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rainworld-oc-showdown · 3 months

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The Toxicant by @bumblewish VERSUS Roadkill by @just-a-silly-billy - Round 2 Set 1

The Toxicant- Description:

They are an ambush hunter that uses the spores from their tail to stun prey. The strength of the spores weakens with repeated usage causing prey to recover faster as the cycle continues. The spores have double effectiveness on insects/spiders and, on the first use of the cycle, can even be fatal.

They have a high lung capacity like Rivulet, but their speed and throwing strength is more comparable to Monk. They can also maul their prey when it’s stunned.

Story:

The Toxicant appeared to be a purposed organism of unknown origins. For a long time, they’ve been wandering from Iterator to Iterator showing off a data pearl to whomever accepts it. The data pearl seemed to have a study of sorts recorded on it with added notes from many of the Iterators the Toxicant has visited. Nobody seemed to know who the pearl was intended for or where it was obtained, until the Toxicant came across Blue Skies Aplenty, a lonely Iterator who needed help repairing their communications array. The two made a deal and after the Toxicant helped to bring BSA’s long distance communications back online, the Iterator was able to direct the slugcat towards the pearl’s true recipient: Unfinished Epilogue.

Fun facts:

The Toxicant likes to accessorize themself with plants such as bubbleweed and various flowers.

Roadkill- Description:

Roadkill if it were in a campaign would have a similar build to The Gourmand. Physically the Slugcat has a handful of advantages, such as having a thick layer of fat around his body giving it a second chance if it were punctured by a spear, or bitten down upon by a Lizard. It also has a ferocious bite itself, similar to how The Artificer can maul creatures. Roadkill can also create large sparks or mimic the sound of explosions to scare off or startle prey in order to gain any advantage. With the area the slugcat is located in, it's accustomed to withstand the cold as well similar to The Saint. Similar to a walrus, Roadkill has thick blubber/fat that keeps him warm throughout the harsh elements that its environment throws at him, lasting as long as The Saint with a lantern. It has a strong spear throw as well, having thrown one spear is equivalent to hitting something with two. However there are a few downsides to his variety of abilities. For one thing, he gets tired out just as fast, if not faster than the gourmand. Another issue is whenever he makes the loud explosion noises, similar to The Artificer if he uses this ability so many times, it will end up stunning him for a matter of seconds. He also has a large food meter, having to fill a total of 9 food pips needed to be filled, though it can store five extra.

Story:

Roadkill is a purposed organism for an iterator of mine named Lingering Absence. Roadkill's purpose is to keep outsiders, specifically fauna, from invading the iterator's can. Nothing too special is needed from the large slugcat however, so often whenever it's off duty it spends its time with its beloved owner, Lingering Absence.

Fun Facts:

If it's not obvious, Roadkill is heavily based off of an array of creatures, specifically walruses, penguins, moles, and also gourmand, who isn't an animal, though I feel I should mention him. Outside of the idea of a campaign, he can actually burrow through snow and puncture through thick ice in order to ensnare prey that lurks underneath such. Though I doubt there's any way to properly incorporate this in-game. He is also my first Rainworld oc I made once I got into the game, as well the most worked on.

#rain world oc #rain world #rain world oc tournament #the toxicant #roadkill #round 2 #r2 set 1

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this-daydream-is-dangerous-13 · 6 months

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I am still noodling on that picture. Here is the Pleasing promo picture of H from Nov 17, 2022:

Kind of a different vibe, no?

Here are the LK posts that immediately preceded it, on Nov 14, 2022.

Happy in photos, talking about being in love with someone, but not OW because, on Nov 18th, this hit during the “Friday night news dump”.

The 2023 photo? Is sadder, despite being beautifully taken by beloved Lloyd Wakefield.

But it did get a whole arse-kissing promo article in Vogue. 🙄

Pleasing also just had a write up in Vogue Business including this quote from H’s artistic director/Pleasing co-director Molly Hawkins:

"Every great brand has an imaginative founder, great at building teams and making things people want. Ours happens to be a celebrity. I think some people are surprised that Harry chooses to make Pleasing about his ideas rather than about his image. He doesn't star in campaigns and only makes appearances in cheeky ways that feel very him. He has rich experience of the world and uses Pleasing as another way to explore and share his unique experiences. Pleasing is another way to create the world he wants to see." — Molly Hawkins on Harry’s role as Pleasing’s founder (via Vogue Business)

I think the “our founder is a celebrity” is bit 🙄 since…well…who but fans are buying this stuff? It’s the most scattered brand!

Publicists! Good, multi-faceted ones, that can do strategic work both for H and with Pleasing! So H can stop having grumpy lunch meetings and strolls with Vogue editors.

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voidvoidvoidvoidvo · 3 months

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artificer pastel doodle to keep this account alive GO!! HUZZZAH!

im still grinding rain world as often as i canj but holy shit (experiences/opinions so far described in excessive detail below warning)

i think gourmand set my standards too high for other campaigns, they're literally perfect i love them with my entire heart they've been a blast to play through. i forced myself to not complete the food quest on my first run even though i was accidentally quite close just so i had a reason to replay them. chef's kiss gourmand my beloved.

artificer despite a rough start and the fact that it made me go through both shaded and underhang also ended up really fun. i love exploding the shit out of everything and the double jump is so satisfying. the vibes of metropolis are also immaculate, although not as good as outer expanse id say. scav king's a total pushover too killing them with their own spears was beyond funny. it has me curious about the waterfront facility and arti's ascension ending so i do also want to go back.

and then there's rivulet. fuck there's rivulet. i haven't finished it yet but man. man fuck that guy. so far at least. i mean i hope late game is more interesting but so far im stuck in chimney canopy, 3 shelter failures in and im losing my GODDAMN MIND.

anyway if you actually read all that then uhhh make yourself a nice little tasty sandwich or somethin n have a nice evenmorndaight

#rain world #rw artificer

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sapphicdib · 4 months

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FIRST: Looks to the Moon! And if you want to Hunter as well?

HEHE YOU KNOW ME SO WELL <3

Fav thing about them:

Moon: Her. Just her. Her entire adorable being. Her structure, how calming it is to be inside it. The way she hangs upside down on her rig a lot, especially when examining you. Her cute nicknames for you. The way she thanks you for bringing her things. Her lil beepy voice she has before giving you the mark. Everything. Her personality, her puppet, her breathtaking structure. I can’t choose one and I will not.

Hunter: Her story! How selfless her mission is, and how she’s a little creature doing her best to save someone she’s never even met before. She uses her limited time to save someone who suffers the same fate as her—body breaking down, seizing and collapsing. I also like that she’s pink :)

Least fav thing about them?

Moon: Impossible. Nothing.

Hunter: I guess…how neglected she is? She’s never anyone’s favorite campaign (just get good at the game, scrubs), and she was the only scug that didn’t get an updated ending/attention in downpour. Obviously artihunter means she’s popular within the fandom, but game-wise a lot of ppl seem to forget about her, when it’s honestly a REALLY fun campaign!

Favorite Line:

Moon: “And so clearly, this forced broadcast is directed to you, Five Pebbles.”

Idk what it is about this line specifically, but I legit cannot read it without bursting into tears. I managed to hold it together but I read that line in her broadcast and just lost it. I cried for like 30 minutes and had to go hug my mom.

Hunter: Obviously she doesn’t speak in the game, but here’s one of my fav line(s) from a fic Im writing:

She’s very proud of her name :)

brOTP

Moon: Is it weird to say Moon and Ruffles? It’s so cute that Moon named her and Ruffles seems to stay around even after the campaign. I headcanon that Rivulet struck out on her own to find out who she was, and after many adventures, decided that Ruffles was who she was.

Hunter: Ruffles too!! I see them having a cute sibling dynamic thanks to lilypad :3

OTP

Moon: LILYPAD OF COURSE!! DOOMED YURI MY BELOVED !!! Sig n Moons personalities work together so well and I love them sm ;-;

Hunter: APPLE JUICE!!! Monk x Hunter!!! I would have said artihunter but apple juice has captured my heart so hard i can’t help it.

nOTP

Moon: I don’t rlly like Eclipse but that’s just cuz I hc Moon is a lesbian. Also Waning Crescent/Slivermoon just doesn’t do it for me.

Hunter: Cherrypie…sorry cherrypie enjoyers I just can’t see it :( I feel like gourmand would see Hunter as more of a daughter figure.

Random Headcanon:

Moon: BEEPS! She beep-snorts when she laughs and often tries to hide it but Sig has made it her life mission to make Moon beep-snort-laugh as much as possible hehe

Hunter: She acts a LOT like Sig. Despite her ferocity in battle, she’s pretty goofy and playful during less intense moments. She also considers herself as Sig and Moon’s daughter (as do they)

Unpopular Opinion:

Moon: SHE IS NOT JUST “BORING FEMALE CHARACTER.” She has personality! She’s insanely stubborn when it comes to using her seniority privileges and obviously takes her role as local group senior very seriously. She is “nice and kind” but that doesn’t make her flat/stereotypical. Of course she’s gonna be nice to the player, you’re a little helpless animal.

Hunter: PLAY HER CAMPAIGN. PLEASE. It is not as daunting as you think it is, ESPECIALLY if you’ve beaten downpour cats! It IS challenging, but for me it really brings back the spirit of the original game: youre a helpless little creature. You can’t generate spears out of your ass, you can’t make explosives, all you can do is run slightly faster and throw spears slightly harder. You have to use your wit and skill to get through it, but it is so worth it.

Song I associate with them

Moon: Afterlife by Shadow Cliq

Hunter: No Mercy by DeathByRomy (it’s an artihunter song but god it goes hard)

Favorite Picture of Them:

MEWNIE…

And not to suck my own dick here or anything but this is my fav drawing i’ve done of hunter, my new year’s resolution was to learn to draw scugs so here’s my fav drawing of her i’ve done so far :3

TY FOR THE ASK!!

#rw #letters #dibz rambles

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riv-has-stopped · 8 months

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Some doodles from my recent co-op expedition experiences

A: Spearmaster expo with Rotund World... And Dev Tools when we overfed our poor Artificer <3

And uhh, I was the lantern for my slug was invisible (DMS)

B: Rivulet Campaign...

Due to the environment we all played as rivulets, and also the cutscene slugcat DMS mod... Three silly guys with big beady eyes :>

There's gonna be a lot more of the other two (purple is in fact my beloved riv Nami~) :))

#rain world #rain world expedition #rain world coop #rain world oc #rain world slugcat

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cabinet-man-colors · 9 months

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(ID. a digital drawing of rivulet and looks to the moon from rain world. moon is sitting cross legged with rivulet in her lap, one hand holding the slugcat with the other above them, playing with them. rivulet is reaching for moon happily.

the text in the background reads: "waoww! wawawa waaooow!" behind rivulet and "whirring happily" behind moon. End ID.)

moon and ruffles my beloveds. i havent played their campaign yet but i know about it and love them! (no spoilers in the notes please <33)

@arcadian-vampire

#rain world #cabinet man colors #described

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ruki--mukami · 2 years

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One night, while they are all asleep and the moon is high on the sky... Fallen angel s/o wakes up covered in cold sweat, hyperventilating and close to tears, their chattered halo seemingly breaking more and more, their wings slowly falling apart as they are shaking, turns out, they woke up from a horrifying nightmare, the replay of the day they fell, and the way their fellow angels and god laughed at their face at their suffering, seemingly still not recovered from the sheer trauma of it all.

“Oi… Are you alright?! I woke up to the sound of something shattering… Don’t tell me—”

Cacophonous fragmentations of a disintegrating nimbus surrounding the once esteemed seraph rained thousands of jagged, crystalline shards reflective of evanescent dreams turned nightmares, piling like snow atop the sable silk pillowcases in entropic disarray. Tearing away the blanket in the blink of an eye, Ruki immediately noticed the most concerning decrease in volume of his beloved’s wilted angel wings, the color of languished roses at death’s door. Shriveled, eliciting sharp noises upon touch, feathers withering away like autumn leaves before the unforgiving, frigid hibernal reverie. Trepidation swells relentlessly as the Vampire gently placed a hand on her quivering side in caresses that promised mansuetude with each soothing movement.

“—Wake up. It’ll be alright… You’re in safe hands now. Everything you saw just now was just a dream,” he leaned closer as he reassured them, arm coiling around their shaking frame in safeguard. “Everything will be okay. Just trust in me… Trust in your master to calm your reckless spirit. Those so-called angels might as well be spawns of the eternal flames, no better than foolish humans, for mocking you so inconsiderately. You and I are far more similar than I would’ve anticipated… It’s ironic, isn’t it? A Vampire and an angel. Two polar opposites,” mused Ruki with a kiss as light as the promised land’s tendrils of healing rays they once knew against their nape in campaign to allay the trauma to permanent rest. “Yet, despite your fall... I believe that false god dismissed you from Heaven for the same reason my benefactor resuscitated me into an undead being.”

Sweeter than saintly seraphim, Ruki likens his dear fallen angel to a refulgence radiating more brilliantly than the ascendant pearly gates, shining brighter than Sirius itself, and most certainly more than the traitorous miscreants who abandoned them much like the insufferable mortals of his own past. Curiously enough, those rueful memories plagued his subconscious recurringly as well, often leaving the Vampire in a state of cough-inducing blight. However, spending more joyous and heartfelt nights with the divine gem of his life obliterated the umbral spectrum haunting him day in, day out. So, to see his beloved in such a troubled state, shivering in cold sweat with condensed rivulets down their back to emphasize the diminishing gifts of flight worried Ruki immensely.

“Listen to me carefully… I know the past cannot be undone. I know pity and suffering are the last things you’d want. The reason I say that so confidently is because I feel the same way. Night tremors would ultimately find their way to me with each opportunity for slumber, but ever since you shared your love with me, I’ve started to forget what those aristocratic days look like. It’s all thanks to you… So allow me to return the favor.”

Despite their crumbling halo, despite their tarnished wings, and despite the agony plastered across their face, Ruki articulated their body to face him and meet his intense, lurid sapphires that put a summer’s clear day to shame, ridden with determination as he inclined for a passionate kiss warmer than the transcendent paradise, yet more fervent than the engulfing purgatory below.

“Whenever I have a nightmare, I remind myself that those wretches can no longer harm me. Furthermore, I get to wake up alongside the person who treats me unlike anything I’ve ever dreamt of… None other than you.”

Separating their lips, Ruki vehemently trailed a line of kisses only to stop at the unmarred column of flesh at their neck, prodding the exquisite adipose ever so benignly until two miniscule pinpricks of redolent ichor emerged. What the bite lacked in ferocity, he accommodated for in the most tender of love, the same love the seraph shared with him in the fateful union between righteous being and corrupt, bloodthirsty demon.

“Focus on my fangs instead… Nn… Haah… If they deemed you unworthy of Heaven… then let’s give them a reason to never look back, for the place you once swore fealty to your god is no Heaven at all but rather a Hell that was waiting to happen,” he whispered softly before planting the sharp ungues in an uncharted area of skin. “No matter what anyone says… Come what may, you will always be my angel. Perhaps not a holy being, but one whose place is at my side,” the Vampire chuckled, humming a bit from the delectable ambrosia coating his tongue. “They say angels act as one’s guardian; a protector and savior for those in dire need. I believe that’s why you fell that day; your light urged me forward. For that, I cannot be more grateful.”

A cathartic kiss mended the recent incision he just inflicted upon the fallen angel in hopes of comforting his love.

“Let’s dream together from now on, my sweet seraph.”

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #react #diabolik lovers rp #ana-darkcloud #fallen angel s/o #(( FOUR SCORE AND SEVEN YEARS LATER- ))

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nixii-sabre · 2 months

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Favourite campaign

Aaandd

Favourite oc

Spearmaster or rivulet gotta be my fav campaigns. Favorite oc? Endless. Stupid fish boy my beloved

#ask game #rainworld

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shock-micro · 4 months

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just finished the rivulet campaign :) ruffles my beloved

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softlyspector · 3 years

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Winter

Summary: When Bucky is nearly assassinated, he finds more than he expects in the forest surrounding the palace.

Pairing: Prince Bucky x Witch Reader

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: Blood

A/N: This had been sitting in my drafts forever. Now feels like a good time to start posting again.

You know, whispers the song of the wind, a witch lives in those woods.

He rolls his eyes.

He knows better than most what lurks in these woods.

Demons of all kinds dance about, waiting for the faintest sign of weakness before they struck like vipers. Since his mother died and, with her the magic, all sorts had awoken in the woods she guarded with her prowling wolves.

Now, his mother was ash and the wolves only howled.

Often, he wanted to howl with them, but thought he did not deserve the pleasure of snarling displeasure.

The great beasts stayed corralled near the palace in any case, teeth locked in the spaces between the iron gates and swirling snow.

Cold has settled between his bones, his blood warm and slippery between his fingers, rivulets that flow like his mother’s tears.

He wonders, as he unhitches his sword and lets it slide to the ground, the whipping wind cackling in his ears, if his father is happy.

Having his only son assassinated was something he had always expected from his father, the bitingly cruel man that sat on a throne bathed in ash and blood, but hurt nonetheless.

“The weight is slowing me down,” he snarls at that wind, that laughing demon.

In truth, the weight is killing him.

He’s lost his way in the snowstorm that descended from the mountains with a fury that he didn’t recognize.

Something to do with his mother, he’d guess.

You are already dead, it whispers. The mother’s white wolf lost in a storm.

He stumbles, cold pinching him, making his knees lock, legs fold.

The earth seems to shake when he finally collapses, fingers crimson, a trail of hot, bright red behind him.

He wishes his mother’s wolves could find him now, they’d protected him always as a child.

Though, maybe, like everything else, they too had been corrupted when she died.

He thinks of them, trapped, pink tongues across razor sharp teeth, howling out a grief so deep it broke the heart of anyone that heard it.

He rolls onto his back, attempting the staunch the blood spilling over his fingers, crusting beneath his fingernails.

Bucky huffs out a breath that sets his lungs burning. He will not die like this.

But the tips of his fingers are already blue in the fierce cold, icing his heart. He doesn’t need a looking glass to know that his lips too are cracked and blue.

“I will not die here,” he says.

The words are empty, and the wraith that has taken the form of a swirling figure at the edge of his vision laughs, skeletal and wispy. Bucky sighs, squeezes his eyes shut.

Words, they’re always empty. Actions speak, and told his father attempted to have him murdered. His mother’s snowstorm is killing him. A wraith is looming and he can feel his heart slowing, his beating blood falling uselessly on the icy earth.

Death feels inevitable in that moment, destined and true.

There’s a crack, a howl.

Winter white swirls in his eyes, everything tilting sideways. He’s going to pass out, before he sees what thing has now emerged from the forest to kill him with fire.

The worst days in his life were the ones where everything tried to kill him.

He’d always overcome them. Training, and camp, more training, soldiering.

Soldiering, and killing.

Those were the worst.

His eyes roll back, just catching the expression and frosted eyebrows of a woman so beautiful he thinks maybe, by the skin of his teeth, he’s made it to heaven.

It’s warm when he wakes, though still white.

White painted brick, the red of it speckling out in places, white pine bookshelves stacked with neat rows of white books, gold embossed titles on their spines. White blanks out the wide window, white light filtering into the room.

A white fur blanket is draped across his lap.

He feathers his fingers through it before he realizes he’s nude.

His sword was somewhere lost in the snow, though he doubts it would help him now.

What vexes him is the loss of his knives, stashed anywhere they would fit in the gaps of his amour.

He sits up, side covered in cloth, though no blood shows through the fabric.

“I would have poisoned the blade meant to kill Prince James of the White Palace,” a voice says, a woman gliding into the room, draped in a long robe. She smiles, “But I also would have plunged it straight through your heart.”

He swallows, watches her ladle something into a teacup from the iron pot hanging above the smoldering fire.

Normally he would have shot to his feet, fingers curling around anything that could be used as a weapon. Training and soldiering and camp and training. But she doesn’t worry him, feels trust sink inexplicably in between the spaces of his bones.

She crosses the room, sits quietly down, peers at him with her head tilted to the side until he finally takes the cup from her.

“The white wolf,” she says, reaching out to flick a strand of too long hair away from his forehead. “When you rule this land will you also bathe it in darkness and shadow?”

“There isn’t much of a chance of that,” he says, sniffing at the cup. “The king will be disappointed I’m not dead.”

She smiles, “Yes, but I’m glad that you’re alive.”

He takes a sip of the tea and it reminds him of warmer days, of a palace full of laughter and the setting sun, of the wolves curled at the base of his mother’s chair.

She tilts her head again, watching him slowly sip the tea, “You don’t seem surprised to find yourself here. End up in the homes of strange women often?”

Bucky shakes his head, hands her the empty teacup. “No. I’m grateful and feel that I shouldn’t question my continuing life too much.”

“And you think I seem harmless.”

“Aren’t you?” He asks, glancing around, searching for his clothes. “A maiden in the woods?”

She laughs, stands, swishes away gracefully, long embroidered bell sleeves trailing after her. “One would think you would know better Prince James. Considering the things that you know lurk in these woods.”

“Stories,” he says. “Only stories.”

“Your mother knew better. I know you aren’t as blind as your father is,” she says, disappearing through a doorway, returning seconds later with his clothes, clean and crisp. “Your armor is near the entryway.” She folds her fingers inside her sleeves after depositing his clothes in his lap. “When you’re ready to leave.”

He nods, shaking out his tunic to pull over his head. “The official line of the crown is that nothing strange makes a home in our forests.”

She smiles, settles by his legs again, “And you believe this line.”

“No,” he says, watching her eyes, watching her lean close. “No, I believe there’s much we don’t know about the forest.”

She blinks and the spell is broken, “I’m glad to hear that. The men you were with at the pass have all been slaughtered. If it weren’t for your mother’s sudden storm, you would have been killed by the assassins. I expect they’re facing trial at the White Palace this very moment and you’re right not to question why your heart continues to beat.”

He nods, feels the familiar roll of guilt in his belly.

She seems otherworldly, this woman. With deep eyes that speak in riddles and sparkle with warmth.

“Did you know my mother?” He asks, shifting his legs over the edge of the bed, shucking his trousers on over his nakedness without a shred of shame.

She doesn’t seem bothered, stays seated and examines her fingernails. “She knew everyone in the forest.”

“Witch of the Forest is that your title?” He asks, only a little sarcastic. “Where are my shoes?” He’s avoiding looking at her.

“With your armor.” Her fingers wrap delicately around his wrist. “You should rest, the magic is still working.”

He shudders, pries his hand out of her grip. “You are a witch then.”

“Worry not,” she says, rising to her feet, swaying across the floor, “I’m a good witch. You can take your shoes and go whenever it pleases you. Though I expect the tea will be making you tired soon.”

Drowsiness hits him hard in the center of his chest and he settles back into the bed. “Was that you with the fire?”

“Yes.”

“Wraith?”

She hums and he squints, “Silver?”

“Dagger through the heart.” She’s laughing at him. “And still no thank you to the witch who saved you from the wound in your side and the creature that would consume you before you were blessed with death.”

He doesn’t answer, eyes falling shut, wondering why he’s not more concerned with the situation he’s found him in. “How long?”

“Until you’re healed? A day. You need rest before you face the king and all his demons.”

Bucky heaves himself to his feet, wobbly at first and then better, getting his legs beneath him. “Thanks for your help.”

She nods, watches him with those strange eyes, a gaze that simultaneously makes him want to run away and devour her.

He clears his throat and stands, pacing by her to the front door of her cabin. He stoops to shove his feet into boots, gather up his armor.

Her head is tilted to the side again, eyes soft. “If you find you ever need a place to stay during your father’s campaigns, you have a refuge here.”

Bucky thinks he’ll never see her again, but something in her gaze says they’ll be seeing each other again quite soon.

He nods to her, she inclines her head back, and when he opens the door he’s surprised to find the world a piercing white, though the storm has since stopped.

In the distance, he hears a wolf howl.

The palace grounds are mud and dead trees, cobbled together stables and beaten people.

His mother’s wolves, once beloved, pristine creatures, are howling, snarling, teething on the iron gates that corral them, white coats muddied to a dull brown, coal rimmed around their eyes.

They cease growling when he passes by, on his way to the throne room, through the mud and remaining snowy slush.

His father is on the throne when he reaches the throne room. He stoops, keeps his eyes averted, trying not to wince at the pain lancing through his side, up his spine. Something slippery wet coats the floor.

“Your assassins have been executed. You kneel in their blood.”

“Father,” he greets, standing, ignoring the peeling of his boots against the sticky dying blood.

He father raises a brow, eyes cold. “You’re healed?”

There is no pretense of his father not knowing, what had happened, where he had been stabbed. He had ordered it after all, and they both know it.

“Yes.”

“We are fortunate. That my heir lives on.”

Silence stretches thin between them. Until Bucky dips his head, turns away. “James,” his father says to his retreating back, “see to those wolves. They’ve been a nuisance since my wife passed on.”

He sighs but doesn’t turn.

It’s been three weeks since he lost his mother.

He can’t get the witch out of his head.

The second times he sees her, its with fingers wrapped around the iron front gates, eyes sharp from between the crowd of peasants she stands with.

“Are the wolves being cared for?” She asks when he comes near, her voice sharp with reproach.

The others shrink away from the gate, but she doesn’t move. “Healing well?” She says when he doesn’t answer.

“Healed.”

She hums.

He doesn’t drop her gaze.

“Shall I come in then?” She asks. “I have something for the wolves.”

“What do you know of wolves?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Have you been their keeper then?”

He wonders what she knows of the beasts, inconsolable even weeks later, headless of the commands that had tamed them easily before.

“No, then,” she says when he doesn’t answer. “Could it really hurt to let me see them? I come bearing gifts.”

“For the wolves?”

She nods.

“Fine.”

Once through the gate, she leads the way as though she’s made the trek many times.

The wolves at snapping at each other, howling, snow swirling down around them. There’s a basket on the witch’s arm, and they still when she nears.

She falls to her knees, smudging the hem of her peasant dress, presses something through the iron bars.

The beasts prowl, circle closer, sniffing.

The bloody slab of red meat is gone in seconds, devoured by the alpha, save a bit for his mate.

She stands to her feet, the alpha eye level with her on all fours, towering, monstrous creatures that they were. She turns her head, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “They miss her, Prince James.”

Bucky suddenly remembers where he is, like shaking off a stupor, a long sleep. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, glance at the spires of the castle behind him, piercing the gray sky like long tipped talons.

“Yes,” she agrees, though she seems burdened by that thought. “It’s dangerous here.” She turns to him, eyes flicking over him. “It’s always safe in my cottage, though.”

What double meaning her words hold, he doesn’t have time to ask.

She turns, takes a step forward.

There’s a flash, and suddenly she’s feathers and wings, a dark spot against a slate gray, snow filled sky.

He presses one last kiss to her bare shoulder, hips flush with hers.

Bucky collapses against her, his chest to her back. It’s a long while, dozing together in the sun, sated by skin, before he peels open his eyes, shifts his gaze over the serene planes of her face.

She turns onto her side when he finally pulls away, watching him as he tugs her close, to kiss her sweaty brow, tuck her beneath his chin.

Spring has settled over the world, the perfume of flowers thick in his nose, the weight of sunshine warm on scarred skin.

Broken flesh healed once more by the witch that had come to live in his heart. For many moons now she had, years passing by unexpectedly, love folding into his soul not necessarily returned. He’s older, roughened by the elements, scarred by time and blades alike. There are squint lines beside his eyes, new stripes on his skin to match those left by his father, and training, and the punishing soldiers’ camps.

He’s spent many afternoons like this though, wrapped in this tiny world before he was cruelly thrust back into his reality of blood and tears.

A reality sometimes interrupted, fractured by the sudden appearance of the woman in his arms.

Feeding the wolves who had taken her as a new master, fingers buried deep in their fur.

Finding her name traced into the fogged glass of the mirror in his bathing chamber.

A single dark feather on his pillow.

A birds wing brushing against his amour before a battle.

She is wraith and witch and goddess bundled into one.

He loves her all the more dearly for it.

“Suppose my father finally finds his end,” he says into the cloud of her hair. “Would you follow me to the throne?”

“It’s forbidden for a commoner,” she says, mirth in her eyes when she pulls back to meet his gaze. “I would make a fantastic mistress though.”

He grunts, rolls his eyes. “That won’t do.”

“Compromise, darling.”

“Compromise won’t do.”

She smiles, nuzzles her nose against his chest. “Yes, it has always been abundantly clear that whatever you do, you do it with your whole heart. I do think you’ll have much larger problems to deal with.”

He imagines the lords, gathering forces against the Butcher’s son, who would never have the stomach to be as cruel and brutal as his father. “You’re right.” He would have an uprising on his hands, gods forbid peace and justice descend upon their land.

“Of course I am. I know all.” She shifts away from him, to the edge of the bed to drape a slip around her body.

She settles like a thick fog in his mind most days, splitting his vision between the crown that needed him to free the land of his father’s brutal reign, and the home he wants so badly he feels it in the tendons stretched between his bones.

Why shouldn’t he have both?

She gave him what he wanted long before he realized it was what he was searching for. A home away from war, a place to rest and heal after battle. Rest he did, here in her home, wounds stitching together swiftly with the aid of her magic.

Safe, he had realized, the second time he inadvertently came to her home. He was safe with her.

He’s not sure when the thing between them began to take flight.

Maybe after his third visit when she asked about the stripes on his back, and he had admitted the scars were courtesy of the king, bedeviled as he was by his son’s chronic lack of malice, his unwillingness to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Maybe when he kissed her by the river that first spring.

Maybe when she had taught him how to care for his mother’s grieving beasts. They still prefer the witch over him, and he can’t much blame them.

Maybe when she touched his chest with gentle fingertips, and told him that not only was he a good man, but that he was meant to do great things.

“I would, you know,” she says, moving to boil water in the kettle over the fire. “If you could find a way. Though I fear making a common witch your wife, would not win you any popularity contests, among the lords or the common people.”

“Would you?” He sits up, reaching for her hand, remembering the first time he had kissed it, soft skin against his winter roughened lips. “I could use your counsel. You’re wiser than I could ever hope to be.”

She sits in his lap, pats his cheek, and he remembers the first time they made love, frantic and wanting, like the missing piece of the puzzle in his heart sliding home. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll remember this moment, that you won’t change who you are.”

“I promise.” Lips against the heartbeat in her wrist.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #royalty au #bucky barns x reader

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thereluctantinquisitor · 3 years

Text

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @captainsaku! At the moment, I’m still limping through the opening chapters of Stonebreaker, trying to get a feel for the story and work on strengthening my atrophied writing muscles. Anyway, I figured I’d share what I have so far of Adiran’s introductory chapter. It’s basically just an awkward, descriptive mess, but at least it’s something. At this point, I’ll count that as a win!

I also put a short glossary at the end in case some terms were confusing. <3

Chapter 3 - A Scene

Be present. Do not cause a scene.

They were simple enough requests, Adiran supposed, as he braced himself and drained his third flute of wine. He knew it was poor form to cringe after swallowing, but the dry white was about as pleasant as a mouthful of sand and only went down half as well. If he was the paranoid type, he’d think the servers were offering him the worst vintages on purpose.

Then again, the celebration had stretched into its ninth day, now. Even the royal cellars had a limit.

Despite overstaying its welcome, the event remained at a predictably lofty height of splendour. In the ballroom - Vetrose’s famed Silver Font - delicate rivulets of water, no wider than the span of a hand, curled their way across the marble floor, draining into a shallow pool at the base of the royal thrones. Above their heads, weavelight strings were draped elegantly between pillars and across wide arches, their glowing pinpricks joining the blazing chandelier to bathe the room a honey-gold.

Beneath that radiant light, the Talveran nobility moved like swans, jewellery glittering, ankle-length gowns and embroidered jackets flashing enough to catch the attention of nesting crows. Hundreds packed the Font that night - an entirely different crowd to the evening prior, and likely the one prior to that. Attending Talveran court, with its litany of demands and expectations, was an exhausting and expensive affair. Every evening demanded a new outfit. A new glittering showpiece. A new plan for navigating the treacherous waters of social interaction, careful not to show too much interest in any one person. One night was difficult enough to survive. Very few could afford to be present for an entire turn’s worth of celebration.

Unfortunately, Adiran had no choice in the matter. It just had to be his brother returning from the northern border. As if no one else had ever come back from that waste of a campaign.

Another mouthful. Another weary swallow of something half as strong as it needed to be. Honestly, he’d almost rather be swallowing sand. At least that meant he’d be in the arena, getting his ass kicked practicing for something that mattered, instead of wasting his time decorating the wall. Divider’s Own, Lorvain was meant to have arrived by the third day! Adiran might have been able to slip away if he had been around to soak up the attentions of the lords and ladies. But no. The beloved Crown Prince had probably stopped to fawn over milkmaids and shepherds at every town between here and Morgate. Really, they should have accounted for that before throwing such a ridiculous event...

A prince should want to know his people, Adiran. I thought you understood that?

Threading paths expertly between the nobility were almost three dozen servers dressed in vibrant Volise green. Silver trays were held aloft on the pads of their gloved fingers as they moved in rehearsed patterns around the room, making sure every hand that sought a glass found a delicate stem. It was a different sort of dance; the kind that typically went unnoticed, the same way a clock’s hands are appreciated more than the mechanism behind the face. They knew the position of every crack in the stone; every rivulet.

None of them ever looked down.

Speaking of timing, the only reason Adiran paid the servers any heed was to make sure he got his right. On cue, he finished his wine with a grimace and thrust it towards a well-groomed young woman, her dark hair braided and pinned neatly around her head. Without so much as an errant blink, she bobbed carefully at the knees, accepted the glass, and replaced it with a new one from her tray.

“Careful not to drop that,” Adiran said, taking the drink and giving it an experimental sniff. Sweeter. Thank the Divider for that.

The server hesitated. They always did. Every night. “Your Highness?” she asked, and her lilt was perfection. Just the right amount of simpering, blended with polite curiosity. Someone had taken her training seriously.

“Am I slurring already? What I’m saying is that if the Crown Prince finally shows up and you’re in the middle of mopping a puddle, the King will have your hide for saddle leather. So...” He extended one bored finger towards the tray, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Tread lightly.”

The server’s mouth opened, and for a moment no sound followed. For just one blissful, fleeting second, Adiran thought he’d finally done it. He’d finally won.

Then, like underappreciated clockwork, her lips shaped themselves into a beatific smile, and she dipped into a curtsy. The tray never even wobbled. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. On my word, I will remain diligent. I would not dare bring shame on our King’s house.”

Damn it. The smile Adiran flashed back - half a sneer - could cut glass. But the server had already completed her parting bob and returned to her dance, weaving and gliding among the gaggle of silver-bloods with her tray of weak wine. Expression turning brittle, Adiran huffed and leaned back against one of the massive marble pillars - just one of fifteen lining the room. He’d claimed it on the first evening, like a hound staking its territory. Most people knew better than to bother him once he’d found his haunt, but the serving staff simply didn’t have that luxury. He supposed it was probably unkind, to force them to speak to him. But Divider, he was just so bored...

Scowling, he took a long swallow of his new drink, the chilled, sweet liquid a welcome enough sensation as it ran down the back of his throat.

So he was unkind. So what?

“Are you finished losing to the servers for tonight, or should I come back later?”

A familiar voice, and right on time. Adiran gave no indication of surprise, barely even turning to acknowledge the man. After all, this was just another ritual for them; a way to take a knife to long hours of affluent, barely drunk loitering. “Yeah, I’m done. An earthquake couldn’t shake them.” His gaze finally cut across, delivering what he hoped was a scathing look as Riin settled against the pillar beside him. “Took you long enough. Get distracted by all the pretty gowns and pouting lips?”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Riin chuckled softly, utterly immune to Adiran’s glare. “Could you blame me if I was? Everyone looks appealing under this light.”

“That’s generous of you.” Sniffing, Adiran glanced up. Even with the smoke-glass covers encasing each glowing orb, he still had to squint against the brightness of the weavelights. “Guess it could be worse. We looked more like corpses before the covers were put on.”

“Really? I’m glad I missed it.”

“Yeah. Being dead inside is more than enough.”

Riin laughed, and a faint smile curved Adiran’s lips. He quickly hid it behind his glass. Truthfully, the entire ‘weavelight saga’ had been ridiculous. The King and Queen had commissioned hundreds of them from Tel Shival, purely because no one else had ever done it. Even the wealthiest families only ever had a few per household, usually kept in a lantern or a sconce in the most frequented rooms. After two seasons of painstaking arrangement that nearly killed two of their staff, the Silver Font soon found itself bathed in a thematically violent silver light. It had been an exciting novelty, at first; nobility flooded in from all over Talvera just to bask in the glow of thousands of wasted sicets. But then they quickly realised that colours didn’t behave the same way. Their favourite jewellery didn’t catch the eye. Their skin didn’t appear as youthful and rosy. Instead, every flaw - every stray hair or unpolished button - was placed on stark display for the vultures to pick at.

The weavelights were as bleak and clinical as a physicker’s ward. They sucked the warmth out of everything they touched.

In Adiran’s mind, the wash of corpse-light over each soiree was a perfectly fitting thing. But, as was typical, no one else agreed. So, they decided to encase each of the weavelights in honey-tinted glass and returned the room to almost exactly how it looked before. Back when it was lit by oil and flame.

That was how things were in Talvera. Decisions were made, sicets were spent, and then everyone just wanted to go back to how things used to be. Like nothing had ever happened.

GLOSSARY

Weavelight - spheres of crystal or glass, with a light-bearing glyphstring engraved by a thaumist specialising in Weaving. Maintains a bright, steady silver light. Cannot be dimmed or turned off at will. Thaumist - a well-trained practitioner of the thaumic arts, capable of manipulating thaumic essence. Turn - ten days. Tel Shival - An independent, famously insular city dedicated to the training and cultivation of thaumists and thaumaturgical study. Sicet - Currency used in the Allied Kingdoms.

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Tagging: @frenchy-and-the-sea, @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug, @rufinagertrude, @arduyn, @anarchyduck, and anyone else who has a WIP they’d like to share!

#wip whenever #(because i always miss wednesday lol)#reluctant memes #stonebreaker series #adiran #riin #the more i read it the more i dont really like it but #just... gotta... MOVE ON....#hURGH #reluctant writes

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