#that desk will soon be buried under letters

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

In 'welcome home please stay' - how do Regis et al react to the news that the Galahdians, for the most part, don't /want/ to come back to Insomnia?

"It was certainly unusual," Regis murmured into the quiet room.

All three occupants of his private office - including him - were staring at the stack of envelopes a... sentient breath of wind? had ploped down on his desk, all the while giggling about somthing in a language none could understand.

Cor let his sword vanish back into the armiger, while Clarus also slowly relaxed his stance. Regis gently poked one of the letters, his magic churning beneath his skin like a river of crystalline glass. Nothing happened.

"What was that?" Clarus demanded to know, even though he knew no one could answer.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Regis said. "However these appear to be quite ordinary letters."

"You sure?" Cor asked eyeing the stack like it might come alive and try to murder them.

They were quite eclictic, the envelopes. Some were large and thick - a normal brown - some were smaller and red or green or blue aor any other colour under the sun. Those looked like they were from store bought birthday cards. Some were ordinary envelopes and others looked like they had been folded by hand out of whatever had been available.

"They reek of chaos," Cor rumbled. "Be careful, Regis. Getting letters from fae is never a good thing."

"They are addressed to my official name, and all are written by a different hand, from what I can tell. If I had to venture a guess, whatever brought the letters here was simply delivering them," Regis said.

He picked one of them up. One of the larger ones. The paper of the envelope was thick and of high quality - a beautiful golden brown sealed with greyish black wax. A finely detailed flower was depicted in it.

Picking up a letter opener, Regis carefully upened the envelope and pulled out a thick stack of papers. After skimming over the first few lines, he felt the colour drain from his face.

"Regis?"

Clarus took a step closer in worry.

"This letter is from one Luche Lazarus. With this he is handing in his resignation from the Glaive and states his refusal to step back on Lucian soil unless he has to."

"... What?"

[ryder-writes]

Your Daughter is Getting Bullied- Dad!Kiribaku x Reader

CW: Bulling, your kid has a bruise, implication of Kirishima dealing with SH in the past

A/n: I randomly got motivation to write angry dad Kirishima so here we are lmao.  It is not said whether you had your daughter biologically or if she were adopted. If u read my Dad!Bakugo fic and recognize your daughters name no you don’t. Also u can tell when I lost motivation💀

WC: 1.1k

Eijiro Kirishima was blinded by rage. He couldn’t see anything but red.

"What do you mean my daughter is being bullied?!" He yelled, demanding an answer.

"Mr. Kirishima, please calm do-"

"Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!" He slammed his hands on the principal's desk. "When I come to pick up my daughter I should not see a bruise on her arm!"

"Mr. Kiri-"

"No. I'm going home to talk to my daughter and partners about what to do about your unprofessional and incompetent school staff." He spat. He turned around and grabbed his daughter's backpack from the office chair before walking toward the door. He stopped in the door way and turned his head back toward the principal. "Expect a letter from my office." He snarled. He made his way to his daughter's classroom, controlling his breathing as he walked. Once he was calm enough, he walked into the classroom.

"Dada!" Enya yelled, running to hug her dad.

"Hey, Sunshine." Eijiro smiled. He turned to her teacher. "Thank you so much for looking after her."

"Oh of course, Mr. Kirishima. I apologize for not noticing sooner." She apologized. He raised his hand;

"No, no. This isn't your fault." He sighed. "I want to say thank you for being such an amazing teacher. Enya really enjoys your class." He chuckles under his breath, "She talks about it all the time at home." The teacher smiled.

"I'm thankful that I could teach your daughter."

"Well, we should get home." Eijiro said as he picked up Enya. "Say goodbye, Sunshine." Enya turned around and waved:

"Bye-bye! See you tomorrow!" Eijiro bit his lip.

-

Eijiro turned the key and unlocked the front door to your house. Enya immediately ran inside to go greet you and Katsuki. He sighed and closed the door behind him. He dropped his duffel bag (filled with his hero gear) and Enya's backpack on the organizer by the door. He walked into the dining room to see Katsuki at the dinner table. Enya was on his lap, talking to him about her day. Eijiro assumed he was reading, as there was a book folded on the table, as well as his reading glasses perched on the top of his head. You were across the way in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He walked over to you, letting his head fall on your shoulder and his hands grab your waist.

"Hello, Ei." You chuckled as you turned your head and kissed his head. He grumbled in response. "What's wrong, love?" You asked. You knew that it wasn’t good to hide your emotions; Eijiro taught you that. He buried his head deeper into your shoulder and mumbled something. "Hmm?" You asked for clarification. Your moment, however, was interrupted by a loud voice.

"WHO THE HELL DID THIS TO YOU!?"

"Katsuki! Language!" You yelled, leaving Eijiro's grasp and making your way towards Katsuki. "Now, what…happened..." You were in shock. Right there, on your daughter's arm, was a bright purple and yellow bruise. You immediately ran over and crouched down next to your daughter (who was still on Katsuki's lap). "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, it doesn’t hurt anymore." She answered. In your peripheral, you saw Katsuki's eye twitch.

"Okay, that’s good. Go change out of your uniform then we'll have dinner, okay?" She nodded and walked away to her room. As soon as she was out of earshot, Katsuki dragged his hands across his face.

"Fucckk." He groaned. "Why would anyone do that to her?!" He stood up from his chair and started pacing. You grabbed his glasses off of his head, just incase he accidentally broke them from his rage again.

"I don’t know, Kats." You sighed. Your heart sunk. "Do you think it's because of us?"

"What? No, of course not baby." Eijiro comforted you by grabbing your hand.

"I don’t know." Katsuki interjected.

"Kat!"

"What? I mean it's possible. I know for a fact that no one else in her class has three parents." He reasoned. You shifted your weight, uncomfortable with the fact that Katsuki was probably right.

"Okay, but that doesn’t have to be the case." Eijiro tried to reason. "There could very well be another reason."

"Like what, Red?" Katsuki took a step toward Eijiro. "Fuckin' tell me what else." Eijiro remained silent. "Can't, can you?"

"Guys." You sighed. They both immediately stopped and looked at you in unison. "Let's just ask Enya." You suggested.

 Eijiro chuckled dryly:  "Yeah, that might be better."

-

"So, Squirt, do y'know why you got hurt?" Katsuki asked. You four were now in her room, putting her to bed.

"Well, Abby pushed me into my desk today." She answered.

"Did she say why?" You inquired.

"Uh- she said it was cause I didn’t have 'good normal parents'." She made air quotes with her hands. Your eyes all widened . Eijiro immediately stood up and left, clenching his fists. You noticed Enya watching him leave.

"Don’t worry sweetheart, Dada just needs some time." You kiss her forehead tell her goodnight before heading out to where Eijiro had gone. You found him pacing around the living room, hands mindlessly scratching at his arms. You immediately walked over in front of him and grabbed his hands, ceasing his movement. You interlaced you fingers with his, bringing his attention to the semicolon bracelet he wore.

He exhaled. "Thank you." You hummed in response. "I just don’t know what to do. I want what's best for her but… she loves that school."

"That doesn’t matter if she's getting hurt." Katsuki remarked from the hallway. "I don’t care what she thinks. I'm not willingly let her go to a school where she's getting bullied."

"Her opinion is still important, Kats." You reasoned.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure."

"Okay, but I think Katsuki is right, Hun." Eijiro Let go of one of your hands to grab onto one of Katsuki's. "I don’t feel safe sending her there anymore."

You sighed: "Yeah, you're right. I just feel bad for her."

-

"Dada, why didn’t you wake me up?"

"Oh, sorry Sunshine. You're not going to school today."

"Oh." Enya paused. "Why?"

"Uhm, we just want to make sure that you're getting a good education." Eijiro rubbed the back of his neck. You and Katsuki both knew that meant he was lying. Luckily, Enya hadn't realized that yet. You walked into the living room, seeing him sitting on the couch on his laptop, talking to Enya who had just woken up. He was looking at new schools, since his patrol wasn’t until later. You called Enya into the kitchen, telling her it was time for breakfast. Eijiro got up and joined her as well (Katsuki had left already).

"Honey, can we talk real quick?" You asked.

"Of course." He answered, following you into the hallway.

"I was thinking, what if she gets bullied at her new school?" You whispered, voice laced with concern. Ei gave you a sympathetic smile.

"I don’t think she will. And, even if she does," He rested his forehead against yours "we'll be there for her."

A/n Pt.2: Okay, okay. I know the ending sucks, I had plans to write more I swear but motivation's a bitch. Anyways, if you enjoyed Dad!Bakugo and Dad!Kirishima, feel free to check out my masterlist, with more dad content.

[ms0milk]

firework breathing, fifth form.

tengen uzui(s) x bounty hunter of sorts

no cw whipped tengen and the wives try to recruit the love of their lives using all means available. thank you @ltadoriyuujl for making this request for the @ficsforgaza initiative! to say I had fun with this one is an understatement 2.5k

Vigilante justice had repercussions, and before you would have said you were amply prepared. Law enforcement had no chance of keeping up with you. That’s what happens when you don’t believe in monsters. You could make all the noise you’d like in a hunt and their incompetence only served to soothe, always looking for the humans on their wanted posters. Bounty hunters cowered when your blade cleaved through the throats of demons and theirs hacked pitifully at the creatures happy to consume them.

A looted sword and penchant for timeliness, what fight couldn’t you weasel victory from? The answer was rhetorical until a letter arrived on scented paper, where, buried under three pages of classical poetry there lay a clear and calligraphed, 'Marry me.' Signed, Uzui Tengen.

“Saw your kill,” Tengen gleamed at dawn outside the shop that kept you good and fed on steamed buns. “Just as flashy as they say.”

“Next time someone has something to say about me, kindly change the subject.”

To call him persistent was an understatement. The Uzuis were old money with old traditions and older practices. Their mansion sat behind flowering hedges and wisteria vines on the stream at the lip of the forest, just too far to receive visitors and just close enough to rub the opulence in the whole town’s face. You quite liked your little life, the little apartment above Old Man Tatsu’s udon shop, the reward money that came in little pouches when you rolled bountyheads across the sheriff's desk. Though you had to be fast. Their expensive criminals had a habit of disintegrating.

“Are you Kinoe?” He’d ask as you shopped for dry goods. Obnoxiously tall and draped in silk for every color of the week, the master of the mysterious house was never too far from the hunter in her linen haori. “Who's your master?”

Sometimes a wife would come and when Makio accompanied you she would drop coin into the merchants’ dishes before you had the chance to pay for yourself, “Stop asking her so many questions.”

“Women like to talk.”

“Not to you.��

And so gifts started arriving shortly after. Clothes and ribbons, a barley pillow of purple silk, perfumes, ceramics– your one room above Tatsu’s udon shop was soon so laden with treasure you worried it might fall through the floor. “Leave it here,” Hina whispered to couriers from the staircase outside your apartments.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you yawned in the doorframe, wrapped in a padded red hanten. It was one of your many new treasures. Hina smiled wide at the insinuation and you could see even through sleep, all the notes she took behind bright eyes. Three more jackets came that autumn and the fourth was delivered in person.

You slid a cloth down the bladedge of your sword after a hunt. As always, your weapon had burst from the arc over your head and with shattering speed through the back of the creature’s throat, but it found your scent the second the rattling strike touched its flesh. It twisted this time and caught the blade at a notch in its neck before losing its head. Every swipe of the cloth down your sword was filled with the apprehension of it catching on a crack in the blade.

In the cold candlelight, there was a grunt and then a hand in your apartment window. You startled when the hand started to talk, and gripped your sword from the cover of blankets. “Don’t pounce, princess.” Tengen’s voice was at least better than the snarl of a demon. His head peeked over the frame. Two lilac eyes grinned at you.

“Little late for a climb, Uzui.”

“S’cold,” he grunted and his head dropped below the frame for a moment before his hand gripped the sill and the rest of him followed, swinging over itself into the room. His mountainous body landed without a sound and he smiled, white hair framed by moonlight, “brought a gift.”

You thought he might be referring to himself before he rummaged through his haori and pulled a twine wrapped bundle out from under his arm. You rolled your eyes, “How do you know where I live?”

“You know where I live.”

“You want me to know where you live,” you crept forward to accept the package, “you’ve practically spelled my name out with your hedges.”

“Did you like that?”

He crouched a respectful distance away from where you startled back into blankets and settled on his knees. He and his family moved like cats in the night. They appeared exactly where you expect them and still it was always surprising. “Why do you work so hard for my attention?”

“I want more than your atten–”

“Mr. Uzui.”

He bobbed his head in concession and shifted his legs underneath him so that the white muscle of his thigh glowed through the drapes and folds of his long pretty robes. He pulled one knee up and rested like a king against your simple wooden window. “Who taught you?”

“Taught me what?”

“The sword.” He pointed with a painted nail to the weapon you kept tucked against your chest.

You shook your head, “No one, I just– I found it.”

“And so you hunt demons for fun?”

You smiled through the sarcasm, “For money.”

“Is there much money to be had in bounties that disintegrate?” He loved to thread a reel between endearing and irritating and that evening was no different. He watched you like an acrobat on a line.

“And what do you know about hunting, Sir?”

“Why do you think the strong ones stay away from this town?” Strong ones, was a horrifying thought and for a moment you forgot to stay cool across from the sudden and fleeting stoicism of your patron. Tengen’s eyes darkened, his broad hands flexed like a fist would be more natural. “You’re safe here. Protected.”

“That’s not necessary.” 

And his facade changed with a nod of his head. The smile returned under summer eyes. “I hear you fighting, you strike like fifty firecrackers– a roman candle–” You jerked your hand to your lips in a signal to keep it down, which he did, and leaned forward with a simmered voice, “Your breath is like a firework. Like nothing I’ve ever heard.” It was as if the sound followed the command of its master and cupped your jaw where he’d like to. Worry about your chipped sword was as far away as ever. Your life was warmer with the Uzuis in it, if not just slightly more embarrassing. He raised an eyebrow, “Have you studied the poets?

One picture of your apartments could inspire a whole comedy performance. Cold and wooden and upholstered with jewels that could buy the building five times over. If he started sending poetry you might have actually had to pay taxes. Tengen waited, happy and handsome, for your response as you stared. Could you have ever guessed grabbing the sword of a fallen soldier as your village crumbled around you would have led to this?

“In pale moonlight,” he urged and leaned farther towards you, drawing his knuckle over your fingers at sword hilt, “the wisteria’s scent…”

You steadied yourself through the waves of goosebumps that came from his touch and his gaze, closer than he was before. “It’s late, Mr. Uzui,” you managed and closed your hands around his to keep it from wandering farther. He sighed through a smile and drew back slowly to stand.

“Then I’ll wish you goodnight, Mrs. Uzui.”

You pursed your lips and he laughed like a windchime, lightly, his warmth and perfume spilling from his chest as he drew a thick haori tight around himself. “I’ll show myself out.” He stood and crossed your room to pull open the door.

“No,” you startled again and covered your own mouth at the volume. He turned to you, grinning, surprised, and it took everything you had not to grin back behind your fingers. His flamboyant dress was already enough, townsfolk didn’t need any reason to speculate on why a man who dressed like a successful pimp was coming from your rooms at midnight.

Tengen flashed one more obnoxious and knowing smile before crossing back over his dozens of gifts and stepping through your window frame like there might be a staircase waiting outside. “As you wish.”

He dropped with your heart and your sword clattered to the ground and you dove to see, surely, a broken puddle of a man two stories down. But the master of the flamboyant mansion only dusted his shoulders off with his landing and turned back up to watch you from below. As always, every proposal of his was punctuated with a deep bow.

See how he likes it, you grumbled, brimming with renewed frustration. Just a few weeks later and it was supposed to be a simple night.​​ The edge of town reeked of blood that day, the blood of fresh kills and wild animals, all day it lingered on the shadows that touched the forest. A new demon was always easy to track because hunger is easy to smell when you’re quiet. You were the loudest thing at twilight. You hushed the moss underfoot and bobbed between branches. Simple. Night. You would have been easy to smell too if demons weren’t too gluttonous to realize humans can reek of bloodlust.

In the clearing ahead where iron mingled in the fog, stood a woman where, by all accounts of your tracking, the creature should have been. Uzui’s Suma stood alone, pregnant beyond imagining, and dropped her kunai in the grass when you stumbled into the open. She wailed when she saw you and sobbed immediately to the tune of, “s’not fair!” and “wanna propose too!” as she waddled closer.

Like gifts that much– lucky I’m even delivering this one.

You spent the better part of two hours walking her back home, sword raised and mind racing at all the ways you might strap a pregnant woman to your body and walk a little faster for the both of you. She apologized sixty-seven times and kept track herself and when you finally approached the back gate of her home, she labored over her belly to pull the latch open. No key, no guard, no Uzui. No supervision! No protection! No worried greeting at the door–

You gripped tighter at the vines on the side of the house and pushed higher. Your feet found purchase in wisteria so solid it must have been a hundred years old, farther, higher towards the window at the corner of the mansion that Suma pointed you towards. You hissed and pulled yourself the last two feet to the windowsill.

“Uzui,” came out as a grunt.

“M’lady,” he smiled. You edged yourself into the room with an arm braced over the sill. Tengen rose from his desk to meet you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bite me,” you grunted and regretted immediately and slung your other arm inside, ignoring all the retorts such a man might have to that.

He settled on, “Happily,” and offered you a hand. Suma had pointed you to her husband’s office before drifting towards the pantry for a snack. The room was modest, tatami mats and a paper door, and a low desk on the floor long enough to fit his long legs. Western paintings were hung satisfyingly asymmetrically in what would otherwise be a very traditional room. A coal brazier glowed beside the cushion he used as a seat. 

You tried your best to do without the hand but when footing gave way and your chin dipped below the window, he snatched you up by the bicep. The temperature difference inside was dizzying.

“Long night?”

“Understatement,” you shivered in the new heat. Your shoes and scabbard suddenly seemed too dirty inside such a pleasant home and a bit of your fire faded. You sat on the lip of the widow and pulled your legs up beside you. “You–”

“Yes?” Tengen cocked his head, smiling always smiling. His loose white hair fell in locks over his shoulders.

“Your wife was wandering demon-infested woods until just a minute ago.”

“My Suma?” You thought he might ask which one and had prepared a thousand scathing retorts, but he only watched your anger fall from you cooly, “she wanted to impress you.”

“By dying?”

“She killed your demon didn’t she?” You opened your mouth too quickly to realize you hadn’t processed the thought. Tengen massaged a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He almost looked normal like this, in a pretty house, in a warm room glowing by firelight. The cold of the night nipped your back in breezes. “Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“You impressed?” He chuckled and settled himself on the floor beside the window. He knelt beneath you, elbow on sill and cheek in hand. “Do we impress you?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight a smile, “You all do something to me, but impress it not the word.”

“Do you think of us?”

“Naggingly.”

“You worry?”

“Not anymore,” you sucked your teeth and pushed his head off balance with a finger to his forehead. “She really scared me, you know. All those months pregnant and alone like that.”

He grumbled something like, not alone, and, mice were with her, which you chose to ignore because Tengen Uzui took up your rough fingers in his. Whatever face you made he couldn’t see. He brought the knuckles to his lips and kissed your ring finger just once before releasing you. “My wives are capable. They don’t need permissions and they don’t need escorts, but know they are cherished by me.” You watched him, fingers lingering in the warm space. “They want you, I want you. Want to cherish you.

The sincerity, the lack of laughter, made your ears hot. His lilac eyes set to swallow you. “Mr. Uzui–”

“Tengen.”

“Tengen–”

“Mrs. Uzui?”

“No,” you giggled and rolled your eyes. He rose to his knees and made to guide you inside but you rested two hands on his broad shoulders to settle the advance. You turned and tucked your legs back out the window, “It’s late.”

“Then come rest.”

“Mr. Tengen,” and the voice came out so much softer than you meant it to, “In pale moonlight.”

He clenched his own jaw at that as if to keep himself from pouncing. The veins in his hands rose on the sill instead of around what he so badly wanted. “The wisteria’s scent..”

“Comes from far away.” With your last murmured words and a smile, you dropped back into the vines and floated to the garden floor. He stared after you from the second story as you took a theatrical bow and called back up just once, “G’night princess.”

Next time then, he agonized behind his own smile, pink climbing up his throat like a spell. In the hallway outside of his office, the wives groveled amongst each other in piles cursing their husband’s lack of charm.

"In pale moonlight the wisteria's scent comes from far away." -Yosa Buson, 18th c.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

I'm here

Summary: Natasha holds you as you fall apart.

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x Reader

(No use of descriptive words for Reader's appearance. If you do stumble across one, please let me know and I'll immediately find a more inclusive alternative)

Warnings: 18+, mental breakdown, work stress, feeling overwhelmed by everything, tears, lots of tears, hurt/comfort, fluff, hugs and kisses, Natasha being a perfect human being and pure soul

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: Comforting fluff and angst for everyone who just needs a damn break from life. I wrote this for @romanoffsbish because I wanted to give you something nice 🖤 I hope you like it ☺️😳

...

Your hands blindly reach out for your caffeinated drink of choice, downing the last dregs before pushing the empty container to the side with a grumble.

You blow out an agitated sigh, eyes narrowing at the papers scattered across your desk. The black letters are barely readable in the dim light ofyour laptop screen.

Your eyes are burning, lids heavy as you fight to keep them open. You can't stop now. There's still too much to do, too many things to take care of. They just keep piling up, as soon as one thing is crossed off the list three new ones are added and you are drowning in the attempt to stay on top of the ever growing work load.

The sky outside your window is dim, the last rays of light vanishing on the horizon as the bright artificial lights of civilization take over the evening sky.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you look at the mess of unfinished work spread out in front of you. Tears rise in your eyes and you tear your gaze away from the papers to stare at the ceiling.

Heavy breaths rattle in your chest as your throat starts closing up, the overwhelming pressure of life swamping you.

Your fingers desperately twist the fabric of your shirt and you can't keep the tears from falling. They roll hotly down your face, collecting at your trembling chin before sliding down your throat and wetting the collor of your shirt.

“Fuck,” you curse breathlessly, your voice shaky and unsteady. “I can't do this anymore. I just can't.”

Giving in to the tears you slump forward, elbows resting on the desk as you bury your face in your clammy hands. There's no holding back the mental breakdown bearing down on you with crushing might.

“God, I can't,” you sob, shoulders shaking with grief and overwhelm.

Broken sobs shake your body, tears dripping down your face, snot clogging up your nose and mixing with the tears.

You are so caught up in losing your mind, you don't hear the scraping sound of the front door or the whisper of quiet footsteps drawing closer.

“Sweetheart?”

You jerk up, startled by the sudden sound of a voice. Your heart starts pounding in your chest and you do your best to wipe your teary, snotty face with your shirt before glancing over your shoulder.

Natasha stands in the doorframe, her soft, red hair pulled up into a messy bun. She eyes you with concern, a sad slant to her full lips as she studies the part of your face that she can see from her position.

“Hi,” you choke out nasally, still trying to compose yourself. Natasha isn't supposed to see you like this. Weak, messy, desperate.

“What's going on, sweetheart?” she calls out softly and approaches until she stands next to you. One of her warm hands comes to rest on your shoulder, but you turn your head away, not wanting to reveal your puffy, tear-stained face.

Natasha is having none of it. She pulls your chair away from the desk and reaches out to grasp you chin between her fingers, forcing you to face her.

“What has you so upset, hm? What can I do to make it better?”

“It's nothing,” you try to deflect, squirming in her grip. But she doesn't allow you to turn away.

“It's not nothing if it makes you cry. Tell me.”

“It's stupid. Just... too much work. I have so many things to do and I don't know where to start. No matter what I do, I can't stay on top of all of it and it just keeps getting more,” you start, reluctant at first, but as soon as the first few words are out, it's as if the floodgates have been opened.

“I barely have time to relax, all I can think about the tasks still waiting for me, the neverending list of things that need to be done and I just can't- I'm tired, I'm so tired. I can barely get out of bed in the morning but I still can't sleep when I go to bed at night. There's just too much, too much to do, too many thoughts in my head, too much- I can't I don' wanna-”

The breakdown is in full swing now and the tears resurface as you crumple under Natasha's gaze.

The red-head moves quickly, pushing her hands under your arms to keep you from folding in on yourself completely. She hoists you to your feet before taking your place on the chair and pulling you into her lap.

“Shhh, it's okay. I got you,” she whispers, one hand stroking up and down your shaking back while the other holds the back of your head, tucking you comfortably into the crook of her neck.

You mindlessly burrow into her embrace, arms winding around her body to have something to hold onto while you fall apart.

Natasha holds you through all of it, the tears, the choked sobs and violent trembling shaking your exhausted body. She coos calming words at you, kissing the top of your head and humming to you to bring you down to earth.

Eventually, your sobs quieten down, tears slowing and allowing you to see more clearly.

“You're okay, I'm here,” Natasha mumbles, giving your body a little squeeze.

You stay silent, head tucked away in the crook of her neck as your breathing slowly calms down and grows more even, matching Natasha's steady breaths.

“I- I just want a nice, easy life. Is that too much to ask,” you croak out tearily, voice muffled against Natasha's skin.

The red-head hums, her hands slowly caressing your back.

“Not at all,” she says after a moment of silence.

You scoff, though there's no bite behind it. You're too wrung out to feel upset.

“Then why is everything so difficult? Why is everything more than I can handle,” you ask, not expecting an answer. Natasha gives one anyway, but not one you expect.

“We'll figure it out, love. Make plans for you, charts and lists to keep track of things. Keep everything managable,” she says and kisses the side of your head. “I'm here for you.”

The sincerity in the red-head's voice makes you tear up again. You cling to her and rub your face on your shoulder, brushing away the tears that threaten to fall.

“Thank you,” you mumble and turn your head enough to kiss her neck.

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” Natasha replies softly, slowly rocking the two of you in your desk chair. “Now rest. I have you.”

Closing your tired eyes, you do as Natasha tells you, drifting off into a deep slumber in the loving embrace of your girlfriend.

...

:'D

I need Natasha so bad, pleeaaase *whines*

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 1: Coming Out

WOO It's aspec week time!! 💜💚 To no one's surprise I'm starting off with Lukas :3 I know we have the wonderful support convo when he and Python sort of come out to each other, but I was always curious about the loose ends that it brings up -- how he comes out to/is treated by his family, the woman he's left behind, his fellow nobles, etc. This drabble doesn't really answer any of those questions sadfsadf but it's coming from that thought 😂

Father,

I am writing to you now, so soon after my previous letter, as there is something I have yet to confess. It may be difficult for you to hear, but

The sentence stops abruptly, a small dab of ink at the corner of the ‘t’ where the pen had rested a moment in contemplation.

A man sits back at his at a desk. His candle illuminates the page, displaying a few brief lines at the top. He dips his pen in ink time and time again, but the page remains mostly empty. 

At first, the man believes his problem to be a lack of words. No title exists for men like him. He’s well-educated and well-connected in the army; he has an extensive vocabulary for how the upper and lower class categorizes its people. Whether it’s a scholar’s dull terminology, vulgar common language insults, or the carefully chosen phrasing of a gossiper, none of the usual descriptors fit him. All he has are the distantly connected criticisms he’d heard his whole life: “heartless,” “cold,” “detached.” 

When the candle burns lower, however, he realizes the real issue. He has far too many words.

Where would he even start? Should he describe his contentment with his life here? How not one of his fellows ever brought up the lack of a woman at his arm, or how dinners with the King and Queen themselves were filled with pleasantries that never touched on his romantic endeavors? Whatever his father had been preparing for, it had never come.

Or should he begin earlier, when he was first accepted by this group of people? He wasn’t sure if he could properly convey all that he experienced on that fateful night, speaking softly with the unit’s archer – a man he’d come to call one of his truest friends. The man had heard for the first time in his life that there were others like him. He heard that they were content. They were whole.

He could go back further and describe the moment that the realization first hit him. How his father had been right in a sense. Just as he said, one day when the man was grown, he would be in the arms of another, and everything about himself would suddenly make sense. There was only one difference. He’d been forced to bury that clarity, since it wasn’t the same kind that everyone else came to.

Or should he start even further back? He could recount all little hints that haunted him across his youth. His dreams for the future never quite aligned with those of his peers. Nothing ever seemed to align. His choice of stories to read, of games to play, of jokes to make. He wouldn’t ever claim he was mistreated as a child, but everyone would agree that the signs had appeared even then.

The man sighs. Where is the beginning, when one has always been this way? 

The clock strikes on the hour. It is late, and he will need to be at his sharpest tomorrow for drills and meetings. He has no more time to fret over words about his past. 

The man tries a new method, and wonders what his friends may write about him. He can’t resist a dry smile. He knows that he can never, under any circumstance, allow them to exchange any correspondence with his family. 

But the exercise gives him an idea.

He writes out a single statement. Then he blows out the candle and heads to his bed. 

there is nothing broken about me.

Cordially,

Lukas

[emiefluff]

•┈••✦ What We Love About You!✦••┈•

┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓

Fandom- Project Sekai / HATSUNE MIKU: COLORFUL STAGE!

Characters- Rui Kamishiro, Tsukasa Tenma, Emu Otori, Lee!Nene Kusanagi

Ships- Polysho

Summary- Nene comes to the Wonderland SEKAI upset, prompting her beloved partners to attempt a "cheer up operation"

A/N- Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I decided to collaborate with Py (@pink-tk-a-latte) On this little silly goofy fic! I think this actually took us like 5 days LMAO | But it was worth it!!!!111 (it's partially proofread by me and py so)

Tags- @ziniszombie @pink-tk-a-latte @justaposibblytransgirl @nekoma-not-lee

Fic Under The Cut!

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

It was Valentine's Day, a day of love, appreciation, and happiness. Everyone at Kamiyama High School in Class 2-A was tasked with writing a letter to who they loved and appreciated the most, and what they loved or liked about them.

As they were promptly shared with the class, everybody was waiting patiently for their name to be said by the other students. This also included Nene, who had been waiting the entire class to hear her name. Despite her kindness towards the other students, her name was not called by anybody.

Nene listened to the pleasantly embarrassed laughs and appreciative coos from the recipients. They hid their faces in their hands, smiled wobbly smiles, and put their hands on their hearts with tearful faces.

Nene awaited her turn for the burst of surprise, giddiness, gratitude at hearing her name from someone else’s mouth. It never came.

Maybe she shouldn’t have expected anything. She was kind, sure, but she was no one’s best friend. She shouldn’t mind. She understood. Maybe she didn’t want that extra attention anyway.

Still, in her lonely desk in the corner, Nene felt her heart sag.

After the bell rang to mark the end of class, Nene was nowhere to be seen. She had run out of school at the end of the day, not caring who saw her as she waited until the right moment alone to enter the Wonderland SEKAI.

Miku and KAITO, who had been working together on a show idea for Tsukasa and the others, noticed Nene enter. Something, however, was off about the grayish-green haired girl. The two vocaloids realized that Nene wasn't feeling her best, but before they could ask about it, she'd run off to hide.

Nene didn’t know how long she’d spent curled up backstage of the theatre, before she heard a bright and bubbly but concerned voice through the curtain.

“Nene-chan? Nene-chan, please come out!”

Slowly, she peeled her head from the wall.

“NENE! WHERE ARE YOU HIDING!”

Ah, and that earth-quaking volume…

“Perhaps she’s behind the stage?”

And the most familiar voice of all.

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Nene called pitifully, “I’m here…”

Her sore eyes beheld a ball of pink bouncing into the lightless hollow. She gasped and was at Nene’s side in a flash.

“Nene! What’s wrong? My sadness senses were tingling, and then Miku went ‘Brrrrrrrllllll— brrrrrrrlllll—’ which meant someone was lost in Sekai!!” Emu threw herself around Nene, who could only hiccup in protest.

Nene felt so bad about burdening the others with her bad mood, but nothing could really come out. Finally, in tears, she'd speak in a quavering tone, her voice breaking and cracking. "S-Sorry....I-I'm sorry...I-I didn't mean to w-worry anybody...I-I just..."

"Nene-chan..." Emu held her tightly, rubbing her weeping partner's back gently as she let Nene express her current emotions to the three of them. Nene would sniffle, squeezing her eyes shut when she felt Rui gently stroke her hair with his fingers.

“Nene,” Rui called lowly, voice soothing and gentle as milk. At that one word, a dam broke within Nene’s chest.

Sobbing, Nene buried her face in Emu’s pink sweater. “It’s really not that big of a deal. I-I think… I’m just being dramatic.”

“Nonsense!” Tsukasa, who had been quietly panicking as soon as he saw her crying, nestled into her other side. His star-like warmth was like a plush, constellation-patterned blanket. “You’re never dramatic! Even I would be upset if no one thought of writing for me.”

“You can be honest with us, Nene.” Rui pulled his fingers through her hair again, a massaging tug on her scalp. Emu rubbed her cheek against her head.

Nene let Tsukasa pull her legs into his lap. “Maybe there’s just nothing to say about me… Nothing to-” Nene swallowed. She didn’t want to voice her thoughts, but she’d promised to be honest. “Nothing to love…”

Nene buried her face into Emu's shoulder once more out of shame, scared of what her partners would think. To her surprise, however, they showed her nothing but absolute kindness, Emu leaning her head slightly to kiss Nene's cheeks, Tsukasa rubbing her back, and Rui knelt down to hold her hand and massage her shoulders.

"Nene, you don't have to deal with this alone, y'know that, right?" Rui would ask softly, his fingertips gently tapping and drumming on her shoulders. "Yeah, Nene-chan! You know that whoever said that there wasn't anything to love or write about you is wrong, right? They're just jealous of you!" Emu pouted softly as she planted many tiny kisses all over Nene's forehead, nose, and cheeks.

Nene would reluctantly nod to their questions, still feeling down in the dumps about today. She didn't know what to do in order to feel better, so she'd just listen to her partners soothe her hurting pains, and comfort her.

Rui hummed, sensing that Nene still didn’t quite believe them. “There’s plenty of things to love about you, that we love about you.” Rui leaned over to nuzzle into her cheek.

His feather-like breaths and kisses pushed Nene to squirm away and giggle. As she shoved at Rui’s head, he chuckled.

“For example, your cute little laugh.” Rui grinned like a cat. “And your peculiarly ticklish cheeks.”

“Ruhuhuhihi!” Nene whined, finding refuge in Emu’s shoulder. “Stahahap, you meheheanie!”

“I didn’t know your cheeks were ticklish!” Emu’s eyes sparkled in a truly terrifying way. “I’m gonna getcha~! Let’s see that smile we love-love-love so much!”

Emu peppered noisy smooches all over Nene’s skin, even blowing a small raspberry on her blushing cheeks. Nene squealed and ducked away. “AhaEHEmuhuhu!”

“Oho? You didn’t know, Emu?” Rui raised an amused brow. “It’s her deepest, darkest secret. Oops!”

“RuihiHIHIhiiii! You traHAhaitor!” Nene managed to land a considerable slap on Rui’s face, and he gasped in offense.

Rui sniffled performatively. “Nene! My dearest friend, how could you?”

“Ah! I see my inventive partners have come up with an answer to our sad Nene plight.” announced Tsukasa, who noticed the drying tears on Nene’s well-kissed cheeks. “Look at that radiant smile! A wonderful muse!”

"Nohohohoo i-it's nohohohohohot!" Nene giggled nervously, covering her face in embarrassment as she tried to move away from her partners. This caused Emu to persist and continue her tickly antics, her fingers gently stroking Nene's cheek in a tingly way.

"Awwweeee~ Nene-chan is so cuteee, it's so wonderhoy~!" Emu exclaimed happily, continuing to stroke Nene's cheeks. The grayish-green haired girl would finally manage to turn away completely, hiding her face with her hands.

“Well, we can’t allow that!” Tsukasa took advantage of Nene’s legs in his lap and skittered his nails over her knees. Nene shrieked and jumped but couldn’t escape his hold. Cheering, Emu bound Nene in a hug and squeezed her like a balloon.

“EHEHEMUhuhu! I caHAHA- TsuKAHASA!”

“You’re so fluffy-fluffy toasty-toasty, Neneeee, I just wanna squeesh you forever!” With exuberance, Emu kneaded Nene’s sides, watching her squirm back and forth and try to kick her legs.

“LEHEhehet mehehe goho! You dAHAdohorks!”

Rui muffled a snicker and teased at the back of Nene’s neck; now she was twisting every which way like a faulty folding chair.

Rui simpered. “Go for her iliac crest!”

“Her what?”

"What's an eye-lii-ack crest?" Mused Emu, who was very curious to know what Rui was talking about. Nene knew exactly where this was going as she flailed her arms about in protest. She'd have no choice but to squeak and hiccup as she spoke through giggle-induced words.

"Nohoho-No! R-Ruhuhuhuhuii! D-Don't tehehell thehehehemmm!"

Tsukasa and Emu couldn't help but wonder what was about to happen, both of them listening intently to Rui. They'd wait for an explanation, curious what has Nene giggling so nervously.

Rui shrugged and decided that showing was better than telling. Slowly, his hands descended, curling into claws, as Nene hugged her knees as close as she could to her chest in defense.

“Dohon’t- Rui! D-Don’t! NohoHOHAHA!”

Rui’s thumbs massaged the top of Nene’s hip. She exploded from her ball and grabbed onto the nearest thing — Tsukasa — to stabilize herself against the ticklish shocks traversing her nerves.

“You remembered what it was, Nene! Such a clever pupil. Isn’t she amazing?” Rui sounded tearfully proud. Desperately, Nene shook her head.

“YOUHUHAHAHA nahaHEHERD! RuhuhuHIHIHI!”

With Rui gently but cruelly digging into one of her worst spots, Tsukasa boldly drawing on and under her knees, and Emu pinching sporadically around her middle, Nene’s face began to ache from how wide she was laughing. Her stomach pretzeled, warm from the giddiness of love and fluster.

"Guysss! We should go over more things we love about Nene-chan! I'll start! I love how red your cheeks and nose get! I love how you hide your cute little smile~! Who's next!

"I also love how softspoken you are when you tease, it's so unexpected to me, but I love those moments nonetheless." Tsukasa would chirp in, gently squeezing her calves every now and then. "And as for me, I love it when you giggle so hard that your nose scrunches up and you end up snorting, and I especially love how cute and tiny your dimples are. Such an adorable sight, is it not~?"

"NohoHOHOHOAhahaha! N-NOHOHOHOhohohot adohohoHOHOHOHORAblehehehehe! IHIHIHIhihit tihihiHIHIHI- NAHAhahahahahahaha!" Nene couldn't finish her words out of embarrassment. She hated saying that she was ticklish. But, unfortunately for her, Rui caught onto this, and teased lovingly out loud to catch Nene off guard.

"Oh? It what, Nene? What are you trying to say? What t-word are you referring to?"

Nene completely combusted, trying to prevent this from happening. "NOHOHOHohohoho! D-DohohohoHOHOHON'T YOHOHOHOUHUhuhuhu dahahaHEHEHEHEARE STAHAhahahart thihihihis!"

"Are you saying touchy~? Or teasy~? Or even tastyyyy~?" Rui grinned widely, knowing exactly what his ass was doing. He was trying to trick Nene, and it was clear that Emu and Tsukasa were both in on this.

"DUHUHUhuhumbahahAHAHAHASS! IHIHIHIhihit tihihiHIHIHIHICKLES!"

Nene immediately tried to cover her mouth, realizing what she had gotten herself into. "W-WahahahaHAHAIHIHIHIT NOHOHOhohoho! DohohoHOHOAHAHAHAN'T!"

“Ticklish, you say~?” Rui’s grin was chilling. “Is that so? Well well well… isn’t that just prrrrecious?”

Suddenly, all the tickling stopped. Nene could only feel the phantom tingles of what had just passed and the force of her lungs heaving in air. But she couldn’t trust it. She knew what was about to happen.

Sweet breath fluttered over her ear. “Aww, you should have told us, Nene~,” Emu whispered. Nene muffled a squeak. Rarely was Emu a menacing presence, but this time, Nene’s heart only pounded in dread.

A finger brushed a slick strand of hair behind her other ear. Nene shivered. “She seems nervous. Isn’t the suspense just killing you?” She never thought she’d fear Tsukasa’s quiet voice.

Someone else was pulling her in. Something warm teased at her neck.

“Doho- don’t. Guys! Plehease! Nonono—“

Shrilling in ticklish laughter, Nene wriggled about to try and get away as Rui planted tickly kisses all over her neck. Giggling along, Emu would scribble her nimble fingers under Nene's armpits as the light tickles got to the poor girl.

All Nene could get out was an "EhehehEHEHEEK! NOHOHOHohohoho!" as she squirmed and flailed about. She was so ticklish, but would never admit to it.

Nene squealed, thrashed, blushed, cried for mercy, and slapped aggressively at Rui’s shoulder and elbowed Emu as best she could.

“WaHAhaHAHAIT NAhaHAT ThEEEEREheHAHA! NoooohOOOOO!”

The sounds of Rui’s lips trembled up to her ear in waves and she crushed Emu’s fingers beneath her upper arm. Tears washed over her eyes and her laughter became so screechy that even Tsukasa was concerned.

He rested his chin and a kiss on Emu’s shoulder and pinched Rui’s cheek. Both of them received the memo and slowed their attack. Rui smoothed the sides of Nene’s shirt. Emu fixed her hair and moved aside to let Nene fall into Tsukasa’s lap. Nene hiccuped on a breath and covered her face, giggles interspersed.

“I’m sorry… to get so sappy on you guys,” Nene slurred.

Smiling, Rui purred, “Nene, we love you when you’re happy. We love you when you’re sad too.” He coaxed her hands away to reveal her pink nose and pursed lips.

Tsukasa cupped her face with a grin that was difficult to take seriously, but cute. “Yes! Your crying face is charming!”

“But when you smile, you’re even more charming! Cuz we know you’re happy.” Emu’s chipper face popped in from the side of her vision.

“Forget it. You guys are sappier than the ending theme of a video game.” And together, they laughed.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

A face hidden in her hands, a tearful face, a burst of surprise, giddiness, gratitude.

But mostly embarrassment.

[rippersz]

ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ, ᴅᴇᴀʀʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

✩⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠✩

(A Larissa Weems x Reader angsty one-shot) (TW: Character Death)

✩⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠✩

“Ms. Wilson?”

You blinked.

Someone was calling your name. Their voice was soft.

“Ms. Wilson. Are you alright?” When you looked up, mildly irritated by the gentle tone, you weren’t at all surprised to find the dark brown eyes of Mr. Tom Prince burning into your soul.

They were familiar; exploding with the same fucking emotion you’d been seeing from others for an indefinite amount of time. So much… pity. Pity and grief - even though Mr. Tom Prince barely knew a fucking thing about his client, Larissa Weems. Even though he didn’t seem to truly understand the importance, the nuance, the strangeness behind your presence on that cold dreary rainy morning. Because honestly, at the heart of things, there was no reason for you to be there. At all. You’d only known Larissa for a year and a half, what could she possibly have left to you in her will? You were unimportant. You were the admirer. You were the one who stayed in the shadows at school functions and nearly lost your life each time you looked at Larissa because she was so damn breathtaking. And you were the one with the crush. The one who was in love. The potential interest that was never explored because you never got the chance and because she was your boss and because things just didn’t play out that way and because you weren’t written in the cards. Because the Gods didn’t shine upon you. Because you weren’t meant to be.

And they felt the need to kill her in order to prove that.

And soon your admiring turned to mourning. And your shadowed glances became teary stares. And your crush became a distant memorized feeling. And your love, which consumed you always, became a last thread that you held onto with intense desperation. And whatever potential interest you once were had fizzled into absolutely nothing. Because with Larissa gone, there was no burn in your heart. No buzz in your soul. No reason for you to stay at Nevermore, really. The brightness that had once existed there; the appeal of the country; the draw of the Academy - was gone. It was all gone. And you weren’t sure you could stay there anymore. Not in the place where she once lived. Not in the place where she was buried. Not in Vermont.

And not in that damned room with that damned attorney and the damned desolation that came from the fact that Larissa’s belongings were no longer there.

“Just get to the point.” Your voice was low with apathy.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to get the fuck away from Mr. Tom Prince.

And he seemed to sense that as he stared at you for a quick moment before letting out a sigh. It was the kind of sigh that pissed you off so terribly. As if he had the fucking world on his shoulders even though he absolutely did not. And the bags under his eyes were stupid. They screamed exhaustion. They screamed sadness. They screamed of an understanding that you preferred not to focus on because if you did, you’d probably crumble. And you hadn’t crumbled yet. And you wouldn’t fucking crumble. Especially not in front of Mr. Tom Prince - who was not princely at all and who was not helping at all and who was… bending down… and pulling something out of one of the desk drawers.

“She left this.” His voice had returned to something neutral as he slid the letter across to you.

It was an unassuming thing. White envelope, silver wax seal with the Nevermore insignia, and your name of course - scrawled in thin black cursive.

‘Odette.’

You swallowed with such vigor that you felt your throat ache.

The letter was light, but in your hands it felt like a bomb. A very beautiful looking bomb with words inside it that would surely blow your heart into a Jackson Pollock-esque explosion of viscera and love. And as you stared down at it, letting it rest on the tips of your fingers, delicate and sweet, you felt your world crack just a little bit more. Slowly but surely. Creating a chasm. Breaking you in two.

“If you need a moment-”

“Yes,” you whispered instantly, stuck to your spot by imaginary blocks of cinder that were chained to your legs.

Mr. Tom Prince nodded and let the silence sink in before he hefted himself out of the leather chair and went to leave the room. You hated him, you decided. You hated him and his idiotic grey suit and his haunted eyes and his eternal frown. You hated him and his well-combed hair and his cologne and his very presence. You hated him and his audacity- his nerve- to sit in Larissa Weems’ desk chair and you hated his fucking voice and his fucking existence and his fucking job; because how dare he read her words? How dare he be privy to such delicate information? How dare he hand you your letter when it should have been Larissa giving it to you herse-

oh…

oh.

right…

she couldn’t.

Warm tears tipped over the edges of your eyelids.

They ran in slow lines, salty and ticklish and utterly infuriating. You didn’t bother brushing them away - they wouldn’t stop. For weeks, they hadn’t stopped. Constantly, always, forever. Like your real talent, after all that time, had actually been sobbing and you were really damn good at it and all it took to find out was the detrimental loss of your love’s life. Well… not even your love. Not even your loss. There were plenty of other people who were closer with Larissa. People who deserved memories of her and people who would take care of her things. And although you weren’t one of those people, she had still left you a letter.

A letter. With your name on it. Meaning it was yours.

And with shaky hands, you pried the wax seal off as best you could and began reading.

‘

But whatever happens, don’t forget that there will always be a being in the world to which, at any moment, you can turn or come. I once gave you, from the bottom of my heart, everything I possess and everything I am. You’ll keep it until I leave this weird world that’s starting to tire me out. My hope is only that one day you will see how much I loved you. ~ Albert Camus to Maria Casarès

Odette,

I am sorry about the circumstances in which you find yourself reading this letter. It was never supposed to happen like this, in whatever way it did. And if I have yet to bear my soul to you then likewise, it was not supposed to end like that either.

I’ve figured that if I don’t get around to being vulnerable and honest, I must at least leave you with something - just to tell you that you have always meant more than I have let on. I believe if things were different, if we weren’t colleagues and if I weren’t a nervous fool, then perhaps this letter could have existed in a manner other than this. A manner much less focused on confession and instead centered more on memory and love. Love, I say, because that is what I feel for you. In this exact moment, sitting behind my assigned Nevermore headmistress desk, I feel love for you. And not an easy, light, caring and kind love that is shared between friends or strong acquaintances or close coworkers; but a deep love. One I hide behind my smiles and my professional facade. It saddens me greatly that I must do so, but since I am uncertain of your feelings toward me, I must remain distant. I hope you understand. I hope you understand and I hope you know that if I do manage to confess before I die, this letter will be re-written. Goodness Odette, you have no idea how much I hope it is re-written. But, whether it is or isn’t is a situation for an older version of myself to know and deal with.

For now, I am going to try and stay in the moment. That has been my New Year’s resolution for as long as I can remember. It’s not an easy feat, I’ll tell you that. My mind is always running, and I suppose that’s why I’m writing this letter to you in the first place. You’ve been wondering, I’m sure. And the answer to your question, to your ‘why me?’ inquiry, is because I must prepare for the inevitable. To shield myself somewhat; to feel relief in knowing that this last loose end would be tied up neatly with a few of my words left after my death. Please do not misunderstand, it does hurt to leave you like this. More than you will ever know. In fact, I am trying quite hard right now not to sob. Wouldn’t want to ruin the ink, would I? No. No, I need this to be perfect. But then again, I suppose perfection does not exist within death, does it? No, maybe not.

Well… I fear I’m going in circles at this point. Just postponing what cannot be postponed forever; stalling, if you will. And you will. Or you may not. It truly depends on if you’re still reading at this point. Knowing your love of literature and poetry, you are. But also knowing some parts of your heart, I know loss is scary to you. And it is. It is. But it will be okay, Odette. I understand that my presence and my control gives the faculty and students a sense of safety, and I am unendingly grateful to receive everyone’s trust and support, but things will not crumble after my sudden death. My memory will live on in Nevermore and all of those that I loved, which now includes you. And I hope you enjoy that news. If you don’t, well… there’s not much I can say then, is there? I’m afraid I will not apologize for my honesty - we only live once, do we not? So it’s necessary that I tell you that I love you. And it’s necessary that I say it again and again until you understand.

I love you, Odette Wilson. I am in love with you, Odette Wilson. And I am sorry that I could not say so when I was alive and warm. I’m sure that I will regret it from beyond the grave, but such is the price I pay for my fear. And if there were a sliver of a chance that those feelings were returned, then I’m sorry I missed your smile. And the shine in your eyes. And the happiness in your expression. Even now, I miss seeing your face. It’s a Friday evening, so I won’t be seeing you until Monday. Can you feel my heart beating faster at just the mere thought of that? Of looking at you again and noticing the blush in your cheeks and bell-like jingle within your pretty laugh? You probably can’t. Oh well.

It’s getting late, anyway. And you are most likely asleep. And this is my second glass of wine; the glass is nearly empty. So I’ll leave you with this dearheart:

I love you. I feel as though we were never strangers, you and I, not even for a moment. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche to Mathilde Trampedach

Somewhat Yours In Every Life,

Larissa Imogene Weems

’

‘Oh Larissa…,’

You were heaving for breath. Grasping for life. Watching the world fall apart.

'…why didn’t you say anything sooner?’

✩⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠✩

Hope you liked it! I've been a bit busy but I'll get back to requests soon. - Ripley x

✩⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠✩

[theflirtmeister]

Gideon/Harrow, free use!

Ao3 link!

Harrow called it “a favour after the Reverend Daughter’s terrible behaviour towards her Cavalier”, and Gideon called it “free use, and fucking hot”. She couldn’t believe that Harrow of all people had suggested it, and in fact, had no idea how Harrow had even come up with the idea in the first place. Either Harrow was getting information whispered in her ear by a very horny skeleton, or Harrow was a filthy slut.

Her beloved nun was sitting at her desk when Gideon stomped into the bedroom, sweaty and exhausted after training. She knew that she stank to high heaven, and there was blood crusting underneath her nails from where she’d socked Crux in the face, and he’d almost taken off her arm for it. She was horny too, an aching between her legs that would normally be quelled with either a cold shower, or a frantic humping of the pillow.

“Griddle, must you make so much noise?” Harrow snapped, using her own blood as ink. A letter to Palamedes, Gideon thought, some sort of test where he had to figure out the secret necromancer message hidden in the flimsy.

“Yes,” Gideon said. “I’m big.”

She sat down on the edge of the desk and deliberately stretched her arms above her head, showing off her muscles. Harrow raised one eyebrow, and scribbled something intelligible on the letter in front of her.

“Can I… cash in my favour?” Gideon asked carefully.

Harrow paused in her writing, but didn’t look up. “Now?”

“I mean… Yeah?” Gideon said. “That’s the deal, right? I can use you whenever?”

The tips of Harrow’s ears went pink, which was hot. “That is the deal.” She considered, and set down her pen. “What do you want?”

Gideon considered. “I want to swap seats.” She said. “Me on the chair. You on my lap.”

“Okay,” Harrow conceded, which was surprising. She pushed herself away from the desk, and stood upright, a little dribble of blood spilling from her mouth from where she’d stabbed her cheek. “Sit then.”

Gideon hopped off and sat down heavily on the chair, which creaked underneath her weight. Then she pulled Harrow onto her lap, who squeaked at being manhandled, and then quickly recovered. Harrow was bony as anything, and Gideon winced as an elbow caught her in the chest.

“God Nonagesimus.” She said. “Do you look where you’re putting those sticks?”

“Shut up Griddle,” Harrow said, wriggling her bony bottom. “Happy now?”

Gideon adjusted Harrow so that she was sitting on Gideon’s big thigh, and then took Harrow’s left hand in her own. The skin was thin, close to the bone, and Gideon couldn’t help but bring it to her mouth for a kiss.

“Pathetic,” Harrow said lovingly.

“You can go off some people you know,” Gideon grumbled, and then brought Harrow’s hand between her legs. “I’m gonna-“

“I get the jist.” Harrow snapped, leaning back against Gideon’s chest, and curling her hand so that Gideon could rut against it. “I’m not as big of a fool as you take me for.”

“You, a fool?” Gideon nipped Harrow’s earlobe. “Never.”

“Oaf,” Harrow said, and Gideon ground her cunt against her. “Oh-“

“Yeah, keep insulting me.” Gideon said, “It’s the only thing that gets me going.”

“You are such a prat, Griddle,” Harrow said, rubbing herself against Gideon’s big thigh.

It felt fucking good, and Gideon groaned, increasing her humping of Harrow’s hand. It wasn’t the softest thing that Gideon had ever used, but it was Harrow, and Gideon loved everything about Harrow. She buried her face in Harrow’s neck as she thrust against her, the seam of her trousers catching her clit exactly how she liked it.  

“I can feel how wet you are,” Harrow murmured, “I can smell how wet you are.”

“Fuck,” Gideon groaned, dragging her cunt against Harrow’s hand. “That’s hot.”

She pressed a kiss to Harrow’s neck, which soon turned into a bite as the pleasure grew through her body. Her toes were curling, and she could feel the pressure of Harrow on her thigh, her own body trembling. In her deepest fantasies, she had always imagined herself under Harrow’s desk, face buried in Harrow’s pretty little cunt as she worked.

“Stop thinking so hard Griddle,” Harrow said, like she knew Gideon’s deepest thoughts. “Just… focus.”

“I’m focusing on your hand,” Gideon said, hips stuttering. “And how good you feel.”

“How do I feel?” Harrow asked, a sweetness to her voice that betrayed the vinegar underneath.

“Incredible,” Gideon said. “Amazing. Stupendous.”

“Idiot,” Harrow said, and Gideon used her other hand to pull Harrow close, frantically humping her until she felt her orgasm wash over her, pleasure from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. She groaned low in her throat, mouthing at Harrow’s neck, and fucked herself through the afterglow, a pounding in her chest.

“Fuck,” She could barely speak. “You make a good toy.”

“Terrible,” Harrow said, wriggling her hand out of Gideon’s grasp. “You’ve made me damp.”

“Oh yeah?” Gideon panted. “Tell me more baby.”

“Idiot,” Harrow said, and took hold of Gideon’s big hands, placing them on her tiny tits. “I’m going to use you now.”

“Not the deal,” Gideon said, not complaining in the slightest. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this Nonagesimus.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Harrow asked and began to bounce herself on Gideon’s thigh. “Make me cum.”

“Yes, my Crepuscular Queen,” Gideon said, and squeezed her perfect tits.

[josefavomjaaga]

Fun writing/silly thoughts prompt: how do you think Soult would react to a surprise birthday party?

Or, if he was informed he had to provide a surprise birthday party?

All of a sudden, Marshal Soult looked up. His eyes stung. In the darkness of the night, by the dim lamplight, he could barely decipher the handwriting of the letter on the desk in front of him. But he would not let a trifle like that get in his way.

Something was wrong here, he thought.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You could say a lot about the merry bunch of good-for-nothings he called his aides. But one thing they were not: silent.

He rose, abruptly enough to startle his aide-de-camp Brun de Villeret, sitting at the desk behind him and buried in paperwork like himself.

»Brun, what time is it?«

»A bit after midnight, sir.«

»Something’s going on in the anteroom. I have to to check.«

»Surely it’s nothing, Your Excellency«, said Brun »Please don’t bother. I could go myself have a look if you insist.«

Soult regarded him suspiciously. He had spoken rather quickly. Was he in on it?

Without another word he started for the door to the anteroom. Behind him, Brun jumped up to follow him – hastily enough to topple his chair.

»I beg your pardon, Your Excellency.«

Brun bent down to straighten the chair, hoping the noise had been loud enough to alert his colleagues in the anteroom.

It had.

»Happy birthday!«, a dozen voices roared in chorus, as soon as the marshal opened the door. The aides had decorated the anteroom with whatever they had found that could make this run-down Polish hut look a little more festive. Candles were burning everywhere, bathing the room in a warm glow that defied the winter cold. The aides started to clap and cheer as Soult, without a word, glanced around the antechamber – all except for Saint-Chamans, who had both hands full, holding sugar tongs and melting a sugar loaf into a large cauldron full of the horrible whisky the soldiers called »schnick«.

Soult was flabbergasted. He had been dimly aware that his birthday was coming up, but had completely forgotten about it over work. So he said the only thing appropriate for this situation.

»You don’t really think I’m going to drink that?«, pointing at Saint-Chamans and his cauldron.

»No, sir«, Saint-Chamans answered cheerfully. »That’s for us.«

»For you«, said Lameth, grinning widely, »we have this.« He cradled a bulbous bottle in his arms like a baby.

»That’s the only bottle of Beaujolais we could find within a hundred miles range«, claimed Petiet.

»But«, Brun passed behind Soult, opening the door to the hallway. »that’s not our only surprise.«

He pushed the door open. The hallway was dark. A small figure tumbled out of it, almost hidden by the huge bow of the gift she carried.

»Happy birthday, Papa Bleu!«, the three-year-old girl cried happily, running up to the marshal as fast as her short legs allowed. Soult gasped, then quickly croached to pick up his daughter, before rising again to hug the other two visitors, five-year-old son Napoléon Hector and, most importantly, their mother.

»Louise!«

He had intended to walk towards her with measured steps, and to politely give her a hug and a dignified welcome kiss on the cheek, as was proper. He really had. But somehow he found his arms wrapped around her waist and his face buried against her neck, inhaling her perfume, feeling her warmth. »But… how…«

»Shhh.« Louise pressed her finger to Soult’s lips. »We’re on a secret mission. We’ll go back to Berlin tomorrow night. The emperor will never know.«

Soult became dimly aware of his aides chuckling and jeering under their breath and tried to adopt a more dignified posture.

He would have to lecture them about mocking their commanding general. Maybe. Tomorrow.

»Messieurs, thank you.« He cleared his throat. »Thank you very much indeed. I appreciate the idea, and the sentiment, and …« His children were clinging to his legs. »And now get the hell out. You are all off-duty tonight.« That caused another cheer from the aides, probably the most joyful of them all. »Take whatever you have in that cauldron elsewhere, and do with it what you must. Oh, and I’d be very glad if this time around, the enemy outposts would not come complaining to me about your singing disturbing their nighttime peace!«

[iwant-fuitgummi]

Mondstadt character headcanons! Also I'm giving them all surnames. Mond characters are the only ones I'll be doing this for since I'm not sure how Asian surnames work (I am white) and don't want to do them wrong.

this is part 1 of mondstadt due to the image limit

(FF = Found Family)

pt. 2 here

kaeya hc here

Amber Hasenkamp

she/they

23

Trans Woman, Asexual, Biromantic

Dating Eula

Family: Collei (FF Sister), Barbara (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Traveler

Has ADHD

Both legs are amputated at the shin. She was in a gliding accident which resulted in her feet being crushed.

She wears braces on each wrist.

Occasionally has bouts of amnesia. She had a few too many concussions as a kid, and they still affect her to this day.

The surname I picked out for her, Hasenkamp, is German and means a field of bunnies.

Lisa Minci

she/her

33

Cisgender Woman, Pansexual

Engaged to Jean

Family: Klee (FF Sister), Razor (Adopted Son), Cyno (FF Brother)

Best Friend: Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr

Due to her curse, she is very pale and sickly looking. She also has white hairs and deep eyebags.

She is developing arthritis in her right hand. She's ambidextrous, though, so she doesn't have to worry about writing.

She suffers from chronic back pain and insomnia. She also has severe anxiety, but she hides it pretty well. She buries herself in books as a distraction.

She takes care of Mondstadt's strays when they aren't at the Cat's Tail. She even adopted one to keep in the library. Her name is Puppy (Razor named her) and she is the most chill and affectionate cat you'll ever meet.

Lisa drinks a LOT of tea. She infuses some of it with magic to help with the curse.

Kaeya will have his own post, I have a lot of thoughts about him.

Jean Gunnhildr

she/her

32

Cisgender Woman, Lesbian

Engaged to Lisa

Family: Federica Gunnhildr (Mother), Seamus Pegg (Father), Barbara Pegg (Sister), Klee Babler (FF Sister), Kaeya (FF Brother), Razor Minci (Soon to be stepson)

Best Friend: Eula Lawrence

Has tea with Lisa daily. She tries out new foreign teas that Lisa has shipped in from other nations.

Insomniac. She never gets enough sleep. Lisa gives her melatonin pills and chamomile tea at night when she thinks it's getting too late. When Jean eventually falls asleep at her desk, Lisa gently moves a pillow under her face and drapes a blanket over her shoulders.

Jean tries to be a good sister and spend time with Barbara, but she's so overwhelmed with work that she has no time to do so. She sends letters to the Cathedral with mora and even little coupons for peppers from Liyue and Sumeru.

Barbara Pegg

she/her

17

Transgender Girl, Aroace Lesbian

Family: Federica Gunnhildr (Mother), Seamus Pegg (Father), Jean Gunnhildr (Sister), Rosaria Nacht (FF Sister), Amber Hasenkamp (FF Sister), Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr (FF Brother)

Best Friend: Noelle Degenhardt

Barbara has an eating disorder that has left her with severe body image issues.

She's incredibly paranoid, and has been since she was a little kid. Albert made it much worse.

She has severe panic attacks when she's alone as she's afraid she's being watched. Noelle, Amber, and Rosaria spend a lot of time with her to help her feel safe.

Rosaria and Kaeya taught her how to use a polearm and a sword. She's not the best, but she can defend herself.

She carries one of Rosaria's knives concealed in her book at all times.

Noelle Degenhardt

she/he

17

Bigender, Asexual, Biromantic

Family: Knights of Favonius (Found Family)

Best Friend: Barbara Pegg

Has a huge crush on Barbara, but is too afraid to say anything.

Acts as Barbara's personal knight when she's not doing maid stuff.

He has self worth issues due to the amount of times he's been rejected by the KOF.

Loves listening to Barbara's music. It helps calm her down when she's stressed.

The surname I gave her, Degenhardt, means young warrior.

Bennett Faust

he/him

16

Cisgender Boy, Asexual, Biromantic, Polyamorous

Currently Dating Razor and Fischl

Family: Adventurer's guild (Dads), Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr (FF Brother), Mika Schmidt (FF Brother)

Best Friend: Razor Minci

Bennett is partially blind and hard of hearing.

He has POTS (Extreme dizziness, fatigue, and increased heart rate when standing up from laying down. Often causes fainting.)

He has a border collie service dog named Keyes that goes on adventures with him. She carries small bags. One carries water bottles, and the other carries salty snacks and medication for his POTS. Her collar has an alarm button that sends a signal to Fischl, Razor, Mika, and Kaeya that lets them know that he's in trouble.

He has VERY severe ADHD. It's honestly impressive.

The surname I gave him, Faust, means lucky. Ironic, I know.

Razor Minci

they/he

16

Agender, Aroace, Polyamorous

Currently Dating (QPR) Bennett and Fischl

Family: Wolvendom Wolves, Andrius, Lisa Minci (Adoptive Mom), Jean Gunnhildr (Soon to be stepmom), Klee Babler (FF Sister), Rosaria Nacht (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Bennett Faust

Has selective mutism. Lisa taught him sign language so that he can still communicate when this happens. She also taught Bennett and Fischl so they can understand them and help them get out of the situation that's causing them stress

Since they're aroace, they are in a QPR with Bennett and Fischl. Bennett and Fischl are in a romantic relationship, while their relationship with Razor is platonic, if that makes sense.

Klee Babler

she/her

7

Family: Alice Babler (Mom), Jean Gunnhildr (FF Sister), Albedo Kreideprinz (FF Brother), Sucrose Hertz (FF Sister), Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr (FF Brother), Lisa Minci (FF Sister), Razor Minci (FF Brother)

Best Friend: Diona Katzlein

Always covered in soot and ashes.

She's almost completely Deaf because of her bombs. She wears hearing aids that Albedo and Sucrose designed specifically for her ears. She also knows sign language in case she forgets to wear them.

She often communicates with Razor in sign language. Diona also knows sign, so they sign to each other in secret so the people in the Cat's Tail can't understand them.

Speaking of Diona, the two of them go "fishing" together. They also go searching for yucky ingredients. Klee scares them out of their hiding spots, and Diona grabs them! Perfect teamwork.

She has a matching friendship bracelet with Diona.

The surname I gave her, Babler, means small.

Venti Konig

Any pronouns

~22 (physically), 2600+

Genderfluid, Biromantic, Androsexual

Family: None

In an unlabeled relationship with Diluc

Best Friend: Zhongli

Although the Nameless Bard was a teenager when they died, Venti made sure to alter the form so that he was still an adult. After all, it'd be a shame if he wasn't allowed to drink and date, right? Venti would be miserable without alcohol!

He flirts with Xiao a lot, even though they're not a couple. Don't worry, Diluc doesn't mind.

She teaches the kids of Mondstadt how to play the lyre, among other various instruments.

They spend a lot of time on the roof of Dawn Winery playing music. Adelinde has to get them down with a broom.

He lives in one of Diluc's spare bedrooms at the winery.

They often take trips to Liyue to visit Zhongli and Xiao. They play the flute for Xiao and drink wine with Zhongli. They also bring cecelias over and bring back glaze lilies.

LOVES flowers btw.

Knows how to play every instrument perfectly

The surname I chose for him, Konig, means king.

[a-queer-crip-writes]

Mother sits with me in the waiting area. Most of the other children are alone, clutching suitcases and toys. Many of them, even the big boys in full tunics and the big girls in long skirts, are crying. Mother does not look at me, but she clutches me tight, her fingers digging into my upper arms.

“Mommy, you’re hurting me,” I venture in a small voice, but she completely ignores me, staring ahead of her as though into a far distance.

I think about saying it the other way, the inside-way. It may make her scream and slap me away, but her fingers feel as though they are leaving a bruise. I look up at her and think about it – just think about it...

...”Tainted! A tainted child! What twisted blood have you brought into my family, woman? We have been pure for a thousand years!”

My Father’s face – massive, twisted in rage, his black beard bristling in anger - is right in mine. My big, kind Father, never known to raise his voice even to my brothers’ worst pranks, screaming like a madman.

A stinging pain across my nose and cheek and my Father’s face falls away, becoming far overhead as it usually is.

“Lucky for you it was a daughter. If you had given me a tainted son, you would have been back at your father’s door on the morrow, fifteen years of marriage or no!”

And I am standing back in the waiting area, a tear falling onto my upturned face. And instead of trying to pull away, I bury my face in the soft dark stuff of her skirt and let her hug me so close it nearly squeezes the breath from me. Her touch shows me a terrible black mouth hanging over us, waiting, like the U’Yo’nan from Grandmother’s stories, to eat me and extinguish everything I have ever been. And she knows that she can’t save me from it.

In the end, they need to rip me from her arms. First, the hooded woman with no eyes – the one who came to the house last night and changed everything – comes. She tries to reason with Mother, then tries to pull me away, but Mother only weeps and will not let go of me, and the woman’s arms are weak and wasted. The woman goes away, twittering like a bird, to shepherd the other children into trudging, weeping lines that go through the doors one by one.

But then the man comes. He is very tall, taller than my father, with hair greying back from his temples, and he is so strong the world seems almost to shift at his passing. There is a skull over a great red letter I on a rosette on his long black coat, and as soon as he comes near all the strength goes out of Mother, washed away as though by a great current. She staggers with me in her arms, and he leans forward and takes me from her.

“I know you are afraid for her, but you should not be. This will be the saving of her. The God-Emperor will take her in his arms.”

And all I feel from him is a great warmth, like being enveloped in a great shield. She nods, weakly, her knees buckling, as she relinquishes me to him.

“Goodbye, my daughter. Goodbye.”

And she falls to her knees as the man walks off, bearing me away towards the ship.

He sets me down at the end of one of the lines just as the other children in front of me begin to walk into the ship. “You are under His Eye now, child.” He stands and walks away at great speed.

Within the shield of his presence, I feel nothing. As soon as he leaves... the terror of everyone around me, the thousands of children and adolescents, swoops on me like a great dark bird. The eyeless woman pushes me gently and I stumble up the walkway, towards the doorway opening like a great black mouth.

The door shuts behind me. I am in a great room full of children. The walls and floor are cushioned and soft, like the couch in my playroom at home...

..but the playroom and my dolls and the sunlight that falls across the couch, the smell of cooking and the flowers outside the window, my books with the bright pictures of animals and my brothers’ schoolbooks with the dark leather bindings and the desk covered with generations of my family’s children’s writings carved and inked into the wood... all of these things are going away, disappearing into the tide of darkness and terror that surrounds me as the few adults direct us to sit down against the padded walls. I am drowning in it, losing everything, and it is eating me, everything I am. And the lights dim and go out, and I am all alone in the darkness...

...and someone else’s shoulder bumps against mine, and without thinking I reach down the arm and clutch a hand in mine. And, just as suddenly, on the other side, another hand does the same thing to mine. I clutch the hands, both of them, very hard in mine.

And a welter of pictures comes into my mind, dogs and birds and older sisters, a father with no beard, a yellow-haired doll called Conchita, a bedroom ceiling with blue-painted beams, a song about a branch that grows on a tree...

...but sunlight. Most of all sunlight. And I find my own sunlight is there too. The sunlight that fell across my coverlet on bright mornings, the sun that glinted off through the windows in the shrine to the God-Emperor. The sun that shone on the world we are already leaving, and will never see again.

We sit there in the long darkness as the ship reaches orbit, clutching each others’ hands tight. And, in our minds, we have sunlight. And we are no longer alone.

[fairy-writes]

For the 800 Follower Event - My second request

I have been in love with the song 'My Heart is Buried in Venice by Ricky Montgomery' and a lot of other pieces by him as well. The amount of times I've cried over this specific song is....a lot.

Specifically the lyrics below hitting way close to home when I was in a relationship. Feeling like you were the only one who loved the other can be even more heartbreaking than the break-up. (this was years ago)

"Say, say what you mean Tell me the truth or tell me you're through Oh, oh, oh, don't leave me to breathe Don't leave me to bleed For someone who chose to leave me be"

I know that I am asking for something rather...odd. But instead of it going the Viktor x Reader break-up route. Could it somehow be end happy?

Like if Viktor is on the outskirts of this debacle? Or the comforting friend-to-lover troupe?

I hope this wasn't super annoying >///<

Thank you

MY HEART IS BURIED IN VENICE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends (2021)

Pairing(s): Viktor x Gender Neutral!Reader

Song: My Heart is Buried in Venice by Ricky Montgomery

Notes: I seriously struggled with this one. I hope it actually makes sense. I’m running on four hours of sleep after an eight-and-a-half-hour workday. 

This takes place after the Hexcore kills Sky.

__________________________________________________________________________

Viktor lay awake late into the night. He glanced over at the clock on your side of the bed. It ticked away on the bedside table, illuminated by the moonlight. 

2:13 AM. 

You were halfway onto his side of the bed, one arm tossed over his chest and head almost on his pillow. You were always like this at night, migrating from your side over to his in an attempt to preserve body warmth. No matter how many blankets you had on your side, you always told him he was warmer than any blanket you could own. 

It was something that generally made him smile. 

But not tonight.

Come rest your bones next to me

And toss all your thoughts to the sea

I'll pull up each of our anchors

So we can get lost, you and me

Eventually, Viktor couldn’t take it anymore and got out of bed. He slid the pillow that usually propped up his leg under your arm so you could still sleep with something. And he couldn’t help but smile as you held it close.

It was one of the many things he loved about you. 

My heart is buried in Venice.

Hidden beneath all my worries and doubts

My heart is buried in Venice

Waiting for someone to take it home

Viktor made it to his study down the hall without too much noise and turned on the lamp, illuminating the room in a soft yellow glow. He took a seat at the desk and pulled out a page from a journal set aside. 

It was the leather-bound journal you gave him for his birthday. Part of him felt terrible ripping out a page, but you always told him to use it for whatever he wanted. 

And he had to get this out of his system before he lost his mind. 

Even when you try to hide it

A smile creeps out from your teeth

I never thought that I would have to say I'm sorry

For anyone but me

The first try goes terribly. Viktor barely gets out a sentence before he crumples up the page and throws it into the wastebasket next to the desk. 

The second try doesn’t go much better. 

It’s by the fourth or fifth letter (he’s lost track) that he realizes he’s crying. Tears drip down his cheeks and stain the page, smudging the ink. And when he tries to wipe away the moisture, he just succeeds in getting ink on his fingers. 

Now my heart is buried in Venice

Waiting for someone to take it home

Why is this so hard? It’s just words on a page. Words he’s been stewing on for over a week. A week of agonizing about what he’ll say when he actually sits down to write this damn letter. 

He hears a noise down the hall but pays it no mind. He can check in a minute as soon as he starts this letter with the right words. 

Say, say what you mean.

Tell me the truth, or tell me you're through

Oh, oh, oh

Don't leave me to breathe

Don't leave me to bleed

For someone who chose to leave me be

“What are you doing up so late?” Came your tired voice. He turned and saw you standing in the doorway to his study, blanket around your shoulders. He sat back in his chair,

“I was writing a letter.” He said, tapping his ink-stained fingertips against the wood of the desk. You approached and pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing his hair out of the way with the hand that wasn’t holding your blanket around your body. 

“A letter to whom?” You asked, and he looked back at his tear-stained page. 

“To Sky.” He said, and your eyes widened marginally before they filled with such love he almost began crying again.

You lean down and kiss him,

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” You whisper, and he nods. He can’t find the words to say. He doesn’t know what he can say that he hasn’t already told you. So instead, he turns back to his letter, mind clear at last. He takes up his pen and begins to write.

My heart is buried in Venice.

Waiting for someone to take it home

Dear Sky,

I know I cannot apologize enough for what happened. I should’ve listened to someone, anyone, about the Hexcore and destroyed it before it caused damage. But I didn’t, and you had to face the consequences. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew about your feelings for me. I just didn’t want to face them. And that was cruel to you. And for that, I apologize. 

I had buried my heart because I didn’t want to get hurt. But in reality, I think I was just waiting for someone to take it home.

I just want to let you know that I’m happy. The Hexcore is gone, I have a partner who loves me, and I only hope to be someone you would be proud of. 

I hope you are at rest,

Viktor

[loneberry]

From Virginia Woolf’s diary, November 23, 1926:

“Life is as I’ve said since I was ten, awfully interesting – if anything, quicker, keener at forty-four than twenty-four – more desperate I suppose, as the river shoots to Niagara – my new vision of death. ‘The one experience I shall never describe’ I said to Vita yesterday.”

Vita Sackville-West in a letter to husband Harold Nicolson, November 30, 1926:

“Darling, I know that Virginia will die, and it will be too awful. (I don’t mean here, over the weekend; but just die young.)”

*

“On 28 March 1941, Virginia left her last letter on the writing block in her garden lodge. It was a note to Leonard which thanked him for giving her ‘complete happiness […] from the very first day till now’. She then walked the half-mile to the River Ouse, filled her pockets with stones, and threw herself into the water.

Letter from Vita to Harold

Sissinghust Castle

31 March

“I’ve just had the most awful shock: Virginia has killed herself. It is not in the papers, but I got letters from Leonard and also from Vanessa telling me. It was last Friday. Leonard came home to find a note saying that she was going to commit suicide, and they think she had drowned herself as they found her stick floating on the river. He says she had not been well for the last few weeks and was terrified of going mad again. He says, ‘It was, I suppose, the strain of the war and finishing her book, and she could not rest or eat.’

“I simply can’t take it in. That lovely mind, that lovely spirit. And she seemed so well when I last saw her, and I had a jokey letter from her only a couple of weeks ago.”

*

“Virginia’s body was discovered on 18 April. She was cremated at Brighton on 21 April, with only Leonard present. Her ashes were buried under an elm tree at Monk’s House, with the penultimate words of The Waves as her epitaph: ‘Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!’

“As soon as Harold heard the news, he came down to Sissinghurst to be with Vita. Many years later she wrote, ‘I still think that I might have saved her if only I had been there and had known the state of mind she was getting into.’

Vita died from cancer on 2 June 1962. Her writing desk at Sissinghurst remains as she left it, decorated with two photos: one is of her husband, and the other is of Virginia.”

From Love Letters: Vita and Virginia

.

.

How did I not know, until now, that Woolf’s epitaph was from the closing of The Waves; it refers to the same Great Wave I once saw, in a vision, folding over everyone I love, the wave that Bernard proudly pitched himself against at the end of the novel, the same wave that forms in the mind before one can find words, when the pulse precedes semantic meaning. To read a life backward from a suicide—one finds clues everywhere: a sudden unspeakable vision of a rushing river, the lover-friend struck by the startling knowledge, she will die, and it will be too awful.

[kelmugi]

💬 TSUMUGI!!!

💬 - who confessed first?

AHHHHH okay so short answer is probably mugi but the longer version will be under the cut

so i *used* to be a person to write a love note to the person i liked, but i've been hurt so bad that someone would have to put me at gunpoint to get me to do it again otl

but MAYBE... i think if i really had a lot of people rallying for me to do it i could write him a love letter. and if this happened it would be before he could confess to me. and honestly i feel like i'd do it too soon and he would reject me and i would die

in likelihood though, it would take a LOOOOONG time for him to even realize his feelings, get over the panic of them, and figure out the words to say to me. it would involve all of switch and anyone who has ever known him having to yell at him to do it because he would be so nervous and think he doesn't deserve it

so version a (i confess first) would be me working SUPER hard on a love letter, like finding cute stationary and writing IN PEN (i hate pens) in nice handwriting all of my thoughts and feelings and hopes (but please don't feel like you have to return them i understand if you don't please don't stop being my friend). once it is done and folded and sealed with a cute sticker (i definitely put it on crooked and he was super worried opening it because he didn't want to rip it) i would find a way to sneak it to his desk and just. pray he either never mentions it or returns my feelings but honestly how likely is the latter? it's very likely you egg

version b (he confesses first) he asks to meet with me in a practice room and i think nothing of it until i arrive and see him silently panicking. he tries to stick to what he wrote out in his head but he definitely rambles and goes on tangents. eventually he grabs my hands and says, 'i really like you! i want to be the one that makes you happy! please, i'd love to take you out somewhere, if you'll have me?'

at this point i would short-circuit and quietly asked if he really meant it, and of course he does! i shakily smile and hug him, burying my face in his chest as i tear up a little and say i'd love to go with him! he would fret over my tears and i'd laugh and hold him close and it'd be good

ask game

[tonkiomni]

Gog galaxy oops something went wrong

GOG GALAXY OOPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG SOFTWARE

GOG GALAXY OOPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG CODE

GOG GALAXY OOPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG PC

That’s because Rambourg hopes to be leaving soon to become GoG.com’s Vice President of North America, a title specifically created for him to fill in the soon-to-be built U.S. Guillaume Rambourg’s office in Warsaw is almost entirely empty. It’s more than just games that GoG.com is keeping alive. Jonty Barnes, member of the Dungeon Keeper team and now Director of Production at Bungie This game has been written with a passion i am proud to be part of. Amazingly after sixteen hours a day, 7 days a week, for nearly 5 months we still do. This project has destroyed the health and social lives of each member, so i hope you like the game. I look around the office and all I see are the tired, pale faces of the Keeper team. Jonty here: I am writing this at 4 am on Keeper’s last day. "The guy is writing a little letter on the day of the release, ‘We’re really happy seeing the game, and it’s a great game we’ve been working for 16 months on it, and it’s great.’" "There is a little private message written by the original programmers," she says, grinning widely. Stiller was there when they found something, hidden inside the executable file for Dungeon Keeper. And over and over until they get it right.īut along the way, sometimes interesting stories fall out. Then their programming team puts it in a modern executable ‘wrapper’ of code, and off it goes for testing.Īnd then back to the programmers for changes.

GOG GALAXY OOPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG CODE

"In most cases," says product manager Marcin ‘Paczyk’ Paczyński, "the rights holders have absolutely nothing." That means that the team has to go scouring through the internet as well as their own personal collections to find the retail code for the games. Oftentimes, there’s simply nothing in the ground. What they find buried there the rest of their team begins to reconstruct. Then, when a deal is struck, they start digging. Their business development team goes out and finds sites in which to dig the intellectual property catalogs of older companies both large and small. What GoG.com does is, in a way, a kind of archeology. There are even games that are still lying fallow, games they’re not quite able to make work. But in the end, it was the game’s community that came to their aid. "We had nightmares that we wouldn’t make it on time," Oracz-Chomiuk says. If you ask them about it, they’re probably going to go gray in the face." "Everybody in QA is a bit touchy when it comes to that title. " Carmageddon took three months," she says. "If we’re lucky the process takes about a day," Stiller says. The network of computers allows them to play each game, 40 to 60 times, from start to finish, using their own staff and a collection of outside contractors. We run it on every system a couple of times to see what happens, to make sure it’s not emitting smoke or something." Our test lab has about 20 different configurations that we test our games on. "So many operating systems, so many graphics cards, so many things that change in every computer.

GOG GALAXY OOPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG PC

"The PC market is so fragmented," says Ewa Stiller, pointing to a row of eight computers sitting under a desk in the corner. In a dim room of their first-floor office in Warsaw, the GoG.com QA team sits shoulder-to-shoulder playing through games that were made before some of them were out of grade school, making sure that they will run on their customer’s machines. "It’s not about money for them," Oracz-Chomiuk says, "It’s just about the games." Nightmares "If someone is in the community for a game that was released 15 years ago," says Magda Oracz-Chomiuk, "then that’s somebody that really loves that game." As the head of product management for GoG.com, she should know. All in the quest to automate the process, so that older games can be played just like new ones with a single click. One team in Poland is constantly reaching out to these communities and soliciting their rarified knowledge, collecting and digesting their expertise so that other gamers don’t have to. Scattered across the internet, devoted fan bases secret that kind of information away. There’s no earthly reason it should play on a modern computer.Īnd yet there are people out there who can make it work.

GOG GALAXY OOPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG SOFTWARE

That piece of software was designed to work with a version of Windows that is seven generations old. Let’s say that you’re trying to play Dungeon Keeper, a game that came out in 1997.

[eddieandbird]

Can’t Stop Staring

Summary: Eddie notices you staring at him during class and confronts you about it.

Warnings/Tags: fluff|just sweetness|short blurb

A/N: @unbetaedimagines convinced me to write a fic around my fan art and I couldn’t resist! -Bird

____

You walked into your second period government class, caught off guard by the rearrangement of the room since spring break ended. The desks were now in groups of four; two desks side by side and all four were facing each other. You sit roughly where you’d usually be. In the middle near the window.

“Good morning, fellow classmates! Are you ready for another day of pretending to pay attention?” Eddie slammed his torn up notebook on the desk in front of you. The other kids at your section rolled their eyes and gave no response.

“Good morning, Eddie,” You said softly with a smile.

“Finally someone responds! How ya doing, Darling? Did you have a good break?” He took your hand and shook it. Before you could respond, the bell rang.

“Alright, Mr. Munson. Please take your seat. Class is starting now,” Mr. Levi scolded him.

“Sorry, Teach! Just trying to be friendly,” Eddie chuckled as he sat down. “He seems like he has a stick up his ass today. I’ll try to behave,” He leaned in to whisper to you. You giggled pulling out a couple notebooks.

You found it strange that even though you and Eddie had been going to school together for a couple years, you felt like you were meeting him for the first time. He wasn’t as mean and scary as your friends warned you he was. Eddie seemed really nice, charming even. You couldn’t help being stuck on the thought as Mr. Levi’s voice drowned out.

You couldn’t stop yourself from studying Eddie. You made a game of staring at him and looking away as soon as he made a sudden movement. Mr. Levi rolled a TV stand in the front of class to play a Ronald Regan speech. The assignment was to take notes on it, but you brought out your sketchbook instead. Eddie’s eyes looking off to the TV had you completely mesmerized and you knew you couldn’t resist capturing the moment. You brought your knees up to your chest, using them as a drawing surface so no one could see what you were doing.

Your cheeks were on fire, as your eyes traced lines over Eddie’s face. Your wrist was following what you saw, flicking over the paper trying to get his locks of hair in his face just perfect. Eddie felt your eyes burning into him, even though every time he would turn to look at you, your face was buried in your sketchbook.

“What?” Eddie mouthed silently to you. You shook your head in response. He rolled his eyes and went back to watching the video. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Your position wasn’t giving your lungs enough air, so you relaxed your legs, slipping them back under the desk. As soon as you did, you felt something rubbing against your ankle. You look underneath to see Eddie’s dirty white sneaker working at your leg. You lifted your head to see him smirk and then look away pretending like it didn’t happen.

“Stop,” You mouthed to him, trying not to smile too wide. He shrugged and crossed his arms, looking pleased with himself. You smirked to yourself and dove back into your drawing. You looked longingly at the picture, excitedly putting down details of Eddie’s face. You were so captured by it, you didn’t even notice that the class was wrapping up. The school bell startled you, causing you to drop your pencil. Students rushed out of the room as you bent over to pick it up. Once you returned to your previous position, you found Eddie sitting on top of your desk. He swiped your sketchbook off of your lap and you desperately reached for it. His strong arm held yours down.

“Eddie, stop! Give it back,” You whined.

“Let me see it first! I need proof that someone actually would write me love notes in class!” He declared.

“What? It’s not a love letter!” You stuttered. “It’s just a stupid doodle!” You watched in horror as Eddie gave it a long look in silence for a moment.

“W-wow… I didn’t know I looked like this…” His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. He thought to himself, this wasn’t just a doodle. The drawing had detailed shading and you got the sparkle in his eye just right. “Did you really draw this just now?” You shyly nodded. “You are amazing, seriously,” He excitedly pointed at your drawing, showing you his favorite details.

“Thanks, Eddie,” You blushed.

“Do you mind if I keep this?” He asked nervously. You giggled and shook your head, taking the sketchbook out of his hands. He watched intently as you carefully pulled out the page and handed it to him.

“Here you go, Munson,” You said as you passed it to him.

“Y’know, Hellfire could use an artist like you,” He smirked, nudging your arm.

“Your D&D club? I thought that was just a roleplay game,” You chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, but I’m looking to upgrade the campaigns a little more visually. I would love it if you came and helped me draw maps and paint figures with me,” He had one hand on his chest and the other out for you to shake.

“I’m going to have to see what my schedule’s like…” You elongated your words. “…but sure, why not?” You took Eddie’s hand and shook it.

“Welcome to Hellfire,” He smiled back.

Sequel