#no art tag still when will the agony end

[spraykit]

unofficially declaring that drawing when someone is watching isnt always bad sometimes its extremely fun actually

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[strawberry-eden]

violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

[lost-and-ephemeral]

Imagine: Not Yours (ft. main trio)

You chose another man.

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader (seperate)

Tags: angst, no comfort

A/N: i woke up today and chose pain. it can contain spoilers, content under the cut

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´- 

Zayne

He had no right to fall in love with you in the first place.

And he knew it.

But now, watching you walk down the street, holding another man's hand, Zayne felt a suffocating sense of emptiness somewhere in his chest.

It's better this way, right?

His feelings only put you in danger. Over and over again. Loving you was so dangerous and so painful, yet Zayne was willing to give anything to make you happy. Even if it meant letting you go now and live 'your happily ever after' with someone else.

Still, his Evol doesn't hurt as much as this new feeling.

He won't stop looking for a cure for you. Your health will remain his top priority, but the feeling of love will be buried in the depths of his frozen heart.

It's better this way.

Rafayel

Rafayel felt betrayed when he saw you in the arms of another man.

All these long years of painful agony ended in even more agonizing feelings. He's angry, he's desperate. His attempts to bring back your memories have come to nothing. There is no love in your eyes.

Not for him.

Rafayel is ready to turn into sea foam and dissolve again, as in fairy tales, just to end this feeling.

All his new paintings are imbued with a sense of hopelessness and despair, which raises questions from critics and admirers. He can't stop pouring his pain onto the canvas.

And he doesn't care what anyone else thinks.

Only art has always been able to help him cope with his strong emotions, but now there are so many that it doesn't help at all. It seems to be getting even worse.

How dare you forget about him?

Xavier

He shouldn't have been so selfish.

Xavier found out about your relationship with another man by accident. But it put him completely off-balance. It shouldn't have been surprising, since he was the only one who had carefully treasured the memories of your love all these years.

Yet that didn't make the situation any less painful.

It was Xavier who vowed to find you again, no matter what it costs. He was the one who selfishly believed that you would always be his and his alone, even in other universes and timelines.

However, life always has its own plans.

He was willing to do anything for you. Even drown out the glow of his own love if you were happy. Xavier would do anything to protect you so that he wouldn't have to watch you die in his arms again.

Even if it is his last spring on Earth.

[chaewberry]

the art of touching.

diluc x reader. wc; 6k. tags; friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, blood and injury, reconciliation, when your love language is being annoying asf. epilogue; part 1. read on ao3.

Shuffled to one corner, shoulder to shoulder with other young ladies of high society, a teacup balancing on your head, and young impressionable minds being dilated with piths of old literature, the core values and ideals of what governed over man and woman — this is what an etiquette class consisted of.

Art was next; the studying of paintings on textbooks as they’ve been sketched and photographed over the years, their history, the way the marble is cut and shaped, the way the bronze hero was melted to make weapons and coins in times of hardship, the way the stony goddess of love shied away not from the viewer nor from her nudity. Gods old and new, dead or alive. Decarabian and his circular castle, his tomb, the would be tyrannical winds that bend to the whims of no one but the few ticklish chords of a harp. The statue of a lover holding onto masterfully crafted fingers, fingers made to match, yet laying underneath the earth for years on end without his beloved, an old poem, indecipherable still, crafted at the heel of the mourning stone, tears of mud in silent agony. The masked fools of unknown origin, the star shaped sword found deep within a dreary chasm, sharp as celestial rage throughout the aeons.

The old madam teaching art was very old indeed. Her glasses laid dormant on the small stool table next to her, thick white hair braided like a crown atop her wrinkled head. She was recounting the story of the lone girl in the clouds again, word for word, not a syllable set adrift by the roughness of her scratchy voice, uttering each sentence like a musical concord. It was an old story, spun through the years, centuries, this way and that way, fitting whichever era’s moral standard of the time in order to teach impressionable young ladies the do’s and don’ts of society and lull children into sleep – the girls toyed with by mere men even as they sat at the hand of a god, wind shifting their fates at the drop of a ball; a lesson about sacrilege, perhaps, though about what? The fair women, or the carved palms which held them up for all the world to see? If this particular god was real, then the ball would surely float or drop out of bounds. Or, the maiden would go through a metamorphosis and take off into the sky. Maybe the lesson behind the story was to learn from the past and try to be better than the forefathers.

If so, it was proving to be a hard learned lesson.

The old lady at the front of the room cleared her throat, gulped the lukewarm tea from her cup, and entered the last few paragraphs of the story.

She wasn’t from any “elite” family in Mondstadt, but she had taught nearly five generations of young ladies now. Having hailed from Snezhnaya, the old croak was bitterly cold, steely eyes cutting even now as one dropped and the other was half closed, neck adorned by old family jewels and fingers heavy with rings gifted out of gratitude – her stern, stiff demeanour when it came to “breaking” the girls – as well as the young boys, occasionally – was looked upon with much reverence indeed, and though now that crown had lost its lustre, the way she still moved about in her old age inspired both awe and fear. With her cane, she hit any giggling girl and knocked a teacup over the head if she thought the gaggling ladies weren’t walking with the right sway. One word from her and anyone one of you in this room could be confined to a house for a month.

You tried to stifle a yawn for the third time in the span of ten minutes, leaning to the side, behind a girl’s back, to hide it. The old bat was more than half blind, but her ears were as sharp as ever.

Her head swivelled towards where you sat. You feared, for a moment, that the weight of her braided crown would snap her neck.

Such fears were always unfounded, however, for wicked old dogs always die last.

It was Friday. You were tired, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep the rest of the day away or attempt, at first, to take interest in one of the boring books your lady mother had set out for you; even more pamphlets about all the esteeming accomplishments a woman were to have to deserve to be regarded as such — music, dancing, drawing, the occasional child rearing lecture, the knowledge of languages. Surely, she didn’t want you to spend the rest of the rest of your precious weekend in a similar fashion? It was truly impossible, unfathomable even. You could already feel your body, your nerves, thrushing this way and that way to move; the corner of your lips, your eyebrow, a finger or all of them, a change in position, a look in another direction. You longed for this dreary business to end, you yearned for something to wake your sly interests. Anyone and anything would do, as long as this wretched, meaningless class ended this moment and the party proceeded with the usual “walkabout” around town. This activity, one where you’d be forced to walk around with another girl or two for company, dressed in fine silks and linen fabrics, made to socialise with people you wanted nothing to do with, would be an activity most detested by you. This day however, the promise of stretching out your legs seemed like an everlasting winter.

Of course, there were other options besides a promenade, and as long as you could slip away from present company you would be able to fill up your daily quota of bad deeds easily enough. It’d be unfortunate if the day passed without you committing a small sin or another, a miniscule disgraceful act to satisfy you.

The heavens seemed to have smiled upon you then — the old croak cleared her throat, again, and tapped the gilded end of her blackwood pipe at the edge of the round table where a couple of books and her tea, which by now must’ve grown cold, sat. “That is all for today, young ladies,” she dismissed promptly, taking the time to filter through the faces amongst her crowd. As the ice of her gaze drew near you you made sure to straighten up your posture, keep your face as tightly still as possible, imagining your skin stretching over too much bone, hands folded neatly on top of your lap. If you could will your eyes to shine as brightly as the stars in the sky you would. Alas, whatever dullness she found in them either did not raise her particular concern (the seven forbid if your mother and father received from her another letter depicting the crime of the mediocrity of your interest in her and her words) or perhaps you did willfully enlightened your eyes through the mere thought.

In any case, you wasted no time after that in jumping up from your seat, grabbing the book you’ve been handed, a theological monstrosity wrapped around a predictable love story written before your grandmother was even born. 

You could never understand the thought what lurking danger could be behind a kiss on the cheek by a ‘fair maiden’, and yet this book certainly vexed you enough by the mortification such an innocent touch brought to the literary masses dubbed with ink in those pages as to think that yes, perhaps a simple kiss was a cursed thing to give to a lover if it were going to enrage the masses, so much so, in fact,  that they’d resort to stoning you or burn you alive as a witch, or accuse you of such ridiculous crimes that brought you the urgent want to use the pages of the book as a fire starter. The meaning behind the story, you thought, was so painstakingly clear that the old hag herself would have grown bored of it by now. Perhaps, if she lived for another half a decade, she could request a more salacious book, one where a woman and a man held hands even, and shared a kiss under a cherry tree, or in between the bushes, or wherever else a lover’s kiss could be freely given to the beloved.

“Miss Wolfram,” a most inconvenient companion called out to you, going as far as to even link arms with you. “Walk with us?”

Drat.

You smiled. “Of course. Where to?” you asked, trying to show the proper enthusiasm as you curled your elbow around hers.

She giggled, her other friend following suit at her other elbow. “By the training grounds - there is more eventful game to be found there, no?”

“How shameless, Anna.”

There was no bite behind your words, of course, and she knew it — hence the reason she continued to smirk, even as her shy friend at the other side started growing red with realisation. “Perhaps,” Anna hummed, blonde curls shining beautifully under the sun. “But I would like to think that the satisfaction of ocular senses is much more elegant than those of the more depraved ones. A sweet tongue like yours, Wolf, would be much better suited to remain sharp rather than bland.”

Ah.

“If so, then I pity old lady Klavdiya. You clearly don’t know the dangers a passing look could hide. Just read the book, it should tell you all about it.”

“Mm, if we were still in the old ages then perhaps I would’ve been more shy. As it is now I am more than certain that passing looks can be fruitful for one’s constitution, isn’t that right, Maria?”

The shy brunette nodded, growing even more red. You couldn’t resist poking fun at her. “I see. They say it’s always the quiet ones.”

Anna laughed. “Something like that, I suppose.”

By now you had arrived at the fountain. There was a kid in it, trying to give a bath to a fluffy, plumpy looking house cat who had its claws hooked to the kid’s sleeves and meowing like all frightened house cats did. Its bushy tail was curled between its hind legs, and no matter how many promises of tasty and sweet scented fish the kid gave, the feline persisted against the ill advised idea. Anna went on then, as you three walked towards the stairs leading up to the Knights headquarters, how amusing it was to keep pets at one’s house, commenting on how to tend to them, their fur, their fussy attitudes when it was time yet again to cut their nails. Maria agreed heartedly with her friend and appeared to gather some confidence in her shoulders as she marched on.

You stayed silent for the most part, simply humming along in agreement - what did you know of pets, anyway - all the while thinking of all the dangers walking by a dozen or so young boys and men, all of whom were, surely under this scorching sun, in some state of undress, and the fits of blood breaking in the face if that outcome shall come to pass. Perhaps Anna had some vested interest in the flowers wilting under the sun, though in your humble opinion, none of those flowers would ever grace your window, none of them, even in their throes of blossoming beauty, could ever tempt you to dirty the hems of your skirts, to bow down and pick one up, indulge in their colours and smells. 

On your way up you met the old man Alchemist. He was holding on to his cane and trying, with his arthritis riddled bones and nerves, to gather a soil sample for some reason or another. Anna stopped, while still gripping your elbow around hers she suggested Maria help the poor man with his work. “Once you’re finished, we can meet up in the plaza?” she asked in a way that was too soft, too mellow. If honey could rot, resting upon that tongue would be one way to do it.

Despite the scowls but still polite spoken refusals from the old Alchemist - he was old and thus equipped with little patience about the vices of a rich girl such as Anna Lionheart - Maria, partly due to mortification at the clear dismissal from her more influential friend, and also probably due to her good nature (and this you firmly believed, for never had you seen her committing a grave sin which would befoul her honour and title as a lady, always cradling the broken boned bird in her soft, petite hands, and because people have always confused kind, nice gestures with stupidity), made quick work of soiling the fabric around her knees by kneeling down on the dirt since the old Alchemist couldn’t. Admittingly, his old and wrinkled complexion took a hit, for he seemed now more appalled at the notion of not only receiving help with his soon-to-be-over-indefinitely work, but to also receive said help from a girl who would gladly “debase” herself enough to dirty herself. 

Whereas Anna Lionheart’s family was in the same circle as yours was, merchants which had the means to sell products to half of Teyvat and more, Maria’s family was a family of only old money and not much power. They owned part of a field the town used for agriculture, getting some pretty coin every harvest, but no more than that. Your family and Anna’s the Leonhearts and the Wolframs, had the means to apply pressure where pressure needed to be applied if given reason, had the power (which consisted of mostly gall and putting up airs, you were of the belief) to block this vote on such matter or another, to push  for that vote in this discussion or another and even introduce one.

Of course, the Knights of Favonius were no fools.

Varka was an especially devious one; a remark which your father had groaned and whined about for no more than at least two dozen times the past year for some reason. Whatever governing power he held out in front of the faces of the elite class, he did so with his various degrees of amusement and mischief, and only allowed them to smell the intricacies of said power before he pocketed it away. When it came to social power — well, the public wasn’t especially gracious in their behaviour towards any of them, sneering or side eyeing them with no small degree of scrutiny. This abuse (and you used this word lightly) was a smudge in an otherwise unbroken, white paged book which the Ragnvindrs didn’t have to suffer; always the darlings of this free city since ancient times, with beautiful daughters and equally handsome sons, all the exemplary manners and everyday etiquette, painstakingly unblemished morals, and the annoying habit of being genuine believers of the god Barbatos.

Now, if only your brother managed to win the favour of Varka as well as that one of the good and young Captain then perhaps your family too will be able to taste the saccharine treat of being a societal ‘darling’ in this city. 

(he was doomed to fail, of course — your belief in the existence of Barbatos was begrudgingly one towards acceptance, if only to prove that the family’s sins of the past had cost you now, in the present time, your future. As it were, the impression of a family curse being laid upon the bones of your forefathers and now upon yours as well had not made its existence known, even of your father’s eyes were always lurking here and there for a speck of it, and your mother’s Sumerian blood chuckled at the ridiculous notion of it.)

Why, one of those priceless sweethearts was but a few mere steps away, instructing his knights to run this way or the other, to drop down and give him their laboured breaths, their sweats and tears.

“Oh my,” Anna hummed, flicking her fan open and hiding her smiling nose and nose behind it, “aren’t we in luck? Look, Wolf, starlings, so many starlings.” She admired and mocked in the same breath, a prominent characteristic from which she derived love and, thus, hate. “Don’t you want to bite some?” 

Ah, the shortening of your surname to its basic animalistic meaning seemed to amuse her as well, for some obscure reason or another, but of course, this was a test, you surmised with surety, for the lion and the wolf were both dangerous, and if the brave one wanted to tease, the cunning one need only play along and wait.

“I am afraid I’d starve,” you went along with her metaphor, because of course you’d be forced to be reduced to such driveling cliches. You'd roll your head straight out of your skull if it weren't considered rude.

She hummed. “You’re right. Your teeth are much too sharp for those little bones, but you must indulge me just this once. Today was dreadfully dull.”

By now, the presence of two ladies standing next to the training grounds garnered some attention from the knights. A few of the other ones, presumably recognizing when they were being sized up for a particular kind of slaughter, suddenly seemed as spry as spring. Someone blushed, someone coughed scandalously while scrambling to wear one of the piled up, discarded shirts (clearly, someone needed to hold a seminar about proper hygiene), while others started picking up speed, making a show of flexing whatever attributes they thought were their best possessions. It was no secret that a lot of young ladies seemed to have a particular interest in frequently adding the Ordo Favonious headquarters in their daily walks, especially at times such as these, when October sun was beginning to dip underneath the earth sooner and sooner. 

It would be unfair, however, to include the ladies and not the gentlemen which too came to ogle, either at their closest male companions and friends - the seven knew if undressing your closest friend was considered pure platonic comradery or a sign if true friendship - or to enchant the female knights with their usual smiles or annoy them with their scepticism. Case in point; a raven haired knight wedged her axe over her head and brought it down on the wooden dummy with adequate ferocity, all the while glaring at your direction. You ignored the poor display of intimidation, but was greatly surprised when Anna winked at the woman, who then proceeded to miss her next swing and end up almost embedding the axe into her own foot as she sputtered and blushed.

You smiled, said nothing for a moment.

The captain himself was now throwing you a calculating look as he gave instruction on the next set of exercises.

“Fine,” you conceded. “Should I go first?”

“Before you do, you must tell me what your appetite consists of.” 

“Oh dear,” you fanned your face, full of faux modesty, “you can’t possibly expect me to admit to that.”

“I surely can - I must know if we are eyeing the same man.”

“Well, I am certainly eyeing a man.”

The grip she had on your elbow loosened. Turning her head to you now, she said, “go on, then.”

Out of all the knights here you were sure that more than half of them had warm, strong hands, charming air that could make you think twice as hard about the words you spoke, the way you acted, and maybe even all of them had been blessed with the good looks of mediocrity and beyond that. More than half of them had sense and the taste for responsibility a woman - or a man too - would look for, especially if one shared the same lazy characteristic as you. Why do anything when you had a strong presence next to you, kindled by the flames of duty and sensibility, kindness (even if that kindness was shown in a way that passed as roughness) and delicate sensibilities for you to grab on and twist?

Many of these knights held such esteemed characteristic traits, indeed, but you only had the need for the one.

You dislodged yourself from the lion and walked forward, ignoring all the puzzling, vexed looks thrown in your way. Your target was familiar with you, your antics, and some of the things you got up with his other familial relation — which was why you excused the frazzled, yet still polite, gaze he threw at you, arms coming to rest at his side, exactly as he was taught.

A proper gentleman, this city’s darling and your current target upon whom you’d inflict your half hearted villainy.

You stopped in front of him, smiling as brightly as you could, and said, “Captain.”

“Miss Wolfram.” 

Despite the fact that the good and honourable Captain was but seventeen years of age his voice sounded out firm and sure, without any of the teenage awkwardness and cracking quality it held only three years prior in his birthday party. Back then you had been just an inch taller than him and took indeed great pleasure in torturing him in that regard, taking his hand and leading him into the middle of the ballroom for the purpose of granting him his first dance that day, all the while berating yourself silently in a vain attempt to stop your face from cracking in two as the boy squawked and sputtered with non of his current grace. Oh, you had twirled him this way and that, dipped him low on the floor and gifted him a glass of orange juice and a kiss to the knuckles that left them red in the end.

Your mother had berated you the next day, your father had stayed ever so blessedly silent and shut himself into his office while your brother had adopted such a wonderful shade of fury you could still remember its taste it left on your satisfied, thrilled younger self — and when Kaeya invited you over to the Ragnvindr manor the next week for a history studying session (a session which you spend playing cards and fooling around the house if you remembered correctly), you had the personal pleasure of seeing the young heir stomp past you with little to zero grace, all pouty lips and affronted brows. You and Kaeya giggled, and his father was thankfully a forgiving man with a sense of humour, much to Diluc’s dismay.

Unfortunately, that would be the first and last time you’d tease him so, for in the next six months or so he sprouted up like a Sumerian fungus and you could no longer drag him at will to here and there.

“I am in need of your assistance,” you said, inching closer to him still, “and there are important matters I wish to discuss with you, seeing as you’re a knight, and so the only one who can help me shade some light into this particularly questionable choice of literature.”

The Captain, holding true and steadfast to his training, didn’t diminish your rather childish whims, evident as they were in the tone of your voice, in the way your eyes squinted as you smiled and blinked, but he did, however, chose to put them aside for the time being. “I am quite busy,” he said with a tone so mellow it rivalled the warmest of spring days — but did not satiate your desire for his attention at the present moment. 

From the corner of your eyes you saw the beats that dogged your steps open  her frilly umbrella. It was much harder to ascertain if her eyes were trained on you or away from you. Still, that mattered little. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your free day entertaining Anna Lionheart.

It was with one particular goal in mind that you decided to refuse his refusal on attending to your problem -- your intolerance to his intolerance when it came to you did nothing but egg you on, swell your cheeks with giggles and teasing remarks. It was one thing to fluster a much younger Diluc, as fun as it was, but it another matter entirely to cause him to fluster in front of his brave knights. 

“I insist.” You looked back towards the sun beaten knights. “I doubt a break will do your hounds any harm.”

He frowned. “Don’t call them that.”

“Mutts, then,” you compromised.

His crown of red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail as it usually were, but some strands had managed to escape their hold, framing the youthful yet stern face of the Captain. His bangs look dishevelled, sticking to the left and to the right, forming a part in the middle. His eyes, of course, seem content in harvesting the sun’s rays into them, which only seemed to serve in making the Captain look even more a twinkle eyed than usual, and though the usual scowl hanged from his face - no doubt brought on by the insult against his knights - his face remained a smooth marbled testament to how truly young Diluc was.

“You betray your origin,” he simply said.

For a moment, you were too stunned by the thinly veiled insult to react, but then you laughed behind your closed fan. “ Ah, no, it’s merely my family name.”

He was too familiar with you to act like a proper gentleman, and yet foreign enough to not speak the harsher words brewing around that mind of his. In return, however, your answer only made him look that much more upset, or perhaps ashamed due to his words, or maybe yours. It wasn’t good etiquette to insult someone so bare-faced, even if the words spoken rang true.You couldn’t resist teasing him then. “I assure you Master Diluc, the view from down below is quite lovely. Never has the sky looked so regal, so perennial.”

“I said your origin, not your family name.”

You remembered, if only for a second, why you hated the man - the boy - standing right in front of you. “You can be so naive sometimes, Diluc. I am my family’s name.”

You were anxious, for a moment, that he was going to reject you again altogether and you’d be forced to stand under the lion’s vindictiveness. 

The Captain only stayed silent for a mere minute, sighing before turning to his knights to dismiss them. A weak chorus of happiness rang out into the courtyard and you had to press your lips together to beat back a smile as Diluc’s face spasmed. One by one, the knights emptied out of the courtyard. When you turned around you found Anna nowhere near the vicinity. You’d be annoyed at having been given the slip, especially since she was the one to drag you all the way here in the first place, but you were most eager to leave now. Today Kaeya was working at the tavern. If you were lucky enough, he’d be able to slip you a cool glass of cherry liqueur before you had to head back home. After all, shouldn’t you indulge in the freedom Barbatos himself toiled so hard to earn for his people?

“Okay,” Diluc said, grabbing his winter coat and seething his standard Favonius sword away before passing it off to a knight. “I presume you’ll be wanting to go to the tavern then?”  he asked, slipping in his coat, “and what is this about questionable literature?” 

He made to take a step forward but stopped when you slapped his bicep with your closed fan. Dumbfounded, he looked down at the offending item in your hand. “What?”

“Is this how you treat a lady such as me? A simple let’s go ?” you huffed. “If I had been informed of your caveman like manners I would’ve abandoned you post haste young master Diluc - or is the gentlemanly air of appearances you go on about with just a game for appearance’s sake?”

A muscle in his cheek jumped -- and you knew which prize you desired most. 

“If anyone here is playing a game I’d rather think it would be you.” 

Nevertheless, he offered you his arm, like any gentleman would. “You are right, of course, so play along!” You curled your elbow around his. “Whatever little standing I may have in your eyes, whisk it away for today and play this game of pretence with me.”

Wisely - or perhaps more foolishly - Diluc didn’t react much to your jib, only managing to glow a faint red which could be attributed, surely, to the effect your irritating wiles had on him. Having gathered his wits, he turned to you swiftly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

You opened your fan, hiding the lower part of your face lest he saw the way your lips quirked. “Let us examine that statement for a moment, shall we?”

“Let’s not.”

“Who was it that refused to help me , an unchaperoned lady, when she asked the first time, and had to thus resort to insisting a second time?” 

Incredulous now, Diluc opened his mouth to speak — you pressed your fan against his lips to shut him up, ignoring the flare of his vision hanging from his hip between you. “And who was it, once again, that rather rudely stated that I was betraying my origin? What other origin could you possibly mean but me ? You are, now, indicating that not only do you know my person but that I have also significantly lowered my position in your eyes with nothing more than a benign comment,” - as if calling his knights mutts warranted such treatment, ha! - “and now, lastly, you see fit to presume my destination which, for me, an unchaperoned lady of seemingly high status would bring nothing but shame and horror to my family name if I were ever to be found out in those kinds of establishments.”

The young Captain was, once again, foolishly staying quiet, all suffering.

“Where does that particular presumption lead, if not to belittle me and debase me as an everyday street wench who loves sweet wine and has naught opportunities to write red letters?”

Finally, the young Captain’s face crumpled and the corners of his eyes creased with laughter. Taking a hold of her wrist, he lowered the hand that was holding the fan up to his face. Why, he was smiling truly now. “The airs of rich innocence don’t suit you.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted. “ Perhaps. Yet, I have not failed to notice the lack of rebuttals regarding my apt observations.”

He stayed silent, urging you instead to start walking towards the plaza with the little fountain and the myriad of aroma’s coming from the food stalls. 

The month of February was in reality no less harsher than that of January, and even as early in the day as it was, the sun was beginning to sink beneath mountains and rivers, painting white clouds with the first droplets of pink — always a sight, those pink clouds, and then after the fiery orange spreading over the celestial sky, breaking out in stark white stars.

In truth, you’ve wasted so much time with Lionheart and her friend, and now with Diluc too, that taking a short trip to the tavern was near impossible if you wanted to make it home before dark. You could only hope that the footman waiting by the family carriage hadn’t been carried off by his wiles yet again, lest you find the fool decorating the bushes outside the Ragnvindr’s Tavern once more with his foul stomach content.

The long, white-grey coat was whipping around your legs, Diluc’s dark one doing the same; dancing in the winds, slapping against each other and against the windas you walked on, the whipping cold numbing your unprotected nose. You had refused to wear a hat, however, even in this weather, for it would ruin the perfect head of hair you had toiled over, and although the air current was certainly doing the same, you preferred whipped like hair instead of the frizzy monstrosity the hat would have introduced.

The heat emanating from Diluc’s vision was nearly leaving steam as it drove away the cold, allowing a mellow warmth, liquid, as it set into your bones. There were days where nothing in the world could warm you after succumbing to a cold, no matter how close to the fireplace you lay, in your own room, entombed with your own will and touch. Your fingers would grow stiff from the cold, leaving you thus unable to write with comfort and fluidity — and you so hated scratchy letters, unmoving and petrified down onto the page, nothing you hated more than the pain on your back as your muscles locked into themselves as you shivered. 

Winter was most foul. Beautiful in its own unique way, yet foul nevertheless.

You could offer a complaint to the man - boy - next to you, but sort of lighting himself on fire there was nothing to be done. Besides, the last dying embers of the sun would be able to sustain the sound mobility of your fingers until you arrived home.

And while you were buried under the nonsensical musing of cold and winter, of hot soups and fire whiskeys hidden in your father’s library, Diluc stopped, abruptly, at the top of the staircase leading down to the plaza.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked, staring into your eyes in a way that made you squirm.

“What?”

“Do you really believe I hold naught respect for you?”

You narrowed your gaze. “Who said anything about respect?”

Affronted, he repeated your own words back to you. “I have not failed to notice the lack of rebuttals regarding my apt observations.”

“Ah, that.” You waved him off. “That was me simply teasing you; you know it to be my favourite pastime.

“Good,” he said, resolutely, and so began your descent down the stairs. “As annoying as you are sometimes -” excuse me!? “- you must know I hold you in the highest regard.”

The words flowed so easily out of his mouth it nearly made you stumble and for laughter to burst out of your mouth. The tight knot in the pit of your stomach whipped itself around your lower ribs. “Such words should be given a bit of thought before given so freely - like I said, dear Captain, you are still somewhat naive.”

For a moment he regarded you with absolute earnesty (because the boy had always worn his heart on his sleeve), and you considered tripping him down the stairs.

“Maybe I am,” Diluc said. “But I am not prepared to give up my position in this matter.”

“I see.” you hummed, certain you were delirious. “Very well then. You must promise me, however, that when and if you’re ever proven wrong in that regard that you won’t reproach me; after all, I have clearly stated your faults in your opinions of others, and so I have washed my hands of consequence when it comes to your person.”

He sighed, a glimmer of his childhood self shining through with the pout that followed. “You are needlessly dramatic.”

“I am not,” you rebuked, and then, because the rope around your intestines felt as if it had wrapped its rough, itchy limbs around your fragile ribs, you demanded, “say it again.”

“Say what again.”

“What you just said.”

“Needlessly dramatic?”

“ No. Before that.”

He flushed, and the dark pink colour in his cheeks was beautiful against the harshness of winter. “Why must I say it again?”

“Do you need a reason to pay a compliment to a lady such as myself?”

“A debt I've already paid off.”

“Kaeya would do my bidding,” you changed tactics, knowing full well that the other Ragnvindr brother would absolutely not do such a thing - he’d be more prone to cooking a fish on your lips than doing what he was told.

You felt lightheaded at the prospect of Diluc doing the same.

“He would not !” the redhead almost stomped, looking down on you with mounting vexation. The blood red of his eyes blended with his whipping hair, black eyelashes long enough for the first flakes of snow to clutch onto.

“He would, ” you kept on, stubborn in your lies. “Kaeya is a good boy who knows that all good things must be said thrice.” 

That was the reason he lied so much, after all.

Diluc was a portrait of scandalization. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Only if you say please three times in a row.”

[dresden-syndrome]

26/VII-1978. State Security department No. 64, Burgas region, People's Union Republic of Bulgaria, EESU.

"Full name?" Iva Kostadinova Milcheva.

"Date of birth?" 7th of April, year 1950.

"Registration place?" City of Burgas, "Prvi Internatsional" street, **** **** **.

"Ethnicity, citizenship?" Bulgarian, citizenship of EESU.

"Employment?" European Communist Party, chairman deputy of Burgas municipal committee.

The same unchanging questions and answers, learned by heart and thrown in an emotionless bureaucratic manner. Who knows how many thousands of them Iva had to fill before; in this country, it's just a part of life. Only this time she was made to sit in what looks like interrogation room, the guards standing besides and the light of table lamp straight to her face. Trying to keep calm and still, like she always used to, just as if today is not the most horrible day in her life.

"What did you bring me here for?"

During her Party career Iva managed to cooperate with State Security quite a lot; although wary of them, she viewed them with respect rather than fear. This day, when they called her to get in the black Volga for a visit, she didn't think anything could go wrong - saying no to State Security invitations has never been an option anyway - until they cuffed her hands and turned to the unknown direction.

"You've been accused of assisting in a right-wing revisionist conspiracy against the socialist regime. Did you know that?"

Arrested. Arrested for political crimes.

It's somewhat like an accident; nobody is safe from it, everyone prays it doesn't hit close to home yet it feels like it won't happen to you right until it does. As experienced as she was, Iva couldn't yet believe that. Isn't it that only the spies and enemies end up there? How could she, who always loved her motherland more than life itself, become one?

"No. I didn't participate in anything."

There were no answers in her head, no time to plan what to say or do for a better outcome. Only one task of immense willpower. Not to cry. Not to scream out loud. Not to think of her breaking future. Stay calm. Do what they say. Even if it gets worse. Even as she feels the cold steel lock on her wrists and her eyes cover by a thick cloth.

"Take that one to cell 2-18."

As Iva exited the main hallway, held by guards by each side, into what seems to be a staircase, a horrifying scream struck her ears from below. It sounded like someone cried out in pure agony, abruptly ending with a sound of doors locked at that lower floor.

"Just what they deserve."

After a long disorientating walk through quieter upper floors, the blindfold falls, the cuffs unlock and the door shuts with an unpleasant metal bang. A cold lonely prison cell, for a couple of weeks or for the rest of her life. Nobody knows.

The nice summer day which began with a cup of strong coffee, two cigarettes and a nice walk along the beach filled with Soviet tourists and ice cream shops finally comes to an end.

Art tag @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst @sunshiline-writes @project-xiii @3-2-whump @unforgivenn

[lil-vibes]

Hi! Sorry for notification spamming you but wanted to tell you that your TROD tags made me lol, I LOVE your art so much and I’m interested in your AU too. Anyway, love your blog!

P.S. maybe I missed it but you said somewhere that your Narinder was pretty messed up for a few years post revival. Could you give some more details on that? Did he try to hurt them? Who had to take care of him, the lamb? What’s been the downstream effects? Basically, how is this cat still messed up lol.

dont be! everytime i get a notification i go yuppiee!!! im glad you enjoy my art :DD

okay okay its prime yap time under the cut oof i love my fucked up cat sm

Lambert, mainly, took care of him! They made sure that every comfort he needed was provided and were worried out of their mind the entire time. Their disciples helped watch over Narinder when he was unconscious, just so he wouldn't bolt the moment he awoke, and Witness Allocer stitched some of his wound and prepared a special painkiller blend for him. (in my au the high priests, aka the mini bosses, and the witnesses were very close to the bishops! Allocer made the same painkillers for Shamura as well.)

Okay so obviously his wrists and ankles were pretty fucked up from being chained for a thousand years and he's got a lot of internal damage as well bc some of the chains went through him (og Stychu hc that I adopted bc it's so good). Also just general wounds from the final fight and the unfathomable pain of shrinking down from his godly form.

Upon being spared, he did attack them in a post battle adrenaline and hate fueled delirium, right on the indoctrination stone and not only broke his arm (bc he put too much weight on it), but probably gave himself a heavy concussions by slamming his head on said stone seconds after the break happened lmao. After waking up in,,, just a Haze of agony he tried to get up and run away bc he was scared that the lamb would just keep him existing in this special Purgatory and shattered his opposite calf so there's that as well. Unlucky tbh

He bleeds like,,, constantly. All of the time, for literal years on end. From his eyes mostly, but also nose and ears and he throws up ichor a lot in the beginning as well bc his body is adjusting rapidly to being smaller and there's just No Space for the ichor to go, other than out. He’s constantly exhausted and spends a lot of time sleeping, and is very frail physically, if snapping two bones by simply putting weight on them didn't make it obvious enough lol

All and all not a great shape to be in, but! His wounds aren't actually what caused him to be bedridden for so long. It was the fact that he no longer saw himself as a god while still being one and suffering injuries befitting of one!

His body/the Red Crown isn't healing him as much as it’s literally regenerating parts of itself while he suffers everything that comes with that, alongside being out of the Veil/Gateway for the first time in forever and emotionally dealing with the deaths of his acolytes and the supposed betrayal of the one he allowed himself to trust after his family. In fact, Narinder barely heals at all for a while bc he was just mentally stopping the process. And also unconscious for a lot of it.

The other big reason is that god hearts are a great power source, but his heart has been in Lambert's chest since Silk Cradle. So he is Struggling ™ but he’d actually rather die than take his heart back he’s a simp like that smh

After he inevitably breaks and he and Lambert finally talk, he gradually starts seeing himself as a person again and his healing process gets easier. He still has chronic pain for his joints but eventually everything else heals alright :3

On a side note, his siblings bleed excessively and are disoriented for the first couple of days but are ultimately fine within the week. They are kind of horrified to learn that their brother is STILL struggling with the side effects of his imprisonment

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note:

Chapter 10: Spool of green, spool of black.

Helaena did not tell you why your uncle had asked after you, and you spent the rest of your day pondering his intentions. You knew that if he truly wished to know of your wellbeing, there was nothing stopping him from breaking into your chambers again.

Your feet, although for the most part healed, were still sensitive to walk upon, though it was now a more manageable pain rather than the excruciating agony before.

The large gashes were now shallow wounds that no longer split with every step, or seeped blood into your bandages. The smaller cuts were now shiny pink scars, raised on the delicate flesh of your soles when your brushed you hands against them.

Your day was spent like most others, lounging in your chambers, reading, pacing and imagining the sweet images of the Hightowers demise. You found that the days spent in your chambers had made you grown more bitter and resentful of them.

How much longer would you hide away in your chambers? How much longer would you cower? Are you not the blood of the mighty House Targaryen? Are not not the blood of Old Valyria? You paced as you worked yourself up.

Approaching your door, you asked the Knight of the Kings Guard stationed outside to summon the maids to prepare for you for dinner. No more hiding, you chastised yourself.

Once Aella arrived first, you asked her to send word to your mother and father that you would be joining them to sup for the evening and not soon after, Saria arrived to tidy your appearance, re-braiding your hair and helping you to put your shoes on. 

The sun's last rays shone through your window, casting a soft warmth into your chambers. The fire was lit and crackled softly into the room. The air felt cool on your skin, and you were thankful for the long sleeved gown.

As Saria and Aella began to tidy your room, you dismissed them, asking for them to be back in your chambers later in the evening to ready you for bed.

Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon's chambers were not far from yours, sitting in the same wing of the Red Keep as you. As you walked you thought of the chambers. You had grown up in them and spent much of your time there. You wondered if Alicent had changed them to spite your mother or if it would be untouched like yours.

Once you arrived, your mothers knight announced your arrival to the room as you entered. As you looked about, you noticed the room was the same as before, unchanged by time or petty grievances, and was still how you remembered it as a child.

The furnishings were worn, deep reds, yellows and oranges adorning the decor. A large fireplace sat in the front of the room, its fire crackling loudly into the space, flames licking at the wood inside.

The windows and balcony were all open, letting a cool breeze pass through the room, the white curtains blowing softly with each caress of the wind.

The chambers layout was similar to yours. Sitting room at the fire, chaise and armchairs with a small table sat in front of the heat, an intimate dining table further back into the space, then towards the very end of the room was the bed, large closets on each side and towering art upon all the walls.

Your mother was sitting on a chaise, Joffrey on her lap whilst young Aegon III and Viserys II silver hair shone on the floor. Both of your younger brothers seemed to have fallen asleep whilst your mother had been reading to them.

Looking up at you, Rhaenyra gave you a wide and warm smile. Gently she placed Joffrey next to her and stood, walking towards you to hold you in her arms.

“My sweet girl, how are you fairing?” She asked, holding you at arms length looking you up and down, gently leaning in to kiss your cheek thrice.

“Far better than I was before, I found I've spent most of my days sleeping.” You kissed her cheeks as she began to slowly walk you over to the chaise.

Two of your mothers maids walked into the chambers and Rhaenyra asked them to put your younger brothers to bed in the conjoined room.

Scooping the two sleeping babes, the maids quietly walked them to their bedroom, whilst Joffrey kissed your mother goodnight and gave you a rough hug. Joffrey had always been a little shy, but his love for his family was shown in his actions rather than words.

“Come sit, there is much to discuss.” You mother spoke, patting the spot beside her.

“Prince Daemon should be here soon. He has been hovering around the King all day.” She chuckled, sitting gently against the plush pillows pulling you to sit next to her.

“I know Grandsire has missed father, you could see his eyes light up when the Prince entered the room. For all their faults, their bond is unbreakable.” You spoke gently. You knew the tension between the King and the Rogue Prince has been a long one, but deep down, they both loved each other dearly.

You observed your mother. Her dress was a deep black this evening, with yellow embroidery on the sleeves and hems. Her hair was more relaxed today than her usual tight braids, instead opting to have it flow down her shoulder with two simple braids pulling some hair to the back.

“Yes, well, faults not of our own….” She trailed off, thinking before continuing, “It is strange to be home at the Red Keep," She paused, "I am not even sure I can call it that anymore. Everything has changed. A once warm Keep is now cold. Even the air around us has changed.”

“My chambers have not changed too much, it has been kept mostly the same. I was expecting to enter and have the entire walls and ceiling painted green for my enjoyment.” You sarcastically hummed.

“I would like to think that it was the Queen's kindness that left our little pieces of home the same, but I feel as though it was most likely done out of cowardice, or lack of care.” Shaking her head your mother looked at you a bit more seriously, deeply sighing at you.

“How are your feet?” She asked, voice unwavering and stern.

“My feet? Mother, th-" Your heart started to race in your chest. 

“Do you think I am stupid?” She interrupted gently, her head cocked to the side.

“Of course not mother, I am j-“

“I know my daughter, and I can see when she is hurt. Although the Greens may not have caught on at breakfast, I certainly did. Then to have Jacaerys come to me concerned...” She trailed off, shaking her head before she reached forward, placing a gentle hand on your knee looking at you.

“You cannot lie to me. I did not come to you sooner as Jacaerys swore to me it was not serious.” She gave a soft smile, “Tell me this, was it Aemond who harmed you?” Tone serious again.

“No, of course not mother.” You lied, “He is nothing but empty threats. I broke a glass, and cut my feet the evening of our dinner. I had far too much wine, and was likely in the same state as Aegon.” 

Your explanation was stiff and felt rehearsed, “I promise you mother, he did not touch a hair on my head, lest he feel the wrath of father.” You smiled.

“He should be more worried about me rather than his uncle Daemon. You however, would do best to avoid your uncle.”

“I have been in my room for days, mother, I am not seeking him out.” You argued, your patience waned.

“Yes, but much like your father, you do goad him. Do not poke the beast my sweet, lest you feel his fangs. I suspect Alicent is still holding onto some twisted notion of justice for his eye.”

“I thought I saw that you were both trying to make amends?” You steered the conversation away from Aemond.

“I will admit, I have missed how we used to be when we were younger, but she is not the same girl. I fear the Hightower’s carry blood that is easily tainted.” 

Clearly wishing to change the conversation, you steered away from talks of the Queen and her son. You asked her how your siblings have been without you, and if she had been on dragon back around the Red Keep. She insisted you take Lucerys out to fly with Sȳndor, and you swore that you would.

Your father joined you shortly after, not announcing himself as he snuck into the room through the back of a painting near your mothers bed. You nearly shrieked when you heard him behind you.

People would often say that your father moved like smoke, quietly, quickly and then gone without a trace.

Prince Daemon placed a soft kiss atop your head, murmuring 'daughter', before coming to kiss your mothers face. The Rogue Prince continued on, walking to the dining table where he poured himself a large goblet of wine, gazing at you both as he sipped deeply before pouring another, handing it to you. 

“Prince Jacaerys has been hysterical these past days without you y/n.” He drawled, gracefully sitting in a large red armchair opposite the chaise you and your mother sat.

“With the way he behaved, one would think that something terrible had happened.” He raised one brow at you and sipped at his goblet, “Dont tell me my drunken cunt of a nephew has been harassing your chambers?” 

Your mother snorted. Shaking your head he continued, 

“No? Then what about the one eyed wretch?” 

Shaking your head once more you spoke “Neither father, Jacaerys is just overly protective.” 

He hummed, speaking as though he was almost uninterested, “Regardless of what your uncles did or didn't do, my brother has been complacent, letting them grow into whining cunts like their mother. Aegon is a coward, but Aemond is emboldened in his treason knowing he has that green cunt of a whore standing behind him, whilst she feeds my brother full of milk of the poppy."

You stiffen. Daemon paused, took an angry sip of his wine, then continued, "Put that boy in his place, or take his other eye.” 

“Daemon.” Your mother growled.

Your father held one hand up in surrender, changing the subject to tell you both of how the King's health continued to deteriorate.

“I would not be surprised if the Hightower cunts are slowly poisoning him.”

“That would be treason.” You suggested.

“Indeed, but never have I witnessed my brother so weak of mind and body. They keep him complacent on the Milk of the Poppy, making decisions for him, ruling the Kingdoms in his name.” 

You sniffed. You had been given milk of the poppy every evening. Did the Hightower's know? Were they keeping you complacent? Was this Aemond showing his hand? You knew from that moment on, you would refuse milk of the poppy, lest you become like the King.

“Have you been rotting in your chambers all this time Princess?”

You give your father a dirty look, “I have been ill.” 

He huffs out a small laugh. He sees straight through you.

“So you say, but Sȳndor has missed you greatly. His temper has been almost unmanageable,” A beat, “quite like yours.” He added teasing you. 

“Oh, and I am sure it is not from seeing your great, ugly face, hovering around him daily, father.” You teased back.

You knew the Prince had a deep love for Sȳndor, much like his love for you. Your father would have been checking him daily whilst you were healing. 

Putting a hand on his chest, “You wound me daughter, after all I have done for you. Perhaps I will marry you off.” 

“You two are insufferable.” Your mother added.

Maids began to bring in your dinner and you all went to be seated. You three sat and ate, speaking lazily of the day's events, your parents catching you up on the days passed.

Your father asked you to join him in the future to read in the library. There were many books you had no access to read for years, and you both planned to do some revision. Your father asked about your mother and Alicent spending time together.

“And what of Alicent? You two have been cozy as of late.” Your father mocked, swirling his cup, and brushing silver strands behind his ears. “Anyone would think that you have made amends.”

“We have not made amends,” She spoke in exacerbation, “but I can see that she is trying… In her own way. Only a fool would continue to irk her and her kin,” she sharply looked to you, then back to your father, 

“She has my father wrapped around her finger.” 

“Yes well, it’s unfortunate that it’s not the finger on the arm that he lost.” Daemon replied, his sarcasm ever present, despite all knowing the grief he has seeing his brother so ill. 

“Do not jest. We all know that the whispers at court come from her. That she is not so secretive of her disdain for us. They all still question our sons' blood. She still declares war on us daily! Do you not see the castle is donned in Hightower Greens instead of Targaryen Red?” And for the first time in your life, your mother looked nervous. 

“I fear she may question Jace, Luc and Joffrey's legitimacy. Even yours y/n. Aegon and Aemond openly call them bastards because their Dowager Queen mother does. This is something we should all be concerned about.”

“My Lady Wife, as long as there is still air in my lungs, and blood in my veins, no harm will come to you or our children. As useless as he is now, my brother will not allow those righteous cunts to question anything. We are safe.” 

“For now.” Your mother says grimly. “That is why I must stay close to the Queen, attempt to mend what has been broken. I see no other way.”

“Then it must be done, by any means.”  Your father added, eyes sliding over to you.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39

[bullet-prooflove]

For Remy Scott FBI Most wanted request please

No. 30 - We cry tears of mascara in the bathroom

TIA

Companion piece to:

Interruptions (NSFW) - Remy hates being interrupted.

Million Reasons - Remy realises he can't give you what you deserve.

When Remy learns the truth about his brother Michael it breaks his heart. He thinks he feels it literally fracture in his chest. He picks up his phone to call you but then he remembers…

He broke up with you last month. He hasn’t spoken to you in weeks.

That agony in his chest, it stabs at him all over again because you are the one person he would go to with this kind of thing, the only person he trusts to talk out his thoughts and his feelings.

He’s in the bathroom when the tears come, in the shower with his eyes closed. All he can think about is the time that’s been wasted, that poor man in prison wasting away from cancer, dying before he can see his exoneration. Remy had been cruel to him at their last meeting, he things he’d said…

He can never take those back.

You’re waiting for him in the kitchen when he steps out of the bathroom, dressed in soft navy blue robe. You push a freshly made cup of tea towards him and something inside of him just aches so God damn badly. Despite the fact he’s ended things, despite the fact he’s hurt you you’re still here checking in on him.

“I heard about Michael, about his case.” You say softly. “I wanted to make sure you’re ok?”

“No.” He says quietly, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not.”

“Can I…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “Can I hug you?”

“Please.” He whispers because he needs to feel something other than this anguish, this guilt that dogs his soul. “I just need to know that there’s someone that gives a shit right now.”

Your arms wrap around him, holding him close and he buries his face into the curve of your throat because you, you’ve always been his shelter from the storm, you’re the person he feels safe with, the one he trusts to always have his back.

“I’ve got you.” You tell him, your lips brushing over his hairline. “I promise you, I do.”

Big Fan of Remy?! Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

Tagging: @kmc1989 @whateversomethingbruh @skyesthebomb @@narcoticluke20 @bubblesmaketheworldgoround-blog @luannysousa @ratcatcher2world @scorpio-1357 @madvic08 @littleone65 @@ipromiseidk @secretsquirrelinc @atomic-art-dragon @keyweegirlie @readingislife @anime-weeb-4-life @yezzyyae @kj77@xmjthewitchx @@kieravanrenvie @yannekees @sca3a @ohhsheet-blog-blog@mrsrusso11  @too-strong-to-lose @@mah2101 @@crazymads1  @jeje1414 @@amylou0456 @goldengypsy7 @@yv84452 @@alannahhex @hopeonfire @@alixw22x @delightfull999 @evee87 @hearthockey @hellokitty71976 @@englishchic39 @gemstone-roses @satansfaviorite666 @glimmerglittergirl @foster-kirstyrose04 @sierravansoffthewalls @spookyboogyuniverse @thebeckyjolene @86laura11 @rosaliedepp @buckysteveloki-me

[alexanderlightweight]

*Wednesday is subjective and can last up to 36 hours due to insomnia. Wednesday starts on Wednesday and ends when the author passes out sometime later.

The Rules + Notes

Only Malec prompts accepted

It’s okay to prompt another chapter for an existing fic, even the oneshots. There is a chance i won’t be able to or want to fill it, but i’m always willing to consider. Just be polite.

I write a lot of dark stuff, so feel free to specify if you want to avoid something or want something specific.

I really do enjoy just the fun of building a fic from a single word, but I’m also happy to try and tackle any longer and more complex prompts. 

If your prompt isn’t filled the week it’s sent it, I’m still going to write it. I always respond to an ask to explain why I won’t fill it if I’m not going to.

If I can’t/wont fill a prompt, I’ll post it and explain and say it’s okay to send another.

prompts are only open on writing wednesdays or if i specify otherwise (this was changed because of how many prompts i get easy wednesday and thats the specific prompt day)

feel free to ask me if i've got your prompt but please know it sometimes takes time to get to all of them and I write verses based on the mood I’m in

I don’t post all of my fic fills to ao3 but I do try to do about half of them. Posting takes a lot of spoons and I generally end up adding more to the fics when I post them so it takes a bit.

I want it very clear that I do this because it’s fun and healthy for me and everyone who prompts is super sweet and I don’t do it to get feedback from prompters (but I always enjoy it)! It's really just worth it to me for the expression of shared art. Because I wouldn’t write half of the fun stories I love creating and exploring without the prompts from others to tickle my thoughts.

However, my partner and I are very protective about my mental health and I have social anxiety to the degree that I sometimes still need my handheld after strangers talk to me so I don't go rolling into a blanketball and scream.

If you are rude, I will sic my boyfriend @saeths (who is an asshole) on you and they will happily come down like a blistering gust of burning wind from an out of control wildfire. Seriously, they think it’s fun to fuck with people and they’re very protective. {i have npd and a lack of acceptable targets -saeth}

They would enjoy it, except the part where it made me upset. 

So don’t make me upset and I won’t set saeth on anyone.

Also saeth and i tend to flirt in posts on our blogs back and forth. so if you don’t want to see that because you’re here for fics and want to avoid it the tag is always ‘saeth & kitten’

- Lumine

The Author likes to write

darkly!soft romance

magical realism & magical flora and fauna 

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (3DNE)

Magnus/Cat/Ragnor friendship 

Exploring the eldritch and angelic natures of nephilim and the fallen divinity of greater demons

Alec’s Institute and shadowhunters being competent 

creature!character fics

soulmates

The Author won't write

non-con/rape

cheating

major character death

hurt no comfort

sad endings

any main pairing besides malec

mpreg/kidfic

camille centric fics

non-magical mundane/shadowhunters inverted au’s

Verse List (under cut)

this eldritch delight – soft-horror malec (Alec is the Trueblood heir, Addams Inspired) 

star eater – sentient!shadow Alec Trueblood au 

the agony of living – chronic!pain alec

Elysiums Tears – Alec is cursed with visions of the future(s)

all your cracks I’ll paint gold – deruned Alec 

the bonds i'd break – all your cracks i'll paint gold au

in his wake, petals fall – Alec loves flowers and Magnus loves indulging him 

cider verse – Alec and Magnus are in a secret relationship since before canon 

pray to the hunters – Alec worships dead shadowhunters instead of Raziel 

the price of lust – Manipulative dark Magnus 

a stolen blade – assassin!alec au soulmates

dressed to kill – mob!wife Alec

flames of triumph – Phoenix Magnus & unicorn Alec 

ripples of magic – Sentient Institute & wards

in the light of the night – Alec hunts circle members to feed the angelic core 

the core of me belongs to you – Alec is the institute 

rituals & souls – Magnus summons an alec for himself after meeting the possibility of him 

to find, to yield – power imbalance, dominion magic

the frost of fury – competent Alec takes no shit in his institute

to break with fate – the circle wins 

all my fears forgotten – alec has amnesia 

like real people do – dragon!alec 

saint & sinners – shadowhunter!magnus & mentor/mentee

hoarfrost kiss on lips aflame – nephilim are more eldritch than mundane and it presents in the most chilling of ways

heartbeat like fire – sentinel!magnus & guide!alec 

spoils of war – Alec is a political hostage disguised as a groom 

devotion across worlds – Alec Trueblood (sentient shadows) is summoned to another universe and mistaken as an angel

marriage of inconvenience – Magnus marries Alec to save him from marrying Clary 

running from my dreams – alec has to work through past trauma when the Institute is poisoned 

walls of adoration, claws of desperation – Magnus and Alec are pre-canon secret relationship. alec is older in this fic, he's 7 years older than izzy and was raised by trueblood grandparents

bleed for desire – Magnus is king of the east coast and happily steps in to take care of newly born vampire Alec 

art of obsession – au of bleed for desire (instead alec ends up falling into Edom and Magnus decides to keep him there for a bit and go on vacation for a bit)  

your heart is full of jewels – alec is mistaken by mundanes as a sugar baby

an extension of you – alec is known as belonging to magnus' and that means something for downworlders

not all that glitters is gold – dragon!magnus with a lot of kink and monsterfucking

for you the world will burn – maryse isn't a good person, but she is a good mother and that is sometimes the more dangerous combinations

finders keepers – alec ends up in another universe and that magnus decides to keep him

feral sweetness, like honeycomb – incompetent shadowhunter and Alec deals with them and Magnus is there watching *its how they meet

soulfire – magnus summons another magnus bane to help him save his soulmate. magnus/alec/magnus

flames so cold they shatter – alec gets the lightwood family gift and remains the lightwood heir... and the only lightwood left

to tremble from your gaze – BDSM verse, dom!magnus and sub!alec

the craft of adoration– alec manipulates his way into magnus' arms

the most fragile of poisons – magnus pretends to be a damsel in distress, aka enjoying overprotective alec

undertow – kelpie!alec au with accidental courtship and BDSM

the treasure of kings – alec and magnus aren't impressed to find that lilith's son takes after his mother (aka wants to bang a lightwood)

the same sky – malec time travel to back a few years before canon, both of them

a warlock's hoard – a/b/o universe, omega/omega malec

to be or knot to be – a/b/o universe, alpha/alpha malec (look it was punny, i couldn't knot use it)

the worth of a life – asmodeus asks for the parabatai bond instead of magnus' magic to save jace

the desecration of souls – lilith has a claim to alec as her son thanks to valentine's experiments

the bonds i'd break – au of 'all your cracks i'll paint gold' where alec takes a chance and steal leaves nephilim/shadowhunter society but keeps his runes

guided by my unchained heart – alec resigns from the institute when jace is made hoti and goes to magnus

the taste of his magic – dragon!alec and magnus (he can shift into a cat) meet because alec can't keep his claws off of magnus' garden

(i'm trying to add some stuff but saeth will come back and fix it!)

[nonbinaryaubrey]

pretty muuch everyone in the cast has some minor inconsistencies between their artbook cover artwork, ingame art work, and sprites. (this is INCREDIBLY nitpicky i do not care thaat much.. but still. wanna point it out. also i am DEFINITELY missing things i am not going too in depth here i am soo eepy)

some small examples:

sunny:

in sunny's official artwork, and all of his in game artwork, his vest is completely black, the only time this isnt consistent is in his actual pixel sprite

--

Omori:

he has a preeetty simple design? so his never gets too inconsistent. but at times his sock length are changed.

(socks higher up)

(socks lower than the knees)

--

Kel:

Obviously, DW!Kels shirt changes constantly between artworks. cant even be annoyed at this one that shirt looks like agony to draw, altho his sprite loses the more pastel coloration.. altho i think this is just kind of a consistent thing with the dw sprites, so i wont point it out much with them.

RW Kel doesnt have.. anything suuuper noticeable ?as far as i can tell. but his sprite and actual artwork definitely have.. inconsistencies (skin tone, along with the stripe on his pants)

--

Aubrey:

DW Aubrey doesnt have anything suuper inconsistent i believe? so i wont bring her up. and we have already talked about RW Aubrey. her outfit is. WILLDLY inconsistent between artworks, even in the game itself. (im NOT getting into other official artworks here but . her shoes too i believe tend to not stick too one design)

--

Hero:

for DW Hero, just inconsistencies with the stripe thickness, the collar part of his pajamas, and.. whatever the part near the hands are called being either solid white, solid blue, or striped

for RW Hero.. oh boy. His shirt collar

Official artwork (and tag photos) it looks like this ^

in his talk sprite, its still a vneck but with a white stripe

when he saves you from drowning, it looks like this

even his pixel sprites have inconsistencies between eachother

(normal)

(hospital)

good fucking lord man .!!!

--

Mari:

not too much with her actually!! main thing is. inconsistencies with her having shoes or not. (if u want a bit in non-in game comparisons, some official art has her dw self wearing socks when in game i dont think shes ever shown wearing them?)

--

Basil:

and to end it all off, lets move onto Basil. !!!

(going to point this out first, in a LOT of both RW in DW Basil's actual artwork, he has 2 little tufts of hair at the top of his head, but in both his talk sprites and overworld sprites, its missing)

for DW Basil there is.. 2 things i think?

1: the flower crown. it varies.. a LOT between artwork. kind of obvious.

aaand. 2. his shirt . in most artwork ^ like shown above, it has a rounded tshirt neck. but in one specific artwork, it shows it being a collared shirt with a button

for RW Basil.. i dont think theres much?

kiiind of the same issue as sunny? tho less obvious ig. his shirt is shown as dark green in the official artwork, but as a muuch lighter green in the sprite.

also in his battle sprite, he loses that... little part between the vest and the collar of his shirt? idk what to call it.

i beliiieeeve thats.. it for them all? i think i am missing things apologies .but i dont feel like looking thru the wiki anymore . and i have no space left for imgs pretty much

[infiglo]

Infiglo's FNAF AU Masterpost 😃

Making this in an attempt to be more organized with my AU and so that people can look at this before asking any questions I might have already answered before. It will include links to posts (explanations, references, important art), FAQ, and other details.

Brief Summary

My AU is basically just my interpretation of the FNAF story, with some changes from canon/what is largely agreed to be canon. (It does not always reflect what I actually think is canon.) I kind of think of it in 2 separate parts, one about the kids before and after they die, and another about Michael (and some other characters) after the murders, finding out what happens and dealing with the haunted animatronics of course. The first part is my main focus majority of the time, and usually follows Cassidy, Charlie, and Evan.

Important Posts

How Possession Works (About the Spirits & Agony Ghosts)

Golden Freddy Explanation

Relationship chart for the main + FNAF 4 kids (when all of them were alive)

2021 Cassidy and Evan Comic + Talking about why it's not longer accurate

Info about my Funtime animatronics

Designs/References

Humans:

Design reference for all the main kids

Cassidy's more detailed reference

Reference for Cassidy & Evan's agony ghosts merged together (Acid Van)

FNAF 4 kids designs & names (will get full body refs eventually)

Main 1985 Freddy's Employees (OCs)

WIP 1983 Michael Design

WIP Nightguard Mina design

Animatronics:

Baby and Ballora references (I'll replace it with a post of all the Funtimes when I finish them)

Nightmare and Nightmare Fredbear designs

All the versions of Chica together

As you can see, I don't currently have updated references for quite a few characters such as Michael, William, Henry, the FNAF 1 animatronics, etc. I am working on these and will have them eventually. I'll try to always keep this up to date with what I've posted.

FAQ

Are you planning on making a webcomic? - I gave a longer explanation about what I plant to do with my AU here, but the short answer is that I plan on making short comics about specific events/situations, but not one continuous comic telling the entire story.

How many games does your AU include?/Does your AU include Security Breach? - My AU only goes to UCN, so no it does not include Security Breach, Help Wanted, or Fazbear Frights if you believe those are canon. I will include some characters like Vanessa, Gregory, Cassie, Jake, and Andrew as background characters in my AU just for fun, but they are not really relevant to the story.

When did the kids die? - I'm still making sure I'm happy with the exact dates and death orders, but as of right now: Charlie dies in 1980, Elizabeth and Evan die in 1983, and the MCI is 1985.

What ages were the kids when they died? - I answered that here. Please note this is an updated version where I changed a few ages, and there might be an old inaccurate answer to this question up somewhere.

What are the FNAF 4 nightmares in the AU? - They are Evan and Cassidy's agony ghosts, or extensions of them since the only ones they themselves turn into are Nightmare Fredbear and Nightmare. Cassidy is helping Evan torment Michael because Evan agreed to help her with William. and she also thinks it's funny.

Is Andrew part of Golden Freddy in this AU? - No, I have a second, side AU where he is, but it has nothing to do with my main AU, where Andrew doesn't end up being killed.

Is Sammy in this AU? Yes, he is, and he's still Charlie's brother. I based him off of the spring bonnie kid from FNAF 4. He is also not super important though, because he moves away with his mother in 1983 after Evan dies.

What order do the events of the games happen? FNAF 4, FNAF 2, FNAF 1, Sister Location, FNAF 3, FNAF 6, UCN

Tags

I put everything relating to this au under the "main au" tag. Besides that I try to tag the names of the characters in the post, the game it relates to, and will tag "spirits" or "agony ghosts" for posts about either of those. When I make longer posts where I just explain things in detail I tag those "explanations".

I tag all the questions I respond to as "answered", although a lot of these aren't related specifically to my AU.

Other details I feel like I should mention

My FNAF 1 Nightguard is not Mike, it's actually Cassidy's cousin, Mina because I wanted them to have a bigger connection to the MCI. The events of FNAF 1 and Sister Location happen pretty close together, because Mina is at Freddy's and Michael is at Circus Baby's.

My version of the FNAF 4 Chica Bully (Raina) is Gabriel's older sister and is the nightguard that replaced Jeremy in FNAF 2.

Jeremy Fitzgerald is Susie's older brother. The two of them moved to Hurricane in 1983 (before Evan died).

The Toy animatronics are not possessed by seperate kids, although the MCI victims' agony might take control over them sometimes.

My Mrs. Afton is named Eleanora, or Nora for short.

Elizabeth and Michael were born in the UK so they do have British accents, but Evan was born in the US and doesn't really have one. (Nora is also American and was born in Hurricane.)

Charlie and her agony ghost self are much more connected than anyone else is with theirs, and her agony ghost acts a little more human because of this. They can also generally convey ideas to each other but cannot directly communicate. Usually if Charlie's agony ghost does something that doesn't relate to her goal of stopping William, it's because she's doing it for the real Charlie.

Time does not work the same for the spirits as it does in the real world.

Elizabeth is the only spirit who never has contact with any of the other spirits until she's set free.

The agony ghosts can change how people see other things, as extensions of themselves basically. This is how they make the animatronics eyes turn black, Charlie gives the puppet tears, and Elizbeth changes Baby's eye color. (What happens to William in UCN is different than this, since it's Cassidy's agony trapping him in one of his own memories and then changing it however she likes - so it all happens inside his head.)

................................................................................

I will try to update this regularly if I make anything new or change any details! Sometimes I post things on other social media but forget to post them on tumblr but I'll try to do better with that.

That being said, I also share stuff about my AU on Instagram and Twitter that might not necessarily get posted on here if it's not important enough for it's own post. I'm also just more active there, so feel free to follow those as well.

I also have a DeviantArt and Pinterest where I try to organize my FNAF art into categories, and it's also just easier to look through it all on there so I thought I'd link them.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Final Hour (Linked Universe fanfic)

(@artisticgamer, @ludoluck sorry I keep forgetting to tag you guys for my writing)

Inspired by @kikker-oma's amazing Fierce Deity art. Love your talent and your creativity, Oma! <3

Summary: When everything goes horribly wrong, Time desperately attempts everything in his power to fix it. Wind instead chooses to be the self sacrificing Hero, but the end result isn't what Time expected it to be.

(AO3 link)

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Zelda standing in front of him, sad and beautiful and aged beyond her years, just like him. He saw her morose smile, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, her steady resolve despite it all. He saw her play the ocarina as she grew ever smaller and farther away while his hand reached out desperately for her.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Malon smiling sweetly at him, bright and beautiful and innocent, like how he used to be. He saw the freckles on her cheeks pull as she giggled and called him by that nickname she’d made up a lifetime ago. He saw her eyes grow fierce with a desire for adventure as she worked with an unruly mare. He saw her twirl as they danced together.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw Anju and Kafei’s love and desperation and acceptance in their eyes as they held each other, as she said they’d greet the morning together while his hand held hers in a white knuckled grip. He saw them tremble as he turned and ran outside.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw the Heroes of Hyrule, how they were all young, experienced, hurt, filled with power and hope and light. He saw how they emanated a strength that couldn’t be quantified, an inherent resolve and determination to their core that shone through and resonated between each and every one of them, a shared bond and unbreakable spirit. He saw their uniqueness, their wonder, their gifts and quirks.

And he saw them fall, one by one.

The clocktower tolled.

They’d been wounded. They’d been weak. They’d just fought multiple hordes and had been desperately trying to get to the nearest village. They’d known it hadn’t been far, from the forest they could hear the bells of a clocktower in a nearby town.

There had been a split in the path. Time had chosen the route.

The clocktower tolled.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen.

The black blooded dragon roared again, held at bay by the few still standing. He heard a scream, and a body collapse on the ground. He couldn’t even tell who was still standing anymore; he’d been one of the last to fall. Nearly everyone had stilled, no longer writhing in agony or sheer force of will.

Except for Wind.

The sailor groaned as he desperately crawled forward, reaching above Time, whose hand was overhead as he’d been grabbing desperately at one of his items when he fell, as he’d been willing to throw his life, sanity, everything away in a frantic attempt to fix this.

The wooden mask barely was within his grasp, propped by a finger.

Despite the severity of the situation, despite the cold silence of his companions, despite the clocktower ringing in his ears, a reminder of time after time of facing death and life and everything in between as his entire journey flashed before his eyes, he wanted to save Wind from this. The mask was too dangerous for anyone else. What good would such a victory do if the child was lost to the darkness?

“Please, Wind… no.”

He had other methods he could call on.

He had other items he could use.

The Hero of Time was nothing if not relentless. He never gave up. Never. Not even now, not even when he was bleeding to death, when the world around him blurred and dulled, when his mind was screaming and running into the past rather than focusing on the present. Not even now. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting three days over and over and over until he could get everything right and save everyone. He refused to let this be any different.

“You said…” Wind pleaded desperately, his voice trembling, tears and blood and phlegm rolling down his face from what little of it Time could see. With a hiccup, he continued, “You said it’s for emergencies, right? It’s okay, I’ll save you!”

I’ll save you. A last, desperate, pleading promise. The others couldn’t be saved, but Time was still here.

Time’s hands fumbled around his belt, desperately searching for the item he needed.

The clocktower tolled. The dragon roared again, any obstacle between it and the last pair of heroes long gone.

The mask slipped from Time’s finger, a rough disappearance as if it had been pulled.

“Sailor,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper, his world spinning and fading fast. He had to move.

Wind screamed.

The noise jolted Time out of his stupor, adrenaline feebly trying to awaken what little life essence he had left in him. He had enough energy to look up and see a figure towering over him where Wind originally had been crawling.

The monster bore Wind’s curls, bleached white. It bore Time’s armor, with a decorative fairy pendant dangling in the breeze as it stood stock still. Wind’s face was older, chiseled, once-chubby cheeks pulled taught over cheekbones that shouldn’t be so developed. Its eyes glowed, contrasting the purple and blue markings that cut across its face.

The Fierce Deity.

Time let out a desperate breath, unable to speak anymore, and watched helplessly as the cursed mask made Wind’s possessed body march across the field towards the dragon that awaited him. He couldn’t see the fight, but he could hear it. He heard the grunts, deeper than they should be, the fierce battle cries, the screeches from the dragon as its opponent landed cut after cut. He breathed hastily, feeling his heart quicken, feeling his body begin to grow numb, and he again searched desperately on his belt for the one thing that could change everything.

Warriors was gone. Sky was gone. Four was gone. Legend was gone. Hyrule was gone. Wild was gone.

Twilight was gone.

Time was going to be damned if he would let Wind fall in the worst way possible.

The clocktower tolled.

The dragon screamed, and the earth shook.

And then everything grew silent.

Time gasped for air, trying to raise his head, wanting to call for the young sailor, for the brightest ray of sunshine in the group, for the one last surviving member.

He couldn’t move.

So this is how I meet death? He wondered. On the verge of tears, an utter failure to all who depended on me?

He remembered the people of Termina. He remembered how they all faced death in their own ways. He thought of Cremia and Romani, of Anju and Kafei.

Goddesses. He missed Malon so desperately right now.

Heavy footsteps approached him, and he blinked, the world coming back into focus long enough for his body to scream that he couldn’t take any more of this. A blurry image hovered over him, and he squinted, confused, until his mind registered who he was staring at, and his hands finally found the item they’d been searching for.

The Fierce Deity knelt down slowly, eyes fixed on him. When his knees sank into the ground, he reached slowly, sliding a hand behind Time and pulling him into a seated position. Time cried out in pain with the motion, and the cursed deity paused only a moment before reaching his other hand towards the Hero of Time’s fumbling hands, pulling the ocarina from their grasp. Time tried to protest, tried to fight against his possessed successor’s hold, but he was too weak to do anything. Then amethyst rose into his periphery, and he looked down to see the Ocarina of Time hovering in front of his lips.

“Play, Link,” the Fierce Deity said, Wind’s higher voice pitched into a deeper timber and holding power and energy the boy didn’t usually possess. “Save them, as you always do.”

Time stared at the deity, his fears and thoughts stolen away. The pair was frozen for a moment, the world pausing around them, time itself holding its breath in anticipation. A gentleness fell over the cursed deity’s face, and Time felt the thumb behind his back caress him once, ever so softly. Understanding slid between the two, a heavy, bone deep realization that dug into Time’s mind more than he could fathom in the moment, a certainty and safety and assurance and comfort that he'd somehow always felt but always ignored. He let out a shaky exhale and, with trembling hands, took the ocarina from the Fierce Deity.

And he played.

The world turned white.

Time felt warmth engulf him, like an embrace from tender arms. Magic sparkled inside his mind and heart, a familiar friend, singing and resonating with his song like fairies humming together, a melody entwined in mystery and grace. His horizon shifted, and he was on his feet, set there gently as if floating through the air. The warmth spread from his core to his extremities, the numbness in his fingers dissipating, the stabbing pain of his own armor piercing his gut dulling into nothingness. The blood on him washed away with invisible waters, and an airless breeze blew the dirt off his body. He continued to play, the melody growing steadier as his strength returned, his determination steeling him, tightening his weakened muscles and bringing an assurance that he hadn’t felt since Termina.

Save them, as you always do.

Oh, the countless times he’d played this hymn, this spell, this prayer. Oh, the countless times he’d clung to it desperately as he tried again, the numerous times he’d played it in tears at his failure, the many times he’d nearly belted it in fortitude as he prepared with renewed hope and a plan in place.

Save them, Link.

“Really, old man? You’re playing your ocarina right now? We have wounded, we need to get moving.”

Time’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Legend’s voice.

They were all there, tired and hurt but alive. Sky was leaning against Hyrule, eyes half closed but body stiff with stubbornness, while Hyrule held him with a fierce protectiveness. Legend was watching him impatiently, scraped and bruised but relatively unharmed and clearly anxious to get help for the others. Four and Warriors were bringing up the rear, watching everyone’s backs and growing ever more confused by the turn of events. Wind hovered with some distress between Sky and Wild, who was the other most injured member of the group, though the champion was well looked after in Twilight’s hold as the rancher carried him on his back.

Twilight.

Time stared at him too long, meriting a worried expression from the rancher. “You alright?”

Blinking the oncoming tears away, the eldest Link took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s keep going.”

“That’s what I said,” Legend grumbled, turning back towards the road ahead.

“Yeah, but which way?” Twilight asked, staring at the fork in the road.

The clocktower tolled.

Time pointed left.

“But I can hear the bells to the east of here,” Hyrule noted as he steadied Sky a little. “Shouldn’t we take the path on the right?”

“We’re taking this one,” Time said firmly, brooking no argument. The group followed him silently as he tried to reorient and move ahead like nothing had happened.

His hand slipped into his adventure pouch subconsciously as they walked, and the group started to talk amongst themselves, their voices the most beautiful things he’d ever heard. His heart rate began to normalize, and he closed his eyes, basking in the safety of seeing and hearing everyone alive again.

His fingers brushed against wood in his pouch, and they tingled with warm energy that climbed all the way up his arm, through his shoulder, and into his core. He took another steadying breath, clutching the mask tenderly as an entirely different set of emotions nearly knocked him to the ground, confusion and relief and hope and fear and curiosity above all else.

Another time. Today he tread ahead cautiously and protected his family.

Today he saved them, as he always would.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (3/13)

I don't have an art WIP this week, because I haven't made any progress on any previous WIPs, and the recent pix I've done are complete and I'll be posting them on my art blog (@tanithias-art-blog) shortly. I haven't done any more on Miranja's original story lately, either, because I've been collaborating on some little side stories with @lillxart and her OC, Snow White! So this week's WIP is a couple of paragraphs from the sequel I've been writing to the story she wrote for me.

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter - I feel like my friends are falling away, but they're off living their best lives, so more power to them!

Without further ado:

Snow had begun weeping as she spoke of Ondolemar. They’d wanted to marry, she said, but through her own misguided choices, he had died before they ever could. That was when she learned the pain of losing love, losing a loved one. And Miranja felt that pain right along with her. The women cried together with great, gasping sobs, even wails. Snow let go of her own arms and clung to Miranja, who turned to wrap both her arms around the smaller woman. Snow White had had her time to grieve and scream and curse and cry, but even so, she still felt the need from time to time, and retelling it had overcome her, despite her best efforts. Miranja, on the other hand, had yet to fully mourn Talvas. She’d never been alone long enough, and when she’d been with people, she’d been afraid of making them too uncomfortable by expressing her raw emotions. But here, alone with Snow, who was already crazy as a bedbug, she didn’t have to hold back. She could release her heart’s agony and wash a large part of the pain away with her cleansing tears, scream at the Divines or the Daedra – whoever was responsible for the turn of events that had ripped Talvas from her arms. They cried for different men, but they cried together in solidarity, and sharing the pain was comforting to both of them.

A traveler passing near the tower heard the sobbing and wailing, and ventured closer to see who was in such distress and whether he could help. But as he neared the end of the path leading to the tower’s steps, the skeleton guards snapped their attention toward him. He gasped, blood running cold, and with eyes and mouth wide with terror, he turned on his heel and ran as if the death hounds of Coldharbour were pursuing him. If there were armed skeletons, he reasoned through his unreasonable fear, then something terrible must be happening in that tower, perhaps a Daedric ritual with a human sacrifice. A certain old drunkard at the Dead Man’s Drink would be the only one to believe him when he told his tale.

[riddlerosehearts]

HELLOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! its idiavil anon again i m just. gonna yap abt idiavil if u dont mind. my current ideas for different idiavil fics is up to 32 and i have 10 idiavil playlists on spotify as of right now. i shocked my twst friend w that last fact. I HAVE TWO SETS OF IDIAVIL KEYCHAINS I GOT OFF OF ETSY ASW i love them os much . my friend has been working on idiavil art 4 my birthday and im super excited.... ive actuallybeen able to focus on writing recently SO I HAVE SOME DRAFTS IN FHE WORKS!!!!!!, the brainrot only grows with each passing day. i have moss in my brain. like a chia pet. ALSOO THE TWISTED TSUMDERLAND EVENT LITERALLY HAD ME IN AGONY ROLLING AROUND AND SCREAMING IM NOT EXAGGERATING. LIKE HELLO GUYS WAKE UP NEW IDIAVIL CANON INTERACTIOSN JUST DROPPED. MY FRIEND LET ME INFODUMP TO HER SOMEXLAST NIGHT AND EVERY TIME I MENTIONED THEM I WOULD START TEARING UP 😭😭 also also ive been getting back into drawing and i have idia and idiavil doodles literally everywhere. the grind DOES NOT STOP. ok thats it ive just been in agony since my creativity stats are like maxxed tf out rn.......... AS ALWAYS I LOVE UR BLOG AND MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS ASW!!!!!!

ANON IT IS ALWAYS OKAY TO YAP ABOUT IDIAVIL TO ME!! i still don't post about them enough but trust me i think about them a lot... i wish i had the creativity and drive to write fics haha, i've had ideas about all my favorite twst ships bouncing around in my brain for a long time but i'm not good at putting things into words and i'm always working on other projects! i don't know if wicked is something you're familiar with or interested in but i saw the stage musical live back in april (for the first time ever lol!! i've had an over a decade-long obsession fueled only by collecting bootleg recordings of it until this year!), and then just saw the movie earlier, and lately every time i think about wicked i think about vil and idia. if i could, i would love to write a wicked AU for them that follows the general plot/themes of the musical but ultimately still gives them a happy ending and i'm constantly torn between two different ideas for who to cast as fiyero and how exactly to do it since i'd be casting vil as glinda and idia as elphaba and making them end up together in my AU. i could go on about it BUT since you literally did not ask, i won't!! i would also just love to put them in a hercules AU if that hasn't already been done because i need people to understand my vision here. like they literally canonically recreated the scene where hercules saved meg from the underworld in the movie. genuinely how many other twst ships have something like that?? vil RISKED HIS LIFE and GAVE UP HIS YOUTH so that he could JUMP INTO THE FUCKING UNDERWORLD and BRING IDIA BACK. LISTEN--

OKAY ANYWAY! i did take a look at the fic ideas you shared when you came off anon before, i don't know if you saw the silly rambling tags i left on your post but i loved all of your ideas and omg i love that you have 10 playlists for them?! i won't ask you to share the playlists but i think it's so cool that you've put that many together and i'm curious about what kinds of songs you think fit them best! i'd also love to see the keychains but i don't think tumblr lets you send images on anon so you don't have to haha! i have these enamel pins of the dorm leaders (all except leona and malleus, but i might get those two someday as well) and i specifically keep vil and idia next to each other on my corkboard, like this:

(those are almost all pins of different JRPGs above them. idia would love my pin/keychain/button corkboard ASKJGHDF)

ALSO YESSSS I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE IDIA AND VIL INTERACTING AGAIN IN THE TSUM EVENT. THEIR BANTER IS SO FUNNY EVERY TIME. and omg is your birthday coming up?! if so then happy early birthday, and merry early christmas to you too!! 💖

[cuips-not-cute]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

thanks @toburnup, @numinosmoon, @pearynice, and @morningberriesao3 for tagging me, y'all are the coolest<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

nine!! but one of them is my darling friend @lollaika's amazing fic, The Agony Of A Loving Gaze, of which i am merely the artist

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

269,805. whew.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

stranger things at the moment lmao but i've written for good omens and our flag means death before, too

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

he could be brave, blood is an aphrodisiac, honeyed affection, cyclical, and lover, be good to me.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes i do!! i'm horribly, horribly behind atm but i will catch up!! love engaging with people who like my stories, and i've made some fabulous friends thru ao3 comments, too<3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

don't think any of mine?? big fan of happy endings

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

gosh i don't even know they all pretty much have the "and they lived happily ever after" vibe at the end i'm a sucker for sweet stuff what can i say??

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've gotten a couple weird comments from peeps who don't know how to read tags but those go straight in the trash, good vibes only

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

me?? smut?? never!!! lmao i like it all, the kinkier the better. one of my most proudest smut scenes i've written involved some super sweet fisting. i love stuff that's fucking depraved but still with a good undercurrent of softness. love it when they're gross and in love

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i haven't!! generally can only focus on one fandom at a time so i don't know that i ever will but i love a good crossover fic

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as i know!! just waiting for the day that i see my art on like pinterest or smth, tho

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no but gosh that would be SO COOL!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have not!! love beta'ing and being a soundboard for all my super cool and talented writer friends but i write so erratically that i doubt i could co-write with someone

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

...steddie. i'm so embarrassed but i love them. ineffable husbands is SUPER close behind, tho

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hmm, had a kooky tentacle porn oneshot in the works but that always gets put on the back burner while i'm writing a multichap thing...and i seem to always be writing a multichap thing. maybe one day

16. What are your writing strengths?

oh smut, probably. my fav thing to write , too, so it makes sense. tho i've heard from multiple sources that my kiss scenes are good, but those usually lead up to the smut anyways lololol

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

hmm, scene transitions or points where i need the mood to shift dramatically. usually skip around those and write them later during the second draft

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

it's cool!! i'm lame and don't know any other written languages so i prolly never would do it for fear of mistranslating smth but it's neat to see, especially when it's the author's native language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

technically i think way back when i worte a lil thing for the gemma doyle series, did not think of it as fanfic at the time, tho

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

cyclical!! that one was a BEAST but i'm stupidly proud of her. as it is a time loop fic it was THE angstiest thing i've ever written but i had a great time making it.

honorable mention for my current wip, tho, which will be a steddie sex tape au chock full of pining and porn. hopefullyyyy the first chapter will be out soon (!!!)

tagging the lovelies: @lollaika @jhrc666 @steddielations @thefreakandthehair @phantom-organism and @wormdebut <3<3