#and i respect its right as part of my history

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I wonder what would happen if the Glorious Masquerade gang and the PlayfulLand group swapped places 🤔

I've previously speculated on what Rollo's interactions with Ace, Ortho, Lilia, and Leona would be like! However, those were written under the pretense that there would be an event directly following Glorious Masquerade in the in-game timeline (so the other 11 NRC students would walk in already knowing what went down the first GloMas). The Anon above seems to be asking for a slightly different scenario in mind: what if the Playful Land attendees went to the Glorious Masquerade and the Glorious Masquerade guests went to Playful Land to begin with?

Instead of linking you to those old posts (since they're running on a slightly different premise), I'm going to present you all of my thoughts in this post that you're currently reading!!

Please note:

I will assume the same major story beats play out. The focus of this post is how Rollo, Fellow, and/or Gidel would interact with a different cast of characters, as well as how the NRC boys would react to the new circumstances they are in.

For simplicity’s sake, I will also assume the same SSR trios (even if I think other characters could be as meaningful in those roles); this means SSR Ortho, Ace, and Kalim vs Rollo and SSR Malleus, Idia, and Azul vs Fellow and Gidel. There will be a more intense focus on the interactions between these characters over the others, as well as how they problem solve.

The same rarities apply for everyone else. That means Floyd stays a SR in GloMas, Silver stays a R for Playful Land, etc.

I won’t be talking about Yuu and/or Grim’s roles in these events since they’re present in both and don’t play a large part in the conflict and its resolution. (The latter also applies for Trein.)

Technically I believe only the SSR trio of GloMasq learned about Rollo's motivations in detail, but 🤡 I think it'd be so fascinating if other characters knew and reacted to this knowledge too, so I will be writing my thoughts about that.

Are you ready? Then… Let’s go to the Glorious Masquerade/Playful Land!!

Glorious Masquerade:

Lilia

Gramps would have so much fun exploring the city and learning about its history! He'd be especially fascinated by NBC, since he hasn't had the chance to visit its campus before.

Praises Rollo for being so young yet so knowledgeable and respectful of the City of Flowers' history. It has changed so much since Lilia was last here! They're... amicable enough at first, but Rollo doesn't care for Lilia's penchant for surprises and sometimes juvenile proclivities.

Aggressively cuddles the community goats. (“They’re almost as cute as I am!”)

Of course, Lilia will have to pick up souvenirs for all of his children back home.

Lilia quickly becomes chums with the gargoyles as soon as he realizes they’re alive. He’ll talk about wanting to bring Malleus next time to see the talking gargoyles, which evokes a dark chuckle from Rollo.

Lilia would probably also be busting a move and spamming so much fun magic during the Festival of Fools/Topsy Turvy Day celebration (and make Rollo so mad in the process).

I like to imagine that Lilia, in his old age and wisdom, is the one that identifies the fire lotuses/crimson flowers right away and exposits to everyone else about what they are and what danger they pose to the world.

One of the first to volunteer himself as a sacrificial pawn to let the youngins charge ahead. After all, that's his duty as the oldest in the group 🎵 (but he actually ends up being one of the final ones to stay behind instead of the first; Lilia's just too strong of a card to play right away!)

Assuming that Lilia learns about Rollo's motives in the end, I feel like he'd give Rollo a verbal smackdown (similar to how he went after Leona's ass in book 2). Though Lilia understands the importance of family and the pain of losing loved ones, he'll never agree with, nor stand by, Rollo when he's taking such extreme measures to reconcile with his guilt. He’d probably lecture him at the masquerade too, trying to get Rollo to understand the positives of people opening up and coming together instead of living in isolation and narrow mindedness.

Like Trein, Lilia might keep himself open or make an effort to keep an eye on Rollo following the events. You never know when he might need advice or a mentor figure. What the not attempted was awful, but Lilia won’t allow hate to win out in the end. What he most desires is a world where everyone—even Rollo—can live in harmony.

Jack

Gives Rollo his utmost respect—after all, he’s an upperclassman and a representative from another school!! He tries to smile and listen attentively when Rollo speaks, though it’s hard for Jack to sense much of anything from him. Jack defers to Leona for his opinion, then marvels at his dorm leader’s wisdom.

He’s really impressed by Rollo’s discipline, from his detailed schedules to his exact meals every day. It’s not that different than following a strict training regimen!

Jack is the strong, silent type that just goes along with whatever the rest of his tour group wants to see and do.

His face normally makes people wary or feel intimidated. Since it’s Topsy Turvy Day they celebrate and laugh with him instead of shying away.

The goats try chewing on Jack’s tail, then they get skittish and scatter when he growls at them and tells them to cut it out.

When magic isn’t an option, leave it to Jack to be the raw physical powerhouse that buys the group time to ascend the bell tower!

Jack can't say that he understands Rollo's motivations, but as a big brother himself, he knows he'd be devastated to lose his siblings in such a way. Even so, he can't accept this--no, he swears to protect that which he loves. "Let's see whose will persists over the other's."

Trey

“It's nice to meet another Normal, Totally Sane, and Responsible person you,” Trey says, shaking Rollo’s hand. (Boy has no idea wtf is in store for them later.)

He unnerves Rollo by asking him how often he brushes his teeth and flosses after a single croissant. (Trey should compare his eyes to grapes too :3)

Very interested in sampling the local goods and pastries. He chats with the bakers about their techniques and specialties. Trey will try to recreate them for Heartslabyul since he can’t bring them back fresh for his dorm. Maybe he could try presenting Riddle with a grape tart instead of the usual strawberry?

He makes a dad joke about candying the flowers and eating them like sugared violets. No one laughs so he has to explain he wasn’t serious.

Like Lilia, Trey feels compelled to step up to the plate for his juniors when push comes to shove. “Riddle will kill me dead if I don’t make sure our dorm members are safe.” And with a solemn tip of his hat, Trey’s off to do battle with the deadly blooms.

Trey would feel bad for Rollo once everything comes to light. Of course it’s not easy for an older brother to lose their younger sibling—Trey’s an older brother too. There’s a guilt mixed with his sorrow, a part of him wondering if Rollo would still feel this way had someone been there to emotionally support him. It reminds Trey of his own complicated feelings when he didn’t deescalate Riddle’s rage. Who here was really responsible: Rollo, or the world he felt had failed him? That’s the question that Trey asks himself.

Jade

Jade immediately tries to flatter and befriend Rollo. (It pays to have friends in high places, no?) He makes it known that if Rollo ever needs any help, he’d be more than happy to assist. Rollo assures Jade that he doesn’t, he prefers to work alone—much to the eel’s disappointment. “Well, the offer is always on the table,” he says hopefully.

He'd be fascinated by all of the flora unique to the City of Flowers thanks to the Bell of Salvation's magic. Probably stockpiling stuff to bring back home and cultivate for personal projects such as his terrariums or various potions.

Jade stops by almost every food shop or stall to sample the local wares. He has a very healthy appetite (plus, Azul sent him on a mission to scope out the flavors of the city).

He’d love the glass mobiles—they remind him of the trinkets the Mermaid Princess of old would collect in her treasure trove.

Jade’s at first amused by the idea of flowers that fight back and actually pose a formidable threat to mages. Damn, it should have been him, not Rollo/j It’s so out of the ordinary—how could he not be entertained? It’s not every day that you face the end of the world as you know it.

He still helps in the battle to the bell tower, but he won’t automatically put himself in danger if others are willing to first. Jade has to preserve himself first and foremost! He’d probably try to manipulate NBC mob students to be his human shields before directly fighting the flowers.

Every so often he will drop an ironic comment like, “How dedicated Rollo-san must be to cultivate such beautiful and rare flowers.” (“Don’t act impressed by this!!” his classmates shout back.) Jade reassures them he’s taking this seriously, he’s just stopping to smell the roses along the way ����

When the truth comes out, Jade claims that Rollo is a “poor, unfortunate soul” and offers nothing but pity for him. Internally, he’s marveling at the turn of events—surprised that the SSR trio would stoop to peeking in Rollo’s diary for information that’s something Jade would do himself www, chuckling at Rollo’s desperate struggle for salvation. It was well worth coming on this trip just to witness this all play out himself.

Cater

He’s his usual friendly, bubbly self around Rollo. The problem is that Rollo doesn’t reciprocate any of Cater’s attempts to socialize—he keeps things curt and professional.

Pulls Rollo into selfies and tells him to smile. Rollo doesn't.

Shocked when he learns Rollo prefers letters for texting or email. Rollo is just as appalled by Cater’s phone addiction.

Loooves the of and breads the city has to offer! The wide variety is aesthetically pleasing and keeps his camera sated. Plus, he doesn’t mind eating them instead of the sweets being offered.

Constantly snapping pictures to post on Magicam, cooing about how he loves "the vibes". (He also has documentation on his phone of the whole "wow, the city is infested with flowers" incident, but had to purge them when the group decides to let Rollo live with the guilt to himself.)

Cater would rely on the others to volunteer as shields first before he gets involves with the battles. He’d probably be one of the students to be forced into a situation where he has to fight the flowers (similar to how Jamil and Ruggie got cut off from the group and were forced to stay behind).

He could use his UM to make Cater copies that help to distract the flowers. I’m not sure how he could be impacted as the caster or if magic would still be absorbed if the flowers got to the clones and made them dissipate upon impact, but it’s worth a shot.

Despair is an emotion that Cater knows well but doesn’t show. Seeing that in Rollo strikes a nerve in him. His own loneliness and hopelessness is an echo of Cater’s. “Do you think this could have been avoided if someone had just been there for him?” Trey asks. (“I don’t know,” Cater replies, feeling as though he’s been punched in the gut. “It’s still totally not cool what he did though!”)

Vil

Cordial introductions and polite conversation are in order. Vil has no trouble navigating the city, nor dealing with Rollo. He’s had plenty of experience with stiff perfectionists in his industry (and it helps that Vil is one himself).

He compliments the NBC uniforms for being humble yet stylish. Rollo isn’t sure what to make of the comment (his face is blank) but he thanks Vil anyway.

Being a celebrity, Vil turns heads during his city tour. Rollo frowns in disapproval as fans swarm him, regarding Vil as a diva that promotes the sin of overconsumption. It doesn’t help his opinion that Vil often presents in an extravagant manner, full face of makeup, high heels, and all. It’s too much for the man to handle without his handkerchief.

Vil demonstrates an interest in the City of Flowers’ flora, just like Jade does. He’d love to preserve some for potions and his homemade cosmetics, but alas! They wouldn’t last the trip back. He’ll settle for other items: grape infused skincare and prank handkerchiefs—the latter, a bit juvenile, he confesses, but they’d make for excellent props for his Film Research Club.

When disaster strikes, Vil’s ready for action. His elegant, lithe form allows him to tuck and roll out of narrow scrapes with the flowers (all that work he does for doing his own stunts pays off here).

He can’t help but scoff at the irony of Rollo’s predicament. It’s a cruel twist of fate, but he cannot overlook Rollo’s actions. “You stand before a burning city and still call yourself its savior? Nothing could be so sad as a villain who has deluded himself into believing he is a hero. You’re rather full of yourself, aren’t you?”

Leona

Leona doesn’t care for kissing up to others, but he’ll do the bare minimum of greeting Rollo in his “royal persona” before going back to his usual rougher, less polished attitude. He has no one to impress, nor does he care enough to (even with Vil and Rollo chiding him).

He languidly strolls through the halls of NBC as if he owns the place. When his eyes pass over the mob students, they seem to straighten, standing at attention.

Leona doesn’t seem all that thrilled to see the gargoyles around. He gets this scowl on his face and mutters something about how they remind him of a certain lizard who won’t shut up about them. “Lizards, yes,” Rollo mysteriously agrees. “Such despicable, vile creatures.” Leona eyes him—sure to keep that in mind.

He susses out Rollo. Leona has a keen sense for ill intent and stays wary. He might not know what specifically drives Rollo, but he’ll at least as a sneaking suspicion like, "oh, [Rollo] is putting on airs/this isn't his 'true self'," etc.

His heart isn’t in the tour. Leona’s already familiar with the history and culture here thanks to his tutors. As Trein lectures, he’s yawning and thinking about being anywhere but here. Still, Leona doesn’t miss a beat when Trein surprises him with a verbal pop quiz. Sharp as a tack, he responds with a correct answer and a smirk.

He finds some Bibles ancient texts to read later. They came on a strong recommendation from Rollo, who says he and the other NBC students read and recite from it on Sunday mornings. “This had better be good,” Leona grumbles.

The local goats really REALLY like Leona for some reason. They gather at his knees, forming a weird fluffy fortress around him. He growls and tries to shoo them off (their horns are too Malleus-like for his liking), but they keep bleating and bothering him throughout the day. A goat comes to his rescue from the crimson flowers/fire lotuses, just like the legends of foretold—

His strong magic won't do him any good when the flowers reveal themselves. It's a good thing he's got physical strength and flight abilities too, he'll distract the flowers while the others go on ahead! (He'll insist the others will only "weigh him down" to save his pride.)

At the ball, Leona isn't one to mingle. He stands off to the sides, in the shade of the pillars, watching the others dance while he mulls over his power, Rollo's power, that burden of powerful magic they must bear, the scars left from their pasts. "Hmph, how useless," Leona thinks. Struggling against a fate set in stone... He knows that story all too well, and where that story will end: in ruin.

Floyd

Does and says what he wants when he wants, not caring how much Rollo is glaring at him. “Mm? You got a problem with me? Stop hiding behind your handkerchief and say it to my face then.” Floyd’s had too much experience with Jade and Azul’s two-facedness to be patient with Rollo’s bullshit.

Bored with all the historical info being dumped on him (his interest actually flits in and out at very inconvenient times). He sometimes glances away, changes the topic, or runs up to stalls and touches things. Basically, annoying Rollo the entire time.

Buys a bunch of random stuff, whatever catches his interest. Floyd loves the handkerchiefs and their prank potential (he'll startle Azul with them!), and the glass mobiles remind him of all the treasures he collects from shipwrecks back home.

He also gets a bunch of snacks to chomp on as he walks along and peeks at the vendors' wares. Floyd scarcely picks up after himself though, so that leaves Rollo to grumpily follow and pick up the wrappers.

I'm sure he'll come up with some nickname for Rollo (which will annoy him), but I'm not too familiar with marine life so you'll have to do the imagining for a suitable nickname for me lol. Maybe some kind of a jellyfish (since it would resemble the shape of his hat and has stingers despite how demure it looks).

Floyd is eager to fight the flowers once they sprout up. He's never tried punching plants before, but now is as good of a time to try as any! (He has to have a partner that keeps him under control or can compensate for his recklessness, or else he'll just indiscriminately fire off magic...)

When the conflict is all said and done, Floyd is totally chill with having a blast at the party. Rollo's trauma? Who cares? Now's the time to dance and have fun...! Floyd might even pull Rollo in for a dance during the ball, much to the latter's chagrin.

Ace

Riddle gave him a good, long lecture before Ace is allowed to go off to NBC. He gives a perky enough of a self-introduction, but can't maintain that squeaky clean student facade all the way. (Ace makes it clear among his peers that he's excited about this trip only because he can skip his regular classes and party at the masquerade.)

He's not all too thrilled about Rollo. A lot of his demeanor reminds Ace of Riddle (but if Riddle were much more emotionally repressed). "He's gotta unclench his ass and learn to have some fun for once!" Well, whatever, Ace thinks--all he'll do is just play the part of a good little boy, and as soon as Rollo looks the other way, Ace will let his mischief loose! (Like with Floyd, Rollo feels the need to keep Ace in line.)

When Trein starts giving the verbal pop quizzes, Ace zones out and pays zero attention.

He takes pictures of all the cool stuff he's experiencing to share later with the students not picked to go (ie to rub it in their faces). "Man, you guys are missing out~ Sucks to suck, I guess!"

Ace buys a souvenir but if you ask him who it's for, he'll get defensive and claim it's "definitely not for Deuce."

Ace likes to show off his magic to the townsfolk, though his level isn't that proficient yet. Making little fireworks is easy and gets eyes to light up though, so that's what he provides to liven things up! Rollo scolds him and tells him to "put it away", but Ace only rolls his eyes and hypes up the gathering crowd more.

When you need a verbal smack-down or a call-out, Ace is your guy. He's the first to point out Rollo's hypocrisy, and he does so loud and proud. "Rollo-senpai's a mage too, right? Releasing these flowers on the world means he'll have his magic taken too. Does he really hate himself this much...? Yeah, well, he's about to hate himself a whole lot more once he loses to us!"

When the situation seems dire, it's Ace kicking people into gear. He doesn't encourage them, but rather irritates them so much it grants them the strength to keep fighting just so they can live long enough to get their revenge on Ace.

He calls Rollo out to his face too--there, atop the bell tower, Ace confronts him, throwing accusation after accusation. His pointed words infuriate Rollo, who is still in denial about the true motivations behind his actions. "Admit it," Ace tells him, "you're doing this for yourself. Not for your brother, not for anyone else. It's just you projecting to stomp out your own guilt."

Being a first-year student, his magic is clumsy. Rollo easily overpowers him--but it's okay! Ace doesn't fight will the full force of his magic, instead relying on simple diversions with light, sound, and sleights of hand to distract Rollo.

It's Ace who suggests hiding the truth of Rollo's actions when they've defeated him. "How else is he gonna learn? He should reflect on his actions by himself, cuz 'sorry' alone isn't gonna cut it."

Ace wants that masquerade party to go on, to which Rollo reluctantly obliges. (According to Ace, "Losers don't get the right to say no to the winner's demands!") Thanks to him, the party's on, and he's going to enjoy every last second of it.

Ortho

... Couldn't Ortho just lifehack the situation and save everyone the struggle of trekking up the bell tower by just flying up there and sniping Rollo with a laser beam????? I guess let's just say that the fire lotuses/crimson lotuses drained the technomantic energy he runs on and thus limits his capabilities. Either that, or maybe the Masquerade Gear he changed into isn't equipped with strong combat functions.

Idia begs Ortho not to go and socialize because "it'll turn you into a normie", but Ortho's so eager to go to this symposium! It's a great chance to exchange knowledge with fellow mages. He promises his big bro he'll be extra careful and will record all the cool new sights so Idia can vicariously experience them through him.

Rollo's confused as to what Ortho is--he's certainly not living, is he? There's a part of Rollo that is disgusted and appalled at the inorganic nature of Ortho. He's an artificial being, an affront to nature, proof of humans playing god.

Even so, there is an odd atmosphere around Rollo, a hesitant curiosity. He's oftentimes spotted eyeing Ortho or extending a helpful hand to him in particular, though he winces at the child's touch, as if Ortho is diseased.

He nabs some of those intricately detailed wood carvings for his brother. Rollo asks him why those caught his attention, and when Ortho mentions Idia, Rollo's eyes darken with quiet understanding.

As promised, Ortho goes around filming everything. It's so different than looking up facts about the City of Flowers online! Ortho senses Rollo following at a distance--almost like a guardian, trying to make sure he stays out of trouble.

Rollo never thought he would experience guilt--but the moment the flowers come alive with fire, he feels it when he sees Ortho surrounded by the lotuses. The red spilling over his small form... it gives him traumatic flashbacks to the origin of his hatred for magic. But his will is strong, and Rollo pushes down the bile rising in his throat and continues with his plan.

With his magical reserves down, it's hard for Ortho to fly, or to move much at all. He's conserving his strength for the final battle as he drags himself up the stairs. When his peers ask if he wants to rest, he frantically denies it. "We need to hurry," Ortho insists. "We must save Twisted Wonderland, the city... and Rollo Flamme-san himself!!"

He sees a lot of Idia in Rollo, and it's perhaps this perception that drives Ortho so hard to stop Rollo before it's too late. Ortho has lived through grief, has seen how it can twist someone beyond recognition and set them on a path of destruction. Not again. Never again. He won't allow for it.

There's not much "juice" left in Ortho by the time they make it to the top of the bell tower. He knows he can't haphazardly fire a laser beam and call it a day, so he'll instead use fake tears (knowing that Rollo has a soft spot for him). Putting his acting chops to some use, Ortho pretends to sacrifice himself to get Rollo to lower his guard, allowing his two less magically inclined allies to get the jump on him.

After the battle, Ortho still can't help but empathize with Rollo. Unlike Idia, Rollo didn't have people there for him in his time of need. Ortho bashfully offers emotional support and invites him to hang out with him and Idia ("Maybe you and my nii-san can be friends? I can pass along his contact info to you!"). Rollo refuses--but that door is always open for him.

Kalim

I FIRMLY BELIEVE THAT KALIM WOULD BE THE HERO OF THIS STORY AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE

His extroversion is Rollo’s kryptonite. Kalim just bombards him with smiles and chatter, it bears Rollo’s patience thin quite rapidly. He basically has his handkerchief out at all times trying to covert his disgusted frown.

Kalim’s super into exploring the town!! He stops by all the stalls to stock up on tons of gifts for his dorm members back home. (Rollo is appalled by his extravagance.)

Big fan of the festivities too; he grabs Rollo and everyone else by the hand, encouraging them to join him in a big group dance. (Think of the town dancing scene from Tangled!!) It’s hard not to grin and clap along to the good vibes he brings!

When all hell breaks loose, Kalim’s still the one to beg everyone else to give Rollo a chance, to hear him out. (They all think he’s INSANE for asking this.)

He’s absolutely heartbroken to learn about the fate of Rollo’s younger brother. As an older brother himself and someone who has been on the receiving end of many assassination attempts, Kalim can’t imagine losing one of his own siblings to Death’s cold grip. Snot dribbling out of his nose, tears streaming his face, he’ll insist that Rollo’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life. They have to stop him.

When Ace, Ortho, and him arrive atop the bell tower, they’re all shocked that Kalim takes the initiative. Still sobbing, he calls out to Rollo, begging him to see reason, letting him know that he understands how he feels. Rollo, of course, doesn’t listen and only becomes increasingly angry.

A unique use of Kalim’s UM! 👀 Oasis Maker summons a ton of water at once and seems to have a large AOE. I wonder if this could confuse or temporarily delay the crimson flowers???? Because the water would technically be magic, right? Except it’s everywhere (and pretty evenly distributed). It could also wash away the magic traces of other mages, so the flowers wouldn’t know which direction to go. Oasis Maker is also a thematic opposite to Rollo’s fire, a perfect visual representation of fiery hate versus purifying, cooling love.

DBHLFADYUVAFP9A9 KALIM JUST. TACKLING ROLLO IN A TIGHT HUG AND ROLLO NOT KNOWING HOW TO REACT... IN THE RAIN... DO YOU SEE THE VISION.

Kalim’s also the one to suggest forgiveness and giving Rollo a second chance after his defeat. Ace is super against it and wants to blab about his misdeeds to the world, but Kalim manages to convince him to keep it under wraps through sheer charisma alone.

At the masquerade, Kalim approaches Rollo and offers to be his friend. Though Rollo briskly refuses, Kalim won’t give up! Kalim tells him that he has a friend back home (Jamil) that hates him, so Kalim’s gonna work hard every day to be someone worthy of his friendship. So… he’ll do the same for Rollo too!!

Stage in Playful Land:

Silver

Silver's probably one of those people who hears about Playful Land and comes along to help protect his liege and peers.

Somehow dense enough to think that Fellow and Gidel AREN'T suspicious (when they clearly are????). He just kind of tilts his head to one side and smiles, saying that these two seem really friendly.

At first he thinks the park is a little odd because there aren’t any wild animals—not even birds—there. But he soon forgets his worries and is caught up in the magic of the amusement park. Silver thinks of it like an extensive obstacle course for his training! He’s especially interested in tests of strength (he and Sebek got competitive about some of those games).

Thinks the park's mascots are cute. Picks up a souvenir that features them (maybe a keychain or plush toy) for Lilia and Malleus.

Not much for performing. Silver's facial expressions are stiff and he can come off as scary without meaning to--but on that stage, he comes alive and all his muscles move in perfect unison to execute a dance. How invigorating...!

Gets puppet’d for falling asleep in an area he shouldn't be loitering in? Or maybe he leaps in the way to protect someone else. He can’t help it!! Gallantly shouts at the others to run and leave him behind—what a noble sacrifice!

Tries to talk some sense into Fellow. The only one who gives him the benefit of the doubt and sees the good in him.

He commends Fellow for ultimately "making the right decision" and freeing everyone at the end. Tells them he hopes they'll meet again someday, and he's eager to hear about the success of his school.

Epel

Peak of his rebellious kid phase. Decides to sneak out just to stick it to his dorm leader (who nagged him very recently for something). Does not realize Rook followed him all the way to the pier until Rook greets him.

Completely fooled by Fellow's friendliness. Epel's used to this kind of attitude back home in Harveston. Because the community is so small, everyone knows everyone and they're pretty closely knit. He figures Fellow and Gidel are the same way!

Totally hype to take everything in! Makes everything a competition (and unfortunately gets smoked by his peers in most of them). Drowns his sorrows by eating tons of the apple (core) flavored foods offered in the park.

Really put off by the invite on the stage. He's reminded of when Vil voluntold him to perform for VDC/SDC. Tries to weasel out of it, but Fellow won't be having any of that! Epel's suddenly filled with a light heartedness and fond memories of his month-long training with friends. He lets his instincts take over and relives those times on the grand stage!

LHFLIDFPIEIFEQFQEFJA I THINK IT WOULD BE FUNNY YET SUPER STUPID IF EPEL GOT PUPPET'D FOR EXCESSIVE PROFANITY... and he continues to swear after he's been caught by the magic. This is a family friendly PG clean place, Epel 😤

How dumb would it be if Fellow told the caged boys stories about his travels while they waited for the others to be captured and as he's listening to these stories EPEL REALIZES FELLOW AND GIDEL ONCE STOLE CROPS TO EAT FROM HIS FAMILY... Boy starts hooting and hollering all over again.

Joins Deuce in stomping around the park and bashing it up. They're a real pair of delinquents... Maybe pops a squat and asks Deuce to take a "cool pic" of him posed by some rubble.

Tells Fellow that folks might be more willin' to help him and Gidel out if they were more honest with their intentions. Epel's not entirely sure if his words got through to him though...

Ruggie

He heard the word "free" and he was instantly in. Leona-san's been working his tail off lately, a hyena needs a break every once in a while! Who cares how shady the offer is? Free is FREE, isn't it? He'll worry about the details later.

Pals around with Fellow and Gidel, talking about their odd jobs and old bosses. They get along swimmingly (which gives everyone else Bad Vibes).

Ruggie thinks the park is like paradise! All you can eat food? And for free? No work, all play?? Cool! He runs around collecting freebies, stuffing his face, and prowling around at the game booths racking up prizes. He plans to resell all of this stuff at a mark-up once he gets out of the park!

He's not all that eager to get on the stage (if he's gonna sing and dance, you better compensate him for it!). But what's this? Why's he suddenly feel eager to join in? Well, he supposes it seems like fun, so he might as well jam out too.

"Whaaat?! I knew this was too good to be true!" he laments when shit goes down. Ruggie holds out pretty well, but he eventually turns into a puppet cuz his greed got the better of him. Most likely stole a baton or something off of a fallen puppet to use as a makeshift weapon (which violates a park rule about stealing from staff).

Can't even be mad when he's captured and stuck listening to Fellow ramble about money. I mean, yeah, Ruggie doesn't WANT to be a puppet, but he sympathizes with Fellow's poverty and lack of education afforded to him in a "No, no... Let him cook" way.

Listening to Fellow vent reminds Ruggie of how lucky he is that he managed to find a meal ticket and a way out of the slums. He wonders if he'd have ended up like Fellow, had he not met Leona.

Really eager to bust up the park. It's not every day he gets to do this kind of thing!

When it comes time to part ways, Ruggie has a few words for Fellow! He doesn't think that his idea of a school is half bad--but he also tells Fellow to pick a less sketchy employer for his next gig.

Rook

Pulls up to watch out for Epel. He knows just how furious Vil would be if he found out their freshman wasn't getting his beauty sleep, so Rook has come to implore him to return to his chambers!! But--oh la la, he can't help but be intrigued at the idea of exploring uncharted territory, and so Rook comes along to Playful Land.

He keeps a close eye on Fellow while playing the part of an oblivious bystander. Rook does all of the right things: shaking Fellow's hand, chattering about how excited he is. The more Fellow underestimates him, the more taken by surprise he'll be when Rook unleashes the full brunt of his strength against him.

Nickname for Fellow might be "Roi du Renards" (King of Foxes) or maybe "Roi du La Scène" (King of the Stage). For Gidel, maybe "Monsieur Muet" (mute) or some equivalent like Calme (quiet).

I feel like Rook would love seeing the variety of attractions the park has! The stroll along the seaside has him rattling off about the majesty of the ocean deep. He would kill at a lot of the games but is most interested in the thrill rides and the pictures that come out afterwards. Rook marvels at everyone's unique expressions! (He looks pretty normal and is smiling wide in the pics.)

One of the first to hop onto that stage when the offer comes up. Rook has a flair for the dramatics and would love for nothing more than to be one of the performers he adores watching.

Becomes a puppet because he's one of the first to attack the gate or the staff (before everyone figures out that breaking the park rules results in the puppet transformation). What can he say? The huntsman is a man of action! Dramatically begs everyone to flee like how the huntsman in Snow White does.

Weirdly okay with (even excited about???) the cage. Don't ask why.

Laments having to destroy the dear park where they had such fun and made so many happy memories. Gleefully delights in the destruction too though.

Touched by hearing Fellow's hopes and dreams. Rook takes his hands, and, with sparkling eyes, encourages him to continue following them, to never give up!! (He barely seems bothered by the fact that Fellow almost sold them off.)

Riddle

Absolutely refuses to go at first and only shows up at the docks because he had a sneaking suspicion that some students would try to sneak out and defy his orders anyway. Fellow then enchants Riddle with Life is Fun and convinces him to try it out since "you broke curfew and came all this way anyway!"

Points out that Fellow is "a highly suspicious individual".

Riddle didn't have much in way of a traditional childhood; the most entertainment he had was doing crossword puzzles in his home. He's hesitant and wary of all the park's attractions and has to be persuaded to try them out.

He keeps worrying about skipping school, so Fellow has to really stack his spell on Riddle. Eventually he, too, gets lost in the sauce and thinks about how he, Trey, and Chenya would have liked this park as kids... and how he wants to have that childhood he missed out on. When he's caught laughing on the merry-go-round, teacups, or bumper cars, he denies it.

Needs that extra push to hop onto the stage. Riddle's stiff with his movements--he basically only knows how to do formal dances--but he gets the hang of it with some help from Fellow. Soon his troubles melt away and he doesn't recall what he was so worried about before.

Since Riddle closely observes the rules, the only way I can see him getting puppet'd is either the park rules and the Queen of Hearts' rules clash somehow and he cannot decide which to adhere to, OR he breaks a park rule he wasn't aware of. Maybe a hidden rule???

When he's caught, he pops off on an angry rant about how they all deserve this and he KNEW this was a bad idea, what will his mother think, etc. (Fellow has to put ear plugs in.)

Vents his anger by firing off tons of magic and destroying a lot of the park. (Has to be reminded to stop and take breaks or he'll exhaust himself.)

Before parting ways with Fellow, Riddle clears his throat and gives him a thorough lecture on the importance of having a clear conscience. Tries to be nice by wishing him luck on his educational endeavors--after all, Riddle is also someone who values a good education. Fellow scoffs at his advice and tells Riddle he's gotta get more street smart if he wants to survive in "the real world". (That's his tsundere way of saying "thanks for that, kid.")

Deuce

The idiot child who decides to sneak out cuz Ace told him they should. (Ace got caught early and didn't end up meeting them at the rendezvous point.)

A little dense, but his heart is in the right place. Thinks Fellow is a respectable adult that can be trusted because "do you really think people just go around and lie like that?!"

Loses himself pretty quickly in the park. He loves the adrenaline rush of the thrill rides. Competes with Epel to see who can handle the most consecutively without throwing up. Also takes some pictures to send to his mom!

Feels sort of bad for leaving Ace behind so he picks up a Playful Land deck of playing cards as a gift for him.

Even stiffer and more robotic than Riddle when he's ushered on stage. Continues to fumble and trip over himself, but Fellow assures him it's okay as long as he has fun!

Picks a fight with a puppet (he goes delinquent mode) and breaks it. Profusely apologizes to Riddle as he's hauled off.

Gets super into smashing up the park. At one point, he forgoes using magic and starts destroying stuff with a bat or a metal bar he picked up somewhere.

Not very good with parting words, but he manages to wish Fellow and Gidel luck. He sees a lot of himself in them and doesn't want them to stray from their path. Trying to summon the same vibes of the understanding policeman that helped him turn his life around, Deuce lets them know that it's not too late--they can change for the better.

Jamil

Absolutely no way Jamil would have gone had Fellow not cast his UM on him. He entices Jamil with a break from work and the wonder of the stage, preying on his secret desire to stand out and to have his talents noticed. His, not Kalim's. Jamil cannot explain to himself why he goes out that night, his feet carry him there as if acting on their own.

Of course he thinks Fellow is conspicuous. There's no way he isn't. But Jamil doesn't think of him as much of a threat with how simpering and pathetic he acts. What a fool, Jamil thinks, so servile, like a dog. True hater energy. Still, he plays along since Fellow is his ticket into the park and it's best to keep in the manager's good graces.

Jamil's used to lavish trips and amusement parks thanks to having to babysit and follow Kalim around whenever his parents rent entire venues out for him. Nothing surprises him anymore--though he does enjoy the food and tries to pick apart their recipes as he tastes them.

He ends up having to babysit some other students (mainly the first years) anyway. Jamil groans... even at Playful Land, there's no rest for him!!

Lives it up on stage. Forget Kalim, forget Vil--HE'S taking command of the spotlight and he's loving every second of it. Jamil throws his heart into his singing, his dancing. The audience's eyes are all on him, and it all serves to feed his starved ego.

Gets thrown off his game by a bug and accidentally damages park property. Shrieks as the bug crawls all over him and he’s unable to fight back once he’s petrified. (Fellow points and laughs at him as Jamil seethes.) Vows to kill Fellow dead in revenge.

Like Ruggie, Jamil comes from a place of understanding where Fellow and Gidel are coming from… Stuck in some lower social status, forced to suck up and be humble. He just doesn’t sympathize because they’ve cause a significant inconvenience to him. All bets are off now.

Shit talks Fellow for being slimy and underhanded while conveniently ignoring the fact that he, too, is slimy and underhanded.

Surprisingly very into venting through destroying the park. That deranged look of his appears as the man relishes in setting tent ablaze and decimating the local bug population. You feel like he’s five minutes away from an evil villain cackle.

Holds a grudge against Fellow for the bug-induced trauma he went through. Shakes his hand and sees him off, but swears if they cross paths again that he will end him. Has vicious and vengeful thoughts about Fellow's downfall but says good-bye with a neutral expression.

Sebek

(Loudly) insists he is too mature and has better things to worry about than having fun at a park. (He’s secretly very interested in it and gets goaded to attending thanks to being taunted by his fellow freshmen + learning that Silver is trying to protect them; Sebek doesn’t want them to outdo him!)

Constantly gives Fellow lip. It’s a real struggle for Fellow to keep a smile and an upbeat attitude when dealing with Sebek’s brazenness.

Checks in frequently with Malleus to ensure his liege is making the most of his park experience! Every time Sebek wins a game, he looks to Malleus for approval. Whenever he finds an interesting attraction or ride, he’ll excitedly tell Malleus about it. Cherishes the pictures he takes with his prince, keeps them safe for his Malleus shrine when he gets home.

Fanboys for Malleus to go up on stage and “show those pathetic humans what-for!” Sebek is humbled to be able to stand on it beside his young master—he’ll do what he can to support him and make his skill truly shine!

His anger for their actions surpasses any sympathy he might feel for them. A good education is something his grandfather highly values—and he of course would be devastated if he were unable to read and enjoy all of his favorite books. But Sebek isn’t in the business of fraternizing with those who deceive and besmirch his master’s good name! Have at them…!

Probably violates some park noise regulation or simply gets too rough beating down puppets. He bellows that the others better do a damn good job of protecting the young master in his absence! Nearly weeps when Malleus thanks him for his loyalty and service.

Gives Fellow (and the other puppets) an EARFUL. Fellow tells Gidel to slap tape over Sebek’s mouth to get him to shut the hell up. This is only mildly effective.

Applauds Malleus as he rains destruction down upon Playful Land. Competes with Silver to see who can cause more collateral damage.

Gives Fellow and Gidel a second earful before the two depart on their own travels. Sebek says he hopes they’ve learned the error of their ways and will repent! He doesn't believe in them, but at least knows they're annoying enough that they'll keep surviving out there.

Azul

Under ordinary circumstances, Azul would absolutely not consider accepting a free ticket (what if Fellow demands repayment?!) or a deal that seems too good to be true. But something about this Fellow man is agreeable—perhaps scammers call out to scammers. He figures it would be fine to investigate what methods this illusory theme park is employing.

Azul and Fellow have an unsettling air about them as they converse. They're both all smiles, but it feels like there's a dark tension hanging around the two. Even Gidel seems nervous and fidgets as the two older men talk business and entertainment.

This dude has a little writing pad out and is actively taking notes on the things he sees around the park. He's thinking about how these could translate into his own financial ventures. ("Are you seriously working at Playful Land?! What a studious scholar!" Fellow simpers. "But there's no need, really! Put your mind at ease! Kick up your feet! Relax!") Needs more of Fellow's UM to keep pliant.

Also keeps track of the games, foods, attractions, and rides he partakes in. That way, he can whip out his sheet at any time and quote the value he owes back to the park. Azul doesn't want to give back more than he was given!

Humbly says that he couldn't possibly get on the stage--but oh, if you insist! (He was humble bragging, his voice is amazing.) Not much in the way of dancing though, he prefers to stand to preform, as he has insecurities about being clumsy thanks to his childhood experience being bullied for his bulky tentacles.

... Probably gets caught by Fellow and gets his ticket torn up because Azul's not athletic. Resents that Fellow calls him a stuck up and out of shape brat, maybe if he didn't sit on his ass all day he'd be better at practical things; fires back by going, "ACTUALLY, I am quite accomplished, I assure you! I don't just sit around on my laurels and let my minions rake the money rake in, I EARN every thaumark I'm worth!" (Azul's soooo offended OTL)

His mouth still works, even if the rest of his body doesn't. Azul tries all kinds of tactics to try and get Fellow to let him free. Flattery, bargaining, threats, asking if he can speak with his boss, etc.

Fellow seems to have a bone to pick with Azul on account of Azul being a successful guy from a successful family (Azul mentions his successful mom and dad willing to pay for his release). He never got any of that support when he was a kid, and Gidel never will, so Fellow's real bitter about it. He takes it out on Azul by kicking his cage and telling him to "shaddap" already.

Agonizes about being charged for any damages he incurs while tearing up Playful Land. Azul comes up with a contract on the spot and demands that Fellow sign it to free him of any liabilities before he joins in on destroying the park.

Azul begrudgingly wishes Fellow luck in his own endeavors--oh, and if he's ever in need of a small loan of a million thaumarks (with a frightening amount of interest), please feel free to reach out to him! He says it with a smile, but his intentions are far more malevolent.

Fellow laughs it off and says he and Gidel can do fine without a snot-nosed punk's help. As soon as he's out of sight, Azul turns to his classmates and huffs. "Well, I NEVER! Such a rude man could never hope to make it in the world."

Idia

Bro didn't want to go in the first place, he HATES crowded places full of outgoing people. Ortho guilt trips him into it, saying that "Nii-san needs to touch grass!!" Ortho even assures him that he'll come along too. So Idia shows up, but there's no Ortho there... turns out it was a trap to force him to socialize without his little brother's support!

He tries to keep his distance from the rest of the group and sneak back to Ignihyde, but Fellow unfortunately strolls right up to him, wraps a hand on his shoulder, and starts smooth talking. Idia freezes up and wonders if this is what shoujo protags feel like when sleazy guys come up to them on the street and try soliciting them for dates before the male lead (Silver lmao) steps in to help them out.

He feels a little more comfortable around Fellow when he's paired with Gidel. Something about their dynamic reminds Idia of himself and Ortho. At some point, Fellow mentions that though they're not technically related, he thinks of Gidel like his dear family. Idia finds himself nodding along to that sentiment, even smiling a little at that. "... Yeah. Family's family."

Drifts around like a ghost, not wanting to get involved in anything. The others boys have to drag him onto the rides (Idia leaves them practically foaming at the mouth and on the brink of death).

Loves the arcade area. He gets the chance to show off his mad gamer skills and clears the shelves of all their prizes. Excited to have earned some cool merch and to be able to have something to share with Ortho when he gets back.

WANTS TO PERISH ON THE SPOT when he's invited up on stage. Fellow has to drag him there kicking and screaming. zilfbdifbabia Funnily enough, I feel like Idia's panic and gloominess would override Fellow's UM but he gets peer pressured into performing anyway... so he hangs out in the corner like a banshee and half-heartedly mumbles the song lyrics and kicks at the ground to "dance".

When things start taking a turn for the worse, Idia tries to cope with his anxiety by relating their situation to some of the classic horror films he has seen. Maybe he uses some of that knowledge to advise their next moves? “N-Normally I wouldn’t want to stick with you normies, but splitting up’s always the wrong move in the horror movies…”, “Wh-What’s next?! Is Fellow-shi going to chase us down with a chainsaw?!”, etc.

His stupid blue fiery hair always gives them away in the dark 😭 The boys force Idia to hood up to avoid being a beacon.

Probably also gets caught because he’s out of shape and gets his ticket torn up. Rages when he turns into a puppet, saying that no one EVER reads the terms of service, so why punish them for it?! (Azul starts to argue with Idia on this.)

Proceeds to whine about all the games, manga, and anime he won’t be able to finish. Gidel seems curious about what those are, but Fellow keeps him away from Idia.

Fellow hates to admit it, but he feels a little sorry for Idia when he mentions not being able to ever see his little brother again. He pulls up a crate and sits on it, listening to Idia talk about this Ortho kid.

Ironically, it’s Idia that starts to make him reconsider his own conscience—but ultimately, the need for money has Fellow turning away and steeling his heart. He has to look out for number 1, he has to do this for his own little brother.

Is weirdly gleeful about the park’s destruction. Happily firing laser beams off with his little skull device. (It’s like one of his shooter games!) Wishes Ortho was here to participate.

Declares that this is the last straw for him once the ordeal is over. Idia claims he is NEVER stepping foot outside of his room again, terrible things always happen when he does!!

Fellow laughs at him and tells Idia to take life in stride. Closing those doors to opportunity might cost him in the long run! Idia shoots him a glare. “Y-You’re the last person I wanna hear that from!!”

Malleus

So pumped that he actually got invited to go somewhere. Doesn't care how sketchy it is (he can easily decimate any troubles), he's so hype about just the idea of being included in a gathering.

A little oblivious to Fellow’s shadiness. He greets the man cordially and thanks him again for the invite with all the dignity and grace of a royal. Asks many questions of Fellow as well; Malleus wants to know more about the history and the magical construction of the park!

He experiences many of his firsts at Playful Land but has a hard time wrapping his mind around some concepts. Why would you ride a ferris wheel when he can fly up and see the entire park that way? Do humans really get a thrill from getting splashed with water as they descend on roller coasters...? Here, he can summon a pillar of water and drench you right now. Oh, the game is to knock the pyramid of bottles over? He can easily do it with a blast of magic.

Apples are a common food and flavor in the park? Malleus thinks they taste better roasted. Let him demonstrate, he'll use his fire breath to--

For some reason, Malleus is really into the mascot characters of the park. He doesn't think they're cute or anything "normal" like that; he just has this weird respect for them as the "guardians" of Playful Land. They're basically gargoyles in his mind. Gets super invested in this game of pointing out all the "hidden foxes" he spots.

Malleus has attended balls and other formal gatherings before, but he has never been in a show. Everything there shines, and then there's him... a dark, foreboding presence sucking up all the light on the stage. Though he moves with elegance and joins in on the singing, he strikes terror and sends shivers down the audience members' spines. (Fellow quickly ushers him off.)

Explodes when he learns he has been tricked. (Let's uh... assume they're in a wide-open area when his lightning strikes out of anger, because otherwise he'd for sure take down some attractions and would instantly get puppet'd; let's also assume the park's magic is somehow strong enough to resist his own magic.) Malleus is determined to storm right up to Fellow and give him a piece of his mind!!

After Idia and Azul are captured, it's down to only him and the sly fox that started this all--and it's not even a competition. Fellow poses no threat, Malleus takes him down without even batting an eye. I can see Fellow pretending to beg for mercy and grovel, hoping to trick Malleus into lowering his guard so he can spring a last-ditch trap on him, but it doesn't work since Malleus is so OP.

I like to imagine there's a scene where Malleus has Fellow in tears when he realizes the true disparity between this FAIRY PRINCE and him, the haves and the have-nots. And Malleus is about to blast him, but holds off after seeing Fellow being a mess Not out of actual sympathy, but out of a sense of noblesse oblige (a duty that the elite have to help the less fortunate). Fellow's probably really bitter about it too, seeing it as Malleus looking down on him and pitying him.

"Perhaps life has chosen to be unkind to you. However, that does not preclude me from pardoning you." (Sebek shouts something about how Fellow should be grateful for his liege's magnanimity!) "Rise, Honest. You will live to see another day--but be certain that you make that day an honorable one for yourself and your ward, lest you incur the full extent of my wrath."

In a climactic moment, Malleus flies high above Playful Land and lets loose a flurry of magical explosions. It's a magical way to close out the closing of the park. Rides collapsing into rubble, fireworks in the sky. A performance worthy of a standing ovation (if you ignore his classmates screaming as they bolt for the exit before the falling buildings land on them).

While his classmates are clamoring to get back to NRC, Malleus finds himself glancing back at Fellow and Gidel, who are packing it up. He approaches them (Fellow jolts back) and politely wishes them safe travels--a small blessing. "And may all of your dreams come true," Malleus adds (ominously).

It might be interesting to see Malleus question the resource disparity in his own country at the end?? Fellow wasn't able to study and be a mage because he was born in the wrong social standing, so he had to resort to unsavory action to scrape by. This would sort of parallel what we eventually see in book 7 (ie the human invaders taking resources from the fae) and could lend him a unique perspective + give him a lot of things to consider for when he will eventually ascend to his throne. What about his citizens with little or no magic? The destitute? How will he, as king, ensure that his people have what they need to be happy and fulfilled, so that no one ends up like Fellow?

[ford-owner]

ive seen a few people saying they can smell the big top burger in my art and while im a passive enjoyer of btb this is my truth . yeah

[akikos-tribble-army]

I got off my train and my brain randomly threw: "Do you know who has the same waistline like Mori? Your old history teacher you had a crush on." at me and I haven't been the same since.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How lock-in hurts design

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

If you've ever read about design, you've probably encountered the idea of "paving the desire path." A "desire path" is an erosion path created by people departing from the official walkway and taking their own route. The story goes that smart campus planners don't fight the desire paths laid down by students; they pave them, formalizing the route that their constituents have voted for with their feet.

Desire paths aren't always great (Wikipedia notes that "desire paths sometimes cut through sensitive habitats and exclusion zones, threatening wildlife and park security"), but in the context of design, a desire path is a way that users communicate with designers, creating a feedback loop between those two groups. The designers make a product, the users use it in ways that surprise the designer, and the designer integrates all that into a new revision of the product.

This method is widely heralded as a means of "co-innovating" between users and companies. Designers who practice the method are lauded for their humility, their willingness to learn from their users. Tech history is strewn with examples of successful paved desire-paths.

Take John Deere. While today the company is notorious for its war on its customers (via its opposition to right to repair), Deere was once a leader in co-innovation, dispatching roving field engineers to visit farms and learn how farmers had modified their tractors. The best of these modifications would then be worked into the next round of tractor designs, in a virtuous cycle:

https://securityledger.com/2019/03/opinion-my-grandfathers-john-deere-would-support-our-right-to-repair/

But this pattern is even more pronounced in the digital world, because it's much easier to update a digital service than it is to update all the tractors in the field, especially if that service is cloud-based, meaning you can modify the back-end everyone is instantly updated. The most celebrated example of this co-creation is Twitter, whose users created a host of its core features.

Retweets, for example, were a user creation. Users who saw something they liked on the service would type "RT" and paste the text and the link into a new tweet composition window. Same for quote-tweets: users copied the URL for a tweet and pasted it in below their own commentary. Twitter designers observed this user innovation and formalized it, turning it into part of Twitter's core feature-set.

Companies are obsessed with discovering digital desire paths. They pay fortunes for analytics software to produce maps of how their users interact with their services, run focus groups, even embed sneaky screen-recording software into their web-pages:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-dark-side-of-replay-sessions-that-record-your-every-move-online/

This relentless surveillance of users is pursued in the name of making things better for them: let us spy on you and we'll figure out where your pain-points and friction are coming from, and remove those. We all win!

But this impulse is a world apart from the humility and respect implied by co-innovation. The constant, nonconsensual observation of users has more to do with controlling users than learning from them.

That is, after all, the ethos of modern technology: the more control a company can exert over its users ,the more value it can transfer from those users to its shareholders. That's the key to enshittification, the ubiquitous platform decay that has degraded virtually all the technology we use, making it worse every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

When you are seeking to control users, the desire paths they create are all too frequently a means to wrestling control back from you. Take advertising: every time a service makes its ads more obnoxious and invasive, it creates an incentive for its users to search for "how do I install an ad-blocker":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

More than half of all web-users have installed ad-blockers. It's the largest consumer boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But zero app users have installed ad-blockers, because reverse-engineering an app requires that you bypass its encryption, triggering liability under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This law provides for a $500,000 fine and a 5-year prison sentence for "circumvention" of access controls:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

Beyond that, modifying an app creates liability under copyright, trademark, patent, trade secrets, noncompete, nondisclosure and so on. It's what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

This is why services are so horny to drive you to install their app rather using their websites: they are trying to get you to do something that, given your druthers, you would prefer not to do. They want to force you to exit through the gift shop, you want to carve a desire path straight to the parking lot. Apps let them mobilize the law to literally criminalize those desire paths.

An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a felony to block ads in it (or do anything else that wrestles value back from a company). Apps are web-pages where everything not forbidden is mandatory.

Seen in this light, an app is a way to wage war on desire paths, to abandon the cooperative model for co-innovation in favor of the adversarial model of user control and extraction.

Corporate apologists like to claim that the proliferation of apps proves that users like them. Neoliberal economists love the idea that business as usual represents a "revealed preference." This is an intellectually unserious tautology: "you do this, so you must like it":

https://boingboing.net/2024/01/22/hp-ceo-says-customers-are-a-bad-investment-unless-they-can-be-made-to-buy-companys-drm-ink-cartridges.html

Calling an action where no alternatives are permissible a "preference" or a "choice" is a cheap trick – especially when considered against the "preferences" that reveal themselves when a real choice is possible. Take commercial surveillance: when Apple gave Ios users a choice about being spied on – a one-click opt of of app-based surveillance – 96% of users choice no spying:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

But then Apple started spying on those very same users that had opted out of spying by Facebook and other Apple competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Neoclassical economists aren't just obsessed with revealed preferences – they also love to bandy about the idea of "moral hazard": economic arrangements that tempt people to be dishonest. This is typically applied to the public ("consumers" in the contemptuous parlance of econospeak). But apps are pure moral hazard – for corporations. The ability to prohibit desire paths – and literally imprison rivals who help your users thwart those prohibitions – is too tempting for companies to resist.

The fact that the majority of web users block ads reveals a strong preference for not being spied on ("users just want relevant ads" is such an obvious lie that doesn't merit any serious discussion):

https://www.iccl.ie/news/82-of-the-irish-public-wants-big-techs-toxic-algorithms-switched-off/

Giant companies attained their scale by learning from their users, not by thwarting them. The person using technology always knows something about what they need to do and how they want to do it that the designers can never anticipate. This is especially true of people who are unlike those designers – people who live on the other side of the world, or the other side of the economic divide, or whose bodies don't work the way that the designers' bodies do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

Apps – and other technologies that are locked down so their users can be locked in – are the height of technological arrogance. They embody a belief that users are to be told, not heard. If a user wants to do something that the designer didn't anticipate, that's the user's fault:

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

Corporate enthusiasm for prohibiting you from reconfiguring the tools you use to suit your needs is a declaration of the end of history. "Sure," John Deere execs say, "we once learned from farmers by observing how they modified their tractors. But today's farmers are so much stupider and we are so much smarter that we have nothing to learn from them anymore."

Spying on your users to control them is a poor substitute asking your users their permission to learn from them. Without technological self-determination, preferences can't be revealed. Without the right to seize the means of computation, the desire paths never emerge, leaving designers in the dark about what users really want.

Our policymakers swear loyalty to "innovation" but when corporations ask for the right to decide who can innovate and how, they fall all over themselves to create laws that let companies punish users for the crime of contempt of business-model.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/24/everything-not-mandatory/#is-prohibited

Image: Belem (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Desire_path_%2819811581366%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[novaursa]

A Union of Ice and Fire

- Summary: After your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, approves of the marriage between you and Cregan Stark, you marry under watchful eyes of gods of old. And one week later, a raven arrives carrying dark news.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra and her second born child. The reader is also a dragonrider. These events happen right after The Dragon and The Wolf. For the full list of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 663

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: since the last part have gotten more then a hundred likes in less then 24 hours, here is the continuation of it. Your guys are awesome. I have not slept for days as I'm trying to push everything out on schedule, but you are making it all worth it. ❤️

The godswood is still beneath a canopy of winter's fading touch, its ancient weirwood tree standing tall and ominous. The red leaves shift in the cold wind, whispering the secrets of ancient times as you, Y/N Velaryon, stand before it. You can feel the eyes of the old gods upon you, watching from within the carved face, its mouth twisted in a silent scream. The eyes of the heart tree, pools of deep crimson, look upon you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

You are dressed in the finest gown Winterfell could muster—one that suits both a dragon’s daughter and the lady you are to become. Your gown is silver and red, reminiscent of your lineage, shimmering in the dim light of the godswood. Your silver hair, braided with strands of black wool, cascades down your back, and a simple circlet rests on your brow, a mark of your high birth and future station as the Lady of Winterfell. You feel the weight of history and duty pressing down on you, yet within that weight lies a spark of something new—a bond forged with the North and the man who now stands beside you.

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, is a figure of rugged strength, his presence commanding yet not overbearing. He wears a heavy black fur cloak over his dark grey tunic, the stark wolf sigil prominent across his broad chest. His dark hair is tied back, exposing the harsh lines of his face—his strong jaw and storm-grey eyes that have a softness only you seem to have unlocked. Though his expression remains solemn, the corners of his mouth twitch as he glances at you, the unspoken warmth between you growing stronger with every passing moment. 

You stand together in front of the weirwood, surrounded by the Northern lords who had pledged their loyalty to your mother. Despite their stern faces, there is respect in their eyes. These are not men given to idle chatter or false pleasantries. They value loyalty, honor, and oaths—things your union represents.

The wind howls softly through the trees as the words are spoken. An elderly man, one of the old greybeards Cregan trusts, steps forward to perform the ceremony. He bears the weight of tradition in his voice as he begins, "Before the eyes of gods and men, here in the presence of the Old Gods, we witness the union of Lord Cregan Stark and Lady Y/N Velaryon."

The words reverberate through the godswood as the old gods bear silent witness to this union. You feel the chill of the North seeping into your bones, but beside you, Cregan’s warmth is a constant presence. He takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle, a silent vow of protection and partnership. You look up at him, catching his eye, and in that moment, everything else fades away—the whispers of the leaves, the weight of duty, even the biting cold.

He speaks his vow, his voice deep and resonant, “By the laws of gods and men, I take you, Y/N Velaryon, as my wife. In the warmth of summer and the depths of winter, I am yours.” His eyes remain locked on yours, and there is no doubt in his words—only sincerity.

You return the vow, your voice clear and strong despite the flutter of emotions within you. “I take you, Cregan Stark, as my husband. I am yours in joy and sorrow, in strength and weakness, until the last breath leaves my body.”

With those words, you feel a binding, something deeper than mere words can convey—a connection woven with the strength of dragon and wolf, the blood of Targaryen and Stark, old and new. The old gods seem to hum in approval, the wind growing still for just a breath as if the gods themselves acknowledge your vows.

A simple silver ring is placed upon your finger, and you do the same for him with a band of dark steel, forged in the cold depths of the North. The greybeard raises his hands to the sky, sealing your vows. “It is done. By the Old Gods, let this union be blessed.”

Cregan leans in, his breath warm against your cold cheeks, and presses his lips to yours—your first kiss as husband and wife. His kiss is firm and sure, unyielding yet tender, a promise in itself. The lords of the North around you nod in approval, murmuring words of congratulations, and you are aware of the new title you carry now: Lady Stark of Winterfell.

The feast is held in the Great Hall, warmth radiating from the roaring hearths. The long tables are set with rich food—roasted meats, thick stews, and dark bread—simple fare compared to what you’ve known in King’s Landing, but rich in flavor and warmth. The hall echoes with laughter, the booming voices of the North pleased with this rare celebration in the harshest season.

You sit beside Cregan at the high table, your hand resting near his, fingers occasionally brushing as you speak with those who come to offer their congratulations. The conversation flows easily now, the tension of duty replaced with the comfort of companionship. Cregan leans in at one point, speaking low enough that only you can hear. “I never expected that a dragon would bring warmth to Winterfell, but here you are.”

You smile softly, feeling that warmth within you too. “And I never imagined the North could feel like home,” you reply, and there is truth in your words. Despite the cold stone of the castle, there’s a fire kindling here, one that grows every time your gaze meets his.

As the night deepens and the mead flows freely, the toasts begin. The lords raise their cups, shouting their oaths of loyalty to House Stark and to the new Lady of Winterfell. Cregan raises his cup as well, his voice clear over the noise, “To my wife, Y/N, who brings fire to this cold land. May our union stand as strong as the walls of Winterfell and burn as bright as the flames of a dragon.”

The hall erupts in cheers, and you lift your cup in return, the warmth of the mead settling in your chest. Your gaze meets Cregan’s again, and this time, the unspoken promise between you is undeniable.

This is just the beginning—a union of ice and fire, of dragon and wolf. And as you take another sip, the sound of laughter and joy surrounding you, you can’t help but feel that, together, you might just weather whatever storms the gods have yet to send your way.

The Great Hall of Winterfell buzzes with life as the feast reaches its height. The low, flickering light from the blazing hearths casts dancing shadows over stone walls, illuminating the gathering of lords, bannermen, and their kin. The long tables are laden with Northern fare—boar roasted to perfection, trout caught fresh from icy rivers, steaming bowls of mutton stew, and bread so dark and hearty it could sustain a man through the longest winter. Jugs of spiced mead and strong ale are passed freely, filling cups to the brim. The warmth of the hearths contrasts sharply with the cold that clings outside, yet the room feels alive with the camaraderie of the North.

You sit at the high table, beside your new husband, Lord Cregan Stark. The feast is different from the courtly banquets you grew up with. There is little of the polished elegance and courtly games found in King’s Landing—no fine silk hangings or delicate dishes of fruit and honey. Instead, the feast here is raw and primal, filled with the hearty laughter of men and women who understand that life is a harsh, fleeting gift, to be savored when they can.

The Northern customs are as stern as the land itself. Men challenge one another to bouts of strength, arm wrestling contests, and tests of drink—seeing who can down the most ale without falling over. Women engage in singing competitions, their voices strong and clear, carrying the melodies of old Northern ballads. There’s a rugged, unrefined beauty in the festivities, a sense of unity born from shared hardship and deep-rooted traditions.

A few of the Greybeards who pledged to your cause earlier have gathered near the hearth, exchanging old tales of battles and victories. Occasionally, their eyes glance your way, nodding approvingly, as though silently acknowledging the part you now play in their world.

As the night deepens, you feel the weight of more eyes upon you, lords and ladies watching with growing anticipation. The atmosphere shifts subtly, laughter and talk giving way to murmurs. You can almost sense it coming—the bedding.

The first to raise the call is Lord Umber, his face flushed from drink, his booming voice ringing out across the hall. “It’s time!” he bellows, slamming his fist on the table. “Bring out the bride and groom to the bed! Let’s show the lady how it’s done in the North!”

The hall erupts with cheers and laughter, the men pounding their fists on the tables, ready to tear away the finery and see the marriage consummated in the rough, loud tradition of the North. A few women cackle, egging the men on, while others smirk knowingly.

You tense instinctively, your eyes darting to Cregan. You see the storm flash in his grey eyes, a deep frown pulling at his features. He stands, and the hall quiets, expecting him to give in to the custom, to allow the lords their entertainment. Instead, he raises a hand, his voice cutting through the din like a sharp blade. “There will be no bedding tonight.”

A ripple of disbelief courses through the crowd, followed quickly by grumbles of dissatisfaction. Lord Umber, unsteady on his feet, glares at Cregan with drunken indignation. “What’s this, Lord Stark? Denying tradition? Are we to let the lady keep her gown on, untouched and unproven?”

Cregan’s gaze hardens. His voice remains calm, but there is steel beneath the words. “I am Lord of Winterfell, and I will not have my wife paraded like some prize sow for your amusement. The old gods have blessed our union, and that is enough.” His tone brooks no argument, and a dangerous quiet settles over the hall.

Lord Bolton leans forward, his voice dripping with condescension. “It’s not the way things are done, Stark. We’ve had our feast, our drink, and now we demand our right to the bedding ceremony.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand beside Cregan, lifting your chin proudly. “There will be no ceremony, and I stand with my lord husband in this. I am not some maid to be stripped and gawked at for your sport. If any man thinks he can force his will upon us, then he can come forward now and see what the Midnight Fury and Winterfell’s wolves think of it.”

The hall falls utterly silent. Your words, carrying a trace of the Valyrian fire that flows in your blood, hang in the air. The image of your dragon, Thraxata, looms over their thoughts, the Midnight Fury’s violet eyes mirroring yours. Your defiance reminds them that you are no meek Southern bride, but a daughter of House Velaryon, with the blood of Rhaenyra Targaryen in your veins.

Cregan’s hand subtly brushes yours under the table, a silent reassurance. His voice, now low and firm, cuts through the tension. “Any man who wishes to question me can take it up tomorrow in the courtyard. We can settle it with steel if words are not enough. But tonight, I will not have my bride humiliated.”

Several of the lords look away, muttering into their cups. Lord Umber slumps back into his seat, cursing under his breath. None are fool enough to challenge Cregan, not with his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword.

One of the women, Lady Mormont, raises her cup with a grin. “Well spoken, Lady Y/N. I’d wager no man here could match your fire, dragon-born as you are.” Her toast is echoed by a few others, and slowly, the hall returns to its revelry, though the grumbling doesn’t entirely fade.

You share a look with Cregan, a silent understanding passing between you. He inclines his head slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, before he stands again, addressing the hall. “The night grows late. My lady and I will take our leave. Enjoy the rest of the feast.” With that, he offers you his arm, and together, you leave the hall.

As you exit the Great Hall, the distant sounds of merriment and music follow you down the stone corridors of Winterfell. The cold air bites at your cheeks, but you feel warmth bloom in your chest as Cregan’s hand covers yours, holding it close. He leads you through the winding halls, the firelight casting long shadows along the ancient stones.

When you reach your chambers, Cregan pauses at the door, turning to face you fully. There’s a softness in his eyes now, the hard edge he wore in the hall melted away. “Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice warm and sincere. “For standing with me back there.”

You squeeze his hand gently, meeting his gaze with a smile. “We stand together now, Cregan. In all things.”

He nods, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Then let’s face whatever comes next together—wolf and dragon, side by side.”

With that, he opens the door, and you step inside, ready to begin the next chapter of your shared life in the North. As the door closes behind you, the echoes of the feast are left behind, and all that remains is the quiet of the night and the warmth of the partnership you’ve begun to forge together.

The chamber is dimly lit by the soft glow of a single hearth fire, shadows dancing across the stone walls. The furs piled atop the bed emit a faint, musky scent of the North. The air is heavy with the lingering warmth of the feast, yet there is a different tension in this room—a tension born not of duty or politics, but of anticipation.

Cregan’s eyes are on you, dark and intense as he moves closer, the depth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There’s no rush in his movements, only a measured patience as he approaches you, one hand gently cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek. His touch is warm against your cool skin, rough from years of sword work yet unexpectedly tender now. He studies you as if memorizing every detail—the gleam of your violet eyes, the curve of your lips, and the cascade of silver hair that falls around you like moonlight.

"You’re certain?" he murmurs, searching your gaze one last time, his voice a rumble that’s both reassuring and laced with a restrained hunger.

You lift your chin, meeting his eyes with unwavering confidence. “I’m no fragile maiden, Cregan. I won’t break. I know what I want, and I want you.”

There’s no fear in your gaze, only want—raw, unfiltered, and clear as dragonfire. A dark chuckle escapes him, his fingers tracing down the side of your neck, making your breath hitch. “Dragon’s blood runs in your veins. I should’ve known better than to treat you like some delicate thing.” There’s admiration in his voice now, mingling with desire.

He moves behind you, fingers deft as they untie the laces of your gown, the fabric slipping from your shoulders with a whisper. You don’t shy away, holding his gaze in the reflection of the mirror across the room as he lets the gown fall to the floor. The firelight catches the contours of your body, accentuating the smooth planes of your skin. You stand bare before him, unabashed and fierce, a vision of Valyrian beauty—both alien and mesmerizing in this land of cold stone and shadow.

Cregan’s eyes darken as they roam over you, a mix of reverence and primal hunger in his gaze. “You’re a sight to behold, Y/N. Fierce and untamed—a dragon among wolves.” His words are heavy with the desire he’s been holding back, and there’s a certain awe in how he takes you in, as though every curve and line is something to be worshiped.

You reach out, tugging at his tunic, impatient now. “Enough staring, my lord. I need you.”

There’s a flash of amusement in his eyes, quickly followed by understanding. He obliges, undressing with practiced efficiency, discarding his layers until there’s nothing between you but the warmth of your shared desire. His body is strong, every muscle honed from the harsh life of the North, but it’s his eyes—dark, stormy, and focused solely on you—that make your pulse quicken.

When he finally steps forward, he pulls you into a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s heated, his lips firm against yours, claiming and giving in equal measure. You answer with equal fervor, fingers threading through his dark hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. The kiss is a battle of wills—passionate, wild, neither of you holding anything back.

His hands move to your hips, lifting you with an ease that speaks of his strength. He carries you to the bed, laying you down on the soft furs as he leans over you, his weight pressing against you in a way that feels comforting, possessive, and thrilling all at once.

His hand trails down your thigh as he settles between your legs, eyes locked onto yours as he positions himself. There’s a pause, a moment where he searches your face for any sign of hesitation, but all he finds is your unwavering gaze, filled with want and a flicker of challenge.

“Hold on to me,” he whispers, his voice rough as he begins to push forward, entering you with a deliberate slowness. There’s a sharp sting as he breaks through your maidenhead, but you bite down on your lip, refusing to flinch. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, adjusting to the sensation as he stills, giving you time to accommodate the fullness.

His forehead rests against yours, breath ragged as he murmurs, “Easy… I don’t want to hurt you.”

The pain gradually subsides, replaced by a deeper ache that burns with need. You move your hips slightly, testing the new feeling, and when you find pleasure laced within the discomfort, you whisper, “Move, Cregan. I can take it.”

He grins, a low, appreciative sound rumbling in his chest as he begins to move, slow at first, letting you guide the rhythm. The first few thrusts are measured, careful, but soon the pace quickens as the heat between you builds. You meet him thrust for thrust, each movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you, until the initial discomfort fades entirely, replaced by a growing intensity that coils in your belly.

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you encourage him to go faster, harder. “More,” you gasp, voice breathy as you ride the wave of sensation. He obliges without hesitation, his control slipping as the primal side of him takes over.

It’s wild and untamed, your bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as time itself. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared passion—breathless moans, the rustle of furs, the slap of skin against skin. There’s no pretense, no holding back. It’s raw, a clash of fire and ice, of dragon and wolf.

Cregan’s grip tightens on your hips as he drives deeper, his breathing harsh and ragged. “Gods, Y/N, you’re—” He breaks off, unable to finish as he loses himself in the pleasure, his focus entirely on you, on your gasps and the way you move beneath him.

You arch against him, chasing the rising tide within you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. “Don’t stop,” you pant, your voice a breathless plea.

When your release finally crashes over you, it’s powerful, your entire body tensing as you cry out his name, fingers digging into his back. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure radiating outwards as you tighten around him. Cregan’s control shatters as he follows you over the edge, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he spills inside you, his pace faltering, then stilling as he buries himself fully in you.

For a moment, the world is nothing but the sound of your shared breaths, harsh and uneven, as you both come down from the intensity. He collapses beside you, pulling you against him, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You’re both silent for a long while, simply savoring the closeness. Eventually, Cregan presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed, Y/N.”

You smile against his chest, content in the afterglow. “And you’re everything I knew I wanted.”

The night stretches out before you, the fire crackling softly, and for now, there’s only warmth—no cold, no politics, no war—just the shared comfort of two souls bound by desire and destiny. As you drift into sleep in his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is just the beginning of something wild and fierce, something that can withstand even the harshest of winters.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-covered courtyards of Winterfell. The icy air bites at your cheeks as you walk through the godswood, hand in hand with Cregan. The week since your marriage has passed in a blur of quiet moments, shared laughter, and the gradual weaving of your lives together. In those precious days, you’ve come to find comfort in the North’s cold embrace, and in the steady presence of the man who has proven himself to be more than just your husband—he is your equal, your partner, your anchor in this unfamiliar land.

But that newfound warmth shatters with the arrival of the raven.

You’re back in the Great Hall, lingering by the hearth, when the doors creak open. A servant rushes in, holding a sealed scroll. You don’t need to see the wax to know who sent it—your heart tells you. The servant approaches, bowing low as he hands the message to you. The dark wax bears the three-headed dragon of your house, sealing the words of your mother, Queen Rhaenyra.

You break the seal with trembling fingers, your pulse quickening with a nameless dread. Cregan stands beside you, his brow furrowed as he watches your face closely. He knows by the change in your expression that whatever this message holds, it isn’t good. 

The words on the parchment seem to blur as your eyes scan over them, each line a knife driven into your chest:

Lucerys Velaryon is dead. My sweet boy was slain by Aemond Targaryen, along with his dragon, Arrax. He did not survive the fall into the storms of Shipbreaker Bay.

The world tilts beneath you, and it’s as though the breath has been stolen from your lungs. Your vision narrows, the words echoing in your mind until they’re the only thing you can hear. Lucerys is dead. The little brother you helped raise, who smiled so sweetly, who always looked up to you with those wide eyes filled with trust and affection—he’s gone, stolen away by your cousin’s cruelty and Vhagar’s monstrous power.

Your hand loosens, and the letter slips from your grasp, fluttering to the ground. You’re dimly aware of Cregan’s hand on your shoulder, his voice low and steady, calling your name. “Y/N? What is it?” But you can’t form the words. The grief wells up inside you, sharp and overwhelming, until it’s too much to hold back.

Your knees buckle, and suddenly you’re sinking to the floor, your body trembling uncontrollably. Tears blur your vision, hot and relentless, as sobs tear from your throat. It’s not the delicate, quiet grief of a lady; it’s raw and fierce, like the storm you imagine your brother faced in his final moments. The cry that escapes your lips is a mixture of pain and rage, the sound reverberating through the Great Hall, silencing all who might hear.

Cregan is at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees, pulling you into his arms. “Y/N, what happened? Tell me—what did the message say?” His voice is firm, but you can hear the worry in it. He’s never seen you like this, never seen you break. You’ve always been the dragon’s daughter—strong, unyielding. But right now, you feel like nothing more than a shattered, grieving sister.

You choke out the words between sobs, your hands clutching at his tunic as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. “My brother… Lucerys… He’s dead. Aemond… Aemond killed him. He’s gone, Cregan. My little brother is gone.”

Cregan’s arms tighten around you as he processes what you’ve said. For a long moment, he’s silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with anger. When he finally speaks, there’s a steel in his voice that matches the ice in his veins. “The bastard. Aemond will answer for this kinslaying. I swear it.” But even his promise of vengeance can’t reach you through the fog of your grief.

You bury your face in his chest, letting the tears flow freely, uncaring of who might see. You’ve lost people before—friends, kin—but this is different. This is your brother, your sweet Lucerys, who still had so much life ahead of him. He was just a boy, trying to do his duty, and he was cut down for it. The injustice of it burns like acid in your veins.

Cregan doesn’t let go, even as your sobs wrack your body. He holds you through it all, his large hands rubbing soothing circles on your back, his presence a steady rock amidst the storm of your grief. He whispers soft words meant to comfort, though you barely register them, lost in your sorrow. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m here, and I won’t let you face this alone.”

Minutes pass—or maybe it’s hours—before the tears finally subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. You pull back slightly, looking up at Cregan with tear-streaked eyes. There’s no judgment in his gaze, only unwavering support and a simmering rage on your behalf. His thumb gently wipes away the last of your tears, his expression softening.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” he says quietly. “I know the North is not your home, but I am. I will stand with you, no matter what comes next. We’ll face it—ice and fire, dragon and wolf. Aemond will pay for what he’s done.”

You swallow hard, nodding, though your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally speak. “We’ll make them pay, Cregan. For Lucerys, for my mother’s grief… for all of it.”

There’s a hardness in your words now, a resolve born from the depths of your pain. You may be grieving, but beneath that grief lies a core of molten steel—a fire that won’t be quenched until justice is done.

Cregan leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, grounding you in the warmth of his presence. “When the time comes, we’ll fight—together. Until then, rest. You’re stronger than you know, Y/N.”

You nod, though the weariness of grief still clings to you. With Cregan’s help, you rise to your feet, your legs shaky but steady enough to stand. As you take a deep breath, you feel the fire rekindling within you, fueled by the love you have for your family and the support of the man who now stands at your side.

You may have broken in this moment, but you won’t stay broken. You are a daughter of House Velaryon, a granddaughter of House Targaryen. You are forged in fire, and though grief threatens to consume you, it also gives you strength.

The war has only begun, and you’ll see it through. For your brother. For your family. For all those who stand with you.

[still-searching-for-something]

I want to go back to how things were.

I want to go back to when I believed that the progressives were on the right side of history, fighting against oppression in all its forms, and had critical thinking, honest compassion, and understanding in a way that the right--inundated with racist conspiracy theories and absurd lies--did not.

In many ways, I'm a perfect demographic fit in the pro-Palestine circles. I'm bisexual. I'm a young university student who's been progressive for as long as he knew what progressivism was, and I never experienced genuine economic insecurity or wondered if I'd eat that night. In another timeline, maybe I'd be there marching and shouting their horrible slogans. But there's one, teeny little thing that ruins it, which makes me fall through the cracks and renders me politically homeless, outcast by the progressive left and the MAGA right.

I'm a Jew.

And I'm trying so, so hard to hold compassion for the suffering of minorities who have not extended us that same compassion. I'm trying to maintain my progressivist urge to go out and help minorities in solidarity, but it's so hard when they make it clear that they hate us and want our state dead and gone. I supported BLM, but Al Sharpton, Leonard Jeffries, Alice Walker, James Baldwin, Louis Farrakhan, Malcom X, Jesse Jackson and many others either were or are wildly antisemitic, especially Sharpton and Walker, and so are the BLM movement's leaders, who openly sneered at Jews for being shocked by them by announcing, "I guess their activism was just transactional. How (((Zionist))) of them!"

And the queer community forced me out of their ranks for merely questioning whether the war in Gaza is a genocide, for pushing back against them saying that Hamas is fighting oppression. And spread antisemitic lies about me, claims of harassment and supporting genocide to my friends because I dared to question them. And they've chosen to side with those who would throw both of us off roofs for being queer. Cast out by the outcasts.

Like, what do I do? Our only allies are Hindus, Iranians, Kurds, Republicans, and Christian Zionists (respect to all of these groups for that... even you Republicans. This is one of our only points of agreement). That's literally it. No loud show of from indigenous nations supporting what is effectively the most successful anticolonial land back movement in human history. No push from "antiracist progressives" against rising antisemitism and genocidal terrorism from a reactionary fundamentalist group against a historically discriminated group.

And they aren't even just leaning back and being silent--many members of these groups are being actively antisemitic--especially the progressive left, which has morphed into the most antisemitic mainstream political movement since the Nazis. Instead, we're 'Zionazis' and genocidal colonizers who aren't even oppressed anyway, that's just evil Jewish Zionist lies designed to stoke sympathy for their unrelentingly evil nature, which we can't even help. The notion that Jews are intrinsically predisposed to evil acts and deception--never heard that one before.

So now, when I look at pictures of Pride Parades, a celebration of an identity of which I am a part and would have previously killed to attend--I wonder... would I be allowed to hold up a rainbow flag with a Magen David on it? If I asked any of their views on the state of Israel, what will they say? What about on Zionists who support its existence? Would all parts of my identity be respected, valued, and celebrated? Or would I be forced to leave the Star of David flag at home, pretend I don't notice their antisemitic views, and pass the litmus test of disavowing Israel before being accepted?

I feel suspicious and wary of the very community which I am 'supposed' to belong in. I feel uncomfortable. I hate, hate, hate that I feel this way. That I've become more closed, more cynical, more angry. Those of us who fall through the cracks, who hold multiple marginalized identities--queer and Jewish, black and Jewish, Indigenous and Jewish--we are ignored and silenced, our voices and experiences entirely spat upon as being a front for 'Zionist crimes' or whatever new buzzwords they create.

I've decided that first and foremost, I am Jewish. The me that was proud to be a part of the queer community is dead. I want to support the progressive causes of antiracism and social justice, but they hate us. They want us dead. They wouldn't view my participation as being a genuine gesture of solidarity, but an evil Jew Zionist seeking to con them and co-opt support in order to aid our evil apartheid genocidal settler-colonialist white supremacist illegitimate entity in a land that should really be given to Hamas anyway.

How am I supposed to hold space for other minorities when nobody is holding space for us right now?

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Alastor watching the princess and the frog by Disney ? It’s in lousiana in the 1920s so it would be perfect for him

absolutelyyyyyyy the princess and the frog is one of my fav disney movies from characters to soundtrack, so this one’s a bit longer. also kind of a part two but also not exactly

history ramble below

also i did some light research on new orleans history because if im gonna write alastor i should know. doggy i love me some history and this history is rich, depressing at times but also rich and meanful to know so i thought id share a little. from talking about the free the peoples movement, to the way women got their rights to their hair back that they didn’t have when enslaved only to have a law banning natural hair and hair wraps and so they decorated the wraps and used coloured fabrics effectively rendering the law useless, to the wealthiest black man of the 1870s for being a prospering business owner, the origins of how voodoo and other spiritual practices mingled perfectly with the pre established voodoo and how voodoo was predominantly black women who were highly respected, the first black man to be govoner in the united states in only 1871, a black woman named Rose Nicaud who opened the first coffee stand in 1800 and made enough to escape being ensalved. then there’s lighter topics like some of the jazz history and how it made various black stars like louie armstrong, and also how the language mingled to make the cajun french that’s sadly dying out, to the architecture that flourished through the varying clashes in culture between african, european, native and haitian peoples. if it’s not too upsetting to read i definitely suggest this page to have an insight on some of the quick history on new orleans, i enjoyed learning about the strength that many had during this time.

United teachers of new orleans < page i was reading

Warnings: jealous Al teehee, reader crushes on naveen and dr facilier (don’t mind me just projecting), cuddling, swearing, alastor doesn’t really know emotions good, fluffy banter, just some ushy gushy mushy tushy

Word count: 2k

The movie Bambi didn't even finish playing before the patrons started to filter out of the room heading to bed. First to go was Vaggie carrying a sleeping Charlie, Sir pentious promptly following along telling his fussy egg boys it was long past their bed time. Then it was Niftys turn to disappear, however she never said a goodnight only sped off leaving behind her vacant swishing rocking chair.

Then once Angel and Husk left, you had decided to just call it quits on Bambi, Alastor hadn't moved much or objected to you turning off the movie, only watching the projector as you scrolled through the app.

You stopped on the princess and the frog, grinning toward Alastor he sighed, getting a glimpse of your mischief from the corner of his eye. "Now what's this about darling?" Turning your body towards his fully facing him, you waited for his gaze to finally meet yours, and reluctantly it did. "Allow me to introduce you to one of, if not, thee best disney movies of all time; the princess and the frog," Alastor's finger rose as he took a breath to speak, but before he could say a word you interrupted him.

"Yes I know princess yuck, whatever Al. It takes place in New Orleans, its main focus is actually in the poorer area with the shotgun houses, and throughout the movie Tiana, the princess, travels through the bayou, oh! With Naveen one of the hottest princes, also it takes place in the twenties, oh!-" Before you could continue Alastor gently gripped your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily as he did so."What did you just?"

"Takes place in the nineteen twenties?" You asked, voice muffled from Alastors grip on your cheeks. "Before that dear." Your eyebrows raised looking at Alastor not trying to hide your confusion. "Naveen? One of the hottest princes?" Alastor hummed, booping your nose. "Yes dear, that."

"Yeah. duh dude he's one of the few princes that deserve the princess, he changes for Tiana, he's charismatic, funny, but nevermind that back to what i was saying. There's varying New Orleans culture littered through that might make you feel closer to home, all the music is jazz obviously." Opening your mouth readying to rant on about the Voodoo man that you adored, Alastor hushed you with his finger up to your lips.

"My sweet dear, I will watch this silly picture show so long as you stop rambling about it." Alastor wasn't truly done with hearing your rambling, he was enjoying hearing that you were such a fan of something that centred so close to home when it came to him however if he was going to watch it he rather not have it spoiled.

Giddily you clasped your hands together and hit play, your love for the film and excitement to see Alastors reaction may have made you slightly over enthusiastic just a bit. As the movie began you curled your feet up onto the couch, inching yourself closer to Alastor looking up to his face and back to the movie.

When Naveen got introduced on screen you accidentally gripped Alastors arm tightly shaking him. "My mannn~" You squealed happily, letting go of Alastor once you heard the unmistakable rattle come from him, a growl sounding out of his chest. You didn't pay much attention to him though, instead turning back to the projector and backing off Al. However Alastor wasn't too frustrated with the fact you touched him, but because you were being so ushy gushy over some fake man.

He was easily the same if not better than Naveen. Alastor was charismatic, charming, he could sing, play instruments, he didn't quite understand why you were so particularly interested in this Naveen. Hell, even Alastor had a similar outfit back when he was alive, he could've been Naveen when he was alive.

You didn’t notice Alastor having a mini tantrum in his own world, you were too engrossed in the movie. Suddenly you’ve gripped him again, pointing at the screen. "The shadow man, Al this is your kin!" You egged laughing maniacally at your own words.

Alastor’s face however brightened at the display of the voodoo man. "One of my fav songs." You whispered as Dr. Facilier began singing on screen. Cocking his head to the side Alastor looked down to you bouncing along to the song. "This fellow sounds similar to Husk." Alastor mentioned, watching intently at the shadows that crawled around Dr. Faciliers room, much like Alastors own shadows. "Yeah it really does sound like Husk. Strange, anyways, Dr. Voodoos hot too." Alastors static buzzed around the room and you had to hold back a giggle at the frustrated look on his face, despite the smile it was obvious he wasn't too happy.

"What's up Al, not liking the movie?" Static crackled around the two of you as you questioned him a little slyly as you could tell he wasn’t hating the movie. “No dear, it’s pleasant in comparison to some things i’ve grit myself through, however,” He paused watching you ogle at both the Dr and Naveen. “I can’t understand what’s so great about this Naveen you like. He’s a fool,” You scoffed at Alastors distaste for Naveen, you didn’t mean to make him feel frustrated at your adoration for the characters but it was endearing to see.

“What’s not to like about the man?” You state confidently but Alastor simply shrugged while humming indifferently. A beat of silence passed, the ending of the song playing out of the projector. “It’s just that,” Alastor started up again after a moment of silence, turning his body to face you hands folded in his lap politely. “You clearly have the odd reaction towards these gentlemen and I can't see why,” To give him credit he did look genuinely confused, and just as you were going to speak up he interrupted.

“And please do not say it’s because he is funny, charismatic, musically talented or sweet because I happen to hold all those same qualities!” He finished, hands thrown in the air like he said something especially spectacular. You had a soft smile present on your face watching him work through the sentence theatrically. “Well, Al you are, maybe i think the same about you?” Record scratch.

You cackled at his frozen state, patting his arm gently, cooing that you were only kidding, you turned back to the TV and the two of you decided to leave it at that.

Later on in the movie, when Tiana and Naveen are with the alligator going down the bayou singing about being human, you stared over at Alastor, your heart thumping at the sight of him. His arms were resting along the back of the couch, legs splayed out comfortably, posture sunken in, and his eyes lidded with a closed calm smile. His ear twitched and soon his eyes moved from the movie to you, quirking a questionable eyebrow at you.

Feeling slightly embarrassed for eyeing him up you tried to play it off by asking him a question. “Is there bayous in New Orleans, is that real?” You ask kinda dumbly, of course they were, you scolded yourself. Alastor didn’t seem to mind though he smiled widely, a chuckle reverberating out of him. “Why yes dear! Of course, I personally never lived close to the bayou, but it surrounds New Orleans, and I have been. It’s quite beautiful during a sunset but there’s tons of alligators.”

You leaned forward interested, but it seemed he’d stopped to refocus on the screen which you wouldn’t complain about. You not so discreetly leaned into his torso, arm still on the back of the sofa behind you, and thankfully he didn’t move when you leaned your body into him, instantly decompressing into his side.

They got to the scene where the gang is on the boat going through the bayou, the crocodile fitting in and playing jazz, when you turned to look up at Alastor seeing him already looking down at you. “What’s up?” You asked, watching as he scanned your face. “Well dear you’re just reminding me of home tonight, it would’ve been interesting to be able to show you where I lived, where I worked. Y’know when i did radio, most people didn’t know what I looked like so it came as quite a shock to some that I wasn’t what they imagined. Some were cruel, but my mother always taught me to be respectable if not respectful, so I managed to keep my grace.”

You giggle at his explanation watching him move his hand in all different directions, the radio host coming into play just at the mention of his job. “I’m flattered you would’ve wanted to show me your home n stuff, i wish it were possible.”

On the projector in front of you two, was the scene between Naveen and Tiana’s first date, where Naveen was going to propose. “They always get married so fast in these movies, you spend three days as a frog and suddenly it’s eternity!” You exclaimed humorously, Alastor scoffed an array of instrumental sounds electronically sounding out from him. “My dear it was common back in the day to get married quick, none of this lollygagging.”

You rolled your eyes blowing out air. “Would you get married to someone you knew for three days?” Alastor hummed, tapping his finger against his chin in exaggerated thought. “If it were you, perhaps, otherwise i’d attempt to lengthen it just a bit.” He reviled in the sight of you bashfully turning your head away, shy at his broad flirt. “You’d marry me, after only three days?” You questioned in disbelief, he hummed wrapping the arm he once had behind you, around you pulling you into him.

“Well I found you to be quite a treat the first day i met you, and decided i wanted to be around you for many days on. Is that not marriage worthy?” This confession shocked you slightly. You never expected him to say that he preemptively planned your blooming friendship nevermind that he equated that to being worth marriage. The movie played on in the background as you both watched each other’s faces.

“To me, dear,” Alastor started a smug smile stretching across his cheeks replacing the calm smile that stayed for so long. “It seems like you may unconsciously feel something towards me too.” Jaw dropping you stared at him confused. “What?” You scoff but Alastor only looked smugger.

“Come now, New Orleans centred movie? Jazz, cooking, even that dumbo man Naveen speaks french loves jazz music and dancing, oh and of course the ever so obvious voodoo, it’s almost like this movie is me, haha.” He laughed manically, eyes crossing as his body shook. It was quite the egotistical assumption on his part, but he wasn’t wrong.

You put it on for him but it seems for you too, you paid more attention to him half the movie, and you’ve been more interested in knowing real life facts about his home during his time then what story the movie was trying to tell. Maybe he was right, but even so what did him pointing it out accomplish? “Well that’s why i wanted to show you it, it’s got many aspects you’re involved with in it.”

You mentally gave yourself a pat on the back for such a good save, however Alastor was keen and knew you long enough to catch your lies. “Sure dear, sure.” Al gave you a condescending pat on the head and you speedily swatted at him. The movie played on you once more captivated by Alastor’s reactions more than the movie itself, you’ve already watched it enough to know.

Tucked under Alastor’s arm, warm and comfy, you barely caught the sound of Alastor huffing out chuckles, gazing up towards the projection you playfully hit him. “Don’t laugh at his death!” That only made Alastor properly laugh, dropping his head back, neck cracking grossly. “My dear it was a lightning bug in love with a star! He got stepped on that was hilarious!”

Sounds of prerecorded laughter sounded out with his natural laugh, you didn’t actually care that he found it funny, only pretended too as you gave him a disapproving glare. As the movie closed in you felt a weird gloom wash over you, it was nice being alone with him by his side while you two relaxed. You didn’t want it ending, but alas Tiana and Naveen kissed turning them human, with the reveal that with marrying Naveen, she became a princess effectively breaking the curse, and the movie started with the end song.

“Well dear I did enjoy that, the voodoo was pretty boringly unrealistic, but it’s for children. I did enjoy the mentioning of foods, very common dishes even I enjoy, like gumbo. But alas it was still a pathetic little movie about mortal love.” Standing to his feet when he finished speaking, Alastor dusted himself off and snapped his fingers making all around you revert to what it was before movie night.

“Do you not want to be in love?” You ask softly partly hoping he didn’t hear you as by the time you stood from your spot, you regret saying it. “Well I certainly haven’t looked. Why disappointed?” Alastor bent himself backwards to look at you since you stood behind him readying to exit. Looking down into his eyes you felt hazy, maybe a little drunk on desire as you gently caressed his cheek. “Maybe I am,”

“Darling.” Alastor said sternly as he cracked himself upward, he bent down facing you this time and before he could talk you once again interrupted. “Can’t blame me can you?” Alastor seemed momentarily taken aback, gazing around lazily trying to collect his thoughts. “My dear, I'm uncertain with emotions like this as well as expressing them, love is foolish, however… if you were to tell me ‘i love you’ i would say it back.”

It confused you, what Alastor said, you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you and telling you he was going to lie about his emotions to spare you, or if he was egging you on attempting to get you to tell him your true feelings. Regardless you swallowed down any worries for the future instead focusing only on the now, and looked deeply into the soft red glow of his eyes.

“I love you Al,” With a cheeky smile you watched him stutter, the visible shock was clear, and you wondered if he actually expected you to say that. Just as you began to worry you fucked up, he bent down to your height. “I love you too my dear,” And with that he gave you the chastised kiss on the lips, before standing to his full height materialising his microphone. “Got to go dear! Duty calls!” And with that he seemingly disappeared into the shadows, leaving you to waddle tiredly to your room. Little did you know that Alastor whisked himself away to have a minor panic attack in the safety of his radio tower, not believing himself and his broad actions, nor could he believe the pounding in his chest and flutter in his heart.

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[moonstruckme]

Glad your back love! I have a request if that’s alright. Remus and reader going on a bookstore date and lunch or something!! That would be so cute. Imagine how excited both of them would be picking out books and being affectionate. Just a lot of fluff and cuteness. Thanks sweetness hope you enjoyed your break!

Thanks for requesting sweetness!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re feeling a bit guilty about the teas you’ve snuck in, but if there are two people who can be trusted around books, it’s you and Remus. He takes a careful sip as he leans in to skim the titles, sticking one hand in the pocket of his pants. 

“Island of Love,” he reads, amusement lilting his tone. “Original.” 

“I think I’ve actually read some of that author’s stuff,” you say. 

Remus quirks a brow at you interestedly, hand coming out of his pocket to pull the novel from the shelf. “Let’s see, a summer wedding, the groom’s brother and bride’s maid of honor hate each other, but—oh, he’s frustratingly attractive…and something about passionate summer heat.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Wonder what that could be alluding to.” 

“Alright.” You steal the book from him, slotting back into its space. “I never said this stuff was, like, literature to be studied at Oxford. If you’re going to disrespect my section, run along to yours.” 

“Fairly sure it’s considered rude to abandon your date,” he muses. “What’s my section, by the way?”

“Depressing stuff.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm.” You take a sip of your own tea, trying not to fluster under his attention. You scan the shelves idly for a distraction. “It’s all rather doom and gloom. Very well-written doom and gloom, to be fair, but I’m not always looking to have my life changed. This stuff is fun, at least.” 

“I see,” he hums. “Oh, this looks familiar.” 

You turn to see him holding up the shiny new version of the worn and waterstained paperback that rests perpetually on your nightstand at home. 

“How do you know about that?” you ask him. 

Remus smiles. Your heart flutters. “It was on the coffee table when I was over last week. Are you rereading it?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug, turning your eyes away from him. “I reread it a lot, it’s my favorite.” 

“Mm, I noticed it looked fairly battered.” 

“Well-loved,” you correct him. 

He chuckles quietly, and you grin because you can’t help it. “Right, so sorry. My mistake.” 

You brush a piece of hair out of your face, slotting it behind your ear. Watch Remus’ eyes track the movement. “So what’s your battered book?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your favorite,” you clarify. “The book that’s all war torn and full of nonsensical annotations.”

He thinks for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I have a few I go back and forth between, but lately it’s been The Secret History.” 

You have to cover your mouth with a hand to hide the full breadth of your smile, and Remus narrows his eyes at you. 

“What?” he asks.

“That book is so depressing.” You shake your head, delighted at being so right. “I mean, it’s beautifully written,” you amend. “Really gorgeous. I’m just not sure I found the plot as compelling as the prose.” 

His mouth actually drops open. You can’t tell how much of the shock is teasing and how much is real. “You thought that book had no plot?” 

“No, I mean, plenty happened.” You turn to face him, forgetting about the books around you for a moment to focus on this one. “But I felt like it happened so slowly, and there was so much in between that was just tons of description. It was like they almost skimmed over the murder part! There were so many plotlines that were brought in and then just disappeared, though I guess I can respect the ways in which it reflected real life.”

You think for a second that Remus might argue with you (he should, really—it’s his favorite book and you’re slandering it), but he keeps his mouth shut, watching you interestedly. 

“And don’t you think Richard was a bit passive? Henry and Bunny had so much going on, but the narrator could have literally been a fly on the wall the whole time. He kind of reminds me of Nick Carroway, you know?” 

“From the Great Gastby?” He tilts his head, eyes squinting a bit (it’s devastatingly cute). “How’s that?” 

“Just, they’re both such flat characters.” You frown. “I don’t really think either of them needed to be in the story at all. I mean, having a narrator that’s a character with no personality is effectively the same as having a non-omniscient third-person narrator, right?” 

Remus is biting the inside corner of his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “Right.” 

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that I need to get you talking about books more often,” he says. And that’s real affection in his eyes, mixed in with the humor. 

You look down, grinning at the front of your shirt, but his little smile doesn’t waver. 

“Shouldn’t be hard,” you say. An awkward, obvious sidestep of the compliment, but he lets you get away with it. “Your turn. Let’s go to your section.” 

He shrugs. “If you think you can stand it,” he says, but starts moving in that direction. You notice he’s still holding the copy of your favorite book. 

“Aren’t you going to put that back?” 

“No.” He doesn’t need to look down to know what you’re talking about. “You’ve already torn one of my choice novels to shreds, now it’s my turn to read yours.” 

A little bite of nervousness snips behind your belly button even as his sidelong look lets you know he’s only joking. “You could always borrow mine.” 

Remus blinks. “I’m flattered that you’d trust me with it,” he says, and it almost has you blushing again, that he knows the significance of you offering him your copy, “but I think I’ll read the un-annotated version first. But if the offer still stands after I’m finished, I’d love to read your thoughts on it.” 

He says it like it’s nothing. Like taking the time to read your favorite book twice, just so he can get to know you more thoroughly, isn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever so much as thought of doing for you. You worry that if you look down, your heart will be glowing right through your shirt.

“Alright.” You muster your courage, taking him by the hand. “But now we also have to find one to read together.” 

Remus has looked down at your joined hands, something like shyness coloring his expression, but he looks up to quirk an eyebrow at you. “Are you so sure we’ll be able to find something we can agree upon?” “So long as it involves a main character that actually does something, I think we can manage.”

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt5

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

A/N: and its a double update!!! im showcasing a lot of side characters that will eventually be a huuuuge part of the plot (winks). also the brewing tension. let me know what you folks think about this

Taglist: @spideybv28 @randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @cristianovettel @callsignwidow @gothicwidowsworld

2010, Istanbul Park

The necklace sits heavy on Y/N's neck. She had been fiddling with it the whole morning. There was something about the internal and unspoken pressure happening in the Red Bull garage ever since both of their drivers tied their points for the championship. She have heard more conversations here and there about who would Red Bull side with, their older driver or the rookie.

It was very stressful for Y/N to spend time with the two drivers involved with the discussions.

"Nervous?" Sebastian noticed.

"Can't help it" she gave a weak smile.

"For me or for Mark?"

Y/N had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. As if she hasn't had enough of this whole which driver would you pick to side on. She just gestured that her lips are sealed meaning that she won't take anyone's side.

"Stop trying to get my sister on your side" Mark apparently overheard the conversation "Blood runs thicker than water, am i right sis?"

"I'm not gonna comment on that"

"See what you are doing to my sister, you are ruining this family Seb" Mark overdramatically reacts

"Your sister is my bestfriend, get over it" Sebastian rebutted.

Bestfriend.

And just like that, there was a pang in Y/N's heart. Maybe another factor of the heavy feeling is that she has been doing her best to bury her feelings for Sebastian. But after the whole Monaco pre-birthday thing, every effort that she has to bury her feelings is thrown out of the window. She was hopelessly inlove with the man and Sebastian was very blind about it.

"Just have a good race, okay?"she reminded the two.

"I think we will score some good points today" Sebastian confidently stated.

"That's the fighting spirit" Mark cheered on.

It was moments like this that Y/N was reminded that the two Red Bull drivers are not fighting each other as the team pictured them to be. They may showcase competitiveness during the races but that's just normal. Outside the track, the two share a very friendly atmosphere with each other.

Soon, the two set off to go their respective cars. Y/N watched the race outside of the driver's room for a change. Ever since, she started to hear the gossiping of the Red Bull crew about Seb and Mark, she opted to be more around them. She wanted to know what they are saying to warn the drivers or make a possible plan on how to resolve if ever the situation escalates.

The race started out well with Mark leading comfortably. Sebastian was behind and Lewis was next. It was going really well for Mark and if Y/N have to say it then he might win another race. Sebastian, on the other hand, has been challenged by the two McLarens of Hamilton and Button.

Then it happened all so quickly.

Y/N let out a gasp as the two Red Bull drivers crashed with each other. One was sent down to the gravel while the other managed to push back to the track. Y/N was too focused that she didn't notice that the cameras were pointed at her.

'Y/N Webber

Mark Webber's sister and assistant, Sebastian Vettel's bestfriend.'

The whole garage was in shambles as the radio messages from Sebastian sounds really angry. The amount of swear words in the radio was a stark difference from the jolly Sebastian that she was speaking to a couple of minutes ago. Y/N looked worriedly as Sebastian goes to the stewards.

"It was Vettel's fault"

"No, Mark Webber wasn't looking and giving him space"

"That's stupid, it was clearly Sebastian Vettel's fault"

Watching the replays, Y/N hates to admit it but this one is on Sebastian. She could hear the discussion even becoming more rampant as Sebastian reaches the garage.

A permanent scowl graces his face as he talks to Helmut and Christian about the incident that occurred. Y/N followed to check up on him and she can't help but overhear the conversation.

"That was not right, this shouldn't have happened" Christian lectures "It will cost us a lot of points with the two McLaren looking for two podium finish today"

"Don't look and point fingers at me, I'm not the only one who crashed" Sebastian clearly not thinking his words through.

"Sebastian this should never happen again, understood?" Christian firmly ordered

"But it isn't right to blame Sebastian, the boy is right there were two of them there" Helmut comes to the defense of Sebastian "It was clear that Mark did not make way for him resulting to the crash"

Y/N felt herself getting red. It was clear as a day that the crash was not caused by Mark. It was getting clearer for her that someone has been playing favorites.

"See, you better have word with Mark" Sebastian said.

"Unbelievable" Y/N muttered.

She was taught that if she couldn't say anything good then she probably shouldn't say anything at all so she walks away. She decided not to show herself even after Mark got a podium finish.

Her sudden disappearance did not go unnoticed but Sebastian just let her be.

2010, Silverstone Circuit

Things at Red Bull garage has gone from bad to worse. It was difficult now to hang out with Mark or Sebastian as the two drivers have intended everything to be a competition. Y/N didn't want to see any part of this which is why she is currently doing babysitting duties at Mercedes.

It was a weird set-up seeing how one of Red Bull's employee is staying at the pristine white facility of Mercedes—she sticks out like a sore thumb. But Mick Schumacher only wants Y/N to be with him as he watches his father race. It has always been that case ever since Y/N met Mick when he was around 4 years old.

"Y/N, are you not scared for your brother and Seb?" Mick asked as the two of you watched the cars go out for the formation lap.

"I used to be scared" she still is "But its something that they love"

"Mama says Papa gives her a lot of stress when he races. I hope there is no aksident"Mick's tone was with a slight worry.

"Your Papa will be okay, he is a legend"Y/N assures.

The cars are now slowly lining up to the starting grid. Sebastian was on pole while Mark was the 2nd one so they were sharing a Red Bull front row. It only made Y/N worry even more because race starts are quite chaotic here in Silverstone.

"Mark and Seb must be really lucky to be at the front"Mick commented

"I sure hope so"

The lights started flashing and the infamous lights out and away we go went off. It was indeed chaotic at the start with Sebastian and Mark neck to neck with each other. They were both trying to take the lead even if it means pushing the other off track.

"OH FUCK" Y/N immediately covered the ears of Mick as the collision was broadcasted.

Mark managed to go through but Sebastian had puncture. The German was obviously mad for losing crucial places.

"What happened Y/N to Mark and Seb, I thought they are teammates" was the confused question of Mick.

She sighs. Her thoughts are echoing what Mick just said. What happened to them.

"Mick,they are still teammates its just that they also have to compete with each other. Its a sports and sometimes we lose,sometimes we win"Y/N tried to explain it to 10-year-old Mick.

She could already imagine the chaos in the Red Bull garage. She hears the commentaries that maybe this was Webber's revenge for Istanbul. The headache that will emerge for her after this whole race will be very difficult to ignore.

"Y/N if I become an f1 driver,would you come see me?"Mick asked

Its like heaven sent an angel in the form of Mick for Y/N. When she hears him talk it feels as if the world is slightly a little simpler and better. How she wish she lives in that same bubble as Mick.

"I won't crash, I promise"Mick added

Young Mick is still very young but he really dreams to be a Formula 1 driver like his father. Y/N could feel grey hairs developing if she sees Mick in an F1 car.

"Of course Mick"

"Good"Mick grinned "Oh look Y/N your brother is leading! Go Mark Webbahhhhhh"

The cheers of the little Schumacher made Y/N grin. She will deal with all the Red Bull stress later.

2010, Hockenheimring

Usually, Y/N likes getting her coffee at the catering but she doesn't feel like interacting with any Red Bull team for this morning. This is why the Webber girl is seen queuing up in a local Starbucks.

She was just about to sit down and wait for her coffee when a random man bumped her. It sent all her paper flying and Y/N could only grumble since the man didn't even look at her to help.

"Some people these days lack manners"she huffed in frustration.

It was a good thing that someone was helping her picking up the paper. She looked at the bracelets adorning her wrist and the long blonde hair tied up into a bun, thank God for a woman.

"Thank you so much for helping me" Y/N started "You really didn't have to"

"Nonsense, it will be rude to just stare at you picking up your papers"the woman has a thick German accent, similar to Sebastian.

She is probably local, Y/N thinks.

"Still thank you" Y/N politely insisted "Do you want to sit with me, the whole cafe is full"

"Of course"

Y/N wasn't usually chatty but the woman is very comfortable to talk to. She mentioned that she was a local but she lives a bit far from here and that she was only here for the weekend. Y/N shared how she is also here for the weekend.

"Wait are you going to watch Formula 1?" she quizzed

Y/N was about to answer when she heard the call of the barista. he quickly picked up her coffee and went back to her new friend.

"No way, you are Y/N?THE Y/N Webber?" the girl repeated.

Y/N chuckled. It wasn't usual that she has been recognized by formula 1 fans. She felt red as she admits that she is a bit flattered that she knows her name.

"I didn't know I am famous around here"Y/N joked

"Sebastian always talks about you, I was really looking forward to see you later at the garage"

Oh? Y/N thinks there is only one Sebastian that she knows.

"My name is Hanna, Hanna Prater" she introduced "I'm Sebastian's childhood bestfriend"

2010, Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

Sebastian was bitter. He felt as if he lost a golden opportunity by not being able to score any points today. He is so bitter that he choose not to celebrate with the team tonight and he intended to stay holed up in his hotel room.

However, after a while,he grew tired of the hotel room walls so he ended up walking at the rooftop of the hotel.

Only,he wasn't the only one there.

"Hey stranger" he called out "I haven't seen you in Red Bull garage for a while"

Y/N turned around and she smiled when she met his eyes.

He doesn't understand how she does it but everything seems to melt in the background when she does this. It felt like he was back in his rookie days when they met up at the rooftops and talk for hours. It was much more simpler back then.

"I have been busy.. socializing" Y/N replied.

They both know that was a lie. Y/N was obviously using socializing as a front when in truth is she doesn't like to mingle with the toxicness of the Red Bull garage. But, Sebastian lets it slide.

"Is it bad that I missed you and I want you to stay at the garage?"Sebastian popped the question out of the blue.

"I'll be there as Mark's sister and his assistant, I don't think it will work well with the situation" Y/N informed.

There it goes again. This was that line that Sebastian has been hindering him to confess or ask her out.

It felt so stupid that he can flirt with anyone with ease but when it comes to Y/N, its so hard.He shouldn't have been scared of Mark, he is never scared of Mark (and it shows multiple times on track). But the thing that Sebastian knows is that Y/N has high regards for her brother and Sebastian didn't want to put a strain in their family.

"How are you feeling with the race today?"Y/N asked, diverting the topic.

"I could have been better." Sebastian sighs "Maybe I should train over and over again"

"Don't push yourself, you are still in the pool for the championship" Y/N assures

The championship. It's everything that Sebastian has ever thought of lately. Its within his reach and he really wants to extend a lead with it but somehow its not working. He really thinks that there is a high possibility that he can get his first championship this year.

"The championship must feel really nice" Y/N comments as she observes the smile on Sebastian's face

"I mean that's why were all racing dangerously" Sebastian chuckles.

No sane man would want to race in harsh conditions or beyond normal speed limit without any incentives.

"Just don't lose yourself"Y/N said "I worry about you Seb"

He acknowledges that. He is not dumb that the Red Bull crew has been pitting him and Webber against each other. In the end, it places a pressure on both of them to perform well because all that Red Bull cares about is who will bring the victory. The more likely victor will be the more favored one.

"We'll be alright" Sebastian comforts.

Even if this is all a lie, the two finds that comfort and repeat it to themselves. Maybe if they repeat it a lot then maybe it will end up coming true.

[pomefioredove]

Noble Bell ; Book One, Part I ; The King of Truands

what if you were sent to Noble Bell College instead?

type of post: series characters: rollo, original characters (pierrot, bou, phoenix) additional info: reader is gender neutral, this is mostly my own vision, influenced by Disney's Hunchback, the 1939 movie, and the original novel

prologue | the king of truands, one | the king of truands, two |

Chapter One

That night, while you slept on uncomfortable bed of straw and mildewed wood, a council was held.

It is important to note that, for all its rules, and there were many, the body of staff of the proud Noble Bell College were rather removed from the common life. Outside the realm of the lecture hall and the office, the scholars were governed by a democratic and elected student council, that which organized the events, kept order, and administered discipline, when necessary.

The council was entirely egalitarian, but there are three key members: The Justice of the Peace, now sitting at the right hand of the stand, looking rather bored, The Vice President, M. Bou de Neige, whom we have already met, and The President, who is unusually absent on this chilled evening.

These three people are responsible for an entire body of students. They are looked up to, not only as scholars, but as diplomats, peacekeepers, and leaders. They are expected to keep the students best interests close to heart, to be the bridge between the scholar and the staff, and this is no easy burden, despite most of the council being no older than sixteen years of age.

You must understand, then, the significance of tonight's council.

Gathered around the dark hall, illuminated by the fire burning at one end of the long room, scholars and staff alike exchange whispers, glances, and moods.

"As far as I'm aware, they're still on school grounds," the Justice of the Peace scratches his head with his quill, and a spurt of black ink stains his light brown hair. "One of my men saw them going with Gregoire to La Tombe."

Bou de Neige, who had, up until this point, been rather quiet, grimaces. "The fool. He just can't help himself, can he?"

"Hospitality is a virtue," says the headmaster, a graying, old man in a white cloak by name of Monsieur Diacre.

"Where is the President?"

"No one can find him," Bou says. "I will be speaking for him tonight."

"Perhaps we should postpone until he's been found?" a council member echoes.

"As much as I would like to, this matter is grave," Monsieur Diacre says. "A decision must be made tonight. The fate of this stranger depends on our council."

A low murmur reverberates through the room.

"Now, I have received word from two arcane academies, and there, no mention has been found of this place they say they came from, in any language, in any history. There is, in principle, no proof that this person has ever existed.

Despite this, they have appeared at our doorstep, in our clothes. By merit, the Bell of Solace has seen them fit as a student of Noble Bell College."

Bou stands. "With all due respect, sir, I strongly disagree. How do we know they are not a thief, a beggar, or a vagrant? You know well the problems Fleur City has-"

"There is another thing," Monsieur Diacre says, calm despite the tension in the hall. "Perhaps even more grave."

"And that is?"

"If you will recall, some hours ago, in my office?"

"Yes," Bou says, sitting down again with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "A useless conversation about their home, which does not exist, because they are a liar, a thief."

"Not so. Remember the way their eyes clouded when we discussed the Bell, the school, and the ceremony? How they asked, in that confounded tone, about magic? Even you must know that they were truthful then,"

He narrows his eyes. The Justice of the Peace, who had, up until that point, been scratching the "Ph" of his name onto the stand with the fine point of his quill, finally looked up.

"You don't mean to say they don't know about magic?"

"That's impossible," Bou says, though his eyes are downcast, seemingly lost in the memory of their conversation.

"Perhaps we have become too dependent on the academics. The sciences," Monsieur Diacre says. "That we forget the power of miracle."

"You are sure, then- that this person- this stranger- has no magic?"

"None whatsoever?" the Justice of Peace echoes.

Monsieur Diacre gives them both a hard stare. "Monsieur de Neige, you were closest to them. Did anything seem strange as you walked them to my office?"

The boy presses his lips together to make a firm line. "...I did have such an impression,"

"We must consider the reality," he continues, "That is that we have a young person, born and raised without magic, on our campus."

A heavy silence follows. Only the matrons, the professors of Noble Bell College, old and dressed in gray, bell-shaped habits, murmur amongst themselves.

"But I do hope," one whispers, "That we will not keep them."

"I pity the housewardens if they are to be carried to their doors for shelter. I would rather shelter a thief!"

"A sign of bad luck for certain. The greatest calamities! It's no wonder we had such low exam scores last year,"

Bou leans on his elbows against the wood of the stand and grumbles.

"So, what will we do?"

"There are options," the headmaster says. "This very building was once a symbol of hope, a sanctuary for outcasts. I know how our scholars pride themselves on tradition..."

"And the other?" Bou asks, eyes narrowing.

"I am of the opinion," one older, respected professor says. "That it would be better for the scholars of Noble Bell, and the people of Fleur City, if that strange thing were not in our walls."

The room erupts into a frenzy of murmurs, whispers, and hisses. Monsieur Diacre sighs.

"...That is a possibility. I have received offer from Headmaster Crowley of Night Raven College, as he is looking for a new boarder, and would be willing to accommodate a magicless persons. We could-"

"That will not be necessary,"

Despite the obvious unrest, the symphony of whispers, the crackling of the fire, the single voice, the unwavering presence at the large doors of the hall, cold, dignified, carries over the room.

"President Flamme," Bou de Neige says. He is not greeted in return.

"Please thank Monsieur Crowley for the offer, and send him on his way. They will be staying at Noble Bell," the boy says, walking briskly into the room, cutting through the mass of students and staff like a hot blade.

He climbs the steps to the stand and sits between the Vice President and the Justice of the Peace. Both stare at him as if they were looking at a ghost.

"On what grounds, Monsieur Flamme?" the headmaster asks. A few heads nod in agreement.

"By our rules," he says. "If the Bell of Solace has chosen them, then they are ours."

For the first time, Bou seems flustered, stumbling over his words and making a spectacle of himself.

"But- well, yes, that is the rule, but- you must consider- there will always be exceptions! They made trouble at orientation, they ran away with Gregoire, and that's not even mentioning- no magic! How can they be expected to study at this college with no magic?"

"Compose yourself, Vice President," Flamme says sternly, folding his hands in front of himself on the table. "Noble Bell has seen them fit for our academy. There are greater powers at work here.

And who knows? Our Bell works in mysterious ways. Some day, they may be of great use to us."

"You are suggesting we enroll them as a student, then?"

The council waits with baited breath. After an amount of suspense, he nods.

"I am. Shall we vote?"

Chapter Two

You jolt awake to the sound of hard knocking on the door.

The makeshift home Pierrot had brought you to the evening prior looked quite different in the light of morning. You could now make out the interior:

On all sides, you are, once again, surrounded by stone walls. On one, the door, large and heavy. Above you, the ceiling is high, vaulted, and tiled.

Everything is thick with grime and dust.

On either side of you are what appear to be two large stone benches, engraved with arches, men in robes, and writing in a language you don't understand. Atop these benches are a number of things: papers, quills, bundles of clothing, a block of moldy cheese, and many, many books, piled and shelved as if this small place, whatever it was when Pierrot found it, had been baptized a library.

The boy himself, across the straw-covered floor, is just now waking, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Who is it?" asks Pierrot.

A low, annoyed voice comes from the other side of the stone door.

"Housewarden and Vice President de Neige. I've come on official council duty,"

The color drains from Pierrot's face. "Yes, just a moment!"

"Pierrot?" you ask, following him as he scrambles to his feet.

"You must speak to him first, I'll be out in a moment!" he ushers you to the heavy door, drags it open, and then closes it behind you with the unpleasant scrape of stone on stone.

The morning on the field is crisp and chilled, somehow much colder than the little stone room. Bou de Neige is standing in front of you, his arms crossed, an unpleasant scowl on his lips.

"Is he hiding?"

"He said he would be out in a moment,"

"Very well," Bou says. "I suppose we may as well start without him. I've come to prepare you for your classes."

You blink. "...My... classes..."

He scowls again. "Yes, and don't look so dumb. A student of Noble Bell ought to conduct themselves with the poise of the Righteous Judge himself. The council and staff held a vote last night. Despite your obvious lack of abilities, the Bell of Solace has chosen you for Noble Bell College, and thus, you will be permitted to study with us for the foreseeable future. Understood?"

You nod. He seems... unhappy, you think. Or perhaps he's always like that...

"Good," Bou crosses his arms. "You should consider yourself quite lucky. You have powerful allies on your side."

A loud, obtrusive crashing, and a high scream come from inside the little building. The stone door suddenly cries open again, and out comes Pierrot, now dressed in a black and white uniform, similar to de Neige's, except with pants rather than a frock. His hat is lopsided. Bou stares at him with clear disdain.

"This concerns you, as well Gregoire," de Neige says, hands on his hips.

"Me?"

"Wipe that stupid look off your face," he scowls. "Now, listen. You,"

de Neige points at your chest. "...Are useless in the practice of magic. Correct?"

You nod.

"And you-" he points at Pierrot. "Have lost your scholarship, your dorm accommodations, and your respect. You buffoon."

Pierrot blushes and sticks his hands in his pockets, as if feeling their emptiness. One has a finger-sized hole you can see his pinky wiggling out of.

"The council has come up with a solution that would be beneficial to the both of you. As an act of charity, the expenses of the new scholar have been covered by the college. That includes your books, uniforms, and meals. This does not change the fact that you at a clear academic disadvantage; magicless.

Here is the proposition: you and Gregoire, from the moment you accept, will count for one student. You will share your school materials, meals, and clothing provided by your scholarship, you will study together, take the same classes, and in return, he will perform the necessary magic for both of you."

You and Pierrot share a glance.

Bou sighs. "I, personally, would have never come up with such a ridiculous idea, but... unfortunately... your old tutor seems to have faith in you still, Gregoire,"

Pierrot's face goes pale. "You mean-"

"Either that," de Neige interrupts. "Or he simply thinks you are too weak-willed and incompetent to take advantage of them. I expect your answer before the first bell."

He turns on his heels, long, dark hair whipping behind him, and disappears into the grove, on a dirty cobblestone path back to the school.

"...Well?" a voice says from beneath you. You jump, and look down to see the goat, Hugo. Talking. You're still getting used to that...

"Where have you b... never mind," you say. "What do you think, P- Pierrot?"

You look back around to see the gentleman on his knees in front of you, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He's giving you terrible puppydog eyes.

"Please, please, please, this could be my only opportunity! I have nothing else! My studies- Noble Bell is everything!"

You grimace. "...I don't know. I just met you."

For a moment, he almost looks... taken aback, as if he found it strange of you to consider him, of all people, a suspicious character.

His voice drops, and he answers carefully.

"...I swear to you, by my quill, by my hopes of success, not to even approach you without your permission and consent, but, for the Judge's sake, give me a meal plan!"

Hugo bursts out into bleating laughter, and even you smile.

"...Alright," you say. "Let's go give him an answer, then."

Chapter Three

The dining hall, eerily void of living bodies at this early hour, is a thin, and humble building reaching towards the edge of the campus.

Hidden by the monotonous stone walls of the school, it is rather indistinct, the only remarkable thing being that it is held between courtyards on both sides, making it a sort of bridge between one row of buildings and the other, not unlike the stone bridges that hold the embrace between the island and the city.

This modest, almost dull exterior is deceptive, though, as appearances so often are. Once inside the hall, one is met with the magnificent vaulted ceilings, painted dark with stars, held high by the thinnest of thin, delicate arches on the walls, themselves sheltering bodies of stained glass in every color the eye can perceive. Warmed by candlelight and the fire crackling at one end of the magnificent hall, it is nothing short of... well, magic.

The body, no matter how exquisite, dull, or deformed, is nothing without the matter of the soul.

You tilt your head. In a sad sort of way, the feeling reminds you of your straw bed. Dirty, but warmer than the harsh morning outside.

"What did the building used to be?"

"Hm?"

Pierrot hums, smiling as if he had not heard you, preoccupied with piling his plate. You had counted sixteen strips of bacon so far. At this rate, he would build a tower high enough to touch the painted stars on the ceiling.

"Where you sleep. Your room. It's not a dorm, is it?" you ask, following behind, setting a fruit or two on his plate when the opportunity presents itself.

"More oranges," Hugo demands from beneath you. You concede.

Pierrot finishes off his mountain of breakfast with a few slices of bread, and then leads you off to a far corner of the magnificent dining hall.

"Oh, no. A mausoleum,"

"A what?"

"Don't worry, it's empty," he says. "...I think. I've never checked. I recall reading that the bodies from the old cemetery had been moved."

"Cemetery?"

"Fleur City is full of them," Hugo says. "I've been to my fair share. People just leave flowers all over 'em. A free meal is a free meal, right?"

Pierrot nods in agreement, though he doesn't really seem to be listening. You grimace.

"Yes. The field is covered in tombstones. They're quite pretty," he says. "But the bodies were reburied under the tiles in Noble Bell a long time ago."

Each thing they add seems to be more concerning than the last.

Hugo bleats. "You're gonna have to get used to the cadavers, y'know. This place is old, and full of 'em... and their parts,"

"Yuck,"

"Nonsense," Pierrot says. "There is beauty and life in everything, even death itself. Such is the danse macabre."

You and Hugo share a look. What did he say he was, again...?

"Do you think he came out like that, or was he taught?"

"Rude," Pierrot mumbles. "But one might say it runs in my family."

He offers you a slice of bread, and you decline. The headache you'd been fighting off since first light is making you nauseous.

"Tell us about your family," anything to distract yourself now.

Pierrot smiles, his features warming like the sun on a winter day. He always seems quite pleased to talk about himself.

"I'm afraid it's nothing interesting. My father is a notary, and I have five brothers, though most are older than I. The closest in age, a year younger, is at another arcane academy. Alas, I was disowned, and haven't spoken to them in some time,"

"Unsurprising," Hugo mutters. He snags the slice of bread that would have been yours off the plate, between his teeth, and returns to lying under the table.

You lean into your elbow. "Why were you disowned?"

"By my passion," he smiles. "See, I tried to be a guard, but wasn't brave enough. I became a religious man, but was not devout enough, and couldn't drink enough, anyway. I tried carpentry, but wasn't strong enough. At last, I realized I was good at nothing- therefore, I became a writer."

"And your family didn't approve?"

"Not quite. But then I was here," Pierrot becomes quiet, his eyes turned up at the colored windows of the hall with a sort of holy reverence.

"...And the rest is history."

You blink. Disowned by his family, stripped of his scholarship and thrown out of his own dorm by his housewarden?

He's resilient, at least. You'll give him that.

"And your scholarship?"

"Bah, that was nothing. I simply... printed a pamphlet on free thought that the school officials did not care for,"

"Your dorm?"

"I annoyed the housewarden,"

This guy can't catch a break. No wonder he was so desperate for your help.

"Who's the housewarden?" you ask, watching him absent-mindedly scratch beneath his cap.

"Of L'Universite? You've already met him. He is the one who came to see us this morning, Bou de Neige,"

You hum. Of course... Perhaps he is always that unhappy, then.

"I don't miss him. I kept to myself at L'Universite. The students were... unpleasant," Pierrot shudders, as if taken by some unfelt chill, and you raise an eyebrow.

He goes on without question. "You'd assume, with such a name, that the dorm is only for the most exemplary of scholars, but they're unruly. I was almost burnt alive only once, though,"

Huh. "Why is it called that?"

"The three dorms of Noble Bell are based upon the ancient divisions of Fleur City. On one side, the university district- L'Universite- on one, the aristocratic gardens- here, called La Ville- and in the center, the sacred island, which we call The City," he explains, snapping a crisp piece of bacon in half.

"...But the histories of the dorms have little to do with their personalities. They're only to pay homage to the time when Noble Bell was established. Up until Monsieur de Neige, L'Universite had no housewarden, as per tradition. It was overseen by the college itself..."

"Then the kids got too rough, and the administration had had enough of 'em. I heard about that," Hugo's voice comes from under the table.

Pierrot nods. "Now, de Neige has completely turned it around. He punishes anyone who steps out of line,"

This is a strange place, you think for the umpteenth time.

Chapter Four

Fed, sated, and warmed by good conversation, Pierrot leads you through the delicate halls of Noble Bell College with a renewed lust for life in his step.

He goes about, pointing towards windows and great pillars and plaques on the walls and floor, explaining their origins, which came from where, from what year and artist.

You nod along, content to just listen while your mind wandered.

It feels too real to be a dream, but it must be one. In your world, animals don't talk, humans don't cast spells, and schools don't have astrology classes.

Hugo had disappeared again, likely off looking for table scraps. He seemed to have a will of his own. Pierrot hadn't noticed yet.

"And the tile from this courtyard was repurposed from the Place de Grève..."

He talks so much to himself, it almost feels as if you are alone while right beside him. Despite that, and that he's facing away from you, his sunny self pointed toward the tiled courtyard he seems so enthusiastic about, you can't help but feel as if someone is watching you.

That strange, unnerving feeling had been following you since you left the dining hall. No matter how many times you turned over your shoulder, reassuring yourself that it was only your nerves, it lingered.

Every corner or so, another dignified scholar will pass you by, dressed in the same uniform, quiet, poised, looking straight ahead. Once, you walk by someone shrouded in a blue cloak, singing "Thaumarks to spare? Thaumarks to spare?" to whom you apologize for having nothing.

You don't even know what a thaumark is.

Pierrot leads you through yet another courtyard, and the feeling of eyes on your person never leaves.

It's beginning to weigh on you.

"How much longer?"

"Hm?" he finally turns to look at you, and the strange feeling subsides, slipping back into the shadows of the hall.

"Not much. Don't worry, Scriptorium is easy. As long as you pretend to be busy, no one will bother you,"

Chapter Five

Pierrot could not have given a truer description.

Though, he could have at least warned you about the boredom.

The melodious sound of forty quills on paper echoes off the stone walls and tiled floors. There is no talking, no eating, no foot-tapping, no whispers. The faint sound of the city, as close as it is, feels distant from here.

The parchment before you is as empty as it was at the beginning of class, and the book you'd been provided is on the very same page. The student in front of you has filled two pages already, delicately copying the contents of the book onto the parchment.

Pierrot, sitting beside you, seems to be writing something of his own. At least he seems entertained...

Then, all at once, everyone begins gathering their quills and ink, standing from their seats without a word. Pierrot jolts, shuffling around his things to cover his pages of writing as the other students pass him by.

Though he waits until everyone else is gone before getting up himself, avoiding their prying eyes is useless. Waiting outside the lecture hall is none other than his ex-housewarden himself.

"You. Come with me," Bou says, sharp, crimson eyes boring into you. "We have some things to discuss."

You share a glance with Pierrot. He looks sympathetic, waving you goodbye as de Neige leads you in the other direction.

"I trust you enjoyed Scriptorium?" he doesn't look at you when he speaks.

"Oh- um, yes,"

"Good. Copying manuscripts is an honored tradition of Noble Bell," he says.

"Until the invention of the printing press, all books were made by hand. Though the press made the process fast and inexpensive, the beauty of manuscripts remains unmatched."

You look at him. "You seem to have a lot of traditions,"

He returns your look with a glare. "We are a proud school. It would do you well to adopt a similar attitude. And not to let the idealistic drivel of that fool get to you,"

By "that fool", you assume he means Pierrot. That boy keeps getting stranger and stranger...

"What did he do, anyway?"

de Neige mumbles "heresy", and then clears his throat. "Nothing of your concern. Now, hurry up. You're dawdling,"

Chapter Six

As you pass through the halls of Noble Bell, you think of how easy one could get lost in a place like this.

It's almost labyrinthine. It seems as if every turn leads to another lecture hall, another crypt, another library...

"You should consider yourself fortunate," de Neige says. He's been going on about Noble Bell for some time.

"Of all the arcane academies, Noble Bell College's curriculum has the least practical magic."

"Right," you mutter, following him up another narrow flight of stairs.

"And despite that," he says, "You are already being coddled. The headmaster is... soft. Which brings us to the purpose of my visit."

Bou stops in front of a narrow wooden door and turns in a swift movement to face you. "Follow me," he says.

He takes something out of the depths of his pocket and slots it into the heavy, iron-bound wooden door, then pushes it open as if it were a silk curtain.

You follow him up another flight of stairs, and into a darkened room. The only light, cold and gray, comes from a handful of flower-shaped windows, whose glow illuminates the piles of books and dusty furniture cluttering the small room. Another staircase at the far end leads further into the unknown.

Your eyes are drawn to the window closest to yourself, and you peer out over the island, studying the city, its shape, its color, the curve of its river. You could spend your life up here, alone, comforted only by stone and the dim, foggy noon outside.

Bou hums, drawing your attention back to the present moment. He seems familiar with the room, walking about it and dusting its worn furniture with the sleeve of his uniform.

"Here is the north bell tower. You will be staying here from now on,"

Your eyes widen. "But..."

"Careful. It would be unwise to reject such a generous offer," Bou says, refusing to face you. "The bell towers are spacious, quiet, and warm. Winters are quite cold here."

"But Pierrot?"

Finally, you can see the crimson of his eyes, as he turns over his shoulder to glare at you.

"The student council thinks it improper for you to be living alone with Gregoire. He will stay in La Tombe,"

"But-"

"The key," Bou says, ignoring your protests. He takes something cold out of his pocket and places it in your hand. His skin is almost as chilled as the metal.

"I'll see to it that your mail is forwarded here,"

He turns and leaves you in the room, the rough, cold key still cradled in your open palm. You scoff. What mail?

No one knows you. And no one you know knows where you are.

You don't belong. You're an outcast here.

Your fingers tighten around the key. The least you can do is tell Pierrot. You don't want him to worry when you don't come back tonight, after all.

Finally finding some semblance of purpose, you take long, confident steps back the way you came.

Down the narrow wooden stairs, out the left door, down the stone ones, through this passage, this hallway, this turn, then this, and then...

...No. You don't recognize this hallway. It's darker, and the ceiling is lower. You must have gone too far down.

You take a breath. Don't worry. You'll just retrace your steps.

It isn't over. You've been telling yourself that all day. This is not where it ends. You'll find a way out of this.

All of this.

And then, you're no longer alone.

Though there is no noise, no light, no voice that would indicate a human presence, you are suddenly quite aware that there's someone behind you, watching you from the way you came.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you stay in place. If you are to turn now, will you see someone- or something- standing behind you? A pair of eyes watching you from the doorway you'd just ducked under?

Or, worse- will you see nothing at all?

You decide you don't want to find out either way.

You keep going. Into the dark of the hall, over another threshold and another, around the corner. At some lengths, the feeling seems to subside, giving you a moment's worth of peace, and then it returns.

The halls are getting narrower. You have an inexplicable feeling that you are no longer in the school, but somewhere much deeper, much older, primeval.

The scuff of shoe against stone, which most certainly did not come from your own feet, makes you go cold.

"Who's there?" you shout.

The only response in your own echo.

"Come out! Stop following me! Leave me alone!"

The words come tumbling out without much thought. You can feel yourself slipping into a panic.

Thoughts chase each other through your mind, and then suspicions and paranoia poison those thoughts. You must ask yourself now, what is this? What's there, in the dark, just out of sight?

And your mind answers for you: it is a monster.

There is a monster in Noble Bell College, and it wants you.

"Leave me be!" you yell at nothing. You're starting to get desperate.

Nothing happens. Then, all at once, a light comes from ahead of you, not behind, and someone shouts:

"Who's there?"

You turn your back to the dark behind you in a frenzy, and, finally, the feeling of being watched disappears entirely.

"Me! I'm here!"

Around the corner comes a boy, one you had not seen before. Not tall, but not short, sturdily built, we'll say. He's quite good looking, at least compared to the other students you'd met, with light brown hair spilling out of a short, stubby ponytail, blue eyes, darkened by the black of the hall, and, curiously, the wisps of a beard on his chin. He's quite unlike any of the other students you'd seen so far.

But, the more pressing question-

"Who are you?" he asks it before you can.

You say your name, and his eyes widen. His stern expression turns merry, and he smiles.

"Ah, I know you. The magicless one,"

That's not very reassuring. You grimace.

"...How do you know who-"

"You shouldn't be down here alone, you know. It's not safe. We've had some thieves on campus lately,"

"Thieves?"

"Yes. Or so I've heard," he nods solemnly, and then a strange mood comes about him.

He smirks and puts his hand on his hip, his other at his hilt, purposefully drawing your eyes to what must be a sword. A big one, too, if his smile is any indication.

"But don't worry. I'll protect you. You know, I haven't seen you in person yet. The way everyone's been talking about you, I assumed you were some sort of monster. But you're actually very pretty,"

You give him a weird look. Perhaps you were wrong- of course, he's just as strange as the others. "Um... alright...."

"Ah, where are my manners? Let me escort you back to your room."

"...Right," you say, looking over your shoulder one last time. The boy follows your gaze, and then coughs for your attention.

"Bell tower, yes?"

You look back at him and nod.

"Then let's not waste any time,"

Chapter Seven

Despite his confidence, it takes the boy a full hour to find the right passage out of the tunnels. He gets to the bell tower easy enough, at least.

Something about him tells you he's not from here, either, but you keep the thought to yourself for now.

"Well, here we are," he says, hands on his hips as if he had just accomplished something.

"...Yes. Well, thank you,"

He beams, gives you a courteous bow, locks of hair falling over his face as he does. They turn golden in the sunlight. "It was my honor. And if you need anything else-"

"There you are," someone says from within the bell tower. You recognize the gruff voice, but before you can answer, the heavy wooden door bursts open and Hugo tumbles out.

He chuffs. "We've been worried sick, 'ya know! Pierrot's all over the place! Who's the stiff?"

You turn to the boy, and his smirk sharpens at the acknowledgement. "Um... I don't know, actually. Who are you?"

"My name is Phoenix. It means, ah, sun bird," he chuckles.

You and Hugo exchange a glance, and he stops laughing. "I'm the Justice of the Peace of the student council. I was doing my rounds when I heard you shouting,"

You turn back to Hugo to explain. "I got lost,"

"No kidding!"

"I didn't know you had a kid," Phoenix says, the same sly smile on his lips. You almost scoff.

"Yeah, and he doesn't take kindly to pigs!" Hugo says. "Now, get lost! That's our magicless human!"

As the two go back-and-forth, a little glimmer of white against the dark brown of the floor catches your eye. You kneel, and pull a thin envelope from under the wooden door. It has your name on the back, and a bite taken out of the corner. You roll your eyes at that. Hugo.

The goat sets off, headbutting Phoenix back down the narrow stairs and leaving you alone again. You sit on the floor and open the letter.

Dearly Beloved, it starts,

The King of Truands has reviewed your case and sees you fit to join his Cour des Miracles. All thieves, beggars, vagrants, or otherwise outcasts, welcome.

You turn over the parchment, noting its weight, and stuck to the back is a thin pendant, woven of purple and teal twine, in the shape of a leaf. At its heart, a small, golden cross.

How strange...

You squint at the pendant, and then the letter, which, quite rudely, bursts into flame in your hand.

You drop the fiery letter and it dissolves into ashes on the floor. You huff. Magic...

"And stay out!" Hugo's voice returns from the stairs. For a goat, he certainly has a loud bark.

The white of his small head crowns over the steps, and you stand.

"Hugo," you hold out the pendant to him. "Do you know what this is?"

The goat stops and squints, then scoffs. "One 'a those touristy necklaces. They're all over the city, I can't remember what they're for, though. Just that they don't taste good,"

You hum, bringing the pendant back towards yourself. Why would this King of Truands send you a souvenir?

"...Maybe Pierrot will know," you finally say. He seems to know a lot of useless things, after all.

You hurry to the stairs, Hugo trotting behind you. "What's the big deal?"

"I don't know," you say, paying close attention to each step. You don't want to get lost all over again, after all.

"I've had a bad feeling all day. I think this means something."

"Great, a fortune teller," Hugo sighs.

He follows you, anyway.

Chapter Eight

The sun is already setting over the city when you stumble down the steps of Noble Bell.

The sky is streaked with fiery pinks and oranges, making the school look cold and dull by comparison. Even the clouds, red and descending on the wrought iron gates like a bloodied army, turn the stone of the city into a dull, lifeless blue.

You stumble across the sports field and into the grove at the end of the island.

"Slow down!" Hugo gasps.

You don't. But you do stop at La Tombe and pull open its heavy stone door. It's dark inside.

"Pierrot?" you call for him, as if he were hiding behind a book or in a stray shoe.

Nothing.

"Hey, come look at this!"

You abandon the mausoleum and turn to its side, where Hugo is standing over an attached tomb. Its stone lid has been pushed to the ground beside it, and there's light coming from its depths.

"You think he...?" you start, unable to look away from its gaping mouth. Instead of dust and bones, there's a flight of stairs.

"Who else?" Hugo sighs. "He was looking all over for you."

"He must've panicked when the sun started going down," you murmur. "We have to get him."

"What?" Hugo asks, eyes wide. "Are you crazy?"

You take the pendant out of your pocket and hold it against the warm light coming from inside the tomb.

"I just have a feeling," you breathe in slowly, and take your first step into the grave. "Let's go find Pierrot."

[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART I

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 2,992

read on ao3

summary: in which contract killer simon "ghost" riley has to marry by a deadline, and of all the women to pick from, he chose you - without your knowledge, against your own stubborn will, and without much hesitation. your entire life, what you thought you knew, is flipped on its head while you try to navigate your new worldview and the complications therein.

cw: toxic parenting

♡

Simon stares at the photos before him, eyes flittering across the array wordlessly as he contemplates the question at hand. As migrant as his gaze has been, he keeps circling back to the same photo in his grid. Something about it draws him in, calling to him like a siren song. There’s no inclination that this path could lead him to his death, leave his bloated corpse floating just below the surface like seaweed, equally as limp and lifeless, nor can he be bothered to mind the possibility of rocky shores ahead, nearly certain to run his ship aground if he’s not exercising the utmost caution. His sails have never flown higher, and this? This feels like the right rigging for his needs.

It’s not that Simon wants a wife. Truthfully, he wants for nothing - he fucks when he feels like it, does as he pleases, and has hired hands to handle his household; anything he desires is placed at his feet with the snap of his fingers. He’s earned the life he has now, paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears - the likes of which belonging both to him and the piles of bodies he prefers to think of as stepping stones rather than people. But Simon Riley is nothing if not a man of his word, and the bill has come due.

Twenty years, he promised. Twenty years, and not a day more. It seems like an eternity to an eager, naïve teenager.

John Price, the master of hired guns, trained Simon. He put years of his life into molding Simon into the perfect weapon while instilling a moral compass impossible to sway. It did not come without cost, though. When he agreed to teach a driven, persistent, gifted fifteen year old Simon the ins and outs of the business, they made a deal. In exchange for John’s knowledge, Simon would be given time to build his empire before being required to take a wife.

“A mountain can’t rest upon a single pebble,” Price had told him. “Strength is in numbers, my boy. Earn loyalty where you can and buy it where you can’t.”

He’s been on his own for just over a decade, John becoming his equal, and he still takes those words to heart; hence the spread of pictures. Word travels fast, and when it gets out that the Simon Riley is seeking a bride, every magnate - respectable or otherwise - with a daughter to spare is throwing their hat into the ring. Conceited, perhaps, but having connections with Simon gives a man the kind of power they’d be foolish to reject.

His right-hand, Johnny, has already weeded out those with seedier dealings - those who cater to terrorism or are even suspected of having connections to human trafficking. While Simon is merciless in his kills, he does not kill without compunction. He’s swift and silent and doesn’t believe in leaving them to suffer. Death itself is punishment enough. There’s no purpose in his life for those who inflict undue dolor for their own gain, and he will not be associated with the uncouth.

The process limits his options, though not by nearly enough. Still, nigh on two dozen remained. He culled the field down to a mere nine by adding stricter constraints: age, employment history, education, and the like. He has no interest in the barely legal, the spoiled socialites, the vapid, shallow, or vain. As hollow as this state of matrimony may ring under the circumstances, he’d prefer not to be one of those men who feels disdain for his partner.

That’s the thought that keeps him circling back to one specific photo - a grayscale surveillance-style photo. The subject is undoubtedly stunning, appears to be precisely his preference in every physical aspect, but the devil is in the details. A delicate necklace that appears to be well-worn but treasured enough to stay polished, a purse that bears no distinguishable designer but shows no sign of detrition, neat, complimentary nails, but he can see a thin sliver of dried glue at the cuticle of the thumb; all signs of frugality without sacrificing sophistication...

Even the tiniest observations sing a haunting, operatic tune that keeps Simon hypnotized with little regard for what could lie within the treacherous depths below. Instinct drives interest, and if there’s anything Simon’s learned in his line of work, it’s to trust his instincts.

Not another beat passes before his fingertips finally close around the edge of the picture. He hands it to Johnny.

“Dig up everything you can on this one, yeah?”

♡

Fascination seems to be the weakest word to describe the rabbit hole Simon finds himself in when Johnny slides a file across his desk. He thumbs the manila tab that peeks out beneath the slew of staggered papers, taking caution to remember the name printed neatly across it - your name. It tastes sweet when he says it out loud. Pretty name for a pretty girl, he muses with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

The surname strikes him with a notch of recognition. Your father, if memory serves correct, is one of the largest arms dealers in the world. A pleasant man by reputation, though Simon has never met him directly. Sans the obvious, he keeps his nose clean. Nothing iniquitous or unscrupulous. There aren’t many American families that Simon has ties to, and forging a bond of this sort with a weapons tycoon would certainly be beneficial.

He digs into the contents of the folder, the pages feeling almost like silk between his heavily calloused fingers. A vague eagerness settles into his bones. Simon feigns disinterest outwardly, expression masked in stoicism, but he can’t lie to himself - he’s undoubtedly curious.

Each barely-cooled sheet turned only draws him further into a spiral. Your basic documents - driver’s license, birth certificate, passport - fill in a few blanks. The additional knowledge of your height, weight, and eye color offer insights not clear from the photo. He knows your middle name, birth date, that you’re an organ donor. You’re not living off your father’s money, as evidenced by the consistent bi-weekly paycheck deposits in your bank records. Educated, obviously, as your student loan payments are automatically drafted monthly.

On paper, it’s almost as if you were made for him, and what a thought that is. Optimism isn't in his nature; a heavy dose of skepticism hangs like a dark cloud, brewing a storm of adversarial rationale. But the pinch of hope that hovers like the sun in the back of his mind tells him to digest before coming back for seconds, and he concedes.

In the days that follow, Simon notices himself spending every spare moment revisiting your file. He placates Johnny’s lingering nosiness with the assurance that he’s merely trying to make a prudent choice under the circumstances, but that’s not quite honest. Truth be told, you’ve become a bit of an obsession of his over the last week. He often notes that his mind is wandering to the things he didn’t learn from the dossier - how you take your tea, what perfume you use, where you’ve always wanted to go but have never been. It’s a dangerous admission, one best kept to himself.

He toys with the notion of conducting the same research on a couple of the other candidates, just to be sure, but his decision is made final when Kyle sends over the links to your social media accounts. None of them are private - an issue Simon will have to address quite thoroughly at a later date - so he has no trouble combing through the last several years of your life.

Admittedly, it leaves an adequate mark. You’re witty and smart while remaining a bit sardonic. Thoughtful and warm, but not without your sharp edges. You’re ambitious and driven, a bit of a firecracker. Color him impressed; he quite likes that.

Demeanor aside, he also finds that you really, genuinely are an absolute beauty. The few photos from your file don’t hold a candle to the selfies you’ve posted. Something about seeing you when you feel most confident, when you’re exuding that effervescent glow of aplomb, it sparks a sensation in Simon’s stomach that he can’t quite describe.

That all but seals the deal.

He snaps up his phone and sends a text to Johnny before placing it face-down and turning back to his laptop.

>>> Set up the meeting

♡

As his jet touches down in Bogotá, Simon is reminded of what a nasty beast jetlag can be. It’s an animal he’s not had to contend with since his younger years, a fact for which he’s grateful. Call it a perk of his constant travel over the years and the more… unconventional hours he entertains on jobs. They’re approaching hour fourteen of their flight, though, so he supposes he can’t fault his men for falling asleep.

(He did, however, take a picture of them sleeping on each other before the turbulence awoke them; you know, for the sake of posterity and potential future blackmail.)

Simon’s mind had been far too occupied to allow him the opulence of rest. Upon his lap sits a dossier on his next target, a relatively high profile subversive at that, and all he can think about is the pretty little thing that’s been haunting his subconscious for the last two weeks.

By all accounts, it’s baffling. He understands that this sudden onset of infatuation is irrational, illogical, and quite frankly, irresponsible. It distracts him from things he ought not be distracted from, and that irritates him to no end.

The whirring of the engines slows to a dull hum, and Simon, with a grunt of discontentment, stuffs the file into his briefcase. He’ll accomplish nothing as long as he’s preoccupied. Hopefully, focus will be far less elusive on the flight back.

A loud thunk from the cockpit draws him from his spiral of ire, and Nikolai emerges. He greets Simon only with a curt nod before disengaging the door and deploying the stairs. Once they’ve kissed the asphalt, he ventures back a step, creating room for the men to disembark.

“Welcome to Colombia, gentlemen,” he announces. “We leave in six hours; gives me time to refuel the bird and grab some fuel myself. Enjoy your time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” He tacks on a wink for good measure, which draws a bark of laughter from Kyle. Nik’s been with them long enough for them to know that’s a very short list, a fact Johnny is very quick to point out.

Simon claps a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder and hands him an envelope before stepping out - a hefty cash sum for his time and efforts. He may have also snuck in a sizable bonus as an anniversary present, but that will stay between the two of them.

“Get some rest, too, yeah? You’ve earned it.”

The air outside is crisp and pleasant. Underneath the standard airfield smells, Simon detects a pinch of coffee and cocoa. He wouldn’t be surprised; there’s a manufacturing plant not too terribly far from here, and if the wind blows just so, it may carry on the current. It’s refreshing, especially after being trapped for hours in an aluminum tube with three men who, today in particular, seem to be having a war over who can wear the strongest cologne.

Kyle and Johnny flank him on either side as they stroll off the tarmac. They’re both covertly armed to the teeth as a general precaution, but he trusts there will be no sinister intent behind a simple lunch. Surely, his appointment won’t mind. He likely won’t be attending alone either.

At the far end of the strip, a hired car is waiting. It’s relatively inconspicuous for the part of the city housing the restaurant, according to Simon’s research - a sleek, black SUV with windows tinted dark enough to hide any passengers, but passable enough to not draw attention.

Once in the city, it’s inherently obvious that there’s plenty of time to kill before the agreed upon hour. Place and time re-confirmed, the boys are turned loose to occupy themselves however they see fit, and Simon delves into the rows of local shops.

He finds things here and there; a pair of stunning leather boots, a box of cigars for Price, trinkets and treats he can share with his staff or gifts he can bring to gatherings so that he never greets his gracious hosts empty-handed. Even a little something for you, should all go according to plan. He smiles inwardly as he tucks the velvet box into the pocket of his slacks. It won’t replace the necklace you clearly adore, but he hopes you’ll wear it regardless.

After a quick trip back to their driver to leave their finds, the trio makes their way to the restaurant. Johnny and Kyle lag behind, keeping a respectable distance from Simon, whose eyes are immediately combing the patio for your father.

He spots him closer to the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. Two tables over, a pair of rather conspicuous men sit, cliché aviators perched in place while positioned to have a clear view of the upcoming interactions. Simon makes a mental note to wait until closer to the wedding to offer suggestions for higher quality detail. Assassinations are easier when you can gauge your obstacles so easily; trust him, he’d know.

In his periphery, he sees his companions select an empty table four over from the rent-a-cops. Kyle sits with his back to the table, glasses off. Johnny sits across from him, keeping his on to supply a reflective overview. Simon can’t help but crack the tiniest grin. He’s taught them well. They move as a singular unit when needed and rely on instinct over protocol. It’s the perfect display of how safe you’ll be with him. If he seems a little arrogant about it, that’s because he is.

Your father looks up from his phone and meets Simon’s eyes with an unspoken question. Simon tips his chin just once before the man stands, greeting him with a gracious smile.

“Ah, Mr. Riley… Pleasure to finally meet you.” He’s sincere in tone and offers his hand. Simon takes it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake while he shares the sentiment.

“You as well, sir.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and he gestures to the open chair, saying, “Please, sit.”

Simon takes the invitation, settling into the seat and the subsequent relatively meaningless small talk. They cycle through the basics before ordering their food and get a pinch more personal while they wait, discussing their respective hometowns and places their work has taken them. It isn’t until they’re digging into their plates that your father finally broaches the subject they’re both most anxious to discuss.

“As much as I’m enjoying getting to know you,” he begins, gaze not rising from his fork as it prods a pile of coconut rice. “I’m sure you didn’t fly halfway across the world just for that.”

“No, sir,” Simon responds. “I’m here to talk about your daughter.”

That draws the man’s attention, eyes finally meeting Simon’s with a subtle grin. It’s almost somewhat unsettling, like a cat finally catching that damn canary, though he’s unsure whether it’s him or you that owns the role of prey.

“But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“That I did,” he confirms, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Tell me, Simon, what exactly is it about my daughter that calls to the infamous Ghost?”

Simon pauses a moment, unsure of quite how to approach the response. He'd rather not tip his hand until he determines what sinisterity lies behind that predatory gaze. The mask your father is wearing at the moment is approaching uncanny, and a faint alarm bell sounds in the back of Simon’s mind.

“I only ask because, well, I never would’ve expected that a man of your stature would choose someone so… plain, shall we say? Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl, but she’s certainly not without her flaws. Stubborn, opinionated, talks too much, certainly far from the ideal housewife. And don’t get me started on how she takes care of herself. Really makes me wonder, Mr. Riley, what ulterior motives might you be hiding?”

“None, sir. Nothin’ I need from you that I can’t get myself.” Simon’s voice is flat as he tamps down the anger crawling beneath his skin. How does a real man speak ill of his own daughter so flagrantly? Does he really have no regard for you? He has half a mind to remove your father’s tongue after the wedding, if only for your sake.

“Pray tell, then.”

Simon scrubs a hand over his jaw before he answers, “Pretty girl. Smart from the sound of it. Doesn’t rely on attention from the public or ‘er daddy’s money. Ain’t lookin’ for a sweet little housewife; I like it when they bite back.”

“And you understand that she’s… How do I put this delicately?” He pauses. “She’s a bit bigger than what you'd consider a trophy wife."

Simon scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, he's aware of that. That's part of what drew him to you.

“Quite like a fuller figure. Don’t want a woman who’ll fuss over calories when I cook for ‘er.”

Your father mulls it over, chewing thoughtfully as he considers the words before him. Simon watches as the muscles in his jaw flex and reflex, and he swears he can hear the scales tipping back and forth as they try to find some balance.

Finally, he wipes his face with his napkin. His expression cracks into something adjacent to genuine, and that alarm gets just a little bit louder.

“I suppose this little meeting has reached its end.” He snaps his fingers twice as the waiter, gesturing for the check. Rude, in Simon’s opinion, but he bites his tongue.

“Sir?”

“I’ve got business to attend to back in the States, and by the sounds of it, a wedding to start planning.”

♡

part ii

[bigboysdrinkmilk]

It is Election Day in America.

Two candidates, two paths, two futures.

You may not see your perfect candidate in Kamala Harris. You may disagree, perhaps very strongly, with some of her positions or parts of her record.

However, I would ask that this Election Day you pose the question to yourself, “Which candidate will best provide me the opportunity to advocate for my beliefs, which will listen to my dissent, and, failing that, which one will respect my right to organize, protest, and vote based on my beliefs? Which path leads me closer to my goals? Which future is the one I want to live in?”

Kamala Harris respects the promise of America, its democratic institutions and the free press, its history of progress and spirited debate. She will listen, even if she disagrees, and she will give you a voice at the table.

Trump holds no such convictions. He fantasizes about his supporters attacking the press on his behalf. He cozies up to dictators and fascists. He has deployed the federal government against his detractors. And he has tried to overthrow the results of a free and fair election.

Nearly every person who worked closely with him in his administration is sounding the alarm—our institutions are fragile and need to be nurtured or they will break. And Trump intends to break them.

How do we make progress on the issues that matter to you when members of the press are not allowed to report it, when you are not allowed to protest about it, when there is no mechanism for change within the government?

I know the path that is right for me and the issues I care about, I know the future I want to advocate for my beliefs in.

It is Election Day in America. And I know the candidate for me is Kamala Harris.

[renthony]

Lost in the Remaster: Star Trek, Vintage Special Effects, and the Charm of Old Media

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

Originally created by Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek is a franchise that spans decades. From the original series of 1966 to current shows such as Lower Decks, it stands as a titan of television and pop culture. The real world has undergone incredible change since Star Trek’s first appearance, yet nerds everywhere still find entertainment, inspiration, and hope in its classic episodes. Recently, along with my husband and best friend, I decided I wanted to attempt the gauntlet of watching the entire franchise from beginning to end, revisiting favorites and finally checking out the ones I missed. Media and fandom studies are my passion, after all, and Star Trek is a foundational part of modern American nerd culture.

Starting with the original series proved more difficult than expected. Living in a tiny apartment, we don’t have much space for DVDs, so Star Trek wasn’t in our existing collection. The local public library didn’t have copies, either, and putting in a purchase request doesn’t guarantee it will be made available. My family doesn’t have the funds to pay for every single streaming service on the market, and Star Trek isn’t available on any we do have access to. Piracy was starting to look like the only option, but even that fell flat when we couldn’t find a version with subtitles. Finally we dug it up officially and with subtitles, for free via PlutoTV, but there were still limitations: PlutoTV only streams season one, and season one is only available in the remastered edition that replaced the original special effects with new visuals.

It wasn’t ideal, but, hey, it was Star Trek.

Watching just one episode a week gave us enough time to scrape together savings to get what we really wanted for seasons two and three: the official BluRay release, which includes both remastered and original-release versions of each episode. The remasters are fine, but as a lover of media history and practical effects, I’m always disappointed to lose a chance to appreciate the originals. It doesn’t matter how good it might look, remasters are never as much fun to me as matte paintings, camera tricks, and whatever the prop department could pull off with ten dollars and some glue.

Finally having the BluRays in hand for season two only affirmed my love of vintage practical effects. Seeing the Enterprise in her original glory, before she was ever rendered in digital form, felt like opening a time capsule. I love time capsules. My favorite pieces of media are always those which capture a moment in time, showcasing the aesthetics, concerns, and culture of the time and place they were created. Star Trek: the Original Series is rooted in the late sixties, when mainstream culture in the United States was experiencing immense upheaval and social change. That context is written all over the show. The vintage effects add to it, grounding it in a very specific time and place. Updating the show’s effects takes away some of that 60s aesthetic, and while some may see it as making the show more timeless, I don’t care for it. To me, seeing what they could pull off before modern technology is half the fun of watching old shows. The ingenuity and creativity of propmakers, makeup artists, and set designers working on shoestring budgets is unparalleled.

To be clear, digital effects are also done by skilled professionals who deserve much more respect and many more labor protections. There are some truly stunning works created with digital tools. That said, I hate when digital effects are used to cover up the practical effects that came before. It feels disrespectful to the original artists, as if telling them their work wasn’t good enough; as if their work was just a placeholder until something better could come along and fix it. Practical effects aren’t a placeholder, they’re an art form in their own right, and that art form is one for which I have deep appreciation.

It frustrates me that the original, non-remastered episodes were such a pain for us to access, but I’m very glad to have added them to my personal media collection. No matter what future tweaks Star Trek’s rights holders might make, I can always pop in our personal copies to enjoy the Enterprise and her crew in all their vintage, “outdated” glory. If you’re also too young to remember the show’s original airing, and you have the opportunity to watch the unedited version, I highly suggest you do. Watching the version that aired in 1966 gives the show a charm that no amount of remastering can ever match.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

could you do asexual reader x Jason Todd headcanons?

I know this hdc won’t resonate for most in the ace community, cuz it’s a spectrum, but I hopes it at least resonates with some, even if it’s one person. That’s more enough for me. (Also sorry for the shit writing as usual)

Jason doesn’t mind that you’re asexual. You were still you at the end of the day, so he doesn’t understand why some people tend to make a big deal out of it.

It’s not like you being asexual was hurting anyone but he guessed that some people just harbour vast amounts of hate for things they don’t/refuse to understand bc they’ve been conditioned into thinking that it’s a bad thing.

Others are just cunts that Jason gladly beats the piss out of in your honour. (Acephobes plz die disrespectfully thanks)

He will not tolerate any sort of disrespect towards you and needless to say having a six foot something man who’s built like an absolute tank is enough to silence those types of people rather quickly.

He’s more then willing to do this for anyone that you knew who was ace, aro, or was in the LGBTQIA community in general, that he becomes a someone that a lot of them could come to when in need of help, or was just in need of a safe space.

He’s unbothered by it because as long as he’s helping someone in need, he’s more than willing to offer his shoulder for them to cry on.

(I just like the idea of Jason being a protector of LGBTQIA youths.)

After all he once took joy in beating the absolute piss out of a biphobe for Tim. Sure he may not have a great relationship with his siblings, but he’s not one to ignore when they’re being treated like shit for being who they were.

He respects your boundaries and will always ask whether or not it was okay for him to kiss you, to which you’d always have to tell him that it was more then okay for him to kiss you.

He understands that asexuality was a spectrum and would ask which part of the spectrum you were apart of, and acts in accordance to make sure that you’re more than comfortable in your relationship.

He’s always finding ways to constantly learn about asexuality and more. He’s even got a whole bookshelf dedicated to LGBTQIA history because he wants to better himself and do right by you and other people who look up to him to protect them. He takes that shit seriously.

He just loves you very much and wants you to feel as though you could tell him anything that’s bothering you and he’ll gladly bring you its head if you’d like just to prove it.

If you are okay with kisses and the like, be prepared to be swarmed by it at every possible opportunity with this teddy bear, for he will smother your face in kisses as he holds you against him, smiling upon hearing you laugh and poor attempts in pushing him away. It’s a highlight of his day because when you’re happy, he’s happy.

You don’t like sex? That’s okay! He’ll make you have Junk food dates with him where you stuff your faces either pizza with stuffed crust (you can eat it in reverse) and garlic bread and watch shitty movies as you cuddle on the couch.

You: you don’t think I’m broken?

Jason; no. Why, who’s told you that you were broken because it’s a bunch of bullshit. You’re the most important person in my life and I’d do just about anything for you, no matter how big or small it may seem because at the end of the day I want to see you happy. So listen to me sweetheart and listen good, you are not broken. You are perfection incarnate in my eyes, you are everything I could’ve hoped to have by my side for you’ve never judged me, so I don’t see why I should judge you for being your truest self. Thats a bit hypocritical don’t you think?

Jason: So don’t ever think you’re broken when you’re far from it, you are whole and you are more than enough. I don’t care if we have sex on occasion or not at all, your happiness is all I care about. I want you to be happy for the rest of our lives together because now I’ve got you I’m not letting you go. Ever. I couldn’t care less about anything else but when it concerns you, I’d move mountains to make things better for you. I love you chipmunk, please don’t ever feel like you’re broken when you’re so much more than that, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.