#very rough draft lol

[dearheart42regenerated]

gritting my teeth and sharing this in the tag in hopes that it'll help me manifest actually FINISHING this fic.......

--

“I’m still not buying this!” Chuck popped out from the passenger’s side and leaned over the door, pointing an accusing finger at her. “How do you really know about Mutt?” he demanded.

Capri blinked and frowned, giving him a once-over as she crossed her arms. “How do you know about Mutt, Goldilocks?”

Texas cracked up at the nickname, slapping Dutch on the back. “Goldilocks! That’s a good one, hahaha…” 

“The name’s Chuck, for your information,” huffed Goldilocks, “and I’ve been hanging with Mikey since elementary school. Where have you been his whole life?”

“Elementary school, huh?” Something bitter flickered in her eyes. “That must’ve been nice…”

Mike tried to calm his friend, slightly taken aback by how riled up he was. “Easy, Chuckles, let’s just–”

“No! I’m not gonna sit back and let some random stranger put you through this all over again, dude! It’s not okay!”

“Look, I appreciate it, but–”

“All she has is a story about your bobblehead. That’s not actual proof she’s your sister!”

“He’s right.” Dutch’s eyes were wary. “Anyone could make up a childhood memory like that. How do we know Kane isn’t paying this one off like he did with your fake dad?”

“Let’s at least hear her out first, guys,” said Julie, exasperated. “You can’t demand ‘real proof’ and then not give her a chance at all! Maybe she–”

“I still say she’s an evil clone!” Texas declared.

The arguing devolved into chaos, everyone speaking over each other to the point where nothing coherent could be heard anymore.

“Heartwarming reunion over, I guess,” Capri muttered, unfastening her thigh holster. She pulled out a laser pistol and fired two blasts into the air. “EVERYONE. SHUT UP.”

Everyone shut up.

She sighed and holstered the gun, glaring at nobody in particular. “Sweet baby gumdrops. Okay. FIRST of all…” She turned to Mike. “You don’t need to take my word for it. I wouldn’t take my word for it, either.” Her com-screen popped up, glowing fiery orange. She scrolled, selected a file with the words “CAPRI C. GENETIC PROFILE” hovering above it, and flicked it over to him. “There you go. The DNA can speak for itself.”

Mike took it but barely glanced at it, still looking at her as if she were a hologram herself – something that could disappear any second. Chuck just stared at the unopened file from the other side of the car, unable to hide his own curiosity.

“Secondly. Goldilocks.”

He jumped and straightened his posture with a gulp. (Texas snickered.)

Her boots thumped in the silence as she strode towards him, cold annoyance in her voice. “For your information, I wasn’t talking about Mutt to prove I’m Mike’s sister. I brought it up to find out if he’s my brother.” She fished in one of her pockets and pulled out a well-worn photograph, dangling it in front of his nose. “There could be any number of ‘Mike Chiltons’ running around and I haven’t been here in a while. I wanted to be sure.” 

“Whoa,” he murmured, one hand reaching for it. 

Capri snatched it away, eyes hard as steel, and walked back around to Mike. Her expression softened when she handed the photo to him. “I am sure, now.”

It showed a little girl with messy hair and an even messier t-shirt – face scrunched up in a grin, one front tooth missing – and a wide-eyed baby dangling in her arms like a kidnapped puppy, clutching Mutt in small chubby hands, attempting to shove the top of its bobbing head in his mouth. The colors were faded, the edges bent and torn; but the happiness captured in it was so vibrant it made his chest ache. 

Any doubts he had left vanished, replaced by dizzying questions he couldn’t find words for. He had a sister. This was real. (What happened?)

“Thirdly!” said Capri, giving the other Burners a smile that bordered on a snarl. “I’m so very sorry if I’m being rude here, it's just that I spent the last seventy-two hours hopping city-to-colony and crossing a gazillion miles of mutants, raiders, boiling heatwaves and radiation pits to get back to Motorcity. Totally for funsies, of course. It's not like I’ve been trying to track down the only family I have left or anything.” 

Everyone shifted uncomfortably.

“Point being, I’ve had a long flippin’ day! So how about you nosy little ferrets take that file I just sent, run the DNA test, confirm I’m actually not a lying scumbag, and then y’all can decide on how to torture me next. What do you think?” she growled, shooting “Goldilocks” an incinerating look. “That sound alright to you? Chuck?”

Chuck all but melted into a whimpering puddle of terror and compliance, stammering out a vaguely affirmative reply as he stumbled over to where the unopened file still hovered.

“Great! Glad we could get that sorted out.” 

Everything in her demeanor dripped with spite…but Mike was beginning to notice the dark circles under her eyes, the heaviness in her shoulders. How many miles had she really crossed to get here? How many hours had she spent combing the dark labyrinth of Motorcity to find him? (Based on nothing but a hope that it might be him?)

And then they had all assumed the worst of her. 

Capri must be exhausted.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She stormed off towards her motorcycle. “I’m gonna check my bike for damage and maybe also secretly plot to sell out your leader to the guy who destroyed my whole childhood. Holler if you need me.”

[thelustybraavosimaid]

"How does it feel to know that you're about to die? That your life meant nothing?"

Victory was in his grasp and it was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted.

His boots thudded on the floor as he turned, watching Kestis writhe in an almost foetal position, a trembling hand slowly reaching out for his lightsaber. His breaths came in short pants, impossibly quick. Feeble. Dagan narrowed his eyes, cutting from the slash across his chest to his face, wielding the Force to access the recesses of his mind. Yet despite Dagan's extensive training, Cal managed to build an emotional wall, as weak as it was.

He cocked an eyebrow as he knelt, disinterest in his cold gaze. "Don't resist," he said, voice calm mockery. "You can't hide from me." The closer to death he was, the easier his thoughts were to manipulate. There you are. Emotions were as easy to discern as colours to the naked eye, and all of Cal's were on display for him.

Satisfied, Dagan stood, a taunting grin curling his lips.

"Aah, yes. I feel it!" He turned away. "Loss. Suffering. Shame. Anger." All I have felt reliving every memory in that cursed tank. He carefully sifted through each one, all in an attempt to understand what made her do what she did. She'd be disappointed to see what he had become, he was sure, but how could that possibly matter now? Dagan took a silent breath, gripping his saber tighter. "There is immense power in such emotions, but you were too weak!"

And now it is too late for you. A pity, he scoffed.

The slide of metal against the floor caught his attention, and when he turned to the sound it wasn't Kestis he saw rising, but Santari, beautiful as she was, beautiful as she had always been. Alive and in the flesh, as if she hadn't been dead for two centuries.

As if she had been awaiting his return.

Feelings rushed from deep within his soul, astonishment as overpowering as confusion, as anguish. Why? Dagan wanted to ask, in a tone as broken as he, but his mouth couldn't move. He couldn't move. The sweet victory tasted like ash now. I would have found you. I would have convinced you to come home with me. Home to Tanalorr. We planned to—

"The shuttles are leaving," she said, taking a step forward. Her voice was as he had heard in the recording, though an echo gave it an almost ethereal quality. "I will not return." Then her face curved from that stoic, silent determination she usually wore to a wave of sorrowful condemnation. "You're lost. You've strayed from the path. And you—are no Jedi."

His eyes widened. Dread and rage stole his very breath, set a tremor to his jaw. He saw. He saw. That wretch!

He used my power against me!

"You!" Dagan let his saber flare to life, red crashing down against orange. Her face melted to Cal's, his lips pressed to a thin line. He pushed harder, letting his strength bear down on Kestis. "You..."

Through his haze of wrath, Dagan missed it; Cal shrugged off his strike and thrust downward to pierce through his stomach. He was too shocked to register the pain, too stunned to fall to his knees.

She...he...

A painful spasm took him as he gasped, his heartbeat rapid in his chest. He grit his teeth, summoning what strength he had left to bellow. "Tanalorr! Is—!"

Mine, he wanted to finish, my home, my legacy, but the compass to reach it was stolen from his Force-hold, and keening pain bloomed as another flash of orange struck his chest.

He barely felt it. The room melted to nothing.

All he could see was Santari.

Beautiful as she was, beautiful as she had always been.

Her ghost's hand was outstretched, and he looked up to see a slow, sad smile touching her lips. They moved, but he had heard nothing. Longing was a wisp of a flower, blossoming into existence in the form of a lump in the hollow of his throat. He tried to swallow it down, show her the heat of his ire, but the floor was rushing up to meet him and his body was too useless to function.

With what vigour he had left, he reached for her palm, resigning himself to the knowledge that he could never escape her.

Not even while dying.

[impossible-rat-babies]

[wip] help girl I don’t know how to draw g’raha and I’ve been drafting backgrounds

[verymuchablog42]

[underfell]

concept

[marmastry]

Agent 3s

[trensu]

Have an itty bitty tiny piece of stasis in darkness, just so you all have an idea of where the story is going after the godly reveal. and also have proof that i am, in fact, still toiling away at this (as well as hawkins halfway house.)

A week and a half later, Steve entered a town he’d never seen before. He wore simple traveling clothes and carried no weapons aside from a couple of carefully hidden knives. He’d left his armor and shield behind. His satchel held only the essentials one needed for travel and a single stone as large as his fist. The stone was wrapped in layers of cloth to keep it safe during the journey. 

I need you to find someone. 

He felt very bare but he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Speed was of the essence for his quest, and little no-name towns tended to be wary of strangers in plain clothes, even more so around strangers decked out for battle. Steve wasn’t sure this place could be called a town. It was so small it hadn’t been on any official map. It didn’t even have an inn. Hopefully, Steve wouldn’t be needing an inn once he found who he was looking for.

He’s too far from me to reach.

He asked around, laying on the charm generously. He explained he had been a friend of a friend and had been trusted to deliver something. Eventually, he was told where to go. The house he found far beyond the village’s boundary was small. It looked like it had once been well cared for but it was old and had fallen to disrepair. Steve took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A sallow old man opened the door. He was bald but had some scruff on his face still. His shoulders, stooped from age, trembled. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so tired.

He’s my very last worshiper in all the world.

“Wayne Munson?” Steve asked.

“Who wants to know?” The man’s voice was phlegmy and rough. He coughed into the crook of his elbow almost before he could finish speaking. 

“I’m Steve. Ser Steve Harrington, pledged to the Lord of Night.”

Wayne’s eyes widened. His grip on the open door weakened and slipped. Steve caught the door before it could hit Wayne.

“He sent me to you,” Steve explained. “May I come in?”

yep, that's it for now. i told you it was small. i'm not even gonna bother with a read-more here.

[n7punk]

catra's being totally normal guys don't worry about it

[coffeebanana]

OMG the previously-in-present-tense WIP finally stopped hating me!!! so here, take a snippet! (under the cut. post-s5 and includes finale spoilers)

...

Chat kept his eyes trained on the ground after that, not realizing Ladybug had stopped until he crashed right into her. He mumbled a quick apology, but Ladybug didn't acknowledge it. When he realized why, his gut plummeted further. Her eyes were locked on the statue before them. The statue of Gabriel Agreste. This was the first time Chat had seen it in person, and he had to admit it was a fitting representation of his father. Its sharp, silver jawline jutted upwards—a nod to his pride. Its eyes peered down through their spectacles, so as to silently judge anyone who passed by. And even the height was spot on. Statue-Gabriel towered over his son just as the man had done in life. The only thing Chat would have changed was the statue's smile. It was unnatural.  As was the way Ladybug hadn't said a thing since they'd arrived. Chat tapped her on the shoulder. “Um, it’s getting pretty late. Shouldn’t we keep heading towards…wherever it is we’re heading?” “We’re already here,” she said, her voice scarily calm. Her grip tightened around the strap of her duffle bag. "Okay..." Chat glanced around the empty park, half-hoping some sort of explanation would jump out from behind the trees. "But what exactly are we here for?" Ladybug flashed him a smile—somehow even wilder than the one she'd sent in the alley—then dropped her bag onto the grass. He watched uneasily as she bent down to unzip it, taking out a cylindrical metal container and turning it over to consult the label. "Just a little redecorating," she said, setting the object on the ground before reaching into the bag once more. "Do you want blue or green?" “What?” “Spray paint. Blue or green?”

...

[clanborn]

hi i was feeling keen on talking about fanclans so i thought you’d be a good victim since ive been loving your alaskan clans! I recently changed my clans to live in norway with TarnClan, SkerryClan, HeimsClan, and AsphodelClan in the mountains, coastside, alpine woods, and wetlands. Buncha political stuff happening in these clans. I’d like to say i really like your couriers, i actually have a similar idea called quickpaws, who function essentially the same.

What’s your favorite worldbuilding/story addition you added to your clans? For my own clans, i think i really like my StarClan portal the Moonpine! it’s a albino tree :) hope this doesn’t come off as annoying

Ooh that’s super cool, I don’t think I’ve seen any Norway-based clans before, and I loveee those clan names. Very interested to hear more about them and their politics. And yeah I enjoy the messenger/courier role a lot it’s a fun one to implement

And don’t worry this isn’t annoying! I love hearing about other’s fanclans I like to see people salvaging the bare bones from this mediocre series and actually doing something really cool and creative with it.

As for my favorite part of my clans I haven’t mentioned it yet but their Starclan connection area is an ice cave with a frozen lynx skeleton.

So that and figuring out the clans’ gods and weird cosmic relationships with them is probably my fav aspect so far.

[riosnecktattoo]

🍒🌳 WIP Wednesday 🌳🍒

“Well, shit,” Rio beams. “That was easy.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure.”

“I—just—shut up.” Beth shakes her head, makes a half-hearted attempt to wave it off, to claw back some of her control, but Rio’s eyes roam her face, deep in thought as he wets his lips slowly and any composure she was clinging to melts away.

“You always do this,” he accuses. That edge of irritation creeping back in as he glances down at her cleavage, the extra inches she exposed by undoing that button in front of him earlier.

“Do what?”

“Get all pissed at me when I win.”

“Well if you weren’t so arrogant about it—” Beth bites out. Because he really did tick her off with his gloating.

“Right okay,” Rio nods, mocking her. Jutting his bottom lip out like she’s one to talk.

“And I am not watching you.”

“You know what you’re doin’, Elizabeth.” Rio backs away when he says that, paces a little in the cramped space of the bathroom like a caged animal. Eyes wide and accusatory as he looks pointedly at her dress, her neck, her messily tied up hair and she really has no idea what he’s talking about.

“I’m not doing anything to you!” Beth scowls, stamping her foot in frustration.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, is what you do.”

Beth lifts her chin, holds his gaze defiantly. “Well then maybe you should go back out to Vanessa since I annoy you so much.” She tries to sound detached, but her voice is thick. Her chest heaving a little.

Rio’s jaw rocks to the side as he stares at her. Breathing as uneven as hers. “I’ll do that,” he says.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

He doesn’t move to go. Neither of them do. And the longer they stare at each other the quicker her pulse gets. Her solid grip on the counter the only thing keeping her grounded.

For a split second Rio makes a tiny move to turn, to leave, before he springs back to face her, still all fired up. “This is the same exact shit you pulled with that beer pong game by the way.”

Beth just laughs at how bizarre he’s being as Rio steps back close. So close. Almost chest to chest, towering over her. “You need to get over it.”

“How ‘bout you quit playing dirty wit’ me,” he purrs. Eyes heavy-lidded.

“I wasn’t cheating,” she says quietly.

Rio searches her face for a long, unbearably charged moment, the muscle in his jaw flexing before his fingers lift to touch her neck. He’s touching her. For the first time in weeks. And she’s so caught up in that feeling, the release of it, the heat flooding in a blush across her bare chest as his knuckles slide over her collarbone that she doesn’t realise what he’s doing until— 

“Then what’s this?”

She hadn’t noticed at all, had completely forgotten she still had it on, but she’s wearing his chain. And oh god, the pendant must have slipped out of her neckline in front of him when she leant over the pool table.

[hua-fei-hua]

my worst coding habit? the fact that i'll just hard-code things in to get an idea of how i want my thing to be done, and then once i have that confirmed, go back and turn it into modular functions and variables, thereby writing and debugging every feature at least twice

[rotworld]

Vermundr's Pack: With Your Tail Between Your Legs

someone asked:

Hello! How are you? I have a question, how would the pack react if reader left to walk a little and came back really hurt?

it depends on how they got hurt. if it was an accident, getting scraped up in the woods, they'd be fussed over for a while and might have a chaperone for a bit. misadventure is part of life, they've all been there and won't stop you from exploring. but if their human gets attacked...

vermundr's pack/reader (mostly featuring vermundr and ormkell). contains gore, hurt/comfort, pack dynamics, mild feral behavior.

.

.

.

Dusk casts heavy shadows as it drapes across the sky. The trees are silhouettes, black birdcage bars against the molten spill of the setting sun. The pack has lived and hunted here for years, engraving their favored paths into the dirt, but these familiar trails vanish as night creeps in. Places where the grass is thin and parted are hidden beneath the latticed shadow of the swaying canopy. It doesn’t matter. You know the way home.

Home, you think, bemused. When did you start calling it that? You lean against gnarled bark and rest for a moment, catching your breath. You can hear it—a steady trickle, like the last, stubborn drops of rain at the storm’s end. There’s a red blotch on the shoulder of your tunic, a blooming stain spreading slowly across your back. It throbs and oozes. You feel for the wound and hiss, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s raw and deep and feels like fire. If you looked, would you see bone? It’s awful. You feel nauseous and dizzy. Home. You need to get home.

At dusk, they light lanterns of pine wood and rawhide. The light is faint and ghostly, a curling glow like will-o’-the-wisps. It’s not for them. Wolves see just fine in the dark. But every night, without fail, the lanterns are placed throughout the clearing where the den waits. It’s these faint, warm lights that call to you through the trees, that guide you when your vision swims and your knees start to buckle. 

You hear the wolves before you see them. There are guests tonight, another pack from further west. A few of them roughhouse in the clearing, yipping and biting playfully at one another as they slip easily from human to wolf, wolf to human. Styrmir’s boisterous laughter echoes as he plays dice with a large, intoxicated group and Ragni has a group of pups enraptured with stories of the pack’s last raid.

It’s Vermundr who scents you on the wind first. He wears little in the warmer months, the sprawling ink of his tattoos on full display across his chest. He stiffens at the mouth of the den and you think he says something in their language, a rumbling sound that brings the festivities to a halt. You limp through thick foliage and brambles, your breathing shallow. Vermundr has already crossed the clearing when you emerge, his arms open, catching you just as your legs give out. Together, you sink to the ground.

“Rabbit?” he says. His voice is low and calm, but you can feel the pounding of his heart as he cradles your head to his chest.

“Humans,” you manage to tell him, squeezing the word through gritted teeth. Your word choice has him bristling. The wolves don’t think of the raiders as humans. They are allies, hunting kin, furless siblings. They have many names for them, but never “human.” What hurt you was something you thought you’d never see again. 

“Ragni,” Vermundr says. 

The other wolf is at his side in an instant, kneeling, peeling off your tunic. It’s ripped and sticky by your shoulder and you whine at the sting when it peels loose. Ragni hushes you, kisses your forehead and whispers soft reassurances. “I know. I know it hurts, rabbit. I’m so sorry.” There’s movement around you, murmurs and growls.

Wolves, some you know and some you don’t, gather at a distance. You hurt too much to be shy about your exposed chest. Vermundr keeps you steady and grounded, his hands on your hips and his gaze never leaving yours. You wince and whimper as Ragni examines your shoulder. Vermundr presses his forehead to yours as though trying to take your pain onto himself. 

There’s a flurry of movement nearby, a rush of footsteps. A whimper, and then someone else is beside you, squeezing in opposite Ragni. “No,” you hear, a hoarse, miserable whisper. You know your mate’s voice anywhere. Ormkell is fidgeting, restless, wanting to touch but not wanting to hurt you or get in Ragni’s way. He rakes his claws through the dirt out of desperation, needing to touch something, to hurt something for how you’ve been hurt. 

“Deep and uneven,” Ragni murmurs. “Hatchet wound.” 

Vermundr’s next breath is nearly a snarl. He says something in a tone reserved for orders and the other pack scatters, a stampede of half-shifted wolves streaming into the woods. Slowly, as though you’re made of glass, he gathers you up and hands you to Ormkell. Your mate trembles. He stands, cradling you against his chest. He scents you desperately, nuzzles against your face and your neck. “What do I do?” he says, his voice quivering. He’s asking the alpha. He wants orders. He wants something, anything to anchor him and help him focus.

Vermundr looks at your blood on his hands. “There are several things that need to be done, Ormkell,” he says. “I will tell you these things, and you will do them.” Ormkell nods eagerly. You cling to him, smearing blood across his chest, and it only makes him hold you tighter. Styrmir claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He brushes your bangs away from your sweat-soaked forehead and then he’s gone. You hear his gait change as he shifts, sprinting after the others. “Your mate needs healing. Ragni will remain here and help you administer the proper herbs and salves. Then they must eat and rest. We will all go to the baths together once the hunt ends. You must guard them, and the den, in my absence. Do you understand? Will you do these things?” 

“Yes,” Ormkell says, breathing again. “Yes, alpha. Thank you.” 

Hjalti passes him at the doors of the den, half-shifted, claws long and hooked. “If I find one with a hatchet,” he says, “I’ll bring him back for you.” They touch briefly, a quick, nuzzling motion. Ormkell makes a sound of gratitude and brings you inside. 

You stiffen when Ormkell reaches the nest and begins to lower you. “Blood,” you say, weak and tired. “My blood…I don’t…” You don’t want to ruin this special place.

Your mate’s expression softens with understanding. He lays down with you, curled up at your side. “I don’t care if you stain the pelts, rabbit,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. “We have many. We can always get more. There’s only one of you.” The kiss is chaste, too quick for your liking. Ormkell lingers only a breath away, studying you, holding you close. “I’ll be back,” he promises. “With something to ease the pain. I’ll take care of you, I promise. I won’t leave your side.” He fumbles with the furs wrapped around his waist, untangling one from the rest. He leaves it draped over you, a small blanket still warm with his body heat. It’s with great reluctance that he pulls away, and you hear him and Ragni speaking in hushed tones just outside. 

You hold the fur against your face. It smells like him. You smile, even through the pain. 

You made it home. You’re going to be okay.

[boleynqueenes]

giant bt21 shooky pillow: what’s the most warm and fuzzy scene in your wip? share an excerpt

The Queen sinks to the floor, too, chin angled to the dexter, and spreads her skirts of twilighted ice very wide, her aspect very grave, until, kneeling onto the rushes, she bursts out with a giggle and flings her arms open. Elizabeth walks very carefully, as if to show that she is very grand and can walk a straight line better than any other child of two, but once very close, toddles for joy, and gives the start of an imperious, 'up, maman, up,' with her own arms outstretched; but the Queen scoops her to her bosom before she can even finish the command: 'Hello, hello, my dearest, dearest one!'

'Hello, hello, bonjour,' she imitates, cuddling her cheek against the honeyed radiance of her mother's long fingers, feeling their span undulate like strings of spiderwebs caught in the wind, basking in the tone of the praise ('Good morrow, sweet darling! So grown, so mannered!'), absent though she is of full understanding.

[jils-things]

irene constantine lore post :33

general lore:

irene - the only daughter of the constantine aristocrats. she is recognized as a socialite in the upper class society. socialites are defined as women of rich status who make it a part of their lives to socialize and participate in social activities among women of similar statuses. usually, she would be lucky to be where she is right now - but is she really?

truth be told, she was never a constantine to begin with, her bloodline truly belonged to the lower class - she was an orphan. but due to the inability of lady constantine to have a child, she resorted to adopting little irene - and from that point did her life change for what would supposedly be, for the better.

but even still, irene never felt like she really fitted with the high society. she always felt more connected to the classes lower than her. she always liked to leave her house just to visit the old village of ragged citizens near her house. they are struggling, yes - but they seemed to have so much more freedom than what she has right now - they could run around, sing, dance, and sleep anywhere. it just seemed so fun... unlike her - constantly being taught how to be the "perfect lady". being forced to learn instruments she wasn't interested in, being forced to wear the most uncomfortable of dresses and to walk in heels. it all felt ... so restraining. she only wanted to drink tea and learn every flower and their coded meaning. she wanted to indulge on her personal interests, but they were deemed as "unnecessary". she liked chamomile tea, because it was just as pretty as it is delicious as tea.

it was hard to tell if she's being spoiled or not - wanting to escape her incredibly privileged life. shouldn't she be happy that she's basically saved from a difficult childhood? that was her biggest debate growing up.

but her struggles weren't just that - being a rich, young lady was basically the perfect time to wed, and to extend family wealth among other families. the worst part, she couldn't even choose who she wanted to love - it was still forced. it's almost like an unfair trade, she gets to live comfortably but in exchange - will be treated like a doll who can be controlled by her owners as they please.

and now, the carpet has paved a way for her to marry an unknown man, just to keep the family wealth strong. at this point, she nearly given up trying to fight for her desire and freedom because there's really no one to make her mind but herself, and maybe she was really just too selfish.

that would all change when she meets that miner. a simple stroll to destress from her thoughts of an arranged marriage would land her on a poor man who had nothing, but her whole attention on him

would she risk her happiness and joy for an unknown man for the pride her family, or call herself selfish and abandon what makes her a noble, to love a poor miner who had nothing?

~ ~

close relations

emma and irene are very close to each other - perhaps it was due to their common interest in flowers. emma is a gardener, so she'd have much access and familiarity to plants of any kind. irene has an interest in tea - they would absolutely bond over trying out delicious tea flavors together and would decorate each other's hair in flowers. emma would gift her baskets of flowers if she could

while their connections are unknown at the moment, naib cares for irene very deeply - irene somewhat innocent and gleeful - not aware of danger sometimes. but perhaps that's something that naib thinks is worth protecting. as a mercenary, he has seen many things that are nothing but an agonizing display of life. irene was still young and fruitful, and she still has much time to prosper and enjoy her life as a young lady. he has a hard time verbally expressing his care to her, so he mostly watches over her when he can.

the miner that stole her heart, irene truly cared for norton since day one. she has witnessed his hard efforts to make up for his difficult life - yet gets disregarded like a piece of paper by his fellow miners. she wanted him to know that someone was out there, constantly rooting for his perseverance. she always found ways to give him what he was robbed of. money, food, water, clothes - anything to replace what taken away from him. but norton was hard to please at first - he had a bitter taste towards rich people like her, and assumed that she was trying to manipulate him. but she kept going, just to let him know that she wanted the best for him. he eventually warmed up to her and got along with her nicely. they both started to like each other by then. by the time the explosion has occured, she did everything to let him recover and admitted she cared for him, much more than she anticipated. norton felt compelled to do something to reciprocate how much he cared for her as well.

along the way of their relationship, many complications has risen as time went on, especially with irene's supposed arranged marriage - but that will be for another time :3 but trust me, things will get better from there 💚 i also want to remind that i try to stay away from the canonical plot where everyone goes to the manor - i have a separate universe for that but it's probably not going to be very major unlike this one. basically this universe is "what if the oletus invitation letter never appeared anyway" 🔥🔥

extra facts on irene!

- her survivor title is "socialite"

- i still don't have an idea on her "game kit" since im focused on her story

- her blue color scheme will be considered as a skin alternative (since the game has a lot of skin recolors.) it would also match norton's cordierite skin :3

- her arranged husband is still anonymous - i don't have plans to design him (at least for now)

- if fool's gold was present in an alternative timeline, she's still accepting of him because he's still the same person she cared about before the explosion

header: @/hyelita

[verbenaa]

I would love to hear about "tiefling scene full" if you're up for it! 👀

ohh I'm alwaaays up for it ✨

OK so 'tiefling scene full' is the full write out for the first sex scene in-game for my longfic To Eden. It has it's own document for a few reasons but mainly because

A) I started writing this back in February before I had an official document for the chapter this will appear in

B) I'm undecided on how to put it into To Eden, and have been debating between either adding in the whole scene or only putting in parts of it as in more of flashbacks

I guess we will see how it manifests when I finally write it in! I feel like this scene is obviously one of the most written ones out there but it has to be included, and honestly I think there's a lot of interesting ways to write this scene! Likely if I don't include the full scene in the story I will post it as a separate one-shot within the same universe, because I like to put my time into my smut and it would be a waste for it to never see the light of day! I’d love to hear anyone’s opinion about how it would be more interesting to read it!

But here's a little snippet in the meantime! Please enjoy!!

She doesn’t know what she is doing. She certainly doesn’t know why she even agreed, especially when his offer was far from the only one she’d received tonight. But there it was again, that same feeling rising up again that Rin had felt the night he asked for her blood and every time since that he has drank from her, his lips licking and sucking against her skin. That same feeling of so desperately wanting to be wanted--needed--ringing in her ears and pressing into the space between her eyes, that strange pull towards him she has no real explanation for. Clearly, she was only interested in self-sabotage. And sleeping with Astarion was the surest way to the hells, as far as she was concerned.