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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

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hey remember that caramel-carmel Fake Script i was writing? yeah it's technically not done but i'm tired of tinkering with it so here it is! we'll just say it's a uhhhh uncovered partial script or somethin

this is not in any way official! it's a 100% unaffiliated fanwork & i am Just Fucking Around for Funsies

BARNABY: oh, I love carmul!

FRANK: [long, disgusted pause] …what?

BARNABY: Carmul! You know, those tasty little treats you’re holdin’!

FRANK: You mean caramel?

BARNABY: That’s what I said.

FRANK: [scoffs] No, you didn’t. You said carmul.

BARNABY: We’re sayin’ the same thing here.

FRANK: We absolutely are not!

JULIE: [giggles] You really aren’t.

BARNABY: Carmul, caramel, tomato, tomahto! What does it matter!

FRANK: [flustered, stammering] It - it matters! Julie, you agree with me, don’t you?

JULIE: Well… I don’t know, Frank! I think both are fun!

FRANK: You’re both wrong, then! Wally, you agree with me, don’t you?

WALLY: [hesitant] …I say carmul.

FRANK: No! Not you too! How could you poison him like this, Barnaby?

BARNABY: Don’t look at me! I’m innocent, honest!

FRANK: Ha! So you admit that carmul is the wrong pronunciation!

BARNABY: [groans] ah, geez… throw a dog a bone!

FRANK: I’d be delighted to if you’d just-

[distant yelp as Eddie trips off-screen]

FRANK: Eddie! Thank goodness, finally someone who can put an end to this debate!

EDDIE: [nervous laugh] Oh no, what did I stumble into this time?

BARNABY: Hold on a tic, Frank. Hey Ed, take this. What do you call that tasty treat?

EDDIE: [with a tinge of fear] A… caramel?

FRANK: [triumphant] a-HA!

SALLY: [approaching] Did someone mention carmul?

FRANK: AGH!

BARNABY: [delighted] Perfect timing, Sally!

SALLY: What, for a delicious morsel? Hand it over, thank you!

FRANK: You’re all wrong, and I’ll prove it! We’re going to go around the neighborhood and - wait. [under his breath] One two three four - [returns to normal volume] we’re taking this to Poppy’s!

BARNABY: Then Home, then Howdy, yeah yeah - might as well ask the daisies, too.

JULIE: Oooh, and the butterflies!

SALLY: While we’re at it, we should phone everyone in the book, just to get the widest audience input.

FRANK: [unamused] You all think you’re so funny.

EDDIE: Well, you gotta admit it’s… it’s…

[brief, tense pause. Eddie clears his throat]

EDDIE: It’s perfectly sensible!

[Frank makes an affronted noise]

FRANK: Poppy will see sense.

POPPY: I’d be delighted to have a cah-mehl, but I’m afraid it-

FRANK: [aghast, truly astonished] You’re joking. You have to be joking. CAH-MEHL? Does no one in this town have sense?! Besides Eddie, of course. And Julie - on a technicality.

EDDIE: [oddly pleased] Why thank you.

POPPY: My goodness, did- did I say it wrong?

BARNABY: [gleeful] Not in the least, Pops!

SALLY: As far as I’m concerned, you added an extra layer of… pizazz to the word. In fact, I may adjust my own pronunciation accordingly!

POPPY: [flustered] Oh, well, I didn’t - don’t change on my account -

SALLY: Take the compliment, Poppy.

POPPY: [meekly] Thank you.

[Sally wanders from the group, practicing the slightly adjusted pronunciation]

WALLY: I’m not sure I understand. What’s wrong with carmul or… care… mul… carmel…

POPPY: Don’t strain yourself dear, you’ll get a migraine.

FRANK: What’s wrong is that it’s ENTIRELY incorrect! It! Is! Pronounced! Caramel!

JULIE: Aww, Frank, I’m sure Home and Howdy will agree with us! Team Caramel, WOOO!

BARNABY: [barely restrained disbelief] Boy, won’t they!

POPPY: I’m not sure what the fuss is about… there isn’t much of a difference, is there?

[Frank makes a high pitched, frustrated noise and stomps off. He can be heard calling Home’s name in the background]

JULIE: Oop, there he goes!

POPPY: Oh - oh dear. I didn’t mean to rile him up.

BARNABY: Don’t twist your beak about it - Frank’s just bein’ Frank. Now if you’ll excuse us, I wanna see how it goes with Home.

WALLY: [quietly, thoughtful] But Home doesn’t talk like us…

POPPY: If you’re sure… Do let me know how it goes.

SALLY: [swaying back to the group] I’ll phone you post-haste! Or even better, I can come by for one of your delicious muffins and regale you with the whole escapade, in detail.

POPPY: [audibly pleased] That sounds - well that sounds like a wonderful idea! I have some fresh from this morning-

BARNABY: Sounds great! See you around, Poppy.

FRANK: Home, I have an important question to ask you. Is the correct pronunciation for this candy ‘carmul’, or ‘caramel’? One creak for caramel, two for the incorrect carmul.

BARNABY: Talk about a bias…

[Home stays silent. Sally yawns.]

FRANK: One creak for caramel, two-

[Home slowly shuts their curtains]

FRANK: Hmph! The nerve… well, I suppose a house that can’t speak shouldn’t have a say, anyway.

WALLY: Home can speak. He just does it differently.

BARNABY: And I’m pretty sure they just agreed with me, Walls, an’ Sally.

JULIE: They did not!

BARNABY: Looked like it to me!

SALLY: I have to agree with Julie. Home just declared itself a neutral party, and so the vote can’t be counted either way. On to Howardson!

JULIE: Yes! Howdy! Our last hope!

FRANK: He may have terrible taste in company, but he’s a sensible businessman. Poppy and Home have let me-

JULIE: Us!

FRANK: -us down, but surely Howdy will back us up.

BARNABY: [faux-serious tone, knows something they don’t] Absolutely. Without a doubt.

[store bell chimes]

HOWDY: Howdy-do - [brief pause, a tinge of surprise] everyone! My my, what brings the entire neighborhood to my bountiful bodega? Finally decided to clean me out for good?

BARNABY: [snorts] With how fast you restock? I think I’d break my funnybone!

FRANK: We have important business.

HOWDY: [mildly curious] Do we? That’s news to me! But I’m letting you know now that I don’t deal in bugs, Frankly. It’d be hypocritical.

FRANK: Believe me, I wish I were here to talk insects. Unfortunately, I need to settle a score. Mr. Dear, if you would?

EDDIE: If I would what?

SALLY: [stage-whisper] Barnabello gave you the, ah, parcel earlier?

EDDIE: The…? Oh! Oh, right - I have it right here, just… give me a second… which pocket…? There we go.

[sound of a small, hard candy placed on the countertop]

HOWDY: A carmul all for me? You shouldn’t have! No, really, you shouldn’t have. I’m on the clock.

BARNABY: [loud bark of laughter] I knew I could count on you, pal! So what’s the tally, Frankie?

[Frank mutters something inaudible]

BARNABY: What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me bein’ right!

FRANK: [explosive] You’re all wrong! The correct pronunciation is caramel, CARAMEL! You’re all - you’re all just - heathens! Heathens, I say! I’m taking my company elsewhere!

EDDIE: Mr. Frankly…

JULIE: [overlapping, following] Aw, c’mon Frank!

[the door jingles. Julie and Frank’s hushed arguing in the doorway underlies the dialogue]

HOWDY: It sounds like I missed quite the context! Mind filling me in?

BARNABY: That was pretty much it; a real potato potahto argument.

HOWDY: If you say so, Barn. Speaking of potahtos-

[the background argument abruptly cuts off, the door jingles again as it's closed]

FRANK: [rapidly rejoining the group] Hold it! You don’t really say potahto, do you?

BARNABY: [under breath] Here we go again…

SALLY: [deeply amused] Where on Earth did you pick up such a butchered pronunciation? I must have missed the sign on my tour down from the heavens.

EDDIE: [baffled, underlying the dialogue] I’ve never heard anyone say it that way.

JULIE: Oh! Is it a joke? Like, Barnaby says potato-potahto, and then you jokingly say potahto to make us laugh?

HOWDY: It’s not a joke. That’s how it’s said.

FRANK: [genuinely disturbed] No - no one says that. It’s potato.

HOWDY: Well I say potahto, thank you very much! And if you ever want one from my store again, you’d do well to accept that.

[Various grumbles of reluctant acceptance]

HOWDY: Good. Now, can I get any of you a refreshing drink after such a squall? You must be parched!

WALLY: I wouldn’t mind a glass of mulk.

[Horrified silence. A pin drop would be deafening]

[Sudden uproarious and overlapping argument]

#consider this a low budget dollar store fanfic #didnt want to write an actual fic so Just The Dialogue Works Fine #anyway ive never tried to write a script-adjacent Anything so have mercy on me #i dont know what im doing ever! im having fun anyways!#and for the record! im team carmul #well all pronunciations are valid in my book but i say carmul #always have always will dont know why dont know how #my parents tried to make me say it 'caramel' growing up and uhhh No <3 #its fuckin carmul to me. To Me.#i dont say potahto tho. who the fuck does that who isnt a 50s mob boss in jersey #if a 50s mob boss in jersey is reading this: you'll never catch me alive #absolutely unprompted #welcome home #hmmm i should have a writing tag at this point #yk what ill just reuse - wait no i cant reuse the one from my dc sideblog #oh fuck it we'll stay on theme #snippets from the bog #yeah this little writing thing has been in my docs for like.#checking my nonexistent watch here. mmmmmmdont know. a while #and im slightly terrified to post!#its one thing posting art - posting any sort of writing is like breaking your ribs open with a crab cracker #and saying Hi! Have A Taste! I Hope My Viscera Isn't Completely Disgusting!#my god i hope they're at least acceptably in character. im trying im trying #i hope this gives someone a laugh!#or at least a hearty Chortle #or... blowing air through your nose in amusement. yes

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blitheringbongus · 4 months

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Cold Hands

(This is my first ever fic btw, also not to be an ao3 writer, but English isn’t my first language so if you see spelling errors or sentences seem shit then blame it on that because I refuse to admit to myself that that is just an honest mistake, also I wrote this all in one go at a Christmas party-)

Scar can’t stand the Nether.

He never has, especially not after the incident in season 7.

But nonetheless, he agreed to go gather resources in it with Mumbo.

The Builder was actually quite surprised when Mumbo first asked, „Whu- me?“ Scar pointed at himself, staring wide-eyed at the taller Redstoner before him.

Said Redstoner shifted his eyes, „Well- yes, you.“ Scar laughed, „You’re aware of who you’re talking to?“ Mumbo nodded, „Mumbo you know the Nether isn’t Scar-safe! I thought you’re smarter than this!“ Scar snickered, the taller shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, „That I do,“ „Then- why? I mean I’m happy to be spending time with you but- for this?“

Mumbo only shrugged again, before sighing, „Do you want to come along or not?“ Scar knew he wouldn’t get an answer, Mumbo’s been doing this a lot lately: invite him to random things and refuse to explain why.

Not that Scars complaining.

So the brunette simply grinned at the Spoon, „Of course I do,“

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shortly after their little adventure started, Scar came to remember why he rarely visits the nether, aside from the creepy hogs and overall dangerous environment, the heat of it was monstrous.

He already shed his jacket, having wrapped it around his waist, rolling his sleeves up. He debated just completely shedding the shirt but the thought of doing that around Mumbo made him nervous, he doesn’t know why, he’s completely fine with doing it around literally anybody else, so why not him? Best not ponder it, that’s what Scars best at doing. (Aside from dying)

They went deep into the nether, digging tunnels and blowing up TnT in order to find ancient debree, they’d split half, Mumbo decided early on.

They talked about their builds and memories, past seasons and shared moments. They talked about pets and the nether, nature and flowers they enjoy. At some point the conversation shifted into a comfortable silence, both too tired and dehydrated from the scorching heat of the Nether, to talk about much else.

Scar eventually broke the silence, „I think we’re done for today,“ he wiped the sweat off his brow, only for more to form. „Yeah,“ Mumbo heaved, dusting his hands off on his suit pants before walking towards Scar, „Let’s go,“ „how much debree do you have?“ „Six pieces so far,“ „Sick,“ Scar put on that all too well known smug face of his, Mumbo sighed, huffing out a laugh, „Alright, alright, how much have you got then?“ „Seven,“ He said it almost in a whisper, grinning from ear to ear, mischief pinching at the corners of his eyes.

Mumbo delighted in Scars silly fey giggle, it was quieter than usual, but the circumstances explain themselves.

He huffed out a played out annoyed sound, lightly bumping Scars shoulder with his closed fist.

Scar kept giggling, just letting himself be led away by the former CEO of Boatem.

Lava lakes came and went. They passed raided fortresses, more lava lakes, more caves, more rocks, a soot biome, and even a warped forest! Scar insisted on getting some wood before they left, it’s always great for projects. Mumbo agreed, needing more himself.

After some time of venturing through the Nether, Mumbo came to a stop, looking around, suddenly confused,

Scar looked up at him, they were at the edge of another soot biome, „What’s up?“

Mumbo nervously laughed, „Aha, uhm- it appears that we’ve ah-„ he looked around, turning his body in the process, „-we might’ve lost our way, Scar-„

Scar just looked at Mumbo, and the soot splotches smeared on the mans forehead and right cheek, „Well that’s not good-„. Mumbo made a pained agreeing noise, „It sure isn’t!“

The brunette went up to the raven haired man, patting his shoulder, „it’s fineeeee-„ he drew out, worry bubbling in his own chest, he couldn’t spend another few hours in this heat, he’d surely have a heat stroke!

„We can ask for coordinates?“ Scar suggested, „Of the portal, I mean,“. The Redstoners eyes practically lit up, he grabbed Scars face excitedly, „Oh Scar you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of that?“ he looked to the side thoughtfully, before taking his hands off of Scar and pulling out his communicator, typing away.

The moment Mumbos cold dead hands made contact with Scars scorching face, Scar was in heaven. He knew Mumbo was known to have cold hands, but that they stay cold? Under these conditions?

As soon as Mumbo put the communicator back in his pocket, Scar snatched the mans hands back, placing one long, elegant hand on his own forehead, and the other on the side of his own face, „Mumbo why didn’t you tell me about these miracle hands!“ He said, his words being slightly muffled by the man pushing Mumbos hand further against his cheek, squishing his lips vertically.

Mumbo stilled, wide-eyed and flabberghasted for a good amount of moments, before spluttering, „wh- huh- what?“ He didn’t make an attempt to move his hands.

„Your hands Mumby, how are they still so cold?“ Scar practically rubbed his face against the hands, they felt amazing in this heat,

Mumbo could only stare, „I- because-„ he opened and closed his mouth, knowing what to say but not sure if he should let Scar know.

Said Scar looked up at him, making a questioning face.

Mumbo pulled out his communicator, „Iskall answered,“ he began, telling Scar the coordinates, gently plucking his own hands off of Scars face, moving in the direction they need to go.

Scar whined and complained about being 'too hot' for approximately two minutes before Mumbo let him do whatever he wanted with his right hand.

They only had a few casualties, but made it home alive.

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skitskatdacat63 · 7 months

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Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead.

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this.

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs. Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair.

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?"

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs.

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles.

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him.

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That.

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to.

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly.

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor.

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step.

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's.

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before.

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray.

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further.

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs, "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of!

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons.

#i love how i kept saying to people: no no i shant write any fic for this. only art.#me like two weeks later: hey guys :)#this is just: i was sitting in class and had a drawing idea but then im obv not drawing *this* in class so my brain went into narrative mod #not exactly 'baby's first ficlet!!!' but moreso ive not written in a while so i hope its alright???#but aaahhh this was actually pretty fun!! idk i think it was bcs i was also being brainrotted by the image of seb kneeling....#maybe ill draw it. but it felt like something that needed the context of narrative and not just oo here is a drawing!#anyways you can always ask me for a directors cut-(PLEASE PLEAE BEGGING PLEASE)#see this is why im not cut out for writing fic #its not like i dont think it can speak for itself. more that im just an overly reflective person who wants to explain all my thoughts #if i wrote fic itd really be just: chapter 1. chapter 1.5 chapter 2. chapter 2.5 #anyways i think its pretty obvious but this is before their wedding and just like peak bitterness.#well not peak. peak would be the first year- first few months of their marriage #but this is fernando who is only just realizing how naive all his expectations of seb were and getting a glimpse of his future #but mostly: mindgames and power play and: whos actually really winning?#also my god jense is literally the best chara in this au. he is vibing and basically just witnessing ye olde reality tv #mark and fernando are always in a weird powerplay with seb(even if seb isnt even consiously doing so) and jense is just free from it all #hmm now how does one go about tagging fic #vettonso #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #martian #sebmark #also idk why im always so concerned abt tagging when im basically just writing this for my little boy king following i have somehow formed #hahaha! it is art to me!:#catie.art.#boy king au

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autumngracy · 1 month

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Not me creeping up to the wordcount of the fourth longest book ever written

#A Reflection of Starlight #AROS #valvert #fanfic #writing #Hey I switched back to LibreOffice again after setting up my new computer #(RIP my old computer's installation of MS Office 2009)#And also my old computer in general as it is now giving me the blue screen of death upon boot #but ANYWAY #does anybody know how to make LibreOffice stop highlighting formatted areas? BC with Dark Mode it's highlighting white text #which makes it impossible to read my footnote and page numbers #Also I CANNOT believe this program was coded to be so that 'Ignore' and 'Ignore All' options only do so for the CURRENT SESSION ONLY #Like what in god's name???#I spent 3-4 hours reformatting AROS after converting it only to learn that all the 'errors' I told it to ignore just popped back #the second I reopened the document like jesus christ #Why even offer those options if it doesn't do it permanently for that document file #HHHHHHHhhhhhhHHHHHH #I then spent another several hours being forced to change the language formatting to French for all the French bits #JUST so it would stop underlining all of them in red #And there's no way for me to get rid of the underlining on things like cut off bits of dialogue #bc they are NOT proper words and I refuse to add them to my Dictionary (thus polluting it) just to get rid of them #Ugh #So anyway remember years ago how I joked about what if I accidentally wrote a fanfic longer than the source material itself #That being one of the longest books ever written (technically THE longest book ever written #if we're counting the FRENCH version of it and not the English translation #And yeah I know I technically split AROS into 3 books but that was only for reader convenience #It's still one book in my heart #And also because I think it would be REALLY funny to surpass Hugo's wordcount #Which is entirely plausible bc in English it was only about 531k so I only a little over 100k off and I think I can easily make that #with the material I have left to write but is already mostly plotted out

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mermaidchan05 · 1 month

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Vesuvia Weekly: "Not How That's Supposed to Work"

It's fluff time let's goooo!

In which Julian tries to be helpful and ends up causing a bit of a mess, but it all works out okay in the end. Featuring Julian, Malak, my apprentice Damian, and a cameo by his familiar Oswald the bat. And once again partially inspired by another amazing headcanon from @iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia

About 2650 words. No warnings, just a whole lot of fluff and Julian being the amazing drama king he is.

___________

If that night proved one thing, it was that Julian should never be trusted with cleaning up the magic shop.

Particularly not with sweeping. Sweeping things only ever led to disaster.

True, Malak was partially responsible for the latest disaster. But Julian would never blame him. Not when it was his own move that caused the current catastrophe.

All Julian had wanted to do was attempt to be helpful. His work had—blessedly – ended earlier than expected. But, as was the way of the universe, he had wound up stopping by Damian’s shop at almost the exact moment that Damian was on his way out. So while Damian was off getting more stock for the shop, his trusty bat Oswald along for the ride, Julian took it upon himself to do the one thing he truly could do to make Damian’s job a little bit easier. Cleaning up a bit, he thought, would be a simple but important gesture.

And something that he couldn’t possibly mess up.

He was right. For a little while. Julian was able to sweep up the actual shop floor without too much trouble. It helped that Damian always kept the storefront clean. But their shared living quarters upstairs were an entirely different matter.

In their shared quarters, Damian had a shelf full of little treasures that he had collected over the years. Some were Damian’s own finds or creations. Others were gifts: Asra’s finds from his travels, gifts from Nadia, little abandoned things that Portia had found around the palace… things of that nature. Julian always had to be careful when dusting these shelves. One false move would lead to something crashing to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

Which was exactly what happened.

One of the trinkets was from a young woman who Damian had once sold a good-luck charm to. Julian had been rather perplexed and incredulous at the idea. Luck couldn’t possibly be altered by magic. It was too great and powerful of a force.

Julian had expected Damian to argue with him. But he’d actually agreed. Good-luck charms, Damian had explained, were far more often protection charms. They simply worked better if the person wearing the charm believed they would be lucky.

That hadn’t exactly clarified anything for Julian, but he was starting to learn to roll with it. Mostly.

Either way, the charm had apparently done what the young woman had wanted it to do, since she had thanked Damian with a handmade little porcelain animal: a striped orange cat playing a guitar. How she had found out that Damian liked cats in the first place was simply one of the universe’s great mysteries. Knowing that Damian played guitar was far less confusing, since he and Julian had done a few impromptu performances together, particularly in places like the Rowdy Raven. Whatever the case, Damian was certainly enamored with the trinket. Julian couldn’t help but agree. He loved the silly little cat guy.

Of course, that was exactly what the broom handle knocked into.

Malak had chosen the exact wrong moment to try to steal something shiny. Admittedly, that was a near-constant hazard when doing much of anything upstairs. Though by now Malak had learned which things his chosen human would be actively angry or upset about him stealing, he still tried to scoop up a few other things. And Julian’s retaliation was instinctive by now. He whirled around and started shooing Malak away. And that was when the broom handle officially got out of Julian’s control.

Julian dropped the broom the moment he heard the crash. And he swore when he saw the mess that he had made. The poor little orange cat was headless now. And the arm or paw or whatever-it-was was nearly halfway across the room. The guitar had snapped so convincingly that Julian was almost surprised he hadn’t heard the twang of broken strings. The poor cat’s tail was in four different pieces.

“No, no, no, no, no…” Julian blurted out. “Oh, Damian’s going to be heartbroken…”

Glad he was still wearing his leather gloves, he scooped all the pieces up as best as he could. Then he stood, carrying the shattered remains of Guitar Cat, and looked helplessly around the room.

“I have to do something about this…” he said to no one in particular. “He can’t see this mess, he can’t… aha!”

The first thing his desperate search found him was the wardrobe. It was a rather small wardrobe, and felt even smaller with all of Julian’s coats taking up more than half of it. So cluttered that it would be very hard to find some pieces of shattered porcelain.

He quickly stuck the broken pieces into a pocket of one of his coats. He practically slammed the wardrobe door behind him. And he leaned against it, letting out a long sigh.

Now what?

Guilt was starting to creep in before Malak cawed reproachfully. Julian was still getting used to listening to the weird magical voice in his head that was apparently Malak just talking to him and not imitating words like corvids could do. But the message was clear enough this time.

“Gah, you’re right, that was a stupid, stupid plan…”

Still in pure panic, Julian tossed the wardrobe door open and fished the remnants of Guitar Cat right back out of his pocket. Then he returned to frantically pacing around the room in hopes of finding a solution. Perhaps by some sort of divine intervention. That seemed the only way to solve this at the moment.

Especially with Damian bound to be home any minute.

“Maybe… maybe we can fix it,” he rambled at last. “Damian has thousands of magical things down there, one of them has to put things back together…”

Malak cawed again. Another very clear message.

“Right… right, glue of course…” Julian mumbled. “But, gah, there will still be cracks everywhere won’t there? It won’t look nearly as wonderful, and Damian will find out that I made a mess of things, and—”

Another caw from Malak. Julian stopped in his tracks.

“Uh, yes, right, of course,” he blurted. “Fix first, worry later.”

Without further ado, he sped back down the stairs and started looking for some way to piece Guitar Cat back together.

He didn’t find much. Not much that he actually knew the function of, anyway. He’d had one too many instances of accidentally causing large problems by touching Damian’s alchemy stuff to risk doing it again. Particularly in the midst of an entirely unrelated crisis.

So Julian resorted to trying to stick everything together like a puzzle. Maybe that would buy him some time, at least.

He was so focused on fitting all the tiny pieces together in any way that he could, that he didn’t even register the fact that said pieces were actually staying put. He didn’t notice the little sparks of magic trailing from his fingers. He didn’t see the way the cracks and shattered edges all sealed up. He was that lost to his own guilt-stricken panic.

Malak, on the other hand, saw it all very clearly. And if Julian had been paying attention, he might have seen the decidedly smug pose Malak had taken up.

After a few more minutes of frantically sticking Guitar Cat back together, Julian was abruptly brought back to reality by a now-familiar hum. Damian was using his magic to open the shop door. Julian’s usual teasing about simply using a key without all the other fuss was far from his mind. He whirled around, paler than usual with guilt, instinctively attempting to hide Guitar Cat behind his own form.

The door clicked open. Julian’s heart seemed to shoot to his throat. There was a familiar little squeak as Oswald flew in first, immediately dangling from his favorite rafter. Malak fluttered up to perch right above him. Julian was sure they were engaged in some silent conversation between familiars. Probably laughing about how stupid Julian had just been. But he couldn’t afford to focus on that.

Not with Damian walking through the door.

“I’m home,” Damian called.

The adorable habit would have made Julian smile on an ordinary, non-disastrous day. And he would have responded with a “welcome back,” and then an increasingly elaborate story about his day. But this time, entirely different words flooded out of him.

“Oh, Damian, my love, my light, please forgive me.”

Damian paused halfway through the door. He raised an eyebrow at Julian.

“Okay...” he said slowly. “Forgive you for what?”

A dagger in the gut would have been less terrifying. And more deserved.

And of course, Julian immediately proceeded to do an absolutely terrible job of explaining the situation.

“I was only trying to sweep the floor,” he rambled, “and Malak swooped after something shiny-- but no, no I can’t blame Malak, and please don’t be mad at him, this is my fault entirely...”

“What’s your fault?” Damian asked. He was starting to look a little alarmed. “Julian, whatever you did, it can’t be worse than the glittering slime incident, can it?”

Julian flushed. “Ah... well... the mess caused by the glittering slime was at least fixable...”

“You broke something?” said Damian, more trying to solve the puzzle than accusing Julian of anything.

Julian let out a sigh. He stepped aside, head bowed.

“I’m sorry, my darling,” he said soberly. “My foolishness led Guitar Cat to a terrible fate.”

Damian walked right up to the shop counter. His shoulder brushed against Julian’s. Julian had to fight the urge to hurry away. Or to cry out that he was undeserving of Damian’s touch. Neither would be helpful, but both felt appropriate in the moment.

Damian hummed thoughtfully. “He looks fine to me.”

Julian’s chin dropped. “Uh... what?”

Damian picked up Guitar Cat. Julian’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively reached out to catch the pieces that were absolutely not attached to each other in any way and were sure to plop right back to the counter. But somehow, like a miracle, Guitar Cat stayed whole. Damian even twisted Guitar Cat around to give it a full inspection.

“He looks fine,” Damian repeated. He looked up at Julian, confused and slightly skeptical. “Did you drop him on the carpet? Does he have a chipped ear or something?”

It took Julian a full three seconds to form words. And even then they were far from coherent.

“I... wait, wait, no, this is not... this isn’t possible,” he stumbled. “It shattered. I saw it. I was sweeping upstairs, and I hit it with the broom cabinet, and... I decapitated Guitar Cat!”

Damian’s eyebrow crept higher. “Sounds a little extreme, doesn’t it?”

“Damian, I swear to you, with Malak as my witness, that Guitar Cat was headless before you walked in,” said Julian. “I almost hid his remains in the wardrobe! Malak talked me out of it, and then I tried to fix it, but I didn’t know if there was anything like glue around here, so I started piecing it back together in some vain hope of--”

“Love, you’re rambling,” Damian said gently.

Julian instantly snapped his mouth shut. A blush crept all the way to his ears.

“Uh, sorry...”

“It’s alright.” A hint of a smile tugged at Damian’s lips. “This is a mystery, though... let me test something.”

He must have been testing something with magic, since Guitar Cat was covered with a faint glow. When the glow vanished, Damian gave a rather firm nod, as though the entire mystery was solved already.

“I thought so.”

“You, er, you thought what?” Julian asked.

“You fixed it,” said Damian.

Julian could only blink at him. “I...?”

“You used your magic,” said Damian. “I’d know your handiwork anywhere, Julian. I’d guess your doctor instincts kicked in. You were so determined to save your porcelain patient that you used magic without thinking about it.”

“I... that’s... but, uh... that isn’t...” Once again, Julian’s words utterly failed him. He shook his head and made another attempt. “But that’s not how this works. That’s not how magic is supposed to work!”

“Actually, that’s exactly how this is supposed to work,” said Damian.

“But... but there wasn’t any spell circle, or incantation, or fancy hand gesture, or magical regents, or... or anything!”

Damian slowly put Guitar Cat back on the counter. He turned to face Julian, looking him directly in the eye. Julian started blushing again.

“Julian.”

“Y-yes, love?” Julian stuttered.

“What am I always telling you about magic?” said Damian.

Oh no. He was using his Teacher Voice. Julian had absolutely zero defenses against his Teacher Voice. The only thing he could do was attempt an answer, even if he had no real idea what that answer was.

“That... you have to be careful what you wish for, because of what it will cost to get it?” Julian said hesitantly.

Damian’s smile crept higher. “No. Good job remembering the first rule of magic, though. What’s the other thing I keep telling you?”

Julian was absolutely certain his face had actually caught fire at that point. But he tried again.

“That... magic comes in many different styles and it’s alright that I don’t master every single one of them?”

Damian laughed fondly. Julian adored that sound. He found himself smiling, his expression equally fond.

“Closer, but no,” said Damian. “At its core, magic is all about intent, remember? You must have really wanted to fix Guitar Cat. I’ll bet that was the only thing you were focusing on. And your drive led you to using your magic. Even if you didn’t notice it.”

“I assure you, I did not,” said Julian.

Malak cawed from the rafter, startling Oswald. The poor little bat nearly lost his grip. Damian made sure that Oswald was happily dangling again before speaking up once more.

“Malak clearly noticed,” said Damian. “And I noticed.”

Julian couldn’t help it. He tried to protest. “But I can’t...”

“You can,” said Damian. “And you did. Look at it this way. Fixing things is similar to healing, isn’t it? And your healing magic has grown in leaps and bounds since our first lesson. It’s even better than mine by now.”

Julian ran his hand through his hair. “I’m, uh, not so sure about that...”

“I am,” said Damian. He caught Julian’s hand. “Julian, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve wanted nothing more than to fix things in any way you could. No matter what that meant you needed to do. And it looks like that meant doing magic you’ve never really done before.”

Julian tried to argue with that. He couldn’t. So he sighed instead. “You always did see the best in me, Damian.”

“That’s because there’s a lot to see,” said Damian. He kissed Julian’s cheek. “Come on. Help me put all this stuff away, and then we can have another magic lesson. I want to see if you can fix that old pot we keep meaning to replace.”

Julian grinned like a little kid. He playfully saluted Damian. “Yes, sir!”

Oswald, watching the proceedings, shook his head at this familiar banter. Malak still managed to look very smug, almost as if he were about to launch into a very long I told you so to Julian.

But Julian was thoroughly distracted by other things. He did actually help put Damian’s things away. And then they both tackled that ‘fixing magic’ again. Julian struggled at first. He couldn’t stop getting in his own head, and trying to recreate the panic that led to the resurrection of Guitar Cat didn’t work.

Then Damian tried motivating him with cheek kisses. That turned out to be the best teaching method yet.

By the end of the night, they had a perfectly pristine pot, a very smug looking raven, and a thoroughly embarrassed little bat.

And Julian was thoroughly looking forward to his next magic lesson.

#vesuvia weekly #not how that works #the arcana #the arcana game #fanfic #my stuff #my writing #julian devorak #apprentice damian #julian devorak x oc #julian devorak x mc #juilan does magic #i just realized i did two stories about one of the LIs breaking something in a row whoops

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bleue-flora · 1 month

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Mmmmm.... Chair.

“Was the cake good?” Dream asks nonchalantly...

#Have some Sam and Dream in honor of their week. ;)#this chapter ended up so long im splitting it... yeesh. Them.#ok who's idea was it to write the scrapped lore a second time... agh like there's just only so many ways dream can manipulate sam...#like I really like my original dialogue. how am I meant to top that?..... oof #c!dream #c!sam #c!dream and c!sam #no one does it like c!dream #dream fanfic #dsmp #dreblr #dsmp fanfic #scrapped lore #musical chairs #c!sam and c!dream #🪑.#lots of references to crows nest btw... so ugh go read that :)

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stopthatfool · 5 months

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Wednesday WIP!

(ignore that Wednesday is almost over. (at least it is where i am idk) please and thank you) (ignore any typos! she's only been through phase one of my editing process!)

This is a mini scene from ch.7 (which is in the works i promise) but! it's from Ice's point of view! I did it to try and figure out his "voice" and to see if some of his choices and actions were in character or not blah blah blah who cares! (i do. i care) On to the WIP!

anyway! none of ch.7 will be written in Ice's perspective. The Jeep Universe (or where it's at currently) will remain in Maverick's perspective! I gotta tear Mav apart and then put him back together first! (and then (maybe) it'll be Ice's turn...)

#hm hm hm.. Ice you complicated man...#ice is like so aloof but then he notices everything so i'm currently toying with how much he notices #so like.. he saw that the chair is green and sunbleached-- good job buddy! proud of u!#but it's honestly way more than Mav notices #guys my lack of description of the cottage and the beach is on purpose. trust me. it's to show mav's character- wait where r u going??#opinion: mav does not give a fuck what the cottage or beach looks like. he cares about the feelings or whatever #ice on the other hand... he cares a little bit (cut to him rearranging the kitchen in ch.6) (or was it ch.5?? idk. idc)#stopthatfool writes #wednesday wip #top gun 1986 #top gun #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #icemav fanfic #top gun fanfiction #no one look at me im embarressed

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flashbic · 1 month

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do 2 + 12 for le lorrain pls 🥺✌️ good morning

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

That he's 100% one of the good guys but ALSO that he's allowed to be a bit of a jerk! I love that while he says he regrets what he did to Falconi, just a few hours earlier he's right there, literally taunting him about it and being a dick. We know he still lies to ladies for attention! Despite how well that went the one time! In that other ep his dad is literally asking for his help, and sure he wants to help, but he was actually still going to say no before Cartouche stopped him because he was more focused on keeping his identity as a Cartouchien secret.

He's a nice, smart guy, and he comes off as smooth so it's not as easy to notice, but you kinda get the impression that he hasn't completely lost the asshole vibes! And i think that makes for a fun character!

(special mention to the one bit where he walks next to Demachault and messes up his wig Just For Funsies, it's so gratuitous and i just think it's funny ok)

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Bisexual le Lorrain REAL. I like the idea that those aren't feelings he ever really did anything about, because ultimately he likes flirting with ladies a whole lot and that's enough for him… but maybe he had some confused feelings for his bestie Cartouche for a little bit, and maybe that's part of what made him tag along when they first met.

In general i don't really consider that orientation as something that would've influenced the way he treated Falconi back when they were rivals; for the most part i like to think that he saw that relationship more as competition initially, and that things turned sour because he couldn't stand having someone he thought of as beneath him beating him at anything. Also i see him typically being more attracted to people who are outgoing, funny and talkative, and Falconi being generally none of those things wouldn’t have helped asdfjgk (the fun point being that maybe Falconi could've been a little bit more like that if he hadn't felt like people were constantly antagonizing him)

My other headcanon is that he’s a single child ans is absolutely a mama’s boy <3 She taught him music (canon!) and maybe spoiled him a little too much.

#cartouche prince des faubourgs #people need to send me more Cartouche asks bc i NEED to write down my thoughts on all these characters ok i love them so much #the big fanfic hadn't been planned to be shippy initially! and part of what i like about it is that at first #both Falconi and le Lorrain don't see much to like about each other #le Lorrain is attracted to fun outgoing people! people he can banter and joke around with! Falconi just seems cold and mean and not fun #meanwhile Falconi thinks everything about this guy is off-putting. he's loud and annoying and never seems to think!#and of course Falconi clings to his perception of le Lorrain from 10 years ago; when he was selfish and saw commoners as beneath him #so the fic is one massive slow burn bc they just. need to befriend each other before they can possibly find each other attractive #Falconi is always going to be kinda quiet! but he's confident and can actually be fun and snarky when he's around people he trusts #and sure le Lorrain is always going to be kinda loud but he's changed! he doesn't need to be the center of attention all the time #he knows how to pay attention to people and he actually does care! and of course he's smart when you actually sit down and talk to him #and look sure beyond all of this there's basic physical attraction #but neither of them were possibly going to acknowledge any of THAT while everything else was in the way #le Lorrain

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thetomorrowshow · 6 months

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hubris killed the god - ch 6

First Part

this is the final part! thanks for coming along on this one, i really enjoyed writing it :) it kind of makes me want to do more of this style in the future, so thanks for the lovely feedback <3

cw: implied/referenced death, much open discussion about death, blood & injury, non-graphic animal death

Within three days, Shelby is bedridden.

Or, tableridden, rather.

A mattress has been brought into the chapel (Scott’s suspicious that it’s Sausage’s own bed, dragged from the sideroom) in place of the pillows that had been cushioning Shelby’s resting place.

Shelby lies there, mostly unmoving, face pale. When she’s awake, her brow is furrowed in concentration, shaking hands weaving invisible purple webs with her wand (invisible to all but Scott). When she’s asleep, her temperature rises and she tosses and turns with illness, unable to protect herself; it’s often then that Sausage leans over her, muttering under his breath with his hands laid on her head.

At times they work at once, Sausage passing from her head to her cheek to her hand, spilling a drop of whatever is in his tiny cylindrical container at each point and continuing his muttered spells or blessings, while Shelby scrunches her eyes shut and weaves protection spells and health spells and resilience spells.

Scott can’t really tell if any of it is working. The red marks on Shelby’s cheek and hand don’t grow any smaller or larger, they don’t fade or darken. He watches the spells she casts enter her body, he sees the hexes that she weaves, but for all he knows, it’s doing nothing.

For all he knows, Shelby is still dying and he’s been right to not get his hopes up.

Sausage’s magic is less of the visible kind, for the most part, but he can see occasionally the way Sausage seems to wrap Shelby’s hand in golden strings, or the glow that passes from his hands into her hair.

Scott watches more than anyone else, he thinks—not that he’s there in the chapel more than anyone else, just that he watches. fWhip’s there whenever he can make it, sitting beside Shelby and laying his head on her shoulder or helping her eat; Gem reads to Shelby when she’s resting, hands shaking too much to carry out any more spells but feeling too ill to sleep; Katherine just sits beside her, sometimes gripping her hand when she needs it; even False steps in every once in a while, bringing fresh water for both Shelby and Sausage.

Scott doesn’t feel that he does too much to help. He mostly sits in the first pew, keeps an eye on the two of them, noting when Sausage’s prayers begin to stutter or Shelby’s hands list to the side. Then he quietly taps the shoulder of whoever is sitting beside Shelby (or slips out to the foyer where someone will be waiting) and lets them know that the two magic users’ strength is flagging, and they need to rest.

And Jimmy . . . Jimmy doesn’t come by at all.

Jimmy doesn’t even really come into the church anymore. He eats meals out by the fire alone, patrols the border by himself near-constantly, and otherwise avoids everyone.

It’s guilt, Scott thinks. If Shelby hadn’t been ill, he’d probably do the same, ashamed of his decisions and feeling horrible for the people he’s hurt.

And it may be guilt, but it’s also a terrible thing to do. Because Shelby is dying, and everyone is giving what they can to help her or be near her, and Jimmy isn’t even trying.

Every time he remembers how little Jimmy is doing, he does a little more himself. He helps Sausage to a pew for a nap. He offers to readjust Shelby’s pillows. He actually does something, which is more than Jimmy can say.

And when Scott isn’t in the chapel, he’s tracking the border’s changes, marking them with sticks and rocks. Because the border is changing every single day now, shrinking as Sausage focuses his efforts on Shelby.

And when Scott lies in bed at night, he stares at the ceiling and tries to think of ways to escape.

Oli’s dead, for sure. And there’s no way that Joey’s safe, now that they know the mites can swim. For all they know, they’ve already spread to the ocean, devouring every sea creature they come across and multiplying even further.

Pix is gone, whether by some sort of escape that only he could think of or death, Scott can’t know. Shelby’s here, but nobody knows for how long.

There’s nobody else. There’s nothing else. There’s nowhere to go.

They’re trapped in a dwindling Sanctuary, and even if Shelby does survive, they’ll all die not long after.

He considers the Nether—Shelby had managed to travel through it, after all, so it had presumably been relatively mite-free—but immediately dismisses it out of hand. Humans can’t survive long in the Nether—the temperature is just too high. Scott can barely manage the ten minute travel through the portals, there’s no way he could last more than a day before dying of heatstroke.

And then Scott loses track of his thoughts for a moment, tired as he is, and somehow ends up categorizing the various portals by how far they are from Chromia’s. It’s like counting sheep, he thinks idly. Tracking them in his mind as a way to fall asleep. Joel’s is the closest, of course, but there are a bunch of portals kind of all tangled up and he cannot for the life of him remember which color of carpet leads to which portal.

He tries to picture them in his head, holding back a yawn. Jimmy’s is brown, Gem’s is . . . orange? Was Pix grey, or a blue? And what about the fairgrounds, that Oli had built a portal for? Despite there having its own, much more mysterious portal, of course.

A portal, Jimmy had called the Rift. Then he’d said that it had been Lizzie’s plan to head in there.

Scott sits straight up in bed, exhaustion forgotten.

They can go through the Rift.

There’s silence around the campfire after Scott introduces his plan. fWhip and Gem exchange a look. Katherine glances back at the church. False leans back a bit, folds her arms.

Jimmy, however, nods. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about, too,” he says. “I’d say it’s worth a shot to send at least some of us in.”

“Some of us being who?” Gem asks, and there’s something pointed in her voice that Scott doesn’t quite understand.

Jimmy seems to, though, because he inclines his head toward her. “Myself, Katherine, fWhip, and you, I figured,” he says to her, before shrugging. “We could rearrange those if we need to. But Shelby can’t travel, and False ain’t keen on the Rift—” False snorts in acknowledgement— “and Scott can see the border, might protect Sanctuary for a bit longer. That’s my reasoning, least. All good?”

And Scott nods, if only because Jimmy’s the leader.

He wants to go through, but he can’t leave Shelby. Sure, he wants to survive—he’s gotten this far, after all, one of the few left during the apocalypse—but he isn’t going to throw away his friends just for the chance to live.

And again, it’s a chance. Just like how finding Pix had been a chance.

Scott’s not willing to put everything on the line for another chance.

The preparations start immediately.

Gem runs to and fro, reassuring Shelby in one second and sharpening her sword the next, packing food and first aid and everything she can carry.

fWhip trails along beside her, apparently already ready, offering suggestions and chewing so hard on his lip that it starts to bleed.

Katherine hasn’t collected much in her short time here, so she spends her spare moments sitting beside Shelby and Sausage, holding Shelby’s hand whenever it’s available. Scott watches her, sometimes, his eyes catching on their entwined hands, and thinks of all the things that Shelby’s confessed to him over lunch, and wonders.

And Jimmy, again, is the odd one out, wandering through Sanctuary and sitting alone by the campfire.

Scott’s content to leave him to it—he doesn’t know what Jimmy’s thinking and he’s not really interested in knowing—but when Jimmy grabs him by the shoulder early the next morning (the day before they’re set to head out, leaving Scott and False in charge), Scott reluctantly breaks away from his path to the church and follows. He’s a busy man, trying to take over the management of Sanctuary at such a tumultuous time—whatever Jimmy has to say had better be quick.

They walk in silence for a moment. The sun has just broken over the horizon, casting the orange leaves of Sanctuary’s trees into a dim, yellow light. It feels so very autumnal, even though Scott’s fairly certain it’s only just barely September. Maybe there’s some kind of magic involved, like with the rest of Sanctuary, that changes the seasons on a dime. He’s pretty sure that last week when he was out here, the trees had been mostly green.

Those are only idle thoughts, straws grasped at for something to think about so that he isn’t forced to make conversation. Unfortunately, it looks like it’ll be up to him, as Jimmy says nothing for several long minutes.

“Nice out,” Scott offers eventually. Jimmy starts, almost as if he’d forgotten Scott was here.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs. “Bit warm for this early, but I ain’t complaining.”

Scott nods slowly. Scuffs at the footpath that travels around the border that they’re following. Jimmy doesn’t say anything else.

Jimmy pauses at a point close to the border on the opposite side of the church, looking out over the plains in the distance, little patches of grass turned black.

“This is the most beautiful part of Sanctuary, I think,” Jimmy murmurs, and Scott tries to see it. He really does.

But there’s not much to it. It’s just a plain, with few of the trees that make Sanctuary so picturesque, stretching far until it slowly climbs into rolling hills.

He nods again, anyway. He’s not sure what Jimmy’s trying to do—connect with him, or apologize before leaving? Try not to part with bad blood?

Because while Scott’s certainly grown some sympathy for the man, he doesn’t have to like him. He doesn’t have to forgive him for ending the world.

Even if, in some strange turn, he wants Jimmy to forgive him for pushing them to look for Pix.

But Jimmy doesn’t ask forgiveness. He doesn’t try to explain his actions, or apologize. Instead, he takes in a deep breath, and says, turning to meet Scott’s eyes, “I want you to go through the Rift.”

Scott blinks. “Sorry, what?”

Jimmy sighs, sits down on a boulder in a familiar way that clearly tells Scott he’s spent quite some time here. “I’m not going. I want you to take my place.”

And that—whatever Scott had expected, it isn’t that.

“Wh-why?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer immediately. He just gazes out over the plains, something lost, something longing in his eyes.

Scott may not forgive Jimmy. He may not like him. But Jimmy’s a good leader, knows how to properly build a community in times of hardship, he knows how to direct. If the other side of the Rift is some new world, untouched by the death that plagues this one, someone will need to be there to help the group survive, rebuild from nothing.

Not Scott. Chromia had been full of llamas and not people for a reason, after all.

And he’s already been preparing to stay back, Jimmy had asked him to stay back and he’d agreed and he’s settled in that decision and that’s final—

“I can’t do that,” he says, and there’s a bit of panic rising in his throat, but he swallows it down as best he can. “I—you’re the leader, I can’t—I don’t—”

“Scott,” Jimmy says softly.

Scott stops.

“I’m not going,” he continues. “And they’ll follow you. Even False will follow you, if you can convince her. But I can’t go through the Rift.”

“Why not?”

Jimmy chews on the inside of his cheek. The fire that normally burns so brightly behind his eyes is dim, his body hunched over itself a little bit. He fiddles with his vest a little, then looks out again over the plains.

“It was in the catacombs,” Jimmy starts, his voice still lower than Scott’s ever heard before. “I was marking our path with chalk. And. . . .”

He shakes back the cuff of his right sleeve, and there, on his wrist, is a tiny pink splotch, raw scrapes from where it’s clearly been scratched at swelling it further.

Scott stares.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Jimmy says, a bit of a wry smile playing upon his lips. “Not when we couldn’t stop moving while we were down there. Not when Shelby needed comfort. Not when we need to focus everything on her.”

Oh.

Jimmy’s dying, too.

And Scott supposes he ought to feel something about that—sadness, at losing another friend; relief, that the killer who began this whole thing will meet his end; even despair at the loss of their leader.

He doesn’t feel any of that, though.

He mostly feels tired.

“We might be able to heal you,” he offers. The words come out halfhearted, as genuine as they are. “If it works with Shelby, we can do it with you, right? We can just put off the Rift thing until you’re both better.”

“And if Shelby doesn’t get better?”

Scott looks away.

“I want to stay,” Jimmy says. “I do. But I can’t. And maybe it’s selfish, Scott, but I don’t want them to know that . . . that I’ve been hiding this from them.”

“Like you hid the stuff about Joel from me.”

Jimmy grimaces. “Yeah. I’m not really good with confrontations like that. You saw what happened. But I couldn’t just leave without telling someone, you know?”

“So . . . you’re leaving,” Scott says. He glances out toward the plains, the little patches of darkness that mar them. “To—what, to become like Oli? Instead of staying here, where we can help you . . . go peacefully, I guess?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I don’t care much for the idea of staying in bed, all still and sick ‘til it’s over. I figure I’ll just head out quietly, yeah? I already packed my bag. I just wanted to make sure someone could be in charge.”

“I’m not a leader,” Scott reminds him. “What about fWhip?”

“fWhip’s a follower,” Jimmy shoots back instantly. “He gets too stressed to actually lead.”

“Katherine?”

“I don’t think she’ll want to go through the Rift,” Jimmy says. He’s clearly given this a lot of thought. “She said she’d come, but I bet my bootstraps she’ll back out last minute. And not Gem, either,” Jimmy adds when Scott opens his mouth. “Scott, I chose you because you’re the one who fought back when you thought I’d made a wrong choice. You spoke up. And not just then—you suggest your own plans all the time. You’re a leader, even if you don’t know it.”

Scott wants to argue. He wants to tell Jimmy all the ways he wouldn’t be a good leader, all the times he’s screwed up, all the illegal things he’s done.

But there isn’t time.

There is time, however, to spend another moment with Jimmy, so Scott heaves himself onto the boulder beside him and leans, just a little bit, against him.

Jimmy tenses, then slowly, carefully, rests his head on Scott’s shoulder.

Scott can feel through his shirt that Jimmy’s forehead is a decent bit warmer than it ought to be.

They just sit there, as the sun rises, leaning against each other, staring out at the plains beyond the border. The world is silent, no wildlife left to wake up.

It’s strange, Scott thinks, because for all the various emotions he’s felt about Jimmy—the small crush he’d had for so long that had given way to anger and a little fear when he’d learned of Joel’s fate, the affection, the apprehension, the respect, the irritation—he feels absolutely nothing in this moment.

After maybe ten minutes, Jimmy’s muscles tense (as if he’s preparing to carry something heavy) and he pulls away, brushes off his wrinkled shirt, and stretches his arms out.

“I should probably head out before the town wakes up,” he says. “Get away before anyone can stop me.”

“Sure,” Scott says, quiet, then adds, “what do you want me to tell them?”

Jimmy pauses, looks in the direction of the church (obscured by the woods) and then back to the plains. “Not the truth,” he says eventually. “I don’t care what. Better to let ‘em believe I’m a deserter, probably. I don’t want them to try and find me.” He idly scratches at the spot on his wrist, before adding, voice quieter, “And I don’t want them to be sad. I don’t want them to have to grieve me. It’s better for them to be angry, I think.”

Which Scott thinks is unfair to Jimmy’s memory (not that he’s a memory yet), but. Dying men and their wishes and all that.

“Where are you planning on going?”

“Wander,” says Jimmy. “See if I can find a way to kill those buggers. Look for Pix, maybe. Then die peaceful-like in a ditch, probably.”

Scott doesn’t laugh at the poor attempt at a joke. Jimmy doesn’t either. Instead, the Sheriff gives him a sad smile, picks up his satchel that had been leaning against the boulder unnoticed, and steps across the border.

Scott sits there and watches until he’s just a speck in the distance, swallowed up by the hills.

“And what, he didn’t even give you a reason? He just left?” Gem demands, and Scott’s never seen her this angry.

He shrugs helplessly. “That’s all I know. I woke up, I came over to check on Shelby, he left me in charge, and then he left.”

If Scott’s omitting certain irrelevant parts of the story, nobody will ever know. Because despite the way it itches at him uncomfortably, it had been Jimmy’s dying wish to not tell them why he’d left.

“I can’t believe this,” Gem huffs. “I thought he actually cared. Forget him.”

fWhip’s sequestered himself awkwardly in the corner of the foyer, arms hugged tight around himself. His eyes are shining in the dim light, and Scott looks away quickly before he can confirm them to be tears.

Katherine’s angry as well, arms folded tightly over her chest, hair coming out of its braid. “Coward. Doesn’t want to face what we’d do to him if the Rift takes us someplace safe.”

Scott cringes internally. He doesn’t speak up.

“So, Jimmy ran for it,” Gem says, counting on her fingers. “Jimmy ran, Shelby’s down, Sausage is with her. Pix is gone, Oli’s gone, Joey’s probably gone. Lizzie left. Tomorrow, half of us are going through the Rift.” She sighs. “Soon there’ll be no one left.”

“Well, if the Rift works out, we can come back and send everyone through,” Scott points out. “Even though there’d be no one left, at least we’d be alive.”

Everyone across the room nods. fWhip sniffles quietly.

“So,” Scott says after a moment (they’d all been waiting for something to be said, and it was usually Jimmy’s job but now Scott has Jimmy’s job and he’s not ready for this responsibility—). “We’re leaving tomorrow. Can someone fill me in on the plan, please?”

Scott finds himself sitting on that boulder, overlooking the plains (which are still unimpressive compared to literally every other view of Sanctuary). He hadn’t even known this boulder existed, in more than a passing sense, until Jimmy showed it to him this morning.

He doesn’t have time to mourn, no time to mourn anything that’s happened over the past couple of months, but he does have a moment to sit by himself and mentally prepare for the plan that they've spent the past hour going over.

Or at least, he thinks he does, because he’s barely been there for ten minutes when someone clambers onto it beside him.

“Hey,” Katherine says.

“Hey.”

She sighs, looks out over the plains and the mites that inhabit them. “Terrible view,” she comments after a moment.

Scott snorts. “Exactly what I thought.”

Silence.

Scott hasn’t had much to do with Katherine—she helped him stitch a copy of his fedora, of course, but outside of that afternoon of sewing, they haven’t really hung out. Not like he has with Shelby, or Jimmy, or Joel.

All of his friends are dead or dying.

Except Sausage. Everyone always seems to overlook Sausage.

“He liked you, you know,” Katherine says out of the blue.

Scott chokes a little bit. “Sorry?”

“Jimmy,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “I know you had a thing for him. If you’d asked him out, he would’ve said yes.”

Right. Well, that’s a revelation that Scott doesn’t have time to process. And unfair of her to put on him. “Did you ever ask Shelby out?” he asks dryly.

Katherine inclines her head. “Touche.”

“I had a thing for Jimmy, he had a thing for Joey, Joey had a thing for you, you had a thing for Shelby—if anyone tried to pair off, it would’ve caused wars.”

“Or a big, happy polycule,” Katherine suggests. “Then maybe none of this would’ve happened. And Jimmy can still be the leader, which would keep his ego soothed."

Scott frowns. “Wait, why does Jimmy get to lead the polycule?”

Katherine gives him a look. “Oh, come on,” she says. “Literally all of you guys were down so bad for him. Gem and I used to bet on who would crack first and confess.”

And Scott had thought he’d been rather subtle about his affections for Jimmy. The Sheriff tended to eschew romance in general (he’d always looked out of his depth when Scott tried to talk about Katherine’s little love triangle), so Scott had been careful about not overwhelming him or crossing any boundaries. In fact, he’d become so used to dissociating romance from Jimmy, he must have not noticed several fellow rulers pining after the Sheriff.

Which is kind of disappointing. He must’ve missed out on months of gossip.

And it’s all in the past, now.

“So, about tomorrow. . . .” Katherine starts.

“You don’t want to come,” guesses Scott. She turns a shocked look on him.

“How—? Never mind. You’re just a natural leader, I guess.” She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to stay with Shelby.”

Scott nods. “I figured,” he says. He didn’t. Jimmy figured, and Scott’s just passing along his assumptions.

Now, more than ever, Scott understands why everyone else valued Jimmy being a good leader despite his murderous tendencies.

“Right. Well, is that cool?” she asks.

He’d love to have Katherine with him when they come out on the other side of the Rift, knowing nothing about what might be waiting for them.

But on the other hand, he won’t pull her away from Shelby in what’s possibly Shelby’s final days.

“It’s not a problem,” he says. “I’ll see if False will join us instead. I’m not going to make you do anything. And I think Shelby needs you more than I do.”

Katherine shoots him a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks. But if everything works out, we’ll all be headed through soon, anyway.”

“Hopefully Sausage has another sheep.”

“Right.”

It’s not healthy to suppress emotions like this (Scott’s well aware of that, if nothing else), but he finds himself relieved that he doesn’t feel more than a distant sadness at Katherine’s decision to stay.

“You know,” Katherine says after a moment, “I knew Jimmy decently well. And if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he isn’t a coward.”

Scott doesn’t say anything. Just remembers that when he told them all what had happened, the first thing Katherine had done was call Jimmy a coward. Words of anger, perhaps? Or is her new admission a lie?

“It . . . it hurts to know that he just left us. I can’t decide if he had a reason, or if it really was just running away.” She sighs. “Everyone’s selfish when it comes down to it, I guess.”

Scott nods. “Yeah,” he finds himself agreeing. Just hours ago, he’d sat on this boulder with Jimmy leaning against him, feverish and likely hallucinating as he gathered the strength to strike off alone.

And just two months ago, Jimmy had killed a god out of quick-tempered anger and selfishness, dooming the world.

“Yeah,” Scott says again. “It’s what makes us human, I guess.”

Sausage, tired as he is, gives Scott a warm hug before they leave.

“Take care, Scott,” he whispers, beard tickling Scott’s ear. Scott nods, swallows back the lump in his throat.

“You too. Get Shelby better, yeah?”

Sausage doesn’t respond, just squeezes him and turns back to Shelby.

Shelby doesn’t acknowledge Scott when he bends over to give her a hug, her eyes squeezed shut and heat radiating off of her. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her tight for a solid ten seconds.

Katherine gives him a quick hug on the way out, and Gem and fWhip and False are waiting on the airship already (with the sheep just hanging out behind them, which is a ludicrous sight), so he hurries along and clambers up to join them, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders and his trusty shovel at his hip.

“Bye!” Katherine waves from the ground. Gem waves back right as the turbines start spinning and the airship slowly takes off.

Scott grips the railing, staring down over Sanctuary. From this height, he can tell that the protective magic around the town is beginning to fail. It’s patchy, almost open, from above, and it’s shrunk so much that the houses on the edge of town are beginning to fall outside of the line.

Some sort of emotion wells up in Scott, and he isn’t sure if it’s fear or grief or what, just knows that it’s making his stomach turn.

Whether or not the Rift thing works out, he probably won’t ever see Sanctuary again.

He may never see Sausage or Shelby again. He’ll never see Chromia, or the Evermoor, or Tumble Town, or any of this world ever again.

Scott heaves a sigh, then turns around, to find fWhip and Gem watching him.

“Sorry, what?” he blinks a few times. “Did you—did you say something?”

fWhip shrugs. “You’re the leader now,” he says awkwardly. “Just waiting for you to go over the plan.”

“I just learned the plan from you yesterday,” Scott points out. “Surely you know it better than me.”

“I guess, but . . . Jimmy always did it.”

“Right.” Scott forgot that he would actually have responsibilities. He’d never paid much attention to what Jimmy did, other than run himself into the ground patrolling and cause the apocalypse. “Um. False will drop the sheep on the other side of the river from the Rift, hopefully attracting the mites. We head through the Rift while they’re distracted. That’s . . . that’s it.”

Gem frowns. “I expected more.”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. More.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Well, I don’t have anything else to say. Give me a couple of minutes, I’ll make something up.”

fWhip actually grins a little. Which is great, because Scott’s pretty sure he’s barely stopped crying since yesterday.

Then he turns back, and watches the miles pass below them until he can see the mountain that holds the pulsing Rift in the distance, the ground around it so overwhelmed by mites that the terrain is no longer familiar. Somewhere within the festival grounds that had never been properly used is a torn flag hanging from a bent flagpole, tatters flapping in the wind.

Finally, whatever it is in Scott’s stomach resolves itself into a properly identifiable feeling.

He feels fear.

Which, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t have time for.

“We all know the plan?” he finds himself yelling over the sound of the airship, as if they hadn’t just gone over it. Gem and fWhip nod, fWhip already leading the sheep to the edge.

Just as False passes over the river, by the bridge, fWhip shoves the bleating sheep overboard.

Even from as far up as they are, Scott hears it hit the ground with a crunch and cringes, wishing he’d thought to cover his ears.

But it works.

The mites that had been squirming around the Rift begin to crawl en masse in the direction of the sheep, where already a few lucky mites are devouring the thing. They’re going to have to move fast—this is in no way a permanent solution, especially considering the multiplication that’s going to take place.

Scott throws the rope ladder over the side when False halts the airship, looks around for—for no one, he’s the leader, he has to go first.

And he’s right—he’ll need to move faster than ever, what with the still sizable collection of mites below him.

Scott swallows, his mouth utterly dry. There’s a pretty good chance this is the last thing he’ll ever do. There’s no guarantee that there’s even anything more than a hellscape on the other side of the Rift.

But if this is his last act, at least he won’t have to be in charge any more.

Scott swings himself over the railing and finds his footing on the waving rope ladder, before hauling himself down as quickly as he can. The wind is blowing the ladder all over the place, and it’s all Scott can do to hold on and not die of fright, but his arms (somehow growing used to this) hold firm and his toes curl around the rope and he somehow, gloriously, makes it to the bottom.

He starts yelling at the top of his lungs before he even touches the ground, nonsense and folk tunes and wordless, whatever he can think of, just to frighten the darkness away a bit. He starts glaring as soon as he can look away from his own feet, clearing a nice space for fWhip and Gem to land.

Scott double-checks that his pant legs are tucked into his boots, then draws his shovel, holding it threateningly above his shoulder, ready to hit any mite that steps out of line.

There’s a lot of them. The grass is worn down around the Rift (so close Scott can hear it thrumming with power) by so many plaguelings stacked here, as if they know that a portal could lead to more places to corrupt but can’t figure out how to enter.

Scott’s voice cracks. He’s alone down here, surrounded by mites, the only way out is across that rickety bridge and even then it might—

Gem jumps the last couple of rungs, landing heavily on her feet beside Scott. fWhip scurries down the ladder right behind her, and then it’s just the three of them against the world.

“Ready to go?” Scott shouts. Gem nods, and her mouth’s moving but Scott can’t hear her over the sound of his own voice and the departing airship. She nods again, though, drawing her sword with one hand and holding onto fWhip with the other.

fWhip nods as well, his ears flapped over themselves to muffle the noise. Scott takes in a breath—they’re leaving it’s time to leave they’ll finally be out of here—and turns toward the Rift.

They have to cross the bridge, first. And as Scott takes his first step across it, the wood below his feet gives and his foot crashes through the bridge.

Scott loses track of his constant stream of noise, crying out in pain as the splintered wood scrapes up his leg like fire, all the way up to his knee, tearing through cloth and skin. There’s a mite just a few feet away from him, and surely more out of sight—he can’t stop here, he can’t catch his breath, he can’t wait for the pain to lull for a moment—it hurts and his stomach feels like it’s fallen out of his body but he can’t stop—so Scott grits his teeth and yanks his leg up, the wood scraping right back down the marks it just made until he’s properly standing again.

“Scott!” Gem grabs onto him, pulling him back a couple of steps—Scott hisses at the weight on his leg—

fWhip darts forward, testing the bridge on all fours, tail swinging out behind him for balance. It bends beneath him, but it doesn’t break like it had for Scott, and fWhip manages to cross entirely.

“One at a time,” he calls back. “And be careful—I think they’re swarming under it!”

Scott bites back a snarky response. He knows to be careful—it’s not like it was his fault the bridge broke under him. But he gingerly steps around the hole in the bridge and tiptoes across, his leg smarting, skin now bared to the wind.

Gem joins him on the other side. The Rift is within reach now, warm and pulsing purple, just a couple of meters away and they’re home free.

There are quite a few mites waiting between them and the Rift, however. That’s certainly an issue, but not unmanageable. He handled more in Stratos, probably.

Scott starts swinging with his shovel, yelling every curse he can think of, but he’s only cleared a few before fWhip grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him roughly to look to his right.

Returning from across the river, sheep entirely gone, is a veritable wave of death.

The mites are piled higher than Scott is tall, practically twice his height, an amorphous being that looms over them like Joel once had.

Scott’s mind goes utterly blank. All he can hear is the pounding of his heart in his ears. All he can feel is his limbs shaking.

It’s moving fast, the shadow of the plague passing over them as the pile begins to collapse, in a matter of seconds mites will be raining down and latching onto them and they’ll die under the assault of so much death and Scott can’t make himself move—

Then Gem shoves him, and instinct kicks in.

Scott grabs Gem by the hand, fWhip by the arm, and runs.

He runs, and fWhip trips and Scott doesn’t let go, just hoists him back up with a strength he’s never had before and keeps going, because they’re going to die if they stay here and Scott’s never been more afraid in his life—

Something hits his back and bounces off—then again and again. Scott just has a moment to spare a thought, a prayer to whoever is listening that it didn’t touch his skin, and then he has to focus every thought he has on getting out.

Gem screams something, fWhip yells “We’re gonna make it!” and Scott bites his cheek and closes his eyes and his shoe catches on a stone—

Scott tumbles headfirst into the Rift.

The first sound he hears is the chirping of birds.

#empires smp #empires smp s2 #empires smp fanfic #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #katherine elizabeth #hubris au #mas writes #111423 #thank you all so much for coming along on this one #holy molyyyy #i do want to say that i'm absolutely obsessed with how scott perceives jimmy in this chapter #im just. im literally so proud of how scott ends his and katherine's conversation #about jimmy #the idea that like. there is potential for monstrous in the human #and it's /part/ of being human not an outlying factor #that jimmy's selfishness does not separate him from his love #and every aspect of a person can be good or bad depending on a situation #and the choices they make #it's ugly to see but those who hurt us are human. they do human things. and one of those human things is hurting people #man idk if im explaining this right but it means so much to me #also just scott's emotional repression when dealing with this #so that he still cares he's just so tired. so withdrawn from emotions as a whole #that was a common theme that i tried to insert: in emergency situations the drastic becomes considerable #bc in order to survive all emotions have had to be packaged away #anyways lmk what you think!#love you guys

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saviourkingslut · 1 month

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not to be about opera again but to be about opera again. as an art form it has the reputation of being super stuffy and something for snobs who don't know how to have fun only but honestly this was one of, perhaps even THE main theatrical entertainment for centuries. i wish people knew how hard these things can go and how engaging they can be. like characters kill and die and fight wars and (almost) commit human sacrifice left and right. characters fall in love they mourn they're ecstatic they cry they're furious it's an extremely dramatic and emotional art form! and i understand that opera does not appear approachable bc of the general conventions of the art form but i promise old works can be fun and engaging if you go watch them with some preparation beforehand (reading the libretto helps) - not to mention not all operas are old bc there are so many modern operas which engage with topical events! also the music slaps.

#le triomphe de trajan (1807) out here calling for a man's execution with this banger:#point de grace pour ce perfide; que tout sons sang coule sur un autel #(no grace for this treacherous man; let all his blood flow on an altar)#this is also annoying to me when people write historical fic and the characters treat the opera as this elitist thing #that they don't know anything about.#you know when they go to the opera reluctantly and then they have no idea what's going on on stage or who the composer is.#which is. very unlikely for anyone with the money to attend an opera in certain opera houses in the 19th c. tbqh #like im more of an expert on paris and vienna idk what it was like in london #but if you were decently (upper) middle class or nobility (esp in paris) you went regularly. this was like a whole social space too #i recently read a fanfic and one of the characters was like 'oh it's in italian. i don't know that' and the other character went like #'it's by a man called donizetti what did you expect'#(this was situated in 19th century london)#like first of all. donizetti was NOT a librettist he was a composer he did not write the text #and second of all. he worked on french operas ?? so did rossini. and spontini.#opera was an incredibly international art form. also bc productions would be performed in different countries all the time #(sometimes changed and/or translated but not necessarily)#and again like i said. this was one of THE main forms of entertainment. people were familiar with its conventions! it was well-liked!#ofc bc of the seating prices it was not very accessible to lower classes most of the time #but lbr most characters that get written into an opera scene in fiction are at the very least decently bourgeois lol #i wish people knew how to properly historicise forms of entertainment whose reputation has changed in the modern era #from what it was a century or more ago #very adjacent to people 'cancelling' old lit bc of 'bad takes' like idk how to tell you this but people thought different back then #completely different world view from what we have today. that does not make lit from that era irredeemable it is just from a diff. time #acknowledging that and reading the text critically but also still enjoying it are things that go tgt here #ok rant over (it is never over)#curry rambles

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landfilloftrash · 1 year

Photo

there’s comedy potential here

#Q TNG #Jean-Luc Picard #qcard #Star Trek #Star Trek TNG #Star Madness (across the universe)#Devil’s Due #I have been fighting DEMONS with trying to figure out what I wanted to draw with these two and then I watched and rewatched this episode #so have some colored doodles /lh #excuse the inconsistency of Q. His hair #how does it function.#ok weird levels of effort aside I hope you enjoy /lh #I REALLLLLY THINK IT’D BE FUNNY IF Q WAS WATCHING THIS EPISODE #but I am not skilled enough to write fanfic BUT IF THERE IS ALREADY EXISTING ONES SPECIFICALLY LIKE THIS I DEMAND SOMEONE LINK ME TO THEM #/jov /not actually forcing u #rea’s trash

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originalwinnercheesecake · 6 months

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Hearing about the Hunger games continuation and thinking about all the Story continuations/prologues I wish we could get for The Underland Chronicles

Gregor's dad

I want To know what Gregor's dad (Who I want a name for... Steve, Lee, Heidi... What is his name? ) first trip to the underland was like. How was he found and brought to Regalia? We know he met Vikus and Luxa's Parents, SO what did he think of them? The Books say he stayed in Regila for two weeks (During which time he was very worried about his pregnant wife, children, and mother) and that he took a BB gun from the Museum. So I am guessing he knew about the war with the rats, but his family was in hell and he felt he had to get back soon. What happened during his capture.

I don't really want to know about his torturous time with the rats, but I would like some on how he was able to keep both hope and his humanity, the interesting relationship he is hinted to have had with Ripred in book 3 (He says Ripred used to feed him sometimes. He also was not scared of Ripred, Even though he was a rat and was "pretending" to attack his son). And lastly I want to know what coming home felt like for him and why, unlike his wife, the experiences did not make him fear or hate the underland.

Ripred

Speeking of Ripred I want All of his backstory, being a pup and growing up with his litter mates. Going into battle and finding out he is a Rager. How this made him famous all around the Underland, but also made him hated by enemies, and feared by allies, unless they needed him. What was going on when He tried to "Take over the fount with an army of Lobsters"? Seriously the Rat's don't even want The Fount. It is surrounded by rapids and sea monsters! What did was your interest Buddy?

Also I want to see his Mate, their family, and how their loss first broke him then made him change his stance on the war. Him building his relationship with the human side. Going up to the Overland to visit Libraries. His view of his relationships with Gregor and Lizzie and how it feels to him to being taking care of kids again after so long.

Hamnet

Up Next is Hamnet. Solovet and Vikus son, the beloved twin brother to the wife of the King/Queen, Brother in Law to the King (recently reread has me thinking they had more of a business relationship than a familiar one), the Regalian Army's most skilled soldier, and for a long time he was Solovet's heir to becoming captain of the Army, because everyone thought he was just like his mother. This is what everyone thought, but they thought wrong. Unlike Solovet Hamnet felt guilt. Guilt that drove him to speak against his mother in a war meeting to which she locked him in the dungeon for a month. When he was finally let out he went back to being obedient to her and buried his grief down, let it eat away at him, until one last horrible act (As a solider) destroyed him.

But give me Hamnet's complete story. Show him being a ruthless soldier and a fearsome killer on the field of battle, then coming home to be a loyal son, good friend, loving brother, and doting Uncle; becasue that is how many soldiers have to be. Show me him not being Okay but doing his best to hide that because that is all he could do. Then show me when everything went to far, and when he decided to leave Regalia, everything he knew and loved and run to a place that he and all his allies feared, for good reasons. Show me him missing his former friends and family. But also show me him meeting Frill and her deciding to take a chance and help him, him also taking chance and letting her (The books generally imply he wanted to leave his old life but did not expect to make anew one). Give me him learning about life in the jungle. How the animals there do not attack each other and instead employ a method of survival where first you hide, then you try to give a warning, then run. fight last. Show me him finding an overland women lost in the jungle and helping her. With the pair eventually forming a relationship and going on to have a child. Why did she never return to the Overland? Hamnet is a good father to Hazard, but you cannot tell me that he wasn't terrified during the entire pregnancy. Anything about Hamnet has to end where he ended. Having to once again fight in a pointless battle on behalf of Reglia, that the city once again brought on itself and got nothing out of. Our tragic beauty

Ares

Speaking again of Tragic Beauties I want Ares to. What kind of Stuff did he get up to to earn the reputation of a reckless, rule breaking, ...thrill seeker?...strength tester? To where he bonded with Henry to be able to get away with more. What were things like in the time HE and Henry were together. I don't think it was all bad. The Books clearly state that what hurt Luxa, Ares, Aurora, Nerissa the most was that they had loved Henry and could remember good things about him. Things that no longer felt the same after he betrayed them, and things they struggled with only becoming memories in the wake of his death. But the also show me his side of his and Gregor's bond, of him coming to love Gregor like he once loved Henry, and how their friendship helped him move on from the Trauma Henry put him through.

Nerrisa

This last one will never happen because its not really Susanna Collins style, but since none of this will happen, I want more Nerissa. What is it like for her loving her family and people so much, but knowing with her frailty and the Kingdom consistently being on the brink of war she cannot protect them. Show me what her visions are like for her. Note whatever we learned about Sandwhich I do believe Nerissa is an actual visionary. Her Visions of a bad and mysterious fate happening to Henry, Hamnet living for 10 years and building a diverse family, and Gregor being secretly being hidden away in the dungeon by Solovet...all came through.

Knowing that I have another question: Did she know suspect that Sandwhich was a fraud? Nerissa spends more time in the Prophecy room, analysis them than any other character. Many of the "misunderstood translations" are later "explained" by Nerissa. She got Gregor and the other questors off death row by replacing Boots with the Bane as the aforementioned "Baby" in the prohpecy and telling everyone: "they actually did complete the prophecy, you are are safe from the imaginary threats Sandwhich illueded to. Let them go and let's get back what's actually going wrong." When Greogor sobs about not understanding what the point of the journey to the jungle was (It had no point) and how him fulfilling the prophecy did not make everything better, Nerissa twist the prophecy to being about a war for the cure and reminds Gregor that because of what they discovered in the Jungle the council was forced to give the Gnawers the cure instead. Lastly she loves the one Prophecy that suggest hope for peace, even though its title is the only suggestion of it. On the day of the surrender she knowing her cousin will want to make the wrong choice about how to end this. So when she see's Ripred marked himself with an X (If Gregor and Luxa knew he did it himself there was no way Nerissa did not, she was always smarter than the pair of then) she decided to lend him a hand in getting everyone to believe he is the peacemaker, and they need to have peace. I really love the theory that Nerissa had realized what Sandwhich and the prophecies were and spent the books studying them, so she could try and mitigate the damages they caused.

#Gregor the overlander #The Underland chronicles #The Hunger Games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #IF we can get more of one lets get more of the other #The Hunger games series is all centered around the games and we already have their end #as well as how they got descised as “Fun entertainment”#Which they never were. Just because Katniss and Peeta got dressed up and spent the night in a nice hotel room #Does not change the fact that both they and Lucy Grey were forced to kill or be killed for the capitals amusment. It is the same with Finni #and Johnna. There stores will not give us anything knew.#But their is plenty of TUC characters who's stories still have room too #I wish Suzanna or some clever fanfic writter could write them for us #THG #TUC #GTO #Suzanna Colins

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