I'm not going to tell you how many times I listened to 'I won't give up' of Jason Mraz while writing the last scene.
I'm not going to tell you how much I cried.
I'm not going to tell you how happy and warm I feel with this.
Instead, I will show you as I keep updating the story. I still have to keep editing, and once I'm finished probably I will re-read to improve it (I'm that crazy/stupid, yes), but at lest you know it's done.
Thank you so much to all of you who are reading ❤️❤️
This time, this fanfic is a continuation of the previous fanfic I did for @themisfitnutcrackers so- lets do this
"What are you, some kind of weird hybrid wooden toy?" The masked nutcracker insulted; Salem didn't look pleased at all. She gave the masked nutcracker a deadening stare but gave a small smirk of endorsement.
"No, I'm simply a spider nutcracker, " She said with encouragement but then chuckled while staring into the masked nutcracker's eyes.
Before moving onto the subject, this nutcracker looked like an soldier that a king had hired many years ago; he had silver armor, a sword that, oddly enough, hasn't rusted. He had his hair pinned up like a ponytail yet Salem only focused on his face; indeed, it made him really uncomfortable, being stared at by a stranger who nearly ate him as food.
Salem's hand touch the mask, but then the masked nutcracker backed away; uncertain to reveal his unsettling facial appearance. Salem groans as she neared closer to him. The masked nutcracker drew out his sword, easing the moment on when the time is right to strike.
Thus began an all-out fight between the two; reason in particular being the mask being worn by the medieval nutcracker. For hours, they fought and fought hard, until they heard a noise.
"What are you doing?"
It sounded like two people talking. One had a rough voice but the other had a soft voice. The two nutcrackers stop to see a shadow of a rat approaching them both. Salem growled angrily: "Great, I can bump up mu kill streak to 150 rats today."
As the figure neared closer, it looked.. Like a hybrid. A hybrid between a human, a nutcracker and a rat; if you think about it, it probably looked like if a rat and a nutcracker/human had a child, but enough with the insults.
"Please, we do not like it.." Said the Rat Hybrid Nutcracker. He bowed his head down in shame.
Salem got so confused that she just asked, "Who the hell are you?"
The Rat Hybrid Nutcracker stood up and bowed down, replying: "We're Ogen. It's nice to meet you, Ms.-"
"Salem, " she scoffed, "Salem The Wooden Spider." The two of them looked at the masked nutcracker as he sighed.
"My name is Yaotl-"
"Very nice to meet you two!" Ogen smiled happily. Salem got confused though; where did these two random strangers come from? He looked at the two, asking them: "So, where did you guys come from?"
Ogen answered: "We came from the Regiment."
Yaotl snickered: "What a surprise, I came from there too."
Salem gasped: "I came from there too!"
During the conversation that lasted hours on ends, the three misfits made amends and teamed up against the Regiment. As they hid in the forest, if you are careful enough on your travels, you can sometimes hear the small pattering of rat feet, spider claws and nutcracker boots; for this was the story of The Misfit Nutcrackers.
(End of the Random FanFic I just did-)
(Yaotl, Ogen & Salem belong to @themisfitnutcrackers )
FINALLY FINISHED!!!!! I drew a smol chibi wolf demon @garukubluemoon. Took me a while imbetwen studying and stress this week. But I'm so proud of it, it's too cute. I just I didn't mess up the yes color too much. I did mess up the shirt though because the colors didn't mix well. Also don't mind my awful handwriting and lighting, it's late. I'm thinking of drawing other in chibi style and see what comes out of it. Now time for sleep since it's late. Ps: It's cross post on Twitter as well
It’s done. I’ve been dreaming and scheming and working on this fic for MONTHS. It’s so strange to see it finally completed. I’ve included a summary below, but at its heart, this is a story about dark things. Dark like the northern lights, dark like a midnight sun, dark like vengeance. It’s (hopefully) a dark that is also beautiful.
“No one but me,” Draco says. The curses fly, deadly bright in the burning rain. Draco falls to his knees and kisses the blood from Harry’s lip. It’s feral. Undone. “No one can hurt you but me.”
Summary: A curse is spreading through the wizarding world, erasing memories of the war. Harry Potter is on the case!
Where Draco is the DMLE’s most wanted dark wizard and Harry is the private investigator tasked with bringing him in. It goes as well as one might expect.
Details: Explicit, ~68k, and deeply indebted to Let Me Have You and I’ll Let You Save Me by Frayach and A Cold Spot in Hell by @drarrytrash.
I have unbelievable friends. @bazzybelle, @arca9, @gampyre, without you, I would still be hammering plot points into awkward, horrible places. I honestly don’t know how to thank you <3
(Greek: ἀποστροφή, “turning away”; the final e being sounded)
An exclamatory figure of speech. It occurs when a speaker breaks off from addressing the audience (e.g. in a play) and directs speech to a third party such as an opposing litigant or some other individual, sometimes absent from the scene. Often the addressee is a personified abstract quality or inanimate object.
You weren’t looking for anything or anyone; but, that’s not how it worked out was it? In both cases, yours found its(their) way to you by crawling their(its) way under your skin through situational transfers and chance encounters.
She came in under the cloak of spring nights laden with stars. Warm air swirled in your lungs while you listened to her tales behind a building full of people who were unaware of what was taking place backstage. Months later when you shared a bed — long after she’d perfected undressing you with a deft hand and uncanny speed — you feared an unwanted confession would pass through your lips after emerging from the depths of your subconscious.
You didn’t sleep well that night and had to move to the armchair below the window in an effort to get some form of rest.
He approached you on an uncharacteristically bright winter’s day. The sterile environment demanded confidentiality and security above all else and he spoke a quiet turn of phrase meant only for your deaf ears. Over the next two years — as your interactions moved beyond verbal communication to something more physical, from the accidental to the purposeful — you prayed the color washing over your complexion wouldn’t betray the emotions you tried to suppress.
The lack of closeness between the pair of you was a bitter pill to swallow, no matter how much relief it may have brought.
—
The ability to be candid with him was easy after those four words were spoken. He radiated warmth as you spent more time together and found yourself looking for ways to gravitate to that as much as you could. It shouldn’t have surprised you to discover that, hidden in clear view, were discs of scarlet around deep pupils, shining in seas of mahogany.
She was beautiful in her coolness, difficult to obscure due to her features: sky blue eyes, brushed with periwinkle and violet, set in a pale face and framed by dark hair. She was aloof and distant, but only to people who didn’t know who she was beneath the façade. You didn’t need many words to speak with her; it seemed that she could read your mind and talking would only get in the way.
You were tepid and unsure in your mannerisms and speech. You didn’t possess the ease the two of them had seemingly perfected. At every turn and with each interaction, a part of you screamed that you would be found out. It wouldn’t be until months (in his case) and years (in hers) that you would be caught in between the two extremes and left wondering how you thought you’d be able to survive either climate if given the chance.
—
You met them under different circumstances, but they’re undeniably similar: soaring height with eyes hiding immense intellect from casual passersby; born from the same branch of service as you, but two years after (him in spring and her in the autumn); formative years spent in abroad (Germany, Holland), tales of which they regaled you with as you’d only traversed the Pacific (Hawai’i, Japan) during your childhood. The more they told you about themselves, the more willing you were to proffer your stories to them. You found yourself willing time to slow and seconds to stretch into minutes and hours, a brief touch to linger, a conversation to last longer – anything to keep the fantasy from fading.
You’re strangers to each other now. As close as you were to them, it’s odd to have to feign familiarity with either. Years after she’d tried to contact you following millions of seconds of silence, she found you in the ordinary closer than the hundreds of miles apart than you remembered. It was unexpected and you couldn’t shake the encounter from your mind, long after separating with an awkward exchange of paper scrawled with numbers you used to possess. You heard of his departure from others, so it wasn’t a surprise when he finally told you. You couldn’t sleep the night before, just like the first time he left, but things were so much different in comparison. Still, and even with his admission, saying goodbye to him left you disarmed for months, wondering if it didn’t have to end as like it had.
—
You’ve always wondered if they knew when you were thinking of them. If somehow, the connections formed were strong enough to create something more than the norm. Something different, unique and strange that none of you – and possibly no one else – could comprehend. You wonder if they can feel you smile when you see the stars twinkling on dusk’s horizon and think of her eyes or when the energy shifts in the air and your heart races with worry about his well-being. You’d hate them knowing of emptiness that gnawed away at your soul the further you drifted apart.
If they could hear all the words you couldn’t – wouldn’t – shouldn’t – say.
Or perhaps you share dreams, those subconscious thoughts that wend their way along pathways in an attempt to solve the riddles that your relationships with them are. In them, you chase him. You’ll find yourself in some semblance of the place where you met and you’ll see a glimpse of someone like him. Sometimes it’s his ghost and you feel old wounds stretching at their seams threatening to expose your shoddy attempts to heal what’s underneath. With each encounter, all you want is to talk to him; to straighten things out, find the spark that drew the two of you so closely together. Those are the ones that leave you haunted in the shadows of night.
The last you had of her, she appeared on your doorstep after all those years. You pulled her in tight, not pausing to speak, and made yourself tall to kiss her like you always wish you had. She didn’t break away as you feared; instead, you felt her smile as though she expected it. You pull back, hand curled in her hair at the nape of her neck and tell her – finally tell her – those three small words you’ve kept from her and, after she responds in kind, you wake with your heart bursting to the morning’s sunrise.
—
You suppose it’s curious: the need for her touch versus the need for his words. Is it because you met him later in life and her earlier on?
Her fingertips can speak volumes and, as much as you may have feared the possibility of her feeling your quickening pulse or erupting gooseflesh, you could never stop yourself from wondering when the next time would be. You needed to know someone cared for you with their presence during your adolescence, to prove that you weren’t a pariah, to show that you were wanted.
His voice is a soft baritone which slowly curled itself throughout your mind as he spoke. He could be yards away and out of sight, but you could still pick his speech out of the crowd, letting its warmth wrap around you as though he were next to you. You needed someone to hold conversations with as you grew, to know that they were hearing to what you had to say, to show they were interested.
Perhaps that’s why, long after you’ve gone in different directions – whether by choice (him) or by chance (her) – you still find yourself yearning for the times when you weren’t looking for anyone, but they found you all the same.
