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drgnflyteabox · 7 months ago

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red ochre [4]

series masterlist previous || part four -> orchil || part five -> kermes

> summary: double-edged swords, field trips, and wolf figurines > tags/warnings: religious & sexual guilt / shame, stockholm syndrome, inner turmoil, suicidal thoughts (minor), violent thoughts, oral (f), dubcon/noncon, stockholm syndrome, reader says "stop" / "no" but johnny continues, reader has some puritanical ideas about sex (virtue, virginity) but shes a nun so give her a break, power imbalance, thoughts of death/afterlife, self hatred, "little" used affectionately not as a size indicator lol

You wake up to the sound of a childs’ babbles the next morning, disoriented and confused - had sister Margery taken in another orphan girl to raise up in the convent? The softness of the bed beneath you betrays your confusion, rocking you slowly into reality as you blearily open your eyes.

Johnny sits at the table, cooing to a baby on his knee. He bounces them as they make sounds, soft happy ones that contrast with his muscles and scars and hair. In your observation of him you think about how a man so coarse-looking could be so soft to lay against, how he could go from sweet to firmer than stone in a moment. How his hands held you down not two days past, and soothed the skin that still ached as you shifted in bed now.

A conflicted series of emotions had risen in you since, and though something had calmed inside you, the primary tide was a pervasive sense of shame and it tended to overpower everything else.

“Who's that?” Johnny says, his voice high-pitched. “Is that my wife?”

He's cooing to the child, but still you burn and twist with too many things to dwell on lest you go mad.

Simon is nowhere to be found, but that's not been unusual in these winter mornings.

“Who's this?” You murmur, sitting up. Your woolen shift is warm, a soft red colour dyed by one of the village women that Johnny told you he'd traded for specially. Red ochre, he’d said, fingering the cloth. A beautiful muted red kind of colour.

A little like dried blood.

“Gaz's bairn,” Johnny says. “His house is gettin’ invaded by some rowdy boys, and the lasses’ are at the river.”

He must see the confusion on your face, because he adds, “boys are gettin’ ready for a hunting party.”

The baby shrieks, clapping clumsily as Johnny lifts a carved wooden toy up to them. He crinkles his eyes, looking between you and the baby. You want to discourage whatever thoughts he's having, so you stand and move to the fire, away from his wandering blues.

“Should I make something?” You don't dare look at him.

“So sweet of ye,” Johnny hums. “The baby eats eggs.”

You nod.

As you steadily become more awake, thoughts begin to cloud your mind.

Guilt is strange; it spreads like a plague, tainting anything you've decided to take some control of. Cooking, chores, talking cautiously with the men or allowing your heart to soften. The poison has grown from your first peak, spreading outward from your core and into your mind, leaving you worse off.

Simon hadn't done anything else, nor had Johnny. You'd cooked them lunch and breakfast, asked for sewing equipment for mending and receiving it promptly after. From Gaz's woman, Johnny had said. She says hello. Any contact outside of Johnny or Simon hadn't once crossed your mind, especially not since having sat on Simon's lap at the feast like a prize.

But you were a prize, a stolen woman, taken to wife. However you spun the narrative it was hard to get past that fact and harder still to get past that it might fulfill something inside you that nothing else could or could've. That perhaps you were tainted, and the taking had been because they saw it in you somehow. Sniffed the false servant of God as you worked, not anything by coincidence but guided by some instinct that told them you were just as bad.

Your little book, the one you missed dearly, the one piece of physical evidence that damned you.

Though God had never spoken to you back, you'd imagined in the convent that when you passed he'd simply show you the blasphemous, lustful evidence of your filthy mind and send you to burn.

Now you knew that He wouldn't have to do that. You'd simply burn without any chance, damned worse now by your treacherous cunt.

“-nun? Where's my little nun gone?” You turn, startled. The eggs are crisp, and darkening by the second.

You hurry to pull them out of the hot fat as Johnny watches you, still cooing and bouncing.

“Sorry,” you slide him a nearly burnt egg. “Can the baby still eat them?”

“Should be fine,” he tears the egg with his fingers, offering tiny pieces.

It's hard, but not too tough or burnt. Just browned, fried and crispy. You wonder if this could count as a sin, how nearly wasting food would weigh against coming on the fingers of a viking heathen.

The hopelessness gets you sometimes, gets you as you try to sleep and in moments like these. What option do you have? Adapt, or what? Sure, it's probably better to take advantage of their lack of extreme violence and make your predicament as best as possible, especially without an escape route and without the strength to fight them.

You feel watched, judged, observed on all sides. Giving in and navigating how to be a viking wife might be better than resisting forever, but the unseen eye of divine judgement and its gaze rests heavily on you. In fact, it's like it seeps into you through your skin and connects with the shame to compound both feelings.

“There she goes again,” Johnny says, but you hear him this time.

“I'm here,” you say. The baby smacks their lips, enjoying the egg despite its texture.

“No ye aren't,” his blue eyes are piercing, cutting through the fog of unease. “Ye getting all worked up again? I better not catch ye out back again.”

You shake your head, though he's right to think that way. Cleansing yourself has been on the back of your mind, not only the holy kind but what they can bring you with a different kind of force.

There's the sprout of desire that's grown bigger and bigger, as if some dry seed had always resided inside you and they had watered it back to life.

“I'm not,” you finally say, though too much time has passed and it's clear Johnny doesn't believe you.

The door opens and you're saved by the interruption. A new anxiety forms as multiple people enter, curling suddenly like a hook. Simon, Gaz, Gaz's wife and Price step in.

“Tyra,” Gaz says. “Where's my little Tyra?”

The baby shrieks again, reaching her hands out. You see the resemblance to both Gaz and her mother now, seeing them up close again. She claps for Gaz, her mother behind him and smiling at you gently.

“How are ye, Kari?”

“I'm well, thank you,” Kari says. She's always so soft, so glowy every time you see her. No wonder Gaz has scooped her up, you think you'd have also planted a baby in her belly if you were both able and a viking. Such thoughts sometimes arrested you at random in the convent, admiring the other women and dismissing them as silly.

You try not to put more weight into them now, as it doesn't serve your predicament.

But still, you admire Kari.

“And you?” her eyes soften.

“Well,” you parrot. There’s no way to explain how unwell you really are - or how your well-ness is causing that unwellness. It's confusing enough for you.

“She's settling in,” Simon says. He's trading looks like Price, whose beard is becoming a little overgrown.

Gaz takes Tyra, who babbles happily. For a moment it's like this place isn't all evil and temptation, but also love and care. It's easy to get lost in the image of Gaz and Kari making kissy faces to Tyra, who is unknowing of the world and happy to be in it.

They don't linger long. There are words exchanged that you don't pay attention to, hands clapped and Tyra kissed goodbye. You learn that she's nearly two, still a baby but getting bigger. Price teases the couple about their next as they leave, making Kari laugh a hearty laugh that fills you with warmth.

It evaporates a little when you're left with Simon and Johnny and silence, the atmosphere changing to something unfamiliar. This boundary you'd crossed with them has left you someplace awkward, with you mostly lost in your head.

Simon is good at getting you out of that space, but he's been gone often since the incident and Johnny's intensity tends to push you further inward.

He comes up behind you, now, and sets his heavy hands on your shoulders.

“She been like this all day?” He asks Johnny, who hums affirmatively.

Simon leans down, lips brushing the top of your head, hands squeezing your shoulders, before he pulls you backwards into his torso.

“Your god speaking to ya?” He asks.

“No,” you say honestly. “He's silent.”

“Silent, eh?” There's a chuckle, then two. They're heathens, you remind yourself. Heathens.

“Lamb, why don't ye spend some time with the wee lady Tyra?” Johnny scoots forward on the bench, touches your knee, smiles.

“Might do you some good,” Simon agrees. “‘specially since we're goin’ on a hunt.”

You pause.

“A hunt?”

Johnny nods.

“I'll be stayin’ behind,” he says. “Watch our little nun.”

Simon finally sits behind you, hands sliding from your shoulders to the softness of your upper arms, still squeezing.

“It's past time,” Simon says quietly behind you. He explains the yearly hunt, the walrus in the right location, the ivory they will sell and the oil they will gain for use. There's a whisper of something there, maybe longing, maybe not. You can't tell, not with his aloofness. He's closed off as a default, but he rubs your arms like he's comforting you and you decide to take it as such.

There's nothing left for you to say, so you just nod. You're still trying to resist taking on an intimate role, a wifely role, something that will make them think you've given up. You haven't yet, you might not. You have options, even if they're unpleasant or permanent.

A shiver passes through you. That isn't what you want. You're stuck, but you have to rationalize: it isn't what you thought it would be.

You've felt good. You feel good now. The remaining pain comes from the twisting, growing shame that slowly turns in a circle and ensnares your insides.

That, and the taking. It still feels unfair, feels wrong. If you think on it too hard you start to feel like a thing, not a person.

Johnny seems regretful that night, a mix of pride and love for Simon warring with his need to stay home with you. He sleeps in the middle, leaving you near the wall and opting to join hands with Simon through the night. These moments humanize them to you as well – to your distress, and to your softening.

They love each other in the way you've seen some of the villagers love each other, in the way that love is universal; it's a little different, because they're different, but it's tender nonetheless.

Love is luck, you think. Luck enough to find someone to be tender with in a world that is hard to live in, that is so utilitarian, so survival dependent.

Simon leaves the next morning with a group of hunters. Price leads the pack of them, slapping the backs of some of the younger ones who for them it'll be their first or second winter hunt, encouraging them. It's a mixed group with both men and women, younger and older, seasoned and green.

You stand beside Johnny at the door, watching the group move through the village until they are gone. Johnny tells you that they’ll ride horses, but they’re further out. Lest we smell the horse shite, he laughs. Got enough on our plate with Si. The joke has a thread of longing in it.

You’ve never been truly alone with either of them, you realize. Sure, a few hours here and there, but never for the days that Simon plans to be gone. Never slept alone with either of them.

Simon has been somewhat of a buffer, even if he’s the one who initiated the incident and carried it out. He balances the infinite well of restlessness Johnny has.

It’s frightening and comforting all at once. For one, you don’t feel like a bug pinned by its wings, even if that means you’re even more anchor-less than before. Simon is solid despite his surliness, and without him to steady the dynamic you worry.

“Ah dinnae know what to make,” Johnny bemoans. He wants to prepare some kind of gift as a surprise. “Already got too many statues.”

“Statues?” you ask, tilting your head towards him.

“Aye,” he nods, moving to a far corner of the house. He produces a little leather pouch, then little carved wooden figurines. One of them is a wolf, the other a bird.

“You made this?” you take one delicately in your hand, as if it would break. Statues, he said. They’re cute, clearly having been made with care.

Turning the wolf in your hand, you admire the polished shine of the wood.

“Aye,” he says again. “Si’s got too many.”

He spends a portion of the day puttering about, stoking the fire, sharpening various tools. You can’t tell if he’s restless because Simon is gone, or if you hadn’t noticed his restless nature as much because Simon was his outlet.

An urge rises in you, that screaming urge you know more intimately than anything else, awakened and restless like a hungry beast – it stirs as Johnny stokes the fire, crouched and with his back to you.

The only way to go if not out is in and you won’t. Push him in, you think. If you want out, push him in.

But you won't. There’s darkness at the core of you to be sure, but not that kind of darkness. Not the kind both he and Simon are steeped in. Violence, sadism maybe.

That would make you the other side of the coin.

The same swirling pattern of thoughts plague you even as Johnny serves you fish and more turnip for dinner, even as he pulls you into bed for that night and wraps himself around you.

You want to kick. To scream. To have a fit. Some insane, perverse fit; something that would have earned you an exorcism or an execution in the village. These thoughts come unbidden to you as you try not to feel the grasp of Johnny’s hand to your waist, nor the scruff of his beard on your throat.

Your identity has shifted, already. You aren't dead inside, not anymore. Not hoping for some outer force to take you away.

An outer force has taken you, and now you wrestle with the ramifications on your spirit.

It's unclean now, surely. But hadn't it always been?

Hadn't you willed this?

Happy faces appear in your mind. Kari. Tyra. Gaz. Price. Johnny. Simon is too hard to read, but the way he treats Johnny is enough to convey some kind of contentment.

And then the look at breakfast. The baby. Johnny’s gentle cooing, his attention. Simon’s hands squeezing you, reassuring you.

They contribute to the degradation of your spirit, to each rend of the glue that has held you together since first consciousness.

You try to hold onto the fear from before. Their words from before – behave and we won’t kill you. Does that still apply? Are you still under an ever present, looming threat? Were they only trying to get you moving?

Some part of you shudders to realize that it doesn’t feel that way. Even when they had sprung it on you to marry you, you hadn’t felt the same mortal fear as when they had absconded with you.

No, it had been hurt. Disappointment. The fear had shifted with your identity, staying present but becoming unfamiliar.

The you that they had taken was unfamiliar too. She’d have never built snowmen, nor ground her pussy into the hand of a viking and relaxed into another’s hold as you are now.

You wanted to live, you think. Even then.

A couple days pass. Johnny finally finds a suitable enough gift for Simon, a double edged blade he’s carving and sharpening.

The sight of it makes something tighten in your chest, so you avoid looking at it.

Between you both, it’s less awkward than you worried about. You come to a different understanding of him, one that comes from watching his independence without Simon. They truly do fit together, you think. Complement each other.

What about you? Are you here for them to have other options? A cunt, you think crudely. Something that gets wet without extra effort, something easy. You’ve certainly not made it hard. The thought puts you in another stink, frowning down at the pair of linen summer pants you’d found and started to mend.

“What’s this face ye got on?” Johnny steps up to you, setting the heavy blade on the table, and sitting.

You don’t speak, you just sew. Are you just a womb? Is that it?

“Awe, lamb,” he leans forward, hands finding the tops of your thighs and leaning on them. “So sour.”

When you still don’t respond, he reaches to take your sewing. You lose some bearing and prick him with the needle, frissy that he’s trying to take you out of your ruminations.

Provocative.

“Och,” he waves his hand, then laughs. “Prickly, are we?”

He forces the fabric from your hands, squeezing your hand until it opens with the needle and thread. You make some kind of irritated sound, like a growling cat, still half in reality and half in your mind.

“Ye’ve been stuck,” he pokes your forehead. “Stuck here, eh? Let me fix that.”

And then you’re pulled up to your feet, steered to the bed, and pushed before you can adapt.

“Simon’ll have’tae forgive me,” he murmurs. You’re sat on the edge, looking down at him with a frown.

“What-” you make a strange, caught off guard squeaking sound as he pushes you by the shoulders, lifting the edge of your dress.

“Sh,” he says sharply. “Should’a done this days ago.”

“Wait- don’t-” you slam your knees shut, trying to sit back up. Something sharp you can’t name explodes outwards from your chest, sharp spikes pricking your lungs and your heart, twisting.

Your struggle is mostly futile, though it’s easier that Simon isn’t here. Your arms flail, your legs scoot you away up the bed.

“Noo-” you try again. Your fear stems mostly from the uncertainty of what he’ll do, of the fear that he’ll steal the last true thing you have; your virtue.

“Relax,” he strong-arms you into lying down, arms crossed at your chest and his huge hand keeping them pushed down.

He positions himself parallel to you, replacing his hand with his bigger knee, his face right where he wants it.

“Ye should’ve asked me, lamb,” he murmurs, then kisses the hair above your pussy. Your stomach tightens, breath coming out in strained gasps from the combined weight of his knee and your shame.

You’re wet.

“I won’t smack ye if I don’t have tae,” he says. His hands rub up your hips, then your thighs, before coming up to your pussy and spreading your lips open.

Your clit strains in the open air, a cool breeze from the gaps in the door making it jump. He watches for a moment, cruelly, listening to the sound of your laboured breathing.

Then he dives in, tongue first. Because of the angle, his tongue dips down towards your hole while his lower lip catches your clit, making you gasp.

“Let me,” he hums, pauses. “Let me take care of ye, lamb.”

And God, he does. Johnny licks over you like a starved man, sucking your labia before flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit again as sounds come out of you like someone is pounding a fist into your chest.

He slurps your wetness obscenely, using his fingers to scoop whatever leaks from your hole as best he can and bringing them to his mouth to suck clean. He murmurs fervently about how good you taste, how he can smell the desperation from you.

“So neglected,” he sucks the wetness from your hair, even. “Forgive me.”

He’s talking to your cunt again, leaving you trembling against the bed and tightening, tightening, rising, rising–

He stops.

You damn near scream, but the sound gets trapped where he’s still putting his weight on you.

“I’m gonnae move, and yer gonnae stay right there all sweet for me, aren’t ye?” he turns to look at you, and though you can hardly see him you nod.

He lifts off, making you grunt involuntarily, then switches positions so he’s on his hands and knees nearly on top of you.

“Open those legs,” he says. Leans down to kiss your sternum over the fabric of your dress. “Let me ease yer mind.”

You can feel yourself falling further from grace, but God help you – you open your legs.

Johnny keeps eye contact as he slides down, getting on his stomach with those piercing blue eyes cutting through you.

When his mouth touches your cunt again, you feel yourself start to shake, growing more insane by the second. His tongue touches your hot, swollen flesh, dragging wetly against everything sensitive. He’s like an animal, you think. A heathen. No wonder these people have not seen God’s light. No wonder it does not reach here.

Something so sinful, so good, couldn’t possibly exist in the puritanical world you’d been taken from.

God, you think again, body twisting against the sheets, is this really what they kept from us?

“Please,” you cry out. Please stop? Please continue? It’s a plea for more than just Johnny, more than God. It’s a question that burrows deep in your mind and begs you to understand yourself, to untangle, to feel and release.

And oh, you’re breathing, breathing in, breathing in perhaps for the first time in your life. You wrench his hair in your fists, uncaring, screaming into the cold winter afternoon without a care. Your back arches, tilting your cunt further into his face, legs straining, gushing. Blood rushes in your ears, deafening you, once again turning the world into a small point where you can neither hear nor see.

All you can do is feel, ride, undulate. This is that fit you’d wanted earlier, it’s some insane hysteria, some sin that feels like ecstasy.

Your nipples tighten, stimulated by the chill of the air and the scratch of your woolen dress. Your peak is maddening, drawn-out and pushed further by Johnny’s lips suctioned around your clit and sucking in hard.

The moment you truly finish, when the stimulation turns to discomfort, you release his hair and push at his head.

“Stop,” you gasp. “Stop it.”

He doesn’t. His hands find your thighs, holding you open, running his tongue from your clit and then piercing it into your hole. His nose rubs on you, and though tears spill from your eyes you grind into it, crying for him to end it.

“One more,” he grunts.

“No,” you moan. Then you peak again, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes screwing shut, the fusion of sharp, near-painful pleasure and actual, overstimulated pain brings you a climax you could have never imagined of on your own.

You weep again as he pulls away, feeling raw and tender.

Boneless.

You wake in the middle of the night bundled and in both furs and arms. You’re pleasantly sore, pulsing a little still between your legs where Johnny’s thigh keeps you company. He’s so warm, so comfortable, that it’s easy for you to fall back asleep.

You wake again in the early morning, so early that the light of dawn hasn't yet breached the cabin.

Johnny snuffles behind you. Nose on your shoulder, hands migrating to rest just below your breasts.

“Mmmlamb,” he murmurs.

Your muscles are heavy, still. Weighed down with relaxation. It's true that you had gotten worked up, and that his actions had helped. You don't find any shame, not now. You've found a rare pocket of respite.

Simon is due back in a day or two unless there are extenuating circumstances. A winter storm, maybe. Or an errant predator.

What would life look like if he never returned? It’s an uncomfortable thought. You’re still on the edge of how you feel, teetering between extremes, but you rely on them both for survival.

Where could you go? Even when you’d ran, the plan had been borne of heart, not mind. Without Simon or Johnny, you’d be in a terrible precarious situation.

Without Simon permanently? You weren’t sure.

You very slowly extricate yourself from Johnny’s arms, sliding out of bed and into the cold air. The fire is just coals, so you add a few pieces of wood and stoke it for the day. In the dark, you can see the reflection of the fire in the sword Johnny had left on the table.

You pad to it, staring, curious and afraid. It looked orange from the fire, only darker. It looked like your beautiful red ochre dress, your blood dress.

You reach your fingers out and stroke along the blade, breathing shallowly in the dark.

Dawn breaks.

#Johnny's mouth🤝hitachi magic wand #sorry this took a while #nun finally gets her pssy ate<3 #she deserves it #this chap is very johnny-heavy #someone get him brown eye contacts please he's scaring the nun</3 #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #cw dubcon #cw noncon #18+ mdni #red ochre

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demothers-empty-blog · 2 months ago

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Hello Mother, I have a fluffy request for you! ^^

How about little spoon König after he has a rough day at work? You can write however you want? (Perhaps laying on top of reader for an idea-)

Have a good day! :D

a thousand apologies for taking so long, anon, darling, giving you the fattest smooch on the forehead pls remember to hydrate, have a good day too!

CW: fluff. reader is chubby

Your husband should be home by now.

He wasn’t scheduled for another deployment anytime soon but, hey, KorTac could quite literally fall apart without him. He’s made the mistake of putting someone else in charge once before, namely Major Horangi. It did not go over too well and that small, once spotless kitchen in the break room turned black with soot. There were back orders upon back orders and to further add insult to injury, he somehow found a way to fuck up how the armoury’s set up.

Rookies do not put things back neatly unless supervised, rookies are good-for-nothings at this stage. Rookies are not intimidated by Kim Hong-jin, but they are of the Colonel.

König found out the hard way that his right hand was better on the field than he ever was trying to manage a whole base. Never again.

Like a tired, single parent, König had to swoop in and save the day minutes after his return. No, he did not like having to deal with a bunch of hangry and nagging soldiers droning on about how inedible the food was in the cafeteria. Horangi was supposed to make stir fry that day but is no longer allowed to attempt anything, or step foot in the kitchen for that matter. It was an unsteady weekend for everyone.

The doorknob jiggles.

There standing in the doorway, footsteps heavy when he enters is your husband, dead on his feet. He looks like he’d been given too much to shoulder, it hurt to see but you push it down.

“My love—” you go to say, but are quickly engulfed and silenced by two burly, damp arms, stripped down to his fatigues.

“Oh, God. You’re all sweaty— and you smell.” To which, your husband chuckles rather weakly in response. König mumbles an apology under your ear, meaty paws mindlessly rubbing up and down your plush body just to ground himself.

To know that you’re here and he’s home.

“Welcome back…” you say.

“I’m so tired…” he manages out.

You tiptoe around his armour and the duffel bag near the neatly put shoes. You make a mental note of tidying up later. Now, your main focus is guiding your husband to your shared bed and not letting him trip over his own feet.

Blame the steady buildup of small problems and technical errors which led König to a bitter defeat, bone tired he felt, too tired even to form a single coherent thought. One would think he was babysitting rather than raising the next line of soldiers. Mind empty, his mixed bag of mumbled grunts and whines of protest were hard to decipher at first but it eventually clicked that the big bastard just wanted cuddles.

“Could’ve used your words…” you say, settling in. He doesn’t like that, words are hard and too much of a hassle right now. König would much rather have you break your head trying to figure out what ‘mph!’ or ‘mh-mh!’ meant.

“I should snitch on you… tell everyone how much of a big baby you are at home.” Another grunt, you can practically hear him frown.

He’s heavy when he lays on top of you, still you card your fingers through his short locks and plant kisses over the crown of his head. You feel your husband begin to relax under your touch, he nuzzles into the softness of your breasts with his crooked nose, eyes closed with a grin on his lips.

“Feel better?” A nod. It’s good enough.

He’s more than enough.

You remained the rest of the evening in bed, soaking each other up, holding the other close, tighter at the aching thought of never getting to do this again. Once your body had gone completely numb and you could no longer feel your left arm and both legs, you gently coax König into switching positions.

To your surprise, he doesn’t take his side of the bed and settles over on yours. He taps his shoulder, broad back facing you, wordlessly letting you know that… he wanted to spoon and more importantly, be the little spoon.

Without question, you swing a leg over his hips and slither your arms around him, pulling him as close as possible. He giggles like a teenager feeling your boobs press against his back and you give him a chastising tut, which spurred him into another fit of high pitched giggles.

“Waaas? You’re comfy…” he says. You huff into the back of his neck while he grabs ahold of your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“Ich liebe dich, meine Frau… you are everything I could possibly wish for.” König falls asleep shortly after a few muttered reassurances and a handful of sweet words. The soft snores emitting from your giant husband was cue that he was out like a light.

God forbid you move now.

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere School Q&A

I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.

Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous

It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.

The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.

YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil

The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."

If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous

This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.

I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous

You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.

The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.

Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."

ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous

This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.

Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.

#yandere school #yandere x reader #yandere

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nipuni · 3 months ago

Note

Hi Nipuni, I hope you’re doing well. I’m just curious what’s your opinion about the rampant use of AI in art lately especially how it impacts artists and possibly stealing artists work to train it. As a fellow artist I’m curious of what other artists would think of this. I’ve seen many beginners artists losing hope in pursuing art because of AI and it truly breaks my heart. I hope artists wouls stay doing art no matter what because it’s very important and their art will always be valuable no matter what. By the way, you don’t have to reply to this if this particular topic is not something you’re comfortable with. I love your art so much and I wish all the best for you, you are an incredible artist and I love the energy you always put into your art🫶

Hello, I am doing great! I hope you are too! ☺️ I'm so sorry I'm so late to reply. I've been following the generative AI conversation on and off for so long now and I have yet to find a single argument that justifies it's cost. I don't think I have much to add that hasn't been said before. I think it is unethical, unsustainable, irresponsible, dangerous, harmful, theft, etc. It is neither intelligent nor generative, it doesn't think, it can't reason it's guided guessing based on statistics and pattern recognition. it's not creating anything new either it's just pulling from a database of stolen human content and mashing it together, it can't be trained on itself either so it needs constant human input too. I just don't see the point? 🫠 It's some kind of gimmicky toy made to appeal to the most annoying people imaginable by the most annoying people imaginable to profit from and at immense cost to everyone else. It's negatively impacting every creative industry in every way and even affecting the way we learn, communicate and engage with media. It's invading everything and making it objectively worse lmao. It's also dangerous in countless ways. An environmental disaster too and for what!! aaaaa It feels like a huge cultural setback and technological dead end and it's so depressing. I wish I had something positive to add after so much ranting but I don't 😔 The impact of this on creative fields among others is undeniable and I fear will make things harder for a while but I'd like to think that it's still early days and there are so many people fighting to regulate this mess and we all can help by advocating and boycotting at the very least.

If anything this whole debacle has made me examine my relationship with art more deeply and I realize I love the process of making art more than I love the result. The space between idea and finished piece that is all me, I'm in there!! and I love it there!! I can't see myself doing anything else or relegating this part. This will change things at a societal and economical level but people will always make art. I don't know where I'm going with this, I don't think the philosophical is a good angle to center the conversation on either, but I guess it's a comfort 😭 'In the dark times Will there also be singing? Yes, there will also be singing. About the dark times.' poem comes to mind

This reply got away from me oh my god sjfkhg I'm focusing on the art side of things here of course but I could go on about the damage to plenty of other fields but I don't feel qualified enough aaaa anyway Thank you so much for the kind words you are very sweet and I hope you don't let all this discourage you 🥺❤️ we will be alright!!

#nips replies

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archaeren · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!! I hope you're having a good day ^^ I came across your post about writing non-linearly on Notion and I'm excited to try it out because the advice resonated with me! Though, I'm really new to using the app and, if possible, need help with how to do this part: 'where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry.' ;v;

Hello! Thank you so much for messaging!!! Since that post about writing non-linearly (linked for context) blew up roughly ten thousand times as much as anything I've ever posted, I've been kind of meaning to make a followup post explaining more about how I use Notion for writing non-linearly, but, you know, ADHD, so I haven't done it yet. XD In the meantime, I'll post a couple screenshots of my current long fic with some explanations! I'd make this post shorter, but I'm unable to not be Chatty. XD (just ask my poor readers how long my author notes are...) (There is a phone app as well which syncs with the desktop/browser versions, but I work predominantly in the desktop app so that's what I'm gonna be showing)

(the table keeps going off the right side of the image but it's a bunch of unimportant stuff tbh) So this is more complicated than what you'll probably start with because I'm Normal and add a bunch of details that you might not need depending on what you're doing. For example, my fic switches POVs so I have a column for tracking that, and my fic follows a canon timeline so I have a column for dates so I can keep track of them, and I also made columns for things like if a scene had spoilers or certain content readers may want to avoid, which they can access in my spoiler and content guide for the fic. (As I said, I'm Normal.) I also do some complicated stuff using Status and estimated wordcount stuff to get an idea of how long I predict the content to be, but again, not necessary. Anyway, you don't need any of that. For the purposes of this explanation, we're just gonna look at the columns I have called Name, Order, and Status. (And one called Part, but we'll get into that later) Columns in Notion have different types, such as Text, Numbers, Select, Date, etc, so make sure to use the type that works best for the purpose of each column! For example, here I'm using Select for Character POVs, Number for Order and WC (wordcount), and Text for the In-Game Date. Okay let's get into it! Name is a column that comes in a Notion table by default, and you can't get rid of it (which drives me up the wall for some purposes but works totally fine for what we're doing here). As you can see on the scene I've labeled 'roll call', if you hover over a Name entry, a little button called 'Open' appears, which you click on to open the document that's inside the table. That's all default, you don't have to set anything up for it. Here's a screenshot of what it looks like when I click the one titled 'I will be anything for you' (I've scrolled down in the screenshot so you can see the text, but all the data fields also appear at the top of the page)

(This view is called 'side peek' meaning the document opens on one side and you can still see the table under it on the left, which is what mine defaults to. But you can set it to 'center peek' or 'full page' as well.) All my scenes have their own entry like this! Note that I've said scenes, not chapters. I decide the chapters later by combining the scenes in whatever combination feels right, which means I can often decide in advance where my chapter endings will be. This helps me consciously give most of my endings more impact than I was usually able to do when I tried to write linearly. So hopefully that gives you an idea of what I mean by writing inside the table and treating the table as a living outline. The 'Status' column is also pretty straightforward, and might require a little setup for whatever your needs are. This is another default column type Notion has which is similar to a Select but has a few more specialized features. This is how mine is set up:

(I don't actually use 'Done', idk why I left it there. Probably I should replace it with 'Posted' and use that instead of the checkmark on the far left? whatever, don't let anyone tell you I'm organized. XDD)

Pretty straightforward, it just lets me see easily what's complete and what still needs work. (You'll notice there's no status for editing, because like I mentioned in my other post, I don't ever sit down to consciously edit, I just let it happen as I reread) Obviously tailor this to your own needs! The Order column is sneakily important, because this is what makes it easy for me to keep the scenes organized. I set the Sort on the table to use the Order to keep the scene ordered chronologically. When I make the initial list of scenes I know the fic will have, I give all of them a whole number to put them in order of events. Then as I write and come up with new scene ideas, the new scenes get a number with a decimal point to put them in the spot they fit in the timeline. (you can't see it here, but some of them have a decimal three or four digits deep, lol). Technically you can drag them to the correct spot manually, but if you ever create another View in your table (you can see I have eight Views in this one, they're right under the title) it won't keep your sorting in the new View and you'll hate yourself when it jumbles all your scenes. XD (And if you get more comfortable with Notion, you probably will at some point desire to make more Views) The Part column isn't necessary, but I found that as the fic grew longer, I was naturally separating the scenes into different points along the timeline by changes in status quo, etc. (ex. "this is before they go overseas" "this is after they speak for the first time", stuff like that) in my mind. To make it easier to decide where to place new scenes in the timeline, I formalized this into Parts, which initially I named with short summaries of the current status quo, and later changed to actual titles because I decided it would be cool to actually use them in the fic itself. Since it's not in the screenshots above, here's what the dropdown for it looks like:

(I've blocked some of the titles out for spoiler reasons)

Basically I only mention the Parts thing because I found it was a useful organizational tool for me and I was naturally doing it in my head anyway. Anyway, I could keep talking about this for a really long time because I love Notion (don't get me started on how I use toggle blocks for hiding content I've edited out without deleting it) but that should be enough to get started and I should really, you know, not make this another insanely long post. XDD And if anybody is curious about how the final results look, the fic can be found here.

#notion #writing resources #writing advice #writing #writers block #writers on tumblr #writeblr #nonlinear #fanfic #fanfiction

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sunflowersandsapphires · 4 months ago

Text

There Was Love Here

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 9

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: Frank's fragile mental state, heart to heart between friends, swearing, mentions of a cemetery, Frank angst, but I promise it's going to go somewhere positive y'all.

a/n: Thank you all for putting up with my sporadic updates this year! I had some time to write, and then decided to adopt another cat...so... Anyways, his name is Wilbur and he's an angel. I have chapters 10-12 finished as well for this fic, so I'll be posting every few weeks to get those published! As always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! Tell me what you want to see next!!!

w/c: 3.6k

Despite his best efforts, sleep was evading him. Rolling his shoulders as he lay against the thin, lumpy mattress, floaters danced across his field of vision as he stared blankly at the ceiling. Any amount of shifting caused the jagged edges of the box springs to further prick at his skin, no doubt leaving small marks in their wake. His right pointer finger tapped aimlessly against his abrasive sheets, his mind flooded with thoughts and yet eerily silent at the same time.

Maybe that was because every new idea flashing across his brain, every synapse that fired, just contributed to the crippling guilt he felt. For growing soft, and allowing himself to want things again. For using you to get what he wanted. And for putting you through hell when he tried to backpedal, to retreat to the safety of loneliness and grief.

A growl rubbed at the inside of his throat, barely loud enough to be audible when it slipped between his lips. It would be so easy to let rage overtake the discomfort he was wading in. To get angry with you, with himself, with every force in the universe that caused the two of you to meet. It would be much less painful to write off your outburst last night as the musings of a drunk, bratty woman and avoid taking any accountability for his hand in your fury.

But every word out of your mouth was honest. And he didn't disagree with most of them.

He'd been the one to send mixed signals. It wasn't deliberate, but it had happened. After you stumbled into his life, he was so charmed by your sweetness and positivity, it didn't occur to him that he was pursuing something more than friendship with you. He’d been swept up in your sparkling current, carried halfway to hell before realizing that he couldn’t see the shore. Suddenly, “platonic” didn’t begin to describe his need to be near you and your beaming smile; the pain guiding his every breath had been abruptly left behind and he’d been too smitten to notice its absence.

And when his mood inevitably turned, the lack of suffering became glaringly obvious. The darkness within him scrabbling for the penance it always sought out, his family’s horrified faces playing on a loop, haunting him. He didn’t deserve comfort, or peace, or love. He was destined to wither away with no company but his own regrets and the mangled corpses of any douchebag he could drag down with him.

Which is why, when you’d surrounded him with your presence rather than allowing him to wallow in his losses, he’d opted for a watery burial.

Maria, Lisa, Frankie, Billy, the countless innocent civilians he’d taken from their families when he’d served…the list of bodies he’d left behind was innumerable. All of them turning to worm food because Frank fucking Castle was too thick to see through the lies he’d been fed by faceless men in tailored suits. Why not add another to that list?

He was a selfish piece of shit. Taking for granted everything you gave so readily and turning on you without cause. As if you were the reason he couldn’t handle when his mind was quiet. Directing his emotions at you in a frenzy instead of growing a pair and sorting out his own shit.

The words you'd used–calling yourself a mistake, a regret–far too vile to ever address you. But those weren't pulled out of your ass. He'd put those thoughts there. He'd implied that he'd made a mistake getting to know you, that he regretted your time together. And in the moment, he'd meant it—just not in the way it had come off.

The mistake was leading you on. Moving too quickly, maybe moving on at all... But you? You were not a mistake. Nor were you a regret. He savored every minute he'd spent with you, it was his own damn fault that he couldn't accept them anymore.

Gripping his hair between trembling fingers, he ripped through the slick, knotted curls with a solicitous grunt. His gaze wandered to the volume of poetry hidden in the stack of books on his nightstand.

Doesn’t everyone want love?

The faded memory of Gluck’s hollowhearted depiction of love bubbled up in his consciousness, piling another heaping of guilt onto his fracturing shoulders. He was no better than Hades. Plucking an innocent girl from the lush meadows she knew, dropping her into a secluded cavern to serve as his plaything. No more than an object to channel his affections until he tired of you, casting you aside like the burnt husk of a match.

He deserved to feel this fucking awful for what he'd done. For hurting you so abruptly, for placing you in harm's way when you were offering him another chance. Not even the god of the dead was that malicious.

Fuck, he needed a fucking drink.

Curtis took a sip of his coffee, savoring it as he swallowed. With a puff of an exhale, a thought abruptly sparked and he lifted his pencil, pressing the graphite tip into the respective squares to write the answer to the Crossword clue. Chuckling softly to himself at the author's obvious mischief, he shook his head. 'Eggbeater' what a dumbass answer for the hint 'whirlybird'.

As if the universe wanted to punish him for solving the puzzle at such a brisk pace, a pounding knock on his front door jolted his heart like an electric current. Blood rushing in his ears, he crept toward the door as quietly as his ancient floorboards allowed. Reaching his front hallway, he opened the rightmost kitchen drawer, palming the gun he stowed there and taking the last few paces to the door.

Leaving the security chain in place, figuring it would at least buy him a second to empty the clip into the intruder before they knocked him to the ground, Curtis cracked the door. Relief flooded his rigid body as he took in his visitor.

“Christ, Frank. You couldn't have called first? I was about to put a bullet in your chest,” He scoffed. Closing the door to undo the remaining lock, he yanked it open to grant the obnoxious man entry.

Rather than striding past him with his usual rageful arrogance, Frank hesitated. The moment was brief, but present enough to set off alarms in the back of Curtis' brain. Nodding tersely, Frank stepped over the threshold, allowing his friend to shut and bolt the door behind him.

The other man’s posture was tight, teeth clenched and eyes bloodshot. His clothes were rumpled and clearly a few days old. His face was pale and wan, exposing his obvious lack of sleep. Perhaps more worrisome, he hadn't even grunted in acknowledgement of Curtis' greeting.

“Where and how bad is it?” Curtis sighed, turning towards his kitchen to rummage for his first aid kit before an arm blocked his path.

“It's not—I ain’t here for a patch job, Curt.” Frank's voice was hoarse, quiet, and wrought with emotion. Meeting the Marine's unwavering gaze, Curtis took a step back.

“Then why the fuck are you turning up on my doorstep at 6am looking like flaming shit, Castle?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Frank's face fell. “Fuck, I dunno, I...I fucked up.”

Barking out a frustrated laugh, Curtis spun away from him, heading back to his seat. “Of course you did. Of fucking course you did. Too good to come to group, but you can ask me for a favor at 6am on a fucking Sunday. That's what I'm here for!” He muttered, collapsing back onto the cushioned chair behind the table.

“I'm sorry, Curt.” Frank grimaced, still standing awkwardly in the hallway. “I didn't—”

“No, you didn't.” Curtis scolded. “I know you've been through some shit, Frank, but you can't just turn your back on everyone to fuck off and go shoot a bunch of people, expecting me to help you clean it all up when it falls apart.”

“That ain't why I'm here.” Frank bristled, clenching his fists tightly.

“No? Then why are you here, Frank?” Curtis asked, irritation still coating his words.

“Because I met someone, ok?” Throwing his hands up, Frank spat out the words, a few decibels below yelling. Eyes widening as he realized what he'd admitted to, he shrunk in on himself with a flippant exhale. “I...I met someone and I don't know what to do.”

Curtis couldn't help but feel bad for the man. From where he stood a few yards away, he looked damn close to a dog that had been kicked and left to rot in the pound. Deciding to table his reprimand for later, he stretched his arm to slide out the neighboring chair.

“Coffee's in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

Frank looked slightly shocked at the change of pace, but nodded dutifully and marched to grab himself a mug before joining Curtis at the dinette. Staring intently into the reflection of the dark liquid, Frank's lips were pressed tightly together. After Curtis cleared his throat pointedly, the hulking man growled.

“What?”

“I don't know, Frank,” Curtis rolled his eyes. “You tell me! How'd an asshole like you manage to charm someone into spending a single minute with you?”

Letting out a small laugh, Frank took a generous gulp of his drink before settling back into his chair. “Beats me.“

Whether it was the strong coffee or the exhaustion eating at his brain, Curtis barely had to pry before Frank was fully immersed in the story of how you'd met. He didn't share too much about you specifically, just general information about your initial interactions and how much time you'd spent together.

“Sounds like a good deal,” Curtis hummed, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes. “How'd you fuck it up?”

Swallowing whatever apprehension he had, Frank grumbled under his breath.

“What was that, soldier?”

“I said I broke it off.”

Understanding dawning on him, Curtis nodded absently, bringing a coffee cup to his lips. “You chased her away, you mean. And now you regret it.”

Something akin to a wince flashed across Frank’s face at the accusation, but he grunted in agreement.

“Fucking hell, Frank.” Curtis laughed humorlessly. “If you liked her so much, why’d you break it off?”

Frank was silent for a moment, his jaw twitching as he contemplated his words. Curtis was familiar enough with the other man’s mannerisms to know he wasn’t avoiding the question, he just needed time to answer. Previous annoyance successfully pushed aside, he was willing to give Frank as much time as he needed. It was honestly groundbreaking that he’d come here at all, rather than continuing to slog through his own misery alone.

“How can I do that to them, Curt?” Hands circling the half empty mug, Frank sounded uncharacteristically small.

“Do what to who, Frank?”

“How can I forget about Maria and the kids?” Frank rasped, taking a sip of his drink before choking out his other question. “How can I leave them behind?”

Feeling a strange sense of deja vu, Curtis scratched at his chin. “Who’s asking you to forget, Frank?”

Growling in apparent frustration, Frank’s brow pinched in distress. “You know what I mean.”

“I know what you're implying, that doesn't mean I agree with your self-deprecating bullshit.” Curtis explained, studying Frank as the man stood and began pacing.

Tugging harshly at his hair, each step conveyed Frank's restless energy. “I can't leave them behind. That's not fair. I don't...I don't deserve that.”

“Frank,” Curtis leaned forward onto the table, weight supported on his elbows. “Grief and remembrance are only part of you. Living your life is not the same as tarnishing or abandoning their memory.”

“Then why the fuck does it feel like I'm killing Maria all over again?” Frank asked, his posture haggard and face barely concealing a devastation at the thought of his wife.

“Survivor's guilt is a unique beast,” Curtis reasoned.

“Fuck's sake, man, don't give me that shit again.” Frank protested, looking away from Curtis' earnest stare and glaring towards the door, a single intrusive thought from bolting through it.

“I'm 'giving you this shit again' because you're a dead man walking, Frank.” Curtis scoffed, body tensing to prepare to dive after his friend if he fled. “All you've done since getting home is torture yourself over your losses. You are still alive, Frank. You deserve to live.”

“The fuck I do.” Frank sneered, knuckles flexing beneath his skin as he clenched his fists.

“Frank, you're an asshole, that's true,” Shoving back from the table, Curtis stood, moving as quickly as he could to block Frank's path of escape. “But you're not a bad man. What happened to your family was tragic and unfair, but it is not and has never been your fault.”

Frank opened his mouth to argue, but Curtis pointed a finger at him sternly. “Don't start with your usual crap, Castle. Deep down, you know I'm right. Isn't that why you killed all those shitbags around the city?”

Rolling his shoulders with an irritated huff, Frank settled his weight against the back of Curtis' couch, still not making eye contact.

“It's ok to miss them, Frank. To be upset about your loss. But living with one foot in your own shallow grave won't bring them back. Letting yourself have something good won't change the past. It might make you less miserable to be around, though.” Curtis raised a brow, lips curved into a smirk to indicate that he was joking. Frank snorted, mumbling something about him being a dick.

Stepping into line beside his friend, Curtis patted him on the back. “You’re human, Frank. Humans crave companionship. It's written into your biology. You don't need to beat yourself up every time you look twice at a pretty girl.”

Groaning loudly, Frank dug a fist into his left eye socket to rub at it. “It ain't that easy, Curt.”

“I fucking know that, Frank. There isn't one thing about this life that's easy. But that's a dumbass reason not to try for something decent.”

Exhaling forcefully, Frank's head bobbed in a miniscule nod. “Yah.”

“Yah?” Curtis asked, shocked that he wasn't receiving the typical brick wall of stubbornness he was used to. “Huh, don't think you've ever listened to me before.”

Frank chuckled. “Shut up.”

“So, you think she's good for you?” Curtis asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the first good thing Frank had experienced in a long time.

Blowing out a breath, a blush crawled up Frank's neck, saturating his cheeks with a pink tint. “I know she is.”

“And that scares you.” Curtis stated matter-of-factly.

Initially, Frank's posture went rigid, a scoff clearly brewing in his lungs. But, meeting Curtis' knowing gaze, he deflated and grunted in timid affirmation. “I ain’t…I hurt her, Curt. Bein’ with me, you know damn well it ain’t safe for her.”

“Because of loose ends? Or because of you?” Curtis let his question ruminate despite being pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“Both.” Frank muttered, kneading at his forehead with the heel of his hand.

Curtis pursed his lips, knowing exactly the struggle Frank was facing. After a moment, he shrugged. “Do your best to make it safe.”

“Not sure that’s possible, Curt.” Frank huffed bitterly.

“Relationships are always trade-offs, Frank. That’s just life.” The scowling Marine rolled his eyes, broad arms sliding into a defensive cross over his chest.

“And I’m supposed to be ok that? Force her to accept everythin’ I’ve done and everythin’ she’d have to deal with cause that’s ‘just life’?”

Stifling a frustrated groan, Curtis socked Frank in the shoulder. “I didn’t tell you to force her into anything. If she wants to accept it, let her. And if this is what you want, then you make it good for her. But first, for Christ's sake, apologize for the record-breaking stick up your ass.”

The corners of Frank’s mouth quirked up. “Any suggestions for that last point?”

“Shit man, if you want me to advise you on your life AND your relationship, I'm gonna need something to eat.“ Striding down the hallway and snatching his jacket from the hook on the wall, Curtis jerked his head toward the door. “C'mon, Frank. You're buying.”

Laughing genuinely, Frank shook his head. ”Alright, alright. Gonna bleed me dry over here.“

”I'm sure I wouldn't be the first,“ Curtis remarked. ”Now, how badly did you fuck up with this girl?“

Frank just grimaced, drawing a knowing laugh from Curtis. “Ok, well, hopefully we can do something about it.”

The night was damp, humid. Muggy air circulating between haphazardly mowed grass and the surrounding space, bouncing off of trees and headstones. He strode across the green carpet, through the shadows and straight for the pair of them. Each step dented the ground, the moss and dense soil clinging to the sole of his boot as he lifted it with a slight squelching noise as the suction released.

As he strode further into the cemetery, the scent of petrichor soured; rotting bodies leached into the dirt, the smell of decay seeping through the ground until it reached his nostrils. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he set his jaw–hoping the emotionless exterior would force the chaos within him to quiet down. Dancing through the jags of marble and stone, fireflies illuminated the slight hill, briefly flashing over a name or the dried stalk of a rose before disappearing.

At the base of the incline, two slabs of granite held the line. The left engraved with his name, the right with Maria’s. As he closed in on the sturdy pair, his fist clenched around the burlap cloth in his hand, rustling the mess of stems tied beneath. Kneeling between the two burial sites, Frank draped the peonies over the surface of Maria’s grave, their petals fanning out over the dew-ridden earth.

Sighing roughly, he fiddled with them, spreading out the blossoms, careful not to damage the delicate flowers with his harsh movements. His chest felt tight as he worked, quickly moving on from the bouquet to the few stray weeds trailing away from the carved rock.

“You hate this, don’t ya?” He murmured, a sad smile breaking through his stony expression. “Always on my ass for stayin’ too busy to talk things through. Drove you crazy.”

A hazy memory surfaced, a young Maria yanking a dish out of his hands as he tried to wash it, staring him down while he hung his head guiltily. He huffed out a tight laugh.

“I’m sorry, baby. Never could do right by you.” Tracing beneath the imprints on her headstone, Frank’s throat ached as he fought back the feelings of guilt and shame and despair he’d been battling for days, all of them threatening to spill over at once. “I’m so sorry, Mar.”

His fingers tightened around the marker, gripping it for dear life as his composure wore thin. “It’s been so long and I..I still miss you every day. Every damn day, baby. You’re my everythin’, ya know that?”

Drawing in a breath, he ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the grimy strands as he grappled for control. “Mar, I..I’m tired. I’m so fuckin’ tired and losin’ you..it’s eatin’ me away, baby. But I–”

His voice broke, a cracked syllable breaking off into a snarl as his fear burst forth. “I can’t do it anymore. I-I can’t. I’m not– I ain’t strong enough, Mar. I can’t live without ya. Not on my own.”

A breeze ruffled through the trees beyond the cemetery border, whistling lightly as it rounded the headstone and fluttered over the satiny petals of the flowers at his feet. The weight of his existence inexplicably felt unbearable, the tension in his shoulders threatening to snap him in two. Lifting his dirt-streaked hand, his fingers landed on the thin chain hanging around his throat, fiddling with the metal until they landed on the smooth band of a wedding ring. Twisting the sanded gold between the pads of his fingers, he raised his chin, blinking rapidly at the sky to clear the moisture from his vision.

“Forgive me, baby.” Bending forward, he pressed chapped lips to the slab of granite, its chill surface intent on sapping his body heat. Sinking to his knees, his head landed against the polished stone, fingers viciously gripping handfuls of wilted sod as his emotions clobbered him.

Closing his eyes did nothing to quell the turmoil, the recesses of his mind swarming with memories. His two beautiful children, smiling wide as he returned home, their tiny arms too short to wrap completely around him when they hugged. Lisa pressed against his side, head pillowed on his shoulder as he thumbed through the pages of a weathered book. Frankie screeching out a laugh as Frank caught him by the waist during a game of catch, thwarting the boy’s attempt to dart away with the football. Maria grinning at him as he hefted all the grocery bags inside in one trip, shaking her head as she ushered him inside. The three of them piled together beneath an oversized blanket, sleeping through a particularly rough thunderstorm.

Heaving in a breath, he released the ground from his clutches, wiping his palms on his jeans as he tried to get himself under control.

“Please, Mar, please forgive me.”

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @agirlcandream84 @vsplanet @pigeonmama @silas-aeiou @frogbinch @chwlogy @valhallavalkyrie9

#frank castle #my writing #fc #gray skies #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle angst #the punisher x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction

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dayichor · 3 months ago

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TOLERATE IT, anthony bridgerton

eleven; gallop

masterlist

wp; blueichor / ao3; daybluems

The wind howled in Emma's ears as they rode, stinging her cheeks in powerful bursts as she clung to Thomas' arms to avoid falling off.

But she was laughing, wild, free and loud. The kind of laugh that made your eyes water and cheeks ache.

The sights around them blurred into one as Daisy galloped through the fields. Emma did not even notice her hat toppling off, nor the wind brushing through her golden tresses.

Thomas yelled over the wind, "Hold tighter, Madam!"

"If you go faster!"

Thomas had no choice except to obey his mistress.

They finally slowed to a stop by the lake, guiding Daisy to a gentle trot before dismounting. Emma followed, face flushed and eyes ablaze with delight.

"That was exhilarating!" She laughed as she lay down in the grass, "Daisy follows your commands perfectly."

He fondly strokes the mare's mane as she drinks from the lake, "I have a way with horses. It would be weird if I did not, considering I grew up with them."

"You grew up with horses? That sounds wonderful!"

He nods, "My uncle was also a stablehand—right here at Aubrey Hall, in fact. I took over when he retired."

Emma sits up, "The stablehand—was he Mr Joneson, by any chance?" She gasps when he confirms, "Oh! He was Anthony's riding instructor—I used to accompany him to his lessons just to see Mr Joneson! I was convinced I'd marry him. Instead, I married his student." She adds with a huff

"Only to watch? Why did you not learn to ride with him?"

She pouts, "My mother thought it unbecoming of a lady—I skeeved off my piano lessons to watch Mr Joneson—he should be grateful!"

"Now, you do not know how to ride or play the piano. What a foolish decision." Thomas snorts when she glares, "I shall be sure to tell my uncle of his fortune, My Lady," He bows gracefully.

Emma hums and falls back onto the grass, "I thought marrying Lord Bridgerton would mean freedom to fulfil all my desires. But I was so busy repairing what hurt me that I could never add new happiness. Even these happy days in the countryside—the sunshine, riding with you," she gestures around them, "Will have to stop when I return to Mayfair."

There is a beat of silence.

"You do not need to go back, My Lady."

Thomas' words are soft, with a tenderness so careful that Emma almost missed it.

Almost.

"How silly, Thomas!" She laughs awkwardly as she stands up, avoiding his gaze, "Of course, I must return to my family! Come now, it is becoming late—we must return soon."

Their ride back is silent at first—until Thomas breaks it.

"As long as you continue your stay here, Madam, I hope you continue riding with me."

Emma smiles and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, Thomas! Go faster—I wish for one last gallop!"

"Your wish is my command, Madam!"

✑─────

Anthony's horse neighs and snorts in exhaustion as he finally arrives at his estate, wild hair matching his eyes, the cold night air (mostly) sobering him.

The help rushed out to greet him, "My Lord! You gave no word—when did you—"

"Where is my wife?" He snaps, handing his horse off, "Where is Emma!?"

His valet stutters, flustered, "Sir—the Lady is—"

Anthony's eyes harden, "Never mind," He snarls, pushing the people away. "I know exactly where she is..."

He ignores the butlers calling out to him as he barges into the stables, hands slightly trembling.

Had he lost his wife to someone else even before he had a chance to fight?

He storms in to find—any empty stable? Well, except for the horses.

He looks around wildly, slamming open stable doors, and checking every crevice.

And then—

He hears them before he sees them.

The clattering of hooves.

Then laughing.

Emma's.

A sound he had not heard since their childhood.

There was Emma, smiling, laughing. Hair open and run through with wind, cheeks flushed, arms holding onto the stablehand.

Anthony could feel bile rising in his throat.

The stablehand sees him first.

"My Lord!" He exclaims as they dismount, and he hastily bows.

"My Lord?" Emma's voice says confusedly, "What—" She finally turns.

Sees him.

And her face immediately hardens.

"What are you doing here?" She snaps.

"Where were you?" He replies instead.

"I do not see why that is any of your business, Lord Bridgerton."

His eyes flick to the stablehand behind her, watching everything apprehensively. "You," He barks, "Leave us, boy."

Emma could feel anger rising within her, "He has a name! It's Thomas!"

"Well, then, Thomas," Anthony grits out, "Leave us."

"No, Thomas—I command you to stay!"

There was a beat of tension between them, where Thomas was sure either one of them would start strangling the other. He bows, "I...shall leave my masters to their devices." He hastily scuttles out.

Anthony's eyes drink in Emma—the bright eyes, beaming smile, and flushed cheeks he saw moments before had vanished into thin air. Those eyes then flick to her legs, "What is that you are wearing?"

Emma blinks, eyes flitting to her riding breeches, "...Proper riding attire?"

"I was not aware you owned such garments."

"I do not. They are Thomas'."

Emma sees his jaw clench, his knuckles tighten, the vein protruding from his neck.

And she revels in it.

"Why are you here, My Lord? Was it unbearable for you to see me enjoying my days?"

"No! I—" He steps closer, arms held out in helplessness, "I was just—"

She catches a whiff of his stench—and recoils back. "Are you—are you drunk?"

"Not completely..."

Emma scoffs, then shoves past him, "I do not wish to talk to you like this."

But Anthony catches her arm, gloved, shaking fingers hesitant as they grabbed onto her, "Please, Emma. Do not turn me away—"

She snatches her arm away, rounding on him, "What do you wish me to do, Anthony? Come back to Mayfair and forgive all you've done just because you sent me one flimsy letter? Came here drunk?"

"No, Emma— I merely wished—"

"Leave me be, My Lord. It is late, and I wish to sleep." She strides out of the stables, leaving her husband alone, baring him to the nipping night air.

Emma lets the scent of lavender envelop her as she sinks further into her bathwater, letting the day's exhaustion just melt away.

"We were all so shocked, My Lady," Lily says as she adds more hot water to the bathtub, "The Viscount arrived so unexpectedly on his horse—He rode here all the way from Mayfair, apparently! He asked for you—all drunk and wild—then stormed off to the stables without even getting a reply! It was all so bizarre!"

Emma sighs, sinking deeper into the water, "It seems my days of peace are over. Of course, he had to sabotage them."

When Emma returns to the bed chamber, she finds Anthony sitting inside on the bed.

"What are you doing here?" She snaps for the second time that day.

He slowly turns to face her, face impassive, "This is the Master bedroom. Why would I not be here?"

There is a pause.

"...My maid tells me you rode here yourself."

"Yes."

"Drunk."

"Emma—"

"I see you still have not lost your recklessness. Did you not think for even a second, what would occur if you had gotten hurt? Must you always be so foolish!"

"I would rather be considered foolish than not see you at all. I—I had to see you."

Emma lets out an angry scream of frustration, "You—AGH!" She gets into the bed, harshly pulling the covers over herself. "Sleep here tonight if you must. But do it while knowing I did not want you to."

All is quiet for a moment. Then she feels the bed creak as Anthony gets up.

"...Good night, Emma. Let us talk tomorrow." He blows off the lantern into darkness, and the door clicks shut behind him.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #contract marriage #enemies to lovers #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x original character #anthony bridgerton x original female character #childhood friends

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path-of-grass-and-leaves · 6 months ago

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Bioregional Magic: Sustainable Ways to Work with Native Plants

Note: Post Contains Personal Anecdotes and UPG

As someone with a nature-based practice, I completely understand the desire to work with native plants. Many of us are deeply compelled to foster a connection with our land spirits and the local flora and fauna.

But with the normalization of consumption in witchcraft spaces paired with unethical wildcrafting and foraging practices, it's important to be careful. We don't want to harm the native plant populations and the wildlife that depends on them in our quest for a more localized practice.

Learning which plants are safe to harvest

By safe, I don't mean safe to handle or consume, though this is also crucial knowledge for anyone harvesting wild plants in general. I'm specifically referring to whether or not the collection of native plant matter will make a negative impact on the local ecosystem.

Think of it this way, if your practice is spirit-focused. Will the collective spirits of certain plants really want to assist you if you're devastating their population for your own gain? IME the answer is a hard no.

Take a look at a field guide and start identifying some of the native plants in your region. Are some of them listed as endangered, threatened, or special concern? Now you know which plants you should never disturb or collect materials from.

If not threatened, are some species generally harder to find? Are they present only in a certain type of environment? Do they take a long time to mature and/or have a very specific method of seed dispersal? Proceed with caution.

Example:

Common Blue Violets are one of the first plants to bloom in my garden during springtime. I also consider them very important in my practice and like to harvest them for certain rituals. But like I said, they're one of the first native plants to bloom during spring. Which means there are going to be pollinating insects, songbirds, and small mammals which rely on these plants for food. And predators who rely on those animals.

Since this is a hardy plant that usually grows in abundance, it's okay for me to harvest some from the garden for personal use. But I still need to leave enough to serve as a resource for wildlife and allow it to reproduce for the following year.

On the contrary, I never touch my wild Bloodroot. I only have two or three plants in the garden, their seeds have double dormancy germination requirements, and they take 2-3 years to reach blooming size. I have only ever collected seeds for propagation, and even then do it rarely because I know that the ants do a much better job at this than I could.

So when we can't harvest materials to use for tools and ingredients in workings, how do we utilize these plants in our practice?

Physical Representations and Symbolism

Images, objects, and symbols representing the plant can be used to substitute organic matter that you would otherwise collect and use for workings. Consider art pieces or photos, sculptures, sigils and seals, paper cut or folded into the shape of leaves or flowers, etc.

If the plant is your main component or energy source, consider designing the working to cater to this. For example, if I'm petitioning the spirit of milkweed, I might want to incorporate aspects of air and wind, since this is how their seeds are distributed. Or I may want to add some lunar energies knowing that this is the planetary correspondence for milkweed. This is would completely depend on my intent for the specific working and which physical or spiritual aspects of the plant I choose to work with.

If you're seeking a more long-term effect, try getting crafty and using symbols of the plant to decorate your own tools. I'm talking homemade oracle cards, painted jars or boxes for container spells, decorated offering bowls, ritual jewelry, and so on.

Working with Living Plants

This one is for the spirit workers. While it's entirely possible to petition plant spirits, especially collectives, solely using imagery, working carefully with a living plant can help establish a more direct spiritual connection.

This can be done by conducting your working outdoors, inviting the spirit of the plant into your space, and asking for assistance. During this time you would leave an offering, usually fresh water, but you can also offer things like soil or compost. Obtaining a working knowledge of certain plants can help inspire ideas for more creative, species-appropriate offerings, giving your spells and rituals an extra boost.

Now if this were a plant that was on a special concern or endangered species list, I would avoid offerings and actions that could potentially disturb the plant in any way. I may work within a few feet of the plant and present my offering in a bowl, removing it at the end of the working. I would definitely avoid touching it or say, pouring out water over the soil where it grows.

While we're on the subject of offerings, consider acts of service. Once again, we're going to use milkweed as an example. If I want to leave a nice offering for the spirit of milkweed and I know that Black Swallowtails feed on the nectar and pollinate it, I may offer a potted plant of dill placed in the wildflower garden. This is because Black Swallowtail caterpillars love to eat dill and will later pupate into adults, which will be beneficial for the plant. Consider different species and their relationship with each other. You may even get multiple spirit allies out of the deal.

Cultivation and Seed Distribution

Now, we've talked about ways to avoid harm when incorporating native plant species into our practices, but what about making a positive impact?

The Act of Growing Things is actually my favorite part of plant magic. Sure, I love harvesting my vegetables, fruit, and herbs to use in various recipes, and wild plants I find in the yard are excellent allies. But there really is something special about watching a tiny seedling grow into a full-sized plant, or seeing that delicate young native perennial thrive during its first year outdoors.

Whether transplanting or growing from seed, you're inevitably going to develop a strong relationship with that specific plant. You'll learn all about its growth rate, ecological benefits, soil requirements, and more. This will lead to folklore, correspondences, and later on your own UPG related to where this plant fits within your practice.

Another option, if you don't have the energy for more hands-on cultivation, is seed scattering. Disturbed areas like roadside ditches or even your backyard are perfect for this. Whether scattering or growing in starter pots, seeds can be charmed or enchanted with a specific intent and planted as a sort of living spell.

I use Prarie Moon Nursery for my seeds, but there are plenty of other affordable online vendors. You can also check out what's available locally. There are a few native-focused nurseries in my area that have a nice variety of options depending on the season.

#bioregional magic #plant magic #nature veneration #nature magic #spirit work #witchcraft community #witchcraft #witchblr

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obsidiannebula · 7 months ago

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How to Spot AI-Generated Reference Texts

This morning I celebrated a lovely Christmas with my family. My 3 year old was ecstatic, I made my brother tear up, it was a good time. But I received something that at first, seemed like the kind of thing I would very much like to own... until I started actually looking through it. I quickly realized that this book is unmistakably AI-generated slop and should not be used or trusted as an actual reference guide. Having not been written by an actual expert in the field or even compiled by an actual researcher citing sources and synthesizing information, these books are at best three hundred pages of reading the first couple of sentences of a search result for each topic, and at worst full of dangerous misinformation that can get people killed, as with the rise of AI-generated mushroom foraging books. These are in no way reliable reference guides for anything, but especially for anything with potential health risks like ingesting plants and their compounds.

So today I'm going to try and get some good use out of this book I now own by using it to demonstrate how to spot AI-generated scam books.

The first red flags jump out at us right from the cover. This is "The Home Apothecary Full Collection: Your In-Depth Holistic Guide with Natural Herbal Remedies for Long-Lasting Wellness and Optimal Health." Yeesh, what a mouthful. A soulless, artless mouthful, I must add. But hey, maybe this author is a very clinical or verbose type. Except a quick search for the author's name, Megan Morren, quickly makes it clear that this is not a real person. There is one bare-bones Facebook profile for a Megan Morren, and no social media beyond that. No LinkedIn or Pinterest or mentions in an article, nothing. Every other result shows her books: this one, and two others nearly identical to it, with slightly different names but the same "1500+ Remedies/Extra Content" claim in the same corner, utilizing the same fonts and each with a very similar AI-generated background.

That's right, we've got a pretty bog-standard AI-generated image for the cover of this book, showcasing a variety of vaguely herbal plants and jars as well as several nonsensical non-objects.

Okay, so the cover was definitely made by AI, but maybe this author is writing under a pseudonym and visually just not very creative. Let's open it up and took a look at...

Oooookay so that's how we're getting the "40 books in one" claim touted on the cover. What most people would call a chapter is here billed as an entire book, with each subtopic considered its own chapter. There's not more than two or three "chapters" per "book" and most of the chapters are only one or two pages long, which is some James Patterson-ass shit. At least if Patterson had written this book there'd be a little character to the narration and an attempt at wit, but as we'll soon see, the actual writing is... wanting, to say the least.

Obviously the first observation here is that formatting is for the BIRDS. No paragraph breaks or indents, and the paragraphs are all of roughly similar length. Furthermore, the writing reads like a copy/pasted Wikipedia page. Scratch that, I went ahead and typed "history of herbal healing" into a search engine and found the actual Wikipedia page for "History of herbalism," which actually does provide more detail on the topic as well as FIFTY-FOUR ACTUAL SOURCES and some recommended further reading, making it vastly superior to this slop. Because there's not a single source cited in this entire book, nor is there an author bio here or online that remotely suggests that the author might have some experience and expertise from which they are drawing to write or even fact-check this book.

On top of that, there is truly no authorial voice whatsoever. Even if you wanted to be very academic about it and avoid using first-person in your reference book, there should at least be some synthesizing of sources and information, expanding on the ideas presented and combining them to draw new conclusions or illustrate points. But everything here is incredibly surface-level, like someone copied the first sentence or three from the first Google result and stuck it there and then moved on to the next bullet point in the outline.

Seriously, this whole book is just page after page of walls of text. It's a nightmare to try to read if you have any sort of reading-impairing disorder like dyslexia or ADHD, and it's also just kind of ugly. And in a book supposedly about herbalism, there is not a single image or diagram. That's wild to me. There is nothing in here to aid with plant identification or demonstrate the tincturing or decocting processes or anything. I've never read an herbalism book without a single picture or diagram. Granted, I've only read a handful, but still, it seems very strange to me. And god did these endless blocks of text need SOMETHING to break them up.

Also these introductory paragraphs just scream "obligatory" to me. They're all a single paragraph of approximately the same length, providing a perfunctory and colorless overview of the subject matter. I mean, seriously? We're starting off "uplifting herbs for depression" with "Depression affects millions globally. It is characterized by x and y. While it is conventional treated with medication and therapy, there are also some herbs that can improve mood." It's so bland and robotic and uninformative. I think most fifth graders could write a better introductory paragraph, as long as we didn't penalize them for spelling or grammar.

I'd really like to get back to spending the holiday with family, so I'm going to leave it at that. It's just so frustrating to see books like this pushing legitimate texts written by real people with real expertise or at least personality out of bookshelves and searches, propagating useless or even dangerous information in place of sharing real knowledge and traditions. I had to rant a little bit and get it off my chest.I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season, and all the best for 2025. Everyone, that is, except "Megan Morren." Whoever you really are, I hope you step on Legos every day for the rest of your life. It's the least you deserve for publishing trash like this.

#scam awareness #herbalism #bad books #the home apothecary full collection

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ifwbillie · 8 months ago

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billie teaching you to ride a horse for the first time (fluff) | b.e x fem!reader

a/n. heyy, i’ve never seen anyone write something like this, but i LOOVE riding horses, so i thought it would be nice to write one where billie teaches you how to ride for the first time. trust me, the sensation is soooo fuckin’ good, and there’s something kinda magical about it. hope you like it! ;)

“billie, i can’t do this,” you say, your voice trembling slightly as you stare at sirius, the black horse by your side, feeling a wave of doubt wash over you.

“yeah, you can, babe. trust me, okay?” billie’s voice is soft but full of conviction as she keeps your hand firmly in hers. “you’ve got a good teacher here. just put your foot in the stirrup. i’m holding you.”

“what if i fall?” you ask, the fear creeping back into your voice.

“you won’t, sweetie. i’m right here. you’re not going anywhere,” billie says with a reassuring smile, her eyes soft and steady. “just follow my lead, okay?”

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding as you lift your foot and place it in the stirrup. billie steadies you as you swing your leg over the saddle and settle in, her hands on your waist guiding you gently.

“you did it!” billie smiles, her pride evident as she steps back and looks at you.

“y-yeah, but i’m still scared. what if he—what if i do something wrong?”

“no, no, no. you’re overthinking,” billie interrupts gently. “sirius is chill, okay? he’s not going to hurt you. everything’s fine. you’re fine.” her fingers brush the back of your hand, a small touch that makes you feel calmer.

“now, hold the reins,” billie instructs, pointing to them. “you’re going to use them to guide him.”

you grab the reins carefully, your hands still a little shaky as you look at the horse beneath you.

“that’s it. you’re doing amazing,” billie says, her voice full of encouragement as she strokes sirius’s mane. “he’s already getting comfortable with you.”

“but what if something happens?”

“no ‘what ifs,’ babe,” she says, cutting you off with a smile. “just trust me, i wouldn’t let anything happen to you. sirius is a good boy. he’s calm, and you’re in control.”

you nod, her words slowly easing the tension in your body. billie steps aside, giving you space, and clicks her tongue, prompting sirius to take a slow step forward. the movement makes you tense, but billie stays close, walking alongside you.

“relax, angel. you’ve got this,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “breathe with me, okay? in, out… slow and steady.”

you follow her instructions, your breath evening out as sirius continues walking. with each step, the fear starts to melt away, and you begin to feel the rhythm of the ride.

“this is actually… kinda nice,” you admit, glancing at billie, her face lighting up as she looks up at you.

“told you,” she grins, her eyes sparkling with pride. “now, let’s try turning. gently pull the left rein… just like that. perfect!”

you follow her lead, slowly gaining confidence as you guide sirius around the path. billie laughs when sirius decides to stop and nibble on some grass, the sound light and carefree.

“you’re a natural,” billie says, her voice full of admiration as she brushes your knee affectionately.

“i don’t know about that…” you laugh nervously, but her smile makes you feel like you might just be doing okay.

“you don’t give yourself enough credit,” she replies, her voice softer now, almost like a secret. “you’re braver than you think, you know that?”

“and tomorrow, we’re going for a ride together,” billie adds with a smile, her voice full of excitement. “i thought we could go on a ride through the field, maybe find a nice spot for a picnic afterward. just the two of us.”

#billie eilish #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish comfort #billie eilish fluffy #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish imagine

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kanyerealdaughter · 2 months ago

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— ★ BLEACH MEN IN THE MOTHERLAND

characters - renji , ichigo , uryu , byakuya , kenpachi , shinji , aizen , gin , kaname , kugo , kensei , rose , hisagi , kira. | pt II here! | all around the world event! |

—————————————————————————

RENJI ABARAI - got his sunglasses on, a bandana tied around his head, and a camera he barely knows how to use. he’s excited, loud, and absolutely dragging you along to everything.

safari reaction - loud and pumped. he’s yelling out names of every animal he sees like he’s on a quiz show.“ IS THAT A LION?! HOLYTHAT THING’S MASSIVE!”

grabs your hand excitedly every five seconds. nearly falls out of the jeep trying to get a better look.

food experience - brave. tries everything, even the spicy stuff he can’t pronounce. regrets it mid-bite, but powers through while sweating bullets.

“ i’m not weak, babe. i just need milk. like. right now.”

cultural experience - volunteers immediately to help with traditional dancing. terrible at it. locals are laughing with him, not at him he’s a hit. walks around in a locally made tunic the rest of the day, saying “ i look kinda noble, huh?”

he lets the locals braid a small piece of his hair, reluctantly. you tease him for days. before getting full on cornrows straight to the back.

—————————————————————————

ICHIGO KUROSAKI - starts off skeptical. he’s never one for “vacations” and keeps muttering, “ i’m gonna get sunburned and attacked by a hippo.”

safari reaction - quiet, cautious. sitting stiff in the jeep like he’s ready to throw hands with a rhino.“ is it gonna charge? that one’s gonna charge, right? babe..look at its eyes. eventually relaxes when you lean into him.

“…It’s beautiful though.”

food experience - picks at it at first. nervous about unfamiliar flavor tries something grilled completely falls in love.

“ this is way better than it looks. don’t tell my dad, he’ll make it weird.”

cultural experience - helps a local kid carry water buckets. tries to act chill, but the whole village sees and claps for him. he blushes and scratches his head, mutterin.

“ it wasn’t a big deal.” it was.

—————————————————————————

URYU ISHIDA - walks like the land itself has rules and he’s already memorized every one. he’s studying the land with reverence, stitching it into memory.

safari reaction - precise and quiet at first. be’s reading a field guide in the jeep like a straight-A student. “ this bird is a lilac-breasted roller. native to sub-saharan africa.” but when he sees a leopard stalking in the distance, he freezes in place, whispering,

“…incredible. the way it moves..” you can tell he’s blown away but trying to keep it contained.

food experience - he asks about every spice, every cooking method, and tries the dishes politely. when something’s too spicy, he clears his throat, takes a sip of water, and says.

“ it’s very… expressive.” you tease him about it, and he mutters something under his breath.

cultural experience - be gets pulled into a fabric market and becomes absolutely fascinated by the craftsmanship.

you lose him for twenty minutes find him buying traditional woven cloth and discussing thread quality. an elder notices his hair and glasses and tells him how handsome he looks. a group of young local girls giggles near him and asks if they can braid just one strand “for luck.”

he hesitates, blinking. “…just one?” they giggle more, and soon he’s sitting awkwardly as they add a thin braid near his temple, tied with a blue bead.

he acts embarrassed, but doesn’t take it out. later, he quietly asks. “ do you think it suits me?”

“ a lot more than you think.”

—————————————————————————

BYAKUYA KUCHIKI - arrives looking like royalty white linen, perfectly calm, and somehow not sweating at all. locals assume he’s some visiting prince. he doesn’t correct them.

safari reaction - he was just silent admiration. you can practically see him analyzing animal hierarchy.

“ that lion leads with silent authority. admirable.”

“ did you just compliment a lion’s leadership?” you aksed him.

“ naturally.”

food experience - eats politely, slow and precise. nods with solemn respect.

“ this meal reflects discipline and heritage.” asks you later which dish you liked and tries to recreate it with you back home.

cultural experience - bows to elders. observes all rituals with reverence. receives a symbolic bracelet as a mark of respect. wears it. doesn’t say a word about it but never takes it off.

you know it meant something.

—————————————————————————

KENPACHI ZARAKI - doesn’t walk, he takes up space. The kind you feel before you see. but what surprises you is how the locals respond, not with fear, but curiosity. the children gather around him. maybe they recognize something primal in him.

safari reaction - too loud. too hyped. the animals are more afraid of him.“ THAT THING’S GOT TUSKS! LET’S SEE IF IT WANTS TO SPAR!”

the guide has to tell him at least four times not to get out of the jeep. you end up physically holding his sleeve so he doesn’t go chase a giraffe.

“ just to test its footwork.”

food experience - eats like it’s a battle. spicy? good. gamey? better. mystery meat? even better.

“ THIS STUFF’S AMAZING. I DON’T EVEN CARE WHAT ANIMAL THIS USED TO BE.”

cultural experience - the locals are cautious at first, but the kids love him instantly.

he lets them climb on his shoulders and yell like warriors. they give him a wooden spear and declare him “ honorary strongest.” zaraki grins wide. “ i like this place.”

—————————————————————————

SHINJI HIRAKO - is vibing from the second he lands. hawaiian shirt open, shades on, straw in a coconut before anyone else.

safari reaction - chill and joking the entire time. pretending to narrate like he’s on national geographic.“ and here we see the majestic soul reaper, trying not to freak out at elephant poop.” you laugh so hard you almost drop your water bottle.

food experience - loves it. even the weird stuff. “ spice? heat? i live for danger, babe.” you just rolled your eyes as he tries fermented milk. regrets it instantly but hides it with a smirk.

cultural experience - joins in on music immediately. Plays drums off-beat but full of joy. local kids follow him around thinking he’s a funny uncle.

he ends the day teaching them silly soul society phrases while they teach him dance moves.

—————————————————————————

SOSUKE AIZEN - shows up dressed like he’s filming a luxury cologne ad. locals immediately notice his presence they mostly stare at him the entire time.

safari reaction - stares at everything like he’s calculating how it fits into the grand design of the universe.calm, collected, but lowkey impressed.

“ that lion understands dominance better than most captains i’ve met.”

“ can you not villain monologue at the wildlife?”

food experience - unbothered. eats elegantly, even off a banana leaf. “ this is refined. strong flavors, balanced textures.” quietly compliments the cook in their language. you swoon. alittle too much.

cultural experience - participates only when invited but when he does, he’s all in. helps restore a mural with local artists. you catch him staring at it later like it told him a secret.

“ i wonder what history lives in the silence here.”

—————————————————————————

GIN ICHIMARU - got that sly smile, straw hat tilted low, and he somehow knows all the shortcuts around the village before anyone tells him.

safari reaction - leaning back, eyes nearly closed, but he’s aware of everything. makes sly comments like.

“ that cheetah’s fast….” you watch him mimicking predator movements when no one’s looking. fox-boy vibes.

food experience - eats whatever’s offered with a grin. “ don’t tell me what it is. i wanna guess.” gets it right every time, which is suspicious. gives you the best bits off his plate without asking.

cultural experience - charmed the locals instantly. learned two phrases in the language before lunch. ends up surrounded by laughing kids, showing them little sleight-of-hand tricks. gives them shiny buttons as “secret treasure.”

later whispers to you, “ this place’s got good energy. honest. i like that.”

—————————————————————————

KANAME TOSEN - doesn’t come for the aesthetics. he comes for the soul of the land.

safari reaction - sits silently, calmly taking in the surroundings through sound. “ i don’t need to see them to know their presence. the earth shifts with them.”

you swear he’s more in tune than anyone else. he even hears the rustle of elephants before the guide does.

food experience - eats slowly, mindfully, savoring each bite. “ these flavors hold memory… you can taste history in them.” thanks the cooks in a gentle, respectful tone. locals are deeply moved.

cultural experience - sits quietly with the elders, listening to their stories, drums, chants.

when invited, he offers his own words not about soul society, but about peace. later, he tells you. “ their resilience… it humbles me.” honestly he never wants to leave.

*bonus*

the two of you had spent the afternoon listening to stories beneath a wide acacia tree, the shade giving reprieve from the golden heat. kaname, as always, sat composed, calm, his braided hair catching the soft breeze like strands of black silk. the elders admired his posture, his peaceful aura. but it was the local women weavers of fabric, hair, and wisdom who truly took notice.

one of them smiled, her fingers busy with a young girl’s curls.

“ his hair is beautiful. but it could carry more meaning. may we?” you turned to kaname, not sure how he’d respond. he blinked once, surprised by the request his braids were personal, something he wore with intention and reverence.

he stood slowly. “ if you are willing to share your tradition with me… i would be honored.” they seated him beneath a tree, and you sat nearby, watching with a quiet smile.

he kept his head bowed respectfully as three women worked gently through his braids. they murmured among themselves in a mixture of admiration and playfulness.

cowrie shells. patterns woven in threes, symbolic of vision, truth, and memory. a braided line that curved, representing the path to clarity. beads at the end, clinking softly like wind chimes when he moved.

when they were done, kaname gently touched the side of his head, feeling the differences.

“ these carry meaning?” one elder woman nodded proudly. “ they speak of someone who listens deeply…”

he stilled, jaw tight with emotion. for a man often seen only for his silence, being understood without explanation hit deep. you leaned in, brushing your fingers over a bead that had your favorite color.

“ looks good on you.” you told him, kaname tilted his head.

“ then i will wear them with pride. for what they mean… and because you were here when i received them.” and for the rest of the evening, he walked among the people not as a soul reaper, not as a captain but as a guest, respected and adorned in their culture’s gift.

—————————————————————————

KUGO GINJO - walks like a man who’s outrun storms but still checks the sky. his grin is sharp, his presence magnetic. he talks big, won’t shut up even you tell him to. but he watches everything. one doesn't just want to visit he wants to understand.

safari reaction - points at a lion and says. “ that’s me if i hadn’t mellowed out.” smirked at the baboons fighting, makes jokes the whole ride.

gets weirdly quiet near the elephants.

“ they carry a lot.”

food experience - picks up a skewer, bites in without hesitation. “ hm, not bad.” he nodded slowly, offering you a bite while taking a bite on the same side. he asks how to make the spice mix and gets a full lesson.

insists on helping cook the next night burns it. still eats it.

cultural experience - joins a drum circle, doesn’t miss a beat. starts breakdancing, gets cheered on by local teens. sits with elders late into the night, listening. no smile just respect. he gives you a gazania flower and you puts it in your hair/behind your hair.

—————————————————————————

KENSEI MUGURUMA - is already mad because it’s hot, there’s no AC, and he stepped in animal poop on the first day.

safari reaction - first five minutes: “ it’s hot. bugs everywhere. i’m gonna punch the next mosquito.”

next ten minutes: “OH MY GOD THAT’S A CROCODILE—” by the end he’s standing on the jeep seat, binoculars out, fully invested.

food experience - grills meat with local dudes. bonding happens over fire and spice.

“ okay yeah, this is good. better than that crap in squad 9’s mess hall.” you try to take his plate and he growls like a lion. it’s playful… mostly.

cultural experience - gets pulled into an arm wrestling by locals. wins. Immediately regrets it. but everyone cheers and lifts him up like a hero. he blushes, scratches his neck.

“…guess they’re not so bad.”

—————————————————————————

ROJURO ‘ROSE’ OTORIBASHI - is thriving. he’s dressed in flowing clothes, sketchbook in one hand, composing orchestral pieces in his head from birdsong and drumbeats.

safari reaction - dressed like an eccentric professor, eyes half-closed, sketchbook in hand.

describes everything like a poem. “ the wind hums in the mane of the lion… a crescendo of primal power.”

“ can you just say ‘cool lion’ like a normal person?”

food experience - loves trying unique flavors. dishes out poetic praise after every meal: “ this stew complex, like a tragic romance.” locals are confused but flattered. you facepalm.

cultural experience - a couple of locals braided his hair two braids to the back. he joins local musicians instantly. harmonizes with drums using a handmade flute he bought on the spot. later, he pulls you aside and plays a tune he made up just for you.

“ i wanted you to have a memory… in music.”

—————————————————————————

SHUHEI HISAGI - arrives serious and composed, ready to document everything for his next seireitei communication article.

safari reaction - serious and focused at first. has a camera, takes notes like he’s doing a report. but slowly relaxes, eventually laughing when a monkey tries to snatch your water bottle.

“ okay… this is kinda awesome.”

food experience - sincere and polite. Tries to learn the history behind every dish. asks questions, takes mental notes, nods often. by dinner, he’s sharing food with the kids like he’s known them for years.

cultural experience - takes part in a blessing ritual. gets a mark painted on his face by an elder. freezes when you say he looks beautiful.

“…i didn’t expect this to hit me so hard.” you hold his hand. He squeezes it tighter than usual.

—————————————————————————

IZURU KIRA - is quiet, respectful, and haunted by how grounded and real everything feels compared to his usual sterile world.

safari reaction - quiet. still. watching everything with gentle eyes. the moment he sees a mother elephant with her baby, he whispers.

“ that’s… really something.” you realize he’s not just watching animals he’s healing.

food experience - careful, but respectful. tastes things slowly. when something is too spicy, he quietly sips water and smiles through it.

“ it’s a different kind of pain. but i don’t mind it.”

cultural experience - participates in a quiet poetry exchange with a local elder. you find him writing in a notebook under a tree, listening to wind and music.

“ being here… it reminds me that there’s still gentleness in the world.”

𖣂 KANYEREALDAUGHTER SPEAKS - i actually love the name kaname sm. deadass gonna name my kid kaname..

words - 2.5k

» , ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

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tenebriuscodes · 1 month ago

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NOCTURNE JCINK SKIN

NOCTURNE is a minimalist, multi-sale, and responsive skin for Jcink inspired by the book “The Vampire Chronicles” by Anne Rice. This skin was optimized for Google Chrome and Opera GX, and it comes with a responsive mobile mode which you can check the previews here.

You can purchase this skin at my Ko-fi.

And you can check the live preview here.

features:

— Installation guide. You can join my discord server if you need further assistance or simply dm me on discord. — 36 custom templates to be used across the board. You can check them here. — Dark and Light mode. — Fully customized Jcink HTML Templates. — Guidebook codes with sub-sections and sub-links. — Main profile application + shipper + thread tracker stylying. — Pop-out profile. — Mini-profile. — Isotopic memberlist filters. — Solid membergroup colors (easily flexible to add gradient tones). — 56 custom profile fields. — Customized search page, register and login page. — Custom pop-up menu.

Please, read my policy for more information: tenebriuscodes.tumblr.com/policies

#jcink codes #jcink skins #jcink skin #jcink #jcink code #jcink resources #nocturne skin #jcink skin for sale #jcink rp #jcink recs

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magicbeings · 6 months ago

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How I added "instant translation" to the non-english text on my fic: a very easy 3 step guide

Hello!

I recently posted a Wolfstar fanfic called Instance of Happenstance and received a lot of compliments on a small piece of code I used. Both @marigold-hills and @leavesthatarebrown suggested I share how I did it, so here I am, finally explaining it in a Tumblr post!

Before diving into the details, I want to clarify that I didn't write this code myself.

Initially, I tried following this tutorial, but I stumbled upon a better solution in the comments of that post. The code on the tutorial itself does work, but a) it's harder to use and b) it doesn't work as well if you're planing to have multiple paragraphs that you need to show the translation on the same fic.

The solution someone presented on the comments, however, is very simple and easy to use for as many paragraphs as you need, but the explanation there wasn’t too clear, so I decided to expand on it to make it easier for others to implement.

All credit to Ao3 users La_Temperaza (who wrote the orginal post) and Nikkie2571 (who posted this code on the comments).

What Does This Code Do?

This code adds an interactive feature to your fanfic, allowing readers to hover over a specific paragraph (or tap on it if they’re on mobile) to instantly change the text to something else — also set by you.

While this can be used for various purposes, I think it's particularly useful to display instant translations of non-English dialogue/text directly in the story. The code offers a much smoother alternative to the clunky “see end notes for translation” thing—which, let's be honest, can be a pain for readers, especially in long chapters.

For example, in instance of happenstance, Sirius discovers an old journal written entirely in French. I wanted to maintain the sense of mystery and intrigue that would be lost if I simply said the journal was in French, but wrote the text in English.

This solution let me keep the best of both worlds—retaining the authenticity and the immersion of the French, while still making the story easy to follow for the readers.

Now, I know this sounds complicated, but I assure you, it's not!

Down bellow is a quick, 3 steps tutorial on how to do it. I hope this is helpful! (:

(I'm doing this on the computer, if you're doing it on mobile, the layout of the website might be different from my printscreens)

Step 1 - Create The Work Skin

I'm gonna go right to the point here, but if you want to know about Work Skins in detail, I suggest this Ao3 Article.

On your Ao3 Dashboard, click on the fourth link on the sidebar, which is "Skins".

Then, on the page that opens up, click on "My Work Skins"

Then, on the top of the page, select "Create Work Skin"

Now, you'll see the form to create your skin, which looks like this:

Leave the "Type" as "Work Skin". On the Title, you can give any name you want to your skin, but I suggest you choose the same title as your fic or something like "instant translation", so you'll know what it's about later.

You don't have to worry about any of the other fields, except for the CSS one, where you should copy and paste exactly what I'll put bellow:

#workskin .change_on_hover:not(:hover) .on, #workskin .change_on_hover:hover .off { display: none; }

So, now, you'll have something like this...

... and you just have to click "save" on the bottom of the page, and this step is done.

Step 2 - Apply the Skin you created to your fic

For a new work, click on "New Work" as usual. If it's a fic you're already posting, you can add this as well, just click the "Edit" button.

Now, on the form of your fic, on the "Associations" tab, right under the menu where you select the language of your fic, you'll see a "select a work skin" option.

On this field, you should select the workskin you just created on the previous step, searching by the name you gave it on the "Title" field.

Step 3 - Insert the text

The code we're gonna use is this one:

paragraph in foreing language paragraph in english

If you have no idea what this means, hold my hand, we're gonna get through it together!

First, copy your fic’s text into the AO3 text box as you normally would. Then, switch the text box to HTML mode so you can see the underlying code.

Now, scroll down until you find the paragraph you want to translate. After pasting, it will likely look something like this:

Note how each paragraph in HTML starts with and ends with . These tags indicate where a paragraph begins and ends.

Our goal is to modify that first tag so it tells the browser, “Hey, this paragraph is different from those other ones. It should change when hovered over or clicked.”

To do this, we’ll change to . This marks the paragraph as special—one that should switch text when interacted with.

Now note how instead of having a single paragraph, we need two versions of the text:

In blue, the original (non-English) text, which will be shown by default.

In red, the translated (English) text, which will appear when the reader hovers over or clicks on it.

For the original text, wrap it inside a tag, ending with like this:

insert here the whole text of the paragraph in the foreign language

For the translated text, wrap it inside a tag, also ending with . This will replace the original text when hovered over or clicked:

insert here the whole text of the paragraph in english

And don't forget to end the whole thing again with

Again, here's how it looks on my fic:

With the paragraphs that come before and after the translated text, just leave them as they are. They should still start with and end with . No changes needed!

You can use this method for as many paragraphs as you want, whether in the same chapter or across different chapters. As long as the Work Skin is active, the effect will work seamlessly throughout your fic.

#fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 work skins #work skins #translation on text #ao3 fanfic #ao3 coding #tutorial #step by step #fanfic #wolfstar #marauders

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cosmerelists · 11 months ago

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One-Star Yelp Reviews from Cosmere Locations

Inspired by those one-star Yelp reviews of National Parks.

1. Shattered Plains (Roshar)

"Nothing but a bunch of big holes in the ground."

"Takes forever to get anywhere. Permanent bridges are few & far between. Never saw a chasmfiend."

2. Urithiru (Roshar)

"Think of every crowded, gross city you've ever visited. Now add one million flights of stairs."

3. Field of Rebirth (Scadrial)

"If I wanted to see flowers, I could look in my own backyard."

"Statues on a roof are hard to see. They should be moved to ground level so that people can actually look at them."

4. Reshi Isles (Roshar)

"Do NOT come here with your family everyone is NAKED and it is NOT APPROPRIATE for children and they are NOT POLITE if you NICELY ask them to PLEASE COVER UP...WILL NOT BE RETURNING"

5. The Palanaeum (Roshar)

"Too expensive. Don't bother."

6. Forests of Hell (Threnody)

"Very bad place to visit if you're training for a marathon."

"Apparently the silver lying on the ground is not free. They should put up signs if they wanna get huffy about it."

7. Diggen's Point (Lumar)

"I can see why they have to pay people to stay here."

8. Idris (Nalthis)

"Save your money. Sit in an icebox and stare at a wall for 12 hours."

9. Hallandren (Nalthis)

"Lines to see a god are way too long."

"Creepy statues. That's it. That's my takeaway."

10. Elantris (Sel)

"I just don't like the color silver. I think it's tacky. Gold would be classier. People act weird if you say this while you're visiting. Everyone was pretty rude overall."

11. Kilahito (Komashi)

"EVERYONE will tell you to visit the noodle shop supposedly run by some immortal woman but it's all hype. Noodles are just okay."

12. Purelake (Roshar)

"Do you like having wet socks and waiting around 'cause everyone is perpetually late? Then a Purelake Vacation is for you!"

13. Union (Canticle)

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO STRESSED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE"

14. The Roughs (Scadrial)

"they don't let you ride the giraffes"

15. Shadesmare (Roshar)

"Guide was unable to show us any starspren. Poor service."

"Just because it looks like a ball pit does not mean you can jump into it like it's a ball pit apparently."

#cosmere #cosmerelists #stormlight archive #mistborn #yumi and the nightmare painter #tress of the emerald sea #shadows for silence #warbreaker

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rioshinfillcher · 2 months ago

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Uchiha Aiko (oc) story life

chapter 1

"Life in my youth was far from simple. Those were dark times of interclan strife, where from the moment you were born, you had only two goals: to survive yourself and to protect your family (whole, if possible).

For our Uchiha clan, this was an absolute law—if someone killed a member of your family, you were expected to annihilate their entire bloodline.

Looking back at the clan’s past and its present, I’d add one more rule: *don’t lose your mind*. I don’t know if it’s a family weakness or some curse upon us, but without fail, someone would snap—whether from defeat in battle or the loss of a loved one.

The Sharingan is born from madness, and, unfortunately, it feeds that madness in turn.

The clan tried to keep children off the battlefield for as long as possible, shielding them from the horror of watching their kin die.

Yes, the Sharingan is immense power—but the price is far too steep.

I wasn’t raised to be a warrior. My mother constantly lamented that I shouldn’t have to witness the horrors of war—mangled corpses, fields drenched in blood.

But Fate had other plans.

My first tomoe awakened when they brought my father’s lifeless body back to camp. The shock wasn’t death itself, but my mother’s frantic despair—she threatened to climb into his coffin. Even my older brother couldn’t bear it and dragged her away.

After that day, I went to him myself and asked to be trained. Day after day, drill after drill. If nothing else, it walled my mind off from reality, from memories.

The number of warriors in camp dwindled with every skirmish, especially once the clashes with the Senju began in earnest. My brother said things were so dire that clan heads had no choice but to send even their heirs to the front.

I didn’t care—until the day I found myself fighting side by side with the clan leader’s son: *Madara*.

Before then, he’d just seemed like a brat with a temper, his hair a wild mess like a furious hedgehog. But battle reveals a person’s true nature. Precise strikes, flawless hand seals, total control of the battlefield. No offense to my brother, but in a fair fight? He’d lose. Badly. Not even years of experience would’ve saved him.

Madara was strength incarnate—body and spirit.

Was it love? First love? No. Admiration? Absolutely.

He became my guiding star. My training intensified. Taijutsu, genjutsu—I chased after anyone who’d share even a scrap of knowledge. And it wasn’t for nothing.

By twenty, I had hundreds of battles behind me, thousands of kills. Three tomoe burned crimson in my eyes; scars from old wounds faded on my skin. At that age, you were a full-fledged warrior. Survive another decade, and by thirty, you’d earn the title of veteran.

Joining Madara’s squad felt like chance—or Fate, as I see it. My wind techniques, medical ninjutsu, and fully matured Sharingan must’ve convinced his father to choose me.

Within a year, Madara and I fought like a well-oiled machine. Backup never hurt on the battlefield. Time flowed steadily—battles gave way to evenings at home, swapping stories with clansmen, even developing joint techniques together.

Then came my twenty-first year, Madara’s twenty-fourth. Not just family, but the clan elders began pressing about marriage. *Unheard of*, they said, *to reach that age without an heir*.

And then Madara proposed.

To *me*.

At first, I thought it was a joke.

Yes, I’d always liked him—but the clan had far prettier, more domestic girls. His answer was simple: he knew me better than anyone. He trusted me at his back—and with his family, should he fall.

The ceremony was modest, as tradition demanded. No more, no less.

Now, beyond battle, we shared a home. Which was harder? Hard to say. Fighting side by side was one thing; returning afterward to a house where you were expected to be a proper wife? Another entirely. Thankfully, our fights never lasted long.

Time blurred into routine—until Izuna’s death.

The eye transplant, the funeral… it changed Madara. He withdrew, stopped sharing his thoughts. In battle, he grew fiercer, reckless. He hunted either Tobirama or Hashirama, unleashing his rage on them.

My advancing pregnancy kept me from the front, but with each passing day, the rumors grew darker.

Then came the shock: a truce between the Uchiha and Senju.

Overnight, life flipped upside down. Now we were to live alongside blood enemies—those who’d slain our kin mere days before—building a shared "home" atop the bones and blood of the dead.

When he asked my thoughts, I agreed. The cycle of killing had to end. If this was our chance, we had to take it.

But Fate wasn’t done with me.

Madara, changed. The clan accords, simmering dissent. Then my mother’s death, leaving me with twin baby brothers to raise. A newborn daughter to care for.

Sometimes, Madara’s conscience flickered—he’d help with her, or the twins. But stress and exhaustion gnawed at me. I began to wonder if I’d become a burden to him, weak and useless.

And he drifted further. Disappeared for days. Clashed with the elders.

Years passed. The village took shape. Other clans sought alliances. For the first time in my life, I felt peace—hope for tomorrow. Sleep came easier. No longer did I fear for my family’s lives daily. There was hope our children would grow up knowing love, not death.

Sometimes, the now-infamous Senju—the village’s leader—would visit. During these meetings with Hashirama, Madara would come alive, if only a little. A spark would return to his eyes, even as arguments flared between them.

As for me… I stayed out of it. The war had already broken me. Only thoughts of my family—raising my daughter and brothers—kept me afloat. There were children to tend to, a household to manage, and a mischievous little cat (ha-ha) to wrangle. No strength remained, physical or emotional, for anything else.

Thankfully, the aunties next door helped. Even a few young Senju mothers offered advice and life’s little tricks. Bit by bit, life settled.

Then, one evening, Madara spoke of the tablet in the Hagoromo shrine.

And I *snapped*.

Years of buried grievances poured out—every ignored conflict, every refusal to talk. Yes, it was selfish. But for once, I needed to think of *myself*, not everyone else. When my fury burned out, I told him to do as he pleased—but to keep his madness *far* from our children and kin.

He left. Without a word. From the house. From the village. "

× Bonus ×

Decades of bottled rage and despair found an unwilling listener (not like Orochimaru *asked* to hear any of this).

#art #artist #artists on tumblr #artwork #digital art #fan art #original character #ocs #oc #naruto original character #naruto oc #naruto #oc story #madara #madara uchiha #madara x oc #original story #orochimaru

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