#tumblr stopped letting me post links again lol
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You call the cops when you get locked out of your apartment, they come kill you. You call the cops for an emergency, they come kill you. You call the cops for a mental health crisis, they come kill you. You call the cops to snitch on someone else, they come kill you. You call the cops for an active shooter and they stand around with their dicks in their hands but find their spine to stop parents who try to go save their kids.
Cops are not your friends, they do not help you. They come to escalate, agitate, or stop people from protecting each other.
Abolish the police. Abolish the police. Abolish the police.
#police brutality#police murder#us politics#us policing#acab#tumblr stopped letting me post links again lol
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THE SAGAU FANFIC ONE-SHOT WINNER IS...
🎊🎉🌿Eldritch! Reader AU🌿🎉🎊
Just a small annoucement for the winner, though I'm sure we all saw the results lol
Have a snippet, hope you enjoy!
*disclaimer: subject to change, this is a draft, no finalized version yet.
At least, you were pretty sure of where you were now. But that didn't mean it made any more sense.
You hadn't recognized it at first, but the Irminsul was unmistakable after a minute of looking at it and the surrounding blue. The lights were incredible, with sparkles and stars floating up from the ground. Strange, nearly mechanical patterns flared out from its branches.
The only difference between the Irminsul in-game versus the real one you see now is the rapid swelling and filling out of its trunk.
As you had woken up more and more, ignoring the strange state of your body for now, it had let out weirdly nostalgic noises.
Like a computer booting up, and a million other digital pings or tunes as it grew.
As you tentatively reach a hand out to touch the trunk, a familiar book materializes. The dark blue pages flip to the first page instead of to the middle of the book.
...isn't this usually the really obscure "Archives" animation from the Paimon settings page?
What's it doing here??
In gold writing that hovers slightly above the pages, your (presumed) stats display. The eerily familiar Genshin Impact font rapidly types itself out from left to right.
/gamemode: admin
*Executing...
*Executing...
*Loading...
*Loading...
*...
*...Success!
*Your gamemode has been changed.
" Player."
[ADMIN.]
EXP: 1000000#%$+???
DEF: ?%@****+~??
ATTK: ??*!!%^<=+?
POWERS:
- ??";*&%[]\/%?
- &%#@?<_++}]
- ~`*(-_+}|\\!!??^&
...you decide to stop looking at your... stats, for now.
Because more importantly, as you pull your hand back from the book (letting it float in place in front of the Irminsul trunk again), you notice something even more off.
Your hand.
It's... wrong.
As you trail your eyes up your arm, you choke back a sense of panic. Sure enough, when you bring the right arm over to poke and try to smear the seemingly black paint that drenches your left arm, it too is covered in black.
Your arms are pitch black.
And as you attempt to touch your forearm for more answers, only to phase through it... you begin to think maybe this is not, in fact, paint.
And as you realize you are hovering, instead of standing in place, you begin to think this is, in fact, the very real world of Genshin Impact.
...you decide to lay back down on the weird blue ground (?) and take a nap.
Maybe start today over.
☆
I'll be working on asks in the mean time!
But this'll be higher priority/posted soon bc I'm worried I'll forget abt it otherwise lmao
Idk if anybody cares that much, but I'll go ahead and ask just in case:
I hope you guys are having a great week, wherever you may be!
Safe Travels,
💀♒️
♡the beloveds♡
@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr
@yomilyy / @0rah-s / @idontknowwhatimdoingbutweball / @blackstar-gazer
(^^^ dw you'll still get tagged when the actual piece is out! :)
#hope u guys enjoy the snippet!#i hope u all read that little disclaimer before it like that rlly fast salesperson voice lmao#BTW IF U READ THIS UR OBLIGATED TO SEND A SUBMISSION TO JUST SEND ME A CHAT#ANSWER THIS QUESTION: What was the funniest thing you've done in-game?#get nerfed during a cutscene?#fall off a cliff ass-first onto a boss monsters?#bc i did#3 times#genshin isekai#sagau#genshin sagau#genshin impact sagau#genshin imagines#self aware genshin au#gender neutral reader#genshin x reader#sagau eldritch au#sagau eldritch god au
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It's time!
How would you all like 21 22 fics on the 21st 22nd of December?
The Gallavich Masquerade Ball 2023 is now open! Grab a glass of champagne or anything else you'd prefer, some hors d'oeuvres, and choose your (first) dance partner for the night!
You can check all the fics in our AO3 collection or on this post, after the cut. A list of all authors with links to their profiles is also included. This post is pinned so you can check it whenever you want.
And here's the link for the form where you can put your guesses. It's only one form for all the fics, so please wait to submit your guesses only after you've read them all.
Here's the updated point system:
Points for readers: Correct guess on first choice: 5 points. Correct guess on second choice: 2 points. Incorrect guess: lose 1 point. (Please note that you only lose 1 point per story, even if you guess incorrectly on both choices.)
Points for writers: If someone correctly guesses your fic (regardless of in the first or second choice): 1 point. If someone wrongfully guesses your fic: 3 points.
Leaving kudos and comments is allowed and appreciated! Writers are also allowed to answer, but it's up to them whether to already do it or wait until everyone's identity is revealed so as not to give anything away accidentally. Oh, and if you want to post something about the fics here on Tumblr but can't tag them, I can serve as buffer for now lol.
Oh, and the surprise? The winners will get some great fanart, courtesy of the talented @doshiart! Isn't that awesome?! 🥂
Cheers!
Keep reading to get a list of all the fics with their summaries and word count, as well as a list of all the authors, with links to their AO3 profiles.
FICS:
AITA? (2,072)
AITA? My new clients (29M and 31M) threatened me and I want to fire them. I know that’s not official therapist speak. TLDR; I want to encourage them to have healthier boundaries and find a new therapist, but until then, what do I do?
Attitude adjustment (4,483)
Post-canon Ian and Mickey figure out some relationship issues. That includes insults, (play-)fighting, more insults, and orgasms.
Or: Mickey is having an attitude. Thank god Ian knows exactly what to do.
Black Charcoal meets Fiery Red (1,838)
Ian poses in a life drawing class. A straight forward job, if not for the guy with the blue eyes who can't stop staring at him.
Carnival (3,136)
Ian and Mickey spend the evening at a carnival...
"Ian locked the car’s door, and put his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, as they walked towards the carnival. He had brought the leaflet home a few days ago, wiggling the colorful sketch of a carousel and the outdated font under Mickey’s nose with some hopeful glee. Mickey had protested for habit sake, but had caved in pretty easily..."
Five Dates with Brad f*cking Pitt (4,269)
Sometimes things may not be what they seem. Especially when there are assholes around who add fuel to the fire just for the sake of a fucking joke.
Groceries (2,260)
A routine trip to the store turns into a trip down memory lane.
The Guardians (4,879)
3,000 years ago, they had to join forces to defeat an evil sorcerer.
Now, the sorcerer was back, and more powerful than ever. Could they defeat him for good?
i'll find a new place to be from (5,947)
They stand in silence for a couple beats, unspoken words lingering above their heads. The cig in his hand has long burned out and Ian resists the temptation to light up another, and another.
He feels his mouth open, and close, then open again–but nothing comes out.
Time’s up.
"See you inside, Red," Mickey finally says before pushing the door open, and Ian remembers how to breathe.
Infused Attraction (3,434)
Mickey has to receive Iron infusions. Ian is a student nurse who is assisting the other nurses with the infusion. Mickey is interested in the redhead. Ian is seemingly interested in him too. Let's see how it goes!
Italy (I Trust And Love You) (3,183)
"Ian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his damp hair. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath, as if to steal himself for some monumental task, and walked off down the sidewalk. The rain made quick work of drenching him. Ian didn’t seem to notice.
In the dirt beneath the tree, drawn in crude blocky letters made with the toe of his boot: I + M."
OR
A story mostly told through Debbie's eyes during world war two, as she worries for all her brothers, but particularly the one sent home much before the rest.
Jump To Recipe (5,977)
Hiring Mickey Milkovich - Freelance Photographer to shoot the photos for his food blog was the best move Ian’s ever made. Mickey’s a fantastic shot, plus he’s committed to the success of Ian’s blog. (He’s fucking hot, too. But that’s just an added bonus.) And the best thing about him, is that in all the ways he’s professional behind the camera, he’s refreshingly unprofessional to Ian’s face. Which means when he comes around, Ian always knows he’s in for a good laugh, intriguing conversation, and an ego boost - Mickey never shy about how much he loves Ian’s food when they dig in after the shoot.
Ian’s made chocolate lava cake today. But when extra time leads to their at-home appointment going way off script - Mickey wanting to update Ian’s headshots, but with a twist - who will the spicier photos leave wanting more, the “housewife army” from his blog’s comment section, or Ian and Mickey?
A Lot (4,245)
What could have happened if Ian had told Mickey that he was worried about going to Mexico with him?
The man in the van (2,141)
“Suppose I should thank you for the compliment then,” Ian teases, smirking a little.
The guy snorts. “Don’t mention it, Red. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” He proceeds to shamelessly check Ian out again, licking the corner of his mouth as he does.
or
Ian Gallagher wouldn't mind some excitement in his life. Enter one Mickey Milkovich, ready to oblige.
ole red (5,596)
Mickey is out of prison and walking the straight and narrow with help of his cheering section, P.O. Larry . It’s hard being tough in a pastel polo and dad shorts. Old Army is just a paycheck until he meets the assistant manager, Ian. Finally he figures out Ian was Mandy’s Ian from their teen years. Mickey is attracted to the redhead but is still closeted. Ian responds to Mickey lashing out by revealing he knows Mickey’s secret. Mickey decides to be brave and the reward , huge 😈
The Reason to Exist (4,851)
lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: can you stop stealing my loot
lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: this team only needs 1 sharpshooter anyway 😐
mm1234567890 [18:23]: shut up u f**
lieutenantcolonel [18:23]: WHAT
Red Hot (4,364)
Ian's workday has been shitty... but his afternoon might just be very different. Thanks to his favorite nephew and a certain mouthy and opinionated stall owner at the winter farmer's market.
A Salute Before We Sink (4,601)
The world will end tomorrow. Ian's only chance at survival is to earn a spot in an underground bunker. One man stands in his way.
Snowballs and Sneaking Out (2,441)
Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.
So drunk on you (3,878)
"Then Mickey launches himself into quite a detailed account of the previous evening and there goes Ian’s sanity. He’s learned over the months to hone his selective hearing. That is, he’s not tuning Mickey out completely but he’s trained his brain to gloss over the facts that fall under the TMI category and focus on the highlights. Again, for the sake of his sanity. Because the thing is, he’s so gone on Mickey it’s actually embarrassing. And he’s been gone pretty much from the very beginning."
Just another friends-to-lovers story.
Span the Distance, Bridge the Border (4,988)
Ian and Mickey are happy, living on the West Side and adjusting to life as husbands in their new apartment. Things are going well, really well, until one day Mickey’s brothers show up.
And God only knows what they could possibly want.
weight of the world (3,360)
Mickey thought he was fucked for life and that he’d never see his mom again. Turns out he was wrong about both of those things.
Wonderful- a Gallavich Christmas Mini-fic (5,030)
In which Mickey learns the reason for the season or How the Mick gained Christmas.
AUTHORS:
Blodeuwedd
Calli_Writes
Captain_Jowl
energie_vie
Gallabitch73
gallawitch
Gembu
GrandSelfMythology
IanGalagher
JuliaKay
lingy910y
MissSnowwhitepink
mmmichyyy
My_Brain_Melted
NotHereNJ
Rayrayor
sam_writes_fics
Suzy_Queue
sweet_perversion
Sweetbee78
whatthebodygraspsnot
whatyouandihave
#Gallavich#Ian x Mickey#Shameless#Shameless US#Gallavich fanfiction#Gallavich Masquerade 2023#Events#Mod post#now updated
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WATCH THE WHOLE THING! Trust me 😏
It's here!!!!!!! I hope this was worth the wait :)
Images and information on a DTIYS below the jump!
This first bit of this might be familiar as it's been posted before. New stuff added at end!
Dark Excalibur Au
Everything happens exactly the same up to then very end of Wizards. The only difference being Jim is able to pull Excalibur then, on his own, making him Nimue's champion. Nimue grants him his crown and restores the trollhunter amulet to him. (Sorry Douxie and Krel, you'll get your time to shine later).. this is when Excalibur's aesthetic changes.
While Jim is 100% human now, he's not without after effects from being a troll. Not much physically (a bit stronger and faster), but personality wise... he's a bit more feral, confident, not really any trace of his former anxieties (except when it comes to Claire). He's not without fear (we don't need gritshaka Jim here...) but has mastery over it. Sometimes he can get a bit more... chaotic and temperamental... than before, but despite that, he's still Jim to his core. Despite all that he's been through, he's still ultimately kind, pure of heart, always tries to do the right thing, fiercely protective of those he loves.... as Blinky put it, a man of honor, courage and valor.
He's stopped fighting his destiny and stepped into it fully instead.
To quote Sakon...
Jim's problem has always been that he cares too much, and the anger inside him burns against the injustice of the world. It's Jim against the world, and the world /will move.
He still has way to much in the self sacrificial department…... but usually remembers that he has a team... literally the roundtable... a wizard, a sorceress... and a literal goddess….. backing him up.
START OF NEW:
You'll notice the blade is whole, not just repaired. Nimue, who for obvious reasons, is not a fan of merlin or arthur... originally only repaired Excalibur's blade instead of healing it. The fractures remained as a check on its power.. kind of like a short circuit. Jim gets no such hobbling. He's entrusted with Excalibur's full power. And if Sakon will allow me to borrow again, his check is in the gem in his crown, but it's only temporary as he learns to control Excalibur's power, and his newfound station and abilities... just a bit of a reminder, but one he rarely, if ever, needs.
There is no incantation on the amulet. It's not needed anymore. All Jim needs to do is think it, and it's there. Excalibur is not tied to the amulet like Daylight was. He can use it without the armor, or dematerialize it if wanted. The armor has two forms, much like Daylight and Eclipse, the 2nd is only a thought away. Normally a steely blue grey, it can shift to black, and if Jim really leans into the power of Excalibur then the whole thing, from crown to blade, turns pitch and lights up. There's so much magic running through him from the sword that his eyes glow with it.
Someone on IG asked if the Dark/Feral bits denoted corruption or Jim gone rogue. The Dark just denotes the color change for Excalibur. No corruption! It's just rockin the black instead of gold. As for feral.... in the sense that he's a tad more aggressive, more willing to finish the fight so to speak. He's got a little wildness, a little otherworldly magic, to him (not in the sense that he's a wizard, just that he's got the magic of Excalibur and being goddess touched).
Now, for the DTIYS!
Rules are
Draw it in your style!
Please no tracing, I want to see what you come up with
Use #DarkExcaliburDTIYS when you post!
Tag me and I will share
Please out a copy of my original art in your post
This will run until June 1
I will pick my top 3 across all platforms
There will be prizes, I just have no clue what lol.
I will link a folder filled with references for you to use! From the armor, to color keys (whenever tumblr lets me paste the stupid link 😡
Have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#jim lake jr#tales of arcadia#dark excalibur#dark excalibur au#darkexcaliburDTIYS#trollhunters#toa#toa fanart#wizards toa#toa wizards#wizards tales of arcadia#rott#toa rise of the titans#rise of the titans#trollhunters fanart#james lake junior#james lake jr
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Bad Habits
A Thomas Shelby Love Story
~~
Part 1
~~
Alright, before everyone starts yelling at me, I promise that the final part to my Ransom story is almost done. It's slightly longer than this one, and I'm being extremely picky about it cause I wasn't necessarily happy with the last one I posted. That being said, my husband and I binged all six seasons of 'Peaky Blinders' in five days, so now we have this. I'm also posting this one first because I used a different approach on this story and it's giving me extreme anxiety lol. I tried to capture the accents and the essence of the show, so I really hope you all like it! Anyway, here goes! Thank you, as always, to @fuckingbye for the amazing moodboard, I love you and will build a monument to your greatness.
Word Count: 24,549 (to those of you who are new: I'm sorry. To those who aren't: this is me being on my best behavior and you know it.)
Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI) , Swearing, Drinking, Drug Use, Depression, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety attacks, Cheating, Abusive Relationship, Angst (c'mon now, it's me), Family Drama, Child Trauma (if you squint)...I think that's it. It dives deeper into a lot of things in part 2.
Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: I Only Know How To Go Too Far
I do not give consent/permission for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.
~~
His eyes meet yours from across the room and you know you’re fucked. You should’ve stayed away. Yes, it’s your sister’s engagement party, but you knew he’d be here. The way your family loves the Shelby family...you knew. You knew he’d show up and would be looking for you. Still, you came and you know it’s because you miss him. God, you miss him like crazy.
Thomas fucking Shelby.
“Oi! Come over here, love!” Arthur calls, drunken smile on his face as he makes eye contact with you from across the hall.
“You stay away!” you laugh as he makes his way to you.
“Lets have a dance, eh?” he suggests as he finally reaches you.
“You, Arthur Shelby, shall not lay a finger on me tonight, or any other night,” you smirk, grabbing your glass and taking a swig from it.
“And why is that?”
“Tommy ‘ll kill ya,” you giggle, nodding across the room to where he’s sitting with his wife, Grace.
“He has no say in it now, does he? He’s married.”
“As if that ever stops the Shelby men,” you tease and he flips you off.
“One dance.”
“Not tonight, Arthur. Besides, a man of your status seen with a woman like me? What will the people think?”
“Who cares? I know how I’ll feel,” he smirks and you burst out laughing.
You really have missed the Shelby men.
“What’s so funny, eh?” Thomas asks, causing you to jump cause you didn’t even notice that he had made his way over.
“Nothin’,” you giggle, feeling the burn of Grace’s glare on you, “what ya doin’ over here without your lady, Thomas?”
“Just wanted to see what ’m missin’ out on.”
“I think I’ve found someone more agreeable to my needs,” Arthur smiles as he makes eyes with a woman across the room, “if you’ll excuse me,” he nods as you start laughing again while he walks off.
“So, you’re fucking Arthur now?”
“Watch it, Thomas,” you warn, cutting your eyes at him before taking another sip of your drink.
“You used to call me Tomcat.”
“What do you want?”
“Come with me.”
“And if I don’t feel like it?”
“Come with me,” he demands in a harsher tone and contradictory smile, before starting to walk out.
You roll your eyes as you grab your glass and bottle before following him out.
You’ve known for a while that it angers him that you don’t fear him in the slightest. You also know that it irritates him that there’s no reason for you to be scared of him; you two have been through so much and have known each other for so long...
~~
The rest is on AO3. For whatever reason, Tumblr won't let me post the whole thing on here -_-
Here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49359964
~~
taglist: @emerald-evans, @autumnrose40
#fanfic#fan fiction#fanfiction#Thomas Shelby#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fanfic#Thomas Michael Shelby#Thomas Shelby Fanfic#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby x y/n#thomas shelby smut#Peaky Blinders#Cillian Murphy Character#Cillian Murphy Characters#Thomas Michael Shelby fanfic#Don't Hate Me#I Hope Y'all Like It!
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FALSE GOD chap. 2
(chap 1) (chap 2) (chap 3)
percy jackson x child of demeter!oc
𝑰𝑵 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑯 Rose St. Claire sets off on a quest to save the goddess in chains.
𝑶𝑹
𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑪𝒀 𝑱𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑶𝑵 learns to see what is right in front of him.
!CONTENT WARNING! gore, romance, swearing, blood, heavy themes
a/n: omg! hi i love posting on tumblr so much?? like i finally wanna write again LOL anyways I can also take requests! only if you want anyways pls i hope you like the next chapter i PROMISE there will be romance but it’s a slow burn dw
also can someone please show me how to link the first chapter i cannot for the life of me pls and thanks
sorry for the delay yall fr i just have to be in the right headspace to write im so sorry anyways i hope you like it please feel free to give any feedback
also if you like it i would be happy to put anyone on a tag list as well <3
The clicking of heels against the polished floor grabs my attention, the game I was holding in my hand lays idly to the side. Bianca shoots me a nervous look from her seat next to me before peering up at the stern lady. The lady's grey hair was slicked back into a bun, her nose crooked, almost like a scythe. She did not look very nice.
"Bianca Di Angelo." She states, matter of factly. "I am here to take you, your brother," The woman shoots a pointed look at Nico, "And your... friend."
The look the mysterious woman gave was poisonous, her eyes daggers as she looked at me. Her nose sneered as she took in the surroundings of the casino. It was loud, I could tell she didn't like it.
"My name is Rose." I snapped, quickly rising to my feet. I cross my arms as her eyes narrow as she looks at me. I glare back at her, not backing down from her imposing stare.
She sighs and rolls her eyes muttering something under her breath, something along the lines of 'stupid demigods'. I feel Bianca stand next to me, putting a calming hand on my shoulder. She quickly steps in front of me, breaking my cold stare at the unpleasant woman.
"Excuse me, but are you here to take us to school?" Bianca asks, her head tilted in a curious way. The old woman nodded, a careless look on her face.
"Yes, now come, we haven't got any time to lose. Don't ask any questions." The woman says before turning on her heel to the exit of the casino. I cast a look over my shoulder to Nico, his face twisted in a worried look. His hands fiddled with a silver army soldier toy, as he glanced around at everyone except the lawyer.
"Are you sure we can't just stay?" A small voice speaks out from behind Bianca. The stern woman whips around to look at Nico, who looks like he was about to cry. The lawyer scoffs.
"Stupid boy. You three are too important to be kept here." She bluntly states. Kept here? Too important? Her words make my mind spiral. I cast a worried glance over to Bianca who also has a troubled look on her face.
I couldn't help the nervous feeling in my chest. My Dad had brought me here about two months ago. Now that I think of it, I couldn't really remember what he looked like, let alone why he left me here. Were we being kept here? I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of these troubling thoughts.
My brows furrow as I try to remember the events leading up to entering the casino. It feels like the memories are just out of reach, like a blank space fills the area where they used to be. All I could remember was the year; 1976. I didn't want to go back out there, I didn't want to face what was waiting for me on the outside. Surely, the police would still be looking for me. Most of all, I didn't want that... thing to get me.
I roughly bump into Bianca, who stopped in her tracks. Daylight poured through the open door of the casino, I could hear many voices and sounds coming from outside.
"Bianca, what the hell." I ask, my mind snapping back to reality. I glance up and all words are lost as I become rooted to my spot. The cars zoomed by in the road, hundreds of billboards lined the bustling streets. There were bright screens with neon words that I couldn't even understand. Where was I? All I know that this was not 1976.
"Hurry up, children. We haven't got time to loose." The lawyer snaps. I look over to her, my mouth wide open. Bianca and Nico still had their eyes glued to the unfamiliar scene, their faces contorted into looks of panic.
A feeling of anger rose up inside of me as I took steps closer to the woman. She didn't even flinch as I leaned as close as I could to her.
"Where the fuck are we?" I yell, my confusion getting the better of my rationality. My arms gesture to the enigmatic scene in front of me. What year is it? What happened?" My mind is running too fast that I can't comprehend one thought. Where were we? What happened while I was in the casino? Why did it look like we were in the future?
An annoyingly amused smile makes it way onto the lawyers face. She shakes her head and lets out a condescending laugh.
"Stupid girl." She began, her eyes bored, "I told you to not ask any questions." My eyes open incredulously at her dismissive words. My entire world had been flipped on its head and she tells me not to ask questions! The anger boils up in my chest as I stand there with millions of questions. I notice pink flowers start to pop up in the cracks of the sidewalk, I didn't care at this point. I couldn't control it.
"What year is it?" A soft voice breaks me from my confused spiral. Bianca, now looking over to the woman, asks, her face full of confusion. She then looks at me, her eyes filled with tears.
"2007." She bluntly states, rolling her eyes as if it was a stupid question. My hand flies to my mouth in shock as I hear the woman's words. 2007! I have been in that damn casino for thirty one years? I reel back, the realization finally hitting me. I shake my head, a feeling of sickness washes over me. This can't be happening.
The woman guides us towards a large black car. I had never seen a car so big and with so many seats! She motions to the driver to leave after we all file into the car. Nico looks completely lost, his hands still on his silver army toy.
"Now, you may be confused." The woman, Camille according to the driver, starts. I scoff at her words, my arms crossed as I look out the window. A growing feeling of sadness wells up in my stomach, a twisting sort of feeling. "I can assure you that you will be safe at your new school. We will be there shortly."
How much did the world change? Why does time pass differently in that casino? Why did my Dad leave me there? Thousands of questions circled around in my head, too many unknowns for me to handle.
I feel my breaths begin to quicken, my hands shaking. I fiddle with the pins and patches on my worn out bomber jacket, quickly grounding myself. I think of my hands in cold grass and a warm breeze blowing over my face. I breathe out a sigh, accepting of the absolutely crazy situation.
I place my hand over Bianca's, she breaks her stare from out the window to look over at me. I give her a reassuring smile and her hand a small squeeze. She gives me a small smile, telling me that she's okay.
"Okay, children, grab your things. We're here." Camille orders. She quickly climbs out of the car and starts making her way to the man standing outside of the ominous front doors of the school. I grab my green duffel bag and follow Bianca out of the car, Nico follows me slowly. I didn't even want to think about how scared he must be. We all follow Camille slowly, our necks craned up to take in the vastness of the school.
Standing on the pathway, there stands a man. He towers over my friends and I as we stand behind our lawyer. He gives us all a large, slightly creepy smile. His two different colored eyes almost seemed to glow as he looked at us.
"Welcome to Westover Hall. Your new home."
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
taglist: @cxcilla
#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson#annabeth is our friend#slow burn#percy will probs be in the next chapter#percy jackson x oc#percy jackson fanfiction#canondivergent#percy jackon and the olympians#percy pjo
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Omega warprize Hob, pregnant with the twins (if you remember. It was a while ago lol).
He's going about his business somewhere in the castle, ready to pop, when he gets a contraction. And another one. So he hurries to the throne room to tell Dream out of court, and then go to their chambers together.
He's having to stop for a contraction every few steps now, and they are mean. Were they ever this mean with Clara? At the end, sure, but at the start? He can't remember.
The plan gets fuzzy in his mind, turns into just get to Dream, just get to Dream, then everything will be alright.
Little does he know that his body and his babies decided at the same time that they're done with this. He's having precipitous labour, and soon his thoughts alternate only between breathing right and not falling over and getting to Dream.
His water breaks when he's halfway through the throne room and he's gonna have the twins with his face in Dream's lap, in front of the whole court 🙃
🦒Anon
Ahh I love this 'verse so much!!! Tumblr's search function is confounding me at the moment but when I have time I'll come back here and link the prev posts about Hob & Dream & Clara <3
Love Hob's twins just deciding that they're popping out NOW please and thank you, they've had a lovely time hanging out in the safety of his womb but they're very ready to see the world now. Hob ends up on all floors on the (thankfully) plush carpet leading up to Dream’s throne, roaring through contractions much to the horror of the entire court.
Dream thankfully snaps into action and gives Hob something to hold onto. Hob snarls and squeezes his hand and hopes that somebody is between his legs to catch the first baby because it is definitely coming out right the fuck now!! I think it would be funny in the Corinthian has to be at Hob’s back end because he just happened to be closest and he ends up being the first to hold the twins (much against his will).
This is definitely not the birth plan that Hob had in mind! But that's nature. His babies come out screaming and full of life, and that's what matters. They settle in to nurse like they're starving, and Clara eventually gets to see what made mama's belly get so big for the last few months. Seeing her with her new siblings definitely makes Hob go from "I'm never doing that again" to "I need more babies immediately" in record time.
Dream is so proud of his omega. He can't stop praising him, stroking him, saying that he's going to give Hob the equivalent of the most extravagant push presents he can imagine. Usually Hob would brush off expensive gifts but he did just give birth to twins in public... so maybe it's time to let that king treat him to something fancy.
Right now though he just wants his alpha, his three darling babies, and a good meal. Everything else is secondary <3
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Lovestarved (Rewrite)
Flug couldn’t believe it. Defying all of his expectations, Black Hat actually prevented him from hurting his friends. Not only that, but kept his secret from being exposed. He had been so certain that the eldritch wanted [...], but now, with every manipulative and cruel assumption Flug had made being tossed out the window, he had no idea what to think anymore. When he next spoke, his voice was but a meek stutter. “Th-Thank you, sir...”
“’Thank you’?” Black Hat repeated, a ghostly twitch of annoyance betraying his smile for just a moment. “What have I told you, Flug? Your… gratitude…” That last word was uttered with notable disgust, “… is gravely misplaced. I only—“
He was stunned into silence when Flug unexpectedly clutched his hand. “You stopped me from hurting them.” The scientist spoke more firmly in spite of how his own hands trembled. Flug dared not make eye contact, instead staring directly at the floor. “Thank you.”
He had almost expected to get lashed out at or shouted at for grabbing Black Hat so suddenly, and when he realized his mistake, he immediately let go… but Black Hat did neither of those things. He just stared, expression completely blank to the point of almost being comical, at where Flug had touched him. That doesn’t happen. People don’t touch him. He touches people. On his terms.
After the initial confusion wore off, his cold and calculative eyes pierced right through Flug. “… Well.” He finally spoke, flat-toned, “You can thank me by getting rid of those pests outside.”
Okay look I know the White Hat fic’s been a long time coming and I’m definitely still working on it, but oh my god the complete and utter abomination that was the original Lovestarved fic was driving me completely insane, I HAD to give it a revamp for my own peace of mind lmfao, my GOD, IT WAS SO BAD YOU GUYS IDC WHAT YOU SAY I'M SORRY SZTEFA BUT YOU'RE W R O N G LMAO
So anyway, have the not-perfect-but-still-very-much-improved fanfic of a Monster!Flug x BH slowburn in which these idiots keep idioting around each other 24/7 until things happen lol (Btw one of my mutuals recently got instabanned for merely mentioning a certain phrase, so since I’m not sure how tumblr is deciding to auto-flag posts and I don’t wanna go through the headache of having to get my account reactivated again, this post is only the first half of the fic (the safe portion lol) and then there’ll be a link to the AO3 version at the bottom of this post for when things start to get on the risqué side.)
And of course, this fic series is based on this wonderful fic right here!
Previous works in chronological order: Hired, Don’t Try to Run, Lovestarved, Trial & Trust, Deeper Than Skin, A Small Solace, In Sickness and in Health, Benefit of the Doubt, Just Another Word I Never Learned to Pronounce, Merry (Late) Christmas, Compromise
Flug had never intended for this to happen.
Never in a million years had he planned on revealing this part of him to anybody , let alone Black Hat himself. Sadly, it’s not easy to sweep the unfortunate incident of devouring a test subject right in front of him under the rug. Then again, given his boss’s nature of being able to slip into any room unnoticed, perhaps Flug should’ve prepared for such an inevitable possibility.
Oh well. Too little, too late, as some might say. At least Black Hat hadn’t reacted as negatively as Flug thought he might. On the contrary, in fact, Black Hat seemed to find Flug’s otherworldly nature quite amusing. Yet another reaction that his scientist perhaps should’ve expected to some extent.
What he never could’ve expected was the change in attitude, however.
Yes, ever since that day, Black Hat had been treating him differently. It was subtle enough that any bystander likely wouldn’t notice a difference in their relationship. But Flug definitely took notice, especially in how his superior spoke to him.
He was still his usual brash, hostile self, but every once in a while, sprinkled in between whatever myriad of scathing remarks and scoldings Flug would face on any given day (and even those had lessened significantly), Black Hat would sometimes praise him. The first time Flug heard the words “Good work” out of his boss’s mouth, he thought he’d been hallucinating, as that explanation seemed far more likely.
Furthermore, Black Hat continued to surprise Flug by not broadcasting his secret to the rest of the household. He’d been certain that his boss would’ve gotten a kick out of airing his dirty laundry for everyone to see, if only for the sole reason that Flug gravely didn’t want that. Yet, Black Hat held back. Didn’t speak a word about it to 5.0.5. or Demencia. Not that Flug would risk getting too comfortable in that regard, of course. Whatever Black Hat’s motivations may have been, it definitely wasn’t coming out of a place of respect for Flug’s privacy. Knowing his boss, he was probably just waiting for either of their housemates to walk in on him devouring someone so he could indulge in whatever chaos might unfold. Or perhaps there was some other reason that Flug hadn’t considered. He certainly knew better than to try and guess what Black Hat was thinking, regardless.
Not all of the changes in Black Hat’s behavior were so positive, though. For one thing, his unnerving fascination with Flug’s souleater half has led to some rather uncomfortable arrangements. On the one hand, Black Hat providing him with prey saves Flug the trouble of having to sneak around anymore to feed himself, but on the other, his boss had a peculiarly keen interest in watching him eat. That was already bad enough, having to put what Flug had tried so hard to keep hidden all his life on full display like that, but it was made even worse by how handsy Black Hat would sometimes get afterwards.
He had a particular fascination with Flug’s teeth. Whether or not that was out of some twisted sense of humor or out of a genuine curiosity of Flug’s species, the doctor couldn’t tell. All he knew is that it was uncomfortable. Every time those hands crinkled up the edges of that paper bag to expose his bloodied mouth, anxiety spiked within him at the mere thought of his mask being pulled off completely. Luckily for Flug, Black Hat never went that far, for the time being.
“Why do you always do that…?” He had asked once, during one upon too many fang inspections to count.
There was a click of the tongue, Black Hat tilting Flug’s chin whichever way he wanted, as he gave his unconventional answer. “The soul residue intrigues me. Besides, it's the only part of your face I’ve seen thus far. I like to admire it at its bloodiest.” Then he’d flash one of his many shit-eating grins. “Given how long you’ve hidden this from me, I certainly have the right to catch up on what I’ve been missing.”
What could he possibly have been “missing”? He knew Black Hat to enjoy displays of violence the most when they had some heart in them. Flug’s only ever been timid and reluctant in the way that he feeds, unable to understand what entertainment value Black Hat could possibly be getting out of such mediocre murders.
On one particular day, however, the situation differed.
Their domain had fallen under siege by a particularly persistent team of heroes… It would’ve been an all-out attack if Dr. Flug hadn’t activated an emergency forcefield just in time. But for now, all they could do was wait these heroes out until they came up with a proper plan of retaliation. Their anti-hero merchandise was the best there was, of course, but with the sheer amount of opponents waiting outside, the villains were put in a particularly tricky situation.
Black Hat could easily dispose of the problem, Flug knew for a fact. These heroes were mere ants to somebody with his unimaginable power. But, in typical Black Hat fashion, he chose to instead put this job on Flug and Demencia.
While Flug could understand to some extent that such matters were too trivial and boring for his boss to face head-on, he had hoped the demon would’ve made an exception in this case. This situation had cut Flug, Demencia, and 5.0.5. off from the outside world until they could find a way around those heroes, which wouldn’t be a problem if not for the fact that it left Flug without sustenance to keep his monstrous half in check.
Unfortunately for him, Black Hat found more interest in watching how his employees would tackle the problem instead. Because, for him, the slightly-more-interesting route would always be preferred over the easy way out. It’s not like the health of his underlings has ever held priority over his own amusement, so Flug had no right to be surprised. He’d just have to persevere, and he wouldn’t dare complain about his hunger to Black Hat himself. Knowing him, he’d expect Flug to earn his food under these circumstances. The way Black Hat was constantly hanging around the laboratory as he worked further cemented that idea into his mind.
Instead, he threw himself into his work as if that were an adequate distraction. He did everything he could to keep his mind busy, to keep himself distracted from anything that may lead to one of his episodes, but it was so damn hard when these hunger swings can be so unpredictable. One minute, he would be completely fine, but the next…
“Whatcha workin’ on, doc?”
Hunger making him more irritable than usual, the mere sound of Demencia’s voice had been enough to grate on his nerves these past weeks of siege. It was bad enough that his cravings were already slowing him down far too much, he didn’t need Dem’s constant pestering on top of his current inability to focus.
Shaking those concerns out of his head, he was none too kind when he answered her. “Oh, I don’t know, Demencia, maybe a solution to our little problem out there?”
Unfazed by the mockery dripping from his voice, her desire for mischief was left perfectly intact. “Oooo, is it cool? Will it blow ‘em up? Liquidize their insides? Lemme see it!”
She jumped for the flask, and Flug had barely enough reaction time within him to dodge her. “ Stop that! Do you want to get a cloud of knockout gas to the face!?” Flug barked, scrambling to keep his work from falling out of his hands. Once stabilized, he shot her a nasty glare. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”
“You’re kidding, right?” She deadpanned in response. Dramatically flopping into a nearby chair, Demencia kept up her annoying lamenting. “We’ve been stuck with those dumb heroes outside for like a week, I’m boooored.”
“Well good for you, but since I’m the only one around here that seems willing to fix this damn mess, I need to focus.” Flug snapped at her, voice raising alongside his frustration, “What I don’t need is some brain-dead halfwit breathing stupid questions down my neck the whole time!”
Demencia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at how intensely he came off. Sure, she could get on his nerves with relative ease, but he usually took it with more grace than that, even at times when he’d sic Hatbots on her. Even Black Hat glanced up from his newspaper upon hearing such unusual hostility growing in Flug, though he reserved comment.
“Ouch,” Demencia remarked, although not especially offended. “Well, sorry Mr. Grumpypants, didn’t realize you were in such a mood today.” She chided him. “You skip your coffee this morning or what?”
Narrowed eyes shot one last dirty look at her before Flug tried to shift his focus back to his concoction at the lab table. Key word being tried , because before he knew it, he was doubling over from pain when his cravings hit him full-force. He was barely able to catch himself against the table, almost knocking over the work he’d previously scolded Demencia for endangering.
Serving up a confused stare, Demencia frowned at him. “Uhh, Flug?”
The ruckus also woke 5.0.5. who’d been sleeping nearby, a worried grunt coming from him as he wandered over to see what was going on.
What Flug had feared all along was now fast approaching. This sort of thing was exactly what Black Hat wanted, wasn’t it? For him to expose himself to the others in as violent a manner as possible? And if so, then where the fuck was he? Flug could’ve sworn he was in the room a second ago, and hell, maybe he was too disoriented to know for sure, but he couldn’t see the demon anywhere.
All he could lock his starving gaze onto was Demencia and 5.0.5., the clueless pair coming foolishly closer to check on him. They’d make easy targets. They were practically offering themselves up on a silver platter. How could Flug possibly refuse the instincts that were screaming at him to eat?
“Okay, Flug, this is weird, even for you.”
For the briefest of moments, he saw his mother, so stupidly drawing nearer in his state of delirium. She should have known better. She made herself too easy of an antidote to his suffering. The exact same mistake that Demencia was making now.
He wished he could tell her to get away. He wanted desperately to warn her of what danger she was in. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stop himself from inching his starving body nearer, itching to dig his teeth into something –
“Demencia, step aside.” Black Hat’s familiar voice ordered from the doorway, yielding immediate compliance from her. With adept swiftness, he strode over to the unhinged doctor and proceeded to drag him away from his coworkers before any damage could be done, exiting the laboratory with Flug in tow, and leaving Demencia and 5.0.5. to their own confusion.
Black Hat dragged him through hallways and corridors, paying no mind to his scientist’s resistance. Flug’s thrashing wasn’t particularly troublesome for Black Hat, although he felt mild surprise to experience a jolt of pain inflicted by Flug’s fangs when they tried to find nourishment in the tendrils that restrained him. Judging from the retching and gagging that followed, Black Hat’s soulless form wasn’t exactly fine dining to him.
They entered a darkened storage room, the only light source coming from a flickering bulb above that fought to stay lit. Within, there laid a hero, injured and bound in place by whatever impromptu restraints Black Hat could find in the moment.
“Eat.” Black Hat ordered as he shoved Flug towards the helpless fool.
As if Flug needed any convincing.
The second he was released from Black Hat’s grip, he lunged for the hero, tearing into him with such ruthless ferocity, ripping flesh out in bloody chunks that were strewn across the room with great fervor. The crackling and snapping of bones that’d dared get in the way of Flug’s relentless fangs was like music to Black Hat’s ears. The only way this could’ve been better was if the hero had remained alive long enough to scream.
Out of breath by the time Flug was through with him, it took almost a full minute for him to regain his composure.
“My my, what a savage display.” Black Hat purred in amusement, drawing nearer to admire the carnage. “You’ve been holding out on me, doctor.”
“W-Wha… Wait, th-this is a hero f-from outs-side, isn’t it…?” Flug queried as he came back to his senses, casting a hesitant glance his boss’s way.
“They make for easy pickings. You looked like you needed something rather immediate.” Black Hat replied, wiping bloodied claws off on his clothes. With a disapproving quirk of the brow, he added, “You could have said something sooner , by the way. It’s not like I knew where your breaking point was.”
Flug couldn’t believe it. Defying all of his expectations, Black Hat actually prevented him from hurting his friends. Not only that, but kept his secret from being exposed. He had been so certain that the eldritch wanted the drama and chaos that would’ve come with him attacking 5.0.5. or Demencia, but now, with every manipulative and cruel assumption Flug had made being tossed out the window, he had no idea what to think anymore. When he next spoke, his voice was but a meek stutter. “Th-Thank you, sir...”
“’ Thank you ’?” Black Hat repeated, a ghostly twitch of annoyance betraying his smile for just a moment. “We have been over this, doctor. Your… gratitude …” That last word was uttered with notable disgust, “… is gravely misplaced. I only—“
He was stunned into silence when Flug unexpectedly clutched his hand. “You stopped me from hurting them.” The scientist spoke more firmly in spite of how his own hands trembled against Black’s. Flug dared not make eye contact, instead staring directly at the floor. “ Thank you. ”
He had almost expected to get lashed out at or shouted at for grabbing Black Hat so suddenly, and when he realized his mistake, he immediately let go… but Black Hat did neither of those things. He just stared, expression completely blank to the point of almost being comical, at where Flug had touched him. That doesn’t happen. People don’t touch him. He touches people. On his terms.
After the initial confusion wore off, his cold and calculative eyes pierced right through Flug. “… Well.” He finally spoke, his voice flat and rigid, “You can thank me by getting rid of those pests outside.”
With that, the demon took his leave. Flug watched him go, blinking slowly as he tried to process what just happened…
… No. He can think about this later. For now, he had an order to carry out.
After cleaning himself up and changing out of his bloodsoaked clothes, Flug returned to the lab with newfound energy and determination. He threw himself at his experiment with ultimate focus, not allowing Demencia or even Black Hat’s presence distract him, despite how intently the latter was watching him.
Flug completed the substance within the hour, and it did not disappoint. Everything went according to plan. Firing the gas bomb at their intruders did the trick, knocking them out just long enough for Demencia to dispose of them without a single issue.
When all was said and done, Black Hat approached the doctor from behind as he disarmed the forcefield, causing him to jump in surprise when the demon patted his shoulder. “Well done, doctor.” He said simply before walking off.
All Flug could do was stare as he left, completely befuddled.
He had always craved Black Hat’s praise, but now that he’d been getting it, it felt beyond impossible to get used to.
The strange behavior, the way he kept lingering about the lab for no discernable reason other than to watch him, how he’d been keeping Flug’s diet in check, it was all just so… bizarre. Flug racked his brain day in and day out trying to solve this mystery, but nothing ever felt like it made sense. It couldn’t be coming from a place of respect, as he knew Black Hat was incapable of respecting him. He doubted it was coming from a place of any sort of concern, as nothing about their routine had actually changed. If anything, Flug was more healthy than usual these days due to Black Hat’s assistance in keeping him properly fed.
Perhaps it was something more akin to keeping a pet. Of course, that must be it. Black Hat likely had him lumped in the same category as Lil Jack these days, just a pet to feed and maintain.
While that dehumanizing assumption made the most sense so far, Flug still couldn’t be sure…
One day, curiosity finally got the better of him. He knew he should know better than to question Black Hat, but he just couldn’t help himself this time.
It was on another day that, as was becoming usual, Black Hat had joined him in the laboratory, overseeing his work from a distance. Flug couldn’t actually be sure how much Black Hat was actually paying attention to the invention he was building, but he worked as diligently as he could under his boss’s silent supervision all the same.
A handray of sorts laid in pieces on the table while the doctor fiddled a screwdriver inside the mechanism. Black Hat had taken to leaning against the wall by the door, not a word spoken by him this whole time.
Flug nervously glanced back at him for a moment, quickly averting his eyes back to the device when he was caught staring. Finally, he forced himself to say it. “… Y-You’ve been… a-acting strangely since you first saw me feed, sir…”
“Strangely?” Black Hat’s cold voice repeated, examining his claws without a care in the world. “What are you implying?”
That ice, that frosty and bitter manner in which his boss spoke, had always rattled Flug’s nerves. It was almost enough to discourage him entirely from completing his train of thought, but he knew that would likely annoy Black Hat even more. He put his screwdriver down, turning to face the demon. “W-w-well, it’s, u-um… er…”
“Out with it, doctor.” Black Hat snapped impatiently. He cast the other man a challenging stare, as though daring him to say something he’ll regret.
At this, Flug hesitated. A lump had started forming in his throat, preventing him from speaking. Black Hat’s glare was definitely making the doctor have second thoughts about saying anything at all. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak through his discomfort. “Y-You’ve been treating me differently.”
Black Hat’s visible eye slowly narrowed, but he decided to amuse his doctor. “Oh really? How so?” He said in a sort of sarcastic, dry tone, taking a step forward.
No backing down now. Straightening his back, Flug tried very hard not to flinch away at his boss’s advances. “Well…” He began, fiddling with his hands, “You’ve been, um… H-How do I put this… nicer …?”
That was a big mistake the moment he said it, Flug’s eyes going wide once he realized his mistake far too late. Rage flashed across Black Hat’s face, the demon’s familiar growl ringing through Flug’s ears as he came closer. Flinching back and shielding his face with an arm, Flug almost fell over the table behind him as he tried to back away. “W-W-Wait, I didn’t m-mean it like tha–!” He cut himself off with a fearful yelp as Black Hat yanked him forward by the neck of his shirt, his threatening form towering over the doctor.
“How did you mean it , then?” Black Hat snarled, voice dripping with a biting venom.
“Y-You’ve been acting like you think I have more worth now!” Flug squeaked, hiding his face behind his arms with eyes squeezed shut, a clear exasperation lingering among the fear in his words. “Like because I’m half monster, that changes things!”
Expecting to get pummeled in the next few seconds, it was to Flug’s great surprise that Black Hat let him go. Risking a timid peek at his boss, his jaw almost dropped. Why was he laughing all of a sudden?
“Of course it changes things!” Blackhat grinned, as though it were ridiculous for Flug to suggest otherwise. For some reason, that prickled at Flug’s nerves. “Now that I’ve seen what you are– ”
“What I am doesn’t change anything! I’m still the same Flug I’ve always been!”
In a moment of surprise, Black Hat’s grin faltered. He’d never heard Flug take such a tone with him before, nor had he seen that particular look of frustration, dressed with hints of defiance, within Flug’s eyes.
“Have you been basing my value on species this whole time?” The scientist went on, irritation building, “What, I’m suddenly worth more to you just because I’m less human? Is that why you haven’t been kicking me around as much? Are you seriously that shallow?” With a scoff, Flug looked away, brows furrowed in anger. “If my being a human really disgusted you that much, I don’t get why you haven’t just replaced me with someone more your style.”
There was a tense moment of silence between them, although the tension was likely only on Flug’s side. Eventually, Black Hat spoke again.
“I believe that’s the first time you’ve dared to raise your voice at me, doctor.”
… Wait…
Shit.
“I’m sorry…!” He squeaked in fear, cringing away from Black Hat in anticipation of being struck. Realization of how badly he screwed up hit him like a semi truck, and he scrambled over his words trying to do damage control in whatever way he could. “I-I don’t know w-what c-came over me! I-I’m v- very sorry, sir…!”
No violence came his way, however. Instead, Black Hat eyed him with what Flug could only describe as intrigue. His head tilted a smidge to the side, not unlike that of a curious animal. When he next spoke, it was with a kind of guileless tone completely foreign to Flug’s ears. “I have always valued you, Flug.”
A disbelieving snort escaped Flug before he had the chance to stop it, slapping a hand over his mouth the second such a disrespectful noise had come out. How or why Black Hat hadn’t lashed out at him yet, Flug had no idea.
“You think I would have hired some annoying, sniveling little human if you weren’t of significant value to me? I know you’re smarter than that, doctor.” He drew closer, much to Flug’s discomfort. “In spite of what a pitiful sight you made, it was your intelligence that’d far made up for that. Your intelligence, your dedication, your perseverance, I have seen it all. From the day I met you, I knew your talents were exceptional.”
Baffled by such claims, Flug could do nothing more than stare in disbelief as his boss spoke.
“You impressed me that day, Dr. Flug. I can count on one hand the number of humans that’ve accomplished such a feat.” He went on, circling Flug to admire the work he had laid out on the table. “Humans are one of the most irritating and pathetic species I’ve ever come across in all my years. To have ended up relying on one for the sake of my business has been no less than a major frustration to me. Without you, who the hell do you think would be making all of our products?”
“I-I-” Flug started to speak, but was quickly silenced by the raise of Black Hat’s hand. Clearly, he had more to say.
“In a way, you’re not wrong. It does please me knowing that you’re not entirely human. You are something better. But, you’ve always been better than other humans in my eyes.” When he next turned to face Flug, it was with a narrow-eyed stare on his face. “So, don’t you dare suggest that I haven’t valued you until now. If that were true, I’d have left you dead in that alley all those years ago.”
At that moment, Flug had been rendered speechless. This was the first time Black Hat’s ever verbalized any sort of appreciation for Flug’s work, especially in such a direct manner. He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, tempted to reach out and poke the eldritch to make sure it was actually him and not some sort of caffeine hallucination.
Instead, he averted his eyes. As comforting as that was to hear, it didn’t change the main problem.
“You don’t treat your valuables very well, then.” Flug’s hesitant voice spoke up.
With a boisterous laugh, Blackhat twirled his cane idly. “So what? That’s of no consequence to me.”
“You seem to forget that I’m breakable, sir. It is a consequence if I decide to leave.” If he really is as valuable as Black Hat says... Looking away, he muttered under his breath, “It’s definitely something I’ve considered.”
That came as no surprise to Black Hat. He’s seen the collection of house and apartment ads the doctor’s compiled and occasionally glanced through when his boss’s temper was especially testy. But surely he’d never actually go through with leaving. Not after all the work he put in to get here. It would be absurd.
Not paying the comment much mind, Black Hat decided he was done with this conversation and headed for the door. “Get that ray done. We start filming in two hours.”
Such dismissive behavior was what Flug was used to letting roll off his back. But, this time, it felt like it didn’t matter at all compared to the other things his boss had said.
It was beyond reassuring to know that Black Hat found him important for what really mattered. There had been many a day where Flug had wondered if all of his efforts were actually counting for anything, in that regard.
Now, he won’t have to wonder.
Something new to wonder about, however, was why this conversation had left him feeling so flustered …
Their uncharacteristically genuine conversation didn’t mean everything was sunshine and daisies, of course. After all, This is the house of evil. Can’t expect much else. What Flug was used to was being yelled at. Though there was one recent incident in particular that had been… strange.
As usual, Black Hat was eager to advertise anti-hero merchandise to their viewers. The demon rarely ever began recording early without first informing Flug, but today was, unfortunately, one of those days. He already had Cam-bot recording before Flug was even in the room. It’s not like he needed Flug there, anyways, so he just went ahead and started without him. The product seemed simple enough, some kind of fireball launcher of sorts.
Black Hat was well into the presentation by the time Flug had gotten there. The doctor had appeared somewhat rushed, and was carrying with him a toolbox.
His eyes widened with terror when he entered the room to see his boss already wielding the product.
“… and with just the click of a button, your local hero will be enveloped in a Hellish blaze!” Black Hat took aim at a target across the room.
“Sir, no!” Flug shouted, darting towards him, “There’s a chemical imbalance that still needs to be–!”
Too late.
There was a flash, then a blast of intense heat as the weapon backfired. Cam-bot went toppling over sideways, making a series of distressed beeping noises, and Black Hat let out a startled snarl as his arm was blown clean off. That wasn’t too much of a concern, however, as a stream of inky black energy quickly formed a new one.
He wheeled around, eyes blazing with rage as he faced the now-shivering Flug. “You IDIOT!!!” He roared, storming over to the scientist and roughly gripping his arm. “Is your job to have our products ready in time or IS IT NOT!?”
“I-I-I’m sorry….!” Flug yelped, cowering. “I-I thought I h-had more time…! I just needed to make one minor adjustmen–” He cut himself off with a pained outcry as Black Hat’s grip tightened, near threatening to break his arm.
“I don’t want to hear EXCUSES, YOU BLOODY– You…” Black Hat trailed off, a whisper of that recent conversation with the doctor echoing in his head.
You don’t treat your valuables very well.
You seem to forget that I’m breakable.
Staring over the terrified doctor now, the way he immediately expected the worst, something felt… off. Black Hat was the one that decided to start early and without Flug’s knowledge… but that still shouldn’t excuse not having it ready before the deadline, so–!
“Sir…?” Flug’s voice, tiny and horrified as it may have been, managed to shake Black Hat out of his thoughts. Fearful eyes gazed up at him with a hint of confusion on top of the pain. Very slowly, Black Hat loosened his grip, then let go altogether and took a step back.
Flug stepped back as well at the first chance he got, gripping his hurt arm close to himself. He gave a puzzled frown. “S-Sir…. are you…. alright….?”
… How could he be asking that? It seemed so… backwards.
… It doesn’t matter.
“Get this mess cleaned up…” Black Hat finally said, his voice unusually low, “… and fix that infernal Cam-bot…”
Then, he was gone before Flug could even reply.
Watching the door close behind his boss, Flug winced as he rubbed his arm. Sighing, he picked up the dropped toolbox and turned to Cam-bot. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then…”
A flood of blood trickled down the now-lifeless body and onto the floor, Flug’s shaking arm wiping away what dribbled from his chin. With a chunk of neck completely missing from the corpse on the operation table in front of him, it was leaving quite the mess. The doctor tentatively reached up to pull his paper bag back down and cover his mouth, but Black Hat’s cane pulled his arm away before he could. Flug squirmed slightly beneath his boss’s touch as he lifted his chin , discomfort setting in him, but Black Hat paid that no mind.
A gloved thumb lightly grazing across the edge of Flug’s fangs, Black Hat’s expression was oddly monotone today. “… So, tell me.” He said suddenly. “If I’m so unbearable to live with, why do you stick around?”
“S-Sir….?” Flug responded, caught off guard by the question.
“You’re not being forced to stay here.” The eldritch went on. “You said yourself that you’ve considered leaving. Many other villains would be glad to take you. So why do you stay?”
Flug was quiet for a long moment, considering what he should say. Truly, there was only one right answer. “… B-Because the other villains aren’t you.”
At that, Black Hat paused, a twitch of surprise on his features for a second. Then, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Elaborate.”
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Flug started to fiddle with the sleeves of his labcoat. “W-W-Well, um… I-I mean, you’re… successful, c-confident, accomplished…” Oh gosh, why did he have to be listing off things he admires about his boss while they were in this position? Hardly any distance between them, and Black Hat leaned in closer with every word! Swallowing again, he tried not to get too flustered as he continued, “I-It’s just… well, you’re Black Hat. You’re one of a k-kind, the best there is. I don’t– I-I refuse to settle for less than the best.” Sheepishly, he looked to the ground, voice quieting. “You’re everything I’m not.”
Silent for quite some time, Black Hat found he was only able to give Flug a dumbfounded stare. The demon’s never had a tendency for modesty, for Flug to be so upfront about both his admirations and insecurities felt strange as can be. It was a combination that Flug likely never would’ve spoken aloud if left unprompted. Then, a smile began to form on Black Hat’s face. “Well, aren’t you the little ego-booster.” He purred, chuckling. “Although…” Stepping back and rubbing his chin in thought, Black Hat tilted his head and looked Flug up and down. “For one thing, if it’s something like confidence you’re wanting improvements on, you really shouldn’t spend your time hiding underneath that paper bag.”
Flinching back, Flug subconsciously ran his fingers across the edge of the bag. “N-N-No. I-I need it.”
“… Tsk. Fine, then. But still, I am curious…” Taking a step forward again, Black Hat brushed at the paper bag with his fingers. Flug jolted back before he could get a proper grip, almost tumbling over the body table in the process. Black Hat simply reached out with his cane, hooked it around Flug’s neck, and yanked him forward. With the other hand, he reached for the bag again.
“No!” In a panic, the trembling scientist grabbed his arm with both hands in an attempt to stop him, eyes squeezed shut.
Surprisingly, Black Hat did stop.
Flug hesitantly opened one eye to evaluate the situation. Black Hat was staring at where Flug had gripped him, same dumbfounded expression on his face as from the last time Flug touched him.
Slowly letting go, hoping that he wouldn’t try to remove the bag again, Flug frowned. “… U-Um… sir… I-If you don’t mind my asking…. W-Why is it you look so… bewildered … when I do that…?”
“Hmph,” Black Hat pulled his arm back after being let go, absentmindedly rubbing the spot he had been grabbed. He tried to cover up the bewilderment with a sly smile. “Maybe because the only time people ever dare to touch me is when we’re fighting or having sex. Why else?”
…. Flug chose to ignore that second part. His frown deepened, a touch of his own bewilderment setting in. “… So you’ve… never been, like… just… casually or platonically touched…?”
Black Hat took a moment to think about it, looking off to the side. He couldn’t recall any instances of such a thing, aside from maybe shaking hands with clients, if that were to count? But those were more like business obligations rather than anything casual or platonic. “Hmm… No, never.” He eventually concluded. His eyes narrowed just slightly when they pulled back towards Flug. “Well, unless we count you.”
Normally Flug might’ve winced away in response to the slow return of hostility in Black Hat, but he was just… too flabbergasted. The concept of going through life without that ever happening seemed so farfetched for some reason, but he supposed if you’re a guy like Black Hat, maybe it’s plausible…..?
After a long moment’s thought, he hesitantly reached out a hand, pausing near Black Hat’s right shoulder as he examined his boss’s face for permission.
Black Hat’s eyes further narrowed with skepticism at the gesture, but he made no protest. So, Flug continued. His skeptical gaze followed Flug’s hand all the way until it had made contact with his shoulder.
It was strange, how all the malice slowly drained from his boss’s face upon contact. The look in his eyes was no longer one of hostility, but rather, curiosity. Perhaps a touch of confusion, but mostly a genuine sort of curiosity that was, in a way, almost innocent-looking. It was a rather strange expression on him, Flug finding himself unable to look away until Black Hat’s questioning pupils darted to Flug’s own face, wondering why he had gone so still.
Quickly averting his eyes, Flug went back to what he was doing. Very slowly, he ran his hand down the demon’s arm, as if he were simply smoothing out the fabric of his sleeve. Gentle, yet so impactful. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could’ve sworn he felt the slightest shiver from his boss as he had done so. Another sneaking glance to Black Hat’s face confirmed that he was just as confused as Flug was about the whole thing.
Slowly still, Flug raised his other hand to meet Black Hat’s chest, just letting it rest there for a while. Then, as if snapped out of a trance, Flug realized all at once how weird this must be getting and jolted backwards, the sudden movement even startling Black Hat a tiny bit.
“I-I… um… s-sorry, sir…” There Flug was, getting all flustered again. Why the hell did these strange interactions with his boss keep stirring up such confusing butterflies in the pit of his stomach?
Black Hat raised an eyebrow slightly, but other than that, his expression remained vaguely passive. He ran his own fingers along where Flug had touched him, quiet for some time. Then, his familiar smile crept back along his face as he looked back towards the doctor. “Seems only fair that I’d get to look beneath that bag of yours now, doesn’t it?”
Crap. Flug was hoping he’d forgotten about that. His gaze fell to the floor, accepting defeat with a very hesitant nod. “I-I-I s-sup-ppose so, s-sir…” He stammered, anxiety quickly on the rise.
A victorious purr rumbled in Black Hat’s throat, and he closed the space between himself and his scientist. Hands once again meeting the bottom of Flug’s paper bag, he took unusual care in how he lifted both the bag and goggles off of his face. As soon as those harsh white lights from the room’s fluorescent bulbs hit Flug’s eyes, a sharp yelp left his throat, and he threw his face in his hands to hide.
“Seriously, Flug?” Black Hat deadpanned, unimpressed.
“I-I-I’m s-sorry. It’s t-too b-bright.” He stuttered, unable to stop trembling.
There was a moment of silence before Flug heard his boss’s voice again. “Open your eyes, doctor.”
Already feeling dizzy and anxious without the comfort of his bag, the thought of being made to endure such harsh lights on top of that was too overwhelming to handle. But the thought of angering Black Hat frightened him even more. So, he fought back every instinct that screamed at him to protect his eyes, stifled whatever stressful noises tried to escape him, and lowered his hands.
To Flug’s surprise, rather than the headache-inducing brightness he was expecting, he was greeted with a well-dimmed room, black smoke swirling above them to significantly dull the lights. No doubt compliments of Black Hat.
View of his scientist no longer obstructed, the wide-grinning demon took hold of Flug’s chin, lifting his head to get a better look. He could feel the halfling swallow nervously, but was too focused on taking in his appearance to notice or comment. Honestly, Flug looked like any normal human being if you looked past the eyes and teeth.
But Black Hat didn’t. He was especially focused on those eyes, this being the first time he’s ever actually seen them goggle-free.
Flug’s eyes were without a doubt attention-grabbing. Where a human’s eyes would normally be white, Flug’s were an abyss of pitch-black, glowing white pupils being the only contrast to exist within.
“Captivating…” Black Hat commented under his breath. While the comment was not specifically addressed for Flug, he certainly reacted to it, feeling an intense heat rise to his cheeks. His boss definitely took notice of that, smirk widening in response.
Embarrassed and feeling like he was going to pass out, Flug quickly grasped for his bag and pulled away from Black Hat, struggling to pull it over his head again through short and shaky breaths.
Evidently, having the bag and goggles was a comfort thing as well as an eye protection thing.
Satisfied, Black Hat gave a firm nod and turned for the door, smoke dissipating with a snap of his fingers. “Clean up your mess and get back to work.” He ordered as he left.
Flug had to take a moment to regain himself, doing everything he could to calm his nerves. With the combination of deep breaths and counting numbers in his head to refocus, the doctor slowly but surely found his composure again.
That was… quite the experience… Almost surreal ….
Placing a hand on the side of his head in confusion, Flug shook it off and went to take care of the body. The entire experience didn’t stop running through his head the whole while.
There were no words Flug had that could describe how their altered relationship had continued to shift and morph since then.
Flug first noticed it with the way Black Hat’s eyes studied him, bore through him right to the bone and stripped his soul bare. There lived no mordacity or annoyance behind his constant gazes, which was unnervingly strange in and of itself. Worse was that Flug couldn’t tell what Black Hat was looking at him with. Was it condescension? It didn’t feel like something that negative... Maybe… curiosity? Interest? But interest in what? No matter what explanation his mind tried to present, Flug knew there was something he had to be missing. Something he wasn’t seeing.
The mystery was only made harder to solve by the way Black Hat would touch him. In the past, the only form of physical contact they’d ever shared was aggressive in nature, as Black Hat had a nasty habit of manhandling anybody nearby in his moments of explosive rage. As such, it was hard not to flinch when the demon would put his hands on him. But, especially after that unusual encounter they’d had, his touches have become shockingly gentle.
What were once brief pats on the back became lingering touches, claws tracing temperate lines along his meek frame, a hand resting on his shoulder just a bit too long… He’d also just stand far closer than usual whenever they were going over work projects together. Flug thought for a moment that perhaps all this time spent around Black Hat’s eldritch presence was finally driving him insane, but there was no way that he could be imagining these things. Out of all things for his mind to try and play tricks with, why something like this?
Furthermore, as someone who’s always enjoyed his alone time, Flug simply couldn’t wrap his head around why Black Hat kept joining him in the lab for the most benign of times. Even today, all he was doing was reading a newspaper with his morning acid, something he usually did in the comfort of his own office.
Occasional glances in his boss’s direction yielded the same results, those strange stares that made Flug feel so vulnerable being aimed back at him every now and then. He tried to focus on his work, to throw himself into his invention to distract from the outside world as usual, but his rattled nerves simply refused to let him do that today.
The next time he found his boss staring, Flug put down his tools, confronting the issue with a meek question.
“A-Are you ups-set with me?”
A glimmer of curiosity passed through Black Hat’s eyes. He put his newspaper down, that unnerving gaze completely honed in on his scientist. “What makes you think I’m upset with you?”
“W-Well, it’s… uh… I-I don’t kn-know, you’ve just b-been kind of…” Flinching slightly as Black Hat rose from his seat to approach him, Flug greatly struggled to finish that thought, looking all around the lab to avoid any sort of eye contact. “Y-y-you’ve b-been s-st- staring a l-lot lately, a-a-and, um–” He backed up as his boss got closer, just barely catching himself when he knocked into the table behind him, “A-and th-the t- touching … I-I just d-don’t u-und-derstand w-what–”
Flug’s stuttering was cut short when Black Hat took the side of his face into his hand, turning the scientist’s head to make their eyes meet.
“Tell me, doctor,” Black Hat purred, “Do I look upset to you?”
“N-n-no…?” Flug squeaked in response.
“There is your answer.” His head lolled to the side, studying Flug far too closely for comfort. His hand slinked down from Flug's face, the doctor withdrawing a sharp breath as deadly claws traced along his neck before finding its new resting place on his shoulder. “Does it bother you when I touch you?”
“W-Would it m-mat-tter if it d-did…?”
The way Black Hat narrowed his eyes at him, the hints of an annoyed frown starting to tug at his lips, quickly startled Flug into correcting his behavior. He straightened his back, answering the question directly this time. “N-no sir, it’s n-no bother.”
Just like that, Black Hat seemed to relax again. “Good.” He pulled his hand away, returning to the couch to pick up his newspaper. “You look like you’re having trouble focusing, so I suppose I’ll leave you to it for now.”
And, just like that, he was gone.
That… did not answer any of Flug’s questions.
Honestly, it was likely in Flug’s better judgment to stop questioning these changes in behavior to Black Hat’s face. Confusing as their new dynamic may have been, at least it was better than getting thrown around like a ragdoll on a near-daily basis.
That wasn’t the way Black Hat saw it, however.
The way Black Hat saw it, all of this peculiar behavior had been a simple case of testing the waters. Unfortunately, his next move would be one Flug could’ve never prepared for.
Aaaand here’s where things get a little tumblr-unsafe, so to the AO3 void you go! (Please heed the warning tags over there)
#villainos#villainous#paperhat#black hat#flug#demencia#505#OP#fanfiction#my writing#now watch as this has like 20 mistakes i missed LMAO
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I spent an hour yesterday trying to find an ask I sent once upon a time about the "Childhood friends to lovers pipeline" with Vil and Jack but alas, tumblr won't let me find it so I guess I'll ask you two about your thoughts on it again encase any ideas have changed? Love your character takes and art as always!
Hi again! And sorry for the late reply, I wanted to find that ask you’ve mentioned and I finally did. Here it is! Also here is our very old hc post about these two, but you’ve seen it already: I linked it in my previous reply to you too lol
Not a lot has changed since my last reply, because we didn’t really have a chance to dive deeper into their relationship, so I’m writing this with pretty much the same mindset that I had 2 months ago. That being said, these two deserve more love, so I’ll give you 3 more headcanons.
A flashback-y one, a general one and a spicy one.
There were rumors about Jack and Vil being lovey-dovey with each other even before they kissed for the first time when they were kids. And the other kids wouldn’t dare to say it in their faces because they were kind of terrified of both of them, but there were some nasty things said about them behind their backs. It never bothered Jack, but he was worried that it might bother Vil. Vil’s reaction to that was to start holding Jack’s hand all the time when they were playing outside, so he also took it well… or was just being provocative lol But he still got shy when Jack smooched his cheek in front of some bullies.
At the end of their early morning jog, Vil sometimes kisses Jack on the cheek before going back to his dorm. When Jack got used to it, Vil suddenly stopped doing that because he wanted to see if Jack would start going for a kiss himself or address it in any way. Jack couldn’t address it, because it was too embarrassing… but grabbing Vil’s shoulders and pulling him closer to kiss him on the lips certainly wasn’t!
One time when they were having sex, Jack got so aroused that he actually bit Vil’s neck. He covered it with his mouth entirely too, really went animalistic for a moment there. And then he immediately felt embarrassed about it and wanted to stop (there is no way Vil wouldn’t get mad at him doing that), but couldn’t, because he felt Vil’s hand on his head that made him sink his teeth even deeper into his skin. Vil doesn’t remember doing that though, maybe because he reached the orgasm at that exact moment.
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I’m going to counter your anon who says AB isn’t getting karma.
I think she is. A Little bit already.
First, her “husband’s” fanbase despises her. Not all, but I’d say a loud minority that’s also out there ready to snatch her wig for anything she tries to do (lol).
Anytime she does something remotely embarrassing there’s a group of people waiting to out her - remember Liberia? 😂 and they have receipts and keep screenshots. She can’t hide unless she goes private but then she’ll never get more followers. 🤣
And if she thinks these people will stop if she has his baby? She can think again. That’s never happening. I think she burned all opportunity to make peace with his fan base and people want to see her gone. There are a ton of crazy fans that go way too far, yes, but unfortunately shes made enemies for life. Should have thought twice before having your soulmate mock and troll your fans on your behalf and then posting yourself showering to the world as an FU. Now when you try to claim you’re so shy your posts will be spammed with your own nudes.
The general public still does not notice or care about her. She’s so uninteresting and irrelevant her name is still getting spelled wrong. By people in her own country 🙈
Her movie backed by the largest US talent agency made no noise at all in any of the box offices and especially not in the United States of America. She was only only in it briefly and the reviews don’t even mention her. Not really going to help her future IT girl case because in comparison, like Jenna Ortega gained 10 million fans in like two weeks. I’m sure a bunch of them were bots too but let me tell you EVERYOne was watching Wednesday back in Nov-Dec 22. So her gaining that much really isn’t that far off the bat. Not to mention, AB’s big moment to shine was around the same time as Jenna and Jenna beat her and didn’t have to date anyone famous. 🙊
Even Chris back in 2019 - his peak popularity and then 2020 - he was trending at times daily, weekly. He was trending #1 on twitter for at least 24-48 hours during his oopsie weekend. His tweet after that telling people to go vote got millions of likes. He used to get crazy engagement just for breathing. I remember after endgame and then knives out people were talking about him like he had just popped up on the scene…this man had been in the industry at least 20 where at that point. lol
Chris came on IG and I’m pretty sure he gained a million followers in about 24 hours. Yes, there are celebs that did it faster than him but remember he’s always been more of an under the radar celebrity and he never really tried to be otherwise. So for the fact he was hitting 40 years old and joined IG ten years after everyone else and got 1 million the first day is impressive. So yes, he had star power. Jenna has it now.
And yes, CE has lost that star power and in part it’s due to him being with AB. So yes, he’s losing due to his decision to be linked with her, which could be called his karma…
But miss wannabe IT girl? Whew.
Try as she might, Her followers….basically capped at 840K and I will bet Elon musk’s entire net worth she was hoping to hit 1 million the night she went public with her now husband. People on tumblr even saw that she went and pinned her Mrs Harris movie post like the same day their pap pics came out. That’s how you know old girl was waiting and hoping to see her numbers go up.
Lastly, her “husband” is still more popular than her. Even though his fanbase has deteriorated she hasn’t gained more popularity’s I think this may really really grate her (don’t ask me why, I just have this feeling) because she’s the young and vibrant one. She wants to be adored and no matter what she tries to do, photoshopping herself in every picture she posts, she’s not outgaining him in terms of recognition. People will only know her if his name is added first.
So…yeah. Maybe you think she has it all and she’s not getting anything bad. But I would say karma works in mysterious ways. Sometimes it’s not as obvious as you think.
OH! THANK YOU, AN🫶N!!!
God, this really made me feel so much better after reading all the shit Elijah posted on Medium. 🥹
Especially when you mentioned "Karma isn't as obvious as you think". It's something I made a realization recently. Because I truly believe in Karma, I just wanted Karma to be more obvious, but sometimes, it just isn't.
And honestly, that makes it better 😆
Anyway, back to what you said about Albitch's Karma... Ohhhh, the number of laughs you gave me is PRICELESS!!!
I would seriously pay to see the screenshots of HER posts being filled with her own nudes 😆 Reap what you sow!
And I know it will not get any better for her. She's dragging Chris through the mud, and let's just say, that the fans that love Chris, definitely hate her. Beyond her "marrying" him.
Also, how Chris seems to contradict everything he used to say whenever he's with her. Hell, she doesn't even have THE ASS that Chris would be into 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 so, that's a VERY BIG contradiction. And, regards to their marriage... PRIVACY, MY ASS!!!
That said, I love how clearly you can see everything, once you get a level head. That means... Karma is definitely real.
Also, lemme just tag @blue-ice715 because it's her post that I reblogged, and she would definitely love to read this. 😊
#An🫶n asks#booky reacts#booky answers#An Ask for blue-715#chris evans#chris evans fandom#Yeah. I love this Ask so much!#Team Chris#❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 5: I’m Coming Back]
Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.
A/N: I adore you all so much!!! Only 3 more chapters left. 💜
Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.
Chapter warnings: Language, expert-level witchcraft, Adventures With Aegon™️, sexual references, pregnancy, combat-related violence, this fic is for readers 18+!!!
Word count: 6.2k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @mochimommy2002 @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @itzwhatever123 @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @penteknati @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @404slayer404 @sunafterthethunder @torchbearerkyle @sweetashoneyhoney @quartzs-posts @lauraneedstochill @nctma15 @queenofshinigamis @rapoficeandfire @hinata7346 @curiouser-an-curiouser @eleganttravelercloud @meadowofsinfulthoughts @imjustboredso @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @myspotofcraziness @bregarc @mikariell95 @doingfondue
💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜
On Dragonstone, Jace and Luke are sparring as the surf of the Narrow Sea gurgles at their heels. Their footprints mark the wet sand like bruises. Their swords clang and screech against each other. Daemon is coaching them, but somewhat halfheartedly; his mind is elsewhere. His mind is in the throne room, in the future, in the past. Rhaenyra is watching the match with great enthusiasm and shouting encouragements. And this is when Grand Maester Gerardys brings the rogue prince the scroll.
Daemon still has friends in the City Watch from when he served as their Commander, and so a raven found its way to him. Even if he did not possess such clandestine disciples, Daemon would have soon learned of the events transpiring in King’s Landing. Everyone knows about them. Maesters are waking up to tapping, squawking ravens from the Reach to Winterfell.
He unravels the scroll, reads it once, raises his eyebrows, reads it again. And then Daemon begins to snicker. It’s a sharp, sardonic, goading sound. It’s the sort of sound that begs for someone to stab their knuckles into him, to give him an excuse to bury them. Rhaenyra glances over at Daemon. He stops snickering, thinks about it some more, picks back up again.
“What is so amusing?” Rhaenyra asks, smiling a little. After all these years, there remains an immutable part of her that can’t resist seeing him happy. It doesn’t happen so often now. It is a thing to be treasured. She could never put into words how she feels about him, how she has always felt about him; it is something deeper than flesh. It is an entanglement of souls.
Daemon’s eyes—impish, mutinous—rise from the scroll. “You are never going to believe what Aemond Targaryen has done.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Helaena brings you lemon cakes and clean clothes. Alicent brings you a prayer book so you can beg the Seven for absolution. Sir Criston brings you his gallant, reticent well-wishes. Aemond brings you his body and his voice, everything he’s made of; he sits on the floor and holds your hands through the iron bars, both of them, like you’re back under the heart tree together reciting marriage vows in the sight of gods older than the stars. He asks if you are warm enough, if you are eating, if you are in any pain, if you want him to cut down the guards and free you from this prison and smuggle you away to Dorne. You steadfastly refuse his offer. Aemond’s future is here in King’s Landing, and there is nowhere you can run without losing him. Everything in you fights with bared teeth and drawn claws against leaving. It is an instinct so strong it borders on premonition.
There are four levels of dungeons in the Red Keep. The second is for people like you: those of noble birth, those still entitled to some comforts. Your cell is windowless but otherwise adequate. It is private and sparsely furnished with a bed, wash basin, and table and chair for meals. You eat on the floor with Aemond instead, passing whispers and morsels of food through the bars. It need not have ended up this way. If when Axel Hightower reappeared you had promptly agreed to return to him—to Oldtown, his keeping, his bed—no one could have begrudged you an honest mistake committed under the assumption that he was dead. The lords and ladies of Westeros would have been all too happy to overlook any sordid dalliances provided you left the prince free for one of their daughters to wed. But that’s not what you did. You refused to return to your legal husband. Aemond refused to relinquish you. He stood in front of you threatening to gut anyone who tried to touch you until you told him that it was alright, that you would willingly go to a dungeon cell, that you were not afraid. It has been three days since then. And tomorrow, the gods—the court believes the Seven, but you think immortals of a different sort—will decide to whom you are truly married.
In the depths of the night when you are alone with your thoughts, staring up at the ceiling with rage-orange torchlight trickling in from the hallway, you wonder about things for which there are no answers: How am I going to cast a spell if I’m locked up in here? How am I going to protect Aemond?
“Do you think he can win?” you had asked Sir Criston as he stood on the other side of the iron bars, his eyes averted and his face grim. He is a man at war with himself: his morals are outraged, but his loyalty is irrevocable. If you are indeed Aemond’s wife, then you are an extension of Alicent’s children, and he is honor-bound to support you.
“No,” Sir Criston had said. “But I’ll help him try.”
~~~~~~~~~~
You are attempting to read the prayer book Alicent gave you—poor reading material is better than no reading material at all, and you’re trying to appreciate it as a work of fiction—when you hear footsteps. You don’t recognize them at all. They reverberate down the hallway, the only sound in the cool stony quiet. You are the sole prisoner currently held on this level. The guards watch from the doorway of the hall, but they do not interfere when you have visitors. The footsteps come to a stop outside your cell. Axel Hightower stands there.
You glance up at him momentarily, then back down to your book. “I hope the prince doesn’t know you’re here. You should leave before he murders you.”
“We need to talk.”
“There is nothing for us to discuss, I assure you.”
“There is, wife,” Axel insists. “There is.”
You put down the prayer book. He is the man who you remember, but he also isn’t; he is wiry and solemn and jagged in places where he was soft before. You cannot imagine this man riding in a lighthearted joust and asking for your favor as he once did. You cannot imagine him smiling with chubby, childish cheeks and mellow eyes. You search yourself for any semblance of affection for him. If you ever had it, it is long gone now. “What do you want?”
“To implore you to relent, to see reason,” he says. “I will overlook this indiscretion. You believed I was dead, you were in need of comfort, you were…” He hunts for the right word. “Vulnerable. Impressionable. I will forgive you entirely for what happened with Prince Aemond. He took advantage of you, I’m sure of it. He is monstrous in both body and mind.”
“He sees more with one eye than you do with two.”
Axel’s gaze narrows. It is brimming with confounded, small-minded vexation, like a child who’s been told not to play with something that could destroy them: fire, perhaps, or an irresistibly gleaming blade, light reflecting from polished metal like sunbeams off waves. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I won’t go back to you, Axel.”
“You must. There is no other possible outcome. Don’t you understand? If I let you go, I would be ruined. No well-bred woman would marry me while the realm mutters about me being a bigamist behind our backs. There is no walking away from this union. And I will not be made a laughingstock, a cuckold. The Seven saved me from starvation on that island. They surely have a greater destiny in store for me than watching my reputation crumble into ash.”
You refuse to give him the victory of your full attention. You stare at the wall instead, counting the stones there. They are chipped and cracked and irregular, jutting out like dragon teeth. “I won’t do it.”
“But I will provide for you!” he says, exasperated. “I will pardon you, I will raise this child as my own. We can build something incredible together. We can ask for favors from Otto Hightower, lands and castles and enviable positions at court for our children one day, and he will give them to us as payment for our willingness to remedy this…this…disaster!”
“I am aware of no disaster,” you reply defiantly.
Axel’s face ages, darkens, sharpens. His skull is a demon straining against his leathery, sun-lined skin. You imagine moon-white bone splitting through the flesh. You imagine your stomach lurching with revulsion if he ever touches you again. “Oh, seven hells. You really think you’re in love with him.”
“I owe you no explanations.”
“You owe me everything!” he snarls, gripping the iron bars as he glares into the cell at you. “A marriage to me, into my house, was the best possible match your father could hope for. And now that isn’t good enough for you? Now you think yourself worthy of a Targaryen, of a prince? You are delusional, wife. Perhaps your grief for me drove you mad. Perhaps you cannot be trusted with the care of that child once it’s born.”
“The only thing that could drive me mad is the thought of your hands ruffling my child’s hair, lifting them onto a horse, teaching them to wield a sword. You are so unworthy it sickens me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not going to live in fear, Axel. Not of you. Not of anyone.”
He takes several deep breaths, rubs his face with both hands, regroups, calms himself. “In any case, what you want is of little consequence. Ivar Kellington will win the trial by combat, this is a certainty. It need not result in death. All Prince Aemond has to do is yield. He will yield, wife, this I guarantee you. And you will return with me to Oldtown.”
“I’ll throw myself from a balcony first.”
He studies you with wounded, bewildered eyes. “You’re so different from the woman I used to know.”
You reply without looking at him. “You never knew me at all.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The footsteps race down the hallway; they rustle through the straw that litters the dirt floor. These ones are light and swift and wholly familiar.
“I heard he was here,” Aemond says in a rush. He hates Axel bitterly, perhaps almost as much as he hates Rhaenyra’s sons. The vitriol between them is so great that Otto Hightower has knights of the Kingsguard following each of them around the castle to ensure neither kills the other. Presently, two knights are hovering in the doorway of the hall and trading hearsay with three dungeon guards. They are discussing Ivar Kellington’s manslaughter record; is it ten victims, or twelve? You try not to listen.
“Fear not. He caused me no harm and retreated quickly. I made him very unwelcome.”
“I wish he had the valor to fight me himself. I would take great pleasure in introducing his entrails to his boots.”
“I know, Silver.” You touch his face through the bars, your palm pressed to his scarred cheek. He kisses you; the cold, rough, flaking metal that separates you scrapes both of your skin. It’s a pain that you would bear a thousand times over. You wonder if you will ever feel him inside you again. You wonder if he will ever meet his child. “I suppose I should offer to return to Axel and free you from this conflict, this suffocating weight. I should offer to let you go.”
“There is no need. I have told you already. I will have no other.” He kisses you again, knots his fingers in your hair, murmurs something in High Valyrian that you can’t understand.
“You are not permitted to use words I don’t know yet.”
“Then I’ll just have to teach you them all. We have time. We have the rest of our lives.” He lowers his voice so the knights and guards cannot hear, and for the first time you see fear—raw, primal fear—flicker in his eye, blue like the ocean, like fresh bruises, like veins. “I could use your help, Moonstone.”
“You have it. But I can’t do much from in here.”
“What do you need?” he asks softly. “For a protection spell. I remember the scent of sage. And the bloody bear teeth, of course.”
“Rosemary. Sea salt. A few pieces of black jade, small enough for me to crush with a mortar and pestle. A candle. It has to be white, pure white. And my flint and dagger to light it.”
Aemond nods distractedly. “I can get all of that. The dagger, flint, and mortar and pestle are still hidden in your room. Sir Criston can help me with the bear. The maesters can help me with the rest of it.” His eye shifts to the iron bars of your cell. “I can’t get you out of here though. I am followed by the Kingsguard anywhere I go within the castle walls. They are posted outside my chambers at night. The only guests granted privacy are Sir Criston and members of the royal family.”
You mull this over; you steep in it like a swelteringly hot bath. At night, the dungeon guards are stationed on the other side of the hallway door to give you privacy. They peek in on you every few hours—the creaking of the door sometimes wakes you—but otherwise they play cards and exchange off-color jokes and maybe even indulge in a nap or two as far as you know. They leave the keys to your cell hanging from a rusty nail protruding from the hallway wall. Aemond could go hunting with Sir Criston and that would raise no suspicions; he’s spent a great deal of time with the knight preparing for the trial by combat. He could speak with the maesters in the library and that would be perfectly fine. He could accept packages from them, even. He could enter Helaena’s chambers—which contain your bedroom as a (former, fallen) lady-in-waiting—and emerge with a bundle of goods tucked under one arm, and no one would bat an eye. But he cannot bring anything to you without the Kingsguard following him, without the dungeon guards jolting awake to oversee him. There is no way to free you so you can cast your spell beneath the heart tree. There is no way for Aemond to deliver you the necessary ingredients and tools without exposing you as a witch. If only there was someone else, anyone else…someone versed in deceit and slinking and shameful, treacherous secrets. At last you ask: “Who aren’t they watching quite so closely?”
The idea hits Aemond like a fist. He smiles. “You know, it is said that there are hidden passageways that crisscross the Red Keep. Maegor the Cruel had the castle builders executed so they could not spill its mysteries. I, being the upstanding and honorable prince that I am, am completely inexperienced with such things. But perhaps I know a man who is less…virtuous.”
Your lips meet one final time, hot and famished in the damp, ominous chill of the dungeon. You thread a lock of his sleek silver hair between your fingers. His hand closes around your moonstone pendant, his eye shut as if in prayer.
~~~~~~~~~~
It is not long after midnight—judging by your rough estimation—when you hear a scratching out in the hallway like rat claws. There are rats in the dungeons, even on this level, you’ve seen more than a few of them (though you did not mention that to Aemond); but this is no rodent. You creep out of bed and wait by your cell door, clutching the cold iron bars. As you watch, a small, square wooden flap opens up out of the dirt and straw of the hallway floor. Disturbed, ancient earth puffs up into the air like filthy smoke. Out of the opening, which is just wide enough for his shoulders to fit through, rises Aegon Targaryen. He stifles a cough in the crook of his elbow and crawls out into the hallway.
“Hi,” you whisper, amused.
“Hi.” He looks around in the dim torchlight, locates the ring of keys hanging by a rusty nail, and starts trying to shove them one by one into the lock of your cell. The fourth key is the winner. The cell door squeals as he opens it.
“Shh!”
“The hinges are old, what do you want me to do?!” he whispers back. He smells like wine and sweat and dirt, but he is relatively steady. There are cobwebs in his white-blond hair. “Bad dungeon cell, bad, you be quiet!”
He puts the ring of keys back on the wall. You scurry to your bed and begin bunching up the blankets and pillows so it might look like you’re obediently sleeping there upon a cursory check.
“Don’t bother,” Aegon says, then points to the wooden door he came through. “We can’t cover that back up if we both go in.”
You nod, understanding perfectly. You don’t have much time.
You follow him through the trapdoor. You have to crouch in order to pull it shut by the rope handle; the passageway is only about half as tall as you are. There is weak torchlight coming from farther down the tunnel. “This way,” Aegon says. You crawl towards the light, and after a while there is a steep decline like a colossal step on a staircase. When you drop over the other side—facing backwards so you can grip the top of the step as you lower yourself down—you find a corridor tall enough to stand upright in. Aegon hands you the lit torch from a sconce on the wall and picks up the burlap sack he left on the floor here, the one Aemond must have given him. He groans as he lifts it; the mortar and pestle give it considerable heft. “It took me two hours to find you, can you believe that? I’ve been using these passageways for years but I’ve never had cause to visit the dungeons before. I drank all the wine already. Now I’m almost sober. It’s a terrible inconvenience.”
The floor is made of packed, reddish earth. Cobwebs swing limply from the stones that form the walls and ceiling. There is a cold, biting draft; the sun never touches this place to warm it. There are clusters of bats suspended by their feet. There are stark white specks on the ground…rat bones, you realize. “You’ve brought women here?”
“As if you are above getting impregnated in surreptitious, gloomy places.” He opens the burlap sack to peer inside. “What’s this stuff for, anyway? There’s a knife, and some rocks, and, like, leaves, I guess, and…oh, what the fuck! There are teeth in here!”
“Bear teeth,” you say. “But I think I need something stronger this time.”
In the firelight, he blinks at you, the pieces clicking together: the horrid ingredients of a forbidden spell, Aemond’s peculiar luck in the joust, your strange Northerner blood, this errand he’s been conscripted for. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”
You reply without answering him. “I need you to take me to Balerion’s skull.”
Aegon weaves through a series of snakelike corridors, barely needing the torchlight to navigate. A hidden door opens out into a hallway that leads to the vast, vacant chamber. What remains of the Black Dread is suspended over an altar of lit candles. In the shadowy, treacherous light, you can catch glimpses of eyes glaring hungrily from Balerion’s empty sockets; not a muddy green like Vhagar’s, but blood-red, wrathful, murderous.
“You seemed to know your way here well enough,” you note.
“Nothing gets women wetter than hearing about how I’m ‘the blood of the dragon’ and all that.” He leaves the burlap sack on the floor and climbs up onto the altar, stomping out candles as he does. He looks doubtfully at Balerion’s large, crooked, protruding teeth. “You really think we can pry one of those out?”
“We have to.” You slide the torch into a sconce and take your dagger—decorated with the roaring bear of House Mormont—out of the burlap sack. You scramble up onto the altar, burning your ankles and shins in the process, and jab the sharp, narrow blade into the sliver of space where the fanglike tooth is fused to Balerion’s upper jaw. You saw the dagger back and forth, trying to loosen the root of the tooth.
“Let me do it,” Aegon says, extending his open palm.
“I can manage.”
“Aren’t you not supposed to be overexerting yourself? Why do you think I didn’t have you carry your little bag of contraband? Just give me the dagger.” He picks up where you left off, grunting with the effort of wrestling with the tooth. “Is this sacrilegious? My participation in witchcraft?”
“I don’t think you’re getting into heaven either way.”
“There are seven heavens, you heathen.”
“And none of them will want you.”
“Says the bigamist.” He smirks at you. His tone is fond, but there is trepidation there as well. “It’s a shame that Axel’s a Hightower. Otherwise Aemond could just kill him. But alas…” He recites this next part as if he has heard it a million times on a million separate occasions. He’s almost mocking it. “No man is so accursed as the kinslayer.”
You think of your chosen husband, the prince, the man you love. He is quick to threaten, true, but you have never detected a certain violence in him, a certain nonchalant quality when balancing the value of human life. “Has he ever killed anyone before?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“But you think he’s capable of it.”
“Oh yes. Under the right circumstances. He’s prepared his whole life to spill blood in pursuit of legacy. He’s studied warfare and weaponry. He’s trained with the sword. He’s coveted the crown. He’s wanted it for so long, but he’s never felt its weight.” Aegon frowns as he struggles with Balerion’s stubborn tooth. “Maybe it should have been him who was born first. Maybe it shouldn’t have been. I don’t fucking know.”
You stare into the Black Dread’s sinister dead gaze, ice-cold dread twisting through your bones like tendrils of ivy. “I shouldn’t have fought Axel. I should have agreed to leave King’s Landing with him. I could have prevented all of this.”
Aegon shakes his head, chuckling. “No, Aemond will never surrender you. You are a peace offering from the Seven. Or the Old Gods, or the universe itself, or fate or destiny, whatever you choose to believe in.”
“What do you mean?”
“They took his eye but gave him a dragon. They took his throne but gave him you.” Balerion’s tooth pops loose. Aegon hands it to you, grinning. “Now what comes next, witch?”
You leave the torch in a secret passageway that leads out into the godswood; there can be no inessential light to attract the attention of the myriad of noble guests slumbering in the Red Keep. Under the heart tree where you were wed just days ago—days that feel like decades—you ignite the white candle with your dagger and flint and let the melted wax become one with the ancient root like bloodlines knit together in the womb. You grind the bloody bear teeth, sage, rosemary, sea salt, and pieces of black jade with the mortar and pestle. As you do this, and under your direction, Aegon crushes the dragon tooth into fragments with a rock. Then you mix Balerion’s savage essence with the other ingredients.
“What will this do?” Aegon says, meaning the spell. And then he adds with deliberate skepticism: “If it works, I mean.”
“It will protect him.” And you chant the familiar, ancient words as you finish grinding the herbs and salt and grains of black jade and shards of teeth into a fine pinkish powder, candlelight dancing across your skin: “Protect him. Break others if you must, burn others if you must, bury others if you must…but protect him.”
You hear the distant snap of a twig. You whirl towards the noise. In the darkness—punctuated only by light from the moon and stars—it is impossible to discern details. Your eyes search for movement, for faces. You cannot find any.
“What?” Aegon asks.
“Nothing. Never mind.” You pass him the mortar full of pale pink dust gingerly, as if it is a small child. He places it into the burlap sack. “You have to spread it under his bed. All of it. Every last crumb.”
“I will.” And something about the way Aegon says this makes you trust him entirely.
After taking a moment to consider it, you hold out your dagger from Bear Island. “Give him this too.”
Aegon escorts you back to the dungeon. Everything is exactly as you left it; if anyone has inspected your cell, there are no apparent signs. When Aegon disappears through the wooden trapdoor, you cover it with a layer of dirt and plenty of straw as well. Then you return to your cell. You can’t lock the latch from inside without keeping the ring of keys and thus revealing your temporary escape, but you can shut the door and hope the guards don’t notice or—more likely—assume it was their own oversight. You lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling. In disjointed, dreamlike flashes, you think of Aegon and Helaena and Axel, Sir Criston, the sad queen, the dying king, Rhaenyra and Daemon on Dragonstone, your child, your mother, your husband, dragonfire. And you are balancing on the knife’s edge of sleep when you hear a guard come in to check on you.
He lumbers down the hallway, rattles the cell door, mutters about his idiot colleague, and re-locks it. Then he retreats back to his post to nap the rest of his night shift away.
~~~~~~~~~~
The trial by combat is held in the courtyard where Prince Aemond has trained since boyhood. Nobles—men, women, children, swooning aspiring princesses—encircle the dirt-floored arena and babble amongst themselves, offering prayers and wagering bets. They do not gamble on who will win, but rather how long it will take before Aemond yields: two minutes, one minute, less. The royal family is watching from above in their seats on top of the castle wall. The withering king is absent. Otto Hightower is stern-faced and anticipating an imminent resolution of this crisis: Aemond will yield, Axel’s cause will prevail, and you will be dragged back to Oldtown to rot in obscurity while the prince marries a Baratheon or a Stark or a Lannister or some other daughter of a powerful and wealthy house. What Queen Alicent wants is less clear. Her face is pale and pained, perhaps even conflicted. Helaena is wringing her hands. Aegon is very, very drunk. He lurches out of his chair—decorated with a seven-pointed star—and reels down the steps to visit you. As you are not yet (nor ever likely to be) an accepted member of the royal family, you are standing on the ground with the other courtiers. They keep their distance from you. They act as if touching you would give them greyscale or plague or worse.
“You look lovely,” Aegon slurs. You are dressed in the moonstone gown you last wore on the night Axel’s reappearance ruined your life. It matches the pendant strung around your neck.
“You look barely conscious.”
“Yes,” Aegon says woefully. “I don’t care to witness what happens next.”
The crowd cheers as the combatants enter the courtyard. Ivar Kellington, towering and heavily armored, strides in with Axel trotting alongside him. Aemond is accompanied by Sir Criston, who is still offering last-minute wisdom, demonstrating techniques with his own sword. The prince spots you, smiles, approaches you as nobles grumble disapprovingly. When he is close, you can see that he has rubbed the dust from your spell onto his forearms, his palms, his throat. To anyone else it would look like mere chalk or salt. To you it is a declaration of faith. Axel glowers at you both from the other side of the courtyard.
Aemond is wearing hardly any armor at all. His strategy is moving quickly and agilely; heavy armor would only constrain him, slow him down, obstruct his already halved vision. Knights of the Kingsguard follow him towards you and then look uncertainly to Otto for guidance. Otto Hightower sighs and covers his face with one hand. The knights stand by.
“I have much to thank you for,” Aemond says, and gestures to what hangs from his belt: his sword, his dagger, and your own dagger as well, the roaring bear of the hilt glinting in the sunlight. His hands cradle your face and he kisses you deeply, feverishly, his tongue darting between your lips. Your knees go weak; your thoughts, for one blissful moment, dissolve into a haze. “I’ll be needing more of you soon. I’m starving for it. I’m coming back.”
“Aemond,” you plead in a whisper, the first time you’ve ever called him by his true name.
“I’m coming back,” he repeats determinedly, his grin crooked. “Fear not, wife. You cannot rid yourself of me. I have claimed you for life.” And then he murmurs something in High Valyrian—the same thing he said when he visited you in the dungeon, the words you have not yet learned—before breaking away to meet Sir Kellington in the center of the courtyard.
You look to Aegon for a translation. Your husband often laments his siblings’ lack of scholarly interest in High Valyrian. Helaena knows only the dragon commands. Aegon refuses to study the language beyond what he needs to communicate with Sunfyre, but he can understand quite a bit of it. He overheard plenty of conversations between Rhaenyra and King Viserys as a young boy. The king never bothered to teach High Valyrian to his children with Alicent.
The racoon-eyed, firstborn son smiles. “He said that he loves you.” And then he totters away to sit with his family on top of the wall.
There is a septon spewing some ritualistic opening words. “We are gathered here in the sight of gods and men…”
You recite your own words within your mind. Protect him, protect him, protect him.
Axel Hightower is staring intensely, trying to catch your gaze. You ignore him. You had meant what you said about throwing yourself off a balcony before you would submit to returning to him. But perhaps you would prefer cutting his throat.
Ivar Kellington and Aemond face each other, clutching swords in their right fists. The man they call Killington is deathly still. Aemond is shifting his weight from one foot to the other, keeping himself lithe and alert. He looks so small next to the giant, so young. You picture him as the boy he once was, runtish and outnumbered when his eye was carved from his skull. He was so brave. He was so alone. Sir Criston circles the combatants from a distance, preparing to shout instructions to Aemond. You tug on your pendant as your heartbeat thunders in your ears. Aemond twirls his sword as he waits for the trial to begin. And then it does.
The prince lunges at Kellington with weightless, manic speed. His sword parries Kellington’s once, twice, again, and then lands a strike on the giant’s helmet. The clang echoes through the courtyard. There are awed applause and whistles. The crowd expects Kellington to win, of course—they depend upon it, if they hope for their daughters to have a chance at marrying into the royal family—but they would be pleased to witness an honorable performance from Aemond. There is no shame in losing well. Sir Criston is smiling, just barely. Kellington swings his sword—nearly twice the size of Aemond’s—but the prince easily maneuvers around it. His blade hits Kellington in the back, the gut, the knees. The giant bellows in pain and frustration. He sounds like a lion or a bear or a dragon. He sounds more like an animal than a man.
Aemond’s eye is scrutinizing Kellington’s armor for weak points: at the neck, under the arms, the naked face. He dives to bury his sword in Kellington’s massive armpit but is rebuffed. He strikes instead at the giant’s head again, and then his chest, loosing metallic booms. Kellington swings blindly, clumsily. Aemond manages to get his hands around the giant’s helmet and wrenches it off, tossing it into the crowd. There are claps and cheers from some, groans from others who have already lost their bets.
And then Kellington’s armored elbow slams into Aemond’s face on his bad side, his blind side. Blood spurts from Aemond’s nose and split lip. The prince hurtles away, half-falling and half-sprinting to get out of the giant’s reach. He shakes his head, trying to clear out the pain like smoke from a room. He turns with his sword raised to block Kellington’s blow, but the giant’s strength is too great; Kellington’s blade knocks Aemond’s sword from his grasp. It goes flying off into the courtyard.
“No!” Sir Criston howls, unable to stop himself.
Aemond regains his footing and draws his dagger. He side-steps rapidly, keeping Kellington in his view, his blue eye wide and hurting and vicious. The giant’s sword slices through the air but the prince evades it. Aemond leaps forward with his dagger aimed for Kellington’s face. The giant seizes Aemond’s right forearm, squeezes it, crushes it. The crack of snapped bone rings out through the courtyard. Now the audience is appalled, fearful. Aemond does not scream, but there is a choked sort of gasping; the dagger tumbles out of his grip. You can see blood pouring into his hand from where the bone of his arm split the skin. You can see the disbelief and terror taking shape in the lines of his face.
Twisting his broken arm, Kellington forces Aemond down to his knees. With his right hand, the giant lays his sword against Aemond’s bare neck. Dust from your futile spell mars the pristine, reflective metal of the blade. “Do you yield?” Kellington snarls.
Calls for Aemond to yield reverberate through the courtyard—through the whole world, it seems—but above it all you can hear the words that he spoke to you weeks ago on Bearstone. They don’t make any sense, they are random and tragic and useless…and then, suddenly, they aren’t.
Jace threw dirt in my face and Luke cut me.
“Do you yield?!” Kellington says again.
Aemond stares up at him, hateful and agonized and—Jace threw dirt in my face—defiant.
“Yield!” Otto commands.
“Yield, Prince Aemond, yield!” the crowd cries out with mounting frenzy.
“Yield, you idiot!” Aegon shrieks.
You are the only one who remains silent, outwardly at least. The words rise up in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon. They echo in your skull, soundless and yet blaring. Like when you were a boy, like when you were a boy, like when you were a boy…
You see the realization ripple across Aemond’s face. He grabs a fistful of earth with his left hand. He flings it into the giant’s eyes. And as Kellington is trying to blink and paw the dirt away—in those few fateful seconds—Aemond rips your dagger from his belt, jumps to his feet, and slits Ivar Kellington’s throat to the bone. Blood flows like a river, gushes into the earth, bubbles in the wreckage of Kellington’s severed windpipe. The giant plummets face-first into the ground, never to rise again.
The sounds that engulf you are a storm of jeers, applause, triumph, bitter disappointment. The horde is pulsing and ungovernable. Aemond finds you in the deafening crowd and pulls you against his chest with his unbroken arm, sheltering you from the shoving and the cheers and the hisses. He rests his forehead against yours. Blood drips down from his face and his hair onto you. You are both bathed in hot, slick, scarlet rain. Your moonstone gown is freckled with it; your cheeks are stained. You taste its coppery stickiness when you kiss him. “Your arm—”
“It will heal, wife,” he says hoarsely. “Perhaps miraculously quickly, with your talents.”
“I love you too.”
“I certainly hope so. You are mine for life.”
The septon is proclaiming to the thunderstruck audience: “The Seven have spoken. The lady’s marriage to Axel Hightower is hereby annulled. Her marriage to Prince Aemond Targaryen is declared legal and indisputable, and any issue they produce is legitimate.” Otto Hightower’s jaw hangs open. Queen Alicent is weeping grateful, elated tears. Helaena is beaming. Aegon wears a glazed, vague, drunken smile. Axel has collapsed and is pounding the earth with his fists.
From his island in the sea of shouts and blood, Larys Strong watches you. He was in the godswood last night as sure as he is here now, and he has valuable information to share with the queen. Now is not the time; now she is overcome with relief and pride and the limitless compassion of a mother sloshing in her veins like the reddest wine. But the right time will come. In plain sight and yet unseen, Larys smiles malevolently, yearningly.
Oh yes, the time will come very soon.
#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond imagine#aemond x you#aemond x y/n
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Headcanons for what Marty and Jennifer are like as parents, and how Doc/his family interact with the kids?
Anon, this is such a late reply, and I'm sorry. I'm making a concerted effort to finally get to some of the asks I've been neglecting.
Also, I'm almost positive that I once made a post of Marty and Jen as parents headcanons, but I must have forgotten to add a link in my pinned post, and the Tumblr search function is useless, so I can't find it. Anyway, I may end up repeating some of what I put in there or even contradicting it, lol.
Of course, I'm going with the improved, happy Jen and Marty marriage timeline for this. So, as parents, they're a pretty united front. They're both very involved in all aspects of the kids' lives from the start and excited to embark on such a wonderful journey for their family.
Being first-time parents and also having twins leaves Marty and Jen utterly exhausted for, like, a solid year or two. They're happy, but they're tired. As such, they're sure to divide up the work, take over for the other when needed, and also rely pretty heavily on family for support. Jen's parents help out a lot, as do George and Lorraine. I can see Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave stopping by a good deal as well to help with tasks around the house or just watch the twins for a little while so Marty and Jen can sleep.
Doc and Clara play a very big role in the kids' lives! Of course! Doc and Clara love those McFly kids!!! Makes me lose my mind to think about. They don't even wait to be called upon or anything; they just show up at the house, announce they're taking Junior and Marlene for the day, hand a home-cooked meal to Jen and Marty, and then leave. Marty and Jen are incredibly thankful for their help, and Doc and Clara love having babies around again.
Doc is like the very chaotic uncle, but in like...the most responsible way. He's got Dad-Mode down pat at this point, and he slips right into it with Junior and Marlene, but he also knows how to let them have some (supervised) wild fun. He plays games that teach them science concepts and lets them help with small projects of his when they're able to do it safely. He also reads lots of Jules Verne to them. Marty definitely calls Doc one day and goes, "Junior and Marlene are playing an elaborate game of Around the World in 80 Days outside. Can I assume this is your influence?" The kids also start digging a giant hole in the yard at some point, and that's how Marty and Jen know they've started reading Journey to the Center of the Earth.
Clara absolutely dotes on the twins every opportunity she gets. They both find such comfort in her presence and love spending time with her. She has a special place in her heart for Junior. On nice nights, she takes Junior and Marlene outside to sit on blankets and look at the stars. She teaches them about the constellations and the stories that go with them.
Okay, this is something I know I mentioned in that other post I can't find: Marty writes individual songs for Junior and Marlene that he sings to them at night. It starts off as something he does to help them sleep at night, but it's a tradition that continues until the kids are much older.
Jennifer likes to involve the kids in as many experiences as possible, so she's always looking for little art classes they can take, museums to take them to, hobbies to introduce to them, etc. She also sets aside days every so often where she just takes one kid along for an afternoon of doing something special with them that align to their interests. Maybe on those days, Marty takes the other kid and does the same.
Lately, I've been thinking about Marty and Jen having a third child at some point and what that scenario would look like. One thing I know for sure is that they would not have an "M" name.
You'd sent this ask in late September, and I ended up writing two Doctober chapters that include Marty, Jen, the kids, and Doc and Clara! I'll link them in case anyone might be interested :) HERE & HERE
Thanks for the ask!
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Switch Yourself Part Three
Steddie -Alpha/Beta/Omega
Or, there was an Alpha and an Omega, but by the time they got to know each other they had to do so as an Omega and an Alpha.
Part One/Part Two/Part Three
AO3 Link
This fic is complete on AO3! It's too explicit for me to post in full on tumblr lol.
*
In the few weeks since they stopped being idiots Eddie called him every night once he was home from work, and even without seeing him Steve couldn't be happier.
The undivided attention of an Alpha was nice, but the fact the Alpha in question was Eddie made him blather on at Robin every morning like some sort of lovesick kid. During the week with Eddie on the run, Steve had been slammed with a sudden crush on the other man, and at first he'd been caught up in his brain about how an Omega/Omega partnership might work given he had such a strong desire to have kids and be claimed the old fashioned way. He'd put his tentative ideas about it on the back burner after they dragged Eddie out of the upside down, resolving to wait to think about it again until it was certain they'd survive the final battle.
The last few months were torture, trying to hint at the overwhelmed and oblivious new Alpha that he was interested. To be honest, Steve almost gave up after the growling incident. But then Robin pushed him to call Eddie back and just be blunt, telling him Eddie had no clue what he was saying when he kept apologizing for the things Steve took as blatant displays of flirting. She was right, and it only took that one last try.
And Eddie was so fucking sweet, was the thing. Put aside the Alpha instincts -Steve liked them, but they obviously made Eddie a little uncomfortable -now that Eddie knew his feelings were returned, he was trying so hard to make sure there wouldn't be any miscommunication between them again.
The first night he called, he was frank but so earnest -he needed time to talk with Wayne about the implications of the chase Steve wanted, not because he didn't want the same, but precisely because he did. It wouldn't be fair to either of them if he wasn't thorough, and of course Wayne was basically his father, not to mention his main packmate above all others. It was easy to agree, given their respective to-do lists anyway, but also because Steve had brought Robin into the loop from the get-go; Eddie deserved to have his own support too.
Every night since they figured their shit out, though, they talked and talked on the phone about anything that came to mind. And while some things were light hearted and fun, a lot of it ended up being serious -it wouldn't do to tie themselves together only to find out later they'd missed a dealbreaker because they let their instincts do the talking.
Steve knew he didn't have many dealbreakers -and not because he'd 'take whatever he could get', like Tommy and Hargrove used to say to insult him in the halls after November '84. He had the self respect to not compromise on the things he wanted, and although they were few, they covered a lot of ground.
Pups, eventually, was the biggest. He may have mentioned six to Nancy when she asked him -morbidly, but that was the Upside Down for you -where he'd want to be if he lived to thirty, but the exact number didn't matter. He wanted the family he'd spent most of his life secretly pining for, and a pack to raise them in, and he wasn't going to settle for less.
Closely tied to that, he wanted a chase and to exchange bite marks. Neither were traditions in the Harrington family -Richard and his two brothers were all staunchly modern and pragmatic in their ideas on how to raise a family, and more than once Steve had been treated to a dinner table tirade about the 'European foppishness' of any form of Catch and Carry, let alone the 'old fashioned nonsense' of the Trine-style pack. No, the Harringtons were Alpha built and Alpha born, bully for anyone who didn't quite match that expectatioon.
But Steve had seen growing up that his parents didn't exactly have a typical mindset, even in Hawkins, and the idea of a chase had always appealed to him. Course, Claim, Cleave was certainly a lot more of an antiquated style, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. The fact that by its nature it demanded an extra step, Courting, before anything else, just made it more appealing.
Although, Eddie joked one evening after they talked through some of the finer details, even though one could argue his fumbled flirting counted, he hadn't actually done any of the 'courting' part.
"You'll just have to do it after," Steve said succinctly, liking the way Eddie hiccuped out a surprised giggle. "I'm sure you can get some ideas from all those fantasy books you like."
"By faith and troth, Fair Steven... you reeeeally don't know what you're asking for, sweetheart," Eddie teased in a low, sing-songey voice that Steve found dreadfully attractive. "Gladly wilt I court your favour, beloved. For thou art brave and handsome, strong as an oak, and I shall treasure thee all my days, for ne'er is there a Bearer betwixt here and Chicago town who could capture mine heart as thou hast done with such surety."
Steve swallowed thickly. Yeah, he could compromise on the courting aspect of the process with no issue.
And they both coincided on another major decision -where they wanted to build a life.
Neither Steve nor Eddie were planning to stay in Hawkins long term. Eddie, of course, had always planned to leave as soon as he got his diploma in hand, and while Steve may have thought about sticking around until all the kids were through high school, he'd been thinking it over since Vecna was defeated and now he wasn't so sure. At the least, that would mean another three years just for the main party, but then what about Erica? She'd be a Freshman while Lucas was a Senior, would Steve stay until she graduated as well and still be in Hawkins when he was close to thirty years old?
Eddie told him what he thought of that idea, and it wasn't rosy. So they looped Robin into that conversation, discussed where she was looking to go to school and when, and they started tentatively planning. Steve knew Robin went by the Munson house by herself after that talk to do her self-proclaimed 'packmate duties' and get the ball rolling on the logistics Steve didn't care too much about, and when Eddie said the following day he knew one of Steve's requirements for this to work was to stay as close as possible to Robin, well, he was right.
For now, they were planning to stay in Hawkins until Summer '87 at least, and they'd re-evaluate from there. Given that Robin would likely be starting post-secondary that September, it was a good marker.
Eddie's dealbreakers were more long term. He was going to be serious about his band when they left Hawkins, so he'd need some flexibility in employment wherever they eventually moved, and he wanted to wait until they really settled before trying for pups. He also needed guarantees about communication and, to Steve's surprise, was the one to mention signing a prebon.
"My parents were bonded, mated, whatever, it fucking sucked," he explained shortly when Steve asked why. "They did it when they were high, and didn't register, so later on dear old Dad started saying he'd leave as a threat since Mum wouldn't have anything left to her name if he did. 'Can't prove it's his bite' and all that shit. But he didn't use to be like that, when I was little. So -if I -if I ever have even a chance of changing into that..."
Of course Steve agreed.
All this to lead up to what Steve asked of Eddie originally -a Course to run, a Claim to lay, a Cleave to each other. The Party found out, as if they could've kept it quiet for long, and Claudia and Karen and Sue apparently all chipped in to help rent the den-lodge, and Hopper offered to drive one of their cars over later in the week with Joyce so they didn't have to leave it in the lot the whole time. The kids insisted on joining Robin and Wayne for the first day, milling around the main building and periodically going out to keep an eye. The idea was sort of embarrassing, given what Steve and Eddie would be doing, but also deeply comforting -a pack stayed close during a chase so if there were any second thoughts, there would always be a safe place to retreat to.
The lodgegrounds really were nice, Steve thought as he waited just inside the entrance to the strip of forest they'd be using, sectioned off from similar tracts by wooden fences too far off to even see, the place was so big. Eddie had come here the day before to set the den up, and Steve was already looking forward to it given the early autumn chill that was creeping into the air, swirling around his knees and elbows.
He'd worn running clothes, because this was supposed to be a challenge for Eddie but also because, in the end, he wanted to put himself in something easy to take off. Something he wouldn't mind getting dirty or ripped, and since he didn't actually know where the den was located, he might be in them for awhile as Eddie nipped at his heels to push him one way or the other.
It was a challenge, yes, but an agreed upon one. Steve wanted to have fun with it, too.
A crunch of leaves, and Steve turned, senses sharpening as he caught sight of Eddie up the path; by the main lodge building, Wayne and Robin were standing together and watching. Eddie was thrumming with nervous energy already -his smoke and peppermint scent spiked when he saw Steve as well, and Steve flushed with heat at the smile directed his way.
"Hey Steve," Eddie said through a deep rumble, cheeks turning red as the noises Steve found so endearing immediately started up. This time, though, Eddie didn't cringe or try to wave it off -instead he paused a dozen feet away, still rumbling in his chest, and flexed his hands at his sides. "I, uh, can't smell you with the wind like this, so I'm still lucid."
"Don't hold back on my account," Steve joked. He smiled back at Eddie; the clinic gave him a heat-aid to take last night since he was long overdue and they didn't want to take any chances, and with Eddie clearly on the hair trigger of his rut, it seemed to be working. The rush of warmth from a minute ago wasn't dissipating, was instead collecting at the base of his neck, in his gut, and between his legs. "I don't care if you go feral, Eddie. I want this, I want you, and we've planned it all out. Do you still want to do this?"
Eddie nodded, moving a little closer; after a few paces he stopped again and his eyes dilated. "I do. God, I can't wait to court you properly after this."
"I'm looking forward to that too. Being yours, Alpha," Steve started them off, unable to think of anything they needed to talk about that they hadn't done twice over during the past week, the scent of Eddie in the air too appealing. "I want you to catch me and carry me into your den, and claim me. Please, Alpha."
Eddie looked entranced, a little like that first encounter in the hospital, and he came closer. Steve held himself very still when Eddie got within grabbing distance, but he trusted him -they both had the instincts for a chase humming away in the back of their minds, just enough to know what was right and what would call this off.
Eddie was shaking a little as he put his hands ever so lightly on Steve's waist, and Steve lifted his own up to gently cradle Eddie's elbows -it instantly seemed to settle him. He lowered his face to Steve's neck, under his jaw, and took a deep, open-mouthed breath in where his scent would be strong. Steve shivered at the warm air that hit his throat when Eddie exhaled. An unfamiliar throb of heat pulsed in his cunt and he felt slick start to drip out of him, and oh, shit, Eddie was-
"Run, Omega," Eddie grinned and snapped his teeth just shy of Steve's jugular, and Steve obeyed.
*
The rest is on AO3 due to being pure filth! Link at the top!
I don't do tag lists!
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#alpha beta omega dynamics#fanfic#stranger things#omegaverse#trans stuff#non traditional omegaverse
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hello! i love your works so much everything you write is perfect! i stopped writing more than a year ago but reading your works inspired me to write again 😊 it’s crazy how we are the same age but our level of writing is completely different, yours blew my mind 🤯🤯🤯 (in a good way!!!!!) i was wondering if you could give me some tips to improve my writing as i feel like i’m lacking in many departments (if you’re comfortable in doing so, ofc!) thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
this ask was send march 5th, and i'm happy to report that four months later, for the first time in a while, i think i'm finally at a point in my writing where i'm confident giving out tips that are not generic and stock standard. i do not know if anon is going to ever see this, but i hope you do, and i hope that you're still as inspired to write as you were when you sent this :) a lot can happen in four months!!
i'm just going to get straight into it. you'll find that the further you go, the more... catered the advice might be to you (it's long, and maybe a bit rambly, but i hope it’s useful in some sort of way 🥲)
# ONE - THE MOST BASICS:
the most DEVASTATING thing you can do for your writing is not have a purpose for each scene or snippet you write. give your scenes a point, don't let them be just images that you sit on the document to take up space! are you trying to prove that character x oc's relationship is growing? are you trying to show that it's breaking apart? are you trying to set up the character as someone who's beginning to fall in love and hates it? give everything a purpose. every word must be linked to your intention.
you know what they say about chekhov's gun, if you are going to mention some little thing, give it a purpose later! you mention reader likes sweaters? let character give them a sweater! this works in many-a-ways.
this all comes down to the planning, which i would give tips on, but i'm writing this part too late. i'm also trying to keep this first part brief because this is a very long post.
for english speakers, the second most devastating thing is to not know your grammar LOL (i cannot criticise those who speak another language as their first! kudos to you, keep doing what you're doing.)
# TWO - FIND YOUR STYLE:
easier said than done, but it's an essential part of any art. writing takes time, and only time will evolve your skill and therefore, your style. if you do not like what you write off the bat and believe you are 'lacking' in some departments (no such thing, there is room to improve instead of being 'incapable' of doing something), then i always turn to some of my favourite authors, whether they are published or another fanfiction writer, turn to them and study them. DO NOT PLAGIARISE, just try and emulate what you see from their works and put them into your works, with your own sense of individual style.
i have my list of esteemed tumblr writings that i look up to, as well as writers that i adore. ocean vuong will always be one of my favourite writers, i listen to him frequently when i am stumped by my own writibg. he has this sort of creative aura that drips of his own idiosyncrasy that inspires me every time i try to listen to him, him just speaking calms and invigorates me so much.
so yeah, find your writer, and learn from them :)
# THREE - THE 'DEPARTMENTS':
the departments that i have included are:
characterisation
dialogue
description and artistic expression (this one is long, bear with me.)
like i said earlier, there are indeed departments are writing that we all have room to improve in. i will talk about the few that i might find specific to fanfic writing because i am nothing like an actual author :,)
characterisation: a fickle little thing T^T the worst thing ever. to characterise properly means you know the character like it's your own, but in fanfiction that's just truly not possible :,) so i can try and give you my own tips on how i deal with characterisation.
listen to the english dub (or your first language) - DON'T CRUCIFY ME. PLEASE. BUT LET ME SPEAK. for my fellow fluent english speakers, listening to a dub in a language we do not understand can only go so far in the way we understand a character. when listening to english, we hear the intricate ways of their tone and personalities work, and what kind of dialogue best flows with them (toji fushiguro is excluded from this. never listen to that man's english dub.).
when i was writing for bakugou- he's not the hardest character to understand, but with the help of the english dub, the dialogue that i wrote for him flowed a lot easier than if i had just tried to internalise his jp dub. he's gruff, and rude, and cocky, and his english va captures that in quite an adorable way! ofc you can never just ignore the original, the original is there to provide you the blueprint, but sometimes a little help explaining the blueprint goes a long way !!
characterisation can also be perfected through the subtle changes in dialogue that you see. a big part of character is how they talk, and even just the subtlest of changes can go far.
let me start with the example "this is a really bad idea."
if i were writing itoshi rin, then i would change the sentence fit to his speech and embody how he'd actually react to a 'bad idea'. he's curt, doesn't say more than necessary, and unashamed to be cold so he'd probably just say "this is stupid." before walking away LMAOO
if i were writing someone like gojo, then the sentence also changes too. he doesn't mind talking and adding more to his point, so i would write something like: "you sure? this doesn't seem like the brightest idea." and if i'm really trying to sell a romantic relationship, i'd add a 'sweetheart' there or something.
dialogue: this is a personalised experience, so as is everything in writing. i have been complimented on my flow and dialogue a lot of the time but in truth, i am merely having a conversation with myself in my head. i try to become the character i am writing about and then i just chat with myself :3 it can be that simple. dialogue does not need to be something you over-complicate, i am my own, ethical character.ai.
description and artistic expression: look, i can't say much on this one except that you're all on your own. i am still trying to perfect my own skills in this department because this is perhaps one of my most vexing parts of writing. i truly am just not... as poetic and imaginative as i want my words to be, but i am trying and i am improving.
my biggest tip regarding description and artistry is: if the reader can imagine it, you don't need to write it. you don't need to fill in the gaps with actual scenes, if your characters are walking through the park as a filler for getting from destination A to B, then that park scene does not need to be as descriptive as A or B. a mere 'you took a shortcut through the park' will suffice. or even better, just go straight from A to B.
say my 'A' scene is starting at a cafe, and my 'B' scene is going to the mall, you could just go 'calling for the waitress to get the bill, you then find yourself in the mall within 15 minutes'. spend time on the gaps that require a bridge to cross, not the gaps that you can merely step over.
these kind of things appear in your planning and admittedly, i don't even plan ROFLLL but i have primary scenes that i have sketched out which i sometimes add to. like spider webs, when going from one thread to another, sometimes the journey is not all that important if it does nothing for your plot.
again, i find inspiration in a lot of the writers i look up to. a recurring motif is something i love adding, whether that be dialogue or a recurring item that symbolises something (like the hairband in between love and lies - a nagi fic). techniques like motifs or an extended metaphor add a lot of depth in your writing that you can't find otherwise. you can also omit going too over the board with reader's emotions too, or just the character's. if it's obvious that they are angry, sad, happy, you don't need to go too far in detail about said emotions.
another so crucial thing is to take note of the things you see in real life and apply it in fiction. the most mundane of things you are doing can have beauty in words.
are you at the beach? why don't you take a look around. tell me about the people that sit on towels, minding their own business. tell me about the way the sun sits high in the sky, unforgiving and burning before going into the main plot.
are you sitting on a bench, killing time? tell me about the breeze you feel, or perhaps the heat that overwhelms you. tell me about what you hear- bikes, children laughing, whilst you're waiting for your date to show up- all of these minute things, so long as you don't go overboard, will matter a lot to the imagination of the reader!
# FOUR: TAKE CARE OF AND LOVE WHAT YOU WRITE
writing will always be hard :,) not a single draft goes by where i do not find inconsistencies and flaws, but i love them all the same. i love the drafts that i read over once and posted and i also love the drafts that i poured blood, sweat, and tears into. neither of them are more special to me because they were all born from a simple idea.
to look back on what you wrote and going 'i can do this better now' is beautiful, no? i love the end product for what i learnt on the way.
i know me giving this advice is kinda hypocritical because you'll find me going 'i hate this' in the tags, and you can choose to believe me or not, but i adore all of my stories the same. some of them i just hate that i couldn't give them the attention and love that they deserved, which shows through in the end quality. not that you guys seem to care, it's all in my head sometimes lMFAO.
# FIVE - KEEP THE POV CONSISTENT:
now we are getting to the tips that i've been learning myself recently. how funny is it that i learnt this whilst reading from a writer that i so admire?
whilst reading a long fic, i noticed that the flow is satisfying because there was no swap of perspectives. the character was in the focus the whole time and the reader was the reactor, the catalyst being the character's actions and internal dialogue. on the other hand, the reader's thoughts and feelings being in the spotlight can also be significant.
i had always known that keeping the pov consistent would influence your writing, but i never knew how much.
which pov you might want to choose is all intuitive. writing is intuitive- every other tip that i have revealed is all intuitive and i'll cover more of this later. more importantly right now, which perspective you want to execute is all on you, and no one else. if you know your character, your storyline, and your skills, you will simply know how the story shall go. it is just as powerful to write it from reader's pov as it is the character's because it comes from your knowledge and authority as the writer!
# SIX - LEAVE THE COMFORT ZONE:
this kind of returns to tip four. sometimes the only way to evolve is to do something we are bad at and that advice applies to writing too. writing is a path set by previous writers but it is not one that we have to follow all the time, why take a shortcut when the long way is prettier, and more rewarding? your journey of improvement is dependent on what you realise and give yourself opportunities to improve in.
for example, recently i have been trying to improve the depth of my descriptions and- don't laugh, but the way i've been doing so is as followed:
i input myself into the scenario, i empathise with the characters within the scene and i describe it. maybe it's emotional and the character can't look you in the eye because they don't have the heart to, not when their chest is filled with a smoke that is so unbearable that all they can focus on is not turning to ashes. maybe it's a happy scene and all you can look at is the character. maybe it's confronting, and the only thing you can think about is defending yourself against their clenched fists that will never actually hurt you, but you know damn well can break your walls in one swing. leave the comfort zone, write new au's and new dialogue pieces, write new metaphors and similes and use rhyme, listing, repetition- just try something new every time and let it be meaningful to the story.
# SEVEN - GIVE YOURSELF TIME.
like the growth of your muscles or the mobility of your limbs, or the way your hands flow along the canvas or keyboard, writing is a skill that can only be improved with time. fanfic writing is intuitive and completely reliant on your own tastes.
i can sit here, speak for ages about writing, but the only way you can learn is to do. i have people who see what i do and praise me for being one of their favourite writers, and as honoured as i am every time, i am merely born from the six years i have put into this craft, as well as the hours i put into writing and planning what they see. if you could see the behind the scenes, you would go 'what the fuck am i looking at' LMFAOO.
when i write and then i reread and i know what it is missing, but i cannot speak about this like it is easy, like i have not spent the past few years of my life consistently writing for various characters and growing along the way. to be fair, you don't need to take six years to get good at writing, it can be a very smooth process! i don't think i was the brightest cookie at 12 ngl but i took my characters and rewrote them into different scenarios and here i am today, at 18 and (marginally) better.
as long as the urge is there, worship it, take the step and write. then post, if that is a step you want to partake in. simple as that :)
that's all for now! sorry this is so long, now that you've reached the end, i just wanted to say that i have no authority over what you produce and how you do it. these are simply just things i've learned along the way and i hope they can provide you some sort of revelation.
#please read the last sentence too beyond NO.7 :<#reinforcing that i am not some writing mastermind so please take all of my advice with a grain of salt!#earf's inbox hours ✌️
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Finally making a proper post.
Hello, it's been awhile. I think in my last post (not a reblog) I had mentioned not having a six sentence/wip post as I was burnt out and behind on Baz to The Past. I hadn't intended for the burn out to take so long, maybe take a break for a week or two and then get back to it, but I was working to jobs, having mental break downs and stopped going on tumblr at all. Well, I ended up losing my main job, got severely depressed and had the holidays and such, but that's all done and I had time to take care of my mental health so I'm back. Don't know if people notice me reblogging again but I started getting back into tumblr and even started drawing again which I haven't done in almost three years (which was a shame as I put ART in my username for a reason and then never shared anything) and used that momentum to get my creativity going again. Which leads me to what everyone's probably been waiting for, I am working on Baz to The Past again, I don't know when chapter 4 will be up but it isn't abandoned and will be completed.
That's pretty much all I wanted to say, I'm happy to be doing well and be returning to the Fandom after an apparently much needed break. Under the cut will be the art works I've been working on and a link to Baz to The Past for anybody interested or wants a re-read while they wait for the next upload.
This was the first piece I did just to get into the flow of things again. I used a random reference off of pinterest as I really liked the contrast.
Unfortunately tumblr won't let me add the video for this one but this is a current wip of mine. Again just another reference from pinterest I thought looked neat. If people are interested I can share the time-lapse video of it once I finish it (if I finish it lol)
And now the link to Baz to the Past
#snowbaz#carry on#simon snow#baz pitch#rainbow rowell#simon snow trilogy#idiots in love#snowbaz fic#baz to the past#basilton pitch#i live#my art#cosmical art#im happy to be back properly
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Where to Find Me
Date Created: 7/20/2023
Last Update: 9/1/2023
Edit on 9/1/2023: Added a link to my personal website to the Fanworks section as well, since my fanfic can be found there.
Edit on 8/7/2023: Added a second website that's for archiving fanworks and other stuff I like to 'My Websites'.
EDIT on 7/21/2023: The @ symbol was automatically redirecting (or attempting to redirect) the second part of the pillowfort, dreamwidth, and cohost urls to tumblr accounts, so I got rid of these in all the links.
NOTE: I HAVE STOPPED REGULARLY CHECKING TUMBLR.
The interface of this site has become nearly intolerable for me, and it's become clear to me over the intervening years that Mullenweg is committed to making it progressively worse. So if you've wondered if the reason I've stopped commenting on your posts has anything to do with you, let me assure you, it's not. It's not you. It's not me, either. It's Tumblr. I logged out like maybe a week ago? And it's been amazing? I can live my life again? Miss you all, though.
So anyone who knows me (or has looked through this blog carefully enough) knows I haven't been on here since 2018. But it's been a few years, so now it's time to update my 'Where to Find Me' post! Since there have been several notable changes, and because I wanted to change how this post was structured a bit, it felt easier to me to just make a new post rather than editing the old.
My Websites
Unspeakablehorror's Site - I'll be keeping copies of my fanfic here, recipes, assorted essays, and other things of interest to me here. I will also archive select works from others on this site (with the creator's permission).
New Old Web - This is my website where I talk about how the web is crashing and burning and think about how we can make it not crash and burn. I'm still building it up, but I hope I can add lots more thoughts here.
Main Social Media
I currently feel that I use Pillowfort the most and Dreamwidth the second most. Something my main social media sites both have in common? They don't take venture capital. They're also great for longform writing and conversations.
unspeakablehorror at Pillowfort - Like if Tumblr and LiveJournal had a baby. I love the way this site handles commenting, reblogs, post edits, and privacy. And I love the communities feature. I'm the mod of 3 different Star Wars comms on here: Andor, Sith Empire, and Star Wars-The Sacred Texts.
unspeakablehorror at Dreamwidth - LiveJournal but better. Interface is a bit retro but I absolutely love the tag cloud. Every social media should have tag clouds. Dreamwidth has so many customization features. Also this site has my favorite setup for privacy options. And I love the communities feature on here. I'm the mod of the Sith of Korriban comm here.
Secondary Social Media
unspeakablehorror at Mastodon (fandom.ink instance) - I am on Mastodon, too, which is similar to Twitter with respect to the character count limitations, but has many exciting ideas, like using a protocol for social media that allows accounts on different servers to seamlessly interact with each other (as long as the server isn’t blocked for incompatible rules). It also incorporates the idea of decentralization in a very intriguing way and is entirely non-profit.
unspeakablehorror at cohost.org - Yeah, I'm here too. I don't currently use this account as much, but I do check the site from time to time and I've made a few posts here. I'd be here more often if any of my friends used this platform, but I don't prefer the interface, which is too much like Tumblr for my taste. Basically this is Tumblr if the interface wasn't total garbage, lol. I think I clash with some of the core principles of this site somewhat, and the only way to delete your page is by emailing the site owners, but at least it doesn't have ads or take venture capital. This site is what happens when some furries with coding and design skills are given a bunch of $$$ to make a social media site.
You can also PM me if you want to inquire about other ways to contact me or discuss anything else. I might be a little slow to answer Tumblr PMs, but I'll try to log in from time to time to check for them. Hopefully Tumblr doesn't end up breaking that, too, lol.
Fanworks
I am actually in the process of decentralizing my fic storage! Currently using a combination of social media posts for my oneshots and external storage links to store pdfs and epubs of my longfic. These can be found by examining my 'About me' in my bio on Pillowfort and my profile on Dreamwidth. My eventual goal is to also have my own website to store my fic on.
Unspeakablehorror's Site - I'll be keeping copies of my fanfic here, among other things.
Fanfic on Pillowfort - Access all my fic from Pillowfort!
Fanfic on Dreamwidth - Access all my fic from Dreamwidth!
unspeakablehorror at AO3 - Ah, I hope AO3 can work out their, uh, severe organizational issues, but in the meantime, I'm uncertain how much presence I'm going to have on this site.
unspeakablehorror at ffnet - This site is awful. The ads alone cause me psychological damage. Probably going to have to phase out posting here.
Well, that's all. Time for me to take my leave of this ball pit!
#social media#where to find me#adios ball pit#like I said#I'll log on occasionally to check my notes and PMs#but I'm not going to be constantly logging on and going through my dashboard#can't take the ads#hate 'snooze Tumblr live'#hate Tumblr Live in general#hate every change that makes this site more unusable#can't take it anymore lol
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