, to show shame in her. So why was this woman Claude presumed to be Diana’s mother who was clearly beloved by him even now, shut up in the back of a romance novella?

A thought occurred to him then, that perhaps the otherworldly force pulling him into Diana, entangling him in her was not otherworldly at all. Perhaps it had not originated in him alone as some primordial curse formed around him before there even was a him. He thought of just how besotted he was with Diana the first time he met her in each life, how the greater part of him felt foreign. He thought of your mother’s unusually devoted love for a child that wasn’t her’s, a product of her husband’s disloyalty. Something inside him thought that the answer lay at Diana’s feet. In her very blood, he was convinced, was the answer.

Such a tenderly written romance, signed with a carefully drawn illustration of the woman who could be Diana’s mother. The part of “The Princess and The Knight” which struck him so was the bit about the princess possessing capacity for magic. It was not mentioned much nor utilized greatly in the plot but it made an impression. Magic users had decreased over the years, their powers waning until they were unheard of entirely. To anyone else who read the novella, it must have given the story to a bit of fantasy but to Claude, it was almost uncanny. He could not take it for an unassuming romance. To him, the story hid some truth under its veneer, for it was no coincidence that the princess resembled Diana so and that it ended up under the same roof as her, worn with years of eager hands flipping back over the pages. The princess’ power was never described in detail but if she were based on a real woman, then perhaps she had something to do with his situation.

He might’ve gone to Diana right then for answers but he feared his body might be taken over again at any time. He did not want to see her, did not want to feel the familiar paralysis of affection reaching up through his body. He did not want to see himself bed her again while the memory stood frozen in his eyes. Each time he saw her after he’d been set free, he’d worried that it would happen again. That his body would betray his mind and he’d never find anything of substance to end the cycle of misery the two of you shared. And he was committed to the task of trying, even if he could never succeed. He was ready to succumb to the greater sense of careworn madness he found in you.

He decided to explore the unattended corners of your home further, thinking there would be— must be more. If ever Diana’s mother had lived here, someone left a trace that he intended to find. He might’ve asked your father directly but as much as he was a lickspittle, something told him that your father would be afflicted by the same paralysis of mind that he had when he belonged to Diana. Unable to share the love he held for her but unable to hide it either, culminating in a pathetic sort of half-baked defensiveness. He wasn’t likely to get anything out of that, even you hadn’t been able to get anything out of him when he was like that. Worse still, he might try to cover up all that he kept that ever indicated Diana’s mother had lived there once, that she had a name and a face. And then what?

No, it was better this way. Better to find it all before he got the chance to hide any of it.

Your parents were still in the house, seemingly without intention of asking him when he was going to leave but there was still a bit of anxiety in the air when they entered the room. He could tell that they very much wished for him to return to their daughter and make her happy again as she was destined to be. It was awkward that their son-in-law had a longer bereavement than your sister did. But still being the cowardly sycophants they were, they could not ask him to leave for her sake—only “encourage” him by tossing out little updates on Diana. “Diana and our grandchild miss you very much,” “Diana takes ill so easily when she works so hard, we should hope you’ll be well enough to go back to her soon,” “Diana sends her love and wants you to know she’s there for your sake.”

Claude wouldn’t care if Diana’s life hung by a thread and he was all that could spare her, frankly and he brushed off all responsibility in favor of giving himself to his task. It was shameless, he knew, but he’d given up everything inside of the barren, hollow shell of his self to save you. It was a task that had already and would yet again supersede death, birth and the enveloping void he fell backward into each time his life was ended. He waited until they inevitably visited Diana, likely to calm her worries with lukewarm supplications about his grief, to go searching in the other parts of the house uninhibited. For, even if the servants were to tell their lord and lady, he’d already have looked through every corner he intended before they’d have a chance to move things around to better hide them.

He started with Diana’s old room. When he walked in, he was surprised to find it was left exactly as childish as it had been when she was only a young miss. Just the scent of the air turned his stomach, heavy and cloying with a pungent smell of medicine that was still sitting on her night stand in a small white bottle. He frowned as something fell clumsily into place. It hit him like the stray sour note of a violin. He recognized the bottle. Where did he last see this bottle?

For how preoccupied he was with the revelation taking slow form, he did not realize that Felix had entered the room until he heard the distinctive sound of a sword unsheathed. He did not turn.

“Felix.”

“Lord Claude,” Felix acknowledged, his voice struggling to keep its softness. “I might’ve known you’d be here. You truly cannot help yourself, it’s like a sickness.”

“Yes, it is very much like that,” Claude agreed easily. “But I’m not here for what you imagine I am.”

“I’m not so sure it matters, my lord.” Felix’s voice was flat.

“Nor am I. But I need you to let me live just as long as it takes for me to make sense of this.”

Felix went quiet for a moment but nothing about the situation made Claude think it was because the knight was going to hesitate. On the contrary, he was sure that his sword would swing just as neatly. “Do you know where I found my lady chained up, my lord? There are places, you know, that they bring women who had no other place to turn. You must know. You were at her side every night when we brought her back, you saw what toll it took. You saw what had been done.” Felix took a shallow breath. “You’re asking me to spare you so that you can make sense of whatever it is your farce of a marriage is built on? When my lady was given no such pardon? I know you’re the head of your house now, honored knight of the crown and you must think yourself above your treatment of others but I assure you, this will be the last time you ever assume so.”

Claude held still, his voice firm even as fear raged through his body. It was not fear for his life or of Felix’s wrath, it was the fear of failing, yet again, to make any movement in saving you. “I know how you think of me, Felix. I know that I have failed my wife. I know that I deserve to die here and now but even so, I can’t.”

“That is no problem, I’ll do it for you.”

Claude smiled joylessly to himself at the devout knight’s words. How could you have been judged so harshly in that life for wanting to run away with him when he so clearly had a loyalty akin to love for you? “You don’t understand. You cannot possibly. But answer me this, do you know who Diana’s mother is?”

The question puzzled Felix but he stood resolutely, ready at any moment to fell Claude’s head. “Everyone else in this household has care for Lady Diana. My duty was to serve my lady, I was the only one and I did not ever lapse. You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Felix, I do not ask for my wife’s sake. I know how this will sound but I’m trying to find out just what exactly it is that Diana holds over me and everyone else. I’m trying to figure out what exactly she is. You have seen it, haven’t you? The disparity between how people treat my wife and how they treat your lady. Do you think it natural to love a daughter born from an affair more than one’s own?”

He heard Felix laugh bitterly. “You believe her to be a succubus? Is that your excuse?”

“No. I believe her to be something worse.” Claude laughed as well, though his was more hysterical than anything. “She rules everything, Felix. Even in death. No, especially so in death. I have lived this life many times. I have died and returned back to the day that I first met her at the tea party. And when I do, I am taken over by her. It feels like love at first, it really does. But then intrusion. And then a curse. It is a cycle of death and resurrection, for myself and for the lady.”

Felix was silent and Claude continued on. “In one such life, she ran away with you, you know. It was raining the night we found you two. You were holed up in some abandoned cottage out there in the countryside, the one with the patches of white clover in the yard and a missing shingle on the roof.”

“What are you saying?” Felix’s voice wavered with near disbelief at the picture he painted but he held firm.

“My knights killed you where you stood and took the lady back to my manor. Your betrothed visited her. She had asked to speak to the woman who had been responsible for your death. She told me you two had planned to get married once the lady and I were finally married and settled in. She could not even mourn you properly because you were compelled to run away with the lady and killed.”

It is clear that Felix still thought Claude had lost his mind but what shocked him was the truth seeded into his madness. How could he have known the intimate arrangements of their betrothal and marriage when even their families had not known the cause for delay? This was not knowledge he could send an errand boy to fetch him nor an illusion he couldn’t hope to keep up, this was lived. It was memory.

“What does that have to do with Diana?” Diana was more likely a seductress than a sorceress in Felix’s opinion. Such a thing as a time loop, how could a girl so weak and childish create something like it?

Claude turned slightly, slowly toward him. “I don’t know yet myself. That is what I seek to find out. So that I can perhaps end it, for the lady at least. I don’t need anything Felix, not Diana, not my child, not my house. All I need and want is for the lady to stop suffering. I only beg you not to hinder me. When the time comes, I swear I will die on my own.”

Felix had no idea what to make of it all. Much of what Claude said seemed stilted, frantic and half thought. Yet he could not help but feel there was a certain sincerity to be had even in the worthlessness of Claude’s promise. And in any case, he was not entirely unfamiliar with the concept that Claude explained but all that it implied, he was not ready to believe. He sheathed his sword again finally and Claude turned to face him with the medicine bottle in hand. “Have you any idea why this would be in Diana’s room? It’s medicine that the lady took before.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “It’s used to treat severe infection. It’s not supposed to be used by just anyone who gets ill. Lady Diana should not have needed that medicine, it would take effect like poison if not administered to someone battling a harsh infection. The doctor sent one of the servants to fetch it in town.”

“Yes, but this bottle is dusty, it’s mostly emptied out and the liquid inside it has congealed. It’s been sitting here for years. The medicine inside is aromatic. It has a distinct smell, doesn’t it? The lady’s room still reeks of it even with the windows opened up. Every time I went into Diana’s room when we were young, I smelled it, I tasted it. That means she was not only taking medicine she did not need but taking it regularly.” Claude said aloud, more to himself than to Felix who had bristled at the way he implied he and Diana were. “Was she…ever even sick?”

“Of course she was. Perhaps madame gave her the wrong medicine. She would not have poisoned herself, far be it from me to defend her but she did not desire to be sick. She seemed to envy the lady for her health, as she saw it.”

“…it was the lady’s mother who administered this medicine?” Claude questioned as new pieces fell together in his mind.

“I only know that the madame came to Lady Diana before bed to give her medicine. I do not know that it was that medicine, I did not see it.” Felix paused. “What is the significance, my lord?” He asked, annoyance creeping into his tone at the extensive talk of Diana.

“I intend to find out.”

He had wished to creep into the madame’s bedroom quickly and easily but the door was locked so they’d needed to fetch the key. Claude was shocked at the amount of sway he had over the servants of a house he was not a part of for the head maid simply handed over the key when he asked for it, albeit hesitantly as though she thought she might be scolded for doing so. When he took in the room, it was tidy and rather plain by aristocracy standards. The room seemed to have a chill about it, there was a draft somewhere that made it feel colder than the other rooms.

He began to pick carefully through her things, looking in every corner of the room for anything hidden. It was all mundane, droll and typical until he reached the last drawer of a dresser that was locked. Sure enough, nine bottles of unopened medicine neatly lined into rows of three. When he tried to pull the drawer out all the way and see what more he could find, it was caught on something that had been pressed against the top. Claude reached in to feel for it and pulled down what looked to be a simple leather bound, worn and yellowing journal.

Immediately he began to read. He was a bit startled at himself when he realized that he was eager to read the contents of his mother-in-law’s mind. He wanted to know how she saw you. How she justified treating you the way she did to uplift a child that was not her’s. A pitiful part of him just wanted there to be reason. He wanted cause for the rift in the relationship. He needed to believe there was a because to your suffering.

But what he read was not as he suspected. In neat, small lettering on the first page, it chronicled her life back to when she had been perhaps 19 years old but it was dated some ten years later. A reflection on her younger self written seemingly less as a journal and more a memoir.

“The princess had always been so gracious a mistress that even her tasks sounded like gifts.

When it was her time to return to her duties in her own kingdom, she resigned to it with great grace. However, she understood that the opposite would be true of her beloved knight. This fragile man only smiled in her company, protected her with wild fervor and once told her that he felt divinely guided to her. That to him, she was the symbol of god’s forgiveness and in serving her, loving her, he saw his life’s purpose. Oh, the princess lamented to me how dark a life her knight had lived, how the blood he shed as a knight haunted him with guilt. How his father had been of a violent sort in his efforts to transform his only living child into a knight of some worth to bring more prestige to their house and in his efforts to vent his own turmoil over his wife taking up with men of far more money, status and legacy than he. Her knight resembled his mother and so became the target of the ire he could not give his wife for the great protection being a mistress to such men afforded her. His mother knew what his father did, she did not care so long as it were not her. My heart came to soften for him too, the more she told me.

He had been a quiet man, shy and quite unknowingly sweet for his reputation as a ruthlessly skilled knight. He opened up to my princess like a flower toward the sun. He loved her so madly that she knew even though it was inevitable, he never intended to be where he could not protect her and stand at her side. The princess feared that their duties as princess and heir to a county respectively would give way to the knight’s devotion. She feared he’d kill himself trying to reunite with her or simply deteriorate under the burden of his own isolation but her own life was dedicated to more than just one person. It was her nation, her home of people waiting to see her return that she could not abandon. So in her stead, she asked me to stay in the kingdom and marry him. To give him a countess and to keep watch of him for anything he might do to interfere in both their duties.

It was a great honor she had given me entrusting someone so precious to me and given me a title higher than that I had been born with, I still feel that way now but I was foolish then and I did not understand the nature of what I was being asked to do. Nor would I until after it was already done.

You see (and it does, still pain me to even write such a silly thing), I did, at the time believe that I would become close to my husband. I viewed it as a matter of course, for I was far from a home I could never return to and he had no one. We were, for each other, the last traces of the princess. Though I could never think to hope for the kind of love that he gave to the princess, I believed that commonality could be nurtured into love or kinship. I wished for someone to turn to as my heart was sinking faster than a stone the longer I spent from my home. I believed it would happen. I believed he would become someone to lean on.

Though the first months of our marriage were cold, I managed to coax him into trying to have children as was our duty. I saw this as progress both in the way of our relationship as well as keeping him from the princess. I viewed even our coldness then as a sign of something beginning. It was only once, afterward, I think he worked very hard so that I would not ask him to do it again. But even so, I found that I was with child soon. I was a stupid girl then, I believed a child was what we needed to grow closer. I brought this news to him with a smile, I must have looked like an idiot.

My husband’s expression, I can never forget it. He was horrified at this revelation. He looked at me as though I’d announced a death. He looked at me as though I had wounded him. Then his beautiful eyes sparkled with unshed tears and his expression reverted to a weak, helpless smile as he said all the right things in his wavering voice.

It was then that I realized he would never love me. He was horrified at having a child with me, it was sheer terror and dread on his face when I told him. Perhaps he thought that I would not become pregnant at all, he would have preferred it that way. I hadn’t the relationship with him to truly comfort him, to know intimately what he feared about my child. I was useless in that way.

Through the following months, my apprehension was near unbearable. I kept feeling my stomach sink in dread, I kept waking up thinking that I would be home. I kept thinking that I had done something irreparable but I could think of nothing which was actually within my control. Therefore, when I finally gave birth, my relief that it was done with was greater than my joy. But that was alright with me because I had intended to deal with things in my own way."

From there, she went on to describe her rigid attention to being a diligent countess for a few droll pages. But at last, Claude came to another thing of significance. Your father had been summoned to court for political matters regarding the civil unrest which had not been quelled with the end of the war. Your mother could not follow him and leave a newborn alone so she had no choice but to simply trust in your father. She would come to regret that.

"My princess appeared like a bolt out of the blue months later. She was dressed as a peasant and had a somewhat bashful smile on her lips. Although I had missed her, all that I could think in seeing her was, "She should not be here."

But we brought her to the study so that presumably, she would tell us why she had returned when she had surely sworn that she could not. She took off her cloak and then I understood without her needing to tell me. I saw a little bump on her otherwise thin body and I was overcome. When my husband had returned to court, he had not been officially permitted to see my princess but they had met anyway and she was now with child. She had waited until she was just about to start beginning to show in order to take leave from court on the pretense of recovering from illness at her villa in the countryside.

I had been given the task of minding him but I had clearly failed. I should have gone with him no matter what. I should have taken the chance and left my child so that I could have prevented this. But my princess looked at me as faultless and took my hands in hers to assure me that she regretted nothing. She comforted my husband who apparently also knew nothing about this pregnancy until then. She knew his fears like the back of her hand, she knew exactly how to soothe them as I hadn't. He did not even have to speak. She simply knew.

Until then, I had not known that my husband dreaded having children for fear they would be cursed and afflicted with the same moral decay that his own parents had; and because he feared that having a child would bring the same thing out of him. Even if I had known, the princess was the perfect one to comfort him. She asked him if he believed a child born of her could be wicked and of course, he said no. She spun such sugary images of their child together for him with her eyes shining with joy. She told him that their child was special, that she did not fear him becoming a parent like his own because their child would change everything about being a father for him. It surely helped that my princess was glowing as she said such things, that the excitement radiating off of her grew stronger with each passing moment. He could not deny her, could not bring himself to contradict her words because he would always believe in her even if he did not believe in himself.

It went unsaid that the princess would be entrusting the child to the both of us. I had much apprehension about taking care of two babies rather than one and the secrets to be kept piling up above me but I could not complain, it had been my job for years to make everything work. I could not stop then when my princess needed me most. In any case, her presence in the manor brought life to a place that had become so eerie to me. She was the only flame in the dark and we were huddled around her, trying to preserve an ounce of warmth within ourselves. She was joyful through her pregnancy, she could not stop talking about the baby she was to have. The more she chattered, the more excited I became too as though I had any right to be. This was true of my husband too, who tentatively felt the kicks of his child and smiled, genuinely smiled as the princess did. I could see that he loved that child.

She slept in the master bedroom with him, after he left each day, I went in to help her get ready for the day. It was though I was still her maid and I suppose I wanted to be, would rather be that than a wife. But I could not bring myself to complain. I was not unlike my husband, I viewed my duties to the princess as somewhat sacred. I was as honored as I was anxious to raise the child.

On the day Diana was born, my husband was at my princess' side the entire time, as though he could protect her as her knight again. I could only marvel at him. When I had given birth, he stood at the foot of the bed stiffly and asked me what I intended to name our daughter, if I was alright and then told me that if I needed anything to have the butler prepare it at once. After Diana was born, my princess was still beautiful, perhaps even more so in her vulnerability. She held the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, close to her chest as my husband looked down at the both of them with sheer joy. It was as though all the happiness in the world existed between those three. My Diana had been born out of love and so it was easy to love her.

I left my own daughter to the maids in favor of caring for Diana when the princess rested. Her little ruby eyes and her head of soft blonde hair captivated me. Each coo or cry had my focus in a fraction of a second.

I had not yet considered the greater implications of her birth until my princess brought it to me. Diana had been born with an inordinate affinity for magic. The princess, as a member of the royal family had the capacity of a mage, it was kept secret through the death of magic that through her bloodline were those capable of miracles. I only knew after years of my proximity to the princess. This child, born in the time of civil unrest, when the queen had not yet been blessed with a child and the civil war had still bitterly divided the houses, was capable of being seen as a potential figurehead that could be used as a pawn in a new round of rebellion.

It was for me and my husband to put her above all things. Above even our own child. That, to me, went without saying for I did love Diana as my own daughter. But the princess knew that anything could happen and she used all of the strength of her magic to cast a spell over her that would be held with Diana's own great magic. My princess nearly expended all her energy to do so. Magic, she had once told me, was seen as a weak form of power because it relied so greatly upon emotion. It was the transformation of want into will. I knew not the details of the spell which bound my mistress' daughter. All my princess said was that her precious Diana would live happily, that for all the odds against her, she still had odds in her favor."

Claude felt numb as he turned the pages. He was in shock, suddenly the environment of the room felt too harsh and stimulating but he was glued to the journal. He could not dare stop reading it no matter what truths arose. So he flipped the page and read every single entry even as his hands trembled.

From then on, it was Diana, Diana, Diana. With each entry, she recorded a measurement which he assumed was the amount of medicine administered and her symptoms. She fretted over whether it was right to give her more or to give her less. She wrote about denying Diana's requests to go outside, to go to the theatre, to do much of anything besides stay in bed. It chilled him to the bone but more than that, perplexed him. He was staring at a page where your mother had seemed to write sloppily, hurried and anxious when he heard a voice.

"Lord Claude?" It was your mother, standing in the doorway.

He looked slowly up at her, at a loss for words and unable to reconcile the cold mother she was to you with her joy at being Diana's proxy mother. Unable, still, to understand why she was poisoning the daughter she loved so much.

"My lord, you should not be in here," she said softly but in her blank expression, it was apparent that she knew what he was there for. "It will look strange to others, for you to do something like this."

"You poisoned Diana," He was keenly aware of how delicately she was trying to dance around this subject but he was unwilling to indulge her.

Your mother did not even blink. "You must understand me, Lord Claude. Please understand."

"What is there to understand? You neglect your own daughter and fawn over your husband's illegitimate daughter only to poison her."

Your mother shook her head slowly as if she could not believe what he was implying. "I love that girl," she said, moving deeper into the room and shutting the door behind her. "Diana is my little princess. She is my only daughter."

A rush of rage ran up his body, carrying an unbearable desire to hurt her. "She's not your daughter at all. She's the daughter of a woman far more beloved than you."

But your mother could only smile helplessly. "Yes, but even so, she is my daughter in heart. You must trust me when I say that Diana was hopeless before."

"Hopeless?" His brow furrowed and a cold feeling creeped up his back, extinguishing his fury and replacing it with a kind of fear for the woman in front of him. "She wasn't hopeless, she was able to wed me, to live happily." He said it not as a defense of her but as an accusation.

"That poor girl. In the first place, she already had a weak constitution, because her magic was stronger than her body but it was the perfect excuse to keep inside and away from the eyes of those who would want to hurt her. But it was my eldest daughter who kept planting false hope in her. She even sent Diana before my husband to beg him to let her go to the academy because she knew very well he could not say no to her." There was venom in her voice, a sneer on her face. Claude rose to stand slowly, not knowing what he was going to do.

"He cannot say no to Diana because he loves her so, no, he loves her mother so," she sighed. "All the other one did was cause troubles. Diana had already given up but she roused such hope in the girl, false hope, cruel hope. If she had not been able to marry you...I do not know how we would have protected her. If my daughter was still alive, everything would be ruined. It was you who saved her, my lord. That is why I beg of you, don't judge me. You know that Diana is special. You must know."

"I did not want to save her, she did not need to be saved."

She remained with that pitiful smile on her face. "My husband is weak to her. He will...he will never forgive what I've done to our- his little princess. He won't understand. He will think that I have killed my princess. You know, he almost sees them as one in the same." She reached onto her desk, picking up a letter opener. "Diana will be hurt if she knows. I ask that you let the girl live her life believing as I told her. She deserves that much. I let her believe what I did because it was in her best interest. Please take care of her."

Before he could react, your mother plunged the sharp end of the letter opener into her throat.

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl@s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire @mvoonxlightv @noisyenthusiastface @coldpeachkitten @brightykitten @worstliving

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic

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definitelynottony · 6 months ago

Note

Top 5 ships?

1. Trambi (me and @pretty-bratty duh)

2. Starker

3. David/Michael (lost boys)

4. Winterspider & Harringrove tie-in at 4th

5. Spideypool & Spidey/Symbrock tie at 5th

#starker #harringrove #spideypool #winterspider #david/michael the lost boys #reply

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 8 months ago

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A Tale of Love, Death and Maggots, part 16-G

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

I paused, thinking about it. “Sure, why the hell not? I'll bite. What's the plan, Mrin?”

It made her break into a proper smile. This time I could see the cracks in it, where something that horrible and despairing lurked. “Are you alright, Mrin? You look… troubled, my love.” The last word lingered on my tongue. It tasted like the fields in summer.

“It's nothing, Doc. Nothing at all.” Mrin turned away, but I caught the flash of grief. Stronger, it was. Starker against the warmth in my chest.

“No, it's not nothing. Don't brush me off, Mrin. Not after everything we've done,” I said, grabbing her arm and pressing it to my chest. “I swear, Mrin, I'm done trying to accept my fate. I'm done trying to make my own heart freeze over. I'm done refusing to admit that I don't care about you, or Athena, or Brett.”

I don't know when I decided that. To be honest, I hadn't quite realised it until the words flew out of my mouth. I suppose it must have been when Mrin burst into tears that night. It always did come back to her, after all. Her and that piercing gaze of hers. It revealed things I didn't know about myself.

But it was true. I was done, once and for all, of letting harm coming to the ones I loved. It was time for me to step up and be a man for once. I pressed her calloused hand to my chest. “Come on, Mrin. Tell me what's wrong. Let's face it together, no matter how horrible. Isn't that what partners are for?”

She looked down, avoiding my gaze. “I've come to a conclusion of my own, Doc. I think- I think it's time I stopped trying to make the impossible happen. I've been stuck here for what, a decade? And no matter how hard I've tried, I can't find a way to escape this place. I…”

“I don't think there is one.”

The admission made her voice crack, and she yanked her hand from my chest as though I'd stabbed her. “Fuck, that hurts to say aloud. But it's the truth, isn't it? There's just no way out. We're stuck here. Doomed.”

It was the opposite of my decision. “Mrin…”

“No! It's pointless, don't you get it?! It's so… so accursedly unfair of you to say something like ‘I love you', right when I've made my choice! I admired you, Doc. I admired how stoic you were. I tried so, so fucking hard to stay calm in the face of everything. I tried so hard not to care. I tried to be like you, and just as I succeed, you do this?!”

She shook, though with rage or grief, I could not tell. “You stupid bastard. You and Athena and Brett, you've all left me no choice.”

“I've got to save you all. Even if it means killing myself.”

“Mrin, what the hell are you talking about?” I tried to reach out again, and she gave me an infuriated look.

“Run the numbers, Doc. I'm never going to be happy here. I don't want to spend my life chasing something that will never come to pass. It's all so pointless. Pointless, I tell you.”

“You're repeating yourself again, Mrin.” Even as I said it, I knew it was useless. We really were doomed to repeat our mistakes. This conversation had been the lead-up to Athena's death, and it was gonna be the lead-up to Mrin's too. I felt that mantle of despair settle about my shoulders, unavoidable as ever.

Yet I had to try anyways, didn't I? Wasn't that what I'd told her just now? Damn, this trying thing was hard. It was hard to get arms to move when they'd stayed still for so long, hard to get the ball rolling when it'd been gathering moss for forever, hard to try when it was so much easier to just not. But I had to. For Athena, who I hadn't reached out to in time. For Brett, who I could have saved if I'd been less of a fool.

For Mrin, who I still had. Who I would lose. Who I couldn't lose, not when we'd admitted the truth to each other.

“It's not pointless, Mrin. You're a fool if you believe that.”

(Character development!!!)

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #my writing #creative writing #writing community #spilled ink #fantasy #short story #Horror #Is this really a short story now??

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reginaphalangelobster · 5 months ago

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Song Ask Game - Marvel

I have decided to make an ask game and the rules are as follows:

Pick a song and a Marvel character from this list and send in an ask. You can just send the character and song or you can add more specifications if you so choose.

I will write a (character) x reader fic ranging from around 300-1k words.

I will NOT write anything:

NSFW

Starker

Thorki

Illegal

Characters:

(1) Natasha Romanoff

(2) Clint Barton

(3) Bruce Banner

(4) Tony Stark

(5) Steve Rogers

(6) Thor Odinson

(7) Loki Laufeyson

(8) Stephen Strange

(9) Scott Lang

(10) Peter Parker

(11) Bucky Barnes

(12) Yelena Belova

(13) Kate Bishop

(14) Wanda Maximoff

(15) Logan Howlett

(16) Wade Wilson

(17) Shuri

Songs:

(1) If You Love Her - Forest Blakk

(2) Wicked Game - Chris Issak

(3) Somewhere Only We Know - Keane

(4) All Gone Blue - Dianna Corcoran

(5) happier - Olivia Rodrigo

(6) Another Love - Tom Odell

(7) Creep - Radiohead

(8) Fix You - Coldplay

(9) Demons - Imagine Dragons

(10) Skyfall - Adele

(11) This Love - Maroon 5

(12) Misery - Maroon 5

(13) One More Night - Maroon 5

(14) Numb Little Bug - Em Beihold

(15) Bed Of Roses - Bon Jovi

(16) Wait For You - Myles Smith

(17) In The Stars - Benson Boone

(18) Try - P!nk

(19) Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult

(20) IDGAF - Dua Lipa

(21) Stargazing - Myles Smith

(22) The Night We Met - Lord Hutton

(23) Deja Vu - Olivia Rodrigo

(24) Traitor - Olivia Rodrigo

(25) Belong Together - Mark Ambor

(26) Something About Her - Stephen Sanchez

(27) Evangeline - Stephen Sanchez

(28) Only Girl - Stephen Sanchez

(29) What'll I Do - Irving Berlin/Frank Sinatra/Nat King Cole etc.

(30) BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eillish

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daydreamervalchen · 6 months ago

Note

Curse of Lazarus – What if? Anlässlich des neuen Website Updates, was uns ja, doch schon einiges über die Counselors verrät, was sind Ideen die ihr für euren Charakter hattet, die ihr dann doch verworfen habt? Seien es alternative göttliche Elternteile, FCs oder einfach Kleinigkeiten die es letztendlich nicht in den Steckbrief geschafft haben? :)

Yay eine CoL Frage :D Auch wenn du sie schon vor einiger Zeit gestellt hast, will ich jetzt mal schnell meine letzten drei Gehirnzellen anstrengen und versuchen mich daran zu erinnern, was ich bei Vlad alles geändert habe :')

[1] Wenn ich mich recht erinnere bin ich von Vlads Grundkonzepte gegen Ende dann abgewichen...zu Beginn lag sein Fokus mehr darauf, dass er in seiner Zeit im Camp sehr viele prophetische Träume hatte und ihn auch viele der Götter in seinen Träumen erschienen sind um ihn quasi als Messanger-Dienst für ihre Kinder zu gebrauchen. (Weil sein Vater Morpheus in der Mythologie häufig dafür eingesetzt wird Menschen Botschaften von den Göttern via Träumen zu übermitteln) davon bin ich dann sehr abgekommen, warum auch immer :')) Ich glaube OC entwickeln meist erst beim Schreiben ein Eigenleben xD

[2] Vlad ist im Grunde viel umgänglicher, als ich ihn zunächst geplant hatte...was wohl daran liegt, dass ich Angst hatte, dass er ansonsten Yūhei vom Charakter her zu ähnlich wird...Er ist ein dauermüde Koffein-Junkie geblieben, aber wie gesagt, ist er wesentlich "sozialer" als zu Beginn geplant, auch wenn er jetzt nicht so den Anschein liefert.

[3] Zurückkommend auf Punkt 1 hatte ich geplant, dass Vlad wegen diesen ganzen Träumen und Götter-Messages in seiner Jugend eine Art Trauma davon getragen hat, dass er als Erwachsener sehr wenig bis gar nicht schläft. Das verhindert er mit A) Koffein und B) Extremsportarten um sich wach und aufgeputscht zu halten. Davon ist am Ende dann nicht mehr so viel übrig geblieben und Vlad betreibt jetzt nur noch verschiedene Arten von Klettern als Sport. Zunächst wollte ich ihm eigentlich noch Höhlentauchen, Höhlenwandern und Bungee Jumping geben, aber dann dachte ich mir so: "Moment...wann hat er Zeit um das alles zu machen, wenn er so viel mit der Familie beschäftigt ist und Vollzeit im Camp arbeitet?!" xD Vlad meidet zwar immer noch Schlafen so gut es geht, aber die Gründe dafür haben so verlagert.

[4] Ich bin Mitten im Steckbrief schreiben zur Erkenntnis gekommen, dass ich mir absolut null Gedanken über Vlads Mutter gemacht habe, aber seine Babuschka/Großmutter war schon so fest in meinem Plan verankert. Um ehrlich zu sein hatte ich dann einfach keine Muse seine Mutter auszuarbeiten, weil ich mir auch mit Mutter-Kind-Beziehungen bei OC überraschend schwer tue (liegt wahrscheinlich auch daran, dass ich in meinen üblichen Fandom meist keine Verwendung für Eltern habe und die deswegen oft früh das Zeitliche segnen xD) Also habe ich dann einfach Caleb angeschrieben und gefragt, ob ich meine alternative Lösung umsetzten und eine "biologische Mutter" quasi umgehen kann :')

[5] Familientechnisch war es auch nicht geplant, dass Vlads Verwandtschaft so groß wird...seine Cousine hatte ich eingeplant, aber der Neffe war mehr so aus Jux und Tollerei heraus entstanden, weil Vlad hat ja noch nicht genug damit zu tun sich um Haus, Hof, Hund, zwei betagte Damen und die Camp-Kiddies zu kümmern lol.

[6] Überhaupt war Vlads starker Familienfokus auch nicht so gar nicht geplant, aber ich dachte mir so richtig "Oh Morpheus ist der Neffe von Thanatos und Cora (und jetzt ja auch Irene yay :D) ist ein Kind von ihm, lass mal doch noch eine Verbindung zu seiner "Cousine" aufbauen. :'D Cora hatte ich zunächst gar nicht auf dem Schirm und das war mehr eine Spontanidee, über die ich am Ende doch sehr froh bin.

[7] Wenn ich mir Vlads Pinterest so ansehe, dann wage ich mich zu erinnern, dass er anfangs auch mehr Richtung "manhoe" gegangen ist, er war nie mega flirty geplant, aber schon so, dass er sehr "viel rumkommt"...davon bin ich dann auch wieder etwas abgekommen, als bf Dale dann irgendwann mit in die Planung gerutscht ist.

[8] Vlad ist einer meiner wenigen OC (wenn vielleicht nicht sogar der einzige) der gar keine Piercings und/oder Tattoos und/oder Narben hat. Bodymodifikationen gebe ich nämlich ansonsten recht gerne und Narben tragen auch viele meiner Charaktere. Zu Beginn war auch dahingehend etwas geplant, ich glaube mindestens ein Zungenpiercing und ein Tattoo.

sooo an mehr kann ich mich leider nicht mehr erinnern. Jedenfalls danke für die Frage! (:

#curse of lazarus #mmff #oc: vladimir volkodav #ffmmff

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gesundheit-politik · 6 months ago

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🌍 Wettervergleich: Insel Rab vs. Nord- & Mittelhessen 🌤️

Ein spannender Blick auf das Wetter – perfekt für alle, die wissen möchten, wie es woanders aussieht! 👇

📍 Insel Rab, Kvarner Bucht, Primorje, Kroatien

🌡️ 10 °C | 🌊 Wassertemperatur: 12 °C

💨 Starker Bora-Wind (65-110 km/h)

🌫️ Luftfeuchtigkeit: 60-70 % | 📉 Luftdruck: 1016 hPa

⚠️ Wetterwarnung: Vorsicht vor heftigen Böen!

📍 Seeweiher Mengerskirchen, Mittelhessen

🌡️ 1-2 °C | 💨 Ruhiger Wind (5-10 km/h)

🌫️ Luftfeuchtigkeit: 80 % | 📉 Luftdruck: 1021 hPa

☀️ Nebel am Morgen, später aufklarend. Ab morgen: frostig & sonnig!

📍 Homberg (Efze), Nordhessen

🌡️ 0-3 °C | 💨 Ruhiger Wind (5-10 km/h)

🌫️ Luftfeuchtigkeit: 82 % | 📉 Luftdruck: 1020 hPa

☀️ Morgens Nebel, später Sonne – ideales Wetter für Outdoor-Aktivitäten!

📍 Wettesingen (Breuna), (Nordhessen)

🌡️ 0-2 °C | 💨 Ruhiger Wind (5-10 km/h)

🌫️ Luftfeuchtigkeit: 85 % | 📉 Luftdruck: 1022 hPa

☀️ Nebel am Morgen, später Mix aus Wolken & Sonne.

✨ Fazit:

Die Insel Rab lockt mit mildem Wetter, aber aktuell mit heftigen Bora-Winden. 🌬️ In Hessen ist es kühler und ruhig – perfekt für Spaziergänge in Wäldern und am See. ❄️

🌟 Kroatien oder Deutschland? Oder wo zieht es euch hin? 🤔

Kleine Info:

Die Kvarner Bucht gehört nicht zu Dalmatien, sondern zum kroatischen Küstenland (Primorje). Dalmatien beginnt südlich der Kvarner Bucht (ab Zadar). Inseln wie Rab, Krk und Lošinj sind Teil dieser einzigartigen Region zwischen Istrien und Dalmatien.

💡 Ich selbst träume davon, trotz #mecfs wieder salzige milde Luft an der Küste zu genießen – sei es zur Algenblüte auf Rab im Frühling, Touristen noch spärlich im April/Mai, oder im milden trockenen September.

Ansonsten zu trockenen, warmen Zeiten gern wieder Richtung Greetsiel, Norddeich, Neuharlingersiel, Husum, Insel Langeoog oder Spiekeroog, Borkum, oder auch Richtung Varel an die Nordsee oder doch die schöne, mildere Ostsee mit Pelzerhaken und Retin, vielleicht mal Wismar, Boltenhagen oder Usedom oder gar Insel Fehmarn oder die Ostsee Inseln Dänemarks?! 🌊

#Wettervergleich #InselRab #nordsee #ostsee #Nordhessen #Mittelhessen #Kroatien #KvarnerBucht #Primorje #mecfs #cwg64d #oculiauris #mecfsnordhessen

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starkerfestivals · 1 year ago

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Hello!

Introducing our February event, we have a Secret Starker Valentines Event!

Info:

This is an exchange event. We accept fanfics, fanart, and gifsets/Moodboards.

Minimums:

Fanfic: 2000 1000 words

Fanart: Lineart

Gifsets/Moodboards/Other Edits: 9 images

The schedule will be as follows:

Assignments will be given out: 01/19-01-20

Duration: 01/20-02/25 11:59 PM PST

From 2/25-2/28, pinchhitters will be contacted and assigned if necessary

Posting Date 🎉🎉: 02/29

How This Works:

1. To join the Secret Starker Valentines Event, please sign up using the form below.

You will be asked to provide 3 prompts to be given to another participant who will be chosen to create content for you. (These prompts can be as generalized or as detailed as you want but please keep in mind that someone else will be creating a gift for you so being too general or too specific may cause difficulties)

2. Once the form is closed, each participant will be given the prompts for another participant.

Only one work is needed to complete this event so you may choose 1/3 of the prompts.

3. During the duration of the event, the mods will reach out twice before the due date. These check-ins are just to check the progress. You do not need to be done with your gift when we send these check-in messages 🎁

4. Due Date: Your gift is officially due on this date.

5. Posting Date: On 2/29, you may officially post your gift! We will have a How to Post for this event a week before 2/29.

We hope you join us in our February event! Feel free to DM any of the mods or send in an ask to the blog if you have any questions.

#starker #starkerfestivalsevents #info #sfsecretstarker24

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thestarkerisobvious · 1 year ago

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Saltburn - A Starker Story (With Footnotes)

This is a spoiler-free story, starring Starker, with amazing art by @mrstarksbaby Enjoy.

Peter’s father has a title.(1) Peter’s family lives in a castle.(2)

Throughout Oxford(3), that is what people say about him. The first thing they say about him. Sometimes the only thing they say about him. His father has a title. His family lives in a castle. What else would you need to know?

Unless, of course, you talked to Peter. Then you would find out a few more things.

Like how his mother had been a ridiculously famous groupie, knowing all the bands that had been hot in London in the 90’s, to the point that she had songs written about her(4). Like how his father would throw lavish parties for almost-strangers, just to give him an excuse to wear his family’s armor. Like how his parents were so comically out-of-touch with the real world they had once asked him “where Liverpool was located.”(5)

He would also tell you about the many other people that lived at Saltburn. And, if you were VERY special, he might tell you about Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark was an employee of the family, but in many ways he was a family friend as well. It was often that way when people worked together for decades. Peter’s father trusted Mr. Stark with his life, and with Peter’s life as well. Technically Mr. Stark's title was “Head Butler.” Which is why the family called him “Anthony.” It was customary for the royalty to call the help by their first name, and the help to call the family by their last name. Only Peter insisted, even as an adult, on calling the trusted man “Mr. Stark.” It sounded overly formal, but it was completely the opposite. Peter trusted Mr. Stark more than any other human being on earth.(6)

And with good reason. It was Mr. Stark that saw that Peter wasn’t doing well at school, not because of his title, but because of his brain. It was Mr. Stark that convinced the family that Peter SHOULD graduate a year early - that the challenge of the extra coursework would help Peter thrive where he had been floundering. It was Mr. Stark who convinced the family to let Peter take a math track,(7) rather than try to fulfill any vague artistic dreams his mother once had for him. Yes, the boy had the soul of a poet, but the mind of an engineer. A mind that would be be so much happier with a practical degree.(8)

And so Peter excels at school. You should know that about him. You should know that he went to Oxford a year early. And that he loves every minute of his studies. (9)

But not of going to university. Peter is a real brain, and a complete softy, but no one ever sees that. His cousin MJ never lets him forget, or lets anyone forget, that he has a title and lives in a castle. Peter MUST be a careless snobby playboy partier because everyone in the upper-upper-crust crowd is a careless snobby playboy partier and Peter, well, Peter fits in with everyone in the upper-upper-crust. (But that’s not really who Peter is. Peter is a dreamer. An artist. A photographer. But only Mr. Stark knows that about Peter. Only he encourages it.)

Peter is not happy at Oxford. (10)

Enter Quentin. (11)

Quentin seems to be everywhere for Peter. (12) There when Peter gets a flat tire while biking (13) to school. There when Peter needs a real conversation (14) while all his friends were doing shots. There when Peter needs someone to answer the question “Tell me about yourself.”

And so the year at Oxford goes on. Things are good. Quentin makes a good mate and Peter makes good marks and MJ doesn’t get too toxic when Peter doesn’t spend his every weekend partying with her friends. And Peter keeps Tony updated about everything and looks forward to break. (15)

But as the year comes to a close, tragedy strikes. Quentin’s family seems to have imploded - but the solution seems simple! Peter will simply invite Quen to Saltburn to stay the summer! It seems like a great idea - to have his new friend at his side all summer. And Peter is happy. Happy that he can help Quen now, the same way Quen helped him in his time of need. He’s thrilled!! His mother, as batty and clueless as she is, is thrilled! His father is not bothered! Even MJ, in her condescending muted way, seems to not-hate it…

Everyone is happy!!!

Except Mr. Stark.

Peter can’t explain it. But Mr. Stark is being odd. Awful. Mean. Cold to Quen, hostile, even. Peter can’t explain it. Mr. Stark had always been wonderful to him… (16)

Quen is saying Mr. Stark hates him because he is the “common man.” Not that kind of person that “belongs at Saltburn.” Peter can’t stand the idea. He “orders” Mr. Stark to “stop being so dreadful” to Quen. Sometimes he acts like it’s a joke and laughs it off. But mostly Peter just pretends it isn’t happening. Quentin is his friend. Quentin understands Peter. That’s why Peter gave Quen the room next to him.

That’s why they were sharing a bathroom. (17)

Okay, the TRUTH is, Peter was really trying to seduce Quentin. Only… he was bad at it. (18)

VERY bad at it. As in… Quen seemed to be hitting on… MJ?! Only MJ wasn’t having it!?! Only they were like… a couple now? Or something?!?!

Peter was NOT happy.

How could he be?

He thought his dream had just come true. He has a FRIEND(19) at Saltburn. A friend to spend the summer with.(20) A friend that MIGHT… just might… help him with his little problem. (21)

Except…

Except Mr. Stark does not like Quentin. At all. Keeps being cold to Quen. Mean to Quen. Actively. In ways that cannot be denied, cannot be ignored. Seems to always be appearing in odd places, rarely giving the boys any time alone to themselves. Keeps appearing at Quen’s shoulder saying cryptic, menacing things. “People get lost at Saltburn” Mr. Stark had said. Whatever that meant. And Peter didn’t know what to do.

He had hoped this summer would turn out to be like a movie, like a Romantic Comedy, or at least like an 80’s Sex Romp. But it is quickly shaping up to be a tragedy. (22)

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footnotes below

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1 Sir. Peter’s father is a knight. With an actual suit of armor.

2 Saltburn

3 A college he did NOT choose for himself. But going to Oxford was his only option. It was Oxford or nothing, a shameful secret that Peter has always resented.

4 See Common People, Pulp

5 But if you ever said “But Peter, you’re so down-to-earth!” he would go on to explain the influence of his aunt and uncle. Who lived, along with so many other family members, at Saltburn. He would explain how his aunt and uncle in essence raised him while his mother continued to globetrot and hob-nob with the famous elite as if she had never had children, or even had married, at all. He would explain how, when his uncle Ben died, his adulthood had really begun. It was the first time Peter had taken a hard look around him and made some decisions. Some decisions about who he wanted to be.

There was another man, an older man, who had a great deal of influence on Peter. A man who had worked at Saltburn on and off for decades, appearing and reappearing in Peter’s life for as long as he could remember. That man had taken up permanent residence at Saltburn the year Peter had graduated high school, and had given him the courage he had needed to make his own demands about how his college education would proceed. Everyone in Peter’s life knew that Peter was going to Oxford if he went to college, but only Peter knew that it almost didn’t go to college at all. But Peter had a secret - a man with a superpower. A man who could help him.

6 Like the fact that Peter DID NOT LIKE GIRLS. It was Mr. Stark (who Peter called Tony, but only in private. Only behind closed doors) that convinced Peter it was a simple fact that he would be able to speak out loud in time. Convinced Peter that his parents were so much more open minded about these issues than Peter realized (after all, Mr. Stark knew Peter’s parents well.) It was Tony that Peter confessed his secret to first, as well as his plan. To tell the world. Eventually. After a year or two at Oxford. At least.

7 Because Tony KNOWS Peter. Knows what he’s REALLY like. What he REALLY likes. How he doubts himself. Completely. Constantly. What he wants to be in life. What he finds attractive in a man. Yes, Tony knows everything.

8 And would that be SO BAD??!! To have a REAL job? To be an engineer, or an inventor? Or an innovator? To have his own career, his own flat, his own life? (He wouldn’t live alone, of course. That would be too scary. He would bring someone with him from Saltburn, of course. Someone to live with him. Someone he trusted.)

(Like Tony.)

9 Well, he loves STUDIES. But class ends eventually. You have to stop studying EVENTUALLY. Put down the pencil. Shut the book. THAT'S when the problem begins - when the tightness begins - when the low-grade panic starts. But Peter ALWAYS knows the cure for that - the balm for that. THAT'S when he turns to his superhero. That’s when he gets out a sharp pencil and a clean piece of paper. And he starts to write a letter to Tony.

10 SO WHY IS HE STILL AT OXFORD?! WHY has he not run scared, run back home, run back to safety? How can he find the strength to get out of bed every day? To walk out of the door every day?? Because of Tony. Because of his superhero. That’s why.

Because Tony writes back. Constantly. Weekly. Sometimes DAILY. And - hell - let's just admit it - sometimes the letters are not enough and Peter CALLS HIM ON THE PHONE. And Tony tells him it will be okay. He can stay. He can study. And then Tony starts to ask Peter about his classes, and then they are talking about maths again, and then it's all okay. Peter is okay. Because school is a GOOD thing. It is a hard thing, but Peter can do hard things. And because, when break comes, Peter can see Tony again.

And when those phone calls last long into the dark night, well, no one needs to know about that. About what happens after Peter says goodbye to Tony, after he hangs up the phone. About what Peter dreams about at night. About what Peter’s hands do in the darkness, while his ears still echo with the sound of Tony’s voice.

11 …with his stupid soulful eyes and his stupid handsome face. Peter doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or punch him in his stupid beautiful face.

12 Really, it DID seem like Quentin was everywhere. Now that Peter knew his name, he realized he had seen Quen just about everywhere at Oxford. Funny how life throws you together sometimes.

13 Oh god, that flat tire. Peter was nothing without his bicycle. MJ and his mates would forever give him grief about it, but Peter didn’t drive. He had always been a year younger than everyone, and now he was two years behind, and driving was something that had always been done for his parents, not something that his parents did. But he had no fear, as long as he had his bike.

It would be different in the future, he knew. Tony had assured him that driving an automobile was not the mystery his parents made it out to be. Peter was smart (Tony said) and once Peter saw how it was done he would wonder why it had ever intimidated him.

Besides, Tony would teach him.

Just like Tony had taught him how to take care of his bike. Taught him how to take it apart and put it back together again. When you saw Tony in his official suit, you would never imagine what a “grease monkey” he had been in his youth. In his private time he liked to tinker with cars. Peter would never forget last summer when he had been allowed to sit in the spare garage and talk to Tony while Tony tinkered. Never forget what Tony looked like with his arms almost bare, his biceps bulging, sweat caressing his brow. Peter would remember that forever.

And Tony would actually teach Peter to drive, he was sure about it. That had been a promise. Peter thought about it often (mostly at night.) How Tony had pulled him into a friendly hug, Tony smelling of sweat and oil and something else… something… sturdy. Something strong. As if the man were made out of iron.

That’s when Tony had hugged Peter hard, clapped him on the back, and said “I’m your man, Kid.”

(He called Peter “Kid.” He was the only one allowed to call Petter “Kid.”)

“I’m your man, Kid,” he had said. Whispered, really.

“When you’re ready, I’ll teach you how to drive. I’ll teach you anything you want.”

He let go of Peter then, clapping him on both shoulders one more time. Letting his hands rest there for longer than a moment.

“When you’re ready.”

14 And while Quen could sometimes be invasive (sometimes annoyingly so) the man was a good conversationalist. Peter could talk to him for hours. And Quentin was well-read in all kinds of subjects. Really, anything Peter had latched onto, anything that caught his interest for a week or two that semester, Quentin always knew a lot about it. Whatever it was. It was uncanny, really.

15 Although when Peter DOES get home there won’t be any more letters from Tony. Which is funny, really. Peter loves those letters. Tony sometimes fills them with sketches of Saltburn - the towers or the gardens. And sometimes with sketches of Peter. “But I know what *I* look like - I see myself in the mirror every day” Peter complains. “Send me pictures of YOU.” And Tony does. Sends a single sketch of himself. In the sketch he is looking down. Looking tired. Looking a little guilty. But Peter likes to imagine Tony is looking down at something that has his complete attention. Something important.

Something like… Peter.

Yes, Peter likes looking at that picture of Tony at night. In the darkness. And then when he touches himself, he imagines his hands are Tony’s hands. Callused, but gentle. Knowing. But commanding as well…

16 …always gentle. Always helpful. Always honest. Because that’s what Tony WAS to Peter… the man who would cut through the bullshit. Cut through the pretension. Tell him the truth.

17 Because… and this was STUPID but… but Peter had a fantasy.

In that fantasy, he was done with university. He had his degree. He had freed himself, finally, from his family. And then, with his new career, with his new flat, with his new suit… he rang up Anthony.

Took him out. Took him on the town. They went to a pub together, took in a show. And then they talked. Talked like men. Talked like equals.

And then Peter took Tony home, and invited Tony into his bed.

As men.

As equals.

Only… only that’s where the fantasy abruptly ended. Because there was exactly one problem.

WHY would Tony go to bed with Peter if Peter was still a virgin??

And that’s where Quen came in.

Peter had a pesky problem, and he had set out to find another man to take care of that problem. And Quentin was that man. Peter had decided. This would be the summer - the summer that Peter lost his v-card and became a man. The kind of man that could take Tony Stark as a lover.

18 AND HOW COULD HE BE SO BAD AT IT?!? He thought he had made it CLEAR to Quen that he was ready. That he was just waiting for Q to make his move. I mean, how more obvious could Peter be?!? How many forehead kisses, blowing-kisses, and goodnight kisses, and jokes about oral sex, and late-night drinking games, would it take? Peter was being obvious, wasn’t he? He had given Q an adjoining bedroom. He had all but invited Quen to watch him bathe. He slept every night with his door open! What more did Quen want? An engraved invitation??

19 Okay maybe not so much “friend” as “boy I am using for one thing and one thing only” but hey. Friends used Peter all the time. And no matter what Quentin was, he certainly wasn’t hard to look at.

20 And it was going to be so perfect! Peter had it all planned out - he would tell Q that he spent every summer sunbathing - just like they did in France - completely in the nude. And then he and Quen would go shirtless and lay about on lawn furniture getting tanned. Shirtless - and eventually more than that. Peter had wanted so badly to do that last summer - and this time he would get up the nerve. To position himself outside the Great Hall window where Tony had his office. To take off his shirt - and maybe more - where Tony would certainly look out and see him. See his new, adult body. Realize that Peter was a man, now. A man to take seriously. A man that might want another man in his bed…

21 And okay dammit this was a big problem because that meant that PETER WAS STILL A VIRGIN HOW WAS THIS STILL A THING?!?!?!? Life was so damn unfair.

22 And, okay, maybe everyone is right. Maybe Quen does NOT belong here. Maybe everyone can see what Peter has been denying. Maybe Q IS too eager to please. Too eager to fit in. A little too obvious, too clunky, with his manipulation. But DAMMIT QUEN WAS JUST A MEANS TO AN END and Peter really REALLY can’t figure out WHY would Tony be mean to THIS particular classmate?! Dammit Peter just wanted to get laid…

At the dock MJ had demanded to know what was going on with Peter. Actually accused him of being in love with Quentin. Which was ridiculous - he wasn’t even 100% he would call Quentin a friend. Quentin was, at best, a study partner. He had invited Quen to Saltburn because of all the things he was going through at home… come on Quen’s dad having just died and his mom being a mess and…

Oh all right, let's be honest. He doesn’t even like Quentin that much. He brought Quentin back here because he thought Quentin had the hots for him. But in the end, Quentin is just one thing to Peter - a warm body. A warm body with a stiff cock, which Peter needs.

Because many things got “lost” at Saltburn, but…

… Peter’s virginity wasn’t going to get lost by itself.

#Starker #MrStarksBabyIsObviousProduction #ben's moodboards #thewitchway writes stuff #follow #MrStarksBabyIsObviousSeries #to see what other crazy things we have up our sleeve

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lanyakea-universe · 2 years ago

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Starker

Ten things Peter loves about Tony:

1) Tony

2) Making love with him

3) His ramblings

4) His smell

5) Feeling his beard against his skin, especially when they're kissing

6) The fondness in his eyes when Tony looks at him

7) His scars

8) His vain attempts to prepare an edible breakfast

9) The taste of his semen

10) His silly jokes

#starker #tony stark/peter parker #tony stark x peter parker #tony x peter #tony/peter

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maukree · 2 years ago

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Fanfiction masterlist:

Behold, the grand space where a master list could have been, but that's more effort than I'm willing to invest. So, just click this link to AO3 or something for all the works (or don't, I'm not your boss).

Individual shit in no specific order:

winterspider | winteriron | starker | winterhawk

Extremely biased Marvel comic book lore dump masterlist:

*random ships not just included but shoved in your face

Part 1 – Pre-Civil War (4k) Extremis, Execute Program, and the sudden but sexy return of Bucky as he slides into Steve's DMs. Part 2 – Civil War (11k) Steve says “freedom,” Tony says “law,” Peter says “dad?” and everything goes to hell (custody battle over Spider-Man). Part 3 – Post-Civil War (4k) Long Live Bucky Cap and his sad billionaire handler. Part 4 – Pre-and-During-Secret Invasion (12k) That time Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Tony backed up his brain and didn’t tell his secret boyfriend. Part 5 – Post-Secret Invasion, during Avengers, and up to and including Fear Itself (7.5k) In which Tony has permanent amnesia and doesn’t remember falling in love, Steve returns to Sharon through the power of eye contact with Bucky, and nobody we care about kisses. Come for the angst, stay for the panel of Bucky groping Tony’s bicep. *this recap is now complete.

#ao3 #fanfic #masterlist #peter parker #tony stark #bucky barnes #starker #winterspider #winteriron #maukree writes #maukree goes on about comic books

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definitelynottony · 7 months ago

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Top 5 starker tropes👀👀👀

Mmm hi, baby 🤤 in order of most fave to fave. No shame edition.

1. Incest (Father/son, Uncle/nephew)

2. Underage / Older figure

3. ABO (Alpha Tony, Omega Peter)

4. Enemies to Friends to Lovers

5. Mob

#I don't think there's a fic that hits all these marks at once but damn if there is 😩👌🏻#starker #tnpt #tony stark x peter parker #my baby boy

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therulerofallpotatos · 2 years ago

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Fic Tag Game

Tagged by: @wincestation, @realisticintentions, @realmermaid333, @cosmic-lullaby, @suchaladyy, @beri-allen

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

149

2. What's your Ao3 word count?

361,707 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Wednesday currently. Teen Wolf for six years. Harry Potter, Hannibal, Thorki, Starker, Twilight (Bella/Carlisle and Bella/Aro), The Umbrella Academy (not that i got very far before getting obsessed with wyler), and Madrigalcest (Primarily Brumira)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Overall?

Fuck It (Steter, Teen Wolf, 3,396)

When it Needs Fixing (Steter, Teen Wolf, 3,339)

Hostile Takeover (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,781)

Absolution (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,691)

Wandering in the Dark (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,250)

In Wednesday?

Her Monster (Wyler, 708)

Hold Me Close (Wyler, 593)

Revelations (Wyler, 499)

Warning, She Bites (Wyler, 464)

Impressing Wednesday Addams (Wyler, 387)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes. I reply when I have something meaningful to add. Otherwise it'd get very repetitive and generic and that kind of soulless connection isn't really the point of this kind of thing. I adore my comments nonetheless and I read them a lot.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hold on. I gotta skim my list.

update: i do not remember some of these fics or what happened in them

Maybe Modi the Brave (MCU, Thorki). This was an angsty fanfic of a fanfic. There was a happy ending in the original fic, The Rescue by madwriter223

I'm not counting Absolution because it was immediately followed by a sequel. But technically, it did get me the most angry sobbing comments which i treasure to this day.

The Final Straw was angsty but it was also dumb and half-cocked and the closest thing to an embarrassment on this account. It was literally just a half-thought half-scene of my 18yo self's emotional state in 2018 that is very evident that I wrote this angrily in study hall. I wrote a lot of fic in that high school during classes. Like a lot. It was my school computer. I got plenty of use out of it. There was no structure or coherent plot. I didn't even hint at anything deeper to be explored in your own minds. I didn't want to look at it long enough or think about it long enough. I just wanted it out of my head. If I didn't have a strict no deleting my works policy, or hiding from my past art policy, I would probably have deleted it within the week of posting. I do not understand how it has the kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks that it has. I guess it resonated. Good for y'all. I mean it.

Literally just the entirety of Tyler's Bad Year is meant to be about a very traumatic time in a young man's life and him surviving it. I'm not going to go through them and try to pick out "the worst" one. That's not really the point and it'd be largely subjective.

I'll Eat You Raw has an angsty ending but angstiest? I'm not sure.

I don't write a lot of bad endings. Open endings? sure. Complicated endings? Absolutely. But unhappy endings? No. I don't often have the desire.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Jesus fuck we want to be here all day? Ok lemme look through shit again.

Wandering in the Dark has a whole story behind it. There was actually two versions. Only one was posted to ao3 and is the "canon" version. I wrote this fic for a high school assignment my senior year. We were assigned to pick a chronic disease out of a literal hat, then write a story around it. We had complete creative control so I took that chance to write teen wolf steter fanfic in class and actually have it be on task for once (I got an A in that class btw). The reason my teacher got a dark ending version is because by the time he got back to me on the maximum word count, I'd already finished the canon version and it was way too long. I couldn't trim the fat, so I wrote a different ending to shorten the story. That version is one of the angstier stories I've written. The one posted and linked above, is the very happy by comparison. This fic is also designed to be read by someone who doesn't know shit about teen wolf.

Through Thick and Thin was also extremely happy. As is Her Monster. Benevolent Gods was meant to be very hopeful. The Hale Pack (Undying) was the end to a series that was my baby for a long time . Like long enough you can see my writing evolve as you go. Part one was one of the first things i ever wrote. Like ever. The last part was years later. Jasper was meant to be a very light-hearted, happy story as well. It's extremely sweet and fluffy. You was also very happy and the epilogue cemented that happiness. Warning: She Bites literally had a happy end that unknowingly prevented a main character committing suicide in the near future. Saving lives by being horny. Wednesday Evening, and every installment in that series, is excessively happy as well.

Alright I ran through my list of fics. These were the ones that stood out. There's too many to really commit to one answer tbh. Especially because the way they're happy varies.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. Or. Well. I'm sure I do. I block antis on sight and I wholly reject purity culture, and I haven't really been the target of a major attack or anything. I don't get as many hateful comments as one might think, and I don't entertain the ones I do get. I've been accused of vile shit of course because of a fic I wrote. I don't remember what fic or even what ship it was for because I don't dwell on them really at all. Aside from that, I get more entitled but probably ignorant to how they come off as entitled comments that aren't really that big a deal. Just a bit of a peeve sometimes. I honestly think the majority of them truly believe it's a kind gesture when they say it.

9. Do you write smut? What kind?

Yeah. You could say that.

What kind? In a word? Intense. I could make a joke or a long elaboration on my niche in hyde sex and whatnot, but at the end of the day, intense. Even my most laid back, domestic, slice of life fics have a sense of intensity to them because otherwise I get bored and it feels soulless and it's just not my writing style.

10. Do you write cross-overs?

When I feel like it. When I have an idea.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have a steter fic on a russian fic website that was translated years ago. I have no idea which it was or if it's still there. Wait! I might remember. Yeah no. I don't remember. It wasn't the one I thought of.

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No. I've started to outline one before but it went nowhere and we both forgot about it.

13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Harry Potter and the Night that Changed Everything.

I had a whole novel basically planned for it. Writing Bellatrix and a Harry who was raised by Bellatrix took a lot out of me emotionally, and I lost steam.

Also, a Bella Swan/Marcus Vulturi fic that i also had a novel length plot planned out, wrote three chapters for, and then lost steam when I left the fandom due to getting the life sucked out of me by a bunch of toxic people in the fandom killing my joy. Those chapters are just collecting dust in my files right now. I'd like to go back to it one day and finish it in some form or another. Maybe it's original enough I could actually just write an original novel out of the scraps I already have. Actually, to be honest, it is probably original enough that I could write it as an original story. There is not a lot of Twilight there that is necessary to the story and can easily be written out. Something to think about maybe. Ironically not the first prompt I thought up initially for Twilight that I then realized nothing about Twilight was necessary for the idea I had, and I just wrote it without Bella entirely. This is how my original zombie novel started and then immediately evolved into an entirely different thing that has nothing to do w Twilight. Like literally nothing. I had to work to put the Twilight into that one. Not the other way around.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

wyler (steter and tomarry honorary).

15. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and characterization

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

pacing. movement heavy scenes. Longer projects if only because I have less practice at them.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Yeah. If it fits, I'll write it. I won't pretend to be fluent, but I'll do my best. Probably won't do anything too complicated for the sake of realism of my abilities. Especially if it's not Spanish which I at least have spent time trying to learn.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Teen Wolf

19. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Listen...

We've established how well I am at picking one end all number one.

Fuck ok. back to the list.

Water of the Womb was one I was planning to write for almost a year and it turned out pretty good I think. Actually no.

No. It's not a fic that's been posted yet.

I think the favorite fic I've ever written is I Bit Him So He's Mine. it's my "Wednesday is a Hyde season one rewrite au". It's my first novel that is more than just a future novel. It's hit 40k and I have to start Act 2 still. It's my first proper murder mystery where the mystery is the primary plot equal to the romance. I've had a lot of fun with it, I've put my heart and soul into it, and I really look forward to calling it ready to post. Once it's done, you guys are getting regular updates for a long time.

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

Out of the Fire haunts me. It was a lesson to learn. I had the desire to write a steter/hannigram crossover and zero plan of any kind outside that. It crashed and burned because I only had a first chapter in me. I recently met a local and successful author who recognized my ao3 username because of this fic and remembered me years later enough to compliment my writing (I cannot express how much that meant to me). Wait no that might have been Mark of an Angel which also haunts me, but I didn't have zero plan. I had almost no plan, and lost steam when I hit a creative block at a bad time. Normally, I'd have just sat down and workshopped a starter outline and wrote myself out of that block, but I lost steam so I never did. Different deal. Not as impactful in my creative journey. Out of the Fire, however, was very important to me because of why it failed, and remains very influential with every new project I start. Actually rewriting/finishing that project would be a defining moment for me as a writer, I think. At least to me personally.

Tagging: @duplicitywrites, @dispatchvampire, @dark-visitors, @fiktorsempra, @graciebirdie, @gardenoblues, @grim-reaper-barbie13, @gabelish, @killingdoll, @lavender-lotion, @lovepoison9, @wednesdayandherhyde, @udunie, @itshype, @insomniac1994, @onlyangelxo, @obsidianpen, @ourdramaqueen, @persephoneed, @pororoh, @badmoodbatflowers, @brascu

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #wyler #my writing #tomarry #wednesday fanfic #teen wolf #steter #hannigram #thorki #harrymort #not all of my teen wolf fics were steter but most were #i am also v proud of my stallison fic #sometimes i just write one fic for a ship i had an idea about but only really had the one passion project for #this also included jasper/bella #and was going to include marcus/bella #i had a Caius/Bella idea as well that I never had the chance to start

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