#I AM NOT GOING TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE PERSON I BECOME WHEN I SEE THESE TWO TOGETHER AGAIN ON SCREEN
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A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Part Two
Welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.
And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books.
This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.
Part One Link.
Disclaimer for all readers of this series:
I’m going to sound very confident in my posts where I work under the assumption I’m a better writer than JKR; because I am. My apologies if this rubs you the wrong way. You’re simply witnessing the culmination of over two and half decades of experience with the intensity from a neurodivergent who is hyperfocused on her special interest. I didn’t just learn how to create stories; I learned the craft of writing to a minutia of details.
I’m not a perfect writer. No one is. I’m not a talented writer either. I’m experienced and skilled through years of study and practice.
I don’t care about J.K. Rowling. At all.
If you’re triggered by the concept and fact that JKR is a terrible crafter of writing, then you might want to take a step back and self reflect on that personal issue.
I still very much love and adore Harry Potter; you’re still allowed to love Harry Potter.
This is not a series to bitch or bash. This isn’t a shitpost. This isn’t an attack on JKR, no matter the disgusting bullshit she spews forth on Twitter. However, my hope is people awaken to the fact that JKR isn’t the goddess of writing we’ve all been led to believe.
This is a place of study and learning, where the purpose is to help students gain critical thinking skills and writing analysis tools to become better in their craft.
And, sorry, one more disclaimer for this specific post:
Fanfiction is written for fun and is posted for free. I put most of my effort into my main fanfic, Terrible, But Great. (Yes, I intend to update Moon Rite soon, too) However, I also have two fanfics that are cowritten with another author; thus, the style of Shall I Stay and Badger Prey are understandably different. I spend three to four times the hours to edit a chapter versus drafting it. My process for fanfiction: I draft. I do one expansion edit. I do one proofread edit. I post.
However, if I were to publish a novel where people are expected to drop money on said book, my work flow would be vastly more extensive. To be clear, I’d do all of the following myself. I would not outsource. My process for published novels: I would draft. I would do three to four expansion edits. I would do two to three cutting edits. I would do three proofread edits.
See the difference?
Because I don’t go through a cutting edit for my fanfiction, I’ll often come back later and see things I think are weak. I’m constantly seeing where I can tighten my work. There’s always room for improvement.
Remember: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is a paperback book that costs $10. My fanfics are free. If I, someone who writes for free and puts what she considers the bare minimum of effort into them, have a higher standard in the quality of my writing than a paid traditionally published novelist, there’s a problem here.
All right, with that nonsense out of the way, buckle up, my writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. Let’s begin.
Class is in session.
In this post, we’re going to discuss these five pages from HP5 and dissect one paragraph and a line from page 731. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.
(My favorite book in the series, btw. I fucking love fifth year the most. JKR did a damn good job with Umbridge.)
Since a certain anon lacked the skill to comprehend the difference between too much dialogue and stories driven by a high saturation of dialogue, let's go into further depth about dialogue.
What did I mean last week when I said: "Too much fucking dialogue!"
Today’s lesson will focus on the overall issue in JKR’s dialogue and in the prose surrounding those dialogue lines.
And since, apparently, I “lack the self awareness” to know most of my fics are “oversaturated with dialogue,” I’m going to use weaker examples of my own writing. Chapter 24 of TBG is heavily driven by dialogue with twenty-one named characters to juggle, something that's very difficult for me to manage. Though the chapter is lovely, I do feel it's some of my weaker work. In the end, I just didn’t have the energy to edit it a second time nor go through cutting edit.
Here are three different pages (some connected, some not) from Chapter 24 of Terrible, But Great. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.
You can already see the difference, I'm sure.
So, what’s the difference between a scene that has 'too much fucking dialogue' versus a scene that is highly saturated with dialogue?
Because there is one.
Let's set the scene for HP5. In the middle of an OWL exam, Harry received a vision from Voldemort, showing him that Sirius has been captured. He's being tortured to get something from a shelf, but Sirius refuses. Harry believes the vision is real. He tells Ron and Hermione, then asks for their advice on how to rescue Sirius. Ron and Hermione are both like, pardon, wtf, sir? (As they should be.)
We have five pages of this fight between them. These five pages are mostly dialogue with very little else surrounding it.
Also, note the final page where it has the worst sins of adverb usage. That page is what triggered me to begin writing this series in the first place, btw.
There's too much dialogue here. There's no description. I'm being told stuff, but I'm not being shown anything. There are no emotional anchors to Harry either. The more I reread this scene, the more I realized what was wrong.
There’s an emotional disconnect from Harry in the prose.
Do not misunderstand me: it is NOT to say that Harry isn’t emotional here. It's that the prose doesn’t grip me, the reader, by the chest and twist my heart with his overwhelming emotions. The prose doesn't prove anything, doesn't show me anything. This is an intense, terrifying moment for Harry. It should feel visceral. It should feel tangible. I should be able to taste his fear.
We also don’t get too much information about the emotional states of Ron and Hermione. We have hints, of course. But we can’t feel them. The emotions of the scene are dampened, muffled, dull even.
With an untrained eye, you might disagree. It's okay. You'll see what I mean soon.
Page 731 exact quote:
"I dunno how," said Harry. "But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven...He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there....He's torturing him....Says he'll end by killing him..."
Harry found his voice shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.
(Btw, punctuation issue: you do not use an ellipsis and a period together and there should be a space after the ellipsis.)
This is the only instance in the five pages where we get any information about Harry's physical state.
And it's written in such a weak 'telling' instead of 'showing' way, too.
How and where was his voice shaking? How are his knees shaking? Are they knocking together in a weird way that's kind of physically improbable? Or was it actually his legs were shaking? Isn't he leaning against the door? If his weight was resting against the door, then there'd be less shaking in his knees or legs because his knees would be locked to brace his body against the door. His arms and hands would be shaking, though.
How does Harry master himself? What does that look like? Slow breaths? Running a hand through his hair? Rubbing his face and eyes? How is Harry mastering himself? Is it mentally? Then, where are those mastering thoughts? What are they and why do those thoughts in particular help Harry 'master' himself?
What's Harry's tone as he talking about Voldemort threatening to kill Sirius? How is Harry feeling about this? Give me MORE!
The dialogue is presented to the reader in a bland, empty fashion. Harry is relating something to Ron and Hermione. I could switch the dialogue out with anything and it'd still make sense.
There is little surrounding the dialogue to anchor it.
So, let's rewrite this, shall we?
"I dunno how," said Harry, letting out a shaky breath. His hands clenched into fists against the door of the classroom. "But I know where—they're in a room in the Department of Mysteries that's filled with rows of shelves holding these... weird little glass balls. They're in row ninety-seven. Voldemort, he's—"
Harry's voice broke. His breath caught in his throat. The memory of the vision returned full force into his mind, the image of Sirius on the floor at Voldemort's feet stark in his mind. He ducked his chin; his chest inhaled in a desperate breath and the edges of his eyes burned.
He's torturing Sirius—I can't just wait around.
I can't lose him.
Harry looked up at Ron, whose face had grown pale, while Hermione stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. The strength in Harry's legs weakened.
"He needs Sirius to get whatever it is he wants and he's—" Harry sucked in a gasp, his voice trembling like an autumn leaf in a thunderstorm. "—he's torturing Sirius... says he'll kill him in the end."
His knees buckled. Harry stumbled to the nearest desk; Ron reached out with a steadying hand on Harry's upper arm and silent gratitude filled Harry's heart. With shaky arms, Harry lifted himself onto the desk to sit and twisted around to face Ron and Hermione. He licked his dry lips, rubbed his eyes with a hand, and took slow, deep breaths to master his fraying emotions.
The original canon text has 57 words of dialogue with a total of 83 words.
My rewritten version uses 56 words of dialogue with a total of 247 words.
I'm going to drill this concept into your heads, my lovely students: this is what I mean when I keep saying JKR's writing is both bloated and underwritten.
I only rewrote a single paragraph and its following line. The five pages I've provided are filled with this kind of empty dialogue.
So, what have I done here? Can you see the difference? Can you feel the difference?
Let's analyze what I focused on in this scene to show Harry's body language and his thoughts. I upped the physical effects on Harry's body. His fear causes his voice to break in the middle of explaining what's going on. He's terrified of losing Sirius, the only father figure he's ever known. Voldemort might take another parental figure from him.
And now the prose reflects these feelings, not just in his thoughts, but also in how he speaks and reacts to what is around him. He is not just speaking at the reader.
Harry exists in his world.
And you can feel it.
When he stumbles to the desk, Ron is there for him. Hermione reacting could also be added here. There is a lot that can be added to this scene, if one wanted to expand this further.
Yes, what I've done has increased the word count, yet it strengthens this short moment—and I'd do this for the entire scene.
What I did to the scene is merely one version of its potential. It could be rewritten in a multitude of ways and go in various directions. I spent 10mins to 20mins on it. I haven't edited it or refined it.
Can you finally see what I mean now?
If you compare the highlighted pages of HP5 to the highlighted pages of Chp 24 of TBG, you can visually see the difference in the density of the dialogue. JKR is the one whose writing is oversaturated with dialogue. My writing will always be highly saturated with dialogue because my stories are character driven. I prefer stories like that. But I also need the dialogue to be interesting and engaging, where the character feels alive in their world.
When I say there's too much dialogue, this scene is such a good example of this because Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all over the place in their interactions with each other. Yes, you want your characters to sound realistic, but you're also the author curating an experience for the reader.
There's a balancing tightrope act between having realistic dialogue and unnecessary dialogue.
There's a thin line between showing too much and telling too little.
Lastly, if I were to improve the overall scene, I would center the focus on Harry's desperation to rescue Sirius. As Ron and Hermione try to talk him out of it, where Hermione delivers that iconic line of 'you have a people saving thing,' I'd have Harry explode with something like this:
"You don't know what's it like! You both have your parents—I-I don't... You'd feel the same as me if it were either of your parents being tortured by Voldemort, yeah? I can't lose him—I can't lose Sirius."
I'm not bothering with description around it right now. I just wanted to give the baseline dialogue to show you the theme I'd carry through this scene. It's all about Sirius. It's all about the fear of losing him. It's about showing the emotion of the character and making the reader feel that deeply.
And that's what matters the most.
All right then.
We have come to an end of Part Two in this series. We have discussed fives pages in JKR's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The pages in question are 731 - 735 should you wish to look it up and study the scene yourself.
And so, please do the world the greatest of favors and write better than J.K. Rowling. I promise, it's not that hard once you see the differences.
Until next time.
Isa
#harry potter#hp#fanfiction#fanfic#hp fanfic#hp fanfiction#harry potter discourse#harry potter books#jk rowling#fuck jkr#anti jkr#jk rowling is a terrible writer series by isalise#on writing#writing#writers#writer#author#authors#writing advice#writing stuff#becoming better at writing#writer stuff#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writers on ao3#writerscommunity#creative writing#JKR's Terrible Amateur Writing Series#writing help#writing resources
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This fandom is turning into a madhouse!
Why? 😢
What is all the arguing about? Why are fans taking sides in multiple standoffs. How are these wars starting?
What I have to say may not be well-received by some sides in the numerous boxing matches active in this fandom right now, but I'm going to say my piece. 🤷♀️ I am not responsible for white-hot rage, tears, or epiphanies that you don't want. So, proceed at your own risk. Or whatever.
Buddie vs BuckTommy
BuckTommy fans, Buddie fans were not seeing things. Those characters were written as being pulled into each other's orbits and it was more than platonic. It wasn't blatant, and it has been hinted it couldn't be due to the network. Even now, with Eddie and Buck being in relationships, and Eddie somehow being in multiple, they are still using Buddie to promote the show. If they are not going to happen, then why the use that to get ratings? That is the definition of baiting.
Buddie fans, BuckTommy is canon. They may not last or they may be endgame. We won't know until it happens. Why lose your mind over fictional characters that one man controls? It's simple. If you feel they played the Buddie card only to put Eddie in a mess of epic proportions and make Buck become Evan Buckley-Kinard, tune out and keep fanfic alive. Do you know how many fandoms have followed that process? If Tommy was brought back just as a plot device, then it's not much better than baiting.
You know what would be hilarious? Buck meets a third person, falls in love, and marries them.
It would shut both sides down if it was a woman. (I may have a petty streak and if I were in charge, I could see making it Taylor or Abby.)😈🤣(Maybe then the warring factions could call a truce over tears and beers.)
Tommy Kinard was not a good guy. That's not delusion. That's canon.
BuckTommy fans, the character of Tommy Kinard has done multiple problematic things, and the writers are not addressing any of it. Telling people to get over it is not cool. Being closeted or confused is no excuse for calling Chimney the delivery guy and Hen the b-word. He was actively and willingly participating is some of the worst forms of bullying someone can experience. He wasn't a teenager who was just trying to fit in. He was a grown man. No excuses for his behavior are acceptable and, in the real world, you would be hard-pressed to find his victims forgiving him. They would not be his friends.
I can see why women, especially black women and LGBTQ women, and non-white men, especially Asian men, would say they don't like how his past transgressions are being ignored. He was openly racist and misogynist. That is canon. Nothing was misunderstood or misinterpreted. Tommy was a d*ck.
If you watch how Lou is portraying Tommy, there are indications that what we saw in season 2 is a part of his personality. The lack of discussion about his past could be intentional because it may come up in the future.
How has no one noticed how he speaks to Buck sometimes? Maybe I am just older than most in the fandom and have experienced a lot more, but there are things about Tommy Kinard's behavior that don't seem very...nice. The way he speaks to Buck sometimes is like he is dismissing what he thinks or feels. Sometimes he seems to be speaking to Buck as if he is a child. I was offended on Buck's behalf.
The biggest CAUTION sign so far was when he admitted he is jealous of the 118. What? That doesn't even make sense! Think about it. Tommy went out of his way to make the 118 hostile toward anyone who wasn't a het white male. When Bobby took over and changed the culture, he brought respect and openness which cultivated the friendship, and eventual love, that created the family the 118 is now. Tommy could have easily come out to the team under Bobby, apologized, and began building the bridges he burned. But he did not.
Tommy chose his side but now he is jealous of the work Bobby put in to clean up Gerrard's mess? Could it be something else giving his jealousy life? Could Tommy be resentful that the exclusive, prejudice environment he happily embraced, and helped keep in place, under Gerrard disappeared and because an inclusive tight-knit family created from the outcasts?
That is a very real possibility and if that is the case, it says a lot about Tommy Kinard and could lead to an interesting arc in the remainder of season 7 and season 8.
Eddie Diaz is not a bad guy.
I think Eddie has been teetering on the edge for many seasons. TBH, I am surprised he has been as stable as he has for this long. That man is walking meatsuit full of trauma.
People who are mentally stable and have healthy coping skills do not join underground fighting rings, smash their bedrooms, or ask relative strangers to watch his child and move in. There have been many indications for multiple seasons that Eddie is not in a good place but keeping it together for the sake of his son.
I do not think Eddie is trying to hurt anyone at all. I think he is trying to claw his way out of some hell his mind has had him in for a long time.
That man needs to be taken to the nearest inpatient facility and admitted. (If you are thinking of making a negative comment stigmatizing mental health awareness or treatment, reconsider, choose not to, and move along. Mental health is just as important as physical.)
Eddie Diaz is in no condition to be in a relationship with anyone except a therapist right now.
Whether you want Buddie, Eddie/Marisol, or Eddie/Wife's Ghost, if you want to see anyone with this guy right now, I have to ask you if you are feeling okay.
Remember how Eddie's parents didn't want him dragging Christopher down with him? Right now, it looks like Eddie's carefully, barely held together existence is going to go boom. Anyone in the blast radius is in danger. The only dates Edmundo Diaz should be having is at least three times weekly and begin with a mental health professional asking him if he has something he wants to talk about.
Evan "Buck" Buckley is a grown ass man. Stop infantalizing him!
They even do it on the show.
I can't be the only one who sometimes forgets that thick mountain of a man is not a young twenty-something just wandering out into the world.
He's in his thirties. He's been in therapy. He's grown. He has to do what all of us adults do: Make decisions, wait to find out what happens, and deal with the consequences.
Say it with me: Buck is not a baby.
No one who has any real knowledge is going to tell fandom what the future holds for the show.
Who doesn't get that?
There are unhinged fans on every side of every current fight.
If you are attacking actors, writers, producers, networks, or anyone else, I have to wonder if you should be in a room next to Eddie after someone who loves him takes him where he should go.
That type of behavior used to get you a room with soft walls and a free jacket that left you in a permahug.
You can make anything you want happen with the characters.
It's call fanfiction and AO3 is wonderful. If there is a great story that hasn't been told, get on Word, Docs, Libre, or whatever you have and start making it a reality!
Authors have major support and respect from the fans.
If writing isn't your thing, but you are great at prompts and don't mind authors taking your prompts and creating stories, find a way to share them!
There are positive ways to channel your eyerolls, frustration, anger, or whatever. Draw fanart. Write fic. Write ideas and throw them at those who draw fanart and write fanfic.
To the whole fandom: CHILL! PLEASE!
I don't want to watch another fandom I enjoy implode. I don't want to see other fandoms assume everyone in this fandom is in need of the soft room and permahug fashion I mentioned earlier.
Been there, done that.
At the end of the day, everyone needs to remember:
It's not real.
#911 abc#911 on abc#9 1 1 buddie#buddie#buddie 911#buck x eddie#eddie diaz#evan buckley#eddie diaz x evan buckley#eddie x buck#evan buckley x eddie diaz#evan buck buckley#tommy kinard#bucktommy#tevan#kinkley#what is even happening 911
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My miracle
Anthony Bridgerton x reader
summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good
warnings: mentions of death
“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”
“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”
Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.
His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs.
“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”
“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”
“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”
“Like you are giving birth?”
“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.”
“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.
She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”
“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”
"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.
It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."
But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.
"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"
"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.
"I'm not going anywhere!"
"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.
"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.
"Anthony..."
"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face.
The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.
With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.
"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."
"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."
"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.
On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.
Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.
And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.
It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.
Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.
"You have a daughter, Anthony."
He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."
"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."
Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.
"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.
The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.
"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."
"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.
"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.
Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.
Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."
"She is beautiful."
"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment.
He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.
#anthony bridgerton#anthony bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x y/n#anthony bridgerton x you#Bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#anthony bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x y/n#collin bridgerton x reader#bridgerton imagine#anthony bridgerton x wife reader
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i will not apologize for the person i become when i see young sally jackson and poseidon's beachside summer romance
like. she knew who he was. we KNOW she knew who he was. he was free to be Literal Actual Poseidon putting thousands of years of godly charisma on an orphaned high school dropout, probably at the lowest point in her entire life.
like, we all know him as the hawaiian shirt-wearing Birkenstock-clad fisherman-hatted Loving But Reluctantly Absent Father because that's how he shows himself to Percy. but we have to remember.
fifteen years after she last saw him, Sally Jackson (with her boyfriend in the room!) BLUSHED TO THE ROOTS OF HER HAIR when he showed up at her front door for Percy's birthday, WEARING THE HAWAIIAN SHIRT AND BIRKENSTOCKS. he loved this woman so good that she thought he was hot while wearing the ugliest clothing to ever exist.
Poseidon was willing to build a PALACE for this woman. he called her a queen among mortals and still absolutely adores her years after their relationship ended. if i get to see young Sally getting courted like a mythical princess with a literal god head over heels for her, i am simply going to pass away. i'll be dead by the end of the episode.
EDIT POST-S1E7:
yeah i cried. i cried so hard i had to pause the episode like 3 times in that one scene. somehow i survived. also thank the costuming department for putting him in a linen shirt that matches sally's eyes.
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there's a video on instagram of a man kicking his partner's door in. the top comment is (with over 4 thousand likes): "how about you tell us what you did to make him that angry?"
barring emergency, nobody should be kicking anybody's door in. many of us lived in houses where it was always, somehow, an emergency. there is a strange, almost hysterical calm that comes over you in that moment - everything feels muted, and you almost feel, however incongruently, like you should be laughing. you are living inside of "the emergency." oh my god, you think. i am now a fucking statistic.
there is another comment with 2.8 thousand likes: "if this was a woman doing it to a man, nobody would give a shit."
do people give a shit now, though?
barring emergency, the door should remain standing. the emergency should be panicked, desperate - "i'm coming in there to protect you." many of us know what it feels like when the emergency is instead "i'm coming in there to get you."
1.5k likes: "and yet you post this for notes. glad to see being the victim has become your whole personality."
hysteria is a word connected to womb, from greek. what you're experiencing is so senseless and inhumane that you (a rational creature) try to find any ground within what is irrational and cannot be explained. one of the most frustrating things about staying in bad situations is that we also lie to ourselves. we also ask ourselves - wow. what did i do?
women can be, and often are, also abusers. abuse is not gendered. abuse is not just a "straight person" problem. abuse does not have a face or figure or sexuality. you cannot pick an abuser out of a crowd. an abuser could be actually anybody.
and then so many people rally behind the man kicking the door in. here is something nobody should be doing, right? you want to ask every person that liked that first comment: do you ask this because you side with him? do you ask this because it helps you feel safe from this ever happening?
in some ways, you're weirdly sympathetic to the top comment, because it is the same logic you see frequently. the idea is that the average, normal, sane person doesn't just break down a door. doesn't just shoot up a school. doesn't stalk and kill women. doesn't threaten sexual assault. doesn't run over protesters. doesn't shoot an unarmed black person. doesn't scream at underpaid walmart employees. doesn't just "lose it". something had to have happened, right? because the default (white. straight. cis.) - that is someone who is always, you know. "sane."
(right?)
on a podcast, you hear a sane, normal, rational person. "if you piss me off, i'm going to need to hit something. sorry but i'm not apologizing. that's just who i am that's how it is." his voice almost sounds like he's laughing.
you think of the door, and how you were almost laughing behind it, too. ironically, every real emergency in your life has almost felt peaceful in comparison. fire, car accident, flash flooding - these felt quiet, covenant to you. you'd stood in all of them, feeling them pass over and up to your chin, never actually overwhelming.
but when the door was coming down, you had felt - is there a word for that? there has to be, a word, right.
surely one of us has figured out the word for that, i mean. it's such a large fucking statistic.
#spilled ink#writeblr#warm up#this is so disorganized#i just saw that video and the comments made me want to vomit#it's actually like. in the way it's funny that you got into a car crash and got the flu within the same 24 hours#it's like.#it's funny#because certain people will blame everything on mental illness#even being transgender.#they will not#however#at any point - even vaguely suggest that a man should maybe get therapy.#like. a guy busting down a door isn't a danger-to-himself-and-others#(you just pushed him too far).#but a young adult looking for top surgery should be institutionalized for even wanting to change their body.
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tying you to me ꨄ max verstappen
max verstappen x reader
warnings: sweet max, random coincidences to lovers trope, happy ending [wc: 4.3k]
[4 times] in which something coincidentally led back to max, and the [1 time] it turned out nothing was just a coincidence (in which everything has always tied max to you).
Time, curious time
Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs
Were there clues I didn't see?
It felt like a never-ending nightmare.
One thing after another, one bad day after another, one bad week after the next. It felt like it was never going to end.
The person that was supposed to be that person, the man that was supposed to be forever, the person that was going to be standing at the end of the aisle... leaving with a simple apology and a ‘I’m sorry, it’s me, not you’... it was incomprehensible.
It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t wrap your head around what had gone wrong. Was he telling the truth? Was it really him? Or was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the blunder? The inevitable demise?
Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you, it was so evident it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing connected to him, there were no signs pointing to him being the one, there was no inevitable connection. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the internal heartbreak that felt like it was never going to end.
All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling, that pulled you to another person, that proved they were the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know that it was so obvious, he just wasn’t that person.
The coffee shop you currently sat in had become a morning staple after the last few weeks. After coming back to Monaco for a much-needed reprieve from the rest of the world, the little coffee shop nestled into the charming walls of Monte-Carlo had become a necessary distraction to the outside.
The employees all knew you by name now, often passing by the table and inquiring about your day, inquiring about the book you were reading, or the work assignment shown on your computer screen. Always engaging in polite conversation back, it was one of your favourite places to be.
People-watching was the only negative of it. The loving couples who passed through, all cuddled up together as they ordered their drinks for their walk throughout the city, the older couples who sat just tables away and reminisced on their lives together. It was the only thing that drove you crazy about the charming little shop.
Watching them occupied your thoughts more time’s than you cared to admit. Daydreaming and losing focus on the outside world was a commonality, especially in the little coffee shop.
It was exactly where you found yourself currently, your eye’s peering to the left as you watched an older man place his hand over who you assumed to be his wife’s hand. Their wedding bands shining brightly in the Monaco sun, soft smiles on their faces as they peered at one another, your heart begging to be let out of this turmoil, begging you to turn away and focus on something else, anything else.
Its wish was granted when you felt the cold of a drink begin to sink into your shirt, instantly soaking your skin, a gasp of shock falling from your lips.
“Oh god, I am so sorry. I just turned around and you were right there, let me grab some cloths, please.”
You knew instantly it was your own fault, you hadn’t been paying attention, more focused on the elderly couple, prompting the person in front of you to spill their... was that Red Bull? On your shirt?
“Is this Red Bull?”
The man in front of you grimaced as he handed you the dry cloths, a small smile falling across his lips while his eyes crinkled with the movement of his face. A bit of a cute look, you thought to yourself while beginning to dab at your shirt as the smell of the energy drink wafted up your nose.
“Yes, I’m so sorry. I don’t drink coffee often, but my sister wanted to stop here because she had heard good things, I was just waiting for her drink while she took a quick call outside. I really only drink Red Bull in public when I have to, or when I’m getting paid to. I thought it was her behind me when I whipped around like that, I’m so sorry. Please, can I buy you a coffee as an apology? Or a tea?”
You weren’t entirely sure if the rambling was out of nerves that you were going to overreact over the spilt drink, or if he just simply felt like he owed it to you to explain the entire incident and how it came about in full description.
The frustration that was brewing was not at all a fault of the cute man in front of you, but an accumulation of days of sadness, an irregular appetite, and just a combination of heartbreak.
Trying to keep the tears of frustration at bay, you instantly shook your head towards the cute man in front of you. “Thank you, but no. Obviously this is a sign I need to go home, sorry for spilling your drink.”
Before he could get the chance to say anything back, you were forcing yourself to rush out of the coffee shop before an outburst could erupt from inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed the look of intrigue that the Dutchman gave you.
Bad was the blood of the song in the cab
On your first trip to LA
You ate at my favorite spot for dinner
The memory of the handsome Dutchman in the small coffee shop left your mind not long before the happy memories of your ex-boyfriend finally forced themselves out of your head. Things had finally begun looking up, the more time you spent with your friends, the more time you spent focusing on work and the hopeful promotion that would come with it.
Although, your boss had insisted you take a few weeks off, citing the fact you were there more than anyone she knew, and that burnout was inevitable if you didn’t take the much deserved and obligated time off. The amount of overtime and banked hours allowing you to take the time off with full pay just made it easier to agree.
Which was exactly how you found yourself just south of Zurich, the snow whipping past your face as the ski lift ascended higher and higher up the mountain. Your friends giggled beside you, smiles lighting up everyone’s faces.
Winter break, although cold and snowy, was always a fan favourite amongst your friend group. It was exhilarating, you hadn’t had the chance to attend the annual ski trip while you were with your ex-boyfriend, he hated skiing and anything including winter sports.
It’s what made the trip even better, getting the chance to catch up with your friends and their partners, the chance to laugh, and drink, and just smile again. It was all worth it.
The group of guys in the ski lift behind obviously had the same idea, hooting and hollering at each other as the ski lift continued its ascent. You couldn’t decipher what they were saying, the words in a different language, but the name ‘Max’ seemed to be a commonality. Maybe someone was missing their dog while on vacation? Who knows.
After hours of skiing, the alcohol in the ski lodge was flowing. The laughter and happiness from every group was prevalent, everyone there was so obviously happy to get away from the real world. It’s what places like that were for.
“That guy over there can’t stop looking at you,” jostled out of your thoughts by one of your friends, you followed her head inclination to one of the tables a few rows down, a familiar face looking back at you inquisitorially.
It took you a second to place his face, the day in the coffee shop floating back to your mind prompting a small laugh to fall from your lips.
“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull all over me when I ran into him in the coffee shop in Monaco, remember?”
It had been a running joke, a typical meet-cute in a coffee shop, but instead of spilt coffee... a spilt Red Bull.
“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull on you?”
One of your friend’s boyfriends gaped at you, as he continuously maneuvered his look between you and the man in question. Nodding your head, he continued to gape at you.
“Don’t you know who that is?” Giving him a look, you shook your head.
“That’s the Max Verstappen. Three-time Formula 1 World Champion? Dutch God? Second-coming of the Formula 1 Jesus?”
You recognized the name, having heard it at the few races you had attended, but you never would’ve been able to place the name to the face otherwise.
A laugh erupted from one of the other members of the group, a shove directed at the other man. “I think you've got Verstappen mixed up with Lewis Hamilton.”
“He’s kinda cute, huh?” One of the girls pointed out to you, a small giggle falling from her lips as she looked over towards the man in question, his eyes meeting yours as you looked in his direction again.
His hair was flopped over, obviously a combination of a long day wearing a ski helmet and a hat, mixed with the combination of the sweat and heat that engulfed the inside of the lodge made him look even more attractive. Windswept, tipsy, and overall, just happy.
“So much better than that last loser.” A mutual agreement of ‘yes’, ‘obviously’, and ‘fucking no wonder’, floated throughout your group at your friend’s words.
Shrugging them off, you just laughed and pushed the conversation in another direction and away from the man sitting across the room, who seemed as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you at all.
As the night started to dwindle down, you bid goodnight to the remaining group of friends and started your route back to your room.
“At least I have nothing to spill on you tonight.”
Directing your gaze to the voice at hand, your eyes made direct contact with the blue irises of Max Verstappen.
Quirking an eyebrow at him as a small laugh left your lips, “I’m sure the bars fully stocked with drinks you could spill on me. You’re just not trying hard enough.”
A loud guffaw fell from the man’s mouth, his hands instinctively covering his mouth as he laughed. You couldn’t help the heat that grew on your cheeks at his reaction, his smile directed towards you when he finally moved his hands from his face.
“I’m so very sorry. Next time I run into you, I’ll try to make sure I have a full drink in hand to spill on you.”
“Oh, you plan on running into me again?”
Shrugging his shoulders with a small grin, the Dutchman just laughed. “Well, I ran into the person I spilt a Red Bull in a coffee shop on in one of my favourite places in Switzerland, I’m sure I’m bound to run into you again. Things happen in three’s, don’t they?”
Max ran a hand through his hair as he smiled at you, before either of you could get the chance to say anything else, one of his friends was clapping a hand against his shoulder with a boisterous laugh.
“Time to get out of here, mate. Say goodnight to the pretty girl,” he said.
You felt your cheeks heating again, as Max smiled at you in farewell, a small wave from both of you any indication of goodbye as you both walked away.
Time, mystical time
Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine
Were there clues I didn't see?
F1 race weekends were as fun as they were busy. Any race you had attended since you were an intern was always focused primarily on working. Getting the opportunity to attend a race with your friends, in Melbourne, without having to worry about work or advertising, or anything else, was obviously the best way to spend it.
Lou, one of your friends linked her arm with yours as she basically skipped through the hospitality area, pointing out the different garages as she got a glimpse of them. Her boyfriend, Nick, had gotten both of you passes through his own work, a long-term employee of McLaren meant that the both of you had been spoiled for the weekend.
"Maybe you’ll end up running into Max again, imagine? A third little meet-cute,” she said, with a giggle.
Rolling your eyes at her, you just laughed as she grinned back. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! It’s totally possible, I’m sure Nick could totally convince Lando to convince Max to pass by the garage or the hospitality. We could totally orchestrate it.”
“Babe, it’s pure coincidence I’ve run into the guy more than once. I’m not like... going out of my way to run into Max Verstappen.”
Huffing back at you, Lou sent a mock pout in your direction as she continued to drag you through the hospitality center. Passing a stand full of travel cups of coffee, you were eager to grab one as you walked by.
Before you could even press the lid of the cup to your lips, you were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, yet again.
“Is it your turn to spill something on me, then? I’m having a pretty bad day, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”
Both you and Lou whipped around to the sound of the man’s voice, the man who just a short time ago had been forced to retire his race due to a faulty and on fire brake. You could practically feel Lou humming with excitement as she looked between you and Max.
Shoving her hand out in his direction, Lou introduced herself to Max who did the same back.
“With that, I’m going to see how everything’s going in the garage. Call me if you get lost, yeah?” Without giving you the chance to argue, she bolted away.
Silently groaning, you looked back towards Max. For someone who just retired from a race he was probably going to win, he seemed relatively calm and relaxed.
“So, are you?”
“Am I what?” You questioned back, confused.
“Are you going to spill your coffee on me, in retaliation for the Red Bull?” Instantly shaking your head, obviously the retirement from the race couldn’t have affected him too negatively, if he was already cracking jokes in your direction.
“You don’t even know my name, and you’re accusing me of wanting to go out of my way to kick a man when he’s already down?”
Watching his face fall, you could tell he was about to defend his words. A smile began to cross your face, his eyes jokingly narrowing in your direction.
Sticking your hand out towards him, you finally introduced yourself, your name falling from his lips as if it was a beautiful word from a testament as he took your hand. It would be embarrassing to say a small spark shot up your arm, but the racing driver had inevitably shocked you, an apology dropping from his lips almost immediately.
“Terrible race to stalk me at, though. You couldn’t have at least made it a race that I actually stood a chance at winning? Pretty embarrassing to have to retire for such a stupid reason, in front of such a pretty girl.”
If there was one thing other than racing that Max was good at, it was making your cheeks warm and the butterflies in your stomach spike.
“Well... I am here as a guest of McLaren... maybe I was just really hoping for a Piastri win. Gotta root for the hometown boy, right?”
Shaking his head, Max mockingly pressed his hand to his chest and looked at you like he was internally wounded.
“You’d support McLaren over me? The man who runs into you in the weirdest of places? Who gave you a free Red Bull without a can?” he said.
You could barely help the small snort that fell from your lips at his words, your hand instantly slapping against your lips in horror. Max openly laughed at your reaction, arm gently hitting your shoulder with a grin.
“Just for that, I’ll support Ferrari before I support you and your Red Bull’s. I don’t think Charles Leclerc would spill a Red Bull on me.”
In response, Max grinned and pointed in the direction of the Ferrari garage, the red and yellow prominent amongst the stone. “Shall I go introduce you to Charles, then? He’d probably spill an actual hot coffee on you, at least I didn’t leave any lasting damage.”
“The trauma of smelling like an original Red Bull for more than 2 hours isn’t enough damage?” you questioned, your eyebrows quirking up at him.
Max looked at you in horror, “You can’t possibly be saying you don’t think the smell of an original, cold, fresh out of a fridge, Red Bull isn’t just simply lovely. This is potentially the biggest red flag about you.”
You were quick on your feet, the words dropping from your lips before you could contain them.
“I guess we’re all on fire today, then. Red flags left and right.” you said with a smirk.
All Max did was laugh at your words, his head rolling back while his hands placed themselves on his hips.
Just as he had been the last two times, Max was interrupted before he could continue the conversation, a lady in a Red Bull sweater tapping him on the shoulder to let him know he needed to make his way back to the garage for some interviews that had been requested of him.
“Nice seeing you again, I’m sure next time I see you, you’ll probably heal more of my Red Bull soaked shirt trauma.”
The only response he gave was a loud laugh and a wave, as he walked away.
Time, wondrous time
Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies
The FIA year-end Gala was exquisite. Everyone was dressed to the nines, the lights were twinking, the service was lovely, and the atmopshere was electric.
Even though, for almost all of the people there, it was a requirement of their jobs, everyone seemed as if they were having a wonderful time. Mingling with those around them, actively engaging in conversation with co-workers, friends, long-time acquaintances.
Your boss had elected that you and a fellow co-worker attend in her place, admitting that although she loved the excitement of the night, she needed a break from the glitz and the glam of Formula 1 for a tiny bit. She knew you were more than willing to take her place and do an incredible job.
Which is exactly how you found yourself at a table with Jack, one of your co-workers, a wide grin on his face as he observed everything going on around him. He was new to the company, just having recently completed his internship and been offered a full-time position with the organization. It was his first time at a Formula 1 event of any kind.
“Isn’t this brilliant? I’m a huge motorsports fan, I wanted to get into karting when I was a kid but it was just too expensive, my parents couldn’t afford that. I’ve never even had the opportunity to go to a race, and now I’m in the same building, the same room as literal race drivers. Have you been to a race before?”
You forgot how much he could yap, an almost over-eager human equivalent of an excited golden retriever. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer to his question.
“I’ve been to a few races for work, and a few privately with some friends. They’re always a great time, you’ll have lots of fun when you start going for work.” you said.
Grinning at your words, you began to tune him out as he launched into another rant. You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of someone saying your name, your head swiveling in the direction of the voice.
You were almost positive Jack was squealing out loud, as Max Verstappen once again entered your view. Smiling up at him, you stood up to greet the Dutchman, which resulted in him pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, his hand gently patting you on the back as he did so.
“I just wanted to come by and say hello. You look very beautiful.”
Unable to contain the anxious laugh that fell from your lips, you immediately smiled at him. Accepting compliments was obviously not your forte, especially when they were coming from Max, who looked more handsome than ever in his suit, and the wide smile on his cheeks pulling everything together.
“Never thought I’d see you in anything other than jeans and a Red Bull shirt, Max. You look lovely, as well.”
“Making fun of me, and a compliment all in one? I will say, I probably would’ve worn jeans if I could, but my public relations manager likely would’ve murdered me and I quite enjoy being alive,” he said.
Shaking your head in silent laughter, you barely even noticed as Jack thrust his hand out to introduce himself to Max.
“Your girlfriend is lovely, mate. This is what, the fourth time I’ve run into you?” Max said in greeting, a somewhat tight smile on his face.
Jack instantly shook his head, “Oh god no, we’re co-workers. I don’t mean she’s not lovely, she is. I’m not her type, or actually she’s not my type. I’m yapping, this is embarrassing. Mr. Verstappen, it was really nice to meet you. I need a drink. I’m sorry.”
He practically sprinted away, both you and Max looked on with amused grins present on your faces.
“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean one of the guys you were with in Switzerland are?”
Shaking your head, “God, no. Those are friends I’ve known for years. I’m very much single, right now.”
Max looked like he was in complete contemplation as he debated what to say next. You were secretly hoping he would take the bait, maybe ask if you were free after the gala, or ask how long you were going to be in town for.
Running into him again once was by chance, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was obviously a sign. The universe was obviously trying to tell you something, there was a reason this man, who had first shown up in your life just after one of the worst heartbreaks you had ever experienced, continued to show up. It was hard to not get your hopes up, to not get ahead of yourself.
It was hard to keep the butterflies at bay, truthfully.
“Hypothetically, does that mean you’re free after the gala?”
“Hypothetically... I man be free after the gala,” you responded.
Nodding his head, Max smiled in your direction. “I think it would be a crime to let this beautiful dress, and my efforts to wear a suit for something go to waste. I’d love to take you out after.”
And isn't it just so pretty to think
All along there was some
Invisible string
Tying you to me?
Max had been transparent from the beginning; he wasn’t overly affection nor was he a fan of excessive cuddling. He got warm often, and the moment he got too warm when he was in bed, he got miserable. But when he wanted to cuddle? You had to take what he would give you.
Which was exactly how you found yourselves right now, Max playfully attempting to whack your phone out of your hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist as he burrowed his head into your neck.
“Schatje, I just wanna cuddle for a bit. Give me a little attention.”
Slapping gently at his arm, you looked at him in mock exasperation. All you ever did was give him attention, he almost took the words out of your mouth when he muttered, “I know you give me plenty of attention, don’t yell at me.”
You just shook your head silently as you used your free hand to gently twirl small tuffs of his hair, a small hum of content falling from his lips at your movements.
“What are you looking at?”
Attempting to look over at your phone, you moved the screen so he could see it better. It was a video from your first ever Formula 1 race, back when you were still a little intern and your boss had wanted you to gain some exposure to the sport.
“I’m just looking back at some videos. Found this one from my first ever race. I didn’t even know I still had this.”
Max instantly perked up and looked at your phone, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher something in the video.
“Do you remember which race it was? Looks like it’s a few years old, yeah?”
Nodding your head, you tried to do the math in your head, thinking back to what year you first started your internship. “I think it was 2016? It was definitely in Spain, but I’m pretty positive it was 2016.”
“Do you know what that means?” Max questioned, a soft smile on his lips as he pressed a small kiss to the junction between your chin and throat before looking back up at you.
Shaking your head in confusion, you tried to determine what he could be talking about, giving him the chance to continue.
“My first ever win in Formula 1, for Red Bull, was the 2016 Spanish Grand Prix. Isn’t that so ironic? Guess things were always meant to be.”
Maybe he was right.
Maybe there was always a string, a small, invisible string, tying everything together, tying you to him.
genuinely i got this into my mind and felt like i was legally obligated to write it asap. i hope you LOVE it and i would so appreciate it if you told me if you do. thank you, love you all 🫶🏻
#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fic#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 fluff#f1 one shot#max verstappen one shot#writing#f1#f1 x you#max verstappen imagine#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 writing#max verstappen writing
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The Revolutionary, the President, and the King...
#i talk#No I am NOT normal about this and I will NOT apologize for the person I'm gonna become when whatever the hell this is drops#IM LIKE????#LEGITIMATELY SO????#DELIGHTED????#WIL Q AND ERET....IM SO HYPED#IM SO EXCITED TO SEE THEM INTERACT#yesterday I was like ''FINALLY we got a picture of Eret and Quackity hanging out together''#AND THEN TODAY THEY DROP THIS??? IM SO HAPPY#BUT ALSO STUNLOCKED#I need to draw something FRICK#as soon as I get off work I'm gonna go even crazier#mcyt talk#between this and the frickin. Whatever The Hell just happened on Aleby and Rub's stream I'm so brain broken
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Imagine being turned into a fucktoy at the same time as someone else.
Say, you and a friend go to a party, wearing matching pink bows the host gave you beforehand.
After a while, you both start to feel a bit funny. Your attention gets flightier and thinking starts to become difficult. You talk to the host together to apologize for having to leave, but he insists you don't go and arranges a room for your stay. You want to argue, but realize he's... so, so sexy. Of course you want to do what he says. A giggle escapes your throat, while your friend twirls her hair and grins adoringly at him.
You walk into the room together, hand in hand. Behind you, you hear rough laughter and a jeer "See you sluts soon!"
The door clicks shut.
Your friend snaps out of her haze first as the situation registers to her. She tries the door handle, whimpering in fear as it refuses to budge. Then she shakes out, dragging you away from thoughts of Him. You explore the confines of your room, panic mounting as neither of you find a way out. One door, locked. A small window, high up. A single, giant bed, blankets and pillows in a hot pink. Master likes you in that colour. You stumble in surprise, the last observation filling your head with bubbles. How could you think of escape, when your place is here. With Master. Your crotch feels warm.
A moan escapes your mouth at the same time as your friend's, who's fallen on all fours.
"W-what's happening?" you stammer, trying to clear your head.
"Dooooon't knoooow!" she cries back, rubbing herself with one hand. "So hotttt..."
Watching your friend touch herself through her jeans fills you with your own heat, and you automatically follow suit as visions blast through your mind. Fucking yourself, fucking each other, fucking other people, on the bed on the floor on the couch, even on the beach when you are allowed outside. But always, always, for Master. You love him. He controls you. You belong to- No!
You gasp, forcing your hand to the floor. This isn't right! Trying to ignore the thoughts, the commands in your mind, you crawl over to the moaning form of your friend. Her jeans are off, and her panties soaked in cum as a hand dips in and out, over and over. You call her name, shake her, even slap her (although all that produces is a groan of pleasure), to no avail. Then she turns to you, and whispers, "Toy~"
"Nonononono," you whisper, both to what she said, and the echoes it produced in your own mind. "We need to get out together!"
"Toy is nice. Toy is warm. Toy is happyyy..." Her eyes were an unnatural pink, focused on nothing. Her mouth formed a sleepy smile. "Nice."
"Nice..." you repeat, assaulted by visions and promises of pleasure and fucking and being a good Toy. Your hand slips into your jeans, and tears come to your eyes.
"Why resist? Toy is good. Toy is right. No think. Happy." She undresses, then begins taking your own clothes off.
"No... Don't... want... happy?" Your head spins. Why would Toy not want to be Toy? Need to escape. Together. But Master would be sad. Don't want Master to be sad. Think! Toy no think. Toy wrong! Right. Happy. So scared... Warm. Good. Nice. Happy. Think so hard...
You let out a ragged scream in your throat. So confused...
"...Who am I?" you whimper, feeling the cool air on your naked body as your friend settles in front of you, vacant gaze and dumb smile still in place.
"Not who, silly" she calmly explains. "What. Toy not person. Toy Toy. I Toy. You Toy."
Oh. That makes sense. (no.....)
"Toy is thing. For Master. Toy for squeezing. And fucking~ Pussy~ Cock-" She cuts off with a moan and touches herself. You feel compelled to copy. For a while you both masturbate, happily. Your jaw begins to loosen and tension drain from your body.
Toy is sexy. Toy is sexy. Master like us. (please.....)
"Toy need help?" She manages to focus on you and stop touching herself, face set in concern. "Think too much?" You nod, desperately.
Brain loud. Part bad. Not like Toy. (can't keep-)
Toy smiles reassuringly. "Toy help Toy. Be Toy together. Nice for Master. Together."
With tender care she climbs onto your lap, gripping your shoulder with one hand as the other drifts downwards. Gently, delicately, she touches her lips to yours, their soft plumpness and strawberry flavor filling your senses. She presses against you, your nipples brushing as your chests squish together. At the same time, her hand begins expertly manipulating your genitals, sending waves of pleasure through your fuzzy, stupid mind. You moan, a cry of despair as the last remnants of you leak out in the form of precum and drool. Then your pitch and tone change, becoming a wail of pleasure as the dumb Toy that you always were surrenders to your needy, lusty body. You start fucking Toy too, and your moans and whimpers mix as you collapse on top of each other.
Nice. Warm. Happy. Toy.
The door slams open and you both wince at the light. Then go limp, as a familiar smell reaches your noses. Master. He feeds you and pampers you and loves you and fucks you and fucks you and fucks you~
Love Master. Controls Toy. Belong to Him. His-
"Toys." A question, and command. Instantly you get to your knees, staring at Him in open worship, both of you wearing nothing but a pink bow in your hair.
You see Him turn and give a thumbs up, to the sound of whoops, jeers, and whistles. They want Toy, you realize, and it makes you very proud to know how sexy you are. You must be doing a very good job for Master. Drool drips from your mouth as you smile absently.
He approaches the other Toy, and you feel sad you weren't noticed first. She grins happily as His hand cups her cheek, then, at a curt gesture, rises to her feet. "You, Toy, are for anyone to fuck. Do you know that?" A nod. "Good. Now, I've got a lot of friends out there that your moans made very hard. They need some release. Are you going to help them out?" A whimper and an enthusiastic nod. "Good Toy. Go." Toy rushes out the door to a cheering crowd, quickly muted by the door closing. From Master. You gaze at Him in longing, wanting to serve. Wanting to make Him feel good. Wanting His cock.
"On the bed." You rush to obey.
"Spread your legs." A soft moan escapes your lips.
"Only one rule today, Toy. You cum when, and only when, I say." And He settles inside you with a grunt of satisfaction. Your mind is blank, with pleasure and an overwhelming need to serve. You are a Toy. Only a Toy. A-
"Good Toy."
Squirm for Master.
Cum for Master.
Live for Master.
Good Toy.
Good Toy.
Good Toy.
Forever.
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summary: it's been a while since the last time you saw him, but you missed him so terribly.
warnings: angst/comfort. Happy endings for the win *sobs* Pt. 2 of these scenarios
characters: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier x reader (separately)
a/n: I wanted to apologize. I got some comments saying that perhaps I wrote them a bit too ooc and that they wouldn't do something like this, so I was thinking maybe I should step out from writing these; I'm probably not understanding the characters very well. I'm really sorry! I had this one written already, so this is probably going to be the last post I make! Thank you for your support! In only a couple of days you guys were so amazing and loving, I'm super moved and I don't deserve you all at all ❤️
classification: scenarios
tag list: many of you asked me to tag you in the second part, I hope you guys like it! 💕
@biitchyberry @rosaryia @lcheerymotion @mo0nforme
ZAYNE ❄️
It's been four weeks since your argument with Zayne. The first days had been like hell. You had already tasted the honey of a relationship with the person you liked the most and loved the most. You wanted more of him, you needed more. You felt anxious without him, like you had become addicted to his kisses, his gentle touch, and the sweet words he whispered in your ears. You missed him more than you dared to admit.
The days passed slowly, each second seemed to last an eternity. When you got home you felt the emptiness of his presence and you felt like dying, but life continued on, and eventually you got used to being without him. The pain was still present, but more bearable as time kept its course.
You had stopped frequenting the places you knew he liked for fear of running into him. The dessert shop, the cafe near the hospital, the night stands near the library. You even avoided getting sick so you wouldn't have to go to the hospital. Your life was limited to going to work and coming straight home, with occasional visits to buy groceries.
You would never have thought that you would have to live a life again without Zayne and only because he didn't know how to separate his friendships from his romantic partner. So smart, but so stupid at the same time.
You sighed, returning to the present and the food you were making; it was too late when you realized it, but unconsciously you were making one of his favorite dishes. You weren't going to waste the food, so you just carried on trying not to think much about it.
“Now, where did I put–,” you stopped, surprised by the sudden knocking on your door. You frowned, you were not expecting anyone, but the knocking continued once more and you sighed, turned off the stove. “I'm coming.”
You regretted opening the door. Opening just a crack to see who it was, your heart fluttered in your chest as if there was a small caged bird inside it. Zayne was standing in front of you. He looked ridiculously tired, more than you'd ever seen him. The bags and dark circles under his eyes were deep, his skin did not look radiant and healthy as always and his eyes did not shine like emeralds.
Your hands were sweating and your insides were churning. "Are you okay?" You asked with a broken voice. Zayne shook his head and he fainted, but with a gasp, you quickly wrapped an arm around his waist and tried to keep him upright. “Zayne! Hey, what's happening?”
Zayne didn't answer you, and just leaned on you. Not knowing what to do, you dragged him inside and carefully guided him to your room. Once there, you laid him down on your bed, he looked weak.
“Zayne? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
He mumbled your name and your heart raced. “I'm… I am sorry,” he said as he finally passed out. You gasped, but soon heard the soft snores you were so used to.
Was he that exhausted? And what was he doing at your house? You frowned, fighting back the stinging sensation in your eyes as you tried to hold back some tears. He really always appeared to stir everything inside you. You had already accepted your life without him, but here he was. You sighed heavily, taking off Zayne's shoes and covering him with a blanket.
Your eyes couldn't help but admire him. Even though he was tired, he still looked as handsome as ever. It seemed like a dream, an illusion that would disappear at any moment. You wanted it to happen. You wanted him to disappear, but at the same time, you wanted to take him in your arms and kiss his face. But no, clearing your throat, you grabbed an extra blanket and left the room, closing the door behind you. It was better to let him rest so he could leave as soon as he got up.
The next morning you woke up to soft steps. Sitting up and whining a little after sleeping on the couch, you saw Zayne coming out from your bedroom. His hair was messy and he was rubbing one of his eyes like a little child, something warm spread across your chest and a smile tried to spread your lips, but you stopped it. He seemed more rested, the bags under his eyes had diminished considerably and his skin looked a little more alive.
“Zayne.”
He seemed a bit startled as he looked at you with slightly wide eyes. “Hello… I am sorry I fell asleep.”
You hummed, folding the blanket. “Haven't you been sleeping well?" You didn't want to sound worried, but you were.
“I haven't… I constantly have nightmares and I've been working over time… a lot more."
“Why?”
“Because I can't stop thinking about you,” he said and despair filled his eyes. “You have no idea how much I've missed you. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I have been working nonstop so I can have my mind occupied, but you're always there, in the back of my head.”
Don't cry. Don't cry!
“And what exactly do you want me to do about it, Zayne?” You said coldly, wanting to get over with this.
Zayne approached you and you couldn't move as he took your hands. “Please, please. Give me another chance. I swear. I swear in my life that I do not have feelings for her. I just… I was just stupid and took you for granted. Please, my love, please.”
Tears began to well up in your eyes and you cried even harder as Zayne grabbed your face. "N-No, don't touch me.”
“Please. How can I show you I truly want you? Do you want me to stop talking to her? I'll do it. I'll do it, so please. Just… please. I can't live without you.” His words sounded sincere.
His eyes were glassy and the pain on his face was evident, but your heart still hurt. How did you know that he really wouldn't leave you as a second option anymore? You couldn't even tell him to stop talking to Miss Hunter, you knew this was just Zayne's fault.
“Zayne… Zayne you're hurting me so much.”
“I know. I know I am and I am terribly sorry for this. I love you. I truly love you.”
You also loved him, so much.
“... If this ever happens again, Zayne… I won't forgive you another time. Remember that.”
His green eyes shone with happiness as he pulled you into a tight hug. You hugged him back, the tips of your fingers tingling as you felt his warmth, the tip of your nose digging into the crook of his neck, you breathed deeply, enjoying his scent.
“You're on trial, Zayne.”
Zayne chuckled and he nodded. “Yes. You won't regret me, I promise you.”
RAFAYEL 🐠
Life was boring without him. He was the spark and the spice in your days. With him, every day seemed like a small adventure, but now that you no longer saw him, the days seemed dark and lifeless. You didn't even remember how much time had passed since that day. One week? Three days? Two months? You weren't sure and, honestly, you tried not to think about it too much because, even though you missed him, the pang of pain in your heart almost made you gasp for air every single time you recalled every moment with him. It was almost as if his bodyguard had also been there, on every date with Rafayel, for all of your conversations were about her.
He was full of praise for her. He named each of her virtues and laughed affectionately at her defects. He didn't accept anyone claiming that they were better than her or stronger, because his precious bodyguard was the strongest and the bestest. Just thinking about it made you feel tears filling your eyes. You didn't want to remember any of it, but as you held your phone with your thumb hovering over the dial button, you couldn't stop thinking about how miserable Rafayel made you feel, even when he also made you feel like the most loved person in the world.
When he didn't have his mouth full of his wonderful bodyguard, Rafayel showered you with affection. His kisses, his hugs, and his caresses all felt full of love and tenderness. His beautiful eyes looked at you sweetly, as if you were the most precious thing that ever existed on earth. He liked to tease you and make you laugh and he always said that you were like a muse for all his paintings: The sparkle in your eyes, the color of your hair, the texture of your skin, the curves of your body, everything was inspiration.
How could he be so cruel and loving all at the same time? Poor bodyguard, you even didn't like her although she hadn't done anything wrong, as far as you knew.
Sighing, you finally tapped on the green button and your heart raced faster and faster at every beep coming from the other side of the line. Would he answer you? Was he… with her? Was he busy with one of his paintings? What if-
His voice calling your name surprised you, making you jump. “I’m here! Hi!” he sounded out of breath and your cheeks blushed. “Hmm, h-how are you d-doing?”
“Rafayel…,” you took a deep breath. “I… have some clothes at your place. Could I stop by later to get them?”
“YES! I… I mean… yes. I'll- I'll be here all day. You can stop by at any time you want.”
“... Right. Then, see you there, Rafayel.”
You let out a long sigh after hanging up. You had forgotten how wonderful his voice was and the way he pronounced your name. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. You were going to see him, you were really going to come again, but you shouldn't be excited. What if he and his bodyguard were dating? The thought made your stomach twist and you decided it was best to leave immediately. The quicker you finish this, the better.
As always, the door was open, but you didn't immediately enter, your hands were shaking and your heart was racing against your ribcage. You didn't want to see him.
Taking a deep breath, you gently pushed the door open and you were greeted with that aroma that you had missed so much. The smell of acrylic paint, the sea and Rafayel's scent. You couldn't help but take a long breath- this exquisite smell felt like home. Your eyes watered a little, but you tried to stay calm as you walked deeper into the spacious house.
“R-Rafayel? Are you here? "You heard a gasp from the room and in a second, Rafayel appeared in front of you. Ah, he looked as wonderful and beautiful as always. His gorgeous eyes were wide, looking you up and down as his mouth stretched into a shy smile. You wanted to hug him. “The door… was open so I just- I'm sorry.”
“No! That's okay! I… I left it open for you!”
You nodded. “I see… do you mind if I just…”
“No, go ahead, please.” You excuse yourself as you made your way to his room, as you passed by him you felt your legs tremble and you gasped in surprise when he suddenly took your hand.
“Rafayel, what-
“Please, forgive me,” he begged, his eyebrows furrowed in a painful expression. “I was absolutely wrong, you were so right. I was stupid and careless and hurt you so badly.”
“Rafayel… I just came for my clothing, let me g-
“Please!” He hugged you and you went stiff. “Please, please,” he sobbed in your ear.
“Are you crying?”
He nodded. “I can't live another second without you. I can't paint anymore. I feel like a piece of me has been taken away, I live half and barely. I really, really do not have feelings for my bodyguard. You're the only one I can think about.”
“Then why-
“I just… I was just stupid, I didn't mean anything to hurt you, I swear! When I said I missed her, what I wanted to say is that I wanted to train with her, I would never make you train, that's too dangerous,” he started to explain in a rush. “When I told you about the candies, it's because she gave me some amazing chocolate I wanted to gift you and then-
“Rafayel-
“Please. Just this once, I swear,” he said, finally showing his reddened face, tears streaming down his face. You gulped, reaching up to clean his tears away and he whined. “I wasn't there to wipe your tears, I am so sorry.”
That made you burst into tears. That's right, you really wanted him to wipe your tears. He gently cupped your cheeks and his thumbs brushed against your cheeks, catching all of those tears falling from your pretty eyes.
“You can break up with me if I do something like that again! But please… just this once. I love you so much. I really do.”
You looked at him, His eyes were still wet and some tears were still falling down his cheeks. Maybe…
“Just this once, Rafayel… I won't forgive anything like this ever again.” He beamed and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, but you covered his mouth, frowning slightly. “I'm still mad at you.”
He blinked and gently smiled behind your hand before taking it in his. “Of course, I'll prove myself to you, beautiful creation.”
XAVIER ⭐
You couldn't sleep. It's been two weeks since you last slept properly. Two weeks ago you were in Xavier's arms and he held you lovingly, whispering words of comfort in your ears. You weren't sure why, but being around Xavier always made you feel relaxed, a little sleepy, but never bored. You loved spending lazy times with him, taking naps and frolicking in bed, giggling like fools and giving each other soft, tender kisses.
With his warmth and love it was not difficult to fall asleep at night, he always wanted to sleep so that tranquility that emanated from him was enough to relax you and make you sleep throughout the whole night. In the mornings you felt rejuvenated and full of life and seeing his sleepy smile was like living in a dream.
You felt your bottom lip quiver into a pout. You missed him too much. You never thought he would behave that way. Had you never really been important to him? If he wanted to be with his partner so much, why had he even agreed to go out with you in the first place?
“Agh! I hate you Xavier!” You cried, banging your fists against the table in your kitchen. “Why did you let me fall in love with you?” Maybe you really had gone crazy, talking to the table like that.
There was no time for this. It was almost dark and you still needed to go buy some groceries for your dinner. You struggled out of your house, so tired and dragging your feet. You wanted to sleep... with Xavier. You wanted to feel his warmth. But... what if he now wrapped his partner in his arms? Your cheeks turned red and, trying to avoid thinking about it, you hurried to catch the bus.
You found a seat near the door and next to a young man, there weren't as many people as you imagined and as the bus started to go you felt your eyes heavy. Maybe... you could sleep for a few minutes? The store wasn't far away, so just a few minutes... just a couple of minutes…
You heard your name being called between clouds. From far away. Over and over and over. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
“Hmm?” You opened your eyes and gasped, How long had it been?! Where were you? And... why was your head...? Had you fallen asleep on someone's shoulder?! "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" You said, raising your head only to find that the young man next to you... "Xavier?!"
The hunter blinked, his eyes avoided yours for a second before looking directly at you and nodding a small greeting. Had he been there next to you the whole time? You could barely notice what was happening around you with how tired you were, but, strangely, you felt very good. It seemed like he really was the cure for all your ills. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. Xavier looked at you confused, tilting his head to the side like a little bird.
“I'm sorry, Xavier. I didn't know you were there,” you jumped, “but wait, where are we?!” Checking outside the window, you could tell you were far away from the store now.
“We're almost at my place,” he said gently and the alarms in your head set off. His partner... didn't she live in the apartment below?! Oh no. Before, you had no problem staying at Xavier's house, but... if they were really in a relationship…
“I gotta go,” you said, seeing the next bus station. It was already dark outside.
“Where are you going?” Xavier asked and you frowned.
“What do you mean? Back home. I only wanted to go to the store, but I fell asleep as you could see… Now it's even dark. Thankfully it's not raining,” you were babbling to yourself as you waited to arrive at the next stop, when you finally did, you got up. “Sorry about that, Xavier. Goodnight.”
"Now... The next bus…," you mumbled checking the bus's schedule. "10 minutes? Lucky~"
“I'll go with you.”
You couldn't help but squeal and jump when you heard his voice right behind you. Turning around, you saw him standing there, as tall as he was and as bright as the stars.
“I'll take you home. It's dark. Something could happen.”
You rolled your eyes. "What could happen, I'm only going home.”
“Some witnesses have seen wanderers in the area. I can't let you go alone."
You sat on the bench, arms crossed, Xavier sitting next to you. "Ah, that's true. I'm not strong like your... Forget it." Your cheeks turned red. Very well! Keep opening your big mouth! Xavier didn't say anything, but you could feel his gaze on you and the blush on your cheeks traveled to the tips of your ears.
Silence reigned between you. You could feel him, his warmth, he was so close to you, you could reach out and touch his knee. Your eyes felt heavy, you wanted to hug him.
“I am sorry,” he suddenly said and you thought you imagined it but then he repeated it. “I am sorry for what I said the other day.” You turned to look at him and flinched when he saw his bright eyes looking sad and red. “I don't know what I was thinking. Talking like that in front of my girlfriend. Acting like I didn't want to have been there with you, but you're the only person I want close to me. I don't like nor have feelings for my coworker, I only want and need you.”
He gently wiped a tear from your rosy cheek, his touch was electrifying.
“You haven't been sleeping well.” You didn't answer, but he continued. “I haven't been able to sleep either. I keep recalling that day and seeing your crying face, I can't stand it… please forgive me.”
He took your hands and you finally looked up at him, your eyes widening as you saw a small tear fall down his cheek.
“I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I still beg you, I beg you to give me another chance. I promise I'll do better. Something like this will never happen again. I was an idiot."
You frowned, “you were an idiot. Do you have any idea how you made me feel? It's hard to believe you love me.”
He nodded, listening to you carefully. “I know it's hard to believe, but please let me prove it to you, let me show you how much I love you, please. I can't be without you anymore, my star. I need you, otherwise I'll go crazy. Please.”
You sobbed and Xavier gently pulled you close to him. Wrapping you between his warm arms. You tried to pull away, but he didn't let you and soon you melted in his embrace, crying into his work clothes.
“Please, give me another chance.”
You nodded softly. Just one more chance. “There's not gonna be a second time,” you warned between sobs and he chuckled, kissing the top of your head.
“I won't need them. I will treasure you as the most valuable thing that you are. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
#love and deepspace#love & deepspace#love & deepsace x reader#love and deepspace zayne#love and deepspace xavier#love and deepspace rafayel#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader#xavier x reader#zayneslady#*scenarios
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okay unhinged essay about ragatha probably #1 idk i don't think this is all of my thoughts but here's what i could actually put down
i think the most surprising thing for me Personally is getting a lot of my interpretations of ragatha correct ? like . the thing that almost destroyed my motivation for this blog is the fear that my unhinged overanalyzation of her mannerisms in the pilot were Wrong - i actually thought about canceling everything when i was off from canon - but now ... yeah i'm not doing that
i guess it's just that we had so little of her in the first episode that i thought i was Manifesting her issues but Nope she really is this much of a Loser
first of all ! i suspected that she has low self-esteem but Goodness Gracious !! i didn't expect it to be Actually almost non-existent ?? like i thought i was Exaggerating for this blog but no , no person with a normal amount of self-esteem would Warp an incident so much in their head that they somehow believe something going wrong is Their Fault .
like she's so focused on pomni the entire episode because she Genuinely believes that the fiasco in the first day was her fault ( even though IT WASN'T , but she's really that used to quickly blaming herself ) and wants to make it up to her . but of course pomni is still adjusting and is Overwhelmed by everything ( which is understandable ) so she's not really in the mood for ragatha's bullshit
but with how ragatha reacts and what she subsequently tells kinger - she read those more as ' i do not like you ' than ' i am too fatigued to care about anything right now ' which is such a Large leap , but considering she was the one who Apologized to pomni for giving her a stressful first day ( which was COMPLETELY out of her control , ) it makes sense that she assumes that pomni has something against her - which was not helped by how none of ragatha's attempts of starting a friendship were reciprocated
i do understand why she would Think it's her fault - as pomni's a newcomer and More Stress is the last thing she needs , especially in her first day - but ' oh she doesn't like me ' is still Such a hasty conclusion that someone who already ... Doesn't Like Themself would jump to .
of course i can't not talk about the potential history between her and kinger . through their dialogue you can tell that ragatha's one of those people that took a batshit long time to truly adjust to the circus - which has a lot of interesting implications . with how she seems to understand the process of finding an exit in episode 1 , it explains a lot . my girl was so Not well when she entered the circus .
honestly it's just nice seeing that ragatha at least has Some support despite her being the one who holds everything together - it makes the ending impactful in my opinion ; they do really care for each other and will be saddened if one of them is gone .
also of course she asked if everyone's alright despite having a cleaver to the head ...
something that also has been nagging me for a long time is how much she always gets the short end of the stick . like , literally every time she's on screen , she Has To Get Harmed in some way . i would brush this off as slapstick when her official pin doesn't have her HAVING A KNIFE TO THE CHEST ???
Maybe it's just slapstick . maybe with her having parallels to kaufmo considering how he's said to be a goofy toxic positivity type guy like ragatha and is the one that has abstracted thus far is just a coincidence and doesn't speak levels to what might become inevitable as the series goes on ,
#[ ooc ]#[ ESSAY WARNING ]#tadc#the amazing digital circus#tadc spoilers#the amazing digital circus spoilers#tadc ragatha#||#couldn't find a way to fit this into the post but#something about her just screams ' abandonment issues ' and i don't think i have enough evidence to prove it but . the feeling's there
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Hi there! I really love your comics and how expressive they are. How do you go about making the characters in your comic so expressive?
thank you! 💚💜💚 I am REALLY bad at explaining things, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but maybe there's something helpful in here somewhere. :')
1. warm up! drawing is a physical activity, after all! so if I'm planning on sitting down and drawing for a while, I usually start off by taking a couple of minutes to doodle a bunch of circles and lines and random shapes, just to get my drawing arm goin' again and get back into the physical groove. just stuff like this:
and just do that for however long you feel like! you can kind of feel when your arm starts to loosen up and your strokes get more confident. it makes it a lot easier to get those swoopy big lines and gestures!
2. play around with how you use your lines! paying attention to the shapes that they're making will change a lot about how much force and life your drawing feels like it has. (no way is better than another, it just depends on what effect you're going for and how it looks as part of the larger whole.)
and you can also use lines against each other to get different vibes:
it's not really a matter of "you need to make sure all your lines are always doing this all the time", it's more like...being aware of it, and getting that into the general thrust of a pose, if that makes sense? like a lot of smaller lines of action, beyond the big one that goes through the spine.
(just gonna use my own art as examples, apologies)
if you have a good foundation of tension, then all of the little bumps and contours of a character's details won't get in the way of it, and it'll still come through.
and don't forget about negative space either! the spaces between things have their own interesting shapes too!
I don't mean this to come off as, like, all these extra things that you need to be constantly thinking about and stressing over. more like...just try different stuff and then see how it works and how it changes the feeling! if you find a good shape, see if you can exaggerate it and make it more interesting, and how that affects things! angles and shapes are a LOT of fun to experiment and mess around with, especially when you're going more cartoony. :D
3. acting!
just...spending a little time to think about what the characters are actually doing! (aka the "figuring out what everyone is doing with their hands" bit.) this is more a personal preference, but especially in multi-panel comics, I like to have them be in the middle of doing stuff. not just big actions, but smaller things -- like even just how they're sitting or standing -- so that it feels like we're looking in on the middle of a scene, instead of a couple of characters just standing around neutrally and staring straight ahead while talking at each other.
this probably sounds really obvious, but it is one of the most fun parts for me! I love trying to find some little action or something that they can be involved in, especially if it's relevant to their character or adds an extra joke. (for some reason this usually involves me being mean to Sebek) (I'm sorry)
it doesn't need to be everyone Always! Doing! Something! all the time, especially if starts becoming distracting (sometimes they do actually need to just be standing around neutrally and staring straight ahead, especially if there's a bigger action going on that you want the audience to focus on instead). but even just figuring out some kind of non-neutral pose for them to be in can add a lot and make it feel less generic!
3. thumbnailing!
this is, again, very much a personal preference; unfortunately, every artist really is different, and we all have different processes that work better for us. so I can only speak to my personal experience! but I find what helps is to start REALLY rough -- not so much as in messy, as in not trying to start right into actually drawing everything out. like, literally just starting with stick figures and :O faces.
it probably doesn't sound relevant when talking about Drawing Expressively, but I find it's really, really helpful to have already figured out what everyone should be doing (acting!) and what the overall general layout and flow of things should be, before getting into the actual meat of drawing the characters. like having a sketch for the sketch!
(good compositional flow is something I struggle with, and text layout especially, so this stage also helps a LOT with making sure things are fitting where I want them and staying consistent/not breaking screen direction/etc.)
then after that, I can go ahead and focus on getting those Shapes and Lines and Angles and all that, without having to think too much about the layout or where things should go!
(of course, the downside of that is that my thumbnails are usually way better than my actual drawings, alas alas.)
4. this is more philosophical, but...give yourself some slack. the stress of Making Things Look Good is, ironically, often the biggest problem. (see: thumbnails looking better than the actual drawings.) so...let yourself draw shittier and without regards to accuracy. make things just for yourself without thinking about posting or showing them to anyone else. draw stupid faces and wrong proportions because they feel better that way. focus on what's fun and not on getting a perfect end result. "draw expressively, not well", as they say -- you can always tighten up things like proportions and details later, if you really want to.
that's all WAY easier said than done -- god knows I haven't really managed it -- but even just aiming for that attitude really, REALLY helps. if your lines are confident, they'll look a lot more alive and expressive than lines that are exactly technically precise but have no rhythm in them. (this is why tracing photographs tends to look so weirdly stiff and unrealistic, by the way -- even if you're drawing realistically, you usually need to exaggerate and stylize a little bit so it doesn't look lifeless.) it's a balance between caring about what you draw, but also being willing to let things go a little bit.
↑ I hope some of this helps! I don't know if any of this was actually what you had in mind, let alone much of it actually made sense outside of my head. :') but hopefully you (or other people) will be able to get something out of it!
#art#twisted wonderland#(not really related but since that's what the examples are)#i'm so sorry most of my art advice boils down to 'SHAPES ARE FUN'#(they are though)
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Hello
Can I ask for headcanons of Malleus, Leona, and Vil with a reader who likes to steal their clothes to wear? Or maybe not even their full outfit just a piece or two? Whatever you feel comfortable with
Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day
-🌸
Malleus, Leona & Vil With A Reader Who Likes To Steal Their Clothes
(A/N): I’m more than happy to fulfill your request, Cherry Blossom Anon! Sorry it took so long for me to get to it 😅 I’m not as familiar with Leona as I am Malleus and Vil, so I apologize I’m advance if his section seems a tad OOC. I hope you enjoy!
Reader is implied to be the player character/prefect, and the setting is implied to be NRC.
Malleus Draconia
The first time he sees you wearing his clothes, he simply assumes that he must’ve accident left it behind the last time he visited you at Ramshackle and doesn’t pay it any mind. He finds it endearingly amusing, to see you in his clothes.
If you’re flustered when he catches you wearing or stealing his clothes to wear, he’ll most definitely tease you about it. He finds your reactions adorable and his teasing will be light hearted, but merciless.
The more he catches sight of you wearing some of his clothes – a uniform tie of his, his uniform blazer, once you even took his vest - the more he suspects that you might actually be stealing his clothes. His suspicions aren’t confirmed until he catches sight of you wearing one of his shirts.
He finds the whole of it endearing, though he can’t comprehend why you’d want to steal his clothes. Was this a human custom of friendship or courtship? He’d be more than happy to give you some of his clothes if you’d simply asked. (He did not find it amusing that Lilia laughed in his face when he asked him about it.)
He finds soon enough that he absolutely loves the sight of you in his clothes.
He tends to become clingier and more physically affectionate when he sees you wearing his clothes.
Leona Kingscholar
Doesn’t notice any of his clothes going missing. When he catches you wearing one of his perpetually unused uniform blazers, he assumes you picked it up from wherever he left it laying in his room. You had a tendency to complain that he hogged the blankets during naps, you taking one of his uniform blazers to wear to keep warm isn’t the biggest stretch of logic, in his opinion. Why would he assume you’d want to steal his clothes?
He notices when Ruggie complains that Leona’s laundry has been oddly missing a bunch of clothes, despite Ruggie keeping a tight maintenance of all of Leona’s things (he gets paid to look after him, after all, and he doesn’t do his job half-assed. There’s service fees he can charge extra.)
Unlike Malleus, he has just enough emotional intelligence to put two and two together that you probably take his clothes because it reminds you of him, and this means that he’s someone important to you. Cubs and pups do this all the time with their loved ones, after all. This knowledge leaves him incredibly smug the first few days after he realizes it, but he won’t say a word of it if you question his sudden good mood.
The sight of you wearing his clothes leaves him feeling fond. Not that he’d ever say that outright; the only way you’ll see him expressing this is through him being clingier and more physically affectionate than usual. He’s not the best at expressing his emotions, especially not verbally, but he’s trying to show his reciprocation of how you feel towards him in his own way.
Uses his naps as an excuse to cuddle with you if he sees you in his clothes.
He tells Ruggie not to mind the clothing thief, as he knows who it is personally. (Ruggie thinks the two of you are disgustingly sappy and cringingly cheesy. He wants no part of that, thanks.)
Vil Schoenheit
He notices as soon as the first article of clothing goes missing.
He has a system for his clothes and every outfit he wears, down to the color scheme and accessories he’ll be wearing for a day. Anyone who messes with his system risks facing his ire.
It doesn’t take him long to figure out that it was you took some of his clothes. He is torn between being greatly annoyed and fondly exasperated. What was he to do with you, honestly?/lh
If you wanted clothing advice, he’d be more than happy to give it to you. If you needed hand me downs because of Crowley’s poor guardianship, he had no qualms about whisking you away on a shopping spree. He’s quick to realize and understand, though, that you simply just enjoy taking and wearing his clothes because it reminds you of him every time you do so. How endearing can you be??
Rather than simply asking you to stop taking his clothes so it stops messing with his system, or offering to buy matching outfits, he comes up with completely logical and not at all convoluted solution to leave specific clothes that he intends for you to take from his wardrobe. If some of these things he sets up for you to steal turn out to be matching outfits that he got tailored for you, it’s merely a fortuitous coincidence.
He finds the sight of you in his clothes utterly adorable and lovable. He may even start getting into the habit of simply just gifting the clothes to you directly, though he’s aware that you’ll likely continue to pilfer clothes from him anyways.
He won’t become clingy or more physically affectionate when he sees you in his clothes, but he’ll most definitely be smug and preen about it. He has excellent taste in clothes and it’s only natural that you would look positively wonderful in whatever clothes of his that you decided to wear.
No one in his dorm had the audacity to try and steal from him before due to his position as dorm head with a fierce grasp on curses, so soon after he realizes you were stealing from him, he spells his wardrobe with anti-theft measures. (You are, of course, an exception.)
(A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Since it wasn’t specified if you wished for this to be romantic or platonic, I attempted to leave it open ended, so that it could be up to reader interpretation. Thank you for the request!)
#twst x reader#malleus x reader#twst malleus draconia x reader#malleus draconia x reader#twst malleus headcanons#twst malleus x reader#malleus headcanons#twst headcanons#twisted wonderland headcanons#leona kingsholar x reader#twst leona kingscholar x reader#leona x reader#Leona kingscholar headcanons#twst leona x reader#twst leona headcanons#twst vil x reader#twst vil schoenheit x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#vil x reader#twst vil headcanons
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Awkward creator reader drabbles
This is based off a previous post about the reader being an awkward creator.
(warning, this all based off of chaotic ideas me and a friend had while on call, and this is not beta read, so I apologize for any bad spelling or grammar)
Imagine, just, having tea with Zhongli, and he's just talking about wine or something boring idk, and he notices that you look a little zoned out, like, eyes glazed over, mind clearly elsewhere. While he’s worrying about The Creator not liking him or whatever, you are just trying to figure out how to process being in another world, with all these people that you know everything about, but at the same time, don’t know anything at all.
When you notice him looking at you weird and not talking anymore, you worry that you may have missed something important. So you just blurt out the first thing that came to mind, to fill the silence.
“It's kinda funny that you're working under Hu Tao. She’s like, a billion years younger than you. Also, you should cool it on the adventuring, you might throw your back out gramps.”
And then, realizing what you said, you just grab your now lukewarm (yes, he was talking for that long) cup of tea (or whatever else you want if you don’t drink tea) and take a long sip, trying to hide your red face.
(Bonus, you choked on your tea)
Imagine going to Fontaine, and just gawking at the scenery there. Imagine, in order to find out about where in the timeline you are (and because you want to see some of your favorite characters) you decide to go to the opera house, and see if there's a trial going on, where you can ask Furina or Neuvillette about the wellbeing of Fontaine. Instead, you find a flier for Lyney and Lynette's magic show at a nearby theater. Deciding to go, you pay the ticket master, who looks in slight shock as the creator buys back row seats like a normal person (you were too scared to ask for a better seat while paying, so you just asked for the cheapest one)
Sitting down, you wait nervously for the show to start, all being completely ignorant of the panic and rumors backstage.
“The creators here! At our show!?”
“Calm down, it's fine, we don’t even know if it’s true.”
And, just to stir the pot, a tall lady sits next to you. You feel like you should know her from somewhere, she just seems so… familiar.
Realizing you had been staring for quite a while, you turn your head back to the stage, waiting for the show to start. About midway through the show, you realize who it is you are sitting next to.
The knave, fourth of the Fatui harbingers.
At the end of the performance, you shift in your seat, suddenly wayyyyyy more self-conscious than you were at the beginning of the show. Wanting to say everything and nothing at the same time, you decide it's best to shut your mouth for the time being. It’s probably not even her, why worry-
“Excuse my rudeness, would you happen to be the creator?”
She knew you were of course, hence why she chose to sit next to you, instead of the front row seat that was reserved for her, as it always was at one of her children's performances.
“I.. am… but you can call me y/n! I don’t really like fancy titles or anything! Would you be the Knave? Or do you prefer Arlecchino? ack-wait , sorry. I’ll shut up now, let's start fresh, what do you think of the show?”
You half say-half shout, flailing your hands around, and then shrinking in your seat, trying to become as small as possible. Arlecchino chuckles.
“I think it was a lovely performance, as they always are. My children are very talented, you know.”
“Y-yeah! They're really great! I have to go! Great meeting you miss-Arlecchino-Knave-ma’am”
You say as you bolt out of the room, the embarrassment and social awkwardness you naturally possess driving your feet.
(Bouns, you tripped over your own feet and wanted the floor to swallow you whole)
@lorkai
#genshin impact sagau#self aware genshin#sagau#arlechinno genshin#zhongli#sagau brainrot#the brainrot is real
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Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?
Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader
Words count: 1.9k
Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!
Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one
≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪
Keep you safe
One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.
Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.
Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.
"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.
He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.
But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.
"What are you reading?"
When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.
"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.
"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."
"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.
Y/n put her homework on the table.
"Read it and tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing is wrong, I just-"
"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."
"Right."
Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.
"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.
"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."
"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"
"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"
"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."
"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."
"You got yourself into this, could've said no."
"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.
"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."
"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"
Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.
Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.
≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪
Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.
Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.
"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.
Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.
"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."
"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."
And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.
"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."
"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"
"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."
He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."
"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."
"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."
"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."
"Care to share what happened?"
"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."
≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪
Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.
They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.
"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."
"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."
"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."
"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."
"And why's that?"
Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.
"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"
Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.
Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.
Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.
It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.
"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.
"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."
"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."
"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."
"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.
The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.
"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."
Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.
"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."
Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.
"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"
"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."
The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.
"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."
"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.
"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."
The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.
Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.
"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."
"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."
Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."
Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.
Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.
#Theo Nott#theodore nott#slytherin boys#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x reader#harry potter x reader#harry potter fanfic#theo nott fanfic#Lorenzo Zurzolo
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I can just imagine the first time König meets his darling goes a little like; he steps on one of her flowers and out of nowhere this woman appears and starts giving him the dressing down of his life for being "such a clumsy, unobservant oaf," but the whole time he's just starting at her with heart eyes.
She could also keep the name Bee, because she's buzzing about the flowers all day. Though, perhaps she's a bit more like a hornet with that fiery personality she has.
Yeah that's pretty much how it happens.
König has never cared much for plants, he walks through the garden with advisors in tow, grumbling and growling until he finally rounds on them to leave him the hell alone for two goddamn minutes. Christ he didn't become king so he could deal with all this mundanity, he became king because his father was weak and the kingdom was going to shit. Corruption was a hydra, each head he chopped off just sprouted three more. He needed people he could trust, not power hungry nobles that only sought to elevate their own status by joining his cabinet. He may have to look outside the kingdom for that.
König stops at the edge of a wide flower bed, well tended, but in his way. The garden is full of winding paths, ones meant to draw people in to the scenery and inspire admiration in whatever flora is blooming. As previously stated, König has never cared much for plants. He steps off the path and into the bed, not so carefully trampling over the blooms and delicate stems that live there. He's king, these are his gardens, he can destroy what he wishes. Actually it's sort of nice to destroy something after a long day of signing laws and reviewing tax nonsense. He steps more purposefully onto a rose bush, eyes wide and pleased at the way the thorns drag against his clothes and attempt to prick him. Good, he hopes they draw a little blood for the trouble it's causing to walk through them. He even hears them yelp.
Oh no, that was a human. He stops grinding his boot into the woody stems and glances back at you. You look horrified. You look mad. Oh you look mad. He feels the emotion sink down his spin like warm honey, your eyes are furious as you pick your way through the trampled flowers. Actually you stop and gasp in horror at one of the bushes he'd destroyed crouching to fret over the stems and cup the delicate petals. König takes that as his sign to continue his walk. He doesn't expect you to stand in front of him or push your hands against his chest to yell at him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You ask him, fury edging your voice, his eyes dart between yours enjoying the fire in them, "Do you have any idea the work I've had to put in to make the hydrangeas that color? The soil has to be exactly right or they won't be red enough and look at what you're doing to my roses!" You push at him again, he tips his head to properly stare down at you.
"Move." He commands, and you push him again. Something shakes in his eyes, makes the world feel like it's trembling on the edge of insanity.
"You are supposed to stay on the path," You insist, "You move!"
"I am your king," König threatens, "Move or I will move you."
It hardly seems to make you do more than glare. He'd think you were stupid if he hadn't decided you were crazy. You point at the path he's made for himself. "This is my garden, and my flowers, and you-" You jab a finger against his chest, "-are going to apologize for ruining it."
König grabs your wrist and drags you, kicking, the rest of the way across the flower bed. You do your best, but he's sure to make you trample some of your precious flowers same as him. He tosses you onto the path and, though you stumble, you manage to keep yourself upright, glaring as he steps over the stone edging and back onto the path. You clench your hands into fists, and he hopes maybe you'll cry. He likes when that happens, it's fun seeing the waterworks. Instead you slap him, and all his anger and annoyance fall into the pit of his stomach as the chainmail mask stings both his cheek and your hand.
You seem to realize you've just struck the king almost as quickly as König realizes it. Though your reaction and his are miles apart. You freeze and he, decidedly doesn't. König grabs your arms and squeezes you, leaning in close to look you in the eye. You can smell the metal of his mask, see the almost reddish color of his irises. The mad dog that killed his father rather than wait for a throne that was already his. He's going to kill me, you think to yourself, watching the heave of his shoulders as he breathes.
"Do it again," He squeezes you tighter and your fear flips to confusion, "mein Herz, mein liebe, do it again Liebling."
Who are you to deny an order from your king?
#könig x reader#könig cod#könig mw2#könig call of duty#cod x reader#x reader#x oc#cod x oc#medieval au#oc: liebling#König x oc#konig mw2#they're freaks but that's fine#König finds out about Liebling's poison garden and asks to marry her#she turns him down immediately#I think König is a masochist#but in the way the hayao miyazaki is a masochist#he just assumes everyone enjoys pain like he does lol
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devil's spawn.
angel alastor w/ radio demon daughter reader
(notes: based off of the concept of my other story 'my angel baby' except alastor and his adopted daughter switch places and personalities. In Alastor's pov (?)in this chapter.)
(caution: RUSHED!! definitely rushed qwq so I greatly apologize. Not proofread in the slightest. Might have cringe parts am so sorriy qwq)
(Alastor is still in a way the angel version of 'the radio demon' except he's called 'the radio angel' by his fans, but he doesn't refer to himself as such since angel alastor is actually humble)
(I'm willing to make another part but considering Hs becoming more stressful and it blowing my brain up it'll definitely take time, but always willing to make more if wanted/needed)
It was another bright and fresh day in heaven, Alastor clinging the laundry up on the line while his mother, whom he managed to find in his decades inside the pearly gates, sat on a rocking chair reading a book as she usually would.
The bright heavenly lights making his halo shine, complimenting his wings, other neighborly 'winners' he would be acquainted with would walk by and greet him with a wave or a tip of their hats to him while he was outside fixing their clothes.
In this particular universe, Alastor is the complete opposite of his original counterpart. Where the original Alastor would hurt and destroy, this version of him would care and heal. He was selfless, kind, compassionate and sympathetic to which again is also a complete twist around compared his original self.
Alastor died out of an accidental kill, mistaken for a deer and shot through the head while he was out in the forest collecting his adoptive daughter's favorite flowers, at her favorite flower meadow on the day of her eighteenth birthday.
Unfortunately due to missing his baby girl's birthday and being taken away from her too soon for his liking he has been living in pure regret, panic, and pure sorrow form having to leave her too early and it pained him everyday.
He raised you all by himself while juggling his passion for radio hosting, finding comfort in your innocence and smiles when he first found you and as you grew up you gave him a reason to live and work.
That's the only thing that him and the original sadistic version Alastor have in common; the fatherly love for their daughters who are also their entire lives. Their love traverses across universes.
Eventually the more you grew up the more.. peculiar and unique you became.. your innocence would melt away with a sadistic fire in your eyes that he would notice at times but would try his best to lead you in the ways of love and compassion which you had for him but lacked for those around you..
Alastor was finishing up his morning chores for his mother's home before he would eventually go back inside and get a few necessities before leaving his home. His pearly coat, his shining microphone staff, fix his appearance in the mirror just a tad, and finally hugging his mother goodbye from the porch to head up and down the street towards the main part of the city.
Yes, he was still a radio host as well too.
Instead of broadcasting screams of pain and terror from sinners he instead would give voices to those who wished to express their passions, interview everyday folk and influential people on opinions and advice to those listening to his radio show and he even has good connections and acquaintances to the high Seraphims of heaven in order to get the latest news in the ruling of heaven.
He's just as famous as he was in life, maybe more considering how many people there are in heaven alone.
His polished shoes creating sounds on the pavement as he hummed a special tune that he adores, a tune he used to sing to you. Yet again still greeting passing by acquaintances and fans of his show with genuine glee and care.
Alastor waved off to an old friend while walking by, shining his taken cared for smile. "Good to see you again Roger, don't forget to tune in soon in a few hours! It'll be a real gas so don't miss i-- oh my!"
Alastor looked down as he seemed to bump into someone small, looking down at his feet he saw a young little girl. Another fellow 'winner' she seemed to have bumped into him with chocolate smeared around her mouth with a giddy yet apologetic smile on her face. And unfortunately smeared some chocolate on his pants.
"Hiya mister!" she waved, showing her dirtied little hand as well "Sorries! I didn't watch where I was going..!"
Alastor noticed the stain and his jaw hung slightly from surprise but then immediately laughed it off, petting the young girl on the head in understanding.
"Oh little one, don't worry about it at all! Here, so you can clean yourself up." He then took a white embroidered handkerchief for his chest pocket to give to the little girl who then wiped her face and her hands, seeing her struggle a bit Alastor graciously held her hands gently to wipe them off for her and her nose as well.
"Mary!" A voice exclaimed that approached, a woman than came into view, a winner as well. "Oh! Well if it isn't our most kind radio host! I deeply apologize about my daughter sir.." The mother would smile sheepishly and apologetically. "Thank you so much for helping my little girl, I apologize for her clumsiness! Could I perhaps offer you help of any kind?..”
Alastor shook his head as he would then neatly fold the handkerchief and saved it in his coat this time so that he could remember to wash it when he got back home. "Oh no no! No need ma'am, it's nothing a little magic can't cover up for the time being!" He smiled at the woman who now had her hands placed on her daughter's shoulders with a sigh slipping through her lips. He looked down at the girl as he gave her a pat on the head "On the other hand, are you okay dear? I do hope you didn't hit yourself too hard!.."
The little girl shook her head as well in reply, "Nu-uh mister! Thank you for helping me! I promise not to bump into anymore misters or any misseses!" Oh her messing up of words ringed a bell in his head
"How darling! Take care of yourself and your mother now, " He looked up at the woman to then lower his head slightly in respect before resuming his steps again "Apologies for the rush, just trying to see if I can get some special guests on my radio show tonight!"
The woman waved at him 'goodbye' with her young girl following suit "Oh I sure hope they agree! Good day to you Alastor!"
"Good day to you as well madame!" he waved back as he finally took enough steps away from them to now get a clearer view of the inside of the city.
He couldn't help but sigh in despair, he remembers when he used to have his own little girl.
Took care of her as if she was his own blood, as if they came form the same flesh and heritage.
And although you didn't, he never loved you any less.
His smile faltered slightly but picked it up quickly, rushing towards the next moving tram that he recognized to get to his destination: the middle of the city. Once he saw one and hopped on, he could feel his heart pump with blood he once had as red and now as gold as the tears of the elder angels.
If what he heard was right, he would try to get a segment with three special guests from hell.
Sure, he knew that they came from a place of bad and evil but that didn't deter him any less. From life to death he would give voices to everyone that needed to be heard and he would follow it no matter where someone came from.
The fresh breezes and the smell of bakeries, restaurants, the sounds of workers in mom and pop shops and independent growing businesses were like music. He could've sworn that even the laughter of children and the chattering of friends, couples, and families amongst each other turned into melodies in through his brain circuits.
Heaven was.. heaven.
But his only sin was not speaking out at heaven's hypocrisy or flaws at times. Many times he would but it turned into heaven setting restrictions on him.. silencing his own voice. He was never fond of that but apparently according to Sera and that blasphemous Adam, it was required. 'To avoid panic and prevent disturbances amongst the people of heaven' or so they'd say.
He was working on a way to go around that.. change their minds. But it was much harder than he anticipated.
Oh!-- The tram stopped with a loud hiss and ring.
Alastor snapped out of his thoughts would hop off the tram and finally start resuming his walk. He was now just a block away, the more he walked the less the voices and sounds of work distanced, entering a quieter part of the city. He was now in the smack middle of the entrance to heaven, where ice cream shops were laid in rows, cafes as well, people quietly chatting and drinking their beverages or eating their food.
Oh! And he could heard a familiar tune! It was that one.. welcome song that St. Peter would often sing..
Not a favorite song of his.. at all.. but he applauded them for effort!
Maybe a splash of swing or jazz would bring it to life.. but he assumed that was the old man in him talking.
For the time being he decided to watch some place nearby yet not too close since he knew that if he stayed where he was he would be caught up in the performance and he would have to sing with them..
Waiting at the side and hearing the singing come closer and close Alastor would make himself busy by polishing his microphone with his breathe and sleeve, fixing and dusting himself off as to not give any bad first impressions.
And thankfully he managed to remember his stain that the little girl left-- forgetting about it due to wanting to get to his destination on time and helping the poor thing. With a gentle swish of his staff pointed at the stained he then managed to cover it with his heaven-given magic.
Once the full group performance made his way towards his direction was when he stood up straight, chin high, shoulders fixed, looking good as always Alastor.
He heard Emily's voice among the performance, the youngest of the two Seraphims.
He's quite close with the two, at first only starting as something for business until one day he got closer to them and confessed his past, and his regrets.
Emily reminds him much of his daughter, the high angel having an enthusiasm and mentality of a late teenager or young woman, same age his daughter was when he last saw her.
He thought, wondered, pondered, dreamed-- what his little girl grew up into.
His eyes stared at his microphone, the shine of silver blinding him when he turned it for a spot of sunshine to burn his eyes slightly.
Did she grow up into an incredible woman? Did she ever find love? Settle down and have children? How has she matured? Does she resent him for leaving him so soon even if he never meant to? Does she look completely different? Did she ever change her name?
Were you even up here at all?
He hopes you were, looking and asking for you far and wide in heaven. Did you seclude yourself? Did you hide from him on purpose?
Or were you simply in hell..
No-- his little girl couldn't be in hell. Sure she had concerning hobbies, thoughts, ways of doing things but it didn't deserve her going to hell of all places.
You had to be up here, somewhere.. you had to.
A somber sigh escaped his lips as he stared at his reflection in the object between his palms and fingers. His heavy heart tugging and ripping itself apart.
'my little girl.. where are you?'
"Alastor!! Hey!"
A young voice shouted at him from afar, looking up he saw Emily wave and ushered him to head towards her way from afar.
He let go of his guilt for now, and shined his iconic smile as always.
"Why hello Emily, Sera," he lowered his head at the high angels in respect for them "How may I help you ladies today? I see we have new visitors!" His head moved to look at the other three ladies in front of him that came from below.
There was a young woman with eyes that shared the same enthusiasm as Emily's did, hair of sunshine and gold, fangs as sharp reminiscing those of a blood bat, small and thin frame and an outfit that successfully mimics casual sophistication.
Another young girl to her right was one that seemed more reminiscent of an angel, her long hair filled with silver and moon, a gaze as sharp as broken, stance serious and unapologetic, she seemed ready to protect the blonde girl beside her but also had eyes of worry and a sense of uncomfortability haunted her features and her almost slouched back.
The last one, really shook him up.
The next young woman to the left of the blonde girl was adorned in nothing but pure red with tones of a deep hot pink in her entire look. Her clothes were of an era he knew of very well, of course he'd recognize clothes from the 30s!.. except they had a few odd touches that more or so reminded him of the 40s or heck maybe even 50s.. a bit more ahead of his time. She had a large sharp smile that screamed of mischief and eyes that are waiting to do something-- anything sinister.
Despite all this, these characteristics weren’t the ones that shook him to his core.
She looked like someone he knew, that he missed.
"Everyone, this is Alastor. He's heaven's most famous and influential radio host! Giving voices to the voiceless when he was alive and even more up here, and of course due to his selfless acts when he was alive he was blessed to be let through the gates of heaven." spoke Sera, introducing the 'winner' as he chuckled sheepishly.
"Oh thank you Sera, but it's nothing really! Just had to do what was right."
Sera then lead his eyes back to the newcomers, having him face directly to the girl with hair of sunshine first. "Alastor, I present to you the Princess of Hell and heir to the throne, Charlie Morningstar. She's here to present a few ideas to the court the next day."
Alastor's eyes widened in surprise, "Princess! I didn't know royalty were to visit us today!" he bowed down towards the girl as to pay his respects, standing back straight once he finished. "A pleasure to meet you sweetheart quite the pleasure! Didn't expect our guests to be of royalty so apologies to any bad manners."
The princess shook her head with a large smile "Oh!-- don't worry you didn't give off any bad manners! It's nice to meet you too Mr...Alastor!.. it.. it's very admirable what you did before and what you do now! You seem to have earned your place here quite well!"
The man shook his head as well in reply "Oh like I said it's nothing! If anything I should thank my daughter, she was my reason and my motivation to be nothing but kind to others to present a good example! I continue to do so in her honor."
Charlie's eyes grew as a soft 'awwww' escaped her lips "You must love your daughter very much..!"
Alastor nodded, "Of course I do! As a father always should!"
Charlie opened her mouth again to speak, her eyes filled with a sense of bittersweetness until she was suddenly interrupted by the young woman dressed in red. She walked in between Alastor and Charlie with a sense of charm and enthusiasm, the spirit of a presenter or spokesperson shining in her body language and way of speaking.
"How delightful! The love of a parent transcends heaven and earth! Now that's poetry!" the girl's voice was glitched out and heavily amplified with a strong sound of static, as if her vocal cords came straight from a radio speaker. She held a staff much similar to his, except her's was shorter and more compact-able.
The girl with silver hair rolled her eyes in nothing but pure irritation, Charlie giggled nervously as she then pointed her way towards the one who spoke. "And this is ______! She's the founder and host of my hotel back in hell! She's helped me throughout everything and I dont think I would be able to get to this point if It weren't for her help as well!"
Ah,
He knew it.
______, anyone could have that name.
But you looked like his daughter, his pride and joy.
His face still shines with a smile but his eyes are baffled with the sudden hit of realization.
It couldn't be a coincidence-- you looked like her, your eyes had that spark he always used to see in his daughter before he left. The way of speaking, that stance-- more confident and mature but the way you spoke.. your vocals were a match to his daughter's just with a touch of years to it.
And you looked at him as if you knew as well, eyes narrowing with piqued interest. Sharp smile widening an-
wait..
what?..--
You seemed to have almost hopped right in front of him with your hand suddenly shaking his. "A real pleasure to meet you sir! Quite the pleasure!"
You mimicked his greeting yet somehow you spoke it so naturally, as if spoken a billion times before. He was stunned, if there weren't people around he would've slipped and broken down right here right now--
but he cannot, will not.
He will not worry others, he will not bother others with his emotions.
"Good to meet you Ms.."
"______. Simply call me ______." Your sinister grin only stretched, a sense of despair fell into the pit of his stomach,
His little girl in hell?
Did he.. fail at raising you?
Was dying too soon the reason why you let yourself fall?
Whatever the case, Alastor was nothing but stuck in a small limbo of his own guilt again
If he did this to you-- even indirectly,
he wouldn't ever forgive himself.
"Ms.. ______..."
'my little girl' he would've said, 'my daughter, how I've missed you. please forgive me for leaving you so soon... I'm so so sorry my darling..'
the words were stuck to his throat.
a small gust of air was the only thing that escaped from his cords.
Sera clapped her hands together once as a way to announce, "Well Princess Morningstar. I hope your stay here is nothing but comfortable, and I say that to your companions as well."
Sera looked at the 'winner' with confusion and a sense of concern but she knew she had to leave due to duties calling for her and Emily's presence.
Sera gently put her hand on his shoulder, "Alastor, would you perhaps show them where their hotel is and how to check in? It's going to be the one nearby."
'the one nearby' he thought, 'a block away.. '
"of course! anything to make our guests feel more welcomed!"
Sera nodded in 'thanks' before flying off with Emily on her side, herself also waving goodbye to all of you as well.
Alastor paused, before finally turning his head at the girls.
"Well, let's get you all to where you'll stay for the time being!.."
He will find out what happened to you, what went wrong, how he messed up.. he'll beg for forgiveness from you. for you were and still are his reason for who he is.
you were his one and only daughter, he will make it up to you.
"Follow me now! Time isn't going any slower!"
Little did he know, he wasn't at fault at all.
You were just born that way.
You knew what you were and you embraced it as a way to cope from him being taken away from you.
Of course you had to blend in and you took on the mantle of taking over your late father's radio show, eventually becoming as famous as he was and you were nothing but just as charming as he was on his show.
But then you killed, the power imbalance favoring you was nothing but amazing to you.
Years later, you enjoyed it. Killing was your life's purpose. Your crimes were never a subject for you to ever regret or feel guilt for.
You regret nothing.
You were a merciless killer then, and one now.
Through earth and hell, forevermore.
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