#storm the sorrow snippet

[daffi-990]

Seven(ish) Sentences Sunday

Tagged by @bekkachaos ☺️

The Eddie Breakdown fic (when your heart releases, you won’t fall to pieces) is finished and beta read and coming soon to an ao3 near you! If you want to be tagged when it posts, interact with this post 💌

Now I’ve probably already shared this snippet from the fic, but screw it I’m sharing it again in hopes it piques your interest 👀

Buck slowly moves closer and crouches down besides Eddie. He’s holding a baseball bat between his bent legs, bloodied knuckles almost white with how hard he’s gripping the handle. His face is puffy and red from crying, wet tear tracks painting his cheeks. He’s seen Eddie in various states ranging from laughing with joy to bleeding out in front of him, but Buck’s never seen him like this before.

“Hey.” Buck reaches out a tentative hand, not wanting to spook his best friend. He aches to touch Eddie, to feel the weight and warmth of him under his palm. Still here. Still alive.

Eddie sobs and pushes his forehead into his knuckles, his words almost a whisper even in the quiet room.

“They’re all dead.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. They haven’t lost anyone on a call recently, so he can’t think who Eddie might be talking about.

“Who’s all dead?”

“Everybody that I saved,” Eddie sobs out. He takes a shuddering breath before he speaks again, voice louder and harsher. “They’re all dead!”

Eddie finally looks at Buck and the fear and sorrow that rages in the muddied storm waters of his eyes has Buck flinching slightly. He’s so used to Eddie’s eyes being sun kissed pools of rich coffee that draw you in with their warmth, making you feel safe.

“They’re all dead, they’re all dead, they’re all dead”.

Eddie whispers it over and over again and Buck doesn’t know what to do besides move closer and pull him into his arms. Eddie doesn’t fight him, just falls into the safety of Buck’s embrace, clutching tightly at his back as a broken sob falls from his mouth. Eddie continues to cry into Buck’s neck as Buck wraps his arms securely around him, a shield of flesh and bone attempting to protect Eddie from the horrors of whatever is haunting him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Buck murmurs into Eddie’s hair, his lips caressing the sweat soaked strands. “I’ve got you.”

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @monsterrae1 @kitteneddiediaz @dangerpronebuddie @tizniz @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @beyourownanchor6 @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @inell @princessfbi @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @wellcollapse @sibylsleaves @devirnis @daniclaytcn @fiona-fififi @glorious-spoon @greenbergsays @giddyupbuck @hotshotsxyz @honestlydarkprincess @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @lonelychicago @missmagooglie @mellaithwen and as always, if anyone has anything they’d like you to share -> consider this your offical tag 🏷️

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Shot Down - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

He hates being told 'No'...

tw: codependency, manipulation.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Sevika nods, once. But the sorrow lingers in her eyes.

"What about you?" she asks. "Will you be—?"

"I'll be here."

"Doing what?"

"There are a few threads to tie up. A handful of meetings with the chem-barons. Then a trip to the Terrarium. As soon as I'm done, I'll join Jinx and Viktor in the Aerie. By then, I anticipate the glyph will be in their crosshairs. And Violet, already cold. By the time her body's found at the Abattoir, Zaun will have a brand-new power source under wraps. One that will transform the city. Rewrite the past. Reshape our future."

From beneath his half-lidded eye, he watches Sevika absorb the words. Her face is immovable, but there are undercurrents of conflict in her forehead and jaw. Her mouth—kiss-swollen—parts, then shuts.

She can sense the charge or of excitement in him. The resolute sense of purpose. It compels her, as it always has.

But that sorrow—that strange, inexplicable sorrow—won't fade. Her hand, in his, won't let go.

Like she cannot shake the feeling he is gone for good.

Yielding to rare impulse, Silco kisses her. A kiss that goes from claiming to paying court with the same thread of savoring slowness.

She shivers, but doesn't answer.

"This is it, Sevika," he breathes. "After all these years. The moment we've been waiting for."

"I know." She swallows. "I know."

"What is it?"

"I guess—I didn't realize that today was the day."

"Neither did I. Not until last night. Jinx dispatched a message by crow."

"And you came here."

"To prepare you."

"You could've radioed."

"And start my day without a proper legover?"

The levity falls flat. Her expression doesn't alter. No low-slung smirk. No sly quirk of the brow. Just the sorrow, and a hand in his.

Again, he kisses her. Her eyes fall shut. The crude Shimmer veins on her cheekbone pulse like a wound seeping blood. He traces them with the folded fingers of his free hand, down to the curve of her throat.

The heat of her fresh-fucked body exerts an irresistible pull. Her skin is so richly scented. So electrifyingly sweet.

The countdown's in motion: six bells and a schedule from hell.

But need's got no use for a timepiece.

It's why, the past few weeks, he's sought her out, again and again. Home can always be leveraged against you. But a steadfast tether is the surest bulwark in a storm. And that storm's inside him: a restless cage of teeth and hunger and howling rage.

It's been that way since the blood game began. He's plotted every square; the pieces are in place. The checkmate is close.

Sevika's closer still. Her heat, her pulse, her body—all within reach.

All his.

Slowly, Silco eases her back across the rumpled sheets. Kisses her again, his hand roaming from her throat down to the bisecting line of breasts and belly and the damp vee of thighs. But when his palm delves between them, ready to begin preliminaries, he meets resistance. The solid muscles of her thighs flex shut, keeping his questing fingers out.

Frowning, Silco stops.

"Sevika?"

Her stare holds his, the way it's always done. But the light in her eyes has gone strange.

"You should go," she says. "Big day ahead."

"No chance of a victory lap?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Oh, I don't know." Silco insinuates his fingers an inch deeper. Her body gives a telltale tremor. "I've been in front, below, behind. But inside's where the real payoff is."

"You can't afford the distraction."

"It's a small one. Indulge me."

He dips his head, kissing the hollow of her breastbone. Tongues the groove of muscle down to the pucker of navel. There is salt caught in the fine hairs of her skin. Life, at its strongest, radiating under his lips.

"Don't," she says, but with a catch in her breath.

"You don't want to?"

"Not now."

"I can change your mind." He nuzzles the dense pooch of curls at her mons. Breathes in the heady musk of her. The faint quiver of her belly is a dead giveaway. "Just say the word."

Her cybernetic hand catches him by the nape. Gunmetal eyes lock with his own.

"The word's Kill It," she says.

The safeword—non-negotiable—stops him short.

He doesn't let go, but his hand slips away. He still wants her, so badly it hurts, except the hurt's now something he cannot put a name to. Conflict; self-doubt. Reflexively, his mouth seeks hers, an anchor amid the alienness.

This time, she lets the kiss linger: a simple contact of flesh-on-flesh. But a moment later, she gently, firmly, withdraws. Her good hand squeezes his, letting go before he has a chance to lock his fingers into hers.

Their clasp falls apart.

The tether's gone.

Sitting up, Sevika reaches, not for the vodka, but her smokes. Lipping a cigarette from the pack, she sparks up. Her hair—past her shoulders now, and growing ravishingly long with each week—falls forward, shielding her expression.

The smoke's a shield too. Behind it, he senses a strategic retreat.

"Go," she repeats, and it's not a tone that invites persuasion.

"You're turning me down."

"I am."

She is rifling through her drawer. Finding what she wants—an old horsehair brush that once belonged to Nandi—she leans over and begins brushing vigorously from the nape. He cannot see her face at all, and half-expects her to set fire to the glossy black locks with her cigarette.

He half-expects the flat to go up in flames, and engulf his pride with it.

"Sevika—"

She preempts whatever spiel he's preparing to spin. "Nothing personal. But a lot's riding on today. Especially with Jinx at the helm."

"She's not at the helm. I am."

"You've given her the tools. The gem. The runes. The map."

"I trust her to succeed."

"And I trust her to blow us sky-high. So, on the off-chance it happens, I'm prepping in advance." Silco watches the gliding play of muscles along her spine. The brushstrokes slow. Tossing her hair back, she takes one last drag, then grinds the butt into the ashtray. The smoke dispels, but her shield holds. "You're the brains, Silco. I'm just the muscle. And I'd rather those muscles be ready to roll. For Zaun's sake."

"Is that why I'm being evicted? Out of patriotic duty?"

"Partly."

"And the rest?"

"The rest's between me and mine."

"Sevika—"

"Next time, sir, I'd suggest starting your day with a cold shower."

Silco stares. The snark is vintage Sevika. But there's something oddly forced to it. A blistering bite that goes beyond her usual repertoire.

It unsettles him. As does the bluntness of the brush-off. She's been at his beck and call for years. Never refused his advances. Never once held back. Hell, half the time, he never even has to ask. It's simply a matter of when.

Now her distance is a drawbridge, impassable.

And Silco realizes: he's forgotten what it is to be denied. To be made to heel.

To feel human.

Inexorably, the rage cuts through. At himself, for wanting. At her, for withholding.

And rage, he can work with.

"If you insist," he says mildly. "Though I was going to share the rest."

"The rest?"

"The game-plan after Vi's out of the picture." A beat. "And how Noxus enters into it."

That gets her attention.

Her head swivels, just a fraction. Her slitted eyes seek his. Silco says nothing. He only smiles. A smile that is the equivalent of a card leveled across a poker table. On its surface, stenciled in bold black print: an ace of spades. On its flipside, a handwritten scrawl: Fuck You.

She had her chance, and she's squandered it.

Now, they'll play it his way.

"So," she says quietly, "you're still holding out on me."

"We can't always get what we want."

"Except for you, huh?"

"My wants are Zaun's wants." Lazily, he rises. "Zaun's wants are mine."

"And the rest?"

"In time."

His clothes are a heaped mess across the floorboards. He'd allowed himself a spot of spontaneity, where ordinarily he'd fold them first. Now it strikes him as a warning sign. Trust: creeping from the corners of his control. Tempting him to let it bleed all the way through.

He'll never make the same mistake twice.

Methodically, he dresses. Trousers, shirt, socks. Shrugging on his waistcoat, he adjusts the lapels, and begins tying the cravat. In the mirror, Sevika's stare roams. There is a bit of a voyeur in her. She's always liked to watch him slinking into his clothes, same way Nandi enjoyed watching him slither out of them. Something about the way the movements limn his scarred musculature, his fingertips spidering across buttons and fastenings, puts her into a dark-eyed reverie.

Silco's never minded. It's no different from when he watches her kill at his command.

Today, it's different. Something in her eyes—in their raw steeliness—is telling. It's not her old look: the one from when he'd just been smooth-talking Sil, and she was just a girl with a good right hook. The way she'd look at him then: an unguarded stare that saw past the layers of charm and calculation he put on for the rest of the world. That saw the man inside.

All the parts of him, dark and light, laid bare.

Now, it's a look that sees too much. And, seeing, understands that there's nothing left.

[leoneliterary]

Happy belated Father’s Day to Amatus! Hope he’s doing well in his (temporary) nursing home lol

Ahh I'm late, but here is a belated Father's Day snippet from Amatus's rest home!

"And you've come all the way to the city, but haven't had the chance to request leave to see your mother?!"

Merikh could hear Amatus's distraught voice through the wall and couldn't contain his irritation. For a man that was supposed to have been at death's door, he was full of vigor. And conversation. So much conversation.

Everytime Merikh entered the study, he could hear Amatus talking to any and everyone. The servants that brought him food, the soldiers that were supposed to be guarding him. Fires of creation, even Yemoja's aunt had started visiting him!

Merikh slammed down his ink brush, knocking his chair over as he stood up. Stalking over to the hidden entrance, he stormed in.

"What is going on in here? Why do I have to remind you not to associate with-Levon are you...crying?"

In the room he saw Amatus, calm as ever, patting one of his soldiers, Levon on the back. The young soldier sat up quickly, wiping his eyes and sniffling.

"Sorry Merikh, I was just-"

"Go back to your post," Merikh said, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

After Levon left he turned his attention back to Amatus, who looked at him with a lazy stare. Like he was a cat sunning instead of a prisoner and patient.

"What game are you playing, thief?" Merikh finally asked and Amatus chuckled.

"Do you know what goes on around this time of year? In this part of Hashind people celebrate Tulath's Harvest. Legend says that Tulath and his family were so honorable that a spirit granted them a boon and created a river so that they would be able to grow food, even in the desert. Now it's a holiday that celebrates family and farming,"

"I didn't come in here for culturally enrichment. I came in here to understand what you're up to," Merikh said, barely restraining himself from yelling.

He didn't understand this man, nor your connection with him, nor the odd hold he seemed to have on people.

"Your soldier is still just a boy who misses his family around this time of year. I know you do too. I can see it underneath the anger. Maybe not on days like today, but on some days, when you look up and see the stars are in the right place, I know you think about whatever people you have. Or had,"

If Merikh didn't need this man to keep you, he would have strangled him. Now he understood why Levon was crying.

"How dare you? If you think I'll fall for your mind games-" Merikh's rage was beginning to pick up momentum before Amatus's sorrowful tone stopped him short.

"I miss my kids. I hadn't missed anyone in years. I had let everyone and everything go, and then I met those kids. I taught them how to climb, how to have the softest footsteps and the quickest hands, but they taught me to care again. Just when I had given up. My ducklings,"

Merikh suddenly didn't feel angry. A shiver of something too close to guilt clung to him.

He raised an accusatory finger at Amatus but dropped it when he saw the man wasn't even looking at him.

"Stop...talking to my men," Merikh finally settled on and turned to leave, hoping to outrun the uncomfortable feelings in the room.

"It's alright to be sad, young lord. It doesn't have to be anger," Amatus calls out as he closes the door. "From one bastard to another, it isn't your fault that not all fathers deserve the sons they're blessed with,"

Merikh doesn't look back as he slams the door.

[cutecinnamon]

Concurrence

CW: ⊹₊ MDNI ⊹₊ Mention of Punishment ⊹₊ Pregnancy ⊹₊ Possible mention of sex ⊹₊

Fic Story Idea, I would just like to drop it here incase I do decide to write it one day.

This post has a synopsis and snippet attached to it. ><

NOTE: Concurrence I already posted ♡

( EDITED: Currently starting to write it and I already have a few drafts, this fic will be posted into seperate parts. )

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Synopsis:

(Y/n) was a soldier under Levi's squad, she was a very skillful and effienciently trained scout until one day her cover was blown and the whole squad found out that she was in fact a Marleyan, and she was a warrior sent as an agent to infiltrate the survey corps. When Levi and the others found out she was to be executed until Queen Historia decided that the best punishment for her was to in fact stay at the survey corps since she was one of the most liable scouts, but one thing she did not expect was that she was ordered to carry the child of Humanity's strongest in order to keep the Ackerman Bloodline alive.

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Small snippet idea:

The peaceful sound of water can be heard coming from the kitchen as (y/n) was washing the dishes, despite the calm gush of water echoing though the kitchen her mind was a mess, it was very chaotic, it was as if she was stuck in a dark place. Levi was at the living room doing his paperwork while drinking tea when

(y/n) suddenly approached him holding a blade from their odm which was placed across their room.

"Captain... please just punish me now... please just end me now..." (y/n) says while passing the odm blade to Levi who had a stunned expression written all over his face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Levi responds, while looking at her, the way he saw her eyes that almost lost the light of hope.

"I know you hate me... I'll always be a traitor in your eyes... even if I- if I try my best to prove my loyalty to you..." (y/n) said in a low and sorrowful voice as her gaze locks with Levi's gray orbs.

Levi shifts his attention towards the growing bump on (y/n)'s belly, she is currently almost in her fourth mark of pregnancy, and Levi felt a storm of emotions starting to explode inside him as he stared at (y/n) who was holding the odm blade towards him.

"No (y/n) fucking let go of that blade and look at me. I am not about to kill the mother of my child." Levi said sternly, and nothing can mend or break his words.

[darkearthsuggestions]

Snippet - Storm, Darkness, Antlers - If you choose to use this 'prompt' - Thank You! :) ♡

In the darkness a hunger rumbles, deep enough to shake the sorrow from your lungs. Noble dark, open dark, scraping who your past away like velvet from a buck. There is no space for doubt in this darkness- no space for who you were. How lucky you are for its entirety. If you were still yourself, It would eat you- It would eat you whole.

[inkcurlsandknives]

So I'd like to talk a bit about the Filipino funeral gold scandal and how as someone writing an anti-colonial Filipino epic fantasy based heavily on early shaman lead rebellions against Spanish colonial rule I have some intense feelings about Filipino actress Beauty Gonzales flaunting wearing funerary death masks taken from a Large number of graves in surigao, butuan and mindinao and rather then treating them with appropriate respect or any kind of cultural ethics and instead turning them into fashion jewelry.

Aside from the damage to important archeological artifacts the utter disrespect shown to the dead who were interred in this way to ensure thier successful passage into the afterlife and to protect their bodies from the entry of evil spirits

For me it calls to mind when I was doing my primary sources research for Saints of Storm and Sorrow into the tree and boat burials of Luzon and reading the accounts of precolonial funerary practices by early Spanish friars and "naturalists" one of these documents was the memoir of Domingo Sanches who in a particularly horrifying account, noted how in the village he was staying in a young girl had died and he recorded how she was mourned and the great love and ceremony with which she was buried and how later that night he snuck back, dug up her grave and stole her body for research purposes. I remember he noted the great hostility of the natives when they discovered his theft and how he'd be unlikely able to return. I can't help being horrified at the thought of a Filipino actress adding to this horrible history of grave robbing and disrespecting the dead. To the colonialist mentality of taking spiritually important items and turning them into decorations. The level of disrespect is staggering. This is not the way to reconnect with our precolonial culture. I'm utterly horrified the more I look at this image and think about all the people who thought this was acceptable

For anyone interested in further reading

News articles citing art and museum critics disapproval

The screenshotted article with snippets from the Spanish naturalists memoir

History of funerary death masks and thier significance

[acrowslament]

in one of my playthroughs, i have a grey warden rook who've i headcannoned to be the only child of my hero of ferelden (her name's izara cousland). i've quickly became obsessed with the idea that she's gonna go absolutely ballistic when she learns that her only baby had been trapped in the fade.

her name's kalonice and she's romancing emmrich

[lil snippet under the cut🙂‍↕️]

The door slammed open, and Izara’s form filled the doorway, her presence commanding the room like a storm. Her breath came in sharp, desperate pants, and her face, usually a portrait of strength and determination, now etched with grief and fury.

“Where. Is. She?” Her voice broke like a whip crack, sending a jolt through the room. She stepped inside, her boots heavy against the stone floor, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Emmrich and Bellara, both sitting hunched over old tomes and notes, froze at her entrance.

Izara’s gaze locked on them, her eyes blazing with something raw and primal. The question hung in the air like an executioner’s sentence.

“Where is Kalonice?” she demanded again, her voice barely controlled, trembling as she spoke.

Emmrich looked up, but his face was a mask of exhaustion and guilt. He'd been awake for days, searching, hoping for some answer that could pull Kalonice from the depths of the Fade. But this moment—this confrontation—he wasn’t prepared for.

“She’s… she’s trapped, Izara,” he said softly, but his words felt hollow in the thick tension that filled the room.

“Trapped?” Izara spat, her voice cracking. “In the Fade? She’s my daughter. I raised her. She cannot be… trapped. Not like this.”

She advanced into the room, and Bellara, who had been sitting with her head in her hands, slowly stood. Her face was drawn with sorrow, but it was clear she was struggling with the same helplessness.

“Please, Izara,” Bellara whispered, her voice strained with her own grief, thick with sleeplessness. “We’re doing everything we can. We haven’t given up on her.”

Izara turned to face Bellara, her jaw clenched in frustration. “Everything you can?” Her laugh was bitter, tinged with disbelief. “This isn’t about what you can do, Bellara. It’s about where my daughter is. And you—you—are sitting here, searching through books while Kalonice is lost in the Fade!”

Emmrich stood up then, his hand reaching out, but there was a helplessness in his eyes that made it clear there was nothing he could say that would make Izara feel better. “We haven't stopped looking for her. We will find a way to get her out, get her home.”

Izara’s voice broke through the silence, sharp and jagged. “I need more than promises, Emmrich. I need my daughter back. Now.”

Before anyone could speak again, a soft, measured voice broke through the tension.

“You will find her, Izara.” Morrigan’s voice, calm and composed, filled the room as she stepped inside. She hadn’t followed Izara immediately, but the moment the door slammed open, Morrigan knew exactly where this was headed—and she wasn’t about to let her friend unravel alone.

Izara spun around, her eyes wide and still glistening with unshed tears. “You. Morrigan. You tell me where she is.” Her words were almost a command, an unspoken plea for something—anything—she could cling to.

Morrigan, who had been with Izara through the worst of it in the past, stepped closer, her dark eyes full of understanding. She moved slowly, deliberately, her presence steadying as she closed the gap between herself and her friend. The room felt like it was closing in on them both as Morrigan stopped just in front of Izara.

“I wish I could give you the answers you seek,” Morrigan said softly. “I know you’re hurting, but panicking won’t help. You cannot force her out of the Fade by sheer will alone.”

Izara’s breath hitched, the tremor of her anger finally cracking through. “You think I don’t know that? But I am her mother, Morrigan. I raised her. I love her. And I will not—cannot—sit here idly while you sit there telling me ‘we’ll find her,’ knowing she’s trapped—alone—somewhere where we can’t reach her!”

The desperation in Izara’s voice was palpable now. Her composure was rapidly eroding as her fear took hold. Morrigan’s hand, still resting gently on her shoulder, gave a firm squeeze.

“We will bring her back, Izara,” Morrigan assured her, her words unshakable. “But first, you need to believe that we will. I know it feels like we’re failing you, but that’s not the truth. Not yet. We will not stop looking.”

Izara clenched her fists, her entire body trembling with the force of her emotions. Her gaze flicked toward Emmrich, then to Bellara, and finally back to Morrigan.

“I’m not asking for promises anymore,” Izara whispered, her voice rough. “I’m asking for my daughter. I’ve lost too much. I won’t lose her too.”

There was a pause, a stillness in the room. Bellara reached out, her hand light on Izara’s arm. “We won’t stop, Izara,” she repeated, her voice softer now, though still heavy with grief. “Not until we find a way.”

Izara’s eyes softened, the hard edge to her demeanor cracking just a little. She exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling. “Then show me. Show me that there is hope for Kalonice. Show me that I’m not losing her.”

Morrigan’s gaze was steady, and though she knew the path ahead would be difficult, she gave a small nod. “You’re not losing her. We’ll bring her back.”

Izara, still trembling, allowed herself to take a small step back. It wasn’t much—a simple acknowledgment of the fragile hope Morrigan had offered—but it was something. And in that moment, Izara held onto that sliver of hope, unwilling to let go of the belief that, somehow, she would be reunited with Kalonice.

[crinkleshellhole]

you look lonely…

I can fix that~

I’m super happy how this turned out :3

lore/backstory (it’s in the form of a story) about this under the cut!

During one of Burning Spice Cookies tyraids a Spice Storm started to form, but this one was different… it was strong, much stronger than any other storm that raged in his land.

This storm made even the spiciest Cookies cough, sneeze and make their eyes water. Which included Burning Spice Cookie.

Shielding his eyes with his forearm and using his battle axe to stabilize himself as he pushed forward through the storm, the spicy wind whipping around him and blowing his hair back as he walked.

Soon enough he found himself at the edge of a cliff, the Spice Storm still raging around him. Through the thick fog of the spices he saw the figure of a Cookie in the distance.

Preparing to fight this new prey, Burning Spice Cookie gripped his axe tightly, assuming a battle position as he stared down the approaching Cookie… but what he didn’t expect was for said Cookie to be the size of his temple, maybe even bigger.

The large Cookie stopped in front of the cliff, resting her arms on the edge as she looked down at Burning Spice Cookie.

Burning Spice Cookie took a step forward, not cowering at the sight of the large Cookie. “Well well well, looks like the Witches heard my pleas” Burning Spice Cookie laughed, his voice booming across the valleys, but it was barely a whisper over the thick Spice Storm raging around the two Cookies.

“Surrender now, and I might make your end quick and painless” He said with another boisterous laugh, lifting his axe up towards her face which basically dwarfed it.

The large Cookie just hummed, opening her eyes and looking down at Burning Spice Cookie. “Paprika Spice Cookie, you must be the one they call the Great Destroyer, hm?” The large Cookie- Paprika Spice Cookie- said, her voice soft and alluring, like a siren's call.

Burning Spice Cookie furrowed his thick brows, narrowing his eyes. Why wasn’t this Cookie shaking where she stood?! He was the Beast of Destruction! The Great Destroyer! And yet this Cookie dared to mock him?! He was…intrigued to say the least.

“Paprika Spice Cookie.. Hmm, how intriguing” Burning Spice Cookie mocked, keeping his axe in the air no matter how much he wanted to put it down and shield his eyes from the Spice Storm. 

“And that is I” He said, taking another step forward, his eyes blazing from both the burn of the Spice Storm and fury due to this Cookie not fearing him. “The Great Destroyer, Beast of Destruction!”

Paprika Spice Cookie just hummed again, lifting her large hand and pushing his axe to the side. How DARE she touch the Great Destroyer’s axe! But as her hand got closer the heat and spice of the storm intensified around him, making his eyes water but he fought through it, not showing any weakness.

Was this Cookie controlling the Spice Storm? But that was impossible, the Spice Storm was the crumbs of all of the Cookie’s that have crumbled wailing in sorrow, bringing those who stay out in it for too long to join them in their cries... 

But looking at this Cookie, she radiated heat and power, the Spice Storm swirling around her like the eye of a storm... Perhaps she was controlling the storm.

Before Burning Spice Cookie could say something she spoke again, her hand now resting on her cheek as she gazed down at him.”You look lonely... is destruction truly what makes you happy?” She asked, her voice soft yet it cut deep within Burning Spice Cookie’s dough.

“Of course it does! Nothing but destruction makes my jam boil!” He declared loudly, giving the large Cookie a wide, sharp toothy grin, raising his axe into the air once more.

————————————————————

Sorry for the abrupt cliff hanger lol this is the beginning of a longer backstory and it’s still a work in progress so you can have this little snippet of the story :3

[chroniclesofskz]

Through the Shadows

Felix had always been a radiant light in your life, his laughter echoing through your shared home, chasing away the darkness that sometimes loomed overhead. He had a way of brightening even the gloomiest days, with his mischievous smile and soothing voice that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. With him, every moment felt like a gift, one you cherished deeply, filled with love and understanding. Yet, beneath the surface, a storm was brewing, and you felt trapped in your swirling thoughts. You had kept a secret from him, one that gnawed at your insides with a relentless hunger, leaving you feeling isolated and alone. The paparazzi had been relentless in their pursuit, their cameras flashing at inopportune moments, capturing snippets of your life and twisting them into damaging narratives. The online threats and cruel comments were like poison, seeped beneath your skin, suffocating your spirit. Each negative remark was a weight on your heart, one you feared would burden Felix if you dared to share the truth with him.

One evening, after a grueling practice session that left him both exhilarated and exhausted, Felix returned home, his energy still buzzing from the joy of dancing with his bandmates. He relished those moments—the closeness, the rhythm, the music—but something felt off as he entered your shared haven. The usual warmth of your interactions felt strained, the laughter absent, replaced instead by an uncomfortable silence. As he settled into the cozy familiarity of home, he noticed the bedroom door slightly ajar. A flicker of concern ignited within him, compelling him to check on you. The soft sound of muted sobs drifted through the air, wrapping around him like a shroud of worry. His heart raced as he eased into the room, only to find you curled up in bed, a quilt pulled tightly around you, your phone dimly glowing on the floor like a beacon of distress.

He picked it up, dread pooling in his stomach as he read the headline illuminated on the screen: "Has Felix Got His Girlfriend Pregnant, or Is She Gaining Weight?" Each word felt like a punch, the hurtful insinuation cutting deep, and his composure began to unravel as he scrolled through the comments that followed. The cruel words clawed at your heart, taunting your appearance with merciless humor about your love for sweets and treats. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, crashing against him with overwhelming force. Suddenly, everything made sense: your reluctance to leave the house, your quietness during intimate moments, and the way you had seemingly withdrawn from the joyful activities you once embraced. Anger and sadness swirled in his chest, a storm of emotion that threatened to overflow, and he felt helpless. Tears streamed down his face as he processed the pain you were enduring in silence. He quickly wiped them away and moved to sit beside you on the bed, hoping to reach you before the weight of it all crushed you further. The mattress dipped under his weight as you turned to face him, your bloodshot eyes meeting his. It broke him; the sight of you so fragile under the weight of scrutiny shattered his heart in ways he never anticipated.

“Princess, are you okay?” he cooed gently, his voice thick with concern as he stroked your hair, fingers tangling into the soft strands as if seeking solace in your presence. “You can talk to me. It’s okay, baby.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest in a desperate attempt to shield you from the turmoil that plagued your thoughts. In that moment, all he wanted was to erase your pain, to take away the hurt that seemed to consume you. Looking up at him, you felt a wave of sorrow crash over you, and the dam holding back your tears broke. You wailed into his chest, your breath hitching as anxiety tightened its grip around your throat. It felt like the world was closing in, the very air becoming too thick and suffocating. Felix felt the panic rising in you, recognized the frantic beating of your heart as it echoed against his own. The room began to feel smaller, and before you could grasp onto his reassuring presence, everything spun out of control, leaving you lost in darkness.

When you came to, a cold compress was resting gently against your forehead, bringing a wave of relief that collided with the confusion in your mind. Felix sat close beside you, his hand enveloping yours with a warmth that felt both grounding and soothing. “Baby, are you okay?” he asked again, his voice laced with tenderness and concern, eyes searching yours for any sign of life and comfort.

You stirred, blinking against the confusion as you registered the worry etched across his features. “I’m okay, Felix. Really,” you murmured, sitting up slowly, feeling the softness of the blankets fall away from your shoulders. Yet, in this moment, his gaze was intense, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on you both.

“Why didn’t you tell me what they were saying?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion, each word a gentle plea. The pain in his eyes mirrored the hurt you had been trying to shield him from, and the burden of your silence felt heavier than ever.

“I didn’t want to upset you or worry you,” you admitted, your voice trembling as fresh tears threatened to spill over. The truth felt like a jagged rock lodged in your throat. How could you explain the suffocating anxiety that had wrapped around you like a vice? The thought of Felix worrying about you, burdened by circumstances beyond his control, felt unbearable.

He let out a heavy sigh, not of frustration, but of deep concern. “Baby, you need to know that none of those things are true. I love every inch of you, in every way possible. You are beautiful just as you are—weight gain or not, that does not change how I feel about you. In this life, the next, and in any universe, I will always love you for who you are.” His words were earnest and filled with a warmth that enveloped your heart like a soft embrace.

“Don’t ever stop eating or isolating yourself from anyone—especially not me or our future kids,” he continued, his voice gentle yet firm. “I’m worried about you, baby. I love you so much. Please, just talk to me next time, okay?”

Your heart swelled with emotion as his words washed over you. Happy tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the anguish that had characterized your earlier sobs. “How did I ever get so lucky?” you cooed, unable to hide the love that radiated in your gaze as you looked at him. Every fiber of your being ached to connect, to hold onto this moment of vulnerability and honesty.

Felix's expression softened, his lips curling into a tender smile as he leaned in closer. He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, warmth cascading through you like sunshine breaking through clouds. His fingers continued to rub soothing circles on the back of your hand, a silent promise of support. “You deserve to feel loved and cherished just as you are. I want to be your rock, the one you can lean on, no matter how heavy the weight feels.”

You felt the walls you had built around yourself begin to crumble, the unrelenting pressure easing as you talked it out, baring your fears and insecurities to him. Each word that slipped from your lips became a cathartic release, woven into a tapestry of shared experiences and emotions. Felix listened attentively, never interrupting, just absorbing every fragile piece of your truth. His eyes glistened with understanding, and every nod or squeeze of your hand served as reassurance that you were not alone.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between laughter and tears, as you recounted your struggles and the toll they had taken on you. Listening to you poured into him—a wealth of emotions stirred within, deeper than any song he had ever sung. In the softness of the shared space, he found himself falling deeper for you, amazed not only by the strength you were displaying but also by the courage it took to expose your most vulnerable self.

The night wrapped around you both, serene and comforting as you cuddled together, finding solace in each other’s arms. Every word exchanged, every reassuring touch built a fortress against the outside world, a place where love reigned supreme and judgment could not reach you. Felix brushed his fingers over your arm gently, grounding you as you whispered about your fears and dreams, your hopes and desires, feeling freer with every word.

As the shadows of doubt and despair began to dissipate, you realized there was no need to hide anymore. In Felix’s embrace, with his unwavering support, the storm that raged within you was quelled. Love had illuminated the shadows, revealing a path forward that was filled with understanding and compassion. Together, you could face anything that came your way—a true partnership built on love, trust, and an unshakeable bond.

With a sigh of contentment, you leaned your head against his shoulder, the reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat calming your frayed nerves. No longer were you just navigating the darkness alone; you had Felix by your side, ready to stand with you through every storm, ready to lift you up when you stumbled. And in that moment of connection, you knew that together, you would always find your way back to the light.

The end.

[tedwardremus]

Snippet tag

I was tagged by @neverenoughmarauders to post a snippet so here you all go. A preview of the next chapter of The Lighthouse.

Hagrid’s expression softened. “Oh, Harry’s a good lad. A very good lad. It’s a true shame what happened, though.” Tonks raised an eyebrow, leaning in. “What happened?” Hagrid glanced around the café, as if to ensure no one was eavesdropping, then lowered his voice. “James—Harry’s dad, that is—was the captain of the ship that got lost in the storm. Best man I ever knew. Brave and generous.” “Oh, that’s terrible,” Tonks said softly. “Harry was just a baby then. Lost his mum, Lily, in the storm too.” “She was on the ship?” “No, she was at home,” Hagrid said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “The storm wrecked their house. Wasn’t the only death that night either. Poor Harry lost everyone. Went to live with his aunt and uncle in Surrey, but from what I hear, they weren’t good to him.” “No?” Tonks asked, frowning. “Nah. He turned up back here a couple of years ago. Moved into his godfather’s old house and just started helpin’ out around town. Like I said, good kid. Got that kindness from his mum.” “Remus said he’s teaching Harry to fish,” Tonks remarked. “Aye, so you’ve met Remus,” Hagrid said, nodding. “Don’t think he’s too keen on it, but Harry wants to fish like his dad. Remus has a hard time sayin’ no to him.” “Why?” Tonks asked. Hagrid hesitated, then leaned closer. “Well probably ‘cause he thinks it’s his fault James died.”

[daffi-990]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday ✍️

More from my new WIP which I found a title for already (I’m as surprised as you are) -> when your heart releases, you won’t fall to pieces

I have no idea how long this fic is going to be, definitely shouldn’t be longer than 5K … well that’s what I’m aiming for anyway 😅. Okay enough from me, let’s get to the snippet! Prev snippet here

“Hey.” Buck reaches out a tentative hand, not wanting to spook his best friend. He aches to touch Eddie, to feel the weight and warmth of him under his palm. Still here. Still alive.

Eddie sobs and pushes his forehead into his knuckles, his words almost a whisper even in the quiet room.

“They’re all dead.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. They haven’t lost anyone on a call recently so he doesn’t know who Eddie is talking about.

“Who’s all dead?”

“Everybody that I saved.” Eddie sobs out. He takes a shuddering breath before he speaks again, voice louder and harsher. “They’re all dead!” Eddie finally looks at Buck and the fear and sorrow that is raging in the muddied storm waters of his eyes has Buck flinching slightly. He’s so used to Eddie’s eyes being sun kissed pools of rich coffee that draw you in with their warmth, making you feel safe.

“They’re all dead, they’re all dead, they’re all dead”. Eddie whispers it over and over again and Buck doesn’t know what to do besides move closer and pull him into his arms. Eddie doesn’t fight him, just falls into the safety of Buck’s embrace, clutching tightly at his back as a broken sob falls from his mouth. Eddie continues to cry into Buck’s neck as Buck wraps his arms securely around him, a shield of flesh and bone attempting to protect Eddie from the horrors of whatever is haunting him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you” Buck murmurs into Eddie’s hair, his lips caressing the sweat soaked strands. “I’ve got you.”

No pressure tagging 😘: @hippolotamus @jamespearce9-1-1 @callmenewbie @wikiangela @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @fortheloveofbuddie @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @wildlife4life @exhuastedpigeon @athenagranted @nmcggg @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @sibylsleaves @lover-of-mine @rainbow-nerdss @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @the-likesofus @steadfastsaturnsrings @princessfbi @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @loserdiaz @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @jesuisici33 @monsterrae1 @mellaithwen @captain-hen @devirnis @glorious-spoon @fcntasmas @bekkachaos @try-set-me-on-fire and anyone else I’ve missed and wants to share something -> consider yourself tagged ❤️

[fanaticsnail]

AAAASA!!! The snippet for Shanks in the Sapsorrow universe!!! More Sapsorrow lore!!!! I love the description of her with pupil-less eyes and grey hair like storm clouds, shes so mysterious and intimidating, but also interesting

You are either going to hate her for her vindictive and punishing nature, full of hatred and bittersweet sorrow.

Or she will be loved for her obsession at the notion that should two people's be forced together, their love should be true or succumb to their cruel fates by her spectral hands.

...she is coming...

...she is coming...

...she is coming...

[thesilliestofgals]

Here's a snippet of the next part for my Rosabella Beast universe! (still in development; snippet is just a draft)

The room was as tense as a knight in rusted armor. Raven and Dexter stood huddled together, with the former clenching and unclenching her hands in an attempt to extinguish the violet flames flickering in her palms and leaking out through her fingers. Apple and Darling were seated at the windowsill, the red clad princess holding on to her princess charming's arm for support.

Humphrey was circling the room like an angry bull, practically kicking up dust in his fury, hands clutching the sides of his MirrorPad so tightly that his knuckles had long since turned several shades lighter. Daring stood in the eye of the storm, arms crossed, sturdy as a king's shield.

The timidness Humphrey had been known for was nonexistent now as he stopped, chest heaving, and turned to Daring, teeth clenched so tight that his jaw seemed to twitch in pain. "So," he hissed, "let me get this straight: someone is making this... callout blog, targeting the students of Ever After High?" Daring nodded, and Humphrey's eyes closed, nostrils flaring.

Then, Apple spoke up- "But- but why in Ever After would someone do that?" Her eyes were wide and wet, and she leaned on Darling. "That's- that's just so-!" Words failed her, and she shook her head in shock.

Darling rubbed circles on Apple's back as the she leaned on her for support. "From what I've read," she murmured, "it seems as though it's a double edged sword. Some things on there, I'll admit, should've been aired out a long time ago, but others..." The Princess Charming trailed off and shook her head in sorrow and disbelief.

"I just-" Dexter was next to speak, running his sweaty fingers through his hair, nose crinkling in realization as he did so, "-it's just- wrong. Someone's taking it upon themselves to play judge, jury, and executioner."

Raven nodded, arms crossed. "It's not fairest. We need to get to the bottom of this, before someone gets seriously hurt. Humphrey, Daring, do either of you have any leads?"

Humphrey huffed, turning his MirrorPad around in his hands and tapping the screen a few times. "Well, from looking the posts over, they do feel quite like how Dexter described it. These people- they don't hold back. The worse the secret, the more caustic the post."

"People?" Raven's brow rose.

Humphrey nodded. "It's two or more, I think. Some of the posts read like something out of a crappy tabloid. Buzzwords, stuff like that. Some of the other posts, however, are more... sophisticated, as though the writer considers it something far bigger than it is."

[rimeiii]

Forget your tears - be brave, and fall asleep (WHB Belial x MC)

Revisited the chapter 8 Mephisto boss fight (and by extension the second phase BGM Lullabye) because the recent trailer for Arknights anime season 2, Perish in Frost, had a tiny snippet of it that maybe sent the entire fandom into a frenzy. Then I remember seeing a post speculating about the effects of the seed of the fruit of knowledge on a human with the most angst-filled HC in which it turns the human into an ally of the angels. And thus, this was born.

Also served as a distraction to the entire PM situation so...yeah. Apologies for any shit writing.

Tags: GN Reader x WHB Belial. Written before launch, so prepare for lore inaccuracies. Angst. Likely not proofread. Also it's been a while since I last wrote something and this is my first rodeo with reader insert so...

Title is taken from the English translated lyrics to Lullabye from the Arknights OST!

Belial had always associated music with comfort.

Ever since he'd lost his voice to the angels when he was young, he'd always experienced nightmares. Try as he might, no matter how much he actively attempted to suppress the memories of that day, they'd return to him when his psyche was at its most susceptible. Like a monster laying in wait, these memories would remain dormant - deceptively harmless, until they'd viciously resurface in his unconscious mind.

He'll always remember. The agony of his vocal cords getting burnt away, the searing pain in his throat as his voice is completely annihilated, the demons of Paradise Lost regretfully telling him there was nothing they could do about his voice.

The way his heart ached unbearably harshly as he is beset upon the realization that he is effectively rendered mute. The soul-crushing realization that he can no longer sing, melodies and lyrics becoming nothing more than ideas locked in his mind. The deep despair as it dawned on him that he could no longer communicate effectively with anyone.

Pain made way to sadness, to the despair of loss, to anger at the angels.

Belial was young, at the time. Impulsive and perhaps a little bit rash, fueled by wrath towards the beings that stripped him of his voice. A wrath so uncontrollable that even with Jjyu doing his utmost best to keep Belial's anger in check, residual traces of his wrath remain.

Perhaps it was an effect of Satan's influence on the demons of Gehenna. Perhaps his anger was just that potent. Perhaps, he was angry at how he never obtained a peaceful rest.

But either way, Belial's turbulent emotions remained - until Solomon arrived and managed to quell his raging emotions.

Solomon came with a song. A lullaby, a song to soothe a troubled soul. Though the melody seems anything but - a melancholic melody in a tongue Belial is unfamiliar with, yet carries with it the sorrow of a protector in the night. Silent, yet steadfast, always ready to be a sanctuary.

It was enough for his restless heart to grow calm.

Even after Solomon left, there remains a recording of Solomon singing the lullaby. It always became a source of a comfort for Belial, a brief calm within the turbulent storm that was their war against the angels. And it has become his way to remember his beloved Solomon, the only being in the entire universe to be able to calm his restless heart.

It was his main source for comfort, at this point.

~

The very first time Belial heard someone else sing the very lullaby that only exists in recordings, it was sung by Solomon's descendant, (Y/N).

It was late, while they were settling down for the night. They were changing into their sleepwear in Belial's room, who was bundled up in the covers while beckoning them towards him. And unconsciously, perhaps due to the comfort of the darkness surrounding them, they started humming that familiar tune.

Immediately, Belial grew still. Is that...

Fortunately, Jjyu was quick to pick up on Belial's confusion, as usual.

"Hey, that song..." Jjyu murmured, quiet and shaky, breaking the fragile silence of the night. Seeing that he caught their attention, he continued his question. "How do you know it?"

"Hm? Oh, my parents used to sing it to me whenever I couldn't sleep, back when I was a kid." (Y/N) replied. Belial noted the slightly subdued delivery of their statement and immediately sat up straight, scooting over to create more space for them.

"It's been a long time since I last heard them sing, but it has always stuck with me up 'til now, y'know?" (Y/N) laughed weakly as they settled down beside Belial. They snuggled closer to Belial, nuzzling their head into the crook of his neck, savoring his warmth and presence. "Even after they're long gone, I still remember their voices, and the lullaby."

"Where are they now?" Jjyu asked, even though both he and Belial had a feeling they knew what was coming next.

A sad, rueful smile made its way onto (Y/N)'s lips.

"Gone."

Immediately, Belial wrapped his arm around (Y/N), giving their shoulder a comforting squeeze. I'm sorry.

"It's been years, Beli. I'm fine now." They replied. He noted the slight tinge of grief in their voice but refused to comment further on it, seeing as they diverted the conversation to another topic. "Why did you ask about the song, though?"

"Solomon used to sing that lullaby whenever Belial would get nightmares." Jjyu supplied easily. "It would calm him down after one."

(Y/N) hummed contemplatively. "I'm probably not as good as Solomon, but if you want, I don't mind singing for you if you get any more nightmares, Beli."

Jjyu looked like he was uncertain, however one look at Belial must have showed how the other demon was truly thankful for the offer. Because while Solomon's singing was the one that calmed him down all those years ago, he still thought the way (Y/N) hummed the lullaby in question is soothing and beautiful in its own right. And, because of that, he decided he wanted to hear them sing.

"Thank you, (Y/N). We'll take you up on that offer."

(And hey, at least Jjyu isn't being an asshole for once.)

~

There's a lot to be said about the significance of music, especially for someone like Belial, who loves and appreciates all the intricacies that came with music and its structure.

The lullaby he'd always come to associate with comfort had also become associated with (Y/N), the human who had won over his heart. They sang it with such profound emotion, sorrow and solace blending into a heartrending harmony, so similar yet so unlike how Solomon used to sing it to him. It was soulful, soothing, and calming all at once.

It was so unlike the way they sing it now, consumed by the heavenly powers and transmogrified into a heavenly being, becoming a berserk "angel" hell-bent on killing the very people they once considered friends.

(Jjyu would prefer calling whatever they transformed into as a monster. Belial would be inclined to agree - if not for the fact it was (Y/N) they were talking about.)

Their voice is raw, broken and distorted. Rage, anguish, anger, and despair, all intermixed into a cacophony of grating noises. It was so unlike the charming and beautiful voice Belial was used to, and it hurts.

It hurts, because he knows why (Y/N) turned into this heavenly being in the first place. Because he knows they sacrificed themself, offered themself up to keep the demons safe. Knows, that even if it meant they were to die, they were willing to give up their life for the demons they have grown to cherish.

And yet Belial, still stuck in denial, desperately searches their eyes for any sign of the human he had grown affectionate towards. A spark of life, a hint of familiarity, something, anything-

Nothing. There is nothing.

They are unfamiliar in his eyes. A husk of their former self, blazing a warpath of complete and utter annihilation of Hell and its denizens.

Was this what (Y/N) meant when they told me to gain the strength needed to kill them?

His allies are all too far away from him. Satan made his orders clear, no matter how painful it was for them all - kill (Y/N).

He has a clear shot at the moment. Though their movements are erratic, they often remain still for long periods of time - exhaustion, perhaps, due to taking up a form they are not used to. Yet they continue singing, as if it could relieve some of the pain and anguish their forced transformation has caused them.

And Belial remembers.

He remembers them singing to him until he falls asleep.

He remembers the comfort from their voice, singing to him such a familiar lullaby.

He remembers them, eventually recording themself singing the lullaby and giving the recording to him.

So similar, yet so different to how she's singing it right now.

He can't bear seeing them suffer in a fate worse than death, nor can he bear hearing the lullaby, now distorted beyond belief. So he takes aim despite his tears, aims the muzzle of his sniper rifle at their forehead...

BLAM!

They crumple into the ground in a heap, before immediately turning to dust.

Belial sobs, and Jjyu wails with him, the pair of them unable to retrieve any trace of their prior existence.

And the lullaby, a song he associated with comfort once upon a time, is now identic of anguish, of the loss of a loved one.

[fangbangerghoul]

My week has felt so looooong and it's only WEDNESDAY!

My spoons are low, and I have released a new chapter of Fleeting Pleasures recently! I haven't gotten to write as much as I wanted but its mostly due to my school work. They really have me reading and writing 24/7.

Tagging the usual! @silurisanguine @eridanidreams @staticpallour @toxiclizardwrites @bearlytolerant @a-cosmic-elf @lisa-and-shadow @aislingdmdt @booburry @therealgchu @samcoesclub @5oh5 @staticpallour (if i forgot you holla at me and I'll add you!)

No one is obligated but it's fun to see you post! Feel free to tag me so I can see your work!

Under the cut is a snippet from Chapter 10 of Fleeting Pleasures!

The tall grass repelled from their movements and tickled the bare skin of his hands. The winds of the planet woefully sung their warning that less than peaceful weather was nigh. The night was just ahead of them but the star that warmed this planet bore on their backs still fighting the horizon and gallantly displayed a warm hue of sunflower kissed yellow. The two of them had just finished up their current excavation and Sam was grateful for it to not only be over but for this planet to be breathable unlike the last four they had journeyed too.

She walked ahead of him, taking her time and her hands softly swinging with the grass. This was one of the rare times her luscious curly green hair was down and the winds whipped it around like two kids fighting over a doll. When she turned back to check on him, her cat-like eyes reflected the planet’s sun like topazes which was a stark contrast to the dark skies behind her.

“Are you coming?” She asked the same topazes staring straight through him, making the storm of feelings within him just as violent as the breeze around them.

“Yeah, just taking a moment to appreciate the view.” He felt a smile creep up on his face as he looked at her in wonder. Sam always wondered if she knew how he really felt. Ghoul put her hands on her hips and stood there trying to patiently wait but they both knew her patience was about as far as she could be thrown.

He started to take a step forward itching to meet her where she stood but something stopped him. It was a sudden and sharp pain in his left side and it made Sam groan out in pain. Ghoul’s face flashed with concerned and as he looked down, he saw crimson stain his shirt and his hands immediately went to apply pressure to the magical wound. When he looked up again the sweet yellow hues from the horizon behind him were gone and the winds picked up rolling the storm from ahead into their area. Ghoul’s face was pale, jaunt, and her golden eyes dimmed as if she were a lifeless corpse. Her mouth twisted in dismay and pain as if frustrated with him.

“I told you, you shouldn’t of came.” She said coldly, her face relaxed into resignation with every ounce of empathy washed away from her.

His surrounds became black, the floor beneath him now replaced with manmade metal in place of the soft earth that was there before. They were on Sondoor. He was here with here again. The pain spread throughout his veins and he felt a sharpness within his chest. His instinct was to reach out to her, for her to grab his hand but she now was adorned with Crimson Fleet attire and took a step away from him. Shadows that shouldn’t be there casted along her face painting a new picture that produced crashing waves of sorrow within himself.   

Then he woke.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her majesty || The Re-Write

Snippet of “her Majesty” rewrite. I have absolutely loved re-writing this fanfic in my spare time and it has been one of my favourite secrets to keep, as I have changed the storyline. It has taken me quite a while to write the chapters I have, but I have throughly thought this process out. I’m still trying to figure out some details and plots but I’m ready to share a small snippet of what arose today. I’m not entirely sure I want to keep the title as “Her Majesty” or if I want to change the title to “Veil of Glass.” Feel free to let me know your thoughts and ideas!

Also, I adore the new portrayal of Anna and Harry. He’s soft but not too soft and she’s determined to stand on her own two feet and not have Harry save her every time she needs a saving grace.

Snippet of chapter 4

He walks back towards me, his steps deliberate, his gaze unwavering. Taking my hand in his, he speaks softly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that tugs at my heartstrings, "If you want me to stay, tell me now."

It feels as though the tenderness of his voice is ripping me open to my core, forcing me to fall within his trans, and my turmoil threatens to boil over me.

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within me. I yearn for him to stay, to wrap me in his embrace and chase away the shadows of doubt. Yet, I hesitate, unable to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings that hold me back.

Caught between the desire to be strong and the fear of revealing my vulnerability, I falter. The words catch in my throat, a silent plea lingering on my lips, as I struggle to make sense of the tumultuous storm raging within me.

As I watch him step back, a wave of panic crashes over me, threatening to drown me in its suffocating embrace, breath my breath, slowly drowning me. I've always prided myself on standing strong, on never needing anyone to lean on. But now, in this moment of uncertainty, I feel the ground beneath me slipping away, leaving me teetering on the edge of an abyss I never knew existed.

What is going on? I’m suffocating on my own air.

Amidst the opulence of this royal court, where every move is scrutinized and every word is weighed, I've never felt more alone. The weight of my position, the burden of expectation, it all presses down on me, threatening to crush my lungs beneath its relentless force.

And yet, amidst the chaos of my own inner turmoil, one thought burns brighter than all the rest: the fear of losing him. Not to the monarchy, not to the whispers of court intrigue, but to the vast expanse of uncertainty that lies beyond these gilded walls. What if he walks away and never comes back? What if I'm left to face this world alone, with nothing but memories to keep me company? What a painful and sorrowful life that would be to live.

The answers elude me, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, leaving me grasping at shadows in the dark. All I truly know is that I want him to stay tonight, to chase away the demons that haunt my dreams and soothe the ache that lingers in the depths of my soul. But I can't bring myself to ask him to put off his plans, whatever they may be, to sacrifice his own desires for the sake of my fleeting whim.

So I stand there, silent and still, my heart aching with a longing I dare not voice, as he waits for my answer, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse of the truth that lies buried beneath the surface of my stoic facade.

Finally, I find myself. I swallow hard and I shake my head, “I will be just fine,” I fake a smile, praying to the man upstairs that I can compose myself and keep my integrity intact. I am not going to stumble over my own emotions. “You’re going to miss your flight if you keep standing here waiting for me to break down, telling you that I need you to stay.”

He heavily sighs, aware that not only am I lying, but I am also telling the truth— a true paradox and conundrum of unknown, undesired emotions that I cannot piece together.

End chapter

I would like to add that I played around with an AI to help convey the emotions more effectively and to escalate the tone I was trying to persuade. I’m utterly impressed at how much it truely helped and how it guided the vision I had and helped articulate it into words. All of these chapters, I visually see in my head and sometimes it’s hard describing the exact emotion my characters are feeling or describing exactly what I see. Anyways, if you’ve managed to read this far, thank you! I hope you have liked my sudden sharing of a chapter I’ve kept hidden for over a year. Oops.