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faimrpg · 3 years

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Aude descends on Val Faim with far more energy and zeal than its preceding spring siblings. Without regard for any kind of schedule or urgency in its citizens’ lives, the city is barraged by storms so powerful that water floods the streets and shakes the buildings with the force of the winds. Mages are brought out to attempt to control the weather, but Empress Calandre Valence watches the chaos with a look that can only be described as discerning. She has emerged from her difficult mood into a woman more passive, ever regal, and unshaken. Whatever terrifying display of emotion was on display at the end of the previous month, she has rallied herself in the same way she rallies her advisors.

Trigger Warning: Assassination attempt, violence, death

THE FOURTEENTH OF AUDE, 936

The storm has lasted two weeks. Crosshatched searches for Amelie have found nothing in spite of MICHEL’s efforts, and there is a sense of doom and gloom to the air. “Enough of this! I want some joy, some passion. The Opera. We’ll host an event at the Opera House, with a grand party to follow afterwards.”

In moments like these, it is easier to recall that Calandre was only a child when she took the throne. She seems as young today as she was when she ended her father’s life and felt his blood on her hands. The Empress’ word is law, and her advisors are sent off like dogs on the hunt. Invitations are sent out in record time, and within a week, the news has spread across Val Faim like wildfire, as if to purposefully spite the continuous barrage of rain. The news comes especially as a surprise to LUCRECE, the newest owner of L’Opera Imperial, who is suddenly hard-pressed to throw together a show for the Empress that is worthy of Odeline Herself. They call for MÉLODIE immediately and get to work on throwing something together.

CYRIL finds themselves with an even heavier workload than usual. On top of taking care of the Empress’ pressing fashion needs, what feels like half of the city flocks to the tailor in an effort to attain a piece of theirs, be it gloves, mask, dress, trousers -- whatever CYRIL will give them, they’ll take. By the time the date arrives, their shop has been cleared out of almost all their fabrics and supplies. They are effectively going to have to start from square one after this event is done. This doesn’t stop ISEULT from calling, however, dragging SAVATIER in tow in an effort to make them look somewhat presentable instead of like a hermit.

Another finds themselves with their hands full: EMERIC answers LUCRECE’s desperate call for catering with the kindness of an old friend, and now not only are they going to be in attendance, but La Perche’s cuisine is up on the chopping block as well. For years, the restaurant has wavered between struggling and shining, but this opportunity could make attendance soar. The success of their menu might mean the success of their livelihood, and with such short notice, their palms are beginning to sweat.

THE TWENTY-FIRST OF AUDE, 936

Like a wildfire, anticipation and anxiety begin to spread across Val Faim as the date draws ever closer, until the evening arrives on their doorsteps. Nobles and guests of all import gather together in the front rooms of L’Opera Imperial. ROTH and MEDRAUT survey the crowds for any kind of threat, but the room broils with people stirring to and fro, desperate to get to their seats or get another drink before the fun begins. ADRASTE is given by their mentors to explore, and ends up caught in conversation with HECTOR, who has been dodging LUCRECE all night.

YVON and GISELE dance a strange and uncomfortable dance around each other when their eyes meet across the room, YVON bracketed by their socialite friends and more notably, BEAU. As soon as they’re there, however, BEAU is gone, sent to tail GISELE and see what they do throughout the course of the night.

CECILE and ROSALIND find themselves a little disgruntled upon realizing they’ve been made to share the same box for the evening, a directive from Calandre herself, perhaps in an effort to have them ease the quietly-brewing feud between them. As attendees settle into their seats, anticipation pricks the back of everyone’s necks. They don’t know what to expect. Maybe that’s for the better. An unexpected third guest in their box is CELESTE, having been instructed by LIANE to explore L’Opera Imperial for anything of note or interest.

RÉGIS sees the opportunity to whittle away at DEGARÉ further and attempts to strike up a conversation with them, only to be interrupted by HECTOR, who finds they have little care for the actual subject matter so long as they can appear involved enough that LUCRECE won’t interrupt, their conversation with ADRASTE having finished.

The curtain finally rises. A hush falls over the room. All eyes move to the stage as MÉLODIE emerges, waiting for their cue to break into song. The fanfare for the evening, SYLVIANE realizes, is about a fictional artist coming to the capital city to paint a mural that comes to life and threatens the life of the king. Those sitting around them, HELENE and VASKA, chuckle in amusement as they come to that same conclusion.

MÉLODIE is truly a sight to be admired on stage as they roll their way through the pieces with a magnificent ease that implies they were given plenty of time to practice — even if truthfully, they were not. Up in their own box and seated alongside Calandre’s guest of honor, DAGHAN, SIDONIE finds themselves forced to try and make conversation.

VIOLAINE has other plans for the evening. As MÉLODIE moves into the next aria, they go to approach CASSIAN and ROWAN just outside the entryway to the auditorium to discuss the letter they discovered belonging to Amelie. The Ambassadors and socialite don’t know each other well, but if ROWAN or CASSIAN have future motives against the Empire, maybe a little bit of a nudge in the right direction will see VIOLAINE and their betrothed in better circumstances come the future. The Ambassadors take the letter and tuck it away to look over later. PATRICE notices this odd conversation and listens in, but does not confront VIOLAINE until after the performance is done; they ask PATRICE not to share with GHISLAIN what they have heard, but PATRICE makes it clear they intend to do so anyways. What do they have to lose, in telling the truth? Why should anyone stop them?

On their patrol, ROTH and MEDRAUT see a figure slipping through the shadows around the Opera House. They attempt to pursue, but intermission arrives, and people soon flood into the streets and lobby for a breath of fresh air. They attempt to press through the crowd but are soon swept up and lose sight of their target. When the crowd dwindles a little, they decide to ask LIANE is they’ve seen or heard anything strange, as the Spymaster might be the best resource to ask. Guards are easy to avoid. Spies, on the other hand, are not.

During intermission, some stand to stretch their legs and mill about. Many go to visit AGRIPPINE and discuss the possibility of a new sponsorship, which GHISLAIN takes quiet note of. They try to speak with AGRIPPINE afterwards in an effort to confirm that they’ll stay with him. DEGARÉ overhears and can’t help but have their interest peak in recognition of the conversation, attempting to intervene.

EMERIC spends the majority of their time catering and trying to ensure things run smoothly. This, of course, would be a breeze if it weren’t for MATTHIEU accidentally running into a waiter and sending hors d'oeuvres everywhere. The two have a fiery confrontation before MATTHIEU goes to find CECILE and ZHENYA, leaving EMERIC to pick up the scraps.

The rest of the show plays out beautifully. SAINTE rifles a little alongside the rest of the crowd when the plot implies that the artist’s inevitable, greed-driven downfall was caused by his dedication for Odeline, which brought his art to life in a cruel manner, but ZHENYA, seated nearby, sees them bristle from afar and tries to speak to them after to calm their worries, even if their feelings on the matter aren’t the same. SAINTE eventually goes to leave and stumbles across SYLVIANE in the hall, trying to collect themselves in the wake of what feels like a show dedicated entirely to them, and not in the most pleasant way. Strangely, VASKA is not with their charge.

ISEULT quietly exits the auditorium, feeling something strange prick at the back of their neck. They wander the mostly-empty halls for some time, only to find themselves face-to-face with a woman shrouded in black with shadows at her feet. They hardly have time to recover before there is a knife buried in their jugular. SAVATIER, having followed ISEULT, instead finds their crumpled body in the hallway and realizes they need to hide them, quickly, before they return to life.

CELESTE, however, still wandering, stumbles upon SAVATIER attempting to take care of their bodyguard, unsure of what has occurred. SAVATIER convinces CELESTE to leave them be, but soon runs to LIANE to report back the bizarre event they’ve witnessed.

As the show comes to its conclusion and the encore begins, lasting several minutes, people begin to gather their things and take their leave. Flowers are tossed atop the stage in thanks for such a wonderful performance. The Empress is first to depart, of course, and this is when all hell breaks loose. From the shadows in Calandre’s box emerges Amelie, long-toothed dagger in hand. With smoke swirling around her feet, the remnant of her disguise, she plunges it into Calandre’s back. The Empress lets out a cry of pain before she crumples to the ground. Before anyone has the chance to stop her, Amelie is gone, fleeing as quickly as her legs will carry her.

VICTOIRE, having been stuck patrolling the halls for the sake of security and only getting to enjoy the show in fragments, is sent sprinting after Amelie as she runs out towards the vast doors that will provide her an exit. They pursue Amelie three blocks before they find her in the hands of BASTILE, looking bewildered as Amelie attempts to struggle and break free from the mercenary’s grasp. KARINE, having pursued Amelie on Alain’s command, is forced to involve themselves in the standoff until BASTILE hands her over to VICTOIRE. BASTILE and KARINE are left to balk at each other.

In transit to the Summer Palace, Amelie does her best to escape VICTOIRE, and seems to fail spectacularly all the way up until they are halfway through the Gardens. Only then does she seem to summon a knife from nowhere to plunge it into the junction between VICTOIRE’s neck and shoulder. It is then that MEDRAUT emerges from nowhere, having been directed to follow the Captain by ROTH. They finally knock Amelie out before rushing to get VICTOIRE help.

Back at L’Opera Imperial, people begin to panic upon hearing Calandre’s cry. MICHEL is left to try and direct the crowds, filter them out into the street rather than risk a mishap or fire. MÉLODIE is left horrified on stage, having seen their lover endure what must have been a fatal wound. They are left with a choice: do they try to make their way up to the box, or remain behind among the chaos? MICHEL tries to direct them out of the way, in the opposite direction of Calandre. In the end, it is ADRASTE who leaps to the stage, pulling the singer by the hand back to LUCRECE for their safety.

BEAU, having been told to tail GISELE, find themselves in a difficult position. GISELE seems reluctant to leave, looking for someone, although whether they search for their sibling or Gauthier is uncertain. The spy could stay, to see who they go for, but risk getting caught by the eldest Duval.

HELENE and DAGHAN rush to try and stem the blood-flow before the Empress succumbs to her injury, as dawning horror begins to crest over them that this wound might not be treatable.

SIDONIE goes to join them, unsure of how to help, but is brought to a halt where they stand, as screams of horror and alarm slowly dull as attendees are forced out of L’Opera Imperial. It is as though their entire body has been shot through with an arrow.

It is a feeling so strong they cannot ignore it: miles away, out in The Obsidienne somewhere, something unbidden tears open. Somehow, as if pulled by an unseen force, AGRIPPINE meets SIDONIE’s gaze across the room. There’s only one explanation for it. They felt it, too, but there is no putting to words what that might mean.

SIDONIE comes back to themselves after being jostled by LIANE, who tries to stir them back into awareness. The night moves quickly from there, as those who care for Calandre try to force their way through a torrent of rain to return to the Summer Palace. RÉGIS, eager to forget their awkward conversation from earlier, is close to follow, spurred on by their desire to see Calandre rid of and intent on causing some kind of delay. They run into ETIENNE and are stopped before they get the chance, sparking no small amount of suspicion on ETIENNE’s part. The Empress is taken to her quarters and sequestered away immediately, and in the days that follow, the only confirmation anyone will receive is that she survived. Her condition and state remain total mysteries.

Thus, the curtains close on L’Opera Imperial for now, and all are at odds with each other. Questions begin to raise: how was this allowed to happen? What should they do with Amelie, without their Empress’ directive? Whose head is on the chopping block for such a gratuitous fumble? What are the Ambassadors meant to do, with no figurehead to deal with or guide them? How should they proceed? No answers emerge in the weeks that follow, and in that murkiness, Alain Gauthier sees an opportunity he intends to take. With Calandre out of commission, even temporarily, perhaps now is a better time than ever to prove her incompetence, and that Val Faim — and Celestine as a whole — would thrive with someone else on the throne.

SUMMARY: And there we have it, our third scene! Amelie has attempted to take Calandre’s life, and while Amelie’s been placed in the custody of the Summer Palace, it is unclear as to whether or not Calandre will survive her injuries. You are free to write up to the 23rd of Aude, but for now, don’t go past that date.

At this moment, no one is allowed to visit the Empress in her critical condition. Those unsure of their loyalty to Alain may have to make some crucial decisions in the near future. The new skeletons in this event will be arriving this weekend. If you have any questions pertaining to the event, please drop them in the Discord channel! If you need any help plotting, or getting things started, please reach out and I’ll see what I can do to help. Thank you again, to all of you!

TIMESTAMP: The 31st of Maccius — The 23rd of Aude

SPECIFIC DATES:

The 14th of Aude: Calandre decides she wants to attend the Opera

The 21st of Aude: The Opera Occurs

#faimevent #assassination attempt tw #violence tw #death tw

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

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Ahhh I love your work. 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️❤️😍😍 Ok au where Steve and Billy break up so Steve gets really drunk at a party and Billy has to go pick him up and basically take care of him the rest of the night, so Steve doesn’t like choke on his own throw up or do something dumb

Dear anon,

THANK YOU, I love you too!!! Which is why it pains me to say that.... I’m so sorry. This got SO SAD and I promise I didn’t intend for it to! But it just came out this way, and I hope you can forgive me!

Billy's not entirely sure what the fuck Steve is doing here.

Had he even been invited? Carol sure as fuck hadn't asked him to come, maybe Tommy did just to tease Steve; dangle his lost popularity in front of the dethroned King Steve, in hopes that he would be dumb enough to show up, to then just be ridiculed for having even had the thought that he was actually welcome around here anymore.

Billy nearly dropped his jaw when he saw Steve arriving earlier, but when their eyes met, his ex-whatever had quickly looked away and run off to probably grab the first drink in reach.

Maybe he's regretting breaking up with Billy? Not that there really was anything to break up, they were just having fun, just fucking around, literally. Which only makes the entire situation even more infuriating, the more Billy thinks about it.

There wasn't supposed to be any feelings or emotions or all that girly crap, just two guys blowing off steam together!

So when Steve asked him, “Why do you keep treating me like this?” and demanded an explanation as to why Billy continued to bully and agitate him so, all he could say was,

“What the fuck are you talking about, Harrington?” and really put pressure on his name there, as if to drive home the point that they're not beyond that.

And Steve had cried, not a big sloppy mess, but tears rolled, and he shouted that they were done for, then drove off before Billy could even gather enough thoughts to be coherent.

That was three days ago, and he really hadn't heard a single sound from Harrington since then, seen no hide nor hair of him till tonight.

Now he sees him everywhere he goes; no matter which room he moves to, Steve's there, looking back, eyes hooded and dark with all the alcohol he's swimming in, some even staining his nice polo shirt. Tommy had at one point earlier gone up to Steve, grinning wide and talking shit, but Harrington seem unbothered by it all.

Steve sits in the middle of a long couch, surrounded by people all with their backs turned to him, and as he swings back another of numerous beers, Billy finds himself staring like one would at a particularly morose painting, wondering what it all means, even though it's clear on the surface level and doesn't run that deep.

He himself stands leaning over a cute, short brunette, her hair falling down over her large breasts, a manicured finger playing with the buttons of Billy's open shirt. He's got an arm resting against the wall above her head, and even as she smiles all flirtatious and talks to him about something something parents not home something, he can't look away from the way Steve stares back.

There's too many thoughts in his head that even the alcohol can't wash away; things he wants to say to Steve, things he wants to do to Steve.

And he doesn't move till Steve does.

Limbs inept as he rises up from the couch, accidentally bumping into a girl who glares daggers at him, to where Steve mumbles out a sloppy sorry, sorry, before tripping a bit over the others legs as he tries to squeeze out from between the sofa and coffee table. But even as he goes through all the obstacles of a full house, Steve never looks away from Billy as he walks in his direction.

When he gets all too close, Billy looks away- can't stand being this close to Steve anymore, a torturous thing that he came here tonight to forget; to hopefully drown himself in pussy, or find a nice big dick, but all of that is impossible to look for when fucking Harrington is present in his life this way.

After counting down from five in his mind, Billy turns to look in the direction Steve went, just to catch the front door closing, and he immediately pushes off of the wall, abandoning the busty brunette here with now a shocked expression across her face, as he gives chase for another dark haired beauty.

Outside Steve fumbles with his keys, standing by the first car he found.

The music goes low as the front door to Carol's house slams closed, and Billy stands underneath the light of the veranda, hands deep in his pockets as he braces himself for the chilly evening air sweeping in from the woods.

“That's not your car,” he calls out to Steve, who jumps a bit at the sudden voice.

Steve looks at the white Ford that he's spent nearly a minute trying to get into, muttering about why the fuck doesn't the key fit. Then he looks at where Billy has stepped down the stairs and is making his way over.

He huffs out drunkenly and moves to the next car, a dark green Honda and tries again.

“Still not your car.” Billy stands now only a few feet away, watching with a slight frown at how Steve continues to shuffle over the sidewalk to the next car in a long line.

And counting from here, there's a good seven cars more to go or so before they reach the BMW.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and finds it maybe a tad bit amusing how frustrated Steve grows.

“What's it look like?” Steve slurs back and tries a key that isn't even for any car in the world, but rather his front door. “I'm trynna get home.”

“Not at this pace you won't,” Billy mocks and shrugs a bit. “Try the next car.”

Steve doesn't argue, probably can't, and he moves on to a dark blue camaro.

But before he gets to have a chance of scratching the nice, expensive paint job, Billy interrupts with, “Here, let me try.” And fishes up his own keys from his back pocket.

Almost like magic, Billy's keys works wonders, and the passenger door opens up to allow for Steve to stumble inside.

Billy takes long strides to the other side and lands with much more stability in the drivers seat.

“This... this isn't my car,” Steve says with the purest form of confusion, as if he's just woken up from a coma thirty years later to discover all sorts of new things. He touches the leather seat, opens and closes the glove compartment, looks between the front seats into the back, yeah it's definitely not his car.

“No, it's my car,” Billy speaks all matter of fact, firmly so as to ensure that Steve understands what's happening.

He looks over at the other; almond eyes squinting through the darkness and haze of inebriation, and Billy's heart beats uncomfortably, if he were to tell the truth for once. He wants to reach out, brush away the bangs that falls down Steve's forehead, kiss those bumbling lips, caress the moles on his cheek, his chest, his legs.

“Why am I in your car?” Steve mumbles and looks out the window, away from how Billy is caught wanting.

“I'm taking you home, put on your seat-belt.”

The car roars as he sparks it alive.

“Why?” Steve asks but doesn't hesitate to do as told, although with shaky hands that could be from the alcohol or nerves.

“Because you're a drunk mess and I'm a goddamn fucking saint,” Billy grumbles as he pulls out from his spot and onto the street.

“Oh so now you decide to be nice to me?” Steve laughs without joy and thunks his heavy head against the cool window.

“I have my moments.” Billy grins, but refuses to let silence fall upon them, because that's when there's time to think, which is the last thing he wants right now. “So, why did you come tonight?”

The tense energy here palpable as Steve thinks too long on his answer, which spills out carelessly, “Because I wanted to see you,” and there's almost a sob.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington-” Billy groans and rolls his eyes, but Steve cuts him off,

“Don't call me that,” with a more apparent sob now.

“I can call you whatever I want.” The hand on the wheel tightens. “Princess. Dickhead. Amigo. Pretty boy.” And he steals a quick glance at where Steve stares out the window; street lights flashing like stars in his wet eyes.

“...Steve,” a whisper not meant to be heard, and perhaps it doesn't.

The silence between them is painful. Billy bites at his nail to hopefully keep himself from blurting out all the wrong things. Steve snivels occasionally, his breathing labored.

Driving from Carol's place to Steve's feels like it takes years through uncertain darkness with no saving grace, no light at the end of the tunnel, a vast eternity in where Billy keeps fighting his own inquisitive thoughts.

Because why is he doing this? Why is he helping out Steve, who was the one to end whatever it is they had going on? Why is he looking at Steve's lonely hand? Wanting to reach out and hold it. His own hand aching for the touch, like a childish need to play with the flame of a lit candle. So he grips the steering wheel harder till the strained skin hurts.

Till they pull up into a driveway that isn't empty. A black, sleek, shiny Cadillac sits all prideful in front of the grand house.

And it runs freezing cold down Billy's back, eyes pinned to the slumbering windows, hands still choking the leather.

“Are... are your parents home?!” he hisses out.

Steve moves as if he was just abruptly awoken, and blinks hard to still his focus. He leans towards the dashboard to peer out the front window and sees his father's car.

“Oh, yeah, they showed up some hours ago. Took me out to some fancy restaurant for dinner, but...” Steve slumps back into his seat and moves to get comfortable. “They still don't know how to talk to me.”

Billy finds himself in the same situation now. He watches how twisted Steve's expression is; a distressed pull of the lips and an anguished brow knit together with tales of distant parents and a lonely childhood. And maybe Billy is starting to understand a few things about Steve.

Who pulls his knees up to his chest to hug himself, shrink a bit, fleeing whatever is undoubtedly coursing through his mind.

A sight that makes Billy sigh, loudly in exasperation, and then backs up the car.

“W-w-what are you doing?” Steve stumbles through his tears as he realizes they're now driving away.

“I...” Billy starts off with, eyes hard on the road and both hands on the wheel. “I don't know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just-” Billy stops himself from raising his voice too loudly, and takes a deep inhale as to calm down, refusing to meet the way Steve is staring. “Just... don't worry, ok?”

Although he's drenched in worry himself, uncertainty dripping down the back of his neck as his own nerves heats him up unbearably so.

Neither of them talks at all as they drive through the woods, underneath the cloudy skies that threatens with rain; teases with a few drops here and there upon the windshield.

And somehow they end up by an open field - more specifically the location for the 4th of July fair that stood loud and colorful a few months back. Billy hadn't been thinking of any place in particular, rather he was spending all his mental power to not think at all, lest he'd start having doubts about... everything.

“Did you... did you bring me out here to, what, beat me up?” Steve sounds legit scared, and it hurts to hear.

Like a thousand paper cuts across Billy's heart, and he cannot keep back the anger that bubbles up at something so ludicrous. “No I'm not gonna fucking beat you up! Jesus!” he growls out through gritted teeth, which doesn't exactly help his case.

For Steve holds an unblinking stare aimed at Billy, expectant of only the worst things, which probably isn't completely unfair, because he hasn't exactly been... nice lately. Or ever. And even though Billy often refuses to apologize and feel bad for his behavior, it's a challenge to stay an asshole at times like these.

Because even if his father is all too present in his own life, he understands the lack of parental love that probably makes Steve the way he is. And he feels pity. Which is gross and unfamiliar, but it sits so strong around his bleeding heart. Which just makes him angry, and lash out, then fight the regret and... start all over again.

“Get in the back,” he demands, but as soft as he can, of course.

“What?” Steve asks with brows raised to the sky, eyes wide in... shock? Disbelief? Something that might be a sign of distrust and anxiety.

“Please?” Billy tries but it feels horrifyingly wrong on his tongue – like he was mispronouncing some foreign name.

“Why?” Steve remains in his seat, curled up like a depressed child. Which... he might just be.

And Billy groans out his irritation and rolls his eyes, but he tries to say it in a nice way, “Because, I can't take you home like this, and we can't go to my place because... yeah, and we can't exactly go to a motel anywhere this way either.” He pauses and hopes that Steve catches on, but alas he remains in confusion. “We're going to sleep in my car, so get in the back.”

Steve still doesn't move. Disbelief clear in his expression, and maybe it takes him a bit longer to process everything due to the countless drinks he's been pouring in tonight, but when Billy gives a somewhat kind nod towards the backseat of the camaro, Steve finally moves between the seats.

Billy follows right behind, and sits as far away from Steve as possible, who sits like a ball of despair against one window, and god fucking damnit it feels like watching a puppy get kicked, how pathetically Steve whimpers with his face buried in his knees.

“Fucking... come over here,” he grumbles out and spreads his legs.

The poor wounded puppy looks up, brown eyes wet and hair a complete mess, and he hesitates.

“Come on.” Billy pats the spot between his thighs. “We'll keep warm if we sit closer.”

It proves enough of a friendly invitation, as Steve moves closer, slowly, as if he's approaching a sleeping dog wearing a spiked collar and muzzle, waiting for it to try and bite.

But all he's met with is a soft hand that goes through even softer hair, as Billy gently pats him on the head and allows for Steve to settle in between open legs and against a warm chest.

They don't speak, for what is there to say that one won't remember and another will regret? The only coherent and recognizable emotion that Billy can find in the tornado of feelings is anger. A fury that isn't technically Steve's fault, and directing it at him would only be unfair, because he isn't the one struggling with his own feelings towards another guy. No he's ardently clear about it all, which spills from his lips as he falls into slumber against the beating of Billy's heart.

“Billy?” he whispers and closes his hand around the unbuttoned shirt.

“Yeah?” And Billy knows what he's about to say. He fucking knows it; won't be the first time someone has been that foolish.

“I think I'm... in love with you...”

He can feel Steve's heartbeat go rapid where their bodies are pressed rather awkwardly together. And Billy sighs through the nose. The muscles in his jaw twitch, a lump grows in his throat, and he looks out at the stars in search for a world where everything is better. Where everything could be.

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

#Harringrove #My Writing #Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #drunk #alcohol #angst #fluff if you squint???#I guess???#Anonymous #answered #request #IM SORRY

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jenovahh · 3 years

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A Long Fall - Gaius x OC

Rating: T Pairing: Gaius x OC A quick lil bit an art trade with @faunna! Hope I captured your OC well! =========================================================== It is well past midnight (or rather it feels like it) and though Yanelis would never admit to anyone, not even herself, she is filled to the brim with worry.

She has long since been changed for bed, her usually free flowing hair now neatly tucked in french braids so that her tresses will curl on the morrow. Though she is not in her usual day wear, her pajamas are no less finer than any of the dresses in her closet. With slippered feet she had tried to find different kinds of busy work to occupy her mind: pulling weeds in the garden, preparing dinner, cleaning the bathroom twice.

And still he has not returned home.

She resolves that as soon as the bell does strike twelve to shed her night wear and don her usual healing robes and march right out to Ala Mhigo to see what is taking that man so damn long. Her tail whips in agitation, fast like a whip as it accidentally thumps against a nearby cabinet. Her eyes are trained on the door despite her best efforts, praying to any of the Twelve that listen, that he just comes home.

The hour grows progressively late, topaz eyes glaring at the door almost angrily, as if willing it to open and have her lover on the other side. Glancing at a nearby clock, it is barely fifteen minutes past ten, but unfortunately her concern outweighs her reason. Kicking off her slippers, she angrily stomps her way to her bedroom, stopping only as she hears an untimely thud against the front door.

Freezing in place, her preternatural eyes dart around for any potential weapons, but stops as she hears the sound of a key being clumsily shoved into the whole. The latches flip and the door flies open, revealing a handsome, but haggard looking man.

Relief floods through her chest immediately, nearly tripping over her forgotten slippers in her haste to greet the imposing figure at her door. With skin as dark as the earth that gives life, he bumbles through the door, looking seemingly okay until he falters, grunting in pain as he crashes down to one knee.

“Gaius!”

Yanelis is at his side in an instant, falling to her knees with little disregard for her silken bedwear. “Are you well? Should I fetch my robes--”

Gaius gives a soft chuckle, more to himself than anything as he tries to stand back to his feet, pride lending him strength.

Unfortunately all pride lends him is embarrassment as he crashes back to the floor.

Fussing over him like a mother hen, Yanelis quickly checks for any external bleeding, glad to see any lacerations and wounds are not too deep and can be mended with a few healing spells. He’ll sport some deep purple bruises in the morning, this she can tell, but she needs to help him survive until the next morn.

“Clothes off. Now.” She demands, grabbing him by his right arm. He groans in protest, a mixture of indignation and pain but acquiesces all the same as he leans onto her for support. Despite her petite frame compared to his lean build, she has all the strength needed to help him limp into the bathroom. Sitting him on the privy, she leans over to start the water to running, setting it to a nice hot temperature to help soothe his aches and wash away any evils.

“How are you this beaten up?” Yanelis finds herself asking, turning around to immediately reach for his tattered coat, wrenching it off nigh forcefully given her frustration. Gaius groans mutely in protest but shrugs his shoulder and arms out of the dirty garment, allowing her to begin working on his shirt next. “I demand an answer.”

Gaius’ lips move but whatever he says comes out in a grumble, only serving to further incite her ire.

“Has the Black Wolf grown so meek that he cannot answer a simple question?” She huffs, hands on her hips as she bends closer, minding her horns. “Speak up, lest I nearly impale your head trying to hear you.”

“I had told you this morning why I had left, had I not?” Gaius finally speaks, his voice scratchy and worn.

“Yes, you had told me you would be heading to examine the Emerald Weapon; not fight in a godsdamned war. Or at least, come home looking like you did.” Try as she might she cannot hide the concern in her voice, and she can tell by the glint in his eyes that he’s picked up on it too. However, this seems to make him even more embarrassed, turning his face away like some sort of petulant child. “Gaius. What. Happened?”

He is silent a few moments more before grumbling again, standing to his feet. Stumbling backward from his sudden movement, Yanelis’ face goes scarlet as his hands reach for his breeches and begin tugging them downward. “By the Twelve-” Spinning on her heel, she quickly exits the bathroom, closing the door shut behind her.

Heart racing, she takes a moment to breathe, before hearing the lock click shut behind her. She turns the knob but the door won’t budge, and she stamps her foot in anger. “Gaius van Baelsar!” She shouts, realizing she’s been had.

“I will be out in a moment.” His voice carries under the door, along with a blissful sigh coupled with the sound of sloshing water.

Pleased for now, Yanelis pads up the aged stairs to gather her supplies. She would need her staff to heal the larger cuts and could most likely bandage the rest. Worry still niggles the back of her mind, but he is home and safe and for that she is already grateful. Supplies in hand, she realizes she spaced out longer than intended and heads for the stairs.

Just as she rounds the corner, she spies Gaius there in a towel wrapped somewhat loosely around his slender hips, his expression looking caught. Yanelis feels herself flush red seeing the last few droplets of water running down his brown skin, his skin still maintaining a slight moisture from his bath.

Clearing her throat, she pins him with her most indignant look. "And where do you think you're going?"

Frowning, Gaius avoids her eyes. "I was going to get changed, madam." He drawls sarcastically.

Huffing, Yanelis descends by one stair. "Since you're feeling so cheeky, then you're clearly well enough to sit awhile longer so that I can bandage your wounds. Stay down there, I will return with a change of clothes."

Fixing her with a withering glare, Gaius sighs knowing the battle already lost, but he must say his piece. "I am not a child."

"Then don't act like one. Down. Stairs. " She orders, grinning as he turns around and trudges back down the stairs. Turning on her heel she heads into their bedroom, immediately heading for his dresser to retrieve a loose nightshirt and some pants, she hustles down the stairs with her arms bursting with things.

She finds him in the kitchen shoving his shirt and pants at him before turning to head into the den, back turned so that he may have some semblance of privacy. “And don’t even think about sneaking back upstairs or I’m putting you out.” She calls over her shoulder, walking around the couch to set her things down on the coffee table. The scratches and dents stick out to her most often during these times, the poor table used as a makeshift operating table more often than not. She often joked to herself that Gaius got himself banged up on purpose knowing she could heal him.

“Let’s get this over with.”

His rough voice jolts her from her thoughts, nearly jumping out her scales as Gaius rounds the wide couch and plops himself on it rather unceremoniously. His face is contorted in a way that looks as if he is trying not to pout, eyebrows pinched together in what is pure annoyance and thinly veiled pain.

“Well if you want to sleep and bleed all out over the ground outside, do be my guest.” Yanelis huffs, crossing her arms petulantly as Gaius cuts her a withering glare.

“Just...heal me you stubborn woman.” He groans, sitting forward, releasing his tension so that she may move him how she likes.

Having gotten her way, Yanelis hums happily as she reaches for her staff and immediately seeks out the deepest cuts, the top of the staff glowing a healthy green in tandem with her hand over his skin. She winces as he does, holds herself back from hissing with him as the skin knits together beneath her palm, eyes closed in complete focus as she feels magic flow through her.

“That will...never cease to be strange. And yet it also amazes me.” She hears him murmur, his voice having lost its jagged edge. She grins to herself as his hand rests on her knee, fingers rubbing small circles there.

“You know, I joke to myself that you get so beat up because you come home so that I can heal you.” Yanelis teases, placing her staff down now that she’s ensured the bulk of the wound will mend properly. Reaching for bandages, she unrolls a strip in her hand as she meets his dark eyes. “Really, Gaius. How on earth did you get hurt this time? You told me you were going to talk with Raubahn.”

His head hangs immediately at hearing the worry in her voice, pout returning as he finds himself unable to look her in the eye. She grumbles as she wraps his wounds with gauze, cinching tighter than needed as he chooses to keep quiet. “Gaius van Baelsar,”

“I fell.”

The statement is so simple, yet so shocking, she stops her wrapping to stare blankly at him. Were his skin not so dark, she swears his face would be red as a beet. “You...fell?” She repeats.

Groaning loudly, he flops back against the couch. “I hadn’t lied when I said I had gone to visit Raubahn and discuss how we will continue to address the threats of more potential weapons from Garlemald.” He sighs, slapping a hand over his face in shame. “But...seeing us there, a few rookies had wanted to see the Brazen Bull and Black Wolf in action...I humbly declined but Raubahn thought a friendly spar would be good for morale.”

She watches as he hazards a glance at her, but her face has frozen in mild shock.

“It had started off completely normal...until I had lost awareness of my surroundings, and took a nasty tumble down the side of a small incline.” He huffs, running a hand through his silken hair. “Raubahn insisted I see a medicus before returning home, but I declined and made the trek here instead. I was...expecting you to be out on business.”

It is silent for a few moments more as she continues to stare at him.

And then she laughs.

Twelve above, it is probably the ugliest laugh she has ever released in a good while, but she cannot help herself as she drops the gauze from her hand and nearly keels over from laughter.

From the corners of her eyes, tears spring and she can see Gaius’ pout become more pronounced as he yanks the gauze she dropped and continues to wrap his wounds himself. “I’m glad you find it so amusing.” He drones as her cheeks begin to hurt.

“Oh goodness,” She practically wheezes, a giggle slipping out here or there. “Oh your poor pride. I hope they didn’t laugh at you too hard.” She titters, smacking his hands away so that she can bandage him up properly.

“No. Unlike you they were actually concerned for my well being and didn’t laugh.” He snaps, throwing her an angry look, but she’s known him long enough to tell it has no bite to it. She can see that while embarrassed, her laughter has at least redirected her concern from thinking he had gotten into some terrible battle without telling her.

“I am concerned!” She snickers, reaching to peck his cheek. His resulting grumble only amuses her further as she feels his skin heat up beneath her touch. “How about I make your favorite tea, hmm? I’m sorry for laughing at you.”

Fixing her with an unamused expression, he rolls his eyes. “Very well.”

Yanelis reaches to give him another kiss on the cheek but Gaius quickly turns his face to where her lips meet his. Flushing red, she sits back down, hands flying up to her petal soft lips as she takes in his bemused expression. Chuckling, he gives her a solid pat on the thigh before standing and heading toward the kitchen.

“There. Now we’re even.”

#Gaius van Baelsar #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #ff14 #Gaius #faunna #drabble

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Pride and prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 29 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

Loki walked into the throne room with purpose. Court was in session for the past hour and he was late but considering his morning, he was surprised he could force himself from the bed at all. When he rushed to his father’s side during an interval, Laufey looked at him curiously. “Apologies, Father, I found myself having to attend to some issues.”

Laufey had not expected to see Loki for the day at all, as Helbindi was utterly inebriated when he had come into his father’s rooms the night before the same time Loki had unintentionally entered Ella’s and informed his father that he and Loki had drunk the late-night hours away. Yet here stood his middle son, looking fresher than a newly blossomed flower in front of him. “I thought I excused you from court for the day to recuperate after the heat of Vanaheim?”

“My good mate ensured that we did not have to endure too badly on Vanaheim.” He smiled to where Ella was now standing in the court.

Laufey looked at Ella who seemed unable to cease smirking. To his side, he noted his son doing the same. Though startled by the situation he was now clearly able to translate from their faces, and wondering how it could have possibly come to pass considering the day before’s revelations, he was elated to see the connection between his son and his mate. “Well, then, you know what to do. You are always fearful you will miss something.” He remarked as he gave the order for another to come forward.

When the issues of the court were discussed and Laufey asked his son to inform all of what had occurred whilst on Vanaheim, Loki spoke, but through the entirety of the rest of the proceedings, his mind was only on one thing, the morning with his mate. He watched her across the hall, paying attention to everything that was occurring and when she noted him looking at her, she gave him warning glances but could not cease to smirk herself.

Laufey was able to see their interactions and could not resist giving his son a raised brow himself. On seeing Loki’s reaction of not being able to hold his gaze, he chuckled to himself. Upon dismissing everyone for the day, Laufey asked Loki to remain behind.

“Yes, Father?” “Arden informed me of Prince Nigel’s attempts to anger and bother you all, congratulations on keeping a calm head and for allowing Prince Thor’s assistance. The marriage to Ella is a strong one and allows such alliances. I also heard of your discussions with the Vanir and Light Elves and of the trade talks you are arranging with them, you are every bit the capable man I knew you to be, my son."

"Thank you, Father." Loki was used to his father's comments on his actions, knowing him to think him capable but considering the sheer magnitude of the situation with foreign realms, it made him all the prouder.

"I understand the situation at present with Byleistr is fraught, his betrayal will not go unpunished by myself and indeed by you as my heir."

"Your support in this is all I could ever ask for. As Ella stated, had there been honesty, had they spoken to me and explained their situation, I would have been hurt but I would have respected it, this I cannot respect, this was lower than low. To lie...Ella put it better than I can."

"And in this, something had changed between you and your mate?" Laufey gently pushed.

Loki found himself smiling again. "Ella is never dishonest with me. She respects me enough to be so and I cannot help but want to return her respect. She understands my thoughts even when she does not experience them herself because she takes time to consider others."

Laufey studied his son closer. "Is that everything?" Loki looked at him baffled. "You forget, my son, that all present in the throne room today saw your interactions with your mate and you can be assured, it will not be received negatively. This is a wonderful advancement of things. I am elated that you see the value in her now, both for her own being and for what she brings to Jotunheim with her ties. There are many great things that this does for you, my son. Focus on being happy with a good mate and cease mourning one that evidently did not see fit to respect your sacrifice. She knew well her actions and as your mate stated, had there been respect, well, it is still unacceptable but to show that would, at the very least, show some thought for another, but they both declined to do so."

"I do not intend to spend time thinking about such things. As Ella stated this morning, thinking of such constantly only allows such thoughts to fester and when they do, they poison our thoughts and cloud our judgment. I will not let any take from my focus."

"Not even Aesir mates with whom it is clear you cannot cease thinking of in some manner that I assume has something to do with you being in discussion with her this morning?" Again, Loki did not look his father in the eye causing him to chuckle. "Come now, do you think me blind? All can see that the time in Vanaheim has stirred something different in the relationship between you."

"She understands everything, even things I have not told her and she respects it all fully, without question or expectation to be told more. I have a mate like none other."

"I am elated to hear that my son. Now, I have to deal with the ever dull Lord Gregory, damn but I hate that Jotnar, but needs must." Laufey rose to his feet. "Try not to skewer anything in the meantime." Loki looked at his father on confusion. "I saw your little anger exercise yesterday."

"Ella felt it a better idea to release some anger."

"Once again, your mate was correct. It is clear to see, now more than ever, that the mate you have is more than the one you could ever want, she is what you need more than any, my son."

Laufey left, leaving Loki to consider his thoughts. Not long after, a timid looking Helbindi entered the throne room. Loki laughed at him as he meekly held his head.

“How are you here? You drank more than me?”

“Ella healed me,” he declared smugly.

“That is not fair. How come she did that?” “I may have accidentally stumbled into her room last night in my drunken state and not my own.” Helbindi laughed at that. “Better than you walking into Father’s rooms.” “I’ll have you know, I did not walk in, I fell in, on top of him.” Loki chuckled at the image of his younger brother falling onto their father. “How did she take you barging in?” “Very well, according to what she showed me from her memories this morning since I remember nothing.”

Helbindi noticed something in his brother’s features. “Why are you smiling like that?” “What?”

“Like...wait, what happened?” “What are you babbling about?” Loki tried to walk off but Helbindi used his superior size to block his brother. “Bind…”

“Who is she?” “Who?” “This new one? You only ever look that happy after you get to have some fun, who is she?” “Bind…” Loki looked around. “You cannot speak like that.” “Like what?” “Like I am sniffing around those I should not. I do not want trouble.” “So, just say her name.” “Ella.” “Your mate?” “Yes, my mate.” “Why are you saying her name?” “Because she is who you wish to know the name of.” “No, I don’t, I want to know about...wait, you lay with her?” Loki nodded. “Not sleeping, actually…” “Well, there was sleeping too.” “But you said it was terrible with her.”

“It was,” Loki agreed. “Before.” “What changed?” “The time she almost left, she confessed that she heard us talking about her, how I spoke about her to you and she decided not to put any effort in but this time she did and it was good, great even.” “Really? But you said she was a maiden, so how would she know how to do anything?” “She has this ability, with her seidr, to show things she has seen in the past and she showed me things she read and things that those ladies-in-waiting she spoke about, Helbindi, the Aesir women would make you blush, they are not without sexual knowledge.” Loki’s eyes were wide as he recalled one of Ella’s ladies explain how to perform a leud act.

“Really, how?” Helbindi was intrigued more than he should be by such a statement.

“The things they know, and they all told her things. And what she read...Why did she never say anything…” “What were the books?” “I have no idea.” “Ask her.” “I am not asking her, you ask her.” Helbindi looked at him with disbelief. “I cannot ask her, you idiot, then she will know we spoke like this again and she won’t let you near her.” Loki winced. “Good point.”

“Wait, what if she bears you a child now?” “Considering she is supposed to give me two sons, I would think it would be seen as a good thing.”

“But what about, you know…‘Leist and...” “Ella stated it best, it would have been better if they were honest but they were not. I want to hate her for it, hate both of them for it but she wanted to hurt me, so I won’t let her.” “Do you think that is why she did it?” Helbindi asked.

“I am not sure but the manner she looked at me, the cold look in her eyes, I think that perhaps she did. But I will not let her get me down, not now.” “Not that your mate showed she actually knows what she is doing?”

“That helps, I will confess,” Loki smirked.

“Do you think the Vanir are as knowledgeable. There were one or two there that seemed interested in some fun when we were there.”

"I know a few of her ladies were Vanir. None seemed to be blushing in her memories."

"Nice." Helbindi's eyes were alight with such a prospect. “I think they look better than the Aesir.” “Yes, you would think that, I remember you and the, what was her name?” Loki looked at his brother.

“No idea, that kissing thing they do is fun though. What do you think?”

“Have not tried it.” “Really?”

“Is that hard for you to believe?”

“I thought you would try it since you tried everything else again. So, not a corpse then?”

Loki thought about how Ella had intertwined her legs with his, her hands exploring his body, whether intentionally or not, the manner in which she gripped his ass as he moved, urging him on. It all felt so much more natural. The one thing he did notice was her attempts to remain silent, biting her lips to remain so. He pleaded with her a few times to not force herself to remain quiet, but Ella would not relent, biting her lips together in attempts to not make noise. Clearly, that was something she was still under the impression should be done. He would have to speak with her and inform her that he liked that, being told how much his partner was enjoying herself made him feel better, knowing he was doing things well was something he wished for. It may be an awkward conversation, but he was willing to try it, as he hoped she would want to try other things with him. “Not like a corpse, definitely not.” “I think you would rather be with her now.” Helbindi jested.

Loki could not argue his point.

#Pride and Prejudice #chapter 29 #wolfpawn #loki #other #submission #Submitted fic

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aldahi-rp · 4 years

Text

Saving Rumplestiltskin

Chapter 3: "Child's Play"

For Chapter 1: The Eye of Eternity

https://aldahi-rp.tumblr.com/post/623491624921612288/saving-rumplestiltskin

For Chapter 2: Alone in the Dark

https://aldahi-rp.tumblr.com/post/623494238962958336/saving-rumplestiltskin

[[MORE]]

Rumplestiltskin waved a hand over Belle's sleeping form.

Belle made a soft little stirring sound, then her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up to see that he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking down at her with an impassive expression.

He was very close.

"Oh! Rumple!". She was suddenly embarrassed, she was supposed to be looking after him, not falling asleep on the job.

"How is... Um... I-I mean can you...?"

"My vision has returned." he said simply. "And we still have one more ingredient to collect"

"Right" Belle agreed, but even before she could get to her feet the scenery changed around her and they were standing at the base of a windy cobblestone path in a grassy meadow lined with trees. She knew Rumple was in a hurry, but this was getting disorienting.

"Do you, uh, have any new symptoms I need to worry about?" She asked, still trying to orient herself to her sudden new surroundings.

"None YOU need to worry about, no." He told her.

She looked at him keenly. "How about ones YOU need to worry about, then?" She pressed gently.

"That would be MY concerned, not YOUR'S." And the testiness was back in his voice. But he went on quickly, perhaps in order to change the subjec.

"We are here to collect water from the Well of Life. The first leg of our journey" and here he made one of his trademark flamboyant gestures, (but it looked like he was putting a little too much effort into making it appear casual and fluid.)

"Is simply to follow this path." He indicated the cobblestone road with both hands (and again there was something about it that seemed... almost forced.)

"Ensuring, that we do not step off the path, or touch any of the black stones along it, until we reach the forest on the other side."

He smiled his best "Dark One Smile" at her, but there was something around the edges of his eyes that indicated this little speech had cost him something.

Belle watched him carefully, then eyed the path. There were some narrow bits, and some missing bits... and there were a LOT of black stones. Belle didn't know what Rumple was hiding, but if he had to put effort into keeping his voice theatrical and his hands moving, then there was something definitely -wrong- with him.

"Can't you just .... poof us across?" She suggested. After all, he had just telaported them this far.

"No" he said, almost bitterly. "You can't access the water unless you've 'earned' it." He used air quotes and a snide, high pitched voice on the word "earned" showing precisely how much appreciation he had for the apparent price of this magic water.

"This is as far as I can take us by magic."

"So..." Belle reiterated, just to show she had been paying attention. "Stay on the path, don't touch the black stones."

It sounded almost like a game a child would make up. One where you can't step on a crack, or where the floor is hot lava.

Rumple nodded once indicating she had the lay of the situation. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself for something, and with an obvious effort (which he tried to hide) he forced himself up onto his feet. He swayed a moment in place throwing out a hand that was either for balance or dramatic effect (or balance which he tried to make look like dramatic effect?). Then he straightened his back, blinked a few more times then probably should have been necessary, and began walking towards the path with those same careful, measured movements, as if trying very hard to do normal things, but trying to hide the effort it was costing him.

Belle watched him intently with a small, worried frown.

"What's wrong?" She asked, "How can I help?"

"I'm fine!" He told her, perhaps more sharply then he had intended. "And I don't need any help."

Belle pressed her lips together as she watched him make his way (with ever more apparent difficult) down the cobblestone path. Once she saw his eyes fall closed for several seconds, but he forced them open with a little start. Once she saw him stumble, but he caught himself and didn't actually fall.

"Rumple," she said tenderly, "let me help you..."

"I told you, I'm fine!" He half snarled at her as they picked their away across little islands of pale stones against a veritable sea of black, like children hopping on rocks to cross a creek.

The path beneath their feet eventually lightened, and for a while it was easy going, and Belle began to realx a little, Rumple seemed mostly "okay" if all he had to do was walk.... But then they came to a 6 foot patch of black stones that entirely spanned the length of the trail. Belle looked at Rumple. Rumple glared at it as though in disgust. They would have to try to jump it.

"Can you make it?" She asked gently.

"Worry about yourself." He said, but his voice was quiet and flat, like he lacked the energy to make it testy or sharp.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Belle pressed.

"Actually there is!" he said, and now he put real effort into making his voice clear, cold, and unclouded by exhaustion "Worry. About. Yourself."

So she did. She took a running start and leapt across the gap like a deer, landing on the other side in a trotting run carried along by the momentum of it, trying not to skitter too far ahead into the next patch of black stones. She felt like an adventure character from one of her novels. The daring heroin who had taken an impossible leap across a great chasm, with no guarantee of landing safely on the other side.

She turned, grinning and rose cheeked, proud of herself, and hoping Rumple had been watching her!

...He had been. He nodded in something like approval ...But he still glared at the patch of black as though the stones had done something to personally offend him....

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. How was he going to do this? He could barley walk, let alone run and jump. The Dark One could make himself supernaturally strong or fast if he wanted, and that may help to compensate for some of the debilitating exhaustion he was feeling... But that would likely be considered "cheating" by the magic of this place and disqualify him from accessing the prize.

He backed up miserably. He was going to have to take a running jump whether he felt like he could or not. Gathering together all of his remaining energy and strength, he took a few running steps, and then lept for it....

...he knew almost instantly he wasn't going to make it....

He couldn't touch the black stones no matter what however, so with a nimble wave of his fingers he summoned a force to carry him across the gulf, landing on his feet on the other side, but falling to his knees with the intertia of it.

Belle ran to his side, "Are you alright?" She asked.

"Did I touch any of the black stones?" He demanded, not answering her question.

She quickly double checked all the points where he was touching the ground.

"No" she said. Then, curiously "What happens if we accidentally touch one of the black stones?"

"The water becomes poisonus" he said, matter of factly, "Not useful for brewing a potion I intend to drink."

Belle's eyes went a little wide. She had sort of felt like this was a game, but really it was deathly serious. What if they touched one of the black stone without realizing it?

Belle waited for Rumple to get up, but he didn't immediately try. His eyes fall closed again but he blinked them open fiercely and shook his head a little, forcing himself onto his feet (though he was no longer able to even pretend that it was without effort).

"Are you... Are you -tired-?" Belle asked "Or...?"

"I told you to worry about yourself" he said darkly, but his voice had lost most it it's color, and he didn't even try for hand gestures.

He went back to miserably trudging down the trail, only remembering after several minutes to try to pretend to "look normal", and after a while he even gave up the pretense.

"Eyes open, Rumple." Belle said at one point "You have to keep your eyes on the path to avoid the black stones, remember?"

Rumple scowled at her, but he forced his eyes open none the less.

And so little by little, step by difficult step

(And eyes open, c'mon, we're almost there)

Through sheer force of will, and stubborness. Rumplestiltskin somehow made it across the entire path without stepping on a single black stone.

At the end of the path was a forest so thick with trees that it looked almost to be night.

Rumplestiltskin had made it to the base of one of the trees and leaned against the trunk in a would-be casual pose that was fooling precisely no one.

"Do you want to take a little rest break?" Belle asked

Rumple didn't answer. What could he say?

Yes, and admit how weak and on the verge of collapse he felt?

No, and try to force himself to go on when he was quite certain he wouldn't be able to?

So he didn't say anything at all. He just watched her with steady, half lidded eyes that he hoped fevently came across as "mellow and disinterested" rather then "struggling to stay awake".

Belle wondered a little ways into the forest, picking up a stick here, kicking a stone there, keeping the corner of her eye on Rumple, but trying to act as if she wasn't paying him any attention. She wanted him to have a chance to rest, and she didn't think he would take one if he thought she was watching him.

...and yet, she didn't want him entirely out of her sight either, just in case he took a turn for the worse...

She wished she had brought a book. She could sit a little ways away to read and be thoughly entertained for as long as he needed a break. But he had teleported her so suddenly she hadn't had time to grab anything at all. So she contented herself with writing stories in her mind about what might be going on in these shadowed woods, just beyond the area she could see or sense.

That was when she heard it.

It was the song of a bird, but it was the most beautiful birdsong she had ever heard! No, it was the most beautiful SOUND she had ever heard! It was haunting, and sad, and alluring. Sweet, and inviting, and mysterious. It tugged on her heart, pulling her softly, sweetly, undeniably towards it.

She began to follow the sweet, sad, haunting melody, wending through the trees till she found one with many protruding branches, and so she began to climb.

Up and up, the song rose above her, just out of reach. Her whole being ached to be near it. Nothing else mattered. She would find it, she would reach it, she HAD to.

The song was still above her. The branches were getting thinner but closer together now, and one broke under her foot, but she managed to hold on and find footing on a different branch. She kept going, higher and higher, towards that beautiful melody. Some of the branches were scraping her face or pulling her hair, but she didn't even notice. Everything was going to be alright now. As long as she was moving steadily towards the song, everything in her world was beautiful, and lovely, and good.

Someone was calling her name. It sounded very far away. Ugly compared to the all encompassing beauty of the music (everything was ugly compared to the music!).

"Belle! Belle, don't listen to it! Belle! Belle, get down here!"

Couldn't he hear the beautiful song? How could anyone tell her not to listen? They might as well tell her not to BREATHE, not to LIVE! Because to hear the music was to be alive, and surely to not hear it would be to die!

"Listen!" Belle said, imploringly. Soon he would hear it too, then he would understand! "LISTEN!" She said again, because NOTHING was more important then to LISTEN to the beauty of the birdsong that vibrated the air around her with peace and contentment made almost tangible.

Everything was going to be okay, he would see. He would be okay too. Everything, absolutely everything was as it should be, because the music was all around her, and she was getting closer...

"Belle! It's a sky siren! Belle! Belle, cover your ears!"

As if she would ever do something so wrong!

Another branch broke, and this time the branch she was holding onto was not strong enough to support her weight, it broke as well and she fell three feet, but was able to catch herself on some of the lower branches and keep climbing. She had slipped a little ways away from the song in her fall, and it HURT! She couldn't bear it! She began to climb more despretly. She HAD to get back to the song!

Suddenly, something was clutching her ankle. Something was preventing her from climbing toward the lovely music! She lashed out, kicking with all of her strength, but the something wouldn't let go of her leg... And the song was getting further and further away above her.

Her heart was being wrenched from her chest!

If she couldn't follow the music she would surely die! She kicked against the something on her leg again and again until all her struggling snapped the fragile, thin branches she was standing on and she began to fall.

...and her soul was being torn apart as she was falling away from the source of the beautiful music....

And suddenly, she was caught!

Suspended by her wrist 100 feet in the air.

Someone was holding her arm. She had to get back up there, but the someone holding her wouldn't let her go! He wouldn't let her reach the branches, he wouldn't let her CLIMB!! SHE HAD TO CLIMB!!! She flailed and struggled and her captor looked pained, his face tight with strain and exhaustion, his teeth clenched in a scowl of effort... but he wouldn't let her go. Wouldn't let her CLIMB!! He was trying to say something to her, but she couldn't hear him, all she could hear was the melody, getting further and further away, and she couldn't bear it!

And then she was in red ear muffs that completely blocked the sound! SHE COULDN'T HEAR THE SONG!!!! Her world was comming to an end and she was surely dying! She clawed at them, desperately trying to tear them off, but they wouldn't budge. She was screaming in rage and agony, breaking her nails in an effort to tear off the ear muffs... Because the song was gone! GONE!!! SHE COULDN'T HEAR THE SONG!!!

And then, all at once, her head was clear, her mind was her own, and she realized she was suspended 100 feet in the air by her wrist...

...and Rumple had her!

He looked strained with the effort of holding her in his weakened state while she had fought and flailed.

...But he had her.

...and he wouldn't let her go.

He wouldn't let her fall.

And he seemed to recognize that she had come to her senses now, because he swung her back towards the sturdy lower branches, and she clung on. And slowly, carefully Belle began to climb down the tree towards the solid safety of the ground below.

Rumple watched her another moment or two, closing his eyes and letting out a breathe of something like exhausted relief... And then he was gone in a whirl of dark smoke.

When Belle reached the ground, Rumple was laying on the sticks and moss and mud that made up the carpet of this strange, dark forest. His eyes were closed and he looked like he may be asleep.

Belle shook him very gently, and then, when he didn't stir, a little harder.

He blinked up at her almost as if unsure who she was.

"You saved my life!" She said.

He blinked hard, trying to clear the heavy curtain of sleep from his mind.

He moved his lips but she couldn't hear him.

"What? I can't hear you!" She tugged again on her ear muffs, but still they wouldn't budge.

Rumple twitched his fingers and she found she could pull the ear muffs down around her neck now.

"What?" She said again.

"First," he said, trying to push himself up, and fighting to keep the sleep out of his voice. "That was a sky siren. DON'T listen to it." and he gestured at the ear muffs with his eyes, because he was using both hands to hold himself up.

"I'm sorry" Belle said, and she truly was. "You saved my life" She repeated. "I probably would have died."

"No probably" he muttered, "but you're welcome."

He closed his eyes and he almost fell back into sleep again, but he managed to stay with her. "Second" he said, and his voice was beginning to slur around the edges. "Stay away from the Dream Lilies."

"The what?" Belle asked.

Rumple lifted two fingers to her temple and suddenly she saw a feild with bright blue, bell-shaped flowers.

"Third..." And now his voice was really growing heavy and thick, almost difficult to understand, "Go to the well, fill this bottle, come straight back" and she could see the way clearly in her mind's eye, as if she had gone there a hundred times before...

"I used magic, so I am disqualified...". The last bit was mumbled, fading fast, the hand on her head fell away, and with it the images he had been showing her.

He let his eyes close, his head droop, then suddenly he snapped them open and stared hard into her eyes.

"And DON'T" He added, with as much strength as he had left, "listen to the sky sirens!"

"I won't! I promise!" Belle said fevently, but she wasn't sure he could hear her.

He had let his eyes fall closed again, and this time he slipped down onto the grass, his head resting on his arm.

"I'll be right back" Belle promised, gently touching his arm, but he didn't respond, so she pulled up her red ear muffs and hurried down the path that he had indicated in her mind.

Chapter 4: What Dreams May Come (part 1)

https://aldahi-rp.tumblr.com/post/623501593192595456/saving-rumplestiltskin

#rumbelle #rumbelle fanfiction #rumbelle fic #ouat #once upon a time #hurt comfort #Saving Rumplestiltskin #dark castle

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 5 years

Text

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Work, work, work. And finally write. I SHOULD have time this coming weekend to post the next chapter, as well. So, the wait won’t be quite as long this time. If you want tagged, please send an ask or message so I am sure to see it. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Sexual Tension. Porn descriptions. Pre-smut. Upcoming smut.

Word Count: Roughly 3,300

“Sam!” You shrieked. The high pitched rage echoed through the empty walls as you stormed forward. Out for blood.

You'd finally broke. It took three weeks. Three long weeks. But, he finally did it. Ripped away the self control you'd fought so hard to hold in place.

He'd put the snake in the toilet first. Using the ammo you'd unintentionally offered up on a silver platter. Although, Sam put his predecessors to shame. Ensuring not to injure the poor creature while torturing you. Seran-wrap held it away from the germ-filled bowl. A note warning the toilet was out of order left you to pick up the lid. Only to have the slithering beast come at you.

A large spider under your pillow. Crickets all over your room. Both came with notes to ensure their safety. But, didn't lessen the frustration.

Your favorite pair of shoes weren't safe. Nothing was sacred in the younger Winchester's eyes. He glued them to the floor. Leaving you with two possibilities. To fall. Or to go without until you could get them unstuck. You'd face planted.

Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were filled with food coloring. You had purple tints to your skin even after scrubbing until the water turned to ice. Trying to focus on the fact that you were the better person got you nowhere.

And that wasn't the end to his tricks. He'd taken notes from the biggest trickster he'd- and the planet- had ever known. But, it was something ridiculously simple that made you lose that final shred of sanity.

He'd simply taken your favorite coffee creamer. Using the final bit himself. Then, he'd replaced it with water. The mildest trick in his little black note book.

Five minutes. That's all it took to level the playing field. A deep, roar of fury echoed down the hall. Without flinching, you leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Waiting next to the water main. It took mere seconds for him to locate you.

“Give me one- damn good- reason why I shouldn't strangle you.” He hissed out, stalking your way. Still dripping. Goosebumps raised along his flesh as he held his towel in place around his hips.

“You'd end up naked, and Dean would assume it was some kinky sex thing gone wrong. Then, you'd get all the blame.” You answered, letting your eyes skim over his soaked chest hair that trailed down to somewhere more promising. Your voice dropped even lower at the sight. “Breath play is making a come back, though...”

His skin was golden, taunt over the muscles. His anti-possession tattoo had recently been touched up, and stood out darkly across the wet flesh. His hair was slicked back, emphasizing that he'd run his hand through it from the frustration you caused.

The total package only served to raise your ire. He was stunning. The man even smelled amazing over the distance between you two.

“Not good enough,” Sam moved forward. Intent on murder after the briefest moment of thought. Too clear on what he planned for you to stand. “Dean's out.”

“You know what else wasn't good enough?” Came the question. All husky and filled with promise. Hazel eyes deepened at that. Nostrils flared. It was your turn to take a step his way. Stopping just as your shirt absorbed some of the water off of his body. “The water trick.”

Your hand came out and snatched the towel away from his waist. Bolting, you didn't wait for him to catch on. Using surprise to give yourself half a chance.

“Y/N!” His bellowing nearly shattered your ear drums.

You didn't turn back. The wet plod of his footsteps was too close. But, it wasn't good enough. You found your escape. A small zig zag bought you a single, crucial second. His hand missed the back of your shirt as you turned. Right into his room.

The door was slammed and locked before Sam could process what had happened. Breathing hard, you leaned against the wood. Laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you'd found yourself in.

“When you get out, we're settling this!” He yelled out. His fists slamming into the wood; shaking your body in the process. You weren't completely sure what he intended by that comment, but surely it couldn't get worse than being chased by a naked, pissed off Sasquatch.

“Oh, what's this?” You asked loudly, seeing his open laptop resting on his covers. A rookie move if you'd ever seen one. “What's your password to your laptop?”

As you slid over to his bed, you made an ever better discovery. He hadn't locked it. “I swear to God, Y/N-”

“Oh god,” You wrinkled your nose. Realizing what was on the screen. A press of the mouse set the moaning off loud and hard. It didn't take long to find fault over the renewed slamming. “Dude, you need better porn! This chick's tits look like they're going to explode from all of the silicone!” You titled your head as you watched it switch perspectives. “Plus, the dude really needs to learn how to use his tongue better. I hope you weren't taking notes, Sammy!” You didn't get anything in response. Instead, the slamming ended. A heart attack was your logical response. Sure that even the healthiest of the healthy men couldn't handle the blood pressure you were certain he carried. “Sammy, Sammy.” You shook your head as the first moan left the too largely busted woman. She'd climbed over sir-can't-eat-a-woman-out's lap to begin riding him. “You naughty, naughty boy.” It was an impressive collection you'd discovered as you snooped. His folder held a number of suggestive names. The thumbnails were even more racy. Nothing compared to what you'd accidentally stumbled across when using Dean's laptop. However, still large enough to make you lift your brows. “Looks like I'm not the only sex deprived one...”

“That could have been fixed a long time ago.” The sudden proximity of his voice made you fly away from the porn in a hurry. Ready to flee for the second time. Sure your very life depended on it.

Only, there was a problem. Nearly six and a half foot of muscle blocked your exit. Slowly, you lowered yourself back to the bed. Keeping your eyes on him as you moved. Hoping the location would give you another chance to distract the beast.

A white t-shirt stuck to damp skin. Highlighting just how broad he was beneath the fabric. His hair still dripped. The jeans clung to his legs. But, he didn't seem to care. Too set on his hunt.

“Oh, yes.” You huffed, leaning your head onto your one hand as you looked up at him. Making yourself appear comfortable, despite being eager to flee. “Let me just agree to sleep with the very man that has done his best to either ignore my presence, or just torture me. The entire time I’ve known him. That couldn't possibly end bad for me.” Your sass was going to be the death of you if his flushed cheeks and narrowed, darkened eyes were any indication.

“Y...You preach about how I...I don't know a thing about you...While you kn...know everything there is to know about me,” He leaned his hip against his desk. Attempting to settle down. Watching for any sign you were about to bolt. Almost immediately, his composure was back. “But, then you go and say something ridiculous like that.” Don't look at the biceps, you chanted internally as he crossed his arms. You definitely peeked before forcing your eyes away.

“You wouldn't take advantage of that?” You snorted, growing defensive. He simply gave you a small, toned down, bitch face. Not bothering to dignify the question with any other response. “Okay, fine. Say I believe you.” Your tone let him know that wasn't remotely close to being the case. “What would I get from it?”

“Fantastic sex-”

“Arguable.”

“No more pranks.”

“Now, we're getting somewhere.” The mocking tone only earned an eye roll.

“Alright, then... What would your terms be?” He raised a brow. Daring you to give him something to work with. Your response was simply a raised brow of your own. Not buying into his bullshit all the way. “Theoretically, of course.”

“Of course.” The amendment was shit, and you both knew it. Pursing your lips, you thought it over. With a sigh, you decided to give him a little something. “First off? No strings attached. No emotions. Ever.” A brief pause settled between you two before you continued, “Not that it's a problem with you.” A wry grin graced that sinful mouth of his. Pleased with the turn of events. You turned away from the dimples to zero in on the hypothetical rules. “Second? Privacy. Dean, Bane, and Alice? They wouldn't have a clue. Ever.” The horror at just the thought of them finding out how low you'd fallen curdled your stomach. It was the ultimate deal breaker. “Third? No sleeping together or cuddling. Sex only.” It was surprisingly easy to list once you got going. “Fourth, minor pranking is allowed. They'd know something was up if it just stopped.” He nodded at that point. Seeing the wisdom in it. “Fifth-”

“You...You've made a whole list, and you're going to try saying that you haven't really considered it?” Sam cut in with a heavy snort. “You're something else. I don't even think stubborn covers it, anymore.”

“No freaky stuff.” You continued as if he'd never spoken up. Focusing in on the list. If you stopped, he'd take advantage of it. And you weren't prepared for that. “No blood. No choking. Nothing going in areas where they don't belong.” Your fingers ticked off each point. It wasn't that you were opposed to everything you'd listed. Simply that you were opposed to it with Sam. There was no pre-established trust. No grounds for safety. You wouldn't risk it. “I couldn't possibly trust you to tie me up, either, so that's out.” At the sigh of disappointment, Sam's shoulders seemed to widen. Noting how close he was to his mark. “No marks in visible locations. Too much of a give away. Definitely no recording. There's always the trope of a leaked sex tape, and I just am not about to let anyone see me getting down and dirty with you.”

“D...down and dirty? You cut out all the dirt,” He grinned, letting out a soft breath that doubled as a chuckle. Almost soft in nature, when you knew him to be anything but. “You wanna tell me what we can do, then?”

“This is all theoretical.” You reminded him. Falling short at being stern. Unable to even muster up a glare.

Truth was, you were losing your damn mind when it came to Sam Winchester. And were far too close to giving into the danger. You both knew it, even if you were struggling to keep it at bay. Too distrustful.

“Of course.” He waved for you to get on with it. More confident at that point than he'd been before. “Go on.”

The sass was ignored as the list came back to focus, “Sixth, condoms are an absolute must. It breaks? I get the morning after pill. Immediately.”

“You aren't getting an argument from me there.” Sam's eyes were a rich honey as they watched you hungrily. Taking in the way you shifted on his bed. Next to his porn. And at his mercy.

“Seventh-”

“Y/N...” The impatience took hold. His chest rose and fell harshly at the peak of your breasts. So close...and yet, so untouchable.

“Yes, Samuel?” You mocked, not letting your eyes meet his directly. Instead, you zeroed in on the light curl his hair carried at the ends.

“Are you done? 'Cause I've got a few ideas...” Sam moved forward, then. Slapping his palms down on his mattress. Forcing you to stare into the multicolored facets right in front of your face.

“Where's Dean?” Sitting up, the power shifted. Giving you some control over the situation, again. You weren't beneath him. Under his spell.

“He won't be back until late tomorrow.” Oh so carefully, he stalked your way. Not willing to let you dodge him. Delaying the inevitable for a second time.

“What's he doing?” The question was another stall tactic, but the Winchester was prepared. As your back brushed against the wall, he blocked the exit beside the bed.

“I'm betting that he's doing what you're putting off...” Hot gaze trailing over you, Sam took a step forward. But, it was too late. The damage had been done.

“Oh, that is not helping your case.” Thinking of your best friend banging a stranger broke the spell completely. Sam blocked your path. However, he didn't block the bed itself. You hopped up and over the mattress. Making your way to freedom. “Go back to your crap porn.”

“I'd rather go down on you.” That caught your attention in a hurry. Your head whipped around. Only to see him cross his arms. Daring you to take what he'd so blatantly offered.

“Hate sex never ends well.” You warned. Feeling your resolve crumbling. The Winchester had won. “You think we're bad now...wait until this is done.” Your fingers moved to grab your shirt and whip it off. Jaw clenched in frustration. The war between mind and body lost for the moment.

“So,” Sam's voice made you jerk your head up. Waiting to see his offer. “We don't do it.”

“Wait, what?” You weren't following. You'd just given in. He should have been pouncing like a wild animal. Not retreating.

But, Sam did, “Guess it's just you and me...” He pulled the laptop back his way. Without looking at you, he simply uttered one last order. “You can go, now.”

“You are the world's biggest dick!” An indignant squeal left you as you slammed out of the room. So sure that you'd been played.

“Right now, I wish that was true...” The hunter sighed, pushing the device from his side. If he was? He would've taken you right then and there. Instead, he'd signed himself up for an indefinite length of celibacy.

–

“I figured it out,” Your voice broke through the world of Harry Potter as you entered the room later that night. Without missing a beat, the strip tease began. The pajama shirt you'd donned was tossed away. Leaving you in a frilly, lace thong that hardly covered what lay beneath it.

“Yeah?” He focused on the book instead of you. Or, rather, pretended to be. All of his senses were latched onto you.

“You wanted me to do the work.” You huffed out theatrically as you moved to the edge of his bed. But, that wasn't good enough. Oh no. That was only the beginning. Crawling onto his bed, you moved his way. Not stopping until you'd completed your goal: Straddling him.

“Oh really?” His book was dropped off to the side. Good ole Harry fighting the good fight simply didn't compare to an almost completely naked woman settled over his dick.

“Well, you probably wanted me to beg.” You shrugged, moving your hands to rub along his chest. So confident that it was criminal. A totally different woman than he'd had in his grasp earlier. “But, that just won't happen.”

It was more than just that. He'd wanted you to make the move. To make sure he wasn't just manipulating you into it. Ensuring you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Sam needed you to know that it was going to be entirely consensual. Something you hadn't quite realized you'd needed until that moment. And damn if it didn't make your heart squeeze just a little bit.

“Is that a challenge, Y/N?” He grinned, flashing those too big dimples your way. Simply pleased rather than his usual arrogance.

“If you think you can last...” You trailed off pointedly. Eyes meeting his directly. Making sure he knew that you hadn't forgotten that very first moment of pining.

Your finger lightly traced a pattern on his shirt- just over where his tattoo was etched. Two similar patterns had been needled into your own flesh. One on your hip, and one under your breast. The second hidden after a demon had thought to scrape away at the first.

“I...I...I know I can.” Came the breathy promise. Slightly nervy. He let his gun calloused hands rub along your bare thighs. Noting the way you arched into his touch that time rather than away.

“Glad you don’t doubt it.” Bending forward, you pressed your lips into his neck so gently it was criminal. The action letting your bare breasts brush against his t-shirt. Causing a shiver to travel through his body. “But, I'm going to need a little more convincing.” Your lips pressed against his throat again. Firmer this time. Sam's fingers dug into the meat of your legs. Grounding himself as best as he could to sanity.

“You're sure about this?” The question came through gritted teeth. Needing to hear you say the words. Not just imply it.

“Right now?” Again, your gaze came up to meet his. Letting him see the lingering doubts that hid behind the E/C. “This makes no sense...” A small moment of hesitation appeared. Leaving you almost vulnerable as you dipped your forehead to his. Still warring with the idea in that too full head of yours.

“Which is why it's so alluring.” Came his soft answer. Sam's hands left the skin of your legs to gently hold your cheeks. Tilting his head up, his nose brushed against the tip of your own. “Tell me you don't wanna, and this ends. Alright? But...if you do? It'll be alright. Promise...”

After a moment of silence, Sam finally got his answer, “Okay.” Nodding, you closed your eyes. Taking a second. Simply letting your breath mingle with his. When they opened? Sam knew you made your final choice. Slowly, your hands ran back over the thin material of his shirt. Biting your lip, you looked him over. Your hands reached back up to hold his face still. Giving yourself a moment to breathe before he could lunge. Back to the girl who'd walked in his door and knocked him off his feet. “I don't even know where to start with you, Winchester.”

“Y...yeah?” Another nod was all he got as you pondered over it. “Luckily for you?” Sam's husky voice captured your attention away from his thick chest. “I do.” With that, he tugged your body against his. Rolling you with a well practiced spin until you were pinned beneath him.

“You sure I won't suffocate down here?” Came the breathless whisper. Needing to have that final piece of confirmation that you'd be safe.

“Y/N...” The too large hand moved surprisingly gentle as it pushed a piece of hair away from your eye. Dimples in full swing. “Shut up.”

“Make me?” For once, Sam had no problems following your order...

Part Ten

Tag: @burningmusicmachine @missmarrinette @sherlockedtash88 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @sasbb23 @nothinbuttrouble2 @baby-bunker-pie @neii3n @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @malfoysqueen14

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #sam #Sam Winchester #sam fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam x y/n #sam x you #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam reader insert #Sam Winchester reader insert

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

See The Light: Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

yandere bts masterlist | main masterlist

[Edited]

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"Superstition creeps within. They alter what we hold in our perception. Our subconscious stores the clues to what is in our mind and what is real." - Fear Of The Unknown [Heathen]

You never believed in a monster in the closet crap.

As far as you were concerned, there was nothing to be scared of from a piece of furniture. It was simply a childish nightmare, created from green minds that are still oblivious to the real horror outside their humble abodes. A horror that is much scarier than a monster in the closet. A horror that you can't escape from because you live alongside it - have to endure it like a mature, responsible adult you are.

However, this particular night forced you to backtrack your claim.

The darkness of the room welcomed your bleary sight the moment you snapped your eyes open. It was dull, yet the intrusive sound that came from inside the cupboard. Being a light sleeper, you always hated it whenever someone interrupted your sleep. Although you could’ve sworn that you’d locked the door before.

Huffing, you scowled at the silly imagination and went back to sleep. That is until another rap ensued. You were positive that someone might be playing a prank on you because how else would you explain this? Judging from the dark sky outside, you concluded that it must be around midnight or so. People should be sleeping around this time of the hour, not knocking on a stranger’s closet!

You stayed immobile, wanting to know if they would repeat it for the third time and to ensure that you weren't just imagining things. You refused to go up and discovered that the cupboard was empty all along. Irene wouldn’t let you live without teasing your so-called paranoia.

After a moment of staring at nothing in particular that passed like an eternity, they knocked again. This time, it was slightly louder than the first and second ones.

“Oh, that’s it.” You ripped the blanket away from your legs and stomped across the room. Right when you reached the cupboard, it went completely silent. Your hands hovered above the dainty handles, hesitant as to whether you should check it out or go back to sleep.

“Screw this.”

You pulled the doors with too much force, revealing nothing but a set of your clothes dangling in the hangers. A few bags sat on the wooden floor, still zipped. Your eye twitched, hands curled on each handle. The nerve of this person to disturb your beauty sleep and pull this sick prank.

Aggravated, you dragged a hand down your face and moved to close the doors. However, an invisible force suddenly shoved you inside. Before you could react in any way or get over the initial shock, the cupboard closed with a bam. You flinched, almost knocking your head against the wooden wall behind you.

“What the-?” You scrambled to push the doors, but as expected, it was futile. They weren't locked or blocked with anything for that matter. It was like sheer force alone trapped you inside. “H-hey, let me out! It’s not funny, okay?!”

You pounded on the wood, desperate to attract any attention towards your current predicament. “Irene! Irene, help me! I’m locked inside, please help!” you yelled. “Irene!”

Regardless of how many times you screamed to the point where your voice grew hoarse, nobody bothered to come to your rescue. And as much as you wanted to give Irene the benefit of doubt by thinking that she was exhausted, you didn't want to stay here until sunrise too.

Or worse, until your death.

Sighing, you hugged your knees close to your chest in a poor attempt of consolation. You figured that if you didn't react the way they wanted, they would eventually get tired from this mindless joke and let you out. Thus, you opted to wait.

And wait.

But instead of assistance whatsoever, a peal of deep laughter shattered the quietude. It was triumphant laughter, like they won something. The kind that sent indescribable chills down your spine. You froze, eyes widened they might pop off from their sockets. Anxiety crawled from the tip of your feet and froze your entire body in its frigid embrace. Your heart hammered against the ribcage as if intending to burst through from the overwhelming feeling and lay bare for the person to see.

You'd locked the door and window, so how could this man enter without your knowledge? And most of all, how did you not notice him before?!

Once the laughter died down, the room fell into a hush. There were no crickets, no whisper, no cry. Absolutely nothing that could tell you whether he was still present nearby.

It was just pure, eerie silence.

You gulped, drawing your legs close to your chest in tensed anticipation. Sweats dripped from your temples unknowingly, leaving faint drops on the floor. The silence dragged on, much to your dismay. It was like the man was anticipating for your next reaction too, even though you had no evidence to back it up. He might have left, hopefully.

Unfortunately, your wish went unheard when the soft footfalls resounded. And they were heading towards you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing the sob from escaping in fear of accidentally revealing your location. The chance for you to escape without facing the man head-on was minuscule, and you weren’t sure if you could bear to see his face. He might be grotesque for all you knew.

A silhouette appeared through the slit, which you assumed to be the man. His tall stature prevented you from fully see his face through this narrow view. The darkness concealed his upper body, but you could make out his clothing from here. Some sort of a gray coat or something. You couldn’t be too sure.

He slowly raised his fist, before start pounding the cupboard. You screamed and stumbled back, bumping your head in the process. However, the pain felt dull compared to the unadulterated fear that shook your body to the core. You clamped your ears with both hands and sobbed, trying to ignore the persistent banging.

“Stop...” you whimpered. You hated how weak you sounded – how pathetic and helpless you were – but you couldn’t help it. You were being locked inside a closet by some stranger that appeared out of nowhere, and the said stranger kept bashing the furniture as his life depended on it.

Or maybe he just wanted to see if you would try to escape as you’d planned to.

This man was sick, and you could do nothing to stop him.

As if God decided to take pity on you, the pounding halted abruptly. You stayed curled up in the narrow space, crying on to your fists. This was it; this was the chance for you to gain your freedom back. But you didn’t want to risk leaving when the coast still hadn’t clear yet. He might be lurking in the shadow, waiting for the right time to ambush you.

It was a ridiculous thought, yet not truly farfetched either.

Sniffling, you sat up and decided to test the water. The doors creaked open, thankfully, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in sight. The windows were still shut, the door remained locked, and the curtains stayed suspended.

It was as if the man never existed at all, and the incident that occurred just now was nothing but a horrible nightmare.

You heaved a sigh of relief, feeling the tension leave your body like feathers being blown by the wind. You closed the cupboard and shuffled towards the bed, where the blanket was thrown haphazardly on the side.

Grabbing the hem of the cover, you plopped down on the bed. You spent another minute gazing at the ceiling as though it could provide you with an answer to that craziness. But the temptation to just close your eyes and forget everything was too strong for you to resist.

So you surrendered to the abyss that soon overpowered your whole body and vision, unaware of the man who stood beside the cupboard.

Watching.

#yandere taehyung x reader #yandere taehyung #yandere bangtan sonyeondan #yandere bts #yandere kim taehyung x reader #yandere kim taehyung #yandere kpop #yandere kpop au #kpop yandere #kpop yandere au #yandere bts au #networkbangtan #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x reader #Yandere kth #Yandere kth x Reader

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thatbloodymuggle · 7 years

Text

there’s nothing holdin’ me back

warnings: n/a

word count: 2.5k

requested by anon: do you think you could do a remus x reader to the song nothing holding me back? that song just really reminds me of the cutie pie. :)

summary: you find out remus likes you and decide to tease him

i wanna follow her where she goes i think about her and she knows it i wanna let her take control ‘cause every time that she gets close yeah

You knew that Remus fancied you. After having eavesdropped on one of the Marauders’ late night conversations a few nights earlier, it all became clear. The prolonged stares, lingering smiles, and shining eyes you hadn’t taken note of before suddenly became obvious to you.

The thought made your heart skip a beat as you’d always had a small thing for the werewolf as well, but you were surely better at hiding those feelings considering no one had picked up on them yet. You had the upper hand at the moment-- and you quite liked it that way.

“Hey guys,” you wore a small smile as you approached the four boys sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. All four chorused back their ‘hellos’ as you opted to sit next to Remus, abandoning your usual seat next to Sirius across the table. The long-haired boy cocked a curious eyebrow at your actions, but didn’t say anything as he refocused on their conversation.

You beamed up at Remus who had tensed every so slightly at your presence. He tried his best to smile back with just as much enthusiasm, but the accelerating beat of his heart prevented him from doing so. You turned back to the three other boys, joining in on their current debate over whether James’s detention was deserved or not.

Rolling your eyes playfully at their intensity over the silly matter, you spoke up, “I have no idea what you did but considering it’s always something, I’m sure Slughorn was in his right mind when giving you a detention.”

Your words seemed to put an end to the argument as Sirius and Peter laughed loudly and James pouted but kept his mouth shut, knowing you were right. Remus merely smiled down at you in admiration. You caught his gaze in the corner of your eye, the smallest of smirks tugging at your rosy lips.

she pulls me in enough to keep me guessing and maybe i should stop and start confessing confessing, yeah

It had been a week since you found out about Remus’s true feeling towards you, and you were loving every moment of it. You’d recently decided to step up your game by ‘accidentally’ bumping your feet with his under the table on multiple occasions, catching his wandering gaze during classes, and almost always letting at least one body part touch him. Needless to say, the poor werewolf was on the brink of insanity.

“She’s driving me mad!” the shaggy-haired boy rubbed his hands over his face the moment he burst into the door of his dorm, three heads shooting towards him.

Peter was the first to speak with furrowed brows, not catching onto who his friend was referring to, “Who?”

The glasses-clad boy of the group rolled his eyes, elbowing the shorter boy, “McGonagall,” he quipped with a deadpan look on his face. “Who do you think? Y/N, obviously.” The stubbier of the two winced, feeling stupid for not having realized it on his own.

Remus, ignoring the two boys, continued his rant, “One minute she acts like she likes me and then I’m friendzoned the next,” he groaned before continuing, “I feel like I should just tell her. I think I might implode if I don’t.”

Sirius watched as James and Peter tried to give his poor friend advice with a knowing smirk. The grey-eyed boy had caught onto your antics a few days in, but decided to let itself play out rather than intervene.

oh, i’ve been shaking i love it when you go crazy you take all my inhibitions baby, there’s nothing holding me back

You had always been quite reckless. You knew it, your teachers knew it, everyone knew it. Your wild demeanor was quite the opposite of Remus’s more calm one, but still, he couldn’t help but be drawn in by it. The way you strut through the halls like you owned them, the permanent smirk you always wore on your cherry lips, the chronically unapologetic look in your wide eyes. You were the waves pulling him under. You were his drug, and he was addicted.

“Y/N, hurry up! We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago!”

Marlene’s voice pulled you away from the mirror you were stood in front of, perfecting the finishing touches to your look. It was Sirius’s birthday and he had invited the entire house in your year and above to attend. The now seventeen-year-old boy managed to snag multiple bottles of firewhiskey and discovered the usefulness of the Room of Requirement so, needless to say, you were in for a wild ride.

“Coming!”

You skipped down the winding stairs to join your friend group consisting of Lily, Marlene, Alice, and Mary. You hastily made your way to the location of the party with you leading the way as you had the most experience with escaping from Filch. You luckily made it without being caught as the five of you entered the room.

It was decorated to the max and music of Sirius’s choice blared, making it difficult to hear anything else. Your eyes scanned the room, catching sight of the birthday boy dancing in the middle with a bottle of firewhiskey in hand. You giggled at the sight before jogging over as gracefully as you could in heels, tapping on his shoulder upon arrival.

Sirius’s head whipped towards yours, a cheeky smile taking over his face, “Y/N! Dance with me!” he carelessly threw down the nearly empty bottle and took your hands instead, leading you in a mess of flailing limbs and moving bodies. You laughed uncontrollably at his drunken attempts at dancing. Little did you know his eyes weren’t the only ones on you. On the opposite end of the room stood Remus, his unmoving gaze set on your moving body that seemed to light up his world.

you take me places that tear up my reputation manipulate my decisions baby, there’s nothing holding me back

A few days had passed since Sirius’s birthday and each one of you had finally gotten over the awful hangovers following it. The plan you’d devised inside your head continued to play out, the obvious frustration building up inside Remus intensifying more and more as each day passed. It had been two weeks since your little game began and it was safe to say you were getting quite the satisfaction from it. Having decided to set up a prank on a few Slytherins one night, you made sure to time it during Remus’s Prefect duties.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in bed,” he frowns, steadying your body as the two of you had collided upon turning a corner.

Your eyes were full of mischief as they locked with his chocolate ones, “Pranking, obviously. You’re not gonna rat me out, are you, Moony?” You bat your eyelashes at the lanky boy, eliciting a groan and eye roll.

“You know I’m supposed to report you,” he grumbled, causing your grin to widen.

“Or,” you began, “You could help me.”

He shot you a disapproving look which you brushed aside. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you intertwined your fingers and pulled him down the hallway, his feet jogging to keep up with you. Remus ignored the voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea and instead ran alongside you, exhilaration soon replacing his nerves.

she says that she’s never afraid just picture everybody naked she really doesn’t like to wait not really into hesitation

As time dragged on, Sirius grew more and more concerned about Remus. Knowing full well what you were up to, he decided to finally approach you and ensure your intentions were all good. Naturally, you quite offended that he’d think all of your teasing was done with bad intentions.

“Come on, Sirius. You know I wouldn’t hurt Remus. I care about him,” you frowned at your friend’s question.

He sighed, pulling you into an empty classroom to make sure no one would eavesdrop on your conversation, “I know you do, but at least tell the boy you like him. He’s going crazy.”

You remained silent, your eyebrows knitted together as you diverted your gaze to the front of the room. Sirius studied your face, realization dawning on his own, “You don’t just like him, do you?”

Your head snapped back to his, your eyes narrowed, “What are you implying?”

“You love him.”

You gnawed on your lip at the true accusation, unsure of how to respond. You racked your brain for a comeback, but nothing came up. Sirius took the opportunity to speak again, “It’s okay to say it, you know. He feels the same way-- there’s nothing to be scared of.”

This time your eyes glared into his, annoyed he knew everything you weren’t sure of, “Well he shouldn’t. I’m nothing but bad news and it won’t do him any good,” you snapped to mask the sadness behind your voice.

Sirius’s lips twitched upwards in a kind smile, “But you’re good together, trust me on this one. Just please, tell him before the sexual tension gets so thick you won’t even be able to stand in the same room together.”

Reluctantly you nod, knowing he was right.

‘cause if we lost our minds and we took it way too far i know we’d be alright, i know we would be alright if you were by my side and we stumbled in the dark i know we’d be alright, i know we would be alright

You intended to see Remus after your conversation with Sirius, but your plans changed quickly after falling asleep the moment you sat on the common room couch to briefly speak with Lily. The next morning upon realizing you had fallen asleep, you decided you’d pull him aside at breakfast. You hastily prepared yourself for the day and skipped down to the Great Hall with a little pep in your step. The wide grin on your face was wiped away, however, upon seeing all the Marauders sitting except for Remus. They all held tired smiles at your arrival, all looking as if they’d only gotten an hour of sleep.

“What happened to you lot?” you cocked an eyebrow at the battered boys. They exchanged glances before all speaking at the same time.

“Hangover.”

“Long night.”

“Wrestled with the giant squid.”

You gave James a weird look at his response, but didn’t bother questioning them as you sat down next to Sirius. “Where’s Remus then?” you asked in an attempt to be nonchalant, but failed miserably as they each shot you a knowing look.

“He’s sick in the Hospital Wing,” Sirius began as you stood from your seat with the intention of visiting him, “But I wouldn’t go there,” he hastily tried to stop you. You deadpanned as he came up with a rather dumb excuse, “He, er, doesn’t want visitors right now.”

Your eyes rolled at his failed attempt to stop you. The boys all sighed, but gave up on halting you as you swiveled on your feet, heading towards the Hospital Wing.

You busted through the doors of the infirmary, breathing heavily as you’d jogged the whole way there. There were only a few people present in the spacious room, so it wasn’t hard to find Remus laying in a bed on the opposite side of the room. You calmly walked to his location despite the butterflies in your stomach, only to find him asleep.

A frown took over your lips once taking in his state. He didn’t appear to be sick, but he was surely battered. A few fresh scars covered his face and his arm appeared to be in a splint of some sort. Seeing as it was a Sunday, you decided you’d wait for him to wake up rather than coming back later. You plopped yourself onto the chair next to his bed, lightly resting your hand on top of his. Before you knew it, sleep took over you yet again.

i feel so free when you’re with me, baby baby, there’s nothing holding me back

“Y/N? Y/N, wake up.”

You jolted awake at the sound of your name, eyes blinking slowly in an attempt to adjust to the light. Your brows furrowed in your confused state before remembering where exactly you were. You sat up from your slumped position in the chair, disregarding the ache in your back as you settled your gaze on Remus.

“Sorry,” you licked your chapped lips, thankful you hadn’t drooled in your sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep I was just waiting for-”

“It’s okay,” he smiled weakly, visibly exhausted. “You really shouldn’t have stayed. I would’ve been fine on my own.”

You frowned at this, “Of course I stayed,” you were quick to speak, though didn’t bother giving a reason why. You eyed him cautiously before talking again, “What happened to you anyway? You certainly aren’t just ‘sick’.”

He shifted nervously before answering, “It’s just, er, just a quidditch accident. Yeah, a Quidditch accident.”

Your suspicious eyes intensified, not satisfied with his answer, “You don’t even play Quidditch, Remus,” you pointed out the obvious.

His face heated up, words stumbling out before he could stop and think about them, “I know, I was just, er,” he paused before recollecting his thoughts, “I was helping James practice! Yeah, I was helping him practice.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, not buying his words one bit, “You’re a horrible liar, you know?” His mouth opened then closed as he racked his brain for a response, but didn’t get the opportunity to do so as you spoke again. “But that’s beside the point since that’s not why I came here. Not that I wasn’t worried, of course I was. I just-”

“Y/N,” Remus cut off your rambling. It was your turn to blush, failing to stop the heat from rising to your cheeks. You had never found yourself so nervous before and didn’t exactly enjoy being this flustered.

“Right, er, I came her to,” you trailed off, unsure how to word it. “I came here to tell you something.”

“Shoot,” he replied, hiding the anxiety creeping up on him in anticipation of what you might say.

“I know you like me,” you blurted, mentally face-palming for being so blunt. “I mean, I kind of overheard you talking to the others,” you paused to take in his reaction. If his face wasn’t red before, it surely was now. All he wanted was to crawl into a hole and never come out to evade the situation.

“Yeah, I get it,” he spoke, stopping you from continuing your speech. “You don’t like me back and that’s why you’ve been acting weird. It’s fine, I’ll get ov-”

You silenced the untrue words spilling out of his mouth by bringing him into a kiss. Your soft lips moved against his own stunned ones. You began to pull away at his unresponsiveness, but he was quick to bring you back in once reality hit him. You moved together in sync, both of you experiencing something you hadn’t felt before.

You reluctantly detached your lips from his, resting your foreheads together. The both of you sat in silence as you caught your breath from the kiss. “You didn’t let me finish,” you breathily spoke.

“I like you too.”

fuck that was long didn’t expect to get so into it also low key angsty but ya know

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wickedbananas · 6 years

Text

The Google Ranking Factor You Can Influence in an Afternoon [Case Study]

Posted by sanfran

What does Google consider “quality content"? And how do you capitalize on a seemingly subjective characteristic to improve your standing in search?

We’ve been trying to figure this out since the Hummingbird algorithm was dropped in our laps in 2013, prioritizing “context” over “keyword usage/frequency.” This meant that Google’s algorithm intended to understand the meaning behind the words on the page, rather than the page’s keywords and metadata alone.

This new sea change meant the algorithm was going to read in between the lines in order to deliver content that matched the true intent of someone searching for a keyword.

Write longer content? Not so fast!

Watching us SEOs respond to Google updates is hilarious. We’re like a floor full of day traders getting news on the latest cryptocurrency.

One of the most prominent theories that made the rounds was that longer content was the key to organic ranking. I’m sure you’ve read plenty of articles on this. We at Brafton, a content marketing agency, latched onto that one for a while as well. We even experienced some mixed success.

However, what we didn’t realize was that when we experienced success, it was because we accidentally stumbled on the true ranking factor.

Longer content alone was not the intent behind Hummingbird.

Content depth

Let’s take a hypothetical scenario.

If you were to search the keyword “search optimization techniques,” you would see a SERP that looks similar to the following:

Nothing too surprising about these results.

However, if you were to go through each of these 10 results and take note of the major topics they discussed, theoretically you would have a list of all the topics being discussed by all of the top ranking sites.

Example:

Position 1 topics discussed: A, C, D, E, F

Position 2 topics discussed: A, B, F

Position 3 topics discussed: C, D, F

Position 4 topics discussed: A, E, F

Once you finished this exercise, you would have a comprehensive list of every topic discussed (A–F), and you would start to see patterns of priority emerge.

In the example above, note “topic F” is discussed in all four pieces of content. One would consider this a cornerstone topic that should be prioritized.

If you were then to write a piece of content that covered each of the topics discussed by every competitor on page one, and emphasized the cornerstone topics appropriately, in theory, you would have the most comprehensive piece of content on that particular topic.

By producing the most comprehensive piece of content available, you would have the highest quality result that will best satisfy the searcher’s intent. More than that, you would have essentially created the ultimate resource center for everything a person would want to know about that topic.

How to identify topics to discuss in a piece of content

At this point, we’re only theoretical. The theory makes logical sense, but does it actually work? And how do we go about scientifically gathering information on topics to discuss in a piece of content?

Finding topics to cover:

Manually: As discussed previously, you can do it manually. This process is tedious and labor-intensive, but it can be done on a small scale.

Using SEMrush: SEMrush features an SEO content template that will provide guidance on topic selection for a given keyword.

Using MarketMuse: MarketMuse was originally built for the very purpose of content depth, with an algorithm that mimics Hummingbird. MM takes a largely unscientific process and makes it scientific. For the purpose of this case study, we used MarketMuse.

The process

Watch the process in action

1. Identify content worth optimizing

We went through a massive list of keywords our blog ranked for. We filtered that list down to keywords that were not ranking number one in SERPs but had strong intent. You can also do this with core landing pages.

Here’s an example: We were ranking in the third position for the keyword “financial content marketing.” While this is a low-volume keyword, we were enthusiastic to own it due to the high commercial intent it comes with.

2. Evaluate your existing piece

Take a subjective look at your piece of content that is ranking for the keyword. Does it SEEM like a comprehensive piece? Could it benefit from updated examples? Could it benefit from better/updated inline embedded media? With a cursory look at our existing content, it was clear that the examples we used were old, as was the branding.

3. Identify topics

As mentioned earlier, you can do this in a few different ways. We used MarketMuse to identify the topics we were doing a good job of covering as well as our topic gaps, topics that competitors were discussing, but we were not. The results were as follows:

Topics we did a good job of covering:

Content marketing impact on branding

Impact of using case studies

Importance of infographics

Business implications of a content marketing program

Creating articles for your audience

Topics we did a poor job of covering:

Marketing to millennials

How to market to existing clients

Crafting a content marketing strategy

Identifying and tracking goals

4. Rewrite the piece

Considering how out-of-date our examples were, and the number of topics we had neglected to discuss, we determined a full rewrite of the piece was warranted. Our writer, Mike O’Neill, was given the topic guidance, ensuring he had a firm understanding of everything that needed to be discussed in order to create a comprehensive article.

5. Update the content

To maintain our link equity, we kept the same URL and simply updated the old content with the new. Then we updated the publish date. The new article looks like this, with updated content depth, modern branding, and inline visuals.

6. Fetch as Google

Rather than wait for Google to reindex the content, I wanted to see the results immediately (and it is indeed immediate).

7. Check your results

Open an incognito window and see your updated position.

Promising results:

We have run more than a dozen experiments and have seen positive results across the board. As demonstrated in the video, these results are usually realized within 60 seconds of reindexing the updated content.

Keyword target

Old Ranking

New ranking

“Financial content marketing”

“What is a subdomain”

“Best company newsletters”

“Staffing marketing”

“Content marketing agency”

“Google local business cards”

“Company blog”

“SEO marketing tools”

Of those tests, here’s another example of this process in action for the keyword, “best company newsletters.”

Before:

After

Assumptions:

From these results, we can assume that content depth and breadth of topic coverage matters — a lot. Google’s algorithm seems to have an understanding of the competitive topic landscape for a keyword. In our hypothetical example from before, it would appear the algorithm knows that topics A–F exist for a given keyword and uses that collection of topics as a benchmark for content depth across competitors.

We can also assume Google’s algorithm either a.) responds immediately to updated information, or b.) has a cached snapshot of the competitive content depth landscape for any given keyword. Either of these scenarios is very likely because of the speed at which updated content is re-ranked.

In conclusion, don’t arbitrarily write long content and call it “high quality.” Choose a keyword you want to rank for and create a comprehensive piece of content that fully supports that keyword. There is no guarantee you’ll be granted a top position — domain strength factors play a huge role in rankings — but you’ll certainly improve your odds, as we have seen.

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

from The Moz Blog http://ift.tt/2ocPf06 via IFTTT

#The Moz Blog #Moz #seo

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keyboardpunk · 7 years

Note

How would the boys react to their S/O getting badly wounded during battle and how would they take care of them after?

Chocobros x Fem!Reader

Warning: Graphic violence, gore, and angst ahead.

Thanks for your submission and thanks for reading. ♥

You were a soldier. You made the oath, accepted the risk, dove headfirst into danger without the slightest bit of hesitation, and wore the symbol of your dedication proudly. Your oath was to protect the royal family, no matter the cost. It wasn’t just about Noctis, or the crown, but what he stood for: all the people of Lucis, their history and homeland.

Your love, he knew that well, because it was the same oath he had made. It was not an oath chanted on one knee and later forgotten. It was an oath carved in flesh and earned in blood. You risked life and death not merely because that was what soldiers did, but because you believed in your cause. You believed in protecting the people of Lucis and their young king.

If need be, you would do whatever was necessary to ensure the safety of the royal family, your fellow soldiers, and all Lucians, without hesitation and without restraint or fear… and that was exactly what you had done.

If not for Ignis’ perception, the battle would have been a massacre: not for your crew, but for the innocent citizens nearby. Magitek soldiers had been dropped in the middle of a small town not far from Lestallum. Their focus was to invade the mining shafts towards the farther end of town, and undoubtedly make off with the precious ore and quartz buried inside. The citizens, who were little more than poor miners, needed the ore from the mines to survive. That trade kept them sheltered and fed.

All it took was one hostile, a single civilian attempting to protect his only source of income, and the mechanical soldiers turned on the unarmed citizens. It was possible that Ignis blew out a tire in the process of speeding over to them. Everyone, including yourself, jumped out of the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop, to run to the aid of the defenseless townspeople.

It was different fighting these horrendous machines in the middle of the open dessert or condensed woods than it was in the middle of town. There were people nearby, people that could potentially be targeted or accidentally caught in friendly fire. Time was of the essence, for their safety was to be kept in consideration. To make matters worse, reinforcements for the enemy arrived rather quickly.

In the heat of battle, you didn’t always have time to contemplate your actions. Many times, a split second decision was the difference between life and death. His back was turned, focused on the enemies in front of him, leaving his blind spot completely vulnerable. Your ally, your partner… your love… You told him you would die for him… and you meant it.

♦ Noctis Lucis Caelum

The prince, newly crowned king, didn’t see you fall. His focus was on one of the advanced soldier units that had proven itself quite a challenge as it fought against both him and Gladiolus. Noctis did, however, hear your cry of pure agony. It felt like it had shattered his eardrums and rattled his rib cage so violently his heart throbbed painfully.

Gladiolus came down hard on the enemy in front of them, anticipating Noctis to take advantage of the machine’s brief moment of disorientation. He didn’t, however. Noctis had turned away, spinning fast enough to nearly give himself whiplash. You were standing there, a harpoon-like blade jutting out of your abdomen. Blood gushed from the wound like water cascading over a cliff side. You would have collapsed if not for the machine using the harpoon and chain to yank you back towards it.

It became clear, then. One of the magitek soldiers had shot one of the harpoons at Noctis, intending to hook him and yank him in. You knocked that deadly spear away, but was unaware that another one had been prepared to fire, as well. The second soldier, having now been placed in your blind spot, was free to hook you, now that you stood in the way of Noctis.

“NOOO!” he bellowed, his voice roaring over the battle cries of his comrades and metallic screeching of his foes. You heard Noctis’ voice, powerful and booming, like a war drum. It was almost frightening, like a sound that seemed unfitting to come out of such a carefree and peaceful man. It was almost as though his voice was strong enough to shake the ground. Weak from the blood loss and dizzy from the pain, Noctis’ scream was the last thing you heard.

… … … … …… … … … …

When consciousness slowly returned to you, at first, it felt like a dream. You were in a moderately sized bed, in a familiar room that was fairly dark, but not unseeable. Your head turned to the only source of light, a window with the curtains pulled back. Rain gently tapped against the glass, the dark clouds above shielding the sun from vibrantly blasting rays inside.

You felt something faint and prickly against the skin of your neck and shoulder; and, something fluttered against your skin, further tugging you into consciousness. Too weak to move properly, you were only able to turn your head enough to see spiky locks of black hair peaking into your field of vision. A form laid still next to yours, dressed in all black though pale skin was exposed where clothes had shifted.

A small smile formed when realization washed after you and reality became clearer. “Noctis… you need to shave,” you whispered, voice hoarse and dry. As you became more conscious, you became steadily more aware of the bandages wrapped tightly around your abdomen and the fact that only cloth covered your otherwise bare chest. It was not embarrassing, considering the amount of trust you had in all them. Rather, it left your skin trembling from the cold, and made you wonder if that was why Noctis laid next to you.

He was careful to avoid laying on you, leaving him in an awkward position squished up at your side. It was also for his own sanity, so he could feel your pulse through the night and hear every breath, fearing it would be the last. Healing potions could only do so much for a wound like that. Your own body had to catch up, too.

When he didn’t respond, it became clear he was out cold. Had he been up all night…? When your eyes glanced back to the window, the possibility seemed incredibly likely. Noctis loved overcasts: the gentle trickle of rain, the looming clouds, dream-like atmosphere, and, especially, the wonderful smells. Yet, here he was, missing it.

It was difficult, but you found the strength to roll over. Noctis’ cheek, that had rested just barely on your shoulder slid more properly into your chest. In his unconscious stupor, he was likely just moving himself to something more comfortable. His chin hair was a bit irritating, short and prickly against your skin, and his scalp was oily from the lack of showering; but, for now, you endured it just so you could lay with him a little longer. His gentle breathing in combination with the sounds of rain tapping on the roof made a soothing ambiance.

♦ Prompto Argentum

Gunshots were going off all around him, like bombs exploding in a series, one after the other, after the other, again and again. His ears were ringing, though he was focused on the opponents advancing, shifting, and moving frantically around him. Watch everyone’s back… but Prompto didn’t consider watching his own. That was a job you assigned yourself.

It was just another bullet, that sounded no different than all the others. You had been shot before; but, this… this was something far different. The bullet lodged itself deep into your side, burying itself between your ribs. What followed was unlike anything you had experience before. Your body went limp and you immediately dropped to your knees. The round burned through your flesh and send powerful shock waves coursing through your body. On the floor, you violently convulsed.

Prompto called out your name, likely with the intent of checking on you; however, you didn’t reply, rendered completely void of the ability to move. Yet, you could feel everything: the violent shock waves, the burning bullet, the cold dirt beneath you. Prompto was standing behind you, out of sight, leaving you to stare with teary eyes at advancing magitek soldiers.

When he turned around, though you couldn’t see his face, the fear was evident in his tone. There were no clear words. Prompto just yelled, a guttural, violent sound that tore you apart from the inside out. He stepped over your body to fight off the advancing soldiers. There were too many for him to turn back and check on you. Consciousness slipped away, swiftly and without mercy.

… … … … …… … … … …

He was a nervous wreck, crying and babbling and trembling, shaking Ignis as the bifocaled man attempted to treat your wounds. Gladiolus took control of the situation. He didn’t grab Prompto by the shoulders or even smack a hand against the back of his head. No. Gladiolus straight up punched the blonde, right in the jaw. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to get him to stumble back and shut up. “Pull yourself together!” he bellowed at him.

To his surprise, the blonde didn’t sink away, but immediately stood back upright and charged at him. “I can’t! WHAT IF SHE-!?” However, it was Ignis, this time, who silenced him. “Prompto-!” He didn’t finish his sentence; he didn’t have to. With the bullet now pulled from your flesh, the wound cleaned and bandaged, and a healing potion poured over you and slowly sinking into your body, you began to return to the world of the living.

Everyone went silent as you started to groan and shift uneasily on the ground. Ignis had an arm around your back, keeping you upright. His other hand was still pressing on the bandage he had applied to your wound, keeping it in place. Disheveled, you weren’t entirely sure what was happening, and merely looked up at him with a glossy expression that suggested you weren’t really looking at him at all.

Prompto whispered your name, sinking to his knees in the dirt beside you. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. Through blurry eyes, you could see everyone standing around you. They did not look down on you with contempt, but worry; and, yet, you felt the sting of the trouble you had caused. You had fallen in battle and, as a result, caused unnecessary strain on the group.

“What are you sorry for!?” Prompto squealed, gesturing his confusion frantically with his hands. Ignis removed his hand from the bandage, trusting the adhesive would keep it still for the time being. In a silent exchange, Ignis removed his arm from around you, allowing Prompto to slide in. His arms wrapped around your upper back and his legs slid around yours, his chest pressing against your back. You caught a glimpse of the tears that stained his cheeks before his head descended into your neck.

“I’m so glad your alright,” he choked against your flesh. He didn’t care if the others watched. He had to cry, just a little longer. It was unfair. With your wound still fresh and burning terrible, a rib likely broken, you couldn’t turn around and return Prompto’s embrace. Your hands held his where they crossed over your chest, fingers limply squeezing his.

♦ Gladiolus Amicitia

When he could, the king’s shield guarded not only the precious life of his kingdom’s ruler, but the lives of his comrades: watch Ignis’ back, bark at Prompto to stay focused, and yank you back on your feet when necessary. This time, however, there were too many opponents for him to watch everyone. Noctis needed his aid, strike down low so he could strike up high - keep the enemy distracted so he could move in for a finishing blow.

Too focused on what lay ahead, Gladiolus didn’t catch an abnormally large unit swooping in from the far right. Its mechanical parts hissed as it lifted a massive sword, intending to come crashing down on his back. Your eyes immediately soaked in the sight. His sword was still on the ground. Even if he spun around, he wouldn’t have a chance to lift his blade and counter strike. Three seconds… two…

Your feet carried you faster than you ever imagined, placing you between Gladiolus and the brute machinery. Your blade lifted, intending to block the sweeping mechanical weaponry. It slammed down on you with the force of a mountain, the magitek blade shattering through yours. Shards of metal rained down on you, some pieces of your own blade piercing through your chest. Your legs crumbled and your back slammed into the unforgiving ground below. The sound that broke free from your throat echoed around the battlefield.

Gladiolus didn’t see you fall, but saw the aftermath: your body, limp, corpse-like, on the ground, pieces of your blade scattered around you, and blood oozing from the fresh wounds on your chest. An animal like sound erupted from him, a choke, a grunt, something that was both frightening and concerning. Dirt kicked up around you as the fight carried on. Whatever happened next, you were uncertain. You could hear the fury of moving bodies, metal clashing on metal, swords and bullets slicing the wind; but, your vision had dulled and, eventually, consciousness, too, faded.

… … … … …… … … … …

When you first awoke, you didn’t immediately move. Your chest felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down on you. As consciousness steadily grew more potent, making it clear that your predicament wasn’t a dream, you realized that weight was pain. Your flesh was on fire, body crying out in agony. Something thick was wrapped around you, limiting your upper body movement. It wasn’t immediately obvious to you that you were twitching and groaning, until a familiar voice reached out.

“Hey - be still,” he calmly, albeit a bit roughly, commanded. “Hell no - gotta pee,” you immediately barked back at him. The rough voice that you knew so well chuckled lightly at your snappy remark. You felt his large hands slide down your arms, before his non-dominant hand grasped your waist to slowly hoist you into a seated position. “What - you guys outta potions or cheap?” you questioned, groaning at the aching in your chest and upper abdomen. Once you were upright, your back began to ache, as well.

“Tch. ‘Course not. Gotta let your body catch up…” Gladiolus trailed off and came properly into your view when he sunk to the floor. On his knees, he sat at the edge of the bed, staring up at you with an uneasy gaze. It was clear, in those worried, tired eyes what hell he had been enduring.

His long hair was greasy, sticking to his neck and limp. It was quite contrasting to the manner in which it usually appeared: luscious, wild, and silky. Dirt, grease, and possibly dried blood was smeared across his forehead and stuck in his beard. Clearly, he had not showered since the battle. Had he honestly just sat here and watched you? The way his amber eyes soaked in the sight of your conscious face suggested so.

Gladiolus might not have been as poetically honest as Ignis or one to wear his heart on his sleeve, like Prompto; however, his eyes were a novel of his emotions, completely incapable of keeping a single secret from you. “I’ll feel much better after you take me to the bathroom,” you commented, mentally cheering when your remark forced a smile from the brute. “Yeah… if you promise to be careful next time…” The concern and fear in his voice was a bit frightening; but, at the same time, it made your heart swell.

♦ Ignis Scientia

Focus… focus… was what Ignis consistently thought to himself. There were too many enemies and too much at risk for him to falter, even for a second. Create openings for Gladio, aid in Noctis’ advances, make sure Prompto stays in good range… watch your back. But, in that moment, Ignis couldn’t watch your back. He only had one pair of eyes, one mind to focus on what lie ahead. Had he turned away from you for too long? That was the very thing that echoed in his mind when he turned and saw you, trapped beneath not one, or two, but three magitek soldiers.

Panic erupted within him and he charged his way through the battlefield, with a fury that could challenge even Noctis. He knocked one soldier away, and then another, but the last one was faster than he was. You had countered its blade with your own, but it pushed past the impressive steal, breaking your defense and piercing deep into the flesh between your chest and shoulder.

Ignis lifted his blades to strike at the unit; however, just as he did so, another soldier advanced on him from behind, knocking him down in a fury of spins. Your hands grabbed at the blade that pierced you, attempting to prevent it from going any deeper. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from between the lids. The pain melted from your thoughts, drowned out by the anguished cries of Ignis as he shouted, “hold on! HOLD ON!”

It was unclear who had finally knocked the soldier off of you. When you felt the weight fall off, your hands slid from the blade and went limp beside you. Gentle hands caressed you and made you feel weightless. “Ignis…” you whimpered, unable to move. Maybe you had opened your eyes, but your scattered thoughts left you unable to see. Immediately, the world drifted away into senseless oblivion.

… … … … …… … … … …

“Darling, please be still,” his voice pleaded with you. You had awoken at the most inconvenient of times, whilst Ignis attempted to rewrap the bandages that covered your wound. The potion had managed to at least get the bleeding under control and had closed the wound enough to allow him to administer stitches. He didn’t have to guess what kind of pain you were in; he could see it.

“Trying,” you replying, hissing through clenched teeth. You were staring down at the horrendous sight. The gaping wound exposed bright red flesh and lightly oozed dark red blood. Staring at it likely just made it hurt more. The stitches needed to be replaced, something Ignis could not wait on. “Look at me,” he gently commanded, his eyes flickering up to your face for a moment. “Focus on me,” he further instructed once you looked up at him. His green orbs captured yours then, his eyes unrelenting in their demand for your undivided attention.

Understanding, you nodded compliantly and kept your eyes on his face, even when he looked away to begin removing the old stitches. It felt awful, like worms crawling between the layers of your skin, eating their way through. Thankfully, he was quick. His skilled fingers had new stitches in place before you even realized the old ones had been tossed out.

His arms reached around you a few times as he began rewrapping the wound dressings. When he finished and pulled back, your eyes caught the dark red splotches that stained his dress shirt. “Iggy,” you choked out, the pain from your wound and guilt from ruining his shirt mingling. “I’m sor-” Immediately, he silenced you, as if your apology had stung him.

“Don’t be... I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to protect you. A bloody shirt is… hardly equal trade for that.” Ignis stood up properly then, stepping away for just a moment to retrieve something. He returned rather quickly with cloth in his hands. As he pressed it onto your bloodied skin, you realized it was wet and warm. He wiped the blood away, carefully and meticulously. As soon as he was done, he moved to pull the blanket over your body, likely with the intent of giving you some modest comfort.

With his hand finally in reach, your trembling fingers slid possessively over his, catching his hand and making him go still. “...Ignis...?” He avoided your gaze, but allowed his fingers to squeeze gently at your smaller digits. “Thank you...” He had saved your life, making such simple words seem so pathetic by comparison; but, his smile spoke volumes. “...no. Thank you... for staying with me.”

#ffxv #ffxv imagine #final fantasy xv #noctis x reader #prompto x reader #gladiolus x reader #ignis x reader #final fantasy xv imagine #fanfiction #reader fanfiction #chocobros x reader #Noctis Lucis Caelum #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia

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erikbpoststhings · 7 years

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The Legend of Zelda: Oh Yeah, There Are Horses In This Game

(My long-winded thoughts about the masterful Breath of the Wild)

So I'm just now coming off Breath of the Wild after buying the game about...4 weeks ago? I beat the core game (all Divine Beasts, and Hyrule Castle) in a week. I continued spending the vast majority of my free time on the game to tackle the immense amount of remaining content it had to offer.

And now, somewhere in the area of 90-ish hours of playtime later, having found and completed all 120 Shrines, found all of Link's memories, I'm finally ready to put the game aside (screw the Korok seeds, by the way). But I do want to talk about it and about the experience it's been. There will be spoilers ahead.

I must also note that, before acquiring Breath of the Wild, I replayed The Wind Waker and Skyward Sword; attempting a 3-heart and 6-heart run through them respectively*. As such, I had a lot of thoughts of how Breath of the Wild compares with those games (and other Zelda titles), how it differs, how it pays tribute, and how it completely turns conventions on their head.

*3-heart run through Wind Waker was a piece of cake. 6-heart run through Skyward Sword (note that you start with 6, so you can't do a 3-heart run) was significantly more challenging, and when I accidentally completed a heart container, I just continued playing. So it became a 7-heart run.

So to be blunt, Breath of the Wild is a great game. Few people will argue that. It's been highly revered since it's still-recent release. But then, so was Skyward Sword for which the general consensus seemed to quickly 180 on. I don't expect that to happen with Breath of the Wild. The game's reception is very well-justified and its positive qualities I think will prove to be timeless. I don't really intend this to be a review, but I will take a quick aside here to nitpick what I don't like about the game. Probably the most controversial mechanic is the weapon durability. This is something I don't feel strongly about but I do understand where others are coming from. During your time spent on the Great Plateau, all your available arsenal is so fragile that it does become a bit tedious to have to constantly scour around for a new weapon. However, this problem basically vanishes once you finish the starting area and have access to the meat of the game. After leaving the Plateau, weapon durability so rarely matters. Far more often than weapons breaking, I was dropping weapons willingly to make room for others, even after several inventory upgrades. Additionally, all the weapons you find in the overworld respawn. I don't think any weapon you find is permanently gone once it breaks. Chests in the Shrines, for instance, remain empty, but the Shrines never give you unique weapons. And the unique weapons you get after completing each of the Divine Beasts can all be remade by one of the respective locals. Anyway, my condensed thoughts on the weapon durability system is that it is very temporarily a very minor annoyance. I don't think the game needed it, but I don't think it's a serious hindrance either.

I'm not super thrilled with how the game handles its soundtrack. I get that it was a conscious choice to go with minimal music in order to emphasize the “atmospheric” feel, but I did find myself often wishing for some more robust tracks to accompany my quest.

Da naaa nana naaa da naa nana na naaaa

The controls took a lot of adjusting to. Not only are they not mapped like any previous Zelda game, they also aren't mapped like any of the similar-genre games that Breath of the Wild takes many cues from (e.g. Dark Souls). But I think my biggest challenge here was a purely personal one: In my earliest hours, I frequently tried to use R to open the paraglider because I was so accustomed to having the Deku Leaf set to R in Wind Waker HD. Oh, which reminds me, I do not own a Switch. I was playing the Wii U version of Breath of the Wild.

Speaking of hardware, this might be the only Zelda game which is clearly more than the systems it was built for can really handle. While the updates have improved performance, there are still several obvious framerate drops. Kakariko Village has been the worst offender in my experience. Others have cited the game near-freezing when fighting Moblins and I only recently experienced this for the first time strangely enough, despite having fought Moblins countless times before.

A mechanic I find odd is how the stables work. OK, so you have to tame wild horses, and then you can register them at a stable. And OK, you can whistle to your horse to call it over, but only up to a certain distance. And alright, you can board a horse at the stable, and then take it out at another stable. Wait, what? This is just so...strange. It seems like the intention was to set up a system to encourage you to tame as many horses as you can in all of the different locations so you always have the convenience of taking one out but...then you can just warp horses from any stable to any other stable. So as soon as you have 2 horses, you can just rotate them however you see fit and the whole system is trivialized. After my first 2 horses, the only other horse I ever registered was the Giant Horse; and just because having it tamed was the result of a sidequest. I tried to register the Lord of the Mountain, but the guy at the stable said something about curses, so I'm guessing you can't do that.

A sad day for glowy, 4-eyed horse-bunny-things everywhere.

To be clear, this didn't negatively affect my enjoyment of the game, it just seemed so weird that the stable system was designed that way. If you can freely warp your horse across the map at the stable...why not just let your horse come running to you no matter how far away you are? The game imposes logic on one front, only to turn around and break that very same logic on the other. All that having been said, horses...kind of don't matter. I spent very little of my time riding horses in this game. Yeah, riding a horse is faster than running on foot, but you know what's waaaay faster than both? Gliding.

One of the few mandatory items in the game is the paraglider. You have to get it before you can leave the Great Plateau (and even speedrunners trying their best to find a sequence break seem to have confirmed that the game is coded to ensure the paraglider is a must). The paraglider gives you the ability to glide from high places, covering long distances. And, since you're in the air, rough terrain is a non-issue, while it provides constant barriers to horseback travel. It also gives you the opportunity to look at the environment from a high viewpoint. And you can go into Matrix-bullet-time mode and shoot arrows while you're in the sky (you can do this after jumping off your horse too, but I digress). You can also shield surf off a ledge, pull out your paraglider with your shield still strapped to your feet and continue shield surfing when you find a place to land. Basically, the paraglider is objectively superior to horses in every way. Especially after you finish Vah Medoh and gain the ability to create updrafts where you stand. Or, hell, just when you learn that you can create updrafts by setting grass on fire.

Oh yeah, shield-surfing. God damn, that's cool. When I first learned to do it, I immediately tried to using the bow, and you can! I'm Legolas, bitches!

And that small moment I had nicely sums up one of Breath of the Wild's greatest strengths: Not only how much it encourages experimentation, but how rewarding it is. Nearly every time you have the thought “I wonder if I can do this,” the answer is “Yes.” The game tells you about shield-surfing, but it doesn't tell you you can use weapons, jump and paraglide mid-surf. But you totally can. And it's awesome.

I've seen people cite this as why Breath of the Wild is the perfect game for somebody who doesn't play video games, and I totally agree. Those of us who grew up with video games are accustomed to so many limitations existing because “that's just how video games work”. We're used to unnaturally shaped “natural” environments dictating the difference between playable area and background decoration. We're used to there being a one-and-only path through the story and awkward prevention from us going to certain areas before the game tells us we can; no matter how much we would already like to go there. We're used to friendly NPCs having no reaction to us drawing our weapon and swinging it around like a madman and setting the landscape on fire. A person with none of these presuppositions will be more likely to try things that a seasoned gamer might instinctively not bother to try under the assumption that nothing will come out of it because of those ingrained conventions. But Breath of the Wild so readily and so casually tosses those conventions out the window that just about anything and everything is on the table. Almost* none of the terrain is insurmountable. If you can touch a mountainside, you can climb it. There are paths carved throughout the land, but you needn't follow them. Hell, my first time in Goron City, I came in backwards from the way the game is set up to guide you into it. Incidentally, the Goron at the clothing shop has a really funny reaction to you wearing non-fireproof gear. Breath of the Wild is very light and very modular with its story, in a way that never impedes the player's curiosity or desires. There is no one-and-only order and if you unwittingly stumble into some of the plot on your way to a point of interest, nothing's stopping you from leaving that plot until you feel like coming back to it. I started working through the Zora's Domain section of the main story only to drop it entirely midway through for several hours while I attempted to make it to every tower on the map. As I put it to my roommate, who kept commenting on my total inability to focus on one goal, “this game is distraction porn.” And NPC's will, in fact, react with serious concern to your careless disregard with their well-being. One NPC will even show concern for your well-being should he see you standing on the edge of the bridge he patrols.

Though I should be fair and note that, while this is new to Zelda, it's not exactly new to video games. Skyrim's villagers will happily slaughter you with battle axes if you so much as graze one of their oh-so-precious chickens. *There is a visible mountain that wraps around the north side and northwest corner of the game map. Unfortunately, there is an invisible wall that prevents you from reaching it. The game's world is enormous, but it definitely isn't endless.

The aforementioned light and modular story may be the best thing about Breath of the Wild, especially when compared with the likes of Skyward Sword. Now, I like Skyward Sword. I don't love it, and I have a lot of problems with it, but I don't hate it. I do, however, hate the way Skyward Sword handles story. Skyward Sword has probably the most detailed plot of any Zelda game and, while that statement alone sounds like a compliment, it's totally to the detriment of the player experience. You have no freedom in Skyward Sword. Everything has to happen this way in this order. We're telling this story, not your way of approaching it.

At that point, can you even call it an adventure game? This is one reason I really don't care much about story in video games. The most inventive, wonderful story ever crafted by a human mind can be included in a video game, but if the game isn't fun...it's a terrible game. And the particularity of Skyward Sword's story directly, negatively impacts how much fun the game has to offer.* *While replaying the opening couple hours of Skyward Sword which are 90% dialogue, I turned to my roommate and assured him, “Don't worry, I swear there's a game in here somewhere.” Breath of the Wild is completely the opposite. The game really has very little story, and what story there is isn't especially deep. And it's a huge benefit to the player experience. The story isn't fixed for you ahead of time, and you aren't shoved along the only path Nintendo wants you to see. The story is almost entirely up to you. You're going on an adventure.

As I played the game and considered this, I realized this is the first Zelda game since the first Zelda game to really do that. A Link to the Past is fairly open in the sense that you can explore quite a bit of the world right away (after the intro section) but even it had a laid out, self-dictated path of progression. And each consecutive game seemed to keep guiding the player just a little more; Link's Awakening had recurring messages dropping mind-numbingly obvious hints. Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask introduced the dreaded player-companion concept. The Oracle games (which I adore, by the way) have the Maku Trees simply telling you where to go next every time you finish a dungeon, etc. Some of the games handled these obnoxious concepts well, such as Twilight Princess disguising the handholding player-companion with a genuinely interesting and endearing character, while others...didn't (...Fi...). But they continued to employ these concepts, eventually cementing them as unfortunate staples of the series; staples that seem counterintuitive to the original game's concept of being lost in a vast world that you're free to explore and learn about entirely of your own volition.

I have several gripes with the core control mechanics of the original Zelda, a story for another day, but the game is solid conceptually. Breath of the Wild feels like the full realization of that original concept.

Playing through the game while my roommate watched intently, a number of times I would turn to him and say, “that's very Zelda 1.” A big part of that comes down to the sort of post-apocalyptic world the game takes place in. So much of the area is barren, but with a lot of dilapidated and curious structures that imply a larger civilization in the century past. And that's...“very Zelda 1.” You need a certain number of hearts before you can successfully pull the Master Sword from its pedestal. This is also “very Zelda 1”. The White Sword and Magical Sword in the original game both had similar prerequisites.

The one moment I had that I think best exemplifies the “Zelda 1-ness” of the game is my first visit to Gerudo Desert. On my way to Gerudo Town (scaling the mountains because the ground-level path is for chumps), I happened to spy a circle of enormous statues off to the side. True to form, I ditched the forward path to investigate these statues. Upon observing them, I realized there was a puzzle here and one I could solve. So I did and was rewarded with one of the Shrines. The game didn't lead me there. None of the NPC's told me about those statues (though somebody I would meet later in Gerudo Town does mention them, giving you a sidequest, which in my case was immediately marked as “Complete”). These statues aren't part of the main story at all. I saw something interesting, and I decided to investigate. My choice as a result of my curiosity was the sole driving force behind my actions, and that sums up how the original Zelda worked. The player's curiosity pushed them, and by extension the game, forward. Breath of the Wild works the same way.

It was in this moment that it really sunk into me how different Breath of the Wild is from what the Zelda series had largely become, but how it also does the best job of capturing the spirit of the series' original title.

Any other Zelda in recent memory would treat a huge landmark like these statues with so much less player-freedom. You might not even see them until the game decides it's time for you to interact with them. It wouldn't be a matter of “hey, there's something interesting over there. I'm gonna go check it out because I can and nothing's going to stop me,” it'd be “here these are now, because you played our story until you got to them, these are the next part of the plot, and no more game will happen until you're done with them.”

But the original Legend of Zelda wouldn't do that, and neither does Breath of the Wild.

Not only is your curiosity a driving force for the game, and one that the game incites and encourages, it's always rewarding. Pretty much every slightly interesting piece of terrain has something to offer you, even if it's just a Korok seed. Every new nook and cranny you explore, you'll be rewarded for doing so.

Every nook and cranny.

Anyway, now that the gush-fest is more or less out of the way, let's come back to some things I don't really like. First, let's talk about the Shrines. The Shrines themselves are actually a great concept. Over a hundred mini-dungeons that can give you whatever puzzles the developers can think up, unhindered by any thematic obligation that the more traditional Zelda formula would force upon them.

If only that could be said for all of the Shrines. I find the “Blessing” Shrines to be pretty lame; these Shrines have no puzzle or challenge to present to you. Most of the time, you find these Shrines after solving a puzzle or facing some challenge on the overworld. But a lot of those challenges aren't very satisfying, so it's a letdown to see that the Shrine won't titillate you where it's prerequisite failed to. But hey, at least those ones are trying.

Far worse are the “Test of Strength” Shrines. This is a concept I would've been fine with if maybe 1-3 of the Shrines, at most, were done in this manner. This is not the case. There are around 20 Shrines in which your only goal is to beat up a single robot before the whole affair is done with. Meh. I was always very excited when I entered a Shrine and saw that it was neither of these. Now, let's talk about the final boss. So the Calamity Ganon fight is pretty cool. It feels a lot like a Dark Souls boss in many ways. Ganon's quite large, has a significant array of moves, uses the arena to his advantage, and has a second phase in which your timing starts to matter a lot more. Good stuff.

Unfortunately, after Calamity Ganon is done with, he transforms into the much larger Dark Beast Ganon; the “Hatred and Malice Incarnate,” as the game calls him; and we find ourselves facing him out in Hyrule field. I was cautiously optimistic when I first saw this. A giant monster battle out in the overworld? OK, this might be super cool. But...then I was given the Light Bow out of nowhere and Zelda’s disembodied voice told me to “shoot the glowing points” and at that instant, I knew the battle was going to be lame. It's presented cool, but it's just not very challenging, interesting, or fun. For all the guff I gave Skyward Sword earlier, this is one area I give that story-plagued game the edge. I really like the final fight with Demise in Skyward Sword. It's also not especially challenging, but at least I get to catch and throw lightning with my sword! It's also a fight that feels like a natural extension of the games most prominent mechanics up until then, with the motion-controlled swordplay being the focus.

Breath of the Wild instead shoves you on horseback (“oh yeah, there are horses in this game”) and gives you a new tool last-second, awkwardly disconnecting the final confrontation from the entire game up until that point.

So the game isn't perfect. But it's so, so, so close. Even minor things about the game absolutely enthralled me. The temperature system, for instance, is really thorough. Like, yeah, equip the right clothes for the right weather conditions. But what about when even that doesn't help? Well, you can follow the advice of the NPC's and use elixirs, or you can equip elemental weapons. This is another very cool mechanic the game doesn't tell you. If you're in the hottest areas of Gerudo Desert, where the Gerudo clothing doesn't cut it, you can equip a frostblade, and that will also affect your tolerance for the heat. It's so impressive how even the tiniest details like this weren't overlooked.

Not to mention the very Minecraft-esque mechanic that killing wildlife with fire weapons will yield cooked meat. Breath of the Wild takes that one step further than it's inspiration, giving you “icy” meat if you kill them with ice weapons.

The game also has countless references to other Zelda titles, so if you're a longtime fan of the franchise, those are a lot of fun to see. Areas ripped straight from Skyward Sword, Twilight Princess and Ocarina of Time all appear; albeit very ravaged by time and war. There are locations named after some of the most obscure characters in the franchise. Even the music, what little there is, has some nostalgic melodies you wouldn't necessarily expect.

Anyway, this ended up about five times as long as I expected, but there was just so much I wanted to say. I really do think this game, in addition to being so well-received, will ultimately prove to be an important title to video games as a whole. Like Ocarina of Time before it, and the original Legend of Zelda before that, Breath of the Wild may have significantly altered the playing field forever.

#zelda #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #breath of the wild #the legend of zelda breath of the wild #nintendo #video games

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tradevendors · 6 years

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The Google Ranking Factor You Can Influence in an Afternoon [Case Study]

Posted by sanfran

What does Google consider “quality content"? And how do you capitalize on a seemingly subjective characteristic to improve your standing in search?

This new sea change meant the algorithm was going to read in between the lines in order to deliver content that matched the true intent of someone searching for a keyword.

Write longer content? Not so fast!

Watching us SEOs respond to Google updates is hilarious. We’re like a floor full of day traders getting news on the latest cryptocurrency.

However, what we didn’t realize was that when we experienced success, it was because we accidentally stumbled on the true ranking factor.

Longer content alone was not the intent behind Hummingbird.

Content depth

Let’s take a hypothetical scenario.

If you were to search the keyword “search optimization techniques,” you would see a SERP that looks similar to the following:

Nothing too surprising about these results.

Example:

Position 1 topics discussed: A, C, D, E, F

Position 2 topics discussed: A, B, F

Position 3 topics discussed: C, D, F

Position 4 topics discussed: A, E, F

Once you finished this exercise, you would have a comprehensive list of every topic discussed (A–F), and you would start to see patterns of priority emerge.

In the example above, note “topic F” is discussed in all four pieces of content. One would consider this a cornerstone topic that should be prioritized.

How to identify topics to discuss in a piece of content

Finding topics to cover:

Manually: As discussed previously, you can do it manually. This process is tedious and labor-intensive, but it can be done on a small scale.

Using SEMrush: SEMrush features an SEO content template that will provide guidance on topic selection for a given keyword.

The process

https://fast.wistia.net/embed/iframe/n64xzds4ik?seo=false&videoFoam=true

https://fast.wistia.net/assets/external/E-v1.js

Watch the process in action

https://fast.wistia.net/assets/external/E-v1.js

1. Identify content worth optimizing

2. Evaluate your existing piece

3. Identify topics

Topics we did a good job of covering:

Content marketing impact on branding

Impact of using case studies

Importance of infographics

Business implications of a content marketing program

Creating articles for your audience

Topics we did a poor job of covering:

Marketing to millennials

How to market to existing clients

Crafting a content marketing strategy

Identifying and tracking goals

4. Rewrite the piece

5. Update the content

6. Fetch as Google

Rather than wait for Google to reindex the content, I wanted to see the results immediately (and it is indeed immediate).

7. Check your results

Open an incognito window and see your updated position.

Promising results:

Keyword target

Old Ranking

New ranking

“Financial content marketing”

“What is a subdomain”

“Best company newsletters”

“Staffing marketing”

“Content marketing agency”

“Google local business cards”

“Company blog”

“SEO marketing tools”

Of those tests, here’s another example of this process in action for the keyword, “best company newsletters.”

Before:

After

Assumptions:

#Trade Vendors

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paydexscore · 6 years

Text

The Google Ranking Factor You Can Influence in an Afternoon [Case Study]

Posted by sanfran

What does Google consider “quality content”? And how do you capitalize on a seemingly subjective characteristic to improve your standing in search?

This new sea change meant the algorithm was going to read in between the lines in order to deliver content that matched the true intent of someone searching for a keyword.

Write longer content? Not so fast!

Watching us SEOs respond to Google updates is hilarious. We’re like a floor full of day traders getting news on the latest cryptocurrency.

However, what we didn’t realize was that when we experienced success, it was because we accidentally stumbled on the true ranking factor.

Longer content alone was not the intent behind Hummingbird.

Content depth

Let’s take a hypothetical scenario.

If you were to search the keyword “search optimization techniques,” you would see a SERP that looks similar to the following:

Nothing too surprising about these results.

Example:

Position 1 topics discussed: A, C, D, E, F

Position 2 topics discussed: A, B, F

Position 3 topics discussed: C, D, F

Position 4 topics discussed: A, E, F

Once you finished this exercise, you would have a comprehensive list of every topic discussed (A–F), and you would start to see patterns of priority emerge.

In the example above, note “topic F” is discussed in all four pieces of content. One would consider this a cornerstone topic that should be prioritized.

How to identify topics to discuss in a piece of content

Finding topics to cover:

Manually: As discussed previously, you can do it manually. This process is tedious and labor-intensive, but it can be done on a small scale.

Using SEMrush: SEMrush features an SEO content template that will provide guidance on topic selection for a given keyword.

The process

https://fast.wistia.net/embed/iframe/n64xzds4ik?seo=false&videoFoam=true

https://fast.wistia.net/assets/external/E-v1.js

Watch the process in action

https://fast.wistia.net/assets/external/E-v1.js

1. Identify content worth optimizing

2. Evaluate your existing piece

3. Identify topics

Topics we did a good job of covering:

Content marketing impact on branding

Impact of using case studies

Importance of infographics

Business implications of a content marketing program

Creating articles for your audience

Topics we did a poor job of covering:

Marketing to millennials

How to market to existing clients

Crafting a content marketing strategy

Identifying and tracking goals

4. Rewrite the piece

5. Update the content

6. Fetch as Google

Rather than wait for Google to reindex the content, I wanted to see the results immediately (and it is indeed immediate).

7. Check your results

Open an incognito window and see your updated position.

Promising results:

Keyword target

Old Ranking

New ranking

“Financial content marketing”

“What is a subdomain”

“Best company newsletters”

“Staffing marketing”

“Content marketing agency”

“Google local business cards”

“Company blog”

“SEO marketing tools”

Of those tests, here’s another example of this process in action for the keyword, “best company newsletters.”

Before:

After

Assumptions:

#Paydex Score

0 notes

imeadowbreeze-blog · 5 years

Text

Meet Me (on the Emergency Staircase) Prologue

This is way too easy. It isn’t that heavy of a painting. It isn’t that hard of a museum to sneak into – the security guards are too sleepy to check whether the footage of the museum’s inside is what is happening in real time.

“Night Eagle” scans the surroundings and activates his night vision, smirking at the lasers which would activate an alarm if he accidentally stepped on any of them. He rolls his eyes; he has been doing this job for almost four years, lasers aren’t going to stop him.

With a little tweak with the little box in a corner and quick, light steps, he moves stealthily to his target. He looks at each side of the Smithsian painting: The Foolish Traveller, to ensure nothing would activate a trap when he pulls it from the wall. Grinning, he swiftly removes the wires that plasters it on the wall and places the painting inside a black tote bag specially made for his night job. He then whispers to no one but the person on the other line of his satellite earpiece especially made for this activity, “Target obtained, Eve. Will arrive out there in eight minutes.”

He receives a curt, “Copy.”

Night Eagle walks out of the main exhibit room the same way he did, a little disappointed with how stress-free tonight’s theft had been. He then pastes his signature black note with the eagle at the background with the words on his customized penmanship for this persona.

Greetings,

I was here, and boy was it an easy steal tonight.

This painting should be named The Foolish Museum Owners instead.

I’d suggest to improve your security system.

But you could also not, so that I could easily sneak it again next time.

! Night Eagle !

The gold ink against the dark card is mesmerizing, if he says so himself.

He is just about to step out of the back door when a bullet misses his foot for about a feet away. From its trajectory, it is apparent that it was intended to miss him. He turns and freezes when he finds a man of almost the same age standing on the doorway of the opposite guard door, staring him with a hand raised pointing his pistol right at him.

Night Eagle recognizes the man – a rising detective who has been solving cases one after another, even ones that seemed cold and frozen. He doesn’t know the man’s full name but the detective has earned the nickname “Prodigal” from the public because of his quick wits and intelligence.

Smirking, he side steps another bullet that is directed at his shoulder. “My, my, what is homicide detective doing here at three in the morning?” He mocks, his voice an octave lower to disguise his true identity. He cannot let slip up, not in front of one of the most observant detectives there are in their state.

His adversary eyes the tote bag tucked under Night Eagle’s arm. “I was in the neighborhood, looking for clues for my latest case. While returning home, I noticed that the museum is unnecessarily quiet – the usual guards are not in patrol and the lights in the main room are out when they should always be on to see shadows of anyone sneaking in. So, I got curious and stumbled upon your attempted theft,” the detective explains and extends a hand. “Give me the painting, Night Eagle.”

The detective is alone based on his subtle observation of their surroundings. It is also evident that he only has one gun in his hand and no other weapons in hand. That works in his favor. Night Eagle is just about two steps until he is on the clear.

Despite practiced years of using delicate movements, he doesn’t expect how hastily Prodigal moves when he takes a step backward. With a hand holding onto the doorframe, he does a twist-turn-duck when the detective sprints towards him to grab his arm. Adrenaline spikes within him when the man doesn’t stop with that, running after him when the thief manages to step out of the museum.

Throwing the tote bag behind the tree they designated as the pick up point, Night Eagle takes out another empty tote bag from his pocket as he runs the opposite direction to distract the sleuth from his accomplice who is currently sneakily seizing the painting from the bushes towards their runaway single.

Prodigal rapidly catches up to him, glaring at him with hazel eyes that seem to glow golden with the lamppost just above them. Neither of them has broken out in sweat. “Hand over the painting,” The man repeats, enunciating every word with a tone that signifies danger.

He grins, thrill making him even more energized to continue the chase. He is certain he has already distracted and outran the detective earlier. Apparently, the man has lived to his nickname and has predicted the thief’s moves, running the opposite direction to corner him.

“No way, what kind of thief surrenders just because a detective tells him so,” Night Eagle says, pacing leisurely towards the tree, discreetly eyeing its height and sturdiness. He calculates how quickly he could climb it, and the what different it would make if he uses a tool to reach its branch. “Although, it has been nice to meet you, Prodigy,” This nickname seems more befitting for the moment. The man before him is not a mere homicide detective, it’s a person who matches his thinking. The detective deserves another nickname he’d only get to use in Night Eagle’s theft. “You’re a real challenge for the past few minutes, and I hope to see you more in my next adventures. Perhaps I might even invite you. We’ll see.”

Prodigal smirks, one corner of his mouth lifting, making him look dangerous under the low light. “I’m not letting you get away, Night Eagle. Your theft ends tonight. I’m putting you in handcuffs, and you’ll sleep in a makeshift bed tonight...is it considered today since midnight has--? It’s three in the morning, don’t judge me.”

The sudden outburst surprises him. He doesn’t know whether it is the way the man is, or if it’s sleep deprivation. “Man, I hope you’re not as boring when you have full sleep.” He guffaws at the scowl that emits and then snaps his fingers, making a heather flower appear in his hand from under his sleeve. He takes careful steps towards the detective, who tenses at his approach. They have a stare down for almost a minute before he throws the flower in the air, distracting the detective for a split second. Misdirection always works.

Taking the presented out, he runs towards the tree’s body with a built up momentum, he then jumps on its trunks, uses the nearest and bulkiest branch as leverage to jump over the fences, quickly half-jumping and half-climbing up. Just as he is to hop down, a stone hits his leg making him almost lose his balance. Looking down, he couldn’t help his manic smile upon seeing Prodigal seething at him down below with stones in his hands. He sidesteps few more before saying his goodbye, “Until next time, Prodigy. I look forward on how you’ll entertain me again. Safe trip back home, or not, I don’t really care. Thanks for the painting!”

With that, he slides down towards the other side of the wall and disappears to the night on the back of their getaway motorcycle, chuckling silently at the loud curses the detective throws at him.

This is where the Meet Me Series begins.

Read the: SUMMARY here!

#meadow writes #writer #author #writers #writeblr #writerblr #writing #meet me on the emergency staircase #meet me #story #creative writing #new writerblr #new writing blog #authors #mmotes

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

Link

There’s a reason movies employ costume designers, why celebrities hire stylists, and why you changed outfits no fewer than three times before your last promising first date — fashion choices broadcast nuanced details about a person’s identity and personality.

The same, of course, holds true for fictional characters in novels. The choices that authors make about apparel and accessories can bring a character to life, or they can push fiction into fantasy. Remember when Carrie Bradshaw picked apart Jack Berger’s novel because he dressed his character in a then-unfashionable scrunchie? Select the right pieces and your character will feel real; select the wrong ones and readers won’t believe a word.

Scrunchies aside, stylistic choices have turned so many moments from capital-L Literature into memorable scenes. In Gone With the Wind, Scarlett O’Hara whipped up an iconic gown out of green curtains during the poverty-stricken days of Reconstruction, when she couldn’t afford to purchase a dress. In Jane Eyre, the protagonist refuses to wear the brightly colored silk and satin gowns Mr. Rochester offers her in favor of the drab dresses she feels are more appropriate for her position as a governess. In The Bell Jar, Esther Greenwood immediately divulges by page three that she rushed over to Bloomingdale’s on her lunch break to purchase black patent leather shoes with a matching belt and handbag to prepare for her summer of working at a magazine in New York — that’s how important her accessories are to her. And who can forget The Great Gatsby’s Jay manically tossing up shirts, or American Psycho’s Patrick Bateman reciting a list of designers and brand names with the reverence usually reserved for church?

If these scenes seem particularly vivid to you, it might be because each of these classics has been adapted onscreen, as so many best-sellers are (including two of the books below). That creates further opportunity for these looks to come to life.

I asked the authors of five buzzy novels to select one important look they’ve created for a specific character and dissect what the ensemble means to the character. How does she choose to dress herself, and what does that signify about who she is? The outfits themselves vary wildly from a disheveled 1940s ostrich feather ball gown to a worn-out Lilly Pulitzer tank top, but each author emphasized the same point: Their choices were intentional. Nothing was accidental or poorly thought-out. One author went on an online shopping frenzy to dress her character for a wedding; another even brought in an outside stylist to ensure the clothes were up to date.

The next time you pick up a novel, pay special attention to what each character wears — every outfit is a road map of their values, tastes, history, and insecurities. Below, five authors reveal how they use fashion as a tool in fiction.

Half the fun of zipping through the rollicking family drama of Crazy Rich Asians is the fashion. Kevin Kwan makes it clear that among certain circles in upper-crust Asian society, you’re only worth as much as the labels you choose to wear — and the tackiest thing you can do is to dress above your station. “When I write all my characters, I really imagine from head to toe every single thing they’re wearing,” Kwan says. “If I didn’t already know the piece, I would scour the internet, looking at collections and creating outfits for the characters.”

Astrid Leong in her VBH earrings.

Crazy Rich Asians follows Rachel Chu, an American-born professor, who travels to Asia to meet her boyfriend Nick Young’s astronomically wealthy family for the first time. Astrid Leong is Nick’s beloved cousin; she’s a stay-at-home wife and mother, as well as a fashion icon among the elite. She flies to Paris every season for custom couture and had a close friendship with Yves Saint Laurent (RIP), but she’s not afraid to wear a dress off the rack from Zara … as long as it’s styled just so with museum-quality Etruscan bangles.

“Astrid is very much inspired by one person,” Kwan says; he tried to recreate her style for the book. “Astrid sees dressing as her only form of artistic expression. She lives in this very cloistered world where she has to put the right foot forward at all times. Fashion, for her, is a way of being rebellious, and it’s a way of asserting her own creative expression into her life.”

Kwan discovered this Alexis Mabille white peasant blouse back in 2010 and was inspired to dress Astrid in it for a Friday night dinner at her grandmother’s house, where a more relaxed outfit would make sense. She’s dressed down in order to detract attention from her new VBH earrings — a splurge that would make her slightly less wealthy husband uncomfortable. “She pairs the earrings with something that’s just kind of more fun and casual so the earrings look like costume jewelry,” Kwan notes.

While writing the next books in the trilogy, China Rich Girlfriend and Rich People Problems, Kwan turned to Cleo Davis-Urman, now the Fashion Director of Saks Fifth Avenue, to source apparel and accessories for his characters. “I was so frantically busy trying to meet my deadlines that her help in keeping up to date on the latest fashions was invaluable,” he says.

Crazy Rich Asians hit theaters this summer, with costumes by Mary Vogt (her past projects include Hocus Pocus and Men in Black). Kwan says that Vogt often mirrored exact outfits from the book, like Araminta Lee’s gold jumpsuit at her bachelorette party and the beige linen suit Nick wears to greet Rachel at Tyersall Park for the first time.

Social Creature is what would happen if an overgrown Eloise at the Plaza had a wardrobe full of stained vintage dresses and an eccentric pack of friends — and if she wound up dead. The glamorous thriller follows Louise Wilson, a mousy underachiever whose life changes overnight when she meets Lavinia Williams, a madcap bombshell who frolics at the opera, trades witty barbs at secret bookstores, and dances at a stand-in for the McKittrick Hotel.

“My vision for Lavinia is the little kid who goes into her parents’ wardrobe and comes out wearing everything,” Tara Isabella Burton (a staff writer at Vox) says. She swathes herself in vintage from the 1920s through the ’50s, but she doesn’t have the self-care skills required to preserve her delicate clothes. “She definitely leaves her clothes rumpled in a pile on her floor when she stumbles home drunk. She does not fold things neatly. She is constantly drinking and spilling shit,” Burton adds. From afar, thanks to her class privilege and sheer force of personality, Lavinia succeeds in looking like an effortless sylph. But up close, she’s a mess.

Lavinia with her gorgeous dress caught on a door.

She comes from a wealthy family and veers wildly between using her money to attract and keep friends and feeling self-conscious about her background. She’s likely to spend hundreds at a curated vintage store but lie and say she found a dress at a thrift shop for $5. “It’s very much in the Upper East Side, WASP-y vein to downplay and be like, ‘Oh, this old thing? It was on sale! Of course I didn’t pay for it!’” says Burton.

The first time readers meet Lavinia, she flies into the brownstone she shares with her teen sister, Cordelia, at 6 am. Louise, Cordelia’s SAT tutor, has been up all night waiting for Lavinia to come home to pay her. Lavinia accidentally slams the door on the ostrich feather hem of her 1940s ball gown and sheds feathers everywhere she walks, like an injured bird. Louise is able to mend the dress for her, which sparks the beginning of their dangerously codependent friendship.

At the New York launch party for Social Creature, Burton wore a similar ostrich feather gown in pale pink. She says she didn’t intend to match Lavinia but liked that the gown “felt very Social Creature.” She also Sharpied on a “More Poetry!!!” arm tattoo, like the ones Louise and Lavinia get together in the book. At the party, Burton’s fake tattoo smudged off onto her dress, and she dabbed out the stain with a wet napkin. Unlike her character, she could take care of her vintage duds.

Imagine this: You get stuck in an elevator with your dream guy. He invites you to be his plus one to his ex’s wedding, less than 48 hours away. That’s the meet-cute that kicks off The Wedding Date. To dress Alexa Monroe and the other characters in the book, Jasmine Guillory thought carefully about how their wardrobes would function practically in their lives.

Alexa in her red dress.

Alexa is the chief of staff for the mayor of Berkeley, and her wardrobe is mostly work clothes. She opts for colorful shift dresses and blazers from department stores; she’s a little preppy and likes J.Crew. She’d love to wear a Theory suit, but she’s busty, so blazers don’t always fit her the way she’d hope. For the past few weddings she’s attended, she’s either been a bridesmaid or done Rent the Runway, so she has to scramble for something to wear. She summons her best friend Maddie, a stylist, for a day of shopping.

“I did a lot of mock online shopping for what Alexa would wear to this wedding,” Guillory says. “I wanted her to feel like the star version of herself, like she has a glow about her the whole night.” Guillory — or Maddie — ultimately selects a red fit-and-flare cocktail dress with a low neckline. The cut of the dress was intentional; Guillory wanted Alexa to be able to wear it without Spanx underneath, in case she happened to later undress in front of her wedding date, Drew Nichols. Instead, she would be able to wear the dress with a pretty, sexy bra and panty set.

For Alexa, the dress inspires a serious confidence boost. “Normally, she would think, ‘Oh, a guy like this would not be interested in me,’” Guillory explains. “But with that dress on, she feels like Cinderella. … It’s kind of a magic dress and a magic night, so she might as well flirt with the hot guy. Why not?”

High school freshman Chloe Sayers can fit in with anyone in her small New Hampshire town: She looks like a popular kid, dreams of life as an artist, and is best friends with misfit Jon Bronson, who’s secretly in love with her. Jon is kidnapped, only to mysteriously return four years later with no recollection of what has happened and with strange powers that threaten those around him. Meanwhile, in Providence, Rhode Island, Detective Charles “Eggs” DeBenedictus is investigating a string of seemingly healthy young people who keep dropping dead. The genre-bending novel follows their three separate but interconnected lives.

Chloe in her casual hometown outfit.

More than a decade later, Chloe is a hotshot New York artist whose portraits of Jon have made her a star. She’s been deeply uncomfortable dressing up ever since her high school prom, when she wore a revealing dress she didn’t like. Typically, she’s in paint-splattered cutoffs and big, old T-shirts — easy pieces to throw on when she’s making art. She’s keenly aware that setting and context matter: When she’s back home in New Hampshire, god forbid she dress up and offend people’s casual sensibilities; when she’s out in New York with her Entourage-loving financier fiancé, she knows to dress for his newly urban tastes, even though he’s from her small New England hometown too. “She wishes she didn’t care so much, but she does,” Caroline Kepnes explains.

The morning after her big engagement party in her hometown, Chloe is getting dressed to reunite with Jon. At first, she chooses a little pink dress, but she knows her fiancé’s family would sneer and call her overdressed. Instead, she throws on an old Lilly Pulitzer tank top and denim cutoffs. Her fiancé’s sister-in-law sneers, anyway. “Chloe doesn’t wear Lilly in New York,” Kepnes explains. “She wears it in Nashua to fuck with her would-be sisters-in-law who read Lilly as, ‘So you think you’re better than me, huh?’”

As a teenager, in the wake of Jon’s disappearance, Kepnes says Chloe’s “whole identity was constantly nitpicked and torn apart, so she’s more relaxed. She’s like, ‘No matter what I do, they’re going to say something, so I’m just going to wear what I wear.’” Depending on whom you ask, a classically printed Lilly tank top is either obnoxiously preppy or sweetly nostalgic; for Chloe, in this moment, it’s a form of expression and rebellion.

Lara Jean Song Covey is the 16-year-old protagonist of Jenny Han’s trilogy To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (the Netflix adaptation came out this August). A true romantic, she writes letters to every boy she’s ever had feelings for and stashes them away in a teal hatbox given to her by her late mother. When the letters accidentally get sent to each boy in question, well, Lara Jean’s life quickly gets pretty interesting.

Lara Jean in her iconic knee socks and cardigan.

“Her look is 1960s retro meets 1990s meets Asian streetwear,” Han says. “It’s aspirationally romantic schoolgirl, and as an introverted person, it’s her way to express herself.” Lara Jean draws inspiration from Asian fashion blogs, wears clothes that her aunt sends her from Korea, and likes to shop at vintage stores. Han referenced the movie Clueless and Korean fast fashion from sites like Stylenanda to develop Lara Jean’s style. She gave her three recurring style signatures: a hair bow, a heart-shaped locket, and knee socks.

The socks have become such a fixture among fans, Han says, that readers often wear them to book signings as a tribute to the character. “Her style came together in a way that made sense to me because of her romantic nature, her fascination with the past, and her idea of what love looks like,” she says.

This outfit is something Lara Jean wears for a regular day at school. It also appears in the final scene in the movie. “I had extensive conversations with the producers in regard to Lara Jean’s style,” Han says. “I sent them mood boards.” This particular silhouette — a button-down with a short skirt — is used frequently.

Ultimately, Lara Jean’s look is also somewhat influenced by Han’s personal tastes. “It’s very similar to my style,” she says.

Original Source -> How do you choose an outfit for a fictional character? 5 authors explain.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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