#the chapter was already written but the title comes from there it just matches the vibe so well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that cruel smile—

Better to avoid him altogether.

A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit.

“Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.”

“I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

“You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head.

“Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.” You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head.

“One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

“Fit for a queen.”

“The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

“I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

“Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array.

“Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress.

More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

You suppress a shiver.

“Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt.

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?”

Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

“I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.”

You grind your teeth.

The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it.

”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you.

“Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.”

Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it.

“Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you.

A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.

As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle.

Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful.

Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly.

“Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears.

“T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought.

“Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can.

“Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

“Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there.

“Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.”

You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride.

That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly.

“Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

“No, no, it’s nothing—”

“Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?”

You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

She is angry.

You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal perfectly, even without her input.

You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

“Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.”

—

The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth.

Everything is dead here.

The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden.

It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips.

Your father stands before you.

He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut.

He is horrible.

He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

“No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

“A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.”

The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so.

I slept… unusually deeply.

You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind.

You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you.

After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces.

To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow.

It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress.

“I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow.

“Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

“I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

“ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

“The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

“Yes, thank you. I would.”

Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request.

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence.

“Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly.

“So that the gods might receive their prayers.”

The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color.

“Is it not beautiful, lady?”

“Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest.

It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead.

If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now.

“Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest.

“Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?”

“She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word. “Heathenistic rituals.”

The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation.

“Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?” His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way.

“Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.”

“Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat.

“Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him.

“Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name.

“My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.”

“That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly.

“He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement.

“Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.”

“Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection.

“Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?”

Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.”

“This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey.

“W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

“I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.”

“H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra.

“My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.”

“By all means.”

Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

Geralt’s, and the wolf’s.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

917 notes · View notes

talesofesther · 10 months

Text

is it too late to call you mine? | ch 2

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: In Sebastian's prettiest dreams, you'd wear a gown of a color that matched his tie, he'd take your hand and dance all night until morning came. But those dreams felt like a farfetched reality. Would you even consider going with him? As more than a friend?

A/N: Right I lied before, we're gonna have one more chapter for this story after this one lol. Written for @spaceyaceface's HL Writing Challenge. Hope you guys like it. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

"One would think that with a library of this size, the school would have more books about this," you mumbled under your breath, brushing your hand over the cover of the thick book to rid it of the dust.

Hogwarts library had to be one of the most enchanting libraries you've ever been to; with its tall dark wooden bookshelves, high windows, spiral stairs leading up to the second floor, paintings, warm orange lighting, and desks and armchairs scattered about for each student to read to their heart's content—it all made you adore spending hours in here. It was common for Sebastian to join you, you'd both sit together and exchange thoughts about the books you've been reading until Madam Scribner had to kick you out so you'd be back in your common rooms before curfew.

Today, however, you were alone; skimming between stacks of books which were mostly forgotten and had a layer of dust covering them.

The Yule Ball was less than a week away, and it only just occurred to you that you didn't know the first thing about dancing. At least not the kind of formal dancing that one does at an event like this, with a partner.

You stared down at the book in your hands for a few long seconds before closing your eyes with a sigh.

Praying that the single book you managed to find would help you, you turned around to make your way to Madam Scribner's desk so she could check out the book for you. Once you rounded a corner, however, you bumped straight into something firm and warm, a startled oof escaping your lips as your feet lost their balance.

Only it wasn't something, it was someone. Gentle hands quickly took hold of both your elbows so you wouldn't end up falling to the floor. When you finally looked up, you were met with a familiar array of freckles and a dazzling grin.

"Picking up a new book? Without me?" Sebastian slowly pried his hands from you, his dark eyes giving a quick glance up and down before he laid one palm over his chest; "I'm wounded."

You chuckled, your knuckles going white around the book because of how close he was standing. "I'm not picking up a new book… Well, I am," you hesitated, "but you won't be interested in this one, I'm sure."

Sebastian raised a curious eyebrow at you, the golden candlelights of the library shaping the outlines of his face and highlighting the auburn of his hair to perfection. "Oh? And what book might that be?"

You bit at the inside of your cheek, not directly answering him but loosening your grip on the book ever so slightly. There wasn't a thing you could hide from him anyway.

Reaching a hand out, Sebastian tilted the book away from where you held it against your chest, coming to stand right beside you so he could properly read what was on the cover. And you could suddenly feel the warmth radiating from his body; his shoulder brushing yours and raising goosebumps on your skin while your lungs already lacked air. You could hate Sebastian for the obvious effect he has on you.

"Dancing techniques through the ages?" Sebastian read the title of the book out loud, and when he turned to look at you, the expression on his face was nearly comical, "are you even interested in that?"

You gave him what was half a smile and half a grimace, hugging the book closer to your chest again and taking half a step away from him. If you weren't so flustered you probably would've noticed the slight bit of hurt that flashed through his eyes because of your movement. "Yes?" You tried, and then groaned, "not really, but I kind of have to read it."

"Why? I don't remember us having any classes on dancing," Sebastian shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants.

"Yeah, I know, I know," you sighed, then closed your eyes as you spoke, much quieter; "it's because of the Ball."

"The… Ball? Why would you-" Sebastian cut himself off when he finally understood, he hesitated, his plump lips hovering for just a second, "oh, you don't-"

"No, I don't know how to dance," you huffed, feeling your cheeks immediately warming up. You avoided Sebastian's eyes then. There was really no reason to feel ashamed, dancing wasn't a skill everyone was expected to have. Yet, you couldn't help but feel at least a little self-conscious under the gaze of those dark eyes.

"And you expect to learn that from a book?" The smile could be heard clearly in Sebastian's voice; not mocking, at least not your lack of skill, maybe just your choice of a solution.

You glanced up at him again, raising your eyebrows as if to say; 'yeah, what of it?'.

An amused chuckle stumbled past his lips just before his cheek molded back to that smirk of his. "It's like learning to duel by reading a book about it. Doesn't work."

More often than not, Sebastian frustrated you to no end. It was just his luck that he looked damn good while doing it. "How else am I supposed to learn anything about it, Sebastian? The Ball is in less than a week." You argued, dropping the book on top of the nearest table as you grew restless.

Sebastian stayed quiet for a few beats, his lower lip stuck between his teeth as he apparently mulled over his next words. "I could teach you… If you'd like."

He refused to look you straight in the eye as he spoke, and you doubt you'd ever heard him sound this… timid. Hesitant. Changing his weight from one foot to the other as he picked at a loose thread on his sweater while waiting for your answer.

Sebastian was nervous.

"You know how to dance?" You were surprised at how your own voice sounded somewhat shy. The thought of Sebastian teaching you—his hands holding you close, guiding your movements; his body close to yours, personal space forgotten—made you feel all warm.

Sebastian hummed, his teasing smile making an appearance again, "you pick up a thing or two if you attend enough parties. I could teach you the basics at least, you won't be completely at a loss of what to do then."

You breathed in deeply, pursing your lips as you nodded. "Alright." It was a much better option than just reading a book about it anyway.

"Alright," Sebastian repeated after you, his throat working through a gulp, "meet me near the Undercroft entrance after curfew tonight."

"Not in the Undercroft?" You frowned.

"Not quite," his sultry voice kissed your ears, "no music in the Undercroft, after all."

── ·❆· ──

The hallways of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower were completely empty as you walked, the pristine tiles reflecting each of your steps. It was past 10 PM and the moon was high in the sky, you could only hope you wouldn't run into any of the ghosts… again.

Sebastian waited for you with his back leaning against the wall near the Undercroft, just as he said. His arms were crossed over his chest as his foot tapped the ground rhythmically. He perked up once he laid eyes on you, a gentle and sincere smile coming to his lips.

"Ready for some dance lessons, my lady?" He asked in an over-the-top courteous voice that got you endearingly rolling your eyes.

"As I'll ever be," you smiled softly then, feeling your hands growing a bit sweaty, "thank you for doing this, by the way."

Sebastian only shook his head, his own smile still playing on his lips. He avoided your eyes, "don't mention it," he told you quietly, before pushing himself off the wall and walking past you, "come on then."

You followed Sebastian up the stairs, trailing behind him until a gentle, familiar classical tune reached your ears. He lead you to the enchanted violins and cello that were constantly playing in the tower, and now you finally understood why he said 'not in the Undercroft'.

"I suppose it's close enough to what will be playing in the Ball," Sebastian gestured to the enchanted instruments.

You chuckled, taking half a step closer to him, "clever."

As the soft melody swirled around you, the air seemed to shift between you and Sebastian. Different from the usual commotion during the day, the DADA tower was entirely too calm tonight; dimly lit as it was bathed in various shades of golden coming from the candlelights that reflected against the polished floor, completely devoid of any presence save for you and him—what once reminded you of Professor Hecat's assignments, now felt like a private ballroom, tailor-made to hold this moment alone.

Sebastian cleared his throat. You wondered if he felt the shift too. "Right so, in a dance, you'll want to be as relaxed as possible, trying to move in sync with your partner," he told you, "I doubt that-" he hesitated then, words seemingly heavy on his tongue, "I doubt that Weasley is much of a dancer, so if you know a basic waltz it should be more than enough."

There was something about the way the candlelights shone against Sebastian's features, all soft and pretty, turning his expression into something akin to adoration. For you.

Your heart was suddenly in your throat. Sebastian's stare was almost too much. You'd gladly drown in that 'too much'. It holds you hostage, pierces like the afternoon sun.

"May I?" He asked, one hand outstretched, waiting for your permission to hold your waist.

You only nodded, not trusting your voice.

Sebastian looked as nervous as you felt, and you didn't want to dwell on why that was. Not now.

With a delicacy only you had the privilege of knowing, Sebastian placed a hand on your waist; the other finding your own hand so he could intertwine your fingers with his. His chest was a hair's width away from touching yours.

Your free hand came to rest on his shoulder then, as if your souls were always meant to be this entangled. You refused to look him straight in the eyes, praying that he wouldn't feel the shaking of your fingers when you squeezed his hand.

"Relax," Sebastian whispered, his voice so close to your ear that it sent shivers down your spine.

But the shaking of the syllables betrayed his own statement. Sebastian's hand on your waist tightened its grip, as his mind drowned in the possibility of you and him. Here, in this fraction of a moment, with your heartbeat following the rhythm of his own, the dream felt almost within reach.

You didn't know, but every minute with you was torture for him. Every minute you dangled something in front of him, something he knew was unattainable.

Every minute that you weren’t his was another droplet from his bleeding heart.

"What now?" you breathed suddenly, quiet as to not break the peaceful bubble around you, yet still startling him back to reality.

Several emotions were swimming behind Sebastian's eyes then, too many for you to put a finger in any of them. A soft blush formed under his freckles, barely noticeable against the faint candlelights.

But you saw it. There was a beat before either of you said anything, a beat where you just looked at each other, wondering whether the other person’s feeling the same way.

"Right, it's not hard," Sebastian straightened in his posture, adjusting your joined hands as he took one deep breath, "just try to follow me, slowly, from one side to another."

Surprisingly, Sebastian was quite a skilled dancer. At first, he did most of the work, guiding your body through each step and turn, getting you comfortable until you were aware enough to follow him quicker and on your own. And you found that it was easy to follow him; your feet, hips, and hands complemented his movements as if you were one.

You weren't sure how long it had been, all you knew was that Sebastian's hands were warm on you, your body feeling as light as a feather as you waltzed around the empty tower. Any tension any of you had felt before was long gone now. Sebastian's smile was soft and his chuckles were a music better than the one of the enchanted violins. Your soul moved in tandem with his and your bold hands pulled his body closer to yours.

If anyone were to glance, you two could easily be mistaken for the dancing ghosts that sometimes appeared around the castle.

"I think it's safe to say you're a natural," Sebastian said in between laughs, amused at the way you were dragging him around now.

You felt the squeeze of his hand on your waist, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine. "It's much more fun than I thought it would be," you told him, just a little breathless. "But I had a good teacher too, I suppose," you teased, tilting your head with a smirk.

You let go of his shoulder then, allowing him to twirl you around and then straight back into his arms. This simple night turned into a moment you'd be happy to live in forever.

Sebastian's own smile gets a little loose and gone when you do this—staying too close, smiling at him, touching—but you seem oblivious to it.

Whatever the future may hold, he was happy to say you were his; if only for this night.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Sebastian’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @auxiliare @arawai

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow imagine #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x f!reader #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #sebastian sallow fanfiction #my story

230 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 5 months

Text

Let’s be one another’s present tense

Buggy ‘rescues’ you from an abusive situation, and after a less than stellar introduction, he has you audition for his crew to keep you safe. You want safety, security, and joining a circus seems like the best idea.

Rating: R-ish for now. Warning: Swearing, brief nudity, snarkiness to one another. A/N: This has been sitting in my head as I worked it out for an Anon’s request. I have been really intrigued by this and wanted it to be just right. Also, it gave me the chance to ask my circus obsessed friend about different routines and we bounced some ideas off each other. This is also a touch different than other things I’ve written, which is why I’ve been taking so long to work on it and get it posted. Enjoy!

Title comes from “Crater Lake” by Lady Lamb.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 (NC-17) + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @neuvilleteismybby @fluffybunnyu @sinning-23 @the-angriest-angel @ane5e

Chapter 3

Settling into life in the tent was easier than you thought. The cot wasn’t that comfortable but you had a blanket and a pillow and it was your bed that you didn’t have to share. No one on the crew made any comments about the newcomer sharing a room with the Captain, but they knew better than to start gossiping. And it was just the room, not the bed. That was very clear and you were grateful for the space.

Though Buggy needed to work on not being naked in the room when you were in there. In the weeks since you arrived, you had woken up at least five times to a very naked pirate getting dressed and while you shrieked at him the first three times, the fourth time you tried to pretend to be asleep while the fifth and final time you allowed yourself a moment to see what he looked like underneath the makeup and uniform. You liked seeing his long hair that he kept hidden away, and he was quite hairy on the chest and stomach, with the color matching what was on his head. You tried not to look down further past his waistline, but you got curious and so you looked and well, damn.

He caught you looking that morning and said nothing, but he winked at you before pulling his pants on.

You couldn’t look him in the eye the rest of the day.

You were ending your fourth week at the circus, now having been there a month. Your black eye was long gone, bruises healed, and you were already feeling more rested from your time in the tent. You had acquired an old Marine uniform for your gig, somehow finding enjoyment in wearing the uniform while pretending to drown. Buggy wanted you to make it a performance with you faking the drowning while you held your breath under water. He refused to let you go longer than three minutes and there was a freak ready to pull you out of the water if you tried to push it.

And while it was… different having someone looking out for you, it was nice. You were friendly with them now, some offering you tips on your performance to get the reactions from the audience (who, as you learned, had no choice but to watch the show as they were chained to their seats). It was, for you, a nice restart to life.

You interacted with your captain the most when you were in the tank, practicing holding your breath. He did it ever since your audition and you wondered if he was worried over you pushing yourself, but at the same time, he also paid that much attention to the others, though he started waiting for you to get out of the tank with clean towels to get you dried off faster and Cabaji was standing by with a hot cup of tea for you.

No one else got a hot cup of tea, just you, but it was just to warm yourself up after being in a tank full of cold water for almost an hour. Lemon ginger seemed to be what was available, and after you mentioned in passing to Cabaji about once having a lavender and mint blend, you were surprised to have it a week later. Cabaji said nothing as he handed it to you, though he glanced at his captain as Buggy handed you a warm towel.

You didn’t say anything to Buggy but you did smile at him as you took a sip of it. He pretended not to notice.

After a month in the tent you felt a little more comfortable with him. You called him Captain, he called you Cupcake, but occasionally you’d call him an asshole when he annoyed you or he’d call you a diva if he felt you messed up your routine (how do you mess up holding your breath?). It was chaotic at times, the two of you throwing petty insults at each other while everyone listened.

After one rehearsal, where you kept coming up for a breath every 45 seconds, Buggy finally couldn’t take it.

“Did you forget how to hold your breath already?!”

You spat water in his direction before splashing some out of the tank at him. “Hard to concentrate when you keep staring at me through the glass, you asshole!”

“I’m making sure your technique is right!”

“You don’t even know what I’m doing!” You shot back. “Why don’t you get up here and show me?”

“Did you forget something?” He looked at you like you were an idiot as his hands popped off his wrists. Oh, well, you kind of did forget he couldn’t get in the tank because there was occasionally sea water mixed in and you didn’t think it would be fair if the captain drowned during your practice routine. One hand flipped you off while the other went to the top of your head, dunking you under water just for a moment before returning to Buggy.

You came back up and grabbed onto the ledge, sticking your tongue out at him before your helper hoisted you out. Buggy didn’t wait around with towels, but Cabaji was there with your tea while you climbed out of the tank and went down the ladder. You took the cup and grumbled something about annoying captains and he needs to shut up while taking a few sips. Cabaji did get you one towel in the end, which really didn’t do much to dry you off, so you marched back to your shared room, leaving a wet trail behind you.

The room was empty, which was perfect because you didn’t need him critiquing you getting undressed. You shut the door and set your tea down before grabbing a dry pair of pants to put on.

“‘Oh, I’m just making sure your technique is right!’” You repeated mockingly as you pulled your wet clothes off and draped them over a chair. “‘Oh, did you forget how to hold your breath?’ Blah blah blah, I’m Buggy, I know everything even if I never did that routine before.” You dried your face with the towel before moving onto the rest of your body. “Asshole, distracting me while I’m trying to practice not drowning.”

“I wasn’t distracting you, just making sure you weren’t distracted.”

You stopped what you were doing and turned around to throw your wet towel at him. He managed to enter the room without you noticing and he was lucky it was just a wet towel you threw at him and not your tea. You were very naked and you really didn’t need him in the room with you while you were that exposed.

“Really? The door was shut!” You snapped as you hastily pulled a pair of pants on. You didn’t grab a shirt so you went to the wardrobe to find one, grabbing the first thing you saw. It was one of his, but honestly, you didn’t care because you didn’t need to be yelling at your captain while topless. “Learn to knock, asshole!”

“It’s my room first!” He shot back as he threw the towel on the ground. “You get the privilege of sleeping in here, so watch it or you’ll sleep in the lion’s cage!”

“At least the lion wouldn’t barge in on me when I’m naked!”

“You’ve seen me naked countless times! What’s the big deal?”

“I told you to stop being naked when I’m in the room!” You exclaimed. “Boundaries, Captain, boundaries!”

“You never said anything about me being in the room while you’re naked!”

“I shouldn’t have to!” You rubbed your face as you sat down on his bed. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”

“At least I’m better looking than a brick wall.” He grumbled as he kicked the towel away. You sighed and nodded.

“You’re not wrong about that.” You retorted. “I’d rather look at you than a brick wall. You at least talk back.”

Buggy crossed his arms and just shrugged as he looked you over. “Well, you seem okay. Just don’t drown. Cabaji likes having you around and he’s been more focused since you arrived.”

Huh, weird, okay. You shrugged as you looked up at him, your hair damp and hanging loosely around your face. It was a bit of a nuisance in the water and you thought about cutting it short, not to mention drying it was obnoxious. Buggy looked you over again before he walked over to you. He reached out and touched a lock of your hair before tucking it behind your ear.

“You need a better hairstyle, Cupcake.” He told you as he pulled his hand back. With how loud he was, passionate, intense, he had these random moments of being soft and gentle around you which completely threw you off. You never knew when to expect it but you liked seeing it wondering if he was like this with the others. “That’s the next thing we have to work on. It’s only been a month, y’know, but I want you to look your best when you perform.”

“What d’you have in mind for my hair?” You asked. You almost regretted it because he was now grinning at you and in the short time you knew your captain, that grin meant something chaotic was about to happen.

So, you didn’t really hate the haircut but you didn’t love it.

Neutral, you were neutral, and you whispered to yourself that your hair will grow back. You shouldn’t have let Buggy near you with a knife after you two argued, and you made the mistake of telling him he was getting your hair way too short and… he may have taken a chunk of hair off that he didn’t mean to because you jerked away from him suddenly.

At least he evened out the mistake by doing the same to the other side.

Your hair was shorn on the sides, with it tapering up to the top of your head where he trimmed it so you still had some body to your hair. You could style it if you wanted, letting it stick up in any direction, or let it sit on the top of your head. Cabaji thought you copied his style, and maybe you did, but his hair was at least longer and could easily comb over to either side. Your hair looked like you let someone with a knife too close to your head and that someone didn’t quite know what they were doing, but they wanted to try it anyway.

Yea, you weren’t going to let Buggy near you for a haircut again.

“It’s going to grow back, it’s going to grow back.” You chanted quietly every day for two weeks. Admittedly, having less hair meant you spent less time drying your hair, and you now didn’t have to figure out how to keep it out of your face when you were getting out of the water. Before it was just a rubber band, but your bangs had been at that length of too long to be out of your eyes but too short to be in a ponytail and since Buggy gave you a new style, your bangs sat just above your eyebrows now.

It wasn’t a terrible haircut and he had looked rather proud of his work. He even gave your cheek a pinch when he was done, and it didn’t really hurt but your skin was pink where he touched you, and honestly, you were starting to get used to him touching you.

A month and a half under the tent and you were seeing that Buggy was often touchy with his performers. Not in a creepy way, but his hands would guide them to make sure they hit their mark right, or he’d detach his feet to use as markers for Cabaji to steer his unicycle towards. It was at your seven week mark that you saw him start to get a bit touchier with you.

He kept a hand near the tank while you practiced holding your breath, ready to pull you out if your helper wasn’t fast enough. His other hand would take the tea from Cabaji and give it to you by the time you got down the ladder while he walked up to you with warm towels. The hand that was at the tank grabbed a towel and draped it over your head to help get you dry faster. You appreciated the help, recalling your audition when several of your fellow freaks swarmed you with towels, drying you off quickly to make sure you were okay.

Now it was just the captain taking a few minutes to help you out.

It was kind of nice. He made sure your hair was dry before wiping your face with the towel, though you had to tell him to be a little gentler as he poked you in the eye twice.

“Oh please, that’s not the worst thing I can do to you.” He said with a smirk as you stuck your tongue out at him. “Watch it with that or I’ll cut it out.”

“You haven’t yet.” You shot back playfully as you draped the towel over your shoulders. “I’m going to change into dry clothes so please don’t walk in on me this time.”

He winked at you and you just rolled your eyes as you left the area. The banter was something you started to get used to. Yea, you two still got into petty little arguments, but who didn’t when you worked together? Buggy knew what he wanted from his performers, and while you never ever thought you’d be any kind of performer, you found you liked it. You liked the reactions from the audience, and you liked watching the others perform (watching someone breathe fire never ceased to amaze you).

Honestly, you wished you joined the circus sooner.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc

102 notes · View notes

slamdunkhcs · 1 year

Text

the solitude of ryota miyagi

While I consider Slam Dunk a perfect series, with amazing characterization, I believe that the weakest aspect of the story is the lack of backstories. While a backstory is not needed for every character, it would have added much more to the main characters and their development. The main team members of the series are already very well developed and they had plenty of development (especially throughout the Sannoh match). However, Ryota Miyagi, Shohoku’s point guard, seemed like a static character in comparison to his other teammates.

While he isn’t a badly written character by any means, we didn’t see much of his story throughout the manga. His main thing was being the short boy who had a crush on Ayako.

During his introduction arc, Miyagi was overshadowed by Mitsui, who had his whole backstory revealed in that arc. In comparison, all we knew about Miyagi was that he was a problem child who liked Ayako, and became friends with Sakuragi.

Throughout the rest of the series, we don’t truly see much of Ryota’s struggles, aside from his height leaving him at a disadvantage. This issue is shown throughout the Sannoh match. The readers are shown how Ryota is concerned about if he can even match up to Fukatsu, but we aren’t shown much of Ryota’s inner thoughts compared to Akagi’s thoughts of comparison.

More of Ryota’s story is revealed in a spin-off chapter that was released after Slam Dunk’s serialization, titled Piercing. We finally learn more details about Ryota’s life, such as how he had known Ayako since he was young and about his brother’s disappearance. This added some depth to Ryota and potentially explains why he’s a problem child, but it is still rather vague and left many questions unanswered.

However, over 20 years later, Ryota’s story was finally revisited. In The First Slam Dunk, Ryota is the main character and we finally learn about his background and even his inner thoughts.

What shocked me the most was learning just how passionate Ryota was about basketball. Aside from Sakuragi (who himself became serious about basketball towards the end of the series), I felt Ryota was the most casual about basketball. He had even explained to Sakuragi that he wasn’t sure he wanted to play basketball in highschool until he saw Ayako. However, it’s shown Ryota had played basketball since he was a child, and his older brother had taught him. And despite Ryota’s mother disliking basketball (due to it reminding her of her late son), Ryota continued to play it.

His family life which is hinted at in Piercing is fully revealed in the movie. Ryota’s brother is confirmed to be dead, and we truly see how much it affected Miyagi. While in the manga he doesn’t seem depressed or anything, we learn how it deeply affected him and led him to become a delinquent. He was even bawling in his cave hideout that he used to visit as a kid. And the fact he wrote to his mother that he wished he was the one who died instead speaks volumes.

Ryota had always come off as a very nonchalant person. While he did get pissed at times, he didn’t seem like he had serious issues. Ayako even states to him that he always looks like he’s fine. I think that this shows how strong Ryota was mentally, he always looked okay in front of his teammates and the average reader wouldn’t figure he had anything too serious going on,

As stated in a lyric by Taylor Swift, “No one sees when you lose when you’re playing solitaire”. Ryota seems to keep his problems to himself, similarly to Sakuragi. It seems like nobody in the team has any idea what happened, aside from maybe Yasu and Ayako. And Miyagi doesn’t act depressed either. However, I believe that his background reveals that Ryota tries to keep his feelings and struggles under control.

Something I think is notable is Ryota’s friendship with Sakuragi. It’s shown that they don’t get along, until they open up to each other one night regarding their bad luck in love. Their entire conversation that night wasn’t revealed (and I believe there is a possibility they could’ve talked about things outside of their love life), but it still shows that Sakuragi was the first one Ryota opened up to on the team. Additionally, Ryota was the first one on the team that Sakuragi confided in about any struggles he was facing. As a result, I believe that this was why they were able to become friends so easily.

While Miyagi is already a stand out character in Shohoku, the additional information regarding his background makes him an even better written character.

#slam dunk #スラムダンク #sakuragi hanamichi #hanamichi #ryota miyagi #miyagi ryota #ryota #character essay #slam dunk manga #anime and manga #slam dunk anime #headcanon #hcs #blog #character analysis

157 notes · View notes

tsukiyadori · 5 months

Text

wow.

... Just wow.

I've written about Kemutai Hanashi before a bit in my Anime-Planet List: Queerplatonic Vibes

And something imo essentially queerplatonic (if you know that word) is the entire series' hook and tagline:

Different to lovers, friends or family. Still, by your side is the right place.

The whole title is already a glorious metaphor. And this theme has been in and out recurringly from the beginning of the series.

But up until chapter 11, it was just vague impressions, their thoughts, discomfort, feeling a gap that can't be filled by words.

And then comes chapter 12.

Takeda gets invited by Hinako for a chat, for a drink (and some ice cream) and they do exactly that: Have a conversation.

And it doesn't take long until the inevitable question arises, once the conversation mentions Arita, who was going to be mentioned given Takeda and him have moved in together and they are part of each other's lives:

Do you really live together?

Hm?

Arita-kun, I've met him the other day in the shop. He was keeping watch over Alice.

Aah, right, he mentioned something like that.

It's going great, is it?

Great? Rather than great or so... it's just normal. We're just doing normal.

... I was surprised, you know. When I first heard about your living together.

Were you?

Of course. Even if you are former classmates it's not like you were close.

Just what is truly behind that turn of events?

'What'... We're just enjoying ourselves. Thought it would be nice being alongside each other. That's all there is to it.

Haaaa (sigh)

Eh? Is that somehow not ok?

No. I already thought as much from Arita's account, but… So, there's really nothing else between you?

Else?

Basically, something like romance or so

Me and Arita?

… Right. I get it. That's enough. (holds hand on head)

You were one like that.

Eh…?

(some ice parfait getting served by the waitress momentarily stalls the conversation and Hinako gets busy taking pics with her phone until Takeda resumes the conversation.)

Is it that strange?

… no well, it's not like such a way of living is completely impossible, Just…

Just

Right

It's just hard to imagine that you would go as far when you aren't lovers, I think

(she looks him in the face)

… Say. I've just mentioned that Arita hasn't been at his parent's home. [It was previously about how it's far away]

Yes?

You know. Isn't that because it's difficult for him to return?

Eh?

This is just a guess, but… Don't you think there is a chance that he finds it difficult to talk about you and him?

Eh? No.

But he did tell them he's living with me.

I don't mean that.

I mean, what relationship he has with you.

Or so

something like that.

Wouldn't he be asked about it after all?

Things like that

For example, if I was his parent, if I heard that my son, who lives away alone, suddenly starts living with a man, I wouldn't exactly blame him, but I think I would genuinely want to ask questions. What happened, or what are your plans for the future, or so. What the other person is to you. For example.

Takeda, are you able to explain it, when people ask you?

Explain.

(he thinks back on a previous encounter he had in a supermarket.)

… you know. I thought this before, but is this something you need to explain to people? I don't particularly…

… For me, it's things being explained with words is comfortable… or more like, smooth, I think.

Just as an example

If one was to see you and me together eating desserts, probably a lot of people would think "Those two, they're a couple".

Huh?

As I said, you wouldn't know the truth if you were those people who don't know you well.

But, just like that with just looking a bit, they can match things to concepts they know and be with it, as long as it's nothing unnatural.

By doing so, they don't have to ask "why?"

With human relationships, as long as you are alive, I think it's more convenient to be able to explain something.

All the more, if it's a strange one.

People will want to investigate the things they don't understand.

Is it not ok… to not be able to explain? To just not understand?

Who knows… Maybe it's really fine with just that.

Just

There are people who are in distress when you come upon something they don't understand.

And opposite of them

there are people who feel pain when they aren't understood.

All the more, when it's someone you know well. For example, like family.

Things of unknown nature are scary.

Being thought of as something of unknown nature is scary.

More than anything

you yourself not knowing what you yourself are

is scary.

Are you like that as well, Hinako-san?

Something that's fine for you, Takeda,

doesn't have to be fine for anyone else.

(The phone rings)

[The conversation wraps up there, as Arita messaged Takeda asking him to run an errand. They walk away from the café together a bit and chit chat random small talk.]

Takeda

Hm?

I said all that, but you moved in together after thinking it though properly, did you.

Yeah

I see… then it's fine.

I'm sorry.

Even I think it's a bad habit of mine. Thinking about what I'd think myself and getting stuck on it.

I was being meddlesome.

No. I've always liked that bit about you since forever.

…

Ouch! Hey, you didn't have to hit me

Shut up! Go home already!

This series was already excellent with how it treads onto their relationship in delicate, subtle manners. But there was always something in there: It's not like they aren't thinking about it. But they are very much dodging it. Arita, of more instrospective nature, is further down the lane with his admitting to himself that it's not that he isn't hiding it or ashamed of it or anything, but there's just this gap in words that he doesn't know how to fill, because he is well aware that what he and Takeda hold is different from what people usually think about "friends". (Chapter 3)

Takeda meanwhile feels discomfort, but can't exactly put a finger on it. And he does not actually want to label it. And as he repeatedly asks. Is that not okay? Basically: Is that wrong? Is that not allowed?

This conversation is absolutely excellent. Because Hinako does not answer this question in a simple yes/no way. At first, it may seem dodgy, but she eventually does add her actual own conclusion to it, that it's completely fine if they had thought things through and came to the decision. But the focus for the conversation prio is more at pointing things out to Takeda - almost warning him - as she knows since childhood, and to her he is a bit of a simpleton who doesn't think too complicated about these matters (to the point she almost gets headaches). And it's just such a beautifully concise way of outlining why words - labels - are useful, and moreover how the lack of it may be dangerous.

So, first thing I thought about this chapter:

Wow. Just wow.

Second thing: Damn, I needed this a few years earlier. It would have saved me some 2-3 weeks of brooding over the subject. (Which probably is still relatively little time wasted comparatively) I was right there asking those same questions Takeda is asking here. After years long of not wanting - or not knowing the words - to label anything and being fine with that myself with not explaining things or explaining things in my own words that didn't match common understanding of the words (much like Takeda again) it gradually ceased working. Because, no. You actually are not allowed to not explain yourself before the vast majority of people, if you actually want to interact with them. I was (am) also right there being angry about not understanding and getting explanations for things 'normal', especially as I am always pressed to explain myself.

Also look at those visuals, so simple, but powerfully subtle with all the facial expressions, sentences chopped up with little pauses displayed by the bubbles where Hinako is trying to find the tactful words and especially those pointed uses of black there: Hinako's drink. That panel with the smoke and her talking about "scary". (One meaning of kemutai from the title is smokey.) That lingering discomfort to fear that is oozing over to Takeda. That smartphone that displays his connection with Arita is black right after for a moment. The entire sky in that last page. Takeda's having his back to it, but now he's walking right into it. This conversation with Hinako may as well be the starting line for him and by extention Arita that they realize, they can't run from talking about it forever.

It's a bit funny to read this now, because I happened over that word, queerplatonic, which is looking pretty much like that word they are struggling to find, and it makes me feel like wanting to just throw over so they have something. But I also only know about this word for 2 years at best as of now, which is not long at all. And it's fuzzy and vague as hell (which is kinda its point I guess) and it took me a good while to get my head around it, even just a bit. On top of it it's anything but spread, so its usefulness is very limited, so much that I haven't even once used it in the flesh and blood IRL, where I'm not able to immediately throw google results over so that the links do the explaining for me.

The quintessential theme of this series hits home a lot, but also, just like The Case Files of Jeweler Richard which comes along and has the protagonist say that even after years and learning multiple languages he is unable to encapsulate what he's feeling in any words - their gaze is moving a bit backwards, retrospective. They have already met, they have something (even if it's maybe still developing) and then struggle to put it into words.

And that makes it all an explanation, as this chapter calls it. But more than anything, I think, it's actually a justification.

And while it's utterly precious that there are works now talking about this in such a beautiful and concise way, capturing all the confusion about being lost, I just find myself like.

I have come to see the need of ways to talk about this. I'm there to collect words and examples as much as I can find. But not as the means to justify myself. Or explain myself after the fact. But before it. (I do get it easier to spin a narrative over something that actually is and can be actively show than it is to make a plot out of the difficultiy of searching something you can't properly grasp in the first place. And even the former is already such a tall task that it has very very little amounts of attempts at undertaking.)

More than anything you yourself not knowing what you yourself are is scary.

... is thankfully, something I was spared of more than not, quite similar to Takeda. But just as Hinako points out, because I was fine with that it means naught for anyone else. And if you want a connections and relationships out of all things, it goes beyond just yourself. If someone like me, in all the idiosyncratic ways that be, wants to connect to people, I think understanding and acceptance is paramount. I'm also aroace, among other things, but I'm not actually against having a relationship - it will however have to look very different from the common idea of one. If I ever wanted to begin something, I think I'd need to be able to explain myself and my expectations.

Not as a justification, but only an explanation, a feeble chance for getting to the starting line.

I think Hinako did that wonderfully. Without even having to outright answer Takeda's question of "Are you like that as well?"

Note: The series has no official nor fantranslation in English. It did get nominated for the Tsugi ni Kuru Manga Award 2022's web category and freshly licensed in France.

#manga #kemutai hanashi #translation #english translation #the case files of jeweler richard #ramblings #queerplatonic

20 notes · View notes

exhuastedpigeon · 2 months

Note

WAIT NO ONE ASKED YOU QUESTIONS!?

Okay. Every single odd number on that list.

I reblogged that post last night and fell asleep almost immediately after 😂😂! Thanks for asking Tanis!!

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title] Afraid of Heights by boygenius always makes me think about it hurts to hope for more. I listened to that song on repeat while writing it that no whenever I heart it I think about that fic.

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? That's like asking me for my favourite child (not that I have kids). I'm sticking with buddie fics here since I have almost 150 fics on Ao3 and that's way too many to think about.

Honestly, there ain't no turning back might be my favourite even though it isn't fully published!

Or I really love gold when you see me too.

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write? Answered here :)

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now? Uhhh too many?? I have 5 'active' wips (meaning I'm actually working on them a little bit) and like 20 other ideas. I tend to get an idea, work on it like my hair is on fire, and then when I lose the beans half the time the wip goes to collect dust.

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written! I try to write every day, even if it's just one sentence! Here's something I updated from the NHL AU today!

Buck’s much less self destructive now, thank you team mandated therapy and a bit of heartbreak, but he still has a big personality. He’s got the kind of personality that used to land him on Don Cherry’s shit list before he was finally kicked off Hockey Night in Canada for being a racist old fuck. But, that personality of his means he’s the kind of guy who the Kings marketing team loves because he’s down for basically anything they throw at him.

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics? I tend to find a couple of songs that match the vibe I'm going for or that really inspire me and then listen to those on repeat.

13. How much planning do you do before writing? Answered here

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters? Usually song lyrics! Sometimes a title comes into my head out of nowhere, but usually I end up searching for a lyric that feels right.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic? I learned all about the best sunrise views at the southern rim of the Grand Canyon for there ain't no turning back! It made me really want to go to see the sunrise there, even more than I already wanted to before!

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs. This is from my NHL AU! In the fic Buck is Canadian and when they go to Canada on a road trip Buck has to scope out a Tim Hortons immediately.

It would be a lie to say that as soon as they landed in Ottawa Buck went to Tim Hortons, because they landed at 11:45, only a couple of hours after a win in Buffalo. It’s been a long and cold east coast trip - they’re on the road for almost 10 days for this one and Ottawa is the third to last stop. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that the first thing Buck did when he woke up in their hotel was to jump out of bed, wake Eddie up in the bed next to him, and drag him to the Tim Hortons next to the hotel. And listen, Buck knows that objectively Timmies is just fine. It isn’t bad, it’s just not actually good either. But he’s a Canadian boy, he grew up on Timbits after practice with Maddie and hanging out in the Tim Hortons parking lots during high school, at least for the couple years he was around before moving to Kitchner to play juniors. Tim Hortons will always have a special place in his heart.

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why? Yeah, it was a scene that I wrote really early in the writing process and by the time I finished the fic the scene just didn't fit the vibe. I ended up using bits of it in another fic though, so it wasn't all a waste!

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)? I try to find a natural stopping point, but typically I don't write chaptered fics. I think of my 149 on Ao3 only like 15 of them are chaptered, maybe less.

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing? I've made myself WEEP while writing and weep again while rereading later.

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why? I was a little nervous to share it hurts to hope for more because it was a really important fic to me (and really personal to me in some ways). I didn't want people to hate it because it felt so close to my heart.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.) I don't think I'll ever finish this fic so I'll share a bit here. When I saw on the fandom wiki that Eddie and Buck were actually probably the same age (1991/1992) I started a fic that's a snippet of each of their lives at the same time period. This is from the Eddie - 18 section.

There was a little plus sign on three separate pregnancy tests. Eddie rests his head on the bathroom counter, hunching over from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub in Shannon’s bathroom. To her credit, Shannon looks like she’s holding it together more than he is. He was leaving for basic in a month and a half, she was supposed to be moving out of state for college in two. Eddie took a deep breath, then another, before looking up at Shannon again. Her eyes were red rimmed, but otherwise she looked composed. He pushed down the fear that was threatening to crawl out of his chest, up his throat, and out of his mouth and instead said, “Whatever you want to do, I’ve got your back.” “I want to keep it,” Shannon said after a beat. “Okay, then we keep it,” Eddie reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “What do we do now?” “I have no fucking idea,” Shannon half laughed, half sobbed. Eddie stood up and wrapped her in a hug, holding her to his chest.

Fan Fic Writer Asks

#Fan Fic Writer Asks #asked and answered

8 notes · View notes

pantherxrogers · 1 year

Text

When the Party’s Over - Chad Meeks Martin x Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ explicit language at the end, suggestive language throughout, angsty but with a happy ending! (alludes to smut in pt 2)

Description: Chad’s been dating the reader for years, both of you leaving Woodsboro and moving to NYC together for college. Last year’s Ghostface attacks made him even more protective over you, causing an argument after the Halloween party (at the beginning of Scream 6).

(No Scream 6 spoilers, but there are references to Scream 5!)

Author’s Note: There isn’t NEARLY enough Chad content on here, so I’m contributing to the community 🥳 I rewatched Scream 6 last night, and I can’t get this man out of my head...send requests! (yes I’ve already written a fic w/ this title but it fits perfectly here too! 🤗)

The silence in your apartment makes you want to jump out of your skin, but you’re afraid of what’ll come out if you open your mouth.

“Babe, just give me like two seconds to explain, please,” Chad practically whines out, closing the distance between the two of you. Your hand on his bare chest stops him in his tracks. The betrayal you feel makes it hard to look at him.

Chad can’t look away from you, though.

Both of you know he’s not a typical, shallow jock. But, even when he’s facing your wrath, your beauty is mesmerizing.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake up and down your frame, like he can remove your matching costume with a look. He not-so-subtly ogles your chest, the skimpy vest doing little to conceal you from him. The look in his eyes makes you squirm, but anger overpowers the warmth between your legs.

You really thought things would be different. It’s a new city and a new chapter of your lives, but he can’t control his overprotectiveness.

Last year, you’d laughed off his attempts to put a tracker on each other’s phones, thinking he was joking. Honestly, you understood where he was coming from, but that doesn’t mean you have to agree. Well, he hadn’t given you a choice anyway.

“Chad, please, let’s just call it a night,” you sigh, turning away from him to head towards the kitchen. His loose grip on your wrist keeps you in the room.

“L-look, I’m sorry. I get it-, I shouldn’t have done that,” he pleads, the truth weighing heavy in his soft eyes.

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” You snap back at him, tugging your arm away, only for him to step even closer to you.

“Babe-”

“Chad, stop! You literally put a TRACKER on my phone. Don’t you understand how that would make me feel?”

Hot tears well up behind your eyes, the sight making his chest cave in. He can’t bear being so far from you, choosing to gently pull you into his arms. You instantly melt against his chest, the sadness feeling too heavy to carry on your own.

A few minutes pass, both of you enjoying the warmth of the other before he tenderly lifts you off of his chest. His hands stroke your shoulders as he pulls you away to make eye contact.

“You’re right,” he soothes, draping his arms around your waist, “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he admits.

“It’s just that,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

Your heart physically hurts now. All of a sudden, you’re taken back to that hospital room, waiting for him to wake up, cursing yourself for dragging him out to that stupid party at Amber’s house.

Pulling you back into the moment, Chad’s warm hands trace up and down your back, leaving goosebumps in their path. His heart does a little flip when you caress his biceps. Finally, you’ve thrown him a lifeline.

“Chad, look at me,” your hand slips under his chin, taking his eyes off of the floor. “I can’t promise that nothing’s going to happen to me, but you need to promise that you’re going to be honest. You need to come to me when you feel like this,” you explain.

“I will, and I’m sorry,” he apologizes for the thousandth time since you’ve fled the party. A small smile forms on both of your lips, happy to have overcome the conflict. Arguing has never really been your thing.

A giggle bubbles out of your throat when he leans in to press sloppy kisses against your neck, guiding you towards the living room couch. “One more thing,” you add, more laughter threatening to slip out.

He pulls away from your neck, all ears for whatever you need to tell him, giving you a soft hmm in response.

“Maybe you shouldn’t you use the tracker app that you snuck onto your girlfriend’s phone when she’s standing right next to you,” you laugh in between words, remembering how he was so excited to help you find your phone when you’d lost it at the party.

A soft blush rises in his cheeks, before he swoops down to lift you up and over his shoulder. You let out a little yelp when he softly spanks your ass, heading towards your bedroom.

His subtle display of strength has you squeezing your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Let’s see how funny you think it is when you’re sitting on my cock, hmm?”

#chad meeks #chad meeks martin #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks smut #chad meeks martin x reader #scream 6 #scream vi #scream 6 smut #ethan landry #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #scream movie #scream franchise #scream edit #chad meeks martin smut #scream fanfic #𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics

33 notes · View notes

bunnieshoneys · 3 months

Note

help im so dumb i think i just realized is the significance of gojo’s number 37 in coanda effect their birthdays together? like geto feb 3 and gojo dec 7 (srry if someone else already commented on this)

im completely new to f1 but if im understanding it right then geto chose the number 73 way back in grade 4 and then when gojo went to grade 3 he chose 37 to match, right?

looking at this paragraph:

For the first time, Satoru has picked a number. Most drivers carry their numbers all the way through to Grade One. He said over the phone, so proud, “well, your number in Grade Four is seventy-three-” that much is true, forty-seven had been taken- “so I picked thirty-seven, cause then when you come to Grade Three with me next season, we’ll match.”

whats the significance of 47?

love this fic love u , plz know im using all my brainpower to try to analyze your fics

i should be asleep rn.

ANYWAY IM SCREAMING BC dec 3 and feb 7 is a coincidence BUT ITS SO PERFECT HOLY SHIT?? so im claiming that it was on purpose now.

theres a one off comment riiiiight at the beginning of the fic that getou’s karting number was 47, and he had to change it when he got to Grade Racing, because it was in use by another driver. thats all there is to 47!

and the fact that they both have EACH OTHERS bdays as first numbers in their number? hello.

anon i hope u dont mind but the birthday detail is getting written in, and i might edit prev chapters to do it. thats so fucking cool

in f1 IRL the numbering system was based on the previous seasons championship standings until 2014, but in my fic i couldnt be fucking asked to do allat so i use the modern numbering system, which is:

• numbers arent carried thru from f2 or f3, theyre picked when a driver enters f1, but most drivers pick a number and keep it thru the series to the best of their ability.

• if a number is already taken, a driver has to pick a new one. (leclerc wanted the number 7 in 2018, but raikonnen already had it, so he had to pick a different number and ended up w/ 16)

• a number, once picked, is reserved for all of a drivers seasons in f1, and then for two years after they retire. this means if a driver takes a 1-2yr break and comes back, their number is still theirs.

• no1 cant be used by any driver except for the current world champion (if max verstappen loses his title in 24, for the 25 season, he’d have to go back to his actual number, which is 33)

I use the modern numbering system throughout the fic! :) gojo and getou were lucky to be able to keep their numbers from g4/g3 to g1:)

#fic: coanda effect #bunny answers

3 notes · View notes

coleoffduty · 1 year

Text

the realm's sweetness; slow burn

Chapters: 8/30

Word Count: 70,686

Summary:

Once Lucerys Velaryon plummets into the sea and is thought to have died, Aemond finds it within himself to end the heated feelings that tear apart his soul, finally settling for peace. But once a taunting message written in High Valryian finds him as he ascends toward his high duty, his valiant attitude is shed and the angry fire in him is restored.

Across the Narrow Sea, Lucerys finds his path in Essos, within a black-and-white temple tucked away on a little island in Braavos.

Chapter 1 Preview:

That is when Aemond quickly understood that this would be one of the many instances where the adults in their life would use the children to express their silent distaste for one another. But the wounded part of himself whispered that his insignificance was still showing, as he watched unexploited while Aegon got to combat Jacaerys. The scorned child always felt the sting of his role in the family when it came to times like this, a spare, and ultimately never the first choice. Aemond glanced over from the fight to look at Lucerys, the blundering idiot bouncing back and forth in anticipation and excitement without understanding the true meaning behind this spar. The prince felt a bit relieved, knowing being pitted against that barbaric child would be anything but fair to the both of them. The humor of the match was cut short when Harwin clamped down on Aegon to prevent him from striking Jace who was already down on the floor, Aemond watching right beside Lucerys as everything began to unfold.

"You dare put hands on me?" Aegon yelled, everyone who wasn't already watching now putting a halt to their individual duties to watch just as earnestly as Aemond had been.

"You forget yourself, Strong. That is the Prince." Ser Criston says, and the young Aemond wonders if he himself would just be referred to as 'a prince', a title without as much weight to it compared to the one his idiot brother held. Harwin ignored the severity of his actions and picked up after them, lecturing Cole while the boys instinctively gathered around each other, a tension brooding in the air of the sparing grounds. And yet, nobody dared intervene either because they too wanted to know what would come next or were too afraid to get in between the fierce knights.

And then the words splurted from Criston Cole's mouth, the same way Aemond would hear the insulting jabs hidden in his mother's ramblings, the ones everyone else was too political to say, "Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual, Commander. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin... or a brother... or a son."

The Targaryen prince could feel his brother shaking him gleefully by the shoulders as Harwin pounded down with his fists on Criston, crimson blood flinging from behind the large back of the Strong knight. Even though this event confirmed the truth about his nephew's bastardism, the rest of the realm witnessing how the Velaryon boys were truly beneath their uncles, the second son couldn't help but look up into the high peaks where he knew his father was watching everything. Aemond wondered if there would ever be a day when Viserys would stand up for him the way Ser Harwin did at that moment, but he killed that idea as quickly as it came, feeling it was better to squalor in somebody else's pain, even if it were his own family's.

#ao3 #lucemond #aemond x lucerys #fanfiction #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen

12 notes · View notes

megarywrites · 6 months

Text

10 songs tag

tagged by @thewriteflame and ofc i'll be doing this for Seafoam, specifically from my Thala playlist

the rules are: Use your WIP playlist and put it on shuffle. Write the first 10 songs that come up and quote your favorite lyrics from each song and/or the lyrics that fit your WIP best (they might be the same lyrics), then tag 10 people.

I'll tag (as always, no pressure): @aninkwellofnectar @isherwoodj @flowerprose @pinespittinink @the-orangeauthor @ashen-crest @ellatholmes @wildswrites @at-thezenith @mariahwritesstuff

No Rest For the Wicked - LVCRFT

Ain't no rest for the wicked Ain't no running from your fate Ain't no one left to listen when the world's up in flames

Let's just say it's very fitting for an upcoming chapter lol

Alive - SHINee

In this new world before me I'll follow the faith that I lost No one can stop me

ofc SHINee shows up lmao this song is all in Korean but i love the actual vibe of this song like musically it fits the mood from here on out in the story

Hurts Like Hell - Fleurie & Tommee Profitt

When it's almost too much for my soul alone I loved, and I loved and I lost you (x3) And it hurts like hell

this one in particular was added to the playlist for the part i'm currently writing (i am suffering thanks for asking)

Shake It Out - Florence + the Machine

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat 'Cause looking for heaven found a devil in me

the above lyrics are my favorite, and it's very fitting for how Thala is about to be in the story, since I'm nearing the climax

BIBI Vengeance (Bad Bitch) - BIBI

it doesn’t matter what you did what you say what you regret I forgave you for breaking me down and treading on me too bad you lost your last chance I’ve been waiting and anticipating, to be a bad bitch

I was trying to keep all the lyrics at three but i just can't not post this whole segment lol it's just so perfect (also another Korean song)

Little Girl Gone - CHINCHILLA

I like your blood on my teeth just a little too much So bite me, slap me round the face Now I'm twisting your arm till I hear it break

this song has been living in my head rent free since I first heard it lol we love an angry girl anthem

Fight Song - Rachel Platten

Like a small boat on the ocean Sending big waves into motion Like how a single word can make a heart open I might only have one match But I can make an explosion

this one represents a part in the story that's already written, which i'm sure you can guess given the title, but it's when she was finding her will to fight again after losing it for a while (this song made me cry while I was driving when i was writing that part lol)

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do And I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation Oh no, not me

words to live by tbh

Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time I've got a list of names and yours in in red underlined

I feel like this is self-explanatory lol "yours" is referring to multiple people ofc

Last Laugh - FLETCHER

I'm crashin' your party to teach you a lesson Heard you get nervous whenever I'm mentioned So if you're scared, then go find you a priest Go find a confession

this one is from the soundtrack of "Promising Young Woman" and as soon as it came up in the credits I added it to this playlist lmao

#tag game #aes: seafoam #okay time to eat and then try to finish this chapter

3 notes · View notes

birlwrites · 7 months

Note

hi hi 🤡🎶⛔❌👀 <333

🤡 What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

aghsgkhsjdkf i make myself laugh all the time, but i'm going to supply a few specific things:

the first one is from chapter 16 set those ghosts alight, a couple of lines that always make me giggle:

Roping Snape in on Regulus's plan is going pretty well, all things considered. "Absolutely not," Snape says.

in general, snape in stga makes me laugh - every conversation he has with regulus is like he's actively preparing someone's epitaph

and i think most people follow me here for my hp fic but imo, the actual funniest stuff i've written is for all for the game - i have a booktuber andrew fic and a series of andrew and jean being roommates that very often make me cackle

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

i generally listen to music to match a specific vibe, rather than having playlists for particular wips - recently i haven't been listening to much music while i write because it does often distract me and i need to really focus to get lachrimae right afjslghjkf, but if i were you by nothing but thieves is a go-to whenever i need to write something that feels intense (and i do sometimes just flat-out loop one song for hours if it has the right vibes afjslghsjkdf, that's often the best balance for me between listening to music and not getting distracted by it)

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

oh plenty!! i have a lot of ideas that just kind of go away and become fuel for other ideas. one that actually got pretty far before i stopped working on it has a working title of 'murder husbands: the accidental longfic' - in which regulus and evan murder their fathers in cold blood (with some unknowing help from the order of the phoenix) to become wizengamot lords and cause problems for voldemort and the death eaters

i say it 'got pretty far' but i just mean that it's almost 17k of disjointed scenes lmao, i never figured out where it was going. it's the first fic i ever wrote with heather as a character though! also the first fic i ever wrote with katherine - she and regulus almost get into a duel at evan's father's funeral agshlgjdklf

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

fan of the show/book/whatever somehow ends up in the universe of the show/book/whatever - i guess that's more of a premise than a trope but it just doesn't hold any appeal for me

ok an actual trope - when 2 siblings are romantically interested in the same person. i can't see myself ever writing that. i don't have like, an articulated *reason* for it - it just doesn't vibe with my brain, i think maybe because as far as romantic drama goes, i prefer when the drama is really centered on whatever's endgame - so love triangles tend to feel kind of aimless to me, and then when there's additional sibling drama wrapped up in it i just don't vibe with it

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

i'm talking about lachrimae a lot rn already but i think it qualifies ajfslhgjksdf - there's a mystery at the center of it, which makes it hard for me to ramble the way i want to without spoiling the surprise, but i will say i'm adding gifted kid burnout angst to it because idk i like to really twist the knife as i'm writing i guess??? regulus wasn't going through enough already???

seriously though i'm super excited for it - chronologically, it's a LOT messier than ttdl, and i'm having a lot of fun with the combinations of flashbacks and visions and memories. putting it together kind of feels like assembling a scrapbook - i have all the excerpts from hydromanipulation written out and ready to go!

<3 <3 <3

send me fic writer emoji asks!

#ask games #should i make an inbox tag

6 notes · View notes

linklethehistorian · 2 years

Text

Cherish Development Notes — Part 2: Overviews & Outlines

Alright, since I’ve already explained Cherish’s humble origins, I can finally get around to talking about the very unique (comparably to any of my other fics, at least) general writing process for this fic and its chapters.

Now, to give you an idea of the difference, my typical fic-writing process for my previous works (all of which are one-shots) goes a little something like this:

Get inspired by something and come up with a general idea for the fic

(If not already inspired by any particular piece of music) Find a song that either fits the scenario perfectly, or just suits the general mood, to play on repeat while writing, and (usually) use that song for the fic’s title.

Start writing the fic from beginning to end in linear progression — no outlines.

Proofread for typos.

Tag and post.

However, for Cherish, this entire process was never present to begin with; after all, not only is it my first multi-chapter fic, but also, thanks to its unique history, it already came long pre-conceived and partially pre-written from my former rambles with a friend.

As such, before I even began writing the story as a fic, I already had an (albeit limited, incomplete and fairly messy) outline to work off of, for at least all of the major plot points. It wasn’t anything grand, as, like I said, it only covered the most important parts of the story and left a lot of blank spots or super vague bridges between major events, but it was certainly more than anything I’ve ever had to work with before (which is literally nothing lol), and turned out to be a huge help in the creative process, especially early on in the fic’s creation. (I may or may not release some of these old outlines and notes as I move on to talking about individual, already-released chapters in the future, for the curious.)

After gathering together all of those former rambles as a very basic outline, I then began to properly rewrite the first part (which you would all later come to know as Chapter 1 and 2) of that outline into a proper, detailed story, and, after I’d already begun that process of re-writing, eventually sought out a song that properly captured the emotion and thought-processes within (and later an additional one, when I decided to split the chapter in two) and made them not only the ones I listened to on loop, but also the chapter titles.

Once the first chapter was finished and the second nearly done (and they were fairly quick), I created the fic, set the tags, and released it under the name Cherish — a name I had also decided on a short while prior after choosing a song I felt best suited the overall themes and plot (a little more about that here.)

And after all of that was said and done, I took the three songs I had used and decided to create a special playlist for the fic, that I would slowly add to more and more over time — an action which, I had no way of realizing at the time, would actually come to be a huge help with writing future chapters.

You see, although it’s true I had my basic outline to rely on for bigger, more important events, there were still all of those parts in between that were just barely talked about, or even not talked about at all, and also some chapters that inevitably end up split from one into two due to the length, or some other creative decision.

For all of this — and I highly recommend it to other authors, too, if they’re so inclined — I was able to lean partially on my Cherish playlist, as I would gather together a whole bunch of songs of all varieties that evoked feelings and emotions and/or perfectly matched the story I’d already planned to happen, and add them into a secondary, privated experimental playlist to rearrange into my desired order and test for proper aesthetics. By doing this, I was able to determine precisely where different minor events and feelings belonged to make for a good, well-written, well-flowing story; furthermore, by being able to look at and recognize when there felt like there were too many songs revolving around the same emotion or plot point, I could also properly decide upon how many chapters a certain part of the story should take up and how best to tackle the subject without making it feel like the pacing had dipped considerably.

Even now, I continue to use this tool very happily to determine positioning and aid me in the writing process whenever I reach a point only vaguely covered by the original outline — although, it’s also much more than a tool to me; it’s a love language to the story I’m writing, a creative outlet of its own, and an extension of the fic itself for those interested to explore the further depths of it. Not just any song will do for each chapter; the aesthetic, the lyrics, and the title all have to be relevant to the chapter itself, and not only that, but they have to transition decently from one to the next sound-wise, as well. It is, at times, a time-consuming endeavor, but one I take great pride in, as with all things regarding this fic.

Then, as of late, I’ve also found another crucial, very helpful way to fill in those missing blanks in far greater detail after the initial arrangement and secondary outline I’m able to put together with the help of the playlist: sharing a TL;DR of the story I intend to write, chapter by chapter, with my friend @mysaldate (if you’re reading this, hi uwu 💖 Thank you for being amazing). By sharing this information with her, I will end up sitting down and writing out what ends up becoming a detailed plan for any chapters with a lackluster outline, thereby making the writing process itself much, much easier. It is a truly wonderful thing I’m so glad I get to do in the process of sharing something I enjoy with someone I care about.

Writing the chapters, themselves, too, due to having an outline, is not the same experience I am used to with my one-shots; in many ways, it speeds up the work considerably and is an invaluable tool for something I need to try to update at least semi-regularly, though it also has its own unique struggles, too, as all things do (namely, that bridging dialogue or actions anywhere where there is missing information in between can be equal parts fun and maddening, depending upon the situation lol).

So, if we put all of this together, we get a process that looks something like this per chapter:

Refer to the first, original outline for information on a given chapter.

Find a song with lyrics and an overall aesthetic that suits the current situation/emotion of the chapter, has a fitting title, and sounds good within its proper spot in the playlist. Name the chapter after it and listen to it on repeat.

If the chapter does not have enough (or any) information in the first outline to decide this, use the general plan within my head for that time and defer to gathering songs and/or checking and arranging the playlist until I have a basic enough outline to get by.

Write out TL;DRs of future chapters based off of these outlines for mysaldate and then use those more detailed plans as the actual outline with which to start writing the chapter.

Change font to Comic Sans while writing (it genuinely works).

Begin converting the secondary outline (and any potential un-covered information from the first) into a basic version of the story.

Go over it again, and add more detail/tweak aspects that don’t flow upon re-reading.

Do a final proofread/fix typos/make any final changes.

Add chapter title’s song to the public playlist, if not done already.

Check to make sure no more tags need to be added to the main fic due to the content.

Check to make sure no notes need to be added to the chapter and the placeholder joke summary on the AO3 draft is removed.

Post the chapter on AO3.

And thus, this is the usual creative process involved in working on a chapter for Cherish; it is an extensive list, but, I find, a satisfying one.

In regards to tools, I merely use Google Docs and search up synonyms and such if ever needed on the internet; no fancy tools, no Grammarly, no Betas, though on rare occasion I do ask the opinion of a friend on certain lines I’m truly unsure of and concerned with in some way.

I hope you enjoyed the read. If there’s anything you were wondering that I didn’t cover here, or another subject you’d really like me to cover next about the fic, feel free to drop me an ask! [Read the fic here!]

[Check out the public Cherish playlist!]

7 notes · View notes

polikszena · 1 year

Text

Ficlet advent calendar - December 12

Title: Skates Fandom: Downton Abbey Characters: Mary Crawley, Tom Branson, Lucy Branson, Jack Barber Word Count: 599 Rating: General Summary: Following the advice of The Christmas Ghost, Mary Crawley goes to the ice skating rink in London where she reunites with a friend. Sequel to Chapter 1.

December 12 - Skates

Dear Lady Mary,

It’s time to put on some skates! There is nothing better to in a cold winter day like this than hit the skating rink! Spending some time outside is always a good idea, and skating is a perfect activity for that.

Mary Crawley took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cold December air as she stood up from the bench, wearing a pair of skates and a little flared, navy-blue skirt with a matching short coat. She hoped she wouldn’t fell on her face in the moment of setting foot in the ice rink. Tom and Lucy Branson were already inside, taking the first laps. Mary was happy that they were also in London, so she didn’t have to go skating alone. It wasn’t something she regularly did nowadays. When they were children, they had a small rink on the estate and they used to skate a lot – their late cousin, Patrick Crawley loved it, but since his death, the Crawley sisters rarely put their skates on.

Stepping on the ice, Mary slowly began to slide, trying to avoid the people who skated with high speed. She took a few rounds and was about to join Tom and Lucy when she heard someone calling her name. Turning around she saw a man skating towards her, smiling. Her face lit up as she recognised him: it was Jack Barber, the director who made a film in Downton – The Gambler -, on which they worked together. She had to admit that she grew quite fond of him, but she hadn’t seen him for months.

“Mr Barber!” she exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise,” she added when he finally reached her.

“Please, call me Jack,” he said, unable to wipe off smile since he had spotted her in the rink. “It’s so good to see you. How have you been?”

“Fine,” she replied with a nod, and she meant it.

She found it surprising, but the letters she received from The Christmas Ghost did help. Despite her previous scepticism, they made her feel better, and now she was waiting for a new one every morning. She was wondering who could have written those letters to her, but she couldn’t find it out yet, which only made her more and more curious. However, she decided not to tell it to Mr Barber as it sounded somehow stupid to be excited for letters sent by someone unknown.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I heard about your divorce. It must’ve been hard for you.”

“It’s getting better now,” she told him. “What about you?”

“I’ve recently finished a film, so I’m great,” he said.

“I didn’t know you skated,” Mary admitted.

“I love it,” he told her as they began to skate together. “I come out here almost every day. Going round and round helps me think. Do you skate often?”

“I used to as child, but I am out practice now.”

“It’s never too late to start over. If you need someone to skate with, just let me know,” he offered.

“Of course,” Mary nodded, and she had to admit, now skating felt a lot more appealing.

Tom and Lucy Branson were watching her going round and round in the rink. The former chauffeur was happy to see Mary enjoy herself, skating arm in arm with Mr Barber.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lucy asked with her lips curling up.

“If you’re thinking about talking to Cora that we should have one more guest this Christmas, then yes” Tom said.

“You are, then,” Lucy nodded, and they shared a smile.

(Read it on AO3)

#downton abbey #mary crawley #jack barber #tom branson #lucy smith #mary x mr barber #ficlet advent calendar 2022 #my fics #playing around in canva

2 notes · View notes

weathertheraine · 1 year

Note

Heyo 💙 6 / 15 / 27 / 30 for the ao3 wrapped !! Take care and happy holidays

Happy holidays thank u so much !!

6 - Favorite title you’ve used

Oooooooooo. This is kind of cheating but bc I don’t rlly have a favourite on its own, I’ll say I’m really happy with the kinda. Themed series titles I managed to use? My ‘Fruitbowl’ series for nsfw trans week had all fruit-themed titles (I’ll say my favourite was ‘Blackberry Jam’ just for the vibes) and for tsukkiyama week I used all lyrics from ‘Come True’ by khai dreams !! I had fun making them all match :DD

15 - What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

The one that’s partly posted is ‘keep me intact’ - started for Karasuno Big Bang but it won’t be finished for a WHILE. The whole thing is planned out I just want to get a bit more written before I start posting again, so that I don’t end up with too many long hiatuses.

My BIG PROJECT that I’m very excited about and already has 77k words in a doc despite not being technically started yet is my NITW au. Provisional title: Hold On To Anything. i am DETERMINED to pull this off (the current plan is a chapter a week, starting in the new year. Pray for me)

27 - What do you listen to while writing?

I actually have a NITW playlist I use sometimes bc it’s good ambience!! I tend to get distracted easily by music so if I’m gonna listen to something it’s usually video game background music.

30 - Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I can write smut !! Like kinda good smut !! Having never posted any before and being kinda terrified of it, I wrote the 32.6k of the ‘Fruitbowl’ series in like. Three weeks ?? It was bonkers but I’m honestly really pleased with all of it - especially the first and last works. I may never have the guts again but hey !! I can do it !! :D

TYSM for the ask !! :D here are the questions if you wanna send some

Happy new yeaaaar!

#ao3 wrapped #teddy talks #not art #answered #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanart #fic rec #haikyuu fanfic

3 notes · View notes

hughgent-blog · 1 month

Text

Session 1 – Money Makes the World go Round.

So starting out with a general softening of the guild master. They're retired, and have the guild leadership as an easy job with low stress.

Gotta throw in another jab at Everett.

The clothes shop. I'm imagining something like a carpet shop or hobby store. The muffling of sound due to many soft fabrics absorbing vibrations. It's the medieval setting. Clothes don't come on racks so to speak.

The red cloth with gold stars fabric is a reference to Rincewind the wyzzard from the disc world novels written by Terry Pratchett. At least that's what I recall from the cover art for his books.

Was Esmeralda given green eyes because of her name, or were her eyes green and I thought of the name Esmeralda. Chicken and egg.

West Red, fuck that town. All my homies know West Green is where it's at.

"If you got it, flaunt it" I'm specifically imagining the song from the movie "The Producers" Specifically the more modern remake as I've seen it more recently.

The cost of things is just going to be whatever 'feels' right at the time. Going to keep the party poor for a while yet. All the way until I think that limitation is boring. Then it's money money money money money.

First time describing the actual currency and why it's called 'bit coins'.

I looked up a few color match websites and, upon looking at their examples, went with what I felt was best.

Gray and Yellow for Paul the elf fox. White on black WOULD have been best for the stone black and red dwarf, but he had a nature lover theme. Midnight blue for the halfling because of practical reasons.

I'm imagining Francis's look is like a ninja. Or maybe a pirate with bracers.

and Fabio for Mark. Specifically from the cover of a book titled "Rogue", which I think is written by Fabio himself.

"Giant shoe shaped house" I'm half remembering some bit of folklore with like fairies or gnomes or something. But for the life of me I cannot recall the specific reference.

If it isn't obvious by now. Mark is meant to represent the stereotypical harem protagonist. Far too pretty and attractive for their own good. If you or I were to run this as an actual game, give this archetype to a player who is already married.

Halflings don't wear shoes. Francis is a quick enough thinker to realize that. Elfs being the consummate thinkers wear slippers in their homes/schools. Dwarfs, made of rock, usually need cleats to grip the ground otherwise stone slides on stone. And I suppose Cole thinks Mark is too pretty to be a working man.

I might have been getting tired at this point in my writing as I glossed over a discussion.

I was doing level ups to 2 and realized that Paul had darkvision. So I quickly went to the chapter where he was in the dark to change it. Turns out I only needed to swap one word from Fumbled to Searched.

#an evenings honest peril

0 notes

justmanic03 · 4 months

Text

Amethyst - Chapter one

A/N: Uh... hey guys I'm just some random girl on the internet who is obsessed with Pokemon games and decided to create my own AU... it's a self insert so if you like reading this sort of thing that's why I decided to share it. I should probably clear a few things up first though, I'm not an author in any way, I've been writing fiction all my life but I've never actually shared any of it online before, so this is my first time (don't judge me lol).

Some of the overarching themes here are actually pretty dark compared to what the average Pokemon fan is used to. I don't go into any sordid details, however, these themes are just glossed over. I struggle with my mental health a lot, and I wanted to shed some light on these issues whilst simultaneously doing something fun with a bunch of cute creatures, you know what I mean?

On a final note, This is purely fanfiction. I know ya'll do have the common sense to realise that but I have to put a copyright disclaimer here anyway. All rights of the Pokemon franchise belong to Nintendo and this is purely just a fan-made spinoff "game" written by me that's not actually canon. That said, all the characters are my own personal OCs. Except you, of course. lol.

***

Summary: Taldourse is a prospering region known for its incredibly rich biodiversity and formidably strong Pokemon trainers. When Y/N's time comes, they and their rival set off on a journey of not only Pokemon discovery, but also self discovery. Y/N and their rival quickly set their sights on reaching the well-covered title of Champion, which has only ever been achieved by two trainers in the history of Taldourse. Yet, as time goes on, Y/N realises that winning is not the most important thing in life, it is in fact the people around them.

‘Welcome to the land of Pokemon, where trainers far and wide gather together to celebrate the fascinating creatures that inhabit our world! Here in the Taldourse region, our diverse ecosystem is home to hundreds – possibly even thousands – of unique creatures eagar to be discovered by you! Here in Taldourse, we pride ourselves in being more than just trainers to these wonderful creatures, but friends, mentors, and lifelong companions! Taldoursians are famous all around the world for their top-notch trainers, strength, and resolve! There is a Pokemon out there for everyone! Join me, Professor Birch, and countless other fanatics in Taldourse and begin your journey today!’

…

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!

I can’t lie – I was already awake before the crack of dawn. How could I have slept, knowing that once this night was over, the journey of my life as a Pokemon trainer would begin! The adventure I’d dreamed of since the day I was old enough to conceptualise Pokemon! Heck, my first word was even ‘Pikachu’! And now finally, after all these years I had spent fantasising about being the greatest Pokemon trainer of all time and being the third person in history to reach Champion Rank in Pokemon battling… and now it felt as though all if my dreams were coming to fruition. Yet, in my conscious mind, I tried not to let my imagination run too wild. This was, after all, only the start, and I was going to receive my first Pokemon from the Professor.

And so I sprung up out of bed, filled with adrenaline, and within seconds, I was donning my favourite outfit that I had purchased years ago and saved for this very day; a red-and-white striped shirt with an Eevee, some beige safari shorts, matching red-and-white sneakers, and of course, a Pokeball cap. I grabbed my red backpack and stood in front of the mirror. This was it, I looked like a real Pokemon trainer! And, in a few hours time, I would be a real Pokemon trainer! My heart was pounding and my feet were burning up, itching to get going! I skipped down the stairs to find my mom already awake and dressed, yet she was rubbing her eyes, not used to being awake this early. ‘Good morning, Y/N’ she chirped, whilst stifling a yawn. Her eyes widened when she saw me sporting my outfit. ‘Hey mom, what do you think of Trainer Y/N?” I proudly spun around, showcasing the entire outfit. However, before she had time to conjugate a response, we were interrupted by a loud series of thuds on our door.

BANG!! BANG!! BANG!!

Mom walked towards the door, and opened it. ‘Oh hello, Danny. You’re up bright and early just like Y/N!’

‘I sure am, Mrs L/N, ready to seize the day as tight as a Pokeball!’ My best friend sang back. As Danny strode in, I took a gander at his outfit. It was almost identical to mine, yet his T-shirt and sneakers were blue rather than red.

‘So, today is the day you both get your first Pokemon!’ Mom excitedly said, vigorously rubbing her hands together.

‘Yeah, but I doubt Y/N is as excited as me!’ Danny grinned and struck a pose, causing mom and I to roll our eyes.

‘Oh, come off it, Dan! I’ve been awake all night!’ I retorted.

‘Oh dear, that is not healthy at all. What have I told you about always making sure you get enough beauty sleep?’ Mom sighed, causing me to roll my eyes as I turned back towards Danny. Danny just flipped his mousy brown hair. ‘Yeah, my mom’s been giving me the old beauty sleep lecture too,’

‘Danny, have you already eaten breakfast? I could make you both some scrambled eggs.’ Mom called, opening the refrigerator door.

‘Oh no ma’am, Y/N and I have gotta dash! Today’s the day we get our first Pokemon! We need to get down to the Prof’s house immediately!’

‘I’m not sure the Professor will even be awake yet, Danny, it’s only 6am!’ I chuckled.

‘Well duh, of course he will be awake! Can’t afford to keep the future Champion of Taldourse waiting!’

‘Daniel, you do realise that there have only ever been two champions in Taldoursian history…?’ I reminded him.

Danny paused awkwardly as my statement dawned on him. However, in his typical fashion, he quickly returned to his usual exuberant self. ‘Well I’m going to be the third! And at your slow pace, you won’t even make it to challenge the Elite Four!’

‘Hey, don’t patronise me!’ I chastised him.

‘Hmph. I doubt you’ll make it very far into the Gym Challenge with your half-foot-in attitude anyway.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Anyway, I’m off to get my new Poke-pal. I’ll have him on at least Level 20 by the time you even make it to Birch’s house. Smell ya later, Slowpoke!’

And with that, he turned on his heel and darted out of the door. I stared after him, almost in disbelief.

‘I’ve never understood that boy. Especially not lately.’ Mom remarked.

‘Yeah, he’s really blowing hot and cold with me at the moment. I guess I should follow him then. Later, mom.’

‘Wait, dear Y/N, at least let me make you some scramb-,’

I closed the door behind me, and broke out into a jog down my garden path. Danny’s words had really touched a nerve, and I was determined to make him eat them.

You see, Danny had always been a strange one. I considered him my best friend on one hand, because that’s what he had been ever since we were born. He would tease me, make fun of me, and acted a lot like a typical older brother. Yet other times, he would belittle me, insult me, and show off his prowess in arrogant displays of bravado. Although I’d known him my whole life – we had always lived near to each other back in Unova, and now had moved to Taldourse onto the same street – there was STILL a part of me that just couldn’t figure him out. Yet, when the chips were down, he was always the one who stood up for me if another kid made a snide remark. And now the time had come, I had a burning desire within my heart to beat Danny in every single Pokemon battle we found ourselves in. I wasn’t going to spend another minute living in his shadow. I was going to be a truly formidable rival to him.

***

Knock knock knock.

The creaky wooden door to the cottage swung open, to reveal an incredibly tall, pale-skinned man in his mid thirties with very short brown hair and piercing orange eyes. I immediately assumed he was the Professors’ assistant or something, however, I did find it a little bizzarre he was wearing a lab coat. And, once he opened his mouth, things seemed to only get all the more bizzarre. ‘Hello, young man/woman. I am Professor Birch! I presume you’re here to get your first Pokemon?’

His words went completely over my head. THIS was the professor?! I expected someone a lot older… at the very least. Nonetheless, I shook off the feeling as he held the door to his house open and I cautiously stepped inside. The young man walked over to his desk and opened a large folder. ‘Are you planning to take part in the gym challenge?” He asked whilst flipping through various documents. I nodded, still not having completely adjusted to the fact that THIS was the Professor. ‘Right then, let me just find an enrolment form. It’s probably best to get the boring stuff out of the way first.’

I took this opportunity to peak around the room. There was a large table with dozens of Pokeballs on the top, some of which were vibrating, suggesting there were Pokemon inside. The desk of the Professor was alarmingly messy, with seemingly random papers strewn everywhere. You’d think the guy would clean up a bit before inviting guests. I immediately shrugged these thoughts off, feeling like an asshole for being overly judgemental of this affable, harmless man. ‘I just need you to sign on the dotted line.’ He said with a smile, handing me the enrolment form and a pen. I noticed that the forms had already been pre-signed by the Elite Four of the region. Whilst scribbling my signature, I was interrupted by an extremely loud slam of the front door to the house which made the floor beneath me shake, and my pen squiggled.

SLAM!!!

‘Professor! Professor Birch!’ a high-pitched female’s voice rang in my ears. I turned around to see two people, one male and one female around the same height as me, although the male was slightly shorter. They were both dressed in all black, wearing T-shirts with a glowing full moon on them, black combat boots and spiky rucsacs that were seemingly designed based on a Woobat. The girl had long, straight, purple hair and mean-looking grey eyes. The guy had black hair that was styled in spikes with copious amounts of hair gel. It reminded me of something a 90s-industrial metal band hairstyle. The girl piped up. ‘I’m ready for my Pokemon now! Where are the enrolment forms!’ She elbowed me out of the way, seemingly not having noticed I was there, leaned forwards over the desk and attempting to grab one of the documents from the Professor’s folder. The male just stood back and watched. “Lisa, settle down please!” Professor Birch encouraged, seemingly amused by the girls’ over-exuberance. I stood there, slightly irate, but did not bother to chastise her. Frankly, she looked too scary to be messed with.

‘Y/N here was first in line to get his/her Pokemon. Perhaps you two can go wait in the garden and hang out with the Sunflora?’ Lisa and her male counterpart exchanged looks of consideration. ‘Come on Mackenzie, let’s show the Sunflora the new vape I got down at Pollux.’ Lisa turned on her heel and skipped out of the door. Mackenzie’s eyes then turned to me, flashing me a seemingly sympathetic look. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, before following Lisa out the door. ‘My most profound apologies,’ The professor remarked. ‘Those two are extremely misguided. Especially that Lisa,’

This comment piqued my interest. ‘Misguided in what way, Professor?’ I asked. He stood still with a stern expression lacing his features, before eventually shaking his head as if he was snapping out of a trance. ‘Don’t worry yourself too much about that, young man/woman. Now, let’s get you your Pokemon! I have three here! I did have four, but young Daniel was ahead of you, I’m afraid. So Pikachu isn’t an option.’

WHAT?! My heart skipped a beat and extreme jealousy accelerated through my body. Pikachu was an electric-type! It would surely have an advantage over whatever starter Pokemon I was about to obtain.

Damn, Daniel. I silently cursed to myself as I followed the Professor. ‘Wait here,’ Professor Birch instructed. I took this opportunity to look around the room. I had never been inside the Professor’s home before, and had always wondered what it looked like. I had seen his family out and about around Taldourse, but never the Professor himself.He was always working away in his lab. In terms of his house, it was pretty basic, with dusty wooden flooring and beams propping up the thatched roof. However, despite the rustic design, the portraiture adorning the walls was quite the contrast, complete with gilded gold frames of many Pokemon and people that the Professor held dear.

There was one picture in which the Professor had just graduated, grinning and holding a Pokeball in his hand, surrounded by his family members whom I immediately recognised. There was an Eevee on his shoulder, and a Mareanie nuzzling his leg. His mother’s fluffy grey hair was being flattened down by a rather portly Greedent, and his father had a Silicobra coiled around his walking stick. There were other portraits on the walls, showing various dragon evolutions, however, one of the portraits seemed rather out of place compared to the others. It was much smaller than the rest of the artwork pieces, and the frame was much more intricate and even had some precious stones embedded. As I slowly made my way over to the interesting photo, I realised that the portrait was of a very attractive young woman, with long, wavy white hair and piercing aquamarine eyes. She was wearing a medieval-style magenta dress and sparkling gold jewellery which beautifully complimented her cool skin tone. She was smiling, and had a kind look in her eye, clutching a Hatenna. The hatenna was nuzzling her small hands, and had its eyes closed, clearly enjoying the affection. Perhaps the most interesting thing about this woman, however, was the crown she wore on her head. It was a beautiful gold tiara complete with amethyst stones. I immediately recognised it as something similar to the infamous Champion’s Crown of Taldourse. However, before my brain had chance to begin pondering who this woman was or why the Professor had a rather extravagant photo of her in his house, the Professor re-entered the room carrying two Pokeballs. ‘Sorry about that, the little ones in these balls seem eagar to-,’

He completely stopped in his tracks when he realised the photo I was looking at. It was as if he had seen a ghastly. All the colour dissipated from his face and he froze on the spot. Sensing the tension, I backed away. The professor took a deep breath, looked to the side and eventually regained his composure. ‘Th-these ones are extremely playful!’ He laughed it off. ‘You can come out now!’ The three balls suddenly burst open, and a tiny creature hopped out of each one.

The first was a sky blue woodlouse-type Pokemon with numerous fat rolls, and its eyes seemed to be absent. It had a cavity in its face that was reminiscent of that of an octopus, however, despite it seemingly lacking other facial features, it seemed pleased to see me nonetheless. ‘This is Hydroxa, the water-type tardigrade Pokemon!’ I grinned and stuck my hand out. Hydroxa crawled up onto my hand and began waving its antenna in my direction as if it was saying hi. ‘What’s up, little guy?’ I giggled, before being interrupted by tiny little squeal.

I looked to my left to see a beautiful creature whose bright green head was in the shape of a leaf, yet it had tiny crimson tips. Its body seemed to be composed of woven tree bark, which also extended to its arms. Its little arms curled up beautifully into little vine-like branches, and its lower body seemed to be comprised of another bright green leaf. ‘Here we have Gladillum, the grass-type Pokemon!’ Gladillum smiled up at me with its shiny black eyes, and the veins in its leaf face were arranged in such a way that it looked as though it was smiling. Simply adorable. My thought process was once again interrupted by another loud screech, but this time, it was coming from above my head

As I raised my head to look up, my eyes were greeted with the sight of a little brown-and-grey bird with distinct bright orange feathers sticking up from its head. Its wings were flapping frantically, and it had a very interesting black marking on its chest, comparable to the shape of a flame. Although its eyes were narrow and pointed, it was still rather cute. I giggled, as this Pokemion reminded me of having resting bitch face. ‘And finally, you have Budblud, the fire-type finch Pokemon!’ Professor Birch gleefully announced. ‘I’ll give you a little time to choose which one of these will be accompanying you on your journey.’

My eyes once again fell on all the Pokemon. They were absolutely adorable. Then my mind wandered back to Danny and how he had somehow already managed to snag a Pikachu. Gladillum’s beautiful eyelashes were fluttering at me, and I couldn’t help but break out into a huge grin. ‘I think I’ll take her,’ I said to the Professor. ‘So Gladillum is your final choice, then?’ I nodded. Gladillum screamed out in delight before jumping back into the Pokeball.

‘Excellent choice! You already look like you make a good team.’ He was scribbling his signature on my enrolment form, before smiling up and handing it to me. ‘Here you go, young one! You’re all set for the gym challenge!’

The door once again swung open, and to my chagrin, it was the same noisy woman and her tagalong from before. ‘Hey Professor! Are we good to go?’ Lisa chimed.

‘Yes, yes, there are two Pokemon left, the water type and the fire type.’

‘Wait, what are you talking about?! You don’t have any dark or ghost types?!’ She groaned. I interally rolled my eyes. She was clearly someone used to getting what she wants.

‘Let’s just pick and then we can get out of here.’ Mackenzie suggested, seemingly not wanting Lisa to cause a scene.

‘Why are you so interesting in dark and ghost types anyway?’ I asked, although I already had a good idea, considering how dark their clothes were.

‘Dark and ghost types are the ones that Team Moon use, duh!’ She glowered at me, as if this was a seemingly obvious fact.

But wait… what in the world was Team Moon?

‘Lisa, there will be plenty of time to catch other Pokemon to make your teams up later. These are just your starters.’ Professor Birch said, seemingly doing his best to keep his cool.

Lisa then turned to Mackenzie. ‘Okay then, Mack, if we want to join Team Moon we’ve got to go on a hunt.’ Mackenzie just nodded in agreeance.

Lisa stepped forward towards the two Pokemon. ‘I’ll take Budblud.’ She announced, earning a gleeful chirp from the bird Pokemon.

‘Excellent choice! And so that means Hydroxa is going with you, Mackenzie!’

I eventually thought better of sticking around to ask Lisa and Mackenzie what Team Moon was, despite being incredibly curious. I instead just headed outside, pulled up my map and began making my way towards Route 1.

I pulled out my Pokeball, and decided to let Gladillum walk with me. She squealed in delight. ‘Glaa! Glaa! Glaa!’

‘Are you enjoying the sunshine?’ I cooed. She responded by twirling around like a ballerina, which earned a chuckle from me. However, our first little encounter was suddenly interrupted by someone charging across the path towards us.

‘Hey, Y/N!’

#pokemon au

0 notes