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oliversrarebooks · 15 days

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The Rare Bookseller Part 47: The Maestro's Diversion

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September 1925

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, kidnapping

Despite Alexander's attempt at soothing him, Oliver felt himself growing more and more anxious as the ballet continued. As much as he tried to focus on the dance, but now that he knew about the strange man's identity, he couldn't help but sneak glances over at him and fret.

Objectively, he didn't look that dangerous - a very slight older man with a sharp gaze -- but there was a certain something dreadful about him that Oliver could sense from across the theater. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, borne of the fact that Alexander was still very much on edge.

The ballet itself did not calm his nerves either. The dancing was growing more and more feverish and abstract, the costumes wilder, with bright red beads and ribbons that seemed to signify wounds. The climax was what appeared to be a human sacrifice, where the prima ballerina danced upon an altar, red ribbons tied around her hands and feet and neck, finally collapsing among raucous, atonal music.

Oliver's anxiety was reaching a fever pitch as the ballet came to a close. He clapped politely as the dancers took their bows, glancing over at the strange man.

He was clapping, but he wasn't looking at the stage any more. No, his eyes were trained directly on Oliver. They locked gazes, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.

"We will wait until most of the audience has cleared out," said his master. "Then we'll go attend to my master in his box. We may be in luck. He may be in an unusually pleasant mood."

Oliver had no idea how that icy gaze could count to Alexander as "unusually pleasant." "Must we meet him?"

Alexander didn't answer.

"Couldn't we just... leave?"

"No."

Oliver had never imagined he could feel so much dread simply watching men in tuxedos and women in fancy evening dress chatter and mingle as they made their way to the exits. His hands hurt, and he realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that they were making imprints. Alexander said nothing, stoically staring down at the empty stage.

Alexander was being so terse, so stiff, so unlike his normal self. But Oliver, of course, had no choice but to follow, no matter how badly he wanted to dig in his heels and not go. He feared that any struggle right now would not be met with Alexander's gentle spell correcting him, but with something far worse.

They made their way around the theater in silence, entering the box and entering the presence of Alexander's sire.

He looked upon Alexander with harsh judgement in his eyes, which Alexander took stoically, and then he looked upon Oliver with...

It was something like approval, perhaps even the ghost of a smile, and it was somehow even worse than his look of disdain.

"Good evening, sire," said his master with a practiced bow. "Was the ballet to your liking?"

"It was passable," the Maestro said, his voice like a musical instrument from another place and time. "While far from perfection, the bold direction was at least more interesting than what usually passes for art in this city. Unusually, I find myself craving the new more and more these days." He was staring at Oliver, not Alexander, as he said this.

"It seems as though you've spent the last few seasons confined to your chambers, sire," said Alexander, with measured words. "That may account for your desire for novelty."

"...A fair observation, child," he said. "Let's speak more of the new and novel, then. This must be your recently acquired thrall, young Oliver, is it not? I've heard that there was quite a stir at the auction house."

"He has very fine blood, sire, as you no doubt can tell. He is naturally docile and obedient, and has great potential."

The Maestro nodded slowly as he looked Oliver up and down. "Come, Oliver. Kneel."

Oliver's breath caught as he felt the tug on his body, puppet strings entangling his arms and legs, as he stepped forward. He remembered his master's words, and had been bracing himself for this, willing himself to relax and stay calm. Oliver would be unharmed, Alexander thought, as long as he behaved. So he didn't resist as his body fell to its knees before the Maestro, his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, his head tilted slightly downward, demure.

Alexander's sire took him by the chin and brought his face upwards, his fingers delicate and cold. He examined Oliver as though he were a specimen under glass, searching every inch of him for something that Oliver didn't understand. Oliver could feel the control wrapped around him, as though his very heart was forced to beat in time with the Maestro's whims.

"You've made an appropriate choice for once, Alexander," said the Maestro after what seemed like an eternity. "This is a fine acquisition, and you were quite right to not let him fall into the hands of the likes of Jameson. Well done, child."

Alexander looked every bit as surprised as Oliver felt. "Thank you, sire."

"In fact, I find myself inspired for a new acquisition of my own. As you've correctly observed, existence has become ever so dreary, and I need a new diversion." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why you're going to pluck the prima ballerina from her perch."

Oliver nearly choked on his breath as Alexander's eyes went even wider. "The ballerina from this show, sire?" he said in a strained tone. "I don't mean to question you, but are you absolutely sure? She's well known and her absence will certainly be noticed."

"Of course. Don't take me for a fool by stating the obvious." His glare was boring a hole into Alexander. "It doesn't matter how well known she is. Once she's in my grasp, she will not be found."

"Yes, sire. My apologies."

"You must fetch her for me. Your power is much gentler than mine, befitting a lovely flower. Bring her here, so that she may dance for me and only me."

Oliver couldn't help his gaze flitting over to his master, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Was he actually going to do it? Simply kidnap the ballerina, on his sire's orders?

"As you wish, sire," he said, meekly. "Oliver, come along."

"No, that won't be necessary," said the Maestro, laying his hand on top of Oliver's head before he could stand up. "I will be content to watch over your thrall while you take care of business."

The hand on his head felt oppressive, and Oliver fought down the urge to beg his master not to leave him here, alone with his sire -- to not steal away a dancer with a bright future and plunge her into a nightmare. But he could already tell from the look on his master's face that he was going to follow his sire's wishes.

"Thank you for watching over him, sire. I will return with your new thrall."

With that, his master left the box, and Oliver was left alone with his master's sire, whose full focus had turned back to him. The Maestro ran his hand through Oliver's hair, and then tilted his head up to look at him once more.

"Hm, yes, a precious find indeed," he said, more to himself than to Oliver. "You will answer my questions truthfully, child. Do you fear me?"

The correct answer, Oliver thought, was to tell the Maestro that he did not fear him, that he was always happy to serve a vampire. But Alexander had warned him so strictly about being honest... "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're correct to do so," he said, apparently satisfied. "What do you fear from me?"

That question was far more complex, a half million nightmare scenarios crowding Oliver's mind at once. "Many things, sir," he said. "Primarily that I'm aware that you have the power to harm me at any time, in any way you wish. I hope you will be merciful, sir."

"Merciful, hm." He seemed as though he were considering an idea he'd never heard of before, and Oliver worried he'd overstepped. "Well, you have been honest so far, so I will be honest with you, child. If you continue to be as truthful and obedient as you are now, I will have no reason to do you harm tonight."

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, not feeling all that reassured. He felt the control over his body loosen, but before he could move, he realized what the meaning of this was when combined with his previous words -- this was a test, an obvious one at that. He steadfastly remained in the position the Maestro had placed him, trying to keep his posture straight.

"Perhaps I'm in a rare good mood from the fine night air and a half-decent ballet, but I find myself enjoying you, child. Do not take this as an invitation to be bold," he said in his musical voice. "Tell me, do you like being enthralled by my Alexander?"

Although his feelings on this were somewhat complicated, the first response that came to mind was both safe and sufficiently honest. "Yes, sir, I like it very much."

"Does he treat you well?" the Maestro intoned.

"Yes, sir," said Oliver with uncertainty, increasingly worried about this line of questioning. "I want for nothing, and the feedings are gentle and pleasant."

"I see. And does he afford you a great deal of freedom?"

So that's where this was leading. He was trying to get Oliver to admit to his master's soft treatment of him, no doubt so his master could be scolded or punished. His instinct was to protect Alexander -- to tell the Maestro that Alexander was very strict and kept him on a tight leash.

But Alexander had been adamant that Oliver must be honest, and he felt sick at the idea of disobeying a direct order from his master. "He offers me some freedoms, but not others, sir."

"Elaborate. What freedoms do you have?"

"I am not allowed to leave his manor, sir, but I am allowed to inhabit any part of it, except for my master's private chambers. When I am not feeding or waiting on my master, I am given free time to do what I wish." His heart thumped. He knew that was the wrong answer. He fought to keep himself in position, and felt the claws of control tightening around him again.

The Maestro's gaze drilled into his soul. "That is disappointing, but wholly unsurprising," he said after a long, tense minute. "Interestingly, that's the first time I've felt any sort of resistance against my control. You're otherwise obeying perfectly. Why choose that moment to struggle?"

"I want to be honest, as you ordered, sir, but I also don't want to say anything that could bring down punishment upon my master."

"Loyalty, then. An instinct to protect your master. Despite his continued shortcomings, he seems to have done a passable job when it came to enthralling you, especially compared to previous thralls," he said. "That's also my sweet Lily's work. I could sense it in you from the moment you opened your mouth. Obedient, loyal, but with too many thoughts in your head, as is her preference. Unfortunate, really." He gave Oliver a long look. "I suppose it can't be helped. For once my wayward children have brought me something worthwhile. You can always be perfected in time."

Oliver's heart filled with dread. "...Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.

Before the awkward interaction could continue, Oliver heard a gorgeous, ethereal voice coming from outside of the box. He breathed it in deep, and it filled his mind with a sensation like morning fog, dampening the racing thoughts that the Maestro had criticized. The melody was beckoning him, wrapping around his limbs, enticing him to stand and follow.

Alexander. His master had returned. Follow me, follow me, he sang, a vampiric pied piper.

The pull of his song was strong enough that his master's previous command to obey the Maestro and not resist was completely overridden. He would have sleepwalked to Alexander's side in a heartbeat if it weren't for the Maestro's control preventing him, weighing down his body even as his heart yearned, and Oliver felt that he might be torn in two if this continued.

The struggle was ended when Alexander entered the box and bowed to his sire. Behind him was a young woman, thin but athletic, wearing a simple house dress that contrasted sharply with her dramatic stage makeup and the elaborate hairdo that was halfway to falling down.

It was, of course, the prima ballerina, who had apparently been ensorcelled in her dressing room, just after changing out of her elaborate costume. Her eyes were so far away, so dreamy, as she walked gracefully, a soft smile on her lips.

Oliver's heart sank. He knew from experience how hard it was to escape Alexander's power -- and even worse, she was being given over to the Maestro's thrall. She might never see the stage again, never dance for an audience, never see her family or friends, never laugh and talk with her fellow dancers after a rehearsal. She was to be locked away like a doll in a music box, rotating slowly on command, and she most likely didn't even realize her fate yet.

The Maestro rose from his seat and wordlessly examined her as he had done to Oliver. Alexander was still humming something under his breath, something intended to keep the ballerina calm, and Oliver let the spell soften his thoughts as well, all too eager to dissociate from this scene.

He watched as, with the slightest change in expression and quirk of an eyebrow, the ballerina struck one pose, then another. She was nearly up on her toes despite wearing slippers and not proper shoes, twirling so slowly, and although her face maintained a placid expression, there was fear in her eyes, now.

"Acceptable," the Maestro murmured, as she turned and assumed a different pose. "This will do for a diversion this winter, I think. Well done once more, Alexander."

"Thank you, sire."

"It's been a long time since I've come calling, hasn't it? I do believe I have the evening after next free. I trust I'll be offered quality refreshments?" He gazed at Oliver meaningfully, as the meaning of his words penetrated through the fog.

This strange, distressing vampire wanted to drink from him. Surely his master wouldn't allow that. Surely he was only for Alexander.

"...Very well, sir," said Alexander through gritted teeth. "You're welcome at my manor at any time, of course."

"Excellent. You're dismissed, then. Take your sweet Oliver home, and I'll take my new prize." He picked the ballerina up as effortlessly as he might a kitten, and she lay unmoving in his grasp.

"Good night, sire."

"Good night, child."

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Well, this went well.

Next week, Fitz has a plan.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #mind control #body control #vampire whumper #ballet whump #rare bookseller #alexander #oliver #maestro

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ineffectualdemon · 23 days

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Hey remember when I said "you know I thought Sam was a bit mean to Smeagol/Gollum at first but then remembered that he canonically knows that Gollum ate babies and I have to admit I'd be Sam in that situation"

And people were like "no you don't UNDERSTAND there are deeper emotional and symbolic narrative things at play here. It's not about eating babies, Sam doesn't care about him eating babies. It's bigger than that"

And I'm just saying that Sam was a hobbit of the people. A simple down to earth hobbit

And narratively for Frodo there might be some deeper symbolism making him more tortured and needing to be nice to Smeagol/Gollum, but to Sam that guy ate babies and you don't like or trust people who eat babies

And like for having to hang out with a serial killer/baby eater Sam was being relatively chill!

But I am on team Sam with this because if Baby Eater Smythe joined my party and promised to guide us somewhere I would also be so distrustful and aggressive!

He's not even "no I won't eat babies anymore. I think that's bad" Gollum would still eat babies if they were available! He probably ate babies on the way there! He is objectively pro baby eating!

He's not sorry he ate babies and reflecting! He's just like "you have the nuke I want and since you could use it on me I'll play nice" like !!!!!

Frodo is busy being posh and artistic and tortured and being like "the narrative parallels between us are too much! If I knew about the Picture of Dorian Gray and Jekyll and Hyde I'd be making veiled references to them in my diary that I also do not have rn"

Like the guy is going through it. Like a 15 year old traumatised girl with the older boyfriend that she does not like and who treats her like trash but she thinks she deserves (she does not)

*cough*...okay anyway

Meanwhile Sam is just like "the creepy dude eats babies. Gandalf told Frodo he eats babies when I was 'trimming grass' why are we trusting a guy who eats babies? Frodo I love you but did your arts degree fail to teach you not to trust baby eaters? More importantly he tried to kill you. I was there. This sucks."

And he's RIGHT

TBC I like the story as it is as a story I'm just saying that if I was in Sam's place I would have been worse to the Baby Eater who tried to kill my QueerPlatonic Soulmate

#lotr #samwise gamgee #frodo baggins #gollum #smeagol

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scenteddelusion5 · 24 days

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A Daring Creature -Part 3

Zestial x fem angel reader

note: I hope you like it!!!

Word count: 1792

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Zestial started looking everywhere for her, even sending out some of his contracts to search for her.

Y/n had been walking around town with Angel Dus when she saw a familiar figure running her way, it was Edward. IT WAS EDWARD!!! WHAT TIME WAS IT?! OMG, she had completely lost time and worried Zestial and Edward.

"Y/N! Where have you been?!" The older man scolded her. "Zestial is sending everyone out to look for you!"

"Wait, like the Zestial?" Angel Dust asked. "Don't tell me you're in trouble with that old fucker, I doubt anyone could protect you if so."

"It's fine, we're friends. I probably worried him." She turned to Edward. "I'm sorry Ed."

"It's fine, just let's go now!"

The two quickly made it back to the manor, with Zestial arriving only five minutes later after he heard news of her being found.

"WHERE WERE THOU?!" He yelled at Y/n who was looking down at her feet. "Thee couldst hast been discovered! Or worse, hath been killed!"

"I know I shouldn't have sneaked out but you shouldn't have looked me in another stupid mansion when you promised to take me out!" She yelled back.

"Thou art so irritating." He mumbled while holding his hand on his forehead.

"If you had just upheld your end of the deal I wouldn't be so IrRiTaTiNg."

"Edward, please taketh her away."

"Yes, my lord." Edward stepped forward. "Come on Y/n, let's get you back to your room."

"Fine."

"I know I shouldn't have snuck out but he didn't need to yell at me for it!" Y/n complained. "I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions!"

Edward sighed, "I think we all know you are an adult but you don't know hell. Anything could have happened to you." He frowned. "Do you know how worried I was when I heard you were missing?"

"I'm sorry Ed." She opened the door to her bedroom and plopped down on her bed. "I didn't want to worry you but... Zestial is just so frustrating! He says he'll show me around and then locks me up again."

"Perhaps, he's just worried about you too."

"I doubt that. He just wants to use me for his own personal gain."

"You never know." Edward closed the door after he left.

Y/n was left alone in a room, again. Ugh! Why was Zestial such a stuck up, lying asshole. There is no way that man cared about her. He just wanted to use her without actually putting any effort into his side of the deal.

She slowly fell asleep with her, still in her normal clothes.

"I doth not understand her." Zestial complained to Edward. "Wherefore wouldst a blesseth being risketh her life for something as foolish as exploring hell? And Wherefore wilt she beest so stubborn about it?"

"If I'm allowed to give my opinion, sir?" Once he was sure Zestial didn't object to it, he continued. "Y/n is a very free-spirited soul. She takes risks, even when it endangers her do, and uplifts the people around her to be as happy and carefree as her. You won't be able to control her as you would like too."

"Then what doth thee suggesteth I doth with her?"

"The easiest is to just go along with her. It might be a bit risky but I trust that she can handle herself in an emergency and I'm sure you'll come to like her entics too of you give her a chance."

"I seeth."

The whole night, Zestial stayed awake mulling over Edward's advice. He could give it a chance and so long he is there, Y/n wouldn't be discovered as an angel too easily.

Y/n woke up with an awful feeling like she was being watched. She carefully opened her eyes to find Zestial sitting in the corner of her room working on some documents or something alike.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"Putteth thy coat backeth on." He looked up into her eyes. "We art going out."

Y/n looked at the overlord confused. "We are?" She questioned.

"Yes, we art." Zestial stood up and made his way to the door. "Beest downstairs in twenty minutes."

The angel was left dumbfounded in her room. What just happened?

Waiting downstairs were Zestial and Edward, already ready to go out.

"Wait, you're actually taking me out and not dropping me off somewhere?" Y/n pulled up the hood of her coat.

"Yes", Zestial answered, "we shall beest getting breakfast and seeth where all goeth from there."

Edward opened the door. "After you my lord."

The three made their way down town into a more classy area. It was still very hellish but the shops were more refined and less damaged. They finally arrived at a restaurant called Hell's Kitchen, which sounded quite familiar to Y/n but she shook it off.

A waiter came up to them by the door and let them to their table. The restaurant had pristine white walls, tiles and tablecloths. As Y/n was looking around the waiter brought them their plates and an absurd amount of cutlery; three forks, three knifes and three spoons each. They were also handed the menu.

"What are some dishes that I can only get down here in hell?" Y/n asked looking at all the options.

"Anything really," Edward answered, "every ingredient down here in hell tastes starkly different than on earth."

"Then I think I'll take the... Screaming pancakes?" She looked over the menu again and realised they all had such weird names; wrath's toast, imp wrap, devilled eggs, no wait that one's actually normal.

Everyone had put in their order and Zestial and Edward got lost in a conversation Y/n didn't care enough about to pay attention to. Instead she took in the rest of the demon's that dined here. It was obvious this establishment was targeting the higher class.

At one table sat a blue birdman dressed in a fine suit with a younger girl, probably his daughter, dressed in a more emo-style attire.

At another table sat a girl in a pretty dress with blond hair and clown cheeks. Across from her sat a young man dressed in green. His hat has was decorated with yellow eyes and teeth.

At a table much closer to hers sat another two demons. One of which she could only see the back of; a woman with white hair and a beautiful, large hat. The man who she was dining with was completely dressed in red. On top of his head stood two antlers and a set of deer ears.

Y/n hadn't realised she had been staring until the demon looked right at her, she quickly looked away but the damage had already been done. She could hear footsteps coming her way. When she dared to look up, the man was hovering over her.

"Good morning Zestial," the man greeted him like an old friend, "it's not like you to eat breakfast out. What's the special occasion?" The demon had a strange voice, almost like she was listening to a radio and not a man speaking right next to her.

"It is nothing special, Alastor," Zestial answered calmly, "I am simply taking two of mine own servants out to consume a fine breakfast."

"I've never seen this one around before." Alastor pointed to Y/n. "Is she a new contract of yours?"

"Yes, the lady hast been untrusted under mine own care."

"Don't you think it's rude to wear a hood whilst inside?" Alastor asked.

"She is an exception." Zestial stayed calm, knowing it will only arise suspicion if he acted any differently.

"I see... Is she also the one you were thinking about when you were distracted yesterday?" Alastor knew he was pulling his leg with this one bit the hooded stranger could mean a possible weakness to exploit.

"No." Zestial's sounded slightly irritated. "I wast not restful yesterday, wherefore I wast not paying attention. It hadst nothing to doth with Y/n."

"You sound tense," the other overlord jested, "I'll leave you be. Enjoy your breakfast."

When Y/n was sure Alastor was out of earshot, she turned to Zestial and Edward. "Who was that?"

"He is the Radio Demon," Edward answered.

"One of the strongest human souls in hell," Zestial explained, "If it be true thee wouldst ever cometh across him on thy owneth, runneth the other way. He is one of the lastest demons thee wanteth to figure out thy secret."

"Undertood."

Through the whole breakfast, the Radio Demon had kept an eye on her. It creeped her out, so once they were finished, she was happy to get out of there.

"Where to!?" Y/n asked while skipping.

"Thee may hath chosen. We art here for thee after all."

"Hmm, do you have fun stuff here?" She asked, "like an arcade, a museum with hell's history and stuff or maybe a theatre!"

"I am afraid we doth not hasts museums, however, I couldst taketh thee to a theatre." Zestial led the way with Edward and Y/n following behind.

The day went by with a breeze. The theatre ended up being an actual theatre, not a movie theatre to Y/n's surprise. After bickering back and forth between Y/n and Zestial, they ended up going with her choice; Immoral, based on a popular pride ring franchise Sorcerer of Shizz. While it was not of Zestial's usual tastes, he enjoyed the amazed look in the angel's eyes.

After that they walked around in one of the few well maintained parks in hell. Y/n jumped from flowerbed to flowerbed, looking at the strange hellflowers. It put a smile on the overlords face.

"Look at this one!" She yelled. "It's beautiful!"

As Zestial made his way to her crouching down form, his eye caught the flower that had entranced the angel. The pride hydrangea was hell's version of the normal hydrangea but it's blue colour had a reddish hue to it when held in the light, bigger and...

"Its pollen art poisonous." Zestial reached his hand out and plucked one. "However having one or two around shouldst not beest much of a problem." He delicately held the flower between his fingers, slowly bringing it to Y/n's face and putting it behind her ear. "Taketh one."

"Thank you." She smiled brightly at the others kind jester.

As everyone got tired they made their way back home. Once there Zestial immediatly went to his office, Edward brought Y/n a very small vase for the flower and she dropped down on her bed.

Zestial had grabbed a book from his shelve and continued his notes in it, thinking back on the day the whole time. Edward wast right, the overlord thought, it wast easier to wend along with her antics. And perhaps he enjoyed her antics.

"Edward," Zestial called upon his contractee.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Cleareth out mine own schedule for this Wednesday," Zestial ordered, "and asketh Y/n where she wanteth to wend to."

Part 4

Masterlist/Request guidelines

ALSO!!!! If you have an idea where the two could go next tell me. IDK why but I actually had trouble with coming up with fun ideas! Put it in the comments, send me a message or put it in my inbox!

#hazbin hotel #reader insert #hazbin hotel requests #reader requests #zestial hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel zestial #zestial x reader #zestial #Zestial x you #Hazbin hotel zestial x reader

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schraubd · 11 months

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How To Train Your Writer

Right now, on a purely technical/stylistic level, ChatGPT is an okay writer.

It's not great. But it's not bad, either. It's better (and again, we're talking purely technical here -- leaving aside factual hallucinations and the like) than some of my students, and I teach at a law school. Of course, even when I taught undergraduates I was inordinately concerned that many of my students seemingly never learned and never were taught how to write. So there has always been a cadre of students who are very smart and diligent, but just didn't really have writing in their toolkit. And I'd say ChatGPT has now exceeded their level.

The thing that worries me most about ChatGPT, though, isn't that it's better than some of my law students. It's that it will always be better than essentially every middle schooler.

Learning to write is a process. Repetition is an important part of that process (this blog was a great asset to my writing just because it meant I was writing essentially every day for years). But part of that process is writing repeatedly even when one was is not good at writing. Writing a bunch of objectively mediocre essays in middle school is how you learn to write better ones in high school and even better ones in college.

ChatGPT is going to short-circuit that scaffolding. It is one thing to say that an excellent writer in, say, high school, can still outperform ChatGPT. But how will that kid become excellent if, in the years leading up to that, they're always going to underperform a bot that could do all their homework in 35 seconds? The pressure to kick that work over to the bot will be irresistible, and we're already learning that it's difficult-to-impossible to catch. How can we get middle schoolers to spend time being bad writers when they can instantly access tools that are better?

There might be workarounds. I've heard suggestions of reverting to long-hand essay writing and more in-class assignments. There might be ways to leverage ChatGPT as a comparator -- have them write their own essay, then compare it to a AI-generated one and play spot-the-difference. I think frankly that we might also be wise to abolish grading, at least in lower-level writing oriented classes, to take away that temptation to use the bot. I don't care how conscientious you are, there aren't a lot of 14 year olds who can stand putting in hours trying to actually do their homework and then getting blown out of the water by little Cameron who popped the prompt into an LLM and 45 seconds later is back to playing Overwatch. And again, that's going to be the reality, because ChatGPT's output just is better than anything one can reasonably expect a young writer to produce.

In many ways, large language models are like any mechanism of mass production. They displace older artisans, not because their product is better -- it isn't, it's objectively worse -- but on sheer volume and accessibility. The art is worse, but it's available to the masses on the cheap.

And like with mass production, this isn't necessarily a bad thing even though it's disruptive. It's fine that many people now can, in effect, be "okay writers" essentially for free. It's like mass-produced clothing -- yes, most people's t-shirts are of lower-quality than a bespoke Italian suit, but that's okay because now most people can afford a bunch of t-shirts that are of acceptable quality (albeit far less good than a bespoke Italian suit). The alternative was never "everyone gets an entire wardrobe of bespoke Italian suits", it was "a couple of people enjoy the benefits of intense luxury and most people get scraps." Likewise, I'm not so naive as to think that most people in absence of ChatGPT would have become great writers. So this is a net benefit -- it brings acceptable-level writing to the masses.

If that was all that happened -- the big middle gets expanded access to cheap, okay writing, with "artisanal" great writing remaining costly and being reserved for the "elite" -- it might not be that bad. But the question is whether this process will inevitably short-circuit the development of great writers. You have to pass through a long period of being a crummy writer before you become a good or great writer. Who is still going to do that when adequacy is so easily at hand?

I'm not tempted to use ChatGPT because even though my writing takes longer, I'm confident that at the end my work product will be better. But that's only true because I spent a long time writing terribly. Luckily for me, I didn't have an alternative. Kids these days? They absolutely have an alternative. It's going to be very hard to get them to pass that up.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/zlrha2Q

#artificial intelligence #writing

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misguidedasgardian · 5 days

Text

The Lifeaters (III.5)

V. Crush-ing it

MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: Unlike last year, nothing was going to stop this school year

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia, classism, charms and curses, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 2,3 k

Notes: Anyways… let’s keep swimming

The night you spent all together in the great hall had been so much fun! giggling, talking and gossiping to late hours of the night, and then sleeping next to your closest friend

Draco had taken well the fact that you were trapped in Muggle studies, blaming it on Snape rather than on you, “my father will hear about this”, he said, and you were relieved

Your group was closer than ever, even Tracy, who for the last two years had been a bit of a “lone wolf”. Your group of 10 closest friends.

But also the night was a bit revealing, it turns out Black had tried to sneak into the Gryffindor common room, he had ripped a portrait that was the door to their private space

They were always in the middle of everything, weren’t they?

But you had your own things to worry about… your first match was coming nearer, and the weather was only getting worse

Trainings were brutal, you ended up moody all over, and the rain was making you slip from your broom and almost fall from it, Draco was all too happy watching you from the stands, claiming that he was going to be able to play in the actual game, but didn’t want to “chance it” with his arm, even though he was totally fine, at least to you.

You had to ask Marcus (who as he was in last year he had permission to go to Hogsmeade more often), to go to Dervish and Banges to buy some adhesive gum for the handle of the

brooms.

But the date of the game…

It was Thursday today, you woke up… feeling terribly uncomfortable… again, and lucky for you, it was pouring, and Draco kept whining about his arm

Flint looked at the two of you

“And what’s up with you Basilik?”, he asked softly, he always spoke softly to you, not to your other team members though

“I don’t feel very well”, you muttered, unconsciously wrapping your arms against your midsection, he looked at the gesture with a frown

“Oh I get it, I have two older sisters”, he grumbled, “I’ll talk to Hooch and Wood”, he said, and walked away

“Really?”, you asked

“Yes, we can’t play in this weather anyways”, he said with a small smile, “and I understand Basilik, but don’t let it be a bother again”, he demanded, and you only nodded

“Yes captain”, you said shyly

“Do you really don’t feel good?”, asked Draco, “what was that about?”

“It’s true”, you muttered

“Are you alright?”, he asked

“Yes! I will be”, you said surely

“Did you go to the infirmary?”, he insisted

“Draco”, you said, a bit more violet that you would like, “I’m fine”, from one second to the next his face paled, and he seemed horrified

“Oh! I’m sorry!”, he said quickly, looking into his pockets, “here, a chocolate frog”

“What? why?”, you asked him, receiving the treat from his trembling hand

“Just because”, he said simply. He smiled shakily and nodded. You just shook your head, and went back inside before a huge storm fell over your heads.

The school day was over, and you almost sighed in relief when you saw Pansy, with whom you’d had marvelous talks about… girlhood

With a look she knew, and you sat by her side in the couch

“Those days uh?”, she asked, you only nodded, but as Draco saw that Tracy, Daphne and Milicent joined you, he ran off to his own room.

But it was not an excuse for the Defense against the dark arts you had, double period, Friday.

You were sitting next to Draco, holding yourself to not cuddle against his arm, you needed to cuddle something, or someone…

But it wasn’t professor Lupin who entered the room next, it was professor Snape, to your disappointment

You admired him, he was the head professor of your house, but you could barely take him in the Potion’s classroom, and Defense against the dark arts was your relief. Even though this was the position he coveted the most, he was the best at potions!

“Turn to page 394”, he commanded with his drawling voice

“Excuse me, sir. Where's Professor Lupin?”, asked Potter

“That's not really your concern, is it, Potter?”, he asked, there is no one that he hated more than Potter, but he turned to the class nonetheless, “Suffice it to say your professor finds himself incapable of teaching… at the present time. Turn to page 394”, he insisted, to see there were some that didn’t even have their books over their tables yet

"Werewolves?”, you asked

“Sir, we just learned about red caps and hinkypunks”, said Granger this time, gods she was annoying, “We're not meant to start that for weeks…”

“Quiet”, he warned, there is nothing he disliked more than being contradicted, “Now, which one of you can tell me the difference...between an Animagus and a werewolf?”, you raised your hand, the answer in your mind, “Baislik”, he called, even though Granger was almost jumping off of her seat.

“An Animagus is a person that chooses to turn into an animal, after completing a lot of complicated rituals to become one, but a Werewolf…”, oh you shouldn't have answered

“A werewolf has no choice”, completed Granger with a smug face, “With each full moon… he no longer remembers who he is. He'd kill his best friend if it crossed his path… Furthermore the werewolf only responds to the call of its own kind”, Draco mocked Granger by howling into the class, making you laugh

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. That's the second time you've spoken out of turn, Miss Granger, are you incapable of restraining yourself or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?”, he growled, making you smile, was he actually defending you?, “Five points from Gryffindor”, Draco giggled by your side, nudging your side.

“As an antidote to your ignorance, and on my desk, by Monday morning two rolls of parchment on the werewolf, with emphasis on recognizing it”, everyone growled and you were so relieved to not play tomorrow

The class continued as nothing had happened, it was the most boring class of defense against the dark arts of the year, and you wondered that if Snape coveted this position that much, shouldn’t he put more work into it?

Draco started doodling a comic of Potter being struck by lightning while he was playing, and you thought it was hilarious, you actually helped him, drawing a quidditch player throwing a bludger at his head, with a tap of your wand, the picture started moving, and you giggled when Draco turned it into a paper plane and threw it at him

Did you really have to make this huge assignment?

You felt terrible, but…with the correct amount of chocolate you were ready to attend the game, even though it was pouring, a full storm raging on, you wanted to skip it, you really did, because, what was the point? you could barely see! but all your friends were going so… and Pansy so much as dragged you under her umbrella.

As you were walking towards the pitch, under a tightly held umbrella, you passed by Potter

“If only my arm was fully healed”, mocked Draco, “such a pity”, you even felt better at his words, and to see Potter’s face, Potter’s wet face

An artwork

“Let’s go to the boxes”, you insisted, you wanted to walk arm in arm with Draco, but… Pansy gave you pleading eyes so you were forced into facing the storm alone… until… Matthew wrapped his arm around yours

He was taller than you… and… sturdier… so you didn't complain when he hid under your umbrella, Greg on your other side

it was hard to watch, as you anticipated, but the storm gave the match something else, something powerful to it

It was even, you had heard that Hufflupuff had a new captain and seeker, and you could tell there was a big difference between them this year, and the last. Marcus had been so determined that you had been slacking in what Quidditch strategy is referring to.

So you did your best to keep in mind their plays, and strategies, even though they could have been changed due to the weather.

Thunderstruck the field, catching the broom of a player, you expect more than one injured player today, it was even more interested to watch, as the players kept slipping off their brooms

You haven't been in a game in almost a year, due to last year’s cancellation.

The game was intense, truly intense, the storm wasn’t waning and players went from one side to the next. It was electric! and not only because of lightning

You were watching an excellent maneuver from the Hufflepuff’s chasers when suddenly, everyone started gasping and screaming, you looked up and saw both seekers, going up, up, up in the air in the search of that little golden thing

The golden snitch

they got lost in the clouds and you tried to paid no more mind to Potter, but to no avail as Cedric Diggory fell from the skies to everyone’s surprise

From one second to the next, the sky was filled with Dementors, and Potter was plummeting to his certain death. Everyone was shouting, gasping and crying, pointing to the falling seeker.

It all happened so quickly, Dumbledore was watching the game, as he used to, and casted a spell so loud, the whole stadium

“Arresto Momentum!”, Potter stopped falling, landing slowly on the wet grass

Dementors were falling from the sky, over the pitch, and before you could do something, a blinding bright light covered the entire stadium, again, from Dumbledore’s hand, a spell so powerful it send all the Dementors away in a heartbeat

The game continued, despite it all, Cedric Diggory caught the snitch, and Draco was so shaken he didn’t even spoke against Dumbledore as he was also the witness to the most incredible spell any of us had ever seen

Say what you want about Dumbledore, he was a sucky headmaster, but he indeed was one of the greatest wizards that ever lived.

So the match had it all, intensity, a raging storm, players falling from their brooms, an incredible display of magic, but what was more important… A flagrant defeat for Gryffindor

You couldn’t stop smiling

Potter had a huge drop from the skies, and they had lost the match. He was in the infirmary next to a Hufflepuff that had been struck by lightning

it was still pouring, so you had no choice but to go back to the common room, that was buzzing with excitement

it was a nice, and cozy weekend, you stayed in the common room, the elves in the kitchen already preparing wintery comfort food, and you even took time with your friends for some studying, and helping those who were behind in class, and you even wrote the essay for Snape, even though it was a secret out loud that Lupin had clarified that you didn’t have to write it.

The week came nonetheless, soon it was monday and the classes started long for Muggle studies and Care for magical creatures, which was now very boring because Hagrid had lost his foot after what happened with Buckbeak

You still had to prepare a huge work for Muggle class, to find an object you could find in a muggle house and write a paper, describing it, how it was made, how it work, and what is was for, and you were panicking, you didn't had a clue, neither did Theo or Matthew

Draco had decided to take off his bandages, even though his arm was still tender, you had a game coming up, one that you couldn’t shake off, Ravenclaw, as opposed of Hufflepuff, and Professor Hooch didn’t care anymore if Draco’s arm wasn’t exhaled by then

It was in a couple of weeks, at the first Saturday of December

Now you were in potions, it was a light class, and there was an air of relief and happiness over your house, mainly because the Gryffindors were looking so gloomy.

Draco had taken full advantage to the fact that he didn’t had his bandages anymore, and perform great impressions of Potter falling off of his broom that had you cackling, even Snape was smirking when he thought nobody was looking

Weasley cracked sooner than you expected, Draco was in the middle of his impression when he was hit, straight in the face, by a wet and slippery crocodile heart.

“Ah!”, moaned Draco, and you actually didn’t want to touch him as he had goo on his face

“What is wrong with you Weasley?”, you asked him

“50 points from Gryffindor”, said Snape who was on the other side of the classroom but managed to turn just in time to witness the throwing

“50!?”, asked Weasley, you mocked him good yourself, when he was not looking, you threw a little dead slug in his cauldron, it was going to make the potion turn soggy, not at all what Snape was asking for, and at the end of the class, he got a bad grade

You were so tired of them, what happened last year coming back to you, If they thought you were the worst kind of person, maybe you should be, at least to them

Another week went by and you found yourself with broom in hand, ready to start the game

“Draco, watch out for Cho Chang, the new seeker”, muttered Flint, “we have faster brooms, but look over your shoulder, she tends to be a follower”

“Yeah, I’ll lose her in no time”, he muttered

“The Ravenclaws are smart”, said Pucey, “but we are faster than them”

“Yes, Beaters, you know what to do, keep the Bludgers into the kill zone, Basilik”, he called

“Yes?”

“You know what to do as well, you are still small enough to slip in, you need to keep that going, alright?”

“Yes Captain”

But it didn’t work

You sometimes forgot that you weren’t the only ones who watched every single game in search of the other team’s weaknesses, that they also studied your strategies, and consequently, had also devised ways to… try to win

You couldn’t have a window, you spend more time trying to evade the bludgers the Rvaenclaw’s beaters were throwing at you, they wouldn’t let you receive, pressing you between them both as soon as you got the Quaffle, and then they practiced the Parkin’s pinzer, and you fell for it

It was a good game, usually with the Ravenclaw it was quick, smart, with lots of strategy behind every play, the Slytherins were resourceful and clever, to Ravenclaw’s wits and intelligence.

You felt like they took out the best in you, in a wordless strategy with your captain, you fought back, with strength, waking up from your stupor

Draco had no interest in Cho, so he went to search for the snitch, rather than wait for the slippery little thing to come to him, so you usually found him going from one place to the next, also assisting in pressing on the other team

Your beaters got you an opening, so you did the classic movement in your team, Adrian and Marcus with the quaffle, taking all the attention of the Ravenclaw’s beaters so you swoop in from the outside of the pitch, Adrian passed on to you, and you managed to score

The only you you managed on the entire game

One goal by every chaser, and then, a bludger hit you on your side, taking your breath away, you were luckily closer to the ground, and managed to stay atop your broom, but you had to stop to recover, for only a few seconds, Marcus was going to ask for a timeout, but to no need…

Draco caught the snitch

DRACO CAUGHT THE SNITCH!

The next thing you knew, you had a horrible bruise over your ribcage, and you had trouble moving your arm but, Marcus’ friends of seventh year raised you in the air of the common room, as they did the entire team

Around you, a party was unraveling, the music was playing loud and they were all cheering for you

And it was only the first game of the season! this was going to be amazing!

You were on top of the world

#misguidedlifeaters #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #slytherin!reader #house slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin house #matthew gaunt #mattheo riddle

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gascon-en-exil · 4 months

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Sorry if I sound rude Saying this but a woman wearing a short skirt and a cleavage isn't sexualized and acting as if thighs belly button and chest are sexual when they are just body part is the main problem of women not being able to dress how they want and to have t hide some body parts to not excite the male gaze. I agree that FEH is indeed using fanservice but saying that a woman wearing outfits exposing those body part is itself fanservice is wrong beyond limit, especially regarding the Edelgard design since it's very modest and anatomically wrong

Say it with me now:

Fictional characters are not people. They are tools.

What these units wear says nothing about what women should wear, but it does say quite a bit about FEH's artists and their target demographic. If you'd actually paid attention to that post, I was advocating for hornier male character art because that would allow FE's tastelessness to at least feel consistent.

Also, Zettai Ryouiki is the trope I was thinking of - sexualizing the gap of bare skin between a short skirt and stockings. I'm not going to pretend to understand why that's a thing - maybe it's sort of like the joke that Victorian Anglos got horny for exposed ankles? - but it apparently is, and winter Edelgard's got plenty of it.

I realize that part of Edelgard's sexual/romantic appeal is, ironically, that she's "modest" and unavailable to anyone but you the player(-as-Byleth), because straight men have that whole Madonna/whore complex thing going on where women or female characters who are perceived as too sexual or too experienced are somehow threatening or, worse, "used." There's also a TV Trope for that. Given my own experiences and the total absence of that sentiment in gay male culture, it's little wonder that some of my favorite modern FE female characters are Camilla and Manuela - because they've got obviously sexualized designs but are also written to be aware of their own appeal and how they make use of it.

However, you've really got to let go of that "My Girl Is Not a Slut" thing with Edelgard, because IS has no such reservations. Never mind the thigh gap winter alt, we've got

boob armor where previously there was none, for the alt players actually voted for,

a much softer and more human take on the Hegemon,

lying supine in a nightdress, and more exposed thigh courtesy of Cipher,

more exposed skin and basically a camel toe; I also know that Reddit threw a fit over this one in particular, because she's not muscular and/or scarred from the Agarthan experiments,

and an upskirt shot from Azure Gleam that lasts for two whole seconds, in the middle of a scenario where Edelgard is made to take orders from two older men and then reduced to a babbling child.

In the midst of any outrage over my pointing out more examples of IS treating Edelgard like a sex object, I'd like you to turn that feeling around and ask instead: Why does the camera never lovingly linger up a male character's clothes? Why are possessed male characters (ex. Conquest Takumi) never treated like helpless children? Why are there no Cipher cards of any male characters lounging around in nightwear giving the viewer bedroom eyes? When male characters become monsters (ex. Lyon with Fomortiis), why do their FEH versions look the same or even more monstrous?

Oh, wait. Is it because of this? I assume you also sent this.

Funny how when male characters are actually objectified in the same way, then and only then does it become stupid.

People get horny over Edelgard, and IS knows it. People also get horny over naked and mostly-naked men in ways that do not necessarily cater to straight male comfort, although fortunately for you I imagine IS doesn't seem to know or care about that. Take your wins where you can get them, and let the rest of us have our fun.

#Fire Emblem #FEH #Fire Emblem Heroes #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses

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megafaunatic · 7 months

Note

hi lore ^__^ i just picked up the dear prudence collection after seeing you talk about it in a tag and it interesting me, and i’m really enjoying it so far. i was curious if you have any other book reccs, or favorite books you have read this year? it can be any and unrelated to this one. thanks and hope you’re well!

HI ABIBI I LOVE U !!!!!!!!

THANK YOU FOR ASKING I HAVE LOTS OF BOOK RECS

for readers at home abi is referring to dear prudence by daniel lavery in which lavery goes on a lengthy aside about how "love languages" are bullshit. daniel lavery is hysterical and correct as always

some other books i've read and enjoyed in the last year or so (excluding older books like discworld and jeeves+wooster stories, both of which i have been tearing through and really enjoying; also excluding the super popular (gideon the ninth) (you should read gideon the ninth)):

OBVIOUSLY, WHEN THE ANGELS LEFT THE OLD COUNTRY BY SACHA LAMB. READ WHEN THE ANGELS LEFT THE OLD COUNTRY BY SACHA LAMB. see further lore yelling about this book here [literary ya fantasy]

our wives under the sea by julia armfield for a deeply sad lesbian eldritch horror take on submarine disasters. this book will ruin your day (honorific) [literary horror]

the singing hills cycle by nghi vo for a series of novellas you can read in any order! all about storytelling and what storytelling is and does and does to the teller and the listener. also has a super cool jianghu badass side character [fantasy]

y/n by esther yi for an absurdist story about how kpop fandom makes you insane and worse and grad school also makes you insane and worse and GOD FORBID you combine the two [absurdist literature]

witch king by martha wells for book 1 of what has GOT to be I KNOW IT'S A DUOLOGY i KNOW it is the sequel has just not been officially announced yet. but i think she said something at a con about how there's one in the works. THERE MUST BE. anyway really fun and interesting worldbuilding here [fantasy]

beyond ridiculous by kenneth elliot for a look into the world of DIY gay theater in NYC at the height of the aids crisis. REALLY artistically inspiring and also super fascinating just as a history of a scene and a friend group [nonfiction/theater history]

ok this one's both backlist and was very popular when it came out but probably most 25 year old tumblr users have not read it. well they should read the hare with amber eyes by edmund de waal for a deep DEEP dive into the complicated world of rich jewish art collectors + socialites in odesa, vienna, and paris in the 1800s through the early 1900s by tracing the object history of a collection of netsuke from the opening of japan through the changing landscape of central + western europe and then back to japan [nonfiction/art history]

currently i'm reading cancipin by priest which is a space opera danmei that seeks to answer the questions "could it ever be ethical to do genetic engineering" "how do you build a just society" "is it ever worth it to give up your freedom in exchange for safety and convenience" "how do you keep going after the destruction of your entire planet" "what if data star trek were a beautiful young man and part time robot arm who was best friends with the worst gay people in the entire world" [sci fi/romance]

#book rec

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x-amount-verbs · 2 years

Text

A Helping Hand - Part 28

[start here] || Part 27 || Part 28 || Part 29

[Silco POV for 24, 25, 26, 27, if you missed them]

[awesome art of riding crop Silco from @steponmesilco icymi 👀]

[silco x f!reader] [2.6k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [needle and blood mentions] [tween Jinx] [gun-related PTSD]

AO3 Link

“Okay, I know I’m probably going to regret this, but… what happened with you two?”

Sevika is propped up against the wall beside where you’re poised with one of Jinx’s paintball guns, while the kid herself is tinkering with the settings of the moving targets, and drawing up new ones on the plywood that used to be a barrier to the first floor of the warehouse.

“Me and Jinx?” You may be being purposefully obtuse. “Nothing. Why?”

Her flat look isn’t fooled. “The old man.”

“He’s not that old.”

Dark brows raise, and you realize too late that she may not have been quite so aware as you thought, but that little slip up certainly helped.

“He’s at least ten years older than you,” she points out. “So I think it’s fair to call him the old man.”

“Younger than my parents would be.”

Her look seems to say that you’re missing something. It screams at you to listen to something, and you can’t tell what hidden message she’s hearing.

“That’s your criteria?” she asks incredulously. “If he’s old enough to be your father?”

“Gods, no, I just— he isn’t, okay? He’s just—”

Wide eyes and a tilted chin warn you you’d better not be saying what she thinks you’re saying. You wince.

“Nevermind.”

Sevika shakes her head. “He’s like 60,” she deadpans.

“What?! Fuck, Sevika, he’s like 42!” You should not feel this defensive over your boss’s age. Sevika’s sidelong smirk seems to agree. “Don’t be a dick,” you grumble.

Her tone is wry. “Actually, he’s 39. Feels ancient, though.”

So much for not getting defensive— “He’s barely older than you!” you argue.

“He’s the most crotchety uptight under-40 I’ve ever seen.”

From the self-satisfied curve of her lips, even if she’s not looking at you, you suspect she may be purposefully bashing him just to get under your skin. Which shouldn’t work. Cause he isn’t anything important to you.

“I swear he keeps like 15 extra years in a pocket dimension,” she drawls.

You scoff a laugh before you can stop yourself. It’s pretty funny.

“Regardless, sure hope you get a handle on this weird crush you have-”

“Not a crush.” Wow, never thought you’d have to have a convo like this. “Definitely not a crush.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ hope so, cause that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“—Which is why it isn’t.”

“That’s why?”

What? Wait— “No, it’s— that’s not why, that’s not what I—”

Sevika’s sarcastic mmmhm at your gradual descent to flustered-ness has your ears burning.

“How old is your girlfriend?” you shoot back, going on the offensive.

Her lips press tight for a second, gaze averting. “Don’t have a girlfriend-”

“Your friend, then. The one at Babette’s?” You’ve picked up on a few things through gossip at the Drop.

Grey eyes stay resolutely turned away, but you can feel her sudden rigidity. Ha. Not so nice to be hounded on your insecurities, huh?

“She’s irrelevant.”

“What, like 19?”

“No.” The force with which she refutes your purposefully low guess is insistent. “No, she’s— I don’t know, 24. 25 maybe.”

You snort. “Yeah, and you’re one to talk age gaps.”

“Not the same, we don’t have a employer-”

“You better not be about to say you and your sex worker girlfriend never had a relationship where you paid her.”

You actually see a rosy cast to her cheeks. Good. About time she got flustered instead of you.

“Our relationship is— it’s not exactly…” It’s Sevika’s turn to flounder. “It’s complicated,” she growls, finally.

“Well. Same.”

“Which is much much worse for you than for me.”

She’s objectively correct. “Look, Silco and I don’t have anything like that. We never did.” It’s basically true, right? So he fingerbanged you bent over his desk after thoroughly spanking you with a crop. And a cane. And even his hand a couple times.

That’s… um. That’s… not the same as sex.

Fuck.

“Riiight. So he kicked people out of the Drop a couple days ago because…?”

“He what?”

She blinks surprise. “You seriously didn’t know? People were theorizing. You went up to his office drunk one night, a body got carried out, people thought he killed you then, but the next day you show up and he immediately clears the bar. I’ll be honest, there were bets you’d leave without the hand, if not the arm, and a decent number of people thinking you wouldn’t survive the week. Yet next day he calls me in to say you’re cleared to see Jinx again, which is definitely not what I expected to hear.”

It’s your turn to stare like an idiot. Silco was the one who gave the okay? Well, maybe you should’ve guessed it, but still. It doesn’t make sense, remembering how completely cold he’d been that afternoon.

“So I repeat: what happened between you two? He’s been quiet and it’s creepy. Half the time can’t get him to shut up.”

Nope. Stop it, heart, this isn’t good news, stop beating like there’s hope here. It’s nothing. He’s just… he’s pouting. Or he’s coming to his senses. Or, hopefully, he’s reinstating helpful boundaries, and this is his way of showing it.

Stop, stop the stupid skipping a beat, this means nothing. It means respect, at best, and that should be a bare minimum, not an exciting prospect.

No matter how much you chastise your heart, it’s still fluttering. Like a fucking dumbass.

“I— I just— talked to him. Brought up some frustrations.” That’s close enough. “I didn’t think he’d listen to me.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. For all I know this is some elaborate plot; he’s a petty bitch when he wants to be.”

Oh, mood.

Your name is screeched across the length of the shooting gallery, effectively ending the conversation. “It’s working!” Jinx shouts, grinning and waving her spanner in the air as she slams a fist against the button that runs the motor for the moving targets.

It takes you too many tries to get your aim steady.

—

“You’re being weird.” Jinx kicks her feet against the empty barrel she sits on, licking her fingers with a kebab in the other (paint-stained) hand.

“Am I?” You’ve been settling into the routine surprisingly well, you thought. It’s nice having her back. Feet slotted with hers from your perch opposite, the casual proximity feeding that bottomless pit in you that craves closeness. “How so?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, pulling a chunk of meat along the skewer until she can bite it off the end. “You an’ Sevika argued earlier and then your aim was shit— sorry. But it’s true.”

“Please consider that I’m operating with a fake hand,” you point out, holding out your prosthesis pointedly. “Remember that part? Big bloody accident, got maimed, replacement hand, all that?”

Jinx snorts. “Yeah but you did better before. I beat you every single round this time.”

“Have you considered that maybe you’re just really good?” you ask, brows raised. “Like really good, Jinx, you would beat me in my prime.” At least, with paintballs. Thank gods she isn’t shooting live rounds yet— both for the risk to your reputation in the local standings, and for other reasons. Three times since you started working with her in the warehouse you’ve spotted her shooting rats with her paint gun. Nothing lethal as of yet, but it can be a little worrying.

“Yeah yeah,” Jinx rolls her eyes, though there’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. “But you’re usually tougher to beat. What did you an’ Sevika argue about?”

You snort. She’s not wrong. Not entirely, anyway. “We weren’t arguing, just talking.”

Jinx’s brows furrow, face falling into a small frown.

“Honest,” you promise. “Not the kind of arguing that matters, anyway. Still friends.”

She pulls a face. “Shouldn’t be.”

Bemused, you raise a brow at the kid, but take another long swig of water before speaking (no food eight hours before meeting with Singed, meaning post-training lunch was your last chance, two hours ago). “Shouldn’t be friends with Sevika?” After making an effort to thaw her chilly exterior? “Why not?”

“She hates me.” Jinx’s lips twist, color high on her cheeks. Angry? Embarrassed, maybe? Or ashamed. Some combo of all three, perhaps. “Hates being stuck with me. Hates me for— just hates me,” she mutters bitterly.

“I find that hard to-”

“It’s cause her arm,” the kid interrupts, before her mouth snaps shut. Her kicking has stopped.

You try to add up the clues you’ve gotten, but they aren’t quite making sense. Scooting forward, you knock your knees against hers, trying to offer some kind of proof that you’re staying close. And maybe partly cause her sudden mood change worries you. Any time she seems upset you’re worried. There’s a bond there, between the two of you, some kind of recognition that resonates feelings, reflects them back, and her anxiety makes you anxious. Just like her joy makes you joyful.

“Hey,” you nudge her foot, pointedly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But you’re still my friend, okay? I’m not picking her over you.” You barely refrain from pointing out that you can have multiple friends. Something tells you Jinx doesn’t want to hear that, not in this moment.

The worry in her brief too-open gaze sends a pang through your chest. “I’m your best friend, though, right?” she asks.

Shit. It feels about accurate to that age, at least. Always needing to know you mattered to someone, that you had social standing. Not an insecurity you’d expect from Jinx, but maybe she just never felt threatened before. You were her captive friend.

Maybe you shouldn’t validate that kind of thinking, but— “Uh huh.” Her visible relief encourages you; you hold out a crooked finger. “Best friends.”

Jinx grins as she hooks her finger with yours. “Fuck yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” you repeat, like an oath. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I think you insulted my aim.” You hop off your perch, smacking the bottom of her foot with your canteen. “Finish eating so I can beat you fair and square.”

“Psh, yeah right.”

—

The euphoria of having Jinx so close - the sheer joy you get from having her cling and climb and wrap arms around you - is tempered every other night by your painfully detached meetings with the Doctor.

A day of shooting with Jinx, followed by an evening nap, and then being drained of blood and told your progress is uninspiring but acceptable. Glowing praise, truly.

A day spent dragging Jinx along to training and letting her thoroughly pummel you just as often as you sent her gleefully screeching form soaring into plushly padded crash mats. A long shower, watching the faint shadow of marks from your day with Silco fading, and early bedtime.

A day of Jinx excitedly showing off her prototype for the Poppet gun, an evening spent icing your sore limbs, and a night of blood loss and five total sentences of communication, one of which was ‘stay still.’

A day letting Jinx pick out a buffet of food options on Silco’s dime. (In other words: a mistake.)

A day spent indulging in combing and braiding Jinx’s hair as she read out her history homework, an evening spent sitting in bed slowly braiding your own hair to match - trying not to think about the glove on your hand, and utterly failing - only to have that effort completely ignored by the Doctor in favor of once again taking blood and barely speaking.

You pass out after that one— or at least white out for a few minutes before waking, spluttering, to a face full of cold water.

“Why are you unconscious? Bloodwork shows nothing out of the ordinary.”

“How the fuck should I know,” you growl, wringing out your braided hair. “Maybe it’s all that fucking bloodwork you’re so keen on.” After every unproductive meeting, wobbling home dizzy, grimacing against the roll of the ground as you walked.

Singed frowns. “How else am I to know you’re correctly maintaining your prosthesis and metabolizing the hydraulic bleed?”

“I don’t know— however you did it the last two weeks?” Your voice is biting, lips pressed thin as you turn away, attempting to regain control of your temper. At this point, you’d rather just go back to Silco.

—The thought hurts more than you expect. A twisting pain in your chest, talons dug into your esophagus and tugging.

The Doctor still has that same frown. “I’ll determine an alternative.”

“Can’t you just take my word for it?” It’s so tiring to be doubted so much, you never realized before. “I have no reason to lie to you.”

His loose gesture is dismissive. “Find yourself food. Our next meeting I’ll have an alternate method.”

—

Things don’t go entirely to plan.

The food part does, at least. On the way home, stopping in at a market halfway between the Doctor’s lab and your lodging house, stuffing yourself on a couple top-notch hand pies and taking a couple more for the road.

But leaving the market you feel the tug on your waist that signals interference (just one of the reasons you only keep part of your coin on your belt), and grab for the wrist automatically with your prosthesis.

Maybe if you could feel what you were doing you would’ve been able to get it right. As it is, you instead feel the scrape of the blade across your arm by the vibrations on your stump beneath.

It all happens so fast.

Feeling the thief snatching for your money, grabbing for their hand, a quarter turned as you feel the blade, and halfway turned as your good hand moves to your pistol.

Finding a gun in your face is unexpected.

Your brain freezes.

Instinct, entirely instinct, takes over as you disconnect.

The next thing you know the shot is ringing in your ears, blood spattering your boots. You stare, unseeing, at the man staggered to the floor, blood leaking from the bullet hole in his shoe, one hand clutching his knee for stability, the other still on the gun.

Another shot hits his shoulder and the scream cuts through.

You stop yourself from aiming for the head. He’ll need to be questioned, have to know who hired him, who thought it was smart to bring a gun into—

A blink, and you’re back in reality, gun cocked at the kid whose hands have raised in panicked surrender.

Some distant part of you feels sick. Heart racing, dizzy, but floating unmoored from your surroundings. It feels like you’re on uneven ground, hovering, or bobbing in the Pilt.

When you have no words to say, the kid turns tail and runs.

You’re not proud of it. You aren’t. It’s habit, or fear, or some confusion between memory and reality. That gun was in your face and you can’t get it out of your head—

You shoot him.

Immediate regret turns your stomach. Your hand buzzes from the recoil, staring unblinking at the kid— fuck, he’s got to be no older than Efin, a teenager, just some kid trying to make a fast buck lifting purses in a crowded market. And now he’s on the ground, wailing, sobbing and clutching his leg, the bloody mess of a wound to his ankle. If he has a lookout, they aren’t rushing to his aid.

His gun is forgotten, and as glassy eyes drift to it, an icy chill seeps into your bones. A fake. It’s so obviously a fake. Of course it is; a kid like him couldn’t get his hands on a real gun, even on the infinitesimal chance he could afford one. A paintball gun painted to look like the real thing, meant to scare people into complying, not to kill them.

Your brain is dead, low static, feeling the feelings but unable to think in words.

There’s noise around you, but you can’t process it, can’t make meaning from the sounds.

You turn on your heel and walk away, already feeling the tremors start.

—

[next part]

[Ooof. Sorry for the wait guys >< Life, as it often does, has been getting in the way and my brain has been stalling out like crazy lately. I’m not quite done with 31, but I figure I can make y’all stop waiting before I hit the two week mark. Might be another wait, if I can’t get my brain to crank into gear, but at least I have a couple more chapters in reserve for just this sort of thing 😅 At the very least I’ll end up posting around the 15-16th because I’m going out of town and I always like to have that pick-me-up whenever I’m done being stuck driving or flying or on a train or whatever it is. Hopefully brain works before then, but at the latest we’ve got that to look forward to!

Anxiety and depression have been kicking my ass lately, so I can’t promise replies to every single comment right away, but I do always love to see comments and tags and reactions regardless 🥹 Standard plugs apply; reblog if you liked it, check it on ao3, check the revPOVs both here and ao3 if you missed them (I don’t think detachment is up on ao3 yet, but that will probably go up next week). If you want to be tagged in future posts, comment on this linked post to get added to the tag list.

Thanks everyone so much for sticking around. I love the love you all give me, love the support from this super loving bunch of fanatics in this mad corner of the internet. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @alternativeforensicscientist @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie

#silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco/reader #silco #silco arcane #silcoxreader #wip:a helping hand #a helping hand #x-amount-writes #arcane x reader

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cat-s0ul · 11 months

Text

Prompt

TW: poisoning, morally grey reg, bamf reg, minor death of Walburga and Orion by a minor reg

What if 16 y.o Regulus Black to avoid taking the dark mark (because Blacks don’t bows to nobody thank you very much) runs a scheme for poisoning Walburga and Orion Black in some countryside mansion overseas during school period to avoid suspicion. But the killing happens so many months before he had calculated so he is still a minor who needs custody and the closest family member to look after him legally is Sirius (who is already of age).

Regulus isn't mad by the result of the deaths, that was the objective by the way, he is almost of age, only a few months and he is turning 17 so fighting for emancipation is not worthy and probably Sirius will look at the letter of notification and judge that he will be doing well with Kreacher at the end of the term.

Oh how wrong he was.

Sirius is mainly confused. That is a statement. On one side, it is a relief that Walby and absent Orion are gone and not treating the world with his nonsense bigotry anymore but how was that possible? They were the most paranoid people he met and according to the letter, there was no fighting just a weird heart attack for the old hag and the natural death of his father by his illness. And on another side, what the hell??? A custody notification informing him that he might be the new guardian of his brother whom he hasn't talked to properly in years less seeing him since he left Hogwarts. Sirius could ignore the situation and let his strangled llittle brother under the care of his beloved elf until he turns 17 and unlocks the Black fortune to do whatever he wants to but it's almost Yule and maybe his parents weren't the best and most affectionate people to pass the holidays but nobody deserves to be alone or worse with his crazy cousin.

Sirius was still off of himself when decides to contact the headmaster to arrange a meeting with Regulus knowing that his little brother would refuse to speak to him in Hogsmeade or anywhere to be honest except if he is called by a professor. James would make a joke about how artful he can be when wants to, Godric, Sirius wants to tell them about this mess. His friends definitely would know what to do with all this.

So there is him in the Slughorn’s office waiting for Regulus to arrive having no idea what to say. When he heard the door being opened, Sirius quit pacing to look at him.

Regulus somewhat got to be taller than him within the months without noticing each other. It's annoying. Sirius was about to say hello or something stupid before his brother cut him off with a slight scowl “Sirius.”

“Hey Reggie, long time without seeing you” Sirius tried to smile at him but the fast almost imperceptible incredulous look on the other boy's made him uncomfortable

“Why are you doing here? I was believed to meet Professor Sloughorn” How he managed to sound so boring within seconds was a mystery for the older brother. “Well, he is gone to talk to Dumbledore” Sirius shrugged. “Nonetheless some days ago, I got some impressive news I would say, not you?”

“Only you would say impressive news about the Father and Mother's deaths” Regulus huffed. “But that doesn't explain why you are here”

“Well, dear baby brother, besides that distinguished news, I got another letter which got my attention,” said, handling the custody notification. Regulus took it and opened it with a dull expression that quickly switched to an offensive one.

“No” he blurted out “I refuse to- I refuse to you being my guardian”

“Don't be too harsh” Sirius chuckled humourless “I would be worse or maybe not due to your acquaintances but your dear Bella is the other option”

Regulus shivered and Sirius put on a smug smile “Who would believe that Sirius Black is a better option for Little Reggie than Bellatrix, I hope that Mother is turning over his grave due to your reaction”

“Stop it,” Regulus uttered “I will be fine on my own”

“I don't think so” Sirius commented “You are turning 17 the next year and you will need money for your school supplies in the summer”

“That's rich of you to say,” Regulus remarked “You don't have the money nor a house since you left last year. I would rather live with the Lestranges than the Potters”

“That's not true or dear mommy don't tell you about the will of old Uncle Alphard” Sirius scowled at him “And the Potters are the best, but well, if you don't want to, we would live in the old Alphard’s flat”

“I have a home. You know it well enough 12 Grimmauld Place with Kreacher”

“Come on, Reggie. You don't like that house neither do I, I swear never put a foot there again”

“Your problem” Regulus shrugged “and I didn't agree with you having my custody. You are barely responsible enough and I would rather emancipate”

“I have never dreamed of it before”

Regulus snorted at that “Liar”

“Well it's not my fault that dear mommy and father are dead before you were of age”

“I am completely aware of that” Regulus grimaced Sirius contemplated his little brother for a while.

“What?” finally Sirius asked, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing” Regulus smirked. “And if you excuse me, I believe that I have prefect responsibilities to do”

“Wait-”

But before he would finish talking, Regulus was off of his sight. To be sincere, it could have been worse than this. There is still hope with Reg preferring him to Bellatrix. And if Regulus killed his parents, well, they deserved it.

#regulus black #sirius black #marauders era #black brothers #Regulus poisoned walburga and orion #i should be doing hw #or sleeping #angst but no angst #R.A.B #s.o.b.#hp prompts #Black brothers prompts

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sodabytes · 9 months

Note

you probably don't need anyone to tell you this, but like, if anyone tries to say what art is "good" or "bad", for any reason, then that person does not understand what art is.

art is the manifestation of what your heart wants to create. If that manifestation is "vapid color vomit", then it can be vapid color vomit. Cause it's true to what you want, and that makes it art

oh don't worry, this is exactly where i stand!! i believe art is absolutely subjective, and regardless of how anything i make looks these days, outright stating that it's objectively worse than what i used to do is ignorant and self-absorbed. that one anon is more than welcome to prefer my older art, but i'm not going to take their "feedback" into consideration if that's the sort of mentality they have! (calling it a "puppychan moment" makes even less sense... i'm literally opting for a style that takes more effort and i'm pretty sure has less general appeal among the online circles i'm in... is that not the direct opposite of a puppychan moment?)

thank you for the support, but please rest assured that i don't need any consolation about this as i am not taking that person seriously in the slightest and just find their angry li'l message to be an unreasonably entertaining discussion topic. heheheheehehe

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stilltrails · 1 year

Text

A drunken Celebrimbor is an unreasonable Celebrimbor, especially on the anniversary of the sacking of Doriath. Elrond learns this the hard way.

He finds Celebrimbor in the midst of soot and ash, wild speckles of red and dark sprinkled into his eyes. His gaze is mad, and the flames from the makeshift fire he’s haphazardly created dance around him.

If Elrond squints he can see seven shadows behind the mad elf.

“Lord Celebrimbor---Lord Celebrimbor, I must insists that you stop this madness.”

“It was madness to safekeep such relics in the first place.”

Elrond blanches as Celebrimbor tosses a scroll into the pit, taking a swig of the amber liquid in his glass. There is an eight pointed star at the exterior, catching fire as it joins the other scrolls, clothing, swords, and pieces of history that share the same insignia.

Behind him lay a pile of untouched, yet-soon-be-burned objects. Elrond picks out a pristine, silver lute from the bunch, the very object that Gil-Galad warned of it’s impending destruction.

Elrond is beside the older elf within moments, wrestling a portrait of what must by the Ambrussa from his fingers, “Please my Lord, these are pieces of history, no matter the pain and devastation the Sons of Fea--”

Celebrimbor jerks from him, crazed, drunken eyes locking with Elrond’s, “I do not need to be lectured about the blessing and the curse that my family has wrought on elven society by the likes of you, Elrond, son of Earendil.”

The portrait, a Valinorian original, is engulfed in flames.

“I do not need you or your ilk to tell me what my family has done and what parts of them should be remembered,” Celebrimbor snaps, the fire behind him painting a rather horrific portrait of what Elrond believes Feanor must have looked like in his prime. The alcohol no doubt exaggerates his anger, and with it being the anniversary of the Fall of Doriath, Lindon most certainly does too.

Elrond understands that. To an extent. He will always be the victim taken by the monstrous kinslayers. Celebrimbor will be their blood relative. The latter is considerably worse. Elrond himself learned early on to keep his opinions of Maglor and Maedhros to himself, unless it is explicitly to disparage on them. And perhaps he did it too well, for Celebrimbor never once opened up to him about his relationship with his uncles. He wonders just how desperate Celebrimbor must have been to drink himself into despair and drag his family’s heirlooms into the wilderness to burn.

“I meant no offense, Celebrimbor. I simply think it would be unwise to rid the world of such...art.”

The drunken elf’s hand finds the lute. Elrond nearly chokes. It is Maglor's, given to Celebrimbor at the end of the War of Wrath. Elrond had searched endlessly for it, and had believed it lost to sea just like it’s master.

"Art can be remade. And kin of the House of Finwe still remain, their halls and realms filled to the brim with art." Celebrimbor looks at the lute, "the world will be better without my family's influence."

"My Lord, please! That is my father's lute. It is all I have left of him!"

The lute flies helplessly into the air. And with it, perhaps the last physical remembrance of his father he has left.

(this is a rushed wip I'm working on. Unhinged, drunk Celebrimbor is my favorite)

#tolkien #the silmarillion #rings of power #Celebrimbor #Elrond #elrond peredhel

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herssian · 2 years

Note

Unironically I see my old art and I think WOW PAST ME WAS SO GOOD... It's almost like a different person drew that. Funny phenomenon!

i think every artist who's been drawing long enough to have a substantial backdrop of older pieces gets to experience that, but just know that even if you perceive your current art as worse (or even if it objectively is, as that sadly happens sometimes during someone's progress), you've still learned and retained the information from Older Piece You Consider Better up until Current Piece You Consider Worse. even if it doesn't show! the skill builds and will be apparent soon enough, the journey is never wasted. it just accumulates weirdly sometimes

#asks #Anonymous

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phoeebsbuffay · 2 years

Text

Imagine “Star Wars” especial edition: crossovers.

Designs of Blood. [2/?]

Imagine: you are the daughter of a powerful king whose realm is located in a not so far away galaxy. You have an older brother who died, and thus you are the king’s only heir. The council is obliged to acknowledge your inheritance, but upon the king’s death, you are found usurped by your half-brother—the king’s son by his second married. You need to fight back, but you also need more allies. Hence, you contact Anakin Skywalker, your old friend from the days where you almost became Jedi yourself. However, when he comes to you, he finds you a very different person… Will your friendship remain in these turbulent days? What will be of you?

Warnings 1: this is based on “House of the Dragon”s plot. For those who might not be aware with the upcoming “Game of Thrones”’s spin-off, it’s about the dispute of the iron throne between Rhaenyra Targaryen and her half brother, Aegon II. Some names are changedand some other details are different too, but the story is basically the same (hence the crossover).

Warnings 2: contains A LOT of angst and drama,smut and violence. Do not read this if you are either sensitive to the themes or a minor. Of course there’ll be fluffy ending because of reasons.

Anakin’s POV.

When he went back from his mission with Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin’s thoughts drove him to you, the silver-haired princess of lilac eyes.

“I still don’t understand why she can’t be afford a mission, Master”, Anakin complained to Obi-Wan since he’d promised you he’d advocate for you. Even though he didn’t appreciate that, was there anything he would refuse you?

“The whole objective of her staying with us is to learn how to orchestrate the Jedi arts. But we have a feeling she might not staying with us for long”, he said, sounding distracted.

He didn’t like what he heard. His heart pounded against his chest and maybe Obi-Wan detected a disturbance in you.

“What? Did you really think she was going to stay with us for good?”, so he said upon the look of perplexity in his Padawan’s face. “For the Maker, Anakin. There’s so much for you to learn yet. She is like a Senator, except there will be other purposes for a lady of her position in the realm where she came from. Hence why she was sent here. Do not get yourself too attached.”

Anakin did not respond him, deep in thoughts he was. He remembered how both of you overcame the initial difficulties and became close. He followed you wherever you went, he loved to listen to stories of your ancestors, he was there to watch you weep for the first—and so far only time.

He comforted you as much as you comforted him in the nightmares the Padawan had for long nights about his mother. And this bounded the two of you even more—you understood each other even if your realities were strikingly opposed to the other.

So Anakin was looking for you. It’s been months since you last saw each other because he had to fly to another planet in a deadly pursuit against Count Dooku—which resulted in nothing, much to his consternation.

And there you were. Meditating. Anakin was amazed by your sight. Concentrated, eyes closed, legs crossed. You still didn’t abandon the attachment to your house, though, because the colors of your robes were red and black. Your hair had grown in his absence, but you had braided on the fashion of your realm. Anakin’s heart raced.

Bad sign.

Bad sign indeed.

To worse all, his eyes scanned your neck and down your curves. You were no longer a little girl, having grown to a fine woman. The two of you were maturing together, even though time had only helped flourish your beauty, highlighting every aspect of your Valyrian inheritance.

It was when you noticed his presence, often so quiet—an almost disrupting contrast to his open, warm, rebel-like manners. When your eyes opened, Anakin’s blue eyes were transfixed in your lilac ones. He was trapped, more so when you stood and walked to his direction, always graciously.

“Ani, it’s good to see you”, you greeted him warmly and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Your hands sought for his and he didn’t take long to hold them. “What took you so long?”

“Y/nickname”, Anakin gave you a crooked grin; his heart melting when you blushed. “I missed you too. I was occupied fighting away those bastards, but bloody hell Dooku is difficult to find!”

You dwelt onto his eyes, mesmerized by his handsome features. Anakin could read your thoughts and perhaps you were aware of such abilities, because you did not mind at all he did. He knew you were fond of him. Perhaps more than just fondness. His heart skipped a beat.

“I’m sorry about that, but were there any accomplishments?” You inquired him, taking his arm as you drive him to a spot that was often sacred to you.

Anakin sighed, but when looking at you, his features softened. He didn’t say nothing for a moment, especially when he knew you expected him to. Yet he waited until the two of you were completely alone, hidden behind great walls of trees, surrounded by flowers and promenades.

There he took your hand to his and said, after noticing a shadow eclipsed your good mood from earlier:

“I was afraid to tell you how I feel for some reasons. The first was that you are socially superior to me.” And when the hurt broke in your eyes, Anakin’s heart pained too. But the truth should be spoken. “Nonetheless, you are not to stay with us forever, an illusion I fed.”

You cupped his face with your hands, gently stroking his cheeks.

“There is little use to think of the future, Ani. What we have matters more than time, it flows beyond it.” You said softly, with whatever confident you had in you.

Moved by your words, Anakin needed not to think twice. He pulled you for a kiss, a kiss you eagerly responded to. It was all he thought about it and more. His hands slided to your sides before he pulled you against a tree nearby. You gasped against his lips and Anakin sensed the desire he woke in you, which made him smirk.

However, when he parted the kiss to contemplate you, to behold your beauty and the sentiments you woke in him, he knew that was not the time to consume the fire it was in both of you.

“I love you, my princess of silver locks and lilac eyes.” He took your hands to his and pressed each a kiss, smiling as he watched a deep shade of pink coloring your porcelain cheeks.

“And I, you, my knight in shining armor”, you said, leaning forward to peck his lips.

You leant into each other as the sunset colored the skies in different shades of orange. Back then, both of you thought this was a perfect scenario for the love of each other. Yet… how little you knew what was to come.

***

Your POV.

You knew it was risky. You knew you were incurring in danger of being expelled if you were caught or, worse, if you had your reputation damaged. Certainly what was in your mind would incurr in scandal.

But because every day the fear in you about not seeing him again grew in your chest, you decided that it was worth the risk.

So there you were, in your white nightgown and your hair completely loose, moving barefoot to Anakin’s quarters. He must probably be sleeping, but you paid no mind to that. The idea brought a side unknown to you.

You knew his door was usually unlocked—even before you formed your relationship, you visited him innocently and he never let the door locked for you. It didn’t take much of your time before you slipped in his bedchambers. Even in the dark, you saw him shirtless—the sight of his muscles well built were enough to drive you crazy.

Anakin sensed a presence in his bedroom, but before he panicked, in his heart he knew it was you.

“Y/N?”

You responded him with a kiss. There was little time to react. He pulled you onto his lap before turning you to his side in bed. There was no need to question your motives: he felt them. So he pursued your lips ferociously.

“Are you sure?” He asked you though when your hands began undoing his pants. A gasp left his lips when you, so eager, cupped his manhood right into your hands.

You were fire, and he knew it. As a dragon yourself, you were made by it, being the bride of flames that for years were under control. However, as your attachment to Anakin developed in such a depth throughout these years, feeling he completed you as much as you completed him, you have never been so sure of what you’d want.

“Yes, my love.” You moaned as you felt it pulsing continuously in response to your caring, but not so much coherent moves. Anakin chuckled at your inexperience, him too not different, but helped you with it before he parted the kiss to explore your neck and remove your gown. “Please, Ani!” You begged as he began bitting your neck before going down to your breasts all the while he placed his fingers inside you.

There was an unknown urge in how you discovered each other’s bodies in the process. You pulled him over you, contemplating those blue eyes and reading hesitation in them.

“I’m yours.” You whispered.

“As I am, princess. But”, and here was as if he sensed something might come from this reckless move the two of you took part in, “are you sure about this?”

You spread your legs in order to give him space, all the while your hands moved up and down his back. As you kissed him fiercely, he got the answer he wanted.

That night, the two of you made a very passionately love. But neither could regret. Especially when that was the last night the two of you spent together.

Two days later, you were found in Anakin’s company when Obi-Wan came to you, accompanied by Master Yoda. Judging by the looks on the faces of them, you knew bad news were coming. So you stood, followed by your lover, who sensed too.

“Lady Y/N Targaryen, learned a lot with us you have”, said Yoda. “But to an end every cycle comes. Known it is.”

“We have received a letter from Master Paul”, said Obi-Wan. His eyes were expressive as he said. “Your presence is required at home. It’s time to go back to Westeros.”

You paled and your heart weighted. Admittedly you forgot about your home. You embraced the Jedi Order even if you were not meant to become one. And then… there was Anakin, of course.

“Is…Is there a reason for this?”, you asked because you sensed there was more. Anakin saw that you were avoiding to look him in the eye and he wished he could comfort you.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Your brother, the heir to the throne, unfortunately died. A plague took his life”, you were told. “Although your father remarried, he asks you to be there. Because…”

Your heart trembled and your knees were weak. The weight was on your shoulders.

“…he is acknowledging me as his heiress.” You did not know you were holding your breath until now. “Were you aware this day would come when you took me in?”

Yoda calmly responded you:

“To every event a reason to happen there is, younger one. Clouded your future to us remained. Learn your lessons, regardless, you had to.”

You nodded then, reasoning with him. You came to acknowledge a fact ever since your mother came to past away that you’d not stay there for good. Nonetheless, you felt hurt. As if the Gods betrayed you, used you to amuse them.

But that was not the time to revolt. There was a duty to your family that you had to perform.

“When am I expected to depart?”

“As soon as possible.”

You said then that you’d pack your things. Anakin followed your footsteps and you sensed the frustration you had within you.

“You can’t go, Y/N!”

“I have duties to perform, Ani”, you said, sounding distance to your ears. “I cannot refuse my family. You understand more than I do.”

He didn’t care if you were in public, he turned you to him so you could look at him. He was surprised when he saw tears in your eyes, since you were not the one prompted to weep.

“Y/nickname…” he realized he’d be selfish keeping you, so he embraced you instead as hard as it was to speak his mind.

But you wished he’d say it. You deep down wanted to be convinced to stay. However, as the two of you look right into another’s eyes, a question would remain unanswered: would duty be able to be replaced by love?

Your arrival at King’s Landing was celebrated with cheers by low born and high born alike even though you noticed that aristocrats were playing the role well.

What has changed here?

Almost everything. Your stepmother, king Viserys’s second wife, was a noblewoman close to your age and who happened to have been part of your retinue before you left to the Jedi Order.

Dressed richly in green silk gown and esmerald jewels, she came to you side by side with the children she’d not so long ago gave birth to: two boys and a girl. You’d greet each other politely, before your father came to you. You’ve noticed the king was rather under distress despite the cheerfulness upon which he received you.

“Your Grace, my father”, you dipped to a gracious curtsy.

“Please rise, my child. Come to me.” He embraced you and as he did so you’ve come to notice how long you missed him. “It’s been such a long time. How grown you are! So beautiful, just like your mother m!”

You smiled at him.

“Why thank you, papa, that is most kind of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been around when all of this happened.”

“No, no. You had duties to perform and what happened was beyond the reach of human hands”, said he. “But we should no remember tragedy when you are around. Come now, child. I’m giving you a feast in your honor.”

You gladly complied to him. As the royal family entered back at court again, you were delighted to meet your friends, especially the ladies who could not go with you to Coruscant.

However, even though you were happy to see familiar faces again, why would you feel a strange in the nest?

But you hoped to conceal your feelings in a Jedi way, so no one would read you easily. It was a trick that was to serve you well. After food was served and courtiers started to dance, your father turned to you.

“All reports that came from you or were written to Master Pyuk were very positive”, the king said proudly. “But as a princess of royal blood, you understand that was not your fate to stay there.”

You nodded your head, masking that strangeness that would not leave your heart since your arrival. Perhaps because you missed Anakin and the possibility of never seeing him again pained your heart and troubled your conscience.

“I understand, my father.” You said so, even though that you, in fact, did not. Your father’s wife gave him two male heirs. Why were you summoned? You may suspected the answer, which you were prompted to embrace, but something seemed so unfit…

“Always mindful of your duties like your mother”, he said, making you smile. “That is why, in order to respect the traditions of our ancestors, I agreed to marry you to prince Daemon.”

Oh. You looked at your father with eyebrows raised. There was a political purpose to that bold move, you could tell, but it would not be before within days this would be clear for you—and to everyone at court.

***

Anakin’s POV.

All the while you were dealing with the consequences of your depart, Anakin was forced to carry on with his life. There were missions that occupied his mind, distracting his heart from the grief of losing you.

He’d remember Obi-Wan admonishing him for the attachment bond the two of you formed.

“Perhaps it’s for your own good this didn’t give to any fruition.” But he softened when looking at the frustration stamped in his features. “I know how you feel, Anakin. I once harbored feelings for Duchess Satine. Feelings are normal, they come sometimes unwelcomingly so. However, it is what you do with these sentiments that matter. Besides, I don’t think Y/N would like to see you miserable.”

“I am not miserable, Master.”

To which Obi-Wan responded with eyebrows raised.

“You’ve been grumpy for two weeks and I sensed anger in you every time you battled the droids. Come now, Anakin. There’s no need to be unreasonable”, he said in a rather paternally voice. “Your destiny is here, hers is there. It is what it is.”

Anakin did not say anything. As he had wars to keep him busy, there was left little time to dwell on your depart. As the days turned into weeks, and these into months, however, the Jedi was tormented by nightmares again. And they were about you.

King’s Landing was on fire, a complete chaos. Civilians ran to their households, carrying their children in tears. There was despair and anger, as if this was a place commanded by the Sith. Anakin’s eyes searched immediately for you. To his surprise, you were nowhere to be found… until he heard the roar of dragons.

Reptile winged creatures whose scams were colored differently, made of rough material, flew on the skies. It was terror itself. Anakin himself felt frightened by such sight. His horror was replaced by astonishment when he saw you.

You were riding a beautiful female dragon with fierce eyes that matched yours. There was no sign of who you were to him, the joyful, mischievous princess who loved him with all the tenderness he once knew.

No. What he saw was an iron mask in your porcelain skin and the very sign of darkness in your eyes. There was anger in your lilac irises.

“You will not become the one thing we swore to destroy”, Anakin said in the dream.

But you weren’t listening to him. You commanded your dragon to burn the city. As it did. Anakin would not believe it. This wasn’t you. He tried to appeal to reason.

It was when he saw someone that looked so much like you. A silver haired prince mounted in another dragon came right to you. The two dragons danced. There was fight. Anakin could not believe in what he was seeing.

You used the power of Force to choke upon that prince. Anakin was anxious. What had become of you?

“Y/N! No! This is not the Jedi way!” He pledged to your deaf ears.

But even if you succeeded choking your rival, another came. Surprised by this other one, you were attacked. Your dragon was hurt. And you fell.

Amidst the fire and blood, which he knew to be the motto of your house, you fell. Anakin tried to hold onto you, but he was already late. You were gone. All he could do was hold you, lifeless, against him and cry. Until anger consumed him. Until he was no more himself. Until something snapped the desire for revenge in him.

It was when he woke up.

Desolated by what he dreamed, Anakin felt in his heart this was the prelude of something wicked that was to come. Yet he felt completely powerless before these designs of blood. There had no way to communicate with you despite remembering the letters you used to exchange with the family left on King’s Landing back home.

But writing a letter was not suffice to convince Anakin you were well. So he decided to talk to Obi-Wan about this nightmare which plagued him, as much as Anakin did not like to share to anyone what often weighed on his heart. Well except with you, because you were each other’s confidants.

“Master, what news do we have of…other realms?”

Obi-Wan was reading the news in his room when his Padawan stepped inside. Without looking at him, the ginger Jedi said:

“If you are looking for news of Y/N’s realm, you could have asked. So far nothing significant.” But he sensed a deep fear in Anakin, so he put the news on table and said: “What’s going on, Anakin? Is there something troubling you?”

But Anakin wasn’t so sure about telling his Master in regards of his nightmares. Obi-Wan stood and went to stand right before him. Very gently he pressed a hand over his shoulder:

“I just sensed she’s in danger, that is all”, he admitted, even though he was telling partially the truth.

Obi-Wan’s face softened.

“I know you care a great deal about her, Anakin. But believe in me, she’s safe and probably compromising herself with familial duties. Speaking of which, I have a new mission for you. I’m afraid you’ve been doing poor use of your…erm, how should I put it? Your constant agitation.”

Unwilling so, Anakin chuckled at the peculiar choice of words used by his Master.

“Well, if that’s how you think I am… it’s a better word than being seen as the wayward Jedi.”

“To which you are. One thing does not exclude the other”, said Obi-Wan. “Besides if everything goes well you might be assigned a Padawan yourself.”

Anakin arched his eyebrows.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Don’t make me regret this decision, Anakin.”

Though Anakin was briefly distracted of his heartache, he knew he could not leave the Order. As much as he loved you, abandon Obi-Wan Kenobi was too much for him to consider. Conflicted thus, he decided to ignore the whole issue.

Time went on as a result. Anakin earned a Padawan named Ahsoka Tano and much to his own dismay, he grew attached to her. It was, as formerly said, a brief distraction.

Because his nightmares came back again.

You were dressed in black and red velvet gown, your silver hair braided in the fashion of your realm. Your ears and your neck were adorned with gold. Your countenance was serious and you stood before a number of men dressed in fancy robes.

Right behind you stood the Iron Throne, one Anakin only recognized because you told him about it. He assumed the seater to be your father. The next words Anakin heard came from him:

“All those present step forward to vow before me, before the Gods, your allegiance to my heir. By doing thus you are not only acknowledging her right to succeed me, but also pledging her loyalty as you once did to me.”

The first man that stepped before you was dark haired, eyes black as coal and grave semblance. He knelt before you and professed:

“I, Orlys of the House Baratheon, pledge my alliance and loyalty to Y/N of the House Targaryen.”

You offered his hand for him to kiss, your eyes seemed distant as if you wished to be elsewhere. Anakin suffered when looking at you like this.

Must be duty the death of love?

The scenario changed. It was another celebration, but most faces seemed clearly displeased by it. It took some time to Anakin realize that it was about a royal marriage. He was petrified when he saw it was about your marriage.

Anakin was enraged, but no matter how much he tried to yell at you, he was unheard, unseen… ignored. He wept.

But if he was careful to see better the details of the union, he’d detect unhappiness underneath the iron mask you began to make use. Anakin tried to awake, but for some strange reason he could not.

It was when the scenario changed again and he stood by your side in what Anakin assumed to be your private quarters. You glanced away at the view of different buildings architected in styles that the Jedi thought so different.

“They are not going to accept me on the throne”, he heard you speak. There was contempt in your speech. “I will be forced to fight for it. Are you prepared for this eventuality, Daemon?”

Jealousy came violently to shake Anakin’s personal despair. The man you were talking to was your husband. This prince Daemon looked at you as if you were a piece of meat even though all there was in his eyes were coldness.

“I’m prepared for it. I have a good army.”

You nodded, never looking at your husband as you conversed.

“But the question is, Y/N: there’ll be fire, there’ll be blood. Are you willing to burn and bleed?”

You turned abruptly at him. Anakin was hurt to see you were carrying the man’s child. However, a pleasant feeling washed away his subtle darkness when he came to realize that… maybe, there was a possibility you were carrying his child.

“Yes, I am.” This was the answer Anakin was most displeased to listen. “I am the daughter of the Dragon, Daemon. You too would well to remember that.”

He laughed a cold laughter.

“Naturally.”

Once again powerless before these visions Anakin held little control upon, he watched as he was taken to the moment you gave birth. He was appalled by your distress, ignoring that the king had been recently deceased and Aegon, your half brother and not you, was praised as the new king. All the while you were in labor, you had been usurped.

“It’s a son!” The midwives announced.

You embraced the baby, ignoring all the rise of darkness that even Anakin sensed was growing in you. But the sight of your son appealed your shadows. When he opened his eyes, Anakin knew that was his son, even though one iris had the same shade blue of his whilst the other iris was dark shade purple.

“My boy”, you wept when holding him against you. Anakin wished he could be there for you. He didn’t realize he too had been weeping, deprived of what should be a moment of happiness. “I sense the force in you, of course. Aegon will be your name, far more worthy of carrying it than the one who now uses it.”

You kissed him, proud for him being every inch a Targaryen even though Anakin sensed your fears about the boy.

After all, what if he was not born with the Targaryens traits so strong on him? What would be of you? Thankfully, not all was as bad as it might’ve been…

(To be continue)

#star wars #imagine Star Wars #Star Wars imagine #crossovers #house of the dragon #game of thrones #Anakin Skywalker #obi-wan Kenobi #Darth Vader #Anakin Skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #Anakin Skywalker smut #Anakin Skywalker x reader #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #house targaryen

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crossoverbaps · 7 months

Text

The New Cadet Part 1

Adele was a simple fox girl who lived at the SLURP academy. She had no idea why her parents had sent her there, they just told her to learn and be good. She loved learning and was kind hearted and kept a cheerful disposition. But deep down, she actually didn’t like SLURP much. She loved to learn about its history and culture, and it was a great place to learn science. But she wasn’t a fan of the other cadets.

She was genuinely close to Finley, a cadet who didn’t have many friends, and she had other friends as well. But she hated how everyone was mean and awful to each other. She didn’t get the short end of the stick when it came to the crossfire, but she didn’t enjoy seeing anyone hurt. She was often annoyed by a chicken she knew as “Buck”. He didn’t know how to do much except make others feel bad. However, everyone treated him even worse, causing him to break down in tears when he thought nobody was watching. She heard his sobs a few times and it broke her heart. One thing she did admire about him was his art, even though nobody else ever appreciated it besides his older sister. Even Finley mocked his style, which she was not proud of him for.

Adele woke up one morning in her floral patterned bed, surrounded by stuffed animals. She yawned, then after she kissed her favorites, she floated to her mirror to brush her hair, then she went to her walk-in closet to get dressed in her SLURP uniform. Another day for her.

When she floated out of her pod shaped cabin, she saw Finley and Starley holding hands with Chuck. She smiled a little at them. Chuck had gone missing for a few days, worrying his older siblings to death, but now he was back and safe, causing the three to become even closer and more considerate to each other (as considerate as rival siblings could be).

Adele’s main objective for the time being was to wait for her younger sister to arrive, who just turned old enough to join SLURP. She was excited to see her, she loved her sister no matter how much of a handful she was. She was excitable and a big geek, but Adele loved that and everything else about her. The only thing she really worried about was the other cadets antagonizing her. But Adele, despite not being the toughest, was ready to defend her from anything.

The pod flew into AIIA’s mouth and landed on the foyer, the driver let a green and brown fox outside.

“Fern!” Adele cheered, then hugged her. Fern only hovered a few inches off the floor, unable to fly as well as Adele. Adele could fly high in spite of her clumsiness.

“I hope you enjoy it here, I have so much to show you.” Adele smiled, slightly nervously, which Fern didn’t notice at all.

“Thanks! I’m ready!” Fern shouted.

“We have to sign you in first.” Adele giggled. She she held Fern’s paw and guided her to the office where they say Glargg, the mean green principal.

“Glargg demands to know your business!” Glargg shouted.

“Just here to sign in… I’m the new cadet… Mr. Glargg, The name’s Fern Vixaroo.” Fern grinned sheepishly. “Adele’s sister.”

“Fine, just sign here and then go to your class!” Glargg commanded.

“Yes sir.” Fern sweated a little. “He’s… Intense…” “Yeah, that’s our principal.” Adele rolled her eyes a little.

“My first class is Humdropth’s.” Fern said. “Yeah, you have the same classes as me.” Adele told her. “I’ll show you where it is, follow me, my best science friend Finley is there, you’ll like him, trust me.” “Thanks for everything sis.” Fern thanked her older sister.

“No problem, anytime.” Adele nodded happily as she held Fern’s hand again and flew off, causing Fern to laugh. She loved flying with her sister and couldn’t wait to be her age so she could fly on her own.

“Adele, this is your first late day ever, it better not happen again.” Humdropth, the squid barked.

“Yes sir.” Adele apologized. “This is my sister, the new recruit.” “Oh yeah, Glargg told me she was coming, he didn’t seem happy about it, but he’s never happy about anything.” Humdropth rambled. “Now sit down and listen up.” Adele sat down, Fern was about to follow suit. “Not you yet, we have to introduce you first and whatnot.” “I didn’t know Adele had a sister.” Starley smiled and whispered.

“I only heard a little about her.” Finley whispered back. Meanwhile Chuck stared at Adele with hearts floating everywhere.

“I’m Fern… I like to collect cards and play video games.” Fern smiled.

“Another NERD!!!” Niven called out as she laughed along with her gang, Dweezil, Sol, and Zonk.

“Another word from you four and I may convince Glargg and Skyla to expel you!” Humdropth scolded Niven and the others, and they went silent. “Anyway, thanks, Fern. You may sit down now.”

“Niven is mean all the time, but I thought she would be better by now.” Starley groaned.

“What makes you say that?” Finley whispered to her. “Nevermind.” Starley brushed off the subject.

“I think I will like it here.” Fern smiled obliviously as she sat on the empty seat, happily awaiting what would happen next.

#Space Chickens in Space #Original Character

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