#tog adjacent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barkspawn · 2 years

Note

what about farmer finding elliott's secret book of poems written for them (before they started dating) and he confesses? :)

HI I updated this a little oops

Ooooooooh. Tbh I wasn't actually expecting a response but I am all for this prompt. I'm better at writing the farmer being pre-established. I'll use my farmer Amelia for the time being. If you prefer a reader insert, lmk.

Be nice, I'm rusty :|

Alright look. This is barely edited bc I'm mid Depression Session. I loved writing it though and I'd love more. ♡

Amelia ran her fingers over the edge of the large wooden desk in the corner of Elliott's shack. She couldn't help but admire the detail of the books littering his desk. It was almost like they were plucked from the past, the leather covers worn and well-loved. A crumpled piece of paper sat at the upper edge of the desk, wedged between the wood and the wall. She picked it up and tossed it in the small bin next to the desk. There were only a few lines written before they were crumpled, their ink smeared in frustration.

Elliott was going to meet her here at any minute. He had to finish up at the library, urging her to head inside and wait for him in the relative warmth of the shack. Still, she drew her coat tighter around herself as she started walking curiously around his home. Books were strewn across the floor in various states of use. There were some open, lying face down as well as other, barely-touched books in neat (well, neat in comparison) piles. As tempted as she was to clean them up, she loved this about Elliott. It was clear that he was passionate about his work. Truthfully, she had realized she had feelings for him just a couple of weeks ago, but there was no way in hell she could tell him. Besides, Elliott was all but married to his novel. To even imagine putting herself in the way of that... well, she couldn't.

She continued her slow pace around the room, her eyes drawn to a small book on the edge of his bed. It was a dark red leather and was small enough to fit in his pocket. Perhaps ideas he had throughout the day?

She couldn't help but laugh to herself. There was a particular story regarding a small crab that had taken shelter in the writer's pocket. With the worn state the book was in, she couldn't help but imagine it in the same pocket.

Against her better judgment, she found herself picking up the book, and sitting on the very edge of his bed. She opened it, flipping through the first few pages. There were notes and seemingly random phrases like "like a storm: grey" and "deep blue as the sea - wavy?" Provided he wasn't angry with her for snooping, she'd have to ask him the secret to deciphering his ideas. She noticed the name of her farm, "Stardop Fields," on the adjacent page. Her brows knit together, confusion playing at her expression. Why would he need the name of her farm? Unless his memory is really that poor..

With a deep breath, she resolved to put it back down, haphazardly flipping quickly through the pages once more as she closed it. Her name caught her eye buried in the pages, about a third of the way in. She tried quickly to find the page she glimpsed, unsure if she should be afraid or excited to be a part of his writing.

There it was. In the center of one of the pages, he had written her name in a beautiful flowing script. She let go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, almost immediately holding her next as she turned the page, her name written again at the top. The passage was written beautifully and with care. All sense of urgency left her as she carefully read:

A virtue

blood red lips

I burn like fire for your pulse,

connected, connected, to never drown

I offer you my kiss

I melt in your love

She froze, completely shocked. Surely, it couldn't mean... No. With her hands trembling, she turned the page, her gaze landing once more on her name; though this one was accompanied by "Ode to.." she traced her fingers over the page as she read:

I pray for your kiss,

connected together, I share with you

joined together, I share with you

I melt in your soul.

This time, she gave no pause in her reading, turning the page immediately, her eyes falling once more to the beautiful script:

A tear in the eye

I see the night in your grey eyes

as the pulse warms for always

transforms like time, silver

I starve for your love,

joined, bound, to never force

I share with you my soul

my kiss, my Ame--

Her reading was cut off abruptly, the door flying open as Elliott came through the door, unbuttoning his coat as he hurriedly explained, "Amelia, I am so sorry that took so long. You see, I keep many journals and it seems that I've lost one of the most impor-"

He froze as his gaze finally fell in her direction, falling on the book for a moment before his eyes met hers. She watched as his cheeks grew pink, this time not of the cold outside. There was silence there between them as they stared at one another. Amelia couldn't find any words. She was a mixture of emotions, butterflies in her belly, and light burning in her widened eyes. Everything in her wanted to believe that this meant that he had feelings for her, that he had felt the same. She slowly stood and, unsure what to do or say, she closed the book and extended it out to him. His eyes moved down, focused on the journal. He took it from her, his fingers brushing against hers in the exchange. Even the small bit of contact increased the butterflies in her stomach ten-fold. She couldn't stop the light intake of breath at the sensation.

"Oh, you... seem to have found it," he started as he gingerly touched the cover, clearly trying to bring humor in to drown out the quiet. Still, he continued, his voice quiet, "did you.." he cleared his throat, "did you read any of them..?"

Amelia's heart seemed to be beating out of her chest; she could feel the heartbeat in her chest. She didn't like how quiet he was, he always had comments on everything. She gave a small nod, wanting to tell him everything: that the poems were beautiful and how it made her even more certain about how she felt for him. She opened her mouth to attempt to say something, though when she tried, his hand went up in protest. He was obviously just as nervous as she was. Before she could talk, he had started, his voice careful, "Amelia, firstly, I'm sorry. This was not how I wanted you to find out," he took a deep breath, finally meeting her eyes, "were it not incredibly obvious based on my writings, I have... feelings for you. I tried to ignore them for a long time as I was absolutely certain you would have no such feeling for me. I have hope that I have not ruined our friendship as you are still standing here with me," in what seems like a split decision, he stepped forward, taking her hands in his. Relief overcame him as she did not pull away, his stance visually relaxing. In fact, her head was swimming in thoughts of how this had to all be a dream, though she felt his hands, still cool from the winter air, so clearly in her own. He smiled slightly as she ran her thumb over his knuckles, giving her hands a gentle squeeze, "it seems for once, I am at a loss for words."

Amelia inhaled, not willing to let go of her last bit of courage. When she spoke, her voice was soft, partially quieted by the lump that formed in her throat, "Elliott.. would you like to go out to dinner with me?" There was a small pause before, with a small smile, she added, "please?"

He scanned her features, her stormy grey eyes and her impossibly wavy hair- still tinged a light teal from the last time she colored it, her natural color prominent now in the growth. Her eyes were just a little wider than usual and she stayed focused on him, almost like he'd vanish if she dared to look away. It was after a long moment that he thought to speak, unable to hide the smile that formed, "why, I would love that. Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if I could treat you to dinner tonight..? Perhaps a stroll along the beach to follow?"

This time, she laughed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "I would love that," she repeated, suddenly very aware of the burning pink of her cheeks. He would have been blind not to notice. He raised her hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles as his eyes never left hers.

"Then it's a date," he finished as she felt the heat rise up to her ears. She smiled, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she nodded, feeling giddy with excitement.

Suddenly, she pulled her hand from his and turned to her bag, unlatching the top and fishing out the plastic tube, a vibrant duck feather held inside to keep it from being crushed among her things.

"I almost forgot! I brought you a-" she was cut off as she turned, a moment lost as she tried to figure out what was happening. The tube fell from her hand as she realized that he was kissing her. There was an eruption of butterflies that seemingly filled her whole body. In truth, he couldn't help himself. The woman he felt so strongly for had said that she felt the same. They were going on a date tonight! Emotion and inspiration took over then, taking his chance the moment she turned. He had always acted swiftly on any ounce of inspiration, but this was new. This was raw emotion; pure happiness at the idea that such an incredible woman would choose him. He'd wanted to wait for the end of the date to be traditional, romantic even, but the feeling overwhelmed him and he needed to feel her touch.

His lips were soft, his action gentle, almost as if she were glass that could shatter at any given moment. She felt the pad of his thumb brush gently over her cheekbone before he let his whole hand to rest on her cheek, his other hand resting on her arm. As he pulled back, he straightened himself out. She hadn't realized he had to bend to kiss her, even if it wasn't much. He was nearly a whole foot taller than her. She would have to be embarrassed about that later. Perhaps when she regained her breath and any coherent thought.

A frown pulled at the corner of his lips at her silence, eyes carefully scanning her face as he kept his voice barely above a whisper, "Yoba, I'm sorry... I don't know what came ov-"

She cut him off then, pulling him down to her suddenly by the collar. Her lips met his once more, a little less gentle and graceful than she intended. He was quick to return her kiss, his other hand moving to her waist in an attempt to pull her closer. Her right hand had come to rest just under his jacket where she had pulled him close while her left hand made its way through his hair in an effort to show him how she wanted this and did not want this to stop. Running her fingers through his hair was something she had wanted to do since the first time they'd met. With that thought, she smiled against his lips before remembering her gift. Ultimately, it was the reason for her visit today. Reluctantly, she pulled back to meet his eyes. Her voice was quiet, almost breathless with a playful undertone.

"I brought you a duck feather, by the way," she tilted her head slightly to indicate the plastic tube she had dropped.

A light chuckle escaped his lips then, his breath warm as he never moved his eyes away from hers, "that's a beautiful gift, thank you."

Ao3 for the one shots: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43638475

yes, yes i am getting ahead of myself

#sdv #stardew valley #fanfic #stardew #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley elliott #sdv elliott #elliott stardew valley #writing prompt #barkspawn #please send more #this was so fun #oh look a one-shot #barkspawn oneshot

58 notes · View notes

jusalilweird · 10 months

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Tagged by @silverinerivers! I am also procrastinating 🤝

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 270! I used to be very prolific in high school, but I've slowed down since college XD

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? 910,686

3. What fandoms do you write for? Tower of God, and MCYT, mainly Hermitcraft and hermit-adjacent series (Life Series, Evo, MCC, anything where a hermit may be featured)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? The two fandoms I write for have a pretty huge fandom size difference (based on fics alone, Hermitcraft has about 4x the amount of ToG's), so the kudos difference is very drastic. Also, since I've been writing ToG for quite some time now, my most kudosed ToG fics are just the first ones I've written, since they've been around the longest. So I'll just post my most kudosed Hermitcraft fic, and my two most kudosed ToG fics, one for pre-anime and post-anime (due to the fandom explosion in between)

lightning often strikes twice - ToG, 2k, rated G, Eduan and Khun interacting in the data world

Mornings - ToG, 800 words, rated G KhunBam sleepy morning cuddles

and the wind will remake all that time has worn away - Hermitcraft, 13k, rated T, a fic featuring a bunch of hermits curious about Grian's new wings

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do my best! I like interacting with readers :D

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ooo, hmm... *filters my fics by Angst tag* *67 fics appear* Uh. Thus Kindly I Scatter is one of my first angst fics ever, and evidently it's hurt a lot of people XD. But I'll go with Ache, the first fic for one of my month challenges. That one was fun to write :D

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I haven't written many multichaps, so I don't really have one that builds up to a happy ending. But Memory Lane is a nice fluffy one ^^

8. Do you get hate on fic? Not really, I think most of my comments have been pretty chill. And I'm not too active on social media, so I don't really pay attention if anything's been said there.

9. Do you write smut? Best part of turning 18.

10. Do you write crossovers? Not really, unless you count stuff from different MCYT series. I think it can be a big vague on what constitutes a crossover, because ccs can be part of different series

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of, and I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! It's always an honor when someone wants to translate/podfic/create other derivative works off my own <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! Kings and Prophets as a raffle gift fic for a fandom event. It was very fun to write (and ended up about 9x the original predicted length). Still one of my favorite fics <3

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship? KhunBam, what else XD Started with them, still hung up on them

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t? Last I checked (a few years ago), I had 136k words worth of WIPs in my graveyard, and it's only grown since. I did have this one Gods AU KhunBam fic called Post-Immortem that I remember planning extensively, but unfortunately, I only got a few chapters in before I got bored XD. Multichaps tend to be difficult for me.

16. What are your writing strengths? I really like worldbuilding! Fantasy has always been my favorite genre, so I love writing AUs. I think I'm also decent at writing action scenes (Doing martial arts for most of my life has helped, I think)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Characterization can take me a while to get, and also I'm not very good with writing multichaps. Long plot buildups aren't really my thing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I've never done it extensively for a long fic, but I've done it in a few oneshots. I have some knowledge of Spanish from school, and I can speak Mandarin, but my writing is ehhhhh. I think it's fun!

19. First fandom you wrote for? Tower of God, whoo! And it hasn't changed XD

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Oh hmmmmm, Like Seeds Scattered Across the Sky probably (beloved fae fic :3), but Dear Fellow Traveler is pretty close as well, although that one isn't finished yet. It's taken me a long time to finish, but if all goes to plan, it'll be done by the end of the month ^^

#thena talks

5 notes · View notes

torse · 11 months

Text

AU / headcanon scene - “10 Cloverfield Lane”

if you've seen the movie called the same, 10 Cloverfield Lane, you'll get the gist. Dunno what city. can be ToG. There is some sort of Disaster™ happening, it can be the plague Notkin's in the hospital, missing a leg he doesnt have leg prosthetic but he has crutches he's like 20ish idk TW/CW ableism or something adjacent to it? someone being really fuckin weird about Notkin missing a leg LMK if it should be tagged as something different :(( don't wanna spook anyone

a Guy, either a doctor/rescue worker/or just "concerned citizen", had visited Notkin a lot while he was in the hospital Guy had lost his son, and mentioned that he thinks he might've grown up to be like Notkin. They get along alright and he keeps Notkin company when he otherwise has no one The hospital gets much busier suddenly people are panicking, getting evacuated, etc Guy runs up to Notkin, saying the plague is spreading. that there's a new variant that the vaccines can't protect against Guy is very concerned about Notkin getting sick again, so takes him to his underground bunker- a little weird that he has one but, hey, if it's plague proof then okay they're hiding out for several months over this time, Guy exaggerates/lies about world status, making it seem much worse than it is. Alternatively, it could actually be that bad. Notkin has no way of knowing Guy will not let him touch the radio or parascope Guy also starts treatin Notkin weirder over time his crutches "accidentally" break, and Guy deems them not important enough to waste materials fixing He instead makes Notkin have to ask for help walking it's overall just really fucking weird / invasive / too personal / grody no good vibes Guy's dead child apparently had allergies- or so he claims at one point during dinner, Guy suddenly had a fit and wouldn't let Notkin eat the food due to "peanut allergies" Notkin has no food allergies and Guy keeps coming up with little things like that to the point where Notkin's not sure if the dead kid even had allergies later that week Guy offers to carry Notkin to dinner- only it wasn't a request Notkin still refuses, he might be missing a leg but he'd rather hobble along the wall than let someone carry his grown ass like a baby Guy starts losing his shit, making threats, he has a gun- so Notkin makes some insincere apologies and has a very miserable dinner In light of that fiasco, Notkin decides that he needs to get the fuck out of there before Guy goes even more insane despite Notkin STILL not knowing what's going on in the outside world eventually he does escape, he sneaks some supplies to repair a crutch and maybe-possibly-a-little-bit beats the shit out of Guy for being an insane creeper

ending technically leads to the next headcanon blurb, Little Bird, but there are inconsistences and ehh not necessary world is fucked outside but the plague had passed. he manages to find people/Grief eventually after a bit of a struggle I guess this could technically be post-p2 Nocturnal ending though in my weird dream it was more post apocalyptic-y

#pathologic #notkin #whump #10 cloverfield lane #TW: ableism #I guess???#hes being really fuckin creepy about it #CW: ableism #again.. I guess??#gen AU

5 notes · View notes

sindirimba · 2 years

Text

@energievie tagged me in a game! i’m always game.

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

tagging people first. @queen-shuri @nevermindirah @laviejaguardia @bossymarmalade @phatburd @flawlessassholes @mprosperossprite

alrighty, let’s.

all of these except where noted are TOG, almost all BoN or BoN-adjacent, because i’m BORING.

1. Copley’s place, when she wasn’t running too full-tilt on adrenaline to notice it, was nice. No one does anything alone

2. They got back to their hotel room in the small hours and the sound of the door clicking shut felt like a heartbeat. You've gotta feel it

3. Mary was the one to notice Mama wouldn't wake up. The only way is forward now

4. “Come on,” Andy says, voice low and tired. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” Aftermath

5. The loud man was bartering. This Strange Electric Light (Bullhead)

6. As far as undercover gigs went, it wasn’t bad. The Kindness of Strangers

7. “Booker!” Death Makes You Weird

8. She stepped through before him, shivering as the ambient cool air wafting around the pool hit her. Everything about you is new

9. She wasn’t expecting any visitors right away-- like, who would be visiting beyond who already had? Les Choses Qu'ils Tenaient

10. He sat down, pulled his pencil from behind his ear, then made the mistake of looking up once more. I'm like that sugar

honestly not sure what conclusions can be drawn here. i try to start with a little punch but doesn’t everyone. i like starting with pronouns or names i guess. hmmm. i do try to match the energy of the first sentence with the tone of the story, but i dunno if that comes across. maybe!

6 notes · View notes

screechthemighty · 1 year

Text

Hello, People Who Read My Resident Evil Fanfics, I'm back!!!! (May be back even more over the next few months, tbh. I don't want to make any promises, but Dracula Daily is hyperfixation-adjacent and getting back into RE4 Remake is up next on my content roster, so who knows?) AO3 link will be in a reblog, but here's the next chapter of catch me floating circles in my fish bowl!

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part three:

May 2, 2021:

“Zoe’s fine. She’s shopping at the grocery store like normal, at least.” Carlos showed him a picture on his phone. It took Ethan a second to recognize her. Her hair was all white, and she looked less desperately thin than he remembered. She was buying chips and standing next to a brick wall of a man with a serious case of resting bitch face. He looked familiar, but not quite familiar.

“Joe Baker?” Ethan guessed. “Glad to see she’s still got some family left.” Especially family like Joe Baker. If Chris was right, the guy had punched his way through the site to get to Zoe. He’s probably the only person in this mess more unhinged than I am. And he meant that as a compliment. “Thank you again for this. I know it’s probably paranoid, but with everything going on…”

How was he to know that the BSAA hadn’t gone after her? She could be just as valuable a resource as Ethan.

Speaking of…

“Still nothing from the BSAA?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I feel like that’s not gonna change until you leave. They don’t have a cause to investigate Blue openly and I don’t think they’d suspect Chris of bringing you here, so…” Carlos shrugged. “They’re probably keeping a closer eye on Terra Save. You have physical therapy today?”

Ethan’s mood soured instantly. “No,” he admitted. “I mean, I was supposed to, but I fell last time and they’re worried I fucked up my ankle, so we didn’t do much.” He hoped he didn’t look too petulant. “I know, if I hurt myself it could slow my healing down, I need to be careful…”

“Don’t forget it’s a miracle you’re walking at all,” Carlos pointed out. “You should still be bedridden.”

“Technically, I should be dead, but I get your point. Still, it’s just…”

Frustrating. It was all so damn frustrating. His self-appointed deadline was this month. He didn’t need to run a marathon or anything. He just wanted to walk on his own. Any patience he might’ve had for his body and its shortcomings had gone out the window now that the novelty of being alive had worn off.

“...to be clear, I’m asked this as a concerned friend, not as the guy responsible for you, but…they’ve got you seeing a therapist, right?” Carlos said. “Like…for your brain.”

“Yeah, they have,” Ethan said. “We’re still working on Dulvey. Turns out, almost being murdered under extreme bullshit circumstances is even more traumatic than just almost being murdered. Who would’ve thought?”

Carlos wince-laughed in a way that said he knew exactly what Ethan meant. “At least your guy has probably heard it all by now,” he said. “We didn’t have that when I was going.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think the chainsaw scissors threw him off.”

“...the fucking what?”

Ethan probably shouldn’t have found that funny, but honestly? It was a little hilarious that he could one-up Carlos in the weirdness department.

Just a little.

Mia had been avoiding her therapist.

She knew, objectively, that avoiding her therapist probably looked worse than anything she could have actually said in therapy. She knew that whatever she said would stay in that room, that even her criminal past was safe to talk about. She knew this could be helpful, that it might let her sort out her thought spirals and fears and her increasing discomfort with being around Ethan.

But she couldn’t bring herself to go. Going meant actually admitting to everything–to all these dark thoughts, to all the shit she’d done. The thought of saying it out loud and having another person hear made her physically sick.

But she couldn’t stay away forever, so she finally went, with the intention of appearing as put-together and fine as possible.

She failed within five minutes.

“So, you’re concerned that Ethan is pushing himself too hard,” her therapist said. Doctor Reid was a no-nonsense sort of woman, the kind who cut right to the chase. It probably made her a great therapist, but these days, it mostly made Mia want to kill her.

“Ethan’s…” Mia tried to think of how best to phrase it. “...selfless to a fault. I don’t want him thinking about me right now. He should be focused on himself.”

Dr. Reid nodded and wrote something down. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve had this argument before?”

Mia tried to stay calm. It was difficult when visions of every argument they had since Mia learned she was pregnant started dancing through her mind.

We matter, Ethan! You matter! He’d been so caught up in protecting Rose, even before she was born. She’d known the lengths Ethan had gone to protect her. Known that he would go just as far for Rose, if not further. It was part of the reason she’d been so afraid to tell him what the mold had done to them. If he’d come to the same conclusions they had–that the BSAA had been deliberately negligent to unknown ends–who knew what he might have done?

The sound of pen against paper drew her out of her racing thoughts. Dr. Reid must have taken her silence as an answer. “Have you discussed this with him at all?”

Mia forced her voice to stay flat. “I’ve told him it’s okay to recover at his own pace,” she said. “He knows that we’re safe.”

“Maybe, but there’s more to the conversation than that, I think.” Dr. Reid put her pen down. “Are you frightened of what your husband might do?”

Damn this woman. “Why would I be? He protects us.”

“And he nearly died doing so, twice. That’s difficult to discuss. Objectively, he’s not wrong. Protecting those you care about is noble. But the survivor’s guilt you would’ve felt…” She picked back up her pen. “...and the guilt I’m sure you feel now are still very real. It could be easy for him to forget that.”

Mia felt her jaw go tense. “It’s not about that.”

“What is it about?’

“It’s my fault…”

Damn it. Damn it. Doctor Reid knew about the Connections, of course she did, but that didn’t mean Mia had to bring it up.

Doctor Reid glanced up. “You blame yourself,” she said finally, “because you think your time with the Connections is the reason Ethan ended up the way he did?”

The plan was not to reply, but Doctor Reid just sat there, waiting for an answer. Screw it. If this woman wanted an answer, she’d get her damn answer.

“I don’t think. I know. If I hadn’t been working for the Connections, I never would’ve ended up in Dulvey and he wouldn’t have had to save me. That’s where he got infected. That’s where the Rose got infected.”

“And if the BSAA had been honest, Ethan would’ve been cured, or his condition would have been managed,” Doctor Reid pointed out. “Maybe if they’d been honest, you two would have chosen not to have children. If Mirand had left you alone, or never learned about you, Ethan wouldn’t have had to save you a second time. Yes, your actions were one of the dominoes, but they were also just that. One of the dominoes. Why do you think you should shoulder all the blame?” Doctor Reid paused. “Why do you think Ethan thinks you should shoulder all the blame?”

“I don’t think that. I…”

She didn’t know. And that was really the worst part. So much of her was convinced that he wouldn’t blame her, which was bad in its own way. But the anxiety, the guilt, had her convinced that he would. There was no version of the story where this ended well.

“If I may,” Doctor Reid said. “You worry about Ethan pushing himself too hard and you worry about him getting into danger again. I assume this worry is compounded by the fact that you blame yourself for everything that’s happened, which in turn makes you feel that you’re not worthy of that protection. These are very strong emotions that are going to impact your interactions with Ethan, especially since you’ve had these disagreements before. Do you think I’m wrong?”

“...no.” It was a miracle it hadn’t impacted things already–or, at least, that it hadn’t in such a strong way that Ethan had noticed and started asking questions.

“Have you tried communicating with him about what’s been bothering you? You said Ethan had been keen to talk in the past. Perhaps if you had some mediation…”

“You offer couple’s counseling, too?”

“Actually, I’d find a third party, but we do have those.”

Of course they did. Nothing like a viral outbreak to put a strain on a marriage, right? Mia nearly burst out laughing at the thought, but managed to keep it together. Barely.

“I’ll think about it,” Mia said.

And she would. She just had a feeling she already knew what her answer was going to be.

May 5, 2021:

“You’ve got to be absolutely shitting me.”

Credit to everyone in the room: they were really doing their best not to laugh, or were treating it just as seriously as Ethan felt. Because he was taking this seriously. Because it was bullshit.

“Everything I’ve been through,” he said, staring down the cold compress on his arm, “all of that bullshit. And I’m still…” The only thing that kept him from swearing was Rose being in the room, staring him down with a slightly concerned look. “...I’m still allergic to bees?!”

“It would seem so, yes,” Doctor Marshall said calmly. “Do you want to hear something reassuring?”

“There’s something reassuring about this situation?”

“Your body is having a normal reaction to the sting. Not an exaggerated one, and it hasn’t triggered anything else in your healing. That’s a good sign.”

Damn it, he had a point. “I guess,” Ethan grumbled. Then, “Bees?!”

Jill finally broke the no-laughing rule with a barely muffled snort. “Sorry…” Her pale blue eyes were lit up with amusement as she tried not to make eye contact. “...no, it sucks, it really does…”

That probably should’ve pissed him off more, but…okay, yeah, it was funny-not-funny now that someone was laughing. Ethan deflated a bit, a bemused sigh escaping past his lips. “Just please don’t tell my wife,” he said. “She worries about me enough as it is. You’re telling her I’m fine, right?”

“I’m giving Mia medically accurate information,” Doctor Marshall said. “Unless you want to withdraw her as your-”

“No, no, it’s…” Great, that just means that either she’s misreading the information Marshall’s giving her or the results are worse than I realized. He wasn’t sure he liked either option. “It’s fine,” Ethan said. He peeked under the cold compress again. “Does the medically accurate information include that this bee sting isn’t gonna kill me?”

Ethan thought he felt a shift in Jill’s mood after that comment. That feeling was confirmed as she wheeled him out. “Everything okay with you two?” she asked. “I don’t want to be nosy, I just know this kind of thing puts a strain on…everything.”

“It’s…” Ethan sighed. “Complicated. Conflicting support needs, I think.” That was what his therapist had said when Ethan tried to describe the disconnect between how they’d handled Dulvey. Ethan wanted to talk. Mia wanted to forget. Neither was wrong, necessarily, but it did contribute to why they’d been butting heads on and off before the village. They hadn’t started couples therapy yet. Ethan wondered sometimes if they should move that up the list.

I basically died on her. That can’t be good for her mental health.

“That’s always tough,” Jill said. She had that tone, the one that said she and Carlos had been through the same thing. That was so weird to think about. They seemed rock solid, the two of them. Then again, they’d been together for a while, and lived through a lot during that time. Nothing like practice to improve your communication skills. “The give and take of it all. You’ve got to be supportive without giving up your own needs.”

“And hers,” Ethan added, tilting his head towards Rose as she grabbed at his coat collar. That was definitely a complicating factor. “I keep trying to tell myself that all couples have these problems, but…they don’t. You can say it’s the same thing, but it’s not.” Maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe he was playing the trauma Olympics, but he’d kill for regular problems. He’d kill for so many of their problems to not be tied up in dumbass crime syndicates and undead werewolves and potentially world-ending bullshit. If he could swap places with the Ethan who’d lost an arm to a car accident, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Zero hesitation.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jill said. “I think that’s why I was never able to make normal friends. Almost everything feels minor compared to…” She gestured vaguely. “...everything.”

Everything was a pretty good summary of things. And that really summed up how shitty things were for the both of them. “How did you two make it through things?” Ethan asked. “I mean, if you’re okay with sharing.”

“Couples’ therapy,” Jill said without hesitation. “It helped with everything. Even the mundane stuff. And we talk to each other, as much as we can. It used to be a monthly thing when we were active duty. There was a lot happening and we wanted to make sure we had the time.”

That made sense, but it didn’t make Ethan feel any better. How were they supposed to do this when Mia still didn’t want to talk? He couldn’t force her. He’d tried, if he was being honest. It had only made things worse.

How much longer could they just let things stew again?

May 15, 2021:

Apparently, at least another week and a half.

Maybe the mounting anxiety had been a warning.

She’d known from the second she opened her eyes that today was going to test her. Mia hated to blame Ethan, because it wasn’t entirely him. She’d been slipping towards a shitty day for a long time.

But opening her eyes to see Ethan standing upright didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” Mia yelped.

Ethan nearly fell over. Fortunately, he’d been clinging to a chair to support him; it was the only thing that kept him falling down. “Shit!” he yelped back. Then, quietly, “Shh!”

Mia’s gaze darted guiltily to Rose. Fortunately, she was still fast asleep. “What are you doing?!” Mia hissed once she was sure her baby hadn’t woken up.

“I was cold,” Ethan replied. “I wanted a sweater.”

“I could have gotten one for you.”

“You were finally sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“What do you -” Mia took a deep breath. “Please sit down. I will get you a sweater.”

Ethan nearly protested. She could see it in the way that his shoulders went tense and his eyes met hers directly. But just as suddenly, he looked away, his shoulders slumping, as he sat down. Crisis averted, she allowed herself to think as she got up to get him a sweater.

That was stupid of her to think. She knew Ethan better than that. She should’ve known. Ethan only stayed quiet for as long as it took to get him the sweater. But once he was holding it…

“I don’t want to do this again,” he said.

Oh, no. “Do…what…?”

“It’s just…” Ethan sighed and rubbed his eyes. His fingers seemed to linger over the scar tissue across his nose. “Back in Europe, it felt like every little thing was an argument. But we never really got at why we were fighting. I don’t want to keep doing that.” He met her eyes again. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve been sleeping well. I haven’t always, either, and sometimes when I wake up in the night or when Rose wakes up, I can hear you…moving around, talking in your sleep. Like how you did after Dulvey. I can walk short distances and you looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to disturb you. You’re dealing with enough without adding sleep deprivation on top of that. I’m worried about you.”

She’d heard those four words so many times. She was starting to get sick of them. “I get that, I do, but you have…” Mia took a deep breath. “You have to start worrying about yourself. Ethan, you died a few months ago. If you get hurt again, if you’d fallen and hit your head…I have enough to worry about without worrying about you doing something stupid, okay?”

She knew, immediately, how harsh she’d sounded. It was starting to remind her too much of the argument they’d had that day in Europe…the one that had nearly been their last argument. Mia rubbed her eyes, hoping that she wasn’t about to start crying. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. No more walking without someone watching me,” Ethan said soothingly. His one hand reached out to rest on her knee. Even with the sweater sleeve covering it, she could vividly see the scar on his forearm. “Stressed about what, honey?”

About the fact that I almost got you killed. That they have to run tests on our daughter and it’s my fault. That you’ll find out the truth and nothing will be the same ever again. That nothing is the same already.

“Don’t do that,” Mia said out loud instead. “Please. You can’t fix everything, Ethan.”

“I’m not…you can talk to me, Mia. I’ll listen. No problem-solving, promise.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. And even if she did, she couldn’t make herself say the words. “It’s…this whole situation,” she said finally. Not a lie, but nowhere near the truth. “It’s this whole situation.”

She was dodging. From the way Ethan looked at her, he knew she was dodging. She expected him to call her out on it. He always had before. Instead, he just looked sad. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

He hugged her carefully. Mia was able to embrace him back, but she hesitated at first, the surge of guilt getting the better of her.

She knew Ethan had felt that, too, but he still didn’t say anything.

If his problems had a face, Ethan would have shot them by now.

He guessed Ethan could say his problems had some physical form: his bones, his muscles, the injuries and scar tissue that had hobbled him, the mold that had merged with his cells and turned him into something not quite human. But he couldn’t exactly punch himself in the face. Multiple BOWs had already done that for him, and look where that had gotten him.

He could still be mad at himself, though. Either his body had betrayed him forever and this was just his life now, or he wasn’t trying hard enough. One of those answers was easier to accept than the other one.

Unfortunately, accepting the latter only made the moment that he ended up face-down on the floor in the middle of PT all the more painful.

“FUCK!” Ethan shouted as he flopped onto his back. He wasn’t bleeding, but he’d hit his face pretty hard. “Son of a bitch!”

“Easy…” His therapist helped him carefully sit upright. Tom was usually a pretty chill guy, and usually had the decency to not visibly worry so much when things went wrong. This time he looked worried. “Did you hit the bar on the way down?”

“I didn’t hit the fucking bar. Shit.” Ethan looked around instinctively. He knew Rose wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help double checking. He tried really hard not to swear in front of her. He was just so…

Ethan carefully touched under his nose, checking for blood. There wasn’t anything that he noticed, but he knew what was coming next. “Let me guess, this is the part where we take a break for the day? We’re done?”

The words came out in a snap. Tom didn’t take it personally; the worst part was, Ethan was so pissed, he only felt a little guilty for being a dick about it. He felt even less guilty when he was informed that this was, in fact, it for the day.

At least he could wheel himself around the facility now. It meant he didn’t have an audience for his frustration.

Ethan probably should’ve gone back to his room and lay down. The session had been draining as it was, and he was kind of sore from that landing. But he went down to the ground level and right out the front door. No one tried to stop him, thank God. They probably figured he couldn’t go very far.

He went further than he had before, right out the front door and out into the parking lot, all the way to the far edge. There was just a field out there, and a barbed-wire topped fence. Somewhere on the other side of that was the rest of the world.

A world that he might never get to be a part of again.

Ethan took a deep breath and screamed. It was wordless at first, but quickly devolved into a rapid-fire barrage of every swear word he knew. They could probably hear him inside, but he didn’t care. What were they gonna do? Force him back inside? Revoke his wheelchair privileges? It wasn’t like his day could get any worse.

Eventually his voice gave out. He sat in silence, just him, the midday sun, and the random cars. The sound of approaching boots broke that silence eventually. Ethan didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to guess who it was. There were only three people he knew who wore boots regularly, and one of them was out of the country again. “I can’t go back in there,” he said dully.

“Wasn’t going to make you,” said Jill. “So, how’s a parking lot for a mental breakdown space? I haven’t tried that one yet.”

Points to her, the comment did get a laugh out of him. It wasn’t the sanest sounding laugh, but it was something. “It’s, uhm…” Ethan tried to wipe some of the tears off his face. “...better than a bathroom, I guess. Air quality’s nicer.”

“Yeah, bathrooms are like a bottom three pick.” She sat down in the grass, in his line of sight but off to the left. Her white-blond hair caught the sunlight, contrasting it more sharply against the black hoodie she was wearing. It looked a few sizes too big–one of Carlos’s, maybe. “You want to talk about it?”

He did. Keeping it bottled up was killing him, and maybe Jill would actually understand what was going on here. But for a long time, the words didn’t come. He just stared down at his one remaining hand. It had been working fine lately–grip strength almost back to normal, no more freezing up at random, sensation much better. Why couldn’t everything go that smoothly? Why did this have to be so hard?

Hadn’t they all been through enough?

“...Mia and I’s anniversary is this month,” he said. “Ten years.”

“Ten years? With two disasters in the middle of that? Shit, that’s not bad.” Jill sounded genuinely impressed. “I’m guessing you wanted to get out of here before that?”

“No, not even that. I can handle being here if we really have to.” They were safe here, at least, and safe was all he could really hope for. “I just…I was just hoping I’d be walking more by then. I wanted her to see that I’m okay. And don’t give me the whole oh, you should be dead, who cares if you’re not walking yet speech. I care. I can’t…” He rubbed at his eyes desperately. “It’s not enough. I thought even a few steps would do it, but I can just feel her pulling away and she’s so focused on being worried about me that she’s not thinking about anything else and I can’t…I can’t see her like that. I can’t live through that again.”

He was bracing himself for more questions; what he got instead was a slightly bitter, huffing laugh. A sound of recognition. “Fuck, yeah. Been there.”

Ethan lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“Chris didn’t tell you? I was MIA presumed dead for three years.”

Chris had definitely not mentioned that. “Chris doesn’t really talk much about his BSAA days. Was this before you left?”

“Yeah. One of my last missions with the old crew, actually. It’s a long story, but Carlos was…” She sighed. “...he kept it together for me. And I appreciated that, I really did, but I knew it wasn’t going to last forever. It was just a matter of when.” She started rubbing her sternum as she spoke. Ethan saw her do that sometimes. “Worst part was, I knew that. I just had no way of knowing what would finally do it. It was just the one time, thank God. We were able to talk about it after that.”

“So what you’re saying is that she might have to break more before we can fix it?”

“No.” Jill hesitated. “I mean, that’s not wrong, but that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that what you’re going through isn’t abnormal. I don’t know if I can fix what’s going on with Mia, and I don’t think you can, either. She has to figure that out for herself, like Carlos did. But you know what kept me sane when everything went to shit?” She made direct eye contact with him then. She had such an intense gaze, her pale blue eyes seeming to stare right through Ethan’s skull. “You’ve gotta lower your expectations, man. I know that you want everything back to normal, trust me, I get that, but that went out the window three years ago. I’ve lived it twice. It sucks, every time, but if you try to force it, you’re just going to hurt yourself worse. Physically and mentally.”

Ethan forced his gaze away from her. It was stupid, all things considered, but he didn’t want her to see the tears starting to form in his eyes. “This sucks,” he said finally.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not fair. I wish it were. But you can make it work. It’s possible. And believe me when I say…she’s just happy you’re still here.”

Ethan didn’t doubt that. He just wasn’t always sure it was enough.

Maybe he was wrong about that.

“Mrs. Winters?”

Mia’s head snapped back up. Doctor Marshal was staring at her with a worried look. “Sorry,” she said. She rubbed her eyes. “I just missed that last part…were we talking about skin samples?”

“Yes, but they’re optional, and more for Ethan’s benefit. How is he, by the way?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. The conversation from that morning was still dancing through her head. The wounded look on Ethan’s face was burned into her eyelids. “He’s…still a little stir-crazy,” she admitted. “Nothing we can’t handle, I don’t think.”

“That’s understandable. How about you? How are you doing?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. She wasn’t sure she could lie, not when she had zoned out in the middle of the conversation. There was so much going on, so many things she didn’t have a handle on. “...can I ask you something personal?” Mia said finally.

“Go ahead.”

“How did you get past your old job? How do you…ever make up for something like that? After everything that happened…” Doctor Marshal’s face changed quickly, growing more closed-off than she’d ever seen the doctor. Damn it. “...I mean, I don’t know how much you were involved…”

“Bioweapons development and research,” Marshal said. “So, yes, I was involved. Not directly in Racoon City, I was never assigned there, but…only a few degrees of separation between my department and theirs. I’m sure members of the Nemesis team used my research.”

Oh. They had more in common than she’d realized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t be. It’s a valid question.” Marshal sighed heavily. “Honestly, it took a lot of time. Joining Blue Umbrella helped. Actions feel more like atonement than words. But I had to accept at some point that I could be as sorry as I wanted, but I couldn’t change the past. Even trying to act like the past didn’t happen kept me stuck there. I wasted so much time trying to figure out how to dance around it that I may as well have been stuck in my room, blaming myself. I had to face it, admit it, figure out what I could do instead now, and move on. I still feel guilty now, but I’m not drowning in it anymore. It’s just a feeling. Usually a productive one.”

The difference between guilt and shame. Her therapist had brought it up. Mia was really starting to hate how much the woman was right about things.

“Not everyone is going to forgive us,” Marshall added. “That’s within their rights. That shouldn’t stop us from trying.”

“...yeah.”

They dropped the subject after that, but it stayed with her. It took up so much of her mental space that she almost forgot…

“You’re doing really good,” Carlos said suddenly.

…she’d had an extra set of ears in the hallway the whole time, looking after Rose.

“What?”

“At…all of this. Considering.” Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. “Just in case no one’s told you that.”

Carlos was an easy man to read. He reminded her of Ethan that way. She could tell he meant it. That didn’t do enough to ease the sudden dread in her chest. “How much did you…?”

“Nothing I won’t have forgotten by the end of the day,” Carlos said. “I’m great at keeping secrets. I can’t retain shit.”

That sounded sincere, too, and just self-mocking enough to get her guard back down. “That’s…”

Goot to know was what she wanted to say. It got stuck in her throat. She was barely able to hold back the alternative response.

I’m scared.

But Carlos seemed to understand anyway. He reached out carefully, only resting his hand on her shoulder when she didn’t move away. He had a reassuring grip, what she’d imagine a touch from a cool older brother or a non-shitty father would feel like. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“...no,” Mia whispered. The dread was back, joined by a heavier sense of resignation. “No. I have to do this myself.”

Deep down, she’d known it was inevitable. In fact, it was long past overdue. No matter what the outcome…

She owed Ethan the truth.

She wouldn’t be able to fix this until she’d told him.

#resident evil #resident evil village #fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl

3 notes · View notes

aphroditestummyrolls · 2 years

Note

🌹...👀...🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

*chicken vine voice* lookit all of those roses!

For you, I’ll give you a chunk of the scene 🥰

“Pierre, what time was it last night when I rang you?” Mickey looked up at him with a sheepish smile that felt jagged on his lips, out of practice and exaggerated. The whole damned thing set his teeth on edge— he could feel himself acting in a way he rarely used to before… before.

Now, those wide eyes fixed down on him as if he’d spoken Cantonese, and Mickey was fighting the urge to squirm under the shrewd inspection from across the table from him.

“When I rang last night?” He let the edge of panic slip into his voice as irritation. “For the extra blanket?”

Pierre blinked, and it seemed as if the gears behind those eyes finally turned again. “Ah, oh oui. I must apologize, Señor— it has been a taxing morning.”

Once he settled into it, he was surprisingly not a bad liar. Mickey had to bite his cheek against the full brightness of his smile, concealing the annoying thump in his chest. According to Pierre, it had been nearly midnight when Mickey had rang him. He fetched him an extra blanket.

Poirot hummed. “On these trains, so criminally heated?”

Mickey opened his mouth, only for Pierre to smile placatingly at the man. “It’s hardly uncommon with our passengers from warmer climes, Monsieur.” He said.

Not a bad liar at all.

Thanks for playing! 🥰

#the pierre/mickey fic #Mickey Miranda #a dangerous fortune #murder on the orient express #pierre michel of avignon #tog adjacent

5 notes · View notes

astrabear · 2 years

Note

Can i add to your problem by flogging a really great Silk Road book at you? (Which I picked up for research on a very stalled tog fic, lol)

aiiiiiiiiiiiinooooooooo I mean yes, sure, you can tell me about the book, but I'm making good progress now that I'm getting organized and I'm unlikely to incorporate anything new into the project. Also if you ever just want to, like, scream together about our silk road-adjacent fic concepts, I would be happy to.

#my fic

4 notes · View notes

isabellehemlock · 1 year

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Hi Sarah! I hope you know that I saw that one reblog where you shared you dyed your hair with rainbow colors? (hopefully I'm not misremebering?) - anyways, so now I think of you with magical unicorn vibes gloriousness anytime I get a notification from you 🦄

Thank you so much for this fun ask!! So cute, and hopefully no one minds me sharing more details about each piece I picked - only because I know I genuinely enjoy hearing about the creative process and what an author got out of it, or their essential “why’s” so I’m gonna list seven from the TOG fandom (because no joke, I calculated it, 96% of my stuff on ao3 is TOG lol), and with three bonus ones from other fandoms - because I have some 86 works listed on AO3 (though plenty are fanarts), but yeah, I just couldn’t narrow it down more than that lol.

In no particular order:

Their souls were knit together (and he loved him as himself)

I sort of consider this one my magnum opus of all the pre-canon JoexNicky pieces I had written before then. It’s like each and every fic/meta/post/research piece led me to this one that I embarked on in the fall of 2021 (and even with some academic and religious studies, still spent a few extra weeks on research just to ensure I had a few key pieces in place). I’m a history nerd at heart, what can I say lol. The religious symbolism is thick and they fall in love slowly, so then, sprinkle in some historical contexts from Genova, Tunisia, Constantinople, and Crete, and it sort of snowballed to 88k in three months lol. But there are definitely scenes from it that I’ve re-read several times over, because yeah, it just speaks to me on multiple levels, and I’m glad it seemed to resonate for a few others as well ❤️

Called you by name

This was one of those pre-canon ficlets I was referring to just above, and looking back, I think this could easily be a sort of soft sequel for TSWKT (even though I wrote CYBN beforehand) - but it’s essentially an existential one-shot, stand alone of Nicky returning to his home land about two centuries after he had left it. I projected a lot, but in the end it’s about faith but also the freedom to label your own identity. I still look back at it fondly.

The Returning

This is more of a drabble piece, based on a tumblr prompt, that I wrote for Nile - which is still one of my favorites. Nile is a character I would have loved to explore more about/through/with due to me being a military brat, and my father being a wounded vet (my father had his TBI 20 years ago this August, and for all intents and purposes, died that day). Between that, and her faith, there were actually quite a few meta posts I had wanted to write up, but I kept it personal to a few friends instead after seeing some discourse. So, writing a canon adjacent Nile, instead of the modern au’s I had been doing up until then, and finally explore even some of that? Yeah, deeply personal and I’m glad I had the opportunity to 🥹

Pwimo

For personal reasons, but I still get a giggle out of it 😎

Precious Days

I think some of my favorite pieces are the ones that I make with others (whether that’s by a prompt suggestion, plotting together, making a fic based on art, or vice versa - and I’m so grateful for people who allowed me to sort of practice with them before deep diving into fandom events lol). Now most of my fandom collabs have been art (but also podfics?? Who am I lol) - but yeah, this was one of those giggling with a friend in DM’s over plot ideas kind, that I still look back on fondly. I was grateful for the opportunity to write something as a birthday gift, but also have some fun trying a different trope, and looking at it from a different perspective/lens that I normally tend to write in. It was like this fantastic experiment, dedicated as a gift, but somehow still resonated with several readers, and it’s also one of the few fics of mine that I sometimes re-read scenes from.

Promises, promises

One of my absolute faves because I got to explore one of my favorite subjects - interfaith dialogue - through the whole team, in this modern au, which was also a bit of a rom-com <333 Some scenes and dialogues were projected from my own experiences, and discussions, and though niche as heck, also resonated with some fellow LGBTQIA+ religious readers 💒

Bonus - other fandoms:

Miracoli

Should we call it TOG-adjacent? Lol. I adored writing Daan and Paolo, and the found family trope was THIQ within this FIC yo. Plus, getting to write a teenager, and a preschooler? And exploring those dynamics of building a family together? Yesh, please - there are so many scenes from this one that I re-read just to bask in the serotonin because it’s probably one of the sweetest fics I’ve written, uplifting, romantic and soft 💕

Mixing It Up

My Steddie fic! I binged ST, resonated with Eddie Munson hard, and projected some aceness onto their potential dynamics. I’ve received some of the sweetest “I feel seen” comments with this one, and some are saved on my phone on days when posting anxiety tells me not to bother. Write the stories your teen self would have loved to read, because I guarantee there are others out there who it will speak to, too.

Pretty Ballads Hide Bastard Truths

This was one that has fallen on the back burner due to other fandom events/projects but I promise it’s outlined and ready to resume come late summer. Like, it’s on my list - I’m itching for it! I adored Calanthe x Eist’s scenes in the first season, and I wanted to devour more of it, and with some loving encouragement I was glad to dedicate this one to Claz. It’s still one of my favorites for the worldbuilding, and little nods to canon throughout, but just that exploration of growth, healing, and coming together over the years that has yet to leave my brain. I’m looking forward to finishing it and allowing the story to come full circle.

Thanks again Sarah ~ looking forward to passing this one on soon 🤗

#answered ask #self love fic ask

1 note · View note

siderealxmelody · 2 months

Text

The Sage & The Vennin

Within The Forever War Verse

It is once again 2am and I can't sleep. So here's more of me hyper fixating. The Vennin in Fourth Wing are these creatures who feed on the magic of the land and are determined to grow that power and are searching for something.

The Valg are ruled by Queens who have absolute authority on their dynasty or clan. Valg are stratified into Scholar, Warrior or royalty with varying duties. Anyway, the highest rank a Valg can achieve within the Scholar class is Sage. They are the teachers, they are the ones who lead expeditions outside the Valg lands. They're also the ones who routinely capture other races to study and dissect them (inspired by the skin-walkers from TOG).

Anyway what if one Valg Sage went rogue? Queens have immense power and can change the course of studies and ideals of the dynasty. Perhaps a Sage felt so passionately they disapproved of the mandate and left with their cohorts? Slowly growing their numbers??

Or like in response to the heavy losses the Valg suffered during the Daglan Civil War, a Sage felt the Queens had lost their ability to properly guide the Valg.

Whatever reason, this splinter group eventually becomes the Vennin?

@luxmaeastra

@starlsssankt

@sankta-alina-s -idk how your muses fit yet, but I wanted to share. 🥹 Oooh maybe they take the place of the Druskelle in Grishaverse or a Acotar adjacent thing!?

#ooc post #forever war verse

1 note · View note

hannahssimblr · 9 months

Text

Chapter Twenty (Part 2)

It’s a home gym, windows on all sides of the room with the evening light pouring through. It’s so big that there’s room for two treadmills, a punching bag, a weight machine and even a couch for, I suppose, when you’re finished with your workout and want to sit down and watch something on one of the flatscreen televisions fixed to the wall. I let out a low whistle. “These rich people are something else, aren’t they?”

“Mmm.” Dean says. “I’ve looked at all of the rooms already, they’re all massive.”

“Is that what you were doing while I was in the pool? Just poking around?”

“Yeah of course.” He smiles impishly and takes a discarded water bottle off a chair, examines it briefly and then tosses it onto the couch. It rolls off the cushions and falls onto the floor with a hollow thud, but he doesn’t pick it up. He just idly walks around the room touching, moving things, opening the door to the adjacent shower room like he’s in his own house.

“Do you think we should be in here?” I ask him guiltily. “I feel like Marnie’s ban on certain rooms of the house probably extends to the gym.”

“Is she going to release the dogs?” He wonders. “Plus, all we’re actually doing is looking, it’s not like I’m going to rob something.”

“True.” I glance at my reflection in a full length mirror, looking skinnier than I’ve ever looked before. The layer of muscle I used to have is all gone now, and I look weak, brittle, and a little bit anaemic. Drops of water stream from my hair and create paths down the sides of my neck and through the centre of my ribs. My eyes shift to Dean as he walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, bending down a little to kiss the skin beneath my ear.

“Hi.” I say.

His voice is low in my ear. “Did I tell you before that you’re hot?”

“Yeah.” I laugh gently, and then watch my smile disappear in the mirror as he strokes his hands over my belly in slow circles. I sigh and lean back against his chest, watching the way that his eyes darken as he looks at me, and I hold his gaze in the mirror as he cups my breasts and touches me through the damp material of my bikini.

Desire surges inside me, the same way that it always does when he does these things with his hands, but my mind keeps getting pulled to the ceiling to floor windows of this room, the absence of any real privacy, and the fact that once again, I’m completely sober while he’s completely not. He interrupts my thoughts by tilting my head towards him and kissing me. I sigh gently into his mouth and then he drops one hand down my body, trying to work a finger into the elastic leg of my swimming togs. I clamp my hand around his wrist to halt him.

“Come on, Dean.” I whisper.

“You come on.” He murmurs back. “It’ll be nice, you’ll like it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

I sigh and step away, turning around to look at him with his wild eyes and the front of his t-shirt wet with the imprint of my hair. “It’s too public, anybody could walk in and catch us.”

He gives me that crooked smile. “Isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

“No, that’s what makes me feel like having a panic attack. And look at these huge windows. Who knows what neighbours of theirs could see into this room.”

He scratches the back of his head and stares down at the floor. “Okay, grand so.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want you, Dean, it’s just like, why is this all we ever do? You just get high and then we have sex.” I don’t bother saying my usual, tired piece about how he once promised he’d never be on drugs around me. A promise he broke after three whole weeks of sleeping together. I’ve learned by now that it’s a conversation that never ends up going anywhere pleasant or worthwhile.

“If you would try it once, you’d get it.” He tells me, and I cross my arms. “Try what? What are you on right now?”

“Just yokes. I have more if you want some.”

“I don’t want yokes.”

“Evie.” He holds the tops of my arms and stares at me with his blown out pupils. “Everything is better on them. Everything. Once you’ve tried sex on MDMA you’ll never want it another way.”

I twist out of his grasp and turn away, pulling anxiously on my hair and tucking it behind my ears. “I don’t like the idea.”

“I was just offering, and they’d be free.”

“Yeah I know.”

He reaches for me again and pulls me into him so that we’re pressed together. He links his hands at the small of my back. “You’re fine, you probably don’t need them, but you do need to relax more.”

“Yeah well I’m not fucking you in Marnie’s home gym, if that’s all that’s on the menu tonight.”

He looks annoyed and lets his hands drop.

“Why don’t we ever do anything else?” I protest. “Like can’t we just hang out and watch movies together? Or just talk? You know some people actually stay up late and have conversations about things, all you ever do is bring me to nightclubs and then fall asleep on top of me.”

“It’s like you think that you have something interesting to say.” He quips. “Like if I were to try and talk to you that it wouldn’t be the most boring conversation I’ve ever had.”

“What?”

“Like sorry, but you’re not very smart, and you don’t have a lot to say, so I don’t know why you’d think I’d want to stay up late and have a conversation with you. About what? About how you cry at Disney movies and how your dad likes whiskey more than you? Boo hoo.”

I shake my head. “Do you know how horrible you are sometimes?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah you’ve said this before.”

“I need to go for a walk, I don’t want to be around you.”

“You’ve said that before too.” He comments. “But I’ll see you in about an hour when you come back to me again.”

The door clatters behind me on my way out.

It’s actually three hours before I come back to him, and it isn’t even deliberately. I come in from the garden a little after midnight in search of the toilet only to stumble upon a congregation of art students lounging on a crowd of armchairs and couches around a low, glass topped coffee table. There is a portable speaker blasting music that’s so bass heavy I’m concerned that they’ll blow. I see that Dean is with them, the back of his head lolling over armchair cushions next to Marnie’s and I try to move by stealthily.

“There’s Evie.” Fiona announces before I can go any further, and everyone looks around.

“Hello.” I say sheepishly, unable to stop my eyes from flicking to Dean despite my predetermination to ignore him.

“Come sit.” She smooths the empty seat next to her on the couch and for some reason, maybe it’s my lowered inhibitions from the countless vodkas I’ve had tonight, or my sense of rising hopelessness that maybe my life actually can’t possibly get any worse than it already is, but I go over and I sit with her.

“You have a drink?” She asks me, moving slightly in and out of focus in front of my eyes, and I shake my head. “I was going to get another one maybe soon.”

“You’re a bit pissed, are you?” She laughs, glancing quickly at Marnie. “You’re some lightweight.”

“Am I?” I don’t think I am. I just drink so inconspicuously that no one ever seems to notice me doing it.

Marnie is grinning at me from across the table. “Are you sleepy, darling? You look sleepy.”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

She juts out her plump lower lip. “Oh, well you just look so tired. You’re so cute. If you want to go to bed you can sleep in my brother’s room.” She touches Dean’s arm. “You were right about her, she really is adorable.”

“I’m alright.” I repeat, and glance at Dean who’s now staring disinterestedly into the middle distance.

“Oh” She says, nudging him again. “Can I have the…” He snaps her fingers and then holds out her hand to him as he comes back to reality and digs around in his pocket.

“Did you forget it?” She says impatiently.

“No, just wait a second.” He rummages for another moment and then pulls a small, clear bag out. I’ve seen this enough times now to know what it is. That fine, white powder is roughly about one hundred euros worth of cocaine. Dean looks right at me when he hands it to her with eyes that seem to challenge me to say something about it, as if I would. As if I’d ever bother having this fight again.

“Oh, amazing.” She says and grins, waving it around excitedly like it’s a polaroid picture so that there are no doubts about what it is. “Who’s in?” Murmurs pass around the table as everyone agrees, but I don’t, I just sit there and wonder grimly if they invited me over here for the sole purpose of making me watch them do lines, thinking that it’s great fun to corrupt my innocence or something.

The glass table is the ideal surface, and I watch as Marnie spills a little bit out, then takes a black metal Mastercard out of her purse and starts pushing it into neat little rows. I don’t get up to leave, I just sit there stoically, because the sight of it doesn’t shock me anymore. I’ve seen Dean doing it off his keys, the tip of his finger, kitchen counters, the screen of his phone, he even asked to do it off me once, not that I let him, but sometimes I think that one day he’ll ask again and I won’t care enough to say no.

Marnie does a line, and then Dean does, and then the guy next to him, and then Fiona, and then when eyes fall to me, Dean’s gaze is visceral. Unreadable. He smirks at me before saying. “You having a bit, Evie?”

“She didn’t pay for it.” Marnie declares. “Can she afford to do a line?”

I stare at her. “You’d make me pay for one line?”

She raises her eyebrows in mock enlightenment. “Oh, you wouldn’t have the money for it, would you not?”

Dean leans back confidently in his seat and drags the side of his hand under his nose. “If you want to do it it’s on me.” and then I see that thing about him again, that thing that I always pretend not to see when he’s looking into my eyes. That there is nothing behind them, no warmth or feeling or compassion. He’s blank, and he’s vacant and he’s hollow and he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me even a little bit. He looks handsome now, but frighteningly so. His beauty is like the razor sharp edge of a blade.

He gestures to the table with a broad sweep. “Go on, it’s on the house.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more worthless in my life, so consumed with self hatred and self pity and I wish I was anywhere else in the world than at this party, but really, it can’t get worse, only marginally, chemically better, so I get up, lean over the table and press my thumb against my nose.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 2 #sims 4 story #simlit #tw: drugs #tw: abuse #tw: bullying #tw: sex #tw: alcohol

13 notes · View notes