#im writing a fanfic and stuff is happening

[lilydragonhart]

no context

i was listening to the daycare theme but uhm this was a mistake on youtube for a while and had a strong urge to draw sun family guy death posing

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[undefeatablesin]

Have a collection of extremely self indulgent scribbles ft. Good Hunter Lady Ruza and her beloved Arianna lol 💙

[misqnon]

Parallel

Through the power of a strange new devil fruit encounter, Sanji gets turned into an anchor between universes. Zoro doesn't really get to help his crew deals with this, though, because the instant he makes contact with the cook, he's teleported right next to the man again. 

Only this time Sanji's wearing different clothes, and looking at him weird. And they aren't on the Sunny anymore. They're in some weird, gray kitchen, and Sanji's holding a weird looking piece of technology, and also looking at him like he doesn't know who the hell he is.

"Who the hell are you?" Sanji says, and it's his voice, but with an accent he doesn't recognize, and Zoro realizes something is very, very wrong.

-----

modern au sanji / canonverse zoro. because i'm insane

only posting the first short chapter here, but the rest will be on ao3 as it goes on

By the time Zoro wakes up, the invading pirate crew is already halfway unloaded onto the Sunny’s deck.

His stomach drops.

Did he fucking fall asleep on watch? 

“OI!” He shouts, voice less of a yell and more of a deep-throated growl, alerting both his own crew and the invaders. A large man in an oversized coat looks up at him with a scowl, curly black hair obscuring his face. But then he smiles. The captain, Zoro presumes.

As he does so, Sanji and Robin appear on deck, followed shortly after by Nami, Usopp, and Chopper. They all get into fighting stances within seconds, meeting head to head with crew-members already on the Sunny’s lawn, dyed dark blue in the nighttime’s dark haze.

Zoro’s still staring at the captain from the crow’s nest, the other practically daring him to come down and fight. Wasting no time, Zoro unsheathes his swords, jumping from one of the crow’s nest windows, swords gleaming the whole way down. He slams into the deck with enough force to rock the boat, causing a loud splash on its starboard side. Luffy and Franky emerge seconds later, quick to join the battle with eager grins. 

Zoro feels a bit bad for taking the captain. He usually leaves that honor for Luffy. But the guy’s pissed him off, and he feels responsible for dozing off during watch. 

Seriously, what the fuck? Zoro may love to sleep, but he takes watch seriously. He’d never endanger his crew for something as fleeting as a little shut-eye. Mistakes happen, but not to him. Not Roronoa Zoro, master of willpower and control.

He takes all that anger and shame and uses it to beat the shit out of the captain now defiling the Sunny’s deck with his presence.

But the other man is fast. And now he’s finally talking.

He jumps up to the top level of the ship, narrowly avoiding the fight behind him, where Sanji is throwing kicks at a man that looks strikingly similar to-

Wait, what? …Twins?

The man follows Zoro’s stare and gives a hearty laugh. “Whatever you’re thinking, it ain’t right.” He explains. He snaps his fingers, and Sanji suddenly stops behind him, looking uneasy.

“What the hell?” The blonde whispers to himself, looking down at his hands. He feels…wrong. Overwhelmed. Nauseous. The man the cook is fighting has stopped to, looking at him with the same grin as the man Zoro’s focused on.

“I’m Captain Morales of the Parallel Pirates.” The Captain declares.

“And so am I.” Says the man in front of Sanji, now turning to look at Zoro. He steps forward to stand beside Captain Morales (the first one, anyways) and Zoro is shaken, because even identical twins aren’t that…perfect.

It’s obvious this is some kind of devil fruit power, but Zoro isn’t in the mood for learning tonight. He just wants them dead or off his ship.

“Huh?” Usopp pipes up from somewhere to the left of him. Luffy and a few others take notice too. 

“Hey, Zoro, why’s there two of that guy!?” Luffy exclaims, slapping away some insignificant crew member.

…Now that he thinks about it, something is off about this guy’s crew, too. He glances around again, at all the faces scattered among the deck and the ship beside them, and he realizes none of them go together at all. Most pirate crews have some sort of theme, yes, but he doesn’t mean it in the way that they don’t share a similar motif. No, they look like they’ve all come from completely different worlds. 

One man wears old leather greaves, another wears a three-piece suit. One looks straight from Thriller Bark, another is dressed in nothing but silver chrome. One woman boasts a wide array of guns, while another looks slightly more Neanderthal than is excusable by old genetics. It’s a big world out there between all four seas and the Grand Line, he knows that, but this feels like…something even more than that. They feel out of place in a way he can’t place.

“Confused, aren’t you?” Says the man Sanji was fighting. The cook tries to kick him again despite the nausea, but Captain Morales the Second catches him by the leg and throws him down next to Zoro. Zoro doesn’t blink an eye.

“This is the power of the Verse-Verse Fruit.” Says the first Captain Morales.

“I don’t care what the hell your power is. Get lost, or you’ll be split into more pieces than two.” Zoro growls.

The Captains laugh. “Split?”

“No, no.”

“We’re both entirely intact. And no, we aren’t twins.”

“And I’m not a copy, either.”

“He’s me. From another world.”

“I mean, who better to have as a First Mate than another you?”

“Never have to worry about stupid decisions or insubordination. You can always trust yourself.”

“He always makes the same choices I would have made had I been there. It’s awfully convenient.”

Zoro loses track of who’s saying what at some point, but he doesn’t care. “Listen, I already told you, I don’t care about your stupid crew or your stupid powers.”

“Whaaaaat!? I do!” Luffy exclaims, apparently entranced by this guy’s…These guys’? Speech.

“Other worlds!? Like what? How?” The captain continues.

Zoro holds himself back only out of his own loyalty to Luffy. He knows the idiot wants answers, and he can’t go attacking their opponent while the two…three, are talking. 

The Morales’ laugh. “Well, you see, I have the ability to traverse other worlds. It’s how I found half my crew, if you hadn’t noticed.” Says the first captain.

“But he can also turn others into anchor points between worlds, allowing anyone who touches that anchor to travel to another world where that anchor exists.” Says the second captain.

Luffy looks completely lost, as do a few other Strawhats who are listening. 

Usopp pops his fist onto his other hand. “Oh, I think I get it! So say if Zoro existed in another universe, I could touch Zoro and travel to the other world he exists in?”

One of the Captains nods. “Exactly.”

Nami crosses her arms. “And how do they get back?” She looks concerned, scenarios swimming in her head already. 

“Well, if I’m available, of course I simply turn him into an anchor again. He touches the other world Zoro, and he returns here. If I want it that way.”

Nami doesn’t move. “And if you aren’t here?”

They both shrug. “Too bad, so sad.” They say in unison.

Nami grits her teeth. “Hey! Nobody touch anybody! Not even the crew! There’s no telling who he’s already turned into an anchor.”

They both laugh again. “Good work, girl! You’re exactly correct. One of your own is already an anchor, ready to take anyone who touches them to somewhere far, far away from here. And I won’t bring them back no matter how much you beg.”

Zoro grits his teeth. 

That’s it. He isn’t waiting any longer. He can take this guy out without touching him easy-peasy. It’s just his swords that need to make contact, after all. He puts Wado in his mouth and darts forward, demonic eyes set on the dual Captain and his First Mate, when someone stumbles to their feet behind him.

He doesn’t take stock of this, of course, he’s far too focused in the fight- but the Captain notices. He snaps his finger and someone appears in front of him like a wormhole, kicking him harshly back where he came from.

He collides with the cook behind him, Wado knocked from his mouth as the wind is knocked out of him, and before he can even realize what’s happened, he’s standing in a small, gray kitchen, with strange futuristic design completely unfamiliar to him. And before him stands the cook, only now Sanji's wearing different clothes, and looking at him weird. He holds a small flat screen, a piece of technology Zoro doesn’t recognize. The cook turns to him.

"Who the hell are you?" Sanji says, and it's his voice, but with an accent he doesn't recognize, and Zoro realizes something is very, very wrong.

[risetherivermoon]

one day im gonna get hit by a car and i will be so excited just to make the most fucking hilarious authors note on a fic chapter ever

[hcdragonwrites]

Reluctant Pilgrim Chapter 2

A Journey to the West Fanfic

Here yall go! This is what i was writing. Kinda long in the tooth. But this helped me practice writing scene switches. TW Violence and blood. Mild Gore. Nudity (but no details on it. Just mentions)

And like anything personal for fandom stuff (not for other blogs) its just up on ao3 ! Heres the linky.

[vadlings]

the memories of the boy i’ve been (801 words) by vadlings

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ethan Frye & Jacob Frye, Evie Frye & Jacob Frye, Ethan Frye & Evie Frye & Jacob Frye Characters: Jacob Frye, Ethan Frye, Evie Frye Additional Tags: Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Bad Parenting, Family, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Jacob Frye Has ADHD

Summary:

Before Ethan, it had been just him, Evie, and their grandmother. Obviously they’d competed, but nothing like they did later on, when every word of praise to Evie and look of disapproval to Jacob felt like the driving force of the rift growing fast between them.

[thetomorrowshow]

out of aces

trust au masterlist

this one has been long in the works ksdhfjk (mostly bc i left it open as a tag for weeks on end while working on future parts)

cw: previously existing eating disorder, ptsd

~

It’s still early evening when Scott circles down over the Cod Empire, drawing his wings in tight to dive. Some of the citizens point up at him, one child waves. Cautiously, Scott waves back.

He’s had far too long of a day. Between three different meetings and hours spent poring over boring courting and marriage rituals whilst searching for some answer on how to handle Xornoth, it feels as though it’s been five times as long as normal.

He really just wants a good night’s sleep.

He lands smoothly in front of Jimmy’s residence, doesn’t bother knocking before coming in—the door, as always, is unlocked. Scott clicks his tongue, reminds himself to once again tell Jimmy that he needs to keep it locked. 

The rich, warm scent of food hits Scott in a wave and he takes a moment to inhale. Jimmy’s house is always so homey, compared to his palace. From the kitchen, Jimmy looks up and awkwardly salutes.

“Bit early tonight,” Jimmy observes, glancing out the window. His brow furrows anxiously; Scott’s quick to smooth over the issue.

“My advisors think I’m here for the weekend on invitation from you for discussions on how to approach the House Blossom matter,” Scott explains, but the anxiety on Jimmy’s face only grows.

“I nearly forgot that was coming up,” Jimmy says quietly. Scott understands—this meeting with Katherine will end in the dissolution of the House Blossom alliance, no matter what side Katherine takes. Scott’s had quite the challenge keeping his kidnapping a secret these past couple of weeks, but he’d been advised to wait, see how other empires reacted to his clear war preparations. Now it’s time to confront Katherine and ask her to join him and the rest of the Codfather alliance in this fight.

He’s more than a little nervous. So is Jimmy, clearly.

“Well, good thing you’re here, because stew is ready!” The subject change is conspicuous, but Scott lets it slide. He notices a pot over the woodstove, now that Jimmy mentions it—and if Scott isn’t mistaken, what Jimmy is ladling into a bowl is the same stew Jimmy made last week: the first thing that Scott managed to eat from Jimmy.

Jimmy takes a bite out of the stew, making sure to scrape the spoon along the bottom of the bowl, and noticeably swallows before handing it to Scott. Most of the nerves that had suddenly begun bundling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of food are gone, leaving it rather empty. He tugs off his gloves and carefully maneuvers his wings out of his travel coat, which he hangs on the hook beside the door, before sitting down at the rough wooden table and digging in.

It’s a little chewier than last time, but otherwise a wonderfully savory beef stew that has a good ratio of vegetables to gravy. His bowl is empty in mere minutes, just as Jimmy sets a hot bread roll on a napkin beside him.

Scott’s eaten bread before. He actually had bread yesterday, but the difference had been that he had made it—and even then, he’d only eaten a couple of slices before he couldn’t trust it any longer. He’s never eaten bread that Jimmy made, and while he doesn’t believe that Jimmy would purposefully put something in it, it’s always a possibility.

He eyes it suspiciously, and with a little widening of his eyes, Jimmy picks it back up and takes a bite out of it. “You don’t have to eat it,” he assures, a gentle smile quirking his lips. “I was just already making rolls and thought you might like one. It’s okay if not.”

Scott contemplates it. Breaks it open. Sniffs it. Steam rises up to his nose. It seems . . . it seems fine. Like a normal dinner roll.

Still, the idea of eating it makes his heart jump into his throat. Already, the bowl of stew sits almost uncomfortably in his stomach, more food than he’s used to consuming in one sitting.

There’s no pressure to eat it. Jimmy told him so. There’s no expectation on him here, in the quiet of Jimmy’s home. There never is. Maybe that’s why Scott’s here every single night.

He just knows he’s looking particularly pale as he wonders what his council would think if they knew that he sneaks out nightly like a lovesick teenager to crawl into bed with his crush. Of course, there’s nothing romantic between them—and there never will be, if Scott has his way, he never wants to make Jimmy uncomfortable—but there’s only one way for his actions to be perceived.

He doesn’t want to think about that, though. Thinking about how much he likes Jimmy with Jimmy right here is sure to lead to him doing something embarrassing. So, he clears his throat and asks the first thing he can think of.

“Any trouble from Sausage?”

“Not really,” Jimmy says, now sitting opposite Scott, his own bowl full of stew and two rolls beside it. His gaze turns troubled, though, and he adds slowly, “I did catch him and fWhip sneaking around real early this morning by the border, but they left once I arrived.”

Scott’s shoving back his chair and standing before he even realizes it, heart skipping a beat. No, if they were here—if they—

“Did they hurt you?” he asks frantically, and Jimmy’s reassurances that he’s fine do nothing to hide the way he brings his left hand to cover a bandage on his right forearm.

Scott grabs his arm, ignoring the way Jimmy flinches back as he turns it this way and that, scanning his skin for damage. There’s nothing recent aside from the bandage, and he reluctantly lets his arm fall.

“Really, that’s it,” Jimmy says, rubbing his arm. “It just . . . fWhip shoved me over, and I landed on a sharp rock. They were . . . they were in a hurry, I think.”

“That’s suspicious,” Scott says instantly, wracking his brains for any reason that they might’ve been here. The obvious answer is that they were looking to antagonize Jimmy, but they had left as soon as Jimmy appeared, implying that their intentions had been less than honorable. It’s very possible that they had been attempting to sneak through the Cod Empire on their way to scout out the Ocean Empire, but Jimmy had either thwarted them or caught them on their return trip.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all.

“Has anything changed?” asks Scott, glancing around, though he knows that nothing would be missing from Jimmy’s home. “Did you alert Lizzie? Was there anything—”

“Scott.”

He looks back at Jimmy, who is eyeing him with a—a strangely fond look. “Yes?”

“I’ve dealt with them for years,” he says, raising his hands placatingly. “All things considered, this was a good interaction with those guys. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll look around in the morning and ask my guards if anything suspicious happened.”

It does make him feel better, so Scott nods his agreement and accepts that there’s nothing more they can do at the moment. In all likelihood, everything’s fine and he’s making a big deal out of nothing, so it’s the least he can do to stop asking Jimmy to worry about it.

He doesn’t end up eating the roll. It’s a disappointment, even if Jimmy doesn’t say so. Scott watches him toss the roll into the composter out back, shame licking at the insides of his stomach.

He’ll eat breakfast tomorrow. He has to.

The shame is mostly forgotten as they while away the evening talking, and for the moment it feels like it did before Scott was hoarding these awful, taboo feelings for Jimmy—casual, friendly, light. He manages to laugh at a joke and tell one in return, dry teasing that turns into a fit of giggles when Jimmy goes red and starts sputtering a weak rebuttal. The jokes wind down into general discussion, gradually getting deeper (as conversations are wont to do) until both of them are yawning and barely keeping track of what they’re talking about.

It’s nice, and the air doesn’t lose its friendliness when they crawl into bed together and turn out the light.

-

Scott wakes late the next morning alone.

He can't breathe for a second, he’s alone and he doesn’t know why because Jimmy was here when he went to sleep and he’s supposed to stay—

Scott forces himself to breathe against the imagined bands around his chest. Jimmy’s a busy emperor who has the right to go wherever he wants whenever he wants, and Scott can’t expect him to hang around when there’s work to be done.

It takes far too long for the bands to loosen, minutes that Scott spends cursing himself for not having a better handle on his emotions—it’s just Jimmy, and Jimmy’s just another person. Scott doesn’t need another person there to stay in control.

(The irony of him sitting on Jimmy’s bed while telling himself that does not escape him.) 

He rolls out of bed once he feels like he can properly breathe again and slips into the casual clothes he’d brought for today, pointedly not looking at the ornate official set he’d brought to wear to the Overgrown tomorrow. He can only imagine all the horribly diplomatic things he’ll say in those, trying to save both an alliance and a friendship.

He wanders out to the main living space and finds it empty and quiet, the only sounds the gentle lap of water at the shore and a bird chirping through the open window.

Jimmy must have been called away early. Not that it isn’t okay—it’s Jimmy’s empire, after all—but it does worry Scott.

There's no breakfast set out on the table and no dishes in the sink, so to distract himself, Scott goes through Jimmy’s cupboards and icebox before deciding to fry up some eggs with a couple of pieces of pork he found lying around. The milk and the bread have been delivered, so Scott puts the milk in the icebox and the bread on the table and cooks, trying not to think too hard about where Jimmy might be.

Soon enough the eggs are fried and the pork is sizzling, so Scott sets out two plates and the required silverware and some salt and pepper for seasoning (not that he’s going to be using it, but Jimmy tends to over-pepper just about everything).

He’s just sliding the pork out of the pan when the front door slams open.

Scott drops to the ground before he can even think, fear shooting through every limb. Something’s wrong, something bad has happened, they’re here to take him back there—

“Scott! Scott, it’s okay, I just—well, it’s not okay, but—”

And then Jimmy’s there, helping him up, and Scott can blink past the sudden static of fear and focus on Jimmy.

Jimmy’s smiling, but it’s tense, forced, and Scott knows right away that he’s trying to hide whatever’s wrong so he can help him feel safe.

Jimmy’s too good for him, Jimmy’s wonderful, Jimmy’s the best person in the world and Scott is in no way worthy of him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands, extricating himself from Jimmy’s hold. He corrects his balance when he stumbles, wings fluttering behind him, and the stumble makes Jimmy bite his lip a bit and reach out, but pull back. His hands shake.

“The Codfather head. It’s gone.”

Okay. Not nearly as bad as the emergencies his mind had already conjured. Thoughts of invasion, torture, had filled his head, but here the worst case scenario is robbery. If his crown had been stolen, he would’ve been miffed about the lost history, but it ultimately wouldn’t matter too much.

It clearly means a lot to Jimmy—his eyes are going all watery—so Scott swallows down the last of his fear and gestures to the table. He can be the comfort this once.

“I made breakfast, how about you sit down and—”

“Scott, you don’t—it’s gone, Scott, it’s gone, and—”

“Sit down,” Scott says again, pulling out a chair, but Jimmy doesn’t sit, hands curled in his hair, as he begins to pace.

“I don’t know—there’s nothing—”

It’s—

It’s just a crown, isn’t it?

“Jimmy, please explain,” Scott asks, and he fights to keep his constant level of irritation (useful vocal habit to develop as an emperor, far less useful as a friend) out of his voice because if this is actually something important, he needs to know why—but he doesn’t want to agitate Jimmy any further. 

Jimmy freezes, turns back to face Scott. A tear has escaped the corner of his eye, slowly traveling down his cheek. “The Codfather head,” he says, his voice trembling, “holds the claim to the throne.”

Oh.

Oh no. That’s not good at all.

But it still isn’t terrible.

It’s certainly a bad thing to occur, but the empires aren’t savages. One can’t just steal another’s crown and declare themself king—there’s a royal lineage and the crown is merely the birthright, not the declaration. With a bit of luck, they can actually manipulate this in their favor with their meeting tomorrow, sow seeds of dissent against Sausage and fWhip—because of course they must’ve stolen it, Scott hadn’t forgotten yesterday’s mention of them at all.

“That’s bad,” Scott agrees, maintaining the note of calm, “but not insurmountable. We should be fine—everyone knows you, so if we announce now that it’s been stolen then you cannot be accused of creating a counterfeit if someone tries to steal your position—”

“No, you don’t—you don’t understand—” Jimmy’s back to pacing, hands no longer pulling at his hair and instead wrapped around himself in a self-hug. “I need the head, Scott, I need it—”

“I know, but as long as you can prove your royal heritage, you’re going to be fine. I mean, a lot of extra paperwork, I bet, but . . . Jimmy?”

He trails off, because Jimmy—Jimmy has gone utterly still, tension in every line of his body.

Scott takes a moment, tracks back his entire sentence, before it hits him.

His heart sinks.

He can barely force himself to ask the question. “You . . . you can prove your royal heritage, can’t you?”

At Jimmy’s miserable shake of his head, Scott is rendered speechless. For several long moments, all he can do is stare at Jimmy in disbelief as his shoulders begin to shake, head ducked.

“What?” he eventually says, and he can barely comprehend that Jimmy— “You—you don’t have a right to the—you’re a usurper?”

“That’s the issue,” whispers Jimmy. “I don’t know.”

-

They’re sitting in Jimmy’s living room now, breakfast left forgotten on the table. Jimmy had pressed a cup of tea into Scott’s hands that he knows he’s not going to drink, but he holds onto it for Jimmy’s peace of mind.

“How much do you know about the Cod Empire’s history?” asks Jimmy, fingers tapping anxiously against his knee. Scott casts his mind back to what he’d learned from his tutor in childhood—not much, in this regard.

“It’s been around for a while?” he hazards. “It formed as an off-shoot of the Ocean Empire, as far as we know—but both empires were entirely underwater for centuries. They’ve only surfaced in recent history, but I was told that we didn’t have any contact with the Ocean Empire until Lizzie joined House Blossom close to thirty years ago. Everybody sort of—” he grimaces— “We all ignored the Cod Empire for decades because it always looked like it was made of . . . lesser . . . people, I suppose.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you lot thought we were savages, I know. We were normal, just . . . fighting a long war. Or, they were.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Scott’s stomach as he hears the pronoun change. Jimmy doesn’t count himself as a citizen of his own empire. That can’t be good.

Jimmy sighs, sips his own tea. “Scott, when was the first you’d heard of me?”

“Ten years ago,” Scott replies instantly. He remembers the meeting like it was yesterday. “Pixl came to the House Blossom meeting one month to announce that he’d reached out to the Cod Empire and made contact with a new ruler who was looking to make alliances and open borders for the first time. But what—”

“Ten years ago,” Jimmy interrupts. “No knowledge of me before that? No knowledge of any predecessors?”

“Well, as I said, we didn’t exactly pay any mind to the Cod Empire—”

“There was a royal family. But the Cod Empire was engaged in a war for many, many decades without help. About twenty-some years ago, the last member of the royal line was killed in battle.”

“So you’re a conqueror?”

“I—I don’t think so?” Jimmy winces, sets his tea down to scrub at his face. “Scott,” he explains patiently, “the first thing I remember is waking up on a beach and not being able to breathe.”

Weird direction to take, but all right. Scott frowns. “As a child?”

“Ten years ago,” Jimmy corrects. “I was quite a bit more—er, fish-like, then, and my on-land lungs hadn’t grown to the capacity I needed for full-time land breathing. And there was this temple nearby, and—” he swallows, and his eyes are shining with tears that Scott wants nothing more than to wipe away— “and inside was the Codfather head, and I put it on—to see if it would help, and it did, and—here I am.”

The last bit comes out as a whisper, so quiet Scott can barely hear him.

“I don’t remember anything,” Jimmy says shakily. “Nothing before then. Where I came from, who I am. I’m not—I’m not a salmon, obviously, but I don’t have the right to rule. I’ve just been—doing my best.”

Jimmy finishes, hangs his head. And Scott. . . .

If he weren’t already sitting down, he’d have to sit down.

This is—this is so much information, this is enough information to start a war with, and here Scott is in the middle of it trying to make sense.

He has so many questions—starting with why and how and everything in between, but without his input, the stupidest one falls from his lips.

“You have amnesia? But you don’t act like it.”

Jimmy gives him a dry look. “And what on earth do amnesiacs act like?” he challenges. “I can’t remember anything before ten years ago. How else am I meant to act?”

Scott swallows, his face going pale in embarrassment. Stupid questions and all that. “Right. Sorry. But—you’re cod, aren’t you? How do you know that you aren’t some long-lost descendant of the royal line?”

“I could be,” Jimmy shrugs, “but—I can’t prove it. There are other cod hybrids, you know, the empire’s practically made of them. And—there’s another thing, Scott.”

Another thing? This is already a giant issue, how could there be more?

Jimmy looks like he’s about to cry again when he speaks. He looks around, as if to double-check that they’re alone. “You can’t tell anyone this. But—me being in danger puts Lizzie in danger.”

“Because you’re siblings,” Scott realizes as Jimmy says it. Aeor above, this is a mess. “And she doesn’t—?”

“Nothing before thirty-odd years ago,” Jimmy confirms. “The only thing we’ve managed to figure out is that we’re siblings, so the amnesia must run in the family.”

Scott sits back, processing just . . . how much information he’s received. Jimmy is not only a usurper to the throne of the Cod Empire (and a rather good one at that, seeing as he’s managed to pull it together for the first time in centuries), but also amnesiac and . . . possibly more than a simple cod hybrid, given the implications of his body so quickly evolving to fit his needs. That’s not exactly what’s important, though.

He should report this to the House Blossom council. Years of tutoring and training are screaming for him to immediately cut all ties with Jimmy and make certain that everyone knows he’s a false ruler, an imposter who could catch them all by surprise at any moment.

He really oughtn’t interact with Jimmy or Lizzie ever again.

“You need to hide, then,” Scott says instead, and that’s it. He’s more committed to Jimmy than he is to his common sense, and maybe that’s a good thing and maybe it isn’t, but the facts are that fWhip and Sausage likely have the Codfather head (he knew he was right to be more concerned last night) and Jimmy needs to get out of here as soon as can be arranged. “We can go to Rivendell—it’s near impenetrable, we can—”

“Scott, I can’t go to Rivendell,” Jimmy shuts him down, voice firm. When Scott raises an eyebrow, Jimmy continues, eyes down, cheeks coloring pink. “I—we’re new allies, we’re young, we’ve been spending a lot of time together—I mean, people have been gossiping ever since we danced together twice at the wedding. It would—me, going to Rivendell? It would be a scandal.”

Jimmy’s fully red in the face by the time he’s done speaking, and he ducks his head to try and unsuccessfully hide it. Scott can feel his own face pale at the implications—of course Jimmy can’t stay in Rivendell, of course that would be inappropriate—he’s such an idiot sometimes—

“Right,” he blusters, trying to cover his mistake. “Uh, Lizzie’s, then? It’s fairly—oh, but—”

“That puts Lizzie into the public eye,” Jimmy finishes, standing. “And her people know me too well—they would be confused if I never appeared publicly and they would notice—”

“Joel?” Scott throws out, standing as well to pace the length of the room. He sets his teacup down beside the now-cold breakfast on the table. “Mezeleans are—well, they’re strange folk, surely they won’t ask—”

“Scott, Mezelea’s too hot for you, you’d get sick,” Jimmy butts in, an adorable little crease between his eyebrows.

Scott blinks a couple of times. “I—Jimmy, this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Well, yeah, but I figured you’d still be coming over at night.”

Maybe it’s stupidity, maybe it’s innocence, maybe it’s the open selflessness that’s always been such an essential part of Jimmy, but those words leave Scott gaping. Jimmy’s rule—Jimmy’s life is in peril, and he’s still thinking of Scott first.

His heart wants to shatter.

He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter, though, does it—Mezelea might work temporarily, but it’s too dry for you, isn’t it?” At Jimmy’s nod, Scott continues. “Pixandria is far enough to put you out of mind, but there’s the same dry heat problem—”

“And Katherine’s still allies with all of them, I can’t go there—”

And there’s no one else. That’s all of their options, neatly exhausted.

There’s nowhere. There’s nowhere they can hide Jimmy, short of some hut in the forest—but that would be just as bad as ceding victory to fWhip and Sausage, they could declare Jimmy a traitor or dead and take his throne—

Whatever they do, they’ll have to find a loophole in the laws of the land, something that allows him to remain closed-off from investigation—but he’s an emperor, what could apply to him? Most laws are built to apply to everyone but the rulers, so they’d have to find a law that either encompasses all or focuses on royalty, as unlikely as that would be.

Scott’s been reading a lot lately, spending long hours each day in the library, perusing book after book in search of any ancient laws of any land, any way he could restrict the demon from being freed—it’s where he’d learned that the Ender Dragon imprisons Exor’s heir—and in those stacks he’d found—

He’d been so tired yesterday, but there was time for one more; he cracked open a book on sacred Rivendell customs and law, and he’d found himself boredly skimming through a section that he hadn’t paid much mind to in school, one that everyone knew because it had always been—

Oh.

Oh no.

There is one law that he knows of. One that could keep Jimmy safe for quite some time.

“Jimmy,” Scott says after a moment—he doesn’t want this one, doesn’t want to do this to Jimmy, but there’s no time, his heart is racing and his mind frantically searching for any other option but there isn’t one— “Please—please don’t take this as indicative of my respect for you nor my typical chivalry, but—Rivendell is safe for you on one condition.”

Jimmy sighs, stress and exhaustion and adrenaline all dripping from the sound. “Scott, we can’t—it’s dangerous enough that—”

“Agree to marry me,” Scott says over him before he can lose his courage, “and I can promise your safety.”

Jimmy stares at him.

The house is suddenly eerily silent.

“Are—”

“I’m not trying to coerce you into a marriage, I promise, I’m not taking advantage of your vulnerable position, I just—” he cuts himself off as Jimmy doesn’t do so much as blink, and dear Aeor this is the most embarrassed Scott’s been in years— “Forget I said anything, let’s—what if you stayed indoors at Pixandria the entire time, in a pool or—”

“Explain,” interrupts Jimmy, then, softer, “please.”

Where does he even begin?

“There are laws,” Scott decides on after several long moments. He’d just been reading over those laws, it’s true, but they’re rather complex and he doesn’t think he’d have been able to easily understand them without having grown up with them. He’ll have to simplify this the best he can. “See, elves live quite a bit longer than most races—I’m very young for a ruler, most of my advisors are well over eight hundred years old—and because of that, there are sacred laws and customs around marriage. They want to make sure you’re committed to your partner, see,” he adds, perhaps unnecessarily. “So the betrothed couple, by ancient law, must live in seclusion for an entire year before marrying. They are not permitted to be seen by anyone during this period.”

He doesn’t look at Jimmy now. He turns away, fiddles with the ties on the front of his shirt. He’s honestly just trying to help, but he knows if Jimmy turns down his plan he’ll be utterly crushed. It’s not meant to mean anything. It’s just to protect Jimmy. Yet to some selfish part of Scott’s mind (possibly the part to suggest it in the first place), it means everything.

“You’re the emperor, though,” Jimmy says behind him. Scott can’t tell what he’s thinking, voice flat and emotionless. “I’m one, too. How will we do our jobs?”

“Well, the law’s been adjusted some with modern times—they’ll likely give us veils, gloves, the like—but Elinus alone, not to mention the other members of my council, would fight an entire army to uphold these laws. No one would see that you don’t have the Codfather head. Most people wouldn’t even be able to speak with you—we’d both be practically locked up in my palace, which, I know, sounds terribly boring—but you’d be safe,” Scott stresses, “and as soon as we have the Codfather head back, we can break off the engagement. I swear it.”

There. His piece is said, and now it’s time to think of a real solution. One that doesn’t force Jimmy to pretend to be engaged to him. Scott falls back into one of the kitchen chairs, head in his hands. This is an utter disaster. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, they have to get Jimmy out of here, they have to do it now he isn’t safe—

“I’ll do it.”

Scott whips around, sees the pink dusting Jimmy’s cheeks, the determined gleam in his eyes. “You don’t have—” Scott begins, but Jimmy cuts him off.

“I’m an emperor, aren’t I? This is for my people. You’re right. It’s a good plan, it’ll keep them safe and keep suspicion off me.”

Surely there’s another way. Surely there’s something they haven’t come up with.

But there’s no time to try and find it. Every minute they spend discussing is another minute that fWhip could be spending bringing this to the attention of the House Blossom council.

This is going to break his heart.

Scott nods. He moves almost mechanically to go into the bedroom, gather his things, but Jimmy catches him by the arm, lips turned in a bit of a pout.

“I expect a good ring to make up for this proposal,” he teases.

Dear Aeor.

[red-heart-sunglasses]

girl help I got told that people listen to me (in a "they don't listen to me, they listen to you" kind of way) I'm not usually quiet and that i have golden retriever energy in the past two days ive literally never been told any of this before what fucking fictional character do I project this onto

[gorbo-longstocking]

sorry to keep posting about my job but [farnsworth voice] great news everyone! im working significantly less hours next week (or according to the schedule i looked at five seconds ago its not up in the app yet) so ill be back on the writing grindset. my preferred grindset.

[ivyglow]

It’s been forever, I miss hockeyblr and tumblr in general 🥺

[heleneplays]

going to title the recent 3 part fic series i made as [Life is for us to keep | Ben&Ben inspired] and [The endgame that never was] when I inevitably upload it to ao3

but until then:

[Part 1] • And in the end, can you tell me if it was worth the time, so I can decide (it was, it is, it would've been) | Helene/María | 2nd person pov | Angst, Soft and Tragic with a lot of feeling

[Part 2] • I have run this far (and still I find you) | Helene/María | 2nd person POV | Angst with a Happy Ending, Changing against the narrative

[Part 3] • You'll remain here (you'll remain dear inside) | Helene/María, Helene&Other Characters (Sam, Cleo, Esme, Rémy, Zhu, Dominique) | 2nd & 3rd person POV | Angst with a Happy Ending, Because it's free real estate

[orcelito]

There are more trigun fanfics than there were back in April

This is creating a problem for me

[crymeariveronceagain]

How do you get story inspo? I loved the princess and the popstar and am trying to comprehend how you came up with the amazing plotline

Beloved, when I tell you that I literally have no clue, I truly mean it.

It kind of just, appeared out of nowhere? For the soulmate au Idea, I was rumaging around on pinterest for things, and I found the singing at the same time one. At the same time, I'd been going on a kick about like, popstars and the horrible world of famous people? I'd read a book called The Falling Between Us, by Ash Parsons, and it really was a lot of the inspiration for TPATP. Then, on top of that, I think somewhere around there I'd watched The Princess Diaries 2, which is the best movie of the two, fight me, and I got a lot of the inspiration from that as well, because Mia and the guy whose name I can't remember's chemistry is unmatched and the tension is fantastic.

I think it was just a combination for a lot of things and then me trying to fill in all the things I wanted. Like I wanted all of them to be super traumatized and start figuring out how to work through their various problems. I wanted all sorts of things to happen and so I had them happen.

Also, honestly, not going to lie to you but I'm a huuuugeee pantser when it comes to writing, so half of the plot of TPATP was made up in the moment and of the moment while I was in the process of writing. I made a good playlist, worked on what I wanted, and it kind of just appeared!!!

Although, I will tell you one thing. Inspiration itself, although it feels like a fickle beast, cannot be waited for for very long. Eventually, either things will start to click, or you grab your club and go after it to bring it home for dinner. It's hard to write through bouts of not knowing where to start or where to go, but really, in my opinion, that's the best way to get inspiration and to keep it!

[reginageourge]

i just found out someone is apparently still writing angry posts about me even though our last interaction was about two years ago, and we only engaged with each other on two posts. especially bc the reason this person is mad at me is bc I said she obviously wasn't a lesbian, but she herself ended up re-coming out as a bisexual some time ago. why still be mad at me when I was right...?

i haven't thought of this person at all since we last interacted till just now when I found out she was still writing angry posts about how im a bullying spoiled homophobic teenager. she's been stewing in rage for so many months, even though we hadn't interacted with each other at all. it's so creepy and weird. and it can't be this healthy.

[nixknacks0-0]

Hands?

"It matters to me." She finally said. "I thought you and Jimmy Junior were friends, and here you are…"

She gestured with her hands, hoping it would convey everything her words couldn't.

"We ain't anymore."

"Zeke... Please." Tina said softly, grabbing his hand and clutching it tightly.