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theonotti · 6 months

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MIO | OS | t.n.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!Hufflepuff!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Voldemort won. Harry Potter is dead. But the Order of the Phoenix is still fighting, with two surprising allies who have very different reasons for aiding their cause.

Warnings: Pretty angsty. AU where Voldemort did not die at the end of DH.

Notes: This is heavily inspired by Secrets & Masks and Manacled. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

That Final Night One Shot

Late.

They’re fucking late.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Theo looks down at his watch.

Twenty minutes late, to be exact.

“How long are we expected to wait here?” Mattheo growls, pacing across the wood of the decrepit bar. The floorboards creak with every step. Theo is sitting at one of the tables, a sigh forcing its way out of his lungs as he watches his friend. In one hand is a cigarette, the other hand mindlessly tracing the vandalism that had been scratched into the top of the table.

“Another ten minutes and then we’re fucking off.”

The bar has been long abandoned, making it their top choice for discreet meetings. They had cycled through a few different locations before they finally found the bar. The walls are a sloppy black color, which is mostly covered in 80’s posters, both movies and musical talents alike. Theo’s eyes drift from poster to poster. He’s seen them what feels like a thousand times, and yet he still finds it hard to tear his eyes away when he stares at them.

An hour has already passed since their arrival, but that was due to the ungodly amount of wards and disillusionment charms that they needed to cast before the meeting, a ritual that has become quite routine. Once everything is set, they’ll briefly discuss what they’ll say, and then they wait. Theo finds the extra waiting time peaceful, usually. It gives him a chance to mentally prepare for the carnage that comes to his psyche afterwards. The guilt. The fear. But this time, the stakes are higher, increasing the tension in his muscles much too soon. He can feel the pain already in his lower back, and he doesn’t want to imagine the aches he’ll be feeling once he returns home.

“Can’t we just kill them?”

Theo considers this question as he lets his eyes jump back to Mattheo.

“That would probably defeat the purpose of why we’re here.”

“Sure, but I still hate Weasley and his stupid face. Just one Cruciatus curse at his ugly face would be okay, surely. I won’t even make it a long one. Four minutes tops.”

Theo boredly watches the smoke from his cigarette float up towards the ceiling as he ignores Mattheo. Every moment that passes increases his irritation. He finds himself wondering if it’s a power move on their part. They hold all the cards, so they can keep him waiting.

Something in the air triggers, both men looking towards the door. Theo’s fingers tense around the cigarette as he brings it to his mouth to take another drag, his other hand dropping down from the table to clench around his wand as it rests on his lap. The dimly lit room has a smoky haze, all thanks to Mattheo and Theo disregarding the “No Smoking Allowed” sign that is appropriately starting to fall off the wall.

The door opens, Ron Weasley followed by Hermione Granger walking in. Theo has long lost count of how many times they’ve met with Granger and Weasley, yet it still feels jarring every time he sees them. Maybe it’s because their appearance catches him off guard each time.

Despite them all being in their mid twenties, they all look tired and worn. The rosey cheeks that Granger sported while they were in school are now gaunt and hollow. Dark circles are painted under her eyes, along with Weasley’s, and she keeps her bushy hair contained in two french braids going down her back. Weasley keeps his hair short now, and his body is more built than it had ever been when they were at Hogwarts. His boy-like features are long gone, with gray already peppering his ginger hair, and if Theo didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that Weasley was in his late thirties at the least. The life in their eyes had long drained out, replaced with a coldness that chilled anyone who happened to be stuck in their gaze.

War hadn’t been kind to Theo or Mattheo either.

Mattheo has more scars on his face than he did back in school, and he grew his hair long in a feeble attempt to hide them. There was a time that he wore them like a badge of honor, but since the start of the war and his PTSD becoming worse than ever, they no longer were something he pretended to be proud of. He’s since developed an anxiety twitch, his whole face seeming to spasm whenever there’s a loud noise not caused by him, or tense moment. Though they don’t live together anymore, now that Theo has full ownership of Nott Manor, when they had, Theo could remember all the nights of hearing his best friend scream and cry in his sleep from across the mansion. It was more often than not, and it was unbearably hard to get Mattheo to calm down from the vivacious nightmares.

The opposite could be said for Theo. Instead of nights filled with intense dreams of death and melancholy, Theo simply doesn’t sleep. He couldn’t, for the life of him, shut his brain off. And while that had always been an issue for him to some degree, it had become exacerbated since his transition from student to soldier. Theo doesn’t know what being tired feels like anymore. It’s so ingrained in his psyche that it would be more abnormal for him to not be tired. All he can do is adjust, living off coffee and the occasional upper to keep him moving.

Weasley leans on the wall beside the door. His demeanor is much more unpleasant than normal as his eyes flit between Theo and Mattheo. Theo pretends not to notice as he looks at Granger, who’s standing in the middle of the room. She always did all the talking. Theo assumes it’s because of the way she carries herself, and they certainly take her more seriously than they could any Weasley. Besides being a fighter for the Order of the Phoenix, Granger is a war negotiator. She deals with prisoner exchanges and, eventually, peace talks. Although, considering it’s been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Theo is less confident of the possibility of any sort of peace treaty happening any time soon. For the entire duration of the war, it was her that Theo dealt with when it came to these sorts of things, before and after their betrayal.

She clears her throat.

“What information do you have for us?”

The strain in her voice is lost on no one. The tension in the air is so thick, Theo is convinced he could grab it if he tried.

Mattheo stops his pacing, turning to face her full on. His anger is palpable.

“Stop with the bullshit,” He snaps. “Let’s talk about why we’re really here today.”

Weasley’s hand tightens around his wand, but he doesn’t move. Theo keeps his eyes on him to ensure it stays that way before turning back to Granger.

“You have Malfoy.” Theo’s voice is quiet, tone neutral.

The corners of her mouth twitch upward.

“We have Malfoy.”

Mattheo lets out a frustrated sigh.

“We can’t continue to cooperate with you until you hand him back.”

Granger’s expression doesn’t change, making it clear that this reaction was expected.

“He’s quite the bargaining tool. What are you willing to give for him?” A beat passes. “Or I guess I should say, who?”

Mattheo turns to look at Theo, who can tell just by that exchange of a glance that his friend’s patience is wearing horrifically thin.

“We can ensure the release of Luna Lovegood and Seamus Finnegan. And we’re prepared to give you the maps of the hidden prisons in Sussex.” Theo conveniently forgets to mention that they were already planning to give them the maps, regardless of the way things went at this meeting.

Granger turns to look at Weasley, who merely raises his eyebrows, before turning back to Theo.

“He’s Draco Malfoy.”

Theo’s hand curls tighter around his wand.

Mattheo huffs loudly, throwing his hand down and smacking it on the bar top. The sound is so loud that Granger flinches, and Weasley pushes off the wall suddenly, but doesn’t move forward.

“You know bloody well that our heads will be on a fucking spike if we don’t get him back,” He hisses at them. “Then who will aid your bloody Order? You think there’s anyone else who will risk their necks like we have? Honestly?”

“Regardless of your help to the Order, do you really think we can just hand Voldemort back one of his best fighters?” Granger's voice raises just a touch. Mattheo takes a step towards her.

“You’ll be singing a different fucking tune when we’re dead and you realize the next on the list is you. You’re losing the goddamn war. Biblically. You need us. Alive.”

Theo waits for Mattheo to finish his outburst before he turns his attention back to Granger. He knows where this is going.

Fuck, he knows where this is going.

“What else do you want, then?”

Theo’s hands tremble slightly. He clenches his right fist around his wand even more, the left bringing the cigarette back to his mouth quickly.

Mattheo shakes his head, turning away as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with his want.

Granger tilts her head as she looks at Theo, her expression shifting to a tired one, as if the answer is obvious. When she speaks again, her voice is just above a whisper.

“You know who we want, Nott. It’s been almost a year.”

Theo’s nostrils flare.

“Not on the table.”

Suffice to say, the raid couldn’t have possibly gone worse.

How the Order could’ve been so prepared for them was beyond Theo.

One minute, everything seemed to be going to plan as Theo, Mattheo, Malfoy, Blaise and a few others sauntered into the safe house. Quick in and out. Nothing too complicated. The next, it was like the floor fell out from under their feet.

How did things get so royally fucked up?

Theo woke with a start, sitting up abruptly, covered in a layer of sweat as his eyes darted around the room. It took him a minute to get reoriented, and only then did he realize that he was in his own living room, laid on the couch with a blanket draped over him. Ripping the blanket off, his hands flew towards his abdomen. When he looked down, he found he was shirtless, but his skin was unharmed, save for some minor scarring. New editions to the collection. He then reached up and touched the top of his head. Nothing. Not even a scrape.

What?

Slowly, he kicked his feet over the side of the couch and stood up. The room spun for a moment, and his joints ached, but otherwise, he was completely normal.

The manor was silent. So silent that it made the hairs on the back of Theo’s neck stand up. Almost automatically, he walked across the floor, his bare feet cold against the hardwood. He tried to keep his footfall soft as he continued listening for any sort of sound. There, in the faint distance, he could hear… something. Grabbing a hoodie off the back of a chair, he slipped it over his bare torso and zipped it up halfway before making his way towards the sound.

Theo stepped into the kitchen. A flash of movement came from the other slide of the sliding door that leads to the courtyard. His hand instinctively went to grab his wand from his pocket, only for him to realize it wasn’t there. At the same moment, he also realized the person outside was Mattheo, having a smoke. His tense fingers relaxed, his arm falling back to his side.

Mattheo looked over as Theo slid the door open and walked out.

“Look who’s awake. How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Who healed me?”

Mattheo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

“You wound me, Nott. You don’t think I’m capable?”

Theo shook his head almost immediately.

“It’s not as… clean when you do it. And I have the scars to prove it.” He pointed to his back, which was covered in scars thanks to a nasty run in with a car, a Bombarda cast, and Mattheo’s lack of concern to learn basic field emergency spell casting.

Mattheo sighed in resignation before saying, “You’re right. It wasn’t me.”

Theo waited for Mattheo to give elaboration, and when one wasn't given, he could feel his fingers curl into fists. Though Mattheo’s face was neutral, the tension radiating off his body could be felt a kilometer away.

“What did you do?”

Mattheo took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils before turning back to Theo.

“Theo…”

“What did you do, Riddle?”

Swallowing hard, Mattheo looked away from Theo.

“We got their best healer.”

Theo blinked. A hostage?

“You took someone?” He asked, voice low. “That… that wasn’t part of the plan.”

Not that things ever went to plan. And not that they hadn’t ever deviated so far left and forced them to take hostages before. But there was something about the way Mattheo couldn’t look at him that made Theo’s fingers run cold.

Mattheo shook his head as he took a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He let his head fall to his chest, as if it were too heavy to hold up anymore. “That wall fell on you. You were going to die, Theo. We needed…” He inhaled sharply before looking up again. “It was beyond us. We needed the help. We needed her.”

Theo wracked his brain. The Order’s best healer? The Order’s best healer. Why does this mean something to him?

“Who is it?”

Mattheo leaned backwards in the seat so his back laid against the chair before he pointed at Theo, as if he was preemptively defending himself.

“You’re going to thank me. You’ll be pissed. But you’re going to thank me, ultimately.”

Theo’s nose twitched.

“Mattheo… who is it?”

Mattheo nodded back towards the house before vaguely replying, “She’s upstairs, in the North wing.”

Theo’s feet didn’t move, stuck to the floor like ice. His mind was running, a plethora of questions all begging to be answered. But his mouth forgot how to work as well. For a moment, all he was able to do was stare at Mattheo, who stared back briefly before nodding towards the house again.

“Go on.” His voice was soft.

Theo’s feet kicked on again, taking him back into the house as if they were on autopilot.

Why the hell are you so nervous? You don’t even know who it is.

His wand was laying on the end table next to the staircase, which he grabbed and shoved in his pocket. His knees buckled as he walked up the stairs. Distantly, he could hear the sound of yelling and objects being thrown around. It didn’t take him long to figure out which closed door the sounds were coming from the other side of. He stood outside the black wooden door, listening. Trying to maybe discern who it was before he went in.

He could just make out the wards that had been placed on the door. Laying a hand on the knob, he was relieved to find that he was able to touch the brass of the handle. Mattheo had been known to incorrectly cast the spell so no one could get through, which had more than once sent Theo or Malfoy through a wall.

A shaky sigh pushing its way from Theo’s lungs and out of his mouth, he turned the knob and let himself inside the room.

The color drained from Theo’s face.

Standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving and anger radiating off of like a stove top, was you.

Suddenly, Theo was back at Hogwarts, standing in the Astronomy Tower. You were no longer in your casual shirt and jeans, but instead, in your Hufflepuff robes as you looked at him and told him you were leaving to join the Order.

“This war is above us, Theo. Dumbledore is dead. Harry Potter is dead. I can’t stand idly by and watch people die. I need to do something.”

“Yeah? And what about me?”

“You could come with me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And you know I can’t stay.”

The memory hit Theo like a train. His breath hitched in his throat.

You turned to face him, freezing in the headlights of his gaze. The way your fury faltered at the sight of him made it clear that you were having the same out of body experience that he was.

You certainly had been busy. All of the furniture in the room was broken. The night stand had been thrown against the pewter colored wall, leaving a dent in the dry wall and the wooden pieces scattered across the floor. A picture frame that Theo hung and forgot about was in ruins, the brunette girl in the picture cowering in the corner of the shredded pieces of photo paper. Feathers from the pillows littered the carpet. The mattress had been thrown off the bed frame, which was also now broken.

Though he couldn’t focus on the damage that had been done to his guest room. He was too busy staring at you with the same confounded look he’d had when he first entered the room.

Your hair was longer than he remembered it, pulled back so it was out of your face. Your features had grown with you, your cheekbones more prominent, your eyes with more bags, your cheeks with less color. There wasn’t a corner of Theo’s world that wasn’t burdened by war, and, unfortunately, that included you. His heart raced in his chest as he looked at you. He had locked the memory of you deep into the catacombs of his brain, not allowing himself to bring them out for any occasion. There wasn’t the time or need for it. This is war. When is there a moment for reminiscing on the worst day of his life?

But now there you were, standing in front of him, with a dumbfoundedly angry look on your face, casual clothes and longer hair. The flood gates were now opened, and he was overwhelmed with memories of you, running through his mind so quickly that he felt like he was spinning.

Your eyes still twinkled in the light that streamed in through the curtains.

“You tell Mattheo Riddle that he can give me back my wand and we’ll see then if he’s able to force me into this room again.”

Theo flinched.

The sound of your voice alone made him feel the need to have a complete mental breakdown. You could’ve been cursing him out or singing in German and he would still feel the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball on the floor. Even with your anger, it still felt like a sweet symphony to Theo’s ears.

He never thought he’d hear the sound again.

Hell, he never thought he’d see you again.

Realizing you had spoken and he was just staring at you like an imbecile, he cleared his throat.

“You healed me.”

Your expression shifted, an emotion crossing your face that Theo couldn’t read. Standing a little straighter, you nodded.

“I’m a healer,” You said slowly, distantly. “It’s what I do.”

He snorted. That bleeding Hufflepuff heart.

“You could’ve let me die,” He pointed out, cocking his head to the side.

You seemed to consider this briefly before saying, “In theory, yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Silence hung in the air between the two of you, coupled with the unmitigated tension. Theo’s hands were curled at his sides, not from anger, but to stop himself from giving into the inordinate compulsion to reach out and touch you. To prove to himself that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. That you were actually in front of him. You shifted your weight to your other foot.

“I don’t think I really could’ve, even if I wanted to.”

The words unsaid in this moment would keep Theo up at night for weeks.

Your eyes trailed down his body, studying him, taking in his bare chest underneath the hoodie. He swallowed hard, his body seeming to freeze under your gaze. Maybe he should’ve changed before coming into the room. At least maybe thrown on a proper shirt. He’d never had a hostage in his home before. There was no protocol book on the proper etiquette.

Especially not when the hostage was his ex-girlfriend who’s now working on the opposite side of the war.

You let out a strangled sigh.

“You have to let me go back, Theo. They need me. No one is trained on some of the things I am.”

The shake of his head was immediate.

“You can’t even begin to comprehend what he would do if he found out Mattheo and I had you and then just let you go back,” He said in a strained yet soft voice. “I can’t. We can’t.”

Your nose twitched as you closed your eyes.

“I won’t fucking heal for him,” You declared in a low tone. “I’d rather be strung up in Godric’s Hollow to rot like all the other people he’s executed than heal for him.”

Theo tried to be rational as he considered what to do. There was a tug of war in his mind, his loyalties competing to decide the best course of action. The obvious answer was to turn you over to The Dark Lord, where you would be put on trial for the crimes he deemed you guilty of, and then punished accordingly. With the skills you hold, Theo knew that you would more than likely be put under the Imperius curse and forced to act as a healer for the Death Eaters.

Though the answer was obvious, that didn’t make it correct. Not to him or to anyone else.

Theo knew. He knew you’d rather die than breathe the same air as the Death Eaters, let alone fix their wounds and send them back out to kill your people. His head throbbed as he tried to think of the best direction to go in.

Because, in his head, letting you go was simply out of the question.

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” Granger asks. “We have something you want, you have something we want. We exchange.”

Theo shakes his head as he smashes the end of his half smoked cigarette on the top of the table.

“She’s not for trade.”

“Well, she’s what we want.”

A bead of sweat trails down the side of his face. He ignores it.

“She’s nowhere close to being worth the same as Draco Malfoy. This isn’t a fair trade.” He means it, but not in the way that he presented it to them. Nothing they could offer would make it a fair trade in Theo’s eyes. They could offer the end of the war. They could offer his freedom from the Death Eaters. They could offer endless riches, or immortality, or anything else he could possibly dream up. None of it would equate.

“Then we’ll gladly take Luna and Seamus back as well,” Granger says through clenched teeth, expression reading that her patience is wearing thin. “To make up the difference.”

Theo opens his mouth to respond, but Mattheo cuts in before he gets the chance.

“You’ll take what we fucking give you.”

Granger shoots him a dagger filled glare.

“We can no longer afford to play these games with you. You have our best healer. And we need her back.” She rolls her head before her eyes fall back on Theo. “We have been patient. We have accepted that we had nothing worth trading for her. Now we do. Malfoy’s importance to the Death Eaters is well known. Don’t patronize us by pretending we don’t have the upper hand here.”

A chill runs through Theo’s spine.

She’s right.

God dammit, she’s right.

Theo runs a hand through his messy hair, the most he’s moved since he sat down. His brain scrambles to come up with something, anything, that he can offer to remedy this. There has to be something of equal value. There has to be something he can give that would make them decide to let you stay.

“Before you try to come up with some feeble offer, know that we won’t be backing down from this,” Granger says as if she’s reading Theo’s mind. “You won’t be getting Draco Malfoy back unless we get her, regardless of what else you give. She’s the only card you have that could get him back.”

Theo’s eyes snap back to Granger, the anger boiling in his chest.

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” He repeats her words back to her. She smiles at him, but the gesture does not reach her eyes.

“Maybe negotiation is the wrong word for it.” She hums thoughtfully. “It’s more like a plea deal. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re up late.”

Theo jumped at the sound of your voice as he quickly flicked the light on.

He didn’t expect to find you in his kitchen, sitting cross legged on the island counter with the lights off. A bowl of what he could only assume was cereal was in your hands.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s four in the morning.”

You glanced up at the clock as well, before shrugging.

“Fine, you’re up early.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Theo’s mouth.

He could feel you studying him as you brought the spoon to your mouth. A flush of warmth filled his cheeks as he made his way to the fridge, making it a point to turn away from you. Still, he knew your eyes never left him.

“You still don’t sleep much, huh?” You asked, mouth full of cereal.

He sighed as he pulled the carton of orange juice off the shelf.

“I’d say I don’t sleep at all these days.”

He popped the top of the carton before bringing it to his mouth and throwing his head back. You watched him carefully, seeming to pause your eating.

“You’re a feral one now, aren’t you?” You asked in a playful tone. “Drinking right from the carton? Who have you become, Theodore Nott?”

He laughed, the sound being so foreign to him these days, before saying, “I generally live alone, and I never host other people. No need to waste a glass, as far as I’m concerned.”

Him ignoring the last comment of yours was intentional. Despite the playfulness behind it, Theo doesn’t know how you would feel about the man he’s become, and he doesn’t want to dwell on that fact.

You continue to laugh as you shake your head.

“Mad behaviour.”

Theo eyed you.

“Says the girl sitting on the counter, in the dark, eating cereal.”

You smiled as you take another bite.

“Got me there.”

It had been almost two months since Mattheo had taken you hostage and made you Theo’s problem. In an attempt to keep peace, Theo gave you free reign of the entire manor and all of the land around it. After repairing the furniture in the guest room (multiple times, as you had to get your frustration out somehow), Theo allowed you to stay there. Before his death, Nott Sr. had created a dungeon-esque holding below the house, with cage like cells and torture weapons, but Theo had the area of the house completely closed off upon his arrival as head of estate, and he wasn’t planning to reopen it anytime soon. Besides, the thought of locking you in an actual cell made Theo physically ill.

“How’s the escape plot going?” Theo asked as he leaned against the counter adjacent from you, juice carton still in hand.

“Considering I can’t apparate because you already had anti apparation wards in place, the wards Mattheo placed that are linked to my DNA so I can’t leave the estate at all, and that bed being the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on…” You listed, raising a finger with every reason. “ … I’d say it’s going quite terribly.”

Theo’s eyebrows hit his hairline as he let out a surprised huff.

“Mattheo has always been quite meticulous.”

“Well, he said he was afraid you’d let me go.”

Theo’s smile faded quite quickly.

The first couple of weeks following your capture, you had made yourself scarce around the manor, mostly spending time in the North wing. Theo made it a point to stay out of your way. Not only for the sake of your anger, but because he needed to work out his own emotions about you being there. Even in this moment, looking at you in the kitchen, he still hadn’t quite worked out how the whole thing made him him.

After the first couple of weeks, you had slowly started making your way through the manor, exploring every crevice. Every nook and cranny. Theo knew it was to look for a weakness to exploit that could lead to your escape, but he didn’t comment that to you. Just let it sit in the back of his head.

With your emergence from your room also came your increased interactions with the dark haired lad. It was painful at first, just a curt nod here and there, but it slowly built up to exchanging jokes and sarcastic comments, and even as far as the two of you reading books in silence together in the library.

It was almost as if there was never a moment between the days you and him spent together at Hogwarts and now. Just cut the time apart out and sew the rest together like the war never happened.

Theo often found himself wondering if he was one of the weaknesses you were attempting to exploit.

Your comment about Mattheo believing Theo would let you go did nothing to snuff out that thought.

He tried not to think about it too much.

You watched him carefully as he took another long sip of juice from the carton.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with me yet?”

Theo rolled his eyes, setting the juice on the black countertop next to him.

“Nope.”

He didn’t bother to ask how you knew it was even up for debate. You’d always had a knack for just knowing things. And he couldn’t imagine that his debates with Malfoy and Mattheo were as quiet as he would’ve liked them to be.

“What are you leaning towards?” You asked innocently, your eyes studying him. He bit the inside of his cheek as he considered how to answer.

“Let’s see,” He mumbled. “Malfoy thinks I should turn you in. He doesn’t see why you’re useful here, and says you’d be better suited as a healer for… them.” He decided not to say Death Eaters, but you flinched at the idea anyway. “Mattheo thinks I should keep you here.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him as you took another bite of your cereal. Theo mirrored you with the orange juice.

“But what are you leaning towards?”

“Not turning you in, that’s for damn sure.”

Your gaze pinned him, as your eyes narrow only slightly.

“So I’m stuck here then.” It was more of a statement than a question, and something about it made an ache burst through Theo’s chest. He had no idea how to respond, so he opted to say nothing, instead bringing the juice carton back to his lips. Your eyes followed him. “Theo, you’re a rational person. You know that I don’t want to be here. Why can’t you just let me go back to the Order?”

His eyes fluttered shut.

“It’s complicated.”

You set the bowl down on the counter before looking back up at him.

“Then simplify it for me.”

All he could say in a breathy whisper was your name.

He didn’t know how. He couldn’t even simplify it for himself.

It all happens at once.

Theo quickly stands, pushing the chair out from under him so quickly that it glides across the floor and into the wall.

Weasley rushes forward, his wand pointed at Theo.

Mattheo grabs Weasley by the scruff of his shirt, roughly shoving him into the wall with the tip of his wand jabbing into the ginger’s jugular. The impact of his back against the hard surface causes Weasley to drop his wand, which Mattheo swiftly kicks across the floor.

Granger puts her wand only inches from Mattheo’s head, though he doesn’t appear to notice.

Theo directs his wand to Granger.

“The difference between you and I, Weasley,” Mattheo hisses in his face. “Is that I don’t have any pathetic qualms about making a person suffer. So please. Point your wand at one of us again. We’ll see who comes out the bigger man.”

“That’s enough, Riddle!” Granger shouts, pressing her wand into Mattheo’s temple. Theo steps forward and jams his wand through her hair and into her occipital scalp.

“Drop it.”

A beat passes.

Mattheo’s face twitches.

Granger slowly lowers her hand, her jaw clenched so tight that Theo is convinced her teeth will crack.

“We all want the same outcome,” She says in a quiet voice, still glaring daggers at Mattheo.

“It’s how we get there that we can’t seem to see eye to eye on,” Theo growls.

Letting his hand drop back to his side, Theo takes a step back towards the table he had previously been occupying.

“Let him go, Mattheo.”

The curly haired man glares into Weasley’s face for a moment longer, letting his deep breath smack against the ginger’s face before he shoves him away. Theo’s eyes follow Mattheo as he walks back to his pacing area, and then they flick back to Granger. She looks incensed over what just occurred, as Weasley adjusts his shirt, embarrassment painting his cheeks pink.

Theo opts to stay standing this time.

“She’s not a part of the equation,” He says in a low tone. “We can give you the maps, Finnegan and Lovegood for Malfoy. Or we can give nothing at all.”

A draft fills the room as the wind can be heard whipping outside over the silence.

“And again, we are well aware of Draco’s importance to the Death Eater army,” Granger says in a tone that matches Theo’s. “There is no option. It’s her or nothing.”

Theo fights the urge to curse her.

“Then it’s nothing.”

The door hit the wall so hard, Theo could almost feel the drywall dent. In the moment, however, he couldn’t give less of a shit.

You whipped around to face him. The anger on your face couldn’t be missed, but neither could his. For a while, the two of you just stared at each other, speaking through daggered glares and heaving chests, as if words weren’t necessary.

It was a moment of deja vu, calling back to the first time the two of you met in what became your assigned bedroom of the house. Both times equally as tense, but for radically different reasons. And this time, all of the pieces of furniture were entirely intact.

Finally, Theo broke the silence.

“What business do you have, entering the field?”

Your nostrils flared.

“What business do you have, almost getting yourself killed?”

A breeze came in through the window, chilling the room further. As if it needed the help.

“I was handling myself fine,” He said in a low voice. “Injuries are bound to happen-“

“A pelvic fracture and an open head wound are both severe injuries,” You countered in a raised voice. “You may have felt fine in the moment but you wouldn’t have after you lost two liters of blood just from the fractured pelvis alone. You needed care.”

Theo felt like throwing things as the anger flared heavily in his chest.

“I could’ve apparated back to the manor after-“

“You would’ve splinched yourself with that severe of injuries, Theo,” You snarled, looking exasperated. “Mattheo came and got me.”

Theo made a mental note to kick the absolute shit out of Mattheo the next time he saw him.

“You could’ve said no!” He shouted. “You’re not my bloody on-call healer who gets to risk her life whenever I almost die.” The image of you in the middle of the fight, dodging multiple green casts in your wake, was burned into his retinas. Despite being safe in the Manor now, his chest was still reeling from the panic that flooded his heart and lungs when he fought to get to you.

You took a rushed step forward.

“Don’t fucking do that,” You said in a strained voice. “You don’t get to drag my arse back into your life-“

“You think I wanted this for you?” He shouted, cutting you off. “I didn’t drag you anywhere. I didn’t bring you here. I didn’t ask for this.”

You took another step towards him, more controlled this time. Theo almost took a step backwards to keep the distance.

Almost.

“But you kept me here. Why am I still fucking here, Theo?”

The words left his mouth before his brain had a chance to even consider them.

“Because you fucking left me before I was fucking done with you!”

Theo’s chest heaved, as he stared down at you. The room became painfully silent, the only sound being Theo’s breathing. You were holding your breath.

“What does that mean?”

Theo didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“You left me to join the Order. You left me behind and I went bloody maniacal. I didn’t know a person could be touch starved for a specific set of hands, but your fingers burned their prints into my skin and I can’t get them to goddamn heal. And then Mattheo dropped you on my fucking door step and it was like I was an imprisoned man who just felt the warmth of the sun for the first time in years.”

You were frozen, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Theo…” A breathy whisper.

Theo shook his head, feeling a mix of anger and desperation in his head and heart. When he spoke, his voice was more calm this time, taking a low tone.

“If love were a language then the only one I know how to speak is the one we wrote together. I couldn’t lose you again. I can’t lose you again.”

It was unclear who moved first. Maybe Theo. Maybe you. Maybe both. But somehow, the distance between the two of you closed, and Theo’s mouth was crashing against yours.

His left hand was on the small of your back, the other on the back of your head. His fingers weaved through your hair with a firm grip, as if to keep you from pulling away. Your hands were on his cheeks, lightly cradling his head between your palms as your fingertips teased the beginnings of his hairline.

“I love you,” He said in a silent voice, his lips still pressed against yours in the desperate kiss. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too.” Your words came without a sliver of hesitation.

His tongue parted your lips, as your fingers moved to the back of his head. A groan forced its way up his throat. Your nails against his scalp drove him insane. It always had. Theo knew you knew that well.

And with that, he pushed you onto the bed.

“So…”

Theo closes his eyes at the sound of Mattheo’s voice. His steps are slow as they walk up the pathway of Nott Manor. In an effort to prolong the inevitable, Theo pulls a cigarette from his pocket, setting it between his lips before lighting it with his wand.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

Theo looks up at the sky as he blows a plume of smoke upwards to join the clouds. He can’t look at Mattheo.

“No,” He finally says. “We don’t.”

Mattheo pulls a smoke of his own out, lighting it before taking a deep inhale. The only sounds in the air are the wind and his exhale.

“What if we just stopped aiding them?” He suggested after a beat too long of silence. “They’re losing. They need the information we’re feeding them. A few weeks without it would have them feeding out of our palms.”

Theo considers this as he plops down on the top step leading onto the porch. The cold from the wood seeps through his trousers.

Not that his body held any warmth to begin with. Not since he walked out of that bar.

“We don’t have a few weeks.”

Another cloud fills the air.

“The Dark Lord wants Malfoy back now.”

Theo’s heart already feels hollow as he thinks about what he is getting ready to do.

Mattheo paces the cobblestone pathway, running his fingers through his curls as he takes another long drag of his cigarette.

“There has to be a way.”

Theo studies his friend. There’s very few people Mattheo holds loyalty to. The Order wasn’t on the list, despite the way they were risking everything to help them. The other Death Eaters didn’t have it. Hell, even his own father only held enough of Mattheo’s loyalty to keep him alive. Not enough for it to matter.

But Mattheo, from the moment they met until this moment in front of Nott Manor, was always fiercely loyal to Theo. And the way he desperately tries to come up with a solution to fix this for Theo pulls at his heart.

Because his loyalty to Theo also extends to you. When Theo told Mattheo that he was planning to betray Voldemort’s army in an effort to end the war and keep you with him, Mattheo wasted no time in joining him. No questions asked.

Mattheo was willing to risk his head to keep you safe if that was what Theo needed. And in this moment, Theo knew he didn’t thank his friend enough.

His hands shake slightly as he brings the cigarette back to his mouth.

“I don’t think there is.”

He doesn’t want to sound as defeated as he does. But as his mind runs a million kilometers a second, it still comes up short on a way of getting out of this.

Mattheo shakes his head angrily.

“This is bullshit.”

And Theo says nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground as he finishes his cigarette, and plans what he’s going to say once he goes inside.

Oh Merlin, do I really have to leave?

Theo sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your sleeping form. Your back was facing him, the blanket low enough to show the bare skin of your upper torso.

He swallowed hard.

Five minutes. Just another five minutes.

But he knew he wouldn’t stop at five.

He was in his Death Eater robes, dressed to leave. This meeting wasn’t one he could afford to miss, and yet, watching you sleep in his bed was enough to make him at least consider it.

Reaching over, he traced the lines of your right scapula, moving down to the left, feeling your smooth skin and shoulder blades beneath his fingertips. Your body rose and fell with every breath you took, but you did not stir at his touch. He brushed your hair down to the side so it all fell concurrently onto the sheets.

Every time he tried to stand, his legs would defy him.

Bloody hell, this is impossible, he thought to himself.

The temptation to kiss you was strong, but he resisted. He didn’t want to wake you, because then you would know he was leaving, and then you’d ask questions. One’s he didn’t yet want to offer up the answers to.

You didn’t know what he was about to do.

The door creaked open, making Theo jump. Mattheo stood at the threshold, also in his robes. His eyes flitted between his friend and you, before they settled on Theo again. All he did was nod, a gesture that Theo returned, before turning and leaving once again.

A sigh forcing its way out of his lungs, Theo stood up from the bed. Before walking out the door, he threw one last fleeting glance your way.

This better fucking work.

Once the door to his bedroom was shut, Theo walked through the manor in a flash, before finding Mattheo standing in the front garden. His friend gave him a look, and it was not lost on Theo the anxiety in his expression.

“Are you sure about this?”

Mattheo’s words hung in the air, swirling around above them with the wind. Theo slowly let his head fall backwards as he stared at the sky. For once in his life, his thoughts weren’t racing. He was confident in this decision. He had never been more confident about anything.

“I’m sure.”

No more words were said.

Grabbing Mattheo’s forearm, the two men apparated. When they reappeared, it was in an empty warehouse in Sussex. Windows lined the walls just a meter or so below the ceiling. The walls themselves were painted an off white colour that left them looking dirty, with hand prints and muck dusting the paint. It felt too big, in Theo’s opinion. If this were to become a regular thing, they’d need something smaller. With seats, preferably.

The two got to work, placing wards and disillusionment charms everywhere they could. Before they knew it, a whole hour had passed, and they were just finishing up.

“You know I hate this right?” Mattheo asked as they regrouped in the center of the giant room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not what we’re doing necessarily but this meeting?”

Theo had to fight the urge to laugh.

“You think I like this any more than you do?”

Mattheo shook his head as he looked around the warehouse, taking in the metal beams that lined the ceiling.

Theo took the moment of quiet to get his thoughts in order. Ever since he sent that damn letter, he had dreaded this moment. And now it was here, and though he had spent countless hours stewing and preparing, right now, he felt completely naked and defenseless.

A sensation filled the air. Theo looked over at the same time that Mattheo did. The door creaked open, the sound echoing off the walls and around the air, before Hermione Granger, followed by Ron Weasley, the Weasley twins, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, another Weasley they couldn’t place, and the blonde Triwizard Tournament champion from fourth year who Theo, for the life of him, could not remember the name of.

“All Gryffindors, mostly Weasels,” Mattheo mumbled under his breath. “Too much bloody red around here.”

Theo fought the impulse to laugh.

The crowd of Order members approached them, all looking apprehensive. Granger stepped forward, her eyes jumping between the two of them.

“Nott.” When her eyes bounced back to Mattheo, the disdain became more apparent. When she spoke again, she spat the word out. “Riddle.”

Mattheo gritted his teeth as Theo took a step forward, saving them the risk of what would happen if Mattheo were the next to speak.

“Granger.”

He debated on greeting the others, but decided against it. There simply wasn’t time for pleasantries. Besides, Theo didn’t particularly want to be polite to them. And he knew that Mattheo wanted nothing more than to raze the whole warehouse just because he saw that familiar flash of ginger hair one time, let alone several. So it was probably best to get right to the point.

“What’s this about?” The unfamiliar Weasley called out.

It was hard for Theo not to grow annoyed. The amount of people in the building had him feeling overwhelmed, though he couldn’t exactly blame him. How else should they have responded? It could’ve been a trap, for all they knew.

The moment Theo reached into his back pocket, a swarm of wands were pointing in his direction. In his periphery, he could see Mattheo’s fists clench. though he was grateful that his friend didn’t immediately start spitting off hexes and Unforgivables. Theo froze more out of politeness than fear, then slowed his movements down. With the same speed as a snail, he pulled out a couple of scrolls, tossing it on the floor halfway between where he stood and where she stood. The wands all moved to point at the scroll in the same way they would point at a bomb.

“Those are plans for upcoming raids on your safe houses,” Theo explained. “Now you can be better prepared.”

The reaction was comical. At least, to Theo, it was.

Granger stared at the scrolls, her mouth agape. Ron and Ginny kept their wands pointed at it in a way that suggested they were convinced it was anything but a scroll. The twins backed away from it entirely. Dean Thomas stared not at the scroll, but at Mattheo specifically, confusion painting his expression. The unfamiliar Weasley with the scars on his face jumped away when Theo threw the scroll, and had not moved since. And the blonde looked like she wanted to approach it, but was too afraid to let her feet move.

Granger was the first to speak.

“Why should we trust you?”

A draft filled the room.

“Trust us or don’t,” Mattheo quipped. “You’re losing. You’ve been losing. Pathetically. We’re guaranteeing you a win right now. Whether you decide to take that chance is up to you.”

The silence was deafening as the members of the Order all exchanged looks, looking absolutely flabbergasted by this turn of events. It was clear they were trying to have a conversation through their facial expressions. Every muscle in Theo’s body tensed as he waited for their reaction.

This has to work, He thought to himself.

This will work.

“What do you get out of this?”

Granger’s words hung in the hair, and though the question was for the both of them, her eyes were pointedly trained on Mattheo. When the two Death Eaters remained silent, she continued.

“You’re betraying your families. Your fathers. What could you possibly have to gain, besides maybe a pardon from execution if we win?” She sneers. “And even that isn’t guaranteed.”

Visions of you lying in his bed, only covered by the duvet cover, overtook Theo’s head. He found himself wondering if you’d woken up yet. If you’d eaten. If you’d slept well. If you’d realised he’d left. The lump in his throat felt like a bolder when he swallowed it down. His fingertips burned with the feeling of your bare skin underneath them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Theo sees Mattheo glance over at him.

This is, after all, Theo’s doing. So it’s his question to answer.

“Family isn’t everything,” Theo said in a low tone. “And some people are worth yielding for.”

Rise.

Fall.

Rise.

Fall.

It takes Theo a full half hour before he finally finds you in the manor. Here you are, curled up on the couch in the library with one of his robes covering you like a blanket. Your back faces him as your face is nuzzled against the fabric of the back of the couch.

Deja vu hits him hard.

Instead of waking you, Theo sits on the ottoman beside you and counts the amount of breaths you take. At the moment, he’s up to about sixty since he started. It’s easier on his heart to sit in the silence, only filled with your quiet snores.

It’s easier for his heart to handle than what it knows he has to do.

But he knows that he’s only prolonging the inevitable.

Letting out a deep sigh, Theo reaches over and places his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake.

“Hey,” He says in a low voice in an attempt to not startle you. “It’s me. Wake up.”

Your head springs upward, looking around at the back of the couch before you roll over to face Theo. The way your eyes light up at the sight of him makes his heart ache in a way he’ll never be able to describe. It’s like he misses you before you’ve even left.

A soft yawn takes over your face for just a brief moment, and is quickly replaced with a tired smile.

“How’d it go?”

Theo bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste blood.

I can’t do this.

You have to do this.

“Not great.”

The smile fades from your face. As quickly as your still waking up body allows, you sit up, rolling over to face him entirely. Theo sits up straight as you pause, watching as the wheels turn in your head to process what he had said.

“What happened?” Your voice is so small, and something about it gives Theo the impression that you already know where this conversation is about to go. He sighs heavily. The pain in his upper back makes it feel like he has the entire world on his shoulders.

“They wouldn’t return Malfoy to us,” He explains. In an effort to hide the shake in his voice, he speaks slowly. “They… they had specific conditions for his release.”

The hush blanketing the room is only pacified by the pounding in Theo’s ears.

If there is one thing about you that Theo knows deeply, it’s that you can’t keep your emotions off your face. So it’s to his great dismay that he watches your expression shift from confusion, to thoughtful, to realisation.

“They want me, don’t they?”

The words feel like a bullet each, piercing through Theo’s chest and implanting straight into his heart.

I can’t bloody do this.

“Yes.”

Suddenly, the quiet that overtakes the room is less welcome as that one single word hangs over the two of you like a storm cloud threatening a downpour. The way Theo’s mind runs a million kilometers a second makes it so deafening. He can see the conflict on your face as you consider what needs to be done. The downward cast of your sleep stained eyes and the way you curl your lip in thought makes him want to burn the entire Order to the ground so he doesn’t have to even consider losing you.

He sucks in through his nose as the hand on his knee clenches tightly into a fist.

When your eyes drift back up to meet his, matching resolve in your expression, Theo has to swallow down the urge to cry.

“When?”

His nails dig into his palm.

“Mattheo’s going to take you once you’re ready.”

A frown crosses over your face.

“You're not going?”

Theo can’t recall another time in his life where he’s felt as broken as he does now, looking into your sad stricken and confused eyes.

He’s losing you again.

“I can’t.” He swallows the lump in his throat that makes his words come out choked. “I… I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

He lets the rest of his thoughts remain left unsaid. That he would kill them before they could even leave the area with you. That he’d kill every last one of them for taking the only good thing he’d had during this god forsaken war. The entire reason he had broken his loyalties to the Dark Lord in an attempt to put it to an end.

And now, he has to watch you leave him.

Again.

Anguish and surprise conflict your face, making him take your hand in his and hold it tightly.

“I’ll figure it out, okay?” The desperation in his voice is so palpable that you can feel it bleeding onto the skin of your fingertips. Theo’s eyes never leave yours. “I’ll finish this. For you. For us.”

You fill the spaces between his fingers with your own.

You haven’t even left yet, but Theo begins to dread the ghost of your touch that will be left behind once you are. It’s a feeling he knows too intimately.

“What if we lose?” You ask him in a soft whisper. “Or what if one of us doesn’t make it?”

The air leaves Theo’s lungs, evaporating from the heat of your words.

He wants to dig a bunker and hide you in it, keeping you far away from the sins of the war and the pain of ever leaving his side. He wants to blow up the world and watch from space with you on his arm. He wants to do anything, literally anything that would take away the hurt in your eyes.

Images of the many ways he wishes to kill the Dark Lord and end this devastation flash through his mind.

“I need you to hear me when I say this,” Theo says in a slow tone. “I will do whatever it takes to ensure my return to you. Even if that means I have to blow through the gates of hell myself and crawl out of my grave. Make no bloody mistake. I will come back for you.”

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfiction #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfiction #.txt

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locusfandomtime · 3 months

Text

see the fandom has this thing where the hermits are different species and when they’re part animal/mob they’re a hybrid but nobody talks about the even funnier canon lore that they’re all the exact same species. Their species is hermit.

[long post - lots of worldbuilding and speculative biology below]

Jevin looks like a slime, Doc looks like that, most of them look human, but in actuality they’re all just hermits. The only information we have about this is that hermits are shorter than the average player, some references to hobbits, some references to hermits being hardworking, the fact that gem isn’t a hermit and had to wear antlers to pretend to be one, and that’s it.

I love biology and worldbuilding and this is fascinating to me. When you take into account previous seasons and events and throw-away lines this gets even more insane. Grian and Hypno are acknowledged to not have mouths (and even more hermits don’t have them on their skin). Mumbo turned into a potato. Cleo had snake hair at one point. There are a million other weird things I’m forgetting. You could handwave some of this with an explanation like “hermits are shapeshifters” or “hermits are gods” and that is a very valid and fun take but I think it is SO much funnier if these are just normal things that happen in the hermit species, which aren’t fantastical at all and are adaptations with elaborate mechanics and explanations.

Perhaps hermits, similar to bugs, regularly shed their skin (or a process similar to it) and change their appearance. Some insects change colours/appearance due to their environment rather than genetics, ie macleays spectre stick insects can turn lichen colours when raised around lichen. Maybe the hermits shed their skins on a regular basis, including during their adult life, and this allows them to better match their environment- causing physical changes related to what they have been exposed to. This causes potato Mumbo and medusa Cleo and DM Tango and any other example of a specific skin change. For more constant differences in appearance - maybe life cycles could be considered?

this may be the weirdest thing I’ve ever made. For those that don’t know, “n” is the number of chromosomes, where n is the haploid number, so 2n is diploid. Diploid cells are necessary for sexual reproduction. Of course, a lot of these life cycles are centered around reproduction, as is the nature of a life cycle, but in reality the hermits are in no rush and are happy to stay at whatever point of the life cycle they’re at, this is just an outline of the species’ mechanics.

I mean, most of this diagram is conjecture… but I think it is interesting to consider! Jevin especially reminded me a lot of slime mould life cycles so this is heavily inspired off that, but also inspired by bug life cycles as well.

If you want to get even more indepth we can consider the gender roles of hermit society (remember that clip where Grian implied builders were housewives and redstoners were breadwinning husbands?). Perhaps we can get meta and consider respawn an aspect of being a hermit as well - are they able to regenerate after death? What is Cleo’s place in all this, being undead? Is arm thickness, where your arm can either be 3px or 4px wide, an example of sexual dimorphism?

but. well. tldr: the hermits being one species is a very fun idea we should be doing more with, i think

#this started out as haha funny the hermits are one species and ended with me making scientific diagrams #decided to call those stages imago. like insects. best fit i could find for what i wanted #please ask me about my thoughts on courtship and evolution and early life stages and respawn and anything else please god #locus fandom time #i should have a tag for my insane antics #locus worldbuilding time #hermitcraft #long post #hermitblr #speculative biology #the ideas here are heavily biased towards slime moulds and insects because. well. autism.

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project-sekai-facts · 9 months

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do u know who each of the virtual singers r supposed to represent in each Sekai? I think some are more obvious than others (Saki and Ena for Rin), but I’m not sure about everyone

The general concept of the Leo/need Vsingers seems to be derived from Saki's idea of an "ideal high school experience", so there's a big focus on senpai-kohai dynamics.

Luka is pretty much entirely based on the ideal senpai that Saki wanted in high school. She's kind, responsible, mature. She's what you'd expect from a good senpai.

Miku takes some traits from Ichika. Both of them are somewhat insecure about their abilities, but nonetheless hardworking. Also both of them are easy to embarrass.

Rin is literally just Saki - she’s energetic, enthusiastic, and nicknames all her friends; they have similar interests, such as hairstyling, and Rin has even read some of Saki's manga collection.

KAITO seems to take traits from both Ichika and Shiho: he's shy and underconfident like Ichika, and introverted yet passionate about music like Shiho. However his introversion is dialed up from Ichika and Shiho’s, and he doesn’t think he would be able to handle the social life that the girls have.

MEIKO acts as a foil to Honami, being more confident and better at facing conflict, but she does have some similar traits to her as well, such as being the "team mom" figure.

Len is usually associated with Honami and is sometimes used to reflect her conflicts in stories. His personality doesn't seem to heavily influenced by anyone though.

MORE MORE JUMP!'s Virtual Singers seem largely inspired by Minori's idealistic view of the idol industry.

Specifically Miku seems to be based on the idea of a perfect idol, or, Minori's impression of Haruka before actually meeting her in-person. Also this Miku starts off as a pretty flat character and is gradually given more personality and character quirks, which might reflect Minori learning about the real Haruka.

Rin is based on Minori. They’re both amateur idols striving to be at the same level as their peers. They’re also both upbeat, optimistic and somewhat naive. Rin looks up a lot to her fellow idols, yet another trait shared with Minori. Huh.

Len is based on Haruka. He has her “princely idol aura” that is practically just his actual personality, as well as Haruka’s level-headedness and maturity.

Luka is based on Shizuku, she's the “perfect”, elegant idol who's actually more of an airhead than her image lets on. There's a reason she first appears in Color of Myself! and acts as Shizuku’s main confidant

MEIKO is more difficult to place, but I think she might be derived from Airi a bit - her speciality is interacting with the audience, something Airi is good at thanks to her TV work. Also both of them have a similar sort of peppiness.

KAITO is more of a composite character - he's a huge fan of idols, just like Minori and Airi, he has Haruka's workaholic tendencies, and Haruka and Airi's responsibility and organisation. There's probably something that links him to Shizuku that I'm forgetting.

next three are much longer because deeper lore and because i found a better writing flow, so they’re under the cut

Vivid BAD SQAUD's virtual singers are an odd case in which it's not extremely obvious which member they are derived from.

MEIKO is very clearly meant to be a Vsinger equivalent to Ken, instead of any of the members. She acts as a sort of guiding figure to them and has a sort of parental vibe similar to how Ken is with all the VBS kids. Neither of them are active as singers either. I also read an interesting theory that she's based on Kohane recently, which you can find here (near the bottom of the first section).

Miku has traits of everyone in VBS except Kohane: Akito's competitiveness and sore loser tendencies, Toya's more cool/calm demeanour, his love of coffee, and abysmal cooking skills, and An's passion for music (which all of them have but An’s is what unlocked the SEKAI). Someone also sent in an ask one time saying that she might be based on Nagi to some extent, which I think makes sense but is probably just coincidental since I think Nagi was added to the VBS story pretty late.

KAITO is derived from the BAD DOGS members, even if it isn't apparent at first because of how outwardly different he is. He's more of a foil to them, but has a lot of their personality traits. He has Akito's sweet tooth and tendency to be lazy about things that don't interest him, and Toya's air-headedness and strong skills in his field of interest.

Luka seems a lot like An, she's energetic and carefree, though I also believe that these could be taken from Nagi as well, since Luka was added after Nagi was first mentioned (but just before she first appeared) so they were probably written at the same time).

Len is a bit more obvious - he takes a lot of traits from Akito. Both of them want to be respected by the people around them, and hate it when people treat them as inferior. Akito has a lighthearted rivalry with An but has a lot of respect for Toya, while Len has both of these with his own partner, Rin.

Rin has traits from multiple characters like Miku does. She bickers with Len just like An and Akito do with each other, and she's the most affected by An's grief in Light Up the Fire. Both she and An are pretty energetic as well. On the other hand, she has Akito's stubborness and more tsundere-ish traits. As a third option, Akito and Rin's first kizuna title is "Speaking of pancakes" and their third kizuna title is "You remind me of...", suggesting that Akito might see Ena in her.

Also Rin and Len are usually used to reflect any conflicts that Vivids and BAD DOGS have, for example in the main story when Rin and Len split and then BAD DOGS did later in the story.

WonderlandsxShowtime's VSingers are fun for me to explain actually, because while it's explicitly stated that everything in the SEKAI reflects something from Tsukasa's psyche (#5 & 6 here), there's still the fact that fate might be real in the game.

Since everything in the SEKAI is a part of Tsukasa’s psyche, this has to extend to the Virtual Singers. They even have stars on their costumes just to make it clear. Think of it like in cartoons and comics when a character gets split into all their different personalities. Presumably: KAITO is his responsible older brother side, MEIKO is his creativity, Len is his curiosity and enthusiasm, and Rin is his more childish/playful side. The SEKAI is formed from things from his childhood (keep that in mind), which is probably why Miku acts like a kid (same applies to Rin. and Len. and a lot of things). Luka is from his desire to make people happy. Now in more detail:

KAITO is by far the most responsible and mature Vsinger in Wonderland SEKAI, and also happens to be their troupe leader. He's very caring in an older sibling-type way; Emu even calls him KAITO-nii-chan (big brother KAITO). That said, KAITO is sort of a foil to Tsukasa, being much more level-headed and humble than Tsukasa is. I think that may be to highlight the idea that he's created from specifically the reliable older brother part of Tsukasa' personality.

There's some older stuff on this blog where I wasn't sure exactly where Luka came from, but apparently it's explicitly stated in her debut card story that she comes from Tsukasa's desire to make people happy. My bad. She only sleeps when everyone is smiling, and will be wide awake when something is wrong. Makes sense, since she debuted in Tenma Household's Hinamatsuri, in which Saki and Tsukasa had a falling out, and Saki is the source of Tsukasa's drive to make people smile.

Now we get into weird fate shit and SEKAI physics. Miku is quite childish and is implied to be younger than the members of WxS, which makes sense when you consider that the Wonderland SEKAI draws from Tsukasa's childhood memories and the shows he put on for Saki. That said, she also heavily draws from Emu, with them both using the same type of speech, being very hyperactive, full of childlike wonder etc. Miku existed before Tsukasa knew who Emu was, so it could be that Miku is entirely based on Tsukasa's experience with childhood, but also Miku knows who Emu is when the SEKAI forms, so it could go either way. or both.

Len is very enthusiatic and loves learning new things. Out of everyone, Len is closest to Rui (while also being a foil to his personality, with Len being more energetic and open than Rui is). This makes sense actually, when you consider that although he acts annoyed at times, Tsukasa does gradually get more enthusiastic about Rui's stage directing and stunts. Another thing that occurred to me is that Len first spawns in not too long after the main story, and first meets WxS in Wonder Halloween, both of which involve Tsukasa and Rui getting into a fight followed by a look into Rui's past of being outcast by everyone for being "weird". So maybe Len was partially created because of Rui wanting people to not distance themselves from him and actually take an interest in his work. Maybe this is something Tsukasa picked up on as well, it is his SEKAI after all. I don't know whether this was intentional, but I think it could be. Most things in this game are lol.

Rin is very playful and childlike in a similar vein to Miku. She’s also closest to Nene out of all of WxS, and acts as a foil to her in the same way Len is one to Rui. Rin is extroverted and childish in comparision to Nene who’s shy and acts as the straight man within her group. Rin initially doesn’t understand Nene’s shyness, probably because of how different her own personality is. Considering that Rin first spawned in just after the main story, her relationship with Nene might reflect the differences between Tsukasa and Nene (and the fact that Nene’s social anxiety was something that Tsukasa snapped at her about in the main story). Also Rin and Len are considered as best friends in this SEKAI, which makes sense considering that they're foils to childhood best friends.

MEIKO is the most creative of the Vsingers and comes up with very imaginative and wacky ideas, much like Emu and Rui do. However her creativity probably stems from Tsukasa, who writes a lot of WxS’ plays, and then she gets the wild imagination on top of that from the other two. MEIKO is also known for her strength, which comes from Rui, and her good hearing (first shown in POP IN MY HEART!!), which comes from Emu.

And now you have to hear something similar with Mafuyu.

The 25-ji, Nightcord de. Virtual Singers are a bit more complicated than the WxS ones. While all of them draw from Mafuyu to some degree, some of them were created more by something that she needs than something that she is. There’s also far more obvious influences from the other N25 members.

Miku and KAITO are more obviously created by something Mafuyu needed, even though they both have traits of Mafuyu as well. Rin and MEIKO are more influenced by the other members, and Luka is a bit of both. Len is influenced by Mafuyu’s emotions alone. Now in more detail:

It’s very apparent that Miku exists to be a comforting figure to Mafuyu. The SEKAI manifested at a point when Mafuyu was extremely depressed and suicidal, and just needed someone to listen to her and understand. That said, Miku starts out quite similar to Mafuyu, rarely experiencing any strong emotion if any emotion at all. Both of them gradually start to feel more as the story goes on, and both are seen smiling more often than they used to nowadays.

Rin is very strongly influenced by Ena. She’s outwardly irritable and moody, but actually does care and enjoys the company of those around her, even if she doesn’t show it a lot. A tsundere, if you will. Despite her usual attitude, she does actually want to help the N25 girls, which she also shares with Ena. Rin’s connection to Mafuyu is less obvious, but I think it might be through her pretty blunt way of speaking and the fact she quite often just says whatever she thinks.

MEIKO is heavily influenced by Mizuki. She represents the distance that Mizuki puts between themself and the other N25 members, keeping herself away from the other Vsingers and from the N25 girls. She first appears in Secret Distance just to make it extra obvious. However I think she’s also influenced by Mafuyu’s very passive approach to her situation. MEIKO often just watches from a distance and sees how things go, which is close to what Mafuyu did at the time. Mafuyu doesn’t do a huge amount to help herself early on in the story, she does try to feel more, but relies a lot on Kanade. It isn’t until KAITO appears that she’s given more of a forceful push to actually face how things are, stop distancing herself from her problems, and take action.

Luka is derived from the people around Mafuyu who are trying to help her, particularly Kanade and Ena. In Luka's Doing Things My Own Way card story, Mafuyu says that Luka reminds her of Ena, specifically her perceptiveness and tendency to point out things about Mafuyu that she herself isn't aware of. She quickly takes this back though, and then says that Luka is more similar to Kanade because of her ability to understand what Mafuyu is feeling when Mafuyu isn't sure of it herself. In terms of personality, she is closest to Mizuki, being more on the playful and teasing side, mainly towards MEIKO. Luka is like a lighter version of what KAITO ended up being. She's not afraid to be honest and realistic, and is a bit firmer than the other vsingers are. She's not afraid to give them a push when she thinks they need it, as seen in her debut in Carnation Recollection.

Len spawns during Guiding a Lost Child to What Lies Beyond, where Mafuyu's mother starts to find out about Mafuyu doing music and taking action. He's sort of similar to the Wonderland SEKAI Virtual Singers, in the way he represents Mafuyu's emotions in a very childlike way. He's scared because Mafuyu is scared of her mother, he's sad because Mafuyu doesn't want music to be taken away from her, he feels lost and alone because Mafuyu feels that way too, he's close to Miku because Mafuyu is and needs her comfort. Some of this is stuff that Mafuyu doesn't even realise, which brings back the idea from Wonderland SEKAI that the SEKAI can create things on the basis of your subconscious.

KAITO definitely embodies that idea. He's Mafuyu's anger, yet she's never angry. He's from all her repressed anger. He appears when Mafuyu's mother makes her life well and truly miserable, attempting to cut her off from N25. Mafuyu hates this, but she doesn't want to admit that her mother is the problem, she doesn't realise just how angry it's making her, how angry her mother is making her. She's holding all of it back, but it manages to leak out in the form of KAITO. As soon as he arrives in the SEKAI, he wants to talk to Mafuyu, find out what's going on and what caused the Empty SEKAI to be, well, empty. As soon as he finds out this is Mrs Asahina's fault, he tells it to Mafuyu's face. Mafuyu was never going to accept it on her own, she needed a push, and a strong one. KAITO does what needs to be done, and he's similar to Luka in that way, he's just way more aggressive and unapologetic. He's almost... bitter, for lack of a better word. Like I said earlier, he's here to help Mafuyu, as well as represent her.

#this took so long to write i apologise for the wait #virtual singer #lore #theory #i guess #project sekai #asks #so many tags #also sorry that the ln and mmj sections are so poor compared to the rest. by the time i got to n25 i just wanted to get this done #and didn't go back to edit those parts beyong spag checks

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legend-as-old-as-time · 29 days

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Parts of the fandom have spoken! I’ll share my self-indulgent skakdi and Zakaz headcanons.

While copying out my notes, they grew even more... Be aware that this is a longer post! I'll put the largest part under a readmore if asked for.

Edit: I was pretty tired yesterday, so I forgot to give shout-outs to @mothnem and @crystaltoa. Headcanon 1 started in a discussion between mothnem and I about their AU and they created some of the details that inspired my headcanons as a whole. Crystaltoa listened to my ramblings and gave feedback.

Please reblog this version!

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Headcanon 1: Some of the skakdi are part of the GSR’s immune system. Rather than warriors and shepherds protecting the workers as GSR’s internal structures directly like toa do, these skakdi keep the ecosystem and people healthy by dealing with sicknesses. All people in this area of jobs have cooperative elemental powers. (This is before the Awakening and some of the time after, prior to other political players interfering.)

One group are doctors. They can read living beings’ energy and determine whether or not they’re healthy by touch. If they’re not, they figure out the cause and craft medicine from protodermis. They have an easier time reading species created directly by the Great Beings or Mata Nui like their own, vortixx, stelts, or matoran.

Medical assistants help the doctors. Writing reports, fetching materials, watching over the process of medicine making, etc. Some of them are apprentices meant to become doctors themselves.

Another group acts similar to phagocytic cells. They are special operations who step in when contagious diseases appear. Immune to most diseases, sicknesses, and toxins; will not spread any even after prolonged contact with these things. These traits make them different from the doctors. But they’re able to read living beings’ energy, too. They are specialized in either of these three jobs:

Scouts. They – always six with the main elements – venture into areas with suspected or confirmed sickness, whether it affects the flora, the fauna, the people, or any of them combined. They determine sick plants by eating parts of them. If they can’t locate or touch living specimen, they eat remains of dead plants and of rahi to determine the cause. They create crystals from their findings and forward them to messengers to bring them back to the doctors to scan. Sometimes, they’ll send patients for better care.

Their job includes locating the focus of diseases, marking the area, and setting up quarantines where necessary. Scouts give emergency first aid to stabilize, including slowing down patients’ bodies / putting them into a coma by cooling them down or flushing out specific toxins via water energy. If they can’t save them, they give palliative care instead.

Contagious remains of Great Beings Creations (GBC) and of rahi, and plantlife, are burned. The remains are encased in stone and earth. Skakdi of air control that no airborne pathogens or embers spread.

Messengers. Quick on their feet, they work in groups of three to ensure their cargo – patients, medical crystals, notes, medicine – reaches their destination.

I have no designation for this job yet, but these skakdi tend to be the biggest and are heavily armored. Primary job: They protect the scouts (who are no warriors) from the flora and fauna. Their secondary task is a last resort: to destroy and eat highly contagious rahi and plantlife that have gone out of control. They can’t be cured or there’s no time to scout for a cure first. They ruthlessly kill them, eating the remains within seconds. They produce the same crystals as the scouts, but with more data.

The health specialists make up only part of the whole skakdi population. On Zakaz, a big part of what is created and built is for own use, like tools and devices to build houses and machines. Medicine and energy supply machines are the most exported goods. Some are farmers and fishers because eating food is seen as average part of life. Some are traders who bring back goods for further processing from Xia or Metru Nui. Zakaz also has doctors specialized in reparing and healing fellow skakdi.

In locations outside of Zakaz, skakdi do similar jobs to the other people around them, like smith work or teaching or being healers.

To repeat, this is how things were supposed to go.

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Headcanon 2: Specific organizations of and leading matoran wanted to gather more power in the GSR, over their own people and over others. They invented and spread several lies about the other GBC (Great Beings Creations), including that eating with their mouth made them barbaric and thus lesser (and dangerous). Along with these lies came sanctions and restrictions as well as the restriction of information to only what was approved.

One of such places was Metru Nui shortly before, around, and after the civil war. The aim was both to extort better trade conditions for Metru Nui and dissuade local dissenters from leaving because of the unknown. Affected GBC would also be less likely to host refugee matoran, seeing matoran in general as the source for their problems. And the turaga used that resentment as false proof of their lies. The Order of Mata Nui helped in spread of the propaganda.

Skakdi soon were met with suspicion and anger from their matoran peers. Many had to leave their previous homes because their work as well as their person were rejected. They rightfully grew resentful of them.

Makuta Spiriah’s arrival on Zakaz made things worse. Seeing potential for warriors in the skakdi because of their protectors, he trained volunteers in combat and strategy. He also modified a large group to be stronger and more aggressive, including installing the spine slugs.

Skakdi volunteered for many reasons. They feared attacks by matoran as well as xian forces. They wanted revenge. They feared Spiriah’s retaliation if they refused. They wanted to be able to protect themselves when dealing with rahi. They wanted power for power’s sake. They wanted to take control of Zakaz. They wanted to take control of the GSR (the Barraki had almost managed it, had they not.)

Not all inhabitants agreed to go with Spiriah’s plans. Whether it was the depths of the modifications or the modifications on their own.

All factors that created a metaphorical bomb for existing tensions to rise and explode. Spiriah lit the fuse when left the island and the visorak in charge of Zakaz.

How dare the Makuta leave them alone?! Many skakdi were struggling with side-effects that only appeared then – like uncontrollable and heightened aggression. The healers and doctors didn’t have the resources to help them.

How dare he put the visorak in charge?! It was an insult to the prouder inhabitants, already slighted by the matoran. Others feared Spiriah’s retaliation as well as what the visorak would do if they went against the horde.

In this confusion, the common question was: What to do now?

Social upheaval changed Zakaz forever over this. A civil war broke out that involved more and more inhabitants until half of Zakaz’s population was fighting each other. They killed the visorak during this conflict, having now a large, armed and trained force to fight back against them. They were also partly immune to their venom. Distinct factions evolved from the combatants, often led by people who fueled the war.

The other half of the population hid in fear of getting pulled into combat and / or get killed. The Brotherhood of Makuta and Krika getting involved only brought a temporary, tenuous peace, and being completely isolated from the outside world and many stranded outside their home.

The Order of Mata Nui didn’t aid Zakaz either, leaving them struggling with the loss of resources and internal power struggles, and their home ravaged.

It was a political calculation. Strengthen the matoran organizations close by, divide the GBC further, and because they didn’t want to invest either time or resources to help Zakaz. They failed to consider the long-term consequences of locking away the GSR's health specialists and leaving their jobs to the Brotherhood alone.

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Headcanon 3: Officially, the whole of the island is under a common leadership. Unofficially, the government Makuta Krika installed and is loyal to the Brotherhood (by necessity) has trouble keeping the peace.

The island is divided by philosophies and politics. The travel ban is imperfect. The two remaining war factions have been aiming to come to power ever since the civil war stopped. Both have been making dealings with Xia leadership in secret for weapons, including selling their own people into slavery.

Criminal gangs control little pockets on Zakaz and terrorize the population. Many of them work with the war factions. Some areas reject modified skakdi, other reject unmodified ones, often violently. Vezok comes from one of these areas, which explains Vezon’s thoughts about “home”.

Most skakdi leaving Zakaz are either refugees desperate for safety and a better life, daring traders who regularly sneak or bribe their way past the blockade, and criminals. The former two groups try to stay out of sight, while the third couldn't care less.

They’re breaking the law already, so what? Who cares about hurting matoran sensibilities? (Like eating meat in front of them.) Those are the skakdi most matoran meet .

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Headcanon 4: Makuta Krika banned travel to control Zakaz. Just because Spiriah had caused trouble locally didn’t change that he created a new army the Brotherhood could use.

And by forcing the skakdi either into hiding or onto Zakaz, the Brotherhood could step in to take over their jobs.

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Headcanon 5: Larger and more batches of surviving refugees took advantage of the Great Cataclysm’s chaos. The tsunamis threw the blockade into disarray and destroyed dozens of ships outright. The coastal patrols both on land and water got destroyed in many places as well.

The refugees fled Zakaz once the Silver Sea calmed down some, when the various leaderships and groups focused on survival and maintaining their strongholds.

#bionicle #bionicle headcanon #skakdi #bionicle zakaz the island

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sl-newsie · 2 months

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American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 10: Equality vs Justice

Later that night we hold dinner for two hours before I finally decide to stop waiting for the Shelby brothers to return. Finn left to help about an hour ago and it’s just been Polly and me preparing Shepherd’s pies. When I tell her about Ada’s behavior she gets a funny look in her eye.

“I’ve got some suspicions. For now I’ll wait for Ada to come to me but my patience is wearing thin. She’s been avoiding me.”

A few more minutes go by and I check the clock. “Do you always wait for them to come back this late? If I were to stay out unaccompanied like this my mother would personally kill me.”

Polly laughs as she stirs the filling. “With those boys nothing is ever normal. Between John worrying about his family, Arthur wanting to be smarter than he is, and Thomas thinking he knows everything, I sometimes wonder how they can even function.”

“And Finn?”

She sighs heavily. “I hope he’ll turn out straight. He tries so hard to be like his brothers that sometimes we forget he’s still just a kid. How’s his lessons been going?”

I wipe my flower-covered hands on a towel. “No complaints at all, ma’am. Finn’s a prime student. He definitely has potential and dedication, though I’m glad to say he does not share his brother’s lack of resilience. Finn always has an open mind, which I think is inspired by his sister.”

We hear the front door open and all four Shelby brothers crowd into the room, all taking their places at the kitchen table. I can tell they’ve been drinking due to the smell of liquor but they seem to be level-headed enough. I just hope Finn hasn’t drank too much.

“How was the bonfire?” I ask lightly as I pass out a tray of slightly-cold pies.

“Affective.”

Thomas is the only one to reply as they all dig into the simple meal. No doubt they’re tired. Finn is the only one that still shows any hint of ignorance. In these insane times a touch of ignorance might not be so bad.

“I got to leave early,” John says after he swallows. “Kids’ll be wanting their dad to tuck ‘em in.”

“Ever considered a sitter?” I ask.

Arthur slurs a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, so we can pay you double? Watch his tykes and teach Finn, ey?”

I shake my head and try to defend his accusation but John waves it off.

“‘S alright, Steenstra. I don’t expect you to. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. I need a more stable solution.”

Thomas speaks up. “You need a wife, John.” He gets up and comes over to search through the cupboard. “Polly, where are those biscuits-?”

“In the refrigerator,” John says. “Though there may not be many left. Verena’s a damn good baker.”

“All the more reason why my decision to hire her has paid off well,” Polly comments. “Which is why you lot should treat her as the proper Peaky Blinders employee she is, Arthur.” She points a warning finger at the eldest Shelby brother, who just rolls his eyes.

“Respect is earned,” I reply. “Since my position is temporary I don’t expect to gain anything before-”

“Before you go back,” Finn grunts. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Thomas ruffles his brother’s hair. “Hear that, Verena? Someone’s gonna miss you.”

Finn swats his hand away. “I will not!”

“I will,” John says as he chews another cookie. “Without her there’s no biscuits.”

The brothers go on chatting about other Blinders business and I take the chance to finish cleaning part of the kitchen before slipping off to bed. It’s already midnight and my eyes are starting to droop. I don’t even bother thinking about reading as I dim the lights and slip under the covers…

“Clocking out early?” Thomas’ voice stirs me from my thoughts. He’s standing in the doorway.

“It’s midnight, Mr. Shelby. If I did have an established work schedule my shift would have ended hours ago.”

The man simply nods his head and walks over to look out my window. “Dinner was nice. And I know John’s exaggerated this already but your biscuits are to die for.”

In the dark I stand up to face him better. “Trying to butter me up with a compliment before delivering unpleasant news?”

Thomas’ reaction is covered by the shadows. “Only giving a compliment, Ms. Steenstra. I must say I’m surprised at how much you’ve changed around here.”

I tilt my head. “I haven’t changed much in the house besides my cooking-”

“I mean us,” Thomas gestures towards the kitchen. “You might not see it but you do more than what you think, Verena. And Finn will miss you, by the way.” He pauses. “Most all of us will miss you.”

“Most?”

“Well… Arthur’s still undecided about me hiring you.”

I nod respectfully. “I’m still grateful for your trust. In my family it’s a high honor for younger members to be part of something this big.”

Something I say doesn’t sit well with Thomas. His laid-back expression shifts to one of curiosity.

“Members? What kind of family are you part of, Steenstra?”

I slipped up. He suspects my involvement with the mob.

“Like I said before. I’m half Dutch, half Irish. My father runs a chain of breweries.”

“And are there any business deals made under the table away from federal eyes?” Thomas inquires.

I keep a steady expression. “Do not accuse my father of bootlegging, Mr. Shelby. All his transactions are thoroughly legal.”

It’s not a lie. Father’s refused several proposals from Uncle Colon about selling his products to the Irish mobs. Thankfully my answer persuades Thomas to drop the subject.

“Your father seems like a good man. He raised a bright and resourceful daughter.” Thomas steps closer and I can smell the mint cologne and ash on him. “Good night, Ms. Steenstra.”

“Good night, Thomas. Prayers be with you.”

The gangster nods and exits the room, taking the chill of the conversation with him. That was close. At this point I’ve gone too far to confess to my family connections. The Shelbys trust me as myself, not as a mob asset. As I lay down once again to catch some sleep I can’t help but wonder if my family’s noticed I’m missing…

I open my eyes to a brand-new day and quickly get dressed. Now that I have my own clothing with English fashion I don’t feel like an oddball. It’s already 10:00. Much later than I wanted to start but there’s no use crying about it. I walk into the kitchen and am not surprised to find out that Thomas and his brothers have already left.

“Morning, love,” Polly greets from the table. “Finn’s running an errand and then you can do a lesson. He seemed eager to get back so you should expect him soon. The only other one who’s here is Ada.”

As if on cue, the Shelby sister walks into the room and slumps into the chair next to Polly.

“Good of you to join us.” Polly remarks as Ada pours some tea. “Where have you been all day?”

“In bed,” the brunette replies, sharing knowing glances with me. Sure. ‘Bed.’ “Couldn’t sleep. Then I couldn’t wake up.”

She goes on to ramble about dreams while Polly chats about recent bad news. It’s not until I hear Polly abruptly say “stand up” that I look up from the novel I’m reading. Ada does as she’s told and Polly walks around examining her, then suddenly feels up her chest.

“Polly what are you doing?” Ada shouts.

“Ada. How late are you?”

Her words take a moment to drift in the air, then it clicks in my head. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. It was only a matter of time before Ada’s affair would catch up with her. She’s pregnant.

“One week- 5 weeks- seven weeks, but it must be a lack of iron…” Ada desperately tries to patch up an excuse.

But Polly won’t have it. “I’m taking you to the doctor.” She gives Ada a stern look to quiet her then glances over at me. “Verena, love, it’s best you not tell a soul if you know what’s good for you. You can wait here for Finn while I take her.”

Hiding my face behind my book cover, I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Polly nods and drags Ada out of the room. Ada gives me one last panicked look before the pair walks through the front door. Don’t expect sympathy from me. You know what you were getting yourself into. I sit quietly at the table and continue reading until the door opens again and Finn walks in.

“Where’s Aunt Polly?”

Not a word about Ada. “She had something come up. Didn’t say when she’d be back.” I try to reroute the conversation. “What do you want to learn about today?”

Finn joins me at the table and sets down a new book. “I found this at the library. Before you say anything-” He points a finger at me. “No, I don’t agree with Tommy about using public resources. I like the library.” He holds the book up for me to see. “I found this today and was hoping you might know about it?”

The book is one I’ve never heard of before but the topic looks enticing. “You want to learn about equality and justice?”

“Yeah. We deal with social concepts like them all the time in the family business.”

“That you do, Finn. If only others would share your willingness to learn.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas’ voice asks from behind.

Of course he’s here. I turn around to find the blue-eyed gangster leaning against the counter with an amused smirk.

“Good morning, Thomas. Care to join us?”

“Depends. Will I like what I hear?”

I raise a brow. “Depends. Does talk of justice bother you? You Shelbys seem to admire it.”

Thomas doesn’t answer verbally. Instead he slowly walks over to sit next to Finn. I take that as my cue to begin.

“Equality is the state of being equal, regardless of background or social status.”

“So socialism, then,” Thomas says.

“Please hold all comments for after the lesson, Mr. Shelby. As I was saying, justice is the concept of what is fair. What is right and what is deserved.”

“That sounds like the same thing as equality,” Finn says, confused.

“Think of it like this, Finn. Imagine two people watching a horse race from behind a fence. They’re each too short to see over the top. In a scenario when equality is involved, each person is given a crate to stand on. However one person is still too short to see over. In a scenario with justice, the fence would be removed to allow both people to see.”

Both Shelbys take in my words with consideration. However our lesson is interrupted when Arthur bursts through the door.

“Tommy, where’ve you been? Been looking for you in the Bull Ring and you’re here being lectured by the American?”

I suppress the urge to argue. Thankfully I don’t have to because Thomas does the work for me.

“She’s got a name, Arthur. Verena’s a Peaky Blinders employee so she’ll be treated as such. We were just finishing a lesson with Finn.”

The oldest Shelby brother takes little notice to apologize and motions for Thomas to follow him. Probably more urgent business than a lecture.

“That’s enough for today, Finn.”

He gives a disappointed sigh. “Thanks, Verena.”

The rest of the day ticks by and I do my best to make the time pass faster while I wait for Ada and Polly to return. The sound of the door opening alerts me to look up from my book and see the two sit down on the couch across from me, both holding cigarettes.

“You’re pregnant, and you’re smoking?! What is wrong with you?”

“Quiet!” Polly hisses. “I’ll talk to Tommy about it later but for now no one knows. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods. “Good. How was Finn today?”

How can she expect me to ignore this blessing? “Ambitious as usual. Is the baby healthy?”

“So far so good,” Ada assures me. “Have you been stuck inside all day? You should get some fresh air.”

Come to think of it, I am getting a little antsy. Some time outdoors would do me some good. Polly and Ada probably need to discuss the situation more thoroughly with privacy.

“Good idea, Ada. I think I’ll step out back and take a stroll in the alley. I won’t stray far.”

After picking out a hat to block out what little sun there is I see Polly approach me with a pistol.

“For protection.”

I take it graciously and slip it into my skirt pocket. “How did you know I know how to shoot one?”

She gives me a subtle wink. “Intuition.”

The moment I open the back door I’m welcomed by a gust of ash and dirt. Today’s much windier than normal and is not in my favor. But beggars can’t be choosers. I should stretch my legs before I develop cabin fever. The pistol's weight pressing against my leg serves as a reminder that I can defend against any unwanted violence.

Just as I step into the alley and wander into the nearby street the sound of hooves signals for me to peek around the corner. Thomas is back, and he’s riding his new white horse. The horse almost looks out of place here, with the whole ‘gloom and doom’ atmosphere. Thomas halts the horse and dismounts, gently stroking the animal’s nose.

“Seems to me like you treat horses like people and people like snakes.”

Thomas rolls his eyes but takes the comment all in good fun. “Yeah, yeah. The humanity in me is dead.” He pats the horse and ties him to a nearby hitching post. “On another note, I just talked with Grace. I’m taking her to the races later this week.”

My thoughts come to an abrupt stop, like a freight train tumbling off a twisted track. Why? Why do I feel so… disappointed? It only makes sense that Thomas would ask her out. Grace is pretty and kind. He’ll only ever think of me as an employee, so at least he trusts me enough with his family’s business.

“Oh. That sounds fun,” I try to sound encouraging. “Are the races here exciting?”

“They never disappoint, love. Ever been to one?”

I shake my head and stroke the horse’s mane. “My father never lets me go to the races. Says it’s not ladylike.” Another thought surfaces. “What did you think of today’s lesson?”

The gangster scoffs and takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair. “I think part of that lecture was directed at me.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. You want me to reconsider my mindset of establishing justice, eh?”

Honestly I didn’t plan for the topic to hint at Thomas’ mindset but he makes a good point. “You have heart, Thomas. But you can’t act as life’s judge, jury, and executioner. It’s not always about what people deserve. It can be about what they need. No, they may not always want what they need. But God’s plans aren’t spelled out for everyone.”

Thomas looks over at me with a happy smile. “Keep that hope alive, Verena. We all need it.”

His praise causes me to smile too. Besides being a teacher I’m also on the good side of one of the fiercest gangsters in England all because I speak my mind.

But the moment is gone when Thomas reaches for a cigarette and I see something fall out of his pocket. I bend down to pick it up and dust off the ash to reveal a gleaming silver and bronze bullet with the markings Tommy etched into it.

“Thomas, what is this?”

My boss takes a puff of his cigarette. “Oh. That. ‘S just a gift from the Lee family.”

This is no gift, this is a threat! I’ve heard of threats like this from Uncle Colon and they are no light matter. How is he so calm?

“They’ve signed your death warrant, Thomas. The bullet literally has your name on it!”

But Thomas doesn’t share my worry. Instead he chuckles and puts both hands on my shoulders. “No need to worry, love. I’ll handle it.’S not the first time I’ve gotten a death threat. Now,” he rubs his hands together and starts walking towards the Shelby house. “Where’s Polly? I’ve got a few questions for her.”

Oh. Right. And he doesn’t know about Ada yet.

“Last I saw she was in the living room.” Lord, I do not want to hear this!

I follow him inside and briskly walk back to hide in the kitchen, where Finn has settled to do some reading. He is also smoking a cigarette!

“Finn! Not you too!” I throw my arms up in defeat. “Am I the only one who thinks smoking is a death wish?”

He just shrugs and continues reading. I don’t hear a reaction from the other room but after a few minutes Polly walks in with a determined look.

“I just told Tommy.”

“About Ada?” I ask softly.

“Yes.”

“What’d he say?”

Polly sets out the kettle and begins brewing tea. “Nothing. He just stormed out to find her. The instant Ada spills his name, he’s a dead man. Thomas won’t stand for it.”

I don’t blame him. If I were to ever try something like that my brothers would kill any man who looks at me in cold blood. All I can hope is that Thomas goes easy on the poor bloke.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #finn shelby #polly gray #grace burgess

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inamindfarfaraway · 2 years

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I love that it’s King more overtly than Luz the Collector has a special connection with, because of how much more they serve as a foil for King. They’re a foil for Luz too, but like:

King wanted power and control, but has learned (ironically as he’s discovered his nature as a Titan) that more important than that for its/his own sake is family and friends, having good connections with good people in your life and helping others. He’s grown up a lot - learned empathy, humility, selflessness and better emotional management. The Collector is an ancient, almighty, omnipotent being able to warp reality effortlessly. Because of this he’s never faced any challenges that have motivated them to change and remain stagnant in eternal selfish, careless immaturity, never sparing a thought to anyone else and treating everything as a game.

King wanted subjects who feared and worshipped him, armies to command, devotees to perform acts in his name. The Collector has a whole civilization built around worship of him and the destruction of his apparent enemies or prey the Titans, and inspires terror in the people of the Boiling Isles.

King longed to be a god, but got the life of a fairly ordinary kid, initially to his annoyance and insecurity. He tried to project a fierce, intimidating image and coveted positions of authority and symbols of status like crowns, was desperate to be taken seriously. Since the start of the show he embraces his childhood and ‘humanity’, wanting to be treated like an equal and no higher, treasuring his stuffed animals and small joys like simplistic puns and cuddles from a big sister - even in the face of actually being the young of a species revered like gods whose dead bodies are potent enough to spontaneously create life on continental scales and whose blood can open holes between dimensions. The Collector truly is a god and his level of power commands respect entirely in itself, but he has no grandeur or weight in his disposition and behaviour. They’re a child in mind and bearing alike, from when he’s petulant and demanding to ranting and sulking in bitter rage to his glee and excitement about new games and fast-formed, hot-burning affection toward his ‘friends’. They shun formality and take barely anything seriously, wearing a child’s playsuit.

King’s character has been and continues to be heavily shaped by a deep sense of loneliness and abandonment. He was born and started developing his personality completely alone except a seemingly non-sentient artificial guardian; vaguely remembers his father being present when he was incubating, but entering the world with no family; then after Eda took him in had no friends that we know of until Luz came along and his social skills were accordingly poor. Now he’s forced to reckon with being the last of his species and walking on his dead father’s decomposing corpse every day, mourning his people, their culture and the life he might have had with them. Between that and the species in question being Titans, his experience is fundamentally impossible for anyone else to relate to. And he leaned this through the merciless betrayal of a people he thought he belonged to! He’s consistently been afraid of his loved ones leaving him and this manifests as attention-seeking and clinginess, often literally holding onto people. The Collector is the only known member of his species to have ever existed. They feel total emotional detachment to all other life, but as harmful as they’re willing to be to others, it’s clear they’ve been hurting immensely themselves. He despises his lonely prison and will do anything to be free of it; so isolated is he there, he can’t even touch people. Thousands of years of that existence would break anyone’s sanity, but especially a child’s to whom attachments are a crucial part of development. It’s no wonder he constantly needs attention and, fun and games the sole medium of interaction and connection they understand, loyal ‘playmates’ to keep him happy and stimulated. They like King have a habit of invading people’s personal space and literally (or telekinetically) holding onto them, e.g. pulling King toward them at the end of “King’s Tide”. Betrayal, abandonment and loneliness are the worst feelings in the world for both the Collector and King, and ones they know all too well.

Finally, the kids have each had a single important relationship both prior to and during the show with a magically powerful adult: Eda and Belos. Eda rescued King from his isolation before she even realized he was of her intelligence, let alone a Titan many would kill to get ahold of, just out of the kindness of her heart, and raised him with love and dedication. She created a false narrative that he was more important in the greater scheme of things than she had reason to believe he was, but he was always indispensably important to her. When it became evident the lie wasn’t helping her son, she revealed the truth, took full responsibility and apologized for it. Eda respects him and puts his needs ahead of her own and he officially recognizes her as his mother. Belos meanwhile promised to free the Collector from his isolation to exploit his knowledge and magic and refused to follow through. He always understood how important the Collector was in the greater scheme of things, but created the false narrative that they were more important to him than they actually were. He revealed the truth when it became convenient for himself and disposed of him with no sympathy or remorse. When they held him accountable, in his shameless selfishness he outright denied having betrayed them. And although the Collector’s childlike psychology and lack of any love or discipline in his life mean he desperately needs a parental figure, Belos kept their relationship a business partnership and never felt anything toward him; so they, upon realizing his treachery and heartlessness, had no hesitation to blithely murder him.

The Collector is essentially what King would be with his pre-show personality and all his potential Titan power; and, equally importantly, no healthy relationships and a toxic relationship instead of healthy, loving family bonds and friendships!

#really want king to be the catalyst for the collector’s redemption/maturation arc #to teach him empathy by showing it to him for the first time ever #really want them to be actual friends eventually #king clawthorne #the collector #toh king #toh collector #the owl house #toh #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers #king’s tide

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dewdropreader · 6 months

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❦ ➷ get to know your fellow fanfic writers better ༊ ✧.*

I was tagged by @bebx and @loki-is-my-kink-awakening for this “get to know the writer” tag! Thank you! 😊

when did you post your first ever fanfic?

I believe in 2012-2013? I was around 13-14 years old, so around then anyway (my first one doesn’t exist online anymore as far as I know so I can’t double check.) it was the usual middle school fandom girl era lol. First for my current account was February of 2022!

first character you wrote for:

It would have been Rin Matsuoka from Free! Iwatobi Swim Club! Specifically him and Nitori, they were one of my fave ships in that series!

main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

Basically anyone from the Loki series but especially Loki and Mobius and Sylvie, not necessarily in that order or all together but some combo of them 💚

character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

I haven’t written for OFMD but would really like to! I’ve had a lot of feels s2, no solid ideas yet but maybe something will spark some inspiration! Also Red White and Royal Blue! I haven’t gotten a chance to read the book yet but I watched the movie and got hooked and love those boys too 💕 so maybe one or both of them if the Loki series even temporarily gets it’s hooks out of me (with s2 though I’ve been as bad if not worse than before with my obsession so who knows lol)

And for within marvel the ship that got me into fanfic and got me to make this current ao3 account was Stucky so even though I only read for them and never wrote, they always have a place in my heart!

fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

Also just Loki atm! But who knows for the future.

platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Mobius and any of the void Lokis as the best found family ever (Mobius and kid, Mobius and classic, Mobius and all of them my beloveds)

I haven’t written it recently but also wrote B-15 and Sylvie in a non romantic context and even though I think they’re also cute romantically I love them as a platonic pair and want to do more with them too! Similarly Sylvie and C-20, I wish they could have been friends if things had gone a bit differently 🥺

romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Lokius and Sylkius! Haven’t written any pure Sylki but who knows (I just like Mobius too much to not include him atm)

your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

Hurt/comfort, fluff, and hugs 😂 sounds about right to me! I like some pain and crying and working through stuff but need the hugs and comfort alongside it/after it for sure.

your current platform where you post your works

AO3 is the same as my name here!

I try to post my fics links on tumblr too but don’t always remember so ao3 is always best bet if you want to read my stuff!! 😍

snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

Right now I’m most heavily focused on a character study type fic cataloging different moments with Sylvie adapting to her McDonald’s life but specifically looking at her relationship with Jack, I think she would have such a great big sister vibe and they could learn a lot from each other 🥹

“Good job today, Sylvie,” Jack says, his lopsided smile clear even before Sylvie glances his way. He’s always got compliments and kindness at the ready, and he’s young and gentle enough that they’re always believable.

“Thanks, Jack,” she feels a smile curl onto her face. She still, even after knowing Loki and Mobius and B-15, feels like she doesn’t know how to have friends or family or any genuine connections at all. But Jack is the first in a long time to feel so real to her, to feel like a relationship she can stick with, with these new more permanent circumstances and her distance from the trauma of the TVA. She doesn’t remember what it’s like to be a sister, her memories of Thor long gone beyond the occasional glimmers in her dreams, let alone what being the older sister would be like, but this is what she suspects it is. A fierce protectiveness and gentle care, the ignoring of any silly flaws or naïveté because you just care about the person. That’s what she has for Jack, ever since he took her under his wing as an employee, she’s done the same for him as just a person.

“Mind if I stay here for a bit? My ma is going to be a few more minutes.”

Sylvie just smiles softly and scoots over on the wide hood of her truck, gesturing to the empty spot.

Jack nods rather sagely as he awkwardly hoists himself on to the hood of the truck, pushing himself up with his arms and then practically throwing himself on to it.

He pants softly as he adjusts to lay on his back a foot or two away from Sylvie, giving her another boyish grin. “Hey.”

“Very smooth, Jack,” Sylvie snorts.

“Your truck is huge! I’ve ridden in trucks before but yours is massive! I’m not sure how you even get up here, you’re shorter than me!” He laughs.

“My little secret, I guess,” Sylvie shrugs with a slight smile, returning her gaze to the inky sky, dotted with a trillion stars.

I’m excited to keep writing this, I’ve got some Lokius ideas in the works too but this one has been my focus for a few days!!

I’d love to see anyone do this that is interested but I’ll tag my usual group!!

@insert-witty-user-name-here @starport-seven-five @lgwilt @mirilyawrites @cha-melodius @chaos-monkeyy @waterhorseyblues-ao3 @blackbirdofasgard @dreamycloud @queen-of-meows

#loki #lokius #Sylvie #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic questions #ao3 author #get to know me #fic wip

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haligtreedream · 2 years

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Okay I'm doing it I'm finally doing it. It seems like in all likelihood Miquella underwent a lot of rewrites and his story ended up in a spot way different than it started, and who's to say if the original plan would have been any better, but we can definitely DEFINITELY say that where it ended up sucks terribly. This got so so long, so I’m putting it under a read more.

I really don't wanna go into all the ways it's terrible, other people have already done great analysis of why the writing and a lot of fandom reactions manage to be both homophobic and/or transphobic in addition to and largely because of the grossest implications of the writing. (And I say implications because while the text tiptoes in places there really is an obvious interpretation and it’s terrible.)

It’s awful for so very many reasons but I mainly wanna talk about why the story with Mohg and Miquella goes against the themes, symbolism, and motifs already established by most of the rest of the game. Because ON TOP OF everything else it's bad writing. I'm also gonna offer up how I'd rewrite it because I like to fix things.

This mainly builds on my interpretation of Miquella as a disability narrative so I'll expand upon that a little. Also as previously stated, I focus mainly on themes, symbolism, and motifs. This isn’t gonna be a lore hunting post where I upload a bunch of screen grabs of item descriptions and analyze data mining discoveries. That shit’s awesome but it’s not my area. (Not YET anyway. One of these days I’m gonna write a post that convinces everyone that Unalloyed Gold is a Textile and then it’ll all be over.)

Anywhooooooo…

Let's start with more about why I think Miq is a disability narrative. Miquella's story as it occurs in game centers a lot of core themes, some of those being growth, agency, power, and rebirth. I think a lot of people find it hard to wrap their heads around what his motivations are, feeling like they’re somehow incomplete or conflict with everything we read about him. I didn’t because I took one look at his story and went “Oh this is like why I had to put spikes on my wheelchair handles.”

Let me explain, cause if you’re not a wheelchair user that probably sounds counterintuitive and like it has nothing to do with Miquella, but bear with me.

His main stated goal is to cure his sister of rot, that's why he turns from the order and cultivates unalloyed gold. But then why grow the Haligtree as an alternative to the Erdtree? He and Malenia can’t die as far as they know so they have no use for being reborn. Why take in the Albinaurics and Misbegotten? Neither make up a large part of their military defense force, nor serve any purpose Miquella and Malenia’s human followers couldn’t. In fact they’re probably more difficult to shelter due to their various differences and disabilities. Is it pure altruism?

In a way, (I choose a generous interpretation but even if you think it’s purely because a community that views Miquella as their savior will give more unflinching loyalty and that’s what he’s after this still works cause he’d need to recognize that usefulness in those communities), but then how does a demigod prince, beloved by all and very near the top of the social food chain come to empathize with the most downtrodden and oppressed peoples in the Lands Between? It’s not realistic, I hear the straw man cry, and to that I say it’s because he’s disabled.

A reminder here that we only ever hear ABOUT Miquella, never from him (except for, “Brother, please die.” which will always be hilarious to me), and everything we hear about him paints him as innocent, inspiring, and childlike. Which is at odds with so many of his actions and achievements, from highly advanced golden order fundamentalist scholarship and incantation development, to watering his plants with his own blood, to fostering a religion that heavily features mind altering sedatives to founding and leading an entire social, religious, and military movement that posed a real threat to the unchallenged power of the Golden Order. (The soft power of destabilizing a hegemonic rule by offering a kinder and viable alternative is what makes Miquella the most fearsome Empyreon in my opinion, but that’s a different essay.)

These two opposing pictures of him we get seem to make no sense so I often see people ignore one completely in favor of the other, or interpret him as being so flawlessly and sinisterly manipulative that no one can think ill of him at all, which also ignores major parts of his character as someone who does incredible things for seemingly no personal benefit. To me, what makes these pictures mesh is Miquella’s disability and how it would make people view him.

Disabled people like Miquella who are born into a high social standing, are somewhat visually normative and “pleasing” (yes this is important), and act the way a disabled person “should” act are simultaneously infantilized, valorized, coddled, and dismissed. Think of any article written about how inspiring a disabled kid is for ~~overcoming their disability~~ and doing something that either isn’t necessarily inhibited by their disability, or is something that would be impressive REGARDLESS of their disability, and you’ll start to understand why people in and out of universe talk about Miquella the way they do.

And of course that doesn’t just happen to disabled kids, disabled adults are treated that way too, and it grows ever more insidious as the agency and freedom one usually grows into as an adult is denied to disabled people “for their own good.”

Remember the spikes on my wheelchair handles? I made them after a total stranger saw me paused on the sidewalk looking at my watch and decided that I needed his help getting where I was going. Nevermind that he had no idea where that was, and was touching what at the time was legally considered a part of my body and moving me without my consent, therefore assaulting me while trying to "help." Remember this for later, it’ll become important to how I’d rewrite Mohg.

For now this gets into the idea of Miquella being able to “compel” affection. Obviously the bewitching branch exists, and it can turn enemies into allies, but on a day to day I think it makes much more thematic sense if part of why people automatically “love” Miquella is linked to their view of him as a prettily disabled godchild. Nevermind that he may not want or need their affection or assistance. (Even if it is some otherworldly influence, it makes the most thematic sense if Miquella isn’t fully in control of its effects, the same way Malenia must combat the influence of the outer God of Rot.)

This also explains why some text in the game paints him as manipulative. I mean how many times have you heard of disabled people “scamming the government” or “taking advantage of people’s generosity”? Both of which are pretty much always ableists being pissy about disabled people getting the support they need to live a decent life or advocating for their rights.

Originally here was where I was gonna go into Miquella’s symbolism and motifs and how they relate to Malenia and Marika, but this is already over twelve hundred words long so I’m skipping to Mohg, the main critique and the other Ms will come up as they become relevant, because they will absolutely become relevant.

But what's really fascinating and also makes the terrible and nasty writing in canon so frustrating is how much Miquella parallels Mohg. Both Mohg and Miquella are attempting to build new alternatives to the Golden Order and are taking in those left behind by Marika’s reign, Mohg in the form of albinaurics and tarnished. The difference is Miquella’s taken a slower, isolationist, and more social power oriented approach, meanwhile Mohg goes full Bloodborne (never go full Bloodborne unless you are actually IN Bloodborne 2).

Which leads me to their usages of blood. Miquella waters (really fertilizes is a more apt term because IRL bones, blood, and other animal waste products are used as fertilizer) the Haligree and most likely other plants (Miquella’s Lily from which Unalloyed Gold is derived and the Sacramental Buds), with his blood, specifically his Empyrean blood, with the specific goal of helping his sister and growing a home for those in need. He gave his own blood to help others. Which contrasts Mohg who uses his blood largely to hurt others for selfish reasons. It’s a perfect thematic contrast along a single motif and it’s cool! And I’m mad the writers made it awful!

To me it would make much more sense if Mohg was trying to force a parental relationship on Miquella and not the repugnant shit we got in canon. It would still be a dark story about agency and power, but it would fit each of their respective arcs better, AND be better situated within the wider narrative as a whole. Because all of this starts with Marika.

Marika abandoned Mohg in the sewers which led him to the Formless Mother. Symbolically it’s pretty obvious that in addition to being the god he worships, the Formless Mother is also a surrogate mother figure to Mohg, an attempt to fill the hole Marika left in his life. It makes sense he’d also try and replace Marika in Miquella’s life as well, especially since Miquella is already trying to do that with the Haligtree.

Unlike Mohg though, Miquella divorces himself from Marika of his own free will, attempting to replace her role in the world, and in his own personal life. This is shown by the figure in the Haligtree. The most popular theory is that it’s a representation of Miquella himself, and whether that’s correct or whether it’s a vision of the Haligtree, it’s very obvious symbolism for rebirth from a new mother.

Miquella’s attempt to grow to full adulthood through the Haligtree is his attempt to strip himself of his familial relationship to Marika as well as quite literally raise himself in the way his parents never could. (Imo we can also use this symbolism to get an idea of what his home-life was probably like and it probably wasn’t great all else considered as well.)

The visual symbolism in the Mausoleum also makes more sense if we assume Mohg is trying to take on the role of a mother. (There’s enough capital G Gender in this game that I’m not gonna write up extra justification for this, the visuals are enough.) He puts the cocoon on a giant pelvis. He uses the powers given to him by the Formless Mother. Even him being in the cocoon in the form of blood is akin to him acting as (and forgive the comparison but listen, it’s fromsoft) a placenta or amniotic fluid. It makes far more sense, and even preserves the idea of Mohg wanting a “dynasty” if he’s trying to make Miquella his heir not his consort.

It also adds an entire layer to the disability narrative interpretation, as it can be seen as an allegory for conservatorship and other violations of disabled people’s agency by family members who think they’re acting in the disabled person’s best interest, even if they didn’t so much as bother to ask. Mohg is trying to “cure” Miquella in a way he never asked for and didn’t consent to. Much like the stranger that thought he was helping me despite the fact that he could just as easily have broken my fingers.

This is especially fascinating because Mohg is also disabled, and he has a very different relationship to his disability than Miquella does, and it’s here we can draw a parallel between Miquella and Morgott. Miquella, like Morogott, believes himself cursed. Which mirrors a lot of real life unhealthy views of disability as something to be moralized, a divine punishment or character flaw to be atoned for or “fixed.” Something to be ashamed of. I'd like to think that Miquella managed to find more acceptance of his situation while living in the Haligtree, away from people who would undoubtedly be constantly condescending and dismissive, but in the end he still wanted a cure, and without knowing his reasons why I default to the pessimistic interpretation.

Meanwhile Mohg romanticizes his disability, pain, and the parts of himself that cause it, finding solace in an outer god that tells pain is powerful. This mirrors the opposite and equally unhealthy way disability is sometimes moralized as being something that leads spiritual growth or character building, when really pain is just your body demanding attention for something it thinks is wrong and dangerous. Ignoring or valorizing pain can lead to damaging consequences and even death, not to mention tying one's identity to pain, and even the belief that other people should also be in pain.

These concepts, and the aforementioned rewrite of Mohg trying to take on a parental role set up SUCH a more interesting story and conflict in my opinion, as well as keeping in better line with all the other themes and motifs. I mean just imagine if we could have got something that really dug into the ramifications of disability on the peoples of the Lands Between, I feel like this would be the best place to explore it, and would also of course, not be the absolutely retchworthy crap they handed us in canon.

#Elden Ring #Miquella the Unalloyed #queen marika the eternal #mohg lord of blood #malenia blade of miquella #morgott the omen king #I AM CHASING GEORGE R R MARTIN OUT OF MY HOUSE WITH A BROOM #I AM SMACKING HIM OVER THE HEAD #cw canon elden ring shit #cw abelism #cw internalized abelism #this is longer than most actual book reports i've written

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writernopal · 8 months

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Manuscript Search Tag

ALRIGHT this is going to be a FAT post because I have quite a few of these to catch up on and I didn't want to spam lol

Tagged by the following lovely peeps!

@talesofsorrowandofruin, here

@oh-no-another-idea, here

@justnerdy15, here

@sam-glade, here

@ellatholmes, here

Thank you all so much! 💙

Tagging (gently): @duckingwriting @acertainmoshke @callahanscorner @lorenfinch

Your words will be: savor, energy, camp, and fortune

From @talesofsorrowandofruin

bandages

The words tangled in my throat as the open door revealed the lavender lizard pirate standing there, bandaged and supporting himself on a cane. I clutched my hand to my chest and nearly bit my tongue to avoid screaming. Of all the guests I might have expected, he was not one of them. But I suppose I should speak, shouldn’t I? I couldn’t simply stand there looking at him.

crawling

He departed, and while I did my best to temper my anger, it got the better of me as I seized one of the paperweights from my desk and threw it across the room, shattering some glass thing wherever it landed. Mar-Dur knew we would not follow him into waters crawling with the Pale Navy. It would be suicide. Though if he was going willingly into those cursed seas, it must mean that he was searching for powerful allies, heavy artillery, or both.

dull

I missed him more than I could put into words, and much as I tried to deny or convince myself otherwise, I loved him. The dull ache in my chest grew, and I started to cry. I’d missed people before; in fact, I’d spent most of my life yearning for the company of those I could not be with, but these feelings were different and altogether more painful.

extraordinary

Perhaps it was silly, but it reminded me of his grandmother’s story about the Kingdom of Frogs, hidden under the humble visage of a well, just as this place was hidden within him... A wonder unlike any other took over me, and with it came an overwhelming need to protect...to protect what? Him? This place? I got the sense that it was extraordinary despite his writing it off as ordinary.

From @oh-no-another-idea

black

I sat up and reached over to the small end table beside the tub to retrieve my soap when I saw a strange black smoke creeping in from outside my tent. A panic entered my stomach. Was this the Third Prince’s magic? I choked back the scream in my throat and watched it closely to see what might happen next. It began to grow thicker and started to crawl up the air, coalescing into the form of something.

gauze

I don't have this word, so have an AASOAF fun fact instead! In the original telling of AASOAF, Wilkes attends a formal event dressed in Lizardfolk robes heavily inspired by Mexican Mariachi dress because I think he'd really like the style IRL!

skin

She was leaning against one of the masts and somehow managed to look imposing and enchanting at the same time. Her face was long and elegant, each feature upon it well-defined and distinguished. Her eyes were a golden color that stood out against her skin and hair; both appeared the color of rain-dampened soil, rich and dark.

paper

She’d traveled in nightclothes, a cloak, and bare feet; even I could admit that probably didn’t feel good despite not personally needing to wear shoes myself. Humans had paper-like skin on their feet, so they could hardly withstand things like pebbles and small branches, unlike my kind, who stepped on things like cactuses without issue.

fabric

The fabric of her dress rustled as she produced the pouch of treasure I had snuck into her bag the night before. She wasn’t here to return it, was she? She couldn’t be that stupid, right? Though I suppose she could be. Intelligence was not a credit she could be so confidently assigned, at least not in the same way one could with her honesty.

From @justnerdy15

heart

“Do you think they’re alright?” I asked softly. She laughed. “Child, don’t tell me you are still soft-hearted after being in my service for two years. Very little should concern you about society now; you should see this as nothing more than mere entertainment. When you get to my age, things such as these are commonplace.”

rain

It seemed one of the ropes of my makeshift tent had come loose from the branch I’d tied it to, freely letting in the rain as a welcomed guest. I frantically gathered my things, but it was no use. They were ruined! But what about—?! I gasped and dropped the blanket I’d been holding and patted my pockets hurriedly, sighing relief upon feeling the card tin safely inside one of them.

sound

As I chewed, I looked over the landscape and marveled at how peaceful it was. There was a gentle breeze, the sound of tall grasses sliding past one another, bugs flitting all throughout the air, and birds chirping, hidden in the boughs of their chosen trees. I might enjoy it more if I wasn’t in the company of an absolute tyrant.

bold

I wouldn’t be bold enough to say it looked comforting because it didn’t, but it was a relief to lay eyes upon, if only because it was the last remaining gesture of kindness being shown to me. I reached up nervously and took it. He pulled me up with ease and then quickly replaced his steady grip with my bag’s handle instead.

From @sam-glade

wing

The woman began to approach with slow, deliberate steps. Wrong again. Miss Frère walked with a bouncy urgency that swished her skirts ever so slightly to make the most gentle rustling sound. Perhaps to sound, well, like the beating of a dove’s wings. Yet another thing this woman was not.

want

It was an odd way to sleep, but I didn’t want to question it if that’s how she was most comfortable. I shifted ever so slightly, and then it was silent again. The low crackle of the fire in the hearth and the occasional firework outside punctuated how uniquely awful this lack of sound was. I wanted to take her into my arms, but she didn’t seem to share the desire, or else she would not be so far away. But she was cold, right?

win

“If’n her type be tall and handsome, she will forget ‘bout him entire when she claps eyes on me. Landlubber be right squat.” I declared smugly. She laughed. “Well, let’s make this interesting then. If you don’t manage to win her over, then tomorrow night, you must wear a corset.” I eyed her for a moment, then glanced back at the woman in the starling mask. Perhaps I was a little out of practice when it came to charming women, but surely I was not so useless. Pulling a woman away from a man like that should be easy for someone as dashing as me.

wait

I expected her to come back after that, but instead, she stood there until the vessel disappeared from view entirely. Would she wait like that for me if I ever sailed someplace without her? And would she be awash with tears as she was now? I hissed quietly, trying to shake the image from my mind. I didn’t like it.

From @ellatholmes

iron

I took a few deep breaths and cursed my hands for being so uncooperative as they failed to strike sparks with the flint and iron that had been sitting on the mantle. After several attempts, I gave up and decided to use matches instead. Though I wasn’t sure why I thought that would be any better. Upon opening the box, several tumbled out and onto the floor, and I even snapped a few as I tried to light them.

ache

Okay this word is in the snippet for dull somewhere up there and since I don't want to put it here gain, have an AASOAF fun fact! Axtapor was original a blue Lizardfolk but then I realized that I had like four other Lizardfolk characters who were blue and decided that I needed more variety so I chose to make him lavendar instead.

ice

Her voice was smooth and cool, like a piece of ice upon the back of one’s neck on a sweltering day. Still, her tone did nothing to take the annoyance out of paying for setting foot in here. I eyed Hartim with a frown as I fetched the advertised twenty-five pieces from my pouch.

bone

I watched as she carefully sliced the meat away from the bones of a desert hare I hunted earlier. The meal would be that and roasted potatoes. A far cry from the handsome meals she was cooking back when we lived in a proper house, but it was better than starving.

#tag game #manuscript search tag #aasoaf #my writing #aasoaf 1 #aasoaf 2 #mariel #axtapor #fay #wilkes

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gingerbreadmonsters · 1 year

Text

five more minutes

or: so, i start a revolution from my bed.

gn!reader, standard imperium warnings, angst that’s just a bit more bitter than sweet. i’m so sorry. heavily inspired by Not as nice as he was by @/The_Honey_Cy on ao3 - thank you for letting me put my bizarre little spin on your concept! everybody say thank you to rae @sri-rachaa for choosing our byline of the day, and i’m told that @morgansplace and @10000-angry-bees might also want to know what’s happening here… inspired by ‘i wish i knew how it would feel to be free’ by nina simone. vindemiator slipping inside the eye of his mind in 2400 words or less.

“I’ll find a way. Even if it’s just for a short, precious while. I will.”

Magic, they say, is simply the next step after emotion.

It makes sense. Feelings and magic, the inescapable cause and the inevitable conclusion. The cup runneth over, and the magic swirls forth. Flame, dreams, flesh. However small or weak or unknowable, in all things, the magic persists. It has a funny way of hanging around, of sticking to things it shouldn’t, of hiding itself in places where it shouldn’t belong. It has a funny way of knowing you. It has a funny way of showing it.

…No, that’s not right.

Maybe there’s a better way of putting it.

Demons, you see, are made of magic. They understand it instinctually, its ebb and flow, its push and pull. They’re weaved into the Spellsong, feeling every chord and harmony, feeling every tug at the web. Nothing is ever really alone. And so when little troublemakers try to have their fun, when they try to bend the rules for a little while - it doesn’t go unnoticed. Some things are worth fighting for. That all-consuming flood of magic that swept across the known reality, screeching and tearing and splintering. The whole world turned inside out, blood everywhere, spilling out across the universe. Foolish little creature. Did you really think nobody was watching?

The mirror can only handle so much. Six marble faces in the moonlight. Sometimes, things slip through the cracks.

“...Mm.”

What’s that sound?

It can’t be morning already - god, he really doesn’t want to get up. Especially not if there’s going to be noise. It’s not normally so loud that he can hear much from this godforsaken cell. Ugh, please don’t say Avior’s started arguing with one of the Enforcers already.

Although his eyes are closed, he can tell that it’s brighter than normal, too. Have they changed the brightness of the lights? Even more of a reason not to wake up. It’s not like there’s any sunlight in here, so it can’t be that - the window is only a few inches tall, right up by the ceiling, and you can’t even see the sky, let alone get any sunshine.

That’s funny. The mattress is softer than usual. What happened to that spring that always digs into his side? It’s always cold down here on the floor, too, where the draft seeps under the door - why is it so nice and warm? He could almost believe that-

Wait.

Is that breathing?

There’s someone here. His eyes snap open, a sharp inhale, power crackling and building beneath his skin in panic, but it’s no use. What is this? The magic fizzles out uselessly under his palms as he reels, sleep-heavy mind struggling to reconcile what must be true with what’s right in front of him.

It’s you, here in his arms where you belong, but not when you’re supposed to be. Your face against his chest, your arms draped around his waist, your legs entangled with his under the blanket where he can’t see. How are you here? Rewards for good behaviour be damned, you’d never be allowed to sleep here in the haven, ever - you’re monitored more closely than most, and there’d be Enforcers down here quicker than you could say ‘President Moore, please don’t kill me’.

You don’t seem to notice his confusion, thankfully, still slack and comfortably heavy against his body. He can feel you dreaming, the emotions soft and muffled against his senses. Happy dreams, it seems like. Sweet and kind and beautiful. Good. You deserve happy dreams.

He’s strayed a little bit from the matter at hand. Sorry, what were we talking about? Oh, yes, that’s it. Where the hell is he?

This must be an illusion. Vega must have got bored again. Avior must be trying to practice something for the plan. There’s no way this can be real.

It must be morning - soft sunlight peeks through the curtains when he turns his head towards the window, and he can hear birds outside, not too far away. How unusual. He didn’t think you could really get sunlight like that anymore. It’s so lovely and warm. The room itself looks like a fairly standard human bedroom, or at least what he imagines one would look like. Despite what you might expect, he’s not really been invited into one for a very long time.

It looks lived in, in a way that somehow makes his heart start to ache. Empty glasses of water on the bedside table, socks and books and headphones, a chair half-buried under clothes that haven’t been worn enough to be worth washing yet. A backpack hanging on the back of the door, a stack of textbooks on the desk. The wardrobe door is slightly open, and the wall on the left is covered in photographs. Him, his love, a handful of strangely-familiar faces. Kisses and birthdays and trips to the beach, nights so late they become mornings, the once-in-a-lifetime waves to the everyday. How does he know? All kinds of places and clothes and things to do, and every frozen face wears a brilliant smile.

A home, a proper one, a real one. Vindemiator wakes up, here in this most sacred of places, and it’s all he can do not to cry.

It’s an incredible illusion. Vega’s outdone himself. Every detail is perfect, immaculately disarrayed, masterfully created - even the Spellsong sounds… different. Lighter, livelier, happier. He doesn’t want to think about why. This world, what little part of it that exists in his mind, is not the same as the real one.

He’s thought of everything, even you. How would Vega even know you so well? Your face is mostly hidden, but from what he can feel, you’re almost exactly the same. The body he loves to know, and he knows it by heart. Breathing in, he nudges your aura with his own - perhaps Vega hasn’t got you quite right in this regard. You’re not so tense, not so jumpy, that undercurrent of fear that he’s used to soothing is all but gone. Here, in this place, you’re safe. Contentment and satisfaction and peace, sitting on his tongue, a mellow, pretty flavour he wishes he could get used to. Remind him to thank Vega when this is all over.

Speaking of things he’s not used to, what’s happened to his body?

This form. It feels…

Well, it’s not exactly the same as normal, but it’s close enough. The limbs are the same length, the teeth feel the same in the mouth, the shade of the skin is ever-so-familiar. It’s without doubt the form he coalesced in, same as ever, so why does it feel like there’s something different?

Huh. His horns are glamoured. That’s weird. How is that even possible? The wards over the haven don’t allow demons to change any parts of their physical bodies, even as part of an illusion like this one - some decree by that godforsaken air elemental maniac to stop anyone from ‘forgetting their true nature’. And to think they have the nerve to call this place a haven. Experimentally, he tries to relax the magic - and just like that, his horns flicker back into existence, familiar weight at his temples. Weirdly, they feel a little more balanced than normal, and when he reaches up to feel them he realises why. It’s still there. All of it. No splinters, no cracks, no dull ache in his skull.The left one is whole again, as if Kody and his god complex and his baseball bat and that awful, awful night had never even happened.

His horns, smooth and shiny and perfectly intact. Forget an illusion, this must be a dream. A lovely dream, to be sure. His horns. He’d almost forgotten what this felt like.

“...Hmm?”

Startled, he looks down as you groan into his shirt, clearly still half-asleep - he just about has the presence of mind to smooth his hand over your back, shushing you gently. Even here, where you’re not real, it doesn’t feel right to wake you up. You should be allowed to dream happily for a little bit longer.

“It’s alright, love. Go back to sleep.”

You protest, jumbled words falling out of your mouth, but you make no effort to move - instead, you relax back against him with an airy sigh. From here, you look a bit different than you normally do, and it takes him a while to place it. You look healthier - your hair a little shinier, your eyes a little brighter, your lips not so painfully chapped. Is this how you were supposed to look, before everything? Before the world thought to crush you under its heel, tried to grind you into powder, left the pieces of you out in the rain to rust? It’s not fair. What does he have to do to make this real?

His human deserves to live like this, he thinks. Back in the real world. Doused in sunlight, heavy with sleep in a bed that you own, face half-hidden in the pillows that you chose. Somewhere soft and warm and kind, where there are no sharp teeth and no cameras in the bathroom, where the scariest thing in your life is the sound of your alarm clock.

“Fine,” you concede. “But only if you stay.”

“Of course.” In a world like this, why would he ever want to leave? “I’ll always stay with you, my love.” It feels good to say it out loud. Here, he might even be able to make it true.

Your hazy brain seems to think that’s good enough, and before long you’re drifting off again. Have sweet dreams, beloved. If only he could join you. The corners of the world aren’t quite as sharp as they should be, the Spellsong on the edge of changing key, and he has the horrible feeling that if he goes to sleep you won’t be here any more.

Sleeping means waking up in a world where this isn’t real. Is this real? Could it ever be? Probably not. Reality has never been so kind to him.

He’s so tired.

He can hear your voice in his head, as clear as anything. Maybe this is a dream. Sleep, love. It’s okay. We have time.

Would you say that, if you knew? Maybe you wouldn’t, you’d hold onto him like he wants to hold onto you, like if he looks away for a moment you might turn to water in his arms, spilling helplessly out of his reach, soaking into his skin and his soul and the vanishing earth beneath you. Or maybe you would, you’d tuck him against your chest where neither of you can see the other cry, folding him into you like he’ll fit right through your ribs, and for a single, blissful moment, he’d be able to pretend that he believes you.

In your sleep, your arms tighten around his waist ever so slightly. Do you feel it? Do you know?

You have always wanted to protect him. Even here, even now, in a dream that will always have to disappear, you protect him still. Please, don’t do that. Can’t you see? You’re too strong. You’re too safe. He wants to hide behind you forever, shield himself from the world in the safety of your soft body, let your voice in his ear and your hand on his face be the only things he knows. Nothing else is real. Only you, just you, it’s only ever been you, and what then? Don’t indulge him, please. It’ll hurt too much when you have to let go.

He doesn’t want to go. Will you make him? Maybe you should. He’d do anything, if you asked.

Please. Wake up, my love. Save him, ask him, command him, and eternally you shall receive. Heaven and earth, sea and sky and fire, it shall be done. In this world, where he’s never failed you, make it true. Speak the words into reality, bend the universe to your will. Please. He’ll do anything. Make it true, make it true, make it true. Ask for the impossible, just once more, and know that he has never been able to resist you.

He kisses the top of your head, just once, and it will never be enough. The tears gather, but they don’t fall. He wouldn’t want to wake you. A tired mind struggles on, head spinning and spinning, the world folding in on itself until the whole, wonderful room is as dense as a star, until he’s crushed under its weight and the blackness takes over.

It might be hours or days until he wakes again, and it’s the grim inside of a haven holding cell that greets him.

It’s too much. He cries like the child he never was, endless, aching sobs as the wave crashes over him, the lonely demon mourning the loss of a world that was never his, that for all he knows has never existed. That place, that room. What does he have to give to make that real? Could it ever be his? Vindemiator and his human love - was there ever a world where they could have been happy? There must have been. You were made for more than this, for more than a broken, empty, bloodied incubus, for more than this place and these people and this dying, shattered world. Marble under moonlight. Don’t wake up. If you can’t see it, it’s not really there. Bring it back to him. Choked tears, closed eyes, rinsing away the ghost of a kiss that shouldn’t ever have happened.

You deserve more than this. Please, please. If it’s the last thing he ever does, if he has to tear himself to atoms to do it, dissolving into nothing, half-melted in the River. Reality is nothing to the determination of a demon with something to protect. Let him give this to you, and no being in existence will ever die happier.

It’s all he’ll ever do again. Love you, hold you, protect you, with all he has, with all he’ll ever be. You are his, and he is yours. Surely, that has to be enough.

A promise, made not for the first time. God, I never want to let you go. Perhaps it really is impossible to outrun your own nature. Vindemiator is no exception.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted gavin #redacted vindemiator #redacted imperium #redacted freelancer #redacted angst #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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