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fantasyescapes17 · 1 year

Text

Candle (Part 3, Final)

You have always received the best of everything life has to offer: be it education, family, fortune or happiness. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan- one of the ton's renowned villains- cannot possibly bring you happiness of any kind, never mind wedded bliss. But can you evade Jeonghan's charms? Or will you find yourself falling victim to this clever rogue?

Genre: Yoon Jeonghan x female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Wonwoo's sister so your last name is Jeon, but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 4.2k+

Part 1 Part 2

Series Masterlist [I would recommend reading the first story in this series, Patience, before this one but it's not strictly necessary.]

You returned Ella's little book when you saw your friend next at the Hasting's ball. Fortunately, she was far too occupied by her new and exciting courtship with Mr. Xu to notice that you had ripped out an entire page.

"Found what you need?" Ella teased you.

"I found that I didn't need it," you replied lightly.

She did not push you for a more elaborate response, but seemed surprised when you were approached by none other than Mr. Yoon Jeonghan himself, dressed in the most dapper black dress coat and seeking to escort you to the dance that you had promised him.

"You are an excellent dancer, Mr. Yoon," you complimented him when he took your hand gently in his.

"I can hardly accept that compliment. You have had much more practice than I; your movements are very graceful," Jeonghan replied kindly. He did not give himself enough credit. His dark eyes never broke eye contact with you for a moment, and his step never faltered.

"I hope you are not trying to lure me into a false sense of security so that you may swipe something else from my person. What shall it be this time? My earrings?" you teased.

Jeonghan chuckled. "I assure you I am not quite so nimble, nor so talented a pickpocket."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "But the pearls-"

"-had already fallen off your neck and onto the floor. I noticed them and picked them up when I pulled out your chair," Jeonghan admitted. "I hope you are not terribly disappointed that I did not actually swipe them from you."

"So you were not a thief but the hero who found my necklace?" you asked with a dramatic sigh. "I was wondering why the clasp was broken. It is not nearly as exciting, but I suppose it will have to do."

"If it pleases you, there is something I might try to steal from you yet," Jeonghan suggested.

Your eyes brightened.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Well if I told you, you would guard it too well," he protested. "It is the golden rule of any pickpocket. The victim must be caught unawares."

You narrowed your eyes. "That will prove a difficult challenge, then, Mr. Yoon. I am already far too aware of you."

Jeonghan smiled. His hand came up to meet your gloved one.

"I am up for the challenge, Miss Jeon."

"And you think it is a good idea to challenge the woman who is currently holding her tongue with your secrets? I would be careful, Mr. Yoon. If you become too light-fingered, then I may become loose-lipped," you warned teasingly.

"I can think of ways to keep your lips occupied, so that they have no leisure to be spilling secrets."

You gasped at Jeonghan's audacity and your cheeks instantly felt hot at the suggestion. You opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish for a moment until the dance came to an end, and Jeonghan gave you a smirk and a bow.

"Have a nice evening, Miss Jeon," he said lightly. "I will see you when it is time for me to pay my next instalment."

—-------------------------------

It was difficult not to be swept up in the whirlwind of emotions that Yoon Jeonghan brought with him over the next few weeks. It was a never-ending game. Jeonghan was the perfect gentleman on the surface. He helped you down from your horse after a pleasant ride at the park, opened doors and pulled out chairs for you- but every now and then, when nobody else was listening, he would let something suggestive slip in that low, mischievous tone of his that made your face heat up, and your heart pound.

You were rapidly becoming quite enamoured with the man, and inevitably, others began to take notice.

"Oh, look," Ella commented one afternoon, during a pleasant walk that you were both sharing in the park. "It's your new admirer."

You tried to mask your enthusiasm. You were not formally courting Mr. Yoon (yet), and despite your ongoing flirtations, he had not confessed any serious intentions towards you.

"He is not my admirer-"

Ella scoffed. "Well he certainly never looks at any woman but you. Have you not noticed? Whenever you are in the room his eyes are always on you."

You bit your lip. "Do you really think so?"

"You should be careful, my friend. You know what they say about Mr. Yoon, he is quite the villain-"

"Yes, I know," you cut her off sharply. You disliked hearing Jeonghan spoken about that way. "I have not found anything villainous about his manners so far. He has been a perfect gentleman in his behaviour towards me."

Ella looked at you with surprise. "Miss Jeon, do you perhaps really have feelings for-"

She was interrupted by the approach of Mr. Yoon Jeonghan. To your surprise, Jeonghan was accompanied by your brother. Although the two men were indeed known to be friends and a stroll through the park was not unusual or remarkable, you knew better.

Wonwoo did not trouble himself to take afternoon strolls in the park for no good reason.

"What a lovely surprise Miss Jeon, Miss Williams," Mr. Yoon greeted you both pleasantly. "I see you ladies noticed that the weather was pleasant enough for a stroll. May we join you?"

Ella giggled. "Of course, we would never refuse the company of two gentlemen."

There was a subtle but evidently intentional manoeuvring that took place immediately upon Ella's invitation. The path was not wide enough for four people to walk side-by-side. Your brother squeezed into the gap beside Miss Williams, and left you to fall a little behind them with Jeonghan by your side.

"Miss Williams," your brother could be heard saying in front of you. "Could I persuade you to walk alongside the trees with me? I am afraid my eyes are rather sensitive to the sunlight and I would appreciate the shade."

Ella seemed surprised. "Oh- yes, of course, Mr. Jeon…"

They drifted a little further away and you felt your heartbeat quicken as you looked up at the handsome man that stood beside you. Jeonghan's hair gently ruffled in the afternoon breeze but his eyes stayed fixed firmly on you.

"Well," you said to him with a smile. "If you have persuaded Wonwoo to step into the park on a pleasant spring afternoon, then you must have something very important to say to me indeed," you teased.

Jeonghan chuckled. "Was it so evident?"

"You could have written to me, if you wished to convey something in confidence."

"I did not know that you wished for me to write to you," Jeonghan admitted lightly. "But all the same, I believe some things are best discussed in person. Including the question of whether you really wish for us to initiate a… written correspondence."

You flushed. He made it sound so intimate. Yoon Jeonghan left no room for doubt that it was only the most romantic of correspondences that he referred to.

"Then do tell me what has brought you- and my brother- here this afternoon," you questioned.

"It has not escaped my attention that over the last few weeks, you and I have been engaging in increasingly flirtatious conversations," Jeonghan began. He had a small smile on his face. "I am sure you know this- but you are the most beautiful, intelligent and striking woman of my acquaintance."

Your embarrassment was evident. It was a surprisingly straightforward compliment coming from Jeonghan. You could not think of any way to play it off in a teasing or light-hearted manner.

"T-thank you," you mumbled. "I am quite flattered that you hold me in such high regard."

"I hold you in excessively high regard," Jeonghan reassured you. "Which is why I do not wish for there to be any confusion or misunderstanding. My intentions- my advances towards you, however playful, have always been backed by honourable intentions."

"And what are these honourable intentions?" you asked quietly.

"I would very much like to begin a formal courtship with you, Miss Jeon. That would be the natural progression of our relationship. Unless I am sorely mistaken- you have perhaps been waiting for me to make such a request."

You could not lie.

You nodded.

Jeonghan sighed. "Perhaps I have been selfish. I indulged my affections and attraction towards you too openly. But the truth is, Miss Jeon, my current familial situation is… complicated. I fear that any woman I publicly court would become the subject of much negative attention and suffer public scorn."

You looked at him with surprise. "I do not understand. Is this regarding your sisters? Or your step-mother?"

"My step-mother has some very specific anxieties," Jeonghan admitted. "She is not an unkind woman but she is worried about her future, and my father failed to provide for her in his will. I have promised that I will provide for her for as long as she lives but she doesn't trust me."

You bit your lip. "I see."

"She has already painted me as a villain before the ton- a fact you are well aware of. Any woman I court or marry will suffer the same fate. She will accuse you of stealing from her and her daughters and tarnish your reputation. I do not want you to face her scorn. You are well-loved by the ton- and rightly so."

You took a deep breath and turned to look at Jeonghan. There was honesty in his eyes and worry; worry for you, you realised. He was worried about the impact his complicated family would have on your happiness and reputation.

"Mr. Yoon," you said slowly. "I will not pretend that my reputation means nothing to me. But there are things that I am prepared to sacrifice it for."

"You should not have to make such a sacrifice."

"I would rather not," you admitted. "But I must ask. Is there no way to resolve your step-mother's worries?"

"I have initiated proceedings to transfer property to her name," Jeonghan explained. "And to set up a trust for her. But there are legal complications and it is a lengthy process. Once my sister is finally married, my stepmother may feel more comfortable as she will be able to rely on her son-in-law for financial security. I worry that she may always perceive my efforts as underhanded."

"I-I see."

Jeonghan took a deep breath and took your hand gently in his. He glanced around the park furtively to make sure none of the other occupants were looking at you- and then quickly lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to your knuckles.

You were speechless. "I-I…"

"I do not know what to do, Miss Jeon. I agreed to become a villain to help my sister but I never imagined that I might fall in love, or that my beloved would have to share in my sacrifices. I cannot ask you to bear this burden for me. It may be years until it is fully resolved."

Your hand felt warm.

"Are you asking me to wait for you, Mr. Yoon?" you whispered.

"I do not presume to ask anything of you," Jeonghan told you gently. "I am yours. I shall do whatever you ask of me-without objection."

Your heart leapt. It was a strange feeling- perhaps you should have hoped for a more traditional confession, something along the lines of I will die unless you marry me, my love! but somehow this was even more romantic.

Mr. Yoon Jeonghan was not begging or pleading or persuading you.

No, he had simply placed his cards on the table and given you the power to make his next move.

It struck you in a sudden moment how much you loved this man. This handsome, selfless caring man with a mischievous streak who looked at you with his angelic face and intense eyes and lit a fire in your heart. He had given you more respect in this moment than most gentlemen would ever willingly offer a lady in their lifetime.

"Then ask me to court you," you whispered. "I believe we have both proven that we can be trusted to keep a secret."

Jeonghan smiled softly. "Is that what you wish? A secret courtship?"

"It would be the most thrilling thing we have done so far- and you stole my pearls the first time we spoke, so the standard was not particularly low to begin with."

Jeonghan laughed.

"Then it is done. You may prepare yourself to be passionately wooed, Miss Jeon- in secret."

—--------------------------------------------

Wonwoo was not pleased with the turn of events.

"Yes, I agreed to accompany him to the park so that he might speak to you about his intentions," your brother admitted. "But I did not expect that I would become a courier boy to deliver love letters back and forth while you both played at a clandestine dalliance."

You raised your eyebrows at your brother. "What did you expect?"

"That Jeonghan would either propose to you or end your flirtation."

"He will propose to me. Once his sister is married, and he has cleared his name in society," you replied simply.

"If you wish to court each other then you should do it with our parents permission," Wonwoo pressed, as though it was obvious. "Mother may be disappointed that you managed to choose the only man in the ton with a reputation for stealing dowries but surely she could be made to see reason eventually."

You sighed. "Wonwoo."

"What?"

"Your own reputation in society is hardly spotless enough. I overheard Viscount Hong's younger sister talking about you during a ladies' tea the other day. She used some select words to describe you, and none of them were pleasant. What did you do to offend her?"

Wonwoo flushed. "Do not speak to me of her. She is quite mad."

You laughed. "Miss Hong? But she is said to be a sweet little creature."

"You are changing the subject," Wonwoo accused. "I will deliver your love letters for now but when the time comes, I expect you will repay my debt."

"I would be delighted to deliver any love letters you wish to send."

Wonwoo sighed and turned back to his book while you giggled.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

It became necessary, in due course, to reveal your secret courtship to Ella Williams once you detected her increasing suspicion. She was surprisingly accepting of the news- and although you did not reveal the exact nature of Jeonghan’s familial secrets, you reassured her that Jeonghan was simply quite misunderstood.

“I cannot believe it,” Ella gushed, happy for you. “Has he declared his love for you yet?”

You hesitated. “Not in those exact words, no, but he has made his affections quite clear.”

“How shocking! To think that of all the eligible men in my book, you should have fallen in love with Mr Yoon Jeonghan! I had set my heart on Viscount Hong for you. But it is just as well; it appears that Joshua has made a proposal to a young lady and they are now engaged to be married next week.”

You raised an eyebrow with interest.

“Oh? Who is the fortunate young lady?”

“One of the elder Lee girls. It is so strange; she is not particularly beautiful, nor does she have a dowry worth boasting of. There are so many siblings in the Lee family, you know, the estate is stretched quite thin among them. But I suppose love can be unpredictable. Apparently Joshua has been smitten with Miss Lee for some time now,” Ella mused.

You giggled. “And what news of your dear Mr. Xu?”

“Oh!” Ella cried. “Do not speak to me of him, I am quite heartbroken. He resumes his travels in Asia next week, and he has promised to write to me regularly but you know how long it takes for letters to be delivered from overseas. I fear I shall not see him until the next season.”

Your smile faltered as the thought of the season nearing its end struck you.

“Yes… once the season ends Mr. Yoon shall return to his estate with his family for the winter.”

Ella smiled at you sympathetically. “Are you worried about him?”

“We see each other once or twice a week while we are both in London. That will not be possible once he returns to the countryside. I am sure he might try to meet me, but I am afraid that we shall to satisfy ourselves with letters in the meantime. I have always been so terrible at writing letters! I shall suffer the consequences now.”

"I am sure your courtship will last. Mr. Yoon does not seem like the kind of gentleman to give up what is important to him," Ella reassured you.

"I certainly hope not."

—-------------------------------------------------------

The evening before Jeonghan was set to leave for the countryside for the rest of the year, you had a brief moment alone with him in the gardens behind the assembly rooms. This secret rendez-vous was enabled, to your surprise, by Viscount Hong. He assured you and Jeonghan that he and Miss Lee (now newly Viscountess Hong) had used the tiny cove behind a clump of trees in the garden to have private conversations many times before.

You would have expected such scandalous behaviour from Kim Mingyu, perhaps, but certainly not from Viscount Hong.

In any case, you were not inclined to prod or complain.

"Do you promise to write to me every week?" you asked Jeonghan. He was smiling down at you, and his hands reached out to clasp yours tightly.

"I promise I will write," he reassured you.

"I will be extremely upset if you do not. If I do not receive a letter from you for more than a week, then I shall assume that you have fallen in love with someone else and mean to end our courtship," you insisted with a pout.

"That would be a fair assumption."

"Mr. Yoon!"

He laughed and boldly lifted his hand to stroke his thumb across your cheek. Your face became hot under his touch. It was an innocent but bold gesture and you struggled not to look too affected.

“Perhaps,” Jeonghan suggested boldly. “It would be easier for me to remember to write to you every week if you gave me a token of your affection- something to remember you by?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I hope you are not trying to swipe more of my jewellery.”

“Something more… intimate.”

“Such as?”

Jeonghan leaned closer and brought his lips near your ear. You could feel his warm breath on the side of your face and all your senses were suddenly flooded and overwhelmed with the physical proximity of this handsome and charming man.

“Let me have a lock of your hair, my love.”

You stared up at Jeonghan as his hand gently lifted a lock of your hair and he twirled his index finger around it. He never failed to surprise you; although you should have expected, knowing his mischievous nature, that it was only a matter of time until he suggested something so romantic and scandalous.

He lifted your hair to his lips and kissed it softly.

“Mr. Yoon,” you choked out, flustered.

“You had better start calling me Jeonghan, love. I hardly think that formalities will be required between us once I have placed this lock of your hair in my locket and tasted your sweet lips,” he replied.

Before you could even think to object, Jeonghan took both.

First, he leaned forward to press his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet and bold; he was gentle yet there was no hesitation in his movements. In response, you pressed yourself closer to him and returned the kiss. You would not see him for many months so this was hardly the time to act coy. You let your hands slide up into his tousled hair and melted into his passionate embrace.

After a prolonged embrace and many eager kisses, Jeonghan pulled back. You were both slightly out of breath. Your heart was racing and you found yourself instinctively leaning into him again, begging him for another kiss. But Jeonghan had other plans. He pulled out a small pocket-knife and with a single fluid movement, sliced off a tiny lock of your hair.

You stared at him as he opened a small locket and placed the lock inside of it.

“I will return this to you,” he whispered in your ear softly. “When I have a wedding ring to give you in return.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Then I will pray you return it soon.”

“I will, my love.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

Epilogue

The winter was a difficult one. Jeonghan wrote to you regularly and even came to visit you once under the guise of visiting your brother. Yet it was incredibly difficult to be apart from him. You had never had much patience for sitting and writing letters, preferring the intimacy of conversation, and the secrecy of your courtship meant that you could not confide in anyone about how much you missed your lover.

(While your brother Wonwoo would begrudgingly carry your correspondence and pass messages to Jeonghan from you, he did not make for the best confidante.)

You spent every waking moment waiting for the upcoming season, and for Jeonghan’s return to London.

The moment finally arrived; you had been waiting all morning at the window to the upstairs library when you spotted him riding down the cobblestone street on his dark horse. Your heart leapt when Jeonghan dismounted in front of the entrance. You stood, dropping the knitting that you had been pretending to be doing.

Your father, sitting across the room at his desk, raised a questioning eyebrow at you.

“I-I left some of my sewing thread downstairs,” you explained vaguely before rushing out of the library and running down the stairs. You arrived just in time to see Jeonghan enter the lobby in his riding coat.

The butler bowed to him and conveyed his apologies.

“My regrets, Mr. Yoon,” the butler was saying to him politely. “But Mr, Jeon Wonwoo is not at home at present. Perhaps you may wish to return later this evening?”

Jeonghan looked up at you and his eyes widened when they met yours. Your heart leapt in delight at the sight of him and you could not bear to watch the butler send him away simply because your brother was not home. It had been months since you had spoken to him.

“Oh- I am sure Wonwoo will be back very soon,” you interrupted hurriedly. “Mr. Yoon can perhaps wait in the drawing room until my brother returns-”

"There is no need for that."

You whirled around at the sound of your father's voice. In your eagerness to see Jeonghan, you had not even realised that your father had followed you out of the library and down the stairs. He had a rather serious expression on his face.

You swallowed. "Father…"

"Mr. Yoon can come join me in the library. And you, my dear daughter, will be kind enough to wait downstairs."

You turned to Jeonghan who looked slightly alarmed, but nodded. You watched in silent horror as Jeonghan took off his hat and followed your father up the stairs.

Oh no.

This was not normal. Your father- much like your brother- rarely took an interest in people or company unless prompted to do so. There was no doubt in your mind that if your father wished to speak to Jeonghan alone, then your secret courtship had been discovered.

You turned to the butler desperately. "You must send word to my brother to come at once!"

The butler was startled. "Miss Jeon, are you-"

"Tell him to come immediately and send a servant upstairs to listen in on my father and Mr. Yoon's conversation in the library, I beg you!"

You paced the drawing room nervously for at least twenty minutes. There was no sign of Wonwoo, the servant that had gone upstairs to the library had never returned, and you had no option but to pace nervously up and down the room imagining all the worst possible situations. Would your father take down his hunting rifle and shoot Jeonghan? Would he challenge him to a duel? Perhaps it was nothing- perhaps your father had no idea of your courtship and simply wished to speak to Jeonghan about matters of business-

The large doors to the drawing room opened and Jeonghan entered alone.

Your eyes widened.

“What happened?”

Jeonghan looked slightly tense. He forced a smile when he saw you, and took both of your hands in his before guiding you to sit down in one of the armchair. He kneeled in front of your chair; entwined hands placed in your lap.

“Does he know?” you whispered.

“He… had his suspicions,” Jeonghan replied slowly. “It appears that when a woman who can rarely be persuaded to sit still long enough to pen down a quick note suddenly begins to spend hours locked in her room writing letters that she insists on delivering to the post office herself, other members of the family take notice.”

You flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I did not think it was right to lie to him. I told him the truth,” Jeonghan told you quietly.

“What did he say?”

“What any good father would have said upon making such a discovery.”

You frowned. “Now is not the time for games, Mr. Yoon Jeonghan-”

Jeonghan brought your entwined hands up to his lips and he kissed your knuckles softly before looking up at you with a playful smile. His dark eyes twinkled in the bright morning light that streamed through the curtains.

“Miss Jeon… would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: If you want to see the fallout of this proposal from Jeonghan's sister's perspective, then go read 'Patience' lmao.

Thank you so much again for all your support! I'm shocked by how many notes my chapter are receiving considering that I barely started my blog a month ago and thank you SO MUCH to everyone that reads, likes, reblogs or leaves a comment. I can be a little flaky but this is one series I really hope to finish and it's really encouraging that people seem to enjoy it too.

I might put up a poll on my blog to decide which member I write next- feel free to check it out later!

And as always, feel free to leave any feedback or thoughts. I'm not sensitive lol.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan series #seventeen series #jeonghan x reader #seventeen angst #jeonghan angst #regency!au #seventeen fanfiction #svt fluff #svt imagines

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serpent-of-the-silver-plumes · 3 years

Note

would you mind talking more about bart and unreliable narration? I always hear people say unreliable narration but I've never seen any concrete examples from media I actually consume so I'd love your thoughts

Oh absolutely!! I actually wrote a thing about this a while back but then went 'this is not well written' and it got buried in my drafts, so I’m glad to have an excuse to pull that up and rewrite it. (Also sorry, this got really long.)

Basically, at one point I was listening to a podcast (Be the Serpent, ep 4), and they categorize different kinds of unreliable narrators into three types: the narrator who knows they are lying to you, the narrator who is lying to themself (and therefore you), and the narrator who is lying because they are missing some key information. I would argue that the three main pov characters of the Bartimaeus Trilogy each represent a different type of these unreliable narrators.

Going in backwards order, Kitty is the narrator who lies because she is missing some key information, at least until the third book. As a commoner, even one who is part of a resistance movement, her knowledge of magic is extremely limited and biased. Were we to go off of her point of view alone, we would get an inaccurate view of this world and the power dynamics that exist within it: that magicians are somehow special in holding magic and that they have evil demons who work alongside them in shared mischief/hunger for power/whatever.

However, because the books include other points of view, the full impact of that unreliability is not realized.

Similarly, Nathaniel lies to himself, especially in the later books. He ignores how much he personally contributes to upholding a system that depends on the oppression and slavery of other sentient beings, and squashes down the last traces of his moral compass. I don’t think he ever really questions the system of government or if it should be there and work the way it does.

To some extent, we do see through his unreliability as well, because Bartimaeus is around to keep a check on him and tell the reader that no, the magicians and their imperialism are bad, that spirits have very good reason to hate humans, and give us other world building details that contradict what Nathaniel believes.

But some of it is about what is going on inside Nathaniel’s own head, so there is also a lot that can’t be fully seen by an outside perspective that has to be assumed by the reader. Like he will deny the sentimental feelings he has towards Ms. Underwood and the guilt he had over Kitty’s supposed death and the fact that he even remotely cares about Bartimaeus, but actions speak louder than words.

Because both of these characters’ unreliability stem from a lack of understanding, having other perspectives in the book in some ways cancels out their unreliability, and actually ties their unreliability more to their character development than as a plot/narration device. Kitty grows more reliable throughout the series while Nathaniel gets less so until the end. This doesn’t make that unreliability useless though, especially in a series aimed for children. By getting each character’s point of view, we can see where they are coming from and how the knowledge and views they have affect the way they act, but there is also someone else to point out how they are wrong, to make you question how true what each individual says is.

Bartimaeus is entirely different from the first two characters. His narration is told in first person, unlike Nathaniel and Kitty’s third person. He talks directly to the reader and goes off on tangential footnotes that are not necessarily part of the events currently happening in the story. Because of this narration style, he also has the power to lie more directly to the reader than any of the other characters.

Given his life, it is understandable how he has gotten into the habit of lying. Every moment of his existence on Earth is spent under the power of someone else, so he lies in order to protect himself. There are some instances where he lies to his masters in order to escape punishment or to lead them into danger so he can be set free, but he also lies about his feelings because he cannot afford to be emotionally vulnerable.

For the most part, I think it can be assumed that the dialogue and most actions that happen in his pov chapters are told as they are, since much of that lines up with what goes on in the other characters’ perspectives, and also there are at least a few things that show him in a less-than-flattering light that he would probably leave out or change if he could. Instead, the lies he tells are largely about his past and his emotions, often done through exaggeration or omission, and cannot be collaborated by others.

When lying about his past, Bartimaeus frequently exaggerates his prestige and role in history. In Ptolemy’s Gate, Bartimaeus says that he talked to King Solomon about Faquarl’s tendency to brag about his historical importance. Even beyond the obvious irony, in the prequel we see Bartimaeus’s time at Solomon’s court, and while it isn’t technically impossible for him to have talked to Solomon about Faquarl, the timing and circumstances make it extremely unlikely. Although his other stories cannot be proven or disproven with what we know, this instance and his general tendency to brag outrageously makes it very likely that Bartimaeus at the very least embellishes.

However, despite being super showy about his past, Bartimaeus doesn’t actually include much important information. He very rarely talks about his great feats as a thief or assassin or anything else. When he lists his accomplishments, he describes building walls and talking to important historical figures. There’s a post somewhere (if I find it, I’ll link it) that explains this as being a way for Bartimaeus to try to take control of his reputation and therefore his life; by associating with safer jobs, he is less likely to be summoned for very dangerous and morally reprehensible jobs.

He does generally try to portray himself as clever and collected and just generally more cool than he actually is. There’s a moment at the end of the first book where he describes himself as trying to calm Nathaniel who is freaking out, and then the next chapter is from Nathaniel’s pov which describes him as being the calmer one while Bartimaeus is a fly anxiously buzzing around.

I don’t remember the exact line, but in the second book there’s an exchange that goes something like this:

“____” I said calmly.

“Stop your whimpering,” Kitty said.

The way Bartimaeus portrays himself is straight up contradicted by the more factual account of the words and actions of someone else. And presumably there are plenty of other times that we do not see contradictory evidence where Bartimaeus straight up lies about how he is reacting to something.

But one of Bartimaeus’s most unreliable points centers around humans. Throughout the books, he constantly talks about the ways he has killed and would like to kill his masters, if given the opportunity. Nathaniel is an exception, one that Bartimaeus does admit to the reader, but even in the third book when he talks the most about how he would kill Nathaniel or even join a demon rebellion if Faquarl offered right then and there, Bartimaeus does not actually follow through on these threats when he gets the chance. Despite all of his talk about how much he hates humans, Bartimaeus has as much of a positive relationship he can have with as many humans possible, given the circumstances.

A lot of his unreliability centers around Ptolemy, which is what some of Bartimaeus’s biggest lies of omission are about. In the first book, we do get the sense that Bartimaeus has a soft spot for at least some humans. His excuses of saving and looking after Nathaniel in order to avoid Indefinite Confinement, while likely not entirely false, do fall a bit flat. We even get a mention of “a boy I had known once before, someone I had loved.” Although this is not explicitly connected to Ptolemy at this point, mentions of brown skin and the Nile make a pretty obvious connection to Ptolemy, especially as Bartimaeus describes taking on Ptolemy’s form several times later on. There is a less obvious hint too, “I sat on the ground, cross-legged, the way Ptolemy used to do.” Even without knowing much about what kind of relationship Bartimaeus had with Ptolemy, that kind of detail shows ‘a devotion to detail that could only come with genuine affection, or perhaps even love.’

It isn’t until the third book until we learn anything substantial about his relationship with Ptolemy, and even then he doesn’t tell the whole story. The fandom jokes about how Bartimaeus just casually mentions in a foot note that he prefers a lioness form because the manes are annoying, and it’s not until the flashback that you find out that the mane is part of what got Ptolemy killed. And even with the flashbacks, you still never see the time that Ptolemy visited the Other Place.

There are a lot of posts on this site that talk about how Bartimaeus absolutely was idealizing Ptolemy, and how there’s some evidence that he isn’t the perfectly sweet never-did-anything-wrong innocent child that Bartimaeus describes him as (notably that part where he was vaguely annoyed that people kept coming to him to ask for help and interrupted his research). Not that Ptolemy secretly sucks or anything, but it’s really easy to let nostalgia skip over the less dramatic details of Ptolemy being an actual human being with flaws.

In summary, I would argue that all of the trilogy protagonists are unreliable narrators to varying extents, and Jonathan Stroud is a genius for how he manages to make it all work.

#bartimaeus #nathaniel #ptolemy #kitty jones #my post #kitty #unreliable narrator

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cummingforkylo · 3 years

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The Prince Of Alderaan Chapter II

Chapter Summary: Lady Whistledown’s latest papers leaves you quite indignant and unsure of your next steps. Hyde Park is beautiful at this time of year but when you venture out with your Mama, you have anything but flowers in mind.

Chapter One | Read On AO3 | Send me a Ko-fi

Rating: Explicit...eventually

Word Count: 5,309

Warning: None as of now

Pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

Notes: Okay, Okay, I KNOW if you’ve seen Bridgerton you know that I pretty much took this one key element from the storyline but I promise i’m going to do it differently.This story is inspired by the netflix show/book series Bridgerton. It’s kind of a crossover because I do use some themes and characters from the show but it is mostly a Kylo x Reader fic. Remember: historical accuracy is not the goal!<3

Dearest Lords and Ladies of London,

After the first event of the season last night I’m sure we are all wondering what scandal or excitement awaits our hungry appetite! This writer has heard from her sources that while the ball seemed to be laden with the typical talk(Miss Philippa Featherington danced with no one, Lady Browning indulged far too much in champagne and had to be removed from the party by her son, Lord Linfield was rejected by countless ladies for a dance…despite his sizable fortune-perhaps it is the lingering oder of cabbages and onions that accompanies him wherever he goes) there was one bit of excitement that stood far above the other more typical anecdotes. The most scandalous young lady of this season so far, Miss Huntington, seems to have caught the eye of the most coveted (and reluctant) bachelor of the season, the Prince of Alderaan.

Prince Kylo Ren of Alderaan spent much of the evening avoiding the dance floor and was seen to scurry away from many very suitable young ladies including Miss Bridgerton-Queen Charlotte’s choice of the season. While he resisted strongly(and some might even have called his actions rude) most of the young ladies he encountered he seemed to be unable to keep himself away from Miss Huntington. Miss Huntington, still fresh off of her family’s embarrassing gambling scandal last year did not do herself any favors at the Danbury Ball. She danced with a number of men who would have been perfectly adequate for her, but she seemed to have had nothing but contempt for them. Showing no more interest in them then a horse shows a fly and this mare perhaps should not be brushing flies away too quickly, no matter how much their buzz annoys her.

But perhaps the Prince sees something in Miss Huntington that society as a whole does not, because after ignoring the Queen’s choice of the season all night, the Prince and Miss Huntington came together for, by all accounts, a most heated dance. I will be interested to see if Miss Huntington has a royal caller today and what that could mean for her prospects later on. Perhaps the Queen has chosen the wrong girl for the diamond of the season this year, perhaps we have all put our eggs in the wrong basket. But—perhaps not. Only time(and this writer) will reveal.

Yours most sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

“Contempt?” You gasped as you paced back and forth in front of the piano in your sitting room. Mama was sitting in front of a table holding the latest Lady Whistledown, a quickly cooling cup of tea completely forgotten sat on the table in front of her. “I didn’t show any of those men contempt! I was perfectly polite, Mama!” You complained. You were affronted to hear what that wretched Whistledown had written of you, written of you and the Prince.

“I understand that, but the members of the ton might not now that they’ve read this.” Mama sighed. Nerves clenched at your stomach, how could your status seemed to have gotten lower since the Danbury Ball? “Not all of what she wrote of you was terrible, dearest.” Mama said, trying to perk up. She set the paper down next to her tea on the table. “Don’t you agree, Ella?” she continued, looking to your lady’s maid who stood nearby.

“Oh, yes, not all of it was-“

“She compared me to a horse.” You said, turning around to face the two of them, frustration and irritation plain on your face. Ella’s face dropped and she nodded, looking away. “Sorry, Ella. I do not mean to take my own frustrations out on you.” You said.

“She did mention the Prince being taken with you-“

“Yes, what was the word she used to describe our dance?” You asked, “Oh yes, heated. That’s a scandalous word if ever I’ve heard one.” You said. You strode over to the table and picked up the copy of Lady Whistledown Society Papers that now sat on the table beside your Mama. You found yourself wanting to rip it into a million pieces, that of course would not be a proper display, even just in front of your mother and lady’s maid.

Your Mama reached out and took your hand, running her thumb along the backside of it in a comforting way that only a Mama knew how to do. You looked down at her and found yourself for what felt like the millionth time, wishing things were different. Wishing things had not exploded for your family last year. How much easier would life currently be if your father had not indebted himself to so many people, not made a mockery of your lives? You tried to brush away the thought but anger pulsed through you. A most unlady-like feeling, anger. It caused you to think of actions you wanted to take but never could, words you wanted to speak but never would allow yourself to. It made you long even more for a different world wherein you could do and say those things. And longing wasn’t ladylike either.

“Dearest, she also compared you to Daphne Bridgerton and said the Queen herself may have been wrong in her choice. That the whole ton might have been wrong in thinking the diamond of the season was Miss Bridgerton, and she means that it could be you.” As your Mama spoke a whole knew vista of opportunities, and chances seemed to open up before you. You could, no, you had to prove this true. That you were more eligible, more likable and just…more than anyone else. The Prince could call on you and he could court you, and ask for your hand and marry you. Then all this worry, all this anger and pain and scandal would be for naught. It would be forgotten about because you will have made the match of the season. Even if he was rude, cruel and you became irritated at the mere memory of his mocking voice, you would still become a Princess when you married him and that was exactly what your family needed. Yes, that was the goal and you were heartened by it.

“My guess is you will have quite a lot of callers today, suitors ready to vy for your hand.” Mama said and you smiled because you really did agree with her.

Your mood dissolved as the day went on, you spent the entire day in the sitting room awaiting on callers. You paced, and no one called. You sat on the sofa and tried to read, and no one called. You played piano and no flowers or gifts arrived. You talked to Ella about other things to try and distract yourself and no one called. You picked out fabric for your next dress from the swatches the Modiste had sent and no one called. Not one suitor. You had been so convinced that the Prince would call, or at least send flowers that in the afternoon when there was a knock at the sitting room door you were sure it was the Butler there to tell you that he was there but instead the door opened and your eldest brother walked in with his wife and your niece and nephew close behind. Matthew was jovial as he greeted you and your Mama,

“Did you read Lady Whistledown today? That woman has a knack for writing compelling stories does she not?” He asked as he grabbed a biscuit and sank down at the table. His wife, Rose sat down next to you at the piano as the children ran about already causing havoc. You rolled your eyes, had they not read the same thing this morning? Why would he think it compelling?

“She compared me to a horse, Matthew.” You found yourself saying once again, turning to look at your elder brother who attempted and failed to hide a smile.

“I told him not to bring up Lady Whistledown.” Rose sighed, reaching over to take your hand in the sweet and gentle way that she did.

“Ella, can you call down to the kitchens for more tea, please?” Mama said, looking to Ella who said,

“Of course, Ma’am.” She curtsied and left them. Matthew watched her go from the room, and leaned back against his chair.

“She may have made a few brash statements, my dear sister but she also reminded everyone that their choice of Daphne Bridgerton for the diamond of the season could be false and it could be you.” Matthew said, delicately selecting another biscuit from the tray in front of him.

“That is precisely what I pointed out out to your sister earlier.” Your mama said approvingly glancing from Matthew to you over her teacup.

“That was before absolutely no suitors came to call this morning,” You reminded your mother, irritation coloring your voice once again.

Your nephew sped past the table his father was at, grabbing a biscuit as he went.

“Simon, where on earth are your manners?” Rose asked. Simon stuck his tongue out at his mother and continued his game of chasing his sister around the couch with the biscuit in his mouth.

“You had no suitors this morning? None at all?” Matthew asked, and the shock in his voice made you want to shrivel up and die. It was unfair, unfair that Matthew was there to bare witness to your suffering, unfair that he should be here with his happy wife and children watching you fail at your only duty in life. Your mama shook her head to answer for you because you were looking anywhere but at your elder brother. Rose squeezed your hand and your chest flooded with sudden emotion. The tiniest gesture made you feel as though you were not alone. Had she once felt like this? Had she too wondered if anyone would want her? Had she wondered if she would amount to anything more than the hated title of ‘spinster’? No, Matthew had been there from the start, he had been interested and active in seeking her out.

Matthew was frowning as if in thought, “Does father know?” he asked, trying now to hide some of his shock by asking pointless questions. Of course Father didn’t know, Father wasn’t home, how would he know? Mama answered in a more polite fashion than you would have,

“Not yet,” She said.

“Hm. Well. There is still time.” He said shot you a quick smile, perhaps you weren’t entirely useless. Your mood did not improve, even when you retreated to your room to get dressed for walking in Hyde park. You knew you could not get discouraged. You knew you had to prove yourself as the best. Lady Whistledown might have helped along the No Suitors Situation but she herself had also said you could be the rightful Diamond of the Season and not Daphne Bridgerton. Everyone had already said this to you today and now you had to remind yourself. You had to convince yourself because it would take that confidence to pull it off. As Ella helped you dress you found your mind floating back to the night before, at the Danbury Ball and how flat every dance had felt, every look between you and a man had had no significance, every touch was dull and expected. It had all been nothing. All except one—the Prince. The rude, cruel, infuriating Prince Ren who had called you improper, even though he had been the one staring at you. Kylo Ren, who had…touched your skin. Your heart pounded at the mere memory of his fingers grazing against your back. It made you ashamed but not nearly as much as it should have, because it also was the only memory from the Danbury Ball that exhilarated you. He had sought you out, and you alone, it had to have meant something. And yet when he danced with you it seemed as though all he wanted from it was to humiliate you. You wished it wasn’t possible. You wished it hadn’t worked. And you very much wished you still weren’t thinking about it.

***

Your thoughts of Prince Kylo Ren didn’t abate when you left your house for the short carriage ride to Hyde Park. You were still thinking about him as you strolled along the walking paths with your Mama and your Lady’s maids. You were trying to work out what exactly he had meant by his behavior, why choose you to be the only young lady he danced with and then be nothing but rude to you? Perhaps he did not think himself rude? Perhaps he just spoke his mind very bluntly. You considered this as the best option for a while, barely noticing where your feet were carrying you as you walked alongside your Mama. But a memory resurfaced from that night, that made it very clear to you that this could not be the case. It was the memory of the smirk that seemed to hang even in his voice as he said, “You stared at me, my lady.” Your insides twisted at it. That and the way his eyes burned. He knew precisely what he was doing, he knew he was trying to humiliate you, trying to make you feel as if you had done something wrong. “How improper,” those words sent a spark through your body, something akin to anger and embarrassment. His voice had been dark and intense, your mind was absorbed in it…accompanied with the feeling of his gloved fingers against the bare skin of your back. It wasn’t the correct place for him to place his hand while leading a dance, it was slightly too high. Yet, he had done it. Accidentally? It must have been. He just had not been used to dancing with someone quite that much shorter than him, perhaps. Those fingers blazed through your memory, leaving little room for anything else in your brain. You could imagine his fingers there again as you looked out across the Serpentine River, which was little more than a shallow man-made pond that cut through this section of Hyde Park.

Your mind was so wrapped up in the feeling of those fingers, and the burn in his eyes that it took you far too long to notice you were staring directly at the real thing. It took your mother taking your arm and hissing in your ear,

“Staring at the Prince is not very lady-like.” She squeezed your arm and you blinked. She, of course, was right. Across the lake, the prince was standing arm in arm with the Queen Regent of Alderaan, his mother. Someone he had not been seen with years. As you took him in you realized he had not noticed you yet, you should look away, being caught staring at him yet again would surely end in more humiliation. He paused in his walk with his mother, his expression was irritated, lips tight, body stiff and upright as she spoke to him. His eyes flicked up and you were very suddenly caught in his gaze. Caught wasn’t quite the right word to describe it, trapped was probably more accurate. A shiver ran up your spine, it was that same blazing glance, a whisper of the memory of a hand on your skin. You watched as humor suddenly joined the irritation on his face, recoloring it. He turned to look at his mother, spoke and then pulled his arm away from her. He began to walk to the foot bridge nearby. She called something after him but he ignored her, she turned to her Lady’s maid who was standing nearby but your eyes were following his Grace as he walked over the bridge.

“The Prince is headed in this direction,” Mama hissed to you quite unnecessarily. You were about to hiss back that you knew but you started to feel not only his eyes on you, but many eyes on you. Everyone who had gone for a late afternoon stroll through Hyde Park seemed to be looking at you. All because Prince Kylo was stepping off the foot bridge and striding over towards you. You found yourself having the insane desire to run away. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t face him after he had caught you staring, or perhaps it was because of your disastrous dance at the Danbury Ball…or perhaps it was because of the persistent and scorching thoughts of his hand in yours, his fingers on your back. You wanted to hide from all of that and hide from his gaze but he walked up to you a moment later and inclined his head respectfully,

“Miss Huntington,” He said and then he turned slightly towards your Mama. “Lady Huntington,” He said.

“Your Grace,” Your Mama said, dropping to a curtsey. When you finally remembered how to move, and curtsied as well.

“Your Grace,” You mimicked your mother.

“What a pleasant thing, to meet you here.” Mama said, smiling almost adoringly up at Kylo. “Were you escorting your mother?” She asked. Something shifted slightly in his face, the subtle shift was enough to make his face go from mildly polite to the beginnings of irritation.

“Yes.” He said. “But I happened to see Miss Huntington across the Serpentine and thought she looked as though she could use a companion this afternoon.” He said. He offered his arm to you. You didn’t move. You were unsure if you should take it, unsure if you even wanted to take it. You knew you should and something inside of you did long for it, longed for his gloved hand in yours so that you could again revel in the memory of it against your bare back. Shock swept through you at your own thoughts, and with that shock was the realization that the prince had his arm held out to you still, “Would you care to walk with me, Miss Huntington?” He asked. You took the proffered arm as gracefully as you could manage while you still recovered from your own thoughts and the longing that still drove you to consider his hand at such length.

“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” You said. You watched him give your mother a tight smile and nod, before he turned you away form her and began walking.

It was quiet except for the sound of your steps as you walked along the Serpentine, you listened to his heavy footfalls and your lighter ones keeping pace. Was he going to mention the rude things he had said when you had last spoke? Should you bring them up? You were about to ask him if he planned on insulting you again on your walk when he spoke,

“I thought you might have learned your lesson about staring the last time we met.” He spoke casually as though he wasn’t attempting to wound your pride. “That does not seem to be the case.” He said. You looked about, wondering if anyone was within earshot, but no, Mama and her Lady’s maid were the closest people to the both of you and she was at least twenty yards back.

“First of all, Your Grace, I did not realize I was looking at you this afternoon.” You said, turning to look up at him. He was so much bigger than you that it felt as though you had to lean back to see his face. “Secondly, I maintain that the last time we met, I was only looking at you because I had caught you looking at me.” You insisted, and again the memory of that evening filtered into your head. The way you had felt his eyes upon you and how you looked back with curiosity.

“Hm.” Was his answer, and for a long moment it seemed as though he was going to leave it at that, then he spoke with no humor in his voice, “You presume to know better than I?” He asked. Your body felt tight and if you had not been holding on to his arm, your hands would have been shaking. Was it just because he was a prince that he was this intimidating or was it more? No, it had to be more, there was something about him that screamed at you to be nervous, to be afraid. You had to take a deep breath before you spoke to him again,

“I presume to know when I am being looked at across a ballroom, Your Grace.” You said, turning your face away from him so you looked forward at the path in front of you instead.

“Do you know so acutely what that feels like?” He asked, you felt his eyes on you again, that intense gaze that had burned into your across the ballroom at the Danbury estate. He was mocking you again, because he knew you did not know what it felt like. You swallowed and your eyes flicked up to him and then away again as you tried to recover.

“Perhaps not, but I knew I could sense your gaze.” You insisted.

“Perhaps I could sense yours.” He said.

“That’s impossible because I was not looking at you yet.” Your voice was colored with anger now and you wished you could take back the words, your frustration only seemed to spur him on.

“I think you might have been.”

“I was not.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” You almost ripped your arm away from him but you knew deep down that you could not. Not only was it impossible because you knew it would cause a scandalous scene but you could not because your body would not allow you to pull away from him. It felt like you were glued to his side.

“You seem unreliable to me,” His voice was humorless, irritated at your refusal to accept his version of events. You walked in silence next to him, not wanting to give him more fuel to flame his suspicions that you were an unreliable source, or a hot tempered girl. “Did you have many callers this morning?” You were so surprised by the question that you stopped walking, or you tried to because with your arm in his he simply towed you along with him.

“Excuse me?” You asked, breathless. It wasn’t an entirely unreasonable question for a friend to ask but you would not consider him a friend or even a potential suitor at this point. He had made it quite clear that he thought of you as nothing but an improper, unreliable, little girl.

“Lady Whistledown wrote that you might surprise everyone by making the match of the season,” He explained as he continued to tow you along with him. You turned your head to gaze up at him again, he was shocking in so many ways. Not only did he follow no real social protocols, but he spoke his mind and was too handsome to be reasonable. You wished you did not think it true, but as you looked at him you couldn’t help but notice again every pleasant thing about his face. Full lips, dark eyes with their fire-gaze, straight nose, and skin that was kissed with beauty spots in all sorts of delicate places. You blinked a few times, trying to beat back all the feelings that rose with appreciating his beauty,

“You read Lady Whistledown?” You asked, hating how stupid you sounded.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked. Your brow knit, you didn’t like being reminded of that fact. It must have shown on your face because he raised an eyebrow and his lip twitched towards a sardonic smirk, “I thought you would appreciate most of the things she wrote of you, Miss Huntington.” He observed. The idea that you would appreciate the things she wrote of you, of your family irritated you more than anything else he could have said. You let out a long, slow breath, trying to not let the anger towards Lady Whistledown effect the way you spoke to him. You were about to answer when he continued, cutting you off yet again, “You should appreciate that she’s willing to speak of you at all,” The frank way he put that boiled your blood and again you found yourself wanting to rip from his arm and march off but your body betrayed you once again and you remained stuck next to him.

“She…I can’t believe- that woman…she compared me to a HORSE!” You exclaimed, your voice dripping with contempt as you tried to not speak too loudly. Kylo frowned in thought a moment,

“I had not recalled that.” He said easily ignoring your fuming. “So, did you have callers this morning?” he asked again. You felt deflated, you had been so angry only seconds before and it was like it had been a soap bubble that he had burst. You swallowed and forced your eyes down, away from him. You felt your cheeks burn and you hoped your embarrassment didn’t show too much,

“No.” You said in the most dignified voice you could manage, lifting your chin. You weren’t sure why you were telling him the truth, but lying about it made it seem more shameful.

“No?” He confirmed, sounding surprised.

“No.” You said again, “No callers, no flowers, nothing.” He had walked you down the Serpentine to the next footbridge and now you were beginning to cross it. As you reached the middle of the bridge he stopped and looked down towards the water, you paused and stood on your tiptoes to look over the railing on the bridge as well, there was nothing but shallow dirty water below. Nothing of interest, but it was a good way to avoid his gaze.

“That surprises me. You danced with others at the Danbury ball I presume?” He asked.

“Yes,” You finally did look back towards him and again were struck by his handsome face. Your heart started to thrum faster in your chest. “I did think that perhaps you would call,” You admitted in a rush. The silence that fell seemed like the longest silence in your life. You wished you had not said anything. The words hung in the air and you wished they were physical so you could grab them and press them back inside of you, into your chest where he could no longer know them.

“Why would I call on you?” It was the emphasis on ‘you’ that hurt more than the sentiment itself. You let out the breath you had been holding and tried to replace the hurt with the frustration you had felt towards him earlier.

“I was the only young lady you danced with at the Ball,” You said, “And now you’re standing here, walking with me and asking if I had any callers. Forgive me, for thinking that might mean some form of interest, Your Grace.” You said.

“I am not interested, Miss Huntington.” He said so easily that you felt that same hurt as before. Why was he here then? Why was he walking with you now when you could have been walking with someone who was truly interested. Perhaps it was rude but at the moment you didn’t care,

“Why are you here then?” You demanded, you were finally able to pull your arm away from him now. “If you want so little to do with me, why walk with me?” You placed both hands on the railing of the bridge and turned fully towards the water once again. You tried to even your breathing, it was unbecoming to be gasping for breath even if it did feel like you had been kicked in the stomach.

“To irritate my mother,” He answered. Now it was easy to replace the hurt with anger, he was using you for his familial issues and it was at the expense of the rest of your life. How were you to have any suitors if he took up all your time with stupid walks that were only to his benefit.

You turned slowly towards him, feeling like anger was swelling up inside of you like the soap bubble from before, only you doubted it would be as easy to burst this time.

“To irritate your mother?” You asked, your voice dangerous and quiet. He was unapologetic. “How dare you? You think just because you’re some…some Prince that you can use me however you would like for your petty problems with your mother?” You gasped out, you were shaking now. Your whole body was responding to the indignity of what he was doing to you. His face darkened slightly and he stepped towards you, towering above you. Anyone watching might have mistaken this for something romantic if it hadn’t been for the loathing that was apparent on your face.

“You speak to a Prince like this?” he growled.

“When this Prince has acted anything but gentlemanly and has insulted me repeatedly-“

“Even when what I’m doing will help you in the long run as well?” He asked, his voice lowering even more.

“-by blatantly disrespecting me and my—what?” You pulled up short when he asked you that. “How on earth could this help me?” You paused, and then added with as much sarcasm as you could muster, “Your Grace.”

“Have you not noticed how many men have been watching you since I took your arm for this walk?” He hissed, leaning down closer to you. You could smell him now, and his scent with the overwhelming power of that dark gaze was enough to make you lose your breath for a moment.

“I-What?” You asked again, hurriedly looking around towards the other groups of people in the park.

“Don’t look now, stupid girl.” He growled. “Yes, my interest in you has piqued the interest of quite a few other men. You need suitors. I need my mother to stop pushing for me to marry…and I also need some peace from the idiotic Mama’s who push their daughters on me at every event I attend.” He said.

“I…I don’t understand.” You said softly, but you were beginning to, you remembered the way you had felt eyes on you when he had first come over to you. It hadn’t just been the eyes of gossiping old ladies, no, it had been the watchful daresay jealous eyes of men. He was proposing something to you, not something you would have thought of…but something almost as helpful.

“If you and I are seen together…seen as an item. Seen as if we were courting, you would become the most appealing girl in the ton. You would also become a challenge and men love nothing more than a challenge.” He said.

“And you…”

“Well, I would get exactly what I want as well-“ His eyes flicked to the other side of the river and down back where they had come where his mother was still walking with her Lady’s maid. You felt as though your heart would beat out of your chest, if he was right, if this worked it could very well get you a match by the end of the season.

“Do you think it would work?” You asked.

“If Lady Whistledown believes it. The whole ton will follow.” He said. “You just need to stop making scene of us in public.” He said. “Now take my arm again,” He instructed. “And walk back with me.”

You did as he said, hoping against hope he was right. He had to be right, your future was relying on it. You had to maintain that you were courting, you had to maintain it realistically and you had to do it while not thinking too much about his hand grazing your skin or the way his fire-gaze scorched your insides, burning excitement into your veins.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren reader insert #ben solo #kylo ren au #regency!kylo #fanfic #writing #kylo ren smut #fanfic: tpoa

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dontwarnthetadpoles · 3 years

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Best Buffy & Willow platonic and romantic moments: Season 1

I changed the order of the words in the title because the scenes i’m commenting are more platonic than romantic. The romance is mostly an effect of my interpretation and writing at this point (it will be true until season 4). I also removed the end “ love at first sight” for the same reason. It seems more clear to present it this way.

Never Kill a Boy on the First Date (Episode 5).

Finally an episode with ambitious writing and a decent budget! The stakes are upped with a new prophecy, a new enemy raising, and Buffy’s personal life starting to collide with her professional calling as a slayer.

Let’s focus on Buffy and Willow:

Remember this during Welcome to the Hellmouth?:

Willow: Oh, I could totally help you out! Uh, if you have sixth period free we could meet in the library?

Buffy: Or not. Or we could meet someplace quieter. Louder. Uh, that place just kinda gives me the wiggins.

Willow: Oh, it has that effect on most kids. I love it, though, it's a great collection, and the new librarian is really cool.

Buffy: He's new?

Willow: Yeah, he just started. He was a curator at some British museum, or The British Museum, I'm not sure. But he knows everything, and he brought all these historical volumes and biographies and am I the single dullest person alive?

That’s Willow in a nutshell: so very bookwormy and nerdy. I can totally relate.

Someone else who relates to Willow’s passion for books in this episode is Owen, Buffy’s new love interest. He’s obviously a book lover: he goes everywhere with his copy of Emily Dickinson’s complete poems that he enjoys so much that he doesn’t shy from calling it his security blanket in front of the girl he likes. Even Xander who tried to distract Buffy from her gloomy thoughts after she missed a date with Owen, picked up on this detail and said that a lot of guy can read and that he himself can read.

To draw from this the conclusion that Buffy has a thing for avid readers and serious students and that sweet Willow fits the pattern, is something i won’t shy neither from doing.

It’s also worth to note that even Angel’s personality has been retconned later in the show to fit the type: he offered her a poetry book and was seen reading a french philosopher.

More parallels that make me smile: seems that Buffy has also a seduction technique to approach her crushes. Like waiting for the lunchtime, to see if they are alone and to offer to keep them company. Owen Is just like Willow more than happy to share any time of the day with her.

Meanwhile Willow is working very hard to win the award of the best friend of the year: she supports dutifully Buffy’s amazement at everything that Owen does or says, which (short off topic) made me reconsider the coldness/neutrality of her reaction toward Angel in the last episode.

Contrary to Xander, she wasn’t much impressed by his looks and seemed more amused by Xander’s jealousy than curious to know more about the mysterious stranger. An important detail for me because i’m a little obsessed with the Angel/Buffy/Willow triangle - it exists mostly in the subtext and my obsession comes from littles clues i see in the script and directing - though the writers stayed very subtle about it.

How cute did Buffy and Willow look when they were falsely arguing about Owen’s invitation to the Bronze being or not a big deal? On a scale of 1 to 10, they were at level 20. It’s almost a superpower.

I love especially this dialogue with Giles just after::

Buffy/Willow: What are you talking about?

Giles:What are you talking about?

Buffy/Willow: Boys.

Giles: I'm talking about trouble.

Boys are indeed trouble but girl friends are safe and loyal, and that’s why Buffy relies on Willow to help her pick an outfit for her 1st date with Owen.

Which leads us to their best scene of the episode: in Buffy’s bedroom.

This first Willow and Xander visit to Buffy’s house and how they felt immediately at home in her bedroom is the kind of scene written to make you fall in love with the show if it wasn’t already the case. It’s such a pure, wholesome and true moment.

It worked so well on the young me who was discovering the show and for who invitations and sleepovers were something so hard to be allowed to do because of family rules. In the show, it means promise of intimacy, trust and shared secrets, and that Buffy’s home will be a place to feel protected for my favourite characters.

And the show didn’t disappoint: the Summer’s house will become for all of them an integral a part of their life. Willow will live literally in it for two years. It was almost a character, just like the town before its destruction.

However beyond the nostalgia, the scene gives me also mixed feelings:

I loved without hesitation everything about Buffy and Willow having already reviewed and picked her outfit, hair and make up way before Xander arrived. Sharing fashion tips (and shopping too) with your girl friends as a teenager is one of the most satisfying experience. It intensifies the relationship like nothing else. So they clearly have reached a new friendship level here. (Though i wasn’t aware that they were so close that they could change clothes in front of each other. Like how else did Buffy put on her golden/yellow dress!?).

There is in those moments a sense of normality that both Willow and Buffy are craving for different reasons (Willow because her solitude keeps her away from it, Buffy because of her mission).

But i’m really against her decision to use Xander to test on him what Owen would think of her looks.

The less depressing interpretation is that Buffy might be trying to show to Willow that she got her message from the last episode (Teacher’s Pet) about her feelings for Xander:

Willow: No, no, no! See? Xander's, I like his head! I-it's where you find his eyes, and his hair, and his adorable smile...

But Xander is doing the same thing to Willow, and the fact that Buffy who has so much influence on them, joins them in this attitude validates this way of thinking that people can be used if they have feelings for you.

It will complicate their relationship for the rest of the show to the point that 7 seasons later Willow will still think that people won’t stay with her or love her if they don’t need her.

But back to this episode to conclude: sadly after this point our heroines are taken away from each other and dragged to the land of love triangles, located at the Bronze. While Buffy doesn’t know anymore to who give her attention between Owen and Angel, Willow fakes a date with Xander and meets Angel officially.

The episode ends with Buffy making a choice to not keep Owen in her life because of the danger, while she never had the same doubts about Willow (and Xander)...

And though she has very reasonable reasons to not want Owen around, who can blame her to dismiss him and keep Willow close when they both look like this together (their matching colors are making me melt)?

#btvs #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy x willow #buffy summers #willow rosenberg #buffy meta #my btvs meta #best buffy and willow season 1 #1x05 never kill a boy on the first date

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snapeaddict · 4 years

Note

Hi it's me again. I wanted to ask if there is a possible way of writing a student accidentaly falls in love with Severus Snape.. albus and minerva are very amused with it. And regularly teases him about it. I would love to see the outcome. And I love your writing skills they are perfection. ❤❤❤ 👈my appreciation for your skills.

"Severus! Severus!"

The potions master, who had been very busy rolling his eyes over the Daily Prophet he was holding with disgust, turned his head toward Minerva. She unceremoniously sat on the couch beside him, a grin on her face, hiding something behind her back -

Severus wasn't sure he liked it.

"What?", he asked in a voice he meant to sound a little annoyed, but which came out quite rude. He wasn't in the mood.

Minerva, however, had been his colleague for too long to pay attention to his usual bad temper anymore.

"Why aren't you in your beloved dungeons? It is where I would expect to find you on such a dreadful day."

Severus opened his mouth, ready to deliver a very sarcastic reply - but before he could do it, Albus Dumbledore had made his entrance in the room as well, and smiling knowingly as he spotted his two friends, waved his hand.

"All days are dreadful for our dear Severus, Minerva", he said, amused, sitting next to them and taking out a paper bag from his right pocket. "You should know this by now."

"I am not talking to you", the Potions Master declared, now definitely sounding annoyed.

Minerva sighed.

"Now now, are you two not speaking yet again? Will you grow up a little?"

Albus raised an eyebrow, putting three or more sweets in his mouth. Severus rolled his eyes.

"I should like to remind you that you and Severus did not speak for three months last year", he told Minerva teasingly.

"And it was for a perfectly reasonable reason", Severus almost cut. "Potter should never have gotten this broom."

It was Minerva's turn to roll her eyes. She had always prided herself with her supposed impartiality, and apparently was not ready yet to face her faults. Right now, especially, she had something else on her mind.

"And what, may I ask, is the reason of today's dispute?"

This time, Severus was quicker to respond.

"The man you see here", he said, narrowing his eyes, "is responsible for Lockhart's presence in this castle."

"It was to prove his stories are false!" Albus protested.

"Of course they are, headmaster. Reading his books is all it takes to know that", Severus replied, sighing.

Sometimes he wondered if Albus really was as intelligent as everyone claimed.

Minerva leaned over to pour herself some tea. She eyed the headmaster, then the Potions Master, looking as though she was waiting for more entertainment.

"I must say, Albus, I quite agree with Severus. What were you thinking?" she asked casually.

But the headmaster was still looking at Severus.

"Are you telling me you read Guilderoy's books, my dear boy?"

He was giggling.

"There are dwarves in pink dresses in front of my office!" Severus hissed, blushing slightly.

"You are changing the subj-"

"Talking about cupids", Minerva, offering Severus a moment of peace that would only last a few seconds, "I have something for you, Severus."

She gave him a small, light pink envelope with a shadow of a smile, regretting Albus and her would be the only witnesses of such historic moment. Severus looked up at Albus.

"This is your fault. I want you fired."

The older man's smile grew even bigger.

"Now now Severus, isn't it nice to have secret admirers?"

The Potions Master had carefully opened the envelope and was reading its content already, his face unreadable.

"It's not a secret", he spoke, still reading. As if I was unable to recognize my own students' handwriting after years of painful teaching."

"Who is it from?" Minerva asked eagerly, sitting next to him.

"Mandy Brocklehurst."

"A Ravenclaw!" Albus exclaimed, trying very hard not to laugh. "You never had one from a Ravenclaw before, had you, Severus?"

The Potions Master had finished his reading, his pale face now scarlet yarn.

"... Albus!"

"Are you implying there were others?" their colleague asked, open-mouthed. "Severus, you had not told me of this!"

He folded the letter, refusing to look at her, turning to the fireplace.

"Severus is quite popular, if you must know, my dear Minerva..." Albus whispered. "Last year, with boys..."

"ALBUS!" The Potions Master roared. "You would not want me to spill all of your romantic secret life's adventures to all of our colleagues, would you? You don't want me as your ennemy..."

The headmaster shook his head, casting Minerva a contrite look as an apology.

"I am afraid my hands are tied, my dear..."

She turned to Severus, looking very much like the blabbermouth she secretly was.

"Was Miss Brocklehurst complimenting you on the shape of your eyes? Or perhaps your voice..."

Severus got up, dusting off his clothes and throwing the letter into the nearest fire.

"I'd rather have the company of those dwarves than this sort of conversation", he said, glancing at the door. "What the-"

He made a few steps. On the floor was another letter, black, this time, with his name on it.

"I thought you had forbid them to get into this room!" he exclaimed, looking at Albus, then picking up the letter. He could already smell awful perfume emanating from the envelope.

Minerva cast a careful look at the front of the envelope he was holding in disgust. She tried, she really did - but eventually burst out laughing.

"Oh, Severus", she said after a moment, the two men looking at her incredulously, "I may not be good at recognising my own student's handwriting, but I am an expert in smells..."

"... And I would recognize Guilderoy's perfume in the midst of a million."

Severus looked down in horror.

She had blackmail material for at least five years.

Thank you for your kind words dear, I realize this is a little off topic but oh well... I've seen too much of Severus and Guilderoy on Tumblr recently

#severus snape #harry potter #pro snape #minerva mcgonagall #albus dumbledore #snape fandom #severus and minerva #snape pro snape #severus #Snapedom #Snape community #Snape headcanon #Hogwarts headcanon #Guilderoy lockhart

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says and @eleveneitherway who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further.

In the absurdity factor, at least.

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying.

About the whole goddamn thing.

She’d never shut up about it, he knew.

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people.

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking.

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors.

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue.

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game.

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too.

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them.

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them.

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream.

Belle elbowed him.

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand.

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award.

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty.

Like in a fundamental sort of way.

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either.

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck.

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses.

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head.

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted.

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will.

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level.

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate.

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth.

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary.

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them.

Where it wasn’t a game at all.

Damn.

Ariel was going to be so annoying.

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly.

Belle pinched the side of his wrist.

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening.

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him.

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough.

He wasn’t enough.

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing.

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero.

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now.

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.”

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent.

Gotten better shin pads, probably.

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem.

Heart, too.

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips.

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks.

He kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew.

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that.

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course.

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections.

Zelena probably did.

Ariel would use that.

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly.

Which had to count for something, he figured.

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic.

Something in the same realm as melting, probably.

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing.

They’d get there eventually.

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.”

She scrunched her nose.

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request.

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream.

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went.

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away.

Belle took the phone.

The kid’s phone.

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster.

In, like, the history of photography.

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high.

Without the threat of inevitable crash.

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe.

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #will x belle #blue line one shots #what did i use yesterday as my tag for this?#so as not to also confuse it with the au of the au staring will scarlet?#defensive!blue line #that wasn't it but it is now #anyway these have been real fun to write #because as we all know i am certified trash for alternate stories in the same 'verse #also giving belle a personality finally is a delight #seriously i hope the five people interested in this enjoy it

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mc-critical · 3 years

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Hellooo 🤗 First, I have been following your blog for a while and I love your blog so much! I hope you are doing well :) And my ask to you can be a little bit complex. I have been thinking about why Hatice chose not to kill Hurrem when she kidnapped her for 2 years. I know hurrem obviously can't die for the history :) and they had to change the scenario for Meryem's absence but I want to think this in the my universe, some suggest that her whole purpose was to revenge suleyman, more than hurrem. Because in ep 85, she said to him that she wanted to kill hurrem just because she wanted suleyman to suffer and feel the same pain as her. And some people say that it's because she just couldn't do this because she is still so...merciful. In short, I sometimes have troubles to understand the dynamics and the bond between hurrem and hatice. They are both very complex characters and there is so many hatice hate in this fandom and I am saying this as an hurrem fan :) So I would be very happy if you can answer my question and this complex dynamics between them 😊💕

Hey there! 🤗 Thank you for your words and yes, I'm fine. :)

I agree that the whole abduction plot was clearly done in order to excuse Meryem's departure in-universe in some way. And Hürrem couldn't be killed because of historical accuracy and the whole lot of stuff she had to do in the script afterwards. She couldn't just die like that, they had to wrap her arc up in some way and both the consequences of the abduction and S04 itself were very important for Hürrem's character.

That aside, I don't think the writers gave us a clear cut reason as to why Hatice didn't kill Hürrem. I always considered the way Hürrem survived to be a plot hole for the sake of the plot and time constraints the team faced by the end of the season. There were many cases the show abused the attacks of Hürrem done by her enemies, they sometimes turned out to be so miscalculated and so absurd that Hürrem would always survive. They became so much, we have seen such scenarios so many times now that Hürrem surviving is something I would take for granted by now and wouldn't question for that and that alone. The survival, in practice, is as contrived as it can be and knowing the difficulties behind the scenes, I refused to think of the how and the why of the fact alone.

However, yes, the abduction was not only a way to cover up for Meryem's departure, it ultimately became the conclusion of Hatice's whole character arc, culminating in one last move against Hürrem.

After she forgave Ibrahim about the infidelity, their wounds started to heal and they finally had the chance to start over. And it seemed to pay off... until he died. Ibrahim's death was a new low in Hatice's arc which caused her to lose hope in her own life. She was ready to end it... but not before she got rid of the object of her rage. Thing is, even though Hatice acted against Hürrem before and fully stood against her by S03 for multiple reasons (I elaborated on all that and the many nuances of Hatice's character here), we could say that her wanting to kill Hürrem was the turning point of her storyline and arc in the second half of the season. Before that Hatice's actions against Hürrem were primarily motivated by her threatening everything Hatice cared about at once - both dynasty and family and Hürrem taking Valide's chambers was the last nail of the coffin, which is why her first true move against Hürrem was done through methods the tradition and the harem stood by. (Firuze) I doubt she wanted to kill her then, it was all about the protection of Hatice's personal attachments. She wanted to put her in line, to make her stop, to defeat her for everyone to return to their peaceful lives. What she wanted most of all was a stable family with Ibrahim. And after Ibrahim died, the chance for one was gone. Hatice knew well of Hürrem's enmity with Ibrahim and didn't know of Ibrahim's speeches, hence she didn't have anyone else to blame other than Hürrem and Süleyman. After everything began to go well, Ibrahim's death once again destroyed her "perfect picture", she lost the person that became the bounder of dynasty and family after she forgave him, her everything, a loss for the state, as well. (she praised all his achievements during campaigns after he died) The needs of the dynasty fully became her own personal motives by the time Ibrahim was dead. She already had enough rage against Hürrem at this point, but now that rage increased all the more. That rage, close to hatred, became directed at Süleiman, as well, for taking such a devastating decision, disregarding Hatice's own values and life in her eyes and reminding her of all the death and trauma she had experienced, so the only thing she would do, is move against them both. Yes, Süleiman took away a piece of Hatice's life, now it is her turn to take away a piece of his life. Her enmity against Hürrem took a wholly different turn. Now she truly is the object of all her misery and pain, to the point she thought that her coming in the harem to begin with caused destruction everywhere around - it destroyed everything, according to Hatice, including Süleiman, as she told him in her last scene.

There's also another thing we should look at- all of Hatice's actions in E83, which I feel are very detrimental for her S03B arc. It almost feels like Hatice is in a conflicted state of mind - she lost a lot from Ibrahim's death, she no longer had a point of existing and yet, she wants those who caused her pain to suffer, she wants to end them. She feels that Ibrahim's death is a gross injustice that has to be avenged and yet, she wants to suffer alone with herself, alone with her own pain. Her suicide attempt in the same episode "marries" these two states of mind and puts Hatice's later actions into context - Şah saving her and her promise to end Hürrem is a major reason why Hatice kept going, because it's a modicum of support she hasn't gotten from this person for a long time. It's a promise to fix what has passed. Hürrem's elimination would "fix" what has passed in Hatice's eyes, it would be a natural right, to say the least. Şah saving Hatice gave her the only motivation to live and that's one reason why Hatice fixated so much in it. And if we put her growing depression in the mix, we see that she didn't really get the chance to heal from such big loss. No one truly managed to alleviate her pain or to understand her, everyone was only expecting her to move on, to get over it, without actually doing anything helpful, because "time heals", now doesn't it? In a point Hatice begins to view any action that appear to try "alleviating her pain" as a forced interference in her own life by creating various situations (like Şah redecorating her castle, the exile in Manisa, the marriage with Hüsrev Pasha etc.) for her to adapt in without really considering how she actually felt. She couldn't cope with Ibrahim's death in a healthy way, so the only thing left of her was this wound that kept growing, instead of healing. She was fueled by promises of an end to her misery and will for revenge, but when these promises weren't being fulfilled, she fell even further into despair and acting against the ones who caused her suffering became her only coping mechanism. Which culminated in the abduction.

I know that the writers tried their best to weave a mystery out of this whole plot line, but Hatice being the one behind the abduction wasn't surprising in the slightest - I always saw it as a desparate move of hers to get rid of Hürrem, in a way Süleiman would never predict she would be capable of in her right mind, in a way no one could stop her from doing what she must. Hatice admitted that this was done in order for Süleiman to feel what she felt, to fuel him with false promises the way they all fueled her (see the last Hatice and SS scene before her death) and finish it all by herself, by finally, finally doing what should havе done long ago. The fact that no one knew what happened exactly is something I think Hatice would definetly pull in her most broken state, aside from the sloppy writing, because when everything is kept under wraps, the fate of Hürrem is all in her hands and she would deal with her successfully and effortlessly, without anyone managing to prove anything. This was her revenge, this was the way she would finish it.

I honestly don't understand her not killing her, aside from the plot convenience, because at this point.. oh yes, Hatice would absolutely kill her and as I mentioned before, she already wanted to kill her, to eliminate what has become the root of all the problems in the family and in the harem and again, take a piece of Süleiman's life as he did with her. Simply putting Hürrem in her place as she wanted in some moments of S02 and on a stronger level in all of S03A wouldn't cut it anymore. But then again, Hatice did tell Hürrem many times throughout S03B that she can make her suffer in a way she would beg for her death, as shown with her doing the whole thing with the herbs. She probably wanted to do this first and then kill her and Hürrem just... succeeded to escape in the meantime? I would've totally believed this was the case if we didn't get these little hints from Hatice in Bali Bey's interrogation in E102: there she said that she wanted to avenge Ibrahim's death so much, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't succeed. That could mean so many things. It sure didn't mean Hürrem's escape, because she escaped a year later (confirmed by E103), so there must be another thing that stopped her. While Hatice is an overally ethical character, she wouldn't be all that merciful at this point of the show, because of all the reasons I stated above and the fact that she has ordered an execution before. (Nigar) Maybe Hürrem showed or told her something that stopped Hatice from doing it? Maybe Hatice found out that that this whole thing made her more miserable? The most probable reason for me is what she hinted at in her last scene which indeed has more to do with Süleiman than with Hürrem: maybe she saw all the unsuccessful attempts to kill Hürrem and wanted to put her in a place they could never find her in instead and take her away from SS and everyone else, to hit him where it hurt. To let him live with her unsure fate. For him to burn inside everyday, without the person he would do everything for, without knowing whether she lived or died, just like Hatice never got to know where Ibrahim's grave was and never got the chance to get over her pain. She didn't succeed to get rid of Hürrem, so she might as well do that instead. That might have been her last resort.

Because throughout all of S03B, Hatice was empty inside. She had one driving feeling that probably got bruised quite a bit after she abducted Hürrem. Complete hopelessness might have gotten over her and she may have wanted to give up the fight altogether. Killing Hürrem was apparently a hopeless cause. Happiness and piece once more were apparently a hopeless cause. She couldn't avenge Ibrahim and the only thing left was say one last goodbye with her sister, calling back on her wish for a calm family, and then confront the other member of the family left, who seemingly screwed everything up. I would say that Hatice realized that it was SS who was the decider of everyone's fates in the end and that he made so many problematic decisions that only made everyone around him suffer and that is connected with the impact Hürrem had in their lives.

[I agree that Hatice and Hürrem had a very complex dynamic that went through detailed development throughout three seasons and both of them had complex reasons to do what they did. Believe me, I never got this striking amount of Hatice hate I encounter in the fandom either, especially because these haters do so little effort to understand her character.]

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhtesem yuzyil #hatice sultan #hurrem sultan #sultan suleiman #ask #ganeshkfp #i wanted to talk about S03B Hatice for quite some time now #and this gave me the chance thank you :)

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michael-drummey · 4 years

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Achilles x Patroclus: Part 2, Harmful Stereotypes in Modern Media

**Since my last post on this blew up! Here is just a little more on the subject & some of the nonsense I have seen & experienced on said topic online & in other forms of media**

For anyone who needs proof that Achilles & Patroclus were always and originally presented as a gay couple in a committed relationship mapped out in The Iliad (see my original post here) SOME in our society (not those who are properly educated) like to project harmful & stereotypical LGBTQ+ tropes on Homer’s material & their representation in other forms of media that are still prevalent today such as:

“Gay as not the Main Character” - The Iliad starts with the lines “RAGE: Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,” so right at the start this Story we meet Achilles; obviously he is crucial in the story’s plot, yet even for his importance in this story it is not named for him, the focus is on Troy. Achilles is “Greatest of all the Greeks” but is remembered for all his bad qualities, while others like Agamemnon who is also deeply flawed or Odysseus, get the recognition of trying to reason with Achilles, and are seen as the more reasonable leaders set on winning the war. Achilles and Patroclus get reduced to just once aspect of the story, then once they are dead, we get The Odyssey and our new main boy Odysseus. The wily & super straight war hero trying to get home to his darling wife and son, which leads us to our next trope...

“Bury your Gays” - Achilles and Patroclus are obviously coded as homosexual even though the Ancient Greeks did not have a word to use for gay, but it is none the less glaringly obvious. Patroclus is killed by Hector when he rides into battle to help his fellow Greeks and retain Achilles’ Honor, thus setting in motion the events that will unleash Achilles’ Rage upon Hector and the Trojans. We also find out later in The Odyssey Achilles died when Odysseus meets him in The Underworld where he stands off with Patroclus so check check for both stories. This is a huge piece of Homer’s story, but so many times Patroclus is forsaken and treated as a plot point not as a character who’s fate changes the course of the story, they view him as a “gotta go” kind of sidekick to Achilles.

“Depraved Homosexual & Loose Bisexual” - Either perverse and/or murderous the “depraved homosexual” trope portrays the gay character as possessing all quirks and qualities one/society considers undesirable. Achilles is vengeful and refuses to fight when Agamemnon tarnishes his honor, then when Patroclus is killed Achilles is completely inconsolable, wishing to end his life, he weeps for days on end in bed with the body of Patroclus. When he unleashes that grief (The Rage of Achilles) he is reduced to a killing machine hellbent on nothing but avenging his beloved’s death, which eventually will lead to his own demise. He is rarely referred to as a 3-dimensional character with complex emotions from this point on. As one who has suffered in this war, lost his honor & lost the love of his life, which has caused all that is human in him to die as well; he succumbs to his pain. His wrath is what so many know him for even if they haven’t read the story, They just see him as a ferocious warrior, but so few know the full context behind his actions, or love to claim he did what he did because his “best friend” was killed. Some forms of media love to also portray them as bisexual, where we are given over the top sex scenes, and shown two men who are meant to be “less than” for their sexual freedom/lack of sexual morals. While it really has nothing to do with that and just creates more biphobia and erasure. We are never are shown them happily and honestly committed to each other, which leads us to our next stereotype.

“Everyone is Straight” - SOME Historians, Scholars, Writers, Movies love to predominately present characters as “all straight or only straight”. Since The Iliad was recorded people have been debating if Achilles & Patroclus were an item or not. Personally I think the evidence is overwhelming and plain as day, (you do not share a tent & bed with just your homie, Rage as Achilles did at Patroclus’ death, then keep his body in your bed yearning for his “μένος” (menos) aka manly vigor and semen, then get your ashes buried together in the same urn, just for someone to say “They were Best Friends Forever!” There is more than enough evidence to say Homer wrote them as gay, but some love to throw the “Briseis Argument” out there saying he intended to marry her, and she was his girl, ie. lots of gratuitous sex scenes to follow. If that were so, why does he only take her into his bed once at the end of Book 24? He had 10 years what was stopping him? And why did he wish her dead when he receives the body of Patroclus? Truthfully you would be sad your friend died, but at least its not your lover, right? Unless, wait what happened to Achilles when Patroclus died?... oh right, that’s the reaction of a man who has lost his best friend, lover, basically entire world, so “Bye Briseis!” you were a broken man’s booty call, time to move along. (Not that there is anything wrong with being a booty call, but in The Iliad that’s what Homer gave us to work with and this ones more directed at Hollywood and Straights™ who like to ignore all historical context.)

Now we know that these tropes did not exist when The Iliad was recorded, and Homer did not set out with the mind set “gotta kill these gays!” the word homosexual did not exist until 1869, it is not like being LGBTQ+ people just popped up then too. But viewing the story with some of these lens we can more clearly see these modern tropes and stereotypes 1. Can exist in pieces of art and literature despite the time the story was told. 2. Hurtful stereotypes affect the way people translate & view stories, peoples, cultures, etc. A prime example I still find it shocking when people say “weren’t they just cousins!?” (NO) 3. Not thinking critically and thoughtfully about such a piece, prevents others from truthful experiences, and devalues the meaning and emotion one gets from reading or telling such a story. 4. It is modern weaponizing & blatant erasure of those LGBTQ+ (fictional and non-fictional characters) that came before us to present a false narrative of heteronormativity.

In the end, as I stated, Homer did not use these stereotypes, these stories would have been sung and told in a way that captivated its audience, which they obviously are still doing today. Homer is a phenomenal storyteller, truly a classic and one of the best, but some still feel the need to straightwash these characters. So next time someone tries to say Homer never wrote Achilles and Patroclus as gay lovers, there is no evidence in The Iliad to support it, and that we cannot look at them through a modern lens. Or call out others who choose to ignore history, facts, and context, you can say “You Can! and Yes, Achilles x Patroclus are 100% in a committed gay relationship!”

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headtothecoast · 4 years

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buzzfeed unsolved!geraskier

monsters do very much exist and geralt is still a witcher who is approached during the winter to join buzzfeed after their recent hire jaskier suggested he wanted to look at mysterious historical disappearances and monster lore and do a series on it. the problem is a lot of the information is false and they need help debunking online rumors. so jaskier finds geralts witcher service online (yen dealt with that, basically twisted his arm into having a website) and calls him asking if he’d be interested in doing the series.

hunting isn’t reliable work and having fairly steady income would be nice, even if the guy is a little annoying so geralt agrees to fact check except then jaskiers cohost gets sick (not what really happened to the guy before shane) and he asks him if he could please film an episode or two they were so close to finishing the first season for release and no one else knows the material so geralt agrees to that to.

and when he meets the guy face to face he’s wearing heels and looks a little embarrassed saysing sorry, one of the other series needed a guy to wear heels for a day and i’d already agree to the filming for their episode. hope you don’t mind.

and geralt definitely doesn’t mind because the guy looks good in heels and then geralt is being pestered about being a witcher and wow your hair and eyes, you look like a -

and geralt waits for the word monster with clenched teeth but it doesn’t come

- model! seriously, i’m surprised no ones tried to scout you before...

and while geralt doesn’t exactly listen to the rest of that, he is relieved that the guy isn’t scared of him.

so they get mic’d up and jaskier is explaining how it’ll go and that usually there’s some banter back and forth so if geralt has any thoughts on what he’s talking about to please interrupt him because it’ll lighten what they’re talking about for audience you know and geralt nods and they’re ready to begin.

so jaskier is setting the scene and doing a voice over that is downright lyrical and he’s talking about information on vampires and that the family thought to have gone missing because of one bought several pounds of garlic and geralt snorts quite loudly and jaskiers like what, not enough garlic?

and before he knows it geralt is saying, no it’s just i know who started that rumor, friend of mine knew a guy who was allergic so when he went around complaining about vampires trying to find him by friend told him to fill his house with garlic.

were there actually vampires after him? jaskier asked, smiling.

oh hell no, the guy was anemic. vampires and witcher’s can smell that from miles away, he was having us on and lambert decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

and the rest of the episode goes like that, geralt reading stories and jaskier commentating and asking questions and between takes geralt asks jaskier why he was so interested in monsters.

well, originally it was because of the songs. you know, the factually inaccurate but beautifully written ballads about werewolves and vampires and harpies and i wondered how much was true? buzzfeed didn’t like that so instead we changed it to more disappearance type stuff because apparently i get too sucked into musical theory... and geralt has no doubt that’s the case.

little by little they become friends. jaskier invites geralt out for drinks and geralt invites jaskier to his house to see the remains of recent kills so jaskier can make the episode more real.

when the first season is released jaskiers cohost quits for unrelated reasons and jaskier is heartbroken, going to geralts house unannounced and crying because he had thought it was good and now no one else would do it with him and before he’s aware of what he’s doing geralt is agreeing to do the series with him. so long as it doesn’t interfere with hunts and jaskier is hugging him and geralt offers to make dinner and that’s that for the night.

except people love the series and it has an almost overnight following and yes some youtube comments are mean but most people love geralt and his dry humor and jaskier for his bright personality. and sure, sometimes jaskier will read a comment about being over talkative or geralt will find the comments calling him terrifying and monsterous but they always make sure to send each other the good ones.

and maybe during the off season of shooting jaskier has plans to visit geralt but is a little early and doesn’t think he’d mind but when he lets himself in geralt is shirtless and has a nasty wound in his shoulder and is just continuing to bleed so of course jaskier rushes over panicked and helps him stitch himself up and lays him out on the couch because there’s no way he could carry him upstairs so he sleeps on the other couch and prays for geralt to be alright.

and in the morning someone opens geralts front door and it’s a woman with bright blonde hair who’s smiling as she lets herself in and says sorry didn’t mean to wake you, i forgot my laptop and i have a group project later. tell dad to call me when he wakes up so i know he’s alright. thanks for patching him up, when i was over last weekend he told me all about you so it was nice to meet you jaskier and then she’s gone and jaskier is sitting dumbfounded because he didn’t know geralt had a daughter

and geralt is sitting up and looks confused but relaxes when he sees jaskier and says you know i meant to tell you about ciri but it really never came up. i don’t see her mother very often and she spends most of her time there. thank you for fixing me up last night, didn’t realize there’d be two and then he’s standing and jaskier is rushing to sit him back down you could have died did you know that? and geralt is smiling lightly as jaskier talks about how worried he was and oh goodness you must be hungry i’ll bring you something but melitele above don’t you dare stand up again until after breakfast

and then that’s just how things are with them spending the night at each other’s places between prep work for the show and jaskier patching geralt up on hunts until one day jaskier brings up the next topic of the show and geralt freezes.

see, there’s this story about someone called the butcher of blaviken, killed almost 40 men and there’s rumors about what type of monster it was but - geralt? are you okay? geralt!?

and geralt doesn’t realize he’s leaving until he’s in his car and jaskier is calling him but he shuts his phone off and just he couldn’t handle hearing jaskier call him a monster or reliving what had happened.

and thankfully jaskier gives him a day all to himself and doesn’t call him or show up at his place or anything and geralt tries to push those memories out of his head but fails and decides to sleep it off and when he wakes up he can smell something cooking and goes downstairs to see yennefer making breakfast like she had when they were married and his chest feels tight but he sits down and waits for the explanation.

so ciri called me last night saying that a friend of yours, glad you have one of those by the way, had called her crying and saying you had left his place looking upset and you wouldn’t answer your phone and it was maybe something he said about blaviken so she called me. i know you’ve got that little youtube show going and i can only imagine that what this is about but geralt, you can’t keep running from it forever. and her smile is soft like it used to be before they just stopped talking like they used to and he lets himself remember how he’d loved her and he gets up from the table and says thank you yen, for breakfast and gives her a hug which startles her and when she leaves it’s only after geralt texted jaskier to come over to talk

and jaskier comes over anxious and sad and geralt tells him everything about renfri and blaviken and stregobor and jaskier listens quietly and at the end geralt’s face is tucked into jaskiers shoulder and he’s crying and jaskier is telling him they don’t have to do that episode ever and he’ll throw out the file and oh geralt i am so sorry, you’re not a monster sweetheart, it’ll be okay i promise

and whenever people tweet out mean things about geralt on social media jaskier goes feral and doesn’t care about the ramifications and geralt starts to lighten just a little and then one night they’re at a bar and someone sneers at him and jaskier lays the guy out, breaks his nose and geralt is hauling him out of the bar saying what the hell were you thinking you could’ve been arrested jaskier and jaskier isn’t even listening he’s still shouting at the man but he looks and geralt and says serves him right the bastard - i’m not letting people say that shit to you anymore, melitele knows you don’t deserve it. you’re the best man i know geralt you don’t deserve to be treated like shit if i want to punch someone i’ll damn well punch them because no one gets to -

and geralt cuts him off with a kiss because never has someone cared this much, to be angry over the words of others and to resolutely stick with him and defend him. and when jaskier kisses back geralt knows he’ll do anything to keep this man at his side.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #yennefer #cirilla of cintra #buzzfeed unsolved #buzzfeed unsolved!geraskier

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saphyhowl · 3 years

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Own Story

Ok so I finally got the courage to write my story. I was a bit afraid to post it but I still got through with it. I have no idea how to protect my writing so I hope I can figure out where to regularly post it and not be afraid that someone will take it. Although I doubt my story is that great. I just want to protect it because I am like a mother hen.

Here it goes... Please tell me how you like it, leave a comment or a like, I will be forever grateful to you :3 Also please please please don’t pay attention to my bad spelling. It’s a story I wrote by hand in french and translated it here. I am no translator so there will be mistakes. It’s not a final version, it’s an ongoing work. If you feel like stuff is missing that’s normal I am still working on lots of aspects, but don’t hesitate to let me know what you think might be crucial to you to understand the story.

I have a very low self esteem when it comes to my own work. It took me a very long time to get where I am today. I am not trying to get pity or anything, I am just putting you in a context so you understant that all this is historical for me and I hope we can celebrate that historic moment together.

*****************************************************

He should have felt it during the morning, when he woke up. The crispy air from the night still hung in his bedroom, rendering it impossible for him to fall back asleep. Nothing pleased him today. No urgent letters for him. Everything was calm. Although Cynan enjoyed the calm routine that had settled in his life, he could not help to feel as if he should act to prevent what seemed to him an upcoming storm.

After seven years of conquest and negotiation, his friend Meanas could ascend the throne officially. He could finally hold a coronation ceremony without any fear of revolution. Cynan had organized everything with the help of the other members of the counsel. The invitations were sent and had been answered. The preparation had already begun, all was well. After seven years of constant uproar, Cynan almost worshipped the calm and order that had finally settled in and so did Meanas.

As he sat at his desk, basking it this holy stillness, he read utterly slowly the law document he needed to approve. This was part of the many tasks Cynan, advisor of the future king. He should have sensed it in this moment as well, when the sun finally can warm one enough, hinting that the season of spring was approaching. He should have known that as the sweetest and mild season of the year was nearing, his life would enter a season of bitter regret.

***

“If my heart could run, then it would have already passed the coach that was meant to bring me to him.

I am of an impatient nature.

I play the scene out in my mind, like an actress before her performance.

How delectable it is just to imagine their faces when I finally reveal myself in front of them.

I could appear here and there. I could keep him as the last person I meet.

I could hide until the very end and wait until the coronation. Then, I would make the most vibrant of appearances.

Oh no, even better! I could visit him first. That would stir the glowing embers of our past and hint towards a possible story for us. Whatever that story would hold, that I would decide depending on my mood.

So many possibilities lie out there and only a few can be chose as I have only one life.

However, my emotions should not lead me astray and distract me from my true goal.

I did not return to revive past passions. I came here to set this place on fire, to start a new era.

Seven years of preparation and now everything will play out.

But to open the festivities, I must first get my hands on an invitation,”

The coach came to a halt in front of a mansion. Zelina descended and took in the view of the garden before walking towards the entrance, where a quite surprised butler awaited her.

***

Her arrival could not be compared to a thunderstorm. The situation occurred way too fast for Cynan to be overwhelmed. His butler announced her and when she entered his office her aura invaded the room like a rising tide. Cynan had been too dulled out from his peaceful day to prepare himself mentally to face the young woman in front of him.

Two old friends meeting again for the first time.

“You still have an awful taste. Your curtains are a disgrace,” Zelina said as she scanned the room visibly bored.

Silence.

“After all this time, I would have thought you had developed a more luxurious taste,” she added.

Zelina took one step forward and then another. She walked idly in the room with a candid expression.

“What is the reason for your visit... Madam?” Cynan asked.

Zelina suddenly turned her head towards Cynan and her golden eyes squinted with hatred.

“Madam…” she repeated.

Cynan did not react.

“Meanas’ coronation. Would that be a pleasing enough reason for you, Sir?” Zelina finally answered.

“King Meanas,” Cynan corrected.

“My apologies,” Zelina said as she bowed down excessively.

Zelina refused to refer to Meanas as a king.

“Lady Zelina, you are not invited to this joyous event,” Cynan stated.

Zelina smiles causing Cynan to doubt his capacity to stay unfazed for long.

“Oh but I do know that,” she said.

Zelina sat in the chair in front of Cynan’s desk and started playing with her fan. Cynan examined her and slowly he shifted into contemplation. That smile of her, her voice, her gesture, they were all familiar to him. Thousand memories rise again in his mind. He is tempted to dive into them and daydream. As he battled against the temptation of reminiscence, he did not notice Zelina looking at him as well. However, she was not reminiscing, she was waiting for the right timing.

“I simply came as a friend.. An old friend. One cannot forget a friend who did so much,” she added.

Zelina placed her hand on the table in an attempt to draw closer to Cynan. He stared at her hands. She was still wearing her many bracelets.

“And I mean, you know…” Zelina hesitated.

Cynan raised an eyebrow as he noticed her false bashfulness.

“Say, was it intentional to choose only one emissary for the South?” she asked.

Zelina had found the right moment and had struck with her words. She knew his weakness, Cynan was a skilled warrior and noble but not a tactician.

“Lady Zelina, this should not be of concern for you,” Cynan answered.

“Many southern families were quite shocked and felt offended,” Zelina added.

“I thought you came as a friend Zelina,”

“And it is as a friend, Cynan, that I inquire about this issue!”

Cynan sighed and Zelina took it as a sign to continue.

“You know much the merchants' families take pride in their origins. I tried to explain to them that there must have been a reason to send only one emissary. And that you, Cynan, would have chosen the emissary as impartially as possible,”

Cynan remained silent. Her way with words had gotten more skilled after all those years. Sadly for him, there was no impartiality coming from him. Meanas had wished to choose one emissary to demonstrate that under his reign the South was meant to be one unified province. Despite all the tribes in the South, only one person would represent the South. The emissary, chosen from one of the most influential families, would then be promoted to Governor of the South. This would allow Meanas to have one sole correspondent in political and economic matters regarding the South. However, Cynan had no intention in sharing this intention with Zelina, who was herself from an affluent family from the South. However, her family belonged to another tribe. Cynan never investigated further the intrications between the southern tribes. Now that Zelina had returned, he realized how foolish that had been.

Zelina stood up to leave Cynan to his thoughts.

“Why did he not invite me, Cynan?” she asked.

Cynan did not answer nor did he accompany her. The question floated in the air unanswered.

Through his office windows, he caught a glimpse of her crossing the gardens. She passed by a lilac bush. She stopped in her tracks, turned and contemplated the bare branches, noticing the growing flower buds. Cynan continued to observe her as she took off again. His gaze returned towards the lilac bush. With the mild season approaching the bush would bloom again.

***7 years ago***

“Gardening really?” Zelina asked as she had stopped on the path leading towards the mansion. She made her umbrella twirl as she thought about what Cynan had just shared with her.

Cynan carressed the lilacs and smiled lost in his thoughts.

“There is nothing more beautiful than helping mother nature in her creations,” he explained.

Zelina shrugged her shoulders unimpressed by his wise words.

“If I weren’t a noble then I would have become a farmer. However since I am a noble, I have to satisfy myself with mere gardening,” Cynan continued explaining.

Zelina twirled her umbrella once more and peered at him through the laces.

“If I were not a noble, I would not exist as I am before you. I have used over and over again all the privileges that have come with my status to build myself. I clung myself to anything a noble like me could get their hands on. Wishing to escape this world that created me would be idiotic and would turn my life into something insignificant, where I could not be the fully fledge me,”

Cynan listened to her attentively and did not respond immediately.

“I did not know you had such strong opinions about your title. Our aspirations vary a lot,” He finally said.

“And yet we somehow get along,” Zelina added.

A smirk appeared on her face.

“If I ever find myself in dire need of a gardener, I know to whom I can turn to. I’ll make sure to order my lilacs with you,” Zelina said as she made her way back towards the mansion twirling her umbrella.

Cynan bowed excessively. “You are too kind Madam,” he whispered.

***Back to the present. In Zelina’s coach***

“He called me Madam. How monstrous! Poor soul, he does not know what awaits him. Ugh, now I must wait for all of this to stir and boil. Let my words sink in. I must get under his skin. If only Cynan would have more spark then I would not have to wait so much. The day Cynan bursts will be one to remember. I must ensure to be the one to wake the dragon sleeping in him. But that would be only a collateral benefit from what I truly intend to achieve.

#own writing #my story

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e350tb · 3 years

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The Owl House: A Blight on Gravesfield (Chapter Two)

Two

Luz wakes up.

So, ten Puritans walk into Connecticut. Sounds like the start of a joke, doesn’t it?

To be fair, ‘Puritans’ might not be the right word here. Most of them were, certainly, like Goodfaith Smathers, and the excellently named The-Lord-Shall-Damn-Ye-Sinners Marlowe, who seems to have insisted on his full name being used in all conversation. But then there’s the pair we’ll be talking about today, Philip and John Wittelsbane.

You’ve all seen the statue, I’m sure, but nearly all the ‘common knowledge’ about them is actually false.

See, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, the Wittlesbanes were big on the whole ‘family history’ thing, but not so much on the whole ‘truth telling’ thing. The story that John Wittelsbane personally chose the site of Gravesfield, and that he personally converted a local Pequot village to Christianity? There’s no evidence of that, and indeed it seems very unlikely, because John was sixteen at the time, and Smathers was the real leader of the exhibition.

Of course, Smathers died in the Pequot War, and The-Lord-Shall-Blah-Blah-Blah Marlowe went out from smallpox in 1639. The others were illiterate, so most of the records of early Gravesfield come from the Wittelsbanes. So it’s very easy for their family to pretend they were more important than they actually were.

Now, in 1642, something very big happens. It doesn’t happen in America, but it’s effects cross the Atlantic. Can anyone tell me what that is?

The Thirty Years War? Close, that was just about ending at this time. Any other guesses?

That’s right, the English Civil War! Or the War of the Three Kingdoms, as some call it today. To put it simply, you had the Cavaliers supporting the King on one side, and the Roundheads supporting Parliament on the other. It’s a gross oversimplification but it’s all you really need to know for this class.

A sixth of all the men in New England went back to England to fight for Parliament, and most people generally supported the Roundheads. Most people. Do you remember what I said about dissenters? Fascinating people with bizarre names, like Fifth Monarchists and Muggletonians. Some of them were very egalitarian, at least for the time.

It seems the Wittelsbanes got themselves mixed up in a particularly weird form of dissension. In 1645, Philip starts writing a lot about witches - but not in the same way that someone like, for example, Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder-General in England, might have. This wasn’t fear; it was curiosity. He and John began to believe that magic was a gift from Christ.

This was a privately held belief of cause. The war was breeding suspicion in the Puritan populace of Connecticut, and in 1647, something happened in that colony. Something that would set the course for a split between the Wittelsbane brothers that would never be healed.

It was the beginning of the Connecticut Witch Trials.

---------

It was storming in earnest now, the wind shaking the house as the sounds of driving rain pounded on the windows. It was dark enough that Camila had had to turn the lights on, although the artificial light did little to abate the sense of gloom that hung over the house.

They had moved Luz and the other girl into Camila’s bedroom - there was more room to lay them down on the bed. That had been about an hour ago, and Camila was getting more than a little restless. She sat on her chair, facing away from her desk, rapping on the wood with her fingers. Vee paced by the door, looking no less antsy.

“We should call an ambulance,” declared Camila at last.

“What’re we gonna tell them?” asked Vee.

“I… I don’t know,” replied Camila, “But…”

There was a cough.

Camila’s eyes widened as Luz slowly began to sit up, rubbing her head.

“...man, I feel like I got hit by a truck…”

“Luz!”

Camila leapt out of her chair and darted over to her daughter, instinctively pulling her into a hug.

“Cariño, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was so worried! I…”

“M-mom?”

Luz blinked; it seemed like she didn’t know how to process her surroundings. She blinked, and a few tears ran down her cheek.

“Mom!”

She returned the hug, chest heaving. Neither of them moved for some time - there was a sense of unreality, the sudden ability to see each other, to touch each other. For a brief and beautiful moment, nothing else in the world mattered; just them, reunited at last.

Eventually, Camila pulled out of the hug.

“Oh, mija, never scare me like that again,” she sighed.

“Mom, I…”

Luz’s face fell, her eyes widening.

“...wait, where’s Eda?” she asked. “Where’s King? Where’s…”

She looked to her right, her eyes falling on the girl unconscious next to her. She gripped the bedsheets, starting to shake.

“Amity?” she exclaimed. “But… but we’re in the human world! Which means there’s a portal! We’ve gotta get Amity home!”

“Yeah, about that…” said Vee, rubbing the back of her head.

Camila frowned.

“The… portal disappeared,” she said.

Luz swallowed.

“So… we’re stuck?”

“We’re stuck?” The words came out before Camila could stop herself.

Luz’s eyes widened and she shook her head.

“No, no, that’s not… that’s not what I…”

She reached out, seizing Camila’s hands in hers.

“Mami, I don’t want to leave you again, I didn’t - I never wanted to hurt you, I just…”

Camila took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“Luz,” she said, as evenly as she could, “I think we both need to talk about this.”

Luz bowed her head.

“I know.”

She turned to Amity.

“Is… is Amity okay?” she asked. “I don’t remember her getting hurt.”

“She cast a spell, I think,” replied Camila. “Something about… sharing the pain?”

Luz swallowed, and a few more tears spilled down her cheek.

“Oh Amity,” she said. “You didn’t… you didn’t have to do that for me. You didn’t have to do any of this…”

“Amity?” Vee tilted her head. “Amity Blight?”

Luz turned and nodded.

“Yeah,” she replied. “How do you know… oh yeah, Blight family, duh.”

She turned back to Amity - just in time to see her eyes slowly start to open.

“L… Luz?” she murmured.

“It’s okay, Amity, I’m here,” Luz replied. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Just…”

She sighed.

“...it’s just a little complicated.”

-------

“He really believed in witches from Mars?”

The Gravesfield Historical Society had been closed for the past two weeks; this was the first time somebody who wasn’t a policeman had stepped in since the Jacob Hopkins Incident. But the Society had to keep going, and that meant the museum needed a new curator.

Enter Professor Fabian Stearne.

Stearne was an older man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, and looked every inch the prof. The tweed jacket, the blue shirt (tie roguishly discarded), the purple cardigan and the fire-engine red vans painted the picture of a charming eccentric, not hindered by his half-moon glasses, comb over, and trimmed grey moustache. He was a Gravesfield ‘lifer,’ who had rejected esteemed job offers from Yale and Harvard to head the history department at the small Gravesfield College.

And he’d never wanted to be a curator; if anyone had asked him, he’d tell them he was a researcher, preferring to dig up new theories than present old relics. Yet now there was literally no one else to do the job, so it was up to him.

“I did my PhD with him. Never thought he had that sort of thing in him.”

His assistant, Ben Frakes, was helping him clean the staff room - clearing the mess of weird conspiracy theory paraphernalia to make it a little more professional. Much younger than Stearne, Ben was fairly junior in the history department; he was convening his first course, ‘History and Myth in Gravesfield,’ a small, niche course that he nevertheless enjoyed.

Stearne and Frakes went back many years; Ben’s whole progress from history undergrad to PhD had been done under his watch. The lanky young man, brown haired, clean shaven and with a propensity for leather jackets, owed his career to Stearne, and he was always keen to give back when he could.

If that meant taking doctored photos of ‘owl beasts’ off a wall, then he was happy to do it.

“Yes, it’s a shame what happened to Jacob,” nodded Stearne. “But he’s not the first historian to run afoul of the law. Hopefully, once he’s gotten the help he needs, he can get back on his feet.”

He took the photo from Ben’s hands.

“He’s a clever man,” he said. “Just prone to wild imagination.”

“And animal endangerment?” said Ben, raising an eyebrow.

Stearne chuckled.

“What is a historian without eccentricity?”

“I’m surprised you took this job,” mused Ben, grabbing a box to take out to the trash. “You were always so critical of museums.”

“Well, there are worse ways to spend your twilight years than curating,” shrugged Stearne. “And Mr. Wittelsbane made a very compelling case. The town needs this museum. We can’t lose track of our past.”

Ben chuckled.

“Well, I’m gonna take this out back,” he said. “You need me to carry anything else?”

“No, my boy, not just yet,” replied Stearne.

“Okay, see you when I get back!”

Stearne watched as Ben walked away - as soon as he was gone, he looked down at the photograph, running a hand across it.

“Oh, my dear Jacob, so close and yet so far,” he sighed. “But worry not, worry not.”

He smiled - or perhaps it was more of a smirk.

“Redemption comes for all of us, in the end.”

#the owl house #luz noceda #amity blight #camila noceda #vee #fanfiction #writing #a blight on gravesfield

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Hhhhhhnggggg I thought of something and I think you can make it beautiful. "Being your father is more important to me than being their friend."

thank you!

If you had told Tony Stark that he would be a father figure some day, he would’ve laughed in your face. Because Tony Stark is not a figure for anything besides perhaps business or alcoholism.

But then Iron Man.

But then Avengers.

But then...everything.

The first time he really considers himself a father figure is when he gets emailed from Harley who starts it off with “why is your email embarrassingly easy to hack? Anyway I want to ask you about this robot thing. I’m not saying I’m building it but if I would be doing so what would I need.”

Tony emails back:

“When you hack into my email all of my employees who work in the encryption networks get an alert and put you on the ‘watch-for-this’ list. Basically all about employment. Anyway, suppose you are building this (and you are, because you’re a punk)...you need some copper wiring and I’ll send you the other stuff.”

Harley and Tony pull up a sort of correspondence over email. And then Harley demands to have his number because “no one uses email anymore except for clothing companies, and you are not supplying me with any good deals on shirts.”

(Tony absolutely does deny that he loves this kid when Rhodey catches them talking on the phone.)

He also says he’s just providing a learning opportunity when Harley and his sister get to come to New York for a summer.

“It’s because you like kids,” Rhodey says. “And you like Harley because he’s as much of a little shit as you are.”

“False, he’s even more so. He built a potato gun and aimed it at me the first time we met.”

“And you probably made some wise-ass remark about him or what have you. I wanna meet him.”

Harley is an asshole.

(Tony’s glad to have him.)

His sister is sweet. Lily likes to learn about the world and the different connections between countries. Tony has no doubt that she has a career with the UN and makes sure to subtly get her books about political science and cool historical events.

They don’t mention the distinct lack of the Avengers, at least until they’re at the dinner table and Tony’s picking at broccoli.

“So, when are you going to recruit new members?” Harley asks, looking directly at him. He’s one of the few people in Tony’s life that can look at him directly now. He’s never shied away from that, and he can appreciate it.

“Why would I recruit new members?”

“We still need the Avengers. Besides, maybe you can find someone who doesn’t have as lame a costume as Captain America.”

Tony snorts, taking his plate to the sink.

“I’ll think about it.”

He thinks long and he thinks hard that night. Tony’s not an idiot when it comes to the team’s whereabouts. They need somewhere where they are untouchable by anyone.

And where better than a country with a long reputation of being a total recluse?

He’ll have to ask King T’Challa if they also put coffee grounds down the sink.

But they do need a team. And he remembers in the letter that Steve sent that he said that the Avengers were perhaps more of a family for Tony than for Steve.

Yeah. It shows. Shows by the way Natasha, Clint, and Wanda all left with him. Shows how they’re family because no one’s there for Tony when he’s gasping for air from Steve’s shield crashing down on his chest, cracking.

(He said that the shield didn’t belong to Steve. He wasn’t wrong. That shield doesn’t belong to Steve, because it’s not a belonging. It’s simply...Steve.)

So. Family. Tony needs to find a new one. Or just new teammates.

He talks to Rhodey, who agrees to be an overseer or who shows up.

Rhodey asks about Spider-Man.

“He’s on reserves only,” Tony says. “I can’t have him get hurt.”

Peter’s a great kid. One of the best there is, most likely. (Just don’t ever ask Tony to say that out loud.)

And he’s been itching to test out some new micro-fabric that has to do with defensive techniques that Tony’s been toying with, and this is the perfect time to introduce Peter to Harley.

Harley’s soft, worn t-shirts contrast with the bright, punny shirts that Peter almost always wears. Peter talks a mile a minute while Harley really only says what he has to.

At first, Tony isn’t sure if they’re going to get along. Harley’s not one for enthusiastic, jumpy people and hates going into New York City for literally anything.

(“You’re supposed to come for dinner! We’re only eating with Pepper!”

“I literally do not care. I saw a rat and I saw a person who was wearing neon orange. I am not dealing with this.”)

But Peter is surprisingly savage when he wants to be, and they bond over roasting Tony within an inch of his life.

“I literally cannot believe you,” Tony says. “You go from stuttering to roasting me over my shoe choice.”

“Mr. Stark, those are quite possibly the ugliest shoes you could wear to this event,” Peter stresses. “You’re wearing a suit and bright orange shoes.”

“Yes! It’s called being unique.”

“It’s called ‘you’re about to get roasted by every magazine and social media account’,” Harley answers, not even looking up from his project. “Change your shoes.”

“I’m Iron Man. I can handle a little fashion roasting.”

“Yeah but you should have better taste,” Harley deadpans. “Go with the silver shoes. They’re not terrible.” Tony pouts but changes into the shoes.

Harley and Peter send him both an article about “the unique, amazingly quirky style of one Tony Stark,” with captions that mean the same thing: told you so.

It’s sad when Harley has to go back home with Lily. Tony promises them that they can spend every summer upstate if their mother is okay with it. Lily gives him a friendship bracelet before they fly and no, Tony does not Cry Actual Buckets.

Peter’s summer is about to end, and Tony’s getting on him about last minute AP homework.

“What do you mean you didn’t have time to finish up your AP History diorama? You spent all of last weekend googling military conspiracy theories! You have had time!”

“Okay, that’s fair, but still--”

Tony sends Harley and Lily care packages and letters. They send him back letters about the school day, what’s going on in the community, and Lily tends to “tell on” her brother about his own projects.

“She didn’t have to tell you I was building a flying motorbike,” Harley whines. “Or that I couldn’t modulate it.”

“Yeah, but she knows that you need someone to bounce ideas off of. So you could’ve easily talked to Peter or myself.”

(The motorbike works and Tony has to plead with Harley not to use it to get to New York.

“Feasibly if I could up the speed, Lily and I could be there in six hours so--”

“Don’t you dare!”)

Peter drops by all the time to check in on the progress of the new Avengers. They’ve contacted one of Rhodey’s “friends,” Carol Danvers.

“A woman that cool? Simply could not have been ‘just’ a friend,” Tony says, smiling. “We’ll ask her about it later.”

“Nope, you and your freaky Spider-Son are not asking Danvers shit,” Rhodey says.

“He’s not my son.”

“He might as well be, sweetheart. He’s already copying your penchant for graphic shirts and being horrible at lying.”

“I’m not horrible at it.”

“Yes you are,” Rhodey answers. “For example. Tell me a lie. Tell me that you hate Peter.”

“Why would I ever tell that lie?”

“Because you can’t. Next question. When are you going to lecture him about not stealing leftovers?”

Tony laughs.

In all honesty, life has been going great. In Tony’s personal life, he and Pepper are going back to better terms friendship-wise. Harley is coming up for Christmas and Peter’s been planning Secret Santa with everyone who lives at the base.

And then they hear word of a return.

Rhodey wants to take...drastic measures.

“We are not sending them to the moon,” Pepper says, rolling her eyes.

“Why not?”

“A waste of money, Jim. Honestly.”

“True point.”

Tony freezes when he realizes that he won’t be there in time to see them because he’s picking Harley and Lily up.

“You take Peter with you, we’ll meet them, Rhodey says, smiling. “Nothing like a classic New York welcome, right?”

“You are not yelling ‘fuck you’ with a bullhorn,” Tony responds, trying to hide a laugh. “I better not hear that you made international news.”

“Then don’t turn on your TV.”

Harley and Lily have already heard the news. Harley’s digging through his suitcase in the middle of the airport, and Tony has to flash a smile and a guilty look to a security guard in order for the TSA to lay off.

“What are you doing, nerd?” Tony asks.

“Trying to make a slingshot that has a bit more bite to it. You think we can pick up loose concrete rocks on the way to the base?” Harley asks.

“No, we are not doing that. What I am doing is dropping you off at Peter’s house until I can get them somewhere to stay.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” Lily remarks. “They broke international border rules and technically should be under government jurisdiction. You don’t have to give them a space.”

“And yet I’m the only one good at containing,” Tony sighs. “Look, I’m sorry that this won’t be the ideal--”

“Peter’s not at his house,” Harley answers, frowning at his phone. “Something about barricades?”

“Oh my god,” Tony groans. “Rhodey got him. Well, in the car. How good are both of you at immediately ducking and rolling out of a car?”

“We can still be there for you,” Harley says, annoyed. “I have a stun gun that could take down a tyrannosaurus rex.”

“You can’t substantiate that with concrete evidence,” Lily argues.

“I theorize that Rogers has to be weaker than a T-Rex, so I think it’s gonna be effective,” Harley responds. “Let me try it out, Tony? Please?”

“No,” Tony says, but adds, “maybe in a week.”

Peter is waiting inside and lights up when he sees Harley and Lily.

“Good, the holidays can really begin,” Peter jokes. “We even have the questionable side of the family in for a visit.”

“For now,” Rhodey says, scowling. “Tony, please tell me they won’t be here for the holidays. We were supposed to pull out the decorations today.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Tony says wearily. “Have the delegates been contacted?”

“Marya and Joseph are on their way to deal with re-homing issues and family connections. They should be tied up with legal and personal aspects all day.”

“Good,” Tony says. “But I do need to go greet them.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Rhodey says, serious expression. “I can deal with them.”

“You shouldn’t have to. And besides, it’ll be better coming from me. Being here for you all is more important than trying to be their friend.”

Harley, Peter, and Lily give him a hug.

“Don’t stay too long,” Peter says. “I made a Christmas Roulette Playlist.”

“Why is it roulette?”

“One Halloween song and at least one opera song. Whoever can name the song first wins the privilege of opening the first ornament for the tree.”

“Wait up for me,” Tony says, grinning.

It’s hard to face people you used to know.

But Tony has a family to get back to.

#tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts #iron fam #anyways tony's living his best life adn harley's an asshole #harley keener #peter parker #also mcu never gave harley's sister a name so i named her lily because i love her #lovelyirony writes

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jae-writes-fanfiction · 4 years

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Famous Living Dead

Michael x Reader - 1641 Words - More Freaky Fics

Notes: Written for @blackbutterfliescal with the prompt of Micheal and a séance! This ended up being a Victorian!AU on top of that. Curious about any of the historical practices, or Victorian séances? Send an ask! Otherwise I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Warnings: references to in-home Victorian viewings/funerals/séances, mourning jewelry, grief, major character death (the main character’s spouse is dead).

- - -

The group sat around an oval table. The room was lit only by soft candles. The man who had once been your husband ignored propriety and removed his gloves to hold the medium’s hand and fully connect the circle. They were those who had loved you most; Ashton, Luke, and Callum- your dearest friends, Michael- your husband, yet you didn’t recognize the two other people. The medium only referred to them as The Sisters’. One sat on the Medium’s left, the other across from her at the end of the table. Their faces were shrouded by hoods, making their true identities unknowable. The Sisters didn’t speak but instead sat amongst the group to help concentrate energy into the spirit world.

“Ms. Fox,” Ashton addresses the medium adjusting his spectacles, “I can’t help but wonder to the purpose of your compatriots. It seems they seek to divide us-“

Luke nudged him harshly, you knew Ashton to be a devout skeptic. While you were alive he often wrote into papers defrauding false séances and mediums. But from the despondent look on Michael’s face, he could tell this wasn’t the time.

You smiled softly looking on, you were glad someone was looking out for Michael. You longed to take his hand in yours and tell him you were alright, that the sickness couldn’t touch you anymore. That the time you had together wasn’t enough but it was perfect, that he didn’t have to worry.

But all your attempts had failed thus far. His dreams remained unaltered, your voice was unheard, your touches unfelt. This, Ms. Fox and The Sisters, were your only hope. But contrary to their advertisement, there was no force, heavily nor devilish, that could connect you with the living.

“Now Sirs, our circle is joined,” Ms. Fox spoke with eyes too bright for the occasion and bet voice too jovial, “Even with The Sister’s help we must call to summon our spirit.”

She turned her green eyes to implore Michael to speak through his grief, placing the séance’s success or failure in the responsibility of a man already utterly consumed with guilt. It was a good alibi, should their demonstration prove false. They would only then need to assure the poor widower had he conjured correctly their theatrics wouldn’t have been needed.

Had you any feeling in them you would’ve worried your hands in anticipation. You’d give anything to reassure him, to see his eyes smile truly again.

He coughed trying to clear his throat, “Ms. Fox I’m not sure what to do…” He sounded just as lost and broken as he looked.

“Of course Mister Clifford! Did you bring a personal object of theirs as was requested?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded to the ring on his center finger. The device was rather clever, quite expensive, and a perfect display of mourning for a gentleman in distinguished society- at least that’s what the advertisement had claimed when Luke bought him it. The ring’s center was a small frame, the central skeletal figure a pin that could be pressed inwards to then release outwards and access the interior space. In it was a lock of your hair woven into a delicate pattern.

You had heard Luke and Callum discussing it after you were laid out the night before the burial. Ashton insisted that as a man from a respectable family Michael needed the correct memento mori, just as he needed the correct flowers, and that postmortem photograph Luke had arranged.

It was all expected of Michael, especially after the passing of a much-loved spouse. But in the last year your illness advanced rapidly, doctors recommended a seaside excursion for the clearer air, they recommended salves and tonics, and even specific household décor. He gave you all of it.

Yet none of that melancholy or guilt manifested when Michael looked at the ring. In the soft shades of your hair, and the glimmer of the band he only saw your face just as it had been when you were first wed, and just as he hoped it would be when he saw you again.

“That’s perfect,” Ms. Fox said gently, “Now call to them. Just like you would if they were simply in the next room and you wished to see them.”

Michael nodded slowly and mumbled something quietly, that no one heard but you before sitting up a little straighter.

“Darling,” his voice broke over the syllables, “are you here? Can you hear me?”

“Oh!” Fox cried out, “I think I can feel a presence. Oh, they’re so faint, so frail even still...keep going!”

Michael took a shaky breath and tried again, “Darling, if that is you please speak to me. Show me a sign!”

You strained against the space between you, screaming at him to look and see you. You were right there, just out of sight and another world away.

“I- I think I can feel them trying to reach out through me!” Ms. Fox sounded near ecstasy and it made you cringe.

You felt nothing else. You couldn’t feel her any more than you could Michael, and your heart dropped at the realization that she wasn’t feeling anything either.

All of a sudden a strangled moan ripped through the air and all the candles went out. You knew instantly the sound came from a phonograph concealed in the adjoining room, and that the candles had purposefully short wicks.

At that moment The Sisters began to shake, and in doing so the table did as well. Amid the startled confusion, the medium quietly blew out the candle. No one in that room could see as The Sister closest to Ms. Fox reached out with a hand she had quietly been resting over ice under the table, to touch Michael’s hand. His strangled gasp and subsequent short sobs broke your heart. The momentary fear and relief he felt were false, and the only witness was you. The dark veil between you couldn’t be moved.

You thought about praying that Michael never found out about the devotion. But what good would that do you now- what god listens to the prayers of the dead?

The Sister at the opposite end of the table shifted her legs so a third actor might quietly crawl from under the table, to walk about the purposefully dusted floors. The women’s shoe prints would be a definitive piece of proof even in Michael’s eyes, as would the slight breeze from the fan the Secret Sister carried as they left the room.

It all happened within a few minutes, so it appeared Ms. Fox begged them in earnest not to “break the circle,” shouting for her assistant to, “resurrect the lamps.”

When the room once more held light, the Secret Sister looked like a savior, standing with a candle aloft terrified at the newly revealed footprints. Michael looked ghastly pale and he trembled trying to remain composed, despite earlier lapses, in front of the allegedly distinguished Ms. Fox.

“I’m sorry for such a dreadful display! “It would seem your late beloved is not at peace yet.”

Ms. Fox spoke as if she too were frightened by the spectacle. If looks could kill yours from beyond the grave would've sent her directly to hell.

“I am afraid sirs that repeat sessions might be in order! They’re quite an unhappy ghost, I’d dare wager a guess to some illicit dealings, don’t you see we’ve already had footsteps! And you, you felt her hand? A partial apparition maybe! To think with more prodding we might call forth the figure entirely! And yes, then the truth of it must come out but to think it’s only such a small price to pay for such a rare understanding-“

“That is enough,” Callum said with an authority his friends had never heard him use before,”there is no disquieted spirit here. If anything only a very sad one. A better relationship never lived, nor shall I stand to hear you ramble on to disparage it.”

He stood quickly yanking his hands off the table. The action seemed to break the heady illusions playing over the other’s minds as they all started at the moment. Wether or not you had tried to make your presence known, or something else did- they didn’t know. But they did know your marriage was filled nothing but perfect adoration and this woman, for better or worse, was now claiming otherwise.

Luke stood as well, quickly buttoning his suit jacket. The breach of conduct on his part loomed like an executionor’s axe for Ms. Fox, as a gentleman Luke always acted perfectly sociably- yet there he stood and the circle was broken.

Michael couldn’t speak, he had no scope of the tricks that had been played but his mind was plagued with the thought of your soul restless for eternity, searching for something you could never find. He said nothing while Ashton pulled Ms. Fox aside, nor while Luke quickly ushered him outside.

That night you floated through the house that was once yours. The twisting hallways and spiraling stairs all felt the same. But no place with a death in it cantruly stay the same. Swathes of fabric covered the mirrors and as the hours passed since the burial and the covers remained you knew Michael felt it too.

Even though he couldn’t see you, your presence still lingered throughout the house. Michael almost expect to round each corner and see you working at some inane task. Between the séance’s excitement and the grief written into his shoulders Michael collapsed on the sofa from exhaustion.

You moved beside him, had you been flesh and bone you would’ve been holding Michael. As he fell asleep, tears staining his cheeks, he could’ve swore he smelled your perfume and heard you return his whispered sentiment from before: I love you.

#michael x reader #rpf #freakyfics #Victorian mourning au #I used my degree on this lol #yes it’s a reference to the fox sisters #fun fact Fox and the Sisters was once my band’s name because we all met during Victorian lit seminar

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #341

“anger, misery, you’ll suffer unto me”

Would you risk your life to save a total stranger? I don't think so. Have you ever trashed your ex’s car after an argument? No, and I never would. Grow up. Have you ever done something because of peer pressure you are ashamed of? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever been embarrassed to introduce your parents to anyone? No. Would you leave a note on a car claiming responsibility if you damaged it? Yeah; guilt would eat me alive otherwise. Have you ever used someone's handicapped parking pass to get a parking spot? Fucking ew, no. Have you ever held back a well-deserved compliment because you were jealous? No. Do you guilt people into giving you what you want? Ugh, no. Would most people consider you better than average looking? Ha, no. For yourself, would you rather have a perfect body or high IQ? Give me the perfect body, living in my horrible one has affected my mental health badly enough. I'm fine with having a moderate IQ. I just want to feel happy in my own skin. Have you ever embarrassed some intentionally in public? Wow, no. Have you ever used a false ID? Also no. Are you embarrassed to tell people your job? I'm embarrassed to tell people I don't HAVE a job. Do you remember the first conversation you had with the person you have feelings for? I don't. I'm sure it was RP-related and not friendly, but I don't remember the exact convo. Have you ever got a D or F on your report card? I want to say no; I think the lowest I ever got was a C. If you had twins, would you give them rhyming names? Ugh, no. I'm sorry if you're into it, but I'm just not. I would want to ensure they knew their uniqueness and individuality was seen. Is there anyone that you wish was IN your life who used to be? There's a large number of those kinds of people. What brings out the worst in you? Probably when I'm building up towards a PTSD meltdown. I get VERY short and snappy and am convinced everyone hates and wants to leave me. My mouth also has NO fucking leash, and I know I can say very mean things that I'll regret later. What do you prefer, Skittles or Starbursts? Skittles. Mike & Ikes or Jolly Ranchers? Jolly Ranchers for sure. What is your favorite thing to eat with peanut butter? Waffles (with syrup). Don't knock it 'til you try it, I'm telling you. What are some wild animals commonly found where you live? Besides birds obviously, there's squirrels, deer, opossums, raccoons... Have you ever had a lucid dream? I think I've had just one. What's your biggest problem at the moment? Probably my anxiety having stunted my growth in so many areas. Have you ever turned down a job offer? I don't think so, no. What's the longest hospital stay you've had? For what? I think my longest was almost two months for suicidal thoughts. Two months might sound long, but it was like... my third or so psych hospital stay for that same reason. What's something really basic that you're terrible at? Even the most simple math. I don't even know the majority of my elementary multiplication tables. Have you ever hugged someone for over a minute? Yeah. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? I have one there already, but I plan on getting it covered because it was an impulse tattoo that I feel no connection towards. Have you ever searched for your house on Google Earth? My old house, yeah. Are you a beach, country, or city person? Country. Living in the suburbs has definitely reminded me of that... Are you faster at text messaging or typing on the computer? Typing, by a long shot. I make typos texting too much. Have you ever kissed anybody who had a mustache? Yeah. Who is the last person that you said "I love you" to, besides family members? Sara. When was your first real relationship? Sophomore year of high school to early college. Have you ever cried over an ex? I've cried the entire mass of water on Earth over an ex lmao. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes. Is there something really bad that you’ve done, that only YOU know about? No. Have you ever copied someone else’s homework? I think I have once or twice, but obviously with consent. What’s a hobby you would like to try out? If my legs worked like actual legs and I didn't sweat like an absolute pig, I would like to try out herping, but without actually interacting with the animal like picking it up and scaring the daylights out of it. I'd just be happy enough looking for reptiles, amphibians, and inverts to photograph instead. Does that still even count as herping? What was the last event you attended? My youngest niece's birthday party. How about the last event you organized? I've never organized an event. What’s something you get excited about doing and want to do it right away? Whenever I take nature pictures, I'm immediately keen to get them into Lightroom and do the postproduction. Is there anything you feel you’re better at than anybody else? Definitely not. What’s the biggest insect you’ve ever seen? If you exclude places like the zoo, that would probably be a rhinoceros beetle or something. Oh no, actually some kind of local moth I don't know the name of. They're beautiful big white boiz. How about the biggest spider? I might be mis-remembering, but I believe at a reptile convention I went to with Sara, one of the vendors had a goliath bird eater tarantula in one of the cups. I do know it was some tarantula species for sure, though. Who was the first person to break your heart? My dad. Obviously not romantically, but him just splitting on the family with no proper communication absolutely broke my heart for years. First person to give you flowers or candy on Valentine’s day? I'm sure that would be my parents. If you exclude them 'cuz that's kinda obvious, I believe it was Aaron, my first boyfriend. I'm pretty sure we were together on Valentine's Day, because I remember getting him a giant Hershey's Kiss. First band you obsessed about? I wasn't truly obsessed with any band 'til Ozzy in middle school. Can you do a backflip? No; I've never tried and never will. I was and still am too afraid of breaking my neck. Like I have a MASSIVE fear of paralysis, particularly from the neck down; that fear is actually the biggest one that keeps me from driving, fun fact. Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Of the two, definitely a pessimist, but I at least think I align most with being a realist. What’s the biggest lie you’ve told someone? I'm unsure. Have you ever been hit on by someone of the same sex? Yeah. How many doors are in the room you’re in? Just one. Have you ever been engaged and broke it off? No. Has anyone ever drawn a picture of you? Tyler once drew a picture of him and me. It was cute. That guy still dove in WAY too fast. Have you ever dated a redhead? I haven't, but I love redheads. Natural red hair is just gorgeous. What are your thoughts on facial hair on guys? Historically, I seem to generally like some, but it really depends on the guy's general appearance. I can like none at all or a full beard and mustache, it doesn't really matter to me. Did you go anywhere today? No; my mom is in Florida with her brothers totally cleaning out Grammy's house, so she's not here to take me anywhere. Do you have any nieces or nephews? Oh yikes, I have a lot. I honestly can't count because I've lost track of how many boys and girls Katie has. You have a choice to shoot your father or die, what would you do? Jesus. I'd rather die; some things just aren't worth living after, and I'd have no desire to keep going if I killed my father. Did you ever cry at the end of King Kong? I've never watched it, actually, but I. LOVED. The video game. I haven't played it in years and only faintly remember how it ends, but I don't remember crying. Are you in any amount of pain at the moment? Quite a lot, actually. It's kinda a TMI subject so I won't delve into it, just know I'm hurting like a bitch. What was the last sugary thing you ate? I snacked on some chocolate chips earlier today... which I really shouldn't have done, but I think I had reasonable restraint and didn't totally binge. When was the last time you did something extremely stupid? Who knows, that's not a rare occurrence, it feels like. Have you been to any parties lately? Only my niece's bday party in February. Thankfully it was kept pretty small, given Covid; not that anyone in that family besides my sister gives a flying fuck about precautions, though... Can you touch your pinky to your thumb around your wrist? Ugh, no. Close, but not enough. I still have thin wrists and hands, but yeah, yay for being overweight. If you were to start a charity, what would you call it? I'd hve to put more thought than I'm willing for one survey question. I'd have to decide what KIND of charity I want to start first, which I'm unsure of. Probably something related to animal wellfare and conservation or something similar to the Trevor Project. Maybe LBGTQ+ youth disowned by their families... I dunno. There's so much good I wish I could do. Are you comfortable with your body? Holy fuck no. It's only gotten worse since I started gaining weight again and almost entirely erased all weight loss progress I'd made. What is your recent inside joke? Most recently made? Idk, man. I don't make those often. Would you rather be a human, vampire, or a werewolf? Er, I'm good with being a human. If I was a vampire or werewolf, I wouldn't exactly be very welcomed, I'm sure, and both have seemingly painful traits to cope with. Are you good at giving directions? It is absolutely impossible for me. I have NO sense of direction, like, at all. I don't know highway names, local exits, etc. etc. etc. etc. Why did you last curse? Pain when readjusting myself due to aforementioned issue I'm having. What is your purpose in life? I hope it involves animals and spreading words of peace and an appreciation for art. What is one of your weak points? I'm very, very, very dependent on others. I'm really working on trying to correct that. I can barely do shit on my own as is. Who was the last person you heard snoring? My cat, haha. Would you rather shower by yourself or with another person? 100% by myself. Another person would just get in the way and make me VERY self-conscious of my body, even if it was my romantic partner. Just please leave me alone to hate myself for 10 minutes. :^) What was your last addiction? You could say my current one is John Wolfe, a really funny let's player I've gotten into. Been bingeing some of my favorite games he has playlists of for a few weeks now. You are in a tank full of spiders, what do you do? Well one, I'd like to know what kind they are. Venomous? Harmless? You gotta give me the details. If I don't have any, then I'm admittedly freaking the fuck out, even though I know I should stay very calm when trying to get out. Fear would win, though. If killing yourself meant saving the world, would you? Saving the world from what? But odds are, yeah. I don't cherish my pretty damn mediocre life more than I do the lives of what, 8 billion people? Have you ever stayed up all night just to talk to someone? Yeah. When was the last time you eavesdropped someone? I kinda do that sometimes when Mom's on the phone and I can hear her from my room, and if they're on speaker. Particularly if the subject is me. When was the last time you went to a club? I've never been to one. How have you been sleeping? Poorly. Are you adopted? No, I'm not. Do you like scrapbooking? Not really, no. Do you collect anything valuable? "Valuable to me." <<<< This. Nothing of great monetary worth, though. Have you ever been beaten up? No, thankfully. Do you know anyone with an eating disorder? I don't think so, in my personal life. What was the last thing you killed? An ant. Have you ever used someone for money? I never could, no. When was the last time you went to the zoo? Sigh, it's been many many years. I'm so ready to get my goddamn legs back in shape so I can go again, this time with a REAL camera, too. Last time I went was when I still only had a Kodak EasyShare; I have a professional Canon camera now with much more education on photography too, so I would be in absolute heaven with at least twenty memory cards in need, haha. Maybe next fall... Is there a teacher you hate more than anything? I actually never had a teacher I hated in my entire school career. It really, really is as simple as just being a respectful student. In most cases, I should emphasize, because I do understand some educators just suck. Now I had some teachers I wasn't very fond of, but most certainly none that I hated. Do you own colored eyeliner? No. Do you have manners? I honestly think I'm very mannerly. When was the last time that you had a pet that died? We last had to put my dog Teddy down; he had cancer and was literally withering away. I knew in my very core that even if we didn't bring him to the vet to euthanize him, he would've died naturally in a very short period of time; I doubt he would've survived another night. Now I'd like to move on. What is your favorite medication that you take, and why? The combination of Vraylar and Lamictal is the reason I'm alive. It keeps my bipolarity and depression under control. Do you decorate Mason jars? No, but those are some of my favorite crafts visually. They're very pretty and cute. Can you see the mountains from where you live? Oh hunny, I wish. Did you ever play pranks on April Fool’s Day? As a kid, yeah. I don't anymore. I'm not really even a fan of April Fool's Day as an adult because of how cruel some jokes assholes play are. Which instrument would you play if you could learn to play one? Maybe violin. Do you part your hair on the left side, right side, or in the middle? The left. What are some names you like that start with the first letter of your name? Uhhhh Bianca, Braelynn (look I know it's so stereotypically Southern but it's pretty)... and idk from there, those are the two that come to mind first.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''harvester of sorrow'' by metallica

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kittinoir · 4 years

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Echoes of You Ch. 20

Read on Ao3

Adrien had screwed up.

He’d screwed up all of it. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life, but the hardest part had been staying away instead of running back to her with flowers and apologies. He’d put of patrolling two nights in a row for that reason. He was painfully aware of just how much he’d hurt her, but his words had been as much for himself as they’d been for her. He’d needed to hear the truth. They both had.

He’d known it had been a mistake to lean on her, but he was hurting, and she was so kind, and…and it was all an excuse. Fear had driven him to her balcony and fear had driven him away. It was better to put the wall back in place. He couldn’t stand to lose her, too, not after…

And that had always been the case, probably half the reason for his feelings for his Lady. Who he was, what he did, would come between him and any person he had feelings for, except for the one person who could understand it.

Adrien raised a picture he’d been holding in his right hand back over his face. It was one of the riskiest things he owned: a never-before seen by anyone picture of his Lady, a shot no one but Chat Noir would have been able to take from a patrol a few months ago. After all, who else could get to the top of the Arc d’Triomphe? He’d insisted it was nothing more than a photo of the beautiful sunset, but he’d angled it so that his Lady was in the frame. The reds and purples and golds in the backgrounds were stunning, but what was a sunset compared to her face?

And what was a little heartache compared to Marinette’s safety?

Groaning, Adrien let his hand flop back down to the mattress. How had he ended up here?

“You know, I think you were on the right track,” Plagg said, drifting over Adrien’s face. “You should go apologize to that girl. Take her some cheese - on me.”

“Very generous,” Adrien said, rolling his eyes as he twisted onto his side. “You just want things to be easy. That’s not how love works.”

“Are you saying you’re in love with that girl?” Plagg asked, dive-bombing the sheets.

“Isn’t that what you keep insisting?” Adrien grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“I still think I had a point,” Plagg said primly.

“All I did was hurt her,” Adrien admitted, sitting up. “I don’t deserve to drag her into this. It’s safer for her if I don’t come around, and better for me. Marinette deserves someone who can give her their whole heart, and I…Chat Noir wouldn’t make a very good boyfriend anyway. Sooner or later the mask would come between us. It never would have worked.”

“And what if she needs saving?”

Adrien couldn’t help a small smile. “Marinette’s never needed saving.”

Plagg frowned. “Anymore thoughts on Trixx’s little message?”

Adrien groaned, throwing his hands over his eyes. “None. Could he have been anymore cryptic? ‘Look for what’s not there’? I mean, what does he think I’ve been doing this whole time? I feel like I have all the pieces, I just need to put them together.”

“You do,” Plagg said, swirling closer. “You can do it.”

“Can you tell me anything else?” Adrien asked. He’d asked before, but Plagg hadn’t been able to come up with anything new.

“She’s always been just one step behind you,” Plagg said, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You just never…you never saw her, Adrien.”

“One step behind…”

An alarm chimed on Adrien’s phone, and he instantly recognized the alert reserved for akuma’s. He snatched it up, opening Nadja’s live news feed. Once again, his Lady would have to wait.

Adrien frowned, devouring details. He could easily recognize the Louvré plaza in the background as Nadja huddled behind a tree.

“…ments ago an akuma appeared at the Louvré museum where preparations were being made to restore several historical paintings. The akuma - oh my!”

The camera panned over Nadja’s shoulder to the plaza where Adrien could see the monster had appeared. His heart stuttered at the sight of the truly wicked looking blade the thing was carrying. He was a good fencer, but the broad-sword was definitely designed for crushing; he doubted his slender baton could take the brunt of it. Hopefully Red’s lucky charm would be a little more durable.

“Time to go,” Adrien said, standing. “Plagg - ”

“Um, Adrien?! It looks like you’re already there.”

Adrien froze, then snatched his phone back up.

Sure enough, two superheroes had appeared in the plaza. They certainly looked like them, but if the past two months had taught him anything, it was that nothing was as it seemed.

“Senti-monsters?” Adrien wondered out loud.

Plagg shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I guess. It’s happened before, but to what end?”

“Another mass akumatization?” Adrien suggested.

“Possible,” Plagg said again, “But risky. It didn’t work the last time, and we have the Miracle Box. We could show up with a team to fight him, but maybe he’s counting on Ladybug’s inexperience to take you down.”

“So the best thing then would be to show up?”

“Maybe try calling Chloe first,” Plagg suggested. “If she picks up, you know this is probably a trap.”

“Good idea,” Adrien said, already dialling. Sure enough, it went straight to voice mail. “Looks like that’s really her out there,” he said. He slid his phone back into his pocket and dropped into his desk chair to pull up the live feed on his computer instead.

The fight continued had continued on and he saw Ladybug call for her lucky charm.

“I have a bad feeling,” Adrien said as he watched. A pit had formed in his stomach. “I think we should get out there. Even if that cat’s a fake, two is better than one.”

“Wait, look!”

Adrien looked back at the screen to see another familiar figure join the fray. “Felix?”

“I still don’t like that kid,” Plagg grumbled.

But as they watched, it became apparent that Felix wasn’t fighting with Ladybug and ‘Chat Noir’ - he was fighting against them. Adrien’s eyes grew wider and wider as he took in the scene.

“And I was right!” Plagg exclaimed, squishing his face against the computer screen and beating it with his tiny paws. “I knew it! You can’t trust him! I’M GOING TO CATACLYSM HIS FACE OFF.”

“For once I think we’re on the same page!” Adrien stood so abruptly his chair toppled over. “Plagg, claws out!”

The transformation took seconds. When it was over, Chat Noir leaned into the computer screen to take one more look at the scene, but what he saw made him freeze.

The ‘Chat Noir’ on screen had fallen, his back to the camera, barely concealed by some rubble. The akuma was no where to be found. As he watched, Felix landed a blow that sent Ladybug flying. She fell hard and she, too, didn’t get up. Felix crossed the plaza and bent to the two heroes. Twin flashes of green and pink light briefly lit the afternoon, and when they faded, Felix was standing, his arm outstretched over the two figures, now in plain clothes - clothes that didn’t look like anything in Adrien’s closet. The dim light of the sun glinted off something in his cousins’ palm.

The Miraculous.

“Hawkmoth!” Felix shouted. “The Miraculous are mine now. If you want them, come and get them - tonight at the Eiffel Tower, midnght. If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re not interested.”

“What the hell,” Chat Noir muttered. Enough. This had gone on long enough. He turned and made for the window, ripping his baton free as he went. As he did, he noticed the paw print softly flashing, indicating missed messages. “Oh, this should be good. ‘Hey Adrien, I hope you didn’t think I would just give you the Miracle Box; I think the Ladybug and Black Cat are a fair trade!’ He’s going to be real surprised when the black cat turns out to be…. to be… well, a fake of some sort.”

Scowling, he played the messages. The first one was from Red.

“Where have you been? Salem and I have been trying to get in touch with you all day. I know you’re still mopey about Ladybug and having to be saved by a civvy or whatever, but we seriously need you to pull it together! Get back to one of us; we can’t keep waiting for you.”

The next two were from Felix:

“I was hoping to intercept you on one of your patrols, but I haven’t been able to find you. I’ve come up with a plan. Actually, I kind of borrowed it. Hawkmoth is getting more volatile. It can’t wait anymore.”

And then:

“I’m sorry, Chat Noir, I waited as long as I could. Hopefully you get these messages before you come to kill me. You can yell at me after we beat Hawkmoth, and then you can have Trixx back. He’s eating me out of house and home. Tonight. Eiffel Tower. Midnight. Don’t make me come get you.”

Chat Noir turned back to look at the footage on his computer. The Louvré plaza was completely empty. In fact, the rubble had disappeared as well, like smoke on the wind - or a mirage in a desert.

“And illusion,” he muttered, understanding dawning on him. “A fake take down to lure Hawkmoth out of hiding and into a false sense of security. Brilliant. Stupid, but somehow still brilliant. Plagg, claws in.”

Adrien had a piece of cheese ready for the kwami as he reappeared, a peace offering more than anything else.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you cataclysmed him like we agreed,” Plagg pouted, devouring the cheese.

“New plan,” Adrien explained. “Felix used Trixx to create the illusion of the fight to lure Hawkmoth out. Tonight’s the night. We’ve only got a few hours to prepare.”

Plagg frowned. “Prepare?”

“Hawkmoth won’t come alone,” Adrien said, flicking the switch that would bring up his piano. “We won’t either. We need the team.”

“But…they’re all compromised,” Plagg said. “Hawkmoth will - ”

“Will what?” Adrien said, opening the piano bench where no one ever cleaned. Inside, near the bottom and covered in sheet music, was the Miracle box. “After tonight, he won’t be a threat. If all goes well, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s risky, Adrien,” Plagg cautioned nervously.

“It’s never been anything else,” Adrien said. “Besides, I’m the guardian now. We finally have the advantage. I won’t waste it.” He paused, staring at the lid of the box. “I haven’t gotten to make a lot of choices in the past few months, but this is one I can make. And Felix was right about one thing: taking down Hawkmoth is the only way it’ll be safe to find my Lady and set things back to right.”

“Well, we’ve got a lot of stops to make,” Plagg said.

“Then we better get started. Plagg, claws out!”

Chat Noir picked up the Miracle box, stashing it in a satchel and slinging it around his shoulders. He’d have to be fast, but he paused on his way to the window and picked a single pink rose from the vase on his desk.

Maybe the real mistake had been asking Marinette to be anything other than who she was. Maybe it had been not trusting himself enough. Maybe it had been allowing fear to cloud his judgement. Maybe it was all of those things.

Whatever the case, he hoped it wasn’t too late to set things to right.

Maybe if he’d left a little sooner, it wouldn’t have been.

But while Chat Noir leapt into the night, the Miracle Box at his hip and hope in his heart, he had no way of knowing he was racing an akuma.

Or that he was going the wrong way.

#echoes #echoes of you #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous #~just did a bad thing~#~I don't regret this thing at all~#~and you're wondering what it is~#~tell you what I did~#~I did a baaaad thing~

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