#in my notes for destiny ocs/stories | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snowangie · 4 months

Text

snow on the beach.

a finnick odair x fem!oc series

summary : in the heart of the capitol's glittering deception, Giselle Snow, granddaughter of president coriolanus snow, conceals her true emotions while working to undermine the hunger games. sent to district 4 after the 74th Games, she grapples with forbidden love for district 4's Finnick Odair. Snow on the beach is weird but fucking beautiful – Giselle is the snow, Finnick is the beach, an unexpected yet perfect harmony in the delicate ballet of their existence. As the quarter quell unfolds, panem becomes a battleground for love and rebellion, and Giselle faces a choice that will alter destinies and unravel the threads of her past.

warnings: swearing, smut, violence, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of sex trafficking, weapons, trauma, mental illnesses

genre: angst, romance, forbidden love, violence, hurt/comfort

chapters: 1-flecks of lights , 2-life is emotionally abusive , 3-time cant stop me quite like u did

author’s note: i alrdy have six other chapters abt to be published real soon. the timeline will start from post thg and pre catching fire to the catching fire and the mockingjay pt 1 & 2 ! the story will get more interesting in the coming chapters i promise and i hope u enjoy reading :)

chapter 1 : flecks of lights.

The grandiose chamber of President Snow's office in the heart of the Capitol was adorned with opulence that mirrored the power he held over Panem. Giselle Snow, granddaughter to the president, entered the room with a careful blend of poise and trepidation. The air was laden with an unspoken tension as she approached the imposing figure behind the intricately carved desk.

President Snow, seated in a high-backed chair, regarded her with a scrutinizing gaze. “My lovely... Giselle,” he said with an air of authority. “Sit.” His tone allowed no room for objection.

Giselle took a seat across from her grandfather, her posture straight and composed. “You summoned me, Grandfather,” she said, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of deference and curiosity.

He leaned back, fingers steepled. “The districts are proving to be more troublesome than anticipated, especially after that girl, Katniss Everdeen, became a symbol of rebellion. We need to ensure our control, and I have a task for you.”

Giselle inclined her head, a silent acknowledgment of her readiness to fulfill any duty bestowed upon her.

“You're to leave the Capitol,” President Snow continued, his gaze piercing. "Head to District 4. Keep an eye on the situation there. We need loyalty, not rebellion."

Understanding the gravity of the assignment, Giselle nodded. “Of course, Grandfather. I will ensure District 4 remains in line.”

His lips curled into a semblance of a smile, though his eyes remained cold. “You'll do more than that, Giselle. You'll show them who holds the power. Be a presence they can't ignore.”

Giselle's brow furrowed slightly. “I understand the need for authority, Grandfather, but isn't there a risk of inciting further unrest if I'm too forceful?”

President Snow's expression hardened. “You underestimate the importance of control, my dear. A firm hand is required to maintain order. You'll leave tomorrow. Ensure District 4 understands the price of disobedience.”

As Giselle left the president's office, the weight of her new assignment settled on her shoulders. Little did she know, this journey to District 4 would alter the course of her life in ways she never could have anticipated. The Capitol's gleaming façade hid secrets, and Giselle, bound by duty, embarked on a path that would challenge her allegiance and reshape her understanding of the world she was born into.

The nightfall brought a quiet stillness to the Capitol, but within the luxurious walls of the Snow's residence, the atmosphere was anything but tranquil. Giselle stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the neon-lit skyline, a stark contrast to the darkened Districts she was about to enter. A single thought echoed in her mind - her departure for District 4.

She turned around from the window to a big mirror across her bedroom. In the mirror's gaze, Giselle Snow emerges, a vision painted in the hues of winter’s embrace—like the quiet elegance of snow, her every movement a subtle cascade of crystalline grace. Her porcelain skin, as pale as freshly fallen snow, conceals a myriad of emotions beneath a facade of composure. Blue eyes, reminiscent of the frigid depths, mirror the legacy she inherits from President Snow. Raven tendrils cascade like delicate snowflakes, framing a countenance that masks both strength and vulnerability. Giselle, standing at a gentle petite height, embodies the quiet power of a snow-covered landscape, where the surface serenity belies the tumultuous currents beneath.

As dawn painted the sky with hues of rose and gold, Giselle prepared for her journey. The Capitol, a city of excess and indulgence, presented a facade of perpetual celebration. Yet, beneath it, Giselle felt a sense of isolation. The grand parties, the extravagant fashion, the Capitol's obsession with appearances – all seemed distant, detached from the reality she was about to confront.

Descending the grand staircase of the Presidential office, Giselle observed Capitol citizens engaged in their daily routines. Perfectly coiffed and adorned in extravagant attire, they moved with an air of detached elegance. She exchanged polite nods and practiced smiles, concealing the underlying tension that accompanied her impending departure.

In the bustling streets, hovercrafts glided overhead, carrying with them the distant echoes of Capitol chatter. “Love really is a wonderful thing, isn’t it ? Look at the District 12 victors.” Giselle caught fragments of conversations discussing the recent Hunger Games, a macabre spectacle ingrained in Capitol culture. Her gaze lingered on the lavish advertisements depicting this year’s victors and their glory.

As she made her way to the Capitol's central hub, Giselle couldn't escape the feeling of being a pawn in a grand, calculated game. The Capitol, with its towering architecture and ostentatious displays of wealth, seemed like a gilded cage, and Giselle, despite her privileged status, yearned for something more.

Amid the swirl of Capitol life, Giselle pondered the stark contrast between her existence and the struggles faced by those in the Districts. The Capitol's obliviousness to the suffering of its subjects weighed heavily on her conscience. She questioned the morality of her grandfather's orders, grappling with the realization that her actions would directly impact lives beyond the opulence of the Capitol.

As her hovercraft lifted off, carrying her towards District 4, Giselle cast a final gaze upon the Capitol skyline. The dichotomy between the sparkling facade and the dark reality beneath became a poignant metaphor for the life she was leaving behind. Little did she know that her journey into the heart of Panem would unravel secrets, challenge loyalties, and ignite a spark of compassion that could alter the course of the Hunger Games.

On a crisp morning, Giselle found herself in the heart of District 4, standing outside a weathered building that served as a makeshift shelter for the elderly. Inside, a sense of community prevailed, but the challenges of age and limited resources weighed heavily on the occupants. Giselle, armed with a basket of provisions, stepped forward to lend a helping hand.

“Good morning, Alice,” she greeted, her tone warm and genuine.

The elderly woman, initially wary of the Capitol emissary, now greeted Giselle with a genuine smile. “Good morning, dear. You've been a blessing to us.”

As Giselle distributed essentials and engaged in conversations with the elderly residents, she felt a profound connection forming. The Capitol's representative had become a familiar face, not as a symbol of oppression but as someone who genuinely cared.

Amidst the camaraderie, a flashback flickered in Giselle's mind – a scene from her arrival in District 4. The initial reception had been marked by hesitancy and fear. The residents had seen her as an extension of President Snow's authority, an unwelcome reminder of Capitol oppression. Their guarded glances and whispered conversations had painted her arrival with skepticism.

Now, as she moved among them with empathy and compassion, Giselle recalled the gradual shift in perception. The people of District 4 had witnessed her dedication to easing their burdens, and the once-fearful gazes had transformed into looks of gratitude.

In the flashback, a moment stood out – a conversation with an elderly fisherman named Mr. O'Brien. “We don't trust your kind,” he had grumbled at the outset.

Giselle had responded with a soft-spoken determination. “Give me a chance to prove that I'm not here to perpetuate the Capitol's cruelty.”

Back in the present, Mr. O'Brien, now seated in the shelter, smiled at Giselle as she handed him a blanket. The warmth in his eyes spoke of acceptance earned through actions, not mere words.

The contrast between Giselle's arrival and the present scene was palpable – a transformation of fear into trust, of skepticism into gratitude. As she continued her efforts to assist the elderly in District 4, Giselle found purpose in bridging the gap between the Capitol and its districts, one compassionate act at a time.

Upon her arrival in District 4 a month ago, Giselle was ushered into a modest gathering hall where the victors of the district had assembled. Their eyes, seasoned by hardship and the harsh realities of the Hunger Games, bore a mix of curiosity and wariness as she entered. Among them, Finnick Odair stood out, an enigmatic figure with an air of both charm and caution.

Finnick, a living embodiment of allure and strength, possesses a sculpted physique that seems chiseled by the ocean's waves. His sea-green eyes mirrors the depth of the waters he hails from, and his sun-kissed hair carries whispers of the sandy shores. The 65th Hunger Games victor reminded Giselle of the beach, its warmth and unpredictability. The sand yields beneath his every step, mirroring the enigmatic allure that draws others in. His presence drawing the tide of emotions in an unpredictable rhythm with his exuding charisma.

Giselle felt the weight of their collective gaze as she approached, her every step echoing in the hushed room. The victors, each carrying the visible and invisible scars of their past tribulations, eyed her with a mixture of skepticism and guarded interest.

Finnick, his sea-green eyes piercing, regarded her with a cool detachment. She sensed an unspoken challenge in his gaze, a silent invitation to prove herself beyond her Capitol lineage.

One of the older victors, Mags, stepped forward, her weathered face etched with both resilience and kindness. “Welcome to District 4,” she said, her voice, thick with an accent that can hardly be understood, but a comforting contrast to the tension in the room. “We've been through a lot, and we hope you understand our apprehension.”

Giselle nodded, acknowledging the validity of their wariness. “I'm here to understand, to learn, and to help in any way I can.”

Finnick, leaning against a pillar with an air of nonchalance, finally spoke, his words laced with skepticism. “You're here to help yeah? That's a first.”

Giselle met his gaze with a steady determination. “I didn't choose the circumstances of my birth, but I can choose how I navigate them. Let me prove that not everyone from the Capitol is your enemy.”

The other victors exchanged glances, the room filled with an uneasy silence. It was Annie Cresta, another victor with a haunted expression, who broke the tension. “We've heard promises before. Actions speak louder than words.”

Over the following days, Giselle worked tirelessly to fulfill those promises. She attended to the needs of the district, engaged in conversations with the victors, and gradually earned their trust through her genuine efforts to understand their struggles.

The low hum of conversation and the rhythmic clinking of utensils created a subdued ambiance during the communal dinner in District 4. Giselle, a newcomer to this close-knit community of victors, moved through the room with a measured grace, keenly aware of the mixed reactions to her presence. Finnick, surrounded by fellow victors, couldn't help but watch her, his initial hostility giving way to a guarded curiosity.

Giselle, though aware of the scrutiny, maintained her composed facade. Her poise unfaltering. Finnick's eyes followed her every move, the dim lighting casting shadows on his usually sharp features. There was a weariness about him that matched the weight of their shared experiences. Mags, ever perceptive, nudged Finnick with a subtle smile, as if to say, “Give her a chance.”

As Giselle took a seat at the table, the tension lingered. The conversations around them continued, a mixture of stories from past victories and the haunting memories of the arena. Finnick's initial hostility began to wane, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. Giselle, sensing the shift, decided to break the ice.

“Hello, everyone,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of confidence and vulnerability. “I know I'm not what you expected, but I'm here to navigate this journey with you. Let's make the most of it, shall we?”

As the dinner continued, the atmosphere shifted subtly. Finnick’s hostility waned, replaced by a flicker of curiosity that mirrored Giselle’s guarded demeanor. The room, filled with the stories of past victories and lingering traumas, bore witness to a quiet turning point.

Their eyes met across the room, an electric charge passing between them, almost like some flecks of lights. It was as if the air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent understanding passing between them. In that fleeting connection, Finnick glimpsed something beyond the Capitol walls Giselle wore—a vulnerability, perhaps, or a shared acknowledgment of the fact that they were bound together by the challenges of the Games. The road to trust might be uncertain, but that initial exchange marked the beginning of a connection that held the promise of unexpected alliances in the days to come.

The coastal air in District 4 carried a sense of tranquility, a stark contrast to the undercurrent of tension within the district. Giselle, engrossed in helping a group of children repair a makeshift shelter, looked up as the oppressive presence of a Peacemaker leader, Captain Rawlins, loomed over her.

Rawlins, his uniform adorned with Capitol insignias, exuded hostility as he approached. “Giselle Snow,” he sneered, emphasizing her last name with disdain. “I've been hearing reports about your... tenderness toward these people. You forget your purpose here.”

Giselle, undeterred, straightened but maintained her composure. “My purpose is to ensure order and cooperation, not to crush the spirit of those who have already endured so much.”

Rawlins, a symbol of Capitol authority, leaned in with a menacing glare. “Your grandfather didn't send you here to coddle them. They need to fear the Capitol, not embrace it.”

As the confrontation unfolded, Finnick, who had been observing from a distance, couldn't ignore the palpable tension. His piercing gaze remained fixed on Giselle, his expression unreadable.

Giselle met Rawlins' hostility with measured defiance. “I believe in understanding before control. Fear only begets rebellion.”

Rawlins, unrelenting, hissed, “You'll do well to remember your place, Snow. This is not the Capitol. This is District 4, and they are not your equals. Next time you might not just be getting a verbal reminder.”

The Peacemaker leader retreated with a parting glare, leaving Giselle surrounded by a heavy silence. The onlookers, District 4 residents and victors alike, exchanged uneasy glances, aware of the delicate balance between the Capitol's emissary and the authority they represented.

Finnick, having witnessed the confrontation, approached Giselle with a softened expression. His sea-green eyes, once filled with skepticism, now held a glimmer of understanding. “ I guess, even the President’s granddaughter isn’t free.”

Giselle, her resolve unbroken, met his gaze. “No, Finnick. I'm not here to perpetuate the Capitol's cruelty. I’m not just Snow’s granddaughter. What Snow is and what I am is two different things. I want to make a difference. A good one.”

In that moment, the unspoken connection between them deepened. Finnick, seeing beyond the Capitol's facade, recognized Giselle's genuine intentions. The hostility of Rawlins had not only exposed the oppressive nature of the Capitol but had also illuminated the stark contrast between Giselle's compassion and the brutality she represented. As the whispers of dissent lingered in the air, Giselle and Finnick share a subtle nod of mutual understanding.

The day was overcast in District 4, the sky reflecting the somber mood that often lingered in the coastal district. Giselle, having spent the morning assisting in a community project, found herself near the docks where Finnick was overseeing a fishing expedition. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the boats provided a backdrop to their conversation.

Finnick, usually stoic, allowed a rare vulnerability to surface. “Victors are supposed to be living in luxury, but I feel like a prisoner. Funny how I thought I would be free from everything when I won the games.”

Giselle, leaning against a dock post, looked at him with understanding. “Luxury can be its own form of confinement. Expectations, demands... it's a different kind of Hunger Games.”

He sighed, the weight of his past victories evident in his eyes. “They think they own us because we won. They parade us like trophies.”

Giselle nodded, recognizing the shared burden of being a pawn in the Capitol's game. “I never asked for this life either. Born into a system that expects me to follow its rules.”

As the conversation continued, they found solace in each other's shared experiences. Finnick spoke of the exploitation he endured, the Capitol's twisted expectations, and the toll it took on his sense of self. Giselle, in turn, shared her struggles with the oppressive nature of her lineage and the conflict she felt between duty and compassion.

Amidst the backdrop of creaking boats and the distant calls of seagulls, Giselle placed a reassuring hand on Finnick's arm. “You're not alone, Finnick. We're both prisoners of a system that values power over humanity.”

He looked at her, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his eyes.

She smiled at him, the connection between them deepening. “Maybe it's time we redefine what's expected. We can be more than the roles they assigned us.”

As the day unfolded, Giselle and Finnick found comfort in each other's presence. Their budding friendship serving as a source of emotional support in a world that sought to define them by their pasts. They became each other’s flecks of lights in their own darkness. In this shared vulnerability, they discover a connection that transcends the Capitol's expectations, laying the foundation for a bond that will evolve into something deeper.

The evening was draped in hues of orange and purple as Giselle stood by the edge of the district, gazing out at the sea. Finnick joined her, and in the quiet solitude, the weight of their shared experiences hung in the air.

Finnick, usually guarded, allowed a moment of vulnerability. "I've never talked about this with anyone. The Hunger Games, the Capitol's demands... it changes you."

Giselle nodded, understanding the depth of his pain. "They exploit your victories, but they don't see the scars they leave behind. Victors are expected to be symbols, not people."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the water, Giselle found herself sharing her own struggles. "I grew up in the Capitol, surrounded by extravagance. But the more I saw, the more I realized how empty it all is."

Finnick looked at her, his sea-green eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and shared pain. "I thought you were just another Capitol puppet, but you're different. I can't figure you out."

Giselle chuckled, a bittersweet expression on her face. "Maybe that's because I'm trying to figure myself out too. I don't want to be a pawn in their game. I want to change things, even if it's just a little."

In the quiet admission of their vulnerabilities, a subtle shift occurred. Their friendship evolved into a connection forged in shared pain and a mutual desire for change.

As the waves rhythmically caressed the shore, Giselle sought solace in the quiet companionship of Finnick. With a gentle touch, she rested her head on his strong shoulders, finding comfort in the shared silence that echoed the unspoken complexities of their lives. "Beyond these roles, Finnick, we are survivors. And perhaps, in that truth, we will find something that transcends it all."

Finnick, usually guarded, allowed a hint of gratitude to soften his features. "Maybe you're right, Giselle. Maybe we can be more than the Capitol's expectations."

In that moment, against the backdrop of the fading sunlight and the persistent sound of the sea, Giselle and Finnick found solace in the shared understanding that they were not defined solely by the Capitol's cruel narrative. The breakdown of walls, the admission of vulnerabilities, became the foundation for a connection that held the promise of mutual growth and perhaps, even love.

Days turned into weeks, and the connection between Giselle and Finnick deepened, unspoken emotions weaving through their shared moments. One evening, they found themselves on the same stretch of beach where they had first shared their vulnerabilities.

As they walked along the shoreline, the air thick with unspoken sentiments, Giselle broke the silence. "There's something about this place that feels different when you're here."

Finnick smiled, his gaze lingering on the horizon. "Maybe it's the freedom from the Capitol's expectations, even if just for a moment."

Giselle nodded, a subtle understanding passing between them. They had become each other's refuge in a world that demanded so much and gave so little.

Amidst the soft sounds of the waves, they sat on a weathered piece of driftwood, and Finnick's fingers traced absent patterns in the sand. “You know,” he began, his voice softer than usual, “I never expected to find... comfort in someone like you.”

Giselle looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and warmth in her eyes. “Comfort?”

Finnick hesitated, his sea-green eyes meeting hers. “Yeah. I mean, you get it. The struggle, the weight of it all. It's... comforting.”

She giggled, the sound carrying a tinge of vulnerability. “I never thought I'd find someone who understands this side of me. It's a relief, really.”

As the conversation flowed, the air seemed charged with an energy neither of them could fully comprehend. It was a dance of words, subtle glances, and shared silences, all painting a picture of something more profound than mere friendship.

In the days that followed, their connection grew more pronounced. Each shared glance and lingering touch weaving a tapestry of connection between Finnick Odair and Giselle Snow. In the quiet embrace of District 4's soft evening glow, their growing bond took center stage.

Under the subtle luminescence of district lights, Finnick's thoughtful eyes met Giselle's, and he spoke words that hung in the air like an unspoken promise. "You're changing me, Giselle Snow. And I'm not sure if I want it to stop."

Giselle, bathed in the gentle radiance of the night, met his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. Her lips curved into a soft smile, a response that carried the weight of unspoken understanding.

"Maybe change is what we both need," she whispered, her words a delicate echo in the quiet night. The soft sounds of their shared laughter lingered, a melody that spoke of the intricacies of their evolving connection. In that moment, beneath the district lights, Finnick and Giselle found solace in the uncharted territories of change and the magnetic pull drawing them closer. The lines between friendship and something more blurred, evolving into a connection that surpassed the constraints of their predetermined roles.

One evening, Giselle and Finnick found themselves on the outskirts of District 4, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol and the curious gazes of the district's residents. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the landscape as they stood on a secluded stretch of beach.

The air was filled with a tangible tension, an unspoken understanding that their connection was evolving into something more profound. Giselle, looking out at the vast expanse of the sea, couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing at the edge of a precipice.

Finnick, usually composed, seemed to be wrestling with his own thoughts. As he looked at Giselle, a shared silence unfolded between them. In that unexpected moment of intimacy, their eyes met, and a connection deeper than words was forged.

Without a word, Finnick reached out, his fingers gently brushing against Giselle's hand. It was a subtle touch, a gesture laden with unspoken sentiments. In that brief contact, the weight of their shared experiences, struggles, and unexplored emotions seemed to converge.

Giselle, her heart echoing the rhythm of the waves, looked at him with a mixture of vulnerability and understanding. The touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was growing between them.

As they continued their quiet stroll along the shoreline, a shared secret hung in the air. Finnick, breaking the silence, spoke softly. "There's something about the sea at night. It makes everything feel... honest."

Giselle nodded, the moonlight casting a glow on her features. "Maybe that's why we find ourselves here, away from the facades and expectations."

In the midst of the tumultuous waters of Panem, Giselle and Finnick discovered that unexpected moments of intimacy held a transformative power. Whether it was a shared glance, a fleeting touch, or the exchange of unspoken truths, these moments deepened their connection, creating a bridge between two souls navigating the complexities of their world.

As they continued to walk along the beach, the sea whispering its secrets to the night, Giselle and Finnick found solace in the unexpected intimacies that wove their connection into a tapestry of shared moments and unexplored emotions. Neither both of them fully realized the depth of their emotions, but the unspoken understanding between them spoke volumes, paving the way for a love that was quietly blooming amidst the complexities of their world.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x oc #sam claflin #catching fire #tbosas #thg series #hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #corio snow #tom blyth #young coriolanus snow

100 notes · View notes

cupcakeshakesnake · 2 months

Note

Uhm uh could you info dump about your Portal AU 👉👈 (I definitely do not have ulterior motives and I am definitely not thinking about inserting my OC into the AU hahahaha why would you think that)

I don't know what there is to infodump about so here is a sort of... timeline? Compendium?

Most of it is the same as canon Portal 2, except GLaDOS and Wheatley are androids.

The AU starts when GLaDOS - disconnected from the main chassis and connected instead to a potato battery - and Chell fall into old aperture. They discover Cave Johnson, not deceased as was widely believed but rather locked underground in android form along with an outdated maintenance system for Aperture. Inspired by this fic, to be specific. (I call him an android for convenience but technically he may count as a cyborg. Haven't really delved into that. He's not "alive" in the fully human sense, though.)

They need the data stored in Cave to get through some parts of Old Aperture, so they begrudgingly take him along. Most of the cables coming out of his neck and wrists used to be connected to a now obsolete surveillance/maintenance system, and are now haphazardly rolled up around him. His power cable is connected to another potato battery (which he usually keeps in his pocket).

Like other Aperture "personality constructs", Cave can "remain functional in apocalyptic, low power environments of as few as 1.1 volts", but it has its limitations - as is the case with GLaDOS, using too much energy can get him knocked out.

Cave's endgoal here is to end his own life, which he can't do on his own due to several failsafe measures built into him (such as being unable to unplug himself from the system in the first place, and as a result being stuck underground). He still keeps up his cheery, eccentric (and far from sane) attitude, but with an added hint of cynicism and roundabout self-deprecation. Decades of mulling over his life underground has led him to have some regrets about certain decisions, although he would never speak any of it out loud to anyone. Personality-wise, some inspirations were taken from the robot Cave in Aperture Desk Job.

In one possible ending for the story (which I haven't mentioned before but have had in mind for some time), they enter a newer part of Aperture where the emancipation grills do not have the data that lets Cave enter without being disintegrated. Here he acknowledges that Chell and GLaDOS have no more need of him and voluntarily walks into the emancipation grill.

Here's an excerpt from my notes.

"These emancipation grills were built in my time. They're not calibrated to accomodate-" GLaDOS gestures towards Johnson. "- him. We'll need to find a way to hack into the-" "Hey hey hey- don't bother. I'm gonna be level with you. You don't need me anymore." "Elaborate." "The stuff built here on out's brand new. I don't even have the code for it. Sure, you needed me to get through the old facility, but I think I'm gonna head out now." "…Is that so." "My time is up, I can feel it. I'm not going to heaven, no sir. Was never much of a religions guy anyway. But know this, lady," the former CEO turns to Chell. "I want to see you make it out alive. This facility I built, it swallows you up. Don't get me wrong, it's the best damn science facility on this earth and I couldn't be more proud of it, but you stay here too long and- well." He shrugs, cables dangling from and wrapped around him like ropes. "It's pretty much my destiny to die down here, but you, kid, you get out there. You go up to the surface and see the daylight. Caroline, take care of the facility. Oh, and her." "Yes sir Mr Johnson…" "Oh and beat that moron's ass for me." They go through the fizzler, leaving him behind - there is a sound that makes Chell turn back, only to see some particles evaporating. GLaDOS doesn't turn back. "Goodbye sir."

#snake got an ask #anonymous #writing #portal 2 #cave johnson #glados #android cave johnson #portal 2 au #snake's text post

47 notes · View notes

synintheraven · 7 months

Text

Okay let's clear some things out; 1) I don't write smut bc I suck at it 2) this is part of a bigger story where the main character/reader gets to know Sihtric throughout several situations, so this is perfect if you want to read about Sihtric & reader's little made-up adventures but not so much if you're only here to read naughty stuff 😅 3) I have no idea what I'm doing :p

pic credits to myself, feel free to use them too/ask for originals (:

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: reader (she/her) is a Norse, Sihtric is a (actual, as in born there) Dane. Sihtric & reader meet each other for the very first time, but I kept it simple and kinda short so you'll have to keep on reading to find out how this goes (; [Side note: Yggr is one of my ocs and the Jarl/Chief of the group, but will not be a current character other than to accompany/give orders to Sihtric and reader]

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,5k

characters info | part two

We were near; the tall cliffs once casting shadows over the sea were far behind us and the fog was getting thicker over the marshes. East Anglia was a land of fishermen huts, distant trees and bad weather: yet somewhere in this muddy land, a band of fiery fighters were hiding and getting ready to fight for their lord.

I recognized the stranded ship half covered in sand, which Yggr had described to me, surrounded by muddy rocks and a small spot of land untouched by the sea waters. Near the rocks, among tall reeds, the camp was set and a handful of men were sat around the bonfire in an attempt to fight the cold wind.

Except for one man.

A tall, dark haired man, covered in a fur cloak; his left hand was resting over the hilt of his sword as he stood near the coast, staring cautiously at our ship as if he was trying to tell who we were. But, as we approached the small island and the fog revealed Yggr’s wild hair, the mysterious man prepared to greet us.

The sail was taken down and the crew started to row against the current, sliding through the rather calm waves to take the ship towards the land. It didn’t take long for the prow to reach the sand and before we were fully beached, Yggr jumped off our ship to meet with the dark haired stranger.

He had a concerned expression and his hand remained over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight should the need arise. Yet, unlike him, Yggr was quick to smile and open his arms, embracing the now smirking Dane like a brother.

The man was Sihtric Kjartansson, a warrior that served the long haired blonde, though he treated him like a big stupid brother rather than as his lord and jarl. Both Danes had grew up together, sticking to each other as their parents seemed to care little next to nothing for the young boys, making it no surprise the concerned stranger was in command during the jarl’s absence.

I didn’t know much about him back then, only that he was a fine warrior and a loyal man; but I had also been told he was rather friendly and welcoming, yet Sihtric looked at me with wary eyes. I stared back at him, almost trying to decipher what was going on inside his mind: studying his gaze, the storm brewing inside his blue eye and the dancing flames around the pupil of his brown eye.

He had the face of a warrior, with scars running down from his forehead and marking the flesh over his deep cheekbones, making me wonder if he was hiding any other under the strands of hair over his temple or under the scarce beard around his rather full lips.

I had jumped on the wet sand of the island shortly after Yggr, however being the only woman among all those men, suddenly the warriors resting around the fire seemed eager to welcome our crew. Everyone but Sihtric, who embraced his lord for a while but pushed him away as his men came along with curious looks.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I was not to be touched or harmed: for I was there merely to help build the camp and eventually, should the strings of my destiny allow it, find the man that killed my family.

The first birds of the day were singing their songs and the sun was setting, the land slowly revealing itself from the fog. It was a cold morning and it got worse as we had to get our feet wet in order to cross from shore to shore, but we were to stay unnoticed and therefore not to use our ship.

We were scouting the surrounding area, following the shore in hopes to find a bigger place to set a new camp. I was walking beside Yggr, with Sihtric a few paces before us to guide our way around; the rest of our group were either guarding our current camp or exploring other areas, though all of us were after the same goal.

The best hiding spots were among reeds, trees and muddy rocks, but those often surrounded water and the rising tides could be treacherous.

We saw stone ruins, abandoned churches and half burnt farms, all a consequence of folk escaping their homes in order to keep their lives, to escape the horrors brought by the monsters from across the sea.

Danes like us were plundering all of Britain; they came with the promise of riches and vengeance but stayed to become kings and killed anyone who opposed them. They had come here to do what that mad man had done to my family, my people.

I trusted Yggr’s words when he said he didn’t care about a title. He lost his chance to be king and decided to embrace a simple life, only hoping to find a nice place to thrive and stay unbothered by Saxons. Or so it was until the Great Heathen Army decided to terrorize the country, turning our heads into targets for anyone who caught us, Danes and Norse alike, wandering around.

We had stopped, suddenly. We were standing atop a small hill that went deeper in land, hoping to get a better view; the wind was blowing hard and the sun shone upon the land, easily revealing all areas of the territory.

Yggr remained silent, his mind lost somewhere in the dark blue waters from the ocean as the cold wind blew on his hair and beard. Sihtric stood next to me, his eyes narrowed because of the sun while he pointed his finger towards the tall roman ruins to the north.

—That looks like a good spot. —He said to Yggr then quickly looked my way, noticing I was the only one truly listening to him. It was, probably, the very first time he wasn’t eyeing me as if expecting me to take a knife to their throats. —I saw it before, but rain soaked the mud. It will take some work to stop that from happening again.

He had a very calming voice and explained all the work that had to be done for that old ruin to be a proper camp, though in truth all I could think about was the scars on his face: suggesting the man had been in many battles, despite being only a few winters older than Halfdan’s son.

—You two can go. —The blonde man interrupted, resting a hand on mine and Sihtric’s shoulder. —Find some horses and secure the camp, I’ll go find the men and meet you there with the ship.

—Just the two of us? —Sihtric sighed, despite trying to hide his discomfort. —What if the place has been taken? I can’t fight them with, no offense, a woman. —He glanced at me for a split second then stared back at Yggr, hoping to be released of my company.

—I am Norse. And my father raised a warrior, not a weak girl that needs some Dane’s protection. —I snarled back, watching as my words damaged his pride and brought a wide smile to our Jarl.

The only horses we could find belonged to a group of Danes camping in Theotford, a small town with thatched roofs and a run-down church that once sheltered Saxons.

There was about twenty of them, maybe more, standing watch in every corner and every small gap they could find.

—I am not “some Dane”, I’m a warrior too. —He finally added, remembering our earlier conversation.

—You’re the son of Kjartan, right? —I let out and he gave me a grim look then proceeded to avoid my glance, still walking between the tall grasses.

—We’re never going to make it out alive if we try to take one of their horses. There’s too many of them. —And he was right, those were trained warriors and we were merely a pair of lost dogs to them. —The ruins are not too far, we should get there before Yggr if we walk in a straight line and avoid following main roads.

And just like that, our short journey through the autumnal forests of East Anglia began. We walked through shrubs, trees, short walls made of stone and saw a few deer, but there was no sight of other people anywhere. We avoided getting too close to farms or church ruins, trying to remain silent whenever our surroundings were suspiciously quiet.

—So tell me, Dane, how did you end up in Norway? —I interrupted, getting a judging stare from him when he caught me walking closely by his side.

—He told you we should get to know each other, right? —He asked dismissively, moving a few steps ahead of me.

—He suggested we should get along if we’re to live together in the same camp, but you’re not as friendly as he promised.

A hint of a smirk showed on his face, though it didn’t last long. —My father sold information to Halfdan and left me in Alrekstad to either die or be raised by the king’s servants. —He admitted after a while, looking troubled as he spoke.

—There are worst destinies than to be raised with Yggr, I suppose. —I said and saw him grinning at my comment, finally showing some sort of emotion in my presence.

—What about you, Stavanger? —He taunted, making it obvious that our fool of a Jarl told him about my homeland and, therefore, my newly acquired nickname.

—That’s my homeland, yes. But I come from the Isle of Ikke, a once thriving city to the north of Stavanger.

—Then what brought you to Alrekstad?

—Vengeance. —I said cheerfully, but he gave me a concerned look in return.

Some bonus fun facts:

✯Yggr is the son of Halfdan, King of Alrekstad (modern Årstad, in Norway). He's not inspired by any TLK character, though he has a similar personality and looks to Ragnar The Younger, with some of Cnut's silly sense of humour. Yggr was to inherit his father's throne, but has no issue embracing a simpler life - even though his former position as a prince and charisma turned him into his Clan's Jarl (basically an english Earl, but a Jarl can also be someone trusted by its people and chosen as a chief).

✯Reader was born in a small island in Norway (Ikke, which is totally made up hehe) but her family was massacred when she was a baby, so she grew up seeking vengeance.

✯Sihtric isn't a bastard but his mother died giving birth to him and so Kjartan despises him/never properly treated him as his son (nor did he to Sven but he grew up to be just as his father and so Kjartan eventually accepted him as his son).

✯As this story is unrelated to what happens in TLK, I had Kjartan vanished from Denmark; though he became wealthy again by playing the pirate in other territories and selling information to kings as Halfdan, Harald Fairhair and few more across the sea...

#sihtric x reader #sihtricxreader #sihtric x you #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #my writing #rtv #road to valhalla #okay bye I'll disappear now

101 notes · View notes

jessamine-rose · 10 months

Text

⋆⁺꒰ Nescit amor habere modum ꒱⁺⋆

"Love does not know how to keep within bounds." -Propertius

♡ Jessamine’s masterlist for Spider-Verse

♡ Italics for nsfw/ suggestive themes!!

"Since the loss of his family, Miguel O'Hara has avoided every Variant of his wife. Then he meets you, a special exception—a version of her whose salvation lies in his interference.”

♡ The Spider and the Fly - Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x fem! Variant! Darling (7.6k words)

♡ Classified Information - Yandere! Miguel's observation log (side story, 0.4k words)

♡ Sunset - Wife! Darling suspects her husband’s replacement (prologue, 3k words)

♡ Moonrise - Variant! Darling and LYLA during the events of ATSV (epilogue, 1.6k words)

♡ Letters to My Beloved - more from Miguel’s observation log (side story, 4.3k words)

♡ Lucia - Miguel x Variant! Darling’s own kid (epilogue, 0.4k words, features my OC)

♡ Author’s Note - fic details, writing process

✿ MIGUEL O'HARA ✿

♡ The Red Web of Fate - How does Yandere! Miguel pursue you when destiny is against him?

♡ Sunset - Yandere! Miguel x Wife! Darling from the collapsed dimension

♡ Alternative Uses - Miguel’s webs + bondage

♡ Miguel’s s/o wears his webs as accessories

✿ LYLA ✿

♡ Bestie/ Backstabber - how does LYLA assist Yandere! Miguel O’Hara?

✿ MIGUEL O'HARA ✿

♡ Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x Darling - chibi doodles + my version of Miguel’s Darling

♡ Happy 1.8k followers!! - movie night <3

♡ Happy 1.9k followers!! - Selfies with LYLA

197 notes · View notes

lathalea · 9 months

Text

The White Raven 7/9

The next chapter of Thorin and Carra's story is here!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death/dragon sickness Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being a great, great, great beta reader and extra special thanks to Legolasbadass (again!) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚

The tint of Carra’s face closely matched the crispy white colour of the pillowcase beneath it, her silver-white hair scattered across it in disarray. Her eyes were closed, and Thorin held his breath for a heartbeat—before he noticed the slight movements of her chest.

She was breathing. Still.

Sitting on a makeshift wheeled chair, which Nari, the disgruntled healer, procured from somewhere, Thorin leaned closer towards Carra, biting his lip in an attempt to ignore the pain his protesting body evoked. Another spell of dizziness washed over him again, and his body pleaded for mercy, but he pushed those sensations away. Perhaps Balin and Nari were right, and he should have stayed in bed, but at that moment, Thorin’s own discomfort felt insignificant.

His fingertips brushed against the softness of Carra’s hollow cheek. Her skin was cool under his touch, but warmth still lingered within.

“Carra… Karkûnê…“ he murmured. There was no response. Her eyelids did not flutter to show the iridescent depth of her gaze; her lips did not open to utter his name. She was here, beside him, yet completely out of his reach.

“How long has she been this way?” he asked.

“Since she was brought in here on the day of the battle, Your Majesty,” the healer responded and cast a worried glance at Balin. “Most of her injuries are minor, but she has yet to regain consciousness. We do not know why it takes so long but then again, she is not a Dwarf.”

Thorin thanked him with a nod, and his eyes returned to Carra. Her face and arms were marked with multiple bruises and scarrings—mementos of her confrontation with Azog. He closed his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tightness in his throat. At least a fortnight had passed since the battle ended, and her body seemed to refuse to heal at its regular pace. Throughout the years, he learned how quickly she regenerated; one or two nights should have been enough to cure most of it, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, this did not happen. But…

She was still breathing.

He took her slender hand in his. So soft. So fragile.

“I want my bed moved here,” he turned to the older dwarf, not letting go of her hand.

“Thorin?” Balin raised his eyebrows.

Nari’s stifled cough of surprise reached him at the same time. Thorin chose to ignore it.

“She needs me, Balin,” he looked at Carra’s hand. So delicate in his palm, like a folded wing of a sleeping fledgeling.

The older Dwarf pulled at his beard and cast a meaningful glance at Nari. It was enough to make the healer bow and leave the room, closing the door behind him. Only then did Balin speak again.

“I assume that you are aware of what message this is going to send, laddie.”

“What message…? I told you, Balin, she is my wife.” Thorin’s eyes wandered to Carra’s peaceful, unmoving face. With his left arm bound up, he had to gently free his right hand and reach into her hair. He let his fingers run through the silver-white strands until he uncovered the marriage braid he had pleated himself. “She watched over us on our way to reclaim Erebor. Now I shall watch over her.”

His mentor sat down on a nearby bench with a grunt, his gaze resting on Thorin’s hand, once again clasped with Carra’s. Thorin could almost feel its weight.

Balin sighed heavily, “There will be trouble with the lords when they hear of it.”

“I have never supported any of their plans of political alliances via marriage as you very well know,” Thorin furrowed his brow.

“Indeed. I still applaud you for how you handled the situation with Lord Yngví and managed to convince Fili to marry Lady Tarja. You killed two birds with one stone!” A shadow of a smile appeared on Balin's lips. “The Firebeards are our strongest allies, and if Mahal blesses the couple with a babe, it will rule over the whole Blue Mountains.”

“It was not a great feat. They were already in love with each other,” Thorin tilted his head.

“But you saw the opportunity and took it,” Balin’s smile grew slightly. “And now it seems I will be the one on the lookout for an opportunity to explain the current situation to the lords. And Dain…”

“She is my One, Balin.” The rasp of his own whisper sounded hollow in the silence of the stone chamber. He had said these words only once before and only to Carra. They were meant to be said not more than once in a lifetime, and it felt wrong to repeat them in this stuffy, dimly lit chamber and not under a star-studded sky with his Raveness in his arms.

His old friend remained silent for a long while. Silent and unmoving, like a stone statue. Thorin avoided looking into his face by turning his attention to Carra’s hand, which he still held. He felt the warmth of his own body seeping through her skin, but it remained cool despite his best efforts.

But she was still breathing. There was still hope, he reminded himself.

“How can it be? She is not a Child of Mahal.” Balin frowned. “She could not have been made from the same piece of stone as you.” “I do not know, Balin,” he shrugged and presented their joined hands to him. “But I do know this: she saved me. Twice. Once—at Rivendell. And the second time… Do you remember my feather, Balin? That is how I overcame the curse. In the darkest hour I took it in my hand. And so I recalled my One—and my true self.”

Thorin glanced at Carra’s face, but it remained unmoving; her eyes closed.

“My blood sings in my veins whenever she is around. Even now. It feels almost like when you sing to the stone and it sings back, showing you the hidden veins of ore in its depths.” His voice was but a whisper. “I shall not attempt to understand Mahal’s mysterious ways, but I am certain beyond doubt that she is my Other Half.”

His mentor pulled at his beard once again. “Let us only hope that this explanation will be enough for our people to accept her as their queen. Our kingdom is about to be rebuilt. We need unity, not dissent.”

“You told me once that I have done honourably by our people. That I had a choice… This is my choice. She is. If Carra cannot be accepted, so be it. We have never planned for our secret to see the light of the day and it can remain hidden,” Thorin admitted with conviction. After taking a brief look at her pale face, he addressed Balin once again. “And before you mention the issue of succession, we both know that I have already named Fili as my heir. The lords have no leverage here. I will do all in my power to unite the Seven Kingdoms again, but I will not be parted from Carra. That is my final word on the matter.”

Speaking of a future with Carra, regardless of the shape it would take, felt like a fresh waft of hope. She would wake up—and soon. And then they would keep meeting in hidden forest clearings, secluded valleys, and forgotten caverns, just like they had done for years.

Thorin never noticed when Balin stood up with a grunt. He barely felt his hand patting him on the shoulder.

“Very well, laddie. I will see what I can do about this matter. And now—allow me to leave you be. You have your wife to take care of.”

Thorin’s eyes met Balin’s in an instant. It was impossible to miss neither the softness of his gaze under those white bushy eyebrows nor the warmth in his smile.

“Balin, I…” he began, his voice faltering. Instead, he covered his mentor’s hand with his.

“I know, laddie, I know.” The old dwarf nodded. No other words were needed between them.

At that very moment, something brushed along the inside of Thorin’s palm, as if a butterfly opened its wings.

“Carra!” He brought her hand to his face, hoping to see the repeated motion of her little finger. Gently pressing his lips against the back of her hand, he breathed in the faint scent of snowdrops.

Her face was as expressionless and pale as before, but when Thorin was about to look away, Carra’s eyes darted about once or twice under her eyelids.

It took him one heartbeat to lean closer toward her; before he knew it, he gave her forehead a soft, lingering kiss. The pain and exhaustion he felt did not matter any longer. Everything besides Carra was of no consequence. His One was still there, and this knowledge imbued him with a new strength.

“Fight, Karkûnê. Do not give up,” Thorin whispered into her ear. “I am here, beside you. Do you hear me, amrâlimê?”

He pressed his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture they exchanged whenever they met. Her skin pleasantly cooled his burning hot forehead while Thorin whispered, “Come back to me, Wings of my heart.”

***

The butterfly circles above the rock basin. Its orange wings flutter gracefully a hairbreadth above the still surface of the water, yet its wings never touch it. Carra cannot seem to tear off her eyes from the afterimages of the spectacle she has witnessed a mere moment ago. More blurred shapes appear in the water, but they are distorted and barely recognizable, fading away quickly.

“Do you see now, Silver One?” The Weaver’s voice fills Carra’s ears. “There are countless possibilities for the thread to run through the loom.”

“But the taint is spreading in the pattern,” the white-haired man, the Water Bearer, says; his words sound hollow. “Everything withers in its wake.”

“There is still hope. Not everything is lost.” The Great Mother walks towards a nearby apple tree. Both its leaves and her gown shimmer in the sunlight. Something tells Carra to follow her creator, and so she does, her legs unsteady.

“Not everything? What about… ” The White Raven’s voice trembles. “Thorin Oakenshield’s life?”

The Great Mother does not reply. Instead, she plucks a large, ripe apple from the tree and smells it with an approving hum.

“Curious creature.” The Water Bearer approaches them from ahead; Carra could have sworn he was behind them merely a moment ago. “Is it the silver dust in your wings speaking or your heart?”

Carra lowers her head—in shame or embarrassment? She does not know which one burns stronger.

She wants to seek redemption—to show that there is still a part of her that is worthy. In fact, she wishes to explain that her question was born solely out of her sense of duty, that her feelings are insignificant, but then her own faint whisper reaches her.

“I speak from my heart,” she says. Always my heart, she thinks.

The Water Bearer and the Green Lady exchange a boundless glance. An eternity seems to pass, as long as one blink of Carra’s eyes.

The Great Mother turns back to her and speaks; a shadow of a smile blooms on her lips, “Then you should already know the answer to this question, my child.”

“I do not understand, Great Mother.”

“Was it not you who alarmed us of the threat to his life?”

Carra recalls the very moment when the Pale Orc attacked Thorin and finds that she does not have the strength to speak. She simply nods as the sense of foreboding tightens its fingers around her throat.

“Your croak echoed so strongly across the tapestry that I almost lost several useful threads!” The Weaver’s voice seems to come from afar, but when Carra turns towards its source, she sees the Weaver standing only a few steps behind her.

“My apologies, my lady,” Carra says faintly. “It was not my intention to cause trouble.”

“Child, you did no such thing. You fulfilled your duty.” The Great Mother shakes her head gracefully, the apple still in her hand. “He is still among the living.”

Something hums in Carra’s ear, and the dread that has been gnawing at her mind finally leaves her; her legs fold beneath her, and she finds herself on the grass, supported by trembling arms. Her heart beats fast, as if after a long run.

Thorin lives. Thorin lives. Thorin lives.

“Thank you, Great Mother.” The world blurs before her, and she needs to wipe away the tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You should be thanking yourself, dear child—it has come to pass through your sacrifice.” The Great Mother extends her hand, and Carra takes it tentatively, lifting herself from the ground on unsteady legs.

The Water Bearer steps towards them. His hands are empty. The butterfly is nowhere to be seen.

“And so the line of Durin remains unbroken,” he says. “So does the pattern.” The Weaver’s elegant fingers move along a thick piece of thread. Its colour makes Carra think of the waters of the Long Lake at dawn. “I was almost certain that this thread would be lost to the tapestry forever.”

The three of them exchange a lengthy glance in silence, and Carra wishes she could understand its meaning.

“Forgive me, Great Mother.” Her throat constricts at her own boldness.” But who will watch over Thorin Oakenshield and his kin now that I am gone?”

“The mettle on this one!” The Water Bearer chuckles, but Carra can barely hear him. A strong gust of wind picks up suddenly, making the leaves rustle in the trees around them. As she looks up, the wind brings another sound with it. A low whisper that reverberates in her ears with longing.

“Carra… Please…”

“Thorin?” Her eyes search the beech grove ahead in hopes of seeing her son of Durin, but there are only tree trunks and shrubbery, and the rustling of leaves. Has she imagined hearing his voice?

“Is that…?” There is a hint of amusement in the Water Bearer’s voice. His white hair dances in the wind.

“That silver in her wings…” the Weaver adds, but before she can finish her sentence, another figure appears in the garden, as if out of nowhere. With a few measured strides, he approaches the Great Mother, who offers him the apple she picked before. He takes it, reverently kissing her on her hand. Even though the newcomer is taller than his companions, there seems to be something dwarven about him. Perhaps it is his robust figure or muscular arms, his long hair, brown as elm bark, or perhaps his thick, braided beard; Carra is not certain.

“Husband mine, it is good to see you here,” the Great Mother says.

“I would not have missed it for the world, my dearest.” The man’s voice is as deep as the deepest mines of Erebor.

The wind picks up again, and the rustling intensifies, but the Great Mother’s spouse remains unmoving; even his hair and garments remain still, as if carved out of stone.

“Karkûnê… Come back to me…”

Carra’s searching eyes frantically move from one tree to the next, from one patch of shrubbery to another, but he is not there.

“Thorin!” Helplessly she exclaims towards the sky. “Where are you?”

“You will not find him here, Winged One,” the Great Mother’s husband addresses her. “He is under his Mountain.”

“But I hear him as if he was here!” Carra does not dare to lift her eyes and look into his radiant face.

“The bond between you is as strong as mithril,” he explains.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then she hears the Weaver’s voice.

“So it is mithril, not silver… What are you up to, Smith?” With her brow furrowed, the ethereal lady glances at her loom. “You are not hammering out a new pattern, are you?”

He gives out a short chuckle, “Nothing of the sort, Spinner. This pattern does not need any adjustments on my part.”

“Because you have already made them,” the Water Bearer interjects, once again standing by the rock basin, the silvery jug resting at its edge. When his all-knowing gaze meets hers, Carra wants to disappear.

“A pinch of mithril has never done any harm to anyone.” The Smith takes a step towards Carra. “Has it, Winged One?”

“My lord, I do not comprehend…” she speaks shakily. “I only wish to know if Thorin is going to be safe now.”

There is something benevolent in his expectant gaze. Is he smiling? He has heard her, surely, but he does not address her. Carra does not understand what is expected of her now. A glance passes between the Great Mother and the Weaver, but Carra remains oblivious to it, her attention caught by a new occurrence. The orange butterfly appears in front of her, its wings fluttering, and then it flies off to rest on the folds of the Great Mother’s robes, as if on a flowery meadow. Standing by her husband, she gives a shallow nod.

“So be it, Smith,” the Water Bearer says.

Carra blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she stands by the rock basin once more. This time, the water is black and impenetrable, like the sky on a winter night. An image starts forming, but it feels like a mere shadow of the visions she has experienced before.

*** Thorin sits on a gilded stone bench on a high terrace carved out of the slope of the Mountain. A beautifully ornamented walking cane rests against the wall behind him. A thick fur-lined cloak rests on his shoulders, adorned with golden embroidery. His breath turns into mist in the cold air, and several stray snowflakes find their way to his hair, adorned with braids and golden cuffs. His sunken cheeks and pale skin are in stark contrast with the opulence that surrounds him. A guard passes by and salutes him, only to disappear in the bowels of the Mountain.

Time passes as Thorin gazes into the horizon. Although his left arm remains motionless—his left hand clothed in a glove—his right hand reaches under his tunic. Soon, his ringed fingers emerge, holding a silver-white feather. Thorin presses his lips against its tip and closes his eyes for a moment. He whispers something, but his words escape on the wind.

When an elderly Dwarf clad in burgundy robes approaches him, the feather is still in his hand.

“The delegation from the Woodland Realm has arrived, Thorin,” the Dwarf says. “It is time.”“Time, Balin? It feels like mine has already passed,” Thorin replies.

“And yet they say it is time that heals all wounds,” Balin gestures towards the feather.

Thorin rises from the bench with a pained hiss, helping himself with the walking cane. There is a heavy limp in his walk, and as they enter the Mountain, his solemn voice echoes in the corridor.

“But will it heal mine?” ***

“Your Dwarf rules over his kingdom. There is peace and safety for him and his people,” The Green Lady speaks. “Why the tears, my child?”

Carra brings her fingers to her cheek. It is wet.

“I failed him, Great Mother. He needs me. I should be by his side, not here!” With her vision blurred, she can barely see the four luminous silhouettes standing around her, the expressions on their faces unreadable.

“You are on the path to the Timeless Halls of your winged kin where the reward for your deeds awaits you. You have earned it, Carra.” The Great Mother’s voice is like a sturdy nest shielded from the elements, like a warm blanket on a stormy night.

“I cannot draw joy from such honours. Not when my mate—the one I love—suffers. I’d rather…” She stops, terrified by her own insolence. Nevertheless, Carra has had to speak out. The vision of the terrifying king on the throne of Erebor, cloaked in darkness and blood, has been haunting her since the moment she saw it in the water. But this image was not as horrifying as her sudden realisation. Thorin’s gaze in her most recent vision, bitter and devoid of hope, was disturbingly similar to the darkness in the dragon king’s eyes.

The Smith gives out a lengthy hum. It sounds like a rumble of a distant avalanche.

“What is it that you are saying, child?” The Great Mother stands before Carra now.

“I do not have the right to ask, Great Mother, but there is no greater reward for me than seeing Thorin contented and at peace,” Carra explains, and there is no doubt nor fear in her voice now because she speaks for Thorin, not for herself, for the one she has been watching over since she can remember. “His past has been filled with hardships. And now he needs joy, not grief, to heal. I will do anything you ask of me, I will serve you for as long as you wish… Please, Great Mother, do not let the darkness consume him. Does he not deserve a long and happy life now?”

“You would relinquish your place in the Timeless Halls for the sake of this Dwarf?” The Weaver inquires. There are several threads in her hand, but Carra does not see their colours.

“For Thorin’s happiness, I would, my lady. As my last gift to him.” Carra swallows. She has just sentenced herself to oblivion, and yet it does not terrify her in the slightest. Only Thorin’s future matters to her, just like it always has.

“Shall we grant her this reward, husband?” The Great Mother turns to the Smith, who looks at a little pebble in his palm, and then tosses it up, catching it in a blink of an eye later.

“Your devotion reminds me of my own children, Winged One,” he declares. “Know that the path you chose is a path of no return. If you take it, the Timeless Halls will not welcome you. You will become like this stone. Stones do not have wings nor do they dream. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she speaks quietly. “This is the path I want to take.”

“Very well,” the Great Mother grants her a smile as warm as a spring day. In her open palm, a flower blooms. Its countless petals are orange, and it smells like fire.

“You have fulfilled your duty as the White Raven, dear child. We shall bestow upon you the reward you have chosen,” she offers Carra the flower in her outstretched hand. “Accept it, if that is truly your choice.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” She touches the flower with her trembling fingers. It feels hard, like a piece of stone. “Thank you, Great Smith…”

As Carra closes her hand over the silky petals, a curtain of darkness falls over her, and it is as if the air disappeared from her lungs. She cannot move; she cannot speak. This must be the end, she thinks, and in the cold stillness of oblivion, a familiar sound reaches her ears.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

The loom resumed its work.

💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

📜 Searching for more stories to read? Check out my masterlist!📜

Do you like my writing? Would you like to read more? Feel free to show your support by having a Ko-fi with me! Thank you 💙

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed): @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @mrsdurin @nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames @emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512 @ragsweas @enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @wormsmith @mailinsblogofstuff @medusas-hairband @xxbyimm @knittastically @saucyminxbrainspill @quiall321 @frosticenow @glassgulls @evenstaredits @sotwk @theblackdeath87 @jaskierthelover

#thorin oakenshield #richard armitage #thorin #the hobbit #fanfic #thorin x oc #middle earth #tolkien #dwarves #ravens #aule #yavanna #silmarillion #vaire #irmo lorien #balin

92 notes · View notes

murkycran · 4 hours

Text

Radiostatic/Voxal Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Radiostatic/Voxal Fic Rec List! ^_^ This will include romantic, platonic, and/or queerplatonic Radiostatic fics (and admittedly probably a couple of Radiosilence fics, too).

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work or are wrong!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Staticmoth Fic Rec List

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

------

Radio Healed the Video Star by Aspiring_Forest_Witch

Summary: Alastor comes across an unconscious and battered Vox while out on one of his strolls. He feels compelled to bring him back to the hotel.

Notes: 98% of this fic was written before season 1 was released, so keep that in mind, because there's obviously going to be inconsistencies with canon. It's nearly finished (at least according to the author's notes in the latest chapters, I think). I suggest pacing yourself with this one - it's nearly 700k words long. I ruined a good sleep schedule staying up to get through it. (So worth it though.) There are quite a few OCs in later chapters, but they're such good OCs. You fall in love with them just as much as the canon characters, I swear. I would die for Verity and the Trio.

Let's Misbehave by joosymango

Summary: Alastor wins a bet against Vox, now his rival must stop pestering him for two weeks. It should be a pleasant break! So why does he miss the idiot?

Notes: Vaguely inspired by Aspiring_Forest_Witch's Radio Healed the Video Star. Also largely written before season 1 release. First fic I read for the HH fandom. ^_^

Safe with Me Series by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Having only ever set his sights on men who treat women with odious disrespect, Alastor never thought he'd take interest in Vox's turbulent relationship with his fiancé and business partner, Valentino. He decides to lend a helping hand in the hopes of getting Vox out of his sticky situation. After all, what are childhood enemies for?

Unfortunately, neither Alastor nor Vox could've predicted the rollercoaster of unsaid emotions and future horrors that are thrown their way. Will they be able to rely on each other and get by unscathed? Or will destiny have other plans for these two?

[HUMAN AU] [There's art included for the human designs]

Notes: It's so, so good. ;-; Heed the tags. There's a prequel consisting of oneshots, plus a sequel (listed below, bc I can't not put it here)! And there's ART! So much art!

You, My Everything by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Some say that love can conquer all, even in Hell.

Vox begged to differ, and he was damn well sure Alastor did too – or at least he would be, if Alastor hadn’t become one big question mark.

Sequel to Safe with Me.

Notes: Only read if you've read Safe With Me!!! Still pretty early in the story but so good. ;-; The angst, I swear...

You're on the Air by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: A series of short, daily conversations between a radio host and his avid listener, as the two learn more about each other’s lives over the air. Set in the late 90s/early 2000s.

Notes: Same author as Safe with Me, but not set in the same universe! This one is set up in a literal radio show format; almost entirely dialogue-centric.

Of Candied Pine and Cherried Smoke by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Inspired by x_Arcticfox_x’s fanfiction: Blue Raspberries And Cherry Cola

After overdosing on them one too many times to curb the steadily weakening suppressants, Vox's body rejects them outright. Now with his scent getting stronger, he finds himself struggling to hide his true status as an Omega. In his desperation, he seeks help from the one person that knows his secret: Alastor.

Notes: Omegaverse. Same author as Safe with Me series and You're on the Air!

Blue Raspberries And Cherry Cola by x_Arcticfox_x

Summary: Vox is an omega, that's his biggest secret.

During his life time he hid this fact using suppressants, and counited to in death. One day he runs out of pills and his supplier is out of stock for the time being so Vox is forced to submit to the torture of going through heat for the first time in decades.

Too bad his business partner only see's omega's as mere object's...

But hey, at least Angel found him just in time, right?

Notes: Omegaverse. Currently on hold, but has 14 chapters currently available for reading. :)

Once Bitten, Twice Shy by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Alastor decides that it's time to claim what is rightfully his, consequences be damned.

Notes: It's not porn but it might as well have been for how fucking intense this scene was. 😳

Dripping Pink by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Just before an Overlord meeting, Alastor gets infected by an off-market, highly potent, and incredibly dangerous love potion. Nobody realises until it's too late.

Notes: Simultaneously funny as fuck and erotic as all hell. I suffered from so much secondhand embarrassment on Vox's behalf. It's wonderful. :D

Lucidity's Fog by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Ever since he met Alastor, Vox has been having raunchy dreams about the deer. Those dreams suddenly stop when Alastor disappears. For seven years, he's free of the guilt, of the shame brought on by his unconscious desire.

Until Alastor comes back, and Vox is plagued by a new dream the same day he finds out about the news. This time, however, something is distinctively different about how the deer is acting.

Notes: Author tagged for light angst, but ngl the ending did not feel like 'light' angst to me lol. Hurt in a good way.

Finger Tips and Dotted Lips by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Alastor has sensitive hands; he finds this out at the most inconvenient time possible. Unfortunately, Vox is the one who ends up paying the price for it.

Having to help a seemingly broken Overlord whilst navigating this new discovery proves to be a little more taxing than the Radio Demon could ever have imagined.

Notes: Alastor is such a troll in this omg.

Thawing Out by Seaside_Dreaming

Summary: Seeing a small crack in Vox's screen nags at Alastor more than he likes to admit.

Vox wishes things were better. Sooner or later, Alastor has to come to terms with the fact he has feelings, in general.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. HIGHLY suggest reading the prequel one-shot. It's not necessary to understand the plot here, but you should read it anyway.

Static by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox creates a new and improved version of himself to please Val, only to be replaced by it. He is left beaten and broken with no one to turn to . . . except maybe his oldest enemy, Alastor.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Hating you feels so good by TwoBitJester

Summary: Vox obsesses over his returned enemy and finds himself a little too wound up

Notes: Very good PWP.

Laced Over Dinner by hazbinhearts

Summary: Vox is persuaded to dress a little differently over dinner for Alastor, but finds it remarkably uncomfortable as the night goes on. Written for VoxWeek21 Day 3: dressing up [appearance, formal, dance].

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Corsets. 😳

Observer by DeviousPossum

Summary: He moved the cursor to click off, when he suddenly heard a very recognizable static laced tone.

Alastor.

What the fuck. Alastor is singing.

Vox unintentionally ran claw marks across his desk, an increasingly common habit for him as of late. He grimaced at his now ruined table and unsuccessfully tried to reel in an inexplicable feeling that could only be described as jealousy.

Notes: Porn with a tiny bit of plot in the first chapter. :3

RadioTV Week 2021 Series by Heliosolar

Summary: Pretty much the title; various prompts.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. All worth reading, though they aren't connected.

Sharkblocking by Anonymous

Summary: Alastor is Vox’s number one rival. Incidentally, though nobody involved is aware of it, Alastor’s number one rival is actually Vox’s pet shark.

In which Alastor is actually a little obsessed back and Vark is the biggest obstacle to Radiostatic short of canon itself.

Notes: VARK!

Control + V by TooManyPsuedonyms

Summary: Vox and Alastor have a... thing. Not quite a relationship, but something. Vox is too scared to define it properly, and Alastor is dead set that Vox will eventually get bored of his lack of reciprocity and move on.

So, Valentino tries to show Vox what he is missing.

... too bad Vox didn't want him like that. ... too bad Alastor didn't know want is a vague word.

Notes: Heed the tags!!! There's currently a sequel; I haven't read it yet, but I definitely plan to. 👀

gift of the magi by vol_ctrl

Summary: "... Although husband and wife are now left with gifts that neither one can use, they realize how far they are willing to go to show their love for each other, and how priceless their love really is ..."

Alastor/Vox established relationship fluff.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Very sweet. ^_^

the lost tape by vol_ctrl

Summary: There's a NEW ambitious media demon in Pentagram City. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, right?

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

12 Days of Yuletide by vol_ctrl

Summary: A parody of the 12 Days of Christmas traditional tune, as can only be done by Vox gifting to his beloved adversary.

Or, a series of letters from the desk of Alastor upon receiving a series of increasingly elaborate gifts from his insufferably modern foil during the holiday season.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Fear makes the heart grow fonder by Graysongirl

Summary: After a bit of inspiration from an unlikely source Vox comes up with the plan that scaring Alastor is the best route to gaining his affections. The haunted house at LuLu World seems like the perfect (safe) environment for a bit of pre-planned scaring...

[Stand-alone staticradio]

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Funny af. "Red! Red!" XD

Cordyceps, King of Ants by spappest

Summary: Vox is tired. Of Valentino. Of Velvette. Of Alastor, and Hell, and everything in between. He can't escape, but he can cut himself off, piece by piece, until he feels nothing at all. Alastor takes exception to this approach and commissions a certain princess of Hell to fix his foe. Now Vox has a hotel of misfits on one side of him, overlords on the other, and Alastor crushing his cage ever smaller.

Clearly, the only way Vox will get any peace and quiet is to just kill God.

Valentino did always tell him that he had no chill.

Notes: Started before season 1 was released. Technically features Staticmoth but it's not the focus as much as Radiostatic (which honestly has a relationship status of ??? not romantic but also not friendship or even strictly enemies...just...Alastor and Vox). O_O I think about this fic on a daily basis.

Russian Roulette by spappest

Summary: Vox and Alastor play a game that Vox is way too excited to lose.

Notes: Started before season 1 release. Take note!!! I'm putting this on the Radiostatic list because it's almost entirely centered on Alastor and Vox's dynamic, but the romantic relationship is Staticmoth. The Staticmoth is just not featured very much.

Vox and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Afterlife by spappest

Summary: Alastor goes into rut.

Vox has a bad time. Then a good time. Then a very bad time. Then a brief vacation. Then a confusing time.

Notes: Background Staticmoth, but Radiostatic is most prominent. Funny af. Alastor and Vox have...a very special relationship. Lol.

Killer Ex by FanGirl48

Summary: Alastor was a serial killer who valued his privacy. So when someone who claims to know what he is tries to barge into his life he can't let them live, his secret must be protected at all cost.

A normally easy task easy task becomes complicated when Alastor's ex-boyfriend is dragged into the whole thing forcing the serial killer to go visit them for the first time in seven years.

Notes: Human AU. Love me some possessive Alastor. <3

Negotiations by FanGirl48

Summary: Vox had no interest in attending a meeting between Heaven and Hell following the failed attack by the Adam and his Exterminators. Alastor's little gremlin caused the mess, so he can go clean it up. Vox had nothing wanted nothing to do with the radio demon, king of hell or heaven.

But that was before Lucifer made the media overlord aware of Valentino's little job offer to his daughter.

Damnit Valentino!

Notes: "And they were roommates!" "Oh my god they were roommates"

Down, Up, and Back Down by CowboyEnthusiast

Summary: Vox dies. Surprisingly no one takes this well.

Or, Vox dies and Alastor tries to drag his soul back from Purgatory.

Notes: Another fic I think about daily... Heavy themes. Heed the tags.

Hold Me Like a Grudge by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor has spent a long time running from Vox. Vox has chased after him almost as long. When suppressants fail throughout the city, they finally collide.

Notes: Omegaverse. Fun fact about this author: all their Radiostatic fic titles are from Fall Out Boy lyrics lol. (I fucking love FOB sue me.) I haven't yet read all of Rachello344's Radiostatic fics, BUT I have them all on my To Read list because I've loved everything I've read of theirs so far lol.

What Makes You So Special? by Rachello344

Summary: With Lucifer’s return to the Pride Ring, the other Deadly Sins were bound to take notice. When Asmodeus stops by the Pride Ring to visit the Morningstars, the Vees are able to make a deal to host a pop-up shop of the incredibly popular Lust Ring establishment, Ozzie’s, bringing it to the Pride Ring for the first time.

When Vox and Alastor both attend the restaurant’s opening night, long repressed sparks fly, forever changing their relationship.

Notes: Because of the pacing of this (sex first romance later), I feel like this is the Radiostatic equivalent of Femalefonzie's Freak-A-Zoid (a really good Staticmoth fic). This is hands down one of the most romantic Radiostatic fics I've read. ^_^

Hold Me Tight (or Don't) by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor and Vox finally come to an understanding, both of each other and of what they each mean to the other. Their relationship evolves accordingly, one concession at a time, until they both get everything they could possibly want: power, companionship, and even love.

Notes: So, so good.

Keep You Like an Oath by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor normally wouldn’t bother with the chore—breaking into V Tower was quite a lot of work, even for him—but he found himself curious about what Vox and his little friends might be working on. Especially since whatever it was had Angel concerned enough to report back to the rest of the hotel about it.

Of course, before he can learn anything, he’ll need to sneak past Vox’s watchful eye…

Notes: God it's just...so good. Read it. Radiostatic reconciliation. One thing I love about Rachello344 writing Radiostatic is Alastor's terms of endearment for Vox. ^_^

To Be Yours by pinegreenapples

Summary: Alastor hears something he hasn't heard in years. He decides to investigate why now, of all times, this frequency has turned back on. Vox is not amused.

Notes: Hurt no comfort. Hurts so good, though. ;-;

oleanders in june by spoondrifts

Summary: It seems like while Alastor was off preying on the self-destructive addictions of desperate sinners, Vox was off getting himself beaten half to death, probably from spouting belligerent nonsense at someone with violent tendencies and a far lower threshold for disrespect than Alastor. Not everyone finds poor Vox’s chatter as charming as he does.

If Vox is unconscious, then Vox is not being entertaining, and Alastor came here to have fun, not play nursemaid.

Or: Drunk on power and itching to cause some mayhem, Alastor hunts down the only person in the city who's always up for anything. Unfortunately, he finds Vox... not exactly in tip-top shape. No matter; he can work with that too.

Notes: ^_^ Very sweet.

equilibrium by curtailed

Summary: Post-Finale. The Hotel finds Alastor right on the front lawn, unconscious and bleeding, still injured from Adam's blade. While he recovers, all of Hell scrambles to find out who his mysterious rescuer is.

Meanwhile, Vox tries not to freak out that he might have accidentally made a soul bond to save that deer asshole's life. All he had wanted to do was to scope out the ruins of Alastor's radio tower. Fuck him for being curious, he supposed.

Notes: This fic has me in a CHOKEHOLD. I love the characterizations so, so much. Manages to fit in humor alongside the angst. One of the best fight scenes I've ever seen put into words. Curtailed really took Vox and Alastor as characters and planned out a cool fucking fight scene using their unique abilities. I automatically love anything tagged with "one fell first but the other fell harder" lol.

candlelight by curtailed

Summary: Despite the #SirRepentious success, Heaven remains skeptical of a sinner's ability to change. Logic gets lost somewhere, and really, what's a better way to show sinners can be marginally less horrible than to stick two Overlords who hate each other in the same living space?

Alastor and Vox play house.

Notes: The comedy of Alastor and Vox being forced to be civil with each other and then unintentionally becoming very domestic together. Lol

wallow by curtailed

Summary: A 2+1 fic. Two times when Alastor and Vox were in a love triangle (hard quote on love, hard quote on triangle), and the one time Alastor had Vox to himself.

Notes: Only 1 (very good) chapter so far, but safe to say pretty heavy already. Heed the tags.

Addicted by Dancingdog

Summary: After the latest argument with Valentino, Vox finds himself at the Hazbin Hotel. An injured Alastor is less-than-pleased to see him, which is understandable considering they are enemies.

But as more and more of Valentino's venom leaves his system, Vox begins to remember his days before V-Tower and he learns exactly why Alastor rejected his offer all those decades ago.

His memories return in fits and spurts - not all of them good. His past with Alastor isn't something he expected and it turns out that he isn't the only one suffering.

Notes: Dude. This fic hurt me. Such good angst.

Radio Made the Video Star Series by songofhell

Summary: Snippets of Vox and Alastor's afterlife, and their journey from strangers to friends to enemies to... something more.

Notes: Pretty much what the series summary says - a series of installments that chronicle the beginning and subsequent evolution of Alastor and Vox's relationship. Very good, has tons of possessive!Alastor, which I die for.

Uneasy by Saezs

Summary: “Something’s wrong with Voxy.”

Velvette’s eyes snapped to the tall moth pimp. “And?” she prompted with a raised eyebrow. As if she needed to deal with two piss babies this close to a show. Valentino shrugged, tapping away on his phone, and walked away to stand threateningly close to her new models. Before she could snap at him, she saw it; his wings were twitching. Barely noticeable to strangers, just under the hum of the building’s lights, he was squeaking with each tap of his fingers. She felt unease and a healthy dose of aggravation swirl in her stomach.

Or: Vox was roofied and sexually assaulted. Velvette tries to be better than her mother. Unexpected connections are formed.

Notes: Heed the tags! Features genderfluid Vox. :)

Five Times Vox and Alastor Danced and One Time They Didn't by Drowsy_Salamander

Summary: “I say, good fellow, what are you doing on the ground like that?”

The voice was perky, cheerful, and bright. It had a crisp mid-Atlantic accent, the kind Vox remembered being all the rage for stage and film performers back when he first entered the broadcast industry. The diction was crystal clear with every sound enunciated separately to maximise clarity, the consonants clicked and the vowels were broad. It was a performer’s voice.

A voice for radio.

Oh shit.

... Five times Vox and Alastor danced and one time Vox and Alastor didn't.

From their first meeting through their friendship, to their enmity and fighting. From infatuation to yearning to animosity. Dancing is a partnership, is it not?

Notes: Each chapter so far has been a different type of dance, which is really neat. Especially chapter 2. ^_^ That said, there's a feeling of impending doom, knowing what happens to their relationship eventually... Not saying that as a deterrent but just a comment on how I felt while reading it lol. It's very sweet, which is why it hurts to think of future chapters. 🙃

Days Long Past by Momo52

Summary: All sinners of hell bore some physical marks of how they lived and died. Some physical manifestations were more obvious while others were subtle. Vox was not an exception to this rule.

While his television head was an obvious indication of his life while on Earth, the mark he bore from his death was far more subdued. Luckily enough, his shame was easily concealed behind a high collar. Unfortunately, he is just as well known in his afterlife as he was in his life. As such, trying to make everyone believe that he is so much stronger than what his death implies is a constant battle. He only wished that he wasn’t the hardest one to convince.

Notes: I think platonic Radiostatic is the endgame here. Still pretty early in the story, but I'm really liking this author's depiction of Vox and Alastor's pasts. Heed the tags. There are heavy subjects such as suicide (very big theme for Vox's pov) and period-typical racism (in Alastor's past) present in the story.

Remote Access by x-UsoTsuki-x (its_not_reael)

Summary: In the aftermath of Alastor and Vox's electrifying on-air showdown, Vox finds himself unusually rattled. His usual suave demeanor is slipping, much to his cohorts' amusement – and concern. Velvet can do little more than roll her eyes at his antics. Valentino, on the other hand, is convinced that all Vox needs to do is get fucked and relax.

or, alternatively...

The tech-savvy overlord manages to snag a virus from a porn site and finds himself in the arms of his worst enemy.

Notes: Fairly certain this is firmly Radiosilence based on the tags (and the direction of the story so far). Very funny, very hot. Vox is pathetic in this one. Lol

Nun-thing Like You've Ever Seen Series by A_Cypress_Coffin

Summary: Alastor, the feared radio demon with more blood on his hands than most of hell combined, wasn't always as we imagine him. There was a time where instead of a dapper suit and smile he donned a simple vow and habit. That didn't last of course, but the journey is quite something.

Notes: This author has a great sense of humor, lmao. I enjoyed the unique headcanons for Alastor's backstory. The tag that hooked me: "Accidentally becoming a better person through bad domming and found family".

Empathia by The_Oblivious_Swallow

Summary: Creating new technology is boring, sex is physically unappealing, the other Vee’s are so annoying, annoying, annoying! Even Vark, his baby, his pride and joy, doesn’t stir the same joy in his heart like he should.

So, Vox had concluded that it had to go. For his sake.

Notes: Contains Staticmoth, but Radiostatic seems like the endgame (I write this as there is one chapter still left). Really interesting idea. I love Vox.exe so much. ;-;

Every Madman Has His Vice by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: “What the fuck do you want, Alastor? Was it not enough to kill me all those years ago? Now, you had to go for the people I loved and the only things I had left in this fucking Hellhole?”

“It was my fault,” Alastor whispers as he approaches Vox slowly, as if he was some sort of wounded animal he didn’t want to scare off. His prey. “Vox, I’m sorry. If I had a chance to redo that night, I would never have hurt you to this extent. I’ll never harm you again.”

“That’s seven years too fucking late, Alastor.”

OR: Seven years ago, instead of Alastor disappearing, it was Vox who left instead.

Notes: I’m so fucking here for this AU. Possessive Alastor, Vox helping with the hotel, Husk is still an Overlord, yessss

Metathesiophobia (Fear of Change) by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: There's a lot that can change in seven years.

But never once had Alastor expected for something like this from his old rival and older friend.

Or, Alastor and Vox start to rekindle their old friendship again after a shocking discovery strikes the deer demon.

Notes: QPR Radiostatic with MtF Vox! Contains a smidge of Staticmoth, but it's in the background and not the focus. Very well written.

surimi and venison by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: A series of short drabbles (500+ words) in an interconnected universe (peep the tags, they're still in hell), centering around Alastor and his new pet fish... shark... television thing. Will (hopefully) update 1-2 times a week. Written as my attempt at a Mermay series.

Notes: Like the summary says, Mermay prompts featuring SharkHybrid!Vox, along with Alastor, who literally saw Vox and decided to make him his pet. Lol.

an arm and a leg, my dear, les yeux d'la tête by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: “I mean, usually when Val gets mad he gets like, super pissy too an’ starts destroyin’ shit ‘round the set and in his clubs, but like, usually Vox can calm him down. Problem is, where the Hell is that guy? I haven’t seen ‘im round the Tower for like, a month or two now. That ain’t normal.”

“What, so you mean he just up and left?”

“No, but like… he hasn’t been seen ‘in public’ for like, two months now. It’s startin’ to get suspicious. Like, I ‘unno if I’m just paranoid or something, but… Vox is like, the fuckin’ face of Hell’s Entertainment District. When he’s not round for a bit, that’s nothing to worry about on its own… but when he’s not round for a bit an’ Val and Velvette are creeping around, looking for his rival…? I mean… the dots are connecting. If Al did something…”

“If Vox was dead, we would know.” OR: Two months ago, Vox went missing. Right now, it seems as if Alastor has something to hide.

Notes: Vox gets attic-wifed and wears a virgin killer sweater. ^_^

we'll go down together in the ashes of our love by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: Glimpses into the Radio Demon's life as he reluctantly navigates parenthood with his co-parenting partner and the demon princess hoisted onto him by the King and Queen of Hell.

Loosely inspired by Spy X Family.

Notes: CUTE! I love domestic Radiostatic.

What Has Been by Tianren

Summary: Vox has never known peace. From being the son of a egocentric cult leader, to being the boyfriend of a self absorbed abuser. Vox has managed to build a pretty sad life for himself. The only spot of sunshine that had ever blessed his existence was when he met an amateur true crime investigative journalist, with a podcast named, Alastor. The man was his only source of unfiltered news and contact to the world outside his father’s compound. But after Vox finally escaped the cult he waited for Alastor. Waited weeks in their assigned meeting spot just to be forgotten. Vox was convinced he’d stopped waiting for Alastor years ago until he meets the man again seven years later at a hotel. What will reconnecting with his past lead to and will it help him escape the hell he’s built for himself?

Takes place in the late 2000s early 2010s

Trigger warning for religious trauma and abuse as major themes of this story. Will add more warnings if they arise as I go on.

Notes: Really interesting human AU concept!

(Fic rec list to be continued)

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #voxal #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #fic rec list

14 notes · View notes

paarthurnax59 · 1 year

Text

"Always Her Hero"

(images are not mine)

Pairings: Clark Kent x OC!(Eventually), Steve Rogers x Sharon Carter, Steve Rogers x OC!(unrequited)

important notes: I got this idea from reading a Steve fic called, "Get/Got Back Together" by @altriestowrite broke my heart in two but couldn't stop reading!!!!😢😭. Won't say what actually happened, but all I wanted was for Steve to suffer. (Sorry, I'm a Capricorn. I thirst for vengeance) 😁. anyway, I go this idea with a fic for Clark Kent and wanted to write this. I also wanted to give her the credit for writing this two shot and for breaking our hearts. None of these characters are mine and all belong to their respective owners.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Steve being a dick and a horrible friend, insecure b*tchy girlfriend, heartbreak, unrequited love, romance,old friends, farm animals, Clark being a KING!, Bruce Wayne’s sass, Peter being a great friend, cheating, violence, action, crazy bestie going to prison and heartbreak. (OC is also depicted as Caucasian/white with bright blue eyes. There is a reason as you all read the story, so please give it a chance. 🙏🥺. I'm putting my heart and soul into this story.)

Introduction: Hope Parker worked for Tony Stark as a security analyst and forensic scientist at the compound, thanks to her cousin, Peter Parker. She had the ability to speak to animals and often spend more time with them than people. Over that time, she developed feelings for the handsome super-solider Named Steve Rogers. However, there was one drawback. His very insecure girlfriend, Sharon Carter. she was sent on a mission with the team for the first time. It went completely south and she was blamed. Sharon eventually broke up with Steve. He blamed Hope and stopped talking to her.

A month later, Steve Rogers asked her out of the blue. Her heart fluttered at it. It wasn't until Hope realized that his intentions were far less than noble or pure. He used her to get back to the person he really loved, Sharon Carter. He broke Hope's heart and her life completely fell apart. Losing everything, her job, friends and her home. All due to the actions made by one person hell bent on filling her life with lies, humiliation and pain.

Then, a day came when Hope ran into a man she hadn't seen in ten years. Clark Kent, her childhood best friend. He recently made a job transfer to the ‘Daily Bugle’ as a reporter and start a new life away from Metropolis. Over the course of the few weeks, Hope and Clark rekindle that friendship they had before she Smallville. She felt freer and happier as they strengthened their bond. After that, her life began to change drastically, leading to new friends, old friends, once in a lifetime opportunities, secrets and discovering who she is and a great destiny that will change both her and Clark's relationship forever.

Book 1

Cast part 1

Cast Part 2

Prologue - Goodbye, Smallville

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

More to come...

please love, comment and reblog this post!!!

#steve x reader #steve rude #steve rogers angst #clark kent #Marvel #DC #the avengers #clark kent fanfiction #unrealism #clark kent fluff #steve rodgers x OC!#Clar kent x OC!#Bruce Wayne #batman

125 notes · View notes

sotwk · 9 months

Note

My gosh this is a very wild guess, but is Anariel the maiden in Rivendell in your WIP "The Only Gold"? [main clues I used: Anariel's birth year (fic must be set after TA 496), you mentioned that it was one of your WIP fics, she lived in Rivendell, golden/blonde hair (based on your face claim), Anariel is close to Arvellas and learned a lot from him (potentially including about the dwarves) and the she-elf in the fic knows Khuzdul

My dear friend, this was not a "wild guess", but rather some Sherlock Holmes level of investigative deduction! XD You are 100% correct! I am so impressed and flattered that you took the time to gather information and piece it together to present your proof! You must be really good at finding Easter Eggs from movie franchises.

Because of the "jumping all over the place" approach I have taken to writing out the SotWK AU of Thranduil's (and Middle-earth's) history, there are clues and Easter Eggs all over my stories about plot details that haven't been revealed yet. Mysteries like: Which Son of Fëanor is Maereth's grandfather? Who are the other First Age canons related/connected to Thranduil's family?

"The Only Gold" is my "Durins Live" fix-it fic, told mostly through the eyes of Fili and, as you have guessed, Anariel. It will run through an AU version of The Hobbit/BotFA events and explore the SotWK AU history and (broken) relationship that actually existed between Mirkwood and Erebor. All 3 Sons of Durin (Thorin, Fili and Kili) will live, but the question is how, and what role will Thranduil's family play in it?

Will Fili and Anariel fall in love and end up finally uniting the two kingdoms and races? (Grandpa Thranduil and Uncle Thorin are fighting over who gets to wring my neck first right now. *nervous laugh*) Honestly, the endgame of their relationship remains very fluid my head. (aka undecided) All I know is destiny foretold by the Elvenqueen herself will push these two beautiful blondes together.

Just a few additional notes about the lovely tidbits you picked up on regarding Anariel:

Her birth year: She is actually as close in age to her Uncle Legolas as Legolas is to his brother Mirion! But yes, Anariel was born about 500 years before the Greenwood started to darken, so she enjoyed some happy centuries of peace with her family.

Her life in Rivendell: Sadly, by the events of The Hobbit, her mother had become estranged from Thranduil, which caused Itarildë and Anariel to leave Mirkwood and reside in Rivendell for a period of time. (Aranion stayed because no one is more loyal to Thranduil than he; what a darling grandson!)

Her relation to Elrond: Anariel is a cousin by blood to Elrond. Elrond's paternal great-grandmother Elenwë is the sister of Elemírë (an OC), Anariel's paternal great-great-grandmother. Thus in the story, Elrond refers to her his "kin".

Her closeness to Arvellas and knowledge of the Dwarven culture: By the Third Age, no other Elf in Middle-earth could surpass Prince Arvellas in his knowledge of the Dwarves. For many centuries, he taught his dear niece nearly everything he knew about the Dwarven race, including Khuzdul. Arvellas foresaw he was not destined to live forever on Middle-earth, so he sought to pass on his knowledge to a worthy successor.

Her golden hair: The beauty of Anariel's golden hair is one to rival Galadriel's, due to her strong Vanyarin inheritance. (I mean, her name is "Daughter of the Sun"!) In the SotWK AU, Glorfindel is 3/4 Vanya, and he married the sister of Elenwë (wife of Turgon), who is full Vanya. I made some rough calculations which reveals Itarildë as 22% Vanya, higher than any canon elf left in Middle-earth in the Third Age, save for Glorfindel himself (if you accept my HC that he's part Vanya). So yes, that's why the Dwarves were stunned and mesmerized by the golden hair of Anariel; it likely carries some "magic" in it. I have a self-indulgent HC that Gloin and Gimli would have had heated debates over whose hair was more beautiful--Galadriel's or Anariel's.

Anyway, apologies for my rambling Anon (and everyone who made it this far)! I have a thousand SotWK headcanons in my head that need to be unloaded sometimes to release the pressure. XD.

Anon, I would really love to give you a prize (as I promised) from the Tumblr Mart, any badge of your choice... but if you're not comfortable revealing yourself, I completely understand. Another option would be sending me another Ask and letting me know of a writer/artist whom you want to support, and I will buy them some KoFi on your behalf. Please let me know! :) Thank you again for participating in my little Guessing Game, and for your wonderful support!

Tagging those have historically been interested: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @achromaticerebus @auttumnsayshi @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @heranintomyknife23times @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @lilidurin @beekieboo @albionscastle @jezzibee @g-m-kaye

Interested in more SotWK AU content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist

My Fanfiction Masterlist

#sotwk answers #sotwk easter eggs #fili #fili x oc #fili fanfiction #thorin #thranduil #thranduil headcanon #thranduilion #anariel #the hobbit #sotwk headcanon

40 notes · View notes

sansaorgana · 2 years

Text

— DON’T CALL ME PRINCESS

PAIRING — Poe Dameron x Padmé Solo (OC)

SUMMARY — Named after her biological grandmother, Padmé has always been running away from her destiny and refused to be trained at the Jedi Academy. She chose the life on the run alongside her father but her older brother kidnaps her, hoping she would join him in the dark side. General Leia Organa is determined to get her daughter back and sends the Resistance’s best pilot to rescue “Princess Padmé”.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I really wanted to make it a story with the fem!Reader but she would have to be too described and that is something I do not like in x Reader fics, so I’ve created the character of Padmé Solo. 🥺 Long multichapter fics exhaust me, to be honest, so I don’t plan to turn this into one, I think more of writing a series of one–shots, which would explore this character, her story and her relationship with Poe. In this one they’ve barely met after all! 🙈 I follow canon very loosely here btw!

WORD COUNT — 3,740

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DON’T CALL ME PRINCESS

Padmé was woken up abruptly by the sound of the door being opened. She groaned and pulled the blanket over her head but the man who had just stood above her didn’t mean to walk away so easily.

“Kylo Ren is expecting you,” he announced in a very serious and a bit irritated voice.

“Tell him to fuck off, how about that?” Padmé muttered through the blanket before revealing her face and giggling at General Hux’s expression. “Would you be brave enough to repeat that to him?”

The man clenched his jaw and didn’t say anything but his eyes were telling more than a thousand words – he despised that woman and if she hadn’t been his boss’ biological sister, he would have taught her a lesson.

Padmé rolled her eyes and stood up to stretch her arms out and yawn. She grabbed a towel and raised an eyebrow at General Hux.

“Will you be staying here while I take a shower?” she asked.

“N-no, of course not,” he swallowed thickly.

“Thought so,” she smirked and waited for him to leave before she eventually went to the bathroom.

Kylo Ren was waiting for Padmé in his private quarters with his lightsaber by his side and his helmet covering his face. He hadn’t been expecting her to show up on time but he was still irritated by her delay.

“How nice of you, dear brother,” he finally heard her voice and turned around to witness her walking up to him next to General Hux. “You gave me quite a big room with my own, private bathroom,” she chuckled and looked around. “Woah, that’s much more luxurious than a good old Millenium Falcon, isn’t it?”

“Padmé,” Kylo called her name to get her attention but she kept making wide eyes at the quarters surrounding her.

“Excuse me, it’s the first time since you’ve kidnapped me when I can finally take a proper look at your ship,” she commented bitterly.

“General Hux, leave us,” Kylo ordered and the man nodded his head before walking away as fast as possible.

“Come on, Ben, take off that stupid helmet,” Padmé sighed and crossed her arms. “It’s not like you need it. Our grandfather never wanted to wear one and he hated it.”

“You know nothing of Darth Vader,” Kylo Ren’s voice was filled with frustration and anger.

“Do you still talk to his melted helmet, hoping he would show up as a Force Ghost?” she kept teasing.

“Shut up.”

“What do you want me for, Ben? Am I here so you can kill me and seal your commitment to the dark side?” she pretended to be brave about it as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow but her voice broke a little and that had betrayed her.

She didn’t want to die, after all. Padmé was a young woman, two years younger than her brother actually. Full of life and everything it had to offer.

Despite spending most of her life on the Millenium Falcon, visiting different worlds with her father and Chewbacca, there were still many things she hadn’t experienced and couldn’t wait for.

Like finding a place she would call home that was not an old Corellian ship. Or meeting one true love one day… maybe.

“Don’t call me Ben,” Kylo said and took out one of the lightsabers to throw it at her. She grabbed it, surprised. “You are here to be trained.”

“No,” Padmé gritted her teeth. “I didn’t agree to join Uncle Luke and I don’t agree to join you. Force is a gift I do not want. It causes more trouble than good,” she exclaimed.

She tried to throw that lightsaber away but it fit her hand almost perfectly so instead, she took a better look at it. For some odd reason, it felt like she had known it… in some different life.

“That lightsaber once belonged to a Jedi Knight named Anakin Skywalker,” Kylo informed her and Padmé’s eyes sparkled.

“I might keep that one for sentimental reasons then. I will not use it, though.”

“You will,” Kylo answered mysteriously before activating his own one.

In fact, Padmé had never held one nor fought with one. She was force sensitive but she never used any of her potential abilities, unless it was done by accident. Yes, it had saved her life a few times during her adventures on Millenium Falcon, but she never actually dreamt of becoming a Jedi or a dark side user of the Force.

What Kylo Ren had been wanting so badly – being in touch with their grandfather – she had achieved effortlessly. Anakin Skywalker’s force ghost had been by her side since she had been a child.

It was Padmé’s little secret that she was so close with her grandfather. Her parents had eventually forgiven him and Leia Organa had accepted the fact that she was a biological daughter of Anakin Skywalker but she never addressed him as her father and she never talked to him. Padmé was different. She didn’t care much about her mother’s stories about Bail Organa and she never used her second name – Breha. She hadn’t met them just as much as she hadn’t met her biological grandparents so she decided she’d rather focus on her actual ancestors.

Padmé Solo was an unusual girl. She was known by many names, actually: Padmé Organa, Padmé Organa–Solo, Padmé Skywalker, Padmé Skywalker–Organa, Padmé Skywalker–Solo and even Padmé Skywalker–Organa–Solo. She was using them all, depending on the situation, but in fact she had known she was nothing but Padmé Solo.

Her parents were rather happy that she hadn’t wanted to become a Jedi. Most of her childhood she had spent with her father, when her mother was busy with politics. And when her parents decided that they shouldn’t be together, she had left with Han and Chewie to have adventures all over the galaxy.

She loved her mother but their relationship was not an easy one. Being Leia Organa’s daughter was putting lots of expectations and bagge on Padmé’s shoulders. She was expected to be a Princess like her mother… Not one of those who would just roll their eyes and demand, no. She should be a fighter and a hero; smart and beautiful, fearless…

It was easier to be Han Solo’s daughter. Simpler.

Padmé looked down at her own hands and she witnessed the blue light activating itself. Her fists clenched around the handle as her hands trembled.

“I’m going to guide you, don’t be afraid,” she heard her grandfather’s voice and she smiled to herself.

“Why do you want to train me?” she asked her brother.

“Because you are supposed to join me.”

“Over my dead body, Ben,” she tried to turn it into a joke.

“We will see about that,” he approached her. “There is the same blood in our veins. We both love power.”

Leia could feel that something hadn’t been right. She could feel the physical pain. It was the Force’s calling but also a mother’s instinct that had been telling her that her daughter could be in danger.

Therefore, when she saw Han’s ship landing at The Resistance Base on D’Quar, she felt her heart squeezing in her chest. She immediately knew that there had to be a reason for his visit… An unpleasant one.

“Han!” She greeted him but his serious expression and Chewbacca’s lowered head made her feel sick to her stomach. “Where is she? Where’s Padmé?”

“He’s taken her,” Han shook his head, feeling guilty for letting this happen. “She was kidnapped when we were on Batuu. I’m sorry…”

“We’ve already lost a son,” she whispered. “I won’t lose a daughter, too,” she added before hugging her ex-husband and patting his shoulder. “We’ll get her back. I’ll send my best pilot.”

“Am I not your best pilot?” Han smirked.

“Oh, please. Hardly.”

Padmé was walking down the corridor, coming back from her brother’s private quarters. They were supposed to train together now but he had told her to go back to her room now since he had other urgent matters to take care of first.

Thanks to her rather obedient behavior those past few days, Kylo Ren allowed her to go back on her own and without General Hux’s supervision.

That behavior was of course nothing but an act – Padmé wanted to gain Kylo’s trust so she would soon be able to escape the First Order’s ship.

Her main problem was rather embarrassing – she couldn’t fly. Han Solo’s daughter had no idea how to fly ships, yes, and there were quite a few reasons behind that. Most importantly, there was no way Han Solo would ever let his daughter fly his beloved ship. They both also liked to pretend that they were not getting older at all and they still had all the time in the world for her to learn.

Thanks to that, Padmé was now left with a huge problem. She needed a pilot and in order to find one, she had to befriend some people on the ship and find out which one would be the easiest to convince to help her for money. Most of them sadly acted like they had truly been loyal at heart to the awful First Order.

Padmé was lost in her thoughts when she suddenly heard two muffled voices coming from the side of the corridor. That was certainly unusual. She had never witnessed two stormtroopers gossipping while being on their shift.

“Can you fly a TIE Fighter?”

“I can fly anything.”

The other man laughed and Padmé stopped while furrowing her brows, standing literally a few meters away from them.

“Why? Why are you helping me?” the one who claimed to be able to fly anything asked.

“Because that’s the right thing to do.”

Short silence occurred.

“You need a pilot.”

Padmé’s heart froze in her chest at those words.

“I need a pilot,” the other one admitted.

“We’re gonna do this… but first, I have to rescue Princess Padmé.”

Padmé closed her eyes for the second, embarrassed to hear those words. It had to be her mother sending that man to help her because no one else would call her a Princess…

“Ekhem,” she interrupted both men and stood between them. They widened their eyes, absolutely terrified of her presence.

One of them was a stormtrooper with his helmet taken off and the other one had dry blood on his face and typical clothing of some scoundrel.

“Who are you?” he asked while the stormtrooper looked at him like he was crazy.

“That’s Princess Padmé. Weren’t you supposed to rescue her?” he asked, surprised.

“Oh, they haven’t told me what she looked like,” the pilot looked at Padmé up and down while biting on his lower lip. “So, we don’t have to break in anywhere, you’re already here, marvelous. Now we can escape.”

“Not so fast. You were sent to rescue me?” Padmé raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Why would I believe you?”

“Why not?” he teased and she huffed. “Listen, we don’t have much time.”

“Why would my mother send a pilot like you to rescue me?” Padmé crossed her arms.

“I’m the best pilot in the galaxy!” he exclaimed, his pride visibly offended.

“My father is the best pilot in the galaxy. You’re some scoundrel who got himself arrested during the mission.”

“We really don’t have much time,” the stormtrooper nearly begged.

“And why would we trust you, huh?” she laid her eyes on him.

“Can we just…” the pilot lowered his voice at the sound of people coming their way. “We need a plan.”

“I have a plan,” the stormtrooper put his helmet on. “You’ll pretend to be my prisoner.”

“What about the Princess?” the pilot pointed his finger at her.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well, she might be a problem,” the stormtrooper admitted.

“Just leave me here and tell my mother to send a better pilot to save me,” Padmé teased.

“No way, you’re leaving with us right now,” the pilot didn’t want to hear any of this.

“I have an idea,” Padmé looked around and noticed a lone stormtrooper approaching them.

Perhaps it had been a terrible idea but she didn’t think twice. She grabbed her grandfather’s lightsaber and activated it before pressing it to the surprised stormtrooper’s chin.

“Wh-what’s going on?”

“Give me your clothes.”

They were walking through the hangar and now, when they were surrounded by so many people, Padmé started to feel what a terrible idea it had truly been. The stormtrooper's clothes were too big for her and she felt everyone’s eyes on her. The way she walked was simply funny and hard not to notice.

Not to mention the actual stormtrooper being locked in one of the rooms on the ship. Soon he’d be found and tell the authorities about everything, which would lead to the failure of Padmé’s plan.

“Okay, stay calm, stay calm,” the stormtrooper that had been working with her kept repeating under his breath while pressing the gun to the pilot’s head. Padmé was just walking next to him and feeling how sweaty her hands were becoming.

“I am calm,” the pilot gritted through his teeth.

“I’m talking to myself,” the stormtrooper admitted.

“How consoling,” Padmé muttered.

“Okay, go. This way,” the stormtrooper patted their shoulders and led them to one of the TIE Fighters.

“Which one of you will be my co-pilot?” the pilot asked. “Princess?”

“Don’t call me that and no,” she hissed at him after taking off her helmet.

“A daughter of the best pilot in the galaxy and she cannot fly?” he asked, both surprised and amused.

“If I could fly, smartass, I wouldn’t need your help with getting out of here.”

“Okay, okay, I can try,” the stormtrooper pushed them both inside the TIE Fighter.

Another problem was that it certainly hadn’t been built for three people, especially when two of them were wearing big white armors.

Padmé was squeezed between them two, half standing and half crouching, grumpy and terrified.

“We are so going to die here,” she sighed.

“I’ve always wanted to fly one of these things,” the pilot admitted while taking his jacket off.

“You joined the wrong side then,” Padmé sighed.

“Can you shoot?” he asked the stormtrooper who was taking his helmet off.

“Blasters, I can.”

“Okay, same principle,” the pilot nodded while pushing buttons to get the ship ready to start. “Use a toggle on the left to switch between missiles, cannons and mag pulse. Use the sight on the right to aim. Triggers to fire.”

“This is very complicated…”

“Is there anything I can do?” Padmé asked.

“Just stay silent,” the pilot smirked at her and she didn’t even fight him at that moment, absolutely convinced she would soon die.

Perhaps staying on that bloody ship with her brother hadn’t been that bad of an idea but it was too late for going back now.

The ship was just about to leave the docking bay when something blocked its movement and a loud clanking sign made them all realize that all this time the TIE Fighter had been anchored with the wire.

“Excellent,” Padmé hid her face in her hands, trying to calm her down while taking deep breaths in.

She had heard stories about her mother during the war. Leia Organa had been strong and brave. She would never crouch down on the ship’s floor and hide her face in her hands. Neither would Han Solo or the real Padmé – Padmé Amidala.

But Padmé Solo was her own self and she was absolutely terrified.

“I can fix this!” The pilot exclaimed and the sounds of blasters surrounded them. The stormtroopers at the hangar were trying to stop them but the one helping Padmé finally began shooting at them.

She shut her eyes close and tried to focus on the Force around her. She had never been trained to be able to influence it but she hoped that her fear and desperation would somehow save their lives.

“I got it!” The pilot eventually got rid of the cable and the TIE Fighter lef the hangar. “Woah, this thing really moves!”

Padmé straightened her back to see with her own eyes that they were finally in outer space but her smile didn’t last for long. Of course no one would let them escape so easily and the First Order was shooting at them.

“Okay, we gotta take out as many of these cannons as we can or we're not gonna get very far,” the pilot ordered.

“Alright,” the stormtrooper nodded.

“I’m gonna get us in position, just stay sharp.”

Padmé put her hands on the pilot’s seat and squeezed them to keep in balance. She was the only one who didn’t have any seat belts or anything really to protect her from the upcoming turbulence.

“Better put that helmet back on, Princess,” the pilot pointed at the abandoned stormtrooper’s helmet on the floor.

She nodded and put it back on before clinging to his seat once again like her life depended on it… Well, because it actually did.

“Up ahead! Up ahead! You see it? I got us dead center, it’s a clean shot.”

“Okay, got it.”

The stormtrooper blew up the cannons and all three of them began to cheer and scream to celebrate the victory.

“Did you see that?! Did you see that?!”

“I saw it!”

“Good job!” Padmé took her helmet off once again with a wide smile.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the pilot asked the stormtrooper.

“FN–2187!”

“F… What?!”

“That’s the only name they ever gave me.”

The pilot and Padmé looked at each other meaningfully. They weren’t fond of each other – in fact, they were pretty sure they would never end up as friends – but they were both coming from a different world. A world where children had mothers and fathers, normal names and the First Order was something to fight instead of serve.

“Well, I ain’t using it,” the pilot decided. “F–N, huh?”

“Finn,” Padmé proposed.

“Yes, Finn. We’re gonna call you Finn, is that alright?” the pilot asked.

“Finn… Yeah, I like that!” he nodded.

“I’m Poe. Poe Dameron,” the pilot finally introduced himself.

“Good to meet you, Poe.”

“Good to meet you, Finn.”

“Ekhem,” Padmé interrupted them both.

“Well, you don’t need to introduce yourself, do you?” Poe looked up at her.

“Nice to meet you, too, Dameron,” she hissed and then her eyes widened at the sight of the huge blue missiles chasing their TIE Fighter.

“One’s coming towards you!” Poe screamed at Finn. “My right, your left! Do you see it?”

“Hold on…! I see him!”

A few shoots later one of the missiles was gone.

“Nice shot!” Poe exclaimed and proceeded to lower the ship.

“Where are we going?” Finn asked.

“We’re going back to Jakku, that’s where.”

“What?!” Padmé squealed at that.

“We can’t go back to Jakku! We need to get out of this system!” Finn insisted.

“We need to get to the Resistance Base as soon as possible, Dameron!” Padmé joined him.

“I gotta get my droid before the First Order does,” Poe informed them, determined to land on Jakku.

“What, a droid?!” Finn asked.

“I can’t believe that! Your job is to rescue the Princess, not some droid!” Padmé screamed at him.

“So you’re a Princess now, huh?” Poe snorted. “He’s a BB unit, orange and white. One of a kind.”

“Guess who else is one of a kind? I am!” Padmé tried to push him away like she knew how to fly. Dameron pushed her away angrily.

“We gotta get as far away from the First Order as we can!” Finn yelled at them. “We go back to Jakku, we die!”

“That droid has a map that leads straight to Luke Skywalker,” Poe revealed and looked deep into Padmé’s eyes, searching for some sort of understanding.

“I couldn’t care less about Luke…” she started, still holding his arms in order to continue pushing him away.

And that was when the ship got hit.

“Princess,” Padmé was woken up abruptly by the sound of the familiar, irritating voice of Poe Dameron.

She hoped it had been all a bad dream and that she’d wake up on the Millenium Falcon… But no, when she opened her eyes, she saw the Resistance’s pilot face – worried, bruised and bloody.

It was dark and incredibly cold. They were in the middle of Jakku's desert.

“You’re alive,” he sighed with relief.

“My mother would have your head off if I wasn’t,” Padmé sat up and coughed a little. “What happened?”

“The plane crashed but our bodies got thrown out of the cockpit.

“Where’s Finn?”

“I don’t know. I think he stayed inside the ship...”

“And why did we crash, remind me? Oh, because you wanted to save some stupid droid!” Padmé rolled her eyes and stood up to start taking off the parts of the damaged stormtrooper’s armor she had been wearing.

“That armor might be useful,” Poe pointed out.

“Then wear it yourself. It’s going to fit you more than me anyway.”

“Clothes exchange?” he proposed but Padmé looked at him up and down with her lips pressed to a thin line.

“No, I don’t think so,” she abandoned the last piece of the armor on the sand and put her hands on her hips. “So, smartass, do you have a plan to get us out of here?”

“I have one idea, Princess,” he teased ironically and she raised an eyebrow. “You stay out of the way and do what I say.”

“I may not be as brave as my mother, Dameron, but I am as annoying as her. Don’t count on that.”

“Then we’re doomed.”

“I know. I also would like a much more pleasant company to die with but here we are,” Padmé shrugged her arms with a smirk. “And oh, by the way, I have this,” she took out her lightsaber and showed it to him.

“And you know how to use it?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Not really but I do know how to cut a throat with it. It runs in my blood, you see,” she hid the lightsaber back again.

Poe raised his eyebrows and sighed before putting his hands on his hips. He had to keep reminding himself that this annoying, awful woman was Leia’s daughter and his job was to take her back to her mother safely.

MASTERLIST

#poe dameron x oc #lilysfiction

280 notes · View notes

asgardianhobbit98 · 11 months

Text

Never Alone - Boromir X OC

relationship: Boromir x OC

fandom: Lord of the Rings

word count: 1421

story summary: alerted something bad might happen to his love, Boromir attempts to soothe his anxiety by ensuring she knows no matter the distance, he will always be there with her. His actions might just save her life.

inspired by Bram Stoker's The Chain of Destiny.

notes: this was written for @heilith to try and cheer her up a little bit <3 she prompted me to publish it and I’ve finally gained the courage to do so too! It’s my first Boromir fic and on top of that, I haven't written anything in AGES o.o please be gentle with me

Made a little AU, hope you all enjoy it! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know

As the only female soldier in the ranks, Elydia had her own private room to get dressed in. Chainmail rattled as it poured over her bosom, before crinkling together around her waist as she put her belt on. She let her hands slide down her thighs a bit, for no reason really other than the fact she knew she had an audience; an audience, mind you, that liked the sight of his strong woman.

Grabbing a gauntlet, Elydia turned to offer a knowing look to the man whom had attempted to sneak in, but had failed incredibly due to his squeaky boots.

Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, stood leaned against the doorway to the small room. He didn’t look surprised upon being caught, but he also did not reciprocate her smile.

Starting to tie her gauntlet so it sat taught against her arm, she tilted her head in a silent question to him. His continued silence prompted her to voice the question: “What has my beloved warrior looking so pouty?”

“I do not pout.”

Smirking slightly at succeeding to cut through his silence, Elydia focused her green eyes down at the gauntlet once more. “Mm… I did not want to say you were ‘brooding’. It gives away too much of my thoughts on you. After all, brooding is the sexy man’s pout.”

Boromir looked away from her only to try and contain a chuckle. This was not a time for light-hearted conversation. “I wish to talk to you.”

“What of, my love?”

“I had a disconcerting dream.”

Gauntlet finally tied as tightly as she liked it, she turned her gaze to him once more. “Disconcerting? How?”

“It was of you. You did not make it back.” He stepped inside the little changing room fully, and reached out to her waist, calloused fingers moving over chainmail shakingly. “You fell. You were alone, no one near to offer you courage to keep fighting. And you did not return home to me.”

“We promised each other we would not have these conversations. That we would trust in each other’s abilities. That is what you said when I worried for you last time.”

“I know.” His fingers stopped shaking as they grew heavier on her waist, trying to offer a gentle gesture of reassurance. She understood, and nodded her head to let him continue. “It was not your abilities that failed you. It was your belief of whether you could make it out. And…” He pulled out a little handkerchief embroidered once by a far smaller Boromir. His initials were in the corner – a rough job meant only to teach him how to mend clothes should he need it when out and about. The fine skills were usually only taught those seeking work within the artistry of sewing. This was the work of a warrior, and a precious gift to offer.

But the imagery…

Elydia could not help but giggle at it.

“Are you offering me a lady’s favour?” she joked.

“Please be serious.” The heaviness of his words shocked Elydia into letting her smile fall. “I wish for you to have it, so you know you are not alone. So you know, you are fighting to come back home.” He shoved it into her hands and then backed up as if to avoid her shoving it back at him.

Despite finding it beyond silly as this was nothing but a dream, Elydia did not motion to give it back to him. Instead, she stared at the handkerchief for a while, then moved to tie it around her wrist, initials in facing outward for her to see. Without a word, she turned away from him and grabbed her other gauntlet, putting it on over the little favour he had offered her.

In silence, he watched her ready the gauntlet, then the rest of her armour, and lastly attaching her sword to her belt. Only then did she turn to him and smile. “Maybe I don’t believe dreams can tell the future, but I can tell this will calm your anxious mind.” Gently, she placed a gloved hand on his chest, fingertips over the white tree embroidered onto his noble clothing. “I will keep it. And I will come back.”

He took her hand in his to lift her knuckles up to his lips. “Be safe, my lady.”

“My lord,” she greeted back, smile and blush a heavy indication of her feelings for him and her appreciation toward his gentle gesture.

…

A village within the borders of Gondor had reported issues of Orc attacks at night. Of course Elydia, one of their greatest warriors, was tasked with going along with her men. It would have been foolish to send anyone else.

But this Orc pack was not like the others. They were smarter than expected, and having taken them for granted, Elydia was mortified to find herself in the exact situation Boromir had described he’d dreamed about.

One by one her men fell around her, the darkness of the night allowing for only their screams to reach her ears as they fell – which only amplified the fear this situation caused her.

Her horse squealed in fear, and she did not blame him for throwing her off his back and bolting to safety.

But she was alone now. Truly alone.

The last of her men’s screams had died out a while back.

Orcs were surrounding her, taking their time with the last soldier standing (or… lying down, really) for their own sadistic satisfaction. She could easily reach for her sword and fight as it was not far away, but one arm was definitely broken from the fall, and she had a nasty gash on her leg – there was no way she could make it out alive. There was no reason to fight.

With a sigh, she let her helmeted head rest in the grass, ready for the slow and agonising death these Orcs were going to give her… when her eyes caught sight of her wrist. There, underneath the gauntlet, a little piece of fabric was visible… a tiny sliver of white amidst the dark of her surroundings… the white city… Boromir…

The favour!

“I will keep it. And I will come back.”

She clenched her jaw to face the pain, before reaching out to her sword to fight.

Fight to get back home.

To get back home to Boromir, as she had promised.

…

For how long she had been unconscious, Elydia did not know. All she did know was that when she next awoke from a hazy adrenaline rush of pure survival instinct and dissociation so the pain would not stop her from fighting and walking, and moving home, fingers were brushing through her hair.

Not her fingers though.

There was pain, yes, but she was comfortably wrapped up in a warm sheet on a fluffy bed and pillow. The fingers running through her hair offered a calming sensation that dulled the pain for a moment enough for her eyes to flutter open.

The fingers stilled, almost as if in shock, before another hand touched her cheek and turned her head ever so slightly to the side – her eyes reached those of Boromir sitting beside her bed. He looked tired, pale even… knowing him, he’d stayed by her side since the moment she was rushed in to have her wounds treated.

“My love…” Elydia whispered through a dry throat. Relieved she had made it, she attempted to move in some way closer to him, but the pain stopped her and so did Boromir’s hushing.

“Relax… You’re home.”

“Thanks to you.” Boromir’s eyes flickered down to the handkerchief still around her wrist. Despite her half conscious state of mind, she’d refused to let anyone touch it, not even to wash it of filth and blood. It was too precious to her, now for two reasons. “I should have listened to your dream…”

“It is alright. You made it back. And you will recover.”

“I will.” Elydia’s words were filled with determination, her stubbornness not going to let her body do anything but recover.

It made Boromir chuckle a bit. His beloved Elydia.

“Good.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, but as he went to straighten back up, he regretted it halfway and instead leaned down to press another kiss to her nose… then her lips…

“I wasn’t alone…” Elydia whispered, sleepy once more. “That’s why…”

“And you will never be either,” Boromir promised before kissing her lips once more, lulling her to sleep...

AO3 link (limited access - only those with an account, sorry)

my carrd

thanks for reading. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment

#the lord of the rings #boromir #boromir x oc #the lord of the rings fic #fanfiction #oneshot #my tolkien writing

58 notes · View notes

elthoughtzos · 2 months

Text

The Eyes of Fate || Sooga (LoZ) x OC

Summary:

“You can go your whole life not believing in fate or destiny, and then one day, you find somebody so right for you, at such a right time and place, you won’t know what to call it.”

— Mark Anthony.

Sooga looks behind him one last time for a very long time. He pauses — the warrior felt conflicted. “It’s not supposed to be so difficult. I’ve been a ruthless warrior since childhood, but why is it hard to say goodbye to her?”

“Will you wait for me?” Sooga asked. The question itself felt like a promise that she would be seeing him again. She smiled at him despite her eyes tearing up, and ran into his arms. “Of course, I will.” Anya’s words held nothing but the truth as they pulled back to look at each other despite him having his mask on. “I’ll wait for you in this and any other lifetime we may have.” She added.

Sooga pulled his mask up only to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. For the young woman managed to make her way into his heart.

“Come home to me, please.” She urged. “I will.” Sooga replied.

Notes:

Holy shit, this is my first fanfic ever. 😅 be nice, please.

Also none of the characters in the Legend of Zelda are mine except for my original character(s) of course. This fanfiction will contain violence, foul language and mayyyyyybe smut. If I don’t chicken out to write it. So if you’re a minor, please don’t proceed any further.

Sooooooo I’ve been playing Zelda: Hyrule Warriors Age of Calamity and might’ve joined the Sooga simp club in the process of getting through the game. Also I can’t believe there’s hardly any stories about him. 😭 it should be a crime. Anyways, I decided to make a fanfic about the man himself, Sooga; following the events of Age of Calamity but with my own twist of course. So without a further ado, here’s The Eyes of Fate.

————————

Being Princess Zelda’s handmaiden had its perks such as becoming best friends with her royal highness and learning new skills and seeing the many wonders Hyrule had to offer. Anya would even give her own life to protect the princess and she had no problem with it. In fact, she wouldn’t change being Zelda’s handmaiden for anything else in the world.

“My job will be the only thing I’ll ever love.” She joked. “I can’t wait to see you when you’re in love.” Zelda bantered. She playfully rolled her eyes and smiled widely at the princess.

————————

Anya gazes at the night sky through her window at the Hyrule Castle as she sets her book down and sighed. “Whatever is the matter?” Zelda inquired as Anya slightly jumped at the princess’s voice despite her talking softly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Zelda apologized and Anya shook her head. “It’s okay.” She remarked. The two of them sat in silence for a moment and the princess glanced at her. “So are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” She probed as Anya just smiled in response.

“I do not wish to burden you with my problems, Princess.” Anya stated and as she turned back to face the window, she could see Zelda’s are you shitting me right now expression through the reflection of the window’s glass. “And I’ve told you a million times to drop the formalities — you’re like family. Like my sister.”

She turned to face Zelda, with her undivided attention and began, “I’m just a bit concerned about what the future holds.” Anya admitted. “I know we all have our duty to fulfill. Mine is like Link’s — to protect you from harm.” As a handmaiden, it was required not only that she had the knowledge to mend the princess’s clothing if needed, but also combat skills. By the King’s orders. So he made sure that Anya would be a formidable warrior. Medical knowledge was also amongst the skills she possessed.

“Everything will be okay.” Zelda reassured her as she faintly smiled. “Shouldn’t I be the one listening to your worries and comforting you right after?” Anya asked, as she genuinely grinned this time.

“Just because you’re my handmaiden doesn’t mean that you carry all your worries on your shoulders.” Zelda stated matter of factly and embraced her.

“Oh!” Anya was slightly surprised as she hugged her friend back. “Thank you, Zelda.” She whispered and the princess nodded. “See? That’s better. The dropping of the formalities.” Zelda smiled back at her dearest friend and headed towards the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest. And that’s an order from the princess.” Zelda remarked. “Yes, ma’am, good night princess.” Anya called out. “Good night.”

——————————

That night, the moment Anya’s head hit the pillow, she slept so soundly. She kept the window of her bedroom slightly open to feel the warm summer breeze, the moonlight shining so beautifully and the crickets chirped softly lulling her to sleep so fitfully.

Who would’ve ever known that’d be the last peaceful night in Hyrule before the threat of the Calamity awakening soon prompting everyone in Hyrule to be on edge.

Around dawn, a monster sighting just outside the castle attempting to break in is what had everyone in the kingdom putting their armors on and gathering their weapons. Anya braided her hair and grabbed her sword as she rushed outside. Captain Hoz, Link and the other knights were already training with each other due to the report that more monsters had been spotted.

“This is worse than I thought…” King Rhoam commented to himself as he watched through a balcony. The King knew better than to have his people worrying and scaring them off so he’d usually have a stoic expression despite his own worries. Especially for his daughter, who had yet to awaken her sealing powers.

Anya was practicing sparring with Link as hordes of monsters started rushing towards the castle. Link glanced over and she silently nodded as Link, Anya and the other knights started taking down the monsters just outside of the castle. “Look out!!” Captain Hoz called out as a Moblin’s spear nearly hit Link. The young knight skillfully dodged the blow at the last second and took down the monster with ease. “That was a close one.” Hoz stated. “Thank you.” Link replied as he noticed something strange laying near him. He approached the strange relic and soon realized it was a small guardian in a dormant state. “What’s that?” Anya asked, looking down at the small thing on the floor.

“It’s a guardian but I doubt it still works. It’s probably been lying here for who knows how long.” Link replied. As he carefully examined the small guardian, Impa rushed into the Hyrule field with the sheikah slate on her hands and bokoblins chasing after her. “You! Help!” Impa called out to them. Link rushed to her aid as she toppled on the floor and the sheikah slate flew out of her hand. Anya rushed to try and catch the slate but Link’s quick reflexes caught it on time; just as the small guardian awoke and the ground began to violently shake.

“What the—…” Anya started.

“Why is this happening?” Impa questioned while the bokoblins rushed towards them. Link was ready to strike one of the small monsters down as a tower emerged from the ground and they lost sight of the monsters.

“It’s… a tower?” Impa queried.

For a moment the three of them forgot about the small guardian until it beeped and they turned to face it.

“My curiosity is more focused on this little guy.” Anya stated. “Hmmm… an inexplicable guardian. And a mysterious tower.” Impa commented.

“I hate to say it but we have little hope of figuring this one out on our own.” Anya added.

“That's true.” Impa agreed. “Hey! What are you—?!” She shrieked as Impa chased after the little guardian as the little guy rushed off. Anya and Link glanced at each other and then took after Impa as well. The three of them went after the guardian but lost sight of it when they came across the King, where he was addressing the knights and commended them for taking down the monsters.

“Each of you has served your kingdom admirably.” King Rhoam announced.

The three of them walked in silence and stopped at the first gatehouse where Zelda came from. She was wearing a beautiful navy blue dress with gold accents and white ruffles along with a small tiara. Link stared until Anya nudged him and threw him a knowing smirk and the young knight slightly blushed.

Ah young love. Anya thought.

“I heard about the monsters that attempted to make their way into the castle. I’m so glad to see you’re all okay.” Zelda verbalized.

“The training has really paid off to keep you safe, your highness.” Anya responded.

Despite their discussion last night about dropping the formalities when addressing the princess, Anya couldn’t bring herself to do so in front of others. She had to set an example. And the princess seemed to notice.

“You made it! I’m glad you made it safe, Impa.” Zelda added.

Link kneeled before her as Impa nodded.

“Yes. Though I couldn’t have done it without them since I was being chased by bokoblins, so thank you.” Impa acknowledged. “And I’ve received the Sheikah slate from Purah.”

Anya, Link and Impa had forgotten about their new little friend and at that moment, the little guardian rushed towards the princess but Link managed to grab it just in time and held it up in the air whilst it beeped repeatedly.

“Hmm? What is that?” Zelda asked curiously.

“Your highness!” Impa addressed the princess and showed her the Sheikah slate’s screen activating simultaneously with the small guardian.

“Do you think the little guy also has something to do with the strange tower that emerged from the ground?” Aryll inquired.

“Perhaps, we’re going to have to study about it.” Impa answered.

Notes:

I’ve finally brought my fanfic here from AO3. Also I should mention that my character is 21 years old in the first few chapters.

And lastly the chapters will eventually get longer. My impatient self can’t wait for Sooga and Anya to come across each other for the first time lol.

———

Reblogs/comments are greatly appreciated.

#legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda #aoc sooga #sooga #hyrule warriors age of calamity #age of calamity #yiga clan #original character #loz fanfic #zelda x link #link x zelda #mipha x link #link x mipha #the eyes of fate #age of calamity fanfic #breath of the wild fanfic

11 notes · View notes