#but when i searched for the original creator i couldn’t find it

[romidoes]

in the back of my mind, i killed you

and i didn’t even regret it

i can’t believe i said it

but it’s true

i hate you.

[avocad1s]

In The Eye Of A Hurricane

Requested By: No one. Original Work.

Includes: Dottore, Scaramouche, Arlecchino, Capitano (separately)

CW: Mentions of Characters wanting to hurt or kill you, manipulating, experimenting, the harbingers are a warning themselves, the typical golden blood for the Creator lol

Summary: You’re dropped in Teyvat and hunted down due to your likeness to the Creator. You decide run from your hunters until you run into a Fatui Harbinger camp.

Note: Trying to get back into the gist of writing and i love the harbingers so enjoy this for now :)

INAZUMA + SCARAMOUCHE

- Inazuma was a dangerous place to be hunted. Once the Shogun laid eyes on you the real archon, Ei, left the plane of euthymia and tried to attack you. However the lighting fast swing of her sword seemed to only graze your shoulder, her foot fell into a conveniently placed hole that threw her off balance.

- You took the chance to run away, not without Kujou Sara quickly chasing after yelling at her soldiers to ‘seize the imposter’

- You managed to escape, somehow. You didn’t want to question the absurd amount of luck. Once you were finally able to settle against the bottom of a large cliff, the wound on your shoulder began to sting.

- You let out a wince, pulling back the cloth to assess the damage.

- … How curious… your shoulder seemed to be leaking …gold? You shake your head quickly, you couldn’t focus on that right now. You were sure Ei would search behind every rock to find you.

- And you weren’t exactly sure what her intentions would be once she had you.

- However you had no time to relax before you were surrounded by multiple people, their faces obscured with masks. They all wore coats and gloves despite the weather

- “How dare you stumble upon our camp? There’s a lord harbinger here you know.”

- They seemed almost boastful by that statement until they noticed the blood spilling out of your shoulder.

- The color drained from their faces. “…I it can’t be… right? Surely this isn’t…”

- The group immediately fell to your feet spilling out apology after apology for speaking out of term. You could only look down at them with wide eyes, feeling a wave of awkwardness as they treat you like a deity.

- “You’re incessant blabbering is hurting my ears. Keep it down.”

- Another young man appears behind the kneeling group. Despite his stature, you could tell he was insanely powerful. His eyebrows were creased as he stares down at them, he then looks up to meet your gaze, then your wounds before his face softened.

- “Lord Harbinger! I-It’s…!”

- “Your Grace, it’s you.” Scaramouche finished. “You’re hurt. Who did this to you?”

- He begins to approach you, but when you take a step back he putting his hands up as a sign of peace.

- “It was Ei… she striked me and then the Tenryou Commission chased me all the way here.”

- The Balladeer lets out an amused laugh, “foolish Beelzebul… can’t even see the truth when it’s right in front of you…”

- You decide not to reply to his chiding remark, it didn’t seem like he was talking to you.

- Scaramouche turns his head to look back at his subordinates a cold glare in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing? Can’t you see Their Grace is injured? Go get the medical supplies.” He barked.

- The group gets up and immediately scatters, running off to the tents a few meters away with the signature Fatui insignia embroidered in the side.

- The puppet looks back at you, “You can follow me Your Grace. You can stay in my tent for the time being and I can tell you just how unfaithful the Shogun has been.”

SUMERU + DOTTORE (experimenting & blood)

- For once in his decades of living, Dottore would admit he was a fool.

-The akademiya declared you as an imposter to Their Grace and he knew he had to get his hands on you. Someone stole the face of the Creator? How interesting… he wanted to peer beneath the surface himself to see how it was possible.

- He had noticed you the second you haphazardly stepped into his camp. Subduing you was the easy part, but once he had dragged you into his tent telling his subordinates not to bother him, he began to hesitate.

-He look down at you on his table, looking blissfully unaware he couldn’t even pick up the scalpel.

- What? No! He would killed Kusanali if he had to, what made you so different?

- He curses at himself before grabbing the scalpel pressing it into your forearm. Once blood pours out of the cut he immediately pulls back the sharp object.

- So you were the true creator. Dottore’s eyes were fixated on the small trail of gold blood spilling down your skin. He touches it with his gloved hand inspecting it closely.

- It was just as the scriptures said, blood as gold as the sun with a shimmery look to it.

- The Doctor begins to stitch you back up, picking you up bridal style placing you on a nearby soft surface.

- He sits down next to you, even while sleeping, you look absolutely ethereal. Like Her Majesty the Tsaritsa had said.

- With you in his grasp he could accomplish anything, using you as a bargaining chip to obtain the gnosis would be all too easy

- Perhaps if you believe he was your only faithful acolyte, you would bless him with the knowledge of the stars or even the deepest secrets of Celestia.

- All he had to do was be patient and he was a very patient man.

FONTAINE + ARLECCHINO

- The House Of the Hearth is usually shrouded by darkness. No one knows what happens inside and anyone who wants to escape don’t make it out alive (allegedly).

- Even though children weren’t used to having visitors, Father always tells them how to treat their guests.

- So when Father returned to the house holding you in her arms, your body soaked with your own golden blood. The children immediately sprang into action.

- Her face was unreadable as they quickly began to grab all the medical supplies they had bringing it to The Knave.

- With a steady hand, she fixes you up until you were stable.

- While she was in the room, her hand grasping yours. The children left to buy many gifts they believed you might like.

- The House was good at obtaining and withholding secrets, and Arlecchino will do everything in her power to make sure no one knew of your presence in the house, in Fontaine, or even in all of Teyvat.

- She wanted you all to herself, she wasn’t even afraid of admit it. She will be as sweet as honey, drawing you in closer and closer until you were stuck in her trap.

- Although she would never hurt you! Ever since she was a child and went by a different name she was sure having you would make everything better.

- Arlecchino’s fingers brush your face, her nails dragging down your cheekbone. Even being this close to you now, made her heart race.

- When the children come rushing back in, she immediately shushes them. She wouldn’t allow them to disturb your sleep, but you would soon wake up to healed wounds and as many sweet treats you could handle.

NATLAN + CAPITANO

- It is… unclear what Capitano’s intent is in Natlan. Did he just want to battle the Pyro Archon? Prove that even a human like himself could strike down a God? Or maybe he just wanted the Gnosis. Maybe even both.

- Natlan was considered the nation of war and once you were considered an imposter, your fate was undoubtedly sealed.

- It was like a nationwide bounty hunt, everyone was after your head and no matter where you hid, no where was safe for long.

- Until you ran into a broad chest knocking you down to the ground. You look up with wide eyes.

- You could tell this man was powerful. Way more powerful than anyone else you had ran into (and ran away from). His face was obscured but his long dark hair went down to his shoulders.

- At first he watches you closely, not saying a word then he kneels down to get a closer look at you.

- You squeeze your eyes shut. This was it, this is the end.

- “Your Grace…?”

- You open your eyes, “w—what…?”

- “Are you alright?”

- You were confused, why wasn’t he attacking you?

- He seemed to notice your confusion. “Youre bleeding your Grace. Did someone attack you?” he gestured to the cut on your cheek.

- You didn’t even notice the cut, your adrenaline had been at an all time high that you hadn’t felt any pain.

- You touch the cut, feeling the wetness on your fingers. You lift it up noticing that your finger was coated in gold.

- “I uh… i don’t know…” you say your eyes fixated on the anomaly. 

- He left out a huff, sounds slightly disappointed you didn’t know. “I can protect you.” he says. “I won’t allow anyone to harm you.”

- He holds out one of his large hands and hesitantly, you take it.

- Capitano was extremely gentle with you as he helps you up leading you to his camp. It was like having your own personal knight, you were sure that if anyone came looking to take your head, he would handle it.

- Capitano wouldn’t show it in front of you, but he was livid. Seeing you hurt, knowing that he couldn’t protect you while the two of you were in the same nation sickens him.

- He keeps his anger on the inside, not wanting to scare you as he brings you into his personal tent. For now, he’ll stay with you making sure you’re alright and that all your needs are tended to.

- His righteous nature couldn’t let this go unanswered, he would make sure the Pyro Archon pays for her sins.

Note: So I am officially back with writing! Trial by Combat will be out soon!

© avocad1s 2024

[lonelysheepling]

Recently read @queenofthequillandink ’s DPxDC crossover fic Unearthed, Reborn

I got inspired to draw character sheets for Danny, Sam, Jason, and Jazz’s vigilante personas. Here’s a link to the author’s drawings of their outfits (these were a vital reference for me when doing this so thank you so much for sharing them Quill) More commentary (like 7+ paragraphs plus 2 images) about this project and the designs below the “keep reading” line.

None of these thoughts I have for each character are in order, but I have a lot of commentary for these since this project was a lot more conceptual than my normal work. I also just like talking about my art/design process. If you ever find yourself wondering at some point why an element from the original design wasn’t included, the answer is that the removal was completely intentional and part of my grandmaster vision for this work and wasn’t because I just forgot about it entirely during the design process.

————————————————————————

Aconite (Sam)

This was the first one I sketched out, I wasn’t even sure at the time if I was going to fully commit to drawing all of them. I thought that Sam was gonna be the hardest since her description was way longer than the others, but then bird boy beat her out. I took a lot of creative liberties with her design, the bag was added bc I couldn’t figure out how to add pockets to the skirt. I was trying to avoid a joker color scheme so I had a lot of ref images that I got by searching like “purple green aesthetic” on Pinterest. The dark purple and dark forest/blueish green won out in the end. I desaturated a lot of my colors for her just to get as far away from the neon Gotham rogue aesthetic. I also added the bdsm harness over the armor to add more punk elements to her design, I know that in real life that would be very uncomfortable to wear over scalemail armor but sometimes we take creative liberties when they look sick as fuck. Also, I didn’t realize until I went to look for a reference for aconite flowers that aconite is wolfsbane! That was neat to learn! Also, the font I used for Aconite is called “zai Art School Calendar 1931”, I’ve used this a few times for other projects, it’s one of my favorite fonts. The ‘zai’ fonts the creator has are all very good.

Shade (Danny)

There wasn't much to add to this page. His outfit is pretty simple (besides the patterning). I wasn’t sure how to pull of an optical illusion pattern but I was reminded how I sometimes get an eyestrain induced headache when looking at someone wearing a patterned shirt with really thin stripes so I just leaned into the idea of a small/detailed hard lined pattern. I originally made 5 separate patterns for him and then turned them into stamp brushes in procreate. I only ended up using three of them, the one on the chest, the one on the legs, and the one on his hand. But, I imagine the patterns fade and shift when he moves, sort of like a lenticular print. I gave him constellation freckles and stylized the hair’s fade into white. The hair was inspired by how time-woods draws Martin Blackwood’s hair (linked: time-woods’s fanart of Martin Blackwood). Also put way too much effort into the teeth on the mask. I just like the chunky teeth design. Oh yeah and the font I used for him is called “Typewriter_Condensed_Demi”

Erinys (Jason)

Repeatedly ran into the issue of not having enough canvas space bc of my fervent need to thoroughly document and plan out how the wings worked. I also reversed the colors for the bodysuit & armor so the under layer was black while the armor plates were red. I only realized afterwards that I may have been inspired by the red centipedes in Rain World (linked: gif of the red centipede, don’t click the link if you’re unsettled/afraid of bugs/insects), artists subconsciously draw inspiration from other artists all the time though so I’m not like upset about it. I stand by it because it looks sick as hell. Also leaned into the magpie theming for the wings. I think the vigilante form was supposed to be reverse magpie coloring? I can’t remember, but I stuck with normal magpie coloring. The anatomy of how the wings connected to the collarbone was inspired by JayEaton’s Magpie Bridge Project. Reference image link. Link to the article the image is from. I didn’t draw the wing armor because I couldn’t figure out how to would work with the wing anatomy and I ran out of canvas space. Finally, the font used for him is “DIN Condensed” this is a default font, I would’ve used something more punk but I needed the text to be legible.

Insight (Jazz)

I did Jazz after I’d already finished the initial trio, so I had to switch to a new canvas for her bc I’d hit the layer limit multiple times on the previous one. I really do love doing that spiked under-eyelash thing with characters. Don’t know when that started. Anyway, I added the shoulder pads to her outfit to help break up the empty space. The golden eyes were a nice accent color since her design is very overwhelmingly green. Honestly the braid hairstyle and gold eyes really do obscure her identity, multiple times when drawing her I was worried that she didn’t really resemble Jazz enough. There wasn’t a drawing from the author for her so I only had the text description to go off of. I just realized that she sort of reminds me of a forest ranger and I don’t know what to do with that realization. I copy/pasted my drawing of her eyes when gold and recolored them to match her normal eye color. There were two layers for that, a hue shift and a hard light layer to emphasize the shadows.

Here’s what it looks like without the hue shift: 

It looks really cool and I’m 100% that color combo in another drawing down the line. Oh yeah and the font used for this sheet was “Euphemia UCAS”. It comes with Apple’s operating system, I use it as a neutral default text most of the time bc it’s nicer than helvetica but not overly fancy like Times New Roman—and why am I talking about fonts. ——————————————————————— Anyway, this project was very fun to work on. The alt text for this was its own endeavor, hope the folks using screen-readers don’t mind 4-5 paragraphs of description text. Also, I cannot remember for the life of me if Dani got a costume description, but if she does I’ll make sure to update this image set with a sheet for her. And to the author, QueenOfTheQuill, if you’re reading this message that I’ve left at the very bottom of this post below a read more line, thank you for the fic. It’s very good and I’m glad I caught it during my slow decent into DPxDC brainrot. I love the interactions between Jason and Tim, it’s nice seeing a revived Jason that’s not bogged down by pit rage. They definitely seem like they could’ve been good friends if not for the unfortunate circumstances that led them to meet in canon. Also, I’m sure Jazz will love interacting with Batman and Nightwing. So much psychological & childhood trauma to unpack with them. Feel free to use/share these images if you so desire and thanks again for your work.

[san8ny]

STILL GOT IT !

?: While you continue reign over your niche internet kingdom, Ellie finds herself consumed with thoughts of you, you and you! So much so, her fans are staring to notice. Joining your livestream, which she’s been trying to abstain from, you quickly remind her on why you’re so addictive in the first place! / E.W / 18+

!: too lazy to write all warnings but pretty tame when it comes to smut. s

Her heart initially falls to her ass when she sees the plethora of comments underneath her latest video, usual adornment of little heart emojis which now turned into discussions of twitter threads. How had a clipping of her rubbing herself inside a public bathroom stall, the usual shtick before she clocks into a boring 9-5– garner this much negativity? What changed?

“Eh, you don’t seem as passionate after the collab tbhhh”

“lost her touch lmfao”

“does this mean we get another video with you and—

She shuts the laptop closed, unable to further stomach her unsatisfied audience with thoughts running rampant in her mind.

Lost..her touch?

Surely these comments were satirical and just baiting her for another video with you, right? I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t gotten hate comments before, though rare for a small homemade creator like herself, but that was besides the point!

it irked her.

Since when has Ellie ever needed anyone for a platform she grew and built, huh? So what if you had given her the best fucking of her life? Genuinely, what about it? It’s not like she goes to sleep with you on her mind, just to awaken the next morning with her pajama bottoms absolutely drenched because she had the most delicious wet dream about you! That’d be crazy..

She rubs her temples a bit to soothe the pounding of her head, she needed a quick fix to this issue and fast! Opening the device back up, she seeks answers.

⌕ [“How do I get horny again without looking at the hot girl who had sex with me’s page?”]

Holding her breath, she types into the search bar. They do say google holds all the answers.

aaaand..nothing.

God, maybe she was dealing with an original experience? 8 Billion people and all useless.

What if you’ve ruined her to the brink of no-return? She can’t even orgasm anymore on her page without watching you, which makes the climaxes lackluster. She can never go back after you’ve given her a taste of the real thing.

That night, she props her laptop up with you pulled up on the screen. You’re wearing a pretty lingerie set, too pretty of one Ellie thinks. It’s the little fancy-pancy one’s you had in your closet that night you graciously let her stay over. Post-nut delirium, but Ellie could still see you liked lace alot, it being the main choice of material inhabiting your wardrobe.

Hot.

Her eyes scower the screen as donations roll in and as per usual, you thank the viewers with a pristine smile, like you didn’t turn Ellie back into a fuckin’ virgin.

She hasn’t been on one of your streams in a while actually, too caught up with work but now, she really remembers why she use to.

You were a guilty pleasure. Addictive, and Ellie didn’t even have a knack for sweets; you just always managed to pollute her head with the most vile of scenarios she could envision recreating with you and fuck, did she hate herself for it— hated herself for becoming so obsessed with someone who only saw her as a collaborater, a co-worker.

She couldn’t complain however, not with the way you manage to talk everyone through it in your streams in a low shaky voice, and especially, not with the way you capture everyones attention with your movements.

and, like a moth to a flame, Ellie finds herself, unaware, cupping her breasts..kneading the flesh like soft dough through her bleach-stained band tee, relapsing back into a place she thought she wouldn’t want to return to; she can’t help the moans that steadily escape her when you let one of your own out, and God, Ellie might really be the worst person because she hasn’t had this good of a masturbation sesh in forever. It’s been feeling so cold and robotic lately with her trying to appease her few followers, but we know how that turned out.

“Ellie’s in the stream?” You whimper out, reading the explosive chat when you slap the silicone toy messily against your puffy clit, swollen under it’s hood but sitting so pretty like an pearl would on its’s oyster, glistening in both your own liquids. “Hi Els..” Your whiney voice calls her out.

Oh God.

Ellie’s eyes roll back abit when she sees your crinkled eyes, lip pulled in between teeth and your flushed cheeks. She practically punches the ‘Co-Host’ request button with her camera off so only her pathetic pants of your name are heard, “H-hi doll..” She hisses out softly, “You l-look so pretty r’now, ah!..’m sorry haven’t been o-on your—mmh!— streams..”

You giggle at this, and the viewer count doubles in amount. Somehow, the stream becomes what seems like a steamy facetime call between two creators, with the rest of the viewers witnessing and prying in on the salacious moment, “‘s okay..just w-wanna hear your noises, Ellie.” It’s like you knew she couldn’t speak to you without a hand busying itself down there..

The girl groans, dropping her camera inbetween her legs to the echoing sounds of squelching and heaven. Though you couldn’t see her in the dark, 2:30 AM lighting of her bedroom she lounges in, you could feel it. She doesn’t even remember the last time she’d secrete this much arousal without the assistance of lube.

“A-ah, me baby? Gosh, ‘jus wanna watch you f’ a sec. Hear me well?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing and your eyes growing more heavy when you prop your legs up on the gaming chair, displaying your drenched pelvic area— all so messy and for everyone to see. Mainly the broad on the other end of the stream..

You squeal when you curl your fingers into a specifically spongy spot, lips parting and your head thrown back a bit— you’d long ditched the dildo for something a bit more efficient, something to really capture the moment between you. Strands of hair stick to your forehead when an orgasm arises, and you seem a bit upset for cumming too quickly, not when Ellie has just got here!

Prolonging it a bit, you heave and retreat from your digits, rubbing your thighs imaptiently with your sighs stuttering, all while the other girl slaps at her cunt from what you can hear. Painslut

Ellie looks up back at you when she, herself, feels a tight coil in her stomach beginning to loosen, “B-boutta’ cum, dollface. Cmon..put them back on ‘er. Need my girl to do it with me.”

You nod ever so slightly to her voice, though you cannot see her, the raspiness of her voice takes you to a whole other level, “Ellie..” you cry out when your fingers make contact, it seems to be hitting you harder than usual, hypersensitivity of edging yourself all stream. Is it so wrong her green-eyed gaze trains on you intently while you whine and bitch for her?

The muscles in her abdomen tighten when she particularly notices a dumbed out look on you, saliva seeping past your glossy lips and dribbling to the lacy outfit you had on, rubbing her clit as fast as she can, she eggs you on, “Ah! Ah! J-just there w’you..wanna do it ‘wif you.”

Ellie gasps when your legs twitch uncontrollably, and on-cue, as promised, she meets the point with you— biting her knuckle when she spasms through the waves of orgasmic pleasure.

A few moments go past when Ellie picks her phone camera up to see you’d already went past your donation threshold. She can hear your hiccups, hair all messed up and covering your face— sweet baby..

She quickly ends the live-stream for you, a co-host accessible option you’d enabled incase you couldn’t end it from your own screen.

just to run to her bathroom to clean herself up before heading to your place.

Was she invited? No. Was she likely pushing a boundary? Yes, but, was she going to start a ‘no-aftecare’ streak in her entirety of 23 years? Fuck no.

Whether you liked it or not, she was on her way.

@san8ny: “alr she still got it ig”

[thecharacterchronicler]

The Bitter Taste Of My Fury (Part 4) || Coriolanus Snow X Reader || Smut

GIF is not mine, credits to the creator/owner ❤️

Outline: After a vicious attack from the rebels, Coriolanus lets some of his true feelings for you show.

Word count: 5’133

Warnings: death, murder, PTSD and explicit smut.

Author’s note: I wrote this forever ago and can’t seem to be 100% satisfied with it for some reason, I’m feeling awfully self conscious putting this out so please have mercy on me.

I made a few changes to the original story so that it would fit with my fanfic. (Making the quarter quell for which they sent two boys and two girls the 25th one instead of the 50th so that Coriolanus and his wife’s ages would fit into my plot.) I tried to make it readable as a one shot but keep in mind that it’s actually part of a multi-part series if you need/want more context.

It would help me out a lot with my next WIPs if you could answer the poll down below 🖤

((Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler)) - ((Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top)) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable))

Coriolanus risked a glance from behind the black curtain to survey the large amphitheater quickly - and noisily - filling up. It was his last speech before the day of the election, his last opportunity to convince the people of Panem that he would be a good president. He had been working on his text for weeks, the last few days he had even stayed up all night to practice and memorize it to the point that the words were constantly turning in his head. He was nervous and, even if he usually was pretty good at hiding it - he felt like all the citizens taking place in the room to listen to him would notice how much he was afraid of messing up.

“You’re supposed to go on stage in five minutes.” Minerva said, Coriolanus’s young assistant was stressed out, as per usual. “Excuse me Sir, but I couldn’t help but notice that your wife isn’t here… Yet ?”

The last time Coriolanus had seen you, you both got into an argument which ended with him, fucking you rougher than what he ever allowed himself to until then. Once he was done with you, you still seemed upset with him and the reason of the dispute still grated on his nerves. For the three following days, he had spent his nights at his office. He had been mulling over what your strong feelings about such a futile matter might mean. He had expected you to be unhappy with his decision to fire Marius, your driver, but he hadn’t thought you’d be so vocal about it, even daring to demand that he be rehired. He had fired a lot of his employees in the past and you had never complained about it once, but your personal driver seemed more important to you than all the others… Was it because you had an affair with him ? Was he the one to provide you with comfort and attention whenever Coriolanus worked late ? And what if he was the one who ended up getting you pregnant ? Surely he couldn’t accept that. His heir needed to be his.

“I sent Alastair to get her an hour ago, they should arrive any minute now.” He replied, his tone unexpectedly soft in contrast to his growing irritation. But he had faith that his own driver would drag you out of the manor himself if you refused to attend such an important event for your husband.

Coriolanus glanced in the amphitheater once again, scanning the crowd in search of your familiar face but still didn’t find it. He tugged on his collar, feeling more stressed than ever before. He knew every word to his speech, he knew exactly how to behave, how to move, how to smile to win this once and for all and yet, beads of nervous sweat were forming on his forehead, his tie suddenly too constricting for his rapid breathing.

When Minerva waved a hand at him, he had no choice but to take his place at the center of the stage, even if he still hadn’t spotted you among the crowd. It was unlikely of you to be late. And even less likely that his driver would be late… The applause and cheers from his audience as he walked out from behind the black curtain almost made him forget about it all though. For a brief moment, he felt the adrenaline buzzing in his body, making him believe that he was capable of anything and proving yet again that his place was there, on stage, at the center of everyone’s admirative attention.

He smiled, waved, spotted a few influential people seating in the first rows and made sure to make eye contact with each of them as he started his speech. His best one.

But no matter how perfect his tone was, how carefully chosen his words were, the crowd slowly began to grow agitated. A few heads turned to take a look at the doors, some noise coming from behind them and before he could even fathom what had happened, an intense blow pushed him back, making his ears ring.

The loud explosion made the foundations of the ampitheater tremble, windows shattered, pieces of the ceiling came crushing to the ground but the chaos that followed was by far the scariest part. People screamed in terror, rushing in every direction to get out, pushing and stepping over each other with no decorum left, the crowd had turned into a bunch of frightened animals and they all were individually fighting for their lives.

A door was opened and a thick dark smoke rapidly filled the room, making everyone cough and scream louder. Coriolanus pulled his collar over his mouth and nose, trying to filter the smoke he’d inhale and retreated behind the black curtain, knowing there would be a door for him to escape much more easily there, out of the frenzy and chaos of the crowd.

He rushed to the back, fleeing by the concealed door while his people kept fighting to escape the suffocating smoke. He looked around, trying to get his thoughts back in order to come up with a plan, he needed to find a way to warn your driver about what had happened, so that he could avoid bringing you straight into danger. Better yet, he could drive you far away from it.

He walked in hurried steps while the people who had managed to escape ran away, the magnificent and imposing capitol building menacing to completely shatter and tumble down into dust. Leaving and reaching the street outside was the best course of action to ensure his safety, but a part of him with visibly no instinct of survival, remained determined to look around in search of a phone or whatever device he could use to warn you. To make sure you’d be safe.

He reached the front desk of the town hall, searching among the fallen bricks and thick layers of rubble with the hope to find something that would work to contact your driver…

Alastair ?

Coriolanus blinked a few times, stopping his frenetic search of the desk to stare at the silhouette running to the doors, recognizing the bald head and small frame of his driver.

“Alastair ?!” He called, as loud as he could to be heard above the distant screams and cries. The man turned around to look at him, fear appearing in his eyes when he recognized his boss… So he kept running.

Coriolanus took off after him, his tall legs giving him a clear advantage to catch up on the older man. He pushed him aside, grabbing him by his collar and slammed him against a dangerously unstable pillar.

“Where is my wife ?” He asked, leveling his face with his so that he could stare at him with his most menacing look.

“The rebels, they attacked… It was an explosion.” Alastair mumbled, inconherently. Coriolanus purposely slammed him against the hard surface again, hoping the shock it caused to his head would bring him back to his senses.

“WHERE IS MY WIFE ?!” He shouted, making it clear that if he had to ask again he might knock him unconscious instead.

“I don’t know, it exploded… The smoke… I ran.”

“You left her ?!” Your husband asked him, rage dangerously starting to take over at the realization that the one he had trusted with your security had so easily left you behind to save his own life.

“I have a family.” Alastair justified, his voice weakening and his breathing coming out raucous and labored. What was that supposed to mean ? That he was more important than you because he had children ? Was he implying that you didn’t deserve to live as much as he did because you hadn’t gave him a heir yet ?

Coriolanus’s gaze fell to his hands, the ones he was holding tightly around his driver’s neck, squeezing with all the strength of his rage. The older man started choking, tried to fight his employer off but he wasn’t strong enough and the shock of the whole situation didn’t help him think rationally enough to hope win this fight for his life.

Tighter.

Alastair’s face became alarmingly pale.

Tighter.

Alastair’s lips turned blue.

Tighter.

Alastair’s body dropped down on the floor.

Dead.

Coriolanus took a step back, watching the limp figure on the ground with clear disgust but he wasn’t sure if he felt it because Alastair had abandoned you or for himself, for adding someone else’s blood to his already stained hands.

There was no time to ponder his actions anyway. The judgment of his morals would have to wait until he found you and got you to safety. It was all that mattered. So, while people were still running out of the falling apart building, he ran back in, straight towards the thick smoke.

He called your name, so desperate to hear your voice answering him but the fleeing crowd was way too loud and agitated for him to hope hearing it and let it lead him to you. But he kept shouting anyway.

Some of his employees found him, tried to convince him to turn around and leave before the ceiling would collapse on him but he refused, determined to find you, even with the smoke burning his lungs and irritating his eyes.

His head was spinning, if the first people he had ran into were wearing their formal attire, slowly he started recognizing the red academy uniforms he used to wear every day. Then, he noticed the colors of a rainbow dress, fading in the thick smoke in front of him. A long time ago, the person wearing it had ran to him to save him from a similar situation, now she seemed to be running away, impossible for him to catch.

Was she the one who had led this violent attack against him ? And now she was here, running around the debris like an untouchable wild animal just to taunt him ? Of course she did. All she ever wanted was to end him. Ruin his life. Ruin everything.

Real or not, he followed her path, desperate to see where she would lead him. He didn’t like the feeling it gave him though, the feeling of being an eighteen years old boy who knew nothing about anything anymore. A naive man, who thought his survival depended on other people rather than on himself.

“Coryo…” Your voice called, answering his calls.

He perked up with a renewed determination to make his way through the smoke and find you. Rainbow colors and blood red uniforms faded from his vision. You were close, so he kept shouting your name, frantically searching around him until he collided against you.

He knew your body well enough by now to instantly recognize you, no one fitted in his arms the way you did. He looked down at you, trying to decipher wether you were injured or not but the dust covering your skin and hair made it hard to spot any trace of blood. He turned around, wanting to go back on his footsteps now that your hand was secured in his but he stopped when he noticed you could barely keep up, limping and coughing after each wince of pain that deformed your face.

Without a word, he came back to you and picked you up, carrying you in his arms even if his lungs were about to give up too. If he was going to die today, so be it but not before he got you out of there.

A plea for help resounded next to you, the barely visible shape of a woman stuck under a heavy pillar outstretching an arm in your direction, begging for her life. Coriolanus looked at her but kept walking, collateral damages were inevitable.

Finally, the smoke started dissipating, replaced by fresh air that burned your lungs in an entirely different way. A large crowd had formed in the street, kept at good distance from the collapsing building by peacekeepers. Many pairs of curious eyes turned to you, recognizing the presidential candidate heroically carrying his wife away from a vicious rebel attack. Some peacekeepers approached, freeing your husband’s arms to carry you to safety. They brought you to a medical tent that had been set up, where professionals and volunteers were running around, trying to care for the many injured and wounded victims.

An oxygen mask was placed on your face, providing you with the air you so desperately needed while a young woman tried to make you as comfortable as possible despite her apparent overwhelm.

“I’ll find some oxygen for you too, Sir.” She promised Coriolanus but he shook his head, refusing.

“Take care of my wife first.” He asked, and the woman nodded before scurrying away.

Time seemed to slow down as Coriolanus spent countless hours in the armchair next to your hospital bed, watching over you, making sure you were taken well care of and mulling over his thirst for revenge. The rebels had crossed a line with this attack, they were clearly targeting him - and you - with it and that was simply unacceptable. His desire to become the new president of Panem was consuming him more than ever, thinking about the possibilities such a position would offer him to retaliate in kind against the districts. He could order the troops to bomb them, erase them from the map and the surface of the earth. He could decide of the fate of the very ones who committed the crime to try and kill him, he could set an example of what doom would be brought upon anyone who ever tried to hurt a Snow again… But he wasn’t president, yet.

However, his position as head gamemaker of the Hunger Games gave him quite a unique chance to keep the districts in check and remind them who truly held the power, after all, he had learned all the tricks from Doctor Gaul during the few years he had been working for her. He knew the only way to get his message to the rebels would be to answer in kind and make sure they’d know the fear of potentially loosing someone precious to them too…

A few days later, the doctors cleared you to go home so he decided to go back to his office and put his plan in motion.

As soon as he sat behind his desk, Minerva entered his office, holding a large file against her chest.

“I received the official report of the incident.” She announced, handing him the paper. He flipped the pages, brows furrowed and eyes rapidly darting across each paragraph.

“Twenty four deaths… And counting.” He read out loud.

“And I’m very sorry to tell you that I was informed that Alastair is among the victims.” She told him, which caused him to look at her, gravity etched on his face.

He had the perfect reaction. Not too emotional. Still professional. Believable.

“Do we know what happened to him exactly ?”

“The coroner said he died of asphyxiation from the smoke, like many others unfortunately.”

“It’s unfortunate indeed.” Coriolanus nodded, with a forced frown. “Make sure to send our condolences to his family.”

“Of course, Sir.” His assistant said, taking notes. “Anything else i can do ?”

“Yes… Call the press, I have an important announcement to make.” He stated, still more determined than ever to make everyone involved pay for what they did.

“And now, a message from Coriolanus Snow, head gamemaker of the Hunger Games and candidate for presidency.” The news anchor announced, as the camera zoomed in on your husband’s tired face, his brow furrowed and severity marking his traits.

“On Friday, people of the Capitol were the target of a terrible attack from an outlawed and violent group of radical people. We’ve lost precious lives and many of our citizens were gravely wounded during the attack.” Coriolanus spoke, solemnly, as the cameras shifted between different point of views of him. His voice was calm despite the rage displayed on his face. “Therefor, in retaliation, as head gamemaker, I have decided to make the 25th edition of the Hunger Games one that will remind everyone of the Capitol’s power… For this first quarter quell, each district will be required to send two boys and two girls into the arena.”

You watched your husband’s press conference on the television in the quiet and lonely living room of the manor, jaw dropping at his announcement. Was he taking advantage of the attack to give a lesson to the district, show his almighty power and advance his presidential campaign by gaining the Capitol’s support ? Or was he seeking out revenge for you ? Your chest tightened at the thought, could he care about you enough to be doing this for you ? Imagining you could be one of the reasons - among a thousand more important ones - for the punishment he decided to impose on the districts made your heart beat faster. With a husband so shy for words, a gesture like this one would speak volumes about how he truly felt.

You reached for the remote with a wince and turned the TV off, plunging the living room in darkness apart from the faint light coming from the crackling fire in the chimney. You stood with another wince, silently cursing at the doctors for sending you home without any meds to manage the pain you still felt so vividly in your body. If you had been a simple citizen, surely they would have kept you there longer, made sure that you were fully healed before letting you leave the private sector of the Capitol’s hospital but since the crowd of reporters, cameras and photographers was increasing with each passing day by the entrance of the hospital, they took the decision to send you home. Officially, it was meant to reassure Panem about the health of their potential future First Lady, show them you were as strong and courageous as your husband. But really, they just wanted to get rid of the public disturbing their other patients‘ peace.

You climbed the stairs leading to your bedroom slowly, and then sat at your vanity with a sigh. The reflection in front of you didn’t do justice to how you really felt. As soon as you had been discharged, a team invaded your room to make you look as flawless as you were always supposed to be, taking care of your hair, your makeup, your clothes, hiding any trace of the attack so that you could walk out, dazzling and smiling for the cameras. And of course you did just that. You managed to answer a few questions shouted at you with elegance and respect , offering sympathy to the ones who had suffered more than you did , smiling as some children handed you flowers and holding your head high just to let the rebels know that it would take more than this to bring Mrs Snow down.

But deep inside, you were a wreck. Images of the attack kept popping in your mind, you could still smell the smoke, feel it filling your lungs, suffocating you. You could still hear the screams, the cries, the shouts and the explosions. You could still feel the sharp pain in your shoulder when the column behind you collapsed and a heavy piece of marble hit you. You still had the bruises and the scratches on your skin from all the debris that flew in your face, even if they currently were hidden under a thick layer of makeup.

You slowly took it all off with a wipe, feeling almost relieved at the sight of the purple mark on your cheek and the other one on your neck, like a validation that you weren’t feeling so bad for nothing. You reached up to untie the sophisticated hairdo your beauty team had insisted on doing, but the sharp pain in your shoulder combined to the stiffness of your neck made it impossible to take more than two pins out before having to bring your arms down and take a deep breath to try and soothe the pain.

You had always considered yourself lucky to have such a big team of talented people to prepare you for every event you had to attend, sometimes they even got you ready and looking your best for simple shopping trips or private dinners if they expected you to be followed by reporters and photographers. But then, once the lights were out, the crowd long gone and the cameras pointed somewhere else, once you were back in the privacy and loneliness of your own home, then there wasn’t anyone to help you take off all this attire and help you be yourself again.

You were about to give up. At the moment, sleeping with twenty pins stabbing your scalp didn’t seem merely as painful as lifting your arm again did. But a movement in your mirror caught your attention. You lifted your eyes to the reflection, noticing a white silhouette, almost glowing in contrast to the darkness of your room, standing by the door, big blue eyes set on you.

You observed him quietly for a moment, unsure if he was really there or if it was yet another trick your mind was playing on you. Because you had a lot of visions of him lately. His face appearing in thick smoke. His voice shouting your name. His arms carrying you out of the chaos. His hand holding yours in the cold hospital room… You weren’t sure which memories were real or not. You couldn’t tell if he really had been by your side at the hospital this whole time or if you had just imagined his presence to reassure yourself. Were you imagining him there again so you wouldn’t feel so desperately lonely ?

“Let me help you with that.” He said, his tone softer than usual. He took the few steps in your direction, stopping behind you. You watched in the mirror as his fingers wandered in your hair in search of pins to take off, letting locks of hair fall down on your shoulders each time he removed one.

His touch was real. The heat you felt coming from his chest and radiating on your back was real. The expression of worry on his face every time he met your gaze in the reflection was real. He was real.

And instead of reassuring you like you thought it would, you suddenly felt invaded in your privacy to have him here, in your bedroom for the very first time. He shouldn’t see you like this, with your makeup off and your hair down, the bruises and the sorrow all too visible on your face. This wasn’t the image of the wife he had asked for. The wife who he wanted to impregnate. It was a pathetic reflection of a wounded and scared girl, wondering if she’ll ever be able to recover from such an horrific incident.

“I didn’t leave the hospital looking like this.” You felt compelled to say to justify how you looked in front of him, uncomfortable at the thought that it was the very first time he’d see you as you really were.

“I know, I watched the news from my office.” He simply said, focusing on finding the few last pins still tugging at your hair.

“And I watched your press conference.”

“What do you think about my idea for the quarter quell ?” His pale eyes found yours, silently gauging your reaction.

“I think a lot of people will love it, it’ll probably gain you many votes for the next round…”

“Probably but I meant what do you think about it ? Will it be a clear enough message to the districts that there will be hell to pay if they ever even think about hurting us again ?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “Do you think all of Panem will now know that nobody hurts my wife without meeting the consequences ?”

You left out a breath, shocked by the rage you saw burning in his usually charming eyes. Either he was masterfully manipulative, wanting to make you believe that the decision he took to hold special games in retaliation was to avenge you, while it was, in fact, all about his career first. Either he really had done it for you, and the implications of such a revelation in regards to his true feelings for you were as terrifying to you as the first hypothesis was.

He remained quiet, removing his hands from your hair once he had pulled out the last pin and reached down to the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down with his pale eyes fixed to yours in the mirror.

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he trying to help you ? The zipper being in your back, you probably would have struggled to reach it, but the way he was taking care of it, so torturously slow, the tip of his fingers grazing the soft skin he revealed on his path made you question his true motives.

He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your neck, exactly where your heart started pulsing wildly in reaction. He pulled the fabric of your dress down, until it pooled around your hips. You saw him take a look at your reflection in front of him, the sight of the bruise on your chest and the other one over your clavicle setting his fury ablaze. He balled his fists tightly, as if he was trying to contain himself so you turned around to face him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

You didn’t dare consider that the reason for his anger was because he cared about you enough… But the way he relaxed into your touch made you wonder if you should.

He kissed your lips. Softly. Gently. Almost reverently, as if he was taking the full measure of what he could have been deprived of for the rest of his life with a different outcome of the events of that night.

“I will kill them.” He declared, a cold determination in his tone you had never heard from him before. “I’ll kill every single person responsible for this.”

He moved his fingers over the purple bruise on your chest, a featherlight touch that still caused you a sting of pain, to mark his words.

You remembered a quote you had studied in school, it said something like “pain is the only thing that makes us feel alive.” And, since it was written in your book and taught by your professor, you had always considered it to be true… Until now. Now you knew that there wasn’t anything else on earth that could possibly make you feel more alive than Coriolanus Snow and the way he kissed you, touched you and filled you up. And no pain would be able to stop your determination of feeling alive tonight. Maybe his way to cope from the attack was to hunger for violence and blood, but yours was to live.

You leaned towards him and kissed him with more fervor than he did. He returned the kiss but kept some restraint from the usually hungry and rough way you were used to having him.

“Don’t tempt me.” He groaned, against your lips. “Not when you’re hurt and still recovering.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” You assured him, with a soft smile but he didn’t return it, moving away to look at you like he had seen a ghost. Did he have flashbacks of the attack too ? Or something else ? He’d probably never tell you anyway, because he shook it off before you could open your mouth and ask him if he was alright, worry leaving its place to resolve on his face.

He walked to your bed, stopping at the edge and scanning your nightstand carefully as he slowly started unbuttoning his shirt. Then, he looked around, his eyes taking a moment to consider each object, each piece of decoration in your bedroom. It was the first time he entered it and although the way he threw his shirt on the floor and began unfastening his belt suggested he had other plans than simply asking you for a tour, he still took in most of the details of the only place where you could find privacy in your own home.

You stood up, removing your dress too and feeling suddenly very exposed to him. Your room, your face without makeup, your hair undone, your bruised skin, everything you usually kept hidden from your husband was now on display for him to see and you felt self conscious about it.

“Lie down.” Coriolanus demanded, kicking his pants off, leaving him with nothing on but his bare body for you to stare at, his skin almost as white as the suits he liked to wear.

You obeyed, climbing on the bed from the opposite side from where he stood. You let your head fall down on your fluffy pillow, breathing a sigh of relief as you noticed how the many aches in your body were appeased by the comfortable mattress under you.

He climbed on the bed next to you and it felt somewhat strange to see him there, in your room, on your sheets, naked. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of your underwear and gently pulled them down your legs, the lace fabric sending shiver down your spine on its way down your body.

He spread your legs open for him, and placed himself between them, sitting back on his knees. He looked at your bruises again so, instinctively, you tried to hide them with your arms and hands in fear that he might change his mind and leave you wanting. Thankfully, he had mercy for you and, even though he didnt seem quite sure about how to proceed this time - as if he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to tame his usual roughness - he slowly stroked the tip of his cock between your folds.

He guided it in circles, teasing your entrance every once in a while, pressing over your bud, spreading your growing wetness all over in its wake and you noticed how it made him harden too, his cock increasing in length and girth in his hand with each movement.

It didn’t take long for either of you to be ready for more. After all, it had been a whole week during which the only physical contacts you had shared was him holding your hand at the hospital or placing a chaste kiss on your forehead each time he had to leave you for a while, and that was if you hadn’t dreamed or imagined it.

No longer able to tease you, he ended up pushing his erected member inside you, finding its way in so easily it felt like you were made to fit him by now. He noticed it too, how easy it was for him to bury himself all the way in you until his balls were squeezed between your bodies and he sighed with contempt as your warm and wet pussy engulfed him fully.

You said his name in a panted breath, loving the way he filled you up with his hard cock and his eyes darted to yours, his gaze shining with lust. He moved, starting with short slides back and forth to make sure you could take it then, once he saw you close your eyes and bite your lip to conceal a moan, he got a bit rougher and faster, shoving himself back in with enough force to make the bed crack loudly.

“Yes!” You cried, as you felt his dick repeatedly hit the perfect spot so deep inside you, sending such pleasure through your entire body that you already felt close to coming undone. If there was any pain in your bruised body, you didn’t feel it anymore. All your mind could focus on was the intensity of his thrusts inside of you and the ecstasy building in your core in reaction.

He moved to hover over you, the change of angle making his strong movements even more intense. A moan fell from your lips but he silenced it with a hungry kiss, his taut chest pressing against yours.

He gathered you in his arms, holding your body tightly against his as he kept relentlessly thrusting inside you, swallowing all the moans that escaped from your lips with his desperate kisses.

You closed your legs around his hips, holding on to him as tightly as he was holding on to you. His thrusts lost their speed and intensity, but he still hit exactly where you needed him, making you whimper and moan with pleasure. His grip tightened and so did yours, both of you determined to never let each other go, him holding you like you might vanish at any moment and you holding him like your life depended on it.

He groaned, spilling his seed inside you with one powerful push. You dug your nails in his back, as his movements slowed down and your body contracted, your mind swimming in bliss.

He was panting, from his efforts and from the feverish kisses he kept giving you through it all. And yet he captured your lips with his again, in a much softer - almost loving - kiss. Then he set you free from his embrace, rolling on his side next to you and you istantly felt cold without the weight and warmth of his body on top of yours.

You shivered and he noticed, pulling the sheet over your numb body. You looked at him, wondering if he’ll stay the night. It would be the very first time you’d get to sleep with your husband. If the idea would have been dreadful to you just a year ago, now you wanted nothing more than to press your spent body against his and feel his presence as you drift off to sleep, knowing that you are safe with him by your side.

((More))

[occatorcreator]

Second Chances

Links - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

4 - Friendship Lost

It's always one step forward and two steps back for Purple. An unexpected reunion between the color gang and a long lost friend threatens to tear apart Purple with jealousy.

Time flies. Months rolled by since that argument and the gang kept true to their word.  They did their best to not start unsanctioned fights whenever they got upset or angry. At least, while in front of Purple.

But that was fine by Purple. Without the worry about a potential fuse blowing, Purple felt more at ease being around them. Visits to each other’s desktops became more frequent as a result. Purple found himself chilling on the Animator’s desktop more often than his own as the year went on, entertained by the creative ways the four played with Minecraft and other games.

It distracted him from the pain. A pain that was lessening in intensity every month, but Purple could still feel it. The thoughts nagged at him; how would Orchid and Navy feel about what he was doing? How long is this friendship going to last, really? 

“You know, we were originally created to fight each other for eternity,” Yellow confessed to Purple privately one day as they showed him around their website.

The mention of being created for the purpose of fighting made Purple’s stomach clench uneasily.

“This was where we were meant to be,” Yellow said, gesturing to the blank white walls, “to fight for the rest of our days until one of us won.” They dropped their hands to their sides. “We ended up declaring a truce two weeks in.”

“Why?” Purple asked. “What made you stop?”

“Look around,” Yellow said. “I like this place. I come here whenever I need space, but it wasn’t like that initially. Imagine you were created to hate four other people, and your creator put you in a box with them, and none of you could leave that box.”

Purple’s eyes widened slowly as he tried to imagine, yet he couldn’t. Suddenly, the sparse decor and white color felt oppressive. Yellow smiled sadly.

“You understand, even when you like it, fighting grows monotonous here,” Yellow said, “I still have these thoughts of attacking them when we’re just hanging out, doing nothing… sometimes I see in their eyes, they have the exact same instinct that I have. But, I think we’ve been getting better at handling them. Thanks.”

Why are you thanking me? Purple thought, I just pointed out the obvious without even knowing how you lived.

He still didn’t know them all that well, did he?

“How did you get out?” Purple asked softly.

To that, Yellow looked away, shoulders tense.

“A stick figure broke in, somehow,” Yellow said, letting out a bemused huff, “that Orange kid… they came looking for a fight for some reason, but didn’t even have a proper fighting stance. When we saw the wall was broken down, we were so happy to be free and almost ignored them! They were chill enough to show us around the computer” He sighed. “But then Alan deleted us.”

Purple nearly tripped over himself. “Alan deleted you?”

“We spawned right back here,” Yellow said, so casually as if the fact Alan deleting them didn’t warrant further explanation, “We couldn’t do much until he refreshed the page, and when he did, the desktop was a mess. Orange had fought Alan and ran off.”

“As they should!” Purple said, crossing his arms, “Why are you living with Alan after what he did to you?”

“I mean, well,” Yellow cleared their throat, “Alan really regretted what he did. I don’t think there’s a day that goes by that he doesn’t, probably why he treats us so kindly now. We came to forgive him after a while, but I get it if you feel differently after knowing that.”

Purple didn’t know what to say. Had Yellow said nothing, Purple would still be blissfully ignorant and see the Animator as yet another kindly human. The shock of it left him stunned.

“He asked us to find them, and helped us search. We went out into the city putting up flyers…” Yellow kicked the ground. “But we got nothing. We tried for months before we just gave up. It's been almost two years since we last heard of them.” Yellow whistled. “Hard to believe it’s been that long, huh?”

“Yeah,” Purple’s heart hammered. He nodded, feeling uneasy at the mention of the passage of time. “Can hardly believe it.”

The year wrapped up, and soon Purple’s birthday reared its ugly head again. They already celebrated the gang’s mutually shared birthday, so of course the others wanted to celebrate Purple’s in kind. Purple should have known better than to have told them his birthday was coming. He should have expected it when they invited him to their desktop that day without warning and surprised them with a large cake.

“Happy birthday!” 

Purple eyed the cake, staring at the numbered candles that read “18” on it.

That can’t be real, can it?

“Eighteen, eh?” Green walked up and playfully nudged Purple’s shoulder, oblivious to how still Purple was. “What’s it feel like to be a certified old person?”

It was meant to be a joke, so Green couldn’t know how much it hurt Purple to hear. 

Old. Somehow time slipped past him, and Purple was now officially an adult. And yet he didn’t feel like he was. It didn’t register that he was older now, aging. He would have been a senior by now, a couple months from graduating. He could picture it clearly: wearing the cap, the gown, his mother staring at him with pride…

But no. He was here, a high school dropout, spending his life in a game made for children instead of going to college or finding a job. His mother was gone, and she would never get the chance to see her son become an adult.

She died young, he realized, as he watched the cake with its light pink frosting drip. But she died old.

Would the same fate happen to him?

“Purple? Purple, what's the matter?”

Purple couldn’t hear Blue’s concerned voice over the sudden, gross sobbing that seized him. Purple hid his shame in his hands, trying to push the tears back, but the sobbing wouldn’t stop.

“Hey, was it the joke?”Green asked, shocked, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

He trailed off, unsure as to what had set him off. None of them saw Purple reduce to such tears in the year knowing him. Purple wouldn’t have allowed it before.

“Please, no,” Purple tried to speak through the blubbering, “I’m not ready – I don’t want this. Please.”

Arms wrapped around him, and Purple felt himself being ushered off the desktop and sat down somewhere else. Purple gulped air down, wiping away the streaks as he heard the others trying to calm him down. He noticed that they brought him to their webpage, sitting around the card table. Yellow and Green were beside him while Red and Blue looked across anxiously.

When the sniffling died down did Yellow ask, “What was that all about?”

“Really, Yellow?” Blue frowned at Yellow.

“What? I have no idea what happened!” Yellow said. “I’m sorry Purple, but that was… kinda scary. Did we do something?”

“Is it something about your birthday?” Red asked.

Purple shut his eyes and willed himself to breathe slowly and evenly. Thankfully, they stopped asking their questions as he tried to calm down. 

I never did explain to them about my mother, Purple thought. Despite knowing each other for a year at this point, he found that there was never a good time to explain all of his mess. Of his loss, or why certain days he wanted no contact from them. It was daunting, frightening to even tell them of it.

But when he opened his eyes again he saw the faces of his concerned friends who only wanted to celebrate with him.

They told me their issues, he supposed.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you all…” Purple confessed quietly. “What happened before we met…”

=

“This is where you buried her?”

Purple could only shrug at Green’s question. “There was no body to bury.”

It was a week after his birthday. A week after he shared about his mother’s death, his father’s abandonment, and his reasons for hating his birthday. When Purple admitted that he had not visited her grave since her death, it was Blue’s recommendation for him to go. She emphasized that he didn’t have to or could go alone if he wanted, but he insisted they visit.

Purple forgot that seasons passed for the city, and it was winter. Here they all were, standing in the chill with little in the way of protection. The tombstones were covered in thick piles of snow. The Minecraft daisy they placed before her grave blended in with the ground. 

“It’s strange,” Purple said after a moment of silence, “some days I don’t feel much of anything, I hardly think of her. Other days it hits me like a train, and it hurts so much.”

Yellow let out a small hum in acknowledgement, but otherwise was silent. He, Blue, and Green stared at her grave in silence, while Red was looking around the cemetery, eyes darting from grave to grave.

“You alright, Red?” Purple asked.

“Huh? No, I’m fine,” she said in a rush, made awkward by Purple’s question. “It’s just…” she looked up at the sky, straining to think. “…a lot of graves here.”

“We are in a cemetery, Red,” Green said with bitter sarcasm.

“I know. It’s just… a lot of dead rest here,” Red said, quietly, “it’s been weighing on my mind, I guess.”

Guess she’s just uncomfortable and bored, Purple thought. He empathized with that feeling. He was dreading coming back to the cemetery the whole travel time, fearing that he’d repeat his gross sobbing again. But he didn’t; no tears were shed.

Despite how morose he felt standing before her grave, he felt also at ease with his friends by his side.

“So,” Purple announced, clapping his hands and startling them. “I don’t think you guys really got to see the sights around here. How about you follow me?”

=

Purple didn’t have any cash on hand, so he couldn’t treat them to lunch. But there was a park nearby with a track and field. He figured they would like physical activity even if it was cold.

“It's so lovely out here!” Blue said, taking in the pristine landscape.

“Look! A squirrel!” Red pointed up at the trees.

“I don’t see anything,” Yellow said, trying to peer up through the bare branches. “Are you sure a squirrel would be up during winter, Red?”

Purple and Green stood off to the side, Green chuckling. “I’m not surprised that Red and Blue adore the place.”

“I used to come here a lot when I was a little kid,” Purple said.

“As little as them?” Green asked, pointing out to the field. Children were running around, screaming, throwing snowballs, and making snowpeople. “Wow, they are very small…”

Right, you never really had a childhood like I did, Purple reminded himself. It made him realize that his mother and father were the same as Green; they also never had a childhood the way Purple and his high school peers did.

“You know, you should be grateful you skipped that stage,” Purple said, “I have so many embarrassing memories, let me tell you.”

He waited for Green to say something in response, but when none came, he turned to look. Green had come to a standstill, looking at a nearby park bench with eyes stretched wide in surprise. Purple turned back to try and look for what was happening but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. There were kids running about, parents eating at a park bench, an orange teen playing swords with their younger brother…

Wait, Purple paused upon seeing the teen. The distinctive hollow head was something Purple only saw once, but couldn’t forget. They were talking with his old high school friends about him...

“Be grateful you never met him. He’d be horrible to you too.”

And Green was staring at them with the biggest grin on his face.

“Guys! Come quickly!” Green called Red, Blue, and Yellow over, waving, “It’s Orange!”

“Orange?” Blue exclaimed as they ran over. She rubbed her eyes like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, “It is! They were here this whole time?”

“What are we waiting for?” Red said, taking off after them. “Come on!”

Green, Blue, and Yellow quickly raced after Red, leaving Purple in the dust.

“Ah! Wait!” Purple chased after them. A little too late, as the group already went skidding up to Orange. The golden child they were playing with, surprised by five random stick figures coming up to them, rushed to Orange's side, hiding partially behind their back.

And Orange shared the same look Green had earlier, shock turned to a disbelieving joy.

“Green? Red?” they said, “Blue and Yellow too? I thought you were-”

“Yes!” Green laughed. “We’re here! And we’re okay, see?”

“Oh my goodness!” Orange jumped up to hug Green, “I thought you were dead!”

“We got better!” Yellow said, joining in the hug. “I thought we would never see you again!” Red and Blue joined as well, creating a rainbow group hug.

You only knew them for a day and haven’t seen them in years! Purple balked at the sight of his friends hugging a stranger. He stood off to the side, staring and then looking at the child who looked just as bewildered and confused as he felt. 

This kid feels familiar too, but I can’t place where I saw him?

The child regarded Purple with similar recognition, his eyes squinting in judgment. Recovered from the shock, they charged into Orange’s friends, trying to shove and push them off of the hollow head.

“Get away from Second!” He shouted, smacking Red with his shoulder.

“Hmm?” Given that the child was half Red’s size and bulk, she broke from the group and looked down with curiosity. “Who’s this?”

The others broke the hug and turned their attention to Gold. Upon seeing muscular teens and his pitiful efforts to push them off, the kid shrank back a couple steps.

“Come on, Gold, don’t be rude!” Orange said, rubbing the kid’s shoulder, “Guys, this is my little brother, Gold.”

“Aww, a little brother?” Blue cooed.

“Hey! Same color as me!” Yellow said, holding his hand out for a high five.

Gold eyed their hand nervously. “I’m darker,” Gold corrected, crossing his arms.

“Only a bit,” Yellow said, holding his thumb and index finger an inch apart.

“How did you get a little brother? What have you been up to this whole time?” Green asked. “We tried looking for you…”

“You have?” Orange said, placing a hand on their cheek, “this whole time? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Green exchanged a concerned look with Yellow and Blue as though that was a strange statement. Only Red didn’t seem bothered.

“Oh, come off it,” Red waved her hand, “you couldn’t help it! We should just be glad to meet again despite it all!”

Orange beamed at Red. “Yeah! You have to tell me what you’ve been up to?” They said, their eyes turning to Purple, “Like, who’s this?”

The suddenness of being acknowledged caused Purple to flinch slightly. Their curious stare made Purple feel like he shouldn’t be there at all.

“This is our friend, Purple,” Green said, “We met him through Minecraft!”

There, it was - only for a second, but Purple could see the moment Orange registered the name. The smile dimmed, eyebrows lowered before returning to normal.

Were they wondering if I’m that Purple their other friends talked about? He thought, feeling his palms sweat. The horrible high school dropout?

If they did, they didn’t comment. Instead they turned back to Green to continue the conversation. “Minecraft?” 

“It’s a video game!” Green said, “Ah, man, we got so much to tell you.”

“Same here!” Orange said, “It’s time for lunch anyways, and I have money saved up.” They looked down at Gold. “How about you, feeling up for some hot chocolate and pastries?”

Gold looked up at Orange like it was a bad idea before nodding anyways. 

“Awesome! I’m starved!” Red said, pumping her arms up.

And I feel sick, Purple thought.

=

That fateful meeting changed everything. Now that the gang was reunited with their old friend, they were desperate to reconnect. Purple and Gold felt like accessories, watching as the five conversed with each other.

Only, Gold joined in to ask his curious questions more often, slowly warming up to the new stick figures. After the conversation was over and it was time for them to head home, Gold had taken a strong liking to them.

Purple couldn’t say the same. Orange spoke of school and their after-school curriculars. They were positively thriving: a Straight-A student, getting an A+ in an honors math class no less, becoming their soccer team’s team captain… Oh, and on top of being brilliant in sports and academics, they were a prolific artist. They even pulled out a stunning piece of art from their pocket to show them.

Oh, how Purple hated them. 

He thought he couldn’t hate anyone more than he hated his father, but no, that didn’t hold a candle to the burning disgust he had for this stupid and apparently perfect stick figure! Didn't help that the others loved them to bits. Even after heading back to the desktop, with promises to meet up again, they talked about Orange the whole way back. Purple tried to tune them out, but it was impossible, because he couldn’t stop thinking of them either.

No one can be that great, Purple thought, stomach churning.

“Hey, Purple?” Blue said, “You’ve been quiet for a long time. Are you feeling alright?”

Purple turned his head, his face turning to stone less he expressed how he really felt. Blue was quicker to detect something was wrong, but her concern made Purple rankle.

Oh, I’m sorry, am I bringing down the mood after meeting your better friend? He thought. 

“I think the hot chocolate didn’t sit well with me,” Purple said instead. 

“Need some milk then?” Red asked.

Purple shook his head. “I think I’ll retire for tonight.”

Yellow frowned and looked down at the desktop clock. “It’s only 6-”

“Good night! See you tomorrow!” Purple shouted before booking it out of there. He raced towards his room and closed his door with a slam loud enough to spook nearby villagers. But he couldn’t rest, even when night did fall. Nothing he did could settle the newfound distress in his chest.

It only got worse as the months rolled on and winter melted away into spring. The gang started making plans to visit Orange more often. They wanted to hang at the arcade, the parks, the mall, Orange’s soccer matches and art competitions. They wanted to play with their little brother, Gold. Purple was invited to tag along, but it felt like a formality, as Purple hardly felt included in their conversations when he joined.

Some days, they played Minecraft like normal, adventuring like usual. But there was always that shadow of Orange. So many mentions of “Orange would love this game!” or “Can’t wait to tell Orange!”

Purple struggled to find anything really wrong with Orange personality wise. And believe him, he scoured for any dirt. They were polite, if cautious. They were an attentive listener to the gang’s wild stories. They cared for Gold and their mysterious father figure, Mango Tango. It seemed like the small family were openly proud of Orange’s accomplishments, given the times Gold bragged about Orange.

The gang were unabashedly proud of Orange too, so happy when they met up.

He couldn’t help but wonder, had Orange not run away, would they even be friends with Purple? Was he just a pathetic replacement to tide them over until they found Orange again?

I hate this. Purple thought with resentment. Why am I not good enough for anyone?

At some point, Purple had enough and tried avoiding Orange whenever he could. He declined outings, blaming Alana or some villager for his “full” schedule. Eventually the others could tell he was full of baloney, but they did not try to challenge him on it.

Time played in reverse. At first, they tried to be consistent with their meetups, then they started missing those. Eventually they hung out occasionally every two weeks, then once every month. And the times they did meet up felt stilted, awkward. The games they played weren’t as fun as they were before.

It all came to a head on Gold’s birthday.

The gang wanted to get a present for Gold and invited Purple, out of formality. Much to their surprise, Purple took the invitation instead of declining. Purple wasn’t exactly sure why; he hated Orange and found Gold annoying. But he missed the gang.

How did it get to this point? Why can’t we go back to before you found Orange again?  He wanted to ask, but he kept those words deep in his heart.

Orange met up with them at the mall, greeting them with hugs. 

“Oh, Purple, you’re here too!” they said, standing awkwardly before Purple.

“Yep,” he grumbled, giving them a half-hearted wave.

Just like that, a stilted awkwardness hung over the group. They walked around, looking for a good store and discussing what gifts Gold would like. Usually, Orange lead at the front in these endeavors, but this time they hung in the back, walking beside Purple.

“Sooo, it’s been awhile since I last saw you,” Orange said after some point of silence, “How’ve you been?”

Stop pretending like you care, Purple scowled, only bothering to shrug in response. I’m not your friend.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Orange continued, not discouraged by Purple’s coldness, “Do you know someone named Chestnut? Or Periwinkle?”

Purple squinted at Orange. “I might, I might not,” he said, “Why do you ask?”

“Because they might have mentioned you,” Orange said, “that you used to go to our school, but you stopped coming two years ago…”

“Oh, really? Did they tell you because they were worried about me?” Purple asked, “or did they just want to spread some juicy gossip about me?”

To that, Orange looked elsewhere.

“You could clear it up,” Orange said, “they didn’t say many kind things about you, but my friends–” they looked to Red and Yellow arguing with Green and Blue about some tangential thing, “– really like you. And they’re worried about you too. They’ve mentioned you’ve been kind of distant lately.”

“Oh! Oh, really? Because that’s news to me,” Purple snapped. It stung. If they were concerned, why did they not tell Purple? Why tell Orange instead?

No, Purple doubted they said anything. Orange had to be asking for an alternative reason.

 “So you’re trying to see if it’s my fault?” Purple growled, pointing a finger at them.

Orange waved their hands in a panic. “No! No! I’m not-”

“Then why bring it up?” Purple continued. “Right after mentioning my former friends? Oh no, your friends wouldn’t do anything wrong or have the wrong idea. It has to be Purple’s fault! He’s up to his old manipulative ways again! Well, I’m not the one who goes to Alan’s to see if they want to hang out, and finds they’ve bailed on me to go see you! If anything, it’s your fault!”

Orange’s eyes stretched and narrowed. “My fault? It’s not at all my fault they wanted to hang out with me,” Orange challenged. “Besides, they say that you decide to pass when meeting here. They’re allowed to have other friends, Purple!” 

“If they didn’t run into you, everything would be as usual,” Purple yelled, “We would be hanging out and going on adventures! Instead, we’re going shopping for your dumb brother.”

“Don’t you dare call Gold dumb.” Orange yelled back, and it was the first time Purple saw a murderous anger burn in their eyes. They jabbed a finger in his chest and it hurt. “You apologize right now- ”

“Or what? You’ll hit me?” Purple pushed their hands back, “That would make you look real bad, huh? You’d look like a temperamental jerk if you did. What have you been telling them about me? Have you been calling me an umbrella thief? Or an absolute flake? Have you been trying to turn them against me?”

“Shut up!” Orange was shaking with rage. They raised their fists. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Purple repeated.

“Stop it!” Green came in between them before either could say or make another move. “Stop it, both of you!”

Red and Yellow had rushed to Orange’s side to pull them back while Blue grasped at Purple’s shoulders. Both stick figures pushed the offending hands off of them.

Green was looking between them in bewilderment. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Orange said, crossing their arms, “Purple’s being a real jackass.”

“Ha! I could say the same about you!” Purple laughed, “You were about to hit me!” 

“Purple,” Green warned, “this isn't like you. Why are you starting fights?”

“Why are you accusing me?” Purple yelled, “You’re taking their side!”

“We’re not,” Blue said, moving beside Green, “but Purple, you’ve been acting really different for a long time.”

“Becoming very bitter,” Yellow added. “You hardly want to hang with us.”

“I hardly want to hang out with you? Me?” Purple snapped. “Maybe I don’t want all my hangouts to be with a loser like them!” He pointed at Orange, and Red had to pull Orange back again. “You guys hang off them as if they can walk on water!”

They all had the gall to be stunned by Purple’s statement. Were they that oblivious to how Purple felt the entire time?

“Purple, we thought we’d never see them again,” Green said, “They thought we were dead for years! What’s wrong with wanting to spend time with them after all the time we lost?”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Purple growled, “but it’s funny how you knew me for longer, and you chose to hang out with them! Every time! Right after I showed you–” He stopped, recalling Orange was there and observing.

Like he’d ever share his past to them.

“Why didn’t you say anything to us?” Red asked.

“I thought it was obvious!”

“We’re not mind readers!” Green snapped, pointing a finger at Purple, “You always do that! You sulk and get mad at us without ever telling us jack! I thought we were over this?”

“Why didn’t you ask?” Purple asked. “You noticed I was being different, and you never thought to ask?”

“You… make it hard to ask…” Blue said, rubbing her arm.

“Right, of course, it's all my fault again!” Purple growled, turning away. As he did, he saw the crowd of shoppers around them, having paused to watch the argument unfold. Given their judging stares, no doubt they saw Purple as the one in the wrong again.

“Purple! We’re not accusing you! We just asked you to tell us,” Green said. He placed his hand on Purple’s arm. “We’re friends. You should feel comfortable telling us how you really feel!”

“Are we really?” Purple asked, yanking his arm back. He glared at all of them, hating how they stood beside Orange. “Are we really friends if you keep blowing me off for someone else?”

Green looked helplessly at him. “Purple…”

But he added nothing more, and Purple turned away.

“Guess that answers it,” Purple said, “I guess this is it, then. I’m leaving. Don’t you dare follow me!”

“Purple!”

Purple ran and didn’t dare look back. Despite what he said, part of him hoped that one of them would run after him, to stop him.

They didn’t.

[gaysindistress]

Daffodils

summary: My mark, a bouquet of daffodils, is the one thing that I have had to cling to through the years. It’s a promise of eternal love, a partnership made by the gods. I thought I’d lost him in 1945 but here he is in 2023, alive and well (kinda).

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader 

warnings: angst, fluff, the feels, soulmate au

word count: 7.5k

Main masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

For as long as I could remember I had daffodils on my left arm, the mark in the shape of four pale flowers in a bouquet being with me since birth. My mother would tell me stories of couples with matching marks, destined to find each other in this life and the next. She’d trace over her own mark that tied her to my father when she told me these stories and engrained the importance of the mark into me. “We are not whole until we find our match,” she’d say whilst sending my father loving glances that were returned by a wink and blown kisses. She would tell me about that the pull that you’d feel when you were close to your match. The proximity would tug at you like a string until you reached the end and met your match. My father would laugh while recalling how he nearly ran her over when he had been chasing that string, too caught up in the moment to look where he was going. Their situation was unusual in that he was a god, meaning he would live long after she died and would lose the one person made for him. It saddened her to know that one day she would leave her daughter and beloved husband behind but living with them for any length of time was enough for her. 

When she did die, the mark on my father’s arm did not fade but morphed into a new one, presenting him with a new match to find. Somewhere out in the universe, my mother had been reborn and she would be waiting for him to find her. Gods had the special ability to have several matches throughout their lifetime as they lived far longer than humans. If they did have a human match, they would be reborn so the god and them could be together for eternity. My fate was undecided being half human, half god; I could either find a god match or a human match that would not be reborn. The cruel reality of my situation halted my efforts to find my match many times. 

How could I go off and find them if I would only have a few decades with them? 

How could I allow myself to feel this great love, only to have it ripped away and never to be felt again? 

For many years, I chose not to look and pretended the daffodils were non-existent. Not only that but I couldn’t feel the pull to find my match for nearly two centuries. Curiosity, sure, drove most of my searching but that need to find my other half wasn’t there until 1917. I had been tending to my flower garden, trying to reconnect with the earth again when I felt the burn in my arm. The daffodils were glowing and burning from under my linen sleeve, telling me that my match had been born and from that day I felt the pull that my mother described. It drove me to leave my mountain cabin and find refuge in Brooklyn, New York. 

Occasionally I would feel a burn in my mark, letting me know they were close but it never led anywhere. I’d search a twenty-foot radius when it’d happen only to turn up with nothing, no leads to who they might be. Even though I knew I was in the right city and that they would have a matching mark, I had nothing else to go off of, leaving me distraught and lost. Once again I had allowed myself to get my hopes up only for them to be violently destroyed. My father, ever the wise man, would try to console me, telling me that these things take time and that I needed to be patient. Both of us knew that the sudden shift in 1917 meant they were human and thus I would only have a limited amount of time with them. Both of us never spoke of that fact and tried to find relief in the fact that I finally had a lead, no matter how small. 

Born March 10th, 1917 in Brooklyn, New York, and would have a daffodil bouquet on their left arm. 

The 20s came and went with no sign of them. The 30s passed in a blur with still nothing. The 40s were here and alas I had nothing. The first world war had not been a concern for me because they wouldn’t have been old enough to join however with the fast-approaching second world war, anxiety gripped me every day. If they were a man, they would surely be drafted and I would lose nearly any chance to meet them. On the other hand, if they were a woman, this world was not ready to welcome queer matches. Either way, I looked at it, nothing eased the fear and uncertainty that I lived with every day.

Laurel is the first person I told about a part of my dilemma. She doesn’t know about my god heritage but knows that I haven’t found my match yet and is becoming increasingly worried about the U.S. joining the war. The strawberry blonde laughs at my distressed expression as we pour out our hearts to each other in her small living room. She’d invited me over for dinner, at least that's what she claims but the coffee table full of wine and snacks led me to believe she needed a girl’s night. 

“I don’t really know why you bother with all of that stuff. Just live and have fun,” she declares as she refills her wine, the sweet but tangy aroma filling the room, “Don’t go around checking everyone’s arm and worrying about it.”

“My parents had such a great story….”

She lets out a loud and dramatic sigh, “Yeah yeah whatever. Honey, you need to just go out, find yourself a man, and dance the night away. There are hundreds if not thousands of handsome men in uniforms milling around, I bet we could find you one to get your mind off of this mystery person.”

“Laurel I don’t want a pointless fling, you know that.”

Sitting up and leaning forward, her eyes get a mischievous look in them, “I have a date tomorrow night and he has a friend. We could make it a double date! Oh, honey, it would be so much fun!”

I agree rather unwilling and she jumps up, shrieking as she grabs the phone to call her date to tell him it’s now a double date. 

Waves of patchouli, carnation, and vanilla filter through Laurel’s bedroom as she dances around while getting ready. She had pretty much drowned herself and me in her perfume when I walked in, claiming it was the best perfume on the market. 

“Sit we have to fix your hair,” demanding, she points to the vanity chair. 

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

Red nails grip my shoulders and push me to the chair, “You can’t go out with days old pin curls.”

“They’re not days old and it’s how Veronica Lake wears her hair,” I swat at her hands as she tries to put my hair into a chignon. 

“Fine. Don’t complain to me if Steve doesn’t flirt with you.”

“Steve?”

“Oh yeah,” she’s moved on from my hair to lipstick, “You know my next-door neighbor, Steve, right? Well, his best friend is in town on leave and we may have run into each other a few days back.”

“Oh my god, Laurel! Why didn’t you tell me it was Steve?”

Shrugging her shoulders, “Why does it matter? He’s sweet and Bucky is to die for.”

“That’s the problem; he’s too sweet to be dragged around on a double date. I can’t go, I’m sorry,” I try to get up but she stops me with a very intense look on her face. 

“No, you’re going and you’re going to flirt with sweet Steve and get your mind off of that stupid mark,” she shakes my left arm for dramatic effect in the mirror, “Now take this lipstick, put it on, and change into one of my dresses.”

“I’ll put on the lipstick but I’m not wearing on your dresses.”

“You’re wearing a rather boring day dress. Flash a little cleavage for once.”

I roll my eyes at her crude wording as I finish putting on the red lipstick. Sitting back to look at myself in the mirror fully, I hate to admit that she might be right. The plain blue dress only has a hint of embellishment with the pearls that trail from the waist to the hem. In comparison to the white floral dress that Laurel has on, I do blend in with the background but that might be in part due to her much more outgoing personality. She doses us with another round of perfume, satisfied that we’ll smell absolutely irresistible. There’s a knock at the front door, pausing both of us and she lets out a small shriek of glee. 

“They’re here!” 

She’s bouncing like a toddler at the door, stopping only to take a deep breath and calm herself before swinging the door wide open to reveal our dates for the night. Pressing superficial kisses to their cheeks, she steps aside to let them in and takes the flowers her date is holding to put into a vase. I emerge from the bedroom with the mark on my arm starting to burn and itch as I get closer to the trio. The men have their backs to me but I recognize the shorter one as Steve Rogers, the aforementioned next-door neighbor. Beside him is the flirt of Brooklyn, James Bucky Barnes dressed in his sergeant’s uniform with that dazzling smile directed at Laurel. 

The burn in my arm becomes unbearable when my eyes land on them and whatever heartbeat I had becomes even more erratic as I realize what’s happening. I’ve met Steve several times and never once has my mark burned like this. Sure it might itch when I walk past his door every now and then but I brushed it off. The only other person that could be causing this is Bucky, my best friend’s date.  My heart stops altogether when he turns to greet me, extending out his hand in a true gentleman’s manner, “Hi I’m Bucky, it’s nice to meet the girl Laurel has told me so much about.”

I’m completely and uttered screwed.

“I hope it’s been all good things,” I take his hand whilst hiding my left arm behind my back. If he notices it, he doesn’t say but there’s a flash of discomfort on his face when we shake hands. Of course, the first time we touch sends sparks through us both as if to say “Hey look it’s your match! Congrats!” He withdraws his hand and his brilliant blue eyes linger on me for too long as Laurel tries to usher us all out so we can start the night. 

Steve appears at my side, offering his arm, “It’s good to see you again. At least this time I’ll actually have someone to talk to.”

Grabbing my cardigan from the kitchen counter, I slip it on to hide my mark and take his arm while sending him a gentle smile, “I imagine you get dragged around on these dates a lot.” “Not as much as you’d think.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s you that I’ll be with all night. Given her track record, I was worried I might’ve ended up with a criminal or worse, a marine.”

He coughs to cover up his laugh, earning a look from the couple in front of us, “I feel like there’s a story there.”

“Not a very exciting one I’m afraid,” I whisper as we walk down the stairs of the apartment complex. 

Laurel breaks our little moment, spinning to face us as we step out onto the sidewalk, “How about some dancing?”

“I second that,” the laugh that comes from Bucky is like a dagger tearing through me. That laugh is meant to be reserved for me. That smile is meant to be directed at me. That look in his eye is meant for me but he is not mine at this moment and I don’t know if he’ll ever be mine. The chemistry between them is real, clear to see by the way they melt into each other when they start to walk again. With her at his side, he would never see me or the mark I’m certain we both wear and I have to accept that. 

Steve senses my hesitation and clears his throat to get my attention, “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, just colder than I expected is all,” I force a smile as I reassure him, tucking into his side even though we’re similar in height. 

It’s his turn to be nervous as we continue down the street, “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way but I saw your mark.”

I stiffen beside him, “What?”

“I really don’t mean to overstep but I think you should know he has the same one,” he says looking straight ahead and I follow his eye line to his best friend who is leaning down to whisper something into Laurel’s ear. Giggles erupt from her as the heat of my body disappears and anxiety takes over me. I can hear my heartbeat pound in my ears as my breathing starts to become labored. Steve fails to keep me upright as my knees go weak and I stumble. My knees and hands catch the rough pavement, ripping at the soft skin and causing blood to leak from the cuts. The streetlights are blurred around me and all of the noise surrounding us becomes muffled. Water starts to envelop me from within, making it harder to swim to the surface of my emotions. Pain rockets from the torn skin and the mark when a warm and strong body pulls me off the ground into them. The sleeves of my cardigan are bunched up, revealing stems of my daffodils as his hands tightly grip my biceps to keep me steady. 

“Hey hey are you okay?” his angelic voice barely breaks through my haze and I can’t help the tears that escape from my eyes. Concern fills his face as he bends down to look me in the eye and survey my expression. The sparks from our handshake are tenfold now as he holds me, only fueling my anxiety until it’s unbearable. Pushing him away with the little strength I have, I stagger back and blindly wipe at them with the back of my hand. 

“I’m so sorry. I have to go,” is the only thing I can muster the strength to say. Laurel calls after me as I take off down the street and disappear into a cab, leaving my unknown lover behind. 

In the weeks following the rather disastrous date, Laurel had tried to call and drop by to see how I was doing. The embarrassment of it all kept me from answering her calls and it took all that I had to not just open the door when she called my name. A few times at the start she’d even brought Steve and Bucky with her, trying to use them as bait to get me to open the door. Every time they’d leave, I’d slide down the door, hand clasped over my mouth to muffle the sobs. Every fiber in me burned to see him again, to feel his presence around me just one more time before I’d have to let him go. 

At some point, Laurel stopped calling and coming over. She claimed she couldn’t handle the pain of trying to maintain our friendship anymore. It angered her that I wouldn’t open up about what happened that night or even try to get to know her new boyfriend better. She would go on and on about how it was ridiculous that I wanted to find my soulmate so badly but when it came to her, I wouldn’t be supportive. Hypocrite was one of her many names for me towards the end but I learned to ignore it. I knew that if I let her in, I would fold and tell her everything from the matching marks to who my parents were. I couldn’t bear to see her face when she realized that her new boyfriend was my soulmate. 

When she returned to her normal life, Steve began to send me letters to update me on him and Bucky but they slowed as he became busier and busier with being Captain America. I could feel the intense trauma that Bucky experienced but reading about it in the letters, relief washed over me knowing that Steve was able to protect him when I could not. Eventually, they stopped altogether and my connection to Bucky ended completely, leaving me in the dark and alone with vague emotions that had no context. 

1945 had been the worst year to date for me. I could still feel Bucky every now and then, waves of joy and desperation washing over me. It all stopped one bleak day in 1945. Collapsing to the ground as I did that day, I clutched my chest as my heart punched in my chest. The singe of my arm turned into a volcanic eruption whilst the pure terror Bucky felt tore me apart. Coworkers rushed to my side, all awaiting my reason for why I fell so suddenly. The same thing that kept me from speaking up during that date kept me from explaining. 

“I don’t… I don’t know. I’m sorry, I….I need to go,” stuttering, I scrambled away to escape from my own personal ring of Hell. 

Is this what it felt like to have your soulmate die?

My father did everything he could to console me when I showed up at his door sobbing and exhausted. The woman my mother had been reborn into quickly left when she saw me and didn’t return until I left again. Later I found out he had sent her away so I wouldn’t have to see them together and worsen my suffering. He listened to me babble about Bucky and how I had just him slip through my fingers. Tender words and cups of tea were all he could offer me as I cried and mourned the death of my almost soulmate. He knew the pain that I felt, the deep ache that would never leave me but there was nothing he could do or say to ease it given that I had been cursed with only one soulmate. I’m not sure how long I stayed with him, a shell of my former self acting as a ghost in his home. I’m not even entirely sure how I made it back to the cabin I had left nearly 30 years earlier but one night I fell asleep by his fireplace and awoke in my cabin’s bedroom.

The morning sunlight breaks through the transparent curtains that I never remembered to close. The wood walls are filled with paintings and photographs of my loved ones through the years. Various bought and propagated plants clutter the shelves that line the top of the cabin walls. Even though I’m deep in the woods, having nature inside made me feel even more connected to the Earth I’ve walked for nearly 300 years. During my many years, the cabin has become overwhelmed with pieces I couldn’t possibly bear to part with. The Persian rug given to me by my grandmother keeps my feet warm as I slide off the loft bed and shuffle toward the kitchen. Piles of blankets made by past versions of me spill from the baskets that fail at keeping them under the bed. Space is limited in the cabin however being surrounded by the memories of my life provided me with comfort.

Steve’s letters are laying on the kitchen counter wrapped neatly with string next to the tea kettle. A small photo of him and Bucky peaks out from between the letters. He’d sent it in hopes it would entice me to write to the other man but it only brought more torment to my weakened heart. The stems of his daffodils make an appearance in the photo, confirming what Steve told me. No longer able to stand the angst regrowing inside, I nudge the photo back into the pile and push it away from me. Filling the tea kettle with water, I light the stove and place it on a burner. The familiar sounds of crackling fire and bubbling water make it to my ears however I can’t stop staring at the letters with numerous questions popping up in my mind.

Did Bucky know that Steve had written to me?

Did he know about that picture?

Had it been a spur-of-the-moment, taken just for me, or an old one Steve packed around?

Did Steve tell him about our marks? Who I really was to him?

Did he die knowing I was his soulmate or did he die thinking he was alone?

As if the gods knew I needed a break from my internal torture, the kettle whistles and washes away the cloud of questions that had floated in. With a cup of tea in my hands, I return to my bed and cover myself with an aging-knitted blanket, letting the warmth soothe the tension in my muscles. I had spent my life searching and praying for my soulmate but now that he was gone, I have no idea what to do. My life’s mission is gone, leaving me with the unanswered question of what to do next. Maintaining my garden and the forest around my cabin would provide only so much relief. I would have to find something else to occupy my time however, grieving will have to do until then.

A side effect of being half god is never really remembering what year it is. Already being a forgetful person, keeping track of the year is something I never get better at. Calendars are only helpful if one remembers to keep them updated and asking someone the year earns weird looks because why would someone forget what year it is. The only thing that helps with this is the weather and gardening. The changing weather patterns and sunlight schedules are my solutions because in order to garden, I have to know the seasons and thus I can kind of guess the year based on what season it is. Still, I get it wrong when my father visits, complaining that it’s been nearly 20 years since we last saw each other.

“Did you forget about me? It’s been two decades since I saw you last” he jokes, pulling me into a tight hug, “I missed you, dearest.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just got so caught up and time slipped away,” I ramble on, trying to excuse my negligence.

He smiles and quietly shushes me before bending down to look at the daffodils I had been tending to when he arrived, “Seeing you happy again is worth the long wait. How are you doing?”

I shrug, “Better. It’s been difficult but things are getting better.”

“Good, good. Time really does heal our inner wounds.”

“Is it a time or do we just force ourselves to cope so we don’t seem lost in our grief? Because I have a hard time believing that the number of years passing by is the reason I don’t cry every day.”

“It may be both. I wouldn’t discount the work you’ve done to move on…”

My soft scoff stops him mid-sentence, “You make it sound like I lost my favorite book or something. I can’t ‘move on’ from this, I will always feel the hole he left. My heart will always ache in such a way that it eats me alive at night. There is a life and a love I will never have because my own fear stopped me from reaching out to him. I never got to see goodbye and now there’s a permanent absence, sudden, abrupt, and louder than anything could ever be. Yes the world kept spinning and life went on but it was never the same again. I will never be the same again.”

“Dearest you know I didn’t mean to diminish what you’re going through. I simply meant…” He tries to backtrack and save himself from my scorn.

“What you said and what you meant are two different things. Regardless I do not care to have this conversation,” I stop at the cabin’s door, turning to look over my shoulder at him, “You’re welcome to stay for dinner as long as you don’t bring him up again.”

Nodding, he follows me inside and continues to marvel at my green thumb. If I can’t nurture the future I want, I can at least care for my plants with the same passion.

My braid falls down my back, flyaways and loose strands having escaped amid the fight. My chest is rising and falling quickly as I try to regain my breath, the braid slipping off to the side. Pieces too short to reach the back have fallen in my face, barely hiding the blood and cuts that mark my face. I take in shaky breaths as I kneel on the ground, my hands flat against the ground, trying to find stability.

The two men are watching me, their chests heaving in an effort from fighting me. Neither move, too caught up in observing every movement I make. I drag my hands to my knees as I sit back on my haunches.

“I come in peace. I swear,” I rasp as I try to steady myself, muscles screaming in agony.

The brunette scoffs at my weak white flag as the other man takes a careful step forward.

“What are you doing here?” the closer man asks.

I wipe at the blood dripping from my nose, “I could ask you two the same thing. They sent here me on a pre-sweep before Walker comes to do a photo shoot.”

The brunette shoves his gun into the waistband of his pants and shakes his head at my answer. The other name gives him a confused look, “Walker?”

“The son of bitch can’t even do his own missions without a babysitter,” the brunette mumbles while searching the room for what the three of us had been fighting over, a vial that has rolled dangerously close to me.

“Wait, so they send in a solo agent to do a clearance sweep for him?” the other man asks.

I spot the vial but push it toward the men, wanting nothing to do with it.

“Yeah, well he is Shield’s newest shiny toy, and they can’t afford to replace him if something were to happen. So they send in replaceable people like me to do the hard part, and he comes in during the last minute to take all the of the credit,” I laugh humorlessly. I make no attempt to move as my body starts to ache and fatigue sets in. I’ve been doing this for far too long with too little sleep and even less food and water. A part of me had hoped that they would’ve just killed me during the fight, so I could finally get some peace and get away from Walker. The life I once had was too far gone to even think about running away from it. There is nothing left for me at this point and giving the vial over might as well be the last nail in my coffin.

The brunette picks up the vial, eyeing me for just handing it over. His hands are covered by gloves by the whirring of mechanics is unmistakable. I know all too well who these two men are, and I also know I won’t survive another fight with them or the wrath of my“employers”.

Gesturing to the vial, I caught his eye, “I don’t want whatever the hell that is. I don’t even know what it is but if you’re here for it, it definitely can’t get into Walker’s hands. Just take it and get the hell out. He’ll be here in maybe 20 minutes and won’t exactly like seeing the Falcon and Winter Solider.”

Sam reaches a hand out to me, “You’re coming with us.”

I brush his hand away and shaking stand up, body crying out in protest. Going with them means more running, more fighting, and more hiding. I can’t take it anymore. I’d rather die at this point.

“No. Just get out. I won’t say anything about you two being here.”

Bucky speaks up, “And why would you do that?”

“You’re not the bad guys here. Just go. You don’t have much time,” I grumble, picking up my gun and reholstering it. My black suit is ripped and blood is gluing it to my skin. I’m sure I look like a complete mess but it matches how I feel.

Before anyone can speak, the static of a radio roars into the room. Sam picks up the radio and tosses it to me.

“Agent Echo, status update now!” a demanding voice comes through.

Rolling my eyes, I press the call button, “Pre sweep complete. I ran into some trouble but the building is clear.”

“Trouble?” the sneer can be heard through the garble of the radio.

“The building wasn’t exactly clear like you had said so yes I ran into some trouble but I’m fine thank you for asking.”

“Be at the meeting spot in 5 minutes.”

“Copy that,” I say like mentally screaming and imagining that I’m throwing the radio at the wall.

“Like I said,” I turn to Sam and Bucky, “you don’t have much time so get the hell out.”

My legs begin to shake as I try to take a step and I collapse to the floor, the world fading to nothing.

Groaning, I try to move my body to regain feeling but something prevents me from doing so. My eyes blink rapidly to accommodate the light that blinds me and the two men come into view. I look down too fast, causing a head rush, but spot the chair that I’m bound to.

“Woah, woah, don’t move too fast,” Sam says as he approaches me and kneels down to meet my eye line.

“Walker wasn’t going to let you live after we took the vial so we took you with us,” he explains, no malicious is seen on his face.

I chuckle at his words and pull my head up to catch Bucky’s eyes. He’s still as stoic as before, with no emotion to be found on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, a blonde woman is sitting at a dimly lit table and a man wearing a massive fur-lined coat is sitting with her.

“The whole gang's back together I see.”

The blonde shifts in her chair, metal creaking against the cement floor, “What were you doing in that building?”

Sam stands and rejoins Bucky, pulling him aside into a hushed conversation. I glance over to the blonde who I recognize as Sharon Carter. The third man is, of course, the Baron, and I can’t help the laugh that threatens to bubble up.

“No reason”

“No reason?” Sharon repeats.

“Yep. No reason.”

“Who are you?”

“No one.”

The baron now looks impatient and uncrosses his legs to recross them.

“No one?”

I shrug, “Yep.”

Sharon huffs at my remark and looks to Bucky and Sam for some help.

“They called you Agent Echo,” Sam offers up.

“She can’t possibly be Agent Echo. She’s dead,” Sharon answers.

“Oh look at you with all the answers,” I try to make a fist to try and restart blood flow to my hand. I had landed in glass shards and there are pieces still embedded in my palm, too small to have shaken out.

“Try again. You’re not Agent Echo so who are you?” Sharon leans forward in her chair, causing the chair to groan again under the strain.

“A person,” slowly my fingers start to feel warm again and I move to try and wiggle my feet around.

A loud grunt is heard as the baron decides that a sudden show of aggression is needed to scare the truth out of me. He crosses the room in a few steps, heavy boots pounding the cement when he leans too close to me. All I do is raise my head and we are now inches from each other’s faces.

“I suggest you take a step back, Helmut,” I whisper as the baron tries to hold a solid facade.

Bucky is the one to pull the baron back, thoroughly over this show of dominance. He pushes him back towards his chair before retaking his place next to Sam.

“How do you know who he is?” questions Sam.

“That’s not important. Now what I want to know is how you got me out of there without a brigade of super soldiers on your tail.”

“We snuck out the way we came. It wasn’t hard.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Agent Echo was said to be a half god, half human,” Sharon now has all eyes on her, “Even when they found a body, it was highly likely that it wasn’t actually her. The body they found was missing their left arm so they couldn’t officially match the marks. The only way to tell if she really is Echo is to check her left arm.”

All eyes are on me now and the world starts to close in on me. The anxiety of having my mark revealed and the fear of unveiling my true identity is becoming too much to handle. My body can barely keep itself awake at this point and adding on this pressure is not making it any easier. Everyone is waiting for me to speak but nothing comes out.

“No,” my voice cracks as I try to get words out, “You will not put a hand on me.”

Sam goes to speak but is stopped by me choking out more words, “Whether or not I’m Agent Echo is not important. What is, is getting that vial out of here and getting into hiding. Walker will no doubt be ferocious that it’s missing so it’s only a matter of time before he comes busting down doors.”

“Check her arm,” Sharon tells Sam.

“Do not touch me,” I try to wiggle away from him but with the ropes, I have nowhere to go and no choice other than to let him pull my sleeve up.

My breathing is too quick, too close to having a full-blown panic attack when the daffodils are on display for everyone to see. I don’t miss the confused look Bucky is wearing as he narrows in on them, trying to put the pieces together in his head. He must have recognized me to some degree back during the fight but brushed it off until now, faced with the undeniable evidence that we do know each other.

Sharon approaches me, inspecting my mark, “How are you still alive?”

“Is that really the question you want to ask right now?”

“Yes now answer me.”

“It takes a lot more to kill someone like me. The body they found was an accident. I hadn’t planned on faking my death but it worked out to my benefit until Walker had the body reexamined and found out it wasn’t me. America needed their Agent Echo again so he tracked me down and brought me back. ”

Sharon rolls her eyes and tries to explain how implausible that sounds. Bucky silences her with a look as he walks toward me and starts to undo my binds. He doesn’t say a word while he does so and silently hopes that I won’t say anything either. With the final bind undone, it takes everything in me to not wrap him in my arms. Here he is; standing right in front of me alive is my soulmate. He stands and backs up to Sam before his resolve breaks and he unleashes the thousands of questions he has on me.

“Why’d you do that?” Sam whispers.

“I know her,” he whispers back.

Sharon had left us and the men are all sitting around the table talking amongst themselves. I can hear the conversation from the bathroom as I gingerly pull the suit from my body. As it drops to the floor, it makes a disgusting wet sound and I nearly gag. The shower running covers the noise and I continue to take off the Shield-issued clothes. One by one the filthy garments leave my body until I’m left with nothing but my skin and wounds that definitely need tending to. I grimace at the black, blues, and yellows that litter my body and the caked blood that will take so much scrubbing to get off.

Stepping into the shower, I hiss at the feeling of warm water on my skin. There isn’t much in the shower aside from a bottle of 3 in 1 and an unused washcloth Sam gave to me. So starts the long process of ridding myself of blood and dirt. In slow circles, I scrub at the filth and watch as the muddy water flows down the drain. My hair is a problem I’m not sure I want to tackle but know I have to. Stiff fingers unravel the braid and tangles make it nearly impossible to do it gently. I wash what I can from it, knowing it won’t be nearly as clean as it could be.

After I finish washing what sins I can away, I step out of the shower and wrap a rough towel around my body. A fresh stack of clothes sits on the counter, thanks to Sharon. I know not to be ungrateful but I also don’t want to owe Sharon anything. However, my alternative is the bloody suit on the floor so the borrowed clothes will have to do.

I slip on the jeans and tug the red long-sleeve henley over my head, pulling my wet mass of hair out of the collar. There is a familiar scent on the shirt that I can’t place. Sitting on the toilet, I put socks on and lace up the boots Sharon definitely didn’t want to give up. I finger comb what tangles I can out and rebraid my hair, leaving a wet mark on my back but at least I have clean clothes on. Before leaving the bathroom, I grab my bloody suit and toss it into the main room’s fire without a word.

I take the open seat in between Sam and Bucky. Sam starts to question me about how I’m doing and how my shower was. I nod along politely and say my thanks for giving me a place to stay. My attention isn’t fully on Sam though, my mind drifting away to Walker and the possibility that he might find me. The baron says some off-handed comment causing me to look over at him and the smell hits me. With Bucky sitting right next to me, his cologne wafts past me and it’s the same as the shirt. He must have given Sharon one of his old shirts for me to change into.

“Wow, I haven’t seen that henley in forever, Buck,” Sam chuckles as he eyes the red henley I’m wearing.

“I forgot I even had it,” Bucky replies and gets up, “I’ll take first shift watch.”

“I will too,” I interject while Sam smirks to himself.

“Go right ahead,” he says before walking off into another room, the Baron following suit.

Bucky still hasn’t spoken or even looked at me and I’m growing restless, fingers tapping rapidly on my knee.

“How do I know you?” I almost don’t hear his quiet voice as he’s watching out the window with his back to me. The uncertainty in his voice pulls at my heart and that little string that ties us together in destiny. When the Winter Soldier first emerged, I felt a faint tug but never enough to convince me that he was still alive. From time to time, I would become overwhelmed with suffering and anger so deep, it would incapacitate me for hours. It wasn’t until it was revealed who the Winter Soldier really was that it all clicked into place for me. Even though I had worked with SHIELD for many years under Nick Fury, I refused to be a part of anything to do with super soldiers and Hydra. I would do anything else Fury needed of me but that was my one condition; I will be completely in the dark about Hydra and super soldiers. Walker, however, became too greedy to find the serum and dragged me back into the ring against my will. God or not, he had beaten me down until I was a shell of the agent I had been before. Now face to face with Bucky, I’m beating myself up internally for not learning more about Hydra. Had I known maybe I would’ve been able to save him sooner. “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember a girl named Laurel?”

He’s turned to face me, leaning against the window, and nods.

“What about the double date in 1943? You’d come home on leave and she wanted to go on a double date with Steve and one of her friends.”

He says my name with such disbelief that I’m here in front of me, “Your mark. That’s the reason you ran away that night?”

“I couldn’t tell you after I saw how well you two got along. It didn’t feel right to me to break up your relationship, especially with how enamored she was with you.”

“Did you even take into consideration what I might have wanted?”

“It wouldn’t have been fair…”

His booming voice halts me mid-sentence, “No what wasn’t fair was to run from me and not even try to tell me. When we shook hands, I knew there was something between us and then when I picked you up, I felt that spark again. I tried to go after you, to visit you. Hell, I even had Steve write to you to make sure you were okay. I tried but you didn’t.”

“You have no idea what I’ve done to find you,” standing up from the table, my voice wavers with tears, “I waited for 200 years to feel you be born and then I had to wait another 26 years to meet only to see you with another girl. I ran because I couldn’t stand to watch you and Laurel together after waiting so long to finally meet you. When I finally worked up the courage to find you again, I felt you die and then I felt only pain for the next 70 years. It consumed me until I had nothing left. Working as Agent Echo was about the only thing that kept me from losing it all and just ending it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be in misery that long?”

“You felt me die?”

“Back in 1945 when you fell from the train. Obviously, I know now that you didn’t die but it most certainly felt that way.”

“And you felt everything when I was…” he trails off, unable to say the words so I fill in for him.

“Yes, even then I went through it all. I met Steve again before everything and he told me about it and what really happened.”

There’s a spilt second of silence as he mulls over my words. My eyes fall to his left arm where his matching mark should be but it’s been replaced with metal.

“He never told me about that.”

“Because I asked him not to. I wasn’t sure if you would be ready or even want to see me so I asked him to wait. I had it all planned out; he was going to take you on a trip to my cabin under the guise of a friend’s weekend so I could tell you everything. We agreed that it would be better if he brought you to me rather than me just springing it all on you without warning. Then the blip and Thanos happened and he was gone.”

Once again he doesn’t respond right away while his jaw clenches and tears brim his eyes. Hesitantly I make my way to him slowly so I don’t scare him. After the nearly 80 years it had been since I last saw him, so much had changed in him but the one thing that never left is the ghost of his boyish smile. Even now as he tries to hold back the storm of emotions inside, the wrinkles from years of smiling and laughter are visible.

My hand lands on his cheek, guiding him to look at me, “I’m sorry that I ran and that I didn’t try harder to find you but I’m here now and I’ll stay by your side. I will love you until the sky above darkens and even then I’ll stay by your side in the afterglow.”

Bucky drops his forehead to mine and his arms cradle my face while the tears fall freely now, “Please don’t leave again.”

“I won’t.”

[viilpstick]

TW: Advanced warning, the following content is a resume of everything that this “youtuber” has done. I usually don’t bring this type of stuff in my blog, but I have to spread awareness about it. I won’t get into details because of how disgusting and disturbing this thing is.

If you are able to hear this type of content, I recommend you watch this video (yes it is a repost, I couldn’t find the original by a possible strick made by Burned Show).

I don’t know this YouTuber called Mudahar (the creator of the video addressing the situation), so if he has done anything bad, I apologize I am coming from another channel, whose the creator is a Brazilian and since not all my public will understand nor speaks Brazilian, it is the best video I could find to expose this piece of shit.

Resume: The burned show is an Mexican “content creator”, who from far I’ve known had been on the YouTube with 3 different channels with little success. According to him, he is an “g0r3 reactor” and makes video of his reactions towards it.

This is shown in his TikTok. His YouTube channel had its focus on watching videos of… Well, I really don’t want to say it. But, do imagine possible disgusting content and behavior, with all his videos having a poor censoring and etc. I don’t want this post of awareness to get down. So, please don’t search it up. Watch the video, and you will automatically understand what I meant by it.

Burned Show channel has already fell, but his TikTok account still up, differently from his YouTube channel, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back to the platform with another channel, since he does that quite a lot.

On the past when he was called out the YouTube channel SomeOrdinaryGamers, also known as the creator: Mudahar. He has made fun of the situation. Not just that at the end of EVERY VIDEO he did a “little silly dance” after watching these disgusting contents, that I thought you would only find on the D4rk W3b.

THAT, without counting the lives where he would make a character and pretend to have Down Syndrome awhile mocking it.

Honestly, I will forever be disgusted by this.

Do NOT let this story die. We need justice. He has gotten away from this type of things and it’s unethical and unacceptable.

If you are sensitive to this type of content, just go to his TikTok, REPORT HIM and BLOCK HIM. I didn’t watched ANY of his videos, I don’t want to do that, but, there’s proof to hold against him, so… You know. I am utterly disgusted and I’ve just watched the Brazilian video, posted 2 days ago. I had to take my action, so at least I can sleep at , because after this? I swear to God, I loose faith each time more on us as human beings.

[watchmenanon]

THE ‘STRANGER THINGS’ BOYS ARE OUR ‘NYLON GUYS’ SEPTEMBER 2017 COVER STARS

If anyone understands the sudden shift from “not fitting in” to “one-million-plus followers,” it’s these guys.

The following feature appears in the September 2017 issue of NYLON Guys.

Finn Wolfhard just couldn’t resist. Despite needing to be camera-ready for his NYLON photo shoot, the 14-year-old star of Stranger Things decided to suck on a blue Warhead anyway, and now he’s paying the price. “All these sets have candy on them, and I can’t help myself. It was a mistake,” he admits, sheepishly trying to scrub the cerulean stain from his tongue with a miniature toothbrush. To his right, Gaten Matarazzo wears a gray T-shirt that reads, uh oh! did my sarcasm hurt your feelings?, a slogan worthy of Dustin Henderson, the lovable wisecracker he plays opposite Wolfhard on the hit Netflix show. Matarazzo, also 14, is getting his trademark tangle of curls straightened, much to the delight of Noah Schnapp, who, at 12, is the youngest in this group of breakout stars that has helped make Stranger Things the most obsessed-over show in Netflix’s boundless roster of original series. Missing is Caleb McLaughlin, the energetic 15-year-old who plays Lucas Sinclair, but he’s on his way over in a black car, having just arrived from Los Angeles, fresh off an appearance at the BET Awards.

It’s the first time the boys have been together in several weeks, and none of them can pinpoint exactly when they were last in the same room. Ever since Stranger Things became a cultural phenomenon last summer, they’ve been swept up in a whirlwind of red carpets, talk shows, and fan conventions. And as the premiere of the sci-fi and horror fantasia’s top-secret second season nears, this summer has been overtaken by a flurry of promotional duties. Next week, while most kids their age are cooling off in pools or testing out the latest in roller coaster technology, Matarazzo and McLaughlin will be at Denver Comic Con, signing autographs and posing for selfies with wide-eyed fans. A few weeks after that, all four will find themselves inside the hallowed Hall H at San Diego Comic-Con, where they’ll premiere the thrilling trailer for Season 2 to rapturous applause.

But on this day, even though they’re technically at work, the boys still find time to goof off. They are, after all, best friends—like brothers, even, they say—and there’s a lot of catching up to do, memes to be shared, and jokes to be cracked. “We used to call Noah ‘Señor Biebs,’” Matarazzo offers at one point, due to Schnapp’s Season 1 bowl cut and its resemblance to the former haircut of a certain Canadian pop star. “He hates it!” he says, just before he sticks his finger into Schnapp’s ear (playfully, of course).

Inside the bright and breezy photo studio on Manhattan’s West Side, publicists abound, but because these budding stars are still minors, there are also parents. It’s an unusual sight, and a reminder that despite having very grown-up jobs, they’re still not old enough to drive. Wolfhard, the Vancouver native who plays Mike Wheeler, is here with his father, as is Matarazzo, who hails from Little Egg Harbor Township, New Jersey. Schnapp and his parents came in from Westchester County, north of the city. When McLaughlin, who grew up in Carmel, New York, finally arrives lugging a suitcase that’s almost as big as he is, he’s accompanied by his father, a burly man in an Atlanta Braves cap who goes around the room with his son hugging the other parents, a reminder of how tight the makeshift family has become since this odyssey began more than two years ago.

Stranger Things premiered as an underdog. Its creators, the twin brothers Matt and Ross Duffer, were unproven talents who had previously written for the Fox sci-fi series Wayward Pines. Except for Winona Ryder’s comeback as a grieving mother searching for her missing son, the cast was composed largely of unknowns and newcomers. But thanks to its double dose of supernatural intrigue and a nostalgic ’80s-tinged glow, along with a miraculous performance by a young British actress with a shaved head, Stranger Things quickly commandeered the pop-culture conversation in a way that few shows have done. In July, the show received a staggering 18 Emmy nominations, including Outstanding Drama Series.

Created by the Duffers in the spirit of the Amblin-era entertainments they were raised on, the eight-episode first season is set in 1983 in Hawkins, Indiana, and unravels the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Will Byers, played by Schnapp, who vanishes in the first episode after an encounter with the show’s resident boogeyman, the otherworldly creature known as the Demogorgon. As Will’s three misfit best friends—Mike, Lucas, and Dustin—embark on a quest to find him, they uncover an alternate dimension they dub The Upside Down, and a sinister government conspiracy that may be responsible for opening it. They also befriend Eleven, the feral girl with telekinetic powers embodied iconically by 13-year-old Millie Bobby Brown.

Stranger Things began filming its second season under very different circumstances than the first. What once felt like a scrappy production free of scrutiny from outside sources suddenly had the mood and atmosphere of a major Hollywood blockbuster. “Netflix knew it would be a good show,” McLaughlin says, “but they didn’t realize how big it would be and that the whole world was going to freak out about it.” Because of that intense interest from both the network and the public, the set suddenly had a noticeable security presence shielding it from nosy onlookers and paparazzi, while network executives showed up to make sure their prized racehorse was galloping along. Suddenly, there were expectations. “We raised the bar pretty high with the first season,” says Matarazzo. “There was a lot more tension on set, in that we really needed to make sure it was good.”

When Season 2 premieres on October 27, a year will have passed since Eleven sacrificed herself to defeat the faceless Demogorgon and save the boys, in the Season 1 finale. Trying to squeeze spoilers out of Wolfhard, McLaughlin, Schnapp, and Matarazzo is useless. Extensive media training, including detailed notes on what they can and can’t discuss, have transformed them into a rare breed: teenagers who can keep a secret. What they can say: Season 2 is bigger, darker, and scarier. There’s also a new character in town, played by Sadie Sink. (According to the Duffers, Millie Bobby Brown was “relieved” to have another girl on set.) “She’s a skater, sort of a punk girl, and she slowly becomes part of the group,” says Wolfhard, who also says his character will be depressed and “a loner” in the wake of Eleven’s disappearance. What they can’t say: pretty much everything else. But it’s not just scoop-hungry journalists who harass them for info. “Whenever you get recognized by fans, most of the time they ask you if you’ve got any spoilers for Season 2, and I’m like, ‘No, none, not at all,’” says Matarazzo. “It’s definitely kind of stressful.”

One of the biggest changes for the new season is the expansion of Schnapp’s screen time. Because his character spends much of the first season trapped in an alternate dimension, Schnapp spent a good deal of time at home in New York while everyone else filmed in Atlanta. “Last year I would drive up to the studio and everyone would be like, ‘Hey, Noah, we’ve missed you! How’ve you been?’” says Schnapp. “This year was a lot easier because last year, I’d have to go in and out of school, and that was hard. This year I could focus.”

Although he’s rescued from The Upside Down, we last saw Schnapp removing a slithery creature from his mouth, a telltale sign that not all is well with Will Byers. For Schnapp, whose character mostly communicated through Christmas lights in Season 1, the new episodes meant new challenges as an actor. “Shawn Levy, one of our directors, was telling me, ‘Noah, you have something really big this season. We have a lot in store for you, and you should get really excited,’” he says. Schnapp felt the added pressure, and would sometimes text his TV mom, Ryder, for extra help with particularly emotional scenes. “We knew we needed a strong actor in case the series moved forward into a second season, because we knew he was going to be a centerpiece,” says Matt Duffer. “We needed not just a good actor, but a really, really good actor.” Schnapp rose to the occasion, according to the Duffers. “Shawn [Levy] was like, ‘We’ve had a Ferrari sitting in the garage all of Season 1, and now the fucking garage doors are open.’”

The Duffers knew that casting child actors, who have a tendency to favor exaggerated performances over naturalistic ones, would make or break their show. “There’s really nothing worse than a bad child performance,” Ross Duffer says. “You couldn’t have any weaknesses, or the eight hours would be excruciating.” Along with their casting director, the Duffers saw what they estimate to be 900 kids, an undertaking they say was easier than it sounds because they could tell within the first few minutes if the actor had what they needed. “You’re looking for something authentic, and most kids don’t have it,” says Ross. “There are the ones that are obviously well-trained, but they feel too Disney, like they’re winking at the camera.” What the Duffers found with their four young male stars were kids who seemed like actual kids.

Matarazzo was the first one cast, his audition so impressive that he found out he got the part on the way back from the airport. “We didn’t really even know who the Dustin character was until we found Gaten,” says Matt Duffer. “He was sort of a generic nerd with glasses. He was a stereotype.” Matarazzo, whose sense of humor inspired the Duffers to transform Dustin into the show’s primary source of comic relief, has grown up with a condition known as cleidocranial dysplasia, which stunts the development of bones and teeth. “We wanted to make a show about outsiders, about kids who didn’t fit in and who were bullied and made fun of,” says Matt. “Gaten was really able to tap into all of that.”

McLaughlin and Matarazzo had known each other from their days as stars in two of Broadway’s biggest shows. Matarazzo portrayed Gavroche in Les Misérables, and McLaughlin played Simba in The Lion King. They’d often see each other in a park frequented by “Broadway kids,” as Matarazzo calls them. “When I found out Caleb had gotten Lucas I was like, ‘Caleb? Where do I know that name from?’” he recalls. Wolfhard and Schnapp established an early connection, too—sort of. “He doesn’t remember me, but I remember him,” Wolfhard says. “Because I asked him what other projects he had done, and he said, ‘I was the voice of Charlie Brown in The Peanuts Movie.’ I was like, ‘What?! You’re Charlie Brown?’ I was so pysched about that.”

Although they had all crossed paths during the audition process, usually around the hotel pool or at chemistry reads, it wasn’t until they arrived in Atlanta to begin production that all four boys, along with Millie Bobby Brown, found themselves together in the same room for the first time. If there was a first-day-of-school feel, it made sense: They met in a classroom, which is where the young cast of Stranger Things still spend most of their time when they’re not filming. That grueling schedule means the only opportunities they get to really mess around are between takes, and sometimes during them. “We have laughing problems,” says McLaughlin. Matt Duffer elaborates: “We definitely have an issue, where we can’t get through a take without someone busting up. They’re always making each other crack up—the number of takes ruined by laughter is in the hundreds.”

Schnapp was at summer camp when Stranger Things dropped on Netflix. He wasn’t allowed to have his phone, but shortly after the series premiered, one of his counselors happened to check his Instagram account—80,000 followers. The next day it was 85,000. “I was like, ‘Wait, what’s going on?’ I think I was at one follower before that,” Schnapp says. Wolfhard also remembers that odd rush of watching his followers skyrocket and realizing his life was changing right in front of his eyes. McLaughlin felt his anonymity evaporate the first time he was recognized. “In L.A., this kid came up to me and was like, ‘Hey, are you Caleb Reginald McLaughlin?’” he says. “And I’m like, ‘What? You know my middle name? That’s nuts.’” 

The connection between the boys is strengthened by the surreal turn their lives have taken, circumstances that most kids their age can’t relate to. When Matarazzo, McLaughlin, and Wolfhard met Barack Obama last October, as guests of the White House’s South by South Lawn festival, the former president, who’s a fan of the show, told them he especially enjoyed their on-screen camaraderie. That bond exists offscreen, too, and has only gotten stronger with every award show and panel. “They really are my best friends,” Matarazzo says. “We can relate to each other a lot more than other people can. People try to understand everything that goes on, but they can’t unless they’ve been there.”

“I don’t think any of the kids would say that our friendship is similar to the friendships they have back home, because it’s not,” says Wolfhard. “No kid has ever really had an experience that I’m experiencing right now—it’s a unique sort of friendship.”

Wolfhard is careful not to bring his work home with him. “If you go home and all you talk about is acting, then you’re a douchebag,” he says. “Your friends don’t want to hear about your professional life, they just want to mess around.” Plus, when you’re 14 years old, talking about work is never cool, even if it involves facing off against a faceless interdimensional demon. The boys are also learning that with a great number of Instagram followers comes great responsibility. “We have to be more cautious with what we say on social media and in public,” says McLaughlin, who was shocked to lose followers after he openly rooted for the Golden State Warriors during the NBA playoffs.

While Netflix has yet to make an official announcement, a third season of Stranger Things is a given, meaning the boys are all but guaranteed to live out their teenage years on one of the most popular shows on television. The Duffers, then, will have to follow in the footsteps of long-running properties like Game of Thrones and the Harry Potter franchise in making sure their child actors don’t grow up faster than their characters. “It’s terrifying,” Matt Duffer says. “I shouldn’t even be highlighting this, but if you watch Season 2, they’ve grown from Episode 1 to Episode 9. I’m terrified one of them is going to have a major growth spurt basically in the middle of shooting. But as long as they’re growing outside of the course of our shooting, I’m not too worried about it, because we just have to build it into our story. As much as you would like to keep some of it more continuous, every time we take a break between seasons, we have to make a year time jump at least.”

All four actors say that they want to remain in show business into adulthood. Wolfhard, who obsessively studies the filmmaking process while on set—he’ll star in the remake of Stephen King’s It, in theaters this month—is eyeing a multihyphenate career as a director, actor, and musician. Back at the photo shoot, Matarazzo and Schnapp gather around his iPhone to watch a video Wolfhard co-directed for a friend’s band, Spendtime Palace. Earlier this year, McLaughlin, who is a trained dancer, played a young Ricky Bell on the BET miniseries The New Edition Story, an experience he describes as “historic.” Matarazzo wants to continue acting, but not forever, and is keeping an open mind about other aspects of the industry. Schnapp, who took his first acting class at the age of six, describes winning the Screen Actors Guild Award for Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Drama Series as one of the greatest moments of his life, and is doing exactly what he wants. (The boys, who describe the awards as “very heavy,” keep them in their bedrooms, except for Matarazzo, who has been meaning to retrieve his from his grandparents’ house. )

“They all love what they’re doing,” says Matt Duffer. “They love coming to set, they love working, they love acting. In terms of the fame thing, it’s a side effect that I think some of them are more into than others. You’re worried about, ‘What if they realize this isn’t their true passion?’ They’re so young. But this year those fears went away. They’re all very committed to this. That’s the important thing, that they enjoy what they’re doing. And that they’re passionate about it.”

[o-blivia]

Should we keep using AI art?

When I first learned that people had programmed computers to make art, my only thought was that it was an impressive accomplishment – a milestone of human technological progress. And to be honest, I didn’t give it much more consideration beyond that. I didn’t even spend much time playing around with any of the programs available for free. 

The criticism I saw at first felt very reactionary and alarmist. Frankly, it sounded a lot like the arguments people have had about any art media going from analogue to digital. Some of it was astoundingly ableist, the implication being that people who see AI art generators as a way to finally be able to make art are just lazy and unwilling to put in the work to get good. A lot more of it came off as snobbish and elitist. I don’t like wading into conversations about what is and isn’t art. Different things resonate with different people, and I’m not interested in gatekeeping creative expression.

While I dismissed those kinds of critiques of AI art, I think it is becoming hard to ignore that there are more pressing criticisms of the technology. They just have a lot less to do with the art itself and everything to how the technology has been developed, and who is benefiting from it.

A look below the surface of AI art

Machine learning has proven to be a powerful tool when it comes to advancing technology. The thing is, for machine learning to work, you need to provide hundreds of thousands of data points. We participate in machine learning every time we look anything up using a search engine. The keywords we enter, the links we click on, how long we interact with a page, are all used to help search algorithms become more effective. 

AI art generators are also dependent on machine learning. It might be naive, but I’m going to assume the original intention was to only use works of art in the public domain to train the AI. While there is no way for the artists to predict that their art would be used in this way, at this point, no one owns their intellectual property anymore. I think there is an argument for the transformative nature of AI art somewhere in there. Regardless, it is hard to say that this would harm anyone.

Now, I’m assuming things started to get murky when it came to automating the process of finding, downloading, and inputting data to train the AI. It would take an unreasonable amount of time to do this without taking into account identifying the artists and getting their consent.

One solution was to allow users to help train the AIs. Many hands make light work, after all. Of course, there’s no one moderating who is uploading what, which invariable means it’s been a total free-for-all. It’s clear that a lot of users aren’t bothering to get consent from the creators of the work they’re uploading. More troublesome are the instances of artists who’ve explicitly denied permission for their art to be used this way, and people doing so anyway. I couldn’t say if it occurred to anyone that some artists might mind having their art used in this way, or if they just didn’t care. I don’t know if intent matters at this point. 

Ever since it became possible to upload images online, art theft has been a problem. This has always been the double-edged sword of a free and open internet. What’s more pernicious about using art theft to train AI, is that once something becomes a data set, there is no extricating it from the system. Sort of like you can’t remove a specific sheep’s wool from the sweater you’re already wearing.

Does this mean the technology is unethical?

There is a simple answer and a more complex answer. Technology in a vacuum cannot be inherently ethical or unethical. It’s the human component that introduces ethical value. We do this in two ways: either in how we create/develop technology, or in how that technology is used. Without humans to create and use technology, it is affectively an inert lump.

That being said, AI art generators are clearly unethical because they were developed on a foundation of art theft. (And, some might argue, designed to replace human artists to fill the ever-growing demand for “content”.) While some have tried to deny that art theft is a component of AI art, the situation over on Artstation has made it clear that unethical practices are ongoing. It is clear that there exists no safeguards to prevent users from inputting art they have no ownership over.

The problem is bigger than AI art generators

When you place AI art generators within the context of Silicone Valley and tech startup culture, it’s not in the least bit shocking that the technology has turned out to be pretty problematic. This is far from the first time that an idealistic technology has ended up having pretty big, negative social consequences. The problems in Big Tech, I think, boil down to who is in the room making the decisions about direction, functionality, and implementation.

Firstly, diversity and the lack thereof, has never not been an issue in Silicone Valley, and by extension, Big Tech. You can find the stats in this report from the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. The bottom line is that the tech industry skews disproportionately white and male, even more so at the executive level. While the report doesn’t touch on class, we can assume it becomes a factor in who has the ability to amass the necessary venture capital for their startups, which also impacts the kind of perspectives in the room.

Secondly, there is no requirement in IT career development that people be taught ethics, or even just how to self-identify and correct for bias. Without a grounding in ethics, no one is having the very important conversations about the impact of technology on vulnerable populations until it becomes an optics problem. In fact, I’d be willing to wager that most of the time, it doesn’t even occur to question whether a technology should be made at all.

These two problems compound, which results in a seeming inability to predict the social harms of the technology being created. There have been too many instances of hard-coded racial bias in the technology we are becoming more and more reliant on. And until we address both of these issues, that’s not going to change.

Can AI art be salvaged?

What would it take to salvage AI art generators? Probably starting over from scratch and implementing rigorous safeguards to ensure that nothing can be used to train the AI without vetting and obtaining fully informed consent from creators. Do I think that’s going to happen? Probably not.

The sunk-cost fallacy comes into play here. Building any kind of AI is a very expensive and labour intensive venture. It’s a huge ask to get people to dump all that in the garbage and start over completely from scratch.

More over, and this is where my cynicism comes out, there are always going to be people who believe that all means are justified in the name of human progress – even if that means eradicating the human component altogether. And that’s not something I see society evolving past any time soon.

It’s like something out of a novel…

The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced AI art is truly Cyberpunk. Not because it’s so high-tech and futuristic, but because it exploits the labour of generations in order to remove the human element of something that is a fundamental aspect of humanity. All so that people, but mainly companies, can benefit monetarily. I’d say that AI art fits in very well in a genre defined by its dehumanizing, high-tech future, don’t you?

[sunny-m00n]

I think I mentioned this but I was redesigning my digital assistant characters when I found Kinito, so here’s one of them.

Fern is a funky little computer program attached to a search engine. They were made to help users find things as well as be a companion to users who were short on friends. They had a short period of use were users that had the software reported liking it and getting attached to the little mascot, before tragedy struck the company that made it, Stitchleaf, and all copies were destroyed… except for one copy labeled as a beta, but had the final program attached.

story for those who are curious under the cut (tw for death, fires, and suicide)

(I didn’t re-read this since I’m in a little rush now so sorry for any typos or confusing grammar!)

So some might remember Buddy, my other lil guy. Well he was originally a digital assistant made to introduce adults, but mainly kids, to how computers work and how to safely surf the web. He was made by Stitchleaf, a company founded by Ryan Ari and confounded by Rick Avien, who bonded in college over their shared interests in computers and shared name abbreviations. The company used the success from Buddy the Cat to make another digital assistant to teach people how to code and to help troubleshoot named Callo the Raccoon. Both of them gain massive popularity, but fans started to realize how lifelike the programs acted, being able to answer questions and have human-like conversations. The suspension and theories turned to controversy as the creators released their new and final virtual assistant, Fern the Fox. Fern was less of a success, especially with the founder, Ryan Ari, finding something horrific in their code that drove him insane. Everyone could tell something was wrong but they only found out what when he said he was scared of something in Fern’s code, that everyone who helped make it was “contained”. Then the next day, he didn’t take his medication and went to work, where he stole and broke all the fire extinguishers, locked every door with his own padlocks, and hit the main servers with an axe, causing a fire. Firefighters couldn’t get to the people inside and there were no survivors… except for the two founders. In rage the public took their copies of Stitchleaf software and burnt them in a mass burning, wiping out every copy of Fern and leaving few, useless copies of the other two. Rick A. had the only left beta copy of Fern, which the final design was developed on. He got curious of what Ryan saw, and regretted it instantly. He was found to have broken his own neck and the copy was given to a small tech shop nearby where it sat for many years… until someone found the rare disk and decided to uncover their nostalgia.

[astra-galaxie]

"Oh, yes! Why, Gray is the one who helped me start up my… new business, such a handsome young man… he did a lot for me." - Heather Queen

Biographical information

Full Name: Heather Queen

Alias(es): Hotshot Queen

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Status: Incarcerated

Age: 58 (season 1)

Birth: 1955

Race: Human

Nationality: American

Origin: Chicago, Illinois, USA

Residence:

Grimsborough, USA

Chicago, Illinois, USA (formerly)

Profession(s): Drug Dealer

Family: Summer Queen (niece)

Profile

Heather is a tall woman in her late fifties with short platinum blonde hair and sharp green eyes. She dresses like a trophy wife from a sixties movie, with a long red dress and a fur housecoat hanging loosely off her frame. Her jewelry is equally as extravagant, with rocks the size of ping pong balls in dazzling colours on her jewelry.

Height: 6'0"

Age: 58 (season 1)

Weight: 145lbs

Eyes: green

Blood: AB-

Synopsis

Heather was a suspect in the murder of Gray White. She was a drug queen who used to operate in Chicago until she was caught and arrested. She spent a few years in prison before her lawyers managed to get her out early on a technicality, and she proudly walked free. She moved to Grimsborough for a fresh start and to find new clients.

She knew Gray had returned to Grimsborough years prior, and Heather looked forward to… catching up on lost time with him. The two had a special business relationship, one that Heather enjoyed immensely. Gray was young, strong, and good-looking… It didn’t hurt that he was exceptional at following orders, either.

Approaching Gray with the offer to join her new business was simple; the man needed money for his daughter’s medication, and Heather offered him an easy way to get it. Plus, she was feeling generous and decided to pay him for… Extra services. The private kind.

Heather knows Gray was ashamed to sell his body for money, but he loved his daughter more than his pride. And the nights they spent together were filled with passionate lovemaking… Even after years apart, Gray still knew how to light Heather’s fire. She never wanted their private time to end… But then, two officers arrived to inform her that Gray was dead, burned so badly he was unrecognizable.

Of course, Heather’s love for handsome men couldn’t be stopped even when grieving for Gray. She was enchanted by the man who had come to interrogate her. The woman… Not so much. Sure, the female officer was beautiful, but Heather wasn’t attracted to women, so she was much more interested in her partner.

Though she might not have been if she had known Nathan had been calling her a bitch in Hindi…

Heather would be proven innocent of Gray’s murder, but that didn’t mean she wouldn't be going to prison for other reasons. After Adalet and Nathan made a search of her house and discovered drugs, Heather was arrested for possession and sent back to prison. She was furious at being locked up and forced to wear the hideous orange jumpsuits again, but she knows her lawyers will get her out early, just like before. It was only a matter of time…

(Spoiler alert, Heather will serve her entire sentence. Chief King ensured there was no way for her to get an early release after finding out about her inappropriate behaviour towards Nathan and disrespect of Adalet.)

Story Information

First appeared: Harvest Murder

Trivia

She's a cougar

Even though she sold drugs, she rarely consumed them herself. She preferred alcohol

She financially endorsed her niece’s BDSM club and would visit whenever she was in Chicago

When she heard that Summer had been arrested for murder, she was disappointed, but she was proud of her niece for ridding the world of such a disgusting man

She has had plastic surgery and uses a LOT of makeup to keep herself looking young

Disclaimer: Character design was created using Rinmarugames Mega Anime Avatar Creator! I have only made minor edits to the design! Background courtesy of CriminalArtist5

Links to my stories:

The Case of the Criminal (Ao3/Wattpad)

Killer Bay (Ao3/Wattpad)

Where in the World are the Killers? (Ao3/Wattpad)

[enderevynne]

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS ➤ SHIP GIFS: Nessmore

NESS COUSLAND x SER GILMORE

↳ Howe Treachery

Mod creators are truly the Maker’s blessing upon us ohmygod

From the very first time I played the Cousland origin (a mere few weeks ago lol but I’ve replayed it a bunch of times already), I had the headcanon that Ness has been silently in love with Ser Gilmore for years; never saying anything or acting on it, as Gilmore works for his family (and will never not call him My Lord - which everyone does and Ness always hates but especially hates hearing from Gilmore), and that’s a line Ness will not cross. 

But even if Gilmore didn’t work for his family, even if his love for Gilmore wasn’t highly inappropriate, Ness still wouldn’t have acted. Because Gilmore never said anything either, and so Ness always assumed it was unrequited. Ness is someone who likes casual hookups; mostly with men, and maybe once in a blue moon with a woman - and that’s no secret to anyone. The only part of himself he’s ever hidden or felt shame for is his love for Ser Gilmore. Ness doesn’t give a shit about wealth and stature, but is well aware of the power his stature grants him, and so is careful not to abuse it. 

That’s also been my headcanon for why Ness hooks up with Dairren after learning that Gilmore is likely going to go off to become a Warden, never to return to his old life. Dairren is safe, Dairren is hot, Dairren loves books too, and Dairren is unabashedly interested. Ness is heartbroken and desperate to find a way to move on... and sweet, red-headed Dairren reminds him of Gilmore (and hoo boy does that add to his self hatred and guilt when that ends up killing Dairren right in front of Ness later). 

I also headcanoned that their night together actually ended up with them both enthusiastically agreeing to a proper date once Dairren returned - and that was before I knew Dairren was about to fucking die (I was so not prepared for that T_T). I’ve searched about for answers on whether he can be saved if your oc does not bed him because if so I’d go back and save him, but a small, evil part of me loves the hurt.

(I was not prepared for anyone at the castle dying, tbh. I thought his father and brother were definitely going to not return but damn what happened was nothing I was prepared for.) 

And I thought it couldn’t hurt more than not being able to say goodbye properly to Gilmore, other than Ness trying to stay behind with him to hold the gate but being refused.

Buuuuut then I found the Farewell Ser Gilmore mod. And it’s amazing and it hurts. Way, way more. And I love it!!

And even though yes you get to choose whether or not your character kisses him, I’m just gonna headcanon that Gilmore is the one who initiates the kiss. Because that hurts so much more. 

Another part this tiny but amazing mod added to my Ness story, is the awesome parallel that headcanon-turned-kinda-canon mod brought. 

See, even before the bi Alistair mod, I was convinced Alistair is pining for the Warden whether you can romance him or not. It’s painfully obvious in his jealousy etc. Then once thanks to the mod Ness finally could romance him, I let it drag on a while before they get together even so. 

Because Ness first has a very brief casual thing with Morrigan (very brief not because he doesnt like her, but because he breaks it off immediately after Morrigan suggests they just let everyone in the Circle get slaughtered) then with Zevran almost immediately after he’s recruited (he doesn’t much care if that might cause his assassination; he kind of welcomes the idea, but then breaks it off once he trusts and cares about Zevran). 

Like with Gilmore, Ness is silently in love with Alistair. But he is very well aware this time that his love is returned. But he is in no shape to deal with it. 

Ahhh this mod added so much to his story, it’s killing me and I LOVE IT SO MUCH

[ninjago-neo]

Midori: Origins of the Ouroboros

Uuuuuuh fhdgsgsh i finished my little lore document for what happened to Midori and how her story continues after. I dont have everything 100% planned out yet, but hopefully the read is good.

To Midori. I hope you will forgive me, one day. For everything.

Back during the time of the FSM, there was a time where the serpentine had not been created, but the Overlord had been defeated. Before his destruction, he swore that the actions of the FSM will only lead to his continued suffering. 

The FSM became known for being the creator of Ninjago and its defender, and as towns and civilizations grew, they worshiped and praised the one who made it possible. Whether he intended to or not, he became a figurehead in some. Despite this, he never viewed himself as a deity or royalty, and found himself alone despite being among people.

The oni believed he was weak. The dragons believed he was an abomination. Here, he was a deity. No matter the label given to him, it was hard to believe he even had a place here. That he truly belonged and felt like a person.

That is, until he met Midori. 

She was considered, by all means, unimportant. Had a normal upbringing, grew up to own a tea shop and grew her own teas. In her village it was customary for farmers to pay a tribute in hopes of the FSM controlling the weather. She thought it ridiculous, as he never seemed to do so, and confronted him on extorting the locals. In reality, the FSM had never told anyone that he could, and actually didn’t want any offerings or tributes of any sort, but most ignored him. 

Both were shocked at meeting each other. Midori couldn’t believe someone of such great power could be so humble, and the FSM was surprised she wasn’t afraid to rebuke him and treat him as a person. 

Their meeting should have ended there, but the FSM continued to think about her, and this visited her in her shop in secret to avoid the attention of other villagers. She taught him how to work alongside her in the shop, and as the two began to know each other, they fell in love. Eventually, they decided their relationship would be a secret no longer, as Midori was announced to be the FSM’s wife. Despite the sudden change of status and the regalities bestowed upon her for marrying Ninjago’s creator, she was still the same woman he fell in love with.

Midori was headstrong, honest, hardworking and brazen. What was in her mind she would say no matter with who, and above all else supported the FSM and reminded him to stand up for himself if he did not wish to be treated as a god. 

Eventually however, the two sought to have children in peace, and journeyed away from their past home. 

As Midori finally gave birth, the two eventually began to interact with civilization a bit more, and for a brief moment, the family was content with their lives, being welcomed by the world, raising two infant children, and with each other. Until one day, Midori wandered far into a nearby forest in search of rare plants/herbs she believed she could find there. During her exploration, she encountered a dark substance nestled into a rock. She did not realized it was a piece of the Overlord’s own body, and as she inspected it, it suddenly became absorbed in her body, and she collapsed. When the FSM finally found her, it was too late. She grew up with a terrible illness no medicine could cure, and he realized she was overtaken by the ancient evil power of his enemy. Unable to fully handle the power of even a sliver of the Overlord’s energy, he knew her body and spirit would undergo a transformation to adapt to it. Despite all of this, he promised his wife a cure, and that he would never leave her side. Midori was hidden in the upper floor of their house, for fear of the dark power hurting their own children, and the FSM’s time was divided by helping Ninjago, raising Wu and Garmadon on his own, keeping Midori company, and looking for answers. But he could not find any, as the Overlord’s power was more potent than anything in Ninjago, and came from a world he could not bring himself to go back to. As he grew more desperate for a solution, he visited Midori less and less, and her condition grew worse. The Overlord’s power evolved to become her own, and Midori became repulsed and horrified as her lower torso grew into a sepert-like tail, and magical venom coursed into her veins. She despised her situation, and despite the FSM’s warning, occasionally left her room to explore and traverse through town hidden away from everyone. But she wasn’t perfect, and eventually the villagers told the FSM of a terrible monster they saw in the woods. The two grew frustrated with each other, and the FSM still had no way of knowing how to cure his wife. He decided to go to the Cloud Kingdom in search of answers. Unfortunately, the prophecy relayed by the Cloud Kingdom could not soothe the FSM’s mind. Instead of Midori being cured, it was predicted that her curse would overtake her and doom their entire family, and future generations, into misery. It was suggested to the FSM that he destroy her and the curse that lives within her, but he vehemently refused, distraught over the woman he loved possibly hurting their sons. Still unable to confront the powers of the Overlord, he realized that he could buy himself and his wife more time to avoid this destiny if she was unable to reach the children if she became fully corrupted. However, he was unable to bring up this plan to her as she became more out of control and furious with him over a lack of a cure. In her mind, she feared he was abandoning him, leaving her to suffer in silence and isolation while he pretended everything was normal. She hadnt even been able to see her kids, and the two were at a standstill. Fearing that the time was near, and having no solutions, the FSM decided to seal her away while she had been sleeping. Unfortunately, she had woken up to see him and assumed he was going to kill her. The two fought, and Midori managed to escape, but not before biting the FSM. Unknowingly, their powers converged, and Midori discovered she had the power to create life, while the FSM felt the Overlord’s power within him, but in a sedentary state. It was then that he realized his powers were slowly being drained for him, as well as his immortality. It was then that a secret battle waged between the FSM and Midori. She created the Serpentine to serve as mindless minions to destroy the world the FSM created, only for him to intervene and prevent disaster, as she once again fled. In the aftermath, he did not want to destroy Midori’s creations, as he still felt fondness for his wife and did not want to destroy these living beings. He instead lied to them that he was their creator, in hopes they’d be unshackled by their shallow purpose in life to destroy, and could live in harmony in this world. However, he could not stop the fighting between Serpentine and Human, and when they sepeparated, could only hope keeping to themselves would still offer some sort of peace. However, he would not live long enough to see that peace. He never told his sons about his hidden ailment, as he fought to keep it at bay and not show that his powers were being drained from him. He still managed to live for hundreds of years, but as his life started to fade, and unable to find Midori, he sought refuge in once again, another prophecy. And he learned that his power would not be fully destroyed, but inherited in it’s full potential by someone. That person would have the key to either repairing the broken bonds of the world, or destroying them entirely. Eventually, he gave in to his illness, and passed away. He did not let them see it, but he was terrified of the world he was leaving to his sons and his creations. How his mistakes and decisions led to possible endless conflicts, and how he yearned for his wife to return somehow, but afraid of what she would do to their family.  Midori, after her failed attempt to weaponize the Serpentine, still interfered in their lives, creating the Great Devourer, sending false prophecies and inciting further conflict in the shadows. She had to wait not just until her husband's passing, but also observe her family and Ninjago to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. While the FSM believed in destiny, she believed the only predetermined thing was cycles; that everything was bound to repeat itself. That  the misery she had undergone would be paid tenfold, that the conflicts of her and her beloved would echo in the conflict between human and serpentine, and break the bonds their family had so briefly. So she had no qualms with creating the snake that would eventually attack her own son, or watching and the Green Ninja, the inheritor of the combined powers of the FSM, suffer through the burden of his destiny and the events that followed. However, her hatred never became satiated, and she still wallowed in the loss of the life she once had. And suddenly, she had a plan. One that would be the ultimate revenge upon the FSM and grant her the life she so desired. In her eyes, the snake would continue to eat itself, and she was going to let that cycle destroy her grandson. He would be the key to her husband’s eternal punishment.

[ammg-old2]

It was a simpler time. A friend introduced us, pulling up a static yellow webpage using a shaky dial-up modem. A man stood forth, dressed in a dapper black pinstriped suit with a red-accented tie. He held one hand out, as if carrying an imaginary waiter’s tray. He looked regal and confident and eminently at my service. “Have a Question?” he beckoned. “Just type it in and click Ask!” And ask, I did. Over and over.

With his steady hand, Jeeves helped me make sense of the tangled mess of the early, pre-Google internet. He wasn’t perfect—plenty of context got lost between my inquiries and his responses. Still, my 11-year-old brain always delighted in the idea of a well-coiffed man chauffeuring me down the information superhighway. But things changed. Google arrived, with its clean design and almost magic ability to deliver exactly the answers I wanted. Jeeves and I grew apart. Eventually, in 2006, Ask Jeeves disappeared from the internet altogether and was replaced with the more generic Ask.com.

Many years later, it seems I owe Jeeves an apology: He had the right idea all along. Thanks to advances in artificial intelligence and the stunning popularity of generative-text tools such as ChatGPT, today’s search-engine giants are making huge bets on AI search chatbots. In February, Microsoft revealed its Bing Chatbot, which has thrilled and frightened early users for its ability to scour the internet and answer questions (not always correctly) with convincingly human-sounding language. The same week, Google demoed Bard, the company’s forthcoming attempt at an AI-powered chat-search product. But for all the hype, when I stare at these new chatbots, I can’t help but see the faint reflection of my former besuited internet manservant. In a sense, Bing and Bard are finishing what Ask Jeeves started. What people want when they ask a question is for an all-knowing, machine-powered guide to confidently present them with the right answer in plain language, just as a reliable friend would.

With this in mind, I decided to go back to the source. More than a decade after parting ways, I found myself on the phone with one of the men behind the machine, getting as close to Asking Jeeves as is humanly possible. These days, Garrett Gruener, Ask Jeeves’s co-creator, is a venture capitalist in the Bay Area. He and his former business partner David Warthen eventually sold Ask Jeeves to Barry Diller and IAC for just under $2 billion. Still, I wondered if Gruener had been unsettled by Jeeves’s demise. Did he, like me, see the new chatbots as the final form of his original idea? Did he feel vindicated or haunted by the fact that his creation may have simply been born far too early?

The original conception for Jeeves, Gruener told me, was remarkably similar to what Microsoft and Google are trying to build today. As a student at UC San Diego in the mid-1970s, Gruener—a sci-fi aficionado—got an early glimpse of ARPANET, the pre-browser predecessor to the commercial internet, and fell in love. Just over a decade later, as the web grew and the beginnings of the internet came into view, Gruener realized that people would need a way to find things in the morass of semiconnected servers and networks. “It became clear that the web needed search but that mere mortals without computer-science degrees needed something easy, even conversational,” he said. Inspired by Eliza, the famous chatbot designed by MIT’s Joseph Weizenbaum, Gruener dreamed of a search engine that could converse with people using natural-language processing. Unfortunately, the technology wasn’t sophisticated enough for Gruener to create his ideal conversational search bot.

So Gruener and Warthen tried a work-around. Their code allowed a user to write a statement in English, which was then matched to a preprogrammed vector, which Gruener explained to me as “a canonical snapshot of answers to what the engine thought you were trying to say.” Essentially, they taught the machine to recognize certain words and provide really broad categorical answers. “If you were looking for population stats for a country, the query would see all your words and associated variables and go, Well, this Boolean search seems close, so it’s probably this.” Jeeves would provide the answer, and then you could clarify whether it worked or not.

“We tried to discern what people were trying to say in search, but without actually doing the natural-recognition part of it,” Gruener said. After some brainstorming, they realized that they were essentially building a butler. One of Gruener’s friends mocked up a drawing of the friendly servant, and Jeeves was born.

Pre-Google, Ask Jeeves exploded in popularity, largely because it allowed people to talk with their search engine like a person. Within just two years, the site was handling more than 1 million queries a day. A massive Jeeves balloon floated down Central Park West during Macy’s 1999 Thanksgiving parade. But not long after the butler achieved buoyancy, the site started to lose ground in the search wars. Google’s web-crawling superiority led to hard times for Ask Jeeves. “None of us were very concerned about monetization in the beginning,” Gruener told me. “Everyone in search early on realized, if you got this right, you’d essentially be in the position of being the oracle. If you could be the company to go to in order to ask questions online, you’re going to be paid handsomely.”

Gruener isn’t bitter about losing out to Google. “If anything, I’m really proud of our Jeeves,” he told me. Listening to Gruener explain the history, it’s not hard to see why. In the mid-2000s, Google began to pivot search away from offering only 10 blue links to images, news, maps, and shopping. Eventually, the company began to fulfill parts of the Jeeves promise of answering questions with answer boxes. One way to look at the evolution of big search engines in the 21st century is that all companies are trying their best to create their own intuitive search butlers. Gruener told me that Ask Jeeves’s master plan had two phases, though the company was sold before it could tackle the second. Gruener had hoped that, eventually, Jeeves could act as a digital concierge for users. He’d hoped to employ the same vector technology to get people to ask questions and allow Jeeves to make educated guesses and help users complete all kinds of tasks. “If you look at Amazon’s Alexa, they’re essentially using the same approach we designed for Jeeves, just with voice,” Gruener said. Yesterday’s butler has been rebranded as today’s virtual assistant, and the technology is ubiquitous in many of our home devices and phones. “We were right for the consumer back then, and maybe we’d be right now. But at some point the consumer evolved,” he said.

I’ve been fixated on what might’ve been if Gruener’s vision had come about now. We might all be Jeevesing about the internet for answers to our mundane questions. Perhaps our Jeevesmail inboxes would be overflowing and we’d be getting turn-by-turn directions from an Oxford-educated man with a stiff English accent. Perhaps we’d all be much better off.

Gruener told me about an encounter he’d had during the search wars with one of Google’s founders at a TED conference (he wouldn’t specify which of the two). “I told him that we’re going to learn an enormous amount about the people who are using our platforms, especially as they become more conversational. And I said that it was a potentially dangerous position,” he said. “But he didn’t seem very receptive to my concerns.”

Near the end of our call, I offered an apology for deserting Jeeves like everyone else did. Gruener just laughed. “I find this future fascinating and, if I’m honest, a little validating,” he said. “It’s like, ultimately, as the tech has come around, the big guys have come around to what we were trying to do.”

[gaysindistress]

Allies or Enemies - three

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: Dragonborn!bucky x f!reader

Summary: The reality of her cruel world is more evident than ever before when her stepfather sends her to her death under the guise of diplomacy. Y/n, the expendable daughter of a scared king, must find a way to secure her own protection among the Dragonborn and she will do that by whatever means necessary.

Warnings: nothing

Word count: 3.8k

Author’s note: there are two povs here and I didn’t add who’s they were on purpose *cue evil laughter*

Ari-Hengot means ‘my leader’ in Draconic (based on the very unhelpful google search I did so if it’s wrong it’s not my fault)

series masterlist | two

taglist: @blackbirdwitch22 @alyeskathewave @learisa @screechingfangirlaf @oh-gods-its-a-dragon @globetrotter28 @mostlymarvelgirl l @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

The words spoken by the sick and ignorant spread like wildfires; drawing close to any unattended wilting blade of grass and engulfing the field in a raging blaze within minutes. What happens now is a question on the lips of every poor farmer as they watch their life’s work burn to nothing but ash and broken spirits. No amount of water and tender hope can rebuild the life that’s been destroyed in seconds. 

Much is the same with the towns where the cowardly king’s words are as revered as their holy books. 

 “Where is she?”

A woman stared off into the distance, looking through the thick trees and towards the small village where the girl lived. The man who had spoken off to her side huffs at her silence, growing impatient with her and the cold wind that sends another shiver down their spines. 

“In a small cabin towards the back of the village, the furthest side from us,” she finally answers his question as she looks back at him, her violently red eyes blinking rapidly in adjustment. 

He tries not to flinch at the unnatural glow of her eyes but fails miserably as he speaks, “Is there anyone with her?”

It’s her turn to huff, “You couldn’t have asked me that when I was looking?” “Well I never said to look away. You did that on your own accord.”

Rolling her eyes, she looks back towards the village. 

“It looks like there are two men next to the door but that’s all I can see. We need to get closer if you want me to see more.”

“Of course, I need you to see more than that.” 

The woman narrows her eyes at him and he looks between her and the cabin. 

“You have a horse or legs if you feel inclined to actually do any work,” he gestures to both items and then points towards the village, “Get to it.”

“Haha very funny,” she sarcastically laughs, yanking her horse’s reins to the side and leading it away from her male companion. 

“Wanda,” he calls after her, his horse not trailing far behind hers. 

“No, you absolute ass. You dragged me to this cold barren, disgusting, foul…”

He cuts her off, “Wanda.” “No, do not interrupt me,” her head whips toward him, her headscarf slipping down to reveal a wave of red hair as she rips into him with her words, “You dragged me here, teased me like I’m a commoner, and then demanded things from me while still expecting me to cooperate. You’re dumber than a donkey if you think that I’m going to walk or force my horse to do so in the snow just to see a few more feet than I did before. I'm not doing it. Work with what I gave you or go scout it yourself!”

When she is done and can see past her rage, all she sees is his stupid smirk and she kicks her horse, demanding to be taken far away from his smug attitude. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbles under his breath and takes off after her. 

Wanda, the red eyed and haired woman, dismounts her horse the moment she reaches their base camp and passes off the reins to a lowly soldier who grumbles at the leather that falls into his lap. Marching straight through the small camp of seven tents, she pushes aside the heavy red fabric that make up the center tent and storms in without a care in the world. 

“If you ever put me with Samuel again, I will send a wind storm into your tent and rip you from your bed the moment before you finish with a woman,” Wanda sneers at me. 

I glance up at her with a ghost of a smirk before looking back at the papers and writing something on a map that is nestled on top. 

“Excuse me,” she demands as she marches to the table, “Did you hear what I said?” “I did,” I answered without looking at her and looking at his maps. 

“Are you going to say anything?”

I don’t respond as I continue to write and draw on the map, charting out our journey home. 

“Wanda, I was joking,” her riding companion and my second in command, Samuel, calls after her as he pushes into the tent, taking note of her irritated state and my unbothered one. 

“Get out,” she nearly barks at him, pointing at the entrance as her red eyes flare and a breeze sweeps in, “now.”

Samuel shakes his head at her, ignoring her as he walks over to the table and brushing past her as he does so. She physically recoils, causing her headscarf to fully fall and scoffs at the brazen touch. She looks wild with her dirty hair spilling out around her and her sanguine eyes narrowing at him.

“Ari-Hengot,” Samuel starts, “I asked her to tell me if anyone was in the house with the girl and all she gave me was two men but wasn’t able to see anyone else. Is it really so wrong of me to suggest she gets closer if that’s what she needs to be able to see more? I feel like that’s pretty reasonable.”

“You told me that I had legs and that I could walk. In the snow.” 

The two start to argue like children in front of me, causing me to drop my quail back into the inkwell and straighten myself to my full height while I clear my throat to get their attention. 

“Wanda, Samuel,” I warn, his voice low and commanding before looking at Wanda, “Can we move tonight or do we need to wait?”

“Yes, it looks like there’s only one person with her at all times. We should move tonight before they start to notice someone’s been watching them. It’s only a matter of time before they see a group of brightly colored tents close by,” Wanda snipes as she stuffs her hair back into her headscarf and pulls her thick red coat around her tighter.

I nod  in approval of her answer regardless of her sass. I’ve never cared if she lashed out on me, disrespected me the way a soldier should never do to their captain however she wasn’t really mine to wield nor could she control me. Regardless of our dynamic lieutenant and captain, We have a long standing agreement to never use their status or titles against each other. Being the daughter of a well respected human ally to the Dragonborn and a newly appointed lieutenant, Wanda was known to have a tongue that could cut like the cold winter wind and soothe the wounds when she wanted. I had learned very quickly to stay in her good graces to protect myself from her wrath and she, in turn, protected me from the crushing weight our leaders gave me. 

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Samuel argues, growing angry that I would so casually accept her appraisal of the situation without a second thought. Him and I may have known each other for several years longer, it is still Wanda that has made any headway in our mission. 

“You didn’t ask what I thought. You assumed that because I could only see to the girl that I would say no but,” she turns back to me, “we should make our move now. We only have the snow storm for a few more days and after that, we won’t have cover anymore.”

“Samuel, you may leave now.”

He makes a noise of annoyance about how Wanda’s word always outweighs his but leaves nonetheless. Both of us will soon hear how wounded his ego is but for now it’s not our concern. 

“And your visions?” I ask once I’m sure that Samuel is gone and no longer in earshot. 

Wanda flinches but shakes it off as she occupies her hands and mind with a thread on her coat, “It has to be tonight and soon or we lose hope of getting her altogether.” Getting the confirmation that I need, I round the table and come to stand before her. Placing my large hands on my arms and pulling at them, I silently ask her to look at me. 

“You’ve done well,” I mummer to her, a smile wide on my normally frozen face. 

She wrinkles her nose at my praise but accepts it nonetheless. Peeking under my arm she spots the map that I’d been working on. Fear and anger rise up in her as she looks over what lies behind us. 

The map is of our lands, stretching as far south as the Unsea and as far north as York. The tiny village that we are encamped by sits in the northernmost mountains of York, placing us deep within enemy territory. 

A dotted line marks a route back to Devora and she gasps at where the route has to cross through. 

“Are you trying to get us killed?” she almost shrieks as she pushes under my arms and points at my handiwork which does mark a path through certain death. 

“He’s been found in their capital, ” I state as I join her at the table’s edge. 

“Well then congrats to the Coward King,” she scoffs, “but what business do we have going through there?”

I look at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “We’re going to get him on our way back.” “No we are not.”

“And why not?” “It’s…” she pauses, searching for a valid reason to avoid the capital city of York, Brookshire, “your personal vendetta against him is not a reason to risk all of our lives. We will be killed as soon as we are within sight of their walls. 

“I’m sure we can devise a way to get in,” I tell her while I start to cover the map, “and it is not a matter of my personal issue with their king. It is a matter of political correction.” 

“Political correction? Have you been taking lessons with Stephanos?” 

I offer her a small smirk instead of words as I rub at the spikes on my jawline, my scales reflecting the fire’s blaze at Wanda. 

“I shall ask again; are you trying to get us all killed?” 

I don’t drop my smirk but add to it with a shrug,“Isn’t that how all great military leaders die? In search of a great treasure for their people? ” 

Wanda scoffs at her captain’s undesirable need to prove that I am the best, “We are not treasures. We are people no matter what they say.”

“Ah but you Wanda are the greatest treasure that this world has to offer,” I tell her while I grip her shoulders. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, you know that,” she sighs. A shiver passes through her and it’s then that I am reminded of how…fragile humans are. York is not a warm place; both in manners and climate but here in their mountain range it is far colder than anything that Wanda would’ve experienced before. Her entire body shakes when the wind brushes through the tents and pushes her way to the front when there is a fire. Some of the others have taken to giving her warm clothing or fabric they find when we pass a village. A few times she’s come to my room at night and wordlessly crawled in, hoping that she would find a pocket of warmth in the thick blankets I collect. 

Outside of the tent, I hear Sameul shouting at the others, demanding they be ready within the hour. Footsteps crunch in the snow and horses protest against the cold beneath their feet. This new country is nothing like any of our homelands and it proves to be a worthy adversary as many of us fail to conquer or even assimilate to its conditions. During our nearly year-long expedition, we’ve lost nearly half of our party and things do not look to be any better if we can’t get to her. Soon. 

“Praised be the Sfant!”

An elderly woman cries as she shuffles her dying husband out of the small cabin. A hovel really is a better term for the bare shelter that I’m being housed in held captive in. With only two rooms, one being a tiny bedroom and the other the main living quarters, I have little room to practice my ‘gifts’. Although my guards, my captors truly, have clasped thick cuffs wrists to prevent me from leaving. The first time I attempted to run, a thin red string had connected me to my guards and led them directly to me. 

I learned to ignore my desperation for freedom rather quickly afterwards. 

I try to smile at the woman and allow my body to slump when she is gone. The ache in my bones has not gone away since I woke up in that freezing tower room. Pepper, all too gleeful, explained to me that immediately following my fainting spell, the guards on Anthony’s command attacked the Dragonborn and ‘rescued’ me from the ‘bastardly demons’.  My mother had been lost in the battle but Anthony miraculously survived and managed to use her death as yet another example of Dragonborn violence towards York. It became clear with the more I was told that it wasn’t a Dragonborn sword that killed her, it had been a human one. 

I’ve grown to believe that it was Anthony’s however I have nothing but hatred and vengeance to support my claim. 

Two men, tall, pale, and unnerving, are slumped in the two chairs that were left in the cabin. The taller one, a man with cropped golden blonde hair and a beard to match, is watching her intently with light eyes that unnerve me when I meet them. The other is a dark haired man with similarly cropped hair and facial hair is picking at his fingernails with a knife. 

Jonathan, the blonde, stands and places a table in front of the door as an alarm if anyone were to attempt to break in. He tosses a piece of bread to Brock, the dark haired one who gestures towards one of the rooms with the bread as he speaks to me, “Time for bed.”

I can’t help when my eyes roll on their own at his request and instead I decide to clean the altar around me instead. Candles, herbs, and jewelry as well as a book lay around my kneeling body, artifacts from the ineffective ritual I’d just performed. The woman had begged Jonathan and Brock for days to let her husband be seen by me but the two men merely waved her off in hopes that a person with a bigger purse would come by. Finally after sitting at the doorstep day after day, I took pity on her and allowed her in before the assholes could say a thing. 

Her husband had been poisoned, the woman claimed as she wiped at his sweaty brow and held him. One look at the black veins that crawled up his neck and were threatening to overtake his face let me know enough; the man had been poisoned but there would be no way for her to heal him. I could only offer remedies to ease his pain and end his life swiftly in his sleep. Dabbing oil on his temples, lips, and behind the ears would ensure that his death would come before the woman even made it to her own hovel. 

“Y/N, now,” Brock snaps sternly, his dark eyes beginning to rage at my brazen actions. 

I quickly turn my head, the chains and strings of gems that hang from my diadem swinging as I do so, “I’ll go when I’m finished cleaning.”

His eyes flash for a moment before he stalks over to me and rips me up by my arm. He knocks over countless expensive remedies and breaks what he didn’t spill in the process but he shows no concern for it all, not that he ever did. His grip on my arm is bruising and steel- like so I can’t tear myself free. Again my jewelry and other adornments clang together in a painful symphony as I’m dragged across the room; a stark reminder that I am nothing but a living doll to these people and to Anthony. 

“You do as I say and quickly,” he grinds out through clenched teeth before slamming the door on me, leaving me in the dark and alone. 

I let out a frustrated cry as I tear the undoubtedly priceless jewelry from my body and hair. Letting it clatter to the ground, I resist the urge to break it any further by stomping it or picking it back up to throw again. I’m left in my cuffs and thick layers of robes and dresses I’m forced to wear to look the part of their saint, the Sfant of the Great Rebirth. The heavy fabric becomes suffocating and I tear them off next, shedding the black robes that were embroidered in white and gold before nearly breaking off the buttons to the outer black gown. Similar to the robe, it too is embroidered with white and gold threads but within lays the signature blue of York. A part of me is tempted to burst out of the room in my chemise and throw the foul articles of clothing into the fire but I know I would not be fast enough. The foul men outside would hear my movements before I even made them and would stop me. 

Instead, surrounded by the fineries of my captors, I crumple to the floor and cry into my hands. I cry for the people that I cannot save, the people that have died to protect me, for the people that I will inevitably fail, and for the girl that died that night. I cry for the life that I once had where I was insignificant, for the life that was stolen from me when I was bound to the Dragonborn, and for the life that I am forced to live now. I cry harder as the pendant against my sternum weeps and pulses wildly, screaming out to its other half to no avail. The pain and sadness that lives instead of its milky heart has never faded in the year since it was given to me. For an entire year I have felt my very soul being torn in a thousand directions and yearn for the one they all lead to. 

 I hear the scuffling boots of the men outside my door, no doubt muttering to themselves about how pathetic I am and I wipe at my nose with the back of my sleeve. I get to my feet and gather the reminders of my imprisonment before Jonathan opens the door. Ever the quiet and observing man, he narrows his eyes at me and then scans the room before shouldering in with Brock not far behind. It turns my stomach rotten at the idea of having to sleep in the same room as them but there is no alternative. The first week I had been with them, I tried to escape only to be met with a heaving Jonathan clad in only his pants on the other side of the window. Ever since then, he’s slept under the window and Brock slept in front of the door, leaving me with no way out. 

Brock smirks at my state, puffy eyed and barely dressed, and goes to make a filthy comment but Jonathan shoots him a stern glare and the comments stay in his mouth. I should have thanked him for his “protection” but is it really protection when he helped take my captive? 

Regardless of his part in my capture, I find myself drawn to him. He is the better looking of the two, tall and corded with muscles from years of training. When he enters a room, he has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. Since that night I had tried to escape, the sight of his broad muscular chest has not left my mind but I will it away. Instead I try to focus on the stubble of his short beard. Only a mask of stoic duty and harsh words live on his face but sometimes a small smile will take their place. I might have found myself peering at his full pink lips and then up to the pale blue eyes that hide beneath his lashes and thick brows. 

But this is not another life and now only malice lives in my heart for him. 

Jonathan jerks his head towards the small bed against the wall, silently telling me to climb into bed before Brock forces me to. Not wanting to suffer another bruising grip, I drop the items in my arms at the foot and climb in. I can feel him roll his eyes at my child-like behavior but he doesn’t say a word as he settles onto the cold floor beside me. Brock wishes us both a goodnight laced with something that makes my skin crawl as he too settles in. I quickly turn to face the wall and curl into a ball while my blood pounds in my ears. 

Sleep doesn’t find me nor does rest in any form no matter how long I lay there. It feels like hours have passed when I hear something. Beyond the fire crackling and the men’s breathing, I can barely make out the soft crunch of hoofs on snow. My breath catches in my chest as the sound gets louder and the pendant begins to grow warm, nearly vibrating in nervous excitement. I clasp my hand around it as I force my lungs to slow down and try to regain my nerves. The buzzing in my hand has to mean one thing and if I am correct, Brock and Jonathan stand no chance. 

A powerful stream of wind whips through the cabin and pins them to the ground, awakening them within seconds from the force. Instinctively I shoot up in bed and am met with the sight of a person covered head to toe in deep red cloth, leaving only their thin pale hands and unnatural red eyes to be seen. I’m so swept up in the stranger’s eyes that I fail to notice men pouring in around them. One thin pale hand removes the cloth covering her face to reveal a woman who’s beauty far outweighs any person that I've ever come across. 

A human woman stands before her. 

A human woman who commands Dragonborn Knights as if she’s one of them. 

The woman cocks her head as she looks over me on the bed and says something in Draconic to a familiar hulking Dragonborn knight beside her. Jonathan growls at their words and struggles against the red wind that keeps him pinned in place. 

With a smirk fitting for a snake, she says, “Hello Sfânt Y/N, we’ve come to take you home.”