#his fame is there for a reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

casuallivi · 2 years

Text

Azriel Week 2022. Day 5. Ships (elriel)

Prelude: The Whims of Fate, The Wills of Fae

This fic can also be read as a prelude to The Things You Like, The Ones You Don't. The opening act was polished with the help of this gem ;) Hope you guys enjoy the ride, you can let me know your thoughts anytime ;)

Summary: His life is harsh, his job is strenuous, his responsibilities are endless. His relief is one and only.

Warnings: explicit language, violence. Set during ACOFAS.

Word Count: 3853

Velaris. Two months after Solstice.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The slow rhythmic drip of water brought Leon back to conscious. He wheezed, the coppery stench in the air making he realize it wasn’t water that dripped. Blood. Blood dripped down his nose, splattering on the cold stone. His former chains were discharged a couple feet from his mangled body, for Leon was slowly dying on the unfamiliar floor. His lungs expanded, trying to collect air, and Leon moaned painfully, the shattered ribs radiating pain all over his torso with every little amount of air that he managed to pull in. He tried to move, but all he could do was wheeze a painful breath. Everything hurt. He couldn’t feel one of his arms.

His face was a mess, his cheekbones sunk into the muscles, his nose a pulp of blood, his eyes so swelled, it took him a moment to manage to see through the blood coagulating in his eyeballs, the glimpse of white bone poking thought his left arm sucking another painful whimper out of him, his loose teeth flooding his mouth with blood. Leon didn’t even have enough strength left to spit it. He gagged on it, a silent pray for the gods dying between his useless unmovable lips. Mother, spare your child. Cauldron, have mercy on your son. They would not hear him. The subterrain cells buried deep down the confines of Hewn Mountain was not a place the gods could reach. No. Only the scum earned that privilege.

The events of the day blurred in his feeble mind. It seemed like a life time ago when Leon was captured within the borders of Night Court after making his trade in Day. Getting caught wasn’t an ideal situation, but Leon was your usual thief. He was a master of his craft, and escape was an art he had perfected along the centuries. He went as far as escaping from the infamous Illyrian general during the last war, avoiding the military draft as the rest of the losers in his village.

The Mother knew Leon was a big male, meant for a big destiny. Dying as a nobody, in the middle of a war that had nothing to do with him, was not in his plans. So what if they had him in hold for now? He would escape anyways. Leon was a tall male, but he wasn’t a burly tug who couldn’t go by unnoticed, solving his problems with his fist. His body was slender with finely build muscles, his brown eyes and black hair granting him the perfect common features to be dismissed in a crowd without a second glance, the adversities on the way being solved with the help of his cunning intellect. That, and the bit of coercive magic he was born with.

Blink once, he slashed the pocket of coins from your breeches. Blink twice, he was gone among the mass of bodies. Despite the fact he could steal without attracting attention, Leon had no desire to remain as a measly pocket picker. He built a fame for himself, accepted jobs not even the sliest of thieves would dare to attempt, he even robbed from the vaults of the High Lord of Spring. In time, his fame rendered him a few apprentices, they formed a little group, which later on grow into a massive band of thieves, tricksters, traders, messengers, mercenaries and killers. Whatever you needed, the Hel Raising Faes could got you, and Leon was their leader. The master of all crafts.

He remembered laughing earlier that evening, dumbfounded at the insult of being put in regular iron chains, the same material one would use to bound a lesser fae. How dare these assholes think such a primitive holder would keep him down? They would need magic-restrictive chains to hold a high rank male like him, even then Leon would not be going down without a fight. As every good thief, Leon took notice of all the details while being dragged down the dungeon. He counted two exits placed on opposite end of the corridor, ten holding cells displayed on each side of his block, all of them awfully silent as if there wasn't a single prisoner behind those doors. Which couldn't be true since Leon could hear them breathing, even catching a pair of golden eyes caged by an open hatch.

The Illyrian guard in charge of him pushed Leon through an open door. He bid his time, looking around the badly lit cell, taking in the four dark damp stone walls covered slick mold. Despite having heard the guards talking about his interrogation, Leon noted the lack of structure and torturing devices in the room. No hooks on the wall or the ceiling to hang a prisoner, no metal table displaying sadistic gear, no roaring fire with metal spikes to burn him. In fact, the only things in the cell were Leon, the guard, and two simple chairs. He scorned at them.

The guard shoved him down the wood chair and left. Leon watched him close the metal door, judging the quadrangular hatch big enough to stick a head. Fucking idiots. If you could stick a head, the rest of the body goes with ease. He waited for the familiar sound of a key turning, a lock being put in place. He heard nothing but the steps of his jailor getting farther.

Inching forward on his chair, Leon noticed two things. 1) The chair wasn't fixed on the stone floor, but simply put there, as one would place a piece of run-down furniture in a tavern; 2) He wasn't bound to the meek chair, his arms were only wrapped around the back, his wrists trapped together. With a furious snarl he snatched the chains, kicking the chair with rage, the thing coming apart as it collapsed against the back wall. Leon spit on it. How dare them threat him as if he was just a common thief caught in Night soil. He was the fucking leader of Hel Raising Faes, for fucks sakes, he–

"I see you renounced your privilege of sitting." Leon whirled back to see the other chair was no longer empty, a male sat there. He squinted at him. The cell was dark, but he should have been able to see his features from this distance, yet, he could see nothing except for the vague shape of a male, as if darkness itself molded around him. “Pity.”

Leon’s upper lip peeling over his teeth, a warning growl directed at the unknow male.

“Who the fuck you supposed to be? The headsmale?” he laughed at his own joke.

The male didn’t respond. Instead, he reached inside his jacket to pull out an object Leon knew well. The solid gold brass knuckles, with sharp spikes on the edges, glinted in his hands, the letters HRF, with flames burning behind it, inscripted on the side were carved by him.

"That's mine," he growled in warning.

"Is it?" The male twirled the brass. "I see you are a talker, then,” he threw the brass up and caught it in the air. “Tsk. That’s no fun.”

“I’m not a fucking talker.” Leon rebuked offended, puffing his chest.

He knew what this male was doing, trying to rill him up, scare him with the possibility of torture. Leon wasn’t stupid, they need him lucid and willing if they wanted to find the human whores, they would not lay a finger on him. “I’m not saying shit.”

“I’m counting on it,” the other sneered darkly.

The male inched forward, darkness bending and molding to revel a big pair of wings unfurling on his back, talons scratching the ceiling in their wake, denouncing him as another Illyrian, but not any Illyrian. A glow of blue flickered at the height of his chest, Leon’s eyes growing wild. Shit, fuck, shit. It wasn’t darkness he was willing, it were shadows. Shit!

A drop of cold sweat ran down his face watching the Shadowsinger’s face emerging in front of him, his eyes promising anything but mercy, holding Leon’s gaze as he slid his gold brass knuckles over his bronzed scarred fingers. Leon did not even had time to take a step back before he moved, his massive frame blurring as his fist collapsed with Leon’s jaw so strongly, he felt the bone disjointing. His mouth sagged open as he watched his jailor in shock. A rattling noise shook the cavernous cell, Leon emitting a strangled sound as a swarm of shadow began to descend from the walls, infiltrating from under the door cracks, the open hatch. Suddenly, the air staled, all light consumed from the cell while darkness embraced his piercing screams.

Outside the room, prisoners recoiled within their cells listening to Leon shouts for mercy, each one of them remembering what it meant to receive a personal visit from the Shadowsinger. He’d play with his pray. Put them in weak chains, feeding their wet dreams about an easy escape, let them bluff and puff your chest thinking they could outsmart Night Court’s intelligence. Sometimes he even let them wander around the labyrinth of dark corridors under the mountain. In the end there was no escaping this place, there was only him; The Shadowsinger. His cursed frame emerging from the dark, his devious shadow-hounds doing his bidding, his centuries of experience feeding from fae souls

Leon cried louder.

A prisoner shuddered.

No.

It was never a good thing to be a newcomer received by the Shadowsinger.

Azriel was morose and silent as he touched the town house door handle, waiting spelled-door recognized him. He’d been tracking every step of that insufferable band of thieves for months, his intelligence network working to eliminate every wicked branch of it. Tonight, he had finally come face to face with the slave traders, their leader slipping through Night border, in a messy attempt to escape, as he planned. Azriel left his spies taking care of the arrests, dedicating his time to locate the human victims hidden.

It wasn’t unusual for Children of the Blessed to fall into fae traps, their love for the race leading them to believe in promises that would never be fulfilled, happy ever after in the arms of a prince or princess. Learning their weakness, and counting on the easier access to the Human Lands without the barrier of the wall, the despicable leader of HRF created a network to smuggle humans. He’d lure the believers with pretty vows, bounding them into a life of misery and slavery. Only after he found the remaining humans, freed them and place in a proper shelter, did he return for Leon. If he closed his eyes, Azriel could still see them. Smell them. Dozens of humans kept in deplorable conditions, pressed together in a small pension room, malnourished children crying in their own filth, hopelessness and hunger bleeding from their gazes.

To be filthy, hungry and locked in a cell. Azriel knew what it was like, knew the mark it leaves on you. Maybe that’s why he chose to spend an especial evening with Leon, or maybe he was just a bigger of a monster as him. A monster who fed from pain. Azriel ran a hand throw his hair and crossed the foyer, doing his best to forget the memories trying to resurface, his shadows crooning for to sleep as they usually did. Sleeeeep. Sleeeeep. He would do just that once he reached the spared room on the second floor. He and Cassian stayed mostly in the house of wind now that the sister moved down here, but tonight Azriel was too tired to fly all the way back to there, his wings heavy and his muscles strained from days of flying nonstop –and if he was lucky, he could get a glimpse of Elain during breakfast. Yes, shadow-walking here had been a good choice. He was still thinking about he when he felt her.

Elain.

He usually felt her before he saw her. The scent of jasmine assaulting him quicker than Cassian’s jab during a sparring. It was unmistakably hers. Not the suave aroma one could scent the flower, but a deep lingering fragrance only carried by her, pleasant sugary notes of honey blending with it, the delicious mix arousing a variety of emotions within. Azriel found her sitting on top of the stairs with the faelights off. The dark did nothing to hide her from him, tho. That’s how he saw Elain was wearing pants, pajama pants, but pants nonetheless. His stiffness gave place to verve as he climbed the stairs, watching her. She was covered in a fluff grey wool pajama, hugging her knees, her feet guarded by a pair of polka dotted socks, her cheek pressed to the wall, honey colored tresses partially veiling sleepy doe eyes that blinked in and out of conscious. How could a female look so delicious and so adorable at same time?

Azriel chuckled quietly attracting her attention. Elain blinked at the sight of him, the softest of breaths escaping her parted lips, her head almost hitting the rail in her hurry to sit straight. She scanned him from head to toe, wild brown eyes cataloging every piece of him. He reached her in no time, retuning the small smile she gave him, extended his silent shield towards her, keeping their voices from the rest of the house. “You are up late.”

“So are you.”

The way she looked up to him was so innocent, her intentions so clear and honest, Azriel found himself reaching for her hand, Elain accepting his without a second of hesitation. For a moment he forgot how deeply covered in blood they’ve been moments ago, how truthfully he had to scrub himself to feel clean. When he remembered, he felt no urge to push back and hide his hands as he so often did in the pass. No, Azriel held her tighter, making sure she was real and not just a product of his sleep deprived imagination.

As if she felt his need for reassurance, Elain squeezed him back. She was real. She was here. Had she known he would come? Was she waiting for him? His mind spun with questions, yet he asked none of them, patiently waiting for her to finish cleaning her bottom.

“Come. Let me walk you.” a stupid request to make, since her room was a couple of steps away, and he had to pass by it to get into the guest one. He just wanted to touch her all the way there. He could make twelve steps last for an eternity if he put his mind to it.

Except Elain didn’t share the sentiment.

“No,” she replied simply. Azriel tensed, his hand hanged loose, horrific confusion bathing his face as he tried to withdraw his fingers, which were laced with her. Elain held back. “Because I will walk you.”

Azriel placed his free hand on his chest, his tension dissolving in a nervous laugh. He almost cursed. Almost. “0x1, Archeron.”

Elain gave him a shit eating grin, the mischief in her brown orbs lightening the space between them. Her contagious joy emanated to him, so obvious he could feel it blooming in his own chest, happy and bright as her smiles. The rich sensation spread further along his body as they walk the short walk to the end of the hall, their feet almost dragging on the carpet, his shadows disappearing on his trail, leaving him and his sweet flower alone –save for the rest of their family, sleeping in their respective bedrooms, not that Azriel cared for any of them at the moment.

Once they reached the bedroom, Elain was the one to open the door in a single swipe, letting him pry to what was inside. To his utter surprise, the room was tidy despite the fact that it been a while since anyone slept in it. The window was ajar, letting the moonlight in, the floor was shiny, the bed had clean sheets, a suave fragrance perfuming the air. His eyes darted to the bedside table, noting the two items on top of it. A small crystal vase replete with tiny blue flowers, and mug of tea, steam rising above the rim. Still warm. Azriel eyed the flowers again. His throat bobbed. He had spent enough hours in Elain’s company as she piped about flowers and theirs meaning, to recognize those particular cobalt blossoms. Forget-me-nots.

This was not the view of a barely visited guest bedroom, this was the view of a room ready for use. A room for someone who was expected. Wanted. Elain was watching him carefully, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she spoke for him.

“I wasn’t sure,” she wetted her lips, feeling nervous for the first time tonight, her tone getting serious. “I just…I had this feeling,”

“That I needed to crash here?” he lifted a brow playfully, trying to lighten the crease in hers.

Elain shook her head, determinate to not let him downplay the urgency of her gut feeling.

“That you needed to rest.” Words came and die in the tip of his tongue.

Elain hadn’t been able to sleep properly tonight. She tossed and turned in bed the whole time, strange shapeless creatures chasing smoke and mirrors. She felt tired to the bone. She got up after a while, deciding a warm drink might help her to slumber. Instead of going down, to the kitchen, her feet guided her to the side, the empty bedroom calling to her. Angst heaved in her chest when she pushed the door open. The place felt abandon. Her heart ache looking at it. There was no way one could have a pleasant rest inside. This would not do.

A sudden necessity to warm the place assaulted her, and before she knew it, Elain was spreading the windows wide open, letting the night breeze sweep the cold creeping in the corners. She replaced the dusty brown bedding with one of her freshly-washed ones, a cozy cream-colored combination that smelled like roses and felt like clouds. She even brewed passionflower, pouring the soothing tea in an especial mug created to keep the temperature perfect for hours. Once she was done, Elain sat on the top of the stairs and waited. Deep down she knew who she was doing this for, knew who she was waiting.

Azriel eyed Elain. Back on the house of wind, the headache powder was placed on his nightstand with the reverence of a trophy. Whenever he slept there, Azriel would glance at vial in the wee hours of night, memories of her flooding his mind as they constantly did. Now here she was, presenting him a cozy room that smelled like home. Once again, she rendered him vulnerable without warning. One word from her being enough to disarm him. This type of vulnerability could be exploited by his enemies, could cost his life and countless others in a battlefield. Yet, he didn’t feel the need to pretend not being shaken, nor the need to hide behind his shadows. Being unraveled by Elain Archeron was unlike anything he had ever experienced. From her, he had no need to hide the cracks of his armor, from her, he had no wish to shield his mind and never let her pry to his insecurities.

For the first time in many centuries of being a spymaster, Azriel felt something other than anger at the possibility of being exposed. He felt relief. Behind his back, his wings sagged in exhaustion, imperceptible for untrained eyes, but another Illyrian would notice from a good yard. Being seen by Elain lighten his shoulders in a level that could not be describe by words, her gentleness sent his barriers careening down, her particular way of displaying affection ignited something deep inside of him.

They stood there for a minute. An hour. A day. Time was irrelevant. Each one of them was rooted to the spot by their own thoughts. Azriel should have stayed quiet. He should have thanked her and bid her goodnight. Elain already did more than he would ever deserve allowing him to bathe in the same warmth she presented to others, indulging in every spec of liberty he took with her. It should be enough. It would never be enough. Although he suspected the answer, he couldn’t help it, he had to know, he needed to know. Needed to hear her say it.

"Would you be here if you knew where I came from?” his voice was raw, vulnerable. Anxiety coming through. “Would you be here if you knew what I done tonight?”

“Yes.” Sometimes a single word can change everything. Sometimes a single word can full your courage in a way a warrior speech, in the peril of battle, would not be able to. “You want to tell me?” The soft squeeze in his hand was comforting weight, a symbol companionship, a prove of confidence.

“Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

Her unquestionable trust swelled on his chest. She made it look easy. To accept who he was, to understand the lengths he had to go, the damage he had to cause. He looked down at their hands, Elain following his gaze, gently running her thumb against his skin. His mangled skin coated in scars, and blood, and gore, and death. Would he taint her if he held for too long? Or would she infect him with her radiant self?

She pulled him in the direction of the inviting bed. “Rest,” she said again.

Rest. His shadows crooned like parrots, her voice mimicked with perfection. Rest. Rest. Rest.

Reluctantly, Elain let go of him, slowly, as if she would rather stand there all night than leave. Giving him one last sunny smile, she closed the door behind herself.

And that was it.

The point of no return.

The whole curse of his life changed by a four-letter word.

From that day on their clandestine flirting evolved. A dangerous dance that could not be stopped by the presence of other fae in the vicinity. Lingering touches that electrified his skin, sparkling chocolate eyes that never seemed to stray, feet touching under the table, pinkies hooked behind their backs, playful winks and beautiful shy smiles, the permanent scent of jasmine that always seemed to linger on his clothes, denouncing how much he spent seeking after her. From that day on he considered himself hers.

And mother had mercy on the land, because Azriel would measure no efforts to see a smile bloom in Elain’s lips, no consequence could stop him from trying to give her the sun if she asked for it. No matter that he didn’t considered himself good enough for her, that the Cauldron knew that as well and gave her to another, that fate would always try to bring her and her mate together. None of it matter. If he ever had the honor of receiving her heart, Azriel would guard it as his most prized possession, for Elain’s affection was something he could no longer live without.

100 notes · View notes

rosemarys-maybe · 5 months

Text

bride redraw ft. the worst markers known to man

#HI its me again submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known #anyways i think its so silly that had a fuck ton of iguanas in that movie for no real reason #herbert west #reanimator #bride of reanimator #dan cain #daniel cain #danbert #personal #fan art #hall of fame

325 notes · View notes

rainbowtransform · 1 month

Text

Anyway I think the rat grinders are trying to resurrect an evil god so they can defeat them and get their name on the map. So they can “compete” with the Bad Kids and be the big heros of the year.

This goes hand in hand with being President as well. Like if course they want to be president, if their plan goes through then they’re the underdogs that did it. They’re the ones who defeated a god brought back, and they deserve to be president because everyone loves an underdog.

#the entire reason I say this #is because of Ruben’s ‘I’m getting mobbed for autographs’ thing #like obviously he’s not because nobody really WANTS them #there’s nobody around to want his autograph because technically speaking he’s a one hit wonder (which you can also argue Fig is as well)#but like they want the fame #they want the glory #they want the ‘special’ treatment because that’s all they see in the bad kids #they see the cooliest fucking kids ever #and they want it too #dimension 20 #d20 #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy

60 notes · View notes

total-drama-brainrot · 9 days

Note

Saw this somewhere and wanted to throw it your way, sorry if you’ve been asked this before but what do you think of the concept of Noah always having been an assistant (even before the first season)/never playing as a contestant would look like?

The thing about Noah as a contestant is that he's, for all intents and purposes, kind of useless. And by that I mean Noah as a character isn't important to the plot at all in the grand scheme of things. He's barely important from an episodic point of view either; Noah does very little throughout Total Drama in terms of story relevance, and just in general. (Lazy king 👑.)

So taking him out of the equation wouldn't really affect too much in the grand scheme of things, save for probably preventing his friendship with Owen and, from a fanon standpoint, the rest of team E-scope. He'd be pretty much the same person, just behind the camera instead of on it.

But that's kind of a boring answer, and not at all what you were looking for, right?

So, let's say that Noah lands himself a job working as the personal assistant for some hot-shot A-list celebrity through one of his many siblings' various contacts; is it nepotism? Probably. But who's Noah to look a gift horse in the mouth? A fairly easy job following some pretentious asshole around all day and grabbing him the occasional coffee sounds like a pretty sweet gig, especially with the salary and various benefits that come with the job description. So Noah takes the job without question.

And that's how he finds himself stuck in the middle of nowhere, Muskoka, on an undisclosed island owned by said A-lister whilst he films the first season of his new Reality TV show, Total Drama Island.

Being Chris' personal assistant was supposed to be an easy pay check. "Supposed to be" being the point of interest there; Noah didn't anticipate Chris being as sadistic or as childishly needy as he was. If he wasn't running around like a headless chicken trying to accommodate for Chris' oftentimes outlandish whims and fancies, he was stuck answering to the producers in the host's stead- and the producers were pissed with Chris more often than not for his frivolous use of the show's budget. Something about having a genius level IQ and enough snark to make grown men cry apparently made him qualified enough to deal with the industry big-wigs. Noah was far too overworked to question it.

So much for an easy pay check.

Noah's not bad at his job by any means. In his professional opinion, the whole show and Chris' career would be in the dumps without his personal input keeping everything afloat. That doesn't mean he doesn't loathe his job with every sleep-deprived inch of his being.

And, inevitably, Noah ends up spending a lot of time around the campers themselves. Mostly as a consequence of always having to remain "on set" so to speak, since Noah's pretty much contractually obligated to linger around Chris' vicinity and wait for his boss to assign him some menial task to do. Most of the campers are just as egocentric and insufferable as he'd first assumed- and honestly, what else would he expect from people who singed up for a Reality TV show?- but a select few turn out to be decent company; namely Owen and Eva (and Izzy, but Noah refuses to admit that the "Psycho Hose Beast" is actually bearable to be around).

He'd even go so far as to claim they were friends good acquaintances.

Of course, his job takes precedent over frivolous things like relationships, platonic or otherwise, so Noah doesn't exactly have the free time to hang out with them. Which is probably for the best considering if he did spend a lot of time around his friends acquaintances, the other contestants would have a solid enough foundation for accusations of foul play in the competition, and that's a headache Noah really doesn't want to deal with.

Consequently, Noah floats through the filming of Island, and later on Action, maintaining cordiality with his little group and cold indifference towards pretty much the rest of the cast. Not that he doesn't keep close tabs on the campers; of course he does, not only is Noah incredibly observant by nature, but he's also the one in charge of accommodating for these weirdos... plus, Chris is oddly invested in his "prize cast of ratings jewels", whatever that means. So Noah knows these people, probably more than some of them know themselves, thanks to a combined sixteen-ish weeks of observation and forced proximity.

In turn, the competitors know of Noah, though for the most part he's regarded as little more than a spectre on set- Chris' elusive personal assistant who the cast will occasionally see the barest glimpse of, usually hidden behind an impassive pair of mirrored sunglasses and, more often than not, rushing off to do whatever it is a PA does. Chris does get a little lazy in Action and on a few occasions does get Noah to make a "guest appearances" on screen- mostly just to deliver him a coffee and a gluten free muffin during the downtime of that day's challenge- but he's still practically non-existent to he majority of the cast.

Which is fine by him.

What isn't fine by him is the surprise addition of two people he knows nothing about, come the third season.

One of those contestants happens to know a lot about the cast, and a concerning amount of information about him. It's uncanny, just how much Sierra seems to know about everyone around her, even more so because of the way she practically worships the ground they walk on. Sure, Noah's encountered the odd super fan here and there- not fans of himself, of course, but in this time as Chris' assistant he's had to chase off more than enough rabid fans from trying to sneak their way onto the set of whatever show Chris was working on (or more accurately sic the on-scene security on them)- but Sierra's brand of crazy takes it to a whole new level. Noah doesn't like her on principle and is both incredibly vindicated and incredibly concerned when her stalkerish behaviour rears its ugly head. Not that he's allowed to do anything about it; the producers are adamant that Sierra's outlandish behaviour is entertaining enough for the audience to ignore the immorality, and given how much Chris has been allowed tog et away with in the past Noah's inclined to begrudgingly agree.

And the other new contestant? The one who qualified for the apparently non-existent Total Drama Dirtbags (and Noah totally isn't salty about that show being an elaborate ruse that he spent countless sleepless nights working on)? Noah's just as concerned about his friends acquaintances ignorance to Alejandro's inherent sliminess as he is about Sierra's blatant disregard for others' privacy, but again it's not like he can do anything about it. He's not even supposed to be on the show, so any sort of interference would be a big no-no.

Oh, what's that? They want him on the show?

Fuck.

Turns out, Noah's brief appearances during Action (characterised by his usual level of sass and snide comments) really resonated with their audience; they like him for some inexplicable reason, and want to see more of "Noah, Chris McLean's mysterious personal assistant".

So he's pretty much forced into acting as a co-host of sorts, much like Chef had done for the first two seasons, all whilst carrying out his usual tasks. Is he happy about this? Not a chance in hell, and he lets the producers know exactly how he feels about the sudden change in his contract. Not that it changes anything.

And the best part? World Tour is a musical themed season. If they expect him to sing, they've got another thing coming.

But, as a small part of him chimes in, spending more time on camera would give Noah plenty of opportunities to spend time with his friends acquaintances. There's a non-zero chance that he could have fun, even if it's at the expense of his valued privacy.

His new status as part of the show does allow Noah some opportunities to skew the competition in the favour of his friends acquaint- no, screw it, his friends. That's one silver lining of the whole situation.

Better yet, he can tilt things out of Alejandro's favour, since the former Dirtbag seems to have a knack for manipulating the competition anyway- Noah might as well make things more challenging for him, as it seems this game is too easy for him thus far.

#that's just my take on it i guess #in short: noah's a tad bit more isolated and a lot more vindictive. mostly against the producers though.#i imagine a noah who didn't sign up for total drama would value his anonymity a lot more. THIS noah isn't looking for fame or notoriety.#he's just looking for Cash Money.#as such being forced into the limelight would make him grumpier than usual.#he spends the majority of world tour trying to get alejandro eliminated because he's the producer's favourite. no other reason.#al the while being as unhelpful and outright antagonistic as possible as a “co-host”.#mostly to make himself as unmarketable and unlikable as possible so the audience don't want him to stay around.#ironically this only makes him more popular. noah hates it.#he also spends the majority of world tour trying to prevent sierra from leaking people's private information to varied results.#noah's a voice of reason in a cacophony of screaming. no matter how loud he shouts he'll never be heard.#can't decide whether i want him and blaineley to team up post-merge or for them to be enemies on sight.#total drama #td noah #assistant noah au #others' ideas #silly ideas #ophe's ranting in the tags again #long post #replies #kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)

32 notes · View notes

moonshynecybin · 3 months

Note

Okay but what is vale’s reaction to the motogp Instagram account posting that in the forced coming out au. Internally I mean. Does he do his best to ignore it? Is he so deep in denial that he’s patting himself on the back for being a good actor? What narrative is he building in his head?

coming down on jorge lorenzo (decidedly winning the idgaf war in all years) sending it to him and vale externally commenting two little love hearts and @ ing marc's insta publicly BUT also internally being like. im gonna have to run away to some uninhabited island in the mediterranean and live in exile like napoleon this sucks so bad

#hell world. forced to perform in ways that are not comfortable to him #truly i think the biggest part of this au for me is the torture of fame in addition to all the rosquez stuff.#liek really dig into vale's need for privacy and innability to have it and how his persona is leveraged to manage it #how does he function when he has to do that about something so personal like marc? i think not so good.#theres a reason he doesnt say as much about him. marc wants you to know when hes suffered. vale wants you to think hes teflon #asks #callie speaks #motogp #rosquez #forced coming out au

31 notes · View notes

bookshelf-in-progress · 2 months

Text

Daughter of the House of Dreams: A Fragment

Author's Note: This is the opening to a long-abandoned "Sleeping Beauty" retelling that I no longer plan to write, but I still like it as a piece of prose, and it sparked my enduring interest in second-person narration, so it feels relevant, and why should long-dead authors be the only ones who get to have their unfinished fragments published?

If you ever travel to Monetta City, be sure to visit Faraway Lane. Walk past the glittering new shops, and the shoppers in their bright silk dresses and top hats, and you'll find a cozy stone shop at the end of the street. This shop isn't grand and mighty like the other shops. It won't sniff and turn you away if your clothes aren't the latest fashion. It's a grandmotherly old shop that shakes its head at the prancing and preening of the younger shops, and invites you in instead. It holds no wares in its windows; it hardly has windows at all. But it has a warm and wide wooden door, with a shingle hanging above—Alessia Day, maker of dreams.

Don't ponder the sign's message too long—it means exactly what it says. Just slip inside, shut the door behind you, and look. Don't breathe too deeply, unless you want a week of crazy dreams, but allow yourself one gasp of astonishment. You won't be able to stop yourself. No living person has failed to feel awe toward the rows and rows of shelves, longer than streets and taller than palaces, filled to bursting with glass bottles in such bright colors that the dresses in the other shops' windows would weep in envy. Some bottles are the size of thumbnails. Most fit comfortably in the palm. Some are as large as breadboxes or steamer trunks or carriage horses, but the shelves manage to fit them all. And each bottle is filled to the brim with dreams.

If you don't understand, ask Alessia Day. You'll find her at a counter half a mile from the door, polishing bottles and humming a song you've heard but can't remember. She's an old woman now, and proud of it, but squint your eyes and start to daydream, and you'll see her as I remember her—a willow-wand girl with shining brown hair and eyes that sparkle with half-formed jokes.

Tell this girl how pretty she is (she'll laugh and call you crazy) and ask about her dreams. She'll tell you of her stock and sell you any dream you ask for—daydreams and pipe dreams, dreams of love, dreams of adventure, dreams of loved ones lost and loved ones found and people you've never met but wish you had. She'll show you dreams of lush and perfect islands, dreams where fishes fly through the air, and dreams where people swim the seas with fishes' tails. She'll pull down dreams that last a second but linger a lifetime, dreams that fill a month of stormy nights, dreams that fade on waking and dreams that drown out memories. If you let her, she'll talk of dreams until you drift off, and she'll bottle up your dream while you doze.

But if you're smart (I know you are) you'll step to the counter with a clear glass bottle, empty of everything but air, and ask for her story instead. She'd distill it in a dream for you, and be glad to do it—I once saw her whip it up in half a minute, and I'll bet she's even faster now. Buy the dream, but don't drink it right away. You won't be ready for it. Linger in the shop a while. Hear the story first from Alessia Day's lips, in that voice of hers that's sweeter than singing.

You won't believe half of it, but when you stagger from the shop and wander the empty, starlit streets, you'll ponder over passages until you stumble into bed at sunrise. And when you wake, the world will be different—you'll see tiny footprints on the windowsills, know things about the shadows on the walls, tip your hat to creatures in the corner of your eye, and realize there is another color no one else can see. You'll laugh and call it your imagination, but every second Tuesday, you'll start to wonder if the old woman was right, if the things she told you were true.

If you drink the dream she made, you'll know. I'll understand if you don't—some things are easier not to know. But if you do, and dream through her story, come to my house and ring the bell. My man will let you in—he'll know you by the wonder on your face. He'll bring you to my study, set you in my oldest, softest chair, and get us both settled with a steaming pot of tea. Then, once you've finished babbling, I'll close my eyes and tell you my part in the tale.

#the bookshelf progresses #i had completely forgotten the story that this was supposed to be the prologue to #then over the weekend i found the plot summary again #it was actually pretty cool #it was about this girl whose family served as the most prestigious dream-makers in the nation #because they provide dreams to the famed cursed and sleeping princess #and then she discovers that the princess could have been woken a bunch of times over the century #but her family prevented it because they didn't want to lose their cash cow #and then of course she has to find a way to break the curse #i don't know why i thought having this random dude as narrator was the way to go #(unless the story morphed a lot between initial idea and whatever story i intended to write with this prologue)#he was probably in the prince role #and would marry the princess while remaining friends with alessia #beyond that i have no clue what i was going for #(also i don't think i would do the 'he teams up with this girl and marries someone else' plot if i did it today #because i hate marian halcombe situations where the hero develops a strong dynamic with his adventure partner #only to for some inexplicable reason marry someone pretty and boring)#anyway today's a day where i want to write and don't really have time to #so i'm just posting this instead

21 notes · View notes

pomegranatepetrichord · 10 months

Text

something about remus lupin: dumbledores wolf in a muzzle

main piece and colors heavily inspired/referenced by @/picckl on twt!

69 notes · View notes

magnificent-winged-beast · 11 months

Text

"You’re not only heroes at home, you’re heroes around the world for standing up to tyranny. And you show to the rest of the world that might doesn’t make right. That if you have justice on your side, you will prevail"

Misha Collins thanked🇺🇦deminers

Let's help him Donating:

HERE

#Misha Collins #My overlord #In Ukraine 🇺🇦#Doing what needs to be done using his fame #Do we need more reasons to love him?#Misha on Twitter #United 24 #U24 #My parasocial self is screaming internally #U24 ambassador

96 notes · View notes

immediatebreakfast · 1 year

Text

We are introduced today not to Victor, but a guy named Robert Walton. Someone whose premise as a character is basically "I want a great purpose in life, and I also want the Fame that could bring said purpose please. I didn't get that as a poet, so now I am exploring the ocean :)" is something that I haven't seen. Robert is not exploring the Northwest Pacific Ocean like a scientist would, but as someone who wants to become famous from it.

I'm not saying that Robert Walton is not passionate over this adventure, he is by a mile if we see how much time, money, and travels he has sacrificed for it to be true. However, Robert is not doing said sacrifice for a specific purpose, he is searching for said purpose as he goes along the way. His entitlement of it all is fascinating, this man thinks that he alone can bring a new discovery to humanity, something that puts his name in history, no matter what it is. Robert is so petty for not reaching fame with his poetry despite his writing style being so beautiful, so he goes to search for his purpose by taking a hard turn and going from literature to science because to him it doesn't matter. He wants to becomes Famous™ of it. He has no passion for the knowledge, for the search itself, he wants the fruit before he could even plant the tree.

Along with Robert's confidence over how he can explore and understand the icy poles because he as a human has power over the unforgiving dangerous nature paints a really nice premise to a theme of this novel. The Big question of "can we humans successfully control nature and it's rules?" Which is being presented with a man going into the unexplored, and clear nature without thinking about what entails to discover something new because to him there is no difference between poetry and science.

The promise of wild knowledge that could be perfectly, and easily tamed, not for the knowledge itself, but for the societal recognition and the fame that said knowledge brings. It's the perfect premise for a gothic novel that promises the awakening of a experiment.

#My first impression of Robert is that he is a dramatic bitch #His way of describing things is beautiful yet he really can't differentiate between being a famous poet and a scientist #This guy justs wants the fame from these endeavors and I find that so funny for some reason #frankenstein weekly #frankenstein

108 notes · View notes

sweetpaintedladie · 2 months

Text

i can’t explain why but this makes me ill

#like i feel a legit knot in my stomach #tbh i’m not like the biggest beatles fan anymore but #it’s crazy to me how the band that did so much to open the cultural and musical worlds to people #and who used their status at the top of the world to genuinely push music forward and inspired countless acts #will be dethroned by someone who [while i won’t say is untalented but i personally struggle to find the good lyricist singer dancer or #performer or musican in] by all accounts is just a business tbh #like there’s nothing for music its all for charts accolades and money and that’s horrifying to think that someone can get this far with that #being the biggest goal.#that’s like sending 2010 mick jagger into the 60s and getting him to make the rolling stones popular #like businessman ≠ artist #you have to have an actual talent or reason for popularity to become popular and i see none of that #there’s no progression for anyone but her: the beatles pushed music stones pushed culture michael jackson pushed desegregation of popular #music #and she has…. ?#just looking for something she’s truly accomplished other than beating records because that’s all it seems to be #and she has no humanitarian reason for fame either #elton john was a huge star and remained a huge star not due to his musical output or breaking records but because he’s dedicated so much #time and money to causes greater than himself #he didn’t need to beat the beatles to carve his own place out in history #no one should have to beat them to that #their impact should be felt in ways that make it hard to think of a culture without them #because as it stands she’ll be seen as the chick that beat the beatles #never once used as a marker herself #it will still be them because they will remain important to culture and music #just as they would be without setting records #hell look at bob dylan #he has like 0 chart records and was given a nobel prize and will continue to be the marker for lyrical excellence #it just makes me so mad that the person who will beat all these records is doing it just to beat records tbh #it’s not deserved or even slightly important #it’s just a record to beat which SUCKS anyways i talked too long but im mad so :/

10 notes · View notes

shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 year

Note

I bring more.

maybe I should just join the discord lmao…

And here’s the full page with some other doodles that I may have forgotten to send (which is probably just the alt Cesar [what I assume he looks like. I haven’t seen any art of him so I. Yeah </3])

YOOOO /POS

These all look so good for real-

#asks are neat #super cool fan stuff #tmc alternate au #huh seth seems to have a little shmutz on his face hope the reason isn’t horrifying-#also ALT CESAR. the poor dude :(#these all look so good though I love it #also for not seeing au alt Cesar art. you nailed how he looks #shmorps hall of fame

67 notes · View notes

my-thoughts-and-junk · 3 months

Text

the father [solar lunacy] the son [you move to dayshift but aren't paid any more, go figure] and the holy spirit [i see you, sundrop!]

#random thoughts #fnaf #solar lunacy because it's what people think of when they think about iconic sun and moon fics (and for good reason)#(bamsara is a master at subtext and creating little scenes that all build up to a beautiful picture)#dayshift go figure because god. the corporate bullshit. the domestic bullshit. THE VIRUS BULLSHIT.#and also because it features my all-time favorite original character (drumroll please)#dundundundundun RILEY GREENE OF I SEE YOU SUNDROP FAME #god what didn't i see you sundrop do right. the characterization. the slow build up of dread throughout the entire fic. riley greene.#IT IS 106 CHAPTERS NOT INCLUDING A POSSIBLE FUTURE EPILOGUE #god sorry to the other two fics on my list but reading i see you sundrop broke my brain a little #the scenes with riley's mother. THE SCENES WITH RILEY'S MOTHER OH MY GOD #you can tell a fic is good when it gets you to give a shit about an oc that hard #their CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT??? WHICH IN TURN FED DIRECTLY INTO WILLIAM AFTON'S DEMISE?????#I AM DEAD. I AM DECEASED.#im rereading solar lunacy rn if you can't tell lol i went on a spree #fucking love the concept of sun not being completely isolated from moon and his illness god fuck #solar lunacy 🤝 i see you sundrop: we're gonna have some wild fucking takes on moon's illness in relation to sun #me: oh god thank god some good fucking food #and OBIWAN??? OF DAYSHIFT GO FIGURE FAME???#best oc side character i think. i want to see him and sun just go at it for an hour shooting the shit #don't really have much else to say on dayshift go figure right now cuz its on SUCH a cliffhanger #that's kind of taking over my mind rn idkwettl #i could go on for hours about i see you sundrop though. that fic grabbed me by the throat and threw me down the stairs #binged that shit in two days #sun mentions having a crush on riley once and it's never mentioned again and that kind of fucks actually #the other two are romance fic and they're REALLY GOOD AT IT OH MY GOD #solar lunacy. just in general. makes me blush so hard it's not funny #OH SPEAKING OF BLUSHING #THE MC IN DAYSHIFT GO FIGURE KEEPS GETTING FLUSTERED IT'S SO CUTE #dayshift go figure is more of a typical 'i am in love and refuse to acknowledge it' fic it's so adorable

13 notes · View notes

kenobion · 2 years

Photo

Andrew Garfield interview with 4 News

#that errant curl is giving me life . . . this might be his best hair look ever #andrew garfield #I love watching/listening to him talk #and I love this outfit #actually everything about this look is amazing #his perfectly stunning face . . . the hair . . . the scruff . . . the outfit #yes thank you #I am so gone on him in a way unlike any other #this is from the interview where he talks about grief in part and fame in the other #I stuck with giffing from the part where he talks about fame #because to use the rest - the part about his struggles with grief - without context feels disrespectful #and I know there's another gifset out there that did do it justice rather well #so I stuck with this #for those reasons #my gifs

372 notes · View notes

ultrainfinitepit · 3 months

Note

20%

20%. What’s one thing that other characters wish they could change about this character’s personality?

Sam is an obvious pick for this question because of how ruthlessly everyone (mainly, the other angels) has dunked on him, historically. The criticisms of Sam runs the gamut from "he is too loud" to "he is setting me on fire." Sam doesn't agree with most of these criticisms though.

So if we had to pick one thing, let's pick something Sam would pick too. The one thing Sam might agree he would want changed, is his forgetfulness.

It wasn't such a big deal when he had an angel's mind in an angel's big ol' brain, but now he's got an angel's mind stuffed into a little human brain and its dropping things all over the place.

Now admittedly, Sam has amazing focus and recall for certain things. His forgetful reputation is not as bad as the others would make it seem and he definitely plays it up a little to annoy them.

But for other things, sometimes pretty important things like "remembering to eat today" - he does have a tendency to forget those things and it bothers him. I imagine over the years Sam has worked out many tricks to try and help his memory along.

This innate forgetfulness is also why it so bothers him to have larger gaps in his memory or amnesia as a result of reincarnation, or outside interference. Even if it's outside of his control, he can't help but feel like those gaps are his fault.

#ask #town of puddle #ocs #just another reason Sam is pissed at Wrath for making him forget Zipporah LOL #I imagine someone (Pen probably) made a joke about how Sam forgetting his own husband is in-character thanks to his famed forgetfulness #and then Sam laughed for half a second before trying to strangle him

15 notes · View notes

steelandscience · 2 years

Text

Do you ever think about how Jayce and Viktor essentially swap positions before and after the time skip?

In Act 1, Viktor has the better position in society in terms of power and success, and Jayce is doing (Piltovan) ethically questionable illegal experiments in the secrecy of his lab. In Act 2 and 3, they essentially swap entirely.

Can’t wait until Viktor has his own trial before the Council to mirror Jayce’s.

#Viktor may not have really been anyone to most people in Piltover #and he may have a dead end job #but it’s a dead end job Jayce DOESNT have #Viktor matters #at least in the Academy #he knows Heimerdinger personally #he tries to reason with him a bit about Jayce’s research #and then in act 2 it just COMPLETELY swaps #also like poor Viktor— his success being an administrative assistant at a university and Jayce’s being a super famous and rich scientist LOL #I just have so many thoughts and feelings today #and SharpAce of Crank It! fame is *egging me on*#jayvik #viktor arcane #jayce arcane #sir e speaks #arcane thoughts #arcane meta

222 notes · View notes

wiihtigo · 5 months

Note

whats the deal with hoostergold. i love casey i want to know why she hates booster gold and why shes right. i mean . misguided.

writing this assuming you dont know anything about booster gold from dc comics LOL

so casey started working for booster as his personal assistant in his peak IDGAF era (that stretch of time when he wasnt doing much in comics around after the jli disbanded and superbuddies time..before ted kord died and he got his new zest for life. i mean suicide)

casey just left home freshly 18 with big dreams of making it in the glamourous city of metropolis. even though casey doesnt really care that much about superheroes, at this point she did find booster inspiring as a celebrity in the way that he was a cheat and a hack when he got his start but still made a name for himself anyways (and honestly wasnt immune from a little being dazzled by The booster gold) and she thought since "Hey no ones heard from booster gold in a minute since the justice league exploded" he would be an easy (semi-easy. easier than superman at least) (she probably tried. got nowhere) target for walking up to and asking for a job. and her luck was maxxed out that day because she did just show up at his house and ask for a job and he was like Lol why not. she had it in her head she'd fix his career and get his name back in the spotlight and in turn, booster would help her break into the acting scene with his hero celeb connections

she worked for him for a long time and then BOOM ted kord got shot in the head and as that wound was freshly opened he was in a peak state of whats the fucking point of anything i dont care i dont care so he fired casey, because honestly he was just paying her to be an errand boy at that point anyways/to be nice and casey took it extremely well

casey during her employment for booster was giving 100% of herself to give him anything he didnt know he wanted (even though he didnt really want anything and was content to chill by the poolside all hours of the day). her investment in boosters life was always wayyyyyyy more than booster even cared about what he was having for dinner that night. he always just kind of humored her/thought it was handy to have her around if he needed someoen to find the remote he lost somewhere in his living room. but she was literally on the mission of her life, shes the type to work crazy overtime because she thinks her boss will notice her and be so appreciative she'll get rewarded (stupid) and all her work will be worth it in the end when shes living like he is. but then shes suddenly fired and instead of just getting a new job and accepting Sometimes Life Sucks (or the horrifying thought SHE may have made the mistake of betting it all on this guy who can barely remember her name half the time because hes too busy watching wheel or fortune 24/7) shes like I have to fucking kill this BLONDE DEMON

the thing about that is shes like blind with rage that he wasted her prime youth (18-most of her 20s) and for the first time in her stupid delusional life she experiences soul crushing doubt in her lifes direction and the clear path she set out for herself. caseys mom had her when she was 16 and never hid the fact she never wanted kids (never wanted casey) and she resents the fact she had to drop out of school and get a job she hates to support them and casey sees her mom being this talented but utterly defeated and depressed alcoholic woman in her 40s and feels a mixture of Well i wont go and do that im built different and IM FUCKING SCARED which is what leads her to moving to a whole new huge city by herself no friends no education just in the cheap dingy apartment barking

so with all that baggage and hope and dreams in that big head of hers the real only option was murder

#asks #i have to stress caseys stuff with her mom is certainly Part of why shes like that but its not the whole core reason #like dont get her twisted she does just want money and fame for the sake of it shes delusional and selfish #anyways. why did casey let a blonde man ruin her life IS HE STUPID?#casey #if you were asking just what makes booster generally irritating- casey relationship unrelated just look at his stupid smile #but hes not like #hes not a cruel person at his core so it was important when i was writing casey that her issue with him be from just like.#ignorance. neglecting your only employee. general harmless annoyance that builds up over time #definitely a lot of casey projecting

13 notes · View notes