For so many years I've wanted to make a tumblr and post on it and now is the time (definitely not because my friend really wanted me to)
I have so many stories in my head, a lot of them kind of count as short stories but some I would love to make into novels.
I do write fanfiction, I'll make a post about all of those later and link it here (once I figure out how to do that. Edit: I figured it out faster than I thought and its below in fandoms/characters I write for)
I also write poetry but it's the most personal thing to me and I rarely share it with people I know so we shall see if I end up posting it
So I don't know what else I could write here but I guess I'll update it if anything needs to be written here
Summary: A day of Rose's new life, doing chores all day and helping lost little girls before finding herself lost.
Warnings: Angst (who's surprised), negative thoughts of self, probably slightly wrong things about the Hobbit so please correct me-
Word Count: 2.4k, these chapters will probably be around this length because if I tried to make them around 7k (which I'd love to), we'd be finished very fast
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The never-ending chimes, through night and through day. And every hour, the sound resembling film reels starts before the resounding dong resonates throughout the orphanage. 2 o’clock. Dead of night, the only sounds heard being the grandfather clock and occasional animal outside. But, some nights there is more. Some nights, two young girls sit in the dark, cold sitting room. Some nights, their chattering lingers in the air the next morning, creating a livelier environment the next day. As if the hope they talk about is heard by each girl in the orphanage.
Unfortunately, hope isn’t always something they can rely on and trust. Some nights, they speak of unpleasant things, of things that a child shouldn’t be burdened with, of the war that has torn their family apart.
“I wish they didn’t have to leave us.”
Rose looks at her sister, she understands her sister’s worries. It was only a natural response to being sent away, even if it wasn’t their parents’ fault. But right now, Lily needs someone to blame. “They didn’t leave us, not forever.”
Lily sighs, she’s the older sister, she should be comforting Rose but instead, Rose seems to be the one who has everything figured out in terms of dealing with their new life. But Lily can’t help but not believe her, there’s always a chance that they won’t come back. “You know as well as I do that the chances dad gets back from war alive are slim.”
And yet, Rose stays firm in her faith. “Yes, but mum’s a nurse, she isn’t in as much danger. She’s not on the frontlines. She’ll come back to us, I know it.” But her sister remains stubborn and Rose tries instead to find a way to lighten the mood. “I hope so anyway, I couldn’t imagine spending years in this dreadful place.” A look of pure disgust graces her face, “Woolton pie everyday for years? Not with how much Marmite Mrs. Howard adds.”
“Well as soon as I turn 18, I’ll be out.”
Rose looks at her, unimpressed. “You don’t have to rub it in. It would be more tolerable if Mrs. Howard would light the fire. There isn’t that much of a shortage of wood.”
“I think she might rather if we all perish from the cold, less mouths to feed and more rations for her.” They both laugh lightly, their moods successfully lifted and the gloom of what may or may not come is lighter.
Until the clock chimes again. Lily stands as she says, “We should get back to bed, night check-in should be soon and we don’t want to be caught down here.” She starts walking towards the stairs and is cautious to step on any creaky planks. She reaches the first step before she realises Rose is not behind her. She looks back and sees Rose still on the ground in front of the fireplace. Lily notices that she’s acting strange, staring into the fireplace like it’s hypnotising her, as if something was there.
“Rose?” She whispers harshly, the younger girl breaks her trance and quickly, but carefully, follows her sister. Lily is concerned for her sister’s unusual behaviour but continues climbing the stairs and decides to ask her another time.
The sunlight shows no mercy to the 8 girls sleeping in the room with no curtains, groans and grumbles can be heard throughout the room. Suddenly, the door flies open and in comes Mrs. Howard, carrying a brass bell that she rings throughout the quiet room. “Let’s go girls. 7am. Time for the morning chores.” She looks around the room at the slow-moving girls, ranging from ages of 11-16, and notices one girl already standing beside her bed, ready for the day. She raises an eyebrow at her, “Eager to work today, Rosalind?”
Rose nods firmly once, “Of course, Mrs. Howard, The early bird catches the worm, as you always say.” Mrs. Howard remains suspicious but nods and leaves the room.
As the other girls groan and slowly pull themselves out of their beds, Rose finishes folding her pyjamas and placing them neatly at the end of the perfectly made-up bed. Folding her hands in front of her, she leaves the room in an orderly fashion to go downstairs and receive her chores for the day.
Looking at the blackboard at the bottom of the rickety wooden stairs, she glances down the list of names until she finds it; R.V.. There she finds her list of chores for each part of the day.
Morning: Brush the living space and communal area’s floors and laundry for girls’ room ages 4-10.
Afternoon: Help prepare dinner and do the dishes from the meal.
Evening: Clean all windows in all bathrooms and return clean sheets to girls’ room ages 4-10.
Night-time: Take rubbish out of kitchen bins and clean fireplace.
Another busy day ahead of herself, but at least it beats hiding from the Blitzkrieg back home. And so, she starts her chores. First in the house to start and always with a smile on her face.
Mrs. Howard stared at her strangely as she watched her, she always did because Rose always seemed to be pleased to do the chores. And so, Mrs. Howard would increase the hardship of them more and more over those two weeks since she arrived. But never, never did it seem to dull Rose’s shine.
And so, as Rose walked into the room housing the youngest girls, she saw a familiar face. A face she had spoken to occasionally over that past fortnight. A face most commonly buried in a certain book. The Hobbit.
“How far have you gotten today?”
The girl looked up at Rose’s voice and beamed, “Rosie! I stayed up a little later last night so I could finish it again.”
Rose’s eyes narrow as she moves to the first bed to strip the sheets for the wash. “Would that be the 3rd time you’ve read it now?”
“4th. I love it so much, I can’t help but read it over and over.”
Rose smiles, adding the sheets to a basket and carrying it to the next bed, the one beside the little girl.
The girl sets down her book on her nightstand, the page number burned into her head for later. She watches Rose hum as she smiles and works away. Then a question dawns on her.
“Rosie?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Picking up on the smallness of her voice, Rose stops fiddling with the sheets and walks closer to the girl, sitting on her knees in front of her. “Of course, dear. You can ask me anything.”
She looks down at her hands in her lap, shuffling and shifting nervously before she gets the courage to continue, and Rose waits. Patiently waits with just a smile and kind hazel eyes.
“If The Hobbit were real, where would we fit into it?”
Rose thinks, and she thinks hard on this question. For she knows, to the girl, it may be more than a child’s mindless curiosity and wonder. She knows that this book may be her last grip on that childlike wonder or it may even feel more like reality than the war-ridden world they call the only reality.
“Well I believe we have the ability to choose where we fit in any story.” The girl looks at her, confusion but curiosity evident in her eyes. So, Rose continues, “If you would like to be from Lake Town, then you may strive to be someone from Lake Town.” She notices the girl starting to understand but the hope in her eyes is still small.
Rose takes another moment, a sly look coming about her face, “But, if you wish to be a fantastical creature,” her voice filling with wonder as if she were reading the story to the girl, “then try your best to achieve qualities you see in them that you admire.”
Her last chore for the day. Rose had just taken the bin bag out to the bin at the side of the orphanage. Now it was time for her last task before bed. Well, before her and Lily would meet at the same fireplace she was about to clean.
She could never understand why Mrs. Howard would make them clean the unused fireplace, for if it was never to be used, why should it be cleaned every night as if it were?
And still, she grabbed a mop bucket, filled it with hot water she had been boiling on the kettle before taking the rubbish out. Pouring it into the bucket with a very little amount of washing up liquid, to preserve the bottle as long as possible, and grabbing a sponge, she brought it all to the fireplace.
As she waited for the water to cool down a tad, she grabbed the duster and started dusting the mantelpiece, along with the trinkets sporadically placed to bring some style into the worn and bare room. Rose made sure to lift each piece of clutter to dust as she knew Mrs. Howard would check every little crevice for dust.
As she cleaned, she remembered a fond memory from back home, before the war. A time when the biggest problem was getting their home cleaned diligently for a gathering. She had been dusting the mantelpiece, The authentic wooden frame, varnished to perfection, and decorated beautifully with photo frames of the family smiling brightly. Rose’s favourite was always of her parents’ wedding day, along with the story that would always be told with it.
Her mother stood in the beautiful white wedding dress, floor length with a slight train and the lace covering decorated with countless embroidered flowers. Rose had always loved that dress, she dreamed of wearing it herself some day. She always hoped to find someone that would love her like her father loved her mother, someone who would wait for her, as long as he did for her. She had been adamant that she did not want to marry as early as her sisters and friends had. And he had been so smitten. Everyday, he would be waiting outside her door to walk her to wherever she had been planning on going for the day. Whether it was just a quick stop to the market to pick up food for dinner on behalf of her mother or a day out shopping and gossiping with her friends. He always made sure to be waiting outside the door. He had a night-shift job working as security at the local bank then and as soon as his shift would end, he’d race to wait outside her door.
From the very beginning of his courting her, until the very day she decided she was ready to marry. And that day had been one of his happiest and it was clearly shown in the photo. His hand lightly caressing her cheek and his loving eyes staring at her as her head was held down and a bright smile possessing her face. She loved the pose they were in, his father still evidently expressing his love for her even when she wasn’t looking, she always saw him with that look, anytime her mother turned her back for even a second and his gestures would shift into that same face. Even 17 years later.
Rose shook her head, pulling herself from her mind and focusing herself back on the chore. She placed the duster back in the kitchen wardrobe with the floor brush and mop and returned to the fireplace.
She heard faint giggling and whispers from upstairs as she passed the stairs, it was not yet bedtime, however it was bordering on it. She had to finish cleaning soon or she’d be late for the night checks. And so she knelt down, picked up the sponge, squeezing some water out and got to cleaning.
Today was different. She couldn’t really explain why or how, but it had been different. There was something in the air, almost. The afternoon brought a change, she felt stranger. More out of place than normal. She had been feeling out of place here since the start and she always did her best to get rid of that, she never knew how long it would take before she could go home. But it felt more off now, she felt like she should be doing more. She should be more. There had to be a reason, she couldn’t accept any different.
Her thoughts were racing, why did she feel like this? Why did something change today? Why couldn’t she just be normal, accept this was all she was here for? She had helped the little girl who loved the Hobbit, yes. But was that it? Was that all she could do? Her mother was across seas saving soldiers, mending them back to health to fight again. To save everyone. She was there, but Rose was stuck here only good for cleaning a bloody fireplace-
A crack.
She froze.
There was a crack.
A crack in the fireplace.
But how?
She knew she had been scrubbing harshly as her thoughts had angered her but no.
No, she couldn’t have done this, a giant crack along the back of the fireplace. She hadn’t even been cleaning near there.
But how could it be possible? She guessed the stonework was old, but that old? And it wasn’t even being used, none of the girls there had seen it being used and some had been there since being a babe before the war.
No, it couldn’t be age. But what else?
And then she saw it, the cracks made the shape of something.
A face. How strange. A face made of cracks in an old, unused fireplace.
And then it started to dawn on her, a crack in the fireplace. She would be in deep trouble. Mrs. Howard would not be happy at all. She rushed to put her cleaning supplies away, maybe if she rushed to bed and wasn’t caught at the fireplace, she may not notice. Maybe she would skip her inspection today, she had before. Yes, it would all work out.
But then what? What if she got away with it but then the next girl to clean the fireplace was punished for it. This was very bad, how could she fix this?
She thought and thought and thought as she emptied the bucket into the sink, returned it and the sponge to their rightful places; one in the kitchen wardrobe and one in the cupboard under the sink, respectively.
She decided she would sleep on it, she would be the first to awake tomorrow again and she would have made a plan by then. She wouldn’t be meeting Lily at the fireplace, no way, not tonight but it would be sorted in the morning.
A/n: Thank you so much for reading, we finally got there. I wanted to show Rose a bit more before getting to Narnia, although just because they haven't gone doesn't mean others haven't yet. This day of chores Rose had was the same day the Pevensie's fell into Narnia (well, Susan and Peter fell) so that means it won't be very long before they get there. So if you want to see that, please don't forget to like, comment and repost. They really do mean the world to me.
Summary: How the Venusta sisters' stories start, on a train that will take them far from the evil happening in their home.
Warnings: Mentions of war, angst, depictions of being taken away from family and home
Word Count: 992 words
1940- Carlisle, England.
A white rundown farmhouse sits in the countryside. Alone for miles, surrounded by silence and the wind. Not a sound to be heard, even the children inside remain silent. Afraid of the outside, afraid of what might find them if they make a small noise. Children at heart, but forced to be robotic in following each instruction for fear they might come for their home next. Where before fear was not an uncommon emotion, felt only when they were caught breaking a vase while playing in the sitting room or slipping off the monkey bars at the park. Now, it became the base emotion for each day. No longer did children wake up with joy for the day or glee to sleep in for the weekend. No longer could they feel like children. Not after the big metal casings started falling from the sky and making really loud noises, causing fire to spread where it landed and destroying the Earth around it. Not after they were rushed from their homes to the nearest train station. Not when their parents had to stay behind, the chance of never seeing their children again was the only thing in their mind.
St. Philomena’s Orphanage. That’s where many of the girls ended up during the rush to leave London. Lost to the country’s back roads, surrounded only by fields and trees. It was the only option for the Venusta sisters. Their father having been sent off to war the year prior and then their mother offered the placement of a military nurse at a base somewhere across the ocean, she never told them exactly where. The girls had nothing left. No more family to be shipped off to on such short notice. Nowhere in the world that wanted nor needed them. And so, to the orphanage they went.
Lily Venusta, the oldest of the two, was always her father’s daughter. Strong in the face of danger and the bravest in sight when running from the war. Her face stayed stern as she said goodbye to her mother, as she boarded the train, as she calmed her sister throughout the journey, even as they were unceremoniously welcomed into the orphanage. She stayed strong for her sister, she wanted to be strong for her.
Her sister, however, tells a different story. Rose Venusta, the younger sister, though not by much, took after her mother more. Raised by her mother’s optimism, she looks at the world as one would family and friends. Taking each day with compassion and always treating everyone with the kindness her mother taught her to live by.
When it came to leaving home, her emotions were laid bare, but she followed her sister’s strength. She looked to the other children around them, sadness clouded the train cart. In a moment where her sister had fallen asleep, Rose grabbed one of her books from her bag and slipped away from their seats. She went towards a young girl all alone in the corner. Sitting across from her, she set the book between them, not saying a word. Not pushing an interaction. She looked up from picking at her fingernails, her eyes puffy but face hard. Neither had she said anything, she sat analysing Rose who had expected this. Near the start of the journey, some boys had picked on her for the tangles in her long black hair. The girl was unsure if she could trust Rose, she could be mocking her too, maybe calling her illiterate and poor due to the state of her hair. She hadn’t known, she couldn’t have known the compassion Rose only had to offer.
But her eyes, her eyes seemed kind. The girl thought that maybe she could be nice, her hesitancy caused her to glance at the book instead. Maybe it could offer insight into her intentions. The Hobbit. That was one of the girl’s favourite books. Rose notices her change in demeanour immediately, her eyes light up in the dull room lit only with lamps and the slight light from the evening sun behind the clouds.
“Have you read it?”
Her head jolted up, Rose smiled kindly, hoping to encourage her to talk. The girl looked down shyly and Rose took it as an opportunity to try again. “I, myself, am fascinated with the creatures. It truly is incredible to consider, don’t you agree?”
Silence.
A few families nearby chatter lowly, a quiet hum in the background. And then, a slight nod. But an answer.
“I quite like the concept of elves. However, dragons would be quite interesting to see through that window.” The girl smiles as they look out the window, imagining Smaug himself flying alongside them. Breathing fire on the countryside and lighting the world up with the flames.
“I like Bilbo because he likes staying home. I like staying home.” Sympathy crosses Rose’s features but they both continue looking out the window. Maybe if they continue imaging a dragon he may come and finish the war for once and all.
They let time fly by them, stuck in their imagination of myths beyond their knowledge. Before a reflection of sandy blonde hair disrupted their imagination, a stark contrast to Rose’s chestnut brown and the jet black hair of the girl. “Rose.” The two turn their heads to her as she continues, “Time to come back to our seats, it shouldn’t be much longer.”
Rose smiles and looks at the girl, “Did you bring one with you?” She lightly touches the book still left between them. The girl shakes her head, looking sad again. With one motion, Rose stands and pushes the book towards the girl, “I have another one, you take this.” Before the girl could refuse, the sisters were gone. Leaving the young girl, whose name was never shared, with a smile on her face, hugging the book close to her heart. A reminder of home, a reminder of her family.
A/n: I really hope everyone enjoyed this, it's the start of our story and hopefully you don't have to wait too long before the first chapter. I won't be including the scenes in the movie that stay the same just because the wait will be 10 years for a chapter knowing me. So please don't forget to like, comment and repost :)
A/n: This is where you'll find everything related to RoO, links to the parts, outline of the story and OC's, and even a release schedule that I will do my best to update accordingly (and not take a month to come on here, again)
Lily and Rose Venusta are sisters living in an orphanage to escape the war as their mother was a nurse and recruited. While their father was recruited to fight prior to their mother's deployment, their home was destroyed and they had no other family. And so they ended up at an orphanage where the fire was never lit. They'd sneak down at night and sit in front of the fireplace, grasping onto lingering memories of their home. But one night, a cold breeze, colder than any in a May night. Confused, they look into the unlit fireplace, just to see a snowy landscape on the other side. They must go through, it calls to them. Something...no, someone is waiting for them.
OC's
Lily Venusta
The fierce and passionate older sister who has always idolised her father is severely out of her element when plunged into this fantastical world. Her surroundings no longer explained by science, to her, nothing made sense anymore. If there was no facts and logic to go by, then how can she expect to survive? Especially when her hot-headedness collides dangerously with a certain prophesied High King.
Rose Venusta
And her younger bubbly sister who was taught her sensitive nature by her mother perfectly contrasts her sister as she feels completely at home in the otherworldly land. The environments and creatures seemingly come straight from her imagination. No longer did the war feel so intimidating, no longer was she as scared as she once was. This place had already made her feel eternally thriving, she knew exactly what this world had wanted from her.
The poll I posted on April 11th gained a lot more traction than I was expecting and I am astounded. Actually so honoured you don’t understand so thank you to everyone who voted and as for the winner….
THE NARNIA FANFIC
It got so much votes, wasn’t even that close honestly and I can’t wait to write it. I have it all planned out already so hopefully shouldn’t be too long before I start posting.
Once I have written more and am moving at a good place, I may post an ideal posting schedule so be on the lookout for that.
Story Plot
Lily and Rose Venusta are sisters living in an orphanage to escape the war as their mother was a nurse and recruited. While their father was recruited to fight prior to their mother's deployment, their home was destroyed and they had no other family. And so they ended up at an orphanage where the fire was never lit. They'd sneak down at night and sit in front of the fireplace, grasping onto lingering memories of their home. But one night, a cold breeze, colder than any in a May night. Confused, they look into the unlit fireplace, just to see a snowy landscape on the other side. They must go through, it calls to them. Something...no, someone is waiting for them.
OC's
Lily Venusta
The fierce and passionate older sister who has always idolised her father is severely out of her element when plunged into this fantastical world. Her surroundings no longer explained by science, to her, nothing made sense anymore. If there was no facts and logic to go by, then how can she expect to survive? Especially when her hot-headedness collides dangerously with a certain prophesied High King.
Rose Venusta
And her younger bubbly sister who was taught her sensitive nature by her mother perfectly contrasts her sister as she feels completely at home in the otherworldly land. The environments and creatures seemingly come straight from her imagination. No longer did the war feel so intimidating, no longer was she as scared as she once was. This place had already made her feel eternally thriving, she knew exactly what this world had wanted from her.
A/n: I am painfully aware that it's been a month since the poll and I apologise dearly, I had all of my final assignments for this year of college all due around then and got fully locked in (even though it's likely I'm failing one class but at least the others should go good-). And luckily, I am coming back prepared; I have the prologue completed and it will be up soon enough, just trying to get a bit ahead so working on chapter 1 first. I'd say I should have an estimated release schedule (along with the prologue) posted within the next week or so. I hope everyone is as excited as I am for this to come out and please do like, comment, and repost as much as you can :)
I really want to post more and having input on what I should post next might help, I'm aware I don't get as much of a traction as most who post these but hopefully the result of this will make me post more which will in turn gain more traction. It all follows a logic (until it doesn't but shush), and the first two are fully written (maybe need some editing that I'd do before posting) while the last two are just thoroughly thought through (talk about a tongue twister). Under the poll I'll put better descriptions of each if needed.
So...what shall it be?
The Mummy fanfic
Criminal minds type of story (but more supernatural) with some of my oc's
Narnia fanfic
Jurassic Park fanfic
Voting ended onApr 12
The Mummy fanfic: I have two oc's in it, Kamilah who works with Evelyn in the museum and Miriam who's part of the Medjai. Kamilah's love interest is not actually known until the end so there's flirting all over the place, fully up to interpretation until the ending.
Crime Story: It takes place during Christmas so I'm kinda leaning away from it but it's about these four women (all oc's) from different universes and timelines brought together to solve a murder case
Narnia fanfic: Two oc's, sisters, find a way into Narnia, there's a separate but related prophecy about them and they have to find their way through Narnia and to the Pevensies to help save Narnia.
Jurassic Park fanfic: For once, 1 oc who works at the first park as an animal behaviourist (definitely not a lost dream of my own) and who also happens to know a certain Dr. Malcolm?
So that's the options, please please please vote even if you have never seen my account and might not again. Think of it as sending your own little butterfly out to flap it's wings a few times for a leaf to fall from a tree halfway across the world
Summary: Reader sits in a bar looking over her friends' drinks when a certain someone approaches her, despite them agreeing to keep their attachments a promise for only them to know, a secret.
Warnings: Fluff for once that feels scary
Word Count: 0.9k
A/n: I wrote this a while ago when I had a crush on someone and imagined seeing them on a night out and this was birthed from it. Hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to comment and reblog
The bar was quite spacious. Right now, she was sat beside the pool tables, no booth, just chairs in a corner all facing the pool tables with a few tables scattered between some chairs. She sat there protecting her friends’ drinks, her feet hurt too much to drag herself the whole way across the club to go to the bathrooms with them but she knew they’d be safe. Her last drink was so long ago that it no longer numbed the pain and she trusted herself to watch the drinks and she knew nothing would happen to her.
She knew he was watching her all night. However, she hadn’t expected him to sit down beside her and watch her more closely. She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t pay attention to him otherwise, they had both agreed to keep things quiet so why would he start interacting with her here and now? Maybe he was drunk, he didn’t seem too drunk, she had seen him drunk. He would have that dumb smile plastered over his face as he seemed to always get lost in her eyes but he was normal. He just happened to sit next to her, she thought then that maybe there weren't many other seats so she took a quick scan of the room, not wanting to take her eyes too far away from the drinks, someone could spike them from behind her so she wanted to look at the table as much as possible. No, barely anyone is sitting in this part of the club.
“Are you okay?”
She looked over to him, surprised he now started a conversation, “Yes?”
He nodded, “Why are you alone?”
She smiled slightly at his concern, “They’re gone to the bathroom and I’m watching the drinks.”
He narrowed his eyes, giving her the opportunity to admire the crinkle it gave the corner of his eyes as he studied her, “You always go with them.”
“Feet hurt too much, the countless tequila rose shots are starting to wear off.”
He nods again, “Do you need a lift home?”
She laughed softly, “No and especially not from you, do you see what’s in your hand?”
His expression softens from concern, the sound of her laugh immediately relaxing him, “You know I wasn’t suggesting that.”
“I do know but I’m good. Wanda’s boyfriend is still our designated driver, sober for 3 years now and has such a good sleep schedule that waking up at the break of dawn or earlier doesn’t affect him much. I swear, you’d think he injects caffeine into his veins the moment he wakes up.”
This makes him laugh, he loves when she exaggerates, “Well let me know if anything changes, my house is just down the road but don’t even think about walking on your own. I don’t care if I’ve just gotten home, you call me.”
It’s moments like these that she gets that look in her eyes, complete and utter admiration and her smile shows off her pearly whites while scrunching her cheeks up and into her eyes and it’s this specific moment that her friends come back.
Although Natasha sees him sitting beside her and sees the looks on their faces, she puts a hand out to stop the other two girls. Her jaw dropped to the ground, the other two looked at her confused until they followed her gaze and their jaws dropped similarly. They knew she had been wanting a relationship for as long as they’ve known her but for some reason, no one ever asked her out.
She rarely had crushes and they disappeared fast if she did. They had seen the way he looks at her during class, when he passes her in the hallways, runs into her anywhere. Sometimes on nights out, with the amount he stared at her, they started worrying that he was stalking her or a creep but they agreed with each other that they’d keep an eye on him.
But of course the one time they weren’t glued to her side, he approached her but there wasn’t anything creepy, as far as they could see. He wasn’t leaning too close, his hands were appropriately placed around his beer bottle. If anything, she seemed extremely comfortable, she had never been like that around strangers nor classmates. But still, they needed to make sure there was nothing creepy being said or any implications they couldn’t see. So they approached but just went to get their drinks as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She saw them immediately as she was watching the drinks. “Don’t worry, I’ve been watching them like a hawk. At this point, I think I could make it a business.”
Sharon narrowed her eyes, doubting her claim as they had seen her staring longingly into his eyes a few seconds ago, “You sure about that?”
She glared at her friend jokingly before looking back to him as he leaned toward her to tell her something over the loud music.
“You enjoy the rest of the night and I’ll see you in the morning to deal with the aftermath.”
This time it was her jaw that dropped, yes he was 100% right but she refused to admit that her hangovers were ever gonna be bad. She pouted her lips out when she responded, “You’re mean.”
Now he was the one to act offended, “Mean? Yeah, tell me that again tomorrow when I’m taking care of you.”
Then he got up and went back to his friends as she shook her head, her eyes following his back. She looked back to her friends to see them all looking at her with their eyebrows raised, “What?”
“What? What do you mean ‘what’?” “What was that? When did you start being outgoing?” “Was he being a pervert?” They had all spoken at the same time causing her to laugh.
A/n: I want to make this a series but until I write a part 2, it is unfortunately going to be known as a oneshot because that's how numbers work
2nd a/n: I drafted this to post the same night (morning it was 6am) I posted the last one (2 months ago) and never came back but summer's coming and June is my most productive month so hopefully we stay this time-
So I am alive. It's been I think 7 months which feels crazy. This feels like a lifetime ago but I'm back. I don't know for how long. I've been working on a big project that has consumed my writing completely, but in the last month, I haven't written a word for anything so I thought getting back on here would help. I have a nice little angsty oneshot that I definitely didn't write at 5am in a small moment of sadness that turned very serious the more I got into writing so, good luck. Hope this goes well because it's been so long since I posted that I fear I have first post jitters again.
Summary: 3rd-person narration of reader/oc (I haven't decided and it's also 6am rn) losing herself
Warnings: angst followed by angst and even more angsty angst, depression, talks of smoking cigarettes, previous relationship mentioned but no details, loss of hope, illusions to suicide
Word Count: 0.3k
It wasn’t that she liked the taste of cigarettes. It wasn’t the burn in the back of her throat when she would try and hold the smoke in her throat for a bit longer. It wasn’t the effect that would slowly kill her. It was the control, the small ounce of control she could gain. She was in control of when she would buy the cigarettes. When she would light one.
Or at least it was how she justified it. But deep down, she knew. There was no control when it came to cigarettes for her. She didn’t control when she bought a new pack, running through the last pack did. She didn’t control when she lit one, her environment and the circumstances around her did.
If her clothes didn’t dry in the first cycle, she would light one. A small outlet. If she missed another responsibility, she would light one. A punishment. If someone hurt her again, used words to damage her, she would light one. A relief.
It wasn’t that her friends weren’t concerned. They were very concerned, they would see her turning to a cigarette after any minor inconveniences. And she seemed to be drowning in inconveniences. It seemed at any possible chance, the world decided to make her day worse. Her week. Her month. Her year. Her life. Her life was just becoming a sequence of bad events all tied together by her. She couldn't escape them. It was impossible.
She used to be an optimist. That was a long time ago. And it was before him, during him and after him. For a while. Then everything set in. Then she made the terrible realisation, it wasn’t just him that didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. It was all of her past relationships. It was her.
She was the problem. She was the only control in all of these varying situations. The only thing they all had in common. So it has to be down to her. It has to be. It just has to be. There’s no other possible answer. There couldn’t be. She had finally found the answer.
There was only one thing left to do.
A/n: I thought about making this a part two to No Matter What but that felt too angsty but I kinda like the idea of doing mostly only angst as that seems to be what I can get myself to post so I'm gonna work on a few more things since I'm not sleeping tonight and hopefully start posting more than once or twice every 7 months. Also please comment or reblog with comments (especially if you want me to connect it to No Matter What and make that something which I could be down for) because I love feedback, whether constructive or complimentary
So I am alive. It's been I think 7 months which feels crazy. This feels like a lifetime ago but I'm back. I don't know for how long. I've been working on a big project that has consumed my writing completely, but in the last month, I haven't written a word for anything so I thought getting back on here would help. I have a nice little angsty oneshot that I definitely didn't write at 5am in a small moment of sadness that turned very serious the more I got into writing so, good luck. Hope this goes well because it's been so long since I posted that I fear I have first post jitters again.
Summary: 3rd-person narration of reader/oc (I haven't decided and it's also 6am rn) losing herself
Warnings: angst followed by angst and even more angsty angst, depression, talks of smoking cigarettes, previous relationship mentioned but no details, loss of hope, illusions to suicide
Word Count: 0.3k
It wasn’t that she liked the taste of cigarettes. It wasn’t the burn in the back of her throat when she would try and hold the smoke in her throat for a bit longer. It wasn’t the effect that would slowly kill her. It was the control, the small ounce of control she could gain. She was in control of when she would buy the cigarettes. When she would light one.
Or at least it was how she justified it. But deep down, she knew. There was no control when it came to cigarettes for her. She didn’t control when she bought a new pack, running through the last pack did. She didn’t control when she lit one, her environment and the circumstances around her did.
If her clothes didn’t dry in the first cycle, she would light one. A small outlet. If she missed another responsibility, she would light one. A punishment. If someone hurt her again, used words to damage her, she would light one. A relief.
It wasn’t that her friends weren’t concerned. They were very concerned, they would see her turning to a cigarette after any minor inconveniences. And she seemed to be drowning in inconveniences. It seemed at any possible chance, the world decided to make her day worse. Her week. Her month. Her year. Her life. Her life was just becoming a sequence of bad events all tied together by her. She couldn't escape them. It was impossible.
She used to be an optimist. That was a long time ago. And it was before him, during him and after him. For a while. Then everything set in. Then she made the terrible realisation, it wasn’t just him that didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. It was all of her past relationships. It was her.
She was the problem. She was the only control in all of these varying situations. The only thing they all had in common. So it has to be down to her. It has to be. It just has to be. There’s no other possible answer. There couldn’t be. She had finally found the answer.
There was only one thing left to do.
A/n: I thought about making this a part two to No Matter What but that felt too angsty but I kinda like the idea of doing mostly only angst as that seems to be what I can get myself to post so I'm gonna work on a few more things since I'm not sleeping tonight and hopefully start posting more than once or twice every 7 months. Also please comment or reblog with comments (especially if you want me to connect it to No Matter What and make that something which I could be down for) because I love feedback, whether constructive or complimentary
My exams are officially coming to an end so it’s safe to say I’ll finally have time to post on my accounts! I have a lot of oc projects and videos planned for the rest of this year and I’m really excited to share them! I tried to keep this account active in the last few months and I was very unsuccessful but now I promise to be more frequent with uploads. That’s all from me (for now).
My friend Avys is finally getting back into posting and I would love it if you could support her. She’s the reason I started posting on here and her stuff is amazing
Summary: Ladda and James are part of the Winter Soldier program. These are different stories of their missions, their traumas, and their history together over the years.
You can also find this story on AO3.
November 2nd, 2026, Dominican Republic
She lived on the outskirts of Manabao, Jarabacoa, near La Ciénaga. Her property was nestled deep in the mountains, with only a handful of houses nearby. The winding dirt road that led to her home was entirely private—a feature that gave her a false sense of security.
It was nearly midnight when Rose arrived home. She parked her motorcycle in the garage and headed straight for the shower. After nearly a week in the field—surviving on wet wipes and way too much perfume—she needed to stand under hot water long enough to feel human again. As the steam filled the bathroom, and she brushed through her damp hair, a quiet restlessness began to settle in. She was going to see Jack, her son, for the first time in a week.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of red wine and turned on Ella Fitzgerald. Humming along, she began to prepare Jack’s favourite meal—mac and cheese with roasted chicken. These peaceful rituals, like the remote location, were part of the illusion of safety she allowed herself. But underneath that calm, the fear always lingered. A part of her half-expected a grenade to crash through the open window and reduce everything to rubble.
She knew there was no real danger. She’d done her sweep: the first gate, the perimeter fence, the hidden cameras linked to the small surveillance hub in her study. But the intrusive thoughts came anyway—part of the mental residue she brought home after spending seven days in the desert surrounded by hitmen and sandstorms. It was the price of being a CIA field operative.
Rose exhaled slowly. She was tired, but Jack’s dinner wasn’t going to make itself. After finishing the meal, she cleaned her gear, taking special care with the tools of her trade. Hidden behind the sofa in her study was a secret panel leading to a small tech room, where she stored her computers, weaponry, and surveillance screens. She set down little Peggy II—a battle-worn Getac B360 that had taken a bullet in South Sudan. Tomorrow, while Jack slept, she’d transfer all the intel and lay Peggy II to rest.
That night, she took three Ambien and prayed for a nightmare-free sleep. She slept deeply, but some dreams still dragged her back to Siberia. To the cold. To the screams. And worst of all, to his face—twisted in pain and rage.
In the dream, she saw the snow falling again, slow and silent, like ash. She felt the sting of the chains biting into her wrists. Metal on skin. Blood on snow. And then—his hands, bruised and trembling, brushing against hers in the dark. There had been a moment, barely a breath between missions, when everything else had disappeared. The war. The orders. The voices in their heads. Just the warmth of his forehead pressed to hers in a corridor lined with frost, his breath misting between them. He’d looked at her like he remembered who he was. Who she was.
But the memory always fractured—splintered by alarms, by blinding lights, by the sound of someone being dragged down a hallway.
She turned away from it in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. Her body, though motionless, flinched as if resisting the pull of something long gone.
And then his face again, not as it had been in the cold—feral, hurting—but how she remembered him after it all. After the silence between missions. After the Winter.
The next morning, Rose hopped in her Jeep and took off down the narrow jungle road. Jack’s boarding school let out at noon, giving her just enough time to make it and surprise him with a cold Coke and a tiny car keychain she’d picked up at the airport.
Sending Jack to a boarding school was the compromise she’d made between motherhood and espionage. It came with its share of awkward encounters—especially from teachers who liked to play amateur detective. Like Ms. Reyes.
When Rose arrived, she checked in at reception and made her way to the first gate, where other parents were already waiting. The bell rang, and a swarm of children poured out.
She scanned the crowd for Jack but was intercepted by a woman in her late 30s or early 40s, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.
Rose tried to offer a polite smile. “I notified the school I’d be picking Jack up today. Is he not ready?”
“Oh, yes, yes—he’ll be out shortly. But I actually wanted to speak with you. About… some things Jack mentioned.”
Rose’s expression sharpened. “Is Jack okay?”
“He’s perfectly fine. But some of the things he said about you… about your work…”
“About me?” Rose blinked. “Jack doesn’t usually talk about me.”
“Well, Rose—he did mention—”
“Ms. McMillan.” she corrected coolly. Rose had zero patience for the faux-friendliness some people used to lower your guard. She wasn’t here to bond with Jack’s teacher—she just wanted to know what the hell was going on.
“Ms. McMillan.” Reyes corrected herself, awkwardly. “Can I ask what line of work you’re in?”
“Did Jack ask you to?”
“No… not exactly. He just said you work a lot. And…”
“Well, if he knows his mum works hard to provide for him, I don’t see why that should keep you up at night.”
“It’s just—other parents have started to question it, too.”
“Other parents?” Rose’s tone hardened. “I don’t even know the other parents.”
“Well…”
“MOMMY!” Jack’s voice cut through the tension. Rose turned and saw him sprinting toward her.
“I came to get my son, Ms. Reyes. That’s all. Have a good day.” She ended the conversation without another glance.
Jack threw himself into her arms, and she scooped him off the ground in a tight hug.
“You came!”
“Of course, baby. I’m here. Let’s go.”
On the drive home, they shared a Coke and sang Smash Mouth at the top of their lungs. Rose tried to catch up on every little detail of his week—his friends, his classes, what he loved, what annoyed him. She wanted to know it all.
“…and then Isabella started spitting her food.” Jack said between giggles.
“That’s kind of clever. Did you join in the prank?” Rose asked, amused.
“No… I just laughed a little.” Jack admitted, dropping his gaze. “I know it was mean, but she’s the one who put gum in my notebook last year. Remember?”
“I remember, love. We hate that girl.” Rose chuckled. “But also, laughing at someone getting picked on isn’t cool.”
“I know, Mommy. I swear I didn’t do anything!”
They ate lunch together and continued talking. Rose gave a few life lessons in between bites of chicken. Jack begged her to watch a movie before bed. She gave in, made popcorn, and let him choose.
When she returned with the bowl, she found him staring at the TV, wide-eyed.
“MOMMY, MOMMY!” he shouted. “It’s Captain America!”
“That’s not Captain America.” Rose muttered as she saw Sam Wilson giving a speech to a group of reporters.
“And look! It’s Bucky Barnes!”
Rose froze. James. His hair was shoulder-length again, and he was dressed in a sharp navy suit. He stood beside Wilson, stoic but composed. It didn’t surprise her that after Wilson’s speech, Bucky stepped forward to speak.
What did surprise her was what he said:
“…and that’s why I’m officially announcing my candidacy for United States Senator.”
“What the fuck?” Rose whispered, stunned.
“Whoa.” Jack breathed. His eyes sparkled with admiration. “Bucky Barnes is my favourite superhero.”
Rose’s heart twisted. Her son was unknowingly idolizing his own father—and had no idea.
