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the-kr8tor · 22 days ago

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Other Side of Paradise

Pairing: Robin Hood! Hobie Brown x Princess! Reader

Word count: 7.3k

Summary: Being a princess is all fine and dandy until you're about to get married off like a brood mare. Will the handsome thief that stole your heart help get you out of a loveless marriage? Or perhaps you'll be the one stealing his heart?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), robin hood au, royalty au, part 1 of part 2, talks of marriage, reader has unnamed siblings, a bit ooc Hobie at the start but it's for the plot, fluff.

A/N: This oneshot is so long I had to cut it in half lol enjoy! (Part 2 will be up in a few days)

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Octobie 🎸

Part one >>> Part two

Being a princess in one of the largest and most powerful countries in the world, you'd think that your family, the royal family would treat you like the finest jewel in their treasury. But no, they treat you like their doormat, a pretty little thing to put atop their mantle only to be forgotten until it's time to show you off.

You are a princess, draped in the finest silks and chiffon, jewels in your hair, golden rings around each of your fingers. But the one missing, the one that your family truly only cares about is a diamond on your ring finger that has remained empty ever since your debut out into society.

You're the thirteenth child of the thirteenth king and queen, an unlucky number perhaps, but you find it lucky since you're the youngest out of the thirteen, hence your empty ring finger. But after your last elder sister got married, all the attention went to you when you didn't want them in the first place. You went from just co-existing with your family, to you being the center of attention in the span of a few hours after they sent your dear sister off to her husband. From your brothers to your sisters, they've all been wed. Even if they had no say in who they were going to marry, they went with few little tears. Some married kings, princesses, and a few were shipped off to dukes and duchesses. Your parents were determined to fill every noble and royal household with their own blood. And unfortunately, you're not an exception.

With your corset poking you at your side, dress weighing heavy, and crown falling off your head every few minutes; you look like you're about to scream and shout in the middle of the throne room. You might as well when you roam your eyes at the marriage candidates staring at you like you're the last slice of pie at the tavern. Every eligible noble man around the world has come vying for your hand, or more like your dowry for that matter.

For once in your life, they didn't make you sit at the far back where you're free to whip out a book and read without interruption. But now, you sit front and center next to your royal parents, their heads held high, jewels shining in the sunlight that bathes the whole throne room in its kaleidoscope light coming from the colourful stained glass window that depicts your age-old family history. Some of its bits were conveniently taken out by your ancestors when they ‘took over’ the throne from their rightful heir and uncle. Maybe that's why they had to send off most of your siblings to faraway countries to prevent infighting amongst your family when the throne inevitably goes empty. You won't fight for it though, who would want to rule a country standing on the precipice of war and famine every year?

You claw at your wrist, the itchy lace turning your skin bumpy and agitated. Your mother clears her throat, head standing still while her eyes throw daggers at you.

“I think I'm allergic to this fabric, mother.” You whisper, but the vast throne room practically announces your uncomfortable self with an echo of your voice.

Swallowing thickly, you see the crowd of nobles standing to the sides turn their heads at you. Their golden suits and gowns just screams ‘I’m important!’ to everyone in the room. But when everyone thinks they're important, does that mean that everyone outside the room is insignificant? You don't think so, but everyone and their blue blooded self thinks the world revolves around them.

“Hush,” your mother speaks plainly, showing the nobles that you are obedient and raised well. Well, you were technically not raised by her or your father, they barely know you except for the one fact that you're their child. They practically tossed you to your wet nurse and governess the second you were launched out of the queen. “Sit still, we may find you a husband today.”

You inhale, fixing your posture. You miss your library. “But they look…” your eyes glance at the men waiting at the far end of the hall. Finding that none of them would suit you at all. Maybe your governess was right, reading romance novels would give you high and impossible expectations for a romantic partner. Some were too blond, wore too many ruby rings on their fingers, too much perfume that you could smell them from where you sat. Or that the feathers on their hats are too big, or they wear too much green, or their pants are too blue for your taste. Maybe it's not too late to run away and become a nun. “...too much.”

Your mother, the queen, pats the back of your hand. The most affection she has given you in your entire life. “They all come from respectable families,” in other words, rich. “And most importantly, noble.”

“Can I still take sister Thena’s offer and become a nun instead?” You ask wryly, still trying to whisper your words.

She smiles sweetly, or what you call, her restrained smile that she gives to her courtiers. “If you don't quiet down and find a husband instead, lord Melbourne is looking for a wife.”

You gasp, head turning to look at the said lord who looks like he could be your great grandfather. “No, you wouldn't.” He catches your eyes, winking at you through his wrinkles. You make a face, scrunching up your nose and looking away at the man.

“I would dare,” she raises an eyebrow. “It's either him, or you pick a handsome young man from the line up.”

Your father finally catches on, he leans back on his throne to look at you over your mother. “It's for your own good, darling. We don't want you to die a spinster.”

You've noticed that he has a habit of calling you ‘darling’ these days. Perhaps he finally forgot your name. That's probably it since he named three of your brothers Charles because he forgot he already used that name before. Or maybe the gout has gotten to his brain.

“Would it be so bad to die a spinster?” They both crane their heads at you, brows slightly furrowed and mouths faintly agape in surprise. “I mean, you don't have to send a letter to me every year since I'll be staying here with you.” Their expressions sours further. “or maybe I could find a ship and sail the seas under our banner—” they both shake their heads, even your father's advisor shakes his head at you. So you give up, for now at least. “Or maybe I could just go and be a jester for one of my siblings.” You manage to whisper this time. Your words carried through the wind with no one to hear it but you. Or so you thought.

With the sound of the trumpets, the courting begins. Grasping your chair, you huff in place when the first man struts his stuff on the red carpeted floor.

You notice that he bows perfectly. He wears a dark blue coat over a silver hue tunic, his shoes are shined to perfection, smile even brighter than his leather shoes. “Eugene, Viscount of Van Horn, my princess.”

“A pleasure,” you say, unamused.

“I bring gifts from my land,” his attendants bring out crates full of oysters and crabs still writhing within its metal confines. “There will be more once we are married.” Your parents seemed to like it when they smiled at the slimy crates. “And a portrait of myself to better help you choose a husband.” You raise a brow, and sure enough, his people bring out a large square shaped thing that is hidden behind a white cloth. Eugene clicks his fingers, prompting them to reveal the gaudiest painting of someone ever etched on parchment.

It's not a regular portrait per se, the size is questionable, yes, but the contents of it makes you and everyone in the throne room tilt their heads to the side to see it clearly. The frame is riddled with rubies, and the painting, well, Eugene hangs upside down from a sycamore tree branch, grinning like how he is right now, from ear to ear. He's wearing the same thing as in the portrait too, at least his features are accurate. You know your mother does not look remotely similar to her portrait that hangs in the great hall.

“Uh?” You blink and every time you do, you see more and more questionable details. Like how there's somehow a field of pink roses below him, and how the sun shines to the west even though the shadow doesn't line up accurately. Some paintings have secret meanings weaved into it. Maybe he's trying to say that he can defy the rules of the world?

“You see,” Eugene waves his hand around the portrait, explaining its contents when you still look confused. “This shows my physical prowess,” he points at himself hanging upside down by just his legs. “And the sycamore tree represents—”

“Thank you, Viscount.” Thankfully, your father stops him from further getting into the artistic meanings of his painting. “We shall take your offer into consideration.” He smiles, and with a wave of his hand, his men shoo the viscount away to the side. “Next suitor.”

No one steps forward, instead, you see the waiting men move about, looking like there's someone making their way out the front. You wait for him to come out. And who greets you has you pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Henry, duke of Plainsboro, my princess.” The seemingly six year old lord bows down to you.

“Him?” You gesture towards the child. “He's a baby.”

“Pardon me, princess. But I'm eight and a half.”

“Oh my apologies, my lord.” You clear your throat, head turning towards your parents. “He's a toddler!” Your mother hushes you down, giving you a pointed look of disapproval. “Mother, surely we're not considering him.”

“What is your offer, lord Henry?” The king asks, ignoring your protests.

The young lord grins toothily, you scoff when you see that he's still missing his front tooth. “I guess I'm the invisible princess now.” There's only been two suitors so far and you already feel like your soul is getting sucked right out of your miserable body.

“Two hundred livestock, including my prized stallion. And half a million coins for your royal coffers.” The toddler has money to burn. You gotta hand it to his governess or whoever taught him how to converse, he speaks better than your older brothers combined.

That seemed to get your parents attention. “Oh dear god no, not the baby, surely?”

“Hush,” your father waves you off. “We'll highly consider your generous offer, my lord.” He smiles at the child, and you don't even hide your displeasure anymore.

You fight the urge to groan loudly and throw a fit in front of all the nobles. Instead, you huff and silently cry in your plush golden seat.

The next man with a beard starts to walk towards the front, but another man pushes him away and gets to the front before the other noble could say something.

This one intrigues you, something from his walk, up to his confident smirk doesn't seem to scream ‘I'm important! And you must pay heed to me!’ kind of air around him. He seems genuine when he smiles at you, you find it contagious, bringing a smile to tug at your own lips. His hazel eyes appear to be piercing through you without the familiar uneasiness the rest of the courtiers give you. And there's something from his bow that almost makes you giggle in place. It's like he's mocking the way the previous nobles bowed to you and your parents.

“Hobart, lord of Doverhill.” His voice brings a heavy accent, it's smooth in your ears but weighs heavy on your chest. A comfortable heaviness that brings solace. He flicks his eyes at you, his pupils catch the light perfectly, making his multi-colored eyes glow from the stained glass windows. “My princess.” He acknowledges you, and for some reason, your heart leaps from your chest.

He wears a simple red and white suit with silver inlays stitched at the hem. He has a bird engraved on his cufflinks, and shoes that are scuffed but presentable. You look closely at him to read him better, and you spot that his suit doesn't seem to fit right on him, the length is too short, and his trousers look like it stops right above his ankles. Nonetheless, he looks good in it. *Incredibly good.

“What is your offer lord…” your father knits his brows, briefly looking at his adviser who is equally as confused, mumbling a ‘where in the world is Doverhill?’ “Hobart?”

“Nothin’. I offer you nothin.’” He says confidently, smirk staying on his lips. If you took your eyes off him for a second, you wouldn't have seen his quick wink thrown at you. You think the other suitors should just go home.

“Is this a jape?” Your mother scoffs, manicured nails pointing accusingly at him.

“No, but I do have somethin’ for her.” He glances at you, eyes staying on you. “My love, unconditional love that never wavers. I offer nothin’ but warmth to tide her over durin’ the winter, a full belly so she'll never starve nor hunger for food or affections. And I offer smiles and laughter that will echo around our manor.”

You just noticed that he's now standing in front of you with the light shining behind him, giving him a halo of sunlight. “And time, time to just live and be ourselves beyond our titles.” He reaches for your hand, thumb brushing along your wrist, eyes never leaving your own as he kisses the back of your hand gently. You're glad you hid your gloves from your handmaiden before leaving your apartments.

This is your romantic novel moment.

You're speechless. “I—”

“Ask me whatever you want and I shall grant it.” He whispers to you and only you.

“I choose him!” You say boisterously, heart thrumming in your chest. The crowd yells their various protests, murmurs from the court that you ignore. Without missing a beat, you look over to your bewildered parents. “Can I promenade with Lord Hobart?”

“B–but he offers nothing—”

You don't wait for their approval, instead, you grasp his hand tightly around yours and with a bow to your king and queen, you walk off hand in hand with the lord of Doverhill.

It's safe to say that everyone was left gawking at the door you left in. It was a full minute before anyone got wise and followed you towards the gardens.

—

By the time you make it towards the inner halls of the castle, every guard and noble are prowling for you and your new acquaintance. Gossip thrives at court, and your family's home is not an exception. You lead him side by side, you've let go of him after it quieted down in the throne room. Smiling, there's a pep in your step as you pass by your siblings’ former apartments.

“What are your hobbies, Lord Hobart?” Your hands are tucked behind you, hiding your twiddling thumbs from the handsome lord.

“Call me Hobie.” He glances at you, brilliant pools of hazels catching the sun's rays. “I play the lute.”

“How peculiar,” you grin wider. “It’s definitely interesting though.”

He raises a brow. “The name or the hobby?” Chuckling, he maneuvers around you, hands hidden in his pockets as he appears from behind you. He plays it off nonchalantly, grinning at you as he twirls back into his place next to you. You two now have switched places with him walking next to the rooms and with you right beside the tall windows that faces the glimmering sea outside.

“The latter. I like your nickname.”

“Thank you, love.” Your heart leaps in your chest, you hope he doesn't notice. “Better than hanging upside down on a bloody sycamore tree.”

Your laughter echoes further down the hall, “yes, that was incredibly odd. The portrait had me in stitches.”

“Ironic too,” he smirks, eyes glancing about the hallway. Perhaps he just likes the decor and the ancient oil paintings on the walls.

“How so?”

“Sycamore represents wisdom. I don't think that man had any, based on his taste in art.”

You giggle, and you see him smile softly at you. “I learned something new today.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, surprisingly, he does the same. “Do you read, my lord? I'm partial to it myself.”

“Whenever I can. But ‘m a bit busy these days.”

“Ah yes, a land to tend to and people to take care of.” You clasp your hands together as he leads you down the long hallway. Hobie nods with a gentle smile as if he's reminiscing about his home.

“How ‘bout you, d’you have people you take care of?”

A weird question to ask, but you answer it nonetheless. “I guess I did, my siblings, before they all left to marry. We took care of eachother. Made sure that everyone was heard, made sure to fight for eachother. But when it was time to marry, none of them could fight it even when we all dared to go against it.” You realize what you've said, back tracking. “I must apologize, that was… a lot.”

He shakes his head gently, the simple silver necklace around his neck shines brightly in the sun. “It's not a lot. It's good to have people that care for you, and for you to care for them. That's just family.”

You smile at his words, the pit in your stomach grows as you miss your siblings dearly.

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, you're taking in his entire presence. He's a lot nicer and sweeter than you thought he would be when you thought he was just playing for your favour. He's so close to you that you can see every line, indent and mole on his chiseled face. And how he smells like freshly cut pine and like dandelions in the spring. You could only hope that he likes you back, he may save you from a lifetime of a loveless and cold marriage.

You two pass by the jewel apartments where your family’s most precious crown jewels are safely kept under lock and key. There's a couple of guards standing by the large metal doorway, but you don't seem to recognize them since you always kept to yourself most of the time and would always watch people during feasts and balls while everyone else were schmoozing. Somehow, their uniforms seem to not fit them well. One even had his shirt inside out.

You hear something jingling, but before you could follow the sound, Hobie tilts his head towards you with a lopsided smile while his hand ghosts over the small of your back. Guiding you away towards the sweet smelling gardens.

Hobie pushes the doors open, and the sun greets the two of you as birds chirp and fly overhead. The white puffy clouds provide shade, and the flowers are in full bloom, from the tulips down to the sunflowers that are as tall as him.

He whistles out, and you watch his awestruck face at the sheer beauty of the renowned garden. “You've got a fountain ‘ere?” he gestures with his head towards the bubbling marble fountain with two cherubs spitting water at the top of its spire.

You smile at his wonderment. “Yes, my great grandfather commissioned it for my great grandmother. It's a bit gaudy but the sentiment behind it is sweet.”

Hobie walks closer to it as leaves crunch underfoot and with the sun kissing his skin. He waves his hand over the falling water, letting the cool water drench his sleeve as it trickles down, not caring about it at all.

“Is this drinkable water?” He asks blatantly.

“I don't know, but it is clean.”

His eyes are downcast, looking like he's in deep thought while the water splashes his hand. “Did you know that down in the streets where your subjects live they survive everyday on dirty water?” His tone changes, brows creased. “And over ‘ere you're using it for a bloody fountain.”

You blink, inhaling deeply. “I–I didn't know. I'll make sure my father knows about this—”

“Don't worry, princess, he knows.” He spits out your title with malice.

“I'm sorry if I offended you,” you grasp tightly at your heavy skirt. “Forgive me.”

Hobie sighs, face softening, and eyes observing your expression as if he's trying to find a lie within your eyes. “You should tell him. He might actually do somethin' this time.”

“I will—”

You hear leaves crunch a few ways away, once you look over at where it came from, you see a bulbous skirt hiding behind a topiary of a rabbit.

“This place has eyes and ears.” He holds out his hand for you, waiting, not taking forcibly. “I know a place where we can hide.”

“You know? It's your first time here, is it not?”

“I heard there's a hedge maze ‘ere. One of the nobles couldn't stop talkin’ about it.”

Your apprehension fades, and you take his hand gingerly. Fingers sliding on his palm, feeling every calluses and scar on his skin. When he cups your hand gently, you swear you felt sparks fly in your vision.

Hobie's chest rises and falls slowly as he takes you in under the soft sunlight. “C’mon, love.”

With his hand upon yours, you let him guide you further and further into the emerald labyrinth. You watch him from behind, eyes trained on him and only him. Perhaps this is what your sisters and governess told you about when you know a person could be that person your heart yearns for. Or maybe this is your own romance novel riddled mind making up a delusion through rose coloured glass. Either way, you find him ethereal, like a sea captain, or perhaps a god walking amongst men.

He expertly dodges the nosey courtiers, twisting and turning around the hedges as if he had been there or have studied the labyrinth.

With you in tow, he stops when you both reach the middle of the maze where a statue of the minotaur lies defeated with Theseus standing above him with his sword embedded in the Minotaur's shoulder blade. The creature's face is contorted into pain and anguish as tears fall down on the grassy ground.

“This one is my favourite,” you say while he stares at the old statue. “It's been here for a long time, and it'll remain here even when I'm gone.” His hand still holds onto you as you turn towards him. “Why exactly did you join the courting?” He's taken aback. “Those men out there wanted my dowry, or my royal blood to be passed down to their children. But I don't see that want in you, Hobie. You're different from them. Like you've lived a thousand lifetimes.”

“‘m not a vampire or immortal if that's what you're askin'”

You grin, tamping down your laughter. “The way you walk, stand, and look at things. There's no sense of urgency nor you give insincere interest, it's all earnest. And you listened to me, no one ever listens to me.” You brush your hand across the scar on the back of his hand. “You seem to enjoy everything like it's your last day, you don't walk with haste like the rest of them. Time goes very quickly here but with you, it's at a snail’s pace. As if you have all the time in the world.” You breathe, eyes watching his unreadable expression. “I think I know who you are, Hobie.”

He laughs, grinning widely, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Our intel did say you're brilliant. The forgotten princess.”

Surprisingly, you grin back, standing toe to toe with him. “You’ve been the thorn on my father's side for years. The blue bloods hate you but the common people adore you. I never thought I'd look at the eyes of the man who wishes for my family's downfall.”

He brushes your cheek with his knuckles. “This the real you, princess?”

“I've been me the entire time, have you?” You lean forward, looking at him through your lashes. “Is this the real you, Hobie? Or shall I call you by your pseudonym?”

He chuckles deeply. Hands raising up in mock surrender. “You got me.”

The bells in the highest tower ring three times, signaling a thief within the walls of the castle. “And here I thought I was wrong.”

Hobie tilts his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “I have to take you with us now.”

“Oh woe is me.” You feign fear a bit too on the nose to be considered genuine. It's better to be taken in by a known generous thief than to marry a stranger who only wants you for your womb.

“Thought you'd be difficult.” He chuckles as he hears thunderous footsteps running towards the center of the maze. “May I?” He gestures for you, and you shrug, putting your hands behind your back. “Why are you cooperatin’?”

“Maybe I've got a proposition for you and your crew.”

He stands behind you, holding your wrists in one hand while he brandishes a dagger at your throat. He doesn't threaten you with it or poke and prod at your skin. He just points the dagger at one of the exits through the hedge maze where you surmise a dozen or so guards race through to get to you.

“What d’you want?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Freedom.” You whisper back.

“What are you offerin’?”

You chortle, feeling his rough hands softly enclose around your wrists. Leaning back, you look at him upside down. “That depends on who shows up in front of us.”

With trepidation, Hobie points his dagger at the exit while he backs himself into the balcony that faces the sea. His back hits the warm stone of the bannister, and he tightens his hold on the dagger.

Footsteps rush in, and out comes the same guards you saw in front of the crown jewel room, together with a few more people dressed as staff and even a chef. They heave and pant, smiling once they see him. Hobie puts his dagger down to his side, mirroring their relieved smiles.

You notice the lack of crowns and jewels in their satchels. “No luck?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Holy shit, you actually got the princess to like you.” A girl who must've been no older than sixteen walks towards you, her blond hair is tied into a neat bun to mimic the look of the staff but her dagger strapped to her side says otherwise. “It's a pleasure, your highness.”

“Likewise—”

“What happened?” Hobie interrupts your friendly greeting.

“Two words, a lot of fucking guards.” The one with the dark hair and blue eyes says while he exhales like he tried to win a race against a horse.

“That's more than two words, moron.” A woman clad in black says, she winks when she meets with your eyes. “I guess we got something more precious.”

“Princess, meet the crew. Crew meet the princess.” Hobie says while he takes a rope from one of them. He tries your hands together, leaving enough wiggle room as to not hurt your wrists.

“No jewels but we got a princess. So plan C then?” A man wearing one of the guard uniforms says. He takes his hat off, revealing a priest’s halo under it.

“You've got a priest in your crew?” You ask, looking at Hobie. There's a lot more racing footsteps heading for the center of the maze, the guards are definitely the one marching towards you now. It's nice to be remembered sometimes.

“He lost a bet.” He just shrugs it off as if that answers your question. Looking at his crew, he addresses them, “there's nothin’ we can do now, we go to plan C.”

“Wait, what's plan C?” You ask, and your eyes widen when one by one, each member jumps off the balcony down to the cold depths. “W–wait, no, absolutely not!”

“This is plan C.” Hobie hobbles towards the edge of the balcony, arm holding you against him while you hear splashes from below.

“Alright, I change my mind! Put me down!” Now that you and Hobie are the only ones left on the balcony, he carries you as he lifts himself over the balcony edge. Standing up with you in his arms, you look down for a second and vertigo shifts your vision into a blurry mess. You don't even notice that you're clutching onto his chest and hiding your face into the fabric of his suit.

“Halt!” A guard yells above the rushing blood in your ears. You hear swords getting unsheathed, and angry words thrown at the man you're currently clutching onto.

With his hands holding you, Hobie laughs, “hold your breath, princess!” He jumps over the balcony backwards despite your screaming.

Your breath is stuck in your throat, soul leaving your body as you fall. Hobie's cackling echoes while the winds rush past your ears, heartbeat thudding, and face hidden on his chest, you fall into the cold depths, chill stinging your skin. And the last thing you see before the darkness envelopes you is his hand reaching for your own in the cold bitter blue of the sea.

—

You wake up with a groan and smell distinctively like fish and seaweed. Your vision sways, seeing the ground rock too, you surmise that you're on the move. It's either that or the carriage you're on smells weirdly like horse dung.

You're placed on a horse with your hands tied behind your back, stomach hurting from the saddle, sun bearing down on you, and dress weighing like a ton from it being drenched in the water. You're uncomfortable to say the least. They didn't have the foresight to bind your feet though, you may have a chance to run if you're lucky enough to have one.

“Is this how you treat a princess?” You groggily say, head turning to see your captor.

Hobie glances down at you with a smirk, he's no longer in his frilly court clothes. Now he's donning a simple green undershirt that he purposely let loose on the collar, showing off his skin as it glimmers in the blazing sun. There's a quiver of arrows at his back, and a bow strapped on the side of his saddle that pokes your leg. His sword is settled at his hip, pommel engraved with a spider, looking like it's crawling right on the scuffed metal.

“Only to the fit ones.” His gloved hands are placed atop your back casually, using you like his personal table while he reigns in his horse. “ain't that right, Roach?” He addresses his blue dappled horse. Roach huffs, nodding as if he actually understood his rider. “See?”

You scoff, “you trained him to say yes to everything you say.” But you can't deny the heat blossoming on your cheeks. There's trotting next to you and you look to your side to see who it is.

“You’re awfully calm about all of this, princess.” The raven haired asks with a lopsided smile.

You shrug the best you can while in your position. “Just a regular day for me I suppose.”

“Have you been kidnapped before?” Someone asks behind you, his voice familiar while dry leaves crunch under the hooves.

“A handful of times, usually I'm with one or two of my siblings so my parents always pay the ransom. I don't know if they'll pay if it's only me now.”

“That's really sad actually.” He says, now you remember him being the one with the priest's hair who supposedly lost a bet.

Hobie chuckles from above, and you look up at him with a glare. He raises a brow and moves your head with his palm atop your head, turning it towards the woman riding next to you. You could only huff at him.

“What's your name, priest?” You ask, voice strained from the position.

“Just call me Ned, princess.”

“It's nice to meet you, Ned. I'm sorry about your hair.”

“It's alright. It's quite breezy actually.” He rubs his hand above his bald spot.

“How about you? What's your name?” You ask the pretty woman.

She smiles, dark eyes shadowed by the canopy above. “It's Yuri for you, gorgeous.”

You smile back genuinely. “You have such a pretty name—”

“Oi, stop makin' friends with ‘em.” Hobie flicks the shell of your ear, earning a gasp from you.

“Ow!” You hear their guffaws echo around the forest. “It's called being nice.”

“It's a tactic to make us bring you back to the palace. And it ain't workin’, princess.” He tilts his head down, mocking you with his stare.

You try to bite him but he's too fast to catch as he moves away before you could. “So that was your brilliant plan then? To charm me and take me as your hostage?” You say while trying to wiggle out of your binds.

“Not originally no, I was just there to distract you and for you to bring me to the hallways leading to the garden so I could toss them the keys I nicked from your shitty guards.” He explains plainly with a teasing smirk.

You chortle, mocking him back. “But you didn't take into account that there would be guards inside, huh? For a mastermind that’s a bit stupid of you.”

“This daft mastermind got somethin' better than jewels.” Hobie bends down, now eye to eye with you, you see every green and grey speck in his hazel eyes that reminds you of a cloudy night sky or a field of wildflowers in the summer. He blinks at your unusual soft gaze, words trapped in his throat as he sees your eyes glance briefly down at his lips. He swallows down his sudden rush of feelings, “I've got you, princess.”

You inhale, and you smell fresh dandelions in the air combined with pine swirling in the wind. “Not to disappoint you but they won't pay that much for me.”

“We don't need that much anyway,” he says, and unbeknownst to him, there's a dozen pairs of eyes watching the two of you interact. “Just enough for us to get by, love. We don't hoard wealth like your greedy father.”

“I—” before you could retort, (one that you're sure would be so clever that it'll blow him away.) A sharp whistle sounds out around the thick mossy forest. It sounds like a bird singing for a second, then when you look at where the sound came from right in front of you, a thick curtain of vines unfurl, revealing a small bustling village hidden behind the undergrowth. “What?”

“Welcome to Doverhill, princess.” He says, tapping the top of your head with his finger.

The horses move towards the large space just passing the vines, and you now see the village in its fullest form. Straw and wooden huts are built around the clearing, its chimneys softly billow out smoke; you guess that they need to lessen the use of their chimneys to stay hidden lest they want to be found in the middle of the dense forest. You look up and you spot a pair of large trees on each side with a crow's nest built atop it where archers guard and watch over the only entrance and exit in the whole village. The place is protected by large looming trees that grow around the area, every tree has lush canopies that protect the village from the intense sun and hide them from above. But the leaves still leave enough sunlight to pass through its greenery, it bathes the whole area with dappled lights that dance in the breeze.

You take note of the complete amenities, there's a stable and a barn further up ahead. Rows and upon rows of farmland where fruits and vegetables grow bountifully. There's also a bigger building on the right where you guess it could be the town hall. There are also a handful of wells placed around so that enough people would get their water without walking too far to grab a bucket. A few of the notable buildings are a blacksmith with its relentless hammer pounding onto a smoldering sword. A bakery with pastries perfectly lined up at the front, and even a tailor and a cobbler sitting next to each other.

As you get closer, you see an even bigger tree sitting in the middle of the village. Its large trunk is thick, bigger than anything you've ever seen. The leaves are viridescent and healthy, it looks like it's centuries old. There, within its branches is a tree house covered in vines with violets growing among its walls. Despite the green and browns that surround it, the lone tree house is painted with a brighter shade of blue and accents of red. The door is even in the same shade, and the ladder leading up to it is painted in alternating colours of the rainbow. It's beautiful and enticing to the eyes.

You see movement in your peripheral, taking your attention away from the tree house, the sound of childish laughter echo and you spot children running around while adults tend to their homes and garden. Once they hear the trotting of horses, they stop by to wave at you, or to Hobie and his crew more like.

“What is this place?”

“I told you, it's Doverhill.” He smiles back at the people, face turning back into a smirk when he returns his attention towards you. “What did you expect us to live? A basement of a tavern? The bloody sewers?”

“No,” you scoff while taking a whiff of a freshly baked bread cooling on a nearby windowsill. “I just didn't expect it to be this lively.” You turn towards him despite the ache in your neck. “How many people live here?”

“Close to two hundred.” He smiles proudly, eyes trained up front. “All these years and none of you royals knew that we've been in ‘ere, instead you all looked under rocks and behind waterfalls for us.”

You blink at the sheer size of the canopy that provides a dome like roof above. “It's beautiful.” With awe and delight in your eyes, Hobie could only look at you with a ghost of a smile.

“Hobart Larry Brown!” A yell interrupts your awestruck gaze, craning your neck to the source, you see an old woman with a cane quickly making her way towards the group. “Who the hell is that?!”

“Auntie!” Hobie abruptly stops his horse, the second he does, his crew disperses subtly, leaving him behind to face the wrath of the old woman. “Oi!” He tries to call them back but they're already gone. Probably hiding behind the houses to save their own skins. “We were out on that heist we were plannin’ remember, aunt Janet?”

“Don't patronize me, boy!” She points at Hobie with the tip of her cane, poking his chest as he raises his hands up in surrender. “Is this how you treat a girl? Get her off of that bloody horse.”

“Alright, alright, calm down, yeah?” He gets off the horse swiftly, and then carries you carefully with his hands on your hips.

You swear you stopped breathing the entire time he had his hands on you. As much as you want to hate him, you can't deny how he makes your heart jump in place.

Once you're back on your feet, you stretch your back, hearing the crack of the corset. Or maybe that's your back making that god awful sound. He chuckles, hiding his amusement on his shoulder with the excuse of wiping his sweat on his tunic.

“So,” Janet steps in front of you, grey eyes soft and genuine. “Who are you? A lady? A duchess?”

“A princess actually.”

“Oh lord have mercy.” She says underneath her breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “You kidnapped *the princess? You fool!” With her cane, she strikes him down like a child being chastised. Hobie shields himself with his arms above his head while you laugh at his misfortune. More and more people come out to watch the spectacle, giggles and chortling echoing around the clearing. “I bet you didn't get any of the royal jewels and you settled for an actual royal jewel!”

“Aww how sweet of you—”

“Hush, you monarchist!” She takes a 180 and jabs you with her cane. You take a step back, aghast at what she called you.

“As for you!” She turns back to Hobie, finding him grinning at what happened. “Stop playing, child! I heard the commotion from over here! What if you and the rest of the little shits got hurt?”

“We have a name, Janet—” he tries to explain, only to be met with her cane on his hip. “Ow.”

Janet puts her cane back down, ending her tirade. “Bringing her here only spells out trouble, Hobie.”

“It wasn't exactly part of the bloody plan, auntie.”

She sighs, “what are we gonna do with her?” She points at you like you're not in the same place as her.

“I'm right here.” You shrug, “and if you asked me, you'll find that I'm useful and not just some dirty monarchist.”

“You are?” Both Hobie and aunt Janet ask simultaneously.

You clench your jaw, sucking in your teeth. “I will explain, but first can we take these ropes off? My wrists hurt.” They narrow their eyes at you. “I'm not gonna run away, promise.”

Hobie takes a step towards you, but he's stopped by aunt Janet putting her cane on his chest. He huffs in place, arms crossed in protest. She walks towards you with her eyes narrowed, rightfully suspicious of you. Taking her cane, she twists the top and out she unsheathes a shiny dagger from her cane. Grabbing your hands, she swiftly cuts off your binds before you could even jump back when she brandished her weapon.

Aunt Janet backs away next to Hobie while everyone in the village has their eyes on you. Glancing around, you spot an opportunity where no one is there. A break within the circle of the crowd. You pretend to roll around the joints in your wrist, opening your mouth like you're about to speak, you suddenly point at the sky.

“What the hell is that?!” They surprisingly look up, and you immediately make a break for it. You don't hear footsteps running after you so you keep running. Just as when you're about to make it towards the vines, you trip, falling face first into the dirt and skidding a few feet away. With a groan, you lift yourself up, nose aching and bleeding, mouth full of grass and soil. You feel like you've been dragged by a horse.

A head of red appears in your blurred vision. She pokes the top of your head, teasing you. “Sorry, I had too.”

“Good on you, Mayday!” Hobie makes his way towards the two of you as you slump down on the ground, hiding your face from sheer embarrassment. “Thwarted by a ten year old.”

“I'm eleven, Hobie!” She says, and you thump your forehead against the grass.

You feel a palm sliding down between your head and the grass, preventing you from bashing. “Careful now, princess, wouldn't want to hurt you now, hm?”

You groan, surrendering yourself and letting your head fall on his palm while he praises the child who tripped you.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

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shinesurge · 10 months ago

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Webcomic rings run by people within the community are cool and you should support them

I've been loudly struggling a little bit with corporate webcomic Stuff lately so I want to mention something positive to balance it out: webrings run by small groups of creators earnestly trying to support each other are slowly making a comeback and I for one am delighted.

If you weren't around for them in the before times, webrings were just some folks who hang out a lot who feature each other on their websites. That's literally it lmao. There's generally no money involved and it only really functions the way it's supposed to if people have control over their own websites AND genuinely want to participate and get excited about other folks' work, which means the practice has pretty well fallen by the wayside over the years in webcomic culture given. Everything. In the rare event someone decides to do something like this it's usually in the form of a link list somewhere on their website; this doesn't usually indicate any sort of mutual support, it's just a list of what the creator is reading themselves.

A webring, though, is an official banner or hub that people gather under intentionally where each member is more or less on equal footing. It's essentially the concept of "a rising tide lifts all boats" put into practice, each creator brings their own audience to the table in a passive, opt-in sort of way that's different from working for a publisher since there isn't necessarily a Top Spot or a paycheck everyone's vying for, and individuals retain autonomy over both their own work and how (if) they promote each other. You're all at your own tables in an artist alley rather than fighting over the table in the front of the book store, essentially.

I have two rings and one collective for you today!

Webcomic Ring was brought to my attention AGES ago by Holly, one of the artists featured there, and I might have brought it up at some point but I'm doing it again lmao. This is exactly the kind of thing you ought to be looking for; a small group of enthusiastic folks having a good time making their weird little comics. You probably haven't heard of much in the catalog, that's PERFECT in the context of webcomics that's where the GOOD SHIT is. Finding something like this is A Gift go dig around in the longboxes for a while.

Then a few people have pointed me in the direction of the KNIFEBEETLE collective and that's neat too! Most of the comics there are already fairly well-known, but the vibes are excellent and I haven't seen a lot of talk about the collective /itself/ outside folks already in the know. I think it's important for this sort of thing to be more visible to folks who aren't terminally steeped in webcomic culture already so here I am telling you about it. You were probably reading several of these before I suggested it, but that's how a webring works! For it to do its job you should take those bigger creators' tacit recommendation of the less popular titles as a sign to go read something new and strange. Wild, I know these are practices held over from the old internet, but I think we should try and bring them back.

Lastly, I want to mention Spiderforest, which is a collective (slightly different from a webring) BUT still a very cool project readers starved for new stuff should pay attention to.

You've probably seen Spiderforest kicking around for a long time already; they're wonderful and have always been an overall positive force in the community in my experience. They really focus on building up a community, and especially welcoming newcomers and helping them get their feet under them. Full disclosure, I've been asked to apply by a few different folks over the years and the only reason I never did is I don't have the ability to participate in their forums and such as frequently as they want their creators to; it's a very good system (from my outside perspective) that might contribute to the community staying mostly healthy in ways that art communities usually don't and I appreciate it a lot!

ANYWAYS that's all I got for now, just trying to balance out some bad feelings I've been having by talking about some good stuff. Please go binge an archive this week.

#long post #contrary to what i say i do love webcomics so fucking much #there are Reasons i'm fucking angry all the time lmao

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tomriddleslove · 10 months ago

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Pt 2 - The one that you want.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader

Pt 2 to Hey, trouble (DELETED)

Summary: The one where just as things are beginning to look up, everything comes crashing down. Alternatively: Tension, Fluff, Angst.

A/N: This fic was written very sleep deprived so I ask you to bear with me. The second part is my favourite so just stick with it.

Songs: The Way - Mac Miller, Ariana Grande

Lover, you should have come over - Jeff Buckley

Promise - Laufey

NOTE: I accidentally deleted my account and did not have the first part of this mini series saved! I will probably rewrite it but there is some context you should know, so i’ll try summarise it as concisely as possible:

You and Theodore used to be really good friends when you first joined Hogwarts. Naturally, as you both got older, you changed slightly. Theodore came back one summer and he seemed completely different, he was not only incredibly handsome but he had generally flourished as a person. The girls all loved him and he found a new set of friends, essentially forgetting about you. Time skip a few years and you become friends with Pansy, and the rest of the group. Theodore greets you as though nothing has changed. You habour a lot of resentment to him initially, but realise you really do love chilling with the group and so you set it to the side. In the fic, you’re at a party and you head up to the roof. Theodore appears and you chat for the first time in ages. It gets a bit tense when you subtly call him out but you try brush it off as a joke. He noticed you at their quidditch practice earlier on in the day with mattheos number painted on your face, and he sounds a bit jealous. You assure him it was only for jokes, though you’re confused as to why he’d be upset. Theodore (internally ) alludes to loving you and you’re both emotionally stunted idiots in love.

AND that brings us back to now. Enjoy xx

Friday had finally come, and you couldn't think of a word that could place just how relieved you were feeling. Don't get it wrong, you hugely valued your education, and took pride in working hard, but at the end of the day, there's only so much history of magic one could tolerate before their brain tuned out. The surprise quiz you took in class today told you that you had reached that point many months ago. But it was ok, that was an issue for the future.

You click open the door to your dorm room, tossing your bag haphazardly to the side as you undo your tie, pulling it loose with a groan of relief. Pansy is sprawled out comfortably on your bed because apparently, yours was comfier (they were the exact same thing, she just couldn't be bothered to make hers in the morning.)

You flick a strand of hair that fell in front of your face with a dramatic sigh as you flop down onto the bed, lying perpendicular to Pansy as you rest your head on her lap. She has a half smile of amusement as her hand comes down to pat your head, eyes trained on her book. You raise a brow and shuffle up slightly to catch a glimpse of what she was reading.

You see the word ‘shaft’ once and that's all you need to see as you gasp with fake indignation.

“Pansy… Whilst I'm sitting here?” You groan and she grins, her face slightly red as she shrugs, shameless.

I mean, come on. You weren't a stranger to smut, but right in front of you? You grab the book from her hand and toss it across the room.

“None of that whilst I'm here. Your amazing and beautiful friend is vying for attention so focus on me.’ You say and she playfully rolls her eyes as she lies back on her bed.

“It's disgustingly hot. I can't be bothered for this year anymore. The days are as hot as hell depths and the evening has me freezing my nonexistent balls off.” Pansy moans, and you hum in agreement.

You’re grateful for your friend and her seemingly never-ending talent of speaking because you currently couldn't even muster the energy to speak.

“Do we have to go watch the boys today? Lila told me Madam Pince has charmed the library with a cooling spell. We could go there instead.” Pansy says, sitting up, and the idea is incredibly tempting. You live for nothing more than to get out of this dastardly heat, especially in the comfort of the library (Pansy and yourself had mastered the art of smuggling snacks in. The key was in making sure you triple-checked what you bought in, which you learnt after Pansy had accidentally sat on a Fizzlebees Exploding Sherbet last winter. The poor 1st year who had sat next to you was sure that there was some kind of attack and leapt under the nearest table.)

The mention of practice has your mind thinking back to your most recent encounter with Theodore. Just thinking about it again elicited that strange feeling in your stomach. You were, perhaps, close to a path of redemption (though it was more Theodore redeeming himself.)

With a sigh, you shake your head.

“We promised them we'd come. Besides, imagine the absolute havoc Mattheo will cause when he finds out we ditched for the library of all places. He would get us banned for a month, at the very least.” You say, and Pansy grumbles but ultimately knows you’re right. She sighs, muttering.

“Yes yes, I suppose you're right.” She begrudgingly admits and you grin, sitting up. You walk over to your closet, looking for something else to wear as you felt as though you were positively melting in your uniform. You flick through your closet, cursing the endless void that conveniently was full of sweaters and thick jumpers now summer has come. You dig around and find a pair of black denim shorts towards the back. You don't even know when you got them, but they fit and they'll do the job. You're thankful for the fact that you love the feeling of freshly shaven legs on your bedsheets, because heaven knows you would not bother to shave your legs for a man. You manage to find a green shirt, and you slip it on. It's nothing special really, but you weren't dressing up for anyone. You were long past those days now, you found that it was lovely not giving two shits. Pansy called it alarming, but you liked to think of it as… eclectic.

Pansy brings over her signature red lipstick (which you're sure only she can pull off) and holds your cheek in place to draw a number 10 on it, as standard practice. You reach up to grab her hand.

“Wait. Do 7 instead.” You say. She widens her eyes slightly and wiggles her brows as she looks at you.

“Oh? And why is that?” She probes and you playfully swat her, rolling your eyes.

“Theodore just asked me to. Besides we shouldn't inflate Mattheo's ego too much.” You respond a bit too quickly, and she has a shit-eating grin on her face. Pansy knows you well though, and she knows probing any further will only give her a stinging hex and nothing more, so she simply looks at you with a pointed look as she draws the 7 on instead. You watch as she traces the number 7 on her face too, adjusting her hair as she pouts and blows a kiss at herself in the mirror. You pointedly roll your eyes to tease her and she throws a pillow at you.

“Alright alright, you humble lady. Let's go.” You muse, holding your arm out. The two of you link arms as you descend down to the quidditch pitch. The sun is shining blazing down on you, and you feel uncomfortably hot and sticky within a few seconds of being outside. You truly weren't built for warm weather.

The grass on the pitch is a beautiful rich green and the sky is so picturesquely blue that it seems more like a postcard as opposed to real life. You imagine that this must be their favourite season; you had entertained the idea of watching one match in the winter season and immediately stopped after a gust of wind sent a bird flying into the girl sitting above you (You were sure it had given her that scratch on her cheek.) You couldn't cope with watching a match in such harsh weather, and you couldn't even begin to imagine how it must be to play in such conditions.

Idiots, really. They brought it on themselves. They definitely came to that realisation when they would be dragged out of bed at 5:00 am to go play in the freezing cold whilst you remained blissfully asleep under your warm covers.

You clamber up the stairs of the stands and curse under your breath. For all the beauty and wonders the wizarding world had, was it really that damn hard to have a few escalators here and there? You wanted to watch a practice game, not train to have the thighs of Hercules. You finally reach the top and shimmy down the benches with Pansy, leaning against the railing, The team was already up in the air, circling around whilst tossing the ball to one another. For all the grace and elegance Draco exuded on the ground, you couldn’t help but snicker when you catch the sight of him looking like he had slathered himself in red paint, all sweaty and grimacing; strands of his blonde hair clinging to his face.

“You alright up there Draco? Mummy forget to send you some sun cream?” You call out teasingly, and he sneers at you as Mattheo cackles, swooping down on his broom to greet you and Pansy.

“There they are!” Blaise says, a small grin on his face as he flies down to your level, joining Mattheo. You don’t even have the time to greet him because a loud gasp escapes Mattheo's lips, his hand coming out to grip your chin, tilting your face to the side.

“Traitors!” Mattheo says, eyes flickering between Pansy and yourself. You can't keep the grin off your face as you pry your face out of Mattheo's hands.

“Oh come on Mattheo. We love you all equally and need to express that love as such.” Pansy drawls, a taunting grin on her face.

“Fuck off, I'm the only important one,” Mattheo responds, puffing out his chest as he points to himself.

Blaise has to hold back from rolling his eyes, looking over at you exasperatedly. You exchange a glance with him and you feel your lips curl up into a small smile as you stifle a laugh.

“This was your doing! What did you do to them? Now I'm going to play like shit!” Mattheo whines, as he turns to look up at Theodore.

Theodore.

Your eyes flicker up and sure enough there he is. And god, how dare he look so good in this disgusting heat. His eyes are (and you have the feeling they were like that for quite a bit) trained on you, an unreadable expression on his face. He keeps his gaze on you, and you're sure at that moment he was trying to seduce your soul or play some stupid kind of mind tricks on you to have you thinking of him all day (it was working.)

His lips curl up into that godforsaken smile that borders on a smug little smirk. It has you embarrassingly weak in the knees and suddenly you're very glad it's hot, for you could blame your red cheeks on the heat. He flies down, tearing his gaze away from you as he comes close to Mattheo.

“Come on Mattheo, I’ve got an audience so I need to make sure I beat you embarrassingly quickly today,” Theodore says, egging his friend on.

“Yeah fucking right,” Mattheo says, turning to Theodore as the two engage in the most awful, embarrassing trash talk. You and Pansy exchange a glance and the two of you side-eye them with disdain.

The simple mind of boys managed to amaze you every time. Their attention span was impressively short.

Proving your point, Mattheo flies up to poke fun at Draco and Lorenzo, who both didn't seem to be holding up too well with the heat. You lean your elbows on the railing and stiffen slightly when Theodore flies up next to you. He hovers on his broom mid-air, resting his elbow on the railing in front of you. His face is incredibly close to yours, analysing your face with those sinful eyes of him which should be illegal because

Fuck, you were deprived.

“You wore it.” He says, and he sounds oddly breathless. You were assured by Blaise mere minutes ago that they had barely started practising.

Why did it seem so hard to speak? Why did Theodore seem so surprised? Why did you feel so bashful?

“You asked.” You respond, and his eyes search yours for a second before a smile tugs at his lips. His hand reaches out to cup your face, tilting it to the side as he looks at the 7 on your cheek.

Was this all it took for Theodore to touch you?

You’d have to start drawing 7 everywhere.

His fingers brush against your jaw, and you let out a shaky breath as his thumb runs along your cheek.

His touch leaves a fiery trail in its wake, and you are sure he has to be doing some sort of nonverbal magic because you feel as though you are going crazy. You resist the urge to let your eyes flutter shut because Theodore Nott simply has that effect.

He turns your head back and you stare at one another for a second more before he pulls back, and your mouth feels awfully dry.

“Mattheo smudged it.” He says, and his voice sounds slightly strained as he says so. You can't keep the corners of your lips from lifting slightly as you nod.

“Right.” You breathe out, looking at him. He grins, and this time you have to be sure you have not secured yourself a one-way ticket to the Janus Thickey Ward of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, because you swear his eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief second before he leans back like he's been forced to do so, wordlessly looking at you once more before he grips the broom with one hand, effortlessly flying up to start practice.

You don’t even have the time to process whatever that was because your ever-eloquent and insightful friend speaks the very thoughts running through your head.

“What in the ever-loving fuck was that?” Pansy utters, eyes wide as she stares at the spot where Theodore was standing.

Amen to that, Pansy. What in the ever-loving fuck was that?

Your hand hovers over your cheek, ghosting over the place Theodore had just touched.

You part your lips to say something, but can't even formulate the words, and Pansy recognises that.

“Holy Shit! He- That-” She says, hands grabbing your shoulders as she shakes you. You're ashamed to say you needed it because you were sure you were dreaming.

“What's going on between you two? First, you’re wearing his number to the match. Then he's practically eye fucking you and you're both literally about to make out.” Pansy babbles and you roll your eyes at her dramatics.

“Oh calm down, Pansy. He barely looked at me, and he was just fixing it because Mattheo had smudged it. There's nothing going on.” She says and Pansy narrows her eyes.

“Oh yes, and I’m fucking straight. We both know that's a lie.” She deadpans, and you shake your head with an exasperated smile.

You couldn't tell whether you wanted to crack up with laughter or strangle the shit out of her. With Pansy, the line blurred more often than not. It’s why you loved her so dearly.

“Genuinely Pansy, nothing’s going on between Theodore and me. We used to be really good friends. That's all.” You say, with a tone of finality. She sighs, mumbling under her breath.

“….Painfully obvious”

“Both know that's a lie…..”

“Hopeless idiot…”

You shoot her a glare at her mumbling and she returns the sentiment with a pointed smile, enough to make you roll your eyes with amusement. You rest your head on her shoulder as the two of you watch the match.

The day Theodore had walked past you like you simply didn't exist was the day you swore to yourself you'd never, EVER, let yourself be good friends with him again. You stuck to your word always, yet this was proving to be one time where you didn't.

You prayed you wouldn't regret this, but alas, the universe is cruel at times.

The news of Draco’s father cancelling their annual summer holiday trip came surprisingly as great news to your groups as you all lounged in the library (which was as packed as it had ever been thanks to Madam Pince’s cooling charm. You all begged her to teach you the spell but she refused, and you were sure she kept it hidden to make sure people came to the library. Luckily for the group, you were one of the most conscientious students in your year, so you'd all get away with things due to the teachers favouring you greatly. A few other groups were kicked out immediately.)You all sat in a cosy arrangement in the far back end of the library. Pansy sat on the floor beside you, whilst you lounged in an armchair, feet thrown over one arm. Blaise sat on the other arm of the chair, with Draco and Theodore sitting opposite you. Between the armchair and sofa facing one another was a third sofa and a small round table. Mattheo and Lorenzo sat on that third sofa. Lorenzo stretches, sprawled out as he props his feet up on the table. You reach out and slap him with the book you were reading, and he cowers sheepishly as he puts his feet down.

“I was looking forward to summer in Versailles,” Draco complains, and you sigh. Would be nice to be able to go on such trips.

“Actually…” Pansy says, sitting up as though she’s just had an idea. Knowing your friend, you can't help but feel terrified about what's about to come out of her mouth.

“My parents have a beautiful holiday home down in France and they're going to Australia this year, so it's not being used. Why don't we all spend a week there?” Pansy says.

It's actually a very clever Idea, and a chorus of murmurs of agreement and nods echo throughout the group.

“That actually sounds good” Lorenzo says, and Blaise hums in agreement.

“I have family who live in France so they could sort out travel for us when we are there. I'm sure I can go.” Baise says and Pansy claps her hands excitedly, rubbing them together like some kind of evil genius (sometimes you were sure she was.)

“Draco, Theo?” Pansy says, and the mention of Theo's name has your eyes flickering up from your book. He's looking at you but the second your eyes meet he quickly looks at Pansy and nods, clearing his throat.

“Huh? Oh, uh- yeah.Sounds good.” He says. You lightly smile to yourself as you look down at your book.

“ I suppose I’ll tolerate it.” Draco sighs, and a chorus of groans escapes the group at his melodramatic behaviour.

“Oh piss off Draco, just admit you like us,” Mattheo says and Draco scoffs.

The boys very quickly once again get into a semi-play fight, and a stern hush from Madam Pince as she glares at the group of you sends them both sheepishly quiet. She walks away and it’s your turn to glare at the two boys.

“She may like me now, but if you two don't shut up she sure as fuck won't, and ill set your robes on fire if you force me to get through the summer whilst being banned from the library.” You spit, scolding them.

Mattheo and Draco both look down like children being chastised and Blaise has to hide his amusement as he nudges your shoulder, getting up.

“Right well, that's our cue to leave anyway. Have the real match tomorrow so we need an early night.” Blaise says. One by one everyone gets up, Pansy pushing off the floor with a sigh as she dusts down her skirt.

She turns to you, raising a brow.

“You coming?” She asks, holding a hand out and you look up, shaking your head.

“Nah. Gonna stay here for a while. Finish reading this.” You say, holding up your book with a weak smile. Pansy shakes her head with a smile, ruffling your hair (much to your dismay).

“My little neek. Have fun!” She says, and you flip her off at the comment. She grins, blowing a fake kiss back at you as she manoeuvres past the wooden bookshelves and out of the library.

You sigh and feel as though you're sinking further into the plush armchair, a pillow held to your chest as you read your book. Everything about the library was so pleasantly calming. The dim lights that cast dancing shadows of the book spines across the wall. The bibliosmia that you inhaled deeply as you lay for what felt like hours, reading whatever you could get your hands on. You’re so caught up in the allure of the library (Pansy might have a point, you definitely were a neek), that you don't even notice the presence of someone coming to sit down on the sofa next to you until the sound of the leather cushions sagging under weight draws your attention up from the pages of the book.

Seriously? Were you actually that oblivious? It was extremely alarming if you were.

You look up and see Theodore moving to take a seat on the sofa next to you. He stretches out his legs, his large frame suddenly making the space seem a lot smaller.

“Hey.” He says, and your lips quirk up in a smile as you speak.

“Hey,” You respond, folding the corner of your book.

“What are you reading?” Theodore asks, and you raise a brow.

Did he really have an interest in the book you were reading? A few years ago the Theodore you knew would never touch a book (though he would listen to you ramble on about them for an hour.)

But Theodore has changed, And so have you. He’s no longer the Theodore you knew, and the reminder turns the feeling in your stomach unpleasant.

You hold up your book, weakly smiling as you show him the cover. It was rather beaten and bruised, but you had owned this copy since your first year. You’ve reread it more times than you can count.

“Little women,” Theodore says, a small smile of recognition on his face. He remembered you, always walking around with that book. Theodore couldn’t comprehend what half the words in the book meant, but he remembered hearing you talk about it and thinking you were truly the most incredible person he had ever met.

That hadn't really changed.

“Mhmm. Must be my 5th time rereading it this year.” You say, with a small smile, and Theodore lets out a low laugh.

He's looking down at the table, and you admire the way the dim light dances along his features, making them look surprisingly soft.

“Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts…” Theodore starts, gaze trained ahead.

“......because you can't have the one you want” You finish, quietly.

Theodore's gaze drops to his hands, fiddling with the threads on his bag. The air is thick with unspoken words. A quiet dance of regrets lingers in the spaces between your words.

"Little Women," Theodore repeats, his fingers tracing the zip on his bag. "I remember how you used to quote passages from that book like they were sacred verses. It was almost like a religion for you."

You can sense the undertone in his words—the acknowledgement of a shared past that now exists as a distant echo.

The silence that follows hangs heavy.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the worn pages of the book suddenly feeling like a fragile shield against the currents of emotion. Theodore's eyes, once familiar and comforting, now carry a hint of regret and a touch of something unsaid.

"Jo March was always your favourite," he continues, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Still is,” you say, and he nods, looking up at you. His smile is tight-lipped, and you fight the urge to reach forward and massage the furrow of his brow. He reaches into the side pocket of his bag, pulling out a book.

Little women.

You frown as you take the copy from him, flicking through it. There are scribbles and annotations all over the pages.

You hate the way you instantly recognise his handwriting - another testament as to how Theodore was weaved into everything you did.

Theodore takes the book back, his fingers lingering on the worn cover. He opens the book, thumbing through the pages, his eyes fixing on the annotations.

"I've been reading it," he admits, his voice a low murmur. "Annotating it. I wanted to see it through your eyes, to understand why it meant so much to you."

You watch him, and your heart clenches at his voice. At his eyes, At the way he speaks, and the way he keeps his head down. The realisation that he held onto this piece of you, even as you both drifted apart, is enough to send you into a spiral.

"I see you in these pages," Theodore continues, his gaze locking onto the annotated paragraphs. "I see you in between the lines, and in the words. I see you in Jo, I see you in the witty comments. Every time I read this, It's like a piece of you is still here with me."

A lump forms in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry

“Every time I read these words, I feel like I'm back with you, even if just for a moment." He admits, looking up at you.

The devastation in his eyes is surely mirrored in your own.

You want to cry. You want to shout, because how dare he sit here, and speak of you with such reverence, and act like he cares for you when he had forgotten about you so easily? How dare he say he sees you in everything he does when he looked right past you when you stood in front of him?

How dare he act like he missed you when he didn’t?

You can't say anything. You physically can't, because every time you open your mouth it hurts. Grief clings to the pipes, scratching at your throat. It restricts your breathing, it gnaws at you.

Theodore looks at you and clears his throat, quickly looking down. You fail to make out the fact that his own eyes are threatening to spill with tears, as your own teary eyes cloud your vision.

It was always like that with you and Theodore.

Amid your shared tears, the unspoken suddenly becomes the unsayable.

He gets up, and he can't bear to look at your face because every glance of those tears in your eyes eats away at his heart. He grabs his bag and throws it over his shoulder, rushing out for fear of what you might say.

“See you” He murmurs, walking away. You can’t tear your gaze away from where he walks away even as his form disappears, and you swear the boy had taken part of your heart with him.

The quote “Fate was a cruel mistress” Never made much sense to you. Fate was beautiful even in its destructive nature. Fate was unstoppable, she didn't wait for anyone or veer away. You used to admire that about her. You found it to be a beautiful thing. Of course, it's because you also believe that fate would only wait for you. Wait that one extra second. Then, perhaps, Theodore and you would be on the same path. Instead, you were two, walking the same path only a heartbeat apart. As if time itself conspires to teach that love can occur in the same book, but pages apart.

You cannot love the beauty of her tenacity and cower from it too.

#harry potter #slytherin #tom riddle #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fic #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #slytherin boys fic #slytherin boys #theodore nott angst

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Steve zombie au with reader getting hurt at the new camp (like always) and Eddie offering support as a friend but Steve gets all jealous while trying to take care of HIS girl

for you my love ♡ steve zombie au —steve is riddled with guilty jealousy as you and eddie become friends. fem!reader 2k

It's a brave new world.

For starters, there are enough guns at camp and able bodied gunmen for fires in the daytime. There are warm meals eaten under the sun, songs sung quietly but nonetheless sung around the fire. There are happy children. There are books to be read to them, and batteries to power flashlights for story time under the stars.

Things aren't perfect, but after the tragedy of The College, things are good enough. Steve can bring himself to leave your side (though not for the first few days where he's bed bound, and not for a few more after that).

He can't lie, he hates that you like Eddie so much. His jealousy is a raging monster of stiff spines and dry eye twitches, insecurity that you've met someone new and that you trust them so quickly.

You were cagey at The College, scared of Steve's friends and petrified Steve was going to break up with you. He couldn't understand at the time how you would ever think such a thing, but now, with Eddie sitting by your knee and a piece of string between his fingers weaving a cat's cradle, your eyes alight with delight, Steve gets it. He totally gets it.

"It's not hard," Eddie promises you, letting the string fall from his fingers and into your lap.

"I don't have a complicated brain," you say.

"It's not rocket science. Even Steve can do it."

Steve picks an overcooked Lima bean up from his discarded dinner tray and aims to flick it between Eddie's eyes. You're gathered around the campfire in your cold weather coats, a procession of young (ish) adults knee to knee chatting away the worthless hours. When the Lima bean smacks Eddie in the cheek, Steve could pin it on any number of the people gathered. Christopher is a renowned professional when it comes to bothering people, and Jonathan has that older brother's penchant for being irksome, but Steve owns up to it.

"That's a touchdown."

Eddie gives him the finger as he instructs you, completely unbothered. "It's those two fingers– No– Yeah, you got it. And then push this finger under this, and this finger… Nice."

In another life, there's a Steve who doesn't care. He hasn't had to vy for your attention before besides sharing your friendship with Robin, and he's pathetically sorry about it —you should have friends. Steve thinks unabashed that you're the best person they ever made. All you want (all you've ever wanted) is to be loved and to give love back. He's known that about you for a very long time. And in his eyes you deserve what you want.

You deserve to have friends. He can share Robin, and you can have friends of your own, too. You can have everything.

Steve can't get a handle on how it's making him feel, is the issue. He's envious as a teenager with their first crush.

"You honestly just need to practise," Eddie assures you, laying back in the grass with his arms behind his head.

"You'll have to show me again."

You stay sitting and Eddie shows you the pattern again without sitting up. You aren't flirting with one another. Steve wonders if that would feel better, to be jealous of something substantial, but you're doing normal things. Eddie is treating you with exactly the kindness and friendship you deserve. Steve wishes he managed it himself when you first met, because you're his best love and his best friend.

Robin not included. (Robin is always included. Steve would die for her.)

Like she can sense his devotion, Robin puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling his weight gently to the left. "You'll burn a hole in his leather jacket."

"I hope he catches on fire."

"What are you so worried about? She had plenty of chances to leave you for somebody new. Jonathan's been nothing but sweet to her the entire time they've known one another and she barely notices."

Steve grimaces. "Jonathan likes her too?"

"He wants to be her friend, just like Eddie. I, on the other hand, want to marry her."

"Funny." Steve yanks grass up from its roots, the blades soft and cold between his fingers. There's an ice patch growing on his ass and thighs from the cold as the temperature drops. "It's fucking cold."

"You can move closer. I need to go and find Sarah for a bit. Don't burn your new kicks, Steve, they were a great trade."

Robin swapped a useless handgun for them to the resident portable blacksmith. Steve wriggles his toes in them gratefully.

Steve and the remaining group move closer to the fire slowly. When the sky is black and smooth as velvet dotted only by stars like pin holes, Will comes running with a miraculous bag of marshmallows, trailed by his ragtag group of friends; Dustin with his fraying hat, Lucas, and a teenaged boy named Peter.

Steve couldn't believe Lucas was alive at first. Eddie told the story to him when he was recovering in the shitty portable medbay. You'd been sleeping in the plastic chair by Steve's bed, your face pressed to his chest, a puddle of drool soaking into his t-shirt. He'd stroked your forehead for hours.

Eddie and a whole bunch of Hellfire members didn't quite manage the escape rendezvous orchestrated by Hopper at the start of the apocalypse. You and Steve must have just missed them when they set out in Eddie's van for safety. The story goes that Eddie's shit with directions, and while he managed to get to Michigan eventually, it was hard. They met up with a group of much older people who were able to take some of the weight off, eventually finding a group of military soldiers who'd been drafted to protect a politician's family. Their group kept growing and growing. While they never set up camp somewhere permanent, they've kept it together. If Eddie's group (or moving community) had managed to make it to The College, Steve thinks they might have survived the attack.

But you're together now. Hawkinites reunited, Hopper alive and well and nursing new plans.

"Hopper give those to you?" Christopher asks Will.

"How's that fair?" Eddie asks. "Family favouritism."

"I have to share them," Will says.

"Oh, well. Never mind. Accusation renounced."

The teens kidnap Eddie and run off to find sticks for marshmallow roasting. You turn to Steve with a smile that makes him feel worse rather than better, so subtly devoted.

"How's your arm?" you ask, leaning into his shoulder.

"Aches."

"Can I have a look?" you ask.

Steve offers his arm with no qualms. You fight to push back the sleeve of his coat and jacket. His wound is closed and healing nicely, but the infection must've been in his muscle or something because the ache won't go away. It feels as though he's done a hundred pull ups with one arm alone.

You don't touch anywhere near the site.

"I think it's looking better." You thumb over one of his little moles. "Pretty."

"You're pretty."

"You're prettier," you say, folding his sleeves down again with infinite care. He thinks you might be batting your lashes at him. That, or he's whipped to the point of delusion. "You feel okay, hm? You're mopey tonight. Do you want to go sleep?"

Steve shakes his head vehemently. "And miss marshmallows? No way."

You both notice that your question of mood went unanswered. Luckily for him, you dip down to rub your cheek against his sleeve. "Love you."

He loves you too. He says it under his breath, pressing his cheek to your head for as long as you're willing to stay there.

"Y/N-kins, Steven," Eddie says, returning with a handful of long branches covered in foliage. "I have a job for you."

You pull leaves off of the branches. It should be an easy job with the three of you sitting criss cross applesauce yanking the twigs naked excitedly, but you pull with too much enthusiasm and stab the meat of your thumb.

You hiss and look down. Your noise draws Eddie and Steve's attention in tandem, Eddie closest to the injured hand.

"Oh, shit," Eddie says, pulling his sleeve over his hand. He presses it to your skin as a surprisingly fat rivulet of blood springs and drips down to your wrist. "Here, don't get it on your clean coat."

Steve doesn't know why he does it. He isn't proud. But he thinks, That's my girl. Eddie's being friendly, and Steve knows that's all it is, but he can't stop himself from batting Eddie's hand away and moving in protectively.

"Cop a feel somewhere else, Munson," he bites.

"Steve!" you say, laughing.

Eddie rolls his eyes, sitting back in his spot with a laugh of his own. "Ridiculous. I wouldn't cop a feel ever 'cos I respect women–"

"Nice," you say.

"And if I were trying to flirt with her, Harrington, I'd definitely do it better. But as you both know my heart is promised to someone very important. I'm busy keeping the memory of metal alive, I don't have time for stealing girlfriends. Not that you're not worth stealing, Y/N."

Steve dabs your hand. You wink at Eddie playfully. "You keep her alive, Eddie. Are you gonna play some more rock songs for us tonight?"

"Duh."

"How do you manage to hurt yourself every single day?" Steve asks, distracted from the conversation by your cut. It can't be a quarter of an inch long but it's bleeding in a rush.

"See how it got faster when you came to save me?" you ask Steve. His heart drops, but you continue, "My heart gets faster when you're close. My blood pressure rises."

Steve tries not to show how pleased he feels at the compliment. You tap his elbow knowingly.

Steve assesses your cut. It stops bleeding just as soon as he leaves it alone and the kids arrive with their marshmallows, putting an end to Steve's makeshift medbay.

Someone puts a couple more logs on the fire to get it roaring now that night is creeping in. Steve insists on roasting a marshmallow for you.

"I have one working hand left," you protest.

"And knowing your luck, you'll burn it."

"I'd never control you like that," Eddie says, deadpan.

Steve stabs Eddie with a stick that's lightly smouldering at the tip. You tell Steve off, but when he presents you with a roasted marshmallow for eating you give him the world's greatest thank you kiss. Another after you've eaten it, your lips sticky with sugar.

"Do you want mine?" Steve asks.

You wrap your arm around his waist for a lopsided hug. "No. Don't ask me again though, I might say yes."

"Do you want mine? Seriously, honey–"

"I'll have it," Eddie says with a shit-eating smile, eyes trained on the fire where he toasts his own marshmallow.

You wave your hand at him. "No, you won't." You lift your chin to kiss his cheek. "It's yours. Don't let it burn, handsome."

Alright, Steve might have jumped the gun on the whole jealousy thing.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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saekkas · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: in a different universe, michael kaiser comes home to you, and every single hardship he's endured has meaning when you wrap your arms around him. in this one, he has only himself to blame for when his house becomes a shadow of the home he used to live in.

tags: f!reader, kissing, angst (minimal comfort), lovers to strangers, neglectance, second chances, fools gold.

wc: 1.8k

notes: inspired by an angsty ask @mirahua sent that's been plaguing my mind for the past week. also, my debut as an angst writer so pls go easy on me ಥ_ಥ and the tags kind of sort of don't make sense, forgive me for that </3

"i'm home," kaiser whispers, opening the door to his apartment only to click it shut a few seconds later, his eyes fighting to keep themselves open.

he leans against the door, taking in the wide space. everything's dark and still, there are no signs of life, as to be expected when one comes home at 4AM.

he sighs, passing by the books and empty mug you must've used earlier in the day. some of his stuff is cluttered around yours, like the small sanrio plushies he bought with you only months ago. they occupy the sofa along with your pillows, and he smiles sadly at the sight. where did the time go?

even with so many trinkets and things littered around, his house feels empty. lonely as if no one's lived in it for weeks and months. his steps falter as he enters the kitchen to find a portion of a home-cooked meal, sitting on his favorite plate. it's cold but it still glows with the warmth and love you prepared it with.

he sighs once more, rubbing his hand across his face. putting the meal into the fridge with shaky hands, kaiser's quick to drop onto one of the chairs.

he stops for a second, looking around his house, the place he's lived in for the past 3 years. something's changed within the space, like there's an object that doesn't belong between the four walls. deep in his heart, kaiser wonders if it's him.

fishing his phone from his pocket, he takes in the messages that start to trickle onto the screen. it's been on airplane mode the whole day, a habit he needs to break, you've once told him.

his thumb lingers above your contact.

scrolling through, his eyes take in every single text you've sent him dating from months back. he sees the way they started; love filled descriptions of your days mixed in with questions about his own. reading the text you've sent today, he feels a pang go through him at the lone message. good night. get home safe. nothing else.

his hand clenches around the table, sadness turning into guilt that spreads like a plague when he realizes he's barely replied back to any.

this has been his life for the last 9 months. he wakes up, leaves for practice, comes back sometime around dawn, only to repeat the next day. his muscles scream at him every second, his shoulders groaning under the weight of exhaustion. it's the price one has to pay for the fame and fortune, kaiser tells himself.

self-assured as he makes himself out to be, kaiser isn't stupid enough to leave things all to fate. he may be a star striker now, one that has everyone vying for his time and attention, but who knows what will come in the next few years.

there will always be new talent, people with incredible skills and the greed to propel them into stardom. into taking his place. he knows because he's seen it before. been it before.

as the clock sounds to signal a new hour, his vision starts to blur. everything is starting to feel foggy, his head pounding and body screaming at him for sleep. he can't quite grasp anything. not when there's a distance separating him and the world around him.

"mihya?" comes your voice, soft and slightly raspy. kaiser snaps back into focus, the ringing in his ears dulling into background noise. "you're home."

"hi, baby." you're swaying on your feet, one of his shirts around your body. he recognizes it to be one of his favorites and he almost chuckles at the sight if not for the lump that's appeared in his throat. "shouldn't you be asleep? did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did.'"

the first thing that comes to mind is how delicate you look. as if one wrong move, one wrong word is going to push you into a shell. he takes in everything about you, starting from the messiness of your hair to the slump of your shoulders.

he hasn't seen you. hasn't had the opportunity to breathe you in like he used to. those night when he traced every single one of your features, giggling loudly with you in the dead of the night seem so far away now.

he misses it, those moments you shared from who-knows how many nights ago.

when you rub the sleep out of your eyes, looking at him with a small smile, his trance breaks. he takes in the distance between you both, like a chasm that's gaping and mocking him because he was the one who let it widen this far.

"you didn't. i just needed to pee," you say, tone just barely above a whisper. there's something floating between you two, the things unsaid. you're afraid they'll come pouring out if you break the silence. "how was practice?"

kaiser realizes, even when you're right in front of him, your presence feels like a ghost. hesitant, locked up into a small ball of a person that's only being held together by hope and love, no matter how small.

"i'm sorry i didn't reply to your text." the words pour out of him like a waterfall, blunt and bruising. i'm sorry i haven't been with you. his eyes trace your form, and he sighs, moving to engulf you into his arms. "practice was.. busy."

please don't leave. please tell me that this is enough. that i'm enough.

"it's okay. i'm used to it." your tongue slips and you sigh as he wraps around you. it feels foreign, his touch. like he's not exactly the same person he used to be, but neither are you. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

kaiser can only clench his eyes. he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "i know, it's okay. and i'm sorry."

i'm sorry i haven't been there for you. i'm sorry i haven't taken you out on another date. i'm sorry that i'm selfish and all i know is to take and take. i'm sorry that it's leaving you hollow and bruised. i'm sorry my love isn't enough.

the thoughts swirl, pinging around like warning signals going off in his head. he opens his mouth, only to close it right after. "let's go to bed."

even when the softness of his duvet embraces him, kaiser can't relax. his body stays stiff, timid as he waits for you to settle beside him. when you do, he's slow to reach out, placing a hand on your hip to test the waters.

he relaxes when you mold into his form, curling around his body as if he's never done any wrong. he presses you hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

he doesn't get to hold you like this anymore. between practice and exhaustion, whenever his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. he misses the intimacy, the feeling of having someone beside him.

"do you think about me?" he hums, asking you the question. his hands nestle around your waist and back. he breaths in your scent, his body finally letting the coils of his muscles loose. "because it feels like i think about you every minute."

you respond in kind, caressing the hand that's nestled on your waist. you don't say anything. you don't need to, not when you let him kiss you for the first time in months.

"you know i love you right?" he whispers. there's nothing but him, him, him. you're surrounded by his presence, his touch is everywhere, and there's barely an inch between where you lay. his hair tickles your cheek, the faded blue molding into blonde. "and you know that i would never want to hurt you?"

you should know better. you wish your heart wouldn't give in so easily. you're nothing but an ordinary girl from humble backgrounds while the man wrapped around you is a shooting star that landed on your palm on a rainy summer day.

you should know better because shooting stars fade away.

"do you really?" you whisper, drained and tired out of your mind. "because you've done nothing but hurt me, mihya."

he isn't surprised by your words, but the truth stings all the same. he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. the weight is back on his shoulders, his head starting to spin as he takes your words in.

"i promise i'll be better," he whispers back, pleading as he looks down into your eyes with tears lined in his. "why don't i take you on a date tomorrow? to that place you've been wanting to go."

"mihya," you trail off, shaking your head. "i-"

"i'll buy you flowers. i'll come home from practice early. we'll drive to the restaurant together." michael kaiser is nothing but greedy. the words that are flowing out are rushed, and his voice cracks under his own emotions. he'll say anything. he'll take and take, if it means he'll get you to stay. "you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

you don't reply, not for a long time after. looking into his eyes, you process every bit of guilt and hope he has strewn inside. you wonder if they're enough to fix whatever's left.

"okay," you say with a hesitant nod of your head. "one last chance."

kaiser's eyes light up, brightening his whole visage.

"thank you." he kisses you, deep and passionate. there's nothing but you and him in the moment and as you fall asleep, kaiser whispers against your ear, placing gentle kisses on your cheek, wishing they'll be enough to take back every ounce of hurt he's given you. "i love you."

the next morning, kaiser leaves with a light heart and a kiss on his cheek. his steps are confident, his eyes bright. there's nothing in his head except for you and your date. he hums to himself, letting his thoughts roam about your reaction for when he surprises you with flowers when he gets home.

and yet, the universe is a cruel thing and so is his greed. kaiser loses himself in his practice, scoring goal after goal even as his phone rings. he doesn't see your texts of "mihya, don't forget our date tonight! can't wait!" "mihya, what should i wear? should we match?" "mihya it's getting late, where are you?" nor does he see the multiple missed calls you leave.

and when he gets home, soaked in rain with wilted flowers in his hand, kaiser is greeted by the sight of a truly empty house. your warm presence is gone, taking every moment of happiness with you.

he has only himself to blame for every single self-destructive habit that's led to him losing the one he calls home.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser x reader #blue lock angst #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser angst #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x female reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock headcanons #kaiser angst

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graceshouldwrite · 1 year ago

Text

How to Write Political Intrigue (with book recs)

POLITICAL INTRIGUE! Intrigue in general! What is it?

For the purposes of this post (as well as how it's usually used in the writing/reading community), think: scheming. Plotting. Conspiracies in the shadows, bids for power and survival, secret plans, masterful illusions, all of that stuff.

It could be on any scale that you'd like, from a duel of wits (think Light's and L's game of cat and mouse in Death Note)

...to a large-scale plot involving entire countries and their people (like any espionage networks during any major wars, such as the American Revolutionary War to World War II, and so many more)

...or even medium-sized conflicts (families, like in The Godfather, or smaller national disturbances like the Watergate scandal).

Below are 4 core tips on how you can successfully write (political) intrigue plots:

1. Read + Research

Despite how hard it may sound, it's actually pretty easy to craft a realistic yet thrilling intrigue plot—with so many examples in real life and fiction, you can easily base your plot on an existing one and just change a few things like the characters, setting, and maybe a few plot points.

History and current events are always great places to look to, but here are some books that are chock-full of great politics + intrigue:

Leviathan (Thomas Hobbes): one of the most famous treatises of politics + human nature and their intersection. The book is an in-depth exploration of human nature, government, politics, and all of the root causes of why they exist. While it does take a specific philosophical angle (you might not agree with Hobbes' ideas), they are detailed explanations of how things work + why they are required from one perspective.

48 Laws of Power (Robert Greene): GREAT BOOK for helping you plan out the means by which you want the intrigue to happen. There are lots of simplified rules that tell you why people plan and scheme (e.g. "control the options; get others to play the cards you deal," or "pose as a friend, work as a spy"). There are LOTS of really great small stories of when a rule is applied in real life that are also general plot inspo!

The Godfather (Mario Puzo): very very good, intricate, and more emotional because it deals with the intrigue surrounding families

Joseph Fouché: Portrait of a Politician (Stefan Zweig) (biography): Fouché is absolutely insane. A genius at political intrigue. His life is literally one of the craziest stories of scheming, betrayals, survival, and a general vying for power, especially behind the scenes.

The Prince (Machiavelli): obviously, I can't leave out the original tips + tricks book with explanations of WHY intrigue matters as a means, especially in terms of protecting your power.

Trust Me, I'm Lying (Ryan Holladay): a large part of intrigue plots (you need to cover up the actual game you're playing) is the manipulation of information, creating illusions and spectacles for other people to believe. This book goes in-depth about media manipulation and information wars.

Empire of Pain (Patrick Raden Keefe): takes a rather different angle, through the personal/corporate manipulation of government, as well as how wealth dynasties (especially within families) are established. Remember the opioid crisis? This book explores the generational politics of money and power that led up to that.

Prince of Thorns (Mark Lawrence): Look! Fiction! Anyway, I'm biased because it's one of my favourite works of fiction of all time, but it explores political intrigue not only through an actor participating in it, but through the lens of the common folk. I.e., the consequences all that power play has on the populace due to a lack of actual good governance...

A Song of Ice and Fire (George R. R. Martin): I haven't personally read/watched anything GoT, but it's pretty much obligatory to put this series down in a post about political intrigue. It's famous for doing it well.

2. Plan. Like, meticulously

First of all, decide what scale you want your intrigue to be on: large-scale government/international affairs type, a corporation thing, something between two people, or even within a family? There are so many possibilities.

Intrigue plots are like mysteries; they must be tightly logical to be satisfying. One of the best ways of ensuring this is through analyzing each involved party—the actors.

Each actor has their own motivations, goals, and psychologies. After you establish what they want OUT of their intrigue, think about how they'd go about achieving it: a naturally hot-headed person might try to intimidate their way into getting what they want, or they might learn through the course of the story to cool down a bit.

A naturally imaginative and analytical person might come up with all sorts of scarily genius plans, and near-flawless execution. Of course, they would also react in different ways, depending on personality. Character consistency alone will make your plot seem that much more logical.

However, cracks in logic will happen because humans are inherently imperfect and not always rational. These cracks must be DELIBERATE and realistic and must seem planned out; they can't seem more like the author forgot a detail, or didn't know how to explain something (e.g. something happened and the writer never included the consequence of it because they forgot). It must be clear that it is a flaw on the character's part.

3. Never write intrigue for the sake of the intrigue

The incentive of all scheming comes down to mainly two things: gaining power and keeping it. Of course, you could choose to explore more unusual things, such as characters exercising intrigue to satisfy boredom... (think Light and Ryuk from Death Note).

But, the bids for power, security, and survival can be used to highlight things about human nature. Themes to explore include ambition, sacrifice, the pursuit of happiness, the corruption of character, the preservation of innocence in a cruel system, etc.

4. Explore through a narrow lens

Most intrigue plots are full of complex motivations, characters, goals, and the means they use to achieve said goals.

You should gradually let your intrigue plot unfold through the POV of a few characters, preferably one or two. An omniscient narrator for this type of story is INCREDIBLY difficult to pull off without confusing the reader.

However, more POVs work if you use all of them to focus on ONE or a few intrigue plots only—it can provide a multi-layered effect, exploring the same line of action and consequence through different perspectives. But, if everyone has their own intrigue plot, it's too easy to create a tangled mess where readers can barely delineate one plot from the next.

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

Sorry for the massive hiatus—I have officially started college!! I've been pre-occupied with settling in, classes starting, a social life, extracurriculars etc. etc...life has been super busy, but great :)

I've started working on my books as well as poetry more recently, and I'm glad I'm getting into a new workflow/lifestyle. It certainly is different, but I'm starting to enjoy it.

Anyway, I'm surprised it took me this long to do a post about this topic, considering the fact that it's basically my writergram niche and my entire personality IRL, but I think it was mainly because I was trying to find a good angle to approach this massive topic. But, stay tuned for (probably) a part 2 because there's SO MUCH MORE to cover.

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated :)

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

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once-upon-an-animation · 8 months ago

Text

So over the past few weeks, I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a retelling of the OG series from Annabeth’s perspective.

I’m interested in doing this because though I loved the PJO when I was a child, as I grow older, I find myself craving more nuance from the stories and the characters than what’s already there on the page. I thought hopefully the show would fulfill me, but uhh….amazing character depth is not one of the things I’d call the show’s biggest strong suits, at least not for Annabeth.

Now, I’m aware of the “Daughter of Wisdom” series on AO3, a fanfic series that does the exact same thing. I read that fic years ago and enjoyed it; I thought at the time that the fic was well done. However, I have a lot of ideas for scenes and details that I don’t think really showed up in that fic series, and so I find myself craving to create the POV for Annabeth and certain aspects of CHB that I’ve always wanted to see. I also wanted to spend more time emphasizing emotions and growth for Annabeth in a fic like this, and actually have her challenge and address her pride, sort of like a “I’m overcoming my biggest flaw” journey. I want to write this series from a sympathetic yet honest perspective about Annabeth’s life and her traits…including the traits that are not so pretty.

And so I want input from y’all on what you think would be worth including in a fic like this, and if there’s anything from the OG books that I should change, twist, replace, remove, deepen, or add something new. Here’s a list I already have going:

- emphasis on Annabeth’s relationship with Chiron and how it develops

- more emphasis on Annabeth’s relationship with Grover and how they get along when Percy isn’t there. Do they talk about Percy? And what do they think of each other? Does Grover feel intimidated by Annabeth, or feel like maybe she’s not proud of him because he let her down with the Cyclops incident and Thalia getting killed? Maybe at the end of the quest in TLT, before Percy gets back from Olympus, Annabeth reassures Grover that he’s a great protector and that she doesn’t resent him at all.

- Annabeth’s view of Luke and how/why it becomes complicated; how Annabeth reconciles the objectively bad things Luke has done with her desire for his redemption

- an emphasis on Annabeth and Thalia’s relationship after Thalia returns. How has it changed, Thalia remarking on Annabeth’s growth and teasing her about her crush on Percy, Annabeth helping Thalia cope with the loss of Luke to the “dark side” and also helping Thalia cope with how much the world has changed in 5 years and how Thalia now feels so out of place, Thalia helping Annabeth cope with continuous family struggles

- an emphasis on Annabeth’s relationship with other Athena children. Do they like each other? Hate each other? Are they competitive, all vying for their mom’s attention? Do they share some of Annabeth’s struggles; were their mortal parents also unimpressed about receiving a child they didn’t plan for?

- Annabeth’s relationship with other kids at camp: namely Clarisse, Silena, Beckendorf, and the Stoll Brothers (no, I don’t ship Connabeth, btw). But I also want to flesh out Katie Gardner and Pollux/Castor too.

- a proper resolution to Annabeth’s family drama that yes, recognizes how Frederick had a baby sprung on him that he didnt consent to, and how Mrs. Chase had no idea how to take care of a kid with special needs, but a resolution that also validates Annabeth’s feelings and highlights the ways in which Mr. and Mrs. Chase messed up and failed her with their poor choices.

- a new interpretation of Luke’s “did you love me”question

- An on-page apology from Annabeth to Rachel

- Annabeth’s relationship with her little brothers and how they might still try to love each other in context of their family drama, and not repeat the sins of their parents (breaking generational curses!)

- more emphasis on Annabeth and Athena’s relationship, and how Annabeth evolves from thinking her mother is this image of perfection, to realizing that Athena is just as faulty as the other gods and goddesses, and that Annabeth has a strength over Athena in that Annabeth has a bigger sense of humanity, and can change and adapt when she’s not doing something well. Annabeth can evolve in ways Athena cannot.

Anything else?

#rick riordan #annabeth chase #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #percabeth #thalia grace #luke castellan #grover underwood #the lightning thief #anti annabeth chase #anti percabeth

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lemonhemlock · 3 months ago

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I think the thing that bothers me the most about Alicent’s betrayal of Aegon is that it’s essentially a mother giving up her disabled son to death so she can be ‘free’.

I have a few disabled family members, and have unfortunately heard people say to their parents to just put them in a care home so they (the parents) can ‘have their lives back’. I don’t think Condal/Hess meant for that meaning, and perhaps I’m being too sensitive, but it infuriated me because there is already so much ableism in this show (that they’ve made worse from the books in some cases), and this was I think my final straw to keep watching this show.

No, you're right, on a human level, if Alicent Hightower were a real person, we should be appalled if she acted the way she did in Season 2. This is a sensitive subject that this gaggle of writers isn't really interested in tackling properly, so I hope these blunders don't stick in your mind for too long. You decision to abandon it is completely understandable.

One indication that they are out of their depth is how they never stopped to think how it would look to eliminate the sympathy or understanding from the side who basically has all the disabled characters and then paint them all as doomed because they were not 'progressive' enough.* Another indication is how they practically pigeonholed the character of Helaena into a very stock autistic-coded box and did not bother to give her any interiority or motivations or present her in any way that doesn't infantilise this almost-20-year-old young woman. Aemond, of course, was sidelined this season after a very successful introduction in S1 that advanced him more than a cartoon mustache-twirling villain. Much has been written about Larys even before S2 aired, so I won't revisit that discourse right now, as this post is already too long.

*not meant as a dig against progressive politics, but as a comment on how HotD views progressive to mean 'stan of Rhaenyra', who is not a disruptor of the patriarchal status-quo by any quantifiable means.

A delicate topic such as this one is always going to split opinion and cause controversy and I think that sometimes a lot of feelings can be hurt by untactful takes and can cause many minority, underrepresented groups to feel even more unseen and disenfranchised. I personally hope I can convey my thoughts on the matter in a way that doesn't alienate the members of these groups, but sometimes even I lack the best words to properly express myself.

I would like to point out that, on the one hand, in the ASOIAF universe and especially in such a chapter like the Dance of the Dragons, the characters are often very flawed people that flirt with the boundaries of villainy more often than not and end up performing unforgivable acts, be they disabled or not, high born or not, men or women. At this point, such a statement reads more self-evident than not. In this regard, there have been times I've found fans who were exasperated with other segments of the fandom vying for more positive representation when it comes to these oft-ignored character typologies, citing the fact that, on the contrary, endowing them with negative or unpalatable traits emphasizes their humanity and promotes them beyond a stereotypical rendition that can easily be absorbed into some kind of artificial, formulaic 'woke' quota in media.

However, I think we should remember that for people who are part of these minority groups, whose lived experiences are marred by discrimination and harmful prejudices, these narrative arguments can (even unintentionally) feel callous or exclusionary. It not easy or encouraging to see how you are almost always represented on screen in a way that is reprehensible or ignoble or detrimental in some way - that is, in the few cases when the text in question is inclusive enough to even remember you exist.

In such a context, I have to recognise and acknowledge that, as a white / cis / able-bodied person myself, it is way easier for me to simply rely on narrative merit, because I am represented so much in media that I have the luxury of many stories catered personally for me, both heroic and villainous, and I can simply choose what to engage with if relatability becomes a problem. And it would feel inhospitable and condescending for me to simply expect the members of underrepresented groups to 'get over it' because it makes sense in the context of the story.

A while ago there was a viral post that I keep referencing back in these situations because I think it's the best explanation for this type of divide: the watsonian / doylist interaction of critiques. As such, disenfranchised characters can be portrayed in an unsympathetic manner within any story, but, at the same, the real-life individuals from that group have the right to feel estranged and frustrated by that portrayal, because they don't consume media in a void and, for them, it isn't a hypothetical situation that they can subordinate to the priorities of storytelling. They should also have the space to express that discontent within fandom without having to be involuntarily accused of wanting to moralize or sanitize the media landscape. I think that we should start accepting that both things can be true and integrate that sentiment within our analyses.

That being said, since Alicent is not a real person, in the second part of this post I would like to dismantle the potential argument regarding the right to tell stories about awful people and how a woman being a bad mother or a bad person fits that bill. As I said, in principle, I agree with the sentiment. But I don't believe that the writers were at all successful in pulling this off. Their storytelling skills have proved inadequate and they were unable to craft a believable arc for Alicent to justify her so drastically shifting her entire world view in a few short weeks. And, by 'believable' I absolutely don't mean something naturalistic in the framework of the 21st century on Earth where dragons and magic don't exist; I mean plausible and reasonable behaviour for a human person in the confines of the fictional universe in which they operate.

I'm all for villainstanning and difficult female characters, but this season should have taken Alicent from

point A: doing everything in her power to put Aegon on the throne and even shielding his body from the dragon Meleys

point B: offering him to Rhaenyra for execution

in the span of weeks.

This season should have given her a proper motivation to basically hand over her male children to the person married to the assassin of her grandson. If nothing else, Alicent should have demanded Daemon's head. Speaking of which, there is no way to delve into Alicent's psyche, into the mind of a person in her position, after years of paranoia about a loose-cannon like Daemon (a notoriously disliked figure in Westeros), and arrive at the conclusion that, yes, Daemon as King consort would somehow be a better solution for the realm than any of her sons. It's just not. Even with rhaenicent rose-tinted glasses, he should have been a dealbreaker. This type of shortcoming makes me think that they can't truly immerse themselves in the mind of a character to properly gauge how someone could react to the events around them.

As such, let's see what disservices were done to Alicent this season that might have made her regret her initial decision. Let's see what the writers think would be reason enough for Alicent to switch sides and undo 20 years of wanting to place Aegon on the throne:

?????

2. Aemond burns Aegon

3. Aemond boots her from the council

4. Smallfolk suffering & revolts

5. Assassination attempt of Rhaenyra

6. Otto booted from the Council

7. she takes a few baths

8. goes camping

9. ??????

10. Dragonseeds

11. Aemond burns Sharp Point (?)

12. Aemond may endanger Helaena

Now let's see the plotholes in Alicent's thinking:

Most of these concern Aemond. Aegon, Criston, Otto, Gwayne and Daeron haven't committed any grievous sin against her that should be punished, yet, by conspiring with Rhaenyra, she would doom them all to their deaths. Even if Alicent is shown to have a complicated relationship with the first four, she has no reason against her 'nice' son Daeron and her brother Gwayne who was deferential and sympathetic to her. Now there is no way to make Queen Alicent Hightower "kind of forget" about Daeron and Gwayne or her Hightower uncle or cousins and not consider they would have to be executed by Rhaenyra/Daemon. If you have to suddenly make a character stupid or amnesic in order to fit your plot point, then it's not a good plot point. And Alicent has never before shown to be either stupid or amnesic. On the contrary, she is an anxious person who worries about everything.

Of course, one can argue Otto has manipulated her throughout her life and she could have reasonably developed feelings of animosity towards him, but he doesn't really factor in show!Alicent's decision at all. She isn't depicted to be thinking about him or to bring him up in any capacity after he leaves for Oldtown. Thus, we can't reasonably be expected to 'fill in the blanks' that Alicent is upset because of something Otto did.

She does not verbalise any opinion about Aegon & Criston sending Ser Arryk to assassinate Rhaenyra. At the end of that same episode, she is shown to slap Criston. But is that because he tried to assassinate Rhaenyra? Is it because Otto was booted from the Council and Criston became the new Hand? Is it because she told him they're not going to have sex anymore and he still came to her chambers? We don't know. They proceed to have another consensual sex scene. Later on, Alicent seems pissed because Criston is not telling her the truth about Rook's Rest. They part on OK terms, even though she is seen to be a little cold, but she does give him her favour. Is she even pissed at Criston? We don't know. Could she possibly be pissed enough at him that she would doom him to his death? No, I don't think that's reasonable to assume based on what we've seen. Show, don't tell. Golden rule of storytelling. In this case, neither did they show, nor did they tell.

I hesitate to assign Alicent any particular concern for the well-being of the smallfolk beyond a general sentiment to reduce bloodshed and not cause suffering on a grand scale. But individually? She is portrayed in Season 1 wanting to help Dyana and being affected by her situation. She tries to stop the guards from cutting off a man's hand during the riots, that is true. But she also allowed Larys to basically torture / execute her household staff without nary a thought. So which is it?

Coming back to Aemond. He remains the main point of contention. I am going to ignore his cartoonification this season, but, let us accept, for the sake of the argument, that Alicent did not realise how unstable he is and that now she regrets facilitating a situation in which he has so much power. If she has the power to make the guards surrender, like she tells Rhaenyra, then she is not as powerless as she laments, is she not? Then she could possibly even stage a coup against Aemond and arrest him. The fact that Aegon did not do so the minute he became conscious is another plothole. Aemond is one man with no network or friends because of his anti-social and anti-politics behaviour. He has a dragon but his access to her is restricted if he needs to ride a horse for several miles outside of the city to get to her. When he is inside the castle, as skilled a warrior as he is, he is still only one man. Him still being Prince Regent after Aegon wakes up is preposterous.

Larys does bring up the fact that without Vhagar, the greens are terribly outmatched at the moment when it comes to dragon warfare. That is true. But, if Aemond is a loose cannon who is threatening the life of the King and Queen, he cannot stay un-arrested. There's no reason they couldn't have kept it hushed for a while to buy some more time either. If Alicent is so sorry for what Aegon went through, she could have sued for peace after Aemond's ass was in a jailcell. But she makes no attempt to protect him from his supposed assassin. Her being overwhelmed with Rhaenyra's dragon superiority after Vhagar is out of commission would make more sense as a motivation for the second rhaenicent scene, it would give her more agency and not need her to abandon Aegon and the rest of her family all of a sudden.

But Aemond can't suddenly be removed from the narrative like that, because he has a part to play later on. Of course, in the books, there's not a lot to cling to when it comes to regicide. The narrator makes no such claim, nor is anyone else recorded to do so. Alicent is not upset with Aemond. Aemond doesn't attempt to kill Aegon during his long convalescence. You can argue it's not clear cut because Vhagar fell upon both Sunfyre and Meleys from above, but all three of them are reported to crash into the ground. Vhagar is old and slow, there is no certainty that she could have been sprightly enough to stop just in time so as to not crash fatally. It is not impossible to read this excerpt and think that Aemond may have tried to rid himself of his brother under the guise of battle. It is also equally possible to read Aemond's actions as a rash, dangerous move that could have ended in his death as well. It is self-preservation to let Sunfyre and Meleys kill each other. It is not self-preservation to rely on Vhagar's agility to save your life at the last moment. However, whichever way a screenwriter would like to go, Alicent can't suspect that Aemond tried to kill his brother or that he would place her beloved daughter in danger, because she would then act differently! This is another example of changing elements for the sake of changing them and not allowing the natural consequences of those changes to materialize because they would modify the sequence of events too much.

Like Rhaenyra in the sept scene, Alicent seems to be the worst negotiator ever. She doesn't get one concession from Rhaenyra when she goes to Dragonstone. Is that fair and unbiased storytelling? Helaena and Jaehaera's lives were never truly at stake, since they are girls and could always be married back into the black branch of the family. Why execute them when they could become useful? Alicent should know this, yet they need her again to be stupid and forgetful because she went to a live laugh love retreat in the woods. There is no attempt to truly settle this diplomatically. The scene is just a new pretext to humiliate Alicent and have her grovel at Rhaenyra's feet.

Below I am going to dismantle the narrative decisions regarding the dragonseeds.

Bear in mind that if we are to have 4 seasons of this story, then the sides must remain balanced for quite some time. Someone should tell the writers that biases and preferences are irrelevant because if the force differences become too great, the war ends and there will be no story left to milk.

The unavoidable truth of the matter is that the writers overpowered the blacks too much at this stage and this decision ended up massively affecting the plot. As it stands, the dragon parity at the end of the season became 2:7 - Vhagar & Tessarion vs Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Moondancer, Seasmoke, Vermithor & Silverwing. Out of these, Syrax was never truly considered a potential threat in battle. She is notoriously useless, does not hunt and does not fly in bad weather. Baela also rode Moondancer a grand total of one time at the end of the conflict and was never counted as a force during the war. They made Rhaenyra and Baela active dragonriders, but they refuse to do the same for Helaena to balance the forces a little bit more (Dreamfyre is a very large dragon, probably on par with Silverwing and a little smaller than Vermithor).

The book parity at this point was still unbalanced, but at the very least GRRM realised that and tried to mitigate it by moving the Battle of the Gullet close to the Sowing and making Ulf and Hugh betray Rhaenyra's side. Book!Alicent doesn't have to sue for peace because the greens get a fighting chance. I still think the Dance in the books suffers greatly from non-sensical military strategies and division of resources, but it surpasses the show with flying colours.

Let us return, however, to show!Alicent's POV. For a fictional universe famous for its amount of politicking, there is little to none in this adaptation. The writers are trying to sell us the idea that Alicent has to give up her disabled son for the good of the Realm or, like anon said, to "be free". Authorial intent is unclear on this point, but there is at least the germination of the idea that Alicent is "sacrificing" something - her family, her own ambitions etc - because she is desperate and there are no other options open to her. But is that true?

If the writers refuse to make Helaena a combatant because of reasons only they understand, even if they have no problem performing ~girlboss changes like that for TB (yes, I'm bitter about it), they could have at least given the greens the upper hand in politicking. But they don't because I'm not really sure they understand the universe they write for or posses that level of imagination. Why don't they have, say, spies in the Vale that report Aegon the Younger and his brother Viserys are on their way to Pentos as we speak? Alicent could have been shown to plot for them to be intercepted with the help of the Triarchy secured by Tyland.

Why doesn't she try to find out who these dragonseeds are. Can they be bribed? Do they have weaknesses? Ulf has a wife, no? Is there some way to use their friends and family against them and make them turn sides? Does Vaemond Velaryon not have any disgruntled relatives that have a bone to pick with Rhaenyra & Corlys and would be appalled by the decision to make Addam the heir to Driftmark? (in the books he did and they actually fought for the green side). Can they not try to assassinate one of Addam, Corlys, Seasmoke or Rhaenyra?

Alicent being involved in any of these plots would have been a more satisfying progression to her story that would have allowed her to remain relevant and maintain her screen time. Even her having a little more dignity and attempting genuine peace talks would have been more believable if she at least stuck to her guns when it comes to her family's lives, especially the son she herself placed on the throne and the one who turned out gentle and kind and has not wronged her in any way. But, of course, the show in that moment pretends yet again that Daeron doesn't exist and any other points of contention (like Gwayne and Jaehaerys) are swept under the rug because it would dismantle Rhaenyra's righteous stance. So Aegon is presented as this sacrificial lamb that Alicent must relinquish as the only way forward.

Even though the show has not established any substantial reason for Alicent to object to any tangible decision Aegon has made as king, even though she is specifically shown to regret what happened to him, even though she made no efforts via political maneuvering to mitigate Rhaenyra's advantages and even though it would have been more merciful for her to give Aegon a painless death via milk of the poppy. Instead of being an ambitious and shrewd politician, she is given a nebulous motivation of "finding herself" and discovering feminism, which apparently means her disabled son must be subjected to even more humiliation and pain. It is a very unfortunate framing because the scene invites you to think that Alicent is finally seeing reason and is trying to atone for her mistake of not stanning for Rhaenyra. Yes, Aegon is also portrayed as downtrodden and not deserving of more violence, but Rhaenyra is also not portrayed as being "wrong" to demand for Aegon's head? She is shown in soft lighting, soft-spoken, with tears in her eyes, hurt, wronged and Alicent doesn't argue back. Their parting words are bittersweet and yearning.

How can you make Alicent a selfish character overnight when you have spent so much time painting her the exact opposite and you don't even give her plausible motivations or any breaking point? She doesn't even do anything to try and gain power back for herself, change the things she doesn't like or counteract Rhaenyra's moves before she goes to Dragonstone. Her one attempt is proposing herself for the regency and it's supposed to be this grand moment of her realizing misogyny is real, even though that has been the case her entire life and, as a stand-in for her husband and a Council member, she would have encountered it often as a daily routine when trying to get anything done.

Ergo, I do have to ask again: how does Alicent get from point A to point B exactly?

#ask #anon #storytelling #alicent hightower #long post

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moonspirit · 2 months ago

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Hello Moon,

Something you mentioned yesterday that I want to expand on: Dad Armin is a massive shutterbug; he gets his hand on a camera and becomes obsessed with capturing every moment in his family lives,

Some of the Armin and Annie's favorite photos are

Pictures where Annie is doing her exercise routine with the baby in a baby carrier slung to her chest (Mommy-Baby exercise time, he calls it)

Armin is sitting next to his child’s crib, reading a book about the ocean (taken by Annie)

The baby wearing a small cravat sitting in Granpa Levi’s lap, the baby with a big smile, and Levi with his usual stoneface (Armin swears he can see a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth)

Connie making funny faces while the baby laughs historically (Connie has a new face for them every week, and it always gets a laugh)

A disgusted Jean passes the baby off to Armin as stream of baby vomit runs down his new shirt (again, Annie took this one; she refuses to get rid of it, much to Jean’s chagrin)

A confused Reiner, holding a very grouchy-looking baby. The baby has their arms crossed and gives a face very similar to their mother's. (Annie had never been more proud of her child)

Pieck is wrapped in a massive blanket cocoon with the baby sleeping peacefully on top of her (Works every time she says)

Finally, a massive photo of the whole family clustered around the baby during the child’s first birthday, with the now one-year-old baby in the center(cake smeared on its adorable little face)

Of course, there would be entire volumes of photo albums, but these are particular favorites of Armin and Annie.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THESE ARE SOOOO SOOOOOOOO SOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUTE!!!!!

I love these shots so much oh GOD they're ADORABLE T///////T Allow me to add a few more:

A candid shot of Armin and Annie standing on the beach as the tides sweep in, his trousers and her skirt hitched up, holding their child as water sprays over them, windblown and laughing away.

A secret shot of Annie and the baby (slightly older) pilfering the pantry or refrigerator in the middle of the night.

An adorable shot of Armin in his suit grinning proudly with butterfly clips and tiny braids done all over his hair, courtesy of his daughter's brilliant hair-dressing talent.

A sweet and soft shot of Annie and the baby sleeping as the late afternoon sunlight washes over them, their pet kitty or doggy also curled up next to them.

The Ambassadors on an overseas trip ft. Aruani child! So many proud uncles vying to hold the little girl's hand and take her on a small jaunt around the new city T/////T

Pieck and the child in the middle of nefarious and illegal activities - a super candid secretive shot of the two absolutely up to no good :3

Falco and Gabi being the SUPER PROUD niece and nephew and giggling over no longer being the youngest in the bunch.

A candid shot of Levi watching Aruani baby sleep T^T

Aruani child's very first day at school - a crybaby in her uniform!

#weohweghweguiwegjwegiuweg #askies #mercutiothedestroyer #aruani #armin arlert #attack on titan #annie leonhart #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aruannie #aot #armin x annie

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scribbling-dragon · 1 year ago

Text

you've got two lives down and one life left

summary:

“They're also headed over here,” Cleo says. He can hear the frown in her voice. “You're still yellow, meaning you're still target number one. They're all going to be vying for your time.” “Yeah, yeah,” he waves her concern off. “I know.” He pulls himself off the bed, trying not to wince too much at the aching in his chest. “Are they on their way yet?” “Joel’s just pulled himself out the water,” Martyn tells him.

(ao3 link)

(6,604 words)

[hey hey hey! the fishfucker series makes a grand return! this is the first of two final installments in this series,, there are some references to earlier fics in the series, so if you haven't read those there may be a little confusion, but other than that, just think: scott is a mer than works on (slightly modified) h2o: just add water mechanics. hope you enjoy! and remember- reblogs are ALWAYS super appreciated <;33]

He shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of the disorientation that comes with a sudden death. Several faces peer at him from above, all of which shift backwards when he starts to sit up. Scar looks a little guilty, but overall pleased with himself. Scott would, personally, be a little annoyed if he didn’t look pleased with himself after gaining another thirty minutes to his timer.

“Was I right?” He asks, more occupied with finding out whether his hunch was correct or not. He can continue to regain his bearings over the next few moments.

“Yeah,” Martyn’s stood towards the edge of the hill, peering out towards their island with a spyglass. He lowers it from his eye and glances back. “They're looking around right now, all confused.”

“What did I tell you,” he grins. So sue him, he’s pleased with himself for reading the bad boys like a book; not that it’s a hard thing to do in general, they're each an open book with their motivations easy to pick apart and determine, with enough time and effort.

“They're also headed over here,” Cleo says. He can hear the frown in her voice. “You're still yellow, meaning you're still target number one. They're all going to be vying for your time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her concern off. “I know.” He pulls himself off the bed, trying not to wince too much at the aching in his chest. Scar certainly doesn’t pull his punches, but the slight desperation in gaining time only put more force behind his blows. His chest feels as though it might cave in with too hurried a movement. “Are they on their way yet?”

“Joel’s just pulled himself out the water,” Martyn tells him, “looking rather like a disgruntled dog- oh, yeah, look. He’s shaking himself off like one, too. Grian just hit him for that. I think. Oh man!” Martyn breaks off into a laugh, “Timmy looks even worse- look, Cleo, he’s like a drowned bird.”

Cleo hums. “It reduces the intimidation factor quite significantly.”

“From what?” Scott manages to get himself completely upright, joining Cleo and Martyn in their watching of the bad boys (still a stupid nickname). “Zero into the negatives?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Martyn bumps his hip against Scott’s. “You don't need to be so mean to them, they're trying their best, you know. Look at them.”

“Joel just tripped over nothing,” Cleo announces. “And the other two are laughing at him.”

Scott looks back to the trio in time to watch Joel throw his hands up in frustration and walk away, forging a path ahead of the other two. Grian and Jimmy continue to laugh, though they're too far away for Scott to hear anything.

He’s smiling, amused at the small performance, when Joel glances up. He’s in a patch of the forest that has fewer trees, meaning they make eye contact near immediately. This is apparently enough to make him forgive his fellow teammates for their earlier transgressions, as he immediately turns back to yell at them.

“You know,” he takes a step back from the edge of the hill, “I do believe that’s my cue to do a disappearing act.”

“Have fun.” Cleo tells him, still watching the bad boys with something resembling amusement.

“Stay safe,” Martyn tells him, halfway turning away from the view. “And good luck.”

“Thank you, dear,” he blows a kiss towards Martyn, only beginning to back up more rapidly as he hears the sound of shouting approaching quicker and quicker. He scrambles around the side of the Clock Tower, a plan already quickly forming in his mind.

He digs his fingers into the cobble, lengthened nails aiding in his ascent. He makes it to the first of several ledges, pulling himself over the edge and tucking his legs a little closer. The sound of shouting has lessened, but people are still speaking below.

He inches around the edge, one hand pressed against the side of the tower for stability, ears pricked to listen to the conversation happening just below him.

“Oh, I think he went that way,” Cleo points over the hills, past where the bad boys’ base is. They're lying through their teeth right now, but the trio don't seem to pick up on those cues. As a group, they glance over at where they're pointing. Scott leans back against the wall behind him slightly, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. “He started running as soon as you guys did, so you're gonna have to be quick to catch up with him.”

“And how do we know you're not lying?” Joel crosses his arms, sunglasses slipping a little lower on his face with the sudden movement. He doesn’t push them back up, because that would mean uncrossing his arms and then crossing them again once he’s adjusted his sunglasses. “He’s your ally, you could be defending him. He could be here right now, and you might be lying.”

“And if you found that out, you’d kill us.” Martyn shrugs.

Scott slowly chips away at the block behind him, aware of how exposed his current position is but far too curious to hide himself somewhere safer.

“And he went that way?” Grian asks, tipping his head in the direction Cleo pointed in.

“Yes.” Cleo says. “He might have veered off elsewhere afterwards, but he headed that way.”

“He might’ve gone back to our island,” Martyn muses. “Regather supplies, y’know?”

“As if,” Joel scoffs, hefting his axe over one shoulder and begins walking away. Jimmy stays for a moment longer, eyes squinting at the small group of gathered people. His wings are puffed up behind him, making him look like an angry cat.

Jimmy follows after a moment too, and Scott watches, alongside his allies, as they descend the hill again, set on the path of a wild goose chase.

He slips down the tower after a few minutes of silence, bracing himself before dropping the last few feet. It sends a slight shock through his legs, jarring his ankles with a sharp sting.

“How would you feel about checking on our base? Joel seemed pretty confident that you I wasn’t going back there.”

“Probably because everything’s destroyed,” Martyn sighs. “We both saw him coming out of our little hidey-hole.”

Scott grimaces at the thought of what destruction Joel might have wrought on their base. Any number of traps could have been set up there in preparation for his own inevitable death. He’s only lucky that he decided to tether his spawn to the bed in the Clock Tower rather than gambling with his luck and losing a larger chunk of time.

“Well,” he starts, “I'm sure it’s nothing a little carpet won’t be able to cover up.”

=== === ===

“Woah!” He veers out the way, watching as the firework explodes into a shower of sparks and fire. The heat of it licks dangerously close to his skin, sending heat washing over him in waves. He stumbles to a stop, dirt crumbling beneath his feet as he halts.

The ground below looms, warning of the fate that awaits him if he overbalances.

Another firework shoots past his head, whistling as it misses.

“You missed!” He calls back, unable to refuse a taunt even if it’ll only anger his pursuers more. A wordless shout follows behind him, frustration bleeding into it. “You’ll have to do a little better than that to hit me!”

He glances up with a grin, only slightly out of breath. He’d barely reached the top platform after hauling himself up the ladder before they were on him, relentless in their pursuit, chasing him down like a pack of rabid animals.

Etho looks up from where he’s reloading his crossbow, face unreadable. “I'm sorry Scott, it’s gotta be you!”

“Why’s it gotta be me?” He calls back, backing up a few more steps. He hides a hand behind his back, summoning an ender pearl to hand. It settles comfortably in his palm, the cold weight of it familiar as he readies himself to fling it as far as possible.

“’Cause you’ve got the most!” Etho’s footsteps are heavy behind him, the sound of another firework exploding beside his ear deafening. He turns to glance over his shoulder, finding Etho far closer than he first thought.

He flings the ender pearl in a panic, watching as it hurtles out of sight.

Etho reaches out for him, going to grab onto him – any part of him – and teleport with him. Scott ducks out of the way, elbowing Etho in the gut as he drops himself off the side of the rickety bridge. Etho makes a punched-out noise as all the air is forced from his lungs, his hands loosening their already loose grip on him.

He plunges off the side easily after that, a fuzzy feeling already beginning to surround his limbs. Etho frowns down at him from above, lining up his crossbow for a final shot.

Said shot never hits, as the ground surges up around Scott, a purple tint overtaking his entire field of vision for a few moments. He stumbles, knees threatening to buckle from the impact. He continues running in spite of it.

His mind runs through several scenarios, each of them being discarded one after the other, as he scrambles for some kind of escape plan.

He could escape into the water, but that move is now a predictable one, and there are very few rivers deep enough that he could leave the ocean if necessary. And the ocean itself may be deep, but it’s a small area that he can do little with if he’s pursued there.

To retreat deeper into the forest would only place him closer to the bad boys and their bases, placing him directly in the line of sight of another group that wants him dead.

There’s potential in escaping to the Clockers. But their base is close to TIES’, and he’d feel endlessly guilty if he brought conflict to Cleo’s doorstep in an effort to escape the inevitable.

As he’s grasping for another idea, he almost runs directly into a low-hanging tree branch. He skids to a stop before he can collide with it, chest heaving with exertion as he glances around. Then back at the tree and its low-hanging branch. He could…

Decision made, he hauls himself up. The bark scrapes against his hands as he clambers up the tree, but he climbs it as quickly as possible while also doing his best to not shake the entire tree and give his position away.

It’s during moments like this that he almost wishes Martyn had come with him rather than scurrying off to wherever it is that he’s gone. He’d much rather have an ally beside him, one that can protect him and, in the truly dire moments, take the time rather than have an enemy gain the upper hand.

Scott whips his head around when he sees something glinting in a nearby tree, shoving his shield up just quickly enough to hear the thunk of an arrow embedding itself into it.

“Goddamnit,” is the whispered curse he hears, before Impulse is poking his head out. “How’d you see me?”

He swallows back the anxiety before he even dares speaking, only lowering his shield enough that he can peek over the edge of it. Impulse is still holding his bow, an arrow loosely notched. Scott knows full well how quickly that arrow could go from being loosely notched to embedded in his shoulder, and so he keeps the shield up.

“The sun reflected off your arrow,” he tells Impulse.

“Damn,” Impulse frowns. “I don't think there’s a way I can fix that.”

“You could just walk away?” Scott offers, “You're pretty close to eight hours, aren’t you? We’re at a similar time here Impulse. You kill me, you’ll just be switching our places – you’ll become the one with a target painted on your back.” A branch snaps on the forest floor below, quiet enough that it could easily be a curious animal poking around in the shrubbery below. “Or, I guess you could just let Etho carry out his sneak attack.”

He knows he’s hit gold the moment Impulse’s eyes widen, and the rustling of undergrowth turns into the snapping of twigs and small branches as Etho forces his way through the dense bushes to stand below the tree Scott perched himself in.

He…didn’t really think this through, actually. He’s cornered himself in this tree he sought as his sanctuary, leaving him trapped in a cage of his own making.

“Good afternoon,” he greets, nodding down at Etho. He doesn’t know what time it actually is. It could easily be early morning or late afternoon, and he wouldn’t have a single clue. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Uh-huh,” Etho ignores him, slotting a firework neatly into his crossbow and lighting the fuse. “Funny seeing you here, too, Scott.”

Scott shuffles back a little further on his branch, glancing down at the drop to the floor. Not terrible, but also not ideal. His shield catches against the fork of the tree branches that he wedged himself into. He sighs and yanks it back further, firmly wedging it into the wood before he drops.

The explosion of a firework rings in his ears, his ankles protesting the repeated abuse they’ve undergone today, sending small flares of pain up his legs with every step he takes.

Colourful sparks settle on the ground around him, residue from the previous shot.

Etho steps around the tree trunk, unperturbed, simply loading another firework into the crossbow. He hopes Etho runs out soon. He really hopes Etho runs out soon, actually.

“Nowhere to run now, Scott,” Etho says, eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile when he looks back up. He squints when he lines the crossbow up, following Scott easily, even as he takes staggering steps, trying to get Etho to shoot it early and give him enough time to duck out the way. “You’ve abandoned your shield, too. You're gonna be wishing for it back in a minute.”

“Yeah,” he laughs nervously, already wishing for his shield back. He started wishing for his shield back the moment he abandoned it in that tree.

He ducks as Etho releases the firework, rolling and hoping that it misses him. Even if it singes half his scales off, he doesn’t care anymore.

Somehow, perhaps with some divine intervention from above, the firework only catches the edge of his already torn jacket, setting a small fire that he puts out when rolling amongst the leaves.

He hops back to his feet, turning on his heel to continue run. The exhaustion dragging at his bones makes him a little slower than usual, a little more clumsy on his feet from the stress of constantly escaping and running and fleeing whoever’s decided that he’s easy pickings.

He chokes.

The feeling of something lodged in his throat brings him to a halt. A halt which almost ends with him keeled over on the forest floor as his legs abruptly weaken beneath him. he manages to avoid falling flat on his face by throwing a hand out to catch himself, the other flying to his neck.

The metal bolt from a crossbow is what greets him, when he ghosts his fingers over the skin of his neck. He can feel his gills fluttering, attempting to make up for the sudden lack of oxygen. But they're not designed for extracting oxygen from the air, not designed with that in mind at all.

His fingers come away wet with his own blood, glistening in the sparse few rays of sunlight that slice through the thick canopy of leaves above him.

A few beads of blood drop to the leaves below him, a slow pitter-patter, almost like rain, filling his ears.

“Aw, man,” he hears, despite his rapidly fading vision and hearing. “I wanted to get him. Now you're gonna be back to yellow.”

“I didn’t think it’d actually hit him! It was just meant to soften him up for you, make him a little easier to hit.”

“And what were you aiming for? His head?”

“I was aiming for his leg,” Impulse hisses. Leaves crackle underfoot nearby, but Scott doesn’t find it in himself to care. He’s already on his way out, there’s nothing more they can do to him.

“Wow,” Etho whistles. Blurry outlines appear in his peripheral vision, fading more by the second. “Your aim is terrible.”

=== === ===

Scott sighs. Again. For what feels like the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

His throat still feels weird, the new scar tissue raised and irritated. It’s only barely healed, just enough to make sure that he doesn’t start bleeding immediately upon re-entering the land of the living. Cleo grimaces at him from her seat as he runs his fingers carefully over his throat again.

“You better stop prodding at that,” she tells him. “You're going to give yourself an infection.”

“I'm not going to be sticking around long enough for an infection,” he tells her. “None of us are.”

Cleo snorts. “Might be true, but you don't need to say it.”

“Someone needs to.” He heaves himself out of his chair with a sigh. “Anyways, I'm off. Got some business to attend to.”

Cleo watches him go, one eyebrow raised. “You might not be everyone’s favourite punching bag anymore, but you're still one of the people with the highest time. You sure you wanna go alone?”

“I'm off to my death anyway,” he shrugs. An agreement is an agreement, and just because he’s died before he intended doesn’t mean he’s going to break his word. “No point in prolonging the inevitable. And they might think I'm attacking them if you come with me.”

Cleo makes a sound in the back of her throat. “Just remember that Martyn won’t be pleased if you're back in less than one piece.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pushes the door open with his foot, waving her off. “I’ll be back in a minute, just you wait.”

He doesn’t intend for this to take long, anyway. He’s got an agreement, and he’ll stick around long enough to uphold his end of the deal. Jimmy should be waiting for him in the agreed upon spot, and then he can decide how he wants to kill Scott. It’s out of his hands at that point.

The climb up the ladder is long and boring, the waterlogged mansion looming below, a dark splotch amongst the otherwise green forest. He pokes his head out into the main house, glancing around. He’s wary of Joel and Grian being the first to see him, and only emerges once he’s certain neither of them are waiting to pounce on him.

Unfortunately, he can’t see Jimmy either, poking around in all three of the little houses and just about ready to give up on this whole thing. He might dislike breaking his word, but there’s nothing he can do if the other person isn’t here either.

“Scott!” He jumps at the sound of his name, spinning around. Jimmy grins back at him from the top of the bread loaf house. His wings flutter behind him. Once upon a time, Scott might have been able to read the exact mood Jimmy is in from the fluttering of his wings, but now he can only guess that it’s something like excitement or anticipation.

“Jimmy,” he returns the greeting. “I almost thought you weren’t here.”

“Course I'm here,” Jimmy scoffs, crossing his arms. Scott can’t see his eyes for the dark sunglasses covering them, but Jimmy is still smiling down at him. He’s managed to crack his sunglasses since Scott last saw him, running through an entire lens. “We’ve got a deal to complete.”

“That we have,” he spreads his arms out wide. “How is it you're choosing to kill me?”

Jimmy pauses. “You're gonna let me choose?”

“Makes it more fun for you that way, doesn’t it?” He cocks his head to the side, watching as Jimmy considers his options. “A little fun never hurt anyone.”

“Alright,” Jimmy shoots him a look he can’t read. Wearing sunglasses makes it infinitely harder to determine what it is that Jimmy’s thinking. He might have been grateful that Jimmy is the only one amongst his trio that knows how to wear sunglasses properly, but at least he can get a good read on Joel and Grian still. “Let’s head up, then.”

Scott glances upwards, towards the ladder leading onwards and upwards. The same ladder that has claimed several lives in recent days…hours? He’s still not sure how time passes here, several days disappearing in front of them, yet only a few hours ticking down on their timers.

“More ladders?” is what he settles on instead, “Really?”

“Good for building upper body strength,” Jimmy claims. “C’mon, you said I could choose. Up we go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, for the umpteenth time, and begins climbing the ladder. “You could just shove me off here and have it done with. Doesn’t seem like there’s much point in climbing only to drop back down.”

“You're sure doing a lot of complaining for someone that told me to pick how I get to kill you.”

“I'm a complainer,” he glances down at Jimmy. “You know this. I do things, I complain, and that’s how all of this works.”

“I’d like it if you complained less,” Jimmy tells him. “As the person deciding your death.”

“Uh-huh,” he turns to continue climbing, only to balk at the arrow that goes flying past his nose. He looks up further, finding Joel and Grian, each holding a crossbow and peering down the small gap at him. Joel looks as though his birthday has come early, positively giddy at the thought that he might be able to kill Scott. Grian just looks annoyed.

“Excuse me,” he frowns. “This is Jimmy’s kill.” Something else falls past him as he speaks, and he presses himself closer to the ladder, before turning to glare back up at Joel. His fins, a new addition since his most recent death, press flat against the side of his head in annoyance.

“They just tried to dri- drop dripstone on you,” Jimmy tells him.

“Did you just try and steal Jimmy’s kill?” He pauses in his ascent again, looking up at Joel properly. The man is giggling, far too excited at the prospect as he stares down at Scott.

“Yeah.”

“Joel,” he frowns, continuing to climb and pulling himself out at the top. He pokes Joel in the chest, right in the middle of his chestplate. “You're gonna steal time from someone on thirty minutes?”

“Thirty-five,” Jimmy corrects.

“You're gonna steal time from someone on thirty-five minutes?” he repeats.

“He was on seven minutes earlier,” Joel tells him. He’s still grinning, but it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes in the same way it had just a few seconds ago, when the idea of killing him had still been on the table. Joel pushes his sunglasses up a little higher when he sees Scott watching him.

“That’s why I'm here,” he plants his hands on his hips. “I told Jimmy he could kill me however he wanted, and he wants to shove me off of here.”

“Oh, really?” Joel’s eyebrows rise over the edge of his sunglasses, and he looks between Jimmy and Scott. “Please, do continue. Can I watch?”

Scott sighs. “Sure, yeah. Let’s make it a public spectacle, shall we?”

“Nah,” Joel pushes him between the shoulder blades, urging him onwards and into the wheat fields they’ve got growing up here. “Let’s get going, I wanna see this now.”

The wheat brushes around his ankles and up his legs, tickling the exposed skin as they make the trek across the wheat fields. Scott does his best not to trample the crops, even with the heavy press of a crossbow against his spine and his impending death looming ever closer.

Grian mutters something to Joel that makes both of them laugh.

He doesn’t blame them for getting giddy over the idea of someone offering themselves up for death – to reach this point in the game and not begin to become excited at the idea of spilling blood is more unusual – but he’d much prefer it if they giggled about it somewhere he can’t hear them.

The fields of wheat slowly turn to churned-up dirt underfoot as they approach the far edges of the platform. He can feel the give of the dirt beneath his feet, worrying for a moment that it might give out beneath him before Jimmy can shove him off the end.

Smaller branches spiral off of the end, spiderwebbing across the entire server, overlaying Skynet. He winces at the memory of how much destruction these pathways have wrought, still feeling a flicker of fire under his skin at the memory of explosions too close and sudden to survive.

Jimmy leads him out onto one of these branches, Joel and Grian hanging back.

The dirt sinks beneath his feet now, truly unstable and threatening to leave them to plummet at any second. Jimmy sticks closer to the main chunk, readying his crossbow with twitching hands. Scott would almost say he looks guilty, fussing over a crossbow that has been loaded and ready to shoot for the past few minutes.

He feels his heel dip into open air as he backs himself up to the very edge of the platform, resisting the natural urge to glance backwards and see how far away the ground is. Doing so will only cause the dread to build further, and he’s not sure he can withstand that right now, with Jimmy continuing to fuss over the most minute of details.

Scott watches as Jimmy nudges his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with his elbow, lining the crossbow up a moment later.

“Appreciate this,” he says, and shoots.

The impact of the hit is enough to send Scott tipping over the edge, shoulder smarting from the impact, fingers twitching. The other bad boys give a whooping cry, probably congratulating Jimmy on gaining himself a little more time.

He twists himself around midair, only to regret it a moment later as the ground surges up to greet him.

He doesn’t feel the impact, thankfully, nerves numbing and senses dulling as he shoots back up. He presses a hand to his chest, attempting to get his ragged breath under control. The feeling of air in his lungs, even after only a few moments of breathlessness, is uncomfortable.

The void stretches wide around him, water lapping at his ankles and yet refusing to reclaim him. It does not return him to the land of the living yet, seemingly content to allow him to stew in the silence for longer.

First to fall.

He jerks at the sudden voice, lurching to his feet. The water laps at his ankles, the splashing loud in the silence left in wake of the echoing words. He has heard of Them speaking to others before, choosing to bestow warnings or wisdom upon those They deem as worthy.

He has never been greeted with anything but disapproving silence on the few occasions where he has been permitted entry to this void.

You believe your sacrifice can reverse the Curse?

He stiffens, turning to try and find the source of this voice. To find a source of the gaze weighing heavily upon his back. And yet his watchers remain unseen, cloaked in the darkness that surrounds him.

He is trapped. You cannot prevent the inevitable.

“There’s no harm in trying,” he tells the open air. The empty space around him. He flexes his hands at his sides, wishing for some kind of weapon to fill the empty space there. “Every curse has a cure. That’s how things work.”

Not this one. Your efforts are foolish and misguided, your sacrifice will be in vain.

“Maybe I don't care, then.” He crosses his arms, “Have you ever considered that your shitty games are pointless? That they don't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. We’re gone for a day, maybe two. No-one misses us; we slot back in as easily as if we’d never been here at all. What’s the point when you can’t even make a lasting impression?”

That is what you think, the voices almost sound offended. A mere insect believes that when a tree shakes, it is the one causing it to do so, rather than the wind or a larger creature of greater importance.

“And I'm the bug in that analogy?” He cocks an eyebrow. “How creative of you.”

You overestimate your importance. You think you have more of an impact than you truly do. In reality…you are nothing more than an after-thought.

“Then why include me at all?” He laughs, “I fuck up your plans every time. Tell me, did you decide on me being the first Boogeyman as a joke? Or were you just so upset over last time that you couldn’t resist.”

Their silence permeates the air.

“Or, tell me this, actually: did it frustrate you that it was done so easily? That the usual build-up and betrayal was missing from the equation – is that why you were so desperate to create another? To make up for the way I've been ruining your games?”

You know not of what you speak. The voices are definitely offended this time. The tiny pest continues to believe itself more important than it is. Fine, a huff reverberates around him, return to your life. See how far your sacrifice carries the Canary.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the water surges up around him before he can say anything, muffling any words he tries to yell at these divine beings with Their overinflated egos.

He huffs out a breath as he resurfaces, pressing a hand to his chest again. This is beginning to become uncomfortably familiar. Feeling the way his heart gradually slows beneath his palm. The way his chest slowly stops rising and falling so quickly, breaths evening out into something less dizzying.

“Scott!”

He looks up at the familiar voice, smiling at the rapidly approaching Martyn.

“I'm back,” he pats the bed below him a little, swinging his legs over the side. “Hi.”

“Yeah, hi.” Martyn reaches him, trousers soaked below the knee and looking more than a little worried. “What happened?”

“I had a deal with Jimmy, remember?” He tilts his head to the side, watching how Martyn follows his every movement. His hands flutter anxiously around Scott, as though wanting to touch him but unsure whether he can.

Scott grasps his wrist gently, pulling it forward until it rests on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I remember now.” Martyn frowns. “How much longer have you got left now, then?” Martyn could easily glance down at his wrist, see the timer ticking merrily down himself, but he chooses not to, for some reason.

“Long enough,” Scott tells him. He’s still easily got the highest timers out of most of their allies and enemies, but there’s no reason to reveal such a thing to the pair loitering just behind Martyn.

He raises his eyebrows at Pearl and BigB, looking back at Martyn for a response. Martyn gives a small shrug, squeezing his shoulder once before releasing him completely. Scott stands, peering around at the almost invisible shards of glass scattered amongst the water.

He grimaces at the thought of jumping down and impaling himself on those by accident, sympathetic aches flaring up along his legs.

“Didn’t think you’d be appearing around here anytime soon, Scott,” Pearl greets. “Nice of you to drop in.”

“Ha-ha, aren’t you funny,” so maybe he’s still a little sore over Pearl attempting to attack them in the middle of the night. She seems to have moved past it rather easily seeing as she’s been setting up a trap alongside Martyn for however long – presumably for as long as Martyn disappeared for.

“C’mon,” Martyn grabs him by the elbow, surprisingly gentle over the new scales and fins. He feels the way Martyn swipes a thumb over the patchy scales, a question written into the furrow of his brow. “There’s a few of us gathered down here, and they’ll only get more and more suspicious the longer we hang around for.”

“We’ve got something else to be doing, anyway,” Pearl says. She hops out of the water easily, walking along the cobblestone path cutting through the water and leading towards the Clock Tower. “Just gonna have to wait and see with this one.”

“I'm sure someone’ll jump down sooner or later,” he replies. Martyn doesn’t release his grip on Scott’s arm, continuing to hold onto him even as it makes walking down the narrow path a little more awkward.

“We’ll just have to wait and see who falls for it first.”

He groans. “Martyn, dear, that might be one of your worst ones yet.”

“Really? I actually thought that was quite good- hey! Pearl! What did you think of that one? Pearl? Why aren’t you responding?”

=== === ===

Scott jumps at the flurry of motion beside him, leaping back and away from the bed. He watches as Martyn flails out of it in a tangle of sheets and limbs, landing with a dull thump on the floor.

Scott watches, amused, as Martyn rests his head on the floor and lets out a groan.

“Having fun?” He asks.

“Scott!” Martyn jerks his head upwards, “Uh, hello. Didn’t realise you were there.”

“I gathered,” he crouches down in front of Martyn. “Need a hand up?”

“No, I’m…I'm fine, actually.” Martyn sighs. He then begins to untangle himself from the bedsheets, wriggling around awkwardly on the floor. Scott watches, still crouched in front of Martyn as he seems to only get himself even more tangled. “I- ugh.”

“Do you need a hand?” He asks again, watching as Martyn continues to struggle for a moment before going entirely limb.

“Yes, please.”

“See,” he unwinds a tangled bit of the bedding, releasing one of Martyn’s arms. “No harm in asking for help, hm?”

“I'm perfectly capable of asking for help.” Martyn sits up as Scott untangles his other arm, leaving him able to untangle himself easily. “It’s you that seems incapable of such a thing.”

“I ask for help when I need it.”

“Uh-huh, then what’s all this?” Martyn gestures at him, the vague way he spreads his hands out not at all helping with Scott’s confusion.

“What’s all what?”

“You, right now.” Martyn catches one of his hands. “I haven’t seen you since you turned red, and then you turn up out of nowhere, freshly dead, and you look sick.”

“It’s just a few aesthetic changes,” he scoffs. Martyn ignores him in favour of studying his hands, scales now covering most of them and webbing stretching between his fingers. “Don't poke at that, it’s sensitive.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martyn stops prodding and stretching the webbing on his hands, looking up at him guiltily. “You're not bothered by this? Everyone might have seen your other form, but that’s very different to being unable to choose what you look like.”

“I expected it,” he lies. “Red lives always look a little…different. I mean, the first time around everyone went grey. Jimmy looked like he was a strong breeze away from collapsing at all times. I think I've gotten a slightly better end of the stick, here.”

“Hm, well I certainly won’t disagree with you there,” Martyn brings his hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to it. The sudden warmth on his cold, and rather sensitive, scales sends a tingle up his arm and down his spine. “It’s much easier to admire you like this when I'm not a few moments away from drowning.”

He laughs, even as he feels his face growing a little warmer. “Always a flatterer.”

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” Martyn leans back from where Scott has moved forward to continue talking. “Flattery implies that I'm trying to get something out of you, and simply trying to get on your good side in order-”

Scott quiets him with a chaste kiss, grinning with some satisfaction when Martyn shuts up immediately, even going so far as to lean after him when he pulls back.

“You talk too much, sometimes.”

“Good thing I have you here to shut me up,” Martyn’s fingers curl into his hair, pulling slightly but not enough to be painful. “Though, I do often find myself without words around you. You really steal my breath away.”

He sighs, pulling back. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“You didn’t even know it would work,” Martyn pokes him in the chest. “How long did you think regular people could breathe underwater for? Ten minutes? You were a regular person up until this round of the games, and you forget it so easily?”

“I was certainly not a regular person.”

“Alright, Mr. Pedantic, you weren’t capable of breathing underwater before this, and yet you still managed to forget the need for air?”

“I had it all sorted. You’d have died otherwise; alternatively, I could have just left you to Pearl and BigB.” He narrows his eyes. “See if I’ll save you next time.”

“Aw, no,” Martyn reaches after him, grabbing his face between his hands. “That evening was a great experience. I’d never known such things could be done-”

“Do you have no sense of decency,” he interrupts, pressing a hand firmly over Martyn’s mouth.

“No kiss to shut me up this time?”

Scott frowns at him, opening his mouth to respond. He closes it a moment later, tilting his head to the side. His fins quiver slightly, perking upwards as he listens. Martyn’s gone stiff as well, head tilted in the same way as Scott in order to listen.

“Can you hear…”

“The Canary Call,” Martyn finishes. “Damn. I almost thought Joel might go out first this time.”

Scott doesn’t respond to that, and Martyn doesn’t continue talking. They both want to see how long it’s going to take before the song cuts out, before that lilting melody fades and leaves nothing but silence in its wake.

He winces at the final drawn out note, the pitch rising to something painful.

In the silence afterwards, Scott finds that his previously light-hearted mood has been destroyed. Martyn’s watching something just over Scott’s shoulder, eyes far away and not seeing anything that’s actually there.

Scott tries not to look too closely at Martyn as he regathers himself, not wanting to see the glassy sheen of almost-death covering his eyes.

Scott only allows himself to look again when Martyn sucks in a deep breath, loud and jarring, filling the silence where, he realises, Martyn previously hadn’t been breathing. The glassy sheen is gone, but the look in his eyes doesn’t return them to their previously playful moment.

“Well,” Martyn breathes.

“Well.” Scott returns. “I guess that’s the beginning of the end.”

Martyn laughs. “I almost wanted it to last longer. I thought it might, even with the ever-present timers counting down our every second.”

“Nothing to be done now,” there’s a bitter taste in his mouth. At knowing that They had been proven right once again, that there is no escaping of whatever they ordain as fate. He wonders if They’re laughing right now, gleeful over claiming the Canary once more. Or perhaps they're watching for his reaction, to see how he feels as his sacrifice amounts to nothing.

“No,” Martyn sighs. “Guess not.”

#juno.writes #mer scott (+fishfucker martyn)#majorwood #trafficshipping #traffic series #limited life smp #limited life #trafficblr #coral kids #mean gills #limited life scott #limited life martyn #scott smajor #inthelittlewood #limited life smp fic #trafficfic

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lya-dustin · 4 months ago

Text

Shock and Delight

Chapter 15

Cw: medieval-ish reasonings of aromanticism and asexuality(technically demisexuality and demiromanticism because this is a romance fic), nudity, bad puns.

It troubles him how easily they fool everyone here.

Even the Morning Scandal was completely fooled by them, and no one could get away with that these days. That woman, whoever she was, knew everything except one thing.

He enjoys her company, the way she confides and treats him as if he were as dear to her as her infernal siblings. Friendship is easy with her; he knows her since they were babes, and she knows him as good as his own sister.

“That is not fair! How come you get your book first?” Aemma playfully took his hand after his manservant brought him the wooden box containing the first published edition of Archmaester Fomas’ The Lies of the Ancients.

“Because mine comes with an apology from your brother.” He skims through the heartfelt letter the prince then puts away for later. Aemond had not been expecting that, he will need someone unbiased to make sense of it.

While he has overcome the loss of his eye at Luke’s hand, he is not sure he is ready to forgive him for it, even if it was a terrible accident.

Aemma would tell him to forgive because she was also there and knows he did not want nor mean to do it anymore than Aemond wanted to hurt everyone that night while his mother would tell him the brat doesn’t mean it and it’s a ploy to weaken him.

Sylvi was completely unbiased about it and would allow him a moment of peace away from his family.

Away from Aemma who he has become too fond of as of late.

He had never been comfortable with showing any sort of affection with anyone save maybe his mother and sister and this morning, Aemond had leaned against her as they sat under tree and used the excuse of a few stray curls to touch her face.

The prince has no idea what gave him the impulse to do that, nor why he is looking forward to be in her company again. He thinks of her too often these days, of what she her opinion would be, or how she would laugh with him instead of at him.

Even worse, Aemma is prone to affection, and Aemond has no clue as to when he begun to crave it.

Like now that he told her of the book knowing she is dying to read it and how he will let her borrow it even if he’s said he wouldn’t. Because she would, squeeze his hands, hug him in gratitude or even kiss his cheek like she does with her brother and Aemond has no idea why he wants that.

He had attributed his desire to have her in his company alone to his selfishness, but now that they are alone in his room, he knows its not that.

They are friends, confidants, kin. They are not sweethearts, no matter how good they are at pretending they are.

He couldn’t be falling for her. It was impossible and she was meant for someone else, always someone else.

Aemond couldn’t be falling in love with her because he is incapable of it.

Now that the Queen has apologized for sending Lyonel her way, Aemma has a lot more freedom to do as she please.

Aemma only accepts it to be polite and puts the matter behind her. The queen is vying for her mother’s inheritance after all and there was that whole unpleasantness during her childhood because the king neglected his family and Alicent took it out on her when she could.

Still, it is nice to have access to the family library at any time she wants, and no interference in her and Aemond’s scheme. So far it has not gone well, the prospects have not managed to inspire anything in her save some inside jokes between her and Aemond at yesterday's ball.

Like at night when she can’t sleep and the narrow tunnel in the parlor leads here. There were not many new books here, well, ones that pique her interest. There were a lot of religious texts, very explicit pornography hidden in Aegon’s copy of the Seven-Pointed Star and some novels older than her. Everyone had their own books in their own bookshelves, for their privacy as one should.

She’d kill for her novel half-finished and forgotten at home.

Maybe she could borrow a book from him, his chambers were just on the other side of the library. The tunnel she came through led to his antechamber if she remembers from all those times they would sneak in and out of his rooms when they were little.

Aemond had gotten a copy of Lies of the Ancients this morning, since he is out tonight, he will not notice if she borrowed it and gets to sate her curiosity before hers arrives in a moon or so.

The Pearl of Dragonstone thinks she has been successful in her quest only to find the book’s owner wearing his leather coat cinched by his sword belt like a dressing gown. He had not noticed her in the antechamber, if he had he wouldn’t have removed his belt and tossed the leather coat onto a chair.

“Stealing books now, Aemee, what would Teora say?” He acts as if he weren’t caught in definitely stranger circumstances.

They were kin, no one would think it strange she would be here unchaperoned to borrow a book when she lives down the hall, but what was strange was Aemond sans eyepatch…and sans clothes?

“Why are you naked?” Aemma asks, trying her best not to look. She had gasped and turned around while shutting her eyes from the sight of a very naked Aemond, but the curiosity of getting a second glance at his chiseled body was putting quite the fight.

“I left my clothes at the brothel.” He answered vaguely and hurried to dress himself in his sleeping garments as quickly as he could. “You are welcome to look, Aemma, everyone there already saw me in all my naked glory. You may as well see why I am the most sought-after bachelor at Court.”

He must be quite the sight if he is bragging about his looks to her of all people.

“No thank you. I should leave.” If only he wasn’t near the door. And because she is trapped here until he has left the stairs that lead to the library, she asks, “Did you walk here with bare feet?”

“Only you would not ask why you are leaving a brothel naked, or why are you at a brothel in the first place.” He snorts at the strange question, because of course she would ask about that.

Ever since she saw greyscale on the foot of a servant, she’s dreaded ever walking without the right footwear. Especially in Kingslanding where everything is just so filthy. They had amputated the servant’s foot; the disease would’ve killed them all and spread its plague to everyone if they had not. Aemond knows of her fear of getting a disease like that, and the asshole loves to mock her for it as if greyscale had a cure.

“You wouldn’t answer them anyways, Aemond. Anyways, are you dressed so I may leave?” she makes no mention of the book in her hands. His teasing demands he lets her read the damn book.

“You are not leaving with my book. It is not so difficult to wait a month, little queen.” He answers her question by sneaking up behind her and making her jump when he suddenly speaks. The One-Eye fails to reclaim his book and the princess takes a mad dash out of there with a stifled laugh.

They could get into so much trouble, but it’s been a long time since she has had this sort of fun.

“But it’s terribly difficult for a man to wait until marriage given you sought out a whore. What was the name of the fine establishment you left your clothes in, dear uncle?” She doesn’t mean to say that, or at least sound like it bothered her while returning fire.

They are only friends. Just friends fooling everyone into believing they are courting. Nothing more.

Still, he rolled his eye as he settled on the longer of the couches in the library. “You can read my copy as long as you do it here, right now.”

“You will regret it.” The princess sits across from him so he can’t see where she is in her reading. It is a good deal… for her. Aemond will regret it at once, Aemma could annoy even the most patient of people with her incessant questions. “So, what made you run out of there bare as a buck?”

“Don’t push your luck, sweet niece.” He sighed knowing there was no escape. Besides from what she’s gathered Aemond doesn’t have any friends. He must be so lonely here. “Aegon happened to come with his lickspittles, tried to humiliate me and I left before the milk of the poppy made me forget I am not to use my fists to resolve all my issues.”

Aemond had earned a reputation after the Morning wrote how he beat Lyonel for her in Helaena’s drawing room. He is the gallant hero with perfect looks and a good strong fist.

Their false courtship was working like a dream. The queen was now trying her best to gently guide the more exemplary men at court her way to keep Aemond from her.

There was a raven from Dorne even, seeking to thank the Realm for some act of bravery from Daemon and his men by having Prince Qyle present it himself.

A match with Dorne would keep the peace between the Marcher lords of the Stormlands and the Reach with Dorne. Even if Qyle’s sister, Aliandra, was the heir, he brought the two Ps Viserys was known for: peace and prosperity.

But until Aemma finds a good husband, she and Aemond must play two youths in love.

“Gods, that’s terrible!” she cannot help her response and he nods in agreement. “I thought Helaena said he was past such horridness?”

“He reverts to that when things don’t go right, like how my mother used to put you down when father ignored us and made you diamond knowing no suitor would come because she feels threatened by your presence.” The prince explains things as if he were talking about the behavior of a pet and not the shitty things his brother and mother did to them. “It’s simply their nature.”

“Again, that’s terrible.” The princess reiterates and her companion shrugs it off. To him its something that occurs often and cannot be fixed, to her its something that needs to be fixed.

“I don’t want your pity anymore that you would like mine, Aemee.” He refuses to even look at her expecting pity.

“It’s not pity, you do have my sympathies, I know how awful it feels to be the target of something you never asked for. As you said, your mother and your brother are prone to taking out their insecurities on us and it won’t end until they decide to grow up.” Aemma left the chair and used the book as an excuse to sit with him. She wasn’t going to remember anything she read on it, not that she read much of the first chapter anyways. “But enough about them, well, him. You get to leave the coop and do as you please, what fine establishment did Aegon follow you to?”

She doesn’t really care to know, but her question has him snort and even for a moment forget his troubles.

“It’s not appropriate for a lady, let alone a princess to know.” He tries to dissuade her from needling him about it but gives in when she reminds him that she is also his friend and kinswoman who lives with Daemon and the boys.

Even in the dark the princess can tell he is embarrassed, if she could touch his face, she would find his cheeks warm.

“The Cock Inn, despite the name it is rather---”

“Eggs-cellent.” She finishes the sentence for him making her friend break out in silent laughter.

“Fuck you.”Aemond has a nice laugh, hardly does it and perhaps that is why the princess takes it upon herself to make him laugh even if they would be fucked if they were to be caught here by the wrong people.

“You are terrible, Aemma. I should have known you would mock a woman’s most prized possession.” He is smiling as he playfully chastises her for her stupid pun.

“Someone has to make you laugh, Aemond. Until I marry and leave, I shall take on that responsibility even if you forbid me.”

If only Aemma could have this easy companionship with her suitors. After that moment days ago when she suddenly felt attracted to him under the tree and hoped to replicate it with the other young men, she’s come to fear it will never happen again.

“I shall have my revenge at your next ball, mark my words, sweet niece.”

If Aemma didn’t know any better she’d think there was something there. Something he feels too, she’s sure of it.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #shock and delight #bridgerton!au #hotd fic #hotd ocs #ewan mitchell #aemond x oc #black oc

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chiquitafresa · 8 months ago

Note

hi there, I have a milkshake idea for you

Do you know your drawing about vox? with Alastor & Lucifer & adam& Niffty

The way you drew Vox With them reminds me of (Katarina Claes ) from Anime: My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

for example

Like Very few people who have genuinely met Vox have not been at the very least intrigued by his personality and behaviors, Even when kidnapped, he got to know his captor and immediately struck up a friendship in a short conversation. he has unintentionally charmed many individuals as a result and finds herself surrounded by friends whom he genuinely cares about and vice-versa.

vox is incredibly simple-minded. Despite being a fan of romance novels, he is utterly oblivious to his friends' close affection towards him, both males and females alike. As a result, he often misinterprets the rivalry of his friends who are vying for his attention, usually making incorrect assumptions.

I borrow Some of the lyrics from fandom.com about (Katarina Claes )

Imagine with me that Vox doesn't want to fall in love again Because when he was alive. Vox was with someone he thought they The One to him But the relationship ended badly To the point that Vox doesn't think he deserves to be in love with anyone else again.

When he died and went to hell And became a overlord In years

And one day vox made a decision that he resigns from his position overlord

And he goes far away with Vark Without anyone knowing

I think Vox just wants to be alone with his pet and live a quiet life

Like having his own island In the sea of hell of Greed Ring

Because It's the only place with oceans, I think.

Vox goes to the Earth lives among humans Disguised in human form while Vark Disguised as a dark blue dog

What do you think would be everyone's reaction if Vox disappeared?

I didn’t realize the resemblance until you mentioned it! I watched the anime to season 2 so I have to catch up.

anyway-

I LOVE THIS IDEA!

Vox would for sure hate the idea of falling in love both the reason you mentioned AND because he half robot!

He thinks that no one wants a half robot TV demon, not when there’s sinners like Angel dust. Even tho it’s not the case

This fear first came when he fall to hell, many sinners was making fun of him and his TV head before he become an overlord! (All of them are now died)

This was Also around the time he meet Alastor, and since Alastor have a high dislike for modern technology, Alastor might have accidentally enhanced the fear

so it would make sense if he absolutely oblivious because of this! Even tho he read countless books about romance, he himself thinks he will never have something like that. ——————

Okay so this is mostly my personal headcanons on how Vox meet Lucifer and Alastor! He met both of them at a Overlord meeting (when he newly became one) And got along with the both of them (because one is the king of hell and the other is a overlord for decades who wouldn’t want to be their friends?)

This is how Vox also meet Niffty! After getting to know Alastor he introduced Niffty to Vox as well as husk!

This is also how Vox gets his technology to other rings and stores a meeting with heaven!

Now am not sure how Vox would have met Adam, but it either meeting Adam when his a sinner (and then somehow not recognizing him) and Vox decide to take him in.

or having a meeting with the angels to discuss getting Voxtech into heaven (what I was talking about earlier) and convince them to make a partnership to not attack the Vee’s, in turn Vox have to sell half of his soul to Adam. And their relationship want from there. ————————-

NOW I ONLY BRING THIS UP SO YOU KNOW WHY THEY REACT THE WAY THEY DO!

Lucifer would immediately know that Vox want to a different ring, a overlord soul is the most noticeable thing, it suddenly disappearing would catch Lucifer attention instantly.

After hurting down Vox, Lucifer would keep the secret both for Vox and for his own personal reasons. And letting the poor overwork demon his vacation.

Alastor would the Second to notice, not seeing Vox in a few weeks which is weird for the TV demon.

At first Alastor thought he liked the idea of Vox not being around, no more insufferable modern technology and annoying pest. But in short time Alastor grow bored and out right frustrated, why is his rival not fighting him?!

he would go to the Vee’s tower to give Vox a lesson only to find out that he left and never come back months ago.

Knowing that Vox couldn’t have died that easily, Alastor started looking all over pride ring for the TV demon, which slowly makes him more worried and anxious about Vox over time.

Vox was the few things that didn’t change much (other than his appearance) which give comfort to Alastor, him suddenly disappearing? Alastor would have meltdown trying to find him. he knows he can’t say much, he himself left for 7 years because of Lilith deal. (He scared that Vox might be in the same situation)

Niffty is on the same boat with Alastor, helping him trying to find Vox. He was the few people who actually is unaffected by her crazy behavior! She doesn’t want to lose him any time soon.

basically Niffty and Alastor would try everything in their power to find Vox and bring him home, they would continue until they find him or Lucifer break the news to them a year later.

Adam would be the most unaffected if we take the partnership route, which I personally think is how they would meet!

at first he would think Vox is late to their monthly meeting, it wouldn’t be the first time. But after a hour he will realize Vox isn’t coming.

he try texting him only to have nothing back and then come back after a month to see a empty meeting room.

he try to give Vox some privacy and saying things like “I don’t care about that demon!” Or “it whatever”

it will take half a year for Adam to snap and try to find Vox. Tracking Where his soul is and try hurting it down. It tome a while for adam break into the other ring and finally meet Vox again.

in total everyone will freak out and hunt him down to the best of their abilities. ——————

sorry if this is super long! I just want on a rant on how they would meet an how they would react to Vox leaving! :)

(also sorry if there’s any mistake I made, I just rushed this to not forget anything)

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celestiall0tus · 5 months ago

Text

Rapture - Chapter 3 - Choices

Beginning || Previous || Next

Marinette sat in bed with a romance novel. She zoned in and out of reading when a knock came at her door. She put the book down as Alix and Rose entered behind Sabine.

“Mom? What are-?” Marinette started.

“How’re you feeling, Marinette? Are you better?” Sabine asked.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I’m doing better.”

Sabine sighed in relief. “That’s good. Tom and I were worried when we heard that you had passed out at the end of meet and greet.”

“I’m sure it was nothing, Mom. Today has been a wild and exciting day.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright, but we, Tom and I, decided to take an extra measure of caution. Instead of having several courts worth of nobility vying for your attention, we figured it would be better if we limit it to a select group. These people that you choose are the ones in consideration to be your royal consort.”

“Oh. Uh, what are the rules?”

“We just ask for no more than twelve people, and that they’re of noble birth. Male or female as Psyche and Terra are capable of creating blood heirs between same gender couples. Makes things easier and not as messy when it comes to this whole courting business down the line.”

“Oh. Well, uh, I’ll make sure to get you the list as soon as I can.”

“Please do. I would like to have them announced by tomorrow. Remember, we only have the month.”

“Right. I’ll give my list to Gimmi or Vana before the end of the night.”

Sabine smiled and nodded before she left. Rose moved forward and fussed over Marinette while Alix stood at the end of the bed.

“Oh, what do I do? Who do I choose? I only met all those people today. How can I know which ones I want to have try and court me?” Marinette whined.

“Well, I think you should-,” Rose started.

“Ser Alix, what do you think? Which ones should I choose?”

“What? But, she-!” Rose yelled.

“Let’s see, there’s two ways you can do that, your Majesty. Well, maybe three. You can pick based off the ones that are sexy, that you connected with and had long conversations with, or ones that catch your fancy or curiosity,” Alix said.

Marinette hummed. “Well, I suppose there were a few. Like Princess Juleka.”

Rose paled and jumped up. “Let us help you!”

“Help me?” Marinette asked.

“Of course. You had a very long day meeting all those nobles. And we were there the entire time. Why not let us help you pick some?”

“Oh, wonderful idea, Rose! Ser Alix, could you fetch some pens, ink, and paper from my desk? One for each of us.”

Alix moved to get the materials when Rose sprinted by and grabbed them first. She handed them out and took her place next to Marinette again.

“Alright, how do you want to do this, your Majesty?” Alix asked.

“Well, how about we each choose first. Perhaps I should go first? Let’s see… I know Juleka because she was very, uh, beautiful, and I’m sure she has a wonderful personality,” Marinette remarked.

“Oh, she fills the whole glass and then some,” Alix remarked.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Please. The only thing she’s bursting with is likely diseases and skank.”

“My, sounds like a certain ankle biter is jealous.”

“Oh, you’re so right. I’m just oozing with jealousy over how respectless and lustful that harlot is.”

“Right. What about the brother, your Majesty? If you’re going to put Juleka down, what about him?” Alix asked.

“I mean, he’s just as gorgeous, and reminds me of my book covers, but not as much as her. And she’s just so… charming,” Marinette gushed.

Alix nodded and scribbled down a name. “You have Juleka. Who else?”

“Well, I’m thinking perhaps that little Princess Zoe. She didn’t get to talk much with her sister there, but she seems like she’d be a good match if she had a chance to open up without Chloe around.”

“Fair enough. And who else?”

Marinette considered. “Probably Prince Marc and Prince Adrien. I had amazing conversations with them, especially Marc. I would love to hang out with him and show him my personal collection. Oh, I wonder if he has other books we’ve not seen. Oh, think he’d let me borrow them?”

“Oh, I have no doubt. Hey, ankle biter, who are you putting down?” Alix asked.

Rose scribbled on the paper and handed it to Alix. Alix read it over, gave Rose a look, then scribbled down the rest of her own choices.

“Done? Gimmi, Vana! We need a delivery made,” Marinette called.

Vana materialized and took the papers. “I’ll see these to Sabine right away. You get some sleep, Mari, and that’s an order.”

Alix bowed and stepped out of the room with Vana. Rose fussed over Marinette as she got Marinette ready for bed. Rose finished, wished Marinette a good night, and left. Marinette tossed and turned but was unable to shut her brain off. She sat up and looked out in her dark room.

“Gimmi? Gimmi, are you there?” Marinette whispered.

Gimmi sighed and materialized. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“I can’t. My mind is on all this.”

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

“I just… I’m nervous. The courting begins tomorrow. Which means people will be doing anything and everything to win me over. I’m sure that will mean all sorts of cute gestures, but what about the, well, the saucier things?”

“Saucier things?”

“Yeah. You know, the things in my books. Holding hands, kissing, massages, and the big, big moment where they have… sex,” Marinette whispered the last part.

Gimmi deadpanned. “I should have delivered those lists.”

“Gimmi, please, I need help. What if they want all that? What if they push? What if I like it? What if I want more? What would that make me if I want to sleep with all my suitors? Would I even want that? What if I don’t at all? What if I made mistakes with all of them? What if-?”

“Enough! Worrying isn’t going to help you. Look, what has helped you all this time?”

“Studying, but I don’t have time.”

Gimmi held her hand up. A white orb appeared and morphed into a sealed tincture. She lowered it down into Marinette’s hands.

“What’s this?” Marinette asked.

“Something Vana whipped up for you before. You know, so you could stay up all night and study like before.”

Marinette gasped. “You said you’d never make any more for me.”

“Yeah, well, I think exceptions can be made.”

Marinette bounced and downed the liquid. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe and ran up to the door.

“Ser Alix! I have some tasks for you,” Marinette exclaimed as she poked her head out.

Alix looked at Marinette. “You look high, your Majesty. Should I get a doctor?”

“No need. What I do need is all the romance books you can carry from the library.”

“Uh, why?”

“Research. Courting starts tomorrow and I need to be ready.”

“And reading romance books is going to… prepare you?”

“Exactly!”

“Should I get Rose?”

“Oh, good idea. You both can pick books. She usually picks the ones with girls, so could you get the ones with girls and guys? With boys in my list, I’ll need to be prepared for that as well.”

Alix furrowed her brow. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see what I can find.”

Marinette squealed and headed back in her room. She gathered all her books in her personal selection and dumped them onto her desk. She lit some candles and set up her area as Vana returned.

“Oh, what’s this? Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Vana asked.

“Not tonight. We’re going to be researching and studying romance and courting. I have Ser Alix and Rose collecting books from the library. I will be ready and able for this whole courting thing.”

“Oh, what if I go get Barkk? She’s the kwami of love. She’d be perfect!” Vana offered.

“I don’t think-,” Gimmi started.

“Oh, and perhaps Min and Memoria. Min is the kwami of knowledge while Memoria is the kwami of memories. They might be perfect too.”

“Yes! Absolutely! Let’s get them,” Marinette yelled.

Gimmi scoffed and vanished with Vana. Marinette bounced and turned to her books. She had a long night ahead of her.

The afternoon sun filtered through the grand corridor windows. Alix escorted Rose and Marinette to the throne room where Sabine, Tom, and all the nobility had gathered. Marinette held her head high, reassured after her long night of studying thanks to her books and the kwamis. They neared the throne room and met with Tom outside the doors.

“There you are. You ready? Everyone has just about gathered,” Tom said.

“Yup. Mom has the lists?”

“She did. She just passed them along to the heralds.”

“How’s this presentation going to go, your Grace?” Alix asked.

“We’re keeping it simple. We’ll all be on our thrones, you and Rose will stand beside Marinette. The heralds will call the names from the lists and those nobles will present themselves. I just… there is still some time. If you want to go back over your lists and-.”

“No need, Dad. I trust my decisions, and of those closest to me. They know me as well I as know myself.”

Tom nodded. “Very well. Alright, follow me.”

Marinette, Alix, and Rose followed Tom into the throne room up to their thrones. They took their seats as Sabine signaled for the nobles to be allowed in. Marinette watched the room flood with people and their eyes all on her. Sabine squeezed Marinette’s hand reassuringly before she stood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! We are blessed once again to see so many returning faces and new ones in the crowd. This year is special for many reasons. Many of you have met with your princess and future ruler, and many more will be hoping to earn her hand. However, we are doing something different this year. After much deliberation with the kwamis of Velze, we have decided to pick a select few of the princess’s choosing to compete for her hand,” Sabine announced.

The room buzzed with low murmurs.

“Before we continue with the gala’s activities, allow us to announce the nobles that will be vying for your princess’s hand. Heralds.”

Marinette watched as a Herald ran up with her lists in hand. She took a deep breath and looked out at the crowd.

The Herald cleared his throat. “As by our princess’s choosing, we have, Princess Juleka Couffaine of Paradise and her brother, Prince Luka Couffaine of Paradise.”

Marinette’s eyes widened as the Couffaine twins made their way to the front. She glanced at Rose, who shook her head. She looked at Alix, who winked at her. She blushed as she offered a weak, nervous smile to the Couffaines.

“Next we have Prince Adrien Agreste of Evolution and his father, King Gabriel Agreste of Evolution.”

Marinette pursed her lips as Gabriel stood beside the Couffaines with Adrien. She glanced at Alix, who pointed to Rose. She glanced at Rose, but Rose kept her eyes straight.

“Next is King Felix Fathom of Passion and Queen Alya of the nomadic people.”

Marinette balled the fabric of her skirt seeing Felix take a place beside Adrien. Her eyes immediately darted to Rose, who didn’t look her way.

“Presenting the sisters, Princess Chloe Bourgeois of Perseverance, and Princess Zoe Bourgeois of Perseverance.”

Marinette’s eye twitched seeing Chloe proudly stride in with Zoe dragged behind her. A pang of sympathy hit her seeing Zoe pushed around by Chloe.

“Introducing Prince Nathaniel Kurtzberg of Complacency and Prince Marc Anciel of Serenity.”

Marinette huffed as she saw Nathaniel stand amongst the others. Her eyes darted over to Rose as she glared at her. She was sensing a pattern, and she didn’t like it.

“Lastly, we present Prince Kim Atura of Elation and Princess Kagami Tsurugi of Remembrance.”

Marinette took a deep breath as Kim strutted up to join the others. Sabine stood and addressed the nobles while Marinette motioned for Rose to lean in. Rose hesitated before she did as she was ordered.

“We’ll be talking later, Rose,” Marinette warned.

Rose didn’t respond and just stood up.

Marinette sucked in a breath and forced a smile as everyone left except for who was called on.

“Now, starting tomorrow, you all may-,” Sabine started.

“Mom, we can start today,” Marinette said.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I just ask for a moment to talk with my bodyguard and handmaiden. May I now while you speak with them?”

Sabine nodded.

Marinette motioned for Alix and Rose to follow as they returned to her room. She took a deep breath before she glared at Rose.

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure what you are referring to,” Rose said.

“Rose, I’m no fool. You picked four of them. I easily wager you picked Gabriel, Nathaniel, Felix, and Kim. Why? Why would you pick an old man, a desperate fool, a cursed royal, and Kim?!”

“Because you and wildwoman over there picked all the respectable ones. I wasn’t sure who else to pick that would have been worthy of your station, your Majesty.”

“Seriously? And that’s why you picked Kim? Why you picked a cursed noble? An old man and the desperate fool?”

Rose shrugged. “Perhaps they’ll make choosing a suitor easier?”

“Easier? The last thing I want is those ones to try and seduce me, or worse.”

“Well, you’re stuck with them, your Majesty.”

Marinette groaned. “Ser Alix, you’ll be with me always when they are with me, won’t you?”

“You won’t be out of my sight. I promise,” Alix declared.

Marinette sighed and hugged Alix. “Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it, your Majesty. Just doing my job. Which ankle biter made harder.”

“Well, we’ll just make the most of it. Come along. Let’s see if we can’t find someone that isn’t one of Rose’s choices. Preferably Juleka.”

Alix nodded and opened the door. Kim stood outside of it. He opened his mouth, but Alix kicked him in the groin and sent him down to the floor. She stood between him and Marinette.

“This way, your Majesty. Mind the mess.”

Marinette giggled and headed out in search of Juleka.

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