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queenie-avenue · 8 months

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Sent from Below, Fell from Above. [pt.1]

—> an angel meets the demon who killed her all those years ago.

⤻ reader is a female, reader is a bunny-type angel(?), canon-typical cursing, very bad use of 1920s slang, reader takes part in the 'welcome to heaven' song, i even wrote an extra verse, heavily inspired by @jazjelspen 's angel baby fic, death, betrayal, angst, spoilers for all of hazbin hotel season one, alastor went up with vaggie and charlie to heaven in this fic, will be a series

The pearly gates of hell shone brightly as you stood there, waiting to welcome in any winners that may have unfortunately just died. Saint Peter had been out for hours by now and looked like he might just have collapsed from how exhausted he was. Like the angel that you were, you let him go take a break while you manned the podium. After all, you had done so multiple times already in the hundred years you've been in heaven!

Just then, you watched as a portal opened up, seemingly out of nowhere. You put on your best smile and waited to greet them.

"Look at this place, Vaggie, Alastor! It's so clean!" Your smile faltered for a moment. Not because of the familliar name — you had long since gotten rid of your fear regarding that name — but because people who just died wouldn't act that way.

"Yeah, super cool." The girl beside her mumbled as she dragged her feet over towards the stand.

As for the man at the back, all dressed in red, he hummed as he walked towards the glowing gates of heaven.

"Hello there!" You greeted, making sure your halo was glowing as bright as possible. "Welcome to heaven, darlings. Could I get your name, please?" You asked politely, pulling out the book of names Saint Peter had entrusted you with.

You stared at the trio ahead of you. A tall gal dressed in a suit with rosy red cheeks that almost made her look like a doll, another doll by her side that had ashen-grey skin and a giant x over her eye, poor thing she must have lost it when she died. And the man that accompanied the two ladies, standing at the back in a dapper looking suit.

"Charlie... Morningstar." The girl in the red suit said.

You nodded your head. "Charlie Morningstar." You drawled out the name, opening up the book and scanning your eyes through the book as your bunny ears flapped about, wondering where you had heard that name before. You frowned when you could not find Charlie's name anywhere in the roster. "Charlie... Morningstar. I'm really sorry, dearie, but you really aren't on my list. A-are you in the wrong place?" You questioned.

"Um, my dad got me this meeting so maybe you could try Lucifer Morningstar?" She mumbled, but the name was loud enough for you to hear.

"Oh dear lord in heaven!" You gasped.

The three of them looked at you. You noted that the man in the suit and deer antlers gazed at you the most intensely, tilting his head over as he narrowed his eyes at you.

"Darling, I really think all of you shouldn't be here-" you frantically said as you flapped your wings out, flying down towards them. Your skirt flapping in the wind alongside your feathery wings.

"Oh lord, here we go." The girl at her side muttered.

"No, uh, we're here for a meeting."

"[y/n], we can take it from here." A mature voice from above said as you looked up to see Sera and Emily — the Seraphim sisters — descend down to you, along with Saint Peter who was holding a milkshake in his hand.

You nodded your head, understanding your place, before stepping aside. Though, you felt the burning gaze of that man boring holes into your head. You turned towards him, a frown present on your face as you stared at him, confused. Noticing that you had noticed him, he turned away, his sharp-toothed grin faced towards Charlie now. That smile... you had seen that smile before. Even the way he dressed, it screamed that he died during your time period.

You continued staring at him, even as he avoided your gaze.

"Dearly beloved, it is my pleasure to say onto thee," Saint Peter suddenly started singing, and you realised that you had lost track of the conversation. "Welcome to Heaven, oh!" He sang as the pearly gates slammed open. You flew up alongside Saint Peter, your wings flapping as your bunny ears twitched. "Where the virtuous reside, 24/7, oh-oh! People are happy that they died," Well, that was certainly an exaggeration considering you didn't exactly... like the way that you died.

As he sang, you flew through the streets, rallying the rest of the winners to join in song. As you flew back, you landed back onto the floor with Saint Peter just as he finished his verse.

"Welcome to Heaven, where everyone hopes to go! Oh-oh! Where angels always glow! Oh!"

You sang as you ran towards all your winner friends as they danced in the streets for the envoys from Hell. Just as you finished singing, you felt those dark eyes on you once again, and you stopped dancing in the street to stare back at him.

Your head hurt as radio static filled your brain, and you struggled to keep yourself upright. You almost toppled over. You grabbed your head, attempting to get the static out of your brain. "Wha-"

"'Cause every single day in Heaven, is a happy day!" Both Emily and Saint Peter belted out as they flew in the air, causing you to break your gaze from the man and focus on the soaring duo in the air.

"Welcome to Heaven!"

The song ended, and you immediately fell to the ground. You had been dead for so many years, so it had been decades since you felt breathless, of all things.

"My, what is a dame like you doing on the floor!" There that static was again, but this time it was accompanied by an eerily familliar voice. You wanted to call out to Emily, or Sera, but they had already run off. Charlie and the girl by her side with Emily, and Sera to God knows where, leaving you alone with this shady man.

"I-" you began.

Without even extending his hand, this strange deer- whatever he was, pulled your hand up abruptly, holding onto it so tight you felt your blood stop pumping through the veins of your hand.

"What is your name, Sweetheart? I have to say, you and those little angels put on quite a show! All you little Oliver Twists are so adorable." The demon chuckled as he pulled you uncomfortably close.

"Please let me go." You said to the man, attempting to push him off but he only held you tighter.

"Aren't I quite the rude chap, I should have introduced myself before asking for your name." He grinned wider, spinning you around in a painfully familliar way.

"Alastor, my dear, pleasure to meet you!" He said, grabbing your hand and kissing it.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Alastor grabbed your hand, bowing down as he looked up at you, that sweet grin on his face. "Alastor, my dear, pleasure to meet you." He said, before sealing your fate with a kiss on your hand. "I hope that we can get along well." You gazed at him with wide eyes, your eyes raking over his bronzed skin and brown — almost red — hair. Glasses lined his gleaming eyes.

Those eyes were the same words that echoed in your mind in your worst nightmares.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

And now here you were, reliving that nightmare.

"What the fuck!" You yelled out, which caused some angels to look over at you. Sure, cursing was normal, but it was typically somewhat taboo on cloud nine and this was one of the only times you had ever cursed. You reeled your hand back, your eyes widened as you stumbled back. "I-it's you." You commented, holding your hand close to the pearl-white blouse that you wore.

"Yes, my darling, it is!" Alastor laughed once again, that sinister shit-eating grin still present on his face. "I'm surprised it took you so long to realise it." He commented, grabbing your hands in his, causing you to freeze up. "I had my suspicions the moment I saw you, but when you sang... oh..." He murmured. His face was filled with ecstasy, his claws going up to his face as he grinned deviously.

"I need to get out of here." You muttered as you turned on your heel and snatched your hands away, preparing to leave.

Alastor just grabbed you back into a tight embrace, his face propped against your shoulder. "I knew it was you, little bunny." The nickname only made you more uncomfortable than ever as you remembered the intimate moment when he first gave you that nickname.

"What's wrong, little bunny?"

The moment he spoke, your wings shot up, pushing him away from you and slapping his body aside. You flew up as he stumbled onto the pristine roads of heaven.

Don't come near me again, you wanted to say, but you couldn't find the courage to spit in the face of your murderer, not even now.

So, this time, you ran away.

You should have done that years ago. Maybe you would have lived longer then.

[pt.2]

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x female reader #alastor fic #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #the radio demon

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merwgue · 9 days

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Rhysand is often portrayed as this perfect, morally grey ruler, but when you take a closer look at his actions, it's obvious how messed up he really is. Let’s break down the so-called “benevolent” High Lord of the Night Court.

1. The Hewn City – The King of Torture? Rhysand's treatment of the people in Hewn City is straight-up barbaric. The way he holds power over them isn’t out of necessity or to “protect” them from worse rulers—it’s control through fear and violence. He tortures them, plays with their lives, and enjoys maintaining his iron grip on them. It's almost like he uses them as his personal stress toys. Is that really the hallmark of a just ruler? Sure, Hewn City isn’t full of saints, but for Rhys to stand on his high horse and act like he's saving everyone while still torturing his subjects? Hypocrisy at its finest.

2. Rhysand and Feyre – Let’s Talk About Consent Let’s not forget that he literally assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain. I don’t care how anyone tries to frame it as him “saving her” from Amarantha—there’s no excuse for the way he took away her agency. Rhys manipulated her, forced her into wearing those skimpy outfits, and paraded her around for his entertainment. All while pretending it was for the greater good. It's pretty damn disgusting how that gets brushed under the rug like it was some noble sacrifice when in reality, he robbed Feyre of her choices.

3. Planning to Execute Nesta – The Line Between Justice and Control Rhysand and his inner circle legit planned to execute Nesta, all because she didn’t fall in line. Nesta had her faults—hell, a lot of them—but threatening her life because she didn't act the way Rhys wanted? That's not justice; that's manipulation and control at its core. He wasn't trying to protect anyone. He was pissed that he couldn't control her, that she wasn't another cog in his perfect little machine of Night Court harmony.

4. Tamlin – Kicking a Man While He’s Down Say what you will about Tamlin, but there’s no denying that Rhysand completely overstepped every boundary when it came to him. The Night Court loves to preach about freedom, but Rhys had no problem strutting into Tamlin’s land, throwing it in his face, and making an already broken man feel like utter shit. There’s a difference between defending your own and downright antagonizing someone who’s in the depths of depression. At one point, he basically told Tamlin to end his own life. What kind of "savior" talks like that to someone who's clearly struggling? It's downright cruel.

5. The Night Court – A Dictatorship Wrapped in Pretty Words Rhysand's Night Court is sold to everyone as this place of freedom, where people can be who they truly are—but at what cost? If you cross Rhys or don’t fall in line with his vision, you either face his wrath, his torture, or his manipulation. He's not running a court; he's running a dictatorship where everything is fine as long as it aligns with his master plan. The fact that he keeps calling himself the “most powerful High Lord in history” just feeds into that massive god complex he has. The ego on this guy is unbelievable.

6. Double Standards – The Morality of Convenience Rhys preaches about freedom and respect, but he only seems to extend that to people he deems worthy. If you’re in his circle or someone he cares about, great—you get all the privileges. If not? Well, tough luck. He’ll trample over your land, threaten your life, or torture you into submission. The cherry on top? Everyone around him acts like he’s the greatest thing to happen to Prythian, and the fandom just eats it up.

So, yeah. Rhysand is fucked up. He’s not just morally grey—he’s power-hungry, manipulative, and borderline sadistic. His version of “ruling” the Night Court is as hypocritical as it gets. Benevolent High Lord? More like the king of self-righteous cruelty.

7. Locking Up Nesta – Rhysand’s Tamlin Moment Remember how everyone vilified Tamlin for locking Feyre up “for her own safety”? Sure, it was messed up, but the narrative painted him as this controlling, possessive villain because of it. Now, fast forward to Rhysand, who literally does the same thing to Nesta. She’s spiraling, yes, but instead of finding her real help or giving her space to heal, he decides to trap her in the House of Wind like a damn prisoner. He takes away her freedom, isolates her from the outside world, and forces her into a situation she clearly doesn’t want. How is that any different from what Tamlin did?

But here’s the kicker: Rhysand gets praised for it. Why? Because he’s Rhysand, the supposed hero, and everything he does is always “for the greater good,” right? It’s utter bullshit. He used the same controlling tactics on Nesta that Tamlin used on Feyre, but the fandom acts like he was being this saintly, tough-love older brother. What he did was textbook manipulation, stripping away Nesta’s autonomy because she didn’t fit into his perfect vision of what recovery should look like.

8. Forcing Recovery on Nesta – Ignoring Trauma Let’s not sugarcoat this: Rhysand locked up a woman who was using drinking as a coping mechanism and basically said, “Tough luck, you’re staying here until you fix yourself.” That's not helping; that’s punishing someone for their trauma. Nesta was in pain, lashing out and struggling to deal with what happened to her. Did she need help? Absolutely. But instead of offering her real emotional support, Rhys just forced her into a recovery program that suited his standards and timeline, not hers.

What makes this even worse is that Nesta was self-harming through drinking, and instead of addressing the root cause of her pain, Rhysand and his inner circle chose to control her like she was a problem that needed to be fixed, not a person who needed to be understood. There’s nothing noble about that.

9. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – Tamlin vs. Himself This is where Rhysand’s hypocrisy really shines. He condemned Tamlin for being controlling, and Feyre (rightfully) left that toxic environment. But Rhys turns around and does the same thing to Nesta, and instead of being held accountable for it, he gets celebrated for “taking action.” How does that even make sense? It's such a double standard that it's almost laughable. Tamlin’s actions were wrong, but Rhysand’s were just as bad, if not worse, because he knew better. He knew what it felt like to be controlled, yet he did it anyway.

10. Stop Giving Rhys a Pass People need to stop giving Rhysand a pass for his behavior. He gets away with literal torture, manipulation, locking people up, and trampling over others' boundaries because he’s good at hiding it behind the facade of “protecting his court.” He’s not the hero people make him out to be. He’s just as flawed and fucked up as the people he claims to be better than.

At the end of the day, locking someone up—whether it’s Feyre in the Spring Court or Nesta in the House of Wind—is a violation of their autonomy. Rhysand isn't some hero swooping in to save the day. He's a controlling ruler who just happens to be good at spinning the narrative in his favor.

#anti rhys #anti ic #anti nessian #anti feyre #anti mor #anti night court #pro tamlin #pro valkyries #pro nesta #acotar #rhysand #anti rhysand #i still have more stuff about him btw #acosf #acotar fandom

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shellem15 · 2 months

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Been thinking about how Braius probably writes fanfiction about the Lord of the Hells, and how that leads to the funniest most insane questions about how worship works.

Do the gods hear every prayer? Do they know when you write fanfiction about them? Do the gods have to listen to every shitty h*rny thing written or spoken about them?

If I were Asmodeus, and I had to listen to every terrible h*rny fanfiction or lusty insane thought about myself for all of eternity, I, too, would want to burn everything to the ground and start over.

Prime Deities truly have the patience of saints for putting up with that and still loving mortals. Cause Jesus christ. Like, imagine all the weird daddy k*nks people project onto the dawnfather. And he just has to, like, deal with that. And heaven help any of the goddesses. I would immediately start smiting fools.

#this is like if harry styles had every h*rny fanfiction written about him #directly blasted into his brain #maybe the betrayers were right actually #jk jk #bells hells #braius doomseed #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #cr downfall #critical role #cr3 #cr gods #cr meta #tumblr shot this when i first posted it #damn censors

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corpsebasil · 1 year

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The Pirate Lord Part 2

the future queen of Ravka doesn’t even know she’s going to wear a crown

You didn’t talk to him for almost two days.

He practically chased you around, vying for your attention as you avoided him like the plague. He’d lied. And not a white lie—Sturmhond had lied about his entire identity. His life. Well, you supposed, not Sturmhond. Because your captain and lover, the man you wanted to marry, was Prince Nikolai Lantsov, the youngest prince of Ravka.

So you spent your hours away from him processing and memorizing the palace, ducking into random rooms and examining anything you were allowed to see. You had to admit, finding out you were sleeping with a prince wasn’t the worst shock of your life.

You’d smacked him, though. Pretty hard.

“Y/N,” a voice called and you turned to see Tamar approaching, her eyes comically wide as she did a small spin in the hallway. “not too bad of a hovel, is it?” She asked, letting out a low whistle.

“It’s ghastly,” you lied, smirking. “how will we ever survive this?”

“Same way we survive anything.” She mused, flicking a very expensive looking vase as she passed it. “Lots of rum. Lots.” Then she stopped, tilting her head at you. “You should talk to him. He misses you.”

“Talk to who?” You asked, a thread of annoyance in your tone. “Sturmhond, or Nikolai?”

“They’re the same man.” Tamar rolled her eyes, swinging her arm around your shoulders and pulling you down the hall. “Come on, Y/N. We didn’t go through all that hell on the waves just for you two to be pissed at one another.”

“He can apologize to me.” You said, indignant. “Eventually.”

“Saints save us all.” She grumbled, leading the two of you towards the hall for dinner.

Nikolai had told you the truth only after you’d docked and made your way into Ravka. And he’d done it in the most ridiculous way possible—simply removing his coat to reveal a second one underneath, smiling and holding his arms out comically to you. He’d even had the audacity to say “surprise” seconds before you whacked him hard on his good shoulder.

The arrow wound was healed, but his muscle was still tender.

Now he watched you at dinner, still sitting with his crew like he always did. The difference now was that the table was far more elaborate, and there was a very comforting lack of eggs and pickles. Tolya and Tamar sat across from you, bickering over Saints knows what, while Nikolai sat beside you as you pointedly ignored him.

“Y/N,” he began, tilting his head at you. You pretended not to hear him, picking at the bowl of fruit on your plate. Fruit for heaven’s sakes. You swore never to eat a pickle again. “Y/N, please, you wouldn’t have been with me if you’d have known.”

You glared down at a strawberry, spearing it rather aggressively with your fork. He sighed and turned in his seat, placing his hand near your arm, but not on it.

“Come on. You know that I’m right.”

Tamar and Tolya were suddenly very, very interested in their own plates, the rest of the crew busying themselves with literally any topic that came to mind. You could’ve sworn someone mentioned how good the plumbing was and blocked them out.

“You don’t know that.” You said, voice cold as you shot him a look. “Everything the two of us have is based on honesty. How am I supposed to trust anything you say? You’re even acting different.”

“I cant be Sturmhond here, Y/N. I have to behave in a certain manner—”

“‘A certain manner’,” you sneered. “How royal of you.”

“You are still my Second, and the love of my life. Being a prince changes nothing—”

You stood up abruptly, almost knocking over a glass as you left the table. The crew stared, stunned, as Nikolai quickly followed, chasing after you out of the dining hall.

You stormed down the hallway towards the door that you knew led to the gardens, and past that, the lake. You’d barely stepped outside before he jumped in front of you, holding his hands out in supplication.

“Y/N,” he panted, walking backwards as you moved towards the lake, out of sight from the palace. You spotted some sort of gazebo in the distance, decorated with cushions and seemingly abandoned, and walked towards it. “Y/N, you have to believe me.”

“I don’t.” You gritted out, stomping over to the cushioned structure. “Have to do anything.” You plopped down onto the cushions, splaying out in a very messy manner. You huffed as you looked up at the ceiling, at the marble arches. “Don’t lie to me ever again.” You ordered, tossing the prince a glare.

He had the audacity to roll his eyes as he sat down beside you, shrugging off his heavy jacket and tossing it aside.

“I told you I wouldn’t.” He said, tilting his head. “But I swear I won’t. Scouts honor.” He held out his pinkie and you snorted, hooking your own through his.

“That’s a very powerful oath, Sturm—” you paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Nikolai.”

“Actually, that’s Nikolai Lantsov—Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King’s Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne to you, Second.”

“You’re insufferable.” You scoffed, but smiled at his familiar smirk, that mischievous light in his eyes back. “Don’t…act in front of me. I know that you have to be all posh and regal or whatever in front of the others, but not in front of me.” You frowned a bit, unsure of why it hurts to say these things to him. “I fell in love with Sturmhond.”

He swallowed, looking away from you, and sighed.

“You might love him,” he said, softly, his eyes still refusing to meet yours. “but I love you. And I had hoped that that would’ve been enough.” He gave you a look, a calm look that masked his pain and heartache, and you regretted your words the moment he moved to rise.

“No, I—” you grasped his arm, rising onto your knees as you tugged him back down. “I do love you. I do. I’m just going to have to get used to the changes, that’s all.” You knew your expression was pleading, and still you pushed on. “Just two days ago you were a pirate. This is a big switch for me.”

“Privateer.” He mumbled, but allowed a small smile to appear on his handsome face. “I’m sure you’ll adjust when you realize just how much I’m going to spoil you now that I’m in Ravka.”

You let a grin wash over your face as you tugged him forward by his shirt, pressing your mouth to his own. He laid you down eagerly atop the cushions, hands sinking into your hair as he kissed you.

“I love you.” He murmured, losing himself in the feel of you as you freed the prince from his clothes.

Your wedding had been an event to mark the century.

You’d had it on your ship, traveling all the way back to the ocean to marry your king. And as you kissed him, your crew and the guests clinking glasses and congratulating you both, the shell at the base of your collarbones lit up, sending tendrils of light and shimmering color across your skin.

“Queen of the seas.” Nikolai mused, glancing over at the water. Colorful fish could be seen under the surface, and when he took your hand and rested it on the rail, you could see the siren’s magic flowing all the way down your body. “I think the ocean approves, don’t you?”

You grinned, head still slightly heavier than usual from the crown that now rested upon it. It had been crafted by Nikolai himself, for you, and his outstanding powers of creation had made you a gorgeous pearl encrusted crown worthy of any queen of the seas. You turned to him, moving into his embrace as he grinned down at you.

“How do you feel about being a Queen?” He asked, raising a brow. His own coronation had been only a month before, an event at which you’d cried an embarrassing amount.

“I feel like being bedded by a king right about now.” You teased, wiggling your brows as he laughed.

“Am I to expect you to start giving me commands?” Nikolai tilted his head, tugging you closer. Nearby, Tolya was still celebrating, having had caught the bouquet. “You’re no longer my Second, you know.”

“You can start calling me Captain if you want.” You teased, leaning forward to press a long, soft kiss to his mouth. He was yours. Officially, now.

Although, you would force him to sail with you someday. Just for fun.

Yeet

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #wattpad #fluff

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anonymousewrites · 3 months

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One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter Ten

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Ten: One Hell of a Parade

Summary: The Sapphire Owls celebrate their victory, and (Y/N) and Sebastian have their own fun.

“So this is the cox costume that has been passed down in Blue House for generations?” remarked Sebastian. He gazed at Ciel with a furrowed brow, and (Y/N) concealed a chuckle. “My, that is quite something…”

Ciel was swimming in the costume due to being thirteen and small for his age. He huffed from beneath the long, cloak-like jacket.

“Your appearance is far and away more than even I had expected,” said Sebastian.

“It certainly is interesting,” said (Y/N).

“Hold your tongue!” snapped Ciel. “Normally, it’d be an upperclassman in the parade. So we’ll have to make do. Sebastian, tailor these to fit, would you?”

“There is no need,” said Sebastian.

“Eh?”

(Y/N) opened a chest they had brought in. “You said you would win.”

“It goes without saying that we, as your butler and maid, would have made the necessary preparations,” said Sebastian, lifting an appropriately sized costume from the chest.

Ciel smirked. “Very well done.”

(Y/N) and Sebastian exchanged smirks.

“Of course, my lord.”

As the sun lowered in the sky over the Thames, the preparations for the boat parade concluded. While Blue House would sail towards Windsor Castle, remove their hats for the Queen, and cast their flowers into the water as the victors, the rest of the houses set up the parade. Once sunset appeared, Edward and Clayton organized the other students into teams to light all the lanterns from Saint George’s flame.

And then it was the Sapphire Owls’ entrance. (Y/N) and Sebastian stood and applauded with the rest of the school faculty, students, and families as the well-dressed group emerged. They had a photo taken, and then they sat in their boat with the lanterns above.

“Ready? Go,” said Ciel. “Catch, row. Catch, row.”

The boat moved smoothly down the river, and in the darkness of the water, the lanterns reflected like stars. It was truly one of the most beautiful moments human beings could create.

(Y/N) lifted their hand and linked their gloved hand to Sebastian’s. They linked their pinky with his, the movement small enough that no one but them noticed. Sebastian glanced down at their hands and smiled slightly.

“There, on the bridge!” said someone suddenly as the boat approached. “Her Majesty, the Queen!”

Ciel stood and gazed at the Queen, a somber look in his eyes. As everyone else saluted the Queen with deference and adoration, Ciel stood with deference and a grave expression. After all, he had sworn to do his job as the Queen’s Guard Dog. He had a job to complete at Weston College.

“Long live Her Majesty!”

Ciel extended his sword to the Queen. “Salute Her Majesty the Queen!”

The rest of his boat stood. The moment after they saluted the Queen, they wobbled. (Y/N) and Sebastian chuckled. Apparently, Blue House had worked so hard on strategy for the games they hadn’t prepared at all for boating.

Splash!

The boat overturned and sent students and flowers into the Thames. Cheers and laughs went up in the crowd, and even (Y/N) and Sebastian let out chuckles at the amusing sight.

“That’s Blue House for you!” cheered the students, no malice anywhere to be found.

Above the crowd’s heads, fireworks exploded, sending showers of light dashing across the water.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Ciel.

“It’s dazzling.” Bluewer smiled. “It’s so dazzling that I feel my eyes sting.”

(Y/N) gazed up at the fireworks, and a slight smile appeared on their face. Their eyes softened, and Sebastian found himself unable to look away from their lovely expression and face.

“My, my, humans are strange,” said (Y/N). “To go through so much and to yet have these moments…” They laughed. “How amusing they are.”

“You, my—” Sebastian nearly let his pet name slip free and instead smiled. “Yes. How amusing.” He shifted his hand to properly hold theirs. “And you have that strength and so much more.”

“We have that strength,” said (Y/N). “We.”

Humans were transient—their own life had been—but all the briefness of their life, they found such joys within it. Even when they suffered and fail—like Blue House over and over—they found something to celebrate, something to smile about. (Y/N) supposed that is why they still found humans so amusing, so entertaining. They had predictable ways, but, every so often, they created a moment like this that made (Y/N) remember why their human self—the memories so faded—had done so much for others, even when it ended in nothing but their own ruin.

They held no regrets.

And now because of all that failure and their “fall from grace,” (Y/N) stood beside Corvus, the demon they loved and who loved them in return for all that they were.

They had won.

The celebration did not end with the parade, not at all. The people were having too good a time to leave yet, and everyone wanted to laugh and smile more, pretending the moment could freeze like that—joyous—forever.

Ciel tried to escape, but Soma, McMillan, and Elizabeth dragged him back to the tables of food, tents of games, and crowds of people. The Queen’s Butlers, the Double Charleses, showed up due to being alumni, and the P4 had never seemed so nervous to talk to people in their lives (fans, apparently).

Sebastian and (Y/N) carefully stepped aside to avoid them since the sharp eyes of Charles Grey might notice who they were. Fortunately, Grey was focused on food as much as ever and gorging himself silly. Phipps, on the other hand, had found a chicken and allowed it to sit on his shoulder. His tall, silent, and intimidating persona was very much disrupted by it, but it produced quite a few smiles and chuckles.

Cheslock found his violin and approached the Blue House band. They were nervous for a moment that they would be reprimanded for their slightly underhanded strategy, but, instead of his usual abrasiveness, Cheslock asked for them to join him. Together, Blue House and Cheslock struck up and created energetic, playful music.

People beamed, and they instantly cleared a space to dance. Elizabeth pulled Ciel to the dance floor, and her parents joined them. Francis was a strict woman, but she smiled softly as her husband offered her an arm. They did truly love one another, and the dancing was lively, even for their more proper stance. On the other hand, Elizabeth had pushed Edward and Paula to dance together, and the pair blushed, unsure how to proceed. Soma had no problem grabbing any willing partner for a dance and pulled Mey-Rin, who blushed as a servant, to dance. They linked arms and energetically spun around the dance floor until Mey-Rin and Soma were beaming and laughing wildly.

Soon enough, a variety of students were also dancing. Bluewer was dragged out by one of his sisters, and his other sisters grabbed the other prefects and the prefects’ drudges, which was entertaining to say the least.

“I believe there are several people who wish to dance with you,” said Sebastian, glancing at the various women looking at (Y/N).

“It could be you they wish to dance with, Mr. Michaelis,” said (Y/N), smirking.

“Both of us, then,” amended Sebastian.

“I am not inclined to dance with them,” said (Y/N). They smirked. “Actually, I believe Mr. Noir will retire for the evening.”

“Oh? Shall I accompany you—back to the house, that is?” said Sebastian.

“Nonsense,” said (Y/N). “Wait here.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow, and (Y/N) winked before disappearing. Sebastian tilted his head, but barely a moment later, someone approached on his other side. Sebastian smirked as he looked at them.

“Hello, Mr. Michaelis,” said (Y/N), now dressed in a long black dress with all the markings of a titled family. “Might I inquire if you wish to dance?”

Sebastian’s sharp grin became a true smile. “Ordinarily, the man asks, but I admire your forwardness. I admit I am enticed.” He offered a hand.

“I’ve been told my fierceness is attractive,” said (Y/N) playfully while they took his hand.

“I am inclined to agree, if I may be so forward,” said Sebastian, leading them to the dance floor.

(Y/N) chuckled as his other hand went to his waist and their placed theirs on his shoulder. The music was still lively, and they moved gracefully across the dance floor among the other couples.

Several women—and now men due to (Y/N) wearing a dress once more and them not noticing they had been Mr. Noir—stared in jealousy at the pair, but it merely added to (Y/N) and Sebastian’s amusement. After all, they loved each other, which made their dancing pleasant already, but to also have people wishing they held the demon that (Y/N) or Sebastian loved allowed them to thrive off of the jealousy. They were possessive demons.

“What a skilled dancer you are,” said Sebastian, spinning (Y/N) before pulling them in again.

“I had an excellent teacher,” teased (Y/N).

“I must pay him compliments, then,” said Sebastian.

(Y/N) rolled their eyes with a chuckle. What a vain demon they loved. Still, they loved every part of him, pride included. And he had no ego he didn’t deserve to have—he was as skilled as he acted. A man who pretended to have skill when he didn’t was terrible and (Y/N)’s least favorite kind of human, but Sebastian was no common man. He respected them, let them be who they wished, and didn’t need anyone to act less strong or skilled to feel secure in his own skill. Truly, it was one of Sebastian’s finest characteristics and one of the first (Y/N) that had attracted (Y/N) to him.

“You should. He’s quite the man,” said (Y/N), playing along.

“How lucky I am to steal you away from him for a time,” said Sebastian.

“Be careful,” said (Y/N). They smirked and spoke under their breath as he pulled them in to the music. “He is quite possessive~”

“I can compete,” said Sebastian. His eyes flicked to their lips and flashed fuchsia for a moment. Unfortunately, it would be improper to lean in and kiss them due to being “strangers,” but he was already imagining all he could do later—in privacy.

“Oh? Can you? What a statement,” said (Y/N). They smirked. “You’ll have to prove it, sir.”

Sebastian smirked. “I shall.”

Sebastian lazily languished kisses across (Y/N)’s cheeks and neck as they lay on their bed beneath the moonlight. It streaked them in silver light, illuminating their every curve. Sebastian thought (Y/N) looked like deity, and, though he was a proud demon, he would gladly worship them. He already had, and yet he hadn’t had enough. He wished to adore (Y/N) every day.

“Midnight is upon us,” said (Y/N), smiling as Sebastian looked up through his lashes at them.

“The witching hour approaches,” said Sebastian, knowing they were referring to the tea party beginning but instead teasing them.

“It is also the devil’s hour,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

“Then if the pair of us together, it could be our hour,” said Sebastian, lifting his head to kiss them.

“We have had quite a few hours tonight,” said (Y/N), chuckling and kissing him.

Sebastian smirked. “Well, it takes quite some time to properly show you love.”

“I know,” said (Y/N). “Because I ensure I use it to show my love as well.”

“And you do so perfectly,” said Sebastian. He kissed them. “But I suppose we will have more hours in the future.”

“Yes,” said (Y/N). “Shall we prepare until then?”

“We shall,” said Sebastian, his hand tracing their contract seal before rising to dress.

As much as he teased that they could spend longer together, they both knew they had to be prepared for danger. After the traces of nonhumanness with the Headmaster, Ciel could be in danger at any moment, so (Y/N) and Sebastian had to remain watchful.

And so, they dressed one another, waiting for Ciel’s call.

Barely ten minutes passed until Sebastian straightened. His contract seal glowed as he pulled his glove on, and his eyes turned fuchsia.

“I have been summoned,” said Sebastian, throwing the window open.

“And so the mystery shall unravel,” said (Y/N), smirking and taking his hand as he guided them onto the windowsill.

Under the moonlight, the two demons stole into the night. It was time for the truth to be discovered—whether through words or blood, it would be revealed.

Taglist:

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@kniselle

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sassy-cass-16 · 1 year

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man. the locked tomb is so funny and so full of memes and so beautiful and sometimes it just hits me that it's also so fucking sad.

gideon and harrow spent their entire childhoods hating each other for no reason. they never had to hate each other. harrow had gideon's blood on her hands when she opened the tomb and lost her entire family and it was all for no reason. just because gideon had no one to stick up for her. and when they were both orphans they couldn't even talk to each other about it. because they hated each other.

gideon fell so in love with harrow that she died for her and then harrow spent an entire year pretending she didn't exist just so she wouldn't lose her forever. gideon literally tells harrow's story for her and takes such reverent care of her body for the short time she's in it. gideon first saw her own father through harrow's eyes and called him Lord.

and john. and john is terrible. and he is so human that he becomes terrible. he breaks down weeping because no one else in the entire universe will ever understand his jokes again. he lost everything and he is the only one who even remembers the thing that was lost. he is so completely ordinary that you almost feel like you can't blame him for everything he's done but he is terrible. he let his friends die over and over and over again and he wants to wipe everything clean and start over and he is a man who has gone so completely insane from loneliness that he's circled back around to seeming horribly normal.

he greets his daughter with a dad joke and names her as best he can and gives her a title and a body with speed holes that help her go fast. and he's not malicious. and he's not good. you can't even really call him a villain--what the hell else was he supposed to do? in any of these circumstances? but he is trying his best and his best is simply not good enough. the true horror of god is that he is just human.

all the lyctors. all the lyctors are a tragedy in their own rights. augustine and mercymorn are just the two examples that we know the most about, and their own god/father/brother/lover/beloved/teacher killed them both.

(admittedly, mercymorn struck first. admittedly, john was defending himself and his entire empire. admittedly, it was ianthe's choice to save john in the river that killed augustine. less than an hour before that, augustine was apologizing for raising his voice and john told him to have a cigarette and do you see what i mean about it being hard to blame john for anything?)

and the whole concept of the fourth house in general. we don't talk about that enough. that is almost an entire planet's worth of child soldiers, from what little information we have. what does it say about ulysses and titania that they were the ones to found that house? isaac was thirteen. jeannemary was fourteen. they were expected to become full lyctors before isaac's voice had even dropped. there was no way they could make it off canaan house alive. these kids were doomed.

protesilaus ebdoma had a wife and kids. his wife's name is mia and she probably has no idea what actually happened to him. same with abigail's brother and nephew. corona and ianthe's parents must be losing their shit--they think their eldest daughter is dead and their younger one is now a fucking Saint with a gold skeleton arm.

that's not even getting into alecto. or nona. or camilla and palamedes and paul. this series is so fucking sad even without getting into the revelation that all the lyctors are slowly merging with their cavaliers.

#tlt #tlt spoilers #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #john gaius #gtn spoilers #htn spoilers #ntn spoilers #tug spoilers #the unwanted guest #god why does this series require so many tags

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firstkanaphans · 3 months

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Hi Sarah :) I hope you're having a beautiful day. I'm still learning so much BL history and I was hoping you'd be willing to elaborate a little on your tag "Saint has given so much to an industry that was so cruel to him." I really only know that he worked with Perth and Zee but I don't know anything beyond that.

Hiiii!!!

Whatever you are imagining, I guarantee it’s worse…

So Saint and Perth worked on Love by Chance together in 2018 and there was a lot of drama going on behind the scenes between their managers. Most of the Love by Chance cast—including Perth—was managed by the same company. I’m pretty sure Saint was the only one who wasn’t and Perth’s management did not like that. They did everything they possibly could to shun Saint from the production, including ACCUSING HIM OF BEING A SEX WORKER.

They started a bunch of rumors about how Saint’s management was selling him to rich old men and insinuated that’s how he was booking jobs. Adults said this. About a nineteen-year-old. Because they were mad he got cast in the lead role of a BL series instead of one of their actors. They eventually apologized, admitting culpability in the process, but dear lord.

It’s also important to note that Perth was a literal child at the time and had no clue what his management was doing. He and Saint have somehow managed to stay friends despite all of this, but Saint obviously refused to come back for LBC 2.

There’s a pretty good YouTube video that breaks it all down here if you’re interested.

After that, Saint still agreed to do Why R U? with Zee. Their rift is a bit more run-of-the-mill—because what could possibly top accusing a teenager of being a sex worker??!—but I believe the story is that Saint pissed off some of Zee’s stans by making a joke during an interview about how Zee never texts him back. (Which is ironic coming from the FK fandom where First does this to Khaotung literally all the time.) Zee’s stans canceled him, doing the usual cyberbullying routine on social media, and he hasn’t been in a BL since.

Truly, I don’t think this industry has put anyone through more hell than Saint and although he never really talks about it, Perth has gotten a lot more open in recent years about how much the industry has damaged his mental health and I have to think a lot of that is because of this incident specifically. He was only sixteen at the time!

But despite (or maybe because of) all of that, Saint created a production company that seems to treat its actors very well and encourages them to live life to the queerest if that’s what they want to do. I doubt we’ll ever see Saint act in anything that he isn’t producing himself again, which is a shame, but I will always be thankful to him for taking a chance on GAP. He literally paid for that production out of his own pocket with no guarantee that it would be successful simply because he believed that queer women should be able to see themselves represented on screen. He’s a true ally and that’s why I try to support Idol Factory regardless of whether their shows are to my taste or not.

#the only thing saint’s ever done that rubbed me the wrong way #was holding a press conference for freen to apologize for being illegally recorded inside her own home #but he also sued the shit out of those people so…#can’t win them all i guess #saint suppapong #asks

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orangepeelshortbreadcookies · 2 months

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Thieves Of Dusk

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, East Asian!Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight

Gliding out of the lively event inside the Mayfair Auction House, Benedict Bridgerton made his way outside, disappearing into the shadow cast by the building and twilight. He snuck to a vacant corner between two giant stuccos, leaned back against the wall, trying to mend his fraying nerves.

It’s alright. He told himself. You’re alright. It was getting rather stuffed in there. The socialising, the drinking, the parading. The presence of art and relics played only second fiddle to the oppressive atmosphere of quiet, vicious competition, mixing with the joyful flow of coins and banknotes. Nowhere, Benedict discovered, was the contempt between the titled and the moneyed for one another magnified quite like the way it was in an auction house.

And he was one of them now. Moneyed and then titled. Well, at least his eldest brother was. Anthony, or as he had been known for the past three years, Viscount Bridgerton, bought his title with an exorbitant amount, the likes of which usually bankrupted a well-off man, but made only a small dent in their family’s fortune. Not only was this move considered, privately, a social spit on the face to the sensitive high society of Britain, Anthony also had the audacity to take a piss on his initial offence by holding half of the Lords in debt, and the other half in his employment.

Benedict was the backup Viscount, at least temporarily. His brother had been hard at work procreating.

Meanwhile, Benedict was sent out into the world, presenting himself as a respectable gentleman of Mayfair society. On the other hand, his job also consisted of being Anthony’s errand boy, running things his brother had neither the appetite or taste for. Things like acquiring a new painting for their drawing room. What kind of painting, Anthony did not say. An expensive one was not a particularly helpful description.

So now, here he was at an auction house, pockets heavy with funds, attempting to bid on an expensive artwork that would fit their drawing room, out of all the other expensive paintings, excluding the ones that could only reach the pricey range.

The experience was so horrendous, so overwhelming that Benedict had to excuse himself in the middle of it to catch his breath. It was not that he was incompetent. He liked society, for the most part. He liked playing the role of a charmer. He had learned to like subtly manipulating the conversation and quietly instigating shit. It was only--

All this art was sitting right there and he had to pay for them?

The Bridgerton siblings did not come from money. They were born within the halls of a fledgling gambling hell, eight labours of love between an ostracised noble lady and the owner of said gambling hell, a former bruiser who she had eloped with, and who was now dead. Anthony certainly could not have risen to the position he did today purely by running that establishment in a respectable, honest manner. Edmund had been, and Violet was as close to saints as mortals could get, yet they had given birth to a collection of unnaturally talented liars, cheats, brutes, swindlers and murderers.

And Benedict loved his siblings even more for it. Every single one of those seven fuckers.

He eyed the side of the building. The ledge above him, where a nimble chimney sweeper was scaling, looked promising. He could imagine it now. In five minutes, he would return inside. Perhaps he should chat up Lord Bhandari and then attract the House’s director into their conversation. Maybe he would pretend to be drunk off his ass and stir up some chaos. But that might be found out by Anthony, and Benedict was too old and too bored to receive another scolding from their eldest brother. He could try to get the director himself drunk? Which approach then? The man was conservative enough at whist, preferring to serve as accessory to the egos of bigger, more powerful players. With the right kind of bait… A man like that would not miss a chance to amass, especially on art, even more so if he only needed to spend but little for vast returns. What if he heard of an obscure blackmarket offer from a raw, undiscovered talent, who also had the misfortune of being gravely ill and desperately poor? Which tales of greatness and/or of woes could he bullshit up so the honourable Auction House’s director would forget about his keys, long enough…

His fingers twitched at his sides in excitement. Nighttime. Craft knife. Tubular case. Fuck! He tightened his hands into fists. Steel yourself! He took three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Calm down, Benedict. We’re going legit now. Think legal thoughts.

Tucking a hand into his breast pocket, Benedict pulled out his cigarette box, entrusting the vice to fog up his racing mind.

Just after his first inhale, as the warm chemicals were only starting their invasion of Benedict’s veins, soundlessly, a figure landed in front of him, not so far away. It took him a few seconds to recognise the chimney sweeper he had observed not long earlier. The smoke of his cigarette was making his vision extra ghostly.

It was when they looked up and met Benedict’s mildly intrigued gaze, that his breath was knocked out of his chest, for they were the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes on.

It sounded rather absurd, as he could hardly make out any particular features under their ragged, dirty, ill-fitting clothes, including the dark stripe of cloth covering the top half of their face. All he could tell was that they were small in stature, they moved so gracefully and lightly as if gravity was of no concern at all. Around their waist and half-hidden, was a curiously intricate-looking chain, whose metallic shine Benedict was fairly certain came from silver. A strangely fine item, utterly out-of-place on a drab chimney-sweeper’s costume.

The stranger was smiling while looking at him, their eyes imprinted an exhilarating thrill and unadulterated joy into his soul.

And they were coming his way.

‘Good evening,’ he uttered, trying to sound smooth, briefly forgetting that he was still holding a cigarette in his mouth. With swift motion, the stranger caught the tube between their fingers before it could reach the ground.

Well, that was embarrassing. Benedict thought, blushing. I must look like a bloody idiot.

Fortunately for him, the expression his new company showed him leaned more toward amusement than mockery. More… flirtatious than mockery. Their eyes on him, still smiling, they brought the cigarette to their lips, giving it a greedy whiff, then releasing the vapours in a blissful exhale.

They had very kissable lips, Benedict remarked mentally, plump and soft, framed by elegant lines of the cheeks and chin.He suspected there was a woman under that disguise. Or a very young, very pretty man. Suddenly feeling shy, he averted his eyes from their mouth, drawing his attention back to the little torch they had stolen from him. They were quick, he must admit. Too bad Benedict was no slowpoke himself.

The cigarette had returned to him before they noticed it.

Taking his time, Benedict took another whiff, carefully closing his mouth around where theirs were, seeking their taste. Meanwhile, his gaze fixated on the object of his fascination, watching as the eyes of the dust-covered little pixie grew wide and their lips trembled in surprise. As if they were taken aback by his boldness, by his indirect kiss, or had just come to the realisation that flirting with him was a reckless impulse on their part.

Very interesting.

Benedict could rationale, from personal experience, that their presence here, at this auction house, meant no good deed.

‘Who are you?’ He asked.

The stranger grinned, delighted in their own mystery. The tip of their tongue caught between their teeth in a mischievous manner, and Benedict resisted the urge to press his own tongue against the spot.

‘Guess.’ Their voice was raspy and strained, perhaps a disguise attempt. The excitement and curiosity were not hidden, however. He could hear it.

There, as they stood between day and night and between social bubbles, as cigarette smoke billowed gently between the two of them. It was as if they existed out of time, Benedict and this vibrant phantom. Their identities were protected by half-lights, by the mute, blinded nature of elevated, civilised Mayfair streets and by criminality, against the eyes of the world and each other.

Using his left hand, slowly, openly, giving the stranger the time to react, to change their mind, Benedict took a hold of their right hand, pulling their bodies closer together. Little bursts of lightning shot up his fingertips where their skins touched, expanding all over his body. Carefully, with his thumb drawing little invisible circles, he memorised and processed the stories written on the skin of the adorable enigma with his touch. Their hand was small. He did not know any adult males with such small hands. A bump on the first joint of the middle finger. A writer’s callus. So they were educated and right-handed. Many noble ladies slathered their hands with lotions and filed their skin down to within an inch of their lives to soothe these bumps away, ashamed that the hardened skin would mar the perfectly pampered appearance. Their skin was cracked, dry and callused. These were most probably resulted from manual labour. Not a prominent weapon user. The little surface of their palm and along their fingers were riddled with little nicks, cuts and burn marks.

Benedict noticed the contrast between his smooth palm and the mysterious marvel’s roughened one, and felt the whisper of a murderous rage getting louder inside him. What happened? Whatever, whoever occupied this beautiful creature’s life so much that they had no time to take care of themself? A good criminal ought to maintain a tailored, professional appearance. He flipped their hand over to inspect the back. More burn scars. Were they a black smith? They certainly did not carry themself like one. And why would an intellectual put one’s self through the dangers of blacksmithing? No clear impressions or calluses on the knuckles, the exact opposite of how his younger brother, Colin’s hands looked. His siren certainly did not possess the punch of an experienced bruiser.

He leaned down, surreptitiously studying what he could perceive of their profile. At this distance, he could see how their left shoulder was tense, weighed down by something they were carrying up their sleeve. No trace of cosmetics on their cheek. No shaving scars. Most definitely not a man. It would not lessen his attraction to this person in any way were they of one sex or another. More information about one's opponent, however, was always better than less.

She, he half-decided that they could be a she, smelled of the city. Not of perfumed leather and pruned gardens, not of the Mayfair part, no. Her natural scent was buried underneath layers of smoke, his cigarette among them. She smelled of darkened alleyways, of sweat and metal, and the garden. The scent was not conventionally pleasant, and it would have taken an ass kicking his skull off for him to expect something more arranged, considering what she might be doing and what he knew himself of the profession. But her smell did give him a calming effect. It reminded him of Covent Gardens, of their gambling hall, of his wild, chaotic and utterly free childhood. Few where he was now would look at the area and consider it an optimal place to raise children. Anthony would not. Neither would Daphne. But Benedict had always recalled their harsher times with fondness.

‘I got nothing.’ He grinned against her face, delighted in feeling her shiver and the heat emanating from her cheek. He decided to keep all that he learned in those short seconds to himself instead. Retreating back to where he was against the wall, he put out the cigarette, put the stub into his pocket, then lit a new one. Milking the tension for all its worth. ‘Except for that you smell like a ghost. Well done.’ He was, had been, a cardsharp after all.

She looked frozen for a few seconds, registering his remark, unsure if it was a compliment or a snide. And based on the way her mouth dropped into a pout, on how she yanked the cigarette away from his shit-eating grin, and on how she smoked it in the most petulant manner afterward, he could see that she came to no satisfactory conclusion.

‘My turn.’ He offered his own hand to her. ‘Who am I?’

The stranger took his hand and stared down at it. The brim of her cap, the mask over her eyes and the dim light made it impossible to glimpse her expression. What would she learn of him? Would she see the faded, chequered cuts of his fingers and deduce his upbringing in a gambling hell? Would she notice the old indentations of ropes and strings and discover his once-familiarity with them? Or would his recent lack of action already put a pristine mask on all of his past, and that would lead her to conclude that he was no more than a pampered aristocrat, who had never lifted anything heavier than a champagne flute in his life, pretending to play it tough? Would that perception be more charming? Was it a personality type she would prefer?

His heart pounded like a top thoroughbred in a race at the featherlight grazings of her finger all over his palm. Their close proximity did not help slow the rhythm. He almost wanted to pull back, to retreat, to put the hand she was holding into a glove, into his pocket, behind his back, to hide himself away from her gaze.

Benedict had no idea how he wanted to come off to this person, and it terrified him.

‘Hmmm’, she started with a hum, releasing a puff of smoke. ‘Very healthy, vigorous male. Yet a turbulent life, your life, full of ups and downs.’ He pondered that statement and shrugged to himself.He supposed there were some degrees of truth to that. ‘A chaotic professional life, indeed. Greedy man, you have not been able to commit to anything, have you?’

‘I prefer the term jack-of-all-trades.’

‘You have close, meaningful relationships with people around you.’ He smirked. ‘A mind of many ideas, can rarely keep his feet on the ground.’ He winced.

‘I don’t believe you saw all of that on my hand.’ He complained, on the defence. ‘Are you a witch?’

She looked back up at him, smiling. ‘It’s just palm-reading. Nursemaids’ hobby.’ Quietly, he tucked that information away, wondering if she realised she had given another clue about her identity. ‘Why, are you going to report me? If you do, considering I am telling you your fortune, I would include a forewarning as part of my fees.’ She tried to keep her voice playful, but he sensed true anxiety in her voice, in the way she subtly gripped his hand.

‘No,’ he swore. ‘I will not report you.’ And meant it. ‘Never.’

He heard her breath a sigh of relief, drawing his hand slightly closer to her chest. She trusted him. They’ve only just met, but she trusted him. And to Benedict’s surprise, he trusted her too. This stranger whose name he did not know and whose face he could not even see fully.

He gestured to the hand that she was holding again. ‘What else do you see?’

‘You are,’ she continued, slower this time. ‘A romantic soul. Artistic. A poet. There is so much love inside you.’ He quickly took the cigarette back from her, using it to mask his bashfulness. Benedict Bridgerton did not feel bashful. Unless when he was high. He leaned closer, attempting to decipher the comprehensive archive of his life and character, written in a foreign language between the lines of his palm. A language that she was apparently reading with ease.

‘You also possess great charm.’ She sketched a line from between his index and middle finger to the base of his pinkie. ‘Others can’t help being drawn to you.’

He smiled. ‘I think you are just describing my face now. It’s up here.’

She looked up, mouth open, fully prepared to give him another sarcastic remark. No words managed to escape her. Lost in her diligent inspection of his hand, she did not realise the gap between them had grown smaller. Their eyes met, closer this time.

And then they were kissing. With her hands still closed around his, he pulled her closer to him, before sliding that hand away from her grasp, making a lingering trip up her neck, then resting upon her cheek. Her newly freed hands clutched at his lapels, while her body enthusiastically pressed him even further against the wall. Benedict’s other arm, the one holding the cigarette, snaked around her waist. His pinkie looped a few twice around her silver chain.

With her breath and lips, she put the moon on his tongue. He swallowed it, and it lit up his insides. Feeling her response, he trusted a celestial body resided in her too. It ignited her bones, and he knew he put it there.

When Benedict nipped at the edge of her mask, intending on removing it with his teeth, his silver mystery was startled out of their trance. She pushed against him, took a few steps back, and readjusted her mask till it sat firmly again across her face. Where he toyed with the chain on her waist left a mark on his hand. Neither of them noticed it.

‘I must go.’ She said quietly. They were pulled back to their existence inside time.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asked, feeling fundamentally altered.

‘Guess.’ Her smile reflected his own melancholy. Then that feeling made room for a blossoming of brewing mischief.

He did not answer. Not with words, anyway.

He gave her back his cigarette. A challenge. An inquiry.

Show me.

He was damn excited to see what she would do.

‘Thank you’, she whispered, so softly Benedict could not make out her voice. Then the twilight nymph, one of the many names he would later refer to the stranger, retreated back a few steps and revealed briefly to Benedict the strange, elegant mechanism attached to her left wrist. She took one last drag of the cigarette, reigniting the dim glow, then inserted it into the mechanism.

Then, she almost levitated up the walls of Mayfair Auction House, tiptoeing from balcony to balcony like a sparrow. Aiming her arm with what Benedict just then realised was a kind of small, personalised crossbow, at an open window on the third floor, she shot the cigarette into the room. Then elegantly, she landed back on their feet, gave Benedict a little bow, and ran away.

Just as he started to take off after her, the explosion that came almost immediately halted him.

Reeling from the shock, Benedict lost track of his target in the smoke and the commotion. Furthermore, he was waylaid by the spectacle of the stranger’s handiwork. Sparks of gold and silver lit up the fancy building like a goddamn birthday cake. The air reeked of sulphur. Pediments and balconies fell over each other like flaming dominos. A symphony of confused worries growing steadily into horrified screamings, swelling in and out of the building. He could make out the desperate, ineffective authority of the director, ordering his employees to protect the auctioned lots.

It was fucking magnificent.

Yet just as swiftly, the Metropolitan Police rolled to the scene. From his vantage point, Benedict watched them making quick work of disbanding the gathering crowd of peasants. The vision of the Auction House’s door getting knocked down was not unlike the collapse of the Gates of Hell. Dust and smoke flared. An ash-covered entanglement of limbs, screams and chaos clawed its way out. Glamorous nobles, horror-stricken, losing all their dignity, climbing over each other to escape.

The police’s efforts to escort the guests to safety were met with earnest cooporation. All one could feel was relief. No one bothered questioning why only half of the servants assigned to work there that day made it out of the building.

The auctioned pieces were carried into the police wagon in an orderly manner, before substantial fire damages could get to them. The process was further assisted by the director’s and his esteemed visitors’ hefty vocal demands and to some degree, warnings of the value of the item, how the lifelong servitude of the person carrying it would be inadequate compensation.

For once, to his dismay, their city’s police proved to be annoyingly competent. Even their unreliability is unreliable. Benedict thought irritably. Left on his own and out of sight, he made a surreptitious scan of the area, searching and then erasing any sort of trails that might lead to his darling firestarter, his fun was thought spoiled.

Until thirty minutes later, a second group of police arrived to assess the situation and attempt rescue, having been waylaid by an angry, drunken scuffle and then a swarm of curious civilians. They were struck dumb to discover the group of perfectly alive, albeit shaken and soot-covered Lords, Ladies and wealthy Misters outside the building. Their assistance was apparently not needed. The auctioned properties were reported by the house director, to be on their way to the station with the first responders.

‘We are the first responders.’ The constable said, growing more alarmed by the syllables. The Auction House’s director processed this knowledge, he turned white, then red, then white again, slowly understanding that the valiant officers, who had bravely and generously rescued his valuable collections, were none other than the thieves themselves. Benedict watched the man growing ill many times over in seconds with immense, yet hidden, amusement.

For his part, Benedict remained charming, confused and absolutely useless during his interview with the real police. Only after he returned to the safety of his apartments, that he allowed himself to break into a smirk, which grew into a wide grin, then hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.

‘Oh, you brilliant creature.’ He was wheezing. ‘That was good.’

Benedict Bridgerton was completely, utterly, smitten.

I will find you. He swore to himself, determined to unmask his silver siren.

#bridgerton #benophie #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #my writing #can't believe i am finishing this just in time for s4 announcement lol #benophiles this is for you!#bridgerton fanfiction

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writingpuddle · 2 months

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thats why it frustrates me when ppl shit on the upperclassmen for calling Andrew a monster. they're wrong, yes. it's dehumanising, yes. but you know what else? violence is dehumanising. drugging people is dehumanising. provoking someone's addiction is dehumanising. "they don't treat him with basic dignity." okay, you show me all the times Andrew treated them with dignity, and I'll show you the exact same amount of times they treated him with dignity.

im with you there anon but im also sort of revelling in this moment, because i know @blogaboutyafavbirdboys has received asks implying that this debate has triggered some responses elsewhere on tumblr and i just want to say thanks to everyone i follow for being chill and not putting all that discourse on my dash. its so easy to go full blorbo-protection mode when someone says something negative about your fave (lord knows i am protective enough about neil) but with a book as morally messy as aftg im glad most people i follow are happy to actually discuss different characters shit-headedness instead of getting defensive.

because youre exactly right! its dehumanizing to call someone a monster. its also massively more dehumanizing to rob them of their bodily autonomy by drugging and interrogating them. there is actually a sliding scale of badness here and andrew is not on the right side of it. when kevin was around you can half-justify it by saying he was under threat from a mafia prince, but he drugged dan back when it was just the cousins, no kevin in sight--ie. the stakes were much lower. his trauma taught him to hit first and hit hardest so that nobody could ever hurt him again. it was a trauma response. it was also a shitty response.

expecting the foxes to respond with total magnanimity and understanding of andrews trauma responses when they are directly hurting them but not expecting andrew to even scale his behaviour to the actual threat posed is a weird double standard to hold. there is a difference between being rude and physically hurting people. even if the other foxes were saints (which i am not pretending they were), they would probably not have been pal-ing it up with him after how he treated them. (he also had no interest in spending time with them, so they wouldnt really have been able to anyway, but thats beside the point).

it would be nice if the upperclassmen apologized to andrew for the way they talked about him. but it would also be nice if he apologized to them for drugging/threatening/punching them. and its sometimes odd to me when people get overly fixated on the first without acknowledging the fact that the second is...probably not going to happen at all. the upperclassmen wont get an apology out of andrew. he doesnt believe in regret, and neil didnt get (or expect!) an apology for getting drugged himself. and andrew cares a hell of a lot more about neil than he does about the upperclassmen.

also. it would be a pretty boring story if they all responded by sweetly asking him if he wanted to talk about his feelings. so. upperclassmen are allowed to be kind of rude. as a treat.

#drama is fun when its fake people #its not fun when its real people #anyway if you wanted proof that unfollowing and blocking people works #the relative peace of my dash right now is impressive #andrew minyard #aftg #aftg disk horse #but yeah the scale difference in their offenses

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tepli-mravenci · 2 years

Text

So I'm watching Netflix's Castlevania and I've got to say every time a non-european show includes a map of Europe, it gives me brain damage

It's the year of our lord 1477~ and Europe does not look like that

Now I realize this is fiction, there are vampires and demons, but this is real Europe, they could've just set it in a random fantasy setting, they did not and this is not 1477 Europe

So what exactly is wrong here and why am I, a European that's otherwise terrible at geography, being a bitch about it?

The eastern part is pretty okay for post-middle-age map standards (I mean Moldavia is way too big and close and Hungary way too small and the borders should be a bit different but), maps weren't historically very accurate when it comes to the shapes and sizes of countries since we had no way of like, looking at them from high above

However something like borders with other countries would be damn important and there's mistakes there, that chunk of Poland at the bottom is supposed to belong to Hungary and Poland shouldn't actually touch Austria at all

The lines I drew are also not the most accurate cause this is a terrible map but basically the Kingdom of Poland should not expand to the west at all, there behind the line is the Holy Roman Empire (mostly modern Germany) and Bohemia (modern Czechia), (which was included in the HRE at the time according to some sources?), should also be there on the map

That's also the whole reason I even went back to the scene with the map at all, cause Saint-Germain mentioned he talked with the KING of BOHEMIA but BOHEMIA is NOT on the MAP.

The actual king of Bohemia around this time was Vladislaus II of Hungary who was originally from Poland (#just europe things). Which doesn't mean it was part of Hungary or Poland cause that's just not how the politics worked at the time. One king was often a king of multiple countries at once with them still being separate countries.

Austria is also way too close in shape to modern Austria which is also not right and since the Roman emperor at the time was Austrian it should really be a part of HRE way more than Bohemia that straight up disappeared.

Also Bavaria was not a city??? It was (and still is) a region if anything and not at all on the same level as Budapest, the placement of Transylvania is just as funky as the placement of Moldavia and what in god's name is Bosnia doing right under Austria??

Anyway if this isn't just non-europeans drawing Europe wrong the implications here are mostly that the Holy Roman Empire shriveled up and died which is not supposed to happen until a few centuries later, which would make sense if the church essentially brought hell on Earth by pissing off Dracula. Then Poland took over I suppose.

The rest could be explained by crap cartography of the post-middle-ages and small changes in politics due to the whole Dracula night hordes thing but I still needed to get this off my chest

If anyone can tackle (or tackled) this better than me (which is entirely possible, as I said I'm pretty bad at geography) you can let me know

My main issue here is that I don't know if I'm supposed to be like yo that's not what Europe should look like - as in - Europe is in complete chaos rn or if I'm supposed to be like ah yes normal map of Europe

Edit: pls go to the notes for even more info about how wrong this map is <3

#rant #castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania netflix #europe #european

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marvelmusing · 2 years

Text

Total Eclipse

Chapter Two

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: After retrieving the candles for your saint, you join Mikhael and Dubrov at the market, only to meet someone unexpected.

Word Count: 3.1K

My Masterlist

“You know, these sure could fetch a pretty penny,” Mikhael remarks, hooking a finger over the edge of the leather satchel sitting beside you.

Not looking away from your book, you swat his hand away before he can reveal the contents of your bag to the prying eyes of the market.

As night faded from the sky early this morning, you had visited the nearest meeting point for the Cult of the Starless One. In exchange for the black candles for your church’s altar, you paint your Saint’s symbol over their candles and wooden icons in shimmering silver.

Due to an old superstition in Keramzin, only the Cult uses black candles. Everyone else believes that lighting one would summon a nichevo’ya – one of the monsters created by the Darkling during the Ravkan Civil War over a century ago.

“I know. Hands off.”

Mikhael shrugs.

“Suit yourself.”

At the sound of his smug nonchalance, you glance up from where you’ve perched yourself on a low stone wall. Dubrov lowers a box onto their makeshift table, the wood creaking as the weight of the box thuds against it. As he opens it up, you spot something vaguely familiar glistening in the late morning sun.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” you ask sharply.

He grins at you, cradling one of the necklaces from Lord Morozova’s house in his palm.

“Setting up shop.” He gestures to the necklace before he elaborates, “Handmade jewellery.”

You gape at him in half horror, half amusement.

“There isn’t a single person in Keramzin who will believe that you made that.”

He scowls at you.

“Rude.”

Before you can continue to tell him what a terrible idea this is, Mikhael turns to you.

“Your fellow fanatic’s here.”

Eyes scanning through the throngs of people, you smile widely when you spot a familiar face.

“Yuri!”

His smile is equally as wide, excitement evident on his face as he lifts up a book to show you the deep red cover.

“It’s here!” he calls out.

Two simple words, yet you understand his excitement immediately. The new copy of Istorii Sankt’ya has arrived at Keramzin’s only bookshop.

“Already? Show me.”

Shuffling over the wall, you allow Yuri enough room to sit next to you. He’s wearing his usual robes of black, with his token of the Starless One hanging around his neck, visible to everyone. Your own token lies against your chest, hidden safely underneath the layers of your shirt and jacket, accompanied by the token of Sankta Alina.

He sits down beside you, opening up the book and settling it in your lap. Entranced by the glossy pages, you smooth your fingertips over the words printed on the first page. With careful motions, you begin to turn through the pages.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

The faces staring out at you are familiar ones. All painted in vibrant colours, detailing their most holy acts. Continuing through the pages, you soon find your own Saints. The breath catches in your throat as you admire the image of them.

“To your liking?” Yuri prompts with a knowing smile.

The two of you had snuck into the local archive once. All night, you had read through every edition of the Istorii Sankt’ya in their collection.

As an artist yourself, you take the depiction of your Saints very seriously. There is always something not quite right about the paintings you have seen of them, though you are only allowed to paint your Saints to the church’s liking, and you’ve never had enough money for paints of your own to truly capture their likeness as you believe them to be.

“Almost perfect.”

He nods.

“I had a good feeling about this edition. They hired an iconographer from the Os Alta cathedral.”

“That’s the height of devotion,” you murmur softly, tracing the golden rays of sunlight illuminating the face of Sankta Alina.

“Let’s see it then,” Mikhael says, swallowing down the last of an iced pastry. He licks his fingers clean before he reaches for the book. Instinctively, you close the book, folding your arms around it protectively as you press it against your chest.

“Keep your sticky fingers away.”

He feigns offense, grumbling as he wipes his fingers on the dust covered front of his jacket. There is no chance of you letting him touch this book.

“What are you doing for the summer solstice?” Yuri asks you. Mikhael answers before you can give your own response any thought.

“Same as every year, getting as drunk as we can before they throw us out of the pub.”

“Then move onto the next one,” Dubrov adds with a grin. You shake your head at the two of them with a fond smile.

At times, you feel like the odd one out among them, but you had been raised together in the orphanage on the edge of town and they are practically your brothers.

“I’m not sure,” you say to Yuri. “It falls on an eclipse doesn’t it?”

He nods.

Total eclipses happen once every two years in Ravka, and are a day of celebration for followers of the Starless One. This year you’re rather conflicted as it coincides with the summer solstice – the Saintsday of Sankta Alina.

You have never met someone who follows your two Saints. The majority of Ravka will celebrate Sankta Alina on the solstice as usual, while the Cult of the Starless One will celebrate the eclipse.

“I might just do something by myself.”

Yuri nods again, though you can tell he doesn’t like the idea of you spending such a joyous day alone.

“You know you’re always welcome with us.” You shake your head slightly, looking down at your boots.

“I know I’m welcome with you. The others I’m not so sure about.”

He looks down too, watching as you swing your legs gently, heel scraping against the stone wall.

“You know how it is. They aren’t many of us here in Keramzin. The fact that you follow two opposing Saints worries them.”

As always, you bristle internally at the thought of your Saints being opposed to one another. All of Ravka sees Sankta Alina and the Starless One as polar opposite, you however see them as two perfect halves of a whole - incomplete without the other. Which is why you feel so conflicted about celebrating one of them, whilst neglecting the other.

“I know…” You sigh. “I just…”

As your eyes scan over the crowd, your gaze locks onto a familiar face and your heart beat pounds frantically in a flurry of panic.

“Dubrov. Put the jewels away.”

Mikhael frowns at the shift in your tone, sensing something is wrong. Dubrov isn’t as perceptive.

“You see, this is why we don’t like to involve you in this sort of stuff. We know you feel bad, but he really won’t miss this stuff,” Dubrov says, trying to reassure you.

“Lord Morozova is here.”

“What?” He turns quickly, following the direction of your eyes. “Fuck.”

The two of them scramble to shove the jewels back into the box. Some fall on the ground, some land awkwardly in the box, preventing him from shutting the lid properly. They cram brooches and strings of pearls into their pockets. Mikhael kicks a diamond ring under the table.

Once they’ve finished, their table of trinkets looks rather bare but at least they won’t be arrested – or worse. A man like Lord Morozova has the power to turn heads in the opposite direction should he want to punish someone personally.

Whilst the Morozova line has been known to be ruthless during times of war, the man you had met yesterday wasn’t anything like the rumours you had heard about him. Nevertheless, you still think he might react harshly at the thought of you breaking into his house.

Yuri raises a questioning brow, but you shake your head, and he accepts your lack of explanation as he observes the way your fingers run nervously over the spine of Istorii Sankt’ya, subconsciously seeking the comfort of your Saints.

Too busy worrying about what Lord Morozova’s presence here means, you don’t notice the woman by his side at first. When you do, you can’t take your eyes from her.

Her dark hair is pulled back, neatly woven into a series of braids and her eyes are wide as she takes in every sight and sound around her. Occasionally she will pull lightly on Lord Morozova’s arm, pointing something out to him when he ducks his head down to give her his full attention.

When his eyes lock on yours the breath catches in your throat. He tilts his head as recognition sparks in his eyes, then he says something to his wife, and you’re unaware of anything except the pounding of blood in your ears.

“He’s heading this way. Please be normal,” you plead, looking at the two boys who currently look like the most awkward pair of actors thrust up onto stage with only half a script.

Dubrov ducks under the table, pretending he’s lost something, while Mikhael counts their meagre profits of the day so far, fidgeting with the coins to the point in which he drops a few onto Dubrov’s head. With a small sigh, you send a quick prayer to your Saints to protect your idiot friends.

“Lord Morozova,” you greet him with a smile. Hopefully he is too focused on you to pay them any attention. He says your name softly with a nod of acknowledgement.

“This is my wife - Alina.”

For a moment you’re too busy staring at the way her dark lashes brush over her cheekbones and the way her skin glows soft in the sunlight as she smiles at you. Luckily, you manage a reasonably polite response.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Morozova.”

She shakes her head lightly.

“Just Alina is fine, please.”

Clearly Lord Morozova disapproves, his brows creasing slightly as he glances at his wife. Looking down, you wonder how you can agree to her wish without upsetting him.

“Can we compromise on Lady Alina?” you suggest.

She smiles as she hums teasingly, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the playful glint in her dark eyes.

“I suppose.”

Rather shyly, you smile back at her. Lord Morozova takes this as an opportunity to step back into the conversation.

“We’ve been looking for the local paint shop, and I wondered whether you might be able to point us in the right direction.” You nod.

“I can take you there now. If you would like?” you offer, already pushing away from the wall before they can answer.

“We don’t want to trouble you,” Lady Alina insists. You shake your head, picking up your satchel and shrugging the strap over your shoulder. The candles are a little heavy to be carrying, but you don’t trust the boys not to steal a few.

“It’s no trouble.”

As you go to hand Istorii Sankt’ya back to Yuri, he shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

“Yuri-”

“You deserve it.”

Swallowing hard, you smile gratefully at him. He knows what this means to you. Yuri is one of the only people who accepts your unconventional beliefs. Standing on tiptoe, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

When you turn back to Lord Morozova and his wife, you find them both watching you intently and warmth flushes over your cheeks. Adjusting the strap of your satchel, you gesture towards a narrow street.

“It’s just down here.”

They both keep pace with you as you stroll leisurely through the small gathering of townspeople. The streets aren’t too busy, which makes you feel less conscious about the attention the two of them gain. Ignoring the eyes, you decide to make some conversation with them.

“Are you enjoying Keramzin so far?”

Lady Alina nods.

“It’s a lot different from the last time I was here.”

Her arm slides from where it had been wrapped around her husband’s elbow, her hand settling into his and you see him offer her fingers a small squeeze. Looking away from the pair quickly, you glance down at the route you’re taking them on before you nod and say,

“It’s still a quiet town, but the market was expanded down to the next two streets last year.”

“Did you grow up here?” Lord Morozova asks you. You nod again.

“There’s an orphanage on the edge of town. Me, Dubrov and Mikhael – the two boys at the stall – we grew up there together and live further in town now.”

“And the other boy?”

“Yuri. His parents own a farm not far from the orphanage.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you remember how Yuri had been the one to encourage your painting. The look of awe on his face, when you had gifted him the first ever candle you had painted – black of course with golden brushstrokes detailing the creation of the Fold – still keeps you motivated even now.

Before he can ask any further questions, you reach the paint shop.

The shop owner – a sharp eyed old woman with an equally sharp temper – scowls the moment you enter the shop, the bell ringing overhead as you hold the door open.

“If you’re not buying anything, get-“ Her words are halted by the presence of Lord Morozova, and she looks back down at the embroidery she’s been working on.

As always, the shop is silent, and you slide your bag off your shoulder to prevent any unintentional damage to the displays.

Lady Alina eyes the art supplies eagerly, gaze falling all the way to the back of the shop, where the shelves weave out of sight into a labyrinth of paints, brushes and canvases. An artists haven. She glances back at her husband, but he shakes his head.

“Take your time, Alinochka. I’ll wait here.”

She doesn’t hesitate for long before she’s disappearing among the shelves. As silence descends between you and Lord Morozova, you rub your thumb over the cover of Istorii Sankt’ya. You had only offered to take them to the paint shop, now that you had done that you could go. But you don’t want to.

This isn’t your first time in this shop, but it is most definitely the longest period of time spent here. Usually, the owner gets cranky over the fact that you only visit as an opportunity to browse and breathe in the scent of paint. Everything in this shop is far too expensive for you.

Luckily, Lord Morozova tilts his head in your direction as he looks passively at a selection of canvases and decides to initiate a conversation quiet enough to escape the scrutiny of the old woman who keeps shooting looks of suspicion at you.

“I’ve been searching for some black candles, Alina and I have them in our bedroom at Os Alta, but I can’t seem to find any here.”

At the mention of their bedroom, warmth blooms over your cheeks. That feels like intimate knowledge, something you shouldn’t know, and yet now every time you light a candle for the Starless Saint, you will think about how a similar candle might simultaneously be burning at their bedside.

“They are rather hard to find,” you admit. He studies your expression, and you wonder whether he can see how flustered the idea of their bedroom makes you.

“You told the minister you would find some at the market.”

“I didn’t say that.” Before he can disagree, you add, “I told him I would visit the market today. I never said I would get the candles from the market.”

He pauses. The corner of his mouth twitches and you wonder whether you had just impressed him. A thrill runs through you at such a thought. He nods in concession.

“Then where do you get your candles from?”

“It’s a secret.”

He smiles with a twinkle in his eyes as he leans closer to you.

“I won’t tell.”

The warmth of your cheeks runs down your body at his conspiratorial whisper, but you shake your head despite the smile on your face.

“I can’t. But I can give you some of mine.”

At that, he almost looks concerned.

“Don’t you need them?”

You shake your head.

“I don’t let them burn long. Just during prayer.”

When you realise what you’ve said, what you’ve just admitted, you freeze, smile dropping from your face. Black candles are only used for prayer to one Saint – the one that he is supposedly descended from. Concerned about his reaction, it takes you a moment to pull your eyes back to his face.

He nods slowly, his smile softening.

“You’re certain? I don’t want to take them from you if you need them.”

You shake your head.

“I’m just under halfway through my last one. I can spare a few.”

Unless you have an exceptionally lonely night. After a particularly hard day, when rest alludes you no matter what you do, lighting the Starless One’s candle always helps soothe you. Its scent is the soft creaminess of candle wax and the crisp berries they use to stain the candle black.

There’s nothing that compares to it, though in such proximity to Lord Morozova, you can’t help but observe that he smells remarkably similar to the candles. He must be wearing some sort of cologne. You don’t think you’ve ever met a man who wears cologne, and you’re tempted to turn your face into him and breathe it in.

Lady Alina returns with an armful of paints and longing fills you at the sight of such high quality supplies. The church give you what they can for your work, but it certainly isn’t the best.

At the prospect of a purchase, the old woman at the counter seems more amicable, though you do your best to remain unnoticed.

Once you’re back on the street, you open up your satchel pulling out a worn cloth bag which you shyly offer to Lady Alina. It isn’t the sort of quality a noble would be used to, but it will help her carry her supplies. She thanks you with a genuine smile and you open up your satchel once again and pick up the first candle you can grasp at.

“Will three be enough?” you ask Lord Morozova.

Amusement touches at his features as he observes you continuing to rifle through your bag in search of more candles. He shakes his head.

“Two will suffice.”

As you’re placing the candles into Lady Alina’s bag, she pulls out a small tin filled with paints – a travel set. She offers it to you.

“Here.”

Looking down at them, your fingers freeze mid-air.

“Lady Alina, I couldn’t-”

“Please, I wanted them for you.”

You blink at her in momentary confusion.

“Really?”

She nods, smiling kindly. You can hardly believe your luck – your own copy of Istorii Sankt’ya and your very first set of paints.

“Thank you, so much.” Your voice breaks a little as you thank her and for a moment you’re tempted to hug her. Then you remember who you’re talking to and step back slightly. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

There’s something sharp that glimmers in her eyes, as if your words had brought back a forgotten memory and she understands your reaction.

“You’re welcome,” she says softly.

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

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TE Tag List: @tartiflvtte

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BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

#darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #darklina au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #aleksander morozova #alina starkov

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mdhwrites · 6 months

Note

thoughts on camila?

So I've talked about how she is just as a character before. I think as a character, she's as sweet as a saint and I like her in isolation. However, and this is what I want to focus on more because of an element I'll get to, she's a bad character in the context of The Owl House for the same reason King and Eda are: What is she doing in this story? How does she add to it?

Camila makes Luz look a fucking terrible as a human being. Almost EVERYTHING we see in the human frankly makes Luz like a terrible human being because that's the genre that The Owl House is a part of: Modern Isekai. Like most Modern Isekai, it's a story about a nerdy person who has no real prospects in real life and would rather live in their fantasies getting to go do that. Luz has a power that no one else has, gets to be with the prettiest, most popular, richest girl in the new world. She gets to stand up to a corrupt system but it never actually bothers her so she can just have fun shenanigans for the vast majority of the run time. She even fights an Evil Emperor which is almost as generic as a Demonic Lord as far as fantasy villains go. Honestly, TOH being isekai is probably a large part of why it was green lit (and frankly, same goes for Amphibia) since while it's not critically acclaimed, isekai is still one of the most popular genres of anime out there and the popular ones have made money hand over fist.

For most stories in this genre, they A: stay in the fantasy realm, TOH isn't fucking special people but also B: have a terrible home life in part to justify that desire and decision. There's also elements of wish fulfillment to its target demographic which is actually kind of important here. That your life sucks so you deserve to escape from it, just like this person. That terrible homelife in turn turns into a payoff for the audience because it can be used to highlight just how much better this world is and how much better off for everyone the MC is in this new world.

Camila doesn't really work for that though, does she? Something the show itself acknowledges with Yesterday's Lie. "You had it good." Hell, in that episode we have Camila wanting Vee to keep Luz's stuff because she knows those things are important to her daughter. Even in the first episode, Camila just wants Luz to make friends. She could fail to learn ANY life skills and stay just as weird at the camp (which she presumably needed to go to to not be EXPELLED for what she did) and Camila would happy if she was in a new Discord group with some friends. That is how low the fucking bar is for Camila's expectations of Luz and somehow THAT was too much. That was, as Camila will apologize for, multiple times, pushing her daughter away or repressing her.

That doesn't function for a Modern Isekai story... It functions for an old school isekai like Amphibia is. Old school isekai after all featured a lot more character growth, a lot more of the other world being an abstraction of problems the person was facing in the real world and had to learn how to deal with. As such, they usually ended with the main character going home a better person and putting their fantasies behind them. Not admonishing them but recognizing that staying there isn't what's best for them.

Camila's character for one of those is AMAZING. Like it could genuinely have led to one of the best deconstructions of the modern isekai protagonist. It's like the ass hat protag from Far Cry 3 (not saying this is handled well btw in that) who still wants to be bigger and more cool and seen as strong by those around him while he already has a smoking hot fiance, lives his life doing dangerous stunts, is really attractive himself and could just coast for the rest of his life. It doesn't fulfill his image and fantasy of what a 'man' is so fuck all of that, I need to go kill people and take over this native tribe! Which hurk, again, it's not done well, but it was trying to deconstruct this sort of fantasy. This sort of escapism that says the image in your mind is ALWAYS more important than those actually around you.

It could have highlighted how things are never as bad as they seem and wanting to escape always hurts someone and always is selfish... But for that, the show would have had to be willing to say one needs to learn to respect reality over fantasy. This could either be done by Luz learning that treating everything like one of japanese animu is a bad thing or they could do it through doubling down and showcasing after Yesterday's Lie that Luz is a genuinely terrible, selfish person who only views the promise she made to her mom as requiring her to give up the world she likes, not the damage she did to her mom.

Which I phrase because they literally did that. They changed the ending promise scene of Yesterday's Lie from being about their complex relationship to just being a summary of the stakes. "Come home, never come back." It's a narrative cheat to welcome anyone back from the mid season hiatus and that is frankly the BEST way to read it for Luz's character because otherwise she changed a conflict mostly about the pain she inflicted on her mom purely to the consequences and that's not really a thing a good person does.

But then the series ends with her having both worlds, getting to literally be Azura finally, quoting the damn book and just ENTIRELY admitting that it's not an OC, it's her replacing Azura, and it's all just fucking awful. In part because, like with the Liar Reveal stuff I talked about with TOH, it's a subversion without a new payoff. They try VERY HARD to give a new payoff but it's not earned. People adore the "I just want to be understood" moment but it ONLY functions in that moment from a meta perspective of it being a neurodivergent girl seeking understanding because who, especially of the people Luz cares about, hasn't shown her understanding in the past SEASON? SHE HAS A GIRLFRIEND WHO IS WAY BETTER AT IT THEN HER!

And so Camila is just this contradictory sore spot that goes right back around to "Man, our target audience would really love it if their parents would tell them explicitly that they don't need to grow as people or even try to understand others or how they may hurt them, literally but instead that their comfort is all that matters." It goes right back to being all about modern isekai's worst element: Wish fulfillment. Bland, obvious, pandering wish fulfillment.

And I COULD end the blog right there... But I said I had a reason to wanted to answer it like this. Admittedly, it expanded from what I expected so sorry for the long blog but here's the real tragedy: The moment of Luz recontextualizing Yesterday's Lie's promise should have been AMAZING to me. After all... It's the part of Luz I loved writing the most.

Yep, more of that celebrating ten years of writing stuff to talk about one of the elements of my TOH writing that I genuinely am very proud of: Luz being a scared, anxious teenager who doesn't read the world correctly. One who is held back because she thinks if she isn't scared, she'll be hurt or, more importantly, hurt others.

I know a lot of people will tell me that TOH didn't do that and like... gestures at everything above and SO many other elements like how Luz has two token moments implying she's been traumatized from bullying that doesn't read with how she was for the entirety of the first season, or up to those points in the second for that matter, AT ALL. She doesn't actually have that sort of fear or anxiety. She's too selfish and self serving for it. Her needs always come above others and that's not the compelling part of this to me, nor is the self protection element.

No, it comes from the fact that you have to actually care what others think for it to torture you, like most teenagers do. That disappointing someone would be essentially the same as stabbing them. In The Power of Love, I got a lot of people to go from "This is cute" to "Okay, you have my attention" with chapter 3: Ru-Luz (which reading back... Some of my transition lines are not working there. Why did I think they did? Brain moving too fast I suspect like usual or trying too hard). Despite the pun, it's not a fun chapter. It ends with her listed rules that are actually nice, like telling her to be herself, but a final rule that, so as to keep the voices in her head, the things others have told her, quiet she must follow. "Treat Amity like anyone else, even if that means breaking other rules." And one of those voices is said to be Camila's.

I don't leave it there though. Through complications, it's very explicitly revealed that, well... Luz is a teen. Everything is world ending for her. That she's taken small comments or momentary frustrations, or just straight up misread things, so as to have them attack her and form her view of how others perceive her (along with having been genuinely bullied). That her mom does adore her and would accept any part of her but she can't believe that, not with how she is now. And that leads to really highlighting an element of Lumischa that I've always loved: Boscha as Amity and Luz's rock. Someone who is honest enough that neither worry about if she's holding back on her opinion. And you know what happens?

Luz and Boscha get multiple chapters of Boscha providing the wake up call she needs. Of her chipping away at those fears that others may be secretly hating her because here is bad bitch Boscha telling her to shut up because she's better than she thinks she is. It's blunt enough to actually make an impact, harsh enough that it still addresses the fuck up, and is something no else would do. Not even Amity because Amity is her own ball of anxieties who's worried about the wrong move upsetting people. I would have ADORED this element actually being a thing for Luz and you know, maybe leading to a Power of Friendship moment with all of them backing her up and giving her the confidence she needs for something. Instead we get her ignoring what she's claiming to be worried about (making mistakes) and then getting a power up when her mom tells her that she should have quite literally never criticized anything about her daughter which is not what a good parent does. Even my Boscha will still call out that Luz did make a mistake if she did, just then also point that she's being over dramatic about it because no one hates her because of it.

I also want to give a shout out to this essentially being an element of my Luz for Ruff Secret as well (original version too) as an essentially tragic element to the majority of the story. Camila clearly accepts parts of her daughter in that story that their wider community doesn't but Camila is also critically still a part of that community which is Christian. She's very devout even, going every week to church. There is nothing except coming out to Camila that will ever make Luz not just assume that being gay will not get her disowned because of the fears in her head and because of those same fears, she'll never come out of the closet. She has clearly never even been willing to approach the topic with her mom about it. It does payoff in the end though with Camila freaking out WAY harder about Amity being a werewolf and the danger that puts her daughter in than of Luz being gay because why would you judge something as incredible as love?

It's not new, I've seen some other things take similar approaches, but it uses the age of the character and society to actually amplify the emotions and make the angst more justified. Make what normally just be "I can't confess, what if she says no?" more dramatic while also managing to tie the two romantic leads together in their conflicts since Amity is dealing with something she sees as a curse, as a primal sin that could only ever hurt others, just like Luz is. And just like Luz, it's actually in repressing and rejecting that side of her that Amity does end up hurting someone but that someone is herself.

All while still managing to be one of the funniest stories I've ever written. I ADORE Ruff Secrets. Crises Girlfriends may be my most personal story but I still think Ruff Secrets is my best story. Period. Which is frankly a miracle since it was a snap start based on a joke a someone made.

So yeah, I like Camila conceptually. I think there was a lot you could do with her. Any direction though would have required TOH to be at least as grounded as Amphibia, let alone ANYWHERE near as grounded as the fandom thinks it is. As is, she's a subversion that doesn't add anything and actively hurts what is a very normal fantasy story.

As such, she's a bad character because what you add to a narrative does matter to that metric unless you are actively ignoring that part of a character's purpose for existing. That's just less useful to a writer though because it means you add a tool to your toolbox without understanding how to use that tool which is always dangerous as any professional mechanic or engineer may tell you.

======+++++======

I will admit that I fidget at praising myself so much like this. I know I've used my own works as examples in the past but it always makes me feel awkward. It especially never helps that it likely comes across as, justifiably, saying I could have done X better. There's a big difference though between "In this context I DID X better" and "If I had made X, I WOULD have done it better." Situation, context, and just the creative process can always muddie things and doesn't even mean the same writer will always tackle the same subjects as well every time. It's just a part of the process.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh #the owl house #luz noceda #camila noceda

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roadkillremi · 1 year

Text

Love Sucks Part 1

Randy Meeks X F!Goth!Reader

Masterlist (Part 2 out now)

Warnings : Language, Stu and Billy bully Randy.

Summary : (Suggested by @saint-petah-the-good) A new girl moves to town and Randy is quick to fall in love. Despite her odd habits and weird interests the friend group takes her in.

Randy didn't know what hit him when he saw you. Your legs covered in fishnets sitting in his spot by Tatum. Your giant black sunhat shielding you from sunlight.

"Randy! This is Y/N!" Shes a horror geek like you!" Tatum smiled. Randy made a goofy smile at you, flushed from Tatum's comment. You smiled back shyly, "This is Randy, the one I told you about." Tatum said. Randy gave her a look, "You've been talking about me?!".

"Not in a bad way... Most of the time." Tatum took a bite of her salad. You looked down at a book you were reading. Randy sat down beside you, "What book are you reading?".

"Salem's lot. By Stephen King." You said not looking up from it. Randy tilted his head to see more of your face.

"You're a Stephen King Fan?"

"Who isn't?" You smiled looking over at him.

"Me." Tatum said, you gave her a little smile.

"How did you feel about the Shining?" Randy said testing you.

"The same way Stephen King did. It was horrible. I prefer the book. Cinema wasn't ready for it. You gotta find a harder way to test me." You smiled before flipping a page of your book. Randy smiled to himself, his heart was beating so loudly.

'Shes Perfect..'.

"So where ya from?" Stu leaned in. You sat up from reading and closed the book. You sighed, "My parents were lab worke rs in Alaska. They got tired of the cold.".

"I mean Alaska?! Sounds pretty boring!" Stu laughed. Tatum elbowed him, Randy tried to block Stu out.

"Do you need a job?-" Randy blurted out, his cheeks flushed. You looked over at him with a soft smile.

"Randy! You can't just ask that!" Tatum fussed. Randy didn't take his eyes off you, "Um, yeah actually..". Randy smiled, "I work at Bradley's Video..".

"Yeah it's the closest thing to a damn Blockbuster here!" Stu exclaimed. You nodded, "I'll check it out..".

"Oh! Get this, Y/N's Grandfather directed horror movies!" Tatum said impressed. Randy leaned in closer to you, you hesitated a bit when he got to close.

"No way! What movies?!" He said, his wide eyes gazing into yours. You bit your bottom lip, "Uh, nothing super popular, some alien stuff and Vampire stuff.".

"No fucking way!" Stu shouted. Randy, again ignored Stu, you gave him an awkward smile before going back to reading.

"Where the hell is Billy and Sid?" Stu asked looking around.

"Probably in a janitor's closet!" Tatum snorted. The lunch bell rang, you closed your book and slipped it into your bag.

"What's your next class?" Randy asked watching you stand up. You pulled out a crumbled paper, "Intro to Film Study's.".

"Oh, lord" Tatum mumbled.

"I do too! I can walk you there!" Randy stood up quickly. He threw his bag over his shoulder, "Sure. I'll see you later, Tatum! It was nice meeting you, Stu.". You walked along side Randy into the school.

"I knew they'd get along." Tatum said to Stu, Stu kiss her cheek.

"Yeah but she's a little weird.."

"You're weird!" Tatum joked.

Randy really couldn't keep his eyes off you. How you doodled in the margin of your notebook. Your legs crossed over each other and his eyes scanned them. Your fishnets giving him a pattern to follow.

"Y/N? Your take on Slashers?" The teacher tried to get you to jump into a discussion. You looked up, "Well, everyone says the characters act stupid. When it's portraying how people actually act in those situations. Then you have some sleep demon guy and a stalker!"

"I happen to like the stalker." A blonde girl in the back interrupted. You looked over your shoulder, "Yeah but he walks and somehow catches up. Story plot holes too. I'll like slashers more when the story makes sense.

"Sometimes story lines don't need to make sense.." Everyone went silent. Randy was surprised Billy even spoke, you looked back at him. Randy watched the interaction between you two. You narrowed your eyes a bit before turning back around. The fear of you falling for Billy's good looks faded. You went back to doodling in your notebook.

Once it was the end of class Billy went up to your desk. You didn't look at him once, "I'm guessing your Tatum's new friend?". Randy huffed before getting up, "Yeah, I'm guessing you're Billy.". You grabbed your bag before leaving, Billy smiled to himself. Randy mocked his face before walking with you.

Tatum ran up to you in the hall, "How was class?".

"It was okay." You nodded with a small smile. She smiled, "Good! So me and Stu were thinking and we wanted to invite you over to hang out this Saturday!".

"Oh, sure!" You smiled, Billy walked up beside you. Randy rolled his eyes, "I like her she's cool." Billy said as if you weren't there. Randy scoffed, Billy shot him a look.

"Well, I finished all my classes for the day. I'm gonna head home. And I might stop by that video store." You smiled at Randy as you walked away. Randy smiled, "Drive safe!", Stu laughed at him.

"You're such a dork!"

Randy rolled his eyes and walked away. He tried to ignore Stus laughs in the back. He knew liking you would be difficult due to Billy and Stu.

Randy focused on restocking the VHS tapes. He huffed to himself and checked his watch. 4:27pm, you still didn't show up, maybe you were just being nice. He kept stocking the shelves, a tap on his shoulder made him jump back.

"Sorry." You softly said. Randy smiled and scratched the back of his head.

"It's fine. Um, were you wanting to get the job?" Randy glanced over at his boss then you.

"Sure, I could use one. Besides it'll be nice to work with a friend." You smiled at him. His stomach flopped, 'Friend' he didn't want to be a friend. He took a deep breath, "Uh, I'll go tell my boss. Stay here." He smiled and walked over.

"Hey, Bradley! I got a customer wanting to apply for a job here."

Bradley looked over Randy's shoulder to spot you. He sighed, "You find the most odd kids.".

"Please. She's real nice and like movies.. and-"

"You like her?-" Bradley smiled. Randy rolled his eyes, "Maybe that's not the point.".

"Fine but if she screws up. It'll cost you your job. Send her over here."

Randy walked over to you reading the back of movies. He smiled to himself, "Uh, he's ready to meet with you.". You looked up and put the movie down, 'Prom Night, good choice.' Randy thought to himself.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I'm 18 and I moved with my parents from Alaska. I have a car and am able to work after school and on weekends." You smiled. Bradley looked at Randy then back at you.

"Great, have Randy show you the ropes, I'll get you a name tag.".

"That was easy..." Randy mumbled. You shrugged, "So, how do you work here?". Randy went behind the counter, "So we ring customers here, obviously. Then if someone returns them you ring them and put them in the cart. The cart gets restocked and it's a whole cycle!" Randy puts his elbow on the counter. You nodded, "Okay Cool.".

"Why did you move out here?" Randy asked.

"Sick of the cold."

"and the dark?"

"Kinda. I actually like the night, I uh sunburn easily." You softly smile. A customer walked to the counter, Randy showed you exactly how to ring up their rental. His hand would brush over yours. He'd try his best to be smooth like in the movies. You would just whisper sorry and not catch on.

"Okay, Y/N I expect you to work tomorrow but not this weekend, got it?"

"Yes, sir." You smiled at him before heading out the door. Randy caught up to you holding the door open.

"I'm glad he hired you."

"me too. But it's thanks to you really. I wouldn't have known about this place if it wasn't for you.".

"wanna get some burgers?" Randy asked. Your eyes widen from surprise, "Sure! Do you need a ride?".

"Yeah, kinda" he smiled. You walked to your car unlocking it, he hopped in quickly making himself at home.

"I hope you don't mind rock music.." you said as you buckled your seatbelt. Randy shrugged, "It doesn't bother me.". You nodded as you started the car, rock music blasted immediately. You turned it down a bit, "Sorry.".

"It's fine. We can go to In and Out for burgers.".

"I've never been there so you're gonna have to tell me.."

"Whoa! You've never been to In and Out?!"

"No.." you smiled.

"Gosh, well you're gonna thank me. Their burgers are delicious."

"I'll be the judge of that.".

Randy watched you drive, your skirt riding up from you pressing the gas. He looked away, "Any idea what you're doing for college?".

You shrugged, "College is still a question for me. What about you?".

"Easy, I wanna be a director. Actually make good films." Randy said. You nodded, "I can see that, Have you written a film?".

"God no. I can't write for shit! If you were to go to college what would you major in?"

"Um, screenwriting and Biology."

"So you are a nerd" Randy smiled. You gave him a smile, "Maybe a little. I just think living is... Fascinating..".

Randy laid on his unmade bed, he couldn't believe his luck. He actually ate dinner with a girl, maybe it wasn't a date but it was a step. He smiled to himself thinking about your smile and how you were a messy eater. You even gave him your home phone number. He hugged his pillow, maybe he could actually pull this off. He listened to your stories and your interests very closely.

You talked about how Morticia Addams was like an idol to you. How you seen all the episodes to the Addams family and the Beetlejuice cartoon series. Then you both talked about horror movies, explaining to him how Childs Play is more of an Horror Comedy. He sat up and leaned over to his phone dialing in your number.

"Hello?" You picked up your voice was a bit groggy, maybe even deeper.

"Hey, it's Randy."

"Oh, Hey Randy! Everything okay?"

Randy fidgeted with the phone cord, "Yeah just wanted to say hi, did I wake you up?!".

"No, I have a hard time sleeping. Is there anything you wanna talk about?".

"Um.."

Shit, Randy panicked not knowing what to say, "What movie should we watch at Stus Saturday?".

"Oh, hmm well we could watch Childs Play.." he heard your smile through the phone.

"Of course I can rent it Tomorrow at work."

"Awesome. Goodnight, Randy. I'll see you at school!"

"Night."