#perhaps one day i will actually have the motivation to write it instead of just thinking about it constantly

[skyvirus]

"The Story of Daniel the Devil's Minion, or the Boy From Interview with the Vampire", Queen of the Damned (Anne Rice)

"Go Home" Sprained Ankle (Julien Baker)

[pyrodolls]

hi i was wondering if you would do headcannons of the yan!fanboy if reader actually noticed him coming to all their shows and events

obsessed (superfan! yandere boy x gn!popstar reader)

warnings: stalking, average yandere tendencies, nsfw, perverted yandere, gender neutral reader, mentions of naked reader but no genitalia addressed, dom reader, reader is compliant with the yandere and teases him a ton, lowercase intended. btw i do not condone yanderes irl.

a/n: i hope y'all know i read every single one of your asks, comments, and reblogs. i appreciate them all and they do brighten my day. i'm just saying this so y'all know that the stuff you send to other writers (not just me) matters a lot!! when you interact it gives them inspiration!!! and motivation!! me personally sometimes i see ONE kind reblog and i immediately get my ass up and start writing something just because of that one person. don't get me wrong, i still love all my lurkers that silently like a ton of my stuff, y'all are important too. anyways i'll shut up now onto the hcs. (btw this ended up being a fic instead of hcs i apologize. i went crazy over this i'm sorry anon LMAO)

"hey, you look pretty familiar. have you been to a few shows before?" you asked kindly, facing the short man in the front row of the audience.

bayani froze as the stadium's screens pointed to him. he opened his mouth in an attempt to say something, but nothing came out. his face went red and his throat went dry. did you actually notice him, or was he just dreaming?

after a few seconds of waiting for an answer, you shrugged. "sorry, maybe i mistook you for someone else. anyways..."

the yandere boy still didn't move, with his mouth agape, as you continued on with your show. the people around bayani didn't seem to care, assuming that he was just a starstruck fan. but it was more than that. much more than that.

out of the millions of fans that attend your shows and events, you recognized him among them. you noticed him. and he didn't know how to handle it. what was he supposed to say? what would you even talk about? sure, he's seen all of your interviews and heard your music and dissected your lyrics for hours every single day, but would you ever want to interact with him as much as he wanted to interact with you? he was just a lowlife. he had an average job, average amount of money, he lived in a shitty apartment, and he had no friends or major accomplishments. all of his free time outside of work was spent on you. spent on following your every move and investigating everything you've put your hands on. if you ever spoke to him, you'd probably think he was some sort of pathetic stalker.

that thought drove him mad. he couldn't even focus on the rest of your concert. he didn't hear the blaring music and screams from the crowd. he wasn't paying attention to your performance, either.

he could only stand there and imagine the punishments you'd inflict on him if you found out about his obsession. would you call your security to take him away? he'd hope not. if he's going to be kicked and pushed around, perhaps even handcuffed, he'd rather you do the job rather than some random guard. but maybe he'd accept the punishment, only because you were the one who deemed it necessary. he takes your word like gospel, so he'll take whatever punishment you want, even though he would prefer your hands on him while you do it.

his imagination ran wild as your concert finished and you walked off the stage with your dancers. the crowd of fans in the stadium dispersed around him, moving along with their day. but bayani couldn't just move on with his day knowing that you know he exists now. how is he supposed to simply move on from that? he spent a long time making sure you never noticed him. even though he attended every single one of your concerts and events, he did not want to be noticed. he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. but it finally happened. he finally got a taste of what it's like to be seen by the love of his life. he couldn't just leave it at that. he had to do something about it.

being under your gaze, even if it was only a few seconds, made him feel like he went to heaven. it made all of the hundreds of dollars he spent on you worth it. all of the hours he spent listening to your music and watching videos of you was worth it. it was like he awoke from a slumber. a long, miserable slumber. he had to find a way to thank you. say something to you. he messed up when he simply froze after you saw him. who knows when he'll get another chance like that?

it took a few hours for the stadium to be empty, and the security started to shoo bayani away. but when he went outside, the parking lot was still full. your concert ended hours ago, but there was still loads of cars trying to leave. it would be frustrating, but bayani had to find a way out quickly.

he climbed on the back of a nearby truck and rested his legs there, waiting patiently for the vehicle to move out of the traffic. even though he knew the truck wouldn't go anywhere near your mansion, he knew how to get to your house on foot. he only needed to rest on the truck until the traffic was gone.

after a few hours on the road, he jumped out of the vehicle, and started to walk to your mansion on foot. he didn't need to look up the location online, because he already knew where it was. he visited your home many times in the past, he just never attempted to go inside before.

his veins were on fire and he started to sweat the closer he got. he was starting to have second thoughts about his idea. but there was no time to go back, because he already showed up to your house before he could change his plans.

to get inside, he had to climb up a tree, jump off of it, and land in your backyard. he used that trick often in the past, since it was not his first time going to your house. he often snuck on your property to watch or take pictures of you while you slept.

he tried opening your bedroom window, but it was locked. he had to try a different one.

he went over to a window beside your bedroom, and thankfully, it was unlocked. but the moment he opened the window, he heard the sound of water running and your familiar voice humming a song. were you in the shower?

bayani climbed inside as quietly as possible, and closed the window behind him. his suspicions were correct. he was in your bathroom, and you were taking a shower. your curtains covered up your figure, so he couldn't see you.

bayani looked to the side of the room and saw a pile of your dirty clothes on the floor. he ran up to it and immediately took a large whiff at the pile. it smelled divine to him. he couldn't get enough of it. he quickly spotted your used underwear in the pile and snatched it without thinking, then he stuffed it in his pocket. you wouldn't notice, right?

before he could take the rest of your clothes, the water suddenly stopped. bayani ran to hide, in a spot where you couldn't see him but he could see you. you opened the shower curtains and stepped out with a towel in your hands. you were completely naked, and still drenched in water. bayani felt like he died and went to heaven again that day. he couldn't believe what he was seeing. you were completely naked, right in front of his eyes. ignoring the puddle in his pants, he nervously fumbled around his pockets, trying to find his phone. there was no way he could pass up an opportunity like this. without hesitation, he snapped a photo of you.

but he didn't notice that the flash was on.

he froze, and you looked towards him. neither of you said a word, and bayani saw his future flash before his eyes. you would probably scream for security and he would get taken away to prison, never to see your face again. his life would be over.

"you're the guy i've been seeing everywhere, huh?" you whispered.

"...are you going to, uh... send me away?" bayani gulped.

you thought about it for a moment. this guy clearly cared a lot about you, because you saw him literally everywhere you went. no matter what country you visited, he was always there. even if you didn't tell a single soul where you were going, he was somehow always there. you even saw him on your property a few times, so you knew how crazy he was. but you still let him do it. and you never reported him, either. you knew exactly what he wanted. you could always hear him moaning outside your window, knowing he would have one hand down his pants and a camera on the other.

he was cute, so why not have some fun with him?

"come here." you commanded. he followed your order without thinking, immediately falling down to his knees in front of you.

you grabbed his chin, and made him look up at you. he felt hot tears well up in his eyes as you stared him down. he didn't say a word, but you knew exactly what he was thinking.

you pressed your knee against the wet stain on his pants, and he let out a pathetic whimper. he was getting off on it.

he didn't know what to do. his dreams were finally coming true. he got noticed by you, got into your house, saw you naked, and you finally touched him. he was overwhelmed, and started crying. he didn't mean to look so weak in front of you for a first impression, but he couldn't help it. besides, he'd make a fool out of himself any day for you.

"you're so pathetic.. you've been stalking me for so long, and now you break into my house to see me naked. i could call the police and have you arrested..." you whispered, as you started putting more pressure on his crotch, moving your knee up and down on it, and inching your face closer to his.

he sobbed, “please, don't! i promise, it'll never happen again. i'll stop, i'll do whatever you want, i'll-"

you cut him off by connecting your lips to his, setting his heart on fire. you pulled away after a few seconds, leaving him speechless. there's no way you just kissed him. he had to be dreaming.

and then you moved your knee away from his crotch right before he could cum, making him let out a whimper and crumble to the ground.

"thanks for letting me have some fun with you. we can do this again soon.. if you be a good boy and return my underwear." you winked, walking away and leaving bayani a hard, pathetic, leaking mess on your bathroom floor.

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 12

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Part 11 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

You and Silas stared at each other.

"What do you mean "okay"?"

You nod. "Okay, I'll marry you."

He looked at you suspiciously. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"That is not an answer." He frowned, making you sigh as you turned your body to face him completely. "Look, you're going to pay me anyways right?" He nodded. "So, I need the money, and well... lets just say I have nothing else left to lose. Maybe I'm just bored."

Bored? More like pissed at the universe and I will not let it beat me to the ground anymore. I wont go out without causing chaos and maybe if someone tries to kill me again, I will perhaps consider disrupting the historical timeline to make the universe itself combust and unravel. If I'm suffering, I'm taking the universe along!

Silas gave you an incredulous look, before shrugging in defeat. "Very well, then."

"Wait-" You stop him from getting up. "Why did you choose me? Actually, why do you need a wife?"

He rolled his eyes, standing up, you following along. "Come on, Silas. Tell me. Is it cause I'm pretty? Smart-"

"You dressed as a man."

What?

"What?"

He looked down at you. "What? You didnt think I'd spot you in that poor disguise at the newspaper office that day?"

Silas saw me that day? He recognised me?

"How did you even-" He scoffed. "I'm intelligent. And I have eyes. I notice everyone and everything." He turned around and began walking away.

"Wait!" You ran after him. "That still doesnt answer my question! You're marrying me because I dressed like a man? What- you're attracted by that-"

"Stop talking." Silas cut you off abruptly. "I chose you because you work at the newspaper, not because you're a man."

"Oh. So you need someone to write out articles singing your praises?Cant you just pay someone to do that?"

He rolled his eyes. "No. I dont need someone to sing my praises. I need you to be the mole there. I want you to report everything that happens at the paper, specifically about the murders thats been on going these days."

Murders? Murders-

"The White Chapel murders?" He nodded. "I need the papers to focus on them, not on me or who I am marrying. I need them to put the pressure on the cops to catch that sick bastard! Not idolise him with that stupid alias-"

"Jack the Ripper." You finish for him. He breathes heavily, anger radiating off him. "Yes, that. Because its only causing people to either admire him for killing off those prostitutes or fear him, letting the idea of them terrorise them!"

"I see. But... why do you need to get married to me for that? I mean, if you pay me, I could just report to you everything from there, including his letters."

Silas looked at you in slight annoyance, as if mad that you couldnt figure out his motives.

"The papers are focusing on me and my marriage. If I get married, the news will only run for a week or two before diverting their attention to the papers. And before you ask why I'm marrying you specifically instead of someone much better suited to my tastes-" okay, not gonna take that insult to heart. "- I told you, you work at the paper, which means you'll report everything to me. And if I were to marry someone more influential, the papers will continue to write about us for longer. But you? You're a nobody- believe me, I checked. You have no family, dont come from nobility, so no one will talk about you. "

Great. "Wow, you do know how to flatter a woman."

Silas smirked. "Trust me, "a woman" would be flattered-" You shot him a glare before he could finish off his joke.

-

Silas and you got married later that night. He arranged an out-of-town priest, some official documents, and two witnesses for the vows, which were his butler Cadbury and his wife, Erin, who acted as the best man and maid-of-honor. It was obvious that Silas wanted to keep this ceremony a secret, and he told you that the time will come to break the news.

When the priest asked him to kiss you, SIias pulled a face and said to skip over that part because you had bad breath. You did not. Jerk.

But you were glad you didnt had to kiss him, so you didnt bother kicking his shin. Maybe nearly dying so many times has made you grow a pair, or maybe its the fact that you dont actually consider this a real marriage because a Nikkah (an Islamic wedding) ceremony did not happen, so technically, you're still single, but you're surprised at how... calmly you've come to terms with everything.

Silas let you go back to you house, because the marriage was the still a secret so there's no use keeping you around at his place. Besides, he needs you to continue working on the murders.

Honestly, you do kind of want to find out who Jack the Ripper is. Any historian worth his salt, dreams of this very opportunity you've been given- to find out the man behind all the horrendous, gut wrenching murders.

Colin watched you get up from your desk and go to the corner office where Will was working on the murders. Poor Will. Colin pitied the lad- he had to deal with the gruesome details of the murders, write out the articles in details that are just pallatable enough for the readers, only to be rejected by the editor who wanted the front page news to be about Silas FitzGeorge.

What were you doing there? Colin didnt think it was best for you to go in there, after the depressing weeks you'd barely pulled yourself through. Grisly details of a killing spree might not be what you need at the moment.

"Hey Will!" You walk in his office, changing your voice to that of a man.

"Holmes." He acknowledged you briefly, his hair a mess as well his desk. If anyone knew how giddy you were everytime someone in the office called you Sherlock Holmes, you'd be labelled a loser for sure.

"Still working on those murders, eh?" You walk closer to his desk. "Any leads on who the mystery man might be?"

"No." He glared at you. "I would, if the coppers were to do their job and the editor published my work, but noooo. God forbid we miss any details on that FitzGeorge fella and his tragic life. Cry me a fucking river-" Ah, a fellow Silas hater. You can work with that.

"Let me help you." You offer him. Will raises his brow, before scoffing. "Unless you can somehow have the editor publish my articles, I dont think you can help me. Besides, I dont need an amateur disturbing me because he's just wants to see a dead body."

Amateur? Pfft, I'll have you know I was a minor celebrity on Wattpad at just age 11 when I wrote Sherlock Holmes fanfics-

"How about this? If I can convince the editor to post your work, will you let me help?"

Will stares at you, studying you for a moment.

"Fine."

You walk out of his office and go to your desk where Colin is already waiting for you.

"Hey, Colin." You greet him, sitting down as you pull a blank sheet of paper from your drawer and start writing on it.

"Hey... Sherlock. What were you doing in-" He leans down to read what you're writing. "Jack The Ripper- why are you writing about him?"

You shrug. "Why not? He's an important figure to talk about and needs to be caught. If the papers bring enough attention to him, it'll put pressure on the authorities to work harder to catch him."

"I get that, but- I mean, you already have the FitzGeorges to write about and what about other douches in high society?" Colin tried to persuade you.

"I'll write about them too, in fact. Dont worry about it. I'm going to bring you some real dirt soon." You tell him before picking up the pen again, but Colin grasps your wrist, stopping you.

"Y/n, I just dont think that you should be working on this right now-"

"Colin." You cut him off, freeing your wrist. "I'm grateful for your concern for my well being, but I assure you- I am not made of glass. I can handle my business. Besides, this is something that has intrigued me. Let me work on it, please." You say before returning to writing down your points on the homicidal maniac.

-

After work, you changed out of your disguise and went to the antique store on Regent street, or what was left of it.

You knew there was no chance, but something inside you hoped that your time machine had survived.

The store was burnt down, and since the interior was mainly made of wood, most of the antiques had burnt to ashes or at least, damaged beyond repair and could not be sold.

You stood outside the ruins off the store, the property was sealed off and guards stood outside it, not letting you in.

"Please, I just need to-"

"Like I said, miss. We were given specific instructions not to let anyone in." The guard cut you off, annoyed by your insistence.

Before you could argue again, someone walked up behind you.

"Y/n." Henry looked at you. He was dressed well, his hair combed and face shaved, well kept as he usually was but his eyes.... he had bags under his eyes. Like he hadnt slept in days.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um- I just wanted to see if my stuff is still there."

He nodded at his guards to step aside, leading you inside the shop.

"Look around. See if you can find it." Henry's tone was flat, as if he already knew.

Still, you looked around. You searched the whole place, not even finding the remains off your machine. And how could you? It was made of mostly plastic and very cheap metal, its not like you had funds to make it indestructible.

Or incombustible.

"Satisfied?" He asked you when you finally stopped looking for it.

You huff. "If you'd just given it to me before-"

"Y/n." He cut you off. "I lost my store. I lost my employee who was working in here, who was blasted to pieces. I lost more money than you can ever imagine and you have the nerve to stand there and try to blame it on me? After I'd given you the courtesy to look through my property to put your mind to ease?"

He admonished you, all while barely letting his rage slip through his voice. He was holding back from blowing up on you, but it did not help because you still felt small.

Because he is right. He lost an employee. He lost money. He lost too, and yet you have the audacity to complain to him like he was somehow at fault.

And he wasnt. Its not like he bombed his store.

"Do you know who did it?" You ask, diverting your eyes to avoid his piercing gaze.

"No one "did" it. It was an accident." Henry looked at the floorboard. "Apparently, there was gunpowder in some of the artefacts that came from China that day. The employee probably didnt check it when he put it on the table, next to a candle. Then one got lit up and it set off all the others, blowing up the whole store."

That... sounds like a big coincidence.

"Henry, are you sure someone wasnt behind this-"

"Y/n, I dont have time to entertain your wild theories right now. I have to deal with insurance and other things. Please leave." He cut you off abruptly.

Without giving him another moment to bruise your self esteem, you stormed out of his store. By the time you reached home, it was dark, which wasnt the best idea with a murderer on the loose- as the boys made it clear.

"Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! Have you seen the crime scenes?!" Liam yelled at you.

"No. But its not like I'm a prostitute, so he wont hurt me." You answer from your seat between Benjamin's legs, who insisted on brushing the knots out of your hair and placing some essential oils in your hair.

Liam looked at you like you'd grown two heads. "How would he know that?!"

You leaned forward, frowning. "Okay if you're saying that you cant the difference between a prostitute and me, then thats just insulting to me and to you as a police officer!"

Shepherd suppressed a chuckle as he handed a drink to Liam to calm him down. As they continued to joke around, you mind went to your time machine.

Sure, you could try making it from scratch again. It'll be difficult, and not just because there isnt enough technology to make the whole thing by yourself, but also because the mere idea of building a time machine could have you lobotomised.

So yes, one of the reasons why you agreed to marry Silas was because of his money that would not only let you buy expensive raw materials but also allow you to have a space to make the machine in secret.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Colin left to see who it was, returning moments later with a huge box in his hand.

"Its for you." He set the box down and handed you the letter that came with it. You read the letter while the boys opened the box-

"Tomorrow. 7:30 pm sharp.

Dont be late, missus."

The "missus" part gave away that it was from Silas. What was he planning? Were you supposed to go to his place or was he going to pick you up? What was going to happen tomorrow?

"Woah! Who is this from?" Shepherd asked as he looked at the fancy dress in the box. He pulled it out of the box, the gown flowing down effortlessly. "It looks expensive- this is expensive, right? Its expensive." He stated before repeating his question to you. "Who is it from, Y/n?"

You folded the letter as you saw them all looking at you. "I... I might have a date-"

"With who?" Benjamin asked sharply.

"I-" You sigh. "I'll let you know after the date. Lets see how it goes first."

"Oh, come on! Just tell us!" Liam probed, but you took the dress from him, putting it back in the box and taking it to your room, not noticing how silent Colin had went.

-

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at your reflection while Ben did your hair. Wearing the black velvet gown that had a white blouse and long skirt underneath, puffy regency era sleeves and a belt at the bust, you looked elegant.

Seeing as you had no jewellery to pair the outfit with, Ben styled your hair down, curling the locks and putting a dainty black silk bow on the back, trimming the front of your hair so that they framed your face.

"There's a carriage waiting for you!" Shepherd informed you before going back to gushing about the rich fella you'd managed to bag.

You turned around for Ben for the finishing touches. He smiled softly at you, taking your hands in his and squeezed them gently.

"Dont force yourself to do anything you're not comfortable with, hm? Just because he gave you this dress doesnt mean he can do anything he wishes." You nodded, returning his smile. "And remember, you have me and the boys to beat anyone who upsets you, Y/n." He winked making you giggle.

Standing outside the carriage, you looked up and waved to the 3 boys standing in the window before getting inside.

"Ah, I hope she knows how to use that knife I gave her." Liam mumbled, making Shepherd yell at him.

"You gave her a knife?!"

"What? She needs to protect herself when there's a murderer on the lose-"

As the two continued to bicker, Benjamin went to his room and packed some scissors and razors in a small bag, before leaving the room.

"Where are you going?" Colin asked, finally speaking for the first time that evening. Sitting on the sofa chair, he'd been nursing on a drink the entire time you were getting ready for your drink. He kept quiet, pretending to be to engrossed with reading the paper to notice you getting dressed for your date night.

"I... have a client." Ben said, putting on his top hat and leather gloves before wearing his coat.

"This late?" Colin raised a brow.

Ben gave a nod.

"He... he needs a haircut urgently."

Colin stared at him before sighing, picking up his drink.

"Alright. Be careful. Its foggy out there."

-

Sitting inside the carriage alone, you wondered where the buttler was taking you. Since Silas isnt here with you, then its likely that you're being taken to him at the FitzGeorge estate.

You take a deep breath, fiddling with the velvet of your dress. So tonight will be the night he announces his marriage to you. Or maybe not. I mean, if he did plan on doing that then perhaps he'd be giving you some pointers on how to win over his family? To get their approval? It was a big thing for high society, if not for someone who is loosely attached to royalty.

Maybe thats why he called you over tonight. To soft launch you to his family, something like- "hey, this is Y/n, a girl I fancy. I think she might be the one." so that it seems a lot more believable when he does introduce himself as your husband, probably a few weeks or a month from now.

Yes. Silas doesnt seem like the type to just spring up the union on his family out of nowhere. He is English, he is noble, he wouldnt be one to cause a scene.

The carriage stopped after sometime, and you could hear people chattering outside. Your door suddenly opened, but before you could step out, someone stepped in.

It was Silas.

He sat across from you, wearing a formal dress black suit, his hair styled properly. If your dressing didnt give it away, then his did- it was definitely a black-tie event.

He gave you a nod of acknowledgement, looking you up and down.

"Here, wear this." He handed you a velvet lined box. Opening it, you saw a beautiful pearl necklace and matching tear drop earrings.

"Oh, this is... beautiful." You said in awe. "You could've sent this along with the dress, I would've worn my hair differently-"

"No, I didnt want to risk you running off with it." Silas casually insulted you as he began opening the door. "Wear this and dont talk to me or approach me in there."

"Wait, what?" You looked at him confusion.

Silas huffed in irritation. "I'm going to go back inside. You'll walk in after five minutes, and when you do, you will not talk to me, or approach me or do anything that gives away that you know me."

"Silas-" But he left before you could question what he was on about.

So... he wasnt planning on announcing his marriage to you tonight? Wearing the jewellery, you followed his instructions and exited the carriage exactly five minutes later.

But instead of seeing the FitzGeorge house, you were standing in front of a... palace.

A palace you're seen quite a few times.

Buckingham palace.

"What am I...?" You whispered to yourself before composing yourself as other guests began walking past you.

As you ascended the stairs to the entrance where guards stood, you wondered if they'd let you in. Surely, without Silas by your side or an official invitation, they wouldnt let you in. You watched a few guests holding an envelope with a royal seal, an invitation they showed to the guards before being let in.

Heart pounding as you feared the embarrassment you're about to face, you reached the guards who looked at you for a few moments, trying to recognise you before their eyes fell on your necklace and they let you pass.

Ah, so thats why he gave you the jewellery. If you looked like you belonged there, then you probably did.

Why am I here though?

You looked around and saw many people inside, all belonging from high society. This definitely wasnt the place where Silas was going to announce his marriage. So why did he invite you here?

Maybe he wants me to use this as an opportunity to get dirt on high society?

Yes, perhaps, but how would this serve him? Is there a specific person he wants me to get dirt on? Someone I need to write about in the papers?

Silas, what game are you playing?

You spotted him standing in the corner, talking with his cousins and uncles, though you noticed many girls looking at him. Of course, he still is the "most eligible bachelor" to them. If they knew how rude he was, maybe they'd change their opinion.

Walking through the crowd, you began listening on conversations, trying to pick up on interesting bits. It was the usual obnoxious bragging about their wealth, some scandals here and there, disturbing comments about women, etc. Nothing particularly interesting.

Fortunately, you werent bored for long as the royal butler announced the arrival of the hosts. It hadnt truly hit you where you were standing until you heard her name-

"Her Majesty, Queen Victoria-"

Queen Victoria. The Queen Victoria.

You could feel goosebumps raising on your skin, your eyes widening as you realised you're looking at one of the most iconic figures in history. Alive. She's alive and she's walking right in front of you-

She's short. They were right about that. Standing next to her husband, Prince Albert, she looked even shorter. But she looked incredibly happy, full of youth as she stood next to him, unlike all the paintings who depicted her as this angry old widow.

She looked absolutely beautiful.

Her children stood behind her in order, all smiling at their mother. Her daughters, you recognised them all, looked just as beautiful. You recognised her eldest, Edward VII, a 20-something old boy who would end up being hated by his mother and blamed for his father's death. He looked nervous, standing beside her and you could see he was just itching to leave her side and avoid any more scrutiny.

The Queen began speaking.

"Thank you everyone for joining us on this pleasent occasion." She looked around. "Tonight, we are going to welcome a member to our family, even though he has always been a part of us. But now, we will make things official."

"Silas FitzGeorge." She called suddenly. You saw Silas step forward in front of the queen, bowing his head curtly before looking at her confidently.

"You're my cousin Georgie's grandson, and I have no doubt when I say that if he were here tonight, he'd be just as proud of the young man you've become as I am. Our families may have had some issues in the past, but I have always accepted you as a part of me. Over the years, you've only proven me right with how capable you've become on your own, without seeking a helping hand in your adversities. You have made us all immensely proud, as well as your predecessors for being the first man in our family to attend Oxford university. Watching you start businesses and expand your empire, I have no doubt that you will only continue to make the royal family and Britian proud. Therefore, I would like to offer my support and make good on my promise that I made to you when you were a child."

She turned around and a servant handed her a document.

"I hereby make Silas FitzGeorge, the Duke of Westminster."

Oh. Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh-

This was Silas's dukedom ceremony. Why is this a huge deal? Because his grandfather, Prince George was once estranged from the royal family and stripped off his royal duties and benefits when he married Sarah Fairbrother, which meant their descendents were all illegitimate and not recognised by the crown.

But tonight, with Silas becoming a duke, its like a welcome back to the family. That too, by the same woman who had in essence- ostracised his family.

And with Dukedom comes other benefits, money, property, influence. Not to mention that Silas has become the duke of Westminster, as in THE WESTMINSTER! One of the wealthiest dukedoms to get, and also where Westminster palace is, the place which is the meeting place for the Parliament of United Kingdom. It'll allows Silas to have a say and play around with politics.

This is a huge gesture by the queen, and if Silas wasnt the most eligible bachelor before, then he definitely is one.

You watched the queen sign the documents first, before giving it to Silas who signed it. Everyone cheered and clapped for the young duke before stopping as Victoria began speaking again.

"Now, I would like to share more good news." She smiled at Silas, who stood beside her now. "I would like to announce the new duke's betrothal to my daughter, Helena."

What?

The guests clapped again as you saw Silas looking ahead, purposely avoiding your gaze. The queen beamed as she looked back at Helena, who was blushing.

So this is why Silas didnt want you to talking to him. He knew he was going to marry Helena, and he didnt want anyone to even doubt that he's associated with you in any way. Is this his way of telling you that the sham marriage between you two has ended?

Victoria encouraged Silas to say a few words.

Silas looked down briefly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh, wow. I am grateful that her majesty has awarded me dukedom. I dont have enough words to express how thankful I am to you." He looked up and you saw a mischievous glint in his eyes. "However, I was only informed of this ceremony and not of my betrothal beforehand."

The queen's head snapped in his direction, as did all of the royals, but Silas continued speaking unfazed.

"I wish I had been told about this earlier to avoid this awkward situation uhhh..." he chuckled nervously, but you could see he was anything but nervous. "I am honoured to be even considered for the princess's hand, your majesty, but I'm afraid I am already married." He announced, looking straight at you.

The hall interrupted into gasps and whispers before they parted the way to let Silas make his walk to you.

With a charming smile, a dimple on his left cheek, he approached you, pulling you into his arms as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

"Hi, sweetheart." He whispered loud enough for the onlookers to hear. Your eyes widened, your face flushed at the feeling of everyone's eyes and at his word.

"Si-" The words died down your throat as he placed an arm around your back and pulled you close to his side, showing you off.

"This is Y/n, my darling wife."

With Silas's announcement, the hall went silent once again. Your throat went dry at being put in the spotlight, and your eyes flickered from one guest to another, until finally falling on the queen's, who looked... pissed.

Finally, it was Prince Albert who broke the silence and announced dinner had been served. As the guests began walking out of the hall, Silas lead you out of the palace and to the carriage where his grandmother was waiting for you.

"Go home, now. I'll see you soon." Was all Silas said to you before whispering something to his grandmother, who beamed and nodded, patting his cheek.

"Come on, Y/n. Its getting late, now." Sarah said as she lead you into the carriage, taking her seat next to you, completely unaware of the eyes that had been following you since the moment you'd left home.

-

Silas returned inside, seeing his uncles smirking with pride at the game he'd just played but instead of going to them to celebrate his victory, he went to Prince Albert and Queen Victoria who seemed to be arguing in a low tone in the corner while the guests were being seated in the dining hall.

Clearing his throat, he got their attention.

"Your majesties, I am so sorry for not informing you about my union with Y/n. Its just my wife is terribly shy and we wanted to keep this marriage a secret. But I understand how this creates an embarrassing situation for the crown, and I would like to humbly turn down my dukedom-"

"No." The queen cut him off, her eyes void of any emotion. "The dukedom was awarded to you for your achievements, not because you were asked to marry my daughter. Helena is not something to pawn off to just anyone."

Silas offered a sympathetic smile. "Of course, your majesty. I'm sure you'll find a better suitor for the princess." He took his bow before turning around to enter the dining hall while Victoria stared at his back.

"Are you really still going to keep him as the duke of Westminster?" Albert asked his wife.

She was fuming. But only Albert could tell.

"What choice did I have?" Victoria asked, still glaring at the young boy who dared to play her. "If I took the dukedom away after announcing it publicly, it would've been a far more embarrassment for the crown. They would call us "cheap"."

"We cant let him get away with it." Albert whispered. "Its Westminster. We may rule it, but the duke will still be able to influence the government."

"You think I'm not aware he wants to play politics?" Victoria snapped, before softening her tone. "I wont let him get away with it, Albert. He's just a boy. I am a queen. I wont let him or anyone humiliate us."

Silas sat down besides his cousins as his uncles raised their glasses to him. He sipped his drink, a satisfied grin resting on his face. He knew exactly what he did. Even though no one actually told him that the dukedom came with marriage to the princess, because how callous would it be to ask him to marry her when no one would give up the opportunity of becoming the queen's son-in-law, Silas knew he was expected to marry Helena.

But no one said it. No one asked him. Its the English, they never say what they mean outright, choosing to read between the lines and do what is expected of them, because its more artful, more honourable this way.

Not that Silas could care about traditions. Why would he, when he planned on exacting his revenge?

The queen only came to offer her support when he became successful enough on his own. Where was she when his parents died and his sister was left to take care of him? Sure, Victoria attended the funeral and "promised" to take care of him. But she also said she'd only do that if he proved himself. His grandmother and his sister, Daisy were the ones who raised him.

And now, years later when he got into Oxford without using his family name, without saying "I am related to the queen", when he used his skills to create a powerful business empire that has the potential to influence the British industries, she wants him?

Sure, Westminster has its benefits, but Silas doesnt need Westminster. Westminster needs Silas. He could topple over the government and even shut down Britain herself with just his influence alone. Being a duke just has given him a public platform, an acknowledgement and most importantly, backing from the crown.

And you? Marrying you wasnt just because you happened to be around. Oh no. Silas has plans for you, plans to use you and further his revenge. This is just the beginning.

-

Sarah dropped you back at your place after you insisted that you needed to inform your flatmates of your departure. She gave you a disapproving look when she found out you were living with 4 men and was very determined to have you move in with her and Silas at the FitzGeorge estate, but you were able to persuade her to let you stay the night at home one last time.

"There's something I need to tell you guys." You fiddled with your thumbs as they all sat down in front of you.

"I um... I'm married."

"What?" Shepherd asked. "And you still went on a date?"

"I went on a date with my husband-"

"And who is that?"

You took a deep breath.

"Silas FitzGeorge."

Everyone except for Benjamin broke into laughter.

"Yeah, good one. Seriously, who is it?"

You frowned. "Seriously. Its Silas FitzGeorge."

As you began explaining your situation, even showing them the jewellery that you definitely werent wearing before you left, they started to believe you.

"Y/n- you cant- you cant marry Silas. You cant just marry someone you barely know!" Colin argued.

"What? Havent you heard of "love at first sight"?" You ask but he was unamused. Sighing, you shrugged. "Look, its a marriage that will benefit us both mutually. He gets people nagging him to get married off his back and I get to use his money and influence to get dirt on high society! Besides, I can leave him anytime I want."

"Then leave him now, before its too late." Ben said, standing up as he approached you. He took your shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze. "If its money you're worried about, I'll help you. I can provide for you, Y/n. Dont get into bed with these rich bastards, you dont know how selfish they can be. I- I- dont want you to get hurt-"

"I wont, Benny." You grab his arms, assuring him. "Silas and I are working together. If I go down, so will he. He wont hurt me, he cant. Its too risky for him now, you know? He announced our marriage tonight in front of the queen!"

As you began telling him about how you met the queen and all, Colin quietly left the living room to pour himself another drink, something to knock his brain out so he doesnt have to think about you and Silas.

-

Next day, before the sun even rose, you had packed up a few of your things to go live with the FitzGeorges. All the boys were awake at that time, though Colin's eyes were bloodshot from apparently drinking the wrong liqour, so he sat quietly on the sofa, watching you.

Liam and Shepherd took your bags to put it in the carriage waiting outside, while Ben pulled you in for a hug.

"I'm just moving out, Benny! I'll still see you guys." You laugh, patting his back.

Ben kissed the crown of your head before tucking it under his chin, arms tightening around you. "Just know that you will always have a home here, with us. Dont hesitate to reach out for help. And if Silas or anyone every hurts you, I dont care how rich they are, Y/n. I will take care of them. You just- just come back to us, hm?"

You pulled away from him, wiping a lone tear from your eye. "You're the best, Benny." You whisper before going to Colin, who just stared at you with red eyes.

Leaning down, you poked his cheek. "Kinda wish you werent drunk when I said goodbye, but I guess it makes it easier." Colin continued to stare at you. You grabbed his hand, smiling gratefully at him. "Thank you for everything, Colin. You saved me. Truly." You gave his hand a firm squeeze before leaving, missing him mumble something under his breath.

The carriage took you to the FitzGeorge estate and you were a little disappointed to see only Sarah waiting to welcome you. Its not like you wanted Silas to make a grand gesture to welcome his bride, but you were kinda hoping he was going to ease you into his world while explaining the events of the previous night.

Sarah showed you around the house before leading you to Silas bedroom.

"Cadbury has already placed your bags in there." She turned to you. "This will be your space too, so do make changes to the place as you please."

You smiled shyly at her. Honestly, you dont know whether Sarah knows that Silas only married you for personal agenda, but she wasnt surprised when Silas announced you were his wife.

Sarah looked at you and she placed a hand on her chest, touched.

"Oh, I am so glad you're Silas's girl."

Silas's girl?

"When Silas told me he married you, I was only mad that he did it behind my back! But I suppose it is understandable... these FitzGeorge men always liked to make a statement when it came to love." Sarah said, fondly remembering her late husband.

Sarah continued to gush about you enough for you to know that you dont need to kiss her ass. You have her approval.

When she left, you looked around the large bedroom, Victorian and dark academia was the aesthetic. Wooden panels lined the room, the shelves were stocked with thick books, a study table in one corner, an ottoman chest seat in front of the bed. The entire room was illuminated by the large windows that opened into the balcony, overlooking the large gardens and the cold air of London.

Standing at his balcony, you couldnt help but wonder...

Silas definitely has to HAVE a mega douchebag personality if this was where he was raised.

I mean who wouldnt have an ego trip if they woke up to a view like this, a butler named CADBURY who probably brings him his bland tea and tells him about all the proposals he had, and Silas would just wave a hand in dismissal, telling his butler to reject them all on his behalf.

Silas lived like a king. Or at the very least, lived like the 1% of Britain.

Returning back into the room, you looked at the interior before a grin formed on your face.

Time to snoop around, Y/n. You made your way to his desk.

Lets see what secrets you're hiding, husband.

-

Silas walked in on you folding your clothes and placing them in his closet.

"What do you think you're doing?" He huffed, loosening his tie. He was still in his clothes from last night, having just returned home after celebrating with his uncles and cousins.

You turned to him, faking enthusiasm. "Hello to you too."

Silas rolled his eyes, sitting on his bed. "Dont touch my things." He began untying his shoes.

"Why? You worried my poverty would taint them?"

He looked you dead in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Haha." You close the closet and turn to him. "We need to talk."

He looked at you miserably. "Cant it wait-" "No."

"Fine, then. Go on, I'm listening." He leaned against the headboard while you took your place on the foot of the bed.

"Why didn't you tell me last night that we were going to the palace? Or that you were going to announce our marriage?"

Tired eyes looked at you. "I didnt want to risk you getting cold feet."

Okay. Fair enough.

You gave him a nod. "Fine. Still would've liked a heads-up." "I'll keep that in mind for next time. Good night-" He began closing his eyes when you spoke again.

"No. We still need to talk about our situation." You looked at your lap, smoothing your dress before looking at him again, only to find his tired eyes studying you.

"Silas, who knows that our marriage is not... real?"

"It is a real marriage. We signed proper documents and all." He told you. "What you mean to ask is who knows our marriage is like mutually beneficial business deal? The answer is- no one, except for my butler and his wife, who wont say a word. And I want it to stay that way."

You raised a brow. "So... what exactly is the image you're trying to sell to the world? That we're a young couple, madly in love?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Silas." Your tone turned serious. "If you want people to believe this fairytale you're creating, then you need to get your stories straight. And involve me in it too!"

He tilted his head at you before sighing. "Fine. Lets say... we met two months ago."

"Where?"

He grinned. "Ballet theatre. Near Oxford university."

"Ballet theatre- are you trying to use your grandparents story?"

He shrugged. "So what if I am? Besides, people will love it."

You glared at him, but he continued on with his story. "So we met at the ballet theatre, you fell madly in love with me the first time you saw me. Your exact words were- "Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father, have I died and went to heaven to witness the utter beauty of an angel-"

"I have seen rodents looking better than you." You cut him off.

"You're ruining my story." He scolded you. "Fine, we can say that after you were mesmerised by my beauty, you stalked me for a few weeks until I finally said yes out of pity-"

"Silas."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll leave the details to you, just remember- we met at the theatre. Thats the most important part of the story."

"Okay, I'll add my version of the events, which you can read in the papers in a day or two." You stood up, walking over to the vanity. "I will be going to work from tomorrow. I'll tell your grandmother I'm going to visit some friends, and you'll drop me off at my old place where I'll change my clothes and then I'll go to the office."

"Very well." He turned his head to look at you. "But after you're done writing about us, continue working on the White Chapel murders."

You hummed, turning around. "Dont worry, I should be able to get access to the letters in a few days. Wait- Silas, didnt you say your friend owned the paper I worked for?" He nodded. "Well, can you ask him if he could let me, I mean- assign Sherlock Holmes to work on the case? You could bribe him with giving an exclusive interview about your marriage for the papers, in return, he has to let me work the murder story."

"Consider it done." Silas said, putting his arm over his eyes.

"Um, Silas?"

"What?" He asked, annoyed.

"Where am I to sleep?" With Sarah in the house, its not like you can occupy another room. It'll raise suspicion.

Silas removed his arm to look at you, before looking at his large bed.

You shake your head. "I am not sleeping in the same bed with you-"

"I wouldnt want that either." He said, grabbing a pillow. Your heart warmed at the gesture. He really was going to leave his bed for you, like the true gentleman-

Thud.

You looked at the pillow he'd thrown on the floor.

"There." He pointed before returning to bed.

"You want me to sleep on the floor?"

With his eyes closed, he replied. "You say that like you expected me to sleep on the floor."

"Well-"

"Its my room, my bed. Why would I sleep on the floor?"

"I dont know, whats the word- chivalry?!" You huffed, grabbing the pillow and walking near the closed balcony window. It was cold but you'd rather sleep with a pretty view than to wake up to Silas feet landing on your face.

Muttering curses under your breath, you soon fell asleep with your back turned to Silas. A few minutes later, he got off the bed and dropped a blanket on your sleeping body.

And they say chivalry is dead. He thought to himself, returning to his bed.

-

The next day, while dropping you off to work, you brought up the previous day's convo.

"I need something." Silas's gaze flickered from the window of the carriage to you. "What do you know about Henry Blackwood?"

Silas' looked bored again. "He's a fellow businessman, invests in people rather than companies, likes to keep his operations in the dark, which means he has secrets. His shop blew up some time ago, allegedly a "technical failure" but... I think someone did it."

"You think so too?" You asked, hopeful. "Do you know who?"

Silas shook his head. "No. His enemies, like his operations are secret. All I know is someone did it to send a message to him, blew up the shop deliberately while he was out."

A message?

"I want to get dirt on him." You watch Silas raise a brow at you. "Just... get me close to him, or to his people. I saw him talking to your uncles, maybe they know something?"

Silas shakes his head again. "My uncles talk to anyone who has money. Henry wouldnt ever invest in them, they couldnt manage a business for the life of them."

"And you? Would Henry invest in you?"

Silas nodded. "He's tried. I wasnt interested." He cut you off before you could even suggest the idea. "And I'm still not interested. But I'll get you close to him."

"Thank you." You settled back in your seat before remembering another request. "Silas?"

"What now?"

"Can I have some money?"

"Here's a pound-" You glared at him, making him sigh. "How much?"

"Mmhm, oh I dont know... just enough to buy a small house-"

"And why do you need a house?"

You looked at him dumbfounded. "Well, when our marriage goes to the sewers, I would like to have a roof over my head."

"And what if I say I dont intend on ending this marriage?" Your blood ran cold at his words.

"What?"

Silas tilted his head at you before chuckling. "Why have you turned pale? If anyone should be horrified at the prospect of staying married in this mismatch, completely unbalanced relationship, it should be me. Struck down, caught out of the lake in his prime, of both beauty and brain-"

"Oh God, please stop talking before blood starts pouring out of my ears."

"So you agree your voice is irritating enough to do that?" Silas remarked smirking.

"Shut up." You flared your nostrils at him. Why does he have to ruin my mood this early in the day?

He chuckled victoriously, looking out the window. "I'll get you the house. You dont need money for it." He looked at you, already knowing you'd be confused. He grinned, pointing to himself. "Duke of Westminster-" he then points at you. "Duchess of Westminster."

Of course. Now that you're married to the duke, you have a whole lot of land in your hands. You really can have a house anywhere you'd like.

The carriage stopped. "Off you go now, wife."

Entering the office, you were first greeted by Will, the man in charge on working on the White Chapel murders.

"Holmes! How did you do it?" He shook you by the shoulder gleefully. "How did you convince the boss to post my story next?!"

I married his friend. "Oh, I just... promised him an article. Once I give him that, we can work together on the murder story."

He nodded, ushering you to finish off your article first before helping him.

Making your way to your desk, you spotted Colin. "Hey, Colin-" But he walked right past you, as if he didnt hear you.

Maybe he didnt. You shrugged, sitting down at your desk as you began writing down the news about you and Silas.

-

"Oh, Mr Holmes has definitely written most accurately about you Y/n!" Sarah said as she read the papers at the breakfast table. "He calls you the "fairest maiden in town" and "beauty with brains"- oh, I couldnt agree more!"

You smiled, sipping your tea sheepishly while Silas rolled his eyes. Its been 3 days since you wrote an article announcing your marriage to the world, and the editor decided to post it on Sunday, when you and most of London had off from work, all tuning in to read "how the most eligible bachelor bagged the fairest maiden in town."

Sarah ate some of the dishes you'd prepared today. "These are absolutely delicious, Y/n! Silas, your wife-" A maid came in to inform her that there's someone at the door to meet her. As Sarah excused herself, you got up from your seat to serve Silas the food you'd made on Sarah's request.

Silas picked up his fork and took a bite, a smile forming on his lips.

"Have I ever told you how good of a cook you are?"

You blushed, looking down. "No-"

"Then why do you keep cooking?" He dropped his fork on the plate, pushing it aside. "Stop using my kitchen." He smirked as he drank his tea, watching rage take over your face.

"Listen you twat-"

Sarah came back rushing in, a worried look on her face. Silas immediately sat up. "What is it, nana?"

"The- there was someone here from the palace." She gulped. "They sent flowers and a letter congratulating you two on the marriage. They... they said they'd like to meet Y/n and- and welcome the new couple officially."

Silas understood Sarah's worry. The palace never writes to them. In fact, the last time they did, it was years ago when his parents had died.

Getting up from his seat, Silas wiped his face with a napkin before dropping it on the table. "Then we'll let them. We shall host the Queen."

"Si-" But he took her by the shoulders, easing Sarah's worry.

"Dont worry. This is our home, nana." We have the advantage.

Silas left to start making arrangements for hosting the queen at the estate, while Sarah ran around the house with the staff to prepare for the event that is a week from now. Seeing as you couldnt be of use there and everyone was too busy to give you any pointers on what to say or act when the queen arrives, you left the estate to explore the town. Or more specifically, return to the blown up vintage store.

Yep, you're still hoping your time machine survived.

When you arrived on Regent street, you saw the same men still guarding the store, so they probably still wouldn't have let you in. But you also saw Henry, who was leaving the store and in his carriage.

Deciding to follow him, you sneaked into the back of someone's carriage and rode it before jumping off it when it got near Henry's carriage. Fortunately, you didnt have to follow him for long as he got off on Piccadilly street soon and strolled into a place called "The Gentlemen's Club" and from the looks of the daunting bouncers standing outside, you knew you couldnt just stroll in like Henry.

You watched the people who seemed to walk into the club, mostly men, all dressed formally and looked like they were a part of the high society. You saw some women too, though most of them dressed scandalously, so you assume they were there to provide entertainment.

As the sun began setting, more and more people started entering the club and just when you were about to leave, you saw Henry walk out of the club, a frown settled on his face. You werent expecting him to leave the club so soon, not when more people had started going in there, to rave or whatever. If Henry was here for pleasure, then he came out too early. If he was here for business, then most of the club goers have just begun entering, which means that whoever he wanted to conduct business with was already in there. Someone who works at the club... maybe even owns it?

As you turned to leave, you felt someone bump into you.

"Watch where you're going!" The blonde haired woman shrieked at you before crossing the street to go to the club.

You huffed. Everyone's got a giant stick up their-

You whipped your head around, feeling someone watching you. And thats when you spot it- a shadowy figure of a man, standing in the window of the club, on the second floor. Henry? No, he left. Then...?

The shadow didnt move, staring at you until it creeped you enough to make you leave.

-

Silas finally sat down after working all day. Cadbury brought him his evening tea.

"How are the preparations coming along?" He asked his butler. Cadbury informed him of the arrangements he's made and the guest list he's written down that needs his approval before he sends out the invitations.

"And the seamstress will come tomorrow to make a gown for Miss Y/n-"

Silas cut him off. "No need. Send the seamstress to me first. I'll let her know what kind of clothes need to be made for the event, then she can take Y/n's measurements."

"As you wish, sir." Cadbury said, but Silas could see something troubling the young butler. They werent that apart in age, and both of them had practically grown together, each reading the other person well.

"What's the matter, Cadbury?" Silas set his teacup down.

Cadbury took a deep breath. "Its just- I dont understand why the palace is suddenly coming to visit you, after what happened at the dukedom ceremony. It was certainly... humiliating for them, so why would they be coming to welcome Miss Y/n into the family?"

Silas grinned. "They're coming to see who I replaced the princess with." He picked up his cup. "They couldnt break me down, so they're going to try their luck with the missus. There's another reason why the queen is coming, but you let me worry about that."

Cadbury looked concerned. "Then we should prepare Miss Y/n to make no mistakes."

"Dont worry, she wont." Silas smiled, making his butler even more confused. "Speaking of, did you observe her when she was cooking in the kitchen today?"

Cadbury nodded. "Yes. And as you'd said, she didnt touch, let alone cook with bacon or wine despite my insistence that its your favourite. She replaced the meats, and didnt use any alcohol at all!"

Silas chuckled, his eyes gleaming with intent. "Perfect. Just as I'd suspected." He looked at Cadbury again. "Are there any leftovers from the food she'd made?"

"Yes. I was about to throw it out-"

"No. Bring them to me. I'll eat them. If Y/n asks, tell her you fed it to the dogs and then they got violently sick." Cadbury was confused as he left to bring him the food. He thought that Silas didnt like your cooking, at least from what he'd heard him say to you.

Oh. Maybe the young duke just doesnt want to acknowledge that he enjoyed your food.

-

A week passed by quickly and the day of the royal dinner came. You were freaking out because Silas had barely spoken two words to you about how to act or what to say, just telling you to act as yourself and he'll take care of the rest.

"What the hell...?" You muttered, watching your reflection in the mirror. Okay, you're not a conservative, but even you knew that this plunging neckline was a little too much skin for this time period, especially in front of the queen!

You were wearing a white satin and lace gown- wedding gown, if you were being honest. All that was missing was a veil, but you guess that would be a little too much on the nose. The dress was beautiful, no doubt, but it was missing a whole lot of cloth around the neckline, the tight corset making your chest puff out slightly more with a snatched waist. Your collar bones looked prominent, but you would credit that to the bland food served in London. Seriously, why do they act like vampires when it comes to adding garlic?

"Your husband had this dress designed specifically for you, madame!" The seamstress told you as she added her finishing touches. "He must love you a lot!" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you wore the jewellery he'd sent for you.

Yes. Thats why I sleep on the floor while he sleeps in his bed. Hope he suffocates under those plush sheets. My backache is the sign of our true love.

"Oh, who did that to your hair?" You heard a voice behind you and you turned around quickly.

"Benny!" You squealed, watching Ben, Liam, Shepherd and Colin enter your room. "Ah, I'm so glad you all came."

"Of course we did. There's free booze-" Shepherd smacked Liam on the back of his head. "We're here because we're happy for you."

"And because they wanted to see the queen." Colin said, rolling his eyes, making the other two bicker with him.

"How's Silas treating you? Are you happy?" Ben asked in a low tone as he fixes your hair.

Oh Ben. He reminds you so much of Qasim. "Yes, Benny. Silas is very good to me. I couldnt be happier."

Ben had a sad smile on his face as he nodded.

Just a few minutes later, Silas entered your room. "Y/n. Gentlemen." He nodded to them, before pulling you aside. "I need to talk to you."

You looked at him surprised. Silas was concerned. He was nervous about something. You've never seen him break a sweat.

"What is it, Silas?"

"The queen is onto us."

"What?"

Silas looked at you exasperated. "She knows about our sham marriage." He casted a look to the boys, who were pretending like they werent trying to hear what he was whispering to you. Silas pulled you close by your elbow to whisper. "I have a source telling me that the queen knows you... you're not a Christian. That you're a Muslim."

You pull back to look at him wide eyed. "How- how did she- how did you-?"

"I suspected, you confirmed it now. But she knows. And she's coming here tonight to expose us. If she tells everyone tonight, then she'll be able to take away my dukedom and she will make our lives hell!"

Your throat went dry. "What- what do we do?"

"There's a way." Silas grip on your arm tightened. "We get married for real."

You tilted your head in confusion before shaking your head at what he was implying. "Silas, no-"

"We get a Nikkah."

A Nikkah? If... if you get a Nikkah with him, an Islamic wedding ceremony, then you'll be married to him for real. No- no, the only reason you'd agreed to his proposal was because you knew it was a fake marriage, it didnt really affect your conscious because it was a sham! But-

"No. Silas-"

"Y/n, please." Silas pleaded. "Dont make me beg. If the queen finds out, everything I've worked so hard for, it'll be for naught. She'll take it all away. Dont you- dont you want to help catch the lunatic behind those murders? Dont you want to make a difference by writing? If you dont do this, if you dont stand by me, we'll both be done for!"

You looked at him conflicted, your resolve starting to break as he continued to talk. "My sister, my parents, my grandfather... my family... they need me, Y/n. They need me to pull this off, for me to reinstate our honour, for me to remove the stain and stigma from my family's name. Please, I'm asking you to do this for me... for my family." He swallowed thickly, his eyes boring into you with intensity. "You once told me you lost everything. I'm telling you now that I'll lose everything if we dont do this. Will you let me lose everything, Y/n?"

Lose everything? Everything?

You shake your head. "No, Silas. I... I wont let you lose everything."

10 minutes later, there was an imam in your room. Silas had somehow managed to find an imam in London to marry you two off. But you suppose when you're so rich and well connected, you can find anyone.

This is happening. This is really happening.

With Ben, Colin, Liam and Shepherd as your witnesses and Cadbury and his wife as Silas's witnesses, the imam began the Nikkah ceremony.

Am I really getting married?

You watched the imam ask Silas some questions, and you tuned them out except for one.

"Are you a Muslim?"

You looked up. A flicker of hope! Yes! If Silas isnt a Muslim, he cant marry you! The Nikkah wont happen, or at the very least wont be real because he's not Muslim! He cant marry you, this will still be a sham marriage, a paper marriage and your conscious will be clear and you wont feel like throwing up-

"Yes. I converted an hour ago." Silas informed the imam. "I took my shahada, in sound mind and state, of my own will without any pressure or coercion."

No. Oh no-

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife?"

"I do."

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife?" The imam repeated.

"I do."

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife?" He asked again.

"I do." And with that, Silas signed the Nikkah contract. The officiant then turned to you.

"With the agreed mahr, do you take Silas to be your husband?"

"Mahr?" You whisper in a daze. The officiant looks confused. "Do you not know what your mahr is?"

Mahr is a gift to the bride given by the groom. It is a symbol of the groom's promise to care and provide for the bride. You're more surprised that Silas even knew what Mahr is.

"It must've slipped my mind to tell you." Silas looked at Cadbury, who handed him a document. "For your Mahr, I give you Westminster palace." You looked at the document, he really had signed it over to you!

"Silas..." You say in disbelief, your hands trembling a bit. He smiled reassuringly at you. "You wanted a house. Here's one."

House? He gave me a palace!

"Do you take Silas to be your husband?" The imam asked you. You stared at Silas, at his content face. He didnt have to sign over a whole palace to you, much less one which he'd just gotten from the queen!

And he looked perfectly content with his decision. Not a shadow of doubt. He... he trusts you? Trusts that you'll maintain this union? Wont run out on him- wont betray him?

"I do."

Does he believe that this marriage will last?

"I do."

Does he trust you?

"I do."

You signed the papers, your eyes still in a daze as Silas smiles charmingly at you before pulling you close to hug you. You hear everyone clap around you as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Thank you."

-

Silas escorted you to the dining room where all the guests were waiting. You were still quiet and in a trance as you walked by him, with your hand around his arm.

He's surprised it didnt make you suspicious with how quickly he'd found an imam. Truthfully speaking, Silas knew you were a Muslim when he first proposed to you. He had his doubts, which were confirmed by his observations especially with your aversion to foods that were forbidden for Muslims. And yes, the queen had also found out about you being a Muslim, but only because he spread the rumour to them.

The Nikkah documents, the ceremony, the Mahr, he had already planned it the moment he found out that the queen was coming over. And the reason why he waited until the last minute to spring this out on you was so that you would be pressured into saying yes. He just couldnt risk you taking time to think this through.

You may still be under the impression that Silas chose you because it was circumstantial or whatever, but he chose you to be his wife precisely because you were a Muslim. Oh he has plans to use you.

You're everything the English monarchy hates, what it stands for. You're not prim and proper, despite your best attempts. You work, that too disguised as a man, and you're far too strong willed and determined to prove yourself unlike the British high society women.

He knows the crown wont be happy to have Muslim bride in the family, much less a Muslim duke who just so happily signed off Westminster palace to his wife.

A Cheshire grin graced his lips, which people mistook for glee for being with his blushing bride. He's going to have fun ruffling the queen's feathers. He's going to tilt the palace upside down.

Curtsying to the queen, Silas immediately noticed and took great pleasure in the queen's displeasure at your dress. Yes, he specifically chose a wedding gown that showed too much skin for the conservative monarch.

"Your majesty, this is Y/n, my sweetheart." Silas introduced you so lovingly, you couldnt help but be flustered as you avert your eyes to the ground.

"Its an honour to meet you, your majesty." You manage to say without throwing up.

Victoria casted one unamused look to you. "Very interesting choice for clothing."

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. She hates it. I knew it-

Silas's hand gently grasped yours. "Thank you, your majesty. I chose it for her after being inspired by a painting my love gifted me. Ah, let me show it to you."

You already knew it was the stupid portrait he was talking about, and you wanted to hide away into a corner as you saw the disapproval on the queen's face- God, she doesnt mask any emotion, does she?

The queen turned to Silas. "I have heard a rumour and I would like you to address it now." She said, glancing at you.

Silas nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "Why dont you go and help nana with the guests? I'll be right with you."

Sarah was introducing to the guests, but your head was preoccupied with Silas and the queen. They are definitely talking about me-

"Y/n, this is Mr Blackwood." You stared at the familiar face. "Oh please, Sarah. No need to be formal with me." He smiled charmingly. "Besides, miss Y/n and I have met before."

"Well, thats wonderful! You two talk- I have to find my troublesome grandsons before they embarrass me!" Sarah left you with Henry.

"Congratulations on your wedding." He said with exaggerated joy, though his eyes expressed anything but that. "I'm sure he offered you a lot of money for putting up a show. I just wish you'd told me about it before."

"Excuse me?" You frowned. "I'm not putting up a show."

He raised a brow. "Really? You expect me to believe that a FitzGeorge wants to marry you? Out of the blue?" He throws a look to your gown. "That this wedding dress wasnt him trying to just convince the world that you're his wife?"

Your jaw ticked. "You're right. This dress is Silas's way telling everyone we're married. Because we were married on paper before, but I have an imam, 4 witnesses and a Nikkah document stating that Silas and I are married, both in the eyes of the law and God." You watched Henry's face fall. What use was it lying when he already heard of the rumours. Rolling your eyes, you turned to leave, only for him to reach out and grab your arm.

"Why are you doing this?" Henry asked you, looking for any signs of you lying. He didnt find any. "You know you dont belong with him-"

"Oh? I dont?" You snapped. "Who do I belong with? No, go on. Tell me."

He pulled you close, looking into your eyes. "Me. You belong to me. You know it, you felt it- we have something. We have-" He lowered his voice. "I can give you everything you want. Whatever you'd lost in my shop, I'll find it again. I'll travel the world for it, just- come to me. Leave Silas."

"That is the most pathetic thing I've heard come out of a man's mouth." You yanked your hand out of his grasp, walking away from him. The next time you saw him, he was busy talking with Victoria's heir- Prince Edward VII.

"Sweetheart, there you are!" Silas grabbed you, pulling you along. "I was just telling her majesty about how we met. You remember, love?" He shot you a knowing look.

You nodded, remembering what you two had practised. "Yes. We met at the ballet theatre near Oxford. It was love at first sight-"

"Ballet theatre?" Victoria's voice was sharp. Your heart dropped as you tried to follow up on your lie. See, this is why you two should've discussed this because its hard to lie on the spot!

"She's an amazing ballerina! Ah! I was immediately charmed by her art! She bewitched me!" Silas said cheekily and you wanted to smack him for saying "bewitched" because this is still Victorian era and sure, they dont have witch trials anymore, but why would he risk even the accusation when it is literally the queen's ancestors who had a major part in burning up "witches" in the 1600s!

Look, people back then were dumb and evil, which is a really bad combination.

"Is she now?" Victoria looked at you now, with those piercing eyes. "I would love to attend a show of yours. See what these FitzGeorges fancy so much."

Oh she knows. You can see it, hear it in her monotonous voice that she knows Silas is lying.

And yet this dumbass continues to lie. "Of course! We'll host you for... Christmas eve?"

As Victoria left, you glared at Silas. "Why would you say that?! I'm not a ballerina and you invited her to watch me dance? Do you want to get caught?!"

Silas tutted at you. "You worry too much. Its not that hard, you know. Besides, you have my grandmother to teach you. Ah yes, nana will love it-"

"Silas!" You stopped him. "I cant learn ballet in a month!"

"Not with that attitude-"

"We will get caught. You will be caught, and I will be embarrassed and- and- I wont let anyone make a fool out of me, Silas!" He pulled you into his chest, shushing you.

"I wont let anyone make a fool out of you either, Y/n." He pulled your head back to look at you with those deceptively charming eyes. "You carry my name next to yours now. You're my wife now, and by association, your dignity is my dignity now. I wont let anyone make a mockery of us, Y/n."

You looked up at him and you believed him. How could you not, when lying comes so easily to Silas?

He watched Sarah console you, promising to help you learn. Silas his his smile as he picked up his glass, enjoying his plan falling into place.

Ah, it would be a pity to see your heart break when the entire theatre laughs at you.

Thoughts????

[catskets]

From Desires to Demo: How to Write a Good Demo for your Visual Novel

I'm deciding I want to expand on some topics in longer, fuller-length posts based on points I made in this general VN development post.

There is a problem that players have expressed to me about visual novel demos, especially in horror/romance/yandere circles these days: they are not demos at all. Rather, they feel like introductions to the characters and the setting, and nothing happens at all. No one wants to have to go find out everything good about your game by going to your Tumblr and going through 10+ months of asks to get themselves hyped up for your game. Most people are not going to do that. They will instead play your demo and go "this isn't enough for me to come back to" and never think about it again.

How, then, do you get people playing your demo and being excited for the full game? This is my personal guide on how to make a compelling visual novel demo.

In case you've never heard of me, I'm Kat, also known as catsket. I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Game Design. I've been making games for nearly 5 years, and I've been doing visual novels more "professionally" for 2. You may know me for Art Without Blood, 10:16, God is in the Radio, or Fatal Focus. I'm here to help you make your first visual novel, or, perhaps, improve on what you've already made.

What is the purpose of a demo?

A demo is short or a demonstration. Your job is to demonstrate a portion of your game to players. In more "traditional" games, a demo typically takes place in a very tightly-constricted space that is meant to show off how the game feels. Maybe this is the first few levels of a platformer that showcases the general atmosphere and gameplay of the game.

We aren't making action and adventure games in explorable spaces. We are making visual novels. Most visual novel demos just showcase a small portion of the game, maybe the first few scenes.

What your demo should have is this:

A general vibe for your game. You're writing a psychological horror game. Give me a taste of that! Show me a bit of the gore, a bit of the horror.

A sense of urgency. A lot of demos I've played and discarded have been discarded because the game itself does not give me a motivation

An established plot. What is going to happen in the future? Why am I in this world?

In general, think of your game as the back cover of a book. That's where the hook that draws you in to read it. Just give me a proper taste of your game!

There are cases in traditional games where things are hidden from the player in demos (let's all remember MGS2) and where things are changed in from the demo to the final product. That's perfectly okay! You are not obligated to update your demo unless you find gamebreaking bugs and other issues. If things change from the demo to the final product, let your players be surprised and intrigued by these changes!

I can make this a list of do's and don'ts:

Before writing your demo...

Do: Outline, plan, and everything else.

Unless you're blessed by Mnemosyne herself, you need to outline where your story is going to go.

When starting a project, I write a 1-2 page document that has this information:

Name of the game

The target audience

The genre and moods

A paragraph summary of the game

1-2 sentences describing main characters and their roles

Write a short scene that captures the essence of the game

Write a basic outline. You don't need to fit everything in and outline it all, but give yourself an idea. A beginning, a middle, a climax, and an end. Some people just write the start and the finish, and then the middle gets all muddled and convoluted.

While writing your demo....

Do: Make it clear how the choices will impact the game

Visual novels are a medium where player choices affect the game. Make sure those choices actually matter. They don't all have to, of course. They might matter later in the game, but you should at least try to write an example of how a choice may matter.

For example, in Art Without Blood's new demo, certain choices mean you meet the characters in a different order and experience different sides of them.

Having a certain amount of a sanity stat will cause characters to give you some flavor text.

Here's a very simple idea: if you're running your game on a "love points" or other points system, you can make it so if player gets 10 points with love interest, get a different scene. It shows that your choices are impactful. Just let players have a taste of the consequences of their actions.

Don't: Character dump.

Many demos I have played were just character dumps. This means using the demo just to introduce to us the characters but not giving them room to truly show their personalities or their attachments to the problem.

For example, I played a game recently that had the player complaining about their living situation, showing us the characters in the same living complex, showed off the yandere, and then had the player deal with an annoying, evil boss. That sounds like lots of games, right? And that doesn't sound very fun, does it?

Do: Ground the player in the world

Try to immerse your player character in your world. I want to read like I'm part of it. What is our purpose? If we are a stranger, how can you immerse us in a world so far removed from ours?

Do it slowly, and do it with necessity. You don't necessarily want an exposition dump either.

Establish the world, establish the conflict, establish why they got into this conflict, and leave us off with a reason to come back.

Don't: Make your players have to visit other sites to get important information

Your ask blogs or other social medias should contain supplemental material that keeps players engaged, but it should not be a place where you should go "well, actually, in the demo, x y and z should have happened but it didn't."

Try not to spoil your game on your socials. What's the point of playing if I can just read it all on your blog?

I should learn about the plot and the characters from the game itself. I should not have to get a sense from your blog about a character because they were so dry in the demo.

Obviously, this isn't to say you need to include everything about a character in your demo. But we need to get a sense of personality. I shouldn't have to go to Tumblr to find that personality.

Do: Ask for help

Making a game on your own, especially for the first time, is scary. It's okay to ask for help. It's okay to get people to help you out with parts you aren't so familiar with. It doesn't make you any less of a developer. A lot of people need some degree of help. There is nothing wrong with that.

Don't: Start your marketing until you know you can finish the demo

I've seen lots of demos that have been in the works for years. It can be disappointing for fans and demotivating for the developer to have an idea, tell the world, and then not see a demo for a long time. This is especially the case when money is involved, but it's still irresponsible to promise a product and never deliver it. Be honest about the status of projects and your life.

Do: Outline content warnings properly

It is up to the player to decide if they think they're capable and ready to play your game. Make sure to outline your content warnings. Cover the basics, and feel free to leave an extended warnings list in your game or on your game page for specifics.

Content warnings are usually things like blood/violence, profanity, sexual content, etc. Trigger warnings typically get into specific things, like suicide, dentists, or religious trauma. Think of content warnings like the ERSB.

Put a splash screen before the game starts that showcase the content warnings and a place to find trigger warnings.

Don't: Pull back punches with what your characters are capable of

It's fiction. It doesn't necessarily mean you support your characters being crazy stalkers. Know the audience you want to write for, and don't feel a need to cower. Let them be filthy. Let them get their hands deep into someone's chest cavity and rip a body apart.

What I'm trying to say is you really shouldn't tone down what you think your characters are capable of because you're afraid of making fans sad or upset because pookie isn't acting the way they thought pookie acted in their head. It's your character. You're commanding the story. You are choosing where it goes, not fans. Just because you have an audience doesn't mean you need to tone it down to be more palpable to others.

Once your demo is released...

Do: Keep a balance

Making games is very, very hard. And the world is very, very harsh. It is okay to let your fans know about delays or potential cancellations, such as through the devlogs on itch.io for your game, in your community spaces, or on your blog. Please be honest. If you do not think that, after a demo's release, you can continue on the project, make it clear that it has been cancelled or on hiatus.

People will be understanding. The world sucks, and it sucks the life out of us. People are more forgiving if you are honest with the status of your game, rather than leaving it in a perpetual limbo.

Don't: Think that the popularity of your demo constitutes how "good" your game is.

Your demo may not do well. That could be a number of factors. Maybe your marketing didn't hit where you think it should have. Maybe you posted it at the same time as another game. Not your fault. The full release may do better. Don't let the numbers be the reason you give up.

Do: Network!

Get to know fellow developers in the space so you can learn from one another and get more ideas for improving your own games.

Don't: Use developers.

Use a developer's resources. You should not be making friends with other devs if your desire is to try and become friends with big people. That's a parasocial relationship, buddy!

Do: Tell your fans the course of action

Do you have a development timeline set up? Writing multiple days? Give fans a general outline that you planned before writing your demo. It's okay to miss things as long as you're honest. But a timeline will help you hold accountability for yourself.

Don't: Charge for it.

I've seen at least 3 games take the "I'm going to charge for a demo" route in an effort to sway children from playing the game. This is going to sway everyone. Especially if players have not seen a complete + finished product from you, they will not be buying an unfinished game. There are other ways to hide your games from children, such as using itch.io's adult content filters and applying them to your projects.

Main takeaway: Be honest.

I say this a lot throughout this post, but it's because it pushes on a particular trend I see in beginner visual novel developers. There's this desire to create, but there is also the desire for fandom centered around what characters and world spawn from your creations. To maintain that fandom, you need to create. You need to be consistent. It may be harsh, but it's the reality.

Life is hard, and a large majority of us are NOT doing this for a living. Life will get in the way. It always has, it always will.

That's why it's good to practice integrity. Know yourself and your limits. Take steps back and be willing to be open + honest.

Fans won't be happy if you keep saying a game is delayed and show little to no work. Posting unrelated artwork and spending months answering Tumblr asks instead of making a game will eventually run you in the mud without anyone to enjoy what you have the potential to create.

Live up to your promises, and if you can't, be honest. Your community will support you as long as you're open.

[pseudoartistpostsstuff]

Alright alright- Bear with me here. Could I perhaps ask for a Yandere LU Chain, where Reader is like HUGE adventurer. Kinda like Wild in his game, exploring everywhere and stuff. But one day maybe Reader gets hurt on an adventure by a black-blooded creature, and the Chain is bit too late to save them. So Reader is like Twilight for a bit, although maybe they can also recover due to the Chain likely supporting them as much if not more than with Twilight. How would the Chain react to this afterwards? Would they be relieved, angry, or...? Both? Tbh I think overprotectiveness would just go brrrr after this-

Also, love love LOVE your writing! Seriously, HOW DO YOU DO THIS MAGIC? It's put together so well and istg i get goosebumps sometimes from this stuff.

Thank you!!!

Thank you very much for requesting, and I hope you enjoy this very late reply!

Notes aka author ramblings: Apollo slapped me in the face with random energy and motivation to write this, the inspiration came along the way and faded a bit more towards the end, so please take that into consideration 😭

Basically I wrote this on the span of 2-3 hours

What may look like a few plot holes was some ties I left untied on purpose because I felt like it'd probably sound too much like an info dump in the oneshot

But I have so many thoughts

And yes reader's codename is Stray

I hope I'm not rusty fr

TWs: Light yanderism, blood and wounds (not graphic), mentioned spiders, bullying, childhood trauma and exclusion.

Yandere! LU! Chain x Reader

Stray at heart, collared in body.

The world is big and full of stuff, and to say that you loved to explore it would be an understatement. Sometimes it felt like your biggest love was for adventuring, cause’ of course it was! How could anyone not love to find new places, objects, people— Even animals and magical creatures!

It was the type of subject that got you rambling and all excited.

Of course, you weren't exactly one of those pure born hyruleans, you weren't even from Hyrule, for starters, so you lacked the elegant pointy ears, and, well, the actual magic and luck that came with being one so close to Hylia as the race that descended from the Goddess herself.

That definitely hindered your explorations, leaving you bare handed when it came to healing and all things good and helpful for explorers like you. Still, none of that ever stopped you.

Actually, it was the thing that moved you to start in the first place, back when you were very young.

Back then, in the village you came from yet never considered home, the whole place felt filled to the brim with boredom-inducing stillness — or so you remembered, and so your childish eyes told you — you felt like it wasn't worth staying there.

It was going to be still and empty of fun forever, you could never be happy staying locked down there when so many new and yet ancient things were waiting for you everywhere else!

Needless to say, your head was constantly in the clouds, though, maybe that was a good thing after a while. It certainly shielded you from feeling too lonely when you started to actually notice you were being excluded by the rest of the children.

The stares and quiet giggles weren't easy to bear, but you just learned to deal with them with time, keeping yourself focused on your future instead, the future you wanted to build far away from that place.

Of course, as you are now today, and after learning about and interacting with so many different cultures, learning what you could from their knowledge, some things stuck with you.

Like the knowledge that now you had, that the children weren't ever the ones at fault in the first place.

Their stares and giggles mainly mimicked, almost perfectly, the ones who teached them to act that way, their glares and mockery.

Sometimes you wondered how your own parents managed to cope with being badly spoken about in the mouths of other adults from that village, the ones who insisted in believing your restless adventurous spirit from such a young age could be nothing else but bad parenting or a curse to the family.

You used to believe it, wish it was real and you either were or had a curse. That would mean that you at least had a percentage of magic in your veins, even if it wasn't exactly the best type.

Because it turns out, you didn't fit in with the most of Hyrule, either. Your normalness kept them away just like your strangeness used to keep away those around you during your childhood.

In fact, that acquired you the nickname of “Stray”.

Stray. Stray because at heart, no matter the community you shoved your way into, you didn't truly belong anywhere. You belonged to the world around you, and nothing could force that out of you.

It was deeply etched into your very soul.

Or so they said.

Well, a group of people begged to differ.

You've heard of a “hero” and a “triangle trio” thing more than a few times already when you roamed the remaining villages of Hyrule, but the last thing you were expecting to find was nine heroes traveling together in a group.

However, none of them belonged here anymore, and so that spoke directly to your inner child, the one who was used to being the only one, always related to some synonym of lonely.

You were often called “Stray” by them rather than your own name, but you still wore the name with pride, because now you were in no way the only stray present anymore.

They were also the reason you stopped wishing for a curse of a magic of some kind. Because you were more than aware that then they'd also have to force you into an imprisonment of some kind.

Still, you already felt achieved.

Finally.

What else could you wish for? You were finally able to explore to your heart's content.

Though not without many worried glances and startled yells sent your way every time you got near anything that left you endangered in some way.

And the best part, you weren't shunned anymore.

At least not by them. Villager's still gave you uneasy and passive aggressive glances.

The one you were probably the closest to was the one named “Wild”, or so they called him — calling all of them “Link” wasn't ideal — after all, out of all of them, he was the one who was most in tune with you.

You were both from the same time period, which already differed from the others, but he wasn't able to fit in anymore due to his lack of ties to any community.

Of course, you were more than aware you still weren't the same. If he tried, he'd still be able to settle down anywhere he wanted, but he still had a job to do which rendered him unable to do so, therefore you made yourself believe you were still alike in some way.

It would hurt too much to not do so, your sanity was at sake here.

They made it so easy too. being all friendly and welcoming. You finally felt at home, in peace.

What else could you truly wish for?

Although, maybe singing victory and yapping about happiness wasn't the smartest idea when they were all in a dangerous mission. And you, of course, were involved.

You were all exploring — or rather, just walking through — a forest on the way to some village at the very ends of Hyrule.

The people of that village didn't travel much, but they had something your group wanted, therefore, your group had to go to them instead.

Being the dumbass, air head, you were, instead of walking in the middle of the moving crowd of fully capable heroes, you found yourself roaming the edges, gawking at whatever you could see yet not reach for past the edges of the path you were all following.

Time was keeping his eye on you — the only working one he had — the whole time, making sure you wouldn't wander off. You felt like a kid.

And just like a kid, the very moment he got distracted, killing a Skulltula, you wandered off.

However, turns out there wasn't just one spider.

The forest was infested, which definitely explained why the village folk were so against the idea of wandering too far past the starts of the foliage and the big thick bushes surrounding and protecting the narrow path you traveled by.

Didn't take too long for you to be found by something else rather than your friends, who by now, must have been definitely looking for you.

They never took long to notice your disappearances, the opposite actually, which used to annoy you a lot since Wild never had to face the same overprotectiveness. Not even Wind!

Now, your desire to prove them wrong brought you face to face with one of said spiders.

Maybe they weren't that wrong...?

And, just you luck! The thing undoubtedly had black blood.

Just like a kid, you failed to remember or acknowledge the fact your group just happened to be chased by those types of monsters earlier, some still following you.

It just slipped your mind, completely.

Just like you slipped on the mud on your way out of the trees and back to the narrow path where your friends’ yells and blurry faces were awaiting and rushing towards you worriedly.

When did it start raining enough to create mud?

The mud smelled metallic.

Your memory was blurry, the world itself felt blurry.

Still, you half remembered, like a far away memory, stumbling out of the thick bushes and into many arms, blood equally as thick dripping from a gash in your abdomen like a waterfall in a rainy — stormy, more like — day.

Then, like a blink, a very long blink, your consciousness was gone.

It took an overly long while for you to wake up. It felt like sleeping during a rainy night, you never wanted to wake up the morning after, and even if you felt like waking up was the best idea, your body refused to open it's eyes.

Only difference was that for you it felt like an overly long rainy night, and like you spent the following week still asleep.

At some point sleeping even became boring.

And you had 9 voices in your head telling you to wake up “please”, when they weren't chatting — worriedly, most of the time — amongst each other. Didn't sound like the usual, to be honest.

When you did come to it, it was in a slow, painful way.

Your head felt like someone banged their shield against it multiple times. If bone was able to bleed, your skull would have been bleeding.

Your eyes also felt tired, despite having just woken up from a long, restless and dreamless nap.

However, your throat felt surprisingly fine, and so did the rest of your body, though you felt numb and weak.

Instantly, your senses were crowded by familiar scents a bit too close to you.

Twilight's was the one which overwhelmed the others, and was paired with the feeling of fur and warmth, overwhelming warmth.

Your body definitely felt too hot. that much you could tell. Though the sight of the many blankets, coats and furs — one specific dark gray fur, actually — explained that, and also the weight on top of you.

With some strain and trembling limbs, you sat up. Instantly regretting it when the sleepy feeling which was still clouding your mind and leaving your movements sluggish got torn away from your body by the force of a sharp pain on your abdomen, strong enough to challenge the dull one still hammering inside your head.

You made a groan of pain and pushed the pile of warmth on top of you to the side, making it fall off the cot you were laying in, exposing the reason for your pain.

This triggered a gasp from somewhere near you. You didn't pay attention, too focused on the strange sight of a large bandaged wound on your belly.

“Stray! You're awake! You're finally awake...” The voice came from above, you could recognize the soft yet shaky tone of Hyrule.

Yet the body which wrapped around your shoulders carefully, and clearly as gently as possible, were definitely from Sky.

“We thought we wouldn't be able to…” Sky swallowed some of his shaky words, trying to spare you from listening to his rambling and sobbing at the same time.

Hyrule grabbed your hand on the bed, opposite to Sky's side.

“You're even worse than Twilight in the “no response to potions or enchantments” aspect…” He gave you a weak smile, now you could guess why it took you so long to wake up.

They had to resort to different methods to try and keep you alive.

You made a face and nodded slowly, also leaning a bit more into Sky now that you weren’t that surprised anymore.

It took less than about 2 minutes for the rest of the group to come back to see you, which was quite curious for you, considering there weren't any messages exchanged through anyone — Sky and Hyrule refused to leave your side, and nobody else was around — and they were all the way out of camp and into a village's market.

Guess you'd never know how they found out.

Your recovery took far longer to finish than Twilight's, considering you had no previous strength built against the black stuff, so you just spent your time sitting around or being carried.

The fact you were, in fact, able to walk, was just another reason for that extreme boredom.

And you weren't even carried to many places! Just around camp!

To say you were itching to touch the grass with your actual flesh and feel the thrill of seeing new things again would be an absolute misunderstanding.

And of course you wanted to bound to the first available place you could the very moment you were released from your inability to carry yourself around.

Did you, though? No, not really.

“I'm gonna check out that pond.” You yawned with serotonin coursing through your veins. The same restless feeling you always got when you saw the beach, despite having seen it many times.

It was around the fourth or fifth time you asked to go check out something. The answer was always the same.

This time you felt completely healed though, so you were hopeful!

“And get attacked by that bokoblin?” Legend crossed his arm with a deep frown, he was always frowning, but that frown just seemed more deeper than the others you've seen before.

“What bokoblin?” It confused you, the pond was absolutely empty when it came to any live beings, though maybe not if you counted the greenery and a few fish.

“There could be one. You didn't see the skulltula last time, did you?”

Well that made you frown. It hit you directly where it hurt.

And now you were unsure about venturing that way.

You nodded, slowly.

“I'll get Warriors to go with you, if you want, once he's back from the planning with Time and Twilight. For now, let's just do some crocheting?”

You always tried to convince him you could go alone.

This time, you voiced no opinion.

[feroluce]

how do u imagine natasha + sampo’s relationship?

I. Feel a little bad for leaving this in my inbox as long as I did, especially since I said in this post I could write a whole essay on them. But then when I tried to actually answer this, I realized ah shit, I can't really articulate what I think of them at all OTL

(so have a bajillion words of meta analysis of them instead fklajklasjf)

Just! Sampo is very mysterious figure, and we know so little of his background and his motivations! So it's really difficult to get a solid read on some of his relationships with other characters. Regardless, I do think that Natasha is perhaps the one he's closest with, and that she is the one person who knows him the most intimately in all of Belobog.

And a lot of it IS hard to pin down because of Sampo's slippery nature, but also because it's like. If you look at just Natasha's dialogues about Sampo, it doesn't really look like much. It only becomes more meaningful when compared to how everyone else talks about him.

Most other characters just comment on what Sampo does, as in his observable actions that are easy to see on the surface or from a distance.

Natasha is one of the very, very few that actually speaks to Sampo's personality or philosophy. Like she not only is able to describe a certain behavior of his, but she's able to explain the why behind it.

At least part of this is probably that they spend so much time together- Hook even comments on it during her companion quest.

And tbh I don't really think it needs more proof or anything with such a flat out statement like that, but this is actually further supported by the fact that Seele is the only other character in Belobog to sorta-kinda comment on Sampo's personality; if Sampo were hanging around the clinic with Natasha all day, Seele would probably be the person he would see second-most there. Of the dialogues posted further up in this post, Hook obviously sees him all the time, but it's not always in the clinic, and besides she's still very young...she wouldn't have the same read on him an adult would. Luka avoids the clinic whenever he can because he's worried about taking up Natasha's valuable time. And the Landau siblings aren't even present in Boulder Town until after the Stellaron is quieted.

Seele, on the other hand, is extremely loyal and devoted to Natasha, and seems to worry about her a lot. She doesn't have the same reservations as Luka, and it would feel right to see her in the clinic frequently, taking orders and missions and trying to make sure Natasha doesn't run herself in the ground. So it would make sense for her to see a lot of Sampo if he's always in there, too, enough that she would have things to say about his personality, whether she likes that or not haha.

Of course we know from Sampo's lines that it's not that he's sick, he's just reporting back to Natasha. Sampo not only smuggles in supplies across the border like what most people know him for, he's also Natasha's source of intel.

Bringing back intel doesn't necessarily have to involve a lot of conversation though, especially because it would make more sense for Sampo to be turning in written reports. It decreases the chance of Natasha mishearing/misunderstanding something or having to rely on memory alone, neither of which are really things you probably want to be doing when bad intel can mean the difference between life and death in her circumstances. So I do really wonder what it is Sampo does in the clinic all day haha. Given that he's a big believer in the power of small talk bringing in big clients, it's entirely possible Sampo is just in there being chatty, happily making conversation and keeping Natasha company most of the time...which is kinda cute. He also really could just be talking shop, too, of course- Sampo does a lot of work for Natasha, and I don't think it'd be a stretch to assume she's his main client. There's probably a lot to discuss about supply quotas, incoming intel, scheduled drops, etc.

My favorite option, though, is actually based on one of Sampo's options from the main quest, where he says:

Because like! The way he says this, the way he specifies that this is his opinion, but no one seems to care what he thinks? And how he calls them stubborn in particular? It really sounds like Sampo has been trying to get Wildfire to operate in a different direction. And if you look up the exact definition of "artless," you get this

which very much fits Sampo, and how he does things. He has guile and deception down to an art form. Sampo goes on to call Wildfire "do-gooders," but then cautions the trailblazer not to underestimate them because of that- indicating that Sampo sees that type of philosophy as something naive, or at least just ineffective. Something that you would underestimate a person for.

And the person Sampo associates with the most in Wildfire, the one he's always seen with, the one who would hold the most sway to change the modus operandi of the organization is...Natasha.

So I wonder if Sampo has been trying, possibly for years now, to get Natasha to see what he thinks of as reason, and start playing dirty to survive. I wonder if that's what he spends so much time in the clinic for, is because he does care, and he wants her and the rest of them to live, and he has been trying to convince her to go with his way of doing things, but Natasha has been refusing him, refusing to compromise her morals.

Because we know from some readables and from the general Vibe, both up on the surface and down below, that things were getting pretty dire. Rivet Town has fallen. The Silvermane Guards are being whittled down and broken. The Fragmentum was right on everyone's doorstep, and I'm sure that if the Astral Express hadn't arrived- and that if Sampo hadn't set the stage so perfectly, if he hadn't played his part just so- then all of Belobog would have eventually been snuffed out. Sampo had to have known it was happening. He must have known the end was upon them.

He doesn't even have a stake in Belobog- he's not from here. He could, assumingly, call it quits and leave when shit got tough by whatever means got him there in the first place.

And I'm sure Sampo wants to save all of Belobog, but I think he's particularly endeared by Natasha. He famously phrases his view of Elation as "true happiness always entails the manifestation of the dignity of mankind." And like. Who else embodies that so much as her?

Maybe it is a little vague and up to interpretation, but I feel like Natasha is FULL of that kind of dignity. She has been doing this since before the blockade. She willingly chose to stay in the Underground where she could do the most good. She has seen so, so much death and you can see how it weighs on her; she's become bitter, and wary, and weary. She has it out for the Guards (understandable), and she openly taunts Gepard and goes right for his throat when he shows up in Boulder Town, ten years too late, trying to help with the Fragmentum.

Natasha even seems to have given up any belief she may have once had. She's completely lost faith in Qlipoth.

All of this, and yet she still chooses to be kind. She still chooses to help people. There is something immensely admirable in all of that.

And I feel like you can see how much Sampo admires her in just how often he thinks of her, especially when someone needs help. Sampo smokebombs everyone and needs to get them somewhere safe in the Underground? He takes them to Natasha. Svarog is about to fucking kill everyone? Go get Natasha. He finds the trailblazer passed out in an alleyway? He carries them to Natasha. The trailblazer is seeing weird shit out in the Fragmentum? Recommend they go get a check up. Specifically from Natasha.

It's a little silly, but I think you can also see some of this when Sampo is being melodramatic about being caught red-handed in the museum event. He echoes a very important sentiment to Natasha and Wildfire;

And the mission where this ideology was displayed strongest was titled, "To Rot or To Burn."

(Hell, in the dream sequence of Penacony- regardless of whether that dream bubble came from Sampo or Sparkle, it had to be informed by Sampo's tales of Belobog. Sparkle has never been there herself. And the kind trashcan that immediately helps you and sets you on the right path, that tries to rally everyone together, the only one with a name so clearly and obviously taken from someone Sampo knew in Belobog? Is Shatana- an anagram of Natasha. Even from a meta perspective, they have the same VA. No other trashcan there gets that treatment. None.)

I think they have the same goals, and even hold some of the same views. Natasha's are much more obvious, but still. Sampo says this about Belobog's circumstances:

And he says this as though it should be obvious common sense. That when things are rough, you share and make sure everyone has enough. I think they both share this belief, it's just that they disagree on how to go about making things even. Natasha believes in rallying people for the cause and giving as much of herself as she can to make up for whatever people lack. Sampo believes that if some dipshit with more money than what they need falls for his bullshit and he gets to spread it around? Well hey, that sounds like a whole lot of their own fault.

Natasha is definitely aware of this, and she has no problem threatening Sampo whenever she thinks he's stepping out of line.

She keeps him on a very short leash, which like. Yeah no that's valid fjkdlsajfdklj

Even so, the way she talks about him, like... Maybe it's just me, and my rose-colored glasses, but she doesn't seem to dislike him nearly as much as she could? She kind of just. Says these things as statements about him, without any real vitriol behind them. This is just kind of how he is. She even seems to have a sense of humor about it.

And again! She has so much more to say about him than almost any other character.

I'd like to think part of her...affection? of sorts? for him is simple camaraderie. Circumstances are dire. Past, present, and future are all bleak. Things like that deepen bonds with your foxhole buddies. Sampo is dependent on Natasha for work and pay and a place to get away from the Guards. Natasha is dependent on Sampo for food and medicine and life-saving supplies. They both heavily rely on each other in this harsh environment, and they have a really nice back-and-forth that I appreciate with how they help each other out by owing favors as payment.

And the other part, I'd like to think actually IS because she knows him very well- maybe not things like his past, but she knows some of his personality and beliefs, and finds them agreeable enough. She even has the audacity to call him a poor liar at one point- Sampo! Of all people! Known by someone well enough to be caught out as a poor liar! He's either intentionally leading her on and letting her think she's caught him, or Natasha just really is that good. Neither would surprise me tbh

I think Natasha is also just uniquely prepared to understand Sampo, and is able to see his better sides without letting her judgement be clouded by his slimy manner. She's able to appreciate that his actions ARE extremely helpful, regardless of how he does them.

Even as she acknowledges that he isn't always trustworthy, she does still choose to rely on him and give him chances. She was pleasantly surprised by him here, but she still chose to trust him with this in the first place. She never treats him harshly, and she never seems to bear any kind of grudge with him.

But my favorite example of Natasha being able to understand Sampo? My favorite is this. This one little throwaway line, that didn't even involve him, wasn't even about him. I feel like Natasha is capable of knowing and understanding Sampo on a deeper level than most people can, solely because of this.

She gets it.

(As a fun bonus: In the current trashcan event, there's a simple mechanic where you get one trial character for the initial battle. Then, for the harder stage, you get that same trial character, plus a couple of extras. This is true for every Proof- except for Sampo's. In his harder stage, you use Asta, Black Swan, and Luocha. But in his initial stage, in an event all about friendship and relationships...)

[spdrvyn]

Hello! May I request a Miguel O’Hara x reader (could be a spider person) but could the reader not be so submissive towards him (which is odd to him cuz everyone always listens to him) and instead they are more headstrong. They act like they hate each other and they���ll argue about almost anything. There’s this growing tension between them and neither one of them wants to admit it or back down and after another argument they finally just kiss and make up lol . It would also be pretty funny if everyone else knew they would get together eventually it was just a matter of time and so its not even a shock to them when they do. Also I live for the angst, fluff, build up and romance so you could add that or spin it however you want. Thank you!!! :3

a sense of loathing — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: you and miguel are rivals, to some extent. it was an unspoken assumption between the two of you that there was a major mutual dislike. at least, that's what you thought.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: angst. violence. grief. tragedy. minor character death. minor gore. miguel is an asshole. you are also a little bit of an asshole.

NOTES: i really liked this ask, i wanted to write what a rivals to lovers relationship with miguel would be like so here it is! admittedly, i got a little carried away as you can see from the... warnings... and because of that, i'll have to write a second part for this fic. anyway, enjoy!

You considered yourself to be a civil person.

Sure, sometimes the little things ticked you off and your temper was shorter than most people but you learned to tamp it down over the years and not to start meaningless arguments.

Unless it came to criminal scum or whatever ravenous beast that you encountered on your duties as a Spider-Person but you liked to think that they deserved it. They were doing horrible things, so they didn't really deserve any of the niceties.

Whenever you found yourself disliking someone that wasn't either of those two things, you'd try to create as much distance as possible. It would be easier on you and on them.

But when it came to your boss...

Look, it's not like you absolutely despised the guy. You partially understood his motivations and his reasons for going about things but the way he acted upon it and his attitude made him so insufferable that it was hard to keep your head straight.

He was sarcastic, uncharismatic, and somewhat unlikeable.

Whenever you tried reasoning with him during arguments, he always had something to snap back with or a snide remark up his sleeve that leaves you seething.

How you ranted on and on about how he could be so difficult. To which your companions just responded with a shrug of their shoulder saying: "that's just how he is sometimes".

Which only angered you even further, among everyone in this god forsaken Spider Society, nobody has thought to talk back and call him out for his behavior?

Either that or someone did but never lived to tell the tale.

No, that was too ominous. You were aware that Miguel was more violent than most, you wouldn't be surprised if he's killed a guy before but he wasn't too far gone to land a hit on his own recruits.

Land a hit on you? If you pushed him enough then maybe.

Thinking about having a reasonable conversation with Miguel seemed like a long and faraway fantasy. The day that would occur would be the day that Spider-People don't have to go through soul-crushing loss to develop as a person. As a hero.

You couldn't even relate to him on that end, whenever it came to personal discussion, his lips were as sealed as a bank vault. It frustrated you to no end.

You kind of understood where he was coming from, talking about one's past can pass as a difficult subject but you just found it harder and harder to sympathize for him.

It was even harder when actually trying to collaborate with Miguel on missions. He was the boss, you knew but the amount of orders that he gave you caused your brain to throb.

Nevertheless, you persisted.

Perhaps, you persisted a little too hard, as when he asked (more like demanded) that you go on this search with him; you couldn't find it in yourself to decline.

According to and detected by the small gadget thingymajig (you couldn't bother remembering what it's called) planted by one of the other Spider-People, you and Miguel stood outside of the extremely worn down Alchemax. It's shattered windows and tattered architecture uninviting and cold.

"How cozy." You remarked, arms folded over your chest as your eyes darted around the crumbling building. The challenge of seeing how much your anger could boil everytime Miguel responded to you with a scoff or grunt begun.

He went in without a word, disappearing into the foggy debris to which you tail behind him. As you properly enter the building, it looks just as pathetic as the outside.

Abandoned, dark, decrepit. It was a sad display.

On your left, you spot an escalator. A tall statue peeks from your view on the ground floor, you go in that direction in hopes of checking out the area—

Until, there's something that binds your wrist. You look down and see tight, neon red webbing and before you could even say anything, you were tugged back rather harshly. Closer to Miguel.

You nearly stumble back from the whiplash but the webbing disintegrates into thin air once you find balance and are a few inches away from him.

"Stay close. Each time we visit a place like this, it's an entirely new layout and setting. Do you want to get jumped?"

"Right, because you know everything? You can detect an ambush from miles away, with what sense exactly?"

You didn't even need to see him unmasked to feel the eye roll, it's there. He did it, signified by the way the 'eyes' on his mask narrow ever so slightly.

He doesn't bother snapping back, he goes to the right immediately. Before you could lose him in the fog, you stay close by. Tailing right behind him.

You know one thing now, he takes very long strides and is a very fast walker compared to you. Although, his mere size explains all of that. To be fair, it's not like you were a big, strong, man that couldn't be any less than six feet. How was he expecting you to catch up exactly?

Not minding the marathon that Miguel is making you run through, you two trudge through cracked cieling tiles and fallen over vending machines.

For a lab, it seemed to be a little more devoid of actual scientific chemicals or gadgets. Abandoned places like these had some sort of stench to them but you couldn't get a whiff of anything besides cement and dry wall.

Although, perhaps there was a reason for that. Most of the windows were shattered open, you noted the glass that was scattered all around the ground around when you were outside a while ago. You were just getting a better look at it now from the interior.

The glassless windows provided some more light inside the structure, the shimmer and shine of the distant city painting the dirty floors in a tint of yellow.

You found yourself getting lost in the view, that you had almost forgotten your pesky superior who had you on the tips of your toes.

Thankfully, you're able to catch up to Miguel before he completely disappears into the darkness but before you can take even a step closer, he holds his arm out in front of you.

"Can you hear that?"

You shoot him a confused and unamused glare through your mask before it was clear to you. The faint sound of someone...

Crying.

Your gaze shifts to each corner of the room that you were in, in an attempts to pinpoint where exactly it was coming from but the sobs practically bounced off of the walls, making it even harder.

The wailing then gets louder. Increasingly so. As if it was approaching you rapidly.

You lean to the side a bit, trying to look ahead to see if there was anything getting closer and there was. Miguel moves back, with you along with him. Blades emerge from the sleeve of his right arm.

"Wait," You put a hand on his bicep but his gaze seems to be fixated on whatever is going to come out of the cloud of fog ahead of you. The figure is small, a funnel shape, and a very noticeable bow. "It's a kid."

"Disguised as an anomaly."

"Are you being serious right now?" You scoff at him. Patting his arm, but when he doesn't relent - you nudge him on a little. "Let me through, if it's actually trouble then bitch all you want back at HQ."

With a sigh, he puts his arm down and lets you go. You and the child meet in the center of the atrium, somewhat. The kid falls and slips onto her butt, before she continues crying.

She doesn't seem to be above the age of eight, you kneel down in front of her and slowly raise your mask. You can see Miguel jolt forward as if to stop you but appears to have stopped himself.

You get a closer look at her. She has a brown complexion, darker brown hair that's tied back into a ponytail with a little bow hairtie, a slightly frilly dress but the frills at the end are all tattered.

The girl looks up at you through teary eyes, they fell down her cheeks like a continuous stream. You put your hands up in a placating gesture and wore the kindest smile you could muster.

"Hey, hey..." You uttered, volume barely above a whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Where are your parents?"

Even when you tried to the best of your ability to reassure her, the tears continued to drip down like a never ending waterfall. If she was trying to say something, it come out as a choked gasp or a hic.

You sighed, talking to kids wasn't exactly your strong suit and you don't even know how this little one even got here but you tried your best to be as understanding as possible.

"Me and my... friend here were looking around to see if there were any lost people. Are you lost? What's your name?" Your tone was delicate, gentle even. It quelled whatever breakdown the child was going through. Very little but it was progress.

She continued to wipe at her tears but the previous noises that she was making halted to some degree, on occasion she'd try stifle a small sob but it was all sniffles now.

"Yeah, there we go." You reassured her. "We're not bad people, if you can tell us where your parents are, we'll see if we can find them."

You tried to look all nice and friendly for the kid but deep down, you were a teeny bit terrified. An eight year old shouldn't have any business in an abandoned Alchemax.

A 'bring your kid to work' day doesn't even justify this either because the establishment looks years old from the time it was abandoned. The location was also deserted, which means there's a good chance that her parents are far away by now.

You also noticed that Miguel wasn't doing anything, he's been standing in the exact same spot since a while ago. Most likely observing your interaction with this girl.

Still, it confused you. You didn't know or understand much of Miguel's past but you knew bits and pieces, you knew that he had a family. Shouldn't talking to the children be what he's doing right now?

There was no time to question it, you're snapped out of your daze when the girl finally said her name.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Briana. My name is Briana."

"Briana," You parroted. "That's a very nice name. Are you okay now? Do you - do you want a hug? Hugs can make people feel better when they're sad."

She shakes her head, swiping at one stray tear that fell down from her puffy eyes. "No, thank you. My mommy and daddy say that I shouldn't hug strangers."

"Right, of course." You nervously take your hands back and scratch the back of your head. "Your mommy and daddy, do you know where they are?"

Another shake of the head. There was a good chance that yiu and Miguel would have to escort her back to city, to a police station or a hospital and whatnot. Looking for her parents in this forest would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

You're about to stand up, maybe bring Briana over to Miguel and tell him that you need to take her back to the city first but you get that dreadfully familiar tingle on your head.

"Sorry for this!" You exclaim, before suddenly grabbing Briana by the shoulders and pulling her to the side as a tiny explosion lands right where you were just kneeling by.

Emerging from the fog is unfortunately, Green Goblin, although he looks very different from most of the other variants you've seen of him. This Green Goblin looks less green and more of a creamy brown paper color, he lacks color besides the pencil lines.

He looks more like an incomplete sketch if anything and a lot more olden timesy, almost like he was from the Renaissance era or something like that.

"Look out!" You hear Miguel shout as another explosive is chucked at you and Briana, you both go in completely directions. As you were about to try and grab her again, the villain is quicker. Swooping down and sweeping Briana up in his arms with a cruel laughter.

You have to bite back a certain f-word from coming out of your mouth as Green Goblin veers to the left, up the floor you were about to investigate when you had first entered.

Swiftly, you put on your mask as you rushed to run up the escalator to which Miguel followed closely behind.

You've heard remnants of gossip from your colleagues anout Renaissance looking anomalies but you've never thought to encounter one yourself any time soon.

Green Goblin was absolutely going on a rant about god knows what but it was incomprehensible to you, like he was speaking in a different language.

Once you reach the upper floor, Green Goblin perches himself up on the top of this globe looking statue. He had an arm wrapped around Briana's neck, proceeding to yell some nonsense in Italian, before pointing at you and Miguel.

"What is this guy even saying?"

Miguel doesn't bother answering your question, he's silent.

It was more than safe to assume that this guy was using Briana as hostage but considering the language barrier, figuring out what exactly he wanted was tough game.

You know all about how Green Goblins are like. Vindictive, cutthroat, and annoying. From that, you guessed that if he was going to drop the little girl if he didn't receive whatever handsome payment that he was expecting.

It was risky, but if you reacted quick enough then you might be able to catch her. Seemed like Miguel had figured that out also when he leaned into you and whispered:

"I'll find a way to get to him to drop the girl, you catch her. I'll subdue him. You got that?"

"Then what? I can't exactly bring her back to the city by myself but we can't keep her here while we're fending this guy off."

"Open a portal. I'll give you a day pass for her."

The statement shunted you a little. Miguel didn't particularly enjoy bringing back anything or anyone that wasn't an anomaly back to his dimension.

You don't want to push his buttons right now though and it's not like you were going to disagree, he puts a day pass in your hands before shooting a web at the statue to sling himself up.

His sharp talons dig into the surface of the sculpture, he swipes at Green Goblin in an attempt to tail onto his hoverboard but once again, the villain is quicker.

It's a small chase that goes on for a while. You move carefully and circle around the carving just in case that he'll let go of Briana or drop her on accident but the grip he keeps on her is firm.

A web shoots out from Miguel's shooter, sticking directly to Green Goblin's chest. He tugs on it harshly, causing the other to lose balance and fall off of the floating board. Briana along with it.

You jump and hitch the little girl into your arms, murmuring soft reassurances like 'it's okay' or 'we got it handled'. You carefully slip the day pass onto her wrist and it secures onto her tightly.

Good timing, a loud thud rings in your ears as you turn your head. Miguel presses the anomaly into the bare dirt, unfortunately he's still conscious.

You press a couple buttons on your gizmo, squinting a little as you're met with the same dizzying array of colors. You pat Briana gently on the back, ushering for her to go inside.

She seems hesitant but you can't exactly blame her, not everyday that a kid goes into an interdimensional portal. You rub the small of her back encouragingly.

However, just as she's about to enter, just as she's about to retreat to safety -

Your eyes widen in shock as a blade pierces through her body, she coughs and similar to the tears that continued to fall down her cheek now it was a stream of blood oozing out of her mouth.

Miguel seemed stunned too, he looks down to see Green Goblin with a shit-eating smile on his face and a hand out. He threw it. He killed her.

You don't even hesitate to catch her, watching as she bleeds out on your lap. "No, no, no. Briana, Briana?"

Almost immediately, Miguel lands a hard blow against the villain's head. Knocking him straight into unconsciousness, he pulls out another gadget that you couldn't find a name for but it activates some sort of cage around the anomaly.

You called out her name a couple more times, hand shaking above the spot she was stabbed but all she did was cough and cough and cough. Each one a painful reminder that she was nearing her end.

When her chest rose and fell slowly and slowly as the moment passed, when her skin went pale, when her body went limp. You realized exactly what happened.

You swore that the air got colder.

Slowly, you stood up. Letting Briana's corpse rest against the floor of the Alchemax. You could barely look back up at Miguel, who had another much unimportant body in his hands.

You couldn't stand looking at it anymore. Angrily, you snatched Green Goblin's unconscious body from Miguel's grasp and tossed it into the portal.

"We should go."

You grumbled. But your colleague's mind seemed to be elsewhere, he looked down at the lifeless child. Mind seemingly blanking.

"Miguel?"

Not much to your surprise as he simply walks past you, stopping a step away from the portal.

"Let's go."

request rules here, masterlist here

[comradeboyhalo]

I had wrote a post a month ago about q!Bad's role in the narrative, and I want to revisit it. (Full disclaimer, this is just Not Real. I'm analyzing mcrp like a conventional narrative for fun. There are no actual "roles": every character is a main character.)

The analysis had come after months of Bad being a large part of lore, but not a major player. The mysteries and missions he went on were never his own. He was known as a strong fighter, until the codes directed their attention at Etoiles. He was second place in the election. Characters would get kidnapped or given enigmas, and q!Bad always played support. At the time, we were all impatient that he had no special Federation plotline after months of arriving on the island (no shade to the admins here - we're not talking meta).

But that brings us to present day, and suddenly Bad has become a very proactive character. His kids are gone, he has a motive, and suddenly he's the one changing the story. In literature, there is the trope of a "passive character": one that is affected by the story, one who is led by the plot. q!Bad is certainly not this character anymore. Instead of letting the Federation set the scene, he takes a page out of their book. He kidnaps one of theirs. Instead of theorizing about a spy like he did months ago, he's now actively feeding information to others to find a puppet. His skin is deteriorating due to his self-inflicted punishment. There has been a spike in posts and tweets about how Bad did [x] to [y] character. And that's what I'm talking about: Bad is moving his own plot. He is now what others react to.

And still. This is not Federation-designed. This is all on his hands. It's very rare that QSMP characters are so untouched by the Federation. Many characters are punished by the Federation. Many characters discover a storyline tied to the Federation. Many characters are experiments of the Federation. Bad has none of this. And I'm not at all saying this is unique to Bad, or that Bad is the only one who's actively moving his own plot, I just think that this provides a really interesting insight to Bad's character. (Again: this is a NON-META analysis! Every creator writes/helps writes their own storylines).

He is an extremely insular character. The Federation only investigated him when he made himself too hard to ignore. Aside from that? They do nothing. Secret shulker boxes? They were tied to Cellbit's lore. The tickets? Everyone ended up getting one. Imprisonment? Okay, but only for 15 minutes. He remembers his backstory, he remembers his life before the island. While the Federation could have interfered anytime in his lifetime, he's over 11,000 years old. His core trauma stems from (presumably) Atlantis. None of that is connected at all to the Federation. Drop q!Bad in another server, and nothing about his backstory changes. The more I think about it, the more odd it strikes me that Bad is an original islander, and he is so untouched by the Federation.

So this brings us to Bad's biggest Federation tie, which are the emails from before the server started. And even then, it implies that Bad is not a worker or an experiment, but a guest. And a special one, at that. It's very hard to take the emails as any definitive evidence, but what stands out to me is this quote:

"We are seeking quotes for the purchase of 1393 muffins to satisfy the extra demand of our special guest."

Each word here is the Federation catering to the special guest. The Federation has been given a demand, and they are fulfilling it. They are the reactionary party here. They are not the ones pulling the strings. They are not penning this story. It is the guest who is doing so, and, in theory, q!Bad.

So we come back to the same conclusion. Perhaps this has always been Bad's "role" - the special guest of Quesadilla Island. Invited to sit at the table, but not to give a speech. Perhaps he just never is going to get that Federation-tailored storyline because he is not meant to. His story started in Atlantis and he will always be pushing forward his own already-established plot. The Federation is just another antagonist in an already long, long tale. Everything he does is self-inflicted. Doesn't it make sense if this applies to the narrative as well?

[karuvapatta]

buckle up, I'm gonna bitch about Arcane season 2 for a while.

disclaimer: the animation and art direction is absolutely stellar, writing and voice acting is mostly solid, music ranges from good to amazing, sound design is great, and it's a great show overall.

HOWEVER:

There were so many interesting subplots and ideas, but not one of them had enough room to breathe or time to develop organically.

(spoilers under cut)

Caitlyn - I love the subplot about her becoming a fascist dictator and Ambessa's pupil, I really do. But then it sort of fizzled? She faced no repercussions for installing a police state and using chemical weaponry against civilians? The last one got to me especially - her mother built this system claiming that "the people of Undercity deserve to breathe" and Caitlyn then turned it against them. Okay, Vi and Jinx both called her out and it left to her rift with Vi, but... she's still in charge at the end, having seemingly learned no lessons?

Vi - uh, she was there. Sort of. Most of the time. Again, she joined the Enforcers, and it led to SOME conflict, but... is she going back to being an Enforcer? how does she feel about that? Who knows - Vi was mostly there for Cait and Jinx's subplots than her own.

Jinx - her subplot with Sevika and Isha was my second favourite thing about this season. The idea of her becoming a symbol and uniting Zaun is great. That little moment in the prison was awesome. But, ultimately - it didn't amount to much. Her sacrificing her life for Vi (or not, I don't know if she actually dies) didn't hit as much because we already knew she was actively suicidal.

Isha - had the potential to be super annoying, but like I said, I ended up really liking her character. Her death rubbed me the wrong way, however - it was very emotional, but the framing was very strange. Were we supposed to find it inspirational? Tragic but beautiful? Proof that Jinx isn't irredeemable?

Sevika - again: loved her, loved her interactions with Jinx and Isha.

Silco - I found it weird how this season consistently framed him as a good guy. Jinx and Sevika remember him fondly, he was the only thing holding Zaun together, there are cute flashbacks / AU versions of him and Vander being happy... he's a complex character and we love him for it, but let's not forget his many, many crimes.

Singed - kinda weird that he got what he wanted with no repercussions.

Mel - all right, her subplot bothered me perhaps most of all. Mel is a joy every time she's on screen, true, but last season she had been established as a savvy politician and businesswoman, motivated by her mommy issues, and a corrupting presence on Jayce. She pushed for progress at all costs to fulfil her own ambitions and prove something to her mother. That's a great setup! But what we got in s2 is... random superpowers out of nowhere. Mel always had power - she was the richest woman in Pilltover and basically ran its Council - but now instead of confronting her with the potential side-effects of Hextech, the consequences of her ambitions, and the futility of proving herself to her abusive warmongering mother, she just gets... more power. Out of nowhere. And validation from Ambessa. It was just weird.

Jayce and Viktor - easily the most compelling part of this season, and my favourite subplot. And STILL - it felt rushed and incoherent. I thought at first that Viktor would become jealous and resentful because Jayce is everything that he isn't, and I am honestly so glad they didn't take that route. But instead, Viktor gets... brainwashed by the Hexcore I guess? Ascends to a higher plane of existence? His Jesus Days and his cults were fascinating, but I didn't get the philosophy behind them at all. I can see why Viktor would want to shed his physical body for a machine that has none of its weakness, and how he might convince others to follow that path, but instead he chose to brainwash his followers and then assimilate the entire human race? What? There were so, so many potential sources of conflict between himself and Jayce - the Hextech weaponry Jayce built, Pilltover's fascist takeover of the Undercity, Jayce reviving him against his will and not destroying the Hexcore, accidentally poisoning Ekko's tree through their irresponsible use of Hextech... but the conflict we got didn't built on any of that. And I don't understand why.

(But I get you, Jayce/Viktor shippers. You won this round.)

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 6

Read on AO3. Part 5 here. Part 7 here.

Summary:

If u feeled my cock. U didn't feel it bc u felt it. No u didn't 🩷 ~ Col. William Tavington

Words: 4600

Warnings: Tavington is just a dick dude

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia. Firstly, I'm so sorry that I'm the worst at summaries, but like. I don't know. I used to do real ones and now I just make jokes as the summary chapter. I'm sorry.

Secondly, HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS ONE. I mentioned this in a comment before, but if you've read either of our other works, doing such dialogue-heavy scenes is so new and challenging for us. We're really loving writing this and hearing your thoughts is genuinely the most gratifying, rewarding gift we could get in response.

Prommy they're going to resolve some of this sexual tension soon. I know I keep saying in ABC chapters and lying but. FOR REAL THIS TIME

LOVE YOU SO MUCH <3

You weren’t sure what you’d expected when the door opened.

Absent from your side, William Tavington had become to you, in many ways, more like a beast than a man. In your memory, his eyes were clear sky fraught with storm, his cheeks dusted with shadow, his hair unwinding from the days of travel; he snarled, sneered, panted; he hunted you, teeth gnashing at your ear. Perhaps you’d anticipated to see him hunched over a desk, fur splintering through his clothes, maw leaking saliva and blood over the parchment under his paws.

Instead, you were unwillingly made breathless.

Sunlight filtered through the parted curtains and glazed the rich wooden interior, its rays catching the edge of Tavington’s profile and casting it incandescent. Spools of copper wound through his hair in its light, hair that was now sleekly plaited and wrapped. His face was shaved fresh, his uniform pressed and impeccable. His hands ceased their work when you entered, and your thoughts hung on his clean, manicured fingernails. On what they might feel like tracing your skin.

You broke your own fixation, your eyes flicking to his face just in time to watch his gaze dip below your collarbones and then away, as if he’d caught himself. His jaw stiffened.

“Good day, Colonel,” said Cornwallis, and Tavington stood, nodding toward the general.

“Indeed, my Lord,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, at your leisure.”

You waited for Cornwallis to settle in before taking the chair next to his, and your nose flooded with the scent of apples and leather. Your back straightened in realization that you were eye-level with Tavington for the first time. You weren’t sure if he realized this, however, since he steadfastly refused to look at you.

“The release arrangement has been drawn up, my Lord, all that’s left is to record the intelligence,” he said. “I trust that our prisoner has indicated a willingness to be cooperative.”

“Prisoner.” Cornwallis huffed in dismissal. “Why even mention it?” he asked, then turned to you. “We had a delightful walk over here, did we not?”

Tavington’s attention did not leave Cornwallis, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. You plastered on the widest smile you could.

“Oh, yes,” you said. “I found myself in quite good company. Not all of my experiences with British officers have been so pleasant, sadly, but Your Lordship is exceptional.” You stared straight at Tavington, who appeared to be trying to snap metal with his teeth.

But when Cornwallis glanced at him—or perhaps even a blink before—he relaxed, his irritation swallowed underneath obsequience.

“That is a shame,” Cornwallis said. “But—to the contribution you're so eager to provide. Shall we create a record, Colonel?”

As Tavington swiped a fresh piece of parchment and began a quick notation, you studied his face, searching for some revelation regarding his motives. He’d brought you in here, arranged this for reasons you still didn't understand. If you were expected to release information, you wanted assurance that Grace was actually safe, that this wasn't some trick.

“I believe,” you began, louder than you'd intended, “I’d like to make a request. If that wouldn't break propriety.”

Tavington, who was still writing, raised a brow.

“Would it be possible,” you said, “to read over the terms of my sister's release? I'd like to ensure her safety.”

“Is that so?” Tavington said, his focus following his pen. “A great lack of faith for someone with such strong fealty to the Crown.”

You frowned. “Nothing of the sort, Colonel.”

Cornwallis leaned forward in his chair, the sun shimmering off his gilded uniform. “Well, my dear, let’s simply start with what you have.”

“Of course,” you said, inching toward Tavington’s desk. “But certainly it wouldn’t be an issue to simply… simply review the language?”

“The language is as follows,” Tavington said, his voice tight but still exceedingly polite. “You provide intelligence. Your sister’s parole is approved.”

“A very simple arrangement,” Cornwallis added.

“Well, yes,” you said, offering Cornwallis a placating grin. “But.” You reached for the paper. “I think I’d just like to—”

Tavington’s hand slammed to cover the parchment, his eyes finally spearing you. Your fingers hung in the air, immobilized under his stare, like your puppeteer had forgotten to release you.

“I thought she was… what was it Your Lordship said?” Tavington said, his attention unwavering from you. “Eager to provide?”

Cornwallis looked at you now too, a concerned crease to his brow.

“I… am,” you said, easing back into your chair. “I am. It’s—”

“That is, of course, assuming you do have information to provide.” Tavington’s head tilted to the side, daring you.

You glared into him. Whatever reason he’d had for bringing you here, he wanted nothing more than to deny you its outcome. It annoyed you—as if you’d ordered him to draw up some release, to trot you out to this building with his general, to make you perform for your sister’s life. But you recognized too that pushing to see this parchment (though you wanted to, very badly) would place your current favor with Cornwallis in danger.

Have patience, your father’s voice whispered like a breeze through your mind. So familiar was the reminder, so oft uttered by him to you, that you nearly whipped around to see if he was standing in the room.

Your palms sweat. If there were ever a situation in which to heed him, it was this one. For now, at least, Grace was alive, and you were putting her in jeopardy with your haste. You needed to re-strategize.

“Sir,” you said, exhaling haughtily. “I understand we didn’t see eye-to-eye on the road, but forgive me for trying to ensure some stability after a very trying few days—”

“Do allow the young lady a sliver of your generosity,” Cornwallis said.

Tavington’s lip twitched. “My Lord,” he began through his teeth, “with respect, this young lady has a storied history of treachery and resistance to the Crown.”

“Colonel,” Cornwallis said, voice soft. The authority in it made you sit up. “This young ladymay be one of the only avenues you have to ensure the longevity of your military career. I suggest you offer her lenience.”

Tavingon snorted. “I hardly—”

“I understand your misgivings, Colonel,” you interjected, snapping both men’s attention to you. Tavington’s gaze burned. “I admit that witnessing the brutality you exacted upon my neighbors caused me no small measure of offense. However, my belief in the righteousness of His Majesty’s campaign is enough to surmount my reservations about some of its representatives.”

Ignoring the flash of fury over Tavington’s face, you turned to Cornwallis. “Your Lordship, I’m sure, will therefore understand my pertinacity in assuring that the same harm does not befall my beloved sister.” You offered him an apologetic smile. “I will, of course, be forthcoming in the disclosure of all that I know.”

Cornwallis exhaled. “A modest request to be sure, born of gentle intention.” He raised a brow at Tavington. “Unless, Colonel, you maintain that a young woman’s concern for her family constitutes the actions of a traitor.”

The statement must have been rhetorical, because Cornwallis then turned his shoulder to Tavington in order to address you directly.

“My dear,” he said, leaning forward to look in your eyes, “I shall act as personal guarantor of your sister’s safety in this matter. Consider it promised that, upon our adjournment here, she will be free to return home without harassment or further detention. I trust that my dependable colonel shall see it done.”

He shot a look at Tavington from under his brow, awaiting acknowledgement. Tavington gave a stiff nod, only betrayed by the smallest flare of his nostrils.

“Now please,” Cornwallis said. “I am eager to know your insights.”

It was not a second after he spoke that you truly asked yourself what you even knew.

They wanted actionable intelligence on your father. There was no way you’d give them that. But you had to provide something with substance enough to both bolster Cornwallis’s faith in you and get Tavington off your back. This could be your only chance to place yourself in a favorable position with the British army. A position with the power to influence your father’s fate, should he be captured. You would be a fool to squander it.

“Before the Virginia detachment returned north,” you began, recalling your discussion with Wilson, “they distributed dispatches among riders to be run into the country. Communications of the sort.” Your fingers twisted together. You felt Tavington’s attention on you, scrutinizing. “Since the Continentals lost their foothold here, I believe they’re hoping to spark rebellion among the populace. Myself and the colonel already witnessed evidence of a bolstered militia at Dorchester.”

Exhaling, you glanced between the two men. Cornwallis appeared deep in thought, rubbing a hand along his chin. A new line had appeared in Tavington’s brow as well, and his writing paused, just for a moment, before resuming.

“Indeed,” Cornwallis muttered. “This corroborates your own report, Colonel.”

Tavington said nothing, though his quill continued to scratch. Cornwallis gestured for you to continue.

You chewed your lip, considering the two rivers Wilson had mentioned. It fell to you now to condemn one of those settlements to an onslaught of violence at your behest, should you point the British army in its direction. Violence which, it occurred to you, might inflame anti-British sentiment in the region. If your father truly was gathering militia, that could facilitate his efforts. You winced inwardly as the thought passed. Who were you to ordain what sacrifices others must make?

It didn’t matter. The British would come for those settlements now, or they would come for them later. Both Grace and your father needed you now.

The Ashley was close to Charleston, but you could see your father taking that risk. His theory would likely align with your own—hoping to capitalize on bitter sentiments there in the wake of the town’s siege to recruit an invigorated, vindictive militia.

In this, at least, you could buy him time. You would damn the Santee.

“I was told,” you continued, “that my father was one of the riders sent, and that he was headed for the settlements along the Santee river. His intention will be to organize existing militia and recruit more, if he’s not in hiding.”

Cornwallis nodded, indicating to Tavington to record what you’d said. “That strikes me as reasonable,” he said. “We recently encountered a dispatch rider from Waxhaws on our ride here. He was dead, of course.” He nodded again. “But it’s my belief this is credible.”

Tavington placed a particularly emphatic point at the end of what he was writing. “Are you not concerned for your father, considering your current effort to betray him?”

Heat rushed your neck. Tavington didn’t believe a word out of your mouth—and he rightfully shouldn’t have—as admitting this was entirely discordant with your character as he knew it. But you only needed Cornwallis’s ignorance to this fact for now.

“My concern for my father,” you replied as earnestly as possible, “grows each passing day knowing he risks his life for a senseless cause.” You directed a pleading look at Cornwallis. “As we discussed, my Lord, I only wish for the chance to impress reason upon him.”

“Don’t fret about that just yet,” Cornwallis said, reaching to pat your arm. Tavington’s shoulders rolled. “We shall have plenty of opportunity to discuss possibilities once he’s in custody.”

You nodded, offering a worried, contrite expression. “I understand. Thank you, my Lord. Truly.”

Cornwallis chuckled. “Very well, very well,” he said. “Have you notated it all, Colonel? In detail?”

“Excruciating.” Tavington’s tongue rolled in his mouth as he added a few short asides underneath the lines he’d already written. His gaze fell, witheringly, on you. “Thank you very much.”

Summoning your sweetest smile in return, you bowed your head. “My pleasure, Colonel.”

Cornwallis grinned, rising from his seat. “Well, this has been a brief but effective conference.” He took your hand and bowed to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Your loyalty is a boon to His Majesty’s virtuous campaign, my dear.”

“My Lord,” you said, leaning forward to stand as well. “If I might make one final request before you depart.”

“Please.” His hand moved to your shoulder to press you gently back into your seat. “You need not exert yourself. I shall be happy to hear your request.”

With a demure smile, you settled once more. “An escort, if possible, for my sister’s return to Catawba. I worry about her terribly after her time in custody.”

Cornwallis cast you a look of pity, patting your shoulder. “But of course. In fact, one of my most trusted majors is set to depart for Catawba tomorrow with his men. You and your sister shall both enjoy utmost safety in his company.”

Just as you brightened in surprise, Tavington’s brow furrowed. “Both, my Lord?”

“Yes,” Cornwallis replied, as if it was the most obvious fact in the room.

With some reluctance, Tavington said, “I am afraid I must strongly object.”

It was Cornwallis’ turn to frown. “The terms of her parole are equal to any other civilian demonstrating Loyalist allegiance, as you know,” he said. “Please enlighten me as to the nature of your objection.”

“With respect, your Lordship takes a great leap in assuming such sentiment is sincere,” Tavington replied. “I do not believe this woman has enough experience with sincerity to make it through a church service, let alone a military negotiation.”

Cornwallis sighed. “Colonel, she’s a woman.” You bit your tongue. Just when you were beginning to consider him tolerable. “An injured woman, at that. What on God’s earth could she possibly be capable of that has you so deeply concerned?”

“She is the daughter of a Continental army captain,” Tavington replied tightly. “I imagine she may be capable of a great deal where the proliferation of rebel sentiment is concerned.”

“This same worry rationally applies to the sister whose release we've just negotiated,” Cornwallis said. “Why scrutinize the single member of this family who has, by your own admission, actually aided the campaign?”

Tavington’s jaw tensed. His attention darted between you and Cornwallis. “You've made yourself clear, my Lord.” His voice hovered above a whisper. “However, I humbly implore you to consider the possibility of deception. It would be prudent to, at the very least, maintain her custody until this intelligence produces results.”

You sat, lips pinched between your teeth. Cornwallis stared at Tavington, his chest falling in a tired sigh. He massaged one of his temples.

“Fine, Colonel,” he muttered. “What do you suggest?”

“That her parole stipulates she remain in Charleston.” Tavington was already sitting taller. “Board her with one of the families here until her allegiance proves reliable.” He paused. “Goddard, perhaps.”

You stifled the instinct to laugh. “Excuse me, Colonel—”

“Yes.” Cornwallis glanced around the room like it would yield to him an explanation for why he was still having this conversation. “Yes, all right. If that will satisfy your unending reservations.”

The tiniest, smuggest, most infuriating quirk appeared on Tavington's mouth. “Thank you, my Lord.” He shifted in his chair, possessed by authority. “In fact, haven't you business with General Clinton this afternoon? I believe he mentioned he departs tomorrow for New York.” Before Cornwallis could reply, he continued, “Leave me to manage the arrangements. I should hate to further burden your schedule today.”

Cornwallis exhaled, nodding along as Tavington spoke. “Very well. Most gracious of you. I trust, of course, that you shall investigate the Santee settlements with haste.”

“My legion will set out tonight,” Tavington replied. A cold sensation gripped your chest.

You attempted the daintiest throat-clearing you could. It still emerged horse-like. “I am—ah—I am so sorry, but if I could—”

“My dear.” Cornwallis stepped around his chair, adjusting his jacket. “You needn’t worry. Colonel Tavington is my most efficient officer. Your stay shan’t be long.” He gave you a grin that could console only the most gormless of children. “And you'll be most welcome among your fellow Loyalists.”

“Indeed,” Tavington said, standing now as well. “Please do not allow technicalities to keep you, sir. I shall provide correspondence before I depart.” His focus flicked to the door, as if he was ushering Cornwallis out.

“Very well. Thank you, Colonel,” said Cornwallis. “My faith in you is never misplaced.”

Tavington gave a curt bow.

You were, for once, lost for words. It wasn't a surprise Tavington had won this round. You just hadn't expected him to win so decisively. And between arranging this meeting and his dedication to seeing its culmination being your suffering, you wondered his goal in its construction altogether. It would've been far easier for him to torture your sister in front of you for information than invite Cornwallis into her release.

He remained standing as the general departed the room, his eyes trained on the entrance and following the ensign, Goddard, as he walked through it. Goddard looked at you, then dipped his head to Tavington.

“Orders to escort—”

“Out,” Tavington said.

Goddard paused, blinked. “Lord Cornwa—”

“Turn around,” Tavington said, his tone raising gooseflesh on your arms, “and shut the door.”

Eyes wide, Goddard obeyed, spinning on his heel and sealing you inside the office with the Butcher.

Your heartbeat slowed and consolidated, a single pulse from your throat to your thighs. Tavington loomed over the desk, palms planted on the parchment, his gaze blistering your skin. You felt stripped under his attention, as naked as when you’d bathed in the river.

“You escape detention,” he said, “evade capture. Refuse cooperation.” He cocked his head, a raptor in his focus. “Then kill one of your own. Pledge loyalty to the Crown. Provide information which is certain to lead to someone’s death—whether a stranger’s, your father’s, or your own.” Leaning forward, his voice was deadly soft. “Why?”

Jaw tight, you raised your chin. “Well,” you said. “You hunt my family. Try to kill me. Drag me to be imprisoned and hanged.” Your head tilted, mirroring him. “Then abduct me into a dark room. Press yourself against me like some trysting suitor. Arrange for my sister’s release after fleeing without a word.” You gestured in the air, illustrating your confusion. “Why?”

His face betrayed nothing. Instead, he started to cross around the side of his desk. “If your intention is to ensure the victory of the rebels,” he said, slow steps bringing him arm’s length from your chair, “then I must admit I fail to grasp your strategy.”

“I find that unsurprising.” You sat taller, wanting to match his imperiousness. “There are a great many things you fail to grasp, aside from instruments of death, or perhaps helpless women.”

“Helpless, indeed.” His brows rose and his fingers flexed, almost imperceptibly, by his side. “The general certainly maintains that belief.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean to imply, sir.” You held his gaze, pulse striking the column of your throat.

He almost—almost laughed. Then his eyes narrowed.

“Am I to believe your helplessness, then, accounts for the betrayal of your father and countrymen?” He took a step closer.

You lifted your chin. “It is as I said. My father’s allegiances do not represent my own.”

Tavington stole another foot. “I doubt that very much.”

“A fact you have made abundantly clear,” you huffed, straightening as his growing proximity forced you to look up at him. “And yet I hardly think you will find any explanation of mine satisfactory.”

He gave a sardonic click of his tongue. “Astute.”

“Then allow my actions to speak for themselves.” You shrugged your good shoulder.

“Your actions,” he said, rolling the word through his mouth, “speak riddles.”

He stood, fingers perched on the desk, considering you. Your toes curled in your shoes. It stood to reason that he’d have spent just as long agonizing over your behavior at Dorchester as you had his. And it was true that there was no explanation you could give him that he would accept. At least, not one that you would ever yield.

Was this a stalemate, then? Was this the clash of warring bucks destined to perish with antlers interlocked?

“Was it, I wonder…” His voice barely crested above a whisper. “... retribution?”

Your brows knit together. You felt what little purchase you thought you’d had on his state of mind collapsing. It made your pulse quicken.

“Against your father,” he continued, his focus burning you like a brand, “for abandoning you to face the tender mercies of a war he could never hope to win?”

You growled. “He didn’t abandon me. My father acts upon the guidance of his morality, and the war is far from lost.”

“Ah.” His eyes flashed with triumph. “Is that so?”

Your heart slipped like a wet stone into your gut. In the shallow waters of your patience, again, you’d betrayed yourself. He was burrowing under your skin on purpose, lodging himself there like a musket ball so that you’d slice yourself open, bleed dark rivers of guilt to remove him.

Panic bit into you like termites to oak, and you glimpsed the parchment with Grace’s release on his desk. You knew that he knew you were lying—but you were so close, too close to admit it now. His boot breached your space, and you sprung to your feet, hoping to put the chair between your bodies. His hand shot out and snatched your free arm. You both stalled at the connection.

Breath lost itself somewhere between your head and your hips. You throbbed raw under the smooth warmth of his palm, your throat coated with fear. With excitement. Convincing yourself to focus on him, you found him curious, gaze dancing between your wrist and your sling. The weight of his attention writhed in your chest, flipped your stomach, made you tighten below your waist.

Silent, he turned your arm in his grip and peeled back your sleeve, exposing your healing burn. Eyes glimmering with fascination, he rotated your wrist again. His thumb stroked the new, glassy flesh.

You choked. You jerked free from him, settling against his desk to steady yourself.

“I told you it was medicine,” you murmured, hoping to distract from the heavy need between your thighs.

His brows raised, his thoughts busy with something you couldn’t decipher. He shifted, about to open his mouth, then stiffened his jaw. He nodded toward your sling. “And yet I see a capitulation to modern methods.”

“Yes,” you said, frowning at him, “it seems there are few alternative remedies for being thrown from a horse and having one’s arm crushed beneath a large brute.”

Tavington’s mouth screwed in something you almost thought was amusement. “You are singularly focused on my size.”

You nearly choked again. That may have been true, but not for reasons you wanted to currently admit. “Well,” you hummed casually, “if you weren’t so large, perhaps my arm would’ve remained in its socket.”

“Perhaps if you’d possessed a mite of coordination, you would’ve remained unscathed.”

“Coordination.” You laughed—a short, mocking sound. “I don’t believe my coordination was in question when I hit a thirty-yard pistol shot on the man about to kill you.”

“Twenty-yard.”

An indignant squawk tore from your throat. “Twenty-five.”

Tavington said nothing, his expression inscrutable again as he stared at you. It irritated you, the fact that you had no insight into his intentions when most men were more obvious than boils. You knew for certain there was a part of him that loathed you, wanted to hang you like an ornament at the gates of Charleston.

But he hadn’t.

“Why did you bring me here?” you said. “Why did you spare my sister?”

His gaze met yours. You held it along with your breath.

“Our debts are balanced,” he replied.

“Debts,” was all you said. It was clear what he'd meant. For some reason, that irritated you even more. “If this was motivated by some tally on your personal ledger, you have an interesting way of settling.”

He huffed in dismissal. “Do not mistake receiving my offer for deserving it.”

You grumbled. “That doesn’t truly answer my question,” you said, “as I struggle to imagine who you would determine worthy of anything you had to offer.”

“Certainly not deceitful farmgirls from the backwoods of South Carolina,” he drawled.

“Oh? Is that so?” You tensed, irritation evolving into something with teeth, claws. “I seem to remember you offering me quite a bit while you pinned me to the wall in the powder magazine.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Your vow never to make an attempt on my body certainly perished in its infancy.”

Tavington raised a brow. “My dear, I don't dare to envision what sort of incompetence has victimized you.” He inched closer, closer than you would’ve liked if you wanted to keep a steady head. “But if I were to make an attempt on your body, you would harbor no doubts.”

You swallowed, edging backwards. “Now who’s deceitful?”

Something wicked—cruel—sparked alive in his stare. He desperately did not want to discuss this. You wouldn’t let him ignore you this time.

“Tell me truthfully, Colonel,” you said, heat scorching your face. “Had I remained silent…” You swallowed again. “Would you have stopped?”

His lip curled into a snarl as he spoke through his teeth. “A thing cannot be stopped which has not begun.”

“You perjure yourself, sir,” you managed to say through the clamor of your heart in your ears. “I felt you. Your…” The memory of his erection digging into your belly stole your bravery. “What would an attempt on my body—any body—include if not…” You coughed, stuck on the word. “That?”

Tavington’s expression hardened, blue eyes chilled to something empty of lust, empty of anything but fury. He took another step into your space, and you retreated again. Light glinted off the blade of a letter opener on his desk. It was within your reach.

“So stunted by the fumbling of swamp mongrels that you assume desire if hands find you in the dark,” he said.

“Your hands did not find me,” you bit back, “they accosted me.”

“If that is what your imagination tells you.”

“And what of your hand finding my throat?” you said, voice straining against your fear, against your need. “Still my imagination? Or is that how you define desire?”

He was a palm’s breadth away, death etched across his face. You couldn’t tell if he wanted your body under the ground or under his own. Your fingers crawled toward the letter opener.

“Why?” he whispered. “Would that disgust you?”

Holding your breath, you leaned toward his desk. He spotted your creeping hand.

Seething, he seized the letter opener before you could react and plunged it into the wood right between two of your parted fingers. You flinched. As you met his gaze, you felt the pressure of his chest on yours, breathed the scent of apple from his hair, craved the heat of him permeating your breast.

“Rest assured,” he said, “that the next time my hand seeks out your throat, it will be to pinch the life from your eyes.” A mirthless smirk curved his mouth. “As you and every member of your rebel family richly deserve.”

Tavington yanked the blade free from the desk. A gaping slit remained where your fingers met.

“Goddard,” he called. Breaking away from you, he returned to his chair as the door opened. He did not sit. “Escort the prisoner to your home, please.” He looked at you. “If her intelligence is genuine, she’ll be departing within a few days.”

Goddard grit his teeth in confusion. “I was told she was not a prisoner—”

“Then escort our very reluctant guest to your home,” he growled.

You weren’t sure why you had nothing to say. Your legs felt heavy, your head light.

“Yes, sir, Colonel,” Goddard said with a nod. He ushered you forward. “Come along, miss. I’m certain my sister will be more than pleased to make your acquaintance.”

You were a puppet again, limbs guided on invisible strings as you followed Goddard’s instruction. On instinct, you turned around as you left, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Tavington.

The door closed in your face.

[greenerteacups]

Hi, @greenerteacups! My girlfriend and I love your writing in Lionheart so much! We love how true the characters feel to themselves and often feel even more like themselves than in actual canon. We talk about Lionheart all the time.

We especially admire how Draco takes realistic strides in his development into a person who cannot accept the beliefs of pure blood society. However, it struck me today that all those changes started with Draco's separation from that world at Hogwarts in Gryffindor House, something which Dumbledore admits to influencing at the end of the first book. Dumbledore likes to have his hands in the middle of things, obviously, and it makes sense to have the Boy Who Lived somewhere cut off from the Wizarding World living with no strong positive relationships so he can manipulate boy hero later. But I am extremely curious as to why the headmaster just had to mess with this one rich kid's sorting with no promise of it paying off. In fact, we have had no clues at all as to Dumbledore's motivation nor has it been questioned since the first book.

I'm not at all picky about the reasons for canon divergent events. I'm eating up Lionheart as-is, but I was wondering if we might get some sort of insight in the future into Dumbledore's motivation for influencing Draco's sorting? Maybe I'm just thinking about this too hard, but I'm really curious now if it was for plot purposes or if it was for reasons that we will find out later or perhaps even for reasons that might continue to affect the story.

As always, thank you so much and we hope you are well!

Hello! First, thank you for such a detailed message, and for such kind words of support! I hope you and your girlfriend enjoy the upcoming chapters.

As for Dumbledore — yeah, this is one of those things where an eleven-year-old megalomaniac goes "of course this makes sense, I am the center of the universe and everyone should care about me" and then later on goes "hang on. what was the reason for that?" The following isn't canonical (I sound like a broken record at this point, I'm always going "I don't get credit for it if it isn't in the text!" but it IS true, and the following is just me riffing on what's already written. None of the following requires knowledge of things that haven't happened yet, although there will be conversations about Draco's Sorting to come).

Dumbledore's phrasing in Chapter 8 implies Draco wasn't completely unusual — "But there comes the rare case, now and then," — i.e., Draco may not be the first. But then, why Draco, instead of, say, Theodore Nott? Daphne Greengrass? It doesn't seem like their time in Slytherin has been terribly beneficial for the educational experience. It comes to mind that Draco, for all that he is another random rich kid, is a rather special rich kid; he's the joint of the Black and Malfoy families, which were the two primary bastions of power/support for Voldemort during the war.

I guess another way to frame it is this: from his perspective, putting Draco in Gryffindor places the heir to Voldemort's power base squarely where Dumbledore can keep an eye on him, and removes him from a social environment where he could network with other powerful aristocratic children. You know that marriage allegiance network that Pansy describes? The one that's copying the Black/Malfoy/Lestrange network from the first war? Draco's a crucial missing link in that chain. He's also surrounded by Harry's friends and Order members, which — while you can't always count on the Power of Friendship to save the day, cf. Peter Pettigrew — that experience is never not going to affect his judgment and beliefs.

You know the medieval practice of "warding," where you'd send your kid to be raised by another aristocratic family, and then they'd come back when they were of-age? That was one of the main levers of allegiance besides power — because not only is your kid functionally a hostage, so you can never fuck with the family that's warding them, but they're also growing up around that family's own children, forming close friendships that will endure after they leave and return to inherit their own titles. It was tactical, especially for families whose own territory might not be the safest place to raise a child.

Lastly, I also want to flag — and this is discussed in the draft of an upcoming chapter, so I'll keep it short and classy — but Dumbledore is making a really huge claim to Draco, i.e., that he's capable of changing the Sorting Hat's mind. He doesn't explain how he's done this, or what methods he used to interfere with its magic. Draco seems to believe him, but I don't know that I would.

[sugarskies]

The Deca S1E2: The New Magnus || Recorded Changes

Rewrote select paragraphs.

Switched passive voice to active.

Minor word changes.

Added dialogue between Jelpax and Vansell.

Renamed "Jared" (just for shits and giggles).

Grammatical corrections.

Adjusted dialogue between Drax and Magnus.

Added lore about Gallifreyan video games.

Significantly edited the last two scenes.

Final Word Count: -125

Barnable's Behind-the-Scenes Babbles

as mentioned once way back when, epsilon was originally a parody character created for a roleplay i did with a friend over a decade ago. he was actually my friend's character but i was given complete creative control over him when i asked to use him in a story a while after the roleplay ended. had i known how this fic would've blown up, i probably would not have added him in the series. he kind of makes me cringe.

in the 3rd or so draft of the deca, the one that became what you know today, i started this as chapter two. i did not get past the first scene back then but it actually remains pretty similar to this day.

jelpax references a brother named "syds." i thought for sure i had used his full (shortened) name at some point already but ctrl+f shows i haven't. so for those wondering (aka nobody), syds is short for sydnes.

do the deca genuinely want magnus to change? or is their natural response simply to fuck with him? i no longer remember my intention if i had one but i am inclined to believe the latter.

i can't remember why i put a goat in this. it was perhaps inspired by a writing prompt. either way, i have chosen to embrace it by leaning into the recurring joke/question in the chapter that is, "are there even goats on gallifrey?" the world may never know.

someone mentioned once that video games on gallifrey don't make much sense. i thought about that a lot. they really don't make sense. but this is a fun story so i won't take them out. instead we'll just add a silly little layer of ulterior motives to their existence.

rallon steals the show in this chapter. he says he's boring but rereading for the first time in 5 years, all my favorite moments in this chapter are my favorites because of him.

(that said i'm also fond of the moment drax drops his homework in a puddle and when theta panics at being trapped in the room with the goat. but that's more because of how i see it in my mind than how it's written, i think.)

i realized while revising this that the video games have returned for exactly one plot since this chapter. that's from memory and i do not know if the plotline was ever mentioned outside of that. i have taken note of this for the future.

also on the topic of the video games, i added that dialogue where mortimus pondered black market video games. now i am pondering black market video games. should that be the story where the video game saga comes to a close? tbd.

overall this chapter was pretty standalone. i found no questions left unanswered and only the video games as an open plot. unless you count the goat... but maybe that's better left a mystery.

[ultrainfinitepit]

🫂 & 🧠 for Sam :)?

I'll use my other protagonist Mick as the second character for these prompts :))

🫂- How has your relationship changed recently?

While they will always get on each other's nerves, they secretly care about each other and want (what they think) is the best for each other.

Sam will always some resentment for how Mick treated him in the past, and he hates being told what to do by Mick. But Mick has proven he's changed, he understands Sam's motivations now, and has helped Sam a lot recently - so Sam can't be too mad at him. There's part of him that wishes they could've gotten along from the beginning. Sam considers Mick a brother-in-arms and his friend, he loves him like family - and with not too much prodding would admit it. It sends chills down his spine to say it out loud though.

Mick however will only ever admit similar sentiments to make Sam look ungrateful, even if it's truly what he feels, in fact what he's felt for a while. In the past he was cavalier about Sam's lives and deaths, but is now much more protective of him. He regrets a lot of his poor treatment of Sam but feels there's no way to fix it and they can only move forward.

🧠- What’s your best memory with them? Worst?

Mick's worst memory with Sam: When Sam's adoptive nephilim sister Lucifer began to corrupt the angels, Mick was forced to stop her. And Lucy's most ardent guard was her brother Sam. Not only did Mick have to put down Lucy, who was just a child, but Sam as well - who was not much older and had been twisted by Lucy's magic into a horrifying monster. While Mick killed them both, he could hear Sam's song in his mind: an anguished, confused screeching, pleading with Mick not to do this - they both loved Lucy so much. That horrible death song would echo for lifetimes after in Mick's mind.

Mick's best memory with Sam: Sometime after the rather traumatic birth of Mick's daughter, Sam visits with an offering of beer. He pulls Mick aside and the two of them sit in the fire escape, smoking and drinking, while Sam recalls various stories of his own babies. Mick had been so caught up in trying to take care of Talia and Vivian and having no clue what he was doing, he didn't have time to think about what might happen next, that they all might even make it through this. But hearing Sam's stories of his own mishaps and how he and Zipporah made it through them, made Mick think it might actually be possible. And it was the first time in many weeks that Mick had been able to just breathe, and even laugh! In that moment he saw Sam had really grown up, and was very proud of him, and grateful for his company.

Sam's worst memory with Mick: I could write about one of Sam's many deaths by Mick's hands here - or perhaps the agonizing wait outside Theo's study while Mick and Zipporah met and spoke for the first time, Sam wondering if it would turn into a fight for their lives. I could even write about Lucy's death. But instead I will write about a memory that in the grand scheme of things is not so bad, but has stuck with Sam the longest as one of his worst moments.

In the few years they lived together, Mick started getting into a new hobby involving building little miniature models. Sam thought it was kind of silly but didn't care much what Mick did as a hobby, so long as they stayed out of each other's way. One day for some stupid reason he can't remember anymore, Sam was mad at Mick and in a careless mood, and wrecked Mick's little table where he kept his models and supplies. Sam felt a bit bad about it immediately but, Mick had never cared about "human stuff" before so surely this wouldn't be a big deal.

However it was. Mick blew up at Sam, way more than in any previous incident in this lifetime. Mick yelled that he barely had anything for himself and what little he did have, Sam just ruined. Sam could have sworn tears were in his eyes, he had never seen Mick so upset, he didn't even know he could cry. Then abruptly, Mick stopped. He was calm as he shoved all his supplies into the trash. Sam felt horrible, he still feels horrible when he remembers that. He didn't think to apologize at the time and now feels it's too late to bring it up. He realized that those models were more than just models to Mick, they were an expression of what little free will, wonder, emotion, humanity he had. And Sam watched Mick throw that all away because of him.

Sam's best memory with Mick: Again I could choose any number of poignant and significant memories for this, but instead I'll choose a sillier one that Sam likes to remember.

In the few years before they lived together, Sam and Mick engaged in various adventures out west. One day they found a "renowned monster hunter" who even made big claims about having trophy wings from hunted angels in his collection (fake but even still, just the insinuation rubbed Sam and Mick the wrong way).

After being restrained in their dealings with this hunter for far too long, Sam chomping at the bit to beat him up all the while, Mick finally snapped too and even held the hunter while Sam got to punch him. In that moment they were perfectly on the same wavelength. Mick even admitted that Sam was right about hating the guy from the start! It makes Sam satisfied to think about even now.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

The other character's POV of the last thing you wrote!!! (I gotta help motivate my writer friends)

A/N: I admittedly haven't been writing much at all. Lots of life stuff has happened to me this past year and likely will continue to happen through the rest of it. So, thanks for sending this to me so I can slow down and actually write a little bit without feeling I need to write a whole one-shot.

Anyway, this is a snippet from A Little Much from Astarion's POV

Astarion scoffed. “Then you’ve somehow missed the point of the evening. People are going to be looking, whether you want them to or not. The only thing you have control over is what they see.”

Evie's glanced away, and Astarion knew he had won. Though, it wasn't a sweet victory. He could see his love's eye grow a little distant, shrinking into their body. It make his stomach turn.

“Well then maybe it is best if I skip it," they said.

Astarion bit back a growl of frustration. For all effort they put into appeasing others, they could still be so bloody stubborn. It was enough to make him want to take them by the shoulders and give them a good shake.

Why should the fear of some random noble's gaze keep them from going? They were perfect. He told them near every day. Hells below this whole occasion was in celebration of their heroics.

Perhaps it was their patience rubbing off on him that he didn't do just that. Instead, he took a breath.

This was Evie, his Evie, not some random idiot. If there was one person he could extend his admittedly limited understanding toward, it was them.

"What are you so afraid of them seeing?" he asked.

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to.

The look on their face was something they only let slip in moments. It was the look that undoubted inspired their original moniker. Tav, the little mouse trying their damndest to survive on crumbs as they hid from the light to avoid being stepped on.

He was a gods damn idiot.

On instinct, he reached out his hand turning their face back toward him and away from whatever cruelties their past had waiting for them.

“None of that.”

no excuses writing meme

[possum-quesadilla]

New chapter of Time’s Arrow, “Good luck, babe! You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling” is up! Everyone say “thank you, concussion.” (Don’t actually. It sucks.) THIS CHAPTER IS PARTICULARLY ROUGH. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

As always, here are the extras!

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title are from “Good Luck, Babe!” By Chappell Roan! I think it is pretty self explanatory, haha.

- The songs for this chapter are “A Deer Mistaking Candles for Headlights” by Crywank, “Racehorse: Get Married!” By Jordaan Mason, “bad idea!” By girl in red, “Gross” by Penelope Scott, “maggot belly” by awfultune, “Lavender” by Penelope Scott, “Personal” by Stars, “Little Soldiers” by The Crane Wives, “Butch 4 Butch” by Rio Romeo, and, of course, “Good Luck, Babe!” By Chappell Roan!

- “ “Go! Class starts in…” he leaned away, squinting hard at the clock on the wall just outside the kitchen. “… some.. amount of time.” “… I need to take you to the optometrist.” The teen opened the door and went to step outside, ignoring the demon’s ‘huh?’.” - Beetlejuice’s eyesight suuuuucks. They’ve never been to an eye doctor, or even heard of one. They really need glasses. Perhaps they will get some soon!

- “The very thought of the feeling of food in his mouth, of the savory and salty tastes and mushy textures overwhelming his senses made his stomach turn. But the tug at his non-functional heart strings at the image of Barbara’s disheartened expression was stronger, more painful.” - Not the best motivation to eat, but honestly, any motivation can be good motivation when you’re having trouble getting yourself to eat!

- “Did anyone see you? You barely pass as human, and you’re a stranger in this town. Did anyone bother you? Are you alright?” “Geez, Chuck, when-” “Where have you been?! Do you know how late it is, young man?” - Get parent-ed, idiot!

- “‘Young man’? I am neither of those.” - This is a cheeky reference to a similar joke in “Good Omens”!

- “… English isn’t my best language.” “What others do you know?” “.. let’s put a pin in that convo, D-Dog. Your energy is distracting in the best way.” “Aww, thank you!” - a little peak at Beej and Delia’s friendship. I will probably expand more on it if I ever write the extra chapters!

- “Charles furrowed his brows. “Where did you get that laptop?” ” … “… where did you get that one?” - He stole them.

- “ “The what?” Charles sat up straight, brows knit in… concern? Beetlejuice wasn’t sure.” - he is not used to parental concern! Get cared about, fool!

- “… ‘Surely the average White River townie will be petrified by your demonic beauty!’” He chuckled to himself. He thought perhaps he imagined Barbara, Adam, and Delia laughing as well. “First of all, thank you, you’re too kind.” ” - A little peep at the smug, braggy little guy he used to be! And yes, they did laugh at his joke in agreement. He just doesn’t want to hear it because he can’t accept love.

- “Semi-tamed curly hair, now brown with irritating grey streaks he couldn’t get rid of. Manic honey-brown eyes instead of yellow serpentine ones, blemishes on his face instead of moss. Skin now pink, but still pale.” - yeah, basically just Alex Brightman, just with brown, curly hair. Surprise!

- “…wrist-length black driving gloves to cover his blackened fingertips.” - This, along with a line later on, is heavily inspired by the character Theo from “The Haunting of Hill House”. See if you can spot it! She similarly is very sensitive, and wears gloves to avoid direct physical contact with others.

- “They hate it. Fuck. Maybe next-day delivery holy water is still an option?” - ABSOLUTELY NOT

- “They look like a substitute teacher.” - Dewey Finn reference! I see a lot of Beetlejuice fans talking about the “School of Rock” musical. I’ve only seen the movie, and I love it. Should I give it a listen?

- “ “They look… nice.” Adam’s cheeks were flushed a dark pink. Barbara let out a delighted giggle as she rubbed her hands over his facial hair. “What a professional little man!” ” - They think he is so handsome. Barbara cannot control her cuteness aggression.

- “Lydia, pumpkin, I don’t want the people of this town thinking of me as a scoundrel. He obviously is too old to be E-.. Emily’s son.” - He’s trying his best to keep Emily relevant and talked about!! It’s just a bit hard still. Also, yeah, no one would really believe the man with greying hair was spawned from Charles and Emily.

- “He hadn’t been opposed to people thinking he was his son.” - he has never been called someone’s son in a positive way! New experience unlocked!

- “He was… happy. Light. Warm. He felt like he could rip apart a car with his teeth.” - like yours truly, Beetlejuice gets the urge to bite and rip things apart with his teeth when he is excited.

- “ “… I’ll tell folks I’m a distant Maitland relative. Maybe a cousin!” Beetlejuice grabbed Lydia’s arm, going to pull her out the door, missing the way Adam and Barbara wrinkled their noses at the word ‘cousin’.” - I wonder why they were so opposed to him being called a cousin? Hmmm.

- “Beetlejuice slides the Book across the counter and holds out a pen. “Have you heard about our Loyalty Program?” ” - what a weird, suspicious insistence he has. I wonder why that ‘Book’ is capitalized. Surely that must be an error? ;)

- “He bolts off, excusing that he needs to go find Percy and put him in ‘extreme air jail’.” - ‘Extreme air jail’ is when he floats off the ground while holding Percy up. Like regular air jail, but extreme.

- “Aftershave. Tung oil. Black tea. Tea-tree oil and nicotine.” - the smells, respectively, are from Charles, Adam, Barbara, and Delia! Delia smells like her vape pen a bit.

- “Lydia released the demon’s hands, slowly stepping behind them. “I’m behind you, alright? I’m gonna take your blindfold off.” ” - Lydia educated herself on his triggers and is careful not to come up behind him/touch his back or chest without letting him know first!

- “The walls had a familiar striped wallpaper applied to them..” - they recreated the striped walls from when Beej took over the house!

- “… pocketed figurines of various horror characters and stupid-looking colorful monsters. (Adam had called them “pokay-men”?)” - Beetlejuice stole a bunch of Pokémon funko pops without knowing anything about them, except that Adam likes them.

- Two “Lisa Frankenstein” references! The poster, as well as the name of a character later.

- “The ceiling was lined with familiar gentle string lights, the bulbs giving off a soft yellow glow.” - gentle lighting for his sensitive eyes, courtesy of Adam and Barbara! He never really turns on the overhead lights.

- “A large, fuzzy, purple rug covered most of the hard concrete floor.” - Delia picked this out for him! She knows how much he loves Floor Time.

- “… seemingly home-made black and white quilt..” - Barbara made it herself!

- “.. and a rotund black cat plush Lydia had ordered off of Amazon and claimed was for herself.” - it is a squishmallow. Beej still has no idea what they are, but Lyds got one just for him!

- “.. even a rocking chair covered in a bright green fleece blanket in the corner-” - Charles picked out that blanket after seeing how much Beetlejuice enjoyed the fleece blanket on the guest bed!

- “Like Dad said, you deserve your own space, big guy.” - ‘Dad’ is capitalized like that because Lydia considers Charles both her and Beej’s dad now.

- “They still aren’t sure what to do, way later that night, as they lie in their very own bed for the first time. They’d never had a space of their own.” - yeah, he’s never had his own bed. Or room. He mostly slept on the floor growing up, sometimes under a stove!

- “.. as he stared up at the multitude of gently glowing green stars plastered on the ceiling.” - Delia heard that his name is based on a star, so she got these and carefully plotted them out to match the real night sky/constellations!

- “ “I was only thirteen, Beetlejuice.” … “I dunno, Sexy. Arson is a pretty mild form of revenge. I was doin’ a lot worse for a lot less at that age.” ” - Beetlejuice had suggested that Adam should’ve set a bully’s backpack on fire.

- “And you don’t wanna put your weapon up against your victim’s back. Makes it real easy for them to just take it from ya.” - This is true! A little bit of self defense advice!

- “Do you get all your mugging tools at Home Depot? God/Satan, you’re butch.” And “My tit!” - These are both “Jennifer’s Body” references. I couldn’t help myself.

- “… red sleeveless sweater, frowning at the blood-stained button-up underneath. “My.. good friend gave me this stupid, tacky sweater vest…” ” - Yeah he dresses like his human disguise like Dewey Finn because of Adam.

- “It was tacky and itchy and smelled like mothballs, but it was still something one of his favorite ghosts had given him.” - Beetlejuice savors every single thing given to him, because no one really ever gave him presents before.

- “Don’t say Barbara, don’t say Barbara- “Ba-.. Bab… Babette.” What the fuck was that? Babette? “Yeah. Babette… ” ” - Of course, the town remembers Adam and Barbara, so he has to call them by other names. ‘Babette’ is what he thought of on the spot.

- Suprise! Ash is Sky the Girl Scout’s sister! Her full name is “Ashlyn Swallows”, but she only wants to go by “Ash”.

- “Fuuuuck.” … “ “.. damn. That… that, uh… poor girl..” Fuck, the Maitlands and Charles and Delia are going to be so mad when they hear about this.” - Asshole Beej, my beloved. He only cares about his own humans, and not at all how he impacts anyone outside his circle.

- “…and a fair wage from my own pocket.” - So the business doesn’t suffer from the absurd amount of money he is going to pay this kid.

- “Beetlejuice’s ear flicked at the sound of her heartbeat quickening, the jewelry clinking irritably.” - Yeah he hates the jewelry, but he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to Cyrus’ gifts.

- “… yeah. I didn’t realize she’d remember, though.” - Hmm. I wonder if anyone else remembers things that occurred during the loop?

- “… and Barbara enjoyed the occasional sniff of his glass.” - Since she can’t drink the wine, Beetlejuice is letting her smell it instead. Not the same, but it’s still nice!

- “Barbara was sat right up next to him on the couch, leaning on his side and keeping an arm loosely around his midsection.” … “They try their best not to melt at Barbara’s touch as she starts to gently scratch at their chin.” … “His ears went back at the delighted little squeak from Barbara, but he relaxed as she wrapped her arms around him and tightly squeezed. “There he is!” Beetlejuice felt his tail quivering as he wrapped one arm around her in turn. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m the most handsome devil you’ve ever seen.” The ghost softly huffed. “It’s true!” ” - Barbara is laying it on THICK. Too bad Beetlejuice’s skull is thicker!

- “.. the demon jumped as Delia leaned in close, scrunching up his nose at the smell of wine on her breath, the sudden increase in all of the sounds of her body functioning. Lungs expanding, blood flowing, joints creaking. It was much harder to ignore when she was that close.” - Beej is constantly overwhelmed by the noises everything makes, especially since he’s not taking care of his sensory needs.

- “The demon slowly let out a breath once Delia leaned back into her place again, his grip on Barbara tightening. Why was it so hard to allow humans to be close?” - BECAUSE HE DOESN’T PAY ATTENTION TO HIS SENSORY NEEDS. And also people suck sometimes.

- “He glanced down at the ghost, hurriedly looking away and taking a swig of his wine when he found her staring up at him with a soft, fond look in her eyes.” - Oh, he’s big stupid. Thankfully, Barbara likes her men just a wee bit stupid.

- “Beetlejuice slurred, finishing off his glass. He went to release Barbara and reach out to refill it, but she gripped onto him tighter.” … “He felt the wine glass be tugged from his grip.” - Barbara decided he had enough, and is gently cutting him off here.

- “(If anything, at least the alcohol was dulling the horrid sounds of the house settling, of the wind blowing and clouds churning, of the distant call of the cicadas. He could no longer feel how tight the stupid dress shirt was, feel his own teeth sitting in his skull. It was nice. Perhaps he should drink more often.)” - unfortunately, a staggering amount of adults with autism use alcoholism to cope with symptoms they have yet to learn how to properly cope with, and to help them better socialize.

- “Just like there’s some stupid part of me that’ll always hope my Ma will turn herself around and start carin’ about me.” - AUGH. The anguish of having abusive parents. Some stupid hard-wired part of your brain is always hopeful they’ll just decide to be good one day.

- “… kids are great like that. They’re made with this…. Hard wired love for their parents.” … “I always thought.. it would be great to take all the love I had saved up for her, all the love she never returned, and… pass it on.” - HE JUST WANTS TO LOVE AND BE LOVED SO BAD OKAY?? I’m not crying you are

- “He titled his head back a bit to look at Adam, in his pajamas, without his glasses, staring the demon down with the most sorrowful expression he’d ever seen on a human being. It hurts worse than the ritual, worse than the glass window, worse than centuries of solitude. This is all you do, Lawrence. You hurt others, and you hurt yourself. His mother’s voice is always in the back of his mind, but it’s so clear now.” - Adam is feeling sympathy and/or empathy, like a normal person, but Beej is taking it as him hurting Adam by being the way that he is.

- “ “B-but they… I could never…” The Maitlands hold him tightly. Barbara gently shushes him, running her fingers through his hair. He didn’t have to finish. She knew. They shared that pain, together. They’d had a long, tearful conversation one night, during their year in the loop. It was the closest he’d ever felt to human, even considering the times he was actually human.” - I will leave this up to interpretation within the confines of Time’s Arrow. I may expand upon it in one of the extra chapters, maybe write out the conversation they had, but for now I will allow readers to come to their own conclusions, since this breaches topics I am currently not fully equipped/educated to write about.

- “ “Maybe you can distribute that love elsewhere.” It wasn’t too bad an idea. But where?” - Delia is suggesting to turn that love inwards, and to maybe also distribute it to Lydia and the Maitlands. But Beej is daft.

- “ “Pink’s a great color on you,” Delia says, patting his cheek before she turns to head back towards the living room. He couldn’t disagree more.” - YOU DESERVE LOVE. CARE IS A GOOD LOOK ON YOU. Oh god he isn’t listening.

- “Sleep finally finds them. They aren’t sure how they made it down into their room, or how they were able to change into a cozy sweatshirt and pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts. But somehow, they did.” - Adam and Barbara carefully and very respectfully helped him change!

- “As they took a wary little sip of the old, undiluted wine,” - Greek wine from waaay back when had to be diluted. Undiluted, it is way too strong and bitter.

- “ “Beetlejuice, when was the last time you drank water?” .. “I had a Dr. Pepper last week.” .. “Who gave you a Dr. Pepper?” “Wh- I’m a grown demon! I can get myself a Dr. Pepper!” Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. He scoffed, looking down at the counter. “Fine. Ash did.” ” - this is both based on a bit from Game Grumps and also a conversation I had with a friend.

- “For that hour before the two of them had to leave, Beetlejuice instead listened. At first it was frantic, confused. Then the conversation was light and breezy. Teasing, joking, excitedly comparing interests. He knew he had to make them meet from the moment Ash mentioned cinematography. Neither of them had many friends other than him, from what he’d heard. And he was sure Ash didn’t consider him a friend regardless. I’m a genius.” - My guy thinks he is the master of meet-cutes. He needs to meet-cut it out and go to therapy. (Next chapter can’t come soon enough…)

- “Their tongue and throat burned with the remains of that horrible sticky, iron taste.” … “Energy, revitalized from this latest sacrifice, buzzed through their whole being..” - Yeah he is accepting sacrifices of human blood from Cyrus’ cult. That is how he is getting the energy and strength to resist the Seal.

- “They desperately grasp Cyrus’ hands. They fumble, head burning and spinning, as they guide his hands to their throat. The demon quirks an eyebrow at them curiously. “Hurt me,” they rasp, their words almost slurring together. “Hurt me like you did before.” ” - DRUNKEN CONSENT IS NOT REAL CONSENT!! Allowing someone to hurt you is not an adequate way to deal with your issues!!

- “As you wish, Pet.” - Sorry I twisted a line from a beloved romance story and made it fucked up. It will not happen again. (It might)

Fun tidbit for making it this far! Here are some TikToks that summarize Ash and Beej’s “friendship”! This, this, and this!

[a-student-out-of-time]

Now we have this forced break, I will voice a concern. The good news is you have made Tsumugi a very hateful character. The bad news is now you have trapped yourself. Any attempts for Tsumugi to have a sympathetic backstory, or for her to bring up valid points are gonna fail because when you hate someone that badly, everything they say will be ignored. And as such the big message of this arc won’t be registered by the audience.

//Yeah, I figured this was going to be brought up at some point, and now's a good time to address it. I said over and over that this was going to be a heavy arc and this is why.

//I'll start off by dissuading a common concern I've seen. Guys, Shirogane is the villain, and good villains try to break heroes using their actual flaws. The whole "We're not so different, you and I" bit fails 98% of time because the villain is pulling that from nowhere, which makes it even more devastating when they actually have a point. It doesn't even need to be comparing the heroes to themselves, but instead deconstructing them and their mistakes.

//The problem is that some are assuming just because Shirogane's points have merit, that equates to her being in the right or me trying to make sympathetic. I'm not, because she's not. Shirogane is an evil bitch and you are completely justified in despising her. I haven't even gotten to the real vile stuff with her, and that's not a joke.

//The problem is that so many of you are focused on insulting her and trying to dunk on her that you're ignoring what's actually being said, even when it's critical information. Not to mention I can't actually progress the story if I just have 20 asks that are the same insults over and over and over again. I literally can't build a story on that ^^;

//I'm trying to give you this information, and you actually need to read it. But I'll try and tone down the villainy if it's actively making it difficult to focus.

//Ironically, where I got cut off is going to be more proof of why you need to pay attention.

//Please bear in mind, I don't want to railroad or metagame, I really, REALLY don't. That made everything with the Puppetmaster Arc incredibly taxing to write and I don't want this arc to drag into 2025.

//Instead, let me offer some details based on the information we have, and maybe that'll help:

Shirogane is not Junko or the Joker. You can't treat her as if she has the exact same motivations as them. She's her own villain with her own goals, and insulting her isn't going to get you new information.

Just deciding not to play her game won't work since we have a deadline. You can't simply pull a Shuichi twice. Calling her boring will also not work.

She's not trying to make Hajime like her. She claims to admire him because he's a hero, and dismisses Masa because she's a "side character."

She IS a complete hypocrite, but she's not a bald-faced liar. In fact, as the latest scene as shown, this is about harsh truths instead. The "game" is about finding the truth outside the lab.

She's a wannabe entertainer and wants to be seen. Perhaps you can her to give up some information by playing into that.

Instead of focusing on being contrarian to her because you hate her, instead consider what information she gives that can be used to help with the investigation. That's our big ongoing plot and it requires some piecing together within the 5-day deadline.

Succeed in piecing it all together and I promise she will get the beatdown she deserves. It will put Emina's defeat to shame.

//And because I know there are still concerns, I'll also ally some fears:

You guys can give out information freely and nobody will die or get hurt, I promise. I regret ever having that one incident in Puppetmaster and I don't want to do it again.

I'm not waiting to pull a GOTCHA! moment on you all, I promise and swear. I want you all to help me lead this story to its intended conclusion, and I never want to be the sort of writer that tries to outsmart the audience.

I would never in a trillion years suggest someone like Shirogane has a point. Someone can be factually correct about things and still be morally full of shit.

//Above all, I need you guys to work with me here. Help me help you get you to what you want to see: Shirogane's crushing, ruinous defeat. It's what we ALL want after all this, I'm sure.