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[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 13]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Words: 5.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The base of your skull pounds as you try to keep focus on the things going on around you. It is almost impossible, as you just want to close your eyes and block out everything. 

You had woken up with a stiffness in your neck and shoulders that had quickly spiraled into the beginnings of a migraine. You hadn't had one since you were pregnant and now that you had a toddler, spending the day in bed and hiding under covers was not an option.

The gods seem to have smiled down on you, though. It is Saturday, which means it is Daddy Daughter Date Day and Matt is more than happy to keep Minnie’s attention on him. You don't have to watch her like a hawk. You can just sit and wait until your ibuprofen kicks in. 

If it ever does. 

You know drinking water will probably help, so you shakily reach for your glass.

Beside you, your daughter is none the wiser to your distress. Last night, a new toy arrived in the mail, and she was insistent it must be brought to lunch so she could show her Daddy and play with him. It is a friendship bracelet making kit - the type that has beads of all different shapes and colors - and it is a hit. Minnie and Matt have been making each other bracelets as you wait for your food.

“Can you please find me another ‘O’?” the nearly perfect man across from you asks your sweet toddler. “Like in ‘Octopus’.”

“‘O’ for octopus!” Mouse quickly confirms. She sets down her string of multi-color shapes and pulls the little box of beads closer to her. She picks up the discs that have letters on them, proudly showing off her ability to identify them by stating what each letter is until she finds the one, she's looking for. Once it is found, it is carefully passed across the table. “‘O’ for octopus!”

You have not been paying attention to the letters Matt has been collecting and thus have no clue what he intends to spell, but you're guessing it won't matter much to your daughter. She's going to be thrilled either way. You have a hunch that the feeling is mutual with Matt - whatever Minnie gives him, he'll proudly wear. Right now, the bracelet in her hands is a mixture of pink hearts with purple and yellow plain beads. There isn't a method to the madness beyond that. 

Your table falls back into silence. Mouse is enthralled with her task of threading and Matt is equally quiet. You think he is aware of your headache, as he's been soft spoken since you met up and hasn't been trying to make your little one laugh and squeal with glee. You're incredibly thankful for that. 

You resist the urge to close your eyes and instead find a scratch on the table's surface to stare blankly at and wait for time to pass. Hands pass through your field of vision to collect different beads and you hear farther-daughter talking, but you don't process any of it. All you know is the pain creeping around your skull. You are aware of how your eyes sit in your head and it is a very weird, unsettling feeling that helps nothing. 

You pray this outing has enough stimulation for Minnie, so that when you go home, she'll go down for a nap easily and you can join her.

You don't know how long you sit there, spacing out while the world moves on without you, but eventually Linda drops your plates in front of you. You fall into autopilot, saying, “Thank you, Miss Linda” in chorus with Matt and Minnie. After a quick cooing over how sweet your little family is, the waitress leaves you be, and you turn your focus to your daughter's plate.

It's chicken strips and french fries today and you know she needs her ketchup and mustard. Before you can start to reach for the bottles at the end of the table, Matt is already taking them and addressing Mouse, “You like it with more mustard than ketchup, right?”

“More mustard!” She happily replies as she lays her napkin across her lap. 

You watch with slightly parted lips as he starts squeezing the condiments onto her plate. You aren't used to anyone taking over this responsibility and you don't know how to react - it is nice to have the help and to see he's learned so much about Minnie's habits, but your mind can't help but chastise you for letting him do this menial task. You know he's her father, but it feels like something you should be doing.

Of course, you are the only one having conflicting feelings. They are having a good time - Matt makes two piles of sauces and Minnie instantly starts swirling them together with her food, a big grin on her face. You try to offer a smile back, but you don't know how sincere it is. Your head hurts so much, and your anxiety is spiking.

You are shaken from your daze when Matt says your name. You look up to see his head tilted just slightly, the slightest frown on his face. Guilt courses through you.

“You sure you don't want any coffee? The caffeine should help with,” he motions to his head, and it just confirms for you that he is always hyper aware of everything, and that Minnie must be too. 

You need to get your act together. You can't just zone out because you don't feel well - you're a parent and you are out in public. You can't just dump all your responsibilities onto Matt because he is here now. 

You shake your head, even if it makes you dizzy, “No, I'll be okay.” 

The truth is the idea of coffee makes your stomach turn. You don't want anything that tastes too strongly, which is why you have opted for a Cobb salad for lunch. 

The man across from you gives you a doubtful look. To keep him from worrying over you, you stab a piece of tomato and eat it. It tastes like nothing and that is fine for you. This earns a frown, but the gods smile on you again and your daughter causes a distraction by starting to play with her food. 

Mouse picks up a chicken strip and begins to make it hop around the plate before dunking it into her now orange mixture. “Oh no, you're all messy now,” she says to herself, “I gotta clean you.” She then proceeds to lick the sauce away with exaggerated sounds. Matt makes a face of pure disgust. 

“Sweetie, what are you doing?”

“I'm a kitty!” is her proud response before repeating the process. 

You know this game well but it's the first time he has experienced it. He knows you allow her to play with her food as long as she's not messy and actually eats it, but you can tell he wants to ask her not to. You are open to him making suggestions and asking Minnie to do things, and he knows that, and you wonder what direction he will take. You can see the wheels turning in his head. 

“I thought you were a mouse,” is what he goes with. 

That stops Minnie dead in her tracks. She considers this statement, a pout forming, before bringing her chicken strip to her mouth and beginning to nibble at it - like a mouse with a piece of cheese.  

The rest of the meal is subdued. You manage to eat a third of your salad through sheer force of will - having an empty stomach will only make things worse - and Mouse only needs her face wiped a handful of times. It feels like the minutes crawl by before Linda is back at your table to take away plates and hand over the check.

Packing up is quick and easy. There are no loose beads on the table, so you just need to snap the case shut and store it into your bag, along with anything else that was brought out for Minnie’s needs. As you do this, Matt finishes off both bracelets by tying the ends together and once he is done, you stop what you're doing to watch the exchange.

He returns the bracelet Minnie made for him to her and she hugs it to her chest.

“Daddy, yous gotta put out your hand. I have something for you,” she says like it is any sort of surprise. 

But of course, Matt plays along. He does as he is told, holding out the hand not holding the bracelet he made, “You got something for me?” 

Very delicately, like it's going to break, Mouse places the bracelet into his palm. Only when she is fully sitting in her seat again does he begin to run his thumb over the beads, feeling what she made for him. His lips twitch up into a smile before he starts to bite his lip. You've learned this means he's trying to not get overly emotional, and you completely understand. 

Having Minnie’s love is the only thing keeping you going some days and you've cried multiple times when she's given you something she's made for you. 

“I love it,” he whispers, his voice breaking a tiny bit. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

You and Minnie watch as he slips the bracelet on, and it settles next to his watch. The bright colors stand out against his muted palette, but you doubt he cares about that. Your daughter absolutely beams when he holds up his wrist to show off his new piece of jewelry.

“You're welcome, Daddy! Do you have a present for me?” Mouse asks, jutting her hands out, palms up.

You can't help but huff in amusement, even if your headache is making you feel cold and detached. You know she isn't being greedy or rude, she's simply an eager toddler. You can't fault her for that. 

Oh, so carefully, Matt sets the bracelet into her waiting hands and once you finally realize what he wrote out on it, your heart clenches at the sweetness. The bracelet is mostly made up of lettered beads, with the words separated by different colored hearts. Minnie quickly brings it right up to her face to inspect it and instantly starts trying to figure out the mystery in front of her.

“D-A-D-D-Y,” she spells out loud, “L-O-V-E-S. Y.O.U.” Her little brow wrinkles up at the words and you wait to see if she needs help figuring them out. They aren't unknown to her, but it's usually a flip of a coin if she can connect the dots. The only word you are confident she recognizes is her name. 

She spells it again, then tries her best to sound it out, “Duh..Ahh duh duh…why. Duh-ah-du- Daddy! It says Daddy!”

You rub her back, silently trying to communicate how proud of her you are, “That's right, it says Daddy. Do you know the other words?” 

While she considers her answer, you look at Matt. 

He hasn't shaved in a few days. It emphasizes his good looks, and you can see the hints of red - and grey - in his grown-out scruff. His charming and sweet appearance is only enhanced by his heart - you didn't know someone could be so full of love. He radiates it when he's around Minnie and it's like he can't help but pour all of his affection into her and he can't believe how much of it is returned.

You wonder if you were put on Earth to give him Minnie - and you wouldn't mind if you were. It would give you some sort of purpose. 

“Mommy,” your precious angel says, thrusting the bracelet into your face, “you read it.”

You feel your face heat up - and throb - at the way Matt turns to you. Your insides pang and you can't help but feel like you're ruining this moment for him. You clear your throat, and tell Minnie, “It says ‘Daddy loves you.’”

Her eyes go wide, and she gasps like it is breaking news, “Daddy loves me?” 

“Daddy loves you,” Matt instantly confirms, “always and forever. And you'll have this to remind you.”

The sentiment stirs so much in you, and you let your headache push it all away and instead of getting emotional, you help Mouse put on her new bracelet. She rips her arm away from you as soon as she can to mimic her Daddy and holds up her wrist to show off her bracelet. 

“I love Daddy, too!” 

The little anxiety and self-doubt demon stirs in your chest. You love to see them bond, but you can't help but yearn for your daughter to shout she loves you, too, and you want your own bracelet. You know, you know, you are going to be overflowing with bracelets soon enough, but these ones are special. They have meaning and memories and -

And you remind yourself you can't do this in public, especially not around Minnie. You can't ruin their good time - if you haven't already. 

Instead, you gently pat her back and ask, “What do you say to Daddy for the gift?”

“Thank you, Daddy!”

“You're very welcome, Mouse.”

Your daughter looks at her new piece of jewelry in amazement, turning her wrist so she can see all angles. With her distracted, you move to finish packing up by going to get the stroller, and by the time you have it popped open and your bag secured in the under pocket, Matt and Minnie are joining you by the doorway. Your little one needs no help buckling herself in and you can tell how happy she is by the way she kicks her feet. 

As you get in position to start pushing the stroller, Matt steps to stand beside you so you can guide him as you walk. He waits until you leave the diner to address you.

“We don't need to go to the park,” he says in a soft voice. 

You are shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, “It’s fine, Matt. It's just a headache.” It isn't just a headache - your medicine hasn't kicked in and your head is just pulsing, but you will survive.

He very gently squeezes your elbow, saying your name, “you know I can tell that isn't true. You should be -”

“FROGGY!”

Minnie’s excited scream drowns out whatever he was going to push for. 

On the corner ahead of you, waiting at the crosswalk are Foggy and Karen. They look like they are on a shopping trip - both carrying bags from different boutiques. They turn in unison towards you and Foggy breaks into the biggest smile once he spies your little group.

“Well, if it isn't my favorite little buddy! And her charming and beautiful parents. Wait,” he looks to Karen and gasps, eyes getting comically big, “is this the famous Saturday brunch?” He whirls around dramatically and points to Matt, like he is accusing him, “You're going to the park.”

“We're going to the park,” he confirms, his own grin starting to form at the antics and at the same time, Minnie exclaims, “we're gonna watch the duckies!”

“They are going to watch the duckies, Karen. Do you know what that does to my heart?” Foggy asks as he puts his hand on his chest. Karen shakes her head fondly and completely ignores him to address you.

“We've heard so many stories about the ducks. He gloats every Monday.”

Matt actually pouts at the statement, and you are reminded of a chastised puppy, “I don't gloat.”

“You gloat,” his friends say at the same time.

Minnie, of course, picks up quickly on the new word and kicks her feet as she giggles, “Daddy goats!”

A thought barely crosses your mind before the words are leaving your lips, “You should come with us.”

You can practically feel Matt's initial disapproval of the offer - not from selfishness but from you refusing to acknowledge your headache - but with how both Minnie and Foggy light up, you don't think he'll voice it. And you are right - he gives your arm a light squeeze as he agrees without any disdain, “The more the merrier.”

“I don't think this is an offer we can refuse,” Karen says, nudging Foggy with her elbow. “How can we say no to that face?”

You can't see Minnie’s face from behind her stroller, but you can picture her pleading little face. She has all of you wrapped around her little finger and you suspect she might start crying if they say no. 

“To the park we go!” Foggy declares, “and with perfect timing because the light just turned green.”

You let yourself tune out as you start to walk again. Foggy is animatedly telling Matt and Minnie about his quest to find his girlfriend the perfect birthday gift. Apparently, her preferred brand of hand lotion has been discontinued and nothing else is good enough. It is sweet to hear him being so concerned about her needs and wants. He's the type of partner you used to dream about - before you realized that would never be in the cards for you - someone who listens to what you say and doesn't treat you like a glorified maid. 

You only had two ‘serious’ relationships in your twenties and both had left you feeling worthless and unloved. You spent most of your time commuting to them and taking care of their needs only to be tossed aside when someone worth their time came along. 

You were the type to stay at home and do the laundry, raise the children - be out of sight and out of mind. You didn't get taken out on fancy dates. No one tried to woo you. 

No one went out of their way to buy you a gift. 

In fact, you don't remember the last time you even celebrated your birthday. Some of your coworkers sent you Happy Birthday emails last year - only because the first one is sent out company wide and you are pretty sure it's automated. 

You are fine with it, though. It's not like you celebrated such things as a kid, so you have nothing to miss. You are happy Foggy has someone he so clearly adores, and you hope, when Minnie grows up, she'll find someone like him. 

Soon enough, you're at the park and making your way to your designated spot. Despite it being a warm and sunny day, things are relatively empty, and you are thankful there are no older children shouting or causing a ruckus. You just want to sit down. 

You can hear Minnie unbuckling herself before you roll to a stop and there is a whirl of motion as you park. She's on the grass before you know it, scurrying like her namesake to get the picnic blanket out of its pocket and spread out. As you wait for her to finish setting up and Karen admires what a nice area you’ve picked, you realize Matt not only still has his hand on your bicep, but his thumb has been gently rubbing in a small circle. 

Your heart stutters in your chest and you don't know why he's doing such a thing and now that you're aware of it, it's all you can focus on. Your entire body feels like it is on fire - from his touch, from the situation, from your headache - and you fear making a complete idiot of yourself. Foggy and Karen are here, and you don't want to embarrass Matt. 

“Mommy, I need my sunnies!” Your perfect little distraction says from the other side of the stroller and it's the excuse you need to pull away from Matt. You kneel and rummage in your bag until you find the pink Barbie glasses and hand them over to your daughter, then take the time to pull yours out as well. 

By the time you get them on and lock the stroller, everyone else is on the blanket. You situate yourself beside Minnie and tell yourself you need to pay attention as she enthusiastically begins to point out ducks to Foggy and Karen. 

“That's Moose, he's mean!” She describes to her new friends, while grabbing Matt's hand so she can turn him in the right direction. You aren't sure if he really needs it - you haven't sat down and spoken about his needs since the revelation about his and Minnie’s senses. You make note to do that.

You listen to the back and forth about your daughter's favorite duck characters and story lines, trying to desperately be in the moment. The warm sun feels good on your skin, and you yearn to just flop over and close your eyes. The tension and pain seem to only be increasing. This may turn into a full-blown migraine. 

As you start to mentally debate taking more ibuprofen, Minnie cuts herself off from describing how Moose is a food thief and whips her head towards the street, eyes going big. It very much reminds you of a dog that has caught the scent of a prey animal. 

Foggy snorts with laughter at your daughter's expression, “Oh my God, she's just like Matt. What do you hear, girl? Is Timmy in a well?”

That has you wondering how often Matt gets his attention drawn away by something only he can sense and how many times Foggy has made that joke to him. 

You don't get a chance to ask, because Mouse is turning her big begging eyes on you now, “Mommy, it's the ice cream man! Can we get ice cream? Please, please, please, please?” She is practically vibrating with desire, and you are not going to deny her anything. 

“You can get a small ice cream,” you tell her, like it's a compromise. “You don't want your tummy to hurt later.”

She lets out a shriek of joy and scrambles up. To everyone's amusement, she starts digging through your bag for your wallet, and once she finds it, runs it back to you, held over her head like it's a prize. She practically crashes into you, the biggest smile on her face, and you do a scoop and turn maneuver to sit her in your lap. 

“Would you like any ice cream?” you ask the three friends sitting with you, not wanting anyone to feel excluded.

Foggy pushes himself up into standing before you finish getting the words out of your mouth, “Of course we want ice cream, what kind of question is that? Do I look like I say no to ice cream?”

“Oh, a cone does sound really good,” Karen muses beside you. 

“Then ice cream it is,” Matt declares, getting up as well. “My treat,” he adds much to your dismay. You don't get to protest, as he barrels on, holding his free hand out to Minnie, “Want to lead the way, sweetheart?”

Your daughter practically leaps up to grab onto her Daddy, demanding, “Carry me!”

“Minnie!” You quickly chastise, shame running through you. She knows better than to jump and climb on people, but you are beginning to fear Matt may become her new jungle gym. No one else shares this worry, least of all Matt, who simply gives into his daughter's will and swings her up onto his hip with a laugh. She clings to his neck and shoulder, and because she is sweet as pie, plants a big kiss on his cheek. 

Everything happens so fast that you are still sitting on the blanket with Karen, and you don't even think of standing before Foggy is looking down at you and Karen, “What flavor do you want?”

“I'm feeling chocolate,” the strawberry blonde hums, tapping her index finger on her chin. 

The shame and anxiety demon is growing in your throat at the implication you and Karen will stay while the men and your daughter fetch dessert. You want to say that you can pay and that you can go get it - that they should spend the time relaxing - but the darkness in your mind screams that if you say anything other than ‘vanilla’, you're going to ruin everything. Minnie's fun will stop, and Matt's friends are going to judge you, and thus him, and you can't do that. 

So, you croak out your preference and hope Matt's super senses are too focused on his daughter to notice you are two steps away from a breakdown.

“One chocolate, one vanilla, coming right up,” Foggy says so cheerfully and you wonder if he is always like this, or if it is an act for Minnie. You honestly can't tell, especially when he turns his attention to your little one, “Okay, Lassie, where's the ice cream truck?”

Matt and Karen laugh at the reference, and you force a smile because it is a cute joke. Minnie points over her Daddy's shoulder towards the road and directs, “That way!”

Matt, managing to keep a straight face, purposely turns to face the river and takes a step towards it, “this way?”

“No, Daddy! Other way!”

“Ah,” he pivots to his left, so he is facing the bushes that border the edge of the park, “This way.” 

Mouse dissolves into giggles, hiding her face against his neck and Matt gets the sweetest, dopiest smile on his face - like this is the best moment of his life. It makes your heart sing to see them play and tease and you wish so desperately you weren't in agony so you could actually enjoy it. 

Your daughter must say something to Matt, as he lets out a loud barking laugh before kissing the top of her head, “Okay, okay, we won't miss the ice cream. Fog, would you be so kind?” He motions to the sidewalk with the hand holding his cane and there must be an understanding, as the blonde man holds out his arm for Matt to take. The cane is expertly folded up and the two men and your daughter start walking towards the road. It doesn't take more than a few steps for all of them to start laughing again. 

You and Karen watch as they disappear down the sidewalk. The woman beside you is smiling softly, clearly enjoying the show that is Matt with Minnie. You hope you are smiling as well and not looking like some sort of summer Grinch. 

“You know,” Karen says a few moments after they turn around a corner and go out of sight, “I don't remember the last time I saw him smile so much.” 

You turn your attention to her, ducking your head just slightly, “she adores him.”

“And he adores her,” she quickly confirms. “And you.” You doubt that but know better than to try to argue. It doesn't matter, anyways, because she doesn't give you room to, continuing on, “He's been through a lot - not just his childhood but recently, too. I was really scared for him. We thought…we thought we lost him.” Your heart clenches tightly at the conversation. Karen switches from a soft smile to biting her lips and looking like she might start crying at the memories she's bringing up inside herself. “He's a good man but, truth be told, he's an idiot sometimes. He thought he was alone. That he had to be alone.”

You are lucky you are wearing your glasses because you can't bring yourself to look at Karen. It hurts to hear her talk about Matt in that way. You haven't had this sort of conversation with him - everything has been so surface level or about Minnie. You clear your throat and ask, “What about you and Foggy? You all seem very close.”

Karen laughs a little sadly, then tucks some hair behind her ear, “He and Foggy weren't talking. It was all…complicated. But it's better now. We're all good. Or we are working in it.” She takes a breath, and you see her look up, and you think she's smiling at you, “The point is he's…I don't worry anymore. You came into his life, and it is like you knocked some sense into him. He was never good at taking care of himself and now, he puts in the effort. He doesn't want to disappoint you. He wants to be a good dad.”

Her words confuse you - Matt seems very put together - he's a lawyer with amazing accomplishments under his belt. She must be talking about his personal life and fear trickles into your system. Was he an alcoholic or a drug user? As long as it was all behind him, you can't judge him for it. You know people have spotty pasts and even good people have rough times - and that doesn't make them any less of a good person. You'd be a hypocrite if you did think less of him because you've had your own share of troubles. 

You want Karen to know that. You start to pick at the hem of your jeans, so you have something to do with your hands while your mind free-fall. “He's a good dad,” you start slowly. “He's amazing with Minnie. He's so attentive and understanding and I love watching them play. I'm still getting used to the whole…” you lower your voice, just in case, “super-senses thing, but he's been helpful in explaining things. I’m just glad he wants to be in her life.”

“Are hers as good as his?” She asks and you can feel her leaning towards you. You don't know the answer to that, as Matt hasn't exactly explained in detail what he is able to do, but you do know Minnie has abilities you didn't know were possible. 

You shrug in response, “I'm not sure, but…I don't hear or see an ice cream truck, so.”

She laughs at that, then you fall back into a silence. You can tell she wants to ask more, but you aren't sure why she hesitates. You are grateful for it, though, and behind your glasses, you close your eyes. The back of your skull is throbbing and part of it has curled around to your left ear. You resist the urge to try to massage it away and instead try to stretch, letting your chin touch your collar bone. You focus on breathing through your nose, hoping it will magically make things more tolerable. 

Your mind feels like sludge, and you start wondering how long it will take until Minnie is worn out. You usually end up spending about an hour and a half at the park, enjoying the sun and ducks, and you've only just gotten here. You have no idea if it will go quicker or slower with more people for Mouse to interact with. Usually, she stays in your lap, hiding away from people, but she very obliviously loves Foggy. You think it is because he's good with children - Matt told you he has a big extended family. She had opened up to him very quickly once she realized he is Matt's best friend. Best friend is an important word to a toddler, apparently.

“It isn't just Minnie,” Karen says suddenly, bringing you back to reality. You frown at her, not understanding what she's talking about. Had you missed part of the conversation?

“It isn't just Minnie,” she repeats, “it's you, too.”

You feel like a lost lamb. Your brain hasn't caught up with what is going on and all you can do is gawk at the woman beside you.

“Me…?” You question and she nods. 

“You make him happy, too.”

You don't understand why she's telling you that or what it has to do with anything. You get you've made Matt happy by bringing Minnie into his life. The only response you can think to give is a simple, “I'm glad.” 

You can feel Karen examining you, but you refuse to meet her gaze. You don't think that was the right thing to say, but it is all you have. You are glad bringing Minnie into Matt's life has made him happy and seemingly changed things for the better for him. You want him to have a good life. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Karen reach out and you brace yourself as she puts her hand on your shoulder. She says your name, then gently questions, “Are you doing alright? You look pale.”

You force yourself to smile and give a dismissive shake of your head, “Just a little headache. I took some ibuprofen; it just hasn't kicked in yet.”

She quickly drops her hand, humming in sympathy, “I get that. I have some Motrin in my purse, if you need something stronger.” 

“Oh, no, I'll be okay,” you promise. 

You'll have to be okay. Minnie and Matt will be back from getting ice cream any minute and you will need to go into Mom-mode to make sure your daughter doesn't make an absolute mess of herself. Then, you'll need to keep an eye on her while you remain at the park for however long, because you will never forgive yourself if you give any indication to Matt's friends that you're not a suitable parent. 

You just need to take a deep breath and make sure you don't space out again. 

You'll be fine.

After all, it is just a headache.

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[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence. 

Your termination is effectively immediately. 

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered. 

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months. 

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it. 

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business. 

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember - 

They’re all at work. 

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go. 

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye. 

Onigiri Miya, it reads. 

Japanese comfort food. Family owned. 

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more. 

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then. 

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?” 

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service. 

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.” 

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is. 

At least the delivery is quick. 

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically. 

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya. 

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself. 

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!” 

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs. 

That the food is good is an understatement. 

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing. 

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next? 

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it. 

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep. 

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible. 

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch. 

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning. 

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong. 

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?” 

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?” 

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?” 

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.” 

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.” 

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?” 

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles. 

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.” 

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!” 

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain. 

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot. 

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby. 

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life. 

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders. 

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time. 

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat. 

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week. 

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate. 

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news. 

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.” 

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star. 

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you. 

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you. 

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way. 

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.” 

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen. 

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“ 

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately. 

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny. 

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass. 

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up. 

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them! 

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart. 

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you. 

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.” 

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri. 

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.” 

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?” 

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.” 

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back. 

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?” 

He gives you a look. 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.” 

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” 

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you. 

“Is this…?” 

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.” 

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.” 

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [4]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: a little more story, a little more tension, a little mor everything! what do you guys always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

 The Nilfgaardian banner snaps in the sharp, salt-laden breeze, the dark fabric bearing the crest of its namesake. The bright yellow sun mirrors the one in the cloudless sky above the keep. From your room, you can see their approach long before they reach the gates, a thin vein of black weaving through the countryside like a snake. The garrison pauses only briefly in the city, winding through the crowded streets in their pitch colored armor like a long satin ribbon. You grimace at the sight of them, swallowing against the sourness you feel growing at the back of your throat. 

 You do not know why the sight of them fills you with a dark foreboding, a shadow that looms in the space behind your thoughts. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are expected to greet the Nilfgaardian envoy alongside your mother, the king, and the prince that makes your stomach curdle.  

“My Lady, should we not join their Majesties?” Kassandra’s voice draws you from your churning thoughts. “Her Highness would not be pleased if we were late.” You swallow the dry retort that your mother would not be pleased no matter what you did, and automatically feel guilt over the bitter thought. You grimace before nodding at Kassandra over your shoulder. 

 Nothing good will come of this. The feeling—no, the knowledge—is as familiar to you as your own name, appearing among your thoughts as if it had always been there. Only sorrow will come of this day. 

 “Are you alright, Your Grace?” 

 Your throat tight, you smile. “Y-yes.” I am grim without cause. You shake yourself, smoothing your hands down the stiff, unfamiliar dress. It’s new, gifted to you only this morning as your mother had informed you of her expectations. 

 “You’ll look lovely in this,” she had bade the servants to lay out the massive thing, a veritable ocean of fabric, with so many skirts and stays you find yourself amazed you can even move at all. You detest the restriction and corsetry of it all, fidgeting with a frustrated grimace as Kassandra opens the door. Your thoughts must be plain on your face, for she is quick to reassure you as you pass.

 “You are a vision, Your Grace,” she says, hurrying to your side as she closes the heavy door behind you. Despite your displeasure, her words do comfort you, and you offer Kassandra a watery smile in thanks. “I daresay you shall be the envy of every Lady in attendance.” 

 You laugh dryly. “Even you?” Kassandra’s response is unexpected—she shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin, apologetic smile.

 “No, my Lady.” She says softly. There is true pity in her eyes, which stings all the more. “Though there are many in His Majesty’s keep who would treat with the Gods themselves to take your place—and, exalted though it may be, I am not among them.” The words pass unspoken between you, true honesty masked only slightly by propriety. “I would not wish that for all the world.”

 The throne room is as packed with bodies as it was at your mother’s coronation only a few scant weeks prior, servants weaving deftly in and out of the crowd. It parts easily for you, people scrambling out of your path as you make your way toward the throne. Geralt stands to the king’s left, and you feel the weight of his gaze upon you so heavily it is as though he has touched you with his hand. 

 “My King. I trust you are well this morning?” He heaves a heavy sigh at your question, massaging the graying hair at his temple. 

 “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” King Vesemir graces you with a tired smile. “But I am glad these worries are mine. Would that they fall on mine own shoulders and save yours.” Of these troubles, you know only what little you have managed to glean from casual conversation and your own observations—the Lord of Nilfgaard has sent his envoy, along with a garrison of troops, to treat with the king. 

 Your mother scoffs. “You are a King, my love,” she says, tilting her regal head at him. “You can do nothing without rousing at least a little of the rabble.” 

 You take your place next to her, skirting around the prince with a wide berth. Your mother reaches for your hand, patting it as she nods approvingly at you.

 “You look as lovely as I thought you would.” Somehow, her complement makes you like your clothing even less. The dress is heavy and cumbersome, the corset laced so tight a deep breath makes the seams groan. 

 “It is the color.” Geralt’s interjection makes your mother’s smile thin and tighten, until the edges seem brittle like paper. “It suits you, sister.” Is there no line he will not cross? From behind his wide shield of plausible deniability he mocks you, his mouth quirking innocently as if he is unaware of the boundary he dances upon. Gracious acceptance is the only play you have, and he knows it as well. 

 “You are too kind, my Prince.” You clasp your hands together and face forward. It is surreal, almost, to see the calm with which he regards you now, when only a week ago he had raged at your door like a madman. Had you not seen it yourself, you would not think it possible. Though you would blame him for it, the nervous twisting of your stomach is not Geralt’s fault alone. The ill feeling that had taken root in your belly at the sight of the Nilfgaardian envoy still left you with a sour taste on your tongue, one that did not seem to wash away. 

 And the dreams…

 You shudder to think of them, the dark, creeping things that keep you awake long after the halls of the king’s keep have fallen silent. You have not wandered from your rooms again to your knowledge, but you’ve slept so little in the past week that you suspect it is less a matter of your self control and more the lack of opportunity. The nails on your fingers, hidden by the cumbersomely long sleeves of your dress, are bitten down to the quick. It is a new habit you’ve developed sitting in the crushing dark as you wait for the dreams to come. 

 Your father’s rotting face swims before you again. 

 Sugar sweet—  

 You twist the heavy fabric of your sleeves in your nervous hands as you stare hard at the stone floor between your feet. 

 “What troubles you, Little Doe?” Geralt’s voice is as much of a surprise as his proximity, his side lightly pressing against your own as he leans down. You drop your hands to your sides like deadweight, suddenly aware of his eye. 

 “And why would you think me troubled?” You ask curtly. The prince’s wolfish grin sends a strange, hot pulse straight to your core, one you vehemently try to ignore. You are under no pretense, you know what the prince is, who he is. He has gone out of his way to show you, and yet—

 “I am apt to know trouble when I see it.” 

 The throne room doors slam open, leaving you no time to respond as every eye is drawn to the entrance. The instant hush that falls over the room is so deep that the herald’s voice is like a crack of thunder. At the same time, your stomach tightens. The dark warning in your heart rings again like a bell, clear and true. Though you still do not quite grasp its meaning, the message is clear—whatever you’d been meant to avoid had now come to pass, leaving no room for escape or denial. 

 “Presenting His Lordship, Duke Emhyr of Nilfgaard!” The duke sweeps into the throne room, his ink-black cloak billowing behind him. There are two of his own guards flanking him in their telltale black armor, like pools of animated shadow. Their faces are hidden by their helms, the sides carved like griffin wings. 

 The duke stops before the throne, dropping down to one knee. 

 “My King.” His accented common turns the words up at the edges, almost like a question. “Hail.” His face is handsome but severe, high cheekbones, fierce, beady eyes, and a thin mouth that curls up at the corners, just like his words. There is a scar on his face, long and thin and jagged, stretching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His already wan smile thins further as he turns to your mother. 

 “My Queen.” 

 “Lord Emhyr.” The duke’s smile is wan as he dips his head again. “I bid thee welcome. I trust you found the journey pleasant enough.” The words are empty pleasantries, merely frivolous formalities exchanged before the truth is allowed to be addressed. 

 “Aye, Majesty, as enjoyable as one can find a carriage journey.” He straightens back up. “I would extend my many congratulations on your union. The Gods themselves could not have delivered a more beautiful Queen.” 

 To your surprise, it is Geralt who speaks next. 

 “We did miss you at the celebration, my Lord.” The remark is meant to sound like a casual observation—you know it is not. “Quite a pity.”

 Emhyr’s jaw tics. “Indeed.” He looks over his left shoulder, and motions the guards forward. “My deepest regrets. As I previously expressed to His Majesty, my presence was required elsewhere. As I am sure you recall, we do share a border with the Elves.” He spits the word like a curse. “Occasionally those savages do need a good reminding of where their lands end, and ours begin, Your Grace.” 

 You shudder. There are few elves left south of the heavily policed Nilfgaardian border, but you have met some. Savages. The word makes your lip curl. They are rather fond of that word, aren’t they?

 “I did bring a—belated—wedding present.” Between the two of them, the guards haul forward a small black chest, the polished wood glinting in the light. He pulls back the lid, and a murmur travels through the gathered courtiers at the sight of the jewels. A small fortune in dark blue sapphires sits within. King Vesemir stands, bidding two of the ivory cloaked kings-guard forward to take the chest.

 “A most precious gift.”

 “The mines remain prosperous. Perhaps Her Highness might have them made into something befitting her loveliness.” A smile creases your mother’s ruby lips, but it is sharp enough to cut. Neither does it reach her narrowed eyes. 

 “We cannot thank you enough for your gracious gift, my Lord.” Her voice is delicate, like breaking glass. “But I do not believe you rode for six days to bear witness to my beauty.” You are left to wonder in the brief moments before Duke Emhyr answers. If he will allow the truth to be broached, or if he will flee from it like a rat from a burning ship. 

 “Indeed my Queen, I have not.” He casts a look around, as if the words he is about to speak are for everyone there, not just the king. “Your Grace, I come before you today with only the deepest respect for your will, authority, and wisdom.” Duke Emhyr chooses his words carefully. He chooses them as carefully as a mason did his stones, stacking each one meticulously on top of the other. “But I do admit my heart longs for clarity on this matter. 

 Not a season past, when His Majesty announced an end to his long mourning period, and indeed his intent to marry once more, I did put forth my own daughter as prospect.” His accusation takes shape, and you watch your mother’s face tighten, her fingers curling around the polished bone arm of her throne. “And before this very court, His Majesty agreed. I had imagined a shared future of prosperity and happiness between both our great houses. I mean no offense, and so I beg pardon—”

 “And yet you have given it.” Your mother’s expression remains placid—her voice less so. You can almost hear the icy words forming on her tongue as her lips part to speak again, but the king silences her, holding up one steady hand. 

 “I appreciate your candor, my Lord,” he leans forward. “But it is Vesemir who rules here, not Emhyr.” All chatter ceases, and the chamber is as quiet as the crypt beneath it. “The decision as to who it is I marry is mine—and mine alone.” King Vesemir stands, descending the short set of steps until he is level with the duke. “It is I who bears the burden of ensuring the prosperity and stability of this realm. And while I am ever thankful for the service you have provided it… you would do well to remember that fact, my Lord.” 

 “Of course, my King. I—I mean only for the betterment of the empire.” It is then that his eye falls to you. “I see no reason a match might not still be made—”

 “Then we shall speak no more about it.” You watch the duke’s jaw tighten, his lips thinning as he fights not to show his displeasure. 

 “As you will, Your Grace.” You have not heard the last of this matter, of that you are certain. A sinking feeling rises in your stomach, like you’ve tumbled freely over the edge of a cliff. There is no going back, the feeling seems to whisper, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. A path has been chosen now and you will walk it—

 “I thank you again for your generous gift, Lord Emhyr,” the dismissal is obvious in the king’s tone. 

 “The pleasure is mine, my liege.” The words sound broken in his mouth, like he’s chewed them up. A cold finger traces down your spine as his eyes meet yours again. “I thank you for your counsel.” 

 —

 The sky is dark, angry black clouds roiling above the keep. You’ve not seen much rainfall in Rivia since your arrival, but today the clouds above you seem full to bursting, the smell of the imminent downpour filling your nostrils. Still, you take your time as you stroll through the gardens, stopping every so often to enjoy the sight of flowers in bloom. 

 “You are enjoying the gardens today, my Lady,” Kassandra’s observance is gently made, though she looks worriedly up at the sky. 

 “I feel I must,” you reply, leaning down to inspect a half-closed bud. “Summer here is drawing to a close, and I must admit I fear the cold.” You offer her a small smile over your shoulder. 

 “Have you no winter in Redania?” She asks, wonder coloring her words. “The land of eternal summer indeed.” 

 “No snow,” you agree, shaking your head. “Tis more like… autumn.” There is a wistfulness to your words you cannot suppress, a longing that brings moisture to your eyes. In truth, you doubt it will matter how many years you spend here at court—Rivia will never feel like home. Kassandra smiles thoughtfully. 

 “I should like to see it, my Lady,” she says. “Twould not be a chore to accompany you—if you wished it so. The winter here is harsh, even within the city walls.” 

 “Aye, winter on the continent is no easy task to weather.” The two of you turn at the sound of a new voice to face the speaker. Duke Emhyr bows respectfully, removing his cap as he does so. “I did not mean to intrude—I find the gardens less familiar than I imagined,” he adds, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Might I trouble you for an escort?” 

 You had not seen the duke since his spectacle at court the day prior, the matter of which had the courtiers aflutter with gossip. You suppose you, like Duke Emhyr, had been equally blindsided in the matter of your mother’s courtship and her subsequent marriage. Nervously, you wonder if his feelings of dissatisfaction—and possible animosity—extend to you by proxy. Kassandra curtsies, and you nod, forcing a small, charitable smile onto your lips. 

 “O-of course, my Lord.” You reply. “I myself find the task of navigating the keep daunting, despite calling this place home.” Kassandra falls into step just behind you, and you must physically stop yourself from commanding her to walk beside you. Though you’ve little personal regard for the importance of blood and titles, you know here in Rivia those things matter above all else. The duke is more than happy to ignore her, his hawkish eyes weighing heavily on you. 

 “How long has it been since your arrival at the White Keep, if you will indulge my curiosity?” 

 “Nearly three months.” Though you have kept count of every passing day since your arrival, to say it aloud makes homesickness rear up in your chest. The duke clucks his tongue pityingly. 

 “Tis a shame. Redania is quite beautiful this time of year. I have had the pleasure of many a visit.” He clasps his hands behind his back and casts a look at the dreary sky. “Nilfgaard is my home, but I would be a liar if I said I did not envy the beauty of the southern jewel.” The wistfulness in his voice inspires thoughts of warm autumn nights scented with pine and faded sunlight. But a warning echoes in your heart at the false note in it, the one that reminds you of the coy, prying questions of your mother’s ladies in waiting, only cloaked in a cleverer disguise.

 “Indeed.” You round the corner of a hedge. “I have never seen snow, now that I think of it. I should much like to, now that I am older.” 

 “Never seen snow?” The duke echoes your words, replacing your simple desire with shock. “Though I would not speak ill of your late father—Redania has never seen a finer Regent—I do believe he kept you far too sheltered.” It takes effort to keep your smile from going thin at the mention of your father. As  if in response, a dull ache throbs in your chest. 

 “How lucky for us, then, that his death should bring me here.” You flick the words from your tongue like the lashing of a whip. There is a brief moment of dark satisfaction as the duke’s eyes widen, and his confident words falter. 

 “My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean—”

 “No, of course not.” You reply, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat. “Forgive me, Duke Emhyr. My father I are—were, quite close.” You offer him an apologetic smile. “Might we speak of something else?” 

 “Of course, of course. My deepest sympathies.” He casts a furtive glance in your direction. “I hope you have been enjoying your time here, despite the… unfortunate circumstances.” You nod primly—for what words do you have to  describe the aching emptiness that fills you at the thought that home is a distant             thing now, the memory of a place you no longer belong. 

 “I have found ways to occupy myself.” You feel as thin as your smile. “The White Keep is large, there are many ways to spend ones time.”

 “And Her Majesty has certainly taken to her role,” he continues. “She has taken to court as though she were born here.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. “Has she spent much time in Rivia? Surely during His Majesty’s rather short courtship—”

 “I know little of my mother’s courtship,” you say flatly, your eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know about it, perhaps you should ask her.” This time, it is difficult to leash your ire. You grow tired of the duke’s probing, his thinly veiled attempts to pick information from conversation behind the shield of feigned ignorance.

 “Highness—”

 “I trust you will can your way from here.” There is an unfamiliar coldness that underscores your words, one that uncomfortably reminds you of your mother. It is like hearing her own voice from your mouth, leaving a sour taste on your tongue. “Lady Kassandra, l believe we should take our leave.” 

 “At once, My Lady.”

 You leave him at the entrance to the gardens in the courtyard, sweeping past as his eyes bore into your back. 

 —

 “How does it end?” You are sat before the fire, a book held tenuously in your hands. Your loose, traditional dress is folded beneath you primly as the flames dance in the hearth. “How does it end?” Your father repeats warmly, chuckling as he leans forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “You stopped reading.” 

 You can’t quite recall where you were now, the words seeming to shift on the page as you squint at them. 

 “I… I don’t remember now,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at your father. Though the flames are bright, his face is shadowed, but you get the feeling that he is smiling. 

 “The princess has just met the wolf,” he replies. “She doesn’t know it yet, but he plans to devour her whole—body, and spirit.” You look down at the page. “She is careful, the princess, and clever, but the wolf is sly, and he is not the only thing she has to fear.” You do not know why, but his words fill you with an incomparable sorrow. 

 “What else does she have to fear? Is the wolf not enemy enough?” You are crying. You don’t know why, but you are, tears pouring down your face and dripping messily off of your chin to stain the pages with salt. 

 “Weep not, daughter. She may yet avoid his jaws—and if not that, then perhaps she might at least turn him to her will. But the peacock—she is her true enemy.” 

 “A bird?”

 “Yes, dear girl,” your father’s voice goes strangely quiet as the fire burns low in the hearth, and the sitting room is shrouded in gloom. “For while her pretty feathers distract you, her beak plucks out your eyes.” 

 You wake blearily, blinking in the darkness as you struggle back to wakefulness. Instead of your bed, you are knelt on the cold, stone floor in front of the half-dead hearth. The embers that still smolder within are not enough to give off true heat, and pins shoot through your legs when you struggle to your feet. It is frigid in here, and you shiver, clutching your thin nightgown tightly around yourself. 

 You’ve no memory of leaving your bed, nor of kneeling in front of the hearth, and you sniffle as you make your way back beneath the canopy above your bed. There is a familiar ache in your tight throat that feels like you’ve been crying, and when you lift a shaking hand to your cheek. 

 Your face is wet with tears.

 —

 Your mother strokes your head as you sob, your tears soaking into her gown. 

 “I—I fear sleep, I fear waking,” you rasp, wiping at your sore eyes with the back of one trembling hand. “T-there is no respite from them. I close my eyes in one place and open them in another—” A hiccoughing sob cuts the words in half. “Mother I fear I… I fear I shall go mad if I see father again. His face—!” You bury your head in her lap as another round of shuddering sobs wracks your limp body. 

 It has been years since you have sought your mother’s comfort like this, and in truth you cannot remember the last time it was even offered. She had been surprised to see you at her chamber door at this hour, disheveled and still clad in your nightgown, but she had let you in after you’d tearfully recounted the contents of your dreams. 

 She strokes your head. “Nightmares, my love. Nothing but terrors spun up by your mind—brought on from stress, no doubt.” Her hand is cool and comforting against your forehead. “I shall have the healer assemble something for you.” 

 “T-thank you, mother.” You offer her a watery smile.

 “Anything for you, my love.” She strokes your cheek affectionately, the bandage wrapped around her index finger rough against your skin. “I do so hate to hear of your suffering, I will do what I can to appease it.” You smile wider, even as you swallow back the inappropriately bitter feeling that says you have been suffering all this time regardless. This was the response you had desired from her all those weeks ago when you’d begged her to send you home—and now, for some reason, it feels… hollow. 

 “What happened to your finger?” You ask, and she sighs, waving her hand dismissively. 

 “A hairpin, nothing to worry yourself over.” You dry your eyes, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. Your mother barely acknowledges the timid knock at the door before the chambermaid pokes her head inside. 

 “Highness? H-His Majesty is here.” 

 Your mother does not look surprised to hear this. If anything, the corners of her mouth curl up into a sly smile for half an instant before she nods. 

 “I see. I shall see to him in a moment—” The maid squeals as the King himself pushes past her, his eyes wild. 

 “Thayet!” He calls your mother’s name with a hoarse, desperate voice. “I have waited over an hour for you—oh.” He seems to note your presence with all of the recognition one would give a fly. His bright, golden eyes are cloudy with confusion—as though he hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, or why you are there. Recognition finally lights in his eyes, and he nods at you. 

“Princess. It is… quite late,” he says slowly, as if he is only now realizing that fact himself. “Should you not be abed?” Your face heats with embarrassment. 

 “Ah, y-yes, my King. I was… troubled.” Your eyes dart between him and your mother. “But mother has allayed my fears.” You gather your shawl about your shoulders, bowing your head respectfully. Of course he would visit her as a husband—that is a fact you suppose you have known since you came to this place, but to catch the King in your mother’s bedchamber was another thing entirely. 

 The eagerness in his eyes as he looks at her, the way he licks his lips—it reminds you uncomfortably of Geralt, and of the need you see mirrored in his amber eyes. You retreat from the sitting room, though the sound of your mother’s voice makes you glance over your shoulder one last time as the door begins to close. 

 “I shall send Callista with a sleeping draught,” your mother calls at your retreating back. “For the dreams.” 

 Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you watch the king latches onto your mother, pulling her close as he trails desperate kisses down her arm. You are too far away to hear the words he growls through his gritted teeth before ripping at the bandage on her thumb and sucking the injured digit into his mouth. 

 The door closes with a loud bang, leaving you alone in the dark, empty hall. 

 The peacock, your father whispers in your memory as you shuffle back toward your room in the early hours.

 She’ll pluck out your eyes. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[ericshoney]

The big 18 ~ Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: It's your 18th birthday and the guys want you to have the best time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the morning of your eighteenth birthday. Nick, Matt and Chris had woken up early to plan everything. You arrived in LA a week ago, oblivious to the guys plan.

The guys were setting up the living room, balloons and banners everywhere. A few gift bags sat around with the gifts they got you. Nick started cooking your favourite for breakfast, as Matt drove to the airport to collect Nate who was flying in as a surprise.

"What time is Madi coming over?" Chris asked as he placed another banner up.

"In an hour. I'm hoping that Matt and Nate come back and Madi arrives all before Y/n wakes up." Nick answered.

"I can stall her if needed." Chris offered.

"For once, you have a good idea." Nick replied.

Chris smiled and rushed up to Nick's room, where you had been crashing since you arrived. He slowly opened the door and saw you fast asleep still and smiled.

An hour later, Madi had arrived, placing her gift for you with the others. Matt messaged and said he and Nate were twenty minutes away just as you were waking up. Chris, who was sat outside the bedroom, heard you.

"Good morning, kid!" He cheered.

"Hmm, morning." You mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"Why.....Why are you up so early? And outside Nick's room?" You then asked.

"Oh, I couldn't sleep and wanted to just check on you." He lied easily.

"Okay....I'm gonna go shower." You said, believing him.

Chris nodded as he let you pick some clothes and head to the bathroom to shower. Once he heard the water running, he rushed downstairs to see Nick and Madi finishing cooking breakfast.

"She's awake and in the shower." Chris informed them.

"Okay Matt and Nate should be here by the time she gets out. Make sure she covers her eyes when she comes down." Nick instructed.

Chris nodded again as he rushed upstairs, sitting on Nick's bed, waiting for you to get out of the shower. When you did, he smiled.

"What's going on?" You asked.

"We have a surprise for you. Put this on." He answered, holding up a bandanna as a blindfold.

You raised your eyebrow but let him put it on you, as he led you downstairs carefully. Matt and Nate had arrived, now standing in the living room with Nick and Madi.

"If I fall down these stairs, your fucking dead." You warned Chris, making him laugh.

"Never gonna let that happen, kid." Chris said with a chuckle.

Once you got to the bottom of the stairs, Chris made you stand still, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Okay you can take the blindfold off." He said.

You took it off and suddenly confetti was thrown, your eyes going wide as you saw Madi and Nate standing there, along with all the balloons and banners.

"Happy birthday!" They all shouted.

You smiled wide, hugging Madi first, as you hadn't seen her in a while, then Nate, who you thought wasn't coming out, and finally, the triplets.

"Thanks guys." You said.

"This is just the start, sweetheart." Matt said.

You then noticed all the food on the table. You didn't believe Nick at first when he said he cooked it all, but when you ate it, you believed him. All of you sat around eating breakfast, laughing and joking before the guys said to open your presents.

First you started with Nick's. It was in a small green bag. You opened it and pulled out a couple of t-shirts you had your eye on at the store last time you went. You smiled and looked further into the bag and saw a small box. You opened it and pulled out a plain silver charm bracelet.

Next was Matt. His was in a pink box. You opened it and pulled out a few beauty products you loved and tucked inside was another smaller box. You opened it to see a bumblebee charm.

Third was Chris. His was in a yellow bag. You opened it and saw a new pair of Converse. Another box was also inside and when you opened it, you saw a number 18 charm.

Nate was next, he passed you a purple box. Inside were a few photo frames with many of your favourite pictures with him, Nick, Matt, Chris and Madi.

Finally was Madi. She passed you a red bag. Inside was a signed photo of your favourite actor. She also got you a set of stud earrings as well.

"Thank you so much. It really means a lot." You said after you opened everything.

"Your welcome, kid." Nick said, as he ruffled your hair.

You then all headed to the car, having a fun day ahead. You knew it was going to be a fun birthday.

[eldritch-collective]

Epilepsy Flag and Symbol Inspired by these flags, just expanded upon based on my experiences: Epilepsy Pride Flag, Seizure Flag

Colors and meanings: Symbol: Near-Black Purple, slightly desaturated Purple, and Pastel Purple represents the Epilepsy awareness ribbon but including the near-black and pastel purples to express the ranges of Support Needs. The symbol is a brain with lightning bolt patterns to represent the build up of a seizure or aura changes. Left Flag Half: Top to down white to black to represents an epileptic's potential to have non-epileptic seizures and the wide spectrum of other comorbidities. Right Flag Half: Top to down grey purple, desaturated purple, blue, slightly desaturated green, yellow, orange, red, to maroon stripes represents epilepsy related seizures that are cause by numerous reasons, such as being unmedicated, poor mental health, overstimulation, being flashed or strobed, and more. Also the Light spectrum and how different sensitivities exist in a spectrum.

[image id one: Image one is a Epilepsy flag with an associated symbol. The symbol is a brain with lightning bolts representing the brain folds and seizures. The lines are done in dark purple. The lightning bolts are pale pastel purple and the rest of the brain is colored with purple. The flag is comprised of two halves and fifteen stripe in total, with two stripes being larger than the rest. The left half, top to bottom, is a simple white to black gradient that starts with a large stripe of white and ends with a large stripe of black. The right half is a colored gradient that, from top to bottom, goes from a large stripe of unsaturated purple, dark red-purple, red-purple, violet, desaturated blue, mint green, lime green, yellow, goldenrod, red-orange, red, dark red, and a large stripe of maroon. end of id one.] [image id two: Image two is a Epilepsy symbol. The symbol is a brain with lightning bolts representing the brain folds and seizures. The lines are done in dark purple. The lightning bolts are pale pastel purple and the rest of the brain is colored with purple. end of id two.] [image id three: Image one is a Epilepsy flag without an associated symbol. The flag is comprised of two halves and fifteen stripe in total, with two stripes being larger than the rest. The left half, top to bottom, is a simple white to black gradient that starts with a large stripe of white and ends with a large stripe of black. The right half is a colored gradient that, from top to bottom, goes from a large stripe of unsaturated purple, dark red-purple, red-purple, violet, desaturated blue, mint green, lime green, yellow, goldenrod, red-orange, red, dark red, and a large stripe of maroon. end of id three.] [image id four: Image one is a Epilepsy flag without an associated symbol and symplified. The flag is comprised of two halves that have uneven stripes on both halves, with the left side having five stripes and the right having seven stripes. The left half has two large stripes on the top and bottom with two medium sandwiched between and a tiny stripe between the two medium stripes. The right half has a similar orientation, but with slightly smaller top and bottom stripes, four slightly smaller medium stripes that sandwich a stripe that mirrors the left side's center stripe. The left half, top to bottom, is a simple white to black gradient that starts with a large stripe of white and ends with a large stripe of black. The right half is a colored gradient that, from top to bottom, goes from a large stripe of unsaturated purple, desaturated blue, lime green, yellow, red-orange, and a large stripe of maroon. end of id three.]

[plain text: in bold and large text reads "Epilepsy Flag and Symbol". Below, in large text, reads "Inspired by these flags, just expanded upon based on my experiences: Epilepsy Pride Flag, Seizure Flag" and provides links for two different flags, one by spaghettimakesflags and the other by catastrophe-coins. plain text end.]

[banner id: a black, dark red, bright red, pastel red, pale red, to white gradient with black outlined white text, centered in the middle, saying “There is no DNI, but I block freely. Do not recoin my terms if blocked. If blocked, do not use my terms. If you do not agree with me but want to use my terms, you can. end of banner id.]

[testosteronetwunk]

The flag of Vietnam is kinda boring IMO. All of the Warsaw pact countries had a cool tricolour with a coat of arms in the middle, the USSR had the iconic ☭ and China has a cool arrangement for the stars, but Vietnam is just a yellow star in a red background. Is there anything that can be done?

yeah i think the plain yellow star on the red banner is kinda basic. it literally doesn’t showcase anything about vietnamese culture or history. vietnam has had a lot of flags, but there’s one that’s endured and actually represents our people and culture independent of any time period, the cờ ngũ sắc, aka “Five Color Flag.” It’s paraded around on days of particular importance like on the death anniversaries of national heroes or the birthdays/festival days of Vietnamese gods or goddesses.

but i don’t think that the vietnamese cultural flag should replace the national flag, or that it needs to be replaced at all. like yeah it’s boring, but it’s iconic and represents socialist vietnam in a capitalist world.

However, just for funsies, if designing our national flag was up to me, I’d be drawing on a lot of Nguyễn Dynasty motifs, since modern Vietnamese culture is a continuation of Nguyễn Dynasty culture (mostly). So I thought that the Nguyễn Royal Army flag on the left was gorgeous, so I chose that to be the base for my flag. And in the Nguyễn Dynasty, major cities or provinces had their own flags, all depicting constellations, the flag of Hà Nội, the axis of the Vietnamese heartland for 2,300 years, is on the right.

I combined both of them into this unique, identifiable flag. The dark blue background represents the ocean which is the home of Lạc Long Quân, the divine father of the Vietnamese people. The tiger represents the ferocity with which we’ve had to defend our homeland against colonial powers, and the constellation represents the eternal capital of Việt Nam, Hà Nội.

I also made a variant flag that has a 5 pointed star in the center, to represent the 5 elements of East Asian philosophy, Metal, Water, Wood, Fire, and Earth, because a lot of Vietnamese culture (including our food lol) is premised on balancing these 5 elements.

[xyrthemost]

JOYCRAFTLOSER

Woah woah woah!! I do not support Wilbur! This was made by a friend during the 2023 coin fight! Way before whatever that creep was doing came to light! So be cautious!

[Pt : joycraftloser. End Pt]

[Image ID : 4 flags. Two stacked on each on the left and two stacked on each on the right. In the middle are two stacked pictures of a Minecraft grass block with no background. All flags have the same base colors of muted blue , forest green , grass green , hazelnut brown. In the middle of the hazelnut brown there is a dark brown squiggle going across the hazelnut brown stripe. After the Hazelnut brown the flag repeats the same colors of the same grass green , the same forest green and the same muted blue. The top left flag has yellow star dots over the blue as well as the lovejoy logo over the middle. On the bottom left corner of the logo and the top right corner of the logo are dark brown music notes and stars. The bottom left is the plain flag , no stars or logos. The top right flag has just the lovejoy flag over it. The bottom right has just the stars over the blue. End ID]

Joycraftloser is a losergende relating to the band lovejoy and playing Minecraft as night and being a loser! This gender is an attack on @voidcoining for my first 2023 coinfight attack!!

@kiruliom , 5 points I believe (please correct me if I’m wrong!)

Please ignore the choppiness on the squiggle our phone hates us lol

[ Image ID : a transparent Banner. The text in the middle reads “team sun”. The text is yellow and the outline of the text is orange. On the left and the right of the text is are yellow lines outlined in orange. The lines lead to sun symbols that are yellow and outlined in orange. End ID]

[ dni ID : a picture princess bubblegum from the show Adventure time throwing up peace signs and a duck face at the reader. Next to her in black text reads “we ask that you DNI if : demonize cluster b disorders , believe in narc abuse , your account related to backrooms content , partake in syscourse , exclusionist or if ur anti agere / petre” End ID]

[kismetmoon]

something something something flatlanders don’t kiss with their mouths because they’ve got too much going on (sharp teeth, retracted eye, etc.) so instead close their eye and press them against each other as a sign of their utmost trust when they’re vulnerable.

[Plain text ID: a digital drawing done in a lineless style of two original, stylised Flatland characters; Atlas and his daughter Stella.

Atlas is a light grey isosceles triangle with a central eye, dark grey limbs, chips in his top and bottom corner, two scars on his left side and one across his eye. He also has a long, dark grey tail with a banner-shaped tip. Stella is a more humanoid character with a large eye for a head, black stick limbs and a thin black tail with a heart-shaped tip. She is wearing a lacy white gown.

Atlas is standing and his eye is closed in a content expression. He is holding Stella to his left with both arms and they are pressing their closed eyes together. Stella is sitting in Atlas’s arms and smiling. She is touching Atlas with her hands; one is laid on his surface and the other is wrapped around his arm that is supporting her body.

The behind them is a yellow crescent moon with a navy earth shadow directly behind Atlas and Stella. The rest of the background is beige.

End ID.]

[flagwars]

Dragon Flag Wars: Round 1

There are so many amazing flags featuring dragons out there, so this tournament will have a wide variety of dragon flags! Because there are so many, each poll in Round 1 will feature four or five flags. Thank you for everyone for your submissions, and I hope you’re excited to see which dragon will reign supreme in this ultimate battle! Let me know which flag you’re rooting for in the comments! The tournament will begin on Friday.

Round 1:

1. Somerset, England vs. Plain Blue Banner vs. Hattingen, Germany vs. Lukova, Czechia

2. Slochteren, Netherlands vs. Dragon Banner (The Wheel of Time) vs. Craig-y-Dorth, Wales vs. Trégor, France vs. Kazan, Russia

3. Michalovice (Havlíčkův Brod District), Czechia vs. Wales vs. Garwolin County, Poland vs. Plomelin, France vs. Łańcut, Poland

4. Strzyżów County, Poland vs. Wessex vs. Nemenčinė, Lithuania vs. Potěhy, Czechia vs. Ljubljana, Slovenia

5. Contrada del Drago, Siena, Italy vs. Cardiff, Wales vs. Litobratřice, Czechia vs. Ingolstadt, Germany vs. Líšný, Czechia

6. Korea (1856) vs. Evenley, England vs. Malta vs. Dlouhá Třebová, Czechia vs. Empire (Yōjo Senki/Saga of Tanya the Evil)

7. Manipur Kingdom vs. House Targaryen vs. Yegoryevsk, Russia vs. Biała Podlaska, Poland vs. Wachtberg, Germany

8. Bořitov, Czechia vs. Bhutan vs. Warszawski Zachodni County, Poland vs. Stjørdal, Norway vs. Yellow Dragon Flag (황룡기)

9. Myanmar Royal Dragon Army vs. Suchohrdly, Czechia vs. Mladějov na Moravě, Czechia vs. Navès, Lleida, Spain vs. Erpužice, Czechia

10. Presidential Standard of Georgia vs. Flag used by Du Wenxiu vs. Štichov, Czechia vs. Royal Standard of Henry VII of England vs. Heide, Germany

11. Babice, Czechia vs. Royal Standard of the Suebi dynasty vs. City of Brussels, Belgium vs. Canton of Chinese Dragon from the Imperial Chinese Navy Fleet vs. Mírová, Czechia

12. Novoorlovsk, Russia vs. Kyiv Oblast, Ukraine vs. Santa Margarida i els Monjos, Spain vs. High Valyrian (Duolingo) vs. Y Wladfa

13. Qing Dynasty vs. Order of the Dragon (Manasija Monastery) vs. Amestris (Fullmetal Alchemist) vs. Łańcut County, Poland vs. San Giorgio Bigarello, Italy

14. Coast Guard Administration of Taiwan vs. Presidential Standard of South Vietnam vs. Somerset County Council vs. Moscow, Russia

15. Dolní Čermná, Czechia vs. Beesel, Netherlands vs. Y Ddraig Aur (royal standard of Owain Glyndŵr) vs. Vietnamese Monarchist flag (proposal)

16. Y Ddraig Ddu vs. Mikhaylovka (Volgograd oblast), Russia vs. Church of St Margaret, Westminster Abbey vs. Garter Banner of Sir David Brewer

[kideternity]

[Image ID: A banner made of two different comic covers, one from Gerardo Sandoval on the right and Jim Cheung and Jorge Jimenez on the left. The Sandoval cover is splash page of various marvel characters on a plain beige background, and the Jimenez and Cheung cover is a splash page of various dc characters on a galaxy type background. Around the edges is a pattern of light orange and purple kirby krackle, and in the middle area, there is a blurring of the two covers, as well as a blue tinted white circle on top with yellow petal motifs around it, that has the text “Ant's comics server!” Inside the circle. At the bottom of this text, is a small drawing of a happy ant head. /End Image ID]

Remaking this 👍

HEY!!!!!!!!

Im Ant or Dinu, and for a few years I've had a comic server going for a while ^_^ due to the uhmmmmm horrors (getting hacked) I currently don’t have access to my old discord, so I've for right now deleted the original promo posts and have made a new server, until either I regain the old one or well, to replace it if the worse happens.

There’s no official DNI just know if you’re like a bigot a racist a homophobic a misogynistic etc it’s an automatic ban and also I don’t allow pro shitters either get outta here!!!

It started originally as a big two (dc and later marvel) centric server but the current one has branched out to include any sort of sequential art such as manga, graphic novels, indie comics, etc

Feel free to join! 🐜 https://discord.gg/RrqC9XKBmr

[mariesdeluluworld]

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙚𝙣: 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙃𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙥𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙃𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚

The hall was silent; everyone stared for a brief moment until Professor McGonagall started clapping. Slowly, the other professors at the high table on the raised dais joined in. Y/n didn’t know what to do. He was frozen—at a standstill. While the table under the yellow banner with a badger applauded and cheered with smiles, he never felt so unwelcome. 

Y/n didn’t notice that the stern professor had removed the old raggedy hat until she urged him off the rickety chair. He didn’t notice his legs moving on their own. Poor Y/n couldn’t hear anything. It was all muffled. As if someone was cupping his ears, shutting him out from the world into a plain of silence. His e/c eyes were glued on Harry. His twin was staring at him with a pained expression. Of course he was sad, thought Y/n bitterly. Why didn’t that talking hat put me in Gryffindor? 

Ever so slowly, Y/n started moving towards the table of his new house. Eyes from the Gryffindor table watched his movements as he slunked towards the long rectangular table. Behind him, Professor McGonagall continued to call out names for each new student to be sorted. Once he reached the table, many eyes and faces greeted him with smiles. They were happy; he realised. Happy to have snatched one of the Potters. Though they did not boast about it like Harry’s house, you could see the joy each one had. 

Before Y/n could sit down, a tall boy with black wavy hair and sky-blue eyes stood up, drawing attention temporarily from Y/n but in the end winded back to being on the young Potter. The boy stopped in front of Y/n and he watched with a terrified expression on his face. 

“‘Ello Potter! The name’s Oliver Benedict, and I’m the seventh year Prefect of Hufflepuff House. If you need anything at all, please come straight towards me. And welcome to Hufflepuff.” Y/n watched in silence as he smiled and gestured to the table behind him. The tall creature smiled too much, which made shivers climb up his spine. Y/n wanted to say hello or nice to meet you, or possibly anything. But alas, all he said was: “Um… w-where d-do I-sit at?” His e/c eyes wandered over the table, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. He knew from primary school that each table had a group. And he was able to figure out which group was friendly and which one was not. However, there were no multiple tables for Hufflepuff. Just one long rectangular table that had a handful of students. 

“Oh, right!” Oliver cleared his throat and pointed to a small group at the end of the table. “You can sit there with the other first years, or—” He pointed to the front. “You sit with us, seventh and sixth years.” 

Y/n pointed to the rest of the first years. “I think I’ll sit with them; the other first years.” He said shyly. His eyes flickered down to his hands as he fiddled with the black robes of his uniform. 

“Of course, of course.” Oliver chuckled. “Remember now, if you need anything—and I mean anything at all, please come to me and I shall be glad to help you.” With one last friendly smile, Oliver went back to his original seat before Y/n sluggishly walked up to the group of first years. 

He quickly took a seat next to a girl with auburn hair. The girl turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were crystal blue, and she took in Y/n. He smiled, awkwardly. She returned the sentiment and tucked a copper strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Hullo, I’m Rosemary.” She had a bit of an Irish accent, but it wasn’t so prominent. Rosemary held out her hand. “And you are??” 

Y/n took her hand in his. 

“I’m—” 

“That Y/n Potter, that is!” exclaimed a boy with blond hair. He was leaning across the table, staring at Y/n closely. His brown eyes were glued to his scar, making Y/n want to cover it up with his hair. 

“If you don’t know who he is, you must be daft!” 

Rosemary glared at the boy. “And you must be rude to interrupt our conversation, y’know!” She spat venomously. 

The boy next to the rude one simply stared at Y/n. 

“I don’t know who you are.” He said quietly. “I’m Justin Finch-Fletchy.” He held his hand out. Y/n took it. “I’m Y/n Potter.” 

“How is it you don’t know who he is, Justin??” cried out the blond. “You muggle-born or somethin’?” Justin blushed, his cheeks were the colour of beets. 

“Yes. I-I am. Do you have a problem with that?” Justin’s voice quivered slightly. 

“No! ‘Course not! Just cause I’m a pureblood doesn’t mean I believe all that rubbish!” 

Rosemary rolled her eyes. 

“Anyway, I’m Ernie. Ernie Macmallin. Nice to meet you, Justin. Potter.” Ernie purposefully left out Rosemary to goad her, and she knew it too. Glaring at the blond pimple, she scoffed before introducing herself to Justin. 

Y/n watched as Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the sorting hat after a boy named “Zabini” was the last one to be sorted. Soon the hall grew quiet around Y/n as the man sitting at the high table on the raised dais stood up, raising his hands to draw everyone’s attention. 

“Welcome new and returning students!” His voice was soft yet strong at the same time, plus his long white beard reminded Y/n of Father Time. He, like the rest of wizards and witches apparently, wore bright purple robes with blue and burgundy embellishments and embroidery in the fabric. On his head seemed to be an overly large nightcap. “Before we start feasting, I would like to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” 

Laughter boomed through the hall, and Y/n looked around the hall as he said those odd words. His brows were furrowed, confusion laced in his eyes. Was he supposed to laugh? If so, those words weren’t funny. In fact, they were rather strange. Strange word choice. He didn’t like the way the old wizard’s eyes twinkled. It made him shudder. 

“He’s a bit loony, huh?” questioned Rosemary. “My mum thinks so,” whispered a girl with blonde pig-tails. “Dumbledore, loony? Reckon you’re loony if you think the best wizard in the world is loony himself!” claimed Ernie. 

“Thank you, and have a wonderful feast!” He raised a hand and suddenly, dishes appeared. A plate and silverware and goblet materialised in front of him, making Y/n gasp and stare wide-eyed. 

“Whoa,” he whispered. Food started being passed around and lively chatter filled the hall. Soon, food was piled on his plate, drawing some looks from other Hufflepuffs—though Y/n did not care. He was busy eating. He never, in his entire eleven-years of life, has ever seen this much food that he could eat! Harry would be lucky to see him tomorrow and not nursing a food-coma. 

As he shovelled food into his mouth, Y/n missed the glances he received from others. A few Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands, a few Hufflepuffs elbowed each other and pointed, while some Slytherins watched on. Gryffindor house was the only ones that did not notice, for they were too busy being occupied by their new member. 

“Y/n, would you like some potatoes?” He looked up and nodded. “Thanks, Rosemary,” she smiled in return. “No problem,” She brushed her red locks behind her ear. 

“So, Potter, did you and your brother really kill You-Know-Who?” The table became silent. The only ones who spoke were the 7th and 6th years who were far down and didn’t hear. Y/n froze and hesitantly looked up from his plate. His housemates were either staring at him, waiting for his answer, or they were sending glares at Macmillian—Rosemary was in the latter, her fists clenched—and a tense silence was cast on the table. 

Before Y/n could give his answer, someone interrupted him. 

“Oh, shut your trap Macmillian, ye old geezer!” snapped a voice full of a Scottish burr. “The next time a hear any incentive thing comin’ outta yer mouth, a’ll kick yer arse maself!” A tall and muscular girl gripped the rude blond boy by the ear, yanking on him as her eyes, full of fury, was directed on him. “Shame on you for bein’ an old cocker!” Giggles and snorts were heard all around Y/n, as his new housemates laughed at Macmillian. 

“Mary!! Put me down!!” he whined. The giant of a woman sneered and Y/n realised then that somewhere in between her telling him off, she picked Macmillian up by his robes and held him close to her face, a few feet off the ground. The giant—Mary—plopped the scrambling boy down onto the bench and gave him one last glare, before she turned her fiery amber gaze onto Y/n. 

“Am Mary Fraiser, this little twat,” she nudged Macmillian. “--is ma cousin! He’s a shite, ignore ‘im,” Fraiser reached over and held out her hand. Y/n took it gingerly before being yanked a bit as she gripped it and shook. “Nice ta meet you!” 

The Y/n gave her a friendly smile, hoping that she’ll stop shaking his bones with her strength. “I’m Y/n Potter. Nice to meet you as well.” 

The brawley girl barked out a laugh. “Aye we know ye, Potter.” She chuckled before giving Macmillan one last glare before she went to sit further down at the table. 

The rest of the meal, Macmillan ignored Y/n, only talking—more like yelling—with Justin about the wizard sport, Quidditch. It looked like Justin didn’t get it, but nodded along for Macmillan’s sake.  

As Y/n reached for a jug full of pumpkin juice, an arm went straight through the jug, making the Potter boy scream and jerk back. His eyes blown wide, he watched as a fat man wearing a grey frock with a rope tied at the waist flew through the table, moaning as he gazed at the juice longingly. 

“Oh phooey,” he sighed. “I forgot,” 

A few older Hufflepuffs looked on at the ghost with pity. 

“Y-Y-ou’re the Fat Friar,” Y/n said, his eyes watching the ghost with a strange fascination. The ghost turned to look at him, a smile on his face. 

“Indeed, I am Mister Potter! Oh! I heard you were able to be sorted into my old House!! Oh, dear, I hope you’ll enjoy it. We have a celebrity! I cannot wait to rub it in Old Baron's face! Ha!” The Friar flew off towards the Slytherin table. Y/n turned his head to watch. He noticed how the ghost called the Bloody Baron was sitting next to the blond-haired boy—Draco Malfoy. Shaking his head, Y/n went back to his food. 

“What class are you excited for most, Potter?” asked Rosemary, her blue eyes full of curiosity. Before he could answer her, Rosemary interrupted. “I’m very excited for Herbology! My mum is a herbalist, it’s what drew my dad to her, y’know!” 

“I really like Charms, but also I’m very excited about Potions.” 

Someone chuckled. “I thought so too until I knew who was to be our Professor.” Y/n turned his head to look at the voice. He had short black hair and brown slender eyes and a round face. He looked nervous, yet confident at the same time. 

“Snape, that fellow right there,” He pointed to the raised dais where the high table was, and pointed at a man with a hooked nose, shoulder-length black hair and black eyes that were staring at his brother, Harry. 

“He’s a nasty bloke I’ll tell ya,” Y/n watched as “Snape” nodded his head as the professor from Diagon Alley, Professor Quirill, spoke with the black-haired professor. 

“He hates anyone that isn't in his house. It makes Potions dreadful. He’s always hovering and when you make a simple mistake, he takes away so many house points and calls you names.” Y/n and Rosemary gasped. 

“How cruel!” 

“Can he do that?” 

Cried Y/n and Rosemary at the same time, their eyes wide with shock and fury. 

“No one stops him, not even Dumbledore. Tcch.” The boy crossed his arms, his eyes rolling. Realising that he didn't introduce himself, he sighed and offered his hand. “Nakamura Hiroshi, second year.” 

“Y/n Potter,” He gripped Nakamura’s hand. “Rosemary Thorn, nice to meet you,” she smiled and shook his hand. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Nakamura nodded his head in greeting. “Welcome to Hufflepuff House,” 

The Hall fell silent after dessert as Professor Dumbledore stood up from his chair. 

“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” A few Hufflepuff’s rolled their eyes. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” 

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” Rosemary leaned over to whisper to an older Hufflepuff. 

 “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.” Madam Hooch stood up from the High table. “And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.” Only a few people laughed, Harry being one of them, along with Justin, who looked around at the worried eyes of their new housemates looking grim. 

“He’s… he’s not joking?” asked Justin, his voice wavering. “Nah, he ain’t. A jus’ wanna know wat it is,'' spoke Mary a few seats down. 

“Usually Dumbledore gives us a reason,” murmured another student. 

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Y/n noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed. Oh, no. Nakamura and Mary firmly placed their hands over their ears. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

 “Everyone please your their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

 And the school bellowed:

 “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

 Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

 Our heads could do with filling

 With some interesting stuff,

 For now they’re bare and full of air,

 Dead flies and bits of fluff,

 So teach us things worth knowing,

 Bring back what we’ve forgot,

 just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

 And learn until our brains all rot.”

The noise was painful. Y/n had placed his hands over his ears when it first started. “Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. Rosemary whispered to Y/n. “Was that really music?” He chuckled, smirking at the auburn-haired girl. “A magic beyond all we do here!” 

“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!” Prefects, Oliver and a girl with short blue hair and green eyes, stood up with a bunch of other students from the three other tables, calling out: “First year Ravenclaws, follow us,” “First year Slytherins, follow us,” “First year Gryffindors, with me.” 

Y/n watched with sad eyes as he and Harry were split from each other, one wearing red and gold and the other yellow and black. 

Oliver and the witch led Harry and his fellow first years through the corridors of Hogwarts. Y/n watched as the other students, red and gold, blue and bronze, climbed the grand and moving staircase—thanks to Hogwarts: A History—that Y/n couldn’t wait to explore. While he and the rest of the first years followed their Prefects. Rosemary stuck close by him, pointing to the portraits that lined the cobblestone walls. 

“Our common room is in the basement?” whispered Justin. Macmillan nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s near the kitchens,” a smirk formed on his face. 

They climbed down the non-moving staircase and they felt a slight chill in the air. Rosemary stuck close by Y/n, pointing to the fruit themed portraits that lined the cobblestone walls. They passed a portrait of a bowl of fruit—that reminded Y/n of the bowl of fruit that muggle art teachers would have their students paint or draw—and Y/n could hear a slight commotion happening behind the portrait. Frowning, he looked at Rosemary, seeing if she had any clue as to what it was. Her face was marred in confusion. So she didn’t know what it was then, mused Y/n. 

“If you need a map of Hogwarts, please let us know, myself and Oliver shall provide you with one.” Commented the female perfect, a friendly smile on her face. 

The group stopped together at a nook, hidden by… barrels? Y/n looked at it in confusion. 

“Unlike the other houses where they need a password or need to answer a riddle, for us, we need to tap on these barrels to a rhythm, our House Founder’s song’s rhythm. We will teach you the rhythm tomorrow after your classes. So until then, stick together in a group and we’ll assign an older student to let you in and out of the common room.” Oliver smiled at the first years. “Now, Ethel, will you do the honours?” Ethel—the other prefect—nodded her head. She approached the barrels and tapped two from the bottom, and two in the middle row, and one in the top row. A soft melody played from the barrels, and the door of the nook opened. 

Y/n peered into the doorway along with the other first years. The ceiling was low; the room was round and had two small platforms with a staircase leading up to a door. One said Gents, the other Ladies. It must be the dorms, Y/n thought to himself. There was a sense of warmth and welcoming to the room. The smell of vanilla and sunflowers reached Y/n’s nose. It brought a sense of homeliness to the common room. It made him want to cuddle up in a blanket and read one of the books about dragons by the fireplace and drink some hot chocolate with marshmallows. It temporarily made him forget about his dread and his sadness. It made him forget that Harry wasn’t with him. His heart winced at the thought. 

“Welcome,” Oliver smiled. “To Hufflepuff House,” 

Authors Note:

Happy birthday Harry, Y/n Potter! Hope you enjoyed this weekends chapter! I don't know when the next one will be, hopefully soon, but this Monday I'm starting my last semester at school, so wish me luck! A lot of the characters that'll be showin' up will most likely be OC's, so I'm plannin' on doing an introduction to Hufflepuff house students of Hogwarts soon so you'll get a feel of them when they get older! Thanks for reading! xx

Taglist:

@officialsaturn

@mysticanxy

[starglowwos]

(plain text below the cut!)

(tl;dr: the watchers underestimate how much they need to eat emotions to truly give everyone an emotional blank slate for the next game. i like this.)

hm. so yknow how the watchers eat emotions between games but also sometimes they fuck it up and dont eat enough and thats why things like pearl and cleo were a bit too traumatized so the listeners swapped em out for a session (because pearl and cleo's trauma from double life was a New Level Of Fucked (cc!martyn's words lol) and the watchers didnt eat enough of their emotions)

i think or at least headcanon that there's been a ton more instances of that just, the listeners havent been able to do anything about it or it hasn't been significant enough a problem for the watchers to notice, or actually maybe the watchers just don't care, or maybe they enjoy it

like scar and grian. martyn and ren. scott and jimmy yeah sure they should remember their past partnerships but not feel anything about it yeah sure they should remember their past experiences but not how they made them feel

martyn should remember that he was the red king's hand

but he shouldn't feel the need to ally with him in every single game following apart from where he couldn't

he shouldn't have an averse reaction to killing his closest ally by their request, and feel the need to defend himself for doing so, "it's not betrayal if it's requested"

he shouldn't feel the need to tie the dogwarts banner around his waist in ren's honor

he shouldn't feel a shift in comfort when ren's not a part of a death game for the first time

scar should remember that grian swore his life to him after making a mistake resulting in scar's death, and even after the deal ended grian stuck around til the end and the only reason scar died to grian's hands was that scar let him

but he shouldn't gravitate towards grian as soon as he's left alone without allies, he shouldn't feel the need to be that generous towards grian in giving him and joel a life and setting them all on yellow, he shouldn't end up visiting the southlands as much as he does considering their history within that one game

he shouldn't feel overly comfortable relying on grian to keep their lives safe and fall back into nearly the exact same habits as he had in third life

he shouldnt immediately go to grian when he's paralyzed for a session because if grian pushes him away every time scar wants his company, he'll just have to get it when he can't push him away anymore

pearl should remember that scott, her teammate just last game, thought she betrayed him before they even met for the first time this game and left her alone up until the short time leading up to their bittersweet end where he killed himself for her, should remember that her one and only companion tilly was killed without mercy because pearl was regarded as a danger to everyone around her including herself and not worth trying to tame

but she shouldn't feel as betrayed as she does when scott leaves, she shouldn't feel anything about their history together just last game

she shouldn't go to martyn asking for tilly back and then stand speechless as he drops gunpowder on the ground saying he cremated her she shouldn't feel the need to go asking in the first place and certainly shouldn't be triggered by something she isn't supposed to care about anymore

she shouldn't have to be pulled out for a session to be given time to recover, she should've recovered already

scott should remember that he₁ and jimmy₂ were husbands, that jimmy₂ died when scott₁ wasn't even there, that he₁ had to bury him₂ himself₁ and live out the rest of his₁ life because his₂ was cut off so early on

but he shouldn't be saying "love you" to jimmy, shouldn't be getting upset when jimmy doesn't say it back, because jimmy got more time to recover than scott did after third life and so jimmy doesn't care anymore but scott still very much does

he shouldn't go seek out a single partner to stick by and stay honorable and loyal to for each and every game following, and as soon as they're compatible he shouldn't feel the need to make it as gay as possible to compensate for what he lost

they should remember all of that, yeah. but they shouldn't feel anything about all of that apart from logical conclusions they may draw after the fact. they should feel emotionally disconnected from everything that happened in the past games. …right? because that's what happens with everything else, why isn't it happening properly? maybe whatever does the feelings wipe isn't perfect. maybe whoever feeds on their emotions underestimates just how much they should, sometimes :>

[plain text:

hm. so you know how the watchers eat emotions between games but also sometimes they fuck it up and dont eat enough and that's why things like pearl and cleo were a bit too traumatized so the listeners swapped them out for a session (because pearl and cleo's trauma from double life was a New Level Of Fucked (cc!martyn's words lol) and the watchers didn't eat enough of their emotions)

i think or at least headcanon that there's been a ton more instances of that just, the listeners haven't been able to do anything about it or it hasn't been significant enough a problem for the watchers to notice, or actually maybe the watchers just don't care, or maybe they enjoy it

like scar and grian. martyn and ren. scott and jimmy yeah sure they should remember their past partnerships but not feel anything about it yeah sure they should remember their past experiences but not how they made them feel

martyn should remember that he was the red king's hand

but he shouldn't feel the need to ally with him in every single game following apart from where he couldn't

he shouldn't have an averse reaction to killing his closest ally by their request, and feel the need to defend himself for doing so, "it's not betrayal if it's requested"

he shouldn't feel the need to tie the dogwarts banner around his waist in ren's honor

he shouldn't feel a shift in comfort when ren's not a part of a death game for the first time

scar should remember that grian swore his life to him after making a mistake resulting in scar's death, and even after the deal ended grian stuck around until the end and the only reason scar died to grian's hands was that scar let him

but he shouldn't gravitate towards grian as soon as he's left alone without allies, he shouldn't feel the need to be that generous towards grian in giving him and joel a life and setting them all on yellow, he shouldn't end up visiting the southlands as much as he does considering their history within that one game

he shouldn't feel overly comfortable relying on grian to keep their lives safe and fall back into nearly the exact same habits as he had in third life

he shouldn't immediately go to grian when he's paralyzed for a session because if grian pushes him away every time scar wants his company, he'll just have to get it when he can't push him away anymore

pearl should remember that scott, her teammate just last game, thought she betrayed him before they even met for the first time this game and left her alone up until the short time leading up to their bittersweet end where he killed himself for her, should remember that her one and only companion tilly was killed without mercy because pearl was regarded as a danger to everyone around her including herself and not worth trying to tame

but she shouldn't feel as betrayed as she does when scott leaves, she shouldn't feel anything about their history together just last game

she shouldn't go to martyn asking for tilly back and then stand speechless as he drops gunpowder on the ground saying he cremated her she shouldn't feel the need to go asking in the first place and certainly shouldn't be triggered by something she isn't supposed to care about anymore

she shouldn't have to be pulled out for a session to be given time to recover, she should've recovered already

scott should remember that he and jimmy were husbands, that jimmy died when scott wasn't even there, that he had to bury him himself and live out the rest of his life because his was cut off so early on

but he shouldn't be saying "love you" to jimmy, shouldn't be getting upset when jimmy doesn't say it back, because jimmy got more time to recover than scott did after third life and so jimmy doesn't care anymore but scott still very much does

he shouldn't go seek out a single partner to stick by and stay honorable and loyal to for each and every game following, and as soon as they're compatible he shouldn't feel the need to make it as gay as possible to compensate for what he lost

they should remember all of that, yeah. but they shouldn't feel anything about all of that apart from logical conclusions they may draw after the fact. they should feel emotionally disconnected from everything that happened in the past games. …right? because that's what happens with everything else, why isn't it happening properly? maybe whatever does the feelings wipe isn't perfect. maybe whoever feeds on their emotions underestimates just how much they should, sometimes :>

/ end plain text]

[aroworlds]

[image description: eight rectangular banners with chevron-shaped edges in an assortment of flags with three, four or five stripes. From top to bottom: acemphatic / aroacem (orange/yellow/purple/light blue/dark blue), aegoromantic aegosexual (black/grey/white/green with purple/white/grey/black downwards-pointing triangle), alt/modified aromantic (black/green/light green/grey), caedromantic (green-to-light-green gradient with black/grey/white/grey/black columns), demi-nebularomantic (off-white/teal/mint blue with maroon inwards-facing triangle), demiromantic demisexual (white/blue/light grey with black  inwards-facing triangle), frayromantic (blue/cyan/green/white/grey) and nullumromantic (black/grey/green).]

Banner Bases - Aromantic Spectrum

Flags: Acemphatic / Aroacem, Aegoromantic Aegosexual, alt/modified Aromantic, Caedromantic, Demi-Nebularomantic, Demiromantic Demisexual, Frayromantic, Nullumromantic.

I made a few text banners quite a while back, but I figured that folks may find the plain bases useful.

Original files available for download from my Aro Arrows website or Patreon (links in description). Free for personal or commercial use; credit to one of my accounts is appreciated but not required.

For flag creator posts, please see @aroflagarchive​​​​.

[somedaythesun]

3t2 Stadium Set (Part 1: Build Mode)

I went a little nuts with the stadium rabbithole(s), so I'm breaking this up into two downloads for you. Today is just the build mode stuff--the windows, walls, doors, and a roof (technically an object). All the decorative bits in the preview pic will be available in part 2.

I had to do some major resizing of everything since the building in TS3 is SEVEN STORIES TALL in TS2. Holy moly it is so big. I wish I could make a four-story window to accurately capture the size of the thing, but we'll have to make do with what we have in TS2.

So, let's talk windows: I've made 5 varieties for you, including:

A four-tile, two-story window (+diagonal, this the the PARENT mesh)

A two-tile, two-story window (+diagonal, child mesh)

A four-tile, one-story arched window (no diagonal, child mesh, cloned from Nysha's four-tile No Obligations window). Note that the window frame spans about six tiles and has borders that descend to the level below so you can have a nice surround for a set of lower doors. If you place this window on the ground floor the extension bits aren't visible and it'll look like a normal window.

A four-tile, one-story ticket window (no diagonal, child mesh)

A four-tile, one story window (no diagonal, child mesh)

Here's the ticket window. There's a tiny shelf on the exterior side and an attached poster with ticket prices. The window stickers and intercoms appear on both sides.

On the interior, I purposely left the shelf a little short so you could put island counters right up against it and have it appear somewhat seamless. You can pop up some bar stools or have a counter with a register and have it look like a functional ticket window.

I did try to make a version with an actual hole for the ticket slot at the bottom of the window, but the indoor/outdoor lighting interacted weirdly in the non-glass part and it looked strange. So you'll have to use your imagination that someone could actually slide a ticket through there, but I still think it looks good.

Next, we have the roof. This is a decorative object (Deco > Misc) and it spans about 28x14 tiles. I used Deedee's method of expanding the footprint, so be warned it really takes up that much space. I opted to not convert the weird scaffolding arches from the original rabbithole since they're pretty low-res.

The doors and walls I have for you today are plain, but look good on a variety of buildings.

Metallic double doors (+diagonal). These have the same blue-ish glass that I used on all the windows so it will match.

A nondescript single door (+diagonal) that was on the back of the rabbithole. The lock detail is a bit low-res, but I think it looks good as an employee entrance or an emergency exit door. Just don't zoom in too closely.

Two brick walls: either plain yellow brick or brick with a decorative stripe

I have so many more decorative things that I plucked off of the original rabbithole and the Dr. Pepper promotional stadium (banners! ATMs! posters! ads! awnings!) It's all coming soon, I promise, I'm just fiddling with some last-minute details.

Enjoy part 1!

Download

[bluenpinkcastle]

20240312: the History of LEGO Castle day 072. 1906 Majisto's Tower (1994, 196 pieces, 90 different parts) Majisto's Tower is a black and light gray building on a 16x24 green plate with large brown wood double doors and a two story black tower in front and a black tower with a red sloped roof in the back corner. The archway over the door and the front-facing tower wall are both black with printed yellow fire breathing dragons facing each other. A blue robed wizard rides in a black and blue chariot pulled by a brown horse in a blue harness with a red horse helmet and red dragon wings on the back. A dark gray Large Ugly Rock Panel (LURP) is on one side and a Big Ugly Rock Panel (BURP) is on the other side. There are three minifigures in this set. -The first minifigure is Majisto with a blue wizard hat with a white beard, black plastic cape, blue torso with blue arms and a yellow v-neck with a black belt and yellow buckle and a small brown pouch, plain blue legs, a glow-in-the-dark wand, and a white 2x2 printed spell scroll tile. -The second minifigure has a black dragon helmet with all three red dragon plumes, a dark gray halberd, a yellow minifigure head with wavy black eyebrows, mustache, and goatee, a red torso with blue arms, printed silver shoulder covers, and a standing yellow and black halved dragon on a black and red background with black legs and a red belt. -The third minifigure has a a yellow minifigure head with black forehead tuft and mustache, a red torso with blue arms and a printed yellow dragon head on a red background with a printed black belt with yellow notches and circular hollow yellow belt buckle, and light gray legs with a black belt. Accessories include a black axe wielder helmet, a brown spear, and an ovoid shield with a green dragon with red wings on a yellow background with a red border. This set has several new and unique parts: -There are two (VERY COOL) black pieces with printed yellow dragons facing each other. One is a black 1x8x2 arch and the other is a black 2x5x6 wall panel. Both are only found in this set and 6082 Fire Breathing Fortress. -The brown 1x4x8 curved top door is only found in one other set, 6082 Fire Breathing Fortress. -The red 4x8x6 tower roof is only found in two other sets (1906 Majisto's Tower and 9367 Castle Set from Education and Dacta). -The black 6x6x9.33 large black enclosed staircase is only found in two other sets (6076 Dark Dragon's Den and 6497 Twisted Time Train). -The yellow and green cloth 8x5 dragon banner only appears in three other sets (6056 Dragon Wagon, 6076 Dark Dragon's Den, 6082 Fire Breathing Fortress). -This is one of only six castle sets to use the black 3x1x3.33 slope with studs (6048 Majisto's Magical Workshop, 6075-1 Wolfpack Tower, 6078 Royal Drawbridge, 6079 Dark Forest Fortress, 6082 Fire Breathing Fortress, 6090 Royal Knight's Castle). -The ovoid shield with a print of a green dragon with red wings on a yellow background with a red outline is only found in twelve sets. This set is a lot of fun and it's been great to see play elements included so the minifigures can actually get from the bottom floor of the castles into the towers. This might be my favorite of the Dragon Master sets in this subtheme and I think it would be really interesting to build two of these back-to-back, as I think that would really flush this out into a most stable castle. Maybe I can add that idea to my growing list of things to try when I have time :) Parts inventory for this set can be found at BrickLink or Rebrickable and a free download of the instructions is available on ToysPeriod.

[eldritch-collective]

Epileptic Rain World Iterator Icons, free to use!

[flag id: The flag is an Epilepsy flag without an associated symbol. The flag is comprised of two halves and fifteen stripe in total, with two stripes being larger than the rest. The left half, top to bottom, is a simple white to black gradient that starts with a large stripe of white and ends with a large stripe of black. The right half is a colored gradient that, from top to bottom, goes from a large stripe of unsaturated purple, dark red-purple, red-purple, violet, desaturated blue, mint green, lime green, yellow, goldenrod, red-orange, red, dark red, and a large stripe of maroon. end of flag id.]

[icon ids: There is a total of five Rain World Iterator icons, three on the top row and two on the bottom row. Top row, left to right, is icons of Five Pebbles, Looks To The Moon, and No Significant Harassments. Bottom row, left to right, is icons of Sliver Of Straw and Seven Red Runs. All icons use the in-game sprites used by Overseers to direct the player to an objective related to each respective iterator. end of icon ids.]

[plain text: in bold and large text reads "Epileptic Rain World Iterator Icons, free to use!" plain text end.]

[banner id: a black, dark red, bright red, pastel red, pale red, to white gradient with black outlined white text, centered in the middle, saying “There is no DNI, but I block freely. Do not recoin my terms if blocked. If blocked, do not use my terms. If you do not agree with me but want to use my terms, you can. end of banner id.]