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sinsbymanka · 4 years

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This is a double whammy entry from me for @wickedwitchofthewilds Kinktober 2020 Prompts and @scharoux‘s @cozy-autumn-prompts. The prompts are “Quickie” for Kinktober and “Ripe for the Harvest” for Cozy Autumn Prompts. Thank you loves for running the event!

I’m gifting this work to my dear friend @tuffypelly whose Athena Adaar stars!

I’m also submitting this for @dadrunkwriting this week!

Title: As You Wish Pairing: Female Adaar/Blackwall, Female Inquisitor/Blackwall Rating: E Content Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Semi-Public Sex, Sub Blackwall (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age) Spoilers

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Thom never let her take care of him.

Athena Adaar understood why, to an extent, he was like this. He’d spent so much of the past several years atoning for his sins trying to be the man he thought the world needed the most. A hero, a Warden. Of course it translated outside of the battlefield and bled into their personal life.

She was his lady, and he wanted to serve. His pleasure was always secondary, always unimportant. He only wanted to bring her crashing to the edge again and again, clawing at his shoulders and chanting his name to the Maker.

But this time… this time, she would take care of him.

Athena tightened the last knot and stepped back to take a long, critical look at her handiwork.

She could have snuck all the ropes up to her room, but the loft in the stable was far more convenient, and nobody would look for her here unless it was truly an emergency. And since Athena intended on taking her time… well, she wasn’t about to be rushed by some Orlesian having a meltdown about the price of grain or tolls on Inquisition roads.

Plus. There was something charming about the image of Thom stretched out over a hay bale, his arms tied above his head to a post. The thick blanket would protect him and her from discomfort, but it didn’t disguise the sheer novelty of what they were doing.

What was it the peasant children had called it? Athena had never been allowed close enough to play with them herself, she’d been a freak because of her horns and size long before her magic made itself known as well. But a part of her distantly remembered looking on with longing as human children jumped into a card, shouting…

A hay ride! A hay ride!

Well. She was about to have a much more satisfying hay ride.

Thom stretched, testing the durability of her knots. His taut muscles strained and bulged before he gave up with a grunt.

“My lady.” He groaned, fingers gripping the ropes. “Is this truly necessary?”

“Yes.” Athena decreed, tracing her fingers from his bound wrists down the tight muscles of his arms, giving one bicep a firm squeeze. “How else will I have my way with you?”

“Any way you wish, clearly.” Thom responded drly. “Including trussed up in a loft.”

Athena laughed softly, teasing her nails over his muscled shoulders, down the hard planed of his chest and into the thick hair. It was just as luxurious as Varric’s, even though Thom didn’t flaunt himself the same way their dwarven companion liked to. And honestly, that was all well and good, Athena was quite pleased to have this treasure to herself.

She flicked her eyes from Thom’s chest down to the hard cock jutting proudly from a nest of neat curls the same dark color as the rest of his hair. “I think you’re enjoying yourself.”

“At the mercy of a beautiful woman?” Thom chuckled low in his throat. “How could I not?”

Athena smiled to herself, settling onto the bale beside Thom and leaning over him to capture his mouth in a soft, insistent kiss. She slipped her tongue past his willing lips, twisting it with his while she ran her hand over the soft beard he wore and up his jaw.

She broke the kiss to brush the hair from his temple. Thom groaned and tried to follow, but couldn’t quite get the leverage he needed. Athena tutted, walking her fingers down his broad chest. “Patience, love.”

“Let me taste you, my lady.” Thom pleaded.

Athena just shook her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “That is not the game tonight, Thom. Tonight…”

She trailed off, raking her nails over Thom’s abdomen, feeling his muscles tremble and flex beneath her touch. “Tonight, I’m going to taste every inch of you.”

Before he could protest, she made good on her promise. Leaning across his prone body, she pressed feather light kisses over his shoulders, running both palms firmly over his chest. With the slightest pull of mana, she warmed her teasing fingers and used them to massage the muscles he put through their paces every day.

She stopped at one jagged old scar, pressing a firmer kiss to it. “What is this one from? You’ve never said.”

“Ah.” He coughed nervously. “I hardly remember.”

Athena placed her hand over it, held his coal dark eyes with her own, and waited. She swore she saw color rising underneath the thick hair hiding most of his face.

“I do seem to recall a rather friendly lass and her aggravated betrothed.”

Athena’s laughter startled the birds nesting above, she heard them take flight in a flurry of beating wings. She dropped another kiss to the scar, shaking her head. “You scoundrel.”

“Don’t tell Varric. He’ll want the whole blighted story.”

“And then make up something much more exciting anyway.”

Thom chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

His laughter tapered off into a choked moan when Athena leaned over and flicked her tongue over that scar, letting her tongue trace his skin. She closed her eyes, beginning to work down his body with the patience and skill of a woman taught to control herself as a living weapon. And each press of her lips was another crack in his armor so that by the time she got to his thighs, she could hear his rasping breath above her.

“Athena.” He croaked. “My lady, you do not have to-”

She silenced him with the broad flat of her tongue slowly licking up his heavy length. It bobbed before her, a bead of clear fluid pooling at the tip. She flicked her tongue over it, collecting the salty liquid with a hum of delight.

“I’ve wanted to taste you.” Athena confessed, her words ghosting over Thom’s cock and making him buck on instinct. “I’ve wanted to take care of you.”

She looked from from beneath her lashes, settling her warm palms over the muscled thighs of her lover. She could see her wolfish grin reflected in his hungry eyes. “And now I get to do whatever I want with you, love.”

She licked her lips slowly, wrapping her fingers around the velvet steel of his shaft. She squeezed lightly, watching Thom’s eyes close and his head fall back. He made such a picture, one that ignited a fire deep within the pit of her stomach.

It was greedy, but she slid her hand to the root of his cock and opened her mouth, engulfing the tip in one movement. Thom’s broken moan echoed in the loft, his hips trembling with the effort to stay still while she sealed her lips over the sensitive head. She swirled her tongue slowly, listening to him gasp her name above her.

She swore the very sound made her slick with want. She closed her eyes, breathing through the sudden rush of desire in her blood. Achingly slowly, she slipped down an inch before licking her way back up, pulling away to press a filthy kiss to the head of his cock.

“You’re going to kill me, my lady.” Thom breathed.

“Never.” Athena promised. The very thought-

It reminded her of him in manacles. A cell door slamming closed. Cullen’s tortured eyes and Varric’s thick hand on her elbow. There was no room for those bad memories. Not now. Not here.

She erased them the way she knew best, guiding his cock back into her warm mouth and listening to his shattered noises echoing in the loft. They made her skin prickle while she slowly lavished Thom with attention, tracing her tongue over the veins and ridges of his cock. He tasted of clean, masculine sweat. She could smell sawdust, hay, and something uniquely Thom that made her dizzy with want.

That was before he began to spill praise from those sinful lips of him.

“Athena, yes-” He groaned. “Yes. Like that. Maker’s balls your mouth. The things you do with it could make a priest sin.”

Athena pressed her thighs together, trying to ease some of the unbearable pressure building between her legs. She made a little noise in her throat, beginning to bob up and down the proud length, covering him in her slick saliva.

“And you’re a damn sight down there. I could watch you all day. Never seen anyone look so damn good with my cock in their mouth, never had anyone make me feel-”

She sucked and Thom choked on his words, hissing and clutching at the ropes above his head. Athena smiled to herself, letting her free hand trace back up his thigh, scratching over his hip bones, before slipping down into the sensitive space just beneath his heavy balls.

She pressed her thumb firmly into that sensitive skin and listened to Thom choke on a shout of pleasure that nearly made her burst into giggles around his cock.

“I’m not going to last.” Thom moaned, fighting his restraints. “I won’t last and I want to please you, let me-”

Athena pulled off Thom’s cock with an obscene plop at the same time her hand drifted lower. Her thumb teased the tight muscle of his ass while she smiled brilliantly down at Thom, at her mercy in the best of ways.

“This pleases me.” Athena declared. “And I’ve brought stamina draughts. We have all evening, love.”

Her thumb slipped past the muscle and he almost ripped the rope from the post, instinctively arching into her touch with wanton greed. Before his moans even died into echoes she descended onto his hard cock again, swallowing his length in one quick movement.

He held himself tightly, always conscious of her comfort, but she could feel him trembling beneath her with all the fury of an earthquake or a storm. She crooked her fingers, searching for the perfect spot…

When she found it, he couldn’t help himself. He arched into her mouth in short, jerky thrusts and she sucked him eagerly. She hollowed her cheeks and flicked her tongue over his sensitive skin.

With a roar and the creak of ropes strained to their breaking point, Thom succumbed to his orgasm. Thick jets spilled into her throat and she swallowed quickly, careful not to make a mess they’d need to clean up. When he finished, he collapsed with a broken moan of her name.

Athena pulled her lips off and looked up at him, removing her finger gently and wiping it on the blankets, pulling off his softening cock. A thin string of fluid connected them for a moment before it broke cleanly.

Thom panted, limp and sated. Athena moved slowly, climbing gently over his form and reaching for the knots. A few quick flips of her fingers had them undone, unspinning and letting his arms fall.

She caught them before they could, examining the red marks of the rope with a wrinkle of her nose. She ran her thumb over them in apology, calling mana to her fingers.

“My lady… leave them.” Thom ordered gruffly. “It would… it would be an honor to bear the marks of your love.”

How could the foolish man just… say things like that to make her melt? She ducked her head quickly to hide her blush, rubbing the marks soothingly before bringing his wrists to her lips and kissing softly over the thrum of his pulse.

“As you wish, love.”

“And as soon as I catch my breath, I’ll be repaying the favor.”

Athena’s lips twitched and she leaned down, dropping his wrists to cradle his beloved face in her hands.

“As you wish, love.” She repeated, brushing her lips against his in a soft kiss. “As you wish.”

#shameless smut #wwkinktober2020 #co-zautumn #dadrunkwriting #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #female adaar/blackwall #female inquisitor/blackwall #female adaar #blackwall #blackwall is still in the stables

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nadderqueenastridhofferson · 5 years

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Hate on Astrid

Hey everyone Mun here and I would like to rant a bit about people hating on my girl Astrid.

Now this isn't the first time I have heard about people hating on Astrid and probably won't be the last. This is however the first time I am speaking out about it. I have seen people say things like: Astrid is an abusive character because she's hit Hiccup. A lot of people reference the first movie when it comes to this.

But first I would like to point out what a lot of people are neglecting to look at. They are Vikings! Looking back on History Viking women were very dominant. A strong Viking woman was praised and sought after. They held more freedom and power then most women in their day and age. They were allowed to own property, divorce their husbands, and even take back their bride prices after divorce. There was a viking woman by the name of Lagertha who fought with Ragnar Lothbrok in a battle against the Swedes who was so impressed with her that he pursued her and won her hand in marriage. Viking women were allowed to defend themselves and those they care about. Yes men ruled the house for the majority of the marriage but should he die the woman got full control of property, trade, and what ever else they owned. Now that I have said that here is my thoughts on Astrid Hofferson.

Example 1:

Dragon training when she lands on Hiccup while trying to run from Stormfly. Astrid is more concerned with getting her axe out of Hiccup's shield then whether or not she is hurting him. First off, they are in the middle of fucking DRAGON TRAINING! They are being attacked by a dragon. Who in their right mind is going to think about whether they are hurting someone when said person is trying to save their lives. She was in a panic as a Deadly Nadder was bearing down on them and her only weapon was embedded in Hiccup's shield which was stuck. Of course she wasn't thinking about whether she was hurting him or not cause she was trying to stop the Nadder from killing them. She didn't apologize because she was angry, angry at the fact that he wasn't taken their training seriously which meant that with his lack of attention it was going to get someone or even himself hurt and/or killed. She doesn't hate Hiccup. If you watch carefully in the beginning of the movie when Snotlout makes fun of Hiccup she actually looks upset at him for being mean.

Example 2:

When she confronts Hiccup in the cove where she bends his arm and hits him with her axe. First off she was trying to get answers and two she was angry. Again she is a VIKING WOMAN. She has been trained her whole life to be strong, to not show weakness. Not everyone can control their actions when their emotions get the better of them. You can't tell me you haven't hit your friend or loved one when you are upset with them or think they are doing something stupid. And it wasn't like Astrid stood there and continued to beat him up. Also let's not forget the fact when she saw Toothless for the first time she GRABBED HICCUP WANTING TO PROTECT HIM!! HOW IS THAT ABUSIVE? She saw a dragon, her first instinct was to protect Hiccup.

Example 3:

She hit Hiccup after their romantic flight. That punch she gave him had no heat to it at all. It's like me when I hit my boyfriend in the stomach because he scared me or is being an annoying adorable dork. I don't hit him hard, it's a love tap. I would like to also point out the fact that Astrid followed the hit with a kiss. These are the ways that Astrid shows her emotions. Her world completely changes when Hiccup becomes a huge part of her life. Until then they may not have been exactly friends but she also didn't hate him or tease him like some of the other kids. Which if anyone has watched the deleted scene with Hiccup and Astrid in the forge they would see that. She even takes a bit of interest in his inventions.

Example 4:

She hits him at the end of the movie saying "That's for scaring me." Again... punch had no heat to it at all. Like I said in my previous example if my boyfriend scares me, mainly out of reflex, I hit him but instead of going around screaming about abuse he just laughs and makes it up to me by giving me a kiss. Oh hey look! That's EXACTLY what Astrid did... TWICE. Astrid is a viking/shield maiden, raised in a viking world and culture. I don't see anyone screaming about abuse when she hits Snotlout or when the twins beat each other up. It's their world, their culture. People need to get their fucking facts and truly look at their world and how they were raised. Yes Hiccup has never hit Astrid but he is the only viking who is a fucking Pacifist to an extent. Although I would like to remind everyone of the time he punch Snotlout in the face. *cackles* Pricless. *coughs* Anyway... He fights when he has to but he would rather talk things out then fight. Astrid was raised to be strong, a fighter. That's all she knows is how to fight. We don't know much about Astrid's homelife or who her parents are, we have only ever heard her talk about her Uncle Finn. For all we know her parents could have enforced in her brain to talk with her fists first. It's not her fault.

And may I point out that DESPITE ALL OF THAT Hiccup is still head over heels in love with her. We need to look beyond those incidents to what happens after and in between. Things that she says to Hiccup like for example: 'You've lost everything, your father, your tribe, you best friend.' She isn't saying this to hurt Hiccup. She is saying this to get him to think, think outside the box, find another solution. It's the same thing when she says "You gave him his freedom, what did you expect?" In the third movie. She isn't saying it to hurt him but again to get him to think clearly. Make him see, open his eyes wider to see the bigger picture. She loves Hiccup more then anything in the world. Because of him she looked at the world in a brand new light, saw things, did things she never would of dreamed about if Hiccup hadn't showed her how. She is the person she is by the end of the third movie because of Hiccup. He is her world and she is his. Together they are a force to be reckoned with. I also have a Hiccup blog and I have been roleplaying and cosplaying as Hiccup for years and one of my best friends, my Astrid, feels the same way I do. I am tired of people dragging Astrid through the mud and painting her as the bad guy. This goes for Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons. I like the idea of Hiccup, Jack, Merida, and Rapunzel being friends and I am a fan of the Hijack ship but I'm not going to make Astrid a raging bitch or a cheater or make her out to be someone she isn't to get a fucking ship! I have a hijack rp that I am doing with a friend and Hiccup and Astrid are childhood friends. They may not be a couple but they have a good relationship, she is even good friends with Jack. Now I'm all for creative liberties and people writing how they wish but I will not be involved in any thing that involves hating on Astrid. I love her character dearly and I will not sit quietly and let someone bash her in front of me.

Just had a thought, her punching Hiccup in HTTYD2, you know the punch that made his dorsal fin pop open. That was not a malicious punch, she was fucking teasing him. Again look at the culture.

*huffs* Okay I've said my piece. Rant over.

Mun out

#hate on astrid #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid #astrid #hiccup #hiccup horrendous haddock #httyd #httyd2 #httyd3 #how to train your dragon

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sablelab · 5 years

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Covert Operations - Chapter 48

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: The two Section One operatives make their way to Thailand on Madame Cheung’s private Lear jet. On arrival in Bangkok, Jamie and Claire proceed to the rendezvous location to meet their protagonist.

N.B This chapter has some suggestive text.

My THANKS for reading, liking or reblogging my story. I really appreciate your support of my writing. Previous chapters can be found … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

CHAPTER 48 (S)

Seated in the spacious limousine provided for their journey, James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp made their way to the private airport to board Madame Cheung’s Lear jet which had been placed at their disposal for the trip to Bangkok. It was not long before the sleek vehicle soon neared its destination and the waiting aircraft on the tarmac. Eventually the limousine pulled up beside a state-of-the-art Lear jet that was being readied for their pending take off. Alighting from the limo Jamie cast a look around the surrounding area before holding the door open for Claire to step out. They then approached the aircraft where the plane’s hatch lay open and standing at the foot of the aircraft’s steps, he cast another look around before boarding the Lear jet.

Jamie followed Claire up the steps where they were warmly welcomed by two hostesses on entering the cabin. “Good evening Monsieur Le Comte, mademoiselle. Welcome aboard.”

“Merci beaucoup.” “Please take your seats, we will be leaving momentarily.”

Moving into the luxuriously appointed cabin, Jamie and Claire took seats opposite each other then settled in for the flight to Bangkok and their meeting with Madame Cheung. No sooner had they taken their seats than the pilot alerted them to their imminent departure. “We're preparing for take off!” As the jet slowly taxied out of its holding zone, one of the hostesses ran through the safety procedures for the jet’s two VIP passengers. The Lear jet made a right turn then a left before gliding along the main runway in preparation for its take off procedure. It hovered on the runway for its turn for departure but waited for another aeroplane to land before clear skies indicated it was safe to begin the jet’s take off. “Would all cabin crew please take your seats?” The hum of the engines roaring to life echoed through the cabin as Jamie and Claire both fastened their seatbelts. The jet began its take off as it gathered more and more speed along the tarmac. Inside the cabin, the two passengers and staff were thrown back into their seats as lift-off occurred and the Lear jet gained more height in the air. Veering to the left in a gentle sweep of the airport the pilot gave those on board a clear picture of the ground below. In next to no time the buildings and surrounds soon diminished in size as the Lear jet gained more and more altitude until finally levelling off and disappearing into the clouds. Jamie and Claire were finally winging their way to Bangkok on Madame Cheung’s private aircraft to rendezvous with the doyen of the Rising Dragons. Her fate was now in their hands. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Claire cast a glance Jamie’s way as the hostess made an appearance with refreshments once the Lear jet had settled into its correct flight pattern. “Excuse me Monsieur what would you care to drink?” “Whisky will be fine.” “Certainly ... And you mademoiselle?” She asked turning towards Claire. “The same thank you.” “I will be serving your evening meal in the dining room to the rear of the jet shortly Monsieur Le Comte, so perhaps you would care to have your drinks there as well.” “Thank you, but I have some pressing business that I need to conclude before dining.” “As you wish sir. Shall I return in a half an hour?” “Yes.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* As the Lear jet levelled off, with its nose aimed for Bangkok, Jamie placed his personal computer on the table between them and began working at his laptop. He typed in an access code that gave him an open line with Fergus and which would alert him to the route the jet was travelling. “What are you doing?” Claire asked looking over at him. “Contacting Fergus.” “Why?” “I'm running Intel for the jet’s flight path.” “Why can’t he just download it?” “Fergus needs to confirm the transmission, then he’ll re-route it back to me.” “Ahhh.” Claire's face had a far-away expression, thinking about what may be happening back at Section. “It must be pretty crazy back there. You know what Fergus is like.” His non-verbal reply indicated that Jamie had his mind on other things so she settled in to read a glossy magazine while he contacted Section One. Nevertheless, Jamie glanced up at his partner and watched her from time to time as she read her publication.

Sensing his scrutiny, Claire looked up just as he looked away. For a moment she too watched him work. The faint greenish glow of his computer screen cast a muted light over him revealing the concentration etched on his face as Jamie continued his task. He didn't look up from his screen even though he knew Claire was studying him. She took note of the matter-of-fact determined manner of his disposition. Jamie was Section One through and through and when it came to dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s, he left nothing to chance. She watched as he poured over the computer screen. She’d covertly studied him many times on their return from or going to a mission and Jamie usually pulled up some profiles he’d been working on or wrote his report while in transit. He hardly ever slept if at all for he was always doing something that concerned the mission. That is why his team members survived ... because he was diligent just as he was now.

A sombre expression crossed her face thinking of the times he had rescued her. But more importantly ... she watched his eyes. They darted across the screen as his fingers quickly typed on the keyboard, so absorbed on his task; it was as if he had blocked everything else out of his mind. But had he really? At that moment Jamie stopped what he was doing, glanced up and studied Claire's expression before capturing her gaze with his penetrating glance. Their eyes locked and she could only swoon at the depth of feeling his look imparted. Caressing her face his gaze lingered on her mouth before returning to her luminous eyes. An exhilarating blush rose to her cheeks as Claire held his look with one of her own. He appeared to be about to tell her something but didn’t need to utter a word. A silent communication where no words were necessary passed between them. With his one piercing look Jamie had managed to say everything she had wanted to hear and more. However, as Claire’s eyes absorbed his look, Jamie’s comm. unit began to beep. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Back at Section One Fergus Claudel sat at his computer station snacking on Oreos his go to snack. He was fidgety as usual whenever he was waiting for something that was too slow coming through and was full of pent up energy as he waited for Jamie’s communiqué that would enable him to track the jet’s flight plan. He was getting a little angsty when nothing appeared on his computer screen and alerted Jamie in case there was a problem. “Jamie?” However James Fraser ignored his question until Fergus’ worried voice again intruded into their moment once more. “Jamie, are you there?” “Yes, Fergus?” “I’m not receiving ...Type PS dash E.” “OK.” Pushing his glasses back up his nose he watched his monitor. “Still nothing Jamie ... All right type this in too ... Kill, space, minus nine, space, 313 ... Okay? You got that? ... That should do it.” “Anything yet?” “Not yet ... but it has to filter through.” After a short time a red dot showed up on his computer screen. A relieved Fergus replied, “Yes! ... Jamie ... we have the coordinates.” He sat back in his chair and watched the computer do its work. His main frame computer had picked up the jet’s fight trail like a homing beacon. Once the coordinates appeared on his monitor, Fergus was now able to track its sonic waves as the jet winged its way across the sky on its flight towards Bangkok with Jamie and Claire on the next phase of their mission to capture Madame Cheung.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Some time into the flight to Bangkok, the hostess reappeared to collect their evening meal dishes from the dining area of the jet. Claire cast a glance Jamie’s way as she hovered around them then watched as she placed their dishes on her trolley. After she’d cleared their table the hostess cast her gaze over both of her guests before looking at Jamie.

“I hope you enjoyed your meals,” she inquired with a smile.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Will that be all then sir, or is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.”

“I have a question,” Claire stated as she looked towards the hostess.

“Yes mademoiselle?”

“How long will the flight to Bangkok take?”

“It will be approximately two hours and twenty minutes until we reach our destination.”

“Thank you. I think I’ll just catch a little shut eye then,” Claire replied.

“By all means ... if you need anything just press your call button.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Travelling at fifteen thousand feet, the hum of the engines and the gentle rocking of the plane was hypnotic. Claire’s forehead pressed against the jet’s window and she stared blankly into the night void, but she soon closed her eyes as the lull made her drowsy. She began to recount their time here in Hong Kong and in particular the night of their reunion and felt herself drifting back to the intimate moments shared with Jamie, after their long separation.

After only a few hours’ sleep caught here and there during the night she’d been exhausted, but it was an exhilarating exhaustion. She’d been somewhat insatiable for Jamie’s touch and their ensuing lovemaking had affected her deeply. Why was it that when together they had such an explosive outpouring of emotions? Separation had obviously made the heart grow fonder or was there more to their relationship than just sexual attraction? It wasn’t just the sex ... because that was wonderful. There was something more, something so fragile and intangible that Claire knew it could only be one thing. If she could admit it was more ... would Jamie too? The mutual outpouring of their emotions for one another had been overwhelming and too hard to ignore. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face at just the thought of what they had done again and again.

When Jamie had laid his head on her chest, her skin had shivered but when his hands lowered and touched her intimately ... she’d been lost. Jamie had bombarded her with his touch until she could stand no more. Her stomach muscles had clenched in the anticipation of what was to come ... and she couldn’t stop the keening cry that left her lips. She’d arched up to make it easier for him to explore ... but her motives were completely selfish. She’d wanted Jamie with such an overwhelming passion that her body had reacted spontaneously. She’d had no control whatsoever over how she’d reacted. All she knew was that it was right ... it was what she’d missed ... it was what she’d wanted. She had moved against him without so much as one coherent thought entering her brain. Her body just knew what it wanted ... what it needed. Her hands wandered roaming at will over his body. When Jamie had looked at her ... he’d known. He’d known everything that she was feeling ... he’d known the secret of her heart by just looking into her eyes. Then they had made love ... fast and furiously until Jamie had turned her inside out sending her feelings soaring. They’d made love again ... slowly this time, as they savoured the touch and feel of each other after so long away. Fraser was a conjurer ... whatever magic he’d invoked ... he’d used it on her until all she could do was respond to his touch. Shaking with the depth of her feelings she’d given him control of her mind and body to do whatever he would at will. Jamie was everything to her and no matter how often they came together it would never be enough to satisfy her longing for him. Each time they had made love was a time of new discovery. She had broken down his barriers a little during the night. But did she really know him any better? Her heart had opened up wider with love that was overflowing for him but ... was it reciprocated? In the early morning she’d sighed out loud and moved her hand to the place where Jamie had laid beside her. She had touched his warm skin ... then had felt his caress and she’d lost all conscious thought. She remembered stretching like a cat that had been well and truly stroked for Jamie had been extraordinary and she had responded to his lovemaking just as enthusiastically. Her body had felt weary, but every pore, sinew and nerve ending from the top of her head to the tip of her toes was sated. Yet still she had wanted more. Her brazen response to Jamie’s touch had been involuntary, but she had invited his caress and things had just escalated. His touch made her ache with the heat of desire and she’d gone to pieces. Her emotions were all a kilter when Jamie bombarded her senses making her tremble. Unravelling and moaning she’d surrendered to his potent touch lost to an outpouring of emotions she could not control. She had touched him just as intimately. She’d felt Jamie swell as her fingers had glided over him until his erection had throbbed in her hand. The power was incredible. To think that he’d reacted to her touch with such conviction was overwhelming but he’d only given her so much control ... and no more until he had groaned and flipped her over. She was hungry for him... so hungry she’d writhed in desperation of what she knew he could give her. And he had. They’d moved in sync until they had both capitulated to the “little death” that had swept them over the edge with a cataclysmic joining of their two souls. She could still smell their intoxicating scent. Jamie’s image was etched into her heart. Making love with him made her feel whole. They had been together so few times yet each coupling was a piece of the puzzle that fit together to make a bigger picture. It just felt right. They were right together. Jamie may not yet realise the depth of his emotions but she knew that what she felt could only get better if they were only given the chance. But would that be possible in the life they led? Could they have a relationship and remain unaffected? Section One held no prisoners when it came to emotional ties between operatives. But James Fraser was worth fighting for. They already had history together ... they had a bond that was invincible. Could they have a love that lasted the test of time too? Her heart smiled. They did have a love worth fighting for ... of that she was certain and she would convince Jamie in due time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I’m dreaming, Claire told herself, it was obviously the effects of the whisky she had consumed, but it was a dream she didn’t want to wake up from. Settling in for more of her wonderful reverie induced memories, she sighed out loud as her thoughts returned to their night spent at Madame Cheung’s. However, before she was able to recount more of those experiences Claire was awakened by Jamie’s gentle resonance.

“Sass-en-ach?” He whispered near her ear.

“Humph?”

“Wake up mo ghràidh we’re approaching descent.”

Two hours had passed quickly. Had she really slept all that time?

Noting her disorientated look Jamie queried, “What were ye dreaming about?”

“N-nothing...” she replied sheepishly.

Jamie merely raised an eyebrow in question. “Really?”

Gazing at his penetrating look and now fully awake, Claire answered cheekily staring him down ... “Well actually ... it was the Mile-High Club.”

The inflection and challenge in her voice amused him. A wry smile crossed Jamie’s lips ... but his eyes promised much more.

She had done it again. Where Jamie was concerned ... she very seldom could trump him for he had just turned the tables on her yet again. James Fraser was a dangerous man ... a very dangerous man... and she had fallen into his trap once more, she chided herself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Madame Cheung’s Lear jet flew through the clouds en-route to Bangkok International Airport with its two passengers. However, those on board were unaware that Le Comte St. Germain and Claire Beauchamp were really Section One operatives whose mission was to capture Madame Cheung from the Rising Dragons’ triad. The time on board had passed all too quickly and as the jet neared its destination; the pilot made preparations for landing and spoke with the air traffic controller at the airport for confirmation of his landing procedures.

“Bangkok, this is Mooney-three-three-golf.”

In the control tower, a flight controller replied, “Mooney-three-three-golf, Bangkok. We have you level at 5,000.”

“Roger. Request vectors, full-stop landing runway three-two.”

“Copy, three-three-golf. Turn right heading two-seven-zero descend to 3,000. Altimeter two-niner-niner-two.”

“Three-three-golf right to two-seven-zero. Decent to three thousand, two-nine nine-two,” the pilot repeated.

“Three-three-golf, you are cleared final runway three-two. Winds three-three-zero at 15. Be advised visibility is reduced on final half mile”.

“Roger, Bangkok. I don't see the field in sight. Continue vectors.”

Depressing his intercom to the passengers the pilot announced “Seatbelts please,” as the Lear jet descended into the steamy Bangkok evening. “We’re making our final approach and we’ll be landing in five minutes.”

The control tower continued with the Lear jet’s landing instructions.” Turn left two-seven-zero. Descending.”

“Roger. Descending.”

“Three-three-golf, you’re lined up runway three-two, cleared to land.”

“I have field visual this time, Bangkok. Cleared to land.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Turning away from Jamie’s insightful gaze Claire looked out of the window as the jet made its descent into the “City of Angels”, Thailand’s capital city Bangkok. As she peered into the night sky, she could see the lights of the airport terminal and the many city buildings surrounding it aglow with illumination. Leaning her head back against the seat she waited for the initial touchdown jolt of the wheels onto the tarmac, however, the Lear jet made a perfect landing but bypassed the arrivals area and taxied towards a private hangar section of the airport to deplane its two important passengers.

The locale of the airport to where the Lear jet taxied was in a private secluded area away from the main terminal which was for the exclusive use of the Rising Dragons triad. Its restricted use to other jets set it apart from the main airport as this made for an easy passage into the country. Contraband, illegal immigrants or powerful figures connected with the triad often entered the country by these means, for the more powerful the triad, the more remuneration available to those corrupt officials who turned a blind eye if the price was right. Working for the Rising Dragons had its benefits for those officials on their payroll. They were rewarded well for their loyalty but they also knew the punishment if they were to turn against the triad.

Hence, Madame Cheung had left explicit instructions that the pilot would carry out to the letter ... or face the consequences. The hangar’s seclusion away from prying eyes and the arrival officialdom that usually accompanied incoming flights, enabled Sun Yee Lok, Madame Cheung and other triad members to enter and leave Bangkok anonymously. The rigour of normal arrival procedures was always waived whenever her private jet arrived, thus no custom officials would meet Jamie and Claire and Immigration documentation for their visit had been prearranged.

The Lear jet taxied calmly into the private hangar and disappeared from sight. Rotating inside the hangar the jet positioned itself nose out in preparation for a later departure back to Hong Kong if needs be. As the jet completed its 180-degree turnabout it rolled toward the front of the hangar and the pilot bought the jet to a final stop, powering down the engines. After some moments the fuselage door popped opened, and the hostess appeared in the doorway as the Lear jet’s electronic stairs smoothly dropped down before resting on the ground.

Inside the plane, Jamie and Claire gathered up their belongings and made their way to the exit.

“I hope you enjoyed your flight?” The hostess declared as they prepared to leave the Lear jet.

“Oui, merci.”

“Were you able to get all your work done Monsieur Le Comte during the flight?”

“Yes ... I did”

"You have no need to go through Customs. Everything has been arranged.”

“I see.”

“The jet will be here for your departure back to Hong Kong or wherever else you need to go, whenever it is required Monsieur Le Comte.”

“Thank you.”

“Mademoiselle ... I trust you had an enjoyable flight too.”

“Very.”

“Madame Cheung has also provided transportation to her Thai residence. It is waiting for you just inside the hangar to your right.” She nodded toward an enormous Jaguar stretch limousine, burgundy in colour with smoked glass windows, in the far corner of the hangar. “Magnus will be your driver.”

“Thank you.”

As Jamie and Claire made their way towards the waiting stretch limousine outside of the hangar, they experienced Bangkok’s steamy humidity and heat. It was uncomfortably hot and although only a short distance away, Claire broke out into a slight sweat. The limousine driver stood at attention beside the automobile waiting for his passengers. Nodding politely as they approached, he opened the rear door for them and they entered the welcoming, cool vehicle. Magnus, the chauffeur, then walked the length of the car, climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. The Jaguar accelerated out of the hangar heading towards the bright lights of Bangkok and Jamie and Claire’s rendezvous location to meet Madame Cheung and discuss business.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Comfortable in the air-conditioned limousine the interior provided relief from the humid, hot weather conditions that they had experienced when they had stepped down from the Lear jet earlier. As the limousine raced toward Bangkok, they settled onto the long seat facing the divided window separating the chauffeur from the occupants of the automobile. A cabinet to their left held a variety of drinks and nibbles for their journey to their destination, but neither consumed any beverage.

Claire wasn’t quite sure what to expect on the journey into the capital of exotic Thailand. It certainly wasn’t the endless high-rise buildings, busy expressway flyovers and billboards of western companies advertising in English. Undoubtedly Bangkok had embraced westernization and modernization and the skyline was in some ways the same but different too from that of Hong Kong that she had observed when Angus Mhor had driven her to police headquarters all those months ago.

Bangkok was the centre of a busy metropolis. Like Hong Kong the traffic was horrendous. Even at this hour of the evening, there seemed to be a permanent traffic jam or what the Thai called a rot dtit that stretched for what seemed like many kilometres as cars five abreast on the road crawled along. Nonetheless, Magnus manoeuvred the jaguar through the traffic with ease and the limousine edged along the road even though the traffic moved slowly. It was little wonder that the combined effect of the traffic, heat, humidity, noise, dirt, pollution and the unappealing look of the city made some want to leave Bangkok almost as soon as they'd arrived to travel to the outlying seaside areas of Koh Samui and Pattaya.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

However, as they travelled along things began to change. Through the smoked windows of the limousine, Claire could make out the distinctive Thai architecture of the many temples and residences dotted along the route. Bangkok was certainly a visually unique capital city with diverse styles of architecture which exuded artistic grace. Wooden houses raised on stilts were arresting, with particularly striking and beautiful roofs. With swooping multi-tiered roof lines, they were elegantly shaped and tapering with various curiously attractive adornments, finials and decorations on the elongated roof beams. They were obviously ideally suited to shading the house from intense sun and the monsoon rain and they were unique and lovely.

South East Asia was such a dichotomy Claire thought. Juxtaposed with the traditional architecture was the ugly concrete housing that was as far removed from the traditional as could be. Large dedicated spirit houses built for good luck were alongside almost every major building they passed. How strange that two major cities of this region could be so different. What excitement would Thailand hold for them? Only time would tell.

Claire looked across at Jamie but he offered no conversation, he merely replied with his patent blank stare.

Unbeknownst to her he had, as usual, observed her ponderings in the car also, knowing that Claire’s mind had been transgressing to other things rather than to their prime objective. She had observed the scenery along the way and had probably taken note of the uniqueness of the architecture of the buildings as his keen eye had too. However, the similarity of this journey had not been lost on him. Hundreds of times they had travelled silently in the mission van to locations to implement their assignment. Although they were in slightly more salubrious transportation to apprehend a terrorist target, nevertheless, they had a prime objective in mind. This time Madame Cheung would be left with no options but to accompany them back to Section One.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

#JamieandClaire #James Fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie and claire fanfic #covert operations

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 4 years

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Every Movie I’ve Seen That Came Out This Decade

Now, I saw many of these films as they came out, but a lot of them I ended up watching years after the fact. There are plenty of movies that came out this decade that I still want to watch but haven’t gotten around to yet (Fury Road, Blade Runner 2049, Logan, etc) And just because I have seem a movie doesn’t mean I liked it, nor that I even wanted to see it in the first place; there are many I wish I could unsee because they were a waste of 2 hours of my finite existence (Marmaduke, Hop, World War Z, most DC movies)

I’ve bolded my three favorites of each year; not necessarily the best films of their respective years, just the ones that I saw and liked the most. As I add more titles to this list, I’m sure my preferences might change. All of my choices are subjective, so I will explain and justify them as I go.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start):

2010

Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (February 2010)

Alice in Wonderland (March 2010)

Diary of a Wimpy Kid (March 2010)

How to Train Your Dragon (March 2010)

Shrek Forever After (May 2010)

Marmaduke (June 2010)

The Karate Kid (June 2010)

Toy Story 3 (June 2010)

Despicable Me (July 2010)

Predators (July 2010)

Fred: The Movie (July 2010)

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (August 2010)

Piranha 3D (August 2010)

Saw 3D (October 2010)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 1 (November 2010)

Tangled (November 2010)

Top 3: How to Train Your Dragon was phenomenal, I can’t recommend it enough. Predators wasn’t super great, but it was fun, and I have a soft spot for the series because the original Predator is my dad’s favorite film. Scott Pilgrim is hilarious; nuff said. Other Notes: I was 12 going on 13 when the decade started, so I mostly watched kids movies. I’ll probably go back and watch more as time goes on. I loved the Lightning Thief book, but the movie sucked. I tried out for Diary of a Wimpy Kid because they held auditions online (I lost, wa-waaa). My first “date” was with a friend’s sister to see Shrek 4 (Good Lord was it awkward). Toy Story 3 was fun, but not my favorite by any means. Let’s pretend Fred never happened. My dad took me to see Piranha 3D apropos of nothing (he never just says “hey, wanna see a movie tonight?”) and we ended up walking out thirty minutes in because he got offended by all the nudity (it’s a T&A movie)

2011

Rango (February 2011)

Rio (March 2011)

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules (March 2011)

Hop (April 2011)

Kung Fu Panda 2 (May 2011)

Mr. Popper’s Penguins (June 2011)

Cars 2 (June 2011)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 2 (July 2011)

Final Destination 5 (August 2011)

Rise of the Planet of the Apes (August 2011)

Apollo 18 (September 2011)

The Thing (October 2011)

Top 3: Rise of the Planet of the Apes was really good, and Andy Serkis gave what might be one of his top 3 best mo-cap ape performances (he has had many). Apollo 18 sucked, but was fun. The Thing sucked, but the 1982 version is my favorite movie of all time, and I liked the potential this prequel had. Please remember that this list is subjective as hell; these are by no means my favorite movies of all time, in fact many aren’t even particularly good, they’re just the ones I saw that I would go out of my way to watch again, for whatever reason. Other Notes: none of the other films this year really did anything for me. only saw Hop because my friend invited me. Cars 2 was hot garbage. Mr. Popper’s Penguins was forgettable. I didn’t much care for the Harry Potter movies after Goblet of Fire. I like the first two and a half Final Destination movies (the first two were clever, I liked parts of 3, but 4 and 5 are terrible).

2012

The Lorax (March 2012)

21 Jump Street (March 2012)

The Hunger Games (March 2012)

Mirror Mirror (March 2012)

The Pirates! Band of Misfits (April 2012)

The Avengers (May 2012)

Men in Black 3 (May 2012)

Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted (June 2012)

Brave (June 2012)

Ted (June 2012)

The Amazing Spider-Man (July 2012)

ParaNorman (August 2012)

Flight (November 2012)

Wreck-It Ralph (November 2012)

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (December 2012)

Top 3: I was delightfully surprised by The Avengers when it came out; it was the first MCU movie I saw, and I had no expectations going in. It’s not GREAT, but it was fun, and probably the best of the series (I don’t care for Thanos and the expanded lore, I don’t read comics, I don’t want to watch them). ParaNorman is awesome; Laika is awesome, they make awesome movies, moving on. Flight was really good (I saw it for the first time just this August). Other Notes: Thank God I wasn’t on tumblr when the Lorax came out. Hunger Games was fun, but I didn’t like some of the changes from the book (they’re too old, and how come only Katniss and Peeta have last names?) The original Men in Black is one of my favorite movies of all time, but MIB3 sucked! Madagascar 3 was the worst animate film I have ever seen; I had a visceral response when I saw it in theaters, I can’t even explain why I hated it so much, it boggles my mind. Brave was boring, Ted was crass (I only saw it because my sister rented it from RedBox), The Amazing Spider-Man was forgettable, as was the Hobbit.

2013

The Croods (March 2013)

Star Trek Into Darkness (May 2013)

Despicable Me 2 (June 2013)

Monsters University (June 2013)

World War Z (June 2013)

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 (September 2013)

Gravity (October 2013)

12 Years a Slave (October 2013)

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (November 2013)

Frozen (November 2013)

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (December 2013)

Top 3: The VFX in Gravity are amazing, perhaps the best of the decade, it’s beautiful to look at and feels grounded in reality (for the most part). 12 Years a Slave made me cry; it’s one of the few Award Bait movies I saw, and it totally deserved its Best Picture win. I read the Walter Mitty short story my freshman year of high school, and we saw the movie on a field trip during my senior year; it was excellent, and I had never related to a character more. Other Notes: The Croods was forgettable, Despicable Me 2 was forgettable, Monsters University was forgettable, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 was forgettable; this was a bad year for animated movies. I didn’t hate Frozen, but it’s not my cup of tea; I think the best song is “For the First Time in Forever,” not “Let it Go.” World War Z was disappointing, because it is one of my favorite books of all time.

2014

The Lego Movie (February 2014)

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (March 2014)

Godzilla (May 2014)

The Fault in Our Stars (May 2014)

How to Train Your Dragon 2 (May 2014)

22 Jump Street (June 2014)

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (June 2014)

Big Hero 6 (October 2014)

Interstellar (October 2014)

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1 (November 2014)

Into the Woods (December 2014)

Top 3: How to train Your Dragon 2 wasn’t just more of the same,it expanded on the world and had real character development; 10/10. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes had a lot of faults, but I really liked the world building and the uneasy equilibrium the human and ape societies have reached (the equilibrium is upset by the end). Interstellar is magnificent; the VFW are breathtaking, the docking scene is phenomenal, and I love how grounded the Earth scenes feel even though they’re set in the future (it doesn’t feel like a science fiction movie, it feels more like a science movie) Other Notes: Lego Movie wasn’t my cup of tea, at all. Winter Soldier was alright. Godzilla was okay, I just wish Brian Cranston had been the main character. Into the Woods was fun, but jarringly stylized; it was like watching a Broadway play on screen rather than a movie adaptation of a Broadway play.

2015

Avengers: Age of Ultron (April 2015)

Jurassic World (May 2015)

Terminator Genisys (June 2015)

The Martian (September 2015)

The Hunger Hames: Mockingjay – Part 2 (November 2015)

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (December 2015)

Oh Boy: I didn’t particularly like any of the movies I saw this year. Genisys was stupid, but it’s sort of a guilty pleasure of mine. I love The Martian book, and the movie wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. I liked The Force Awakens when it came out, but but I think I was nostalgia blind, and I can’t in good conscience continue to consume Disney movies now that I know how the evil corporate conglomerate sausage is made; they all feel like disingenuous cash grabs (and before you Disney Apologists jump down my throat, I acknowledge that there are teams of passionate artists working on every film, but you can’t look me in the eyes and say that the company isn’t micromanaging everything they do to focus group the stories and make them as profitable as possible) I think Fury Road would probably be my top choice of the year; I’ve seen clips of it, and it looks really good.

2016

Deadpool (February 2016)

Zootopia (February 2016)

10 Cloverfield Lane (March 2016)

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (March 2016)

Captain America: Civil War (April 2016)

X-Men: Apocalypse (May 2016)

Finding Dory (June 2016)

Independence Day: Resurgence (June 2016)

Star Trek Beyond (July 2016)

Ghostbusters (July 2016)

Suicide Squad (August 2016)

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children (September 2016)

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (November 2016)

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (December 2016)

Oh Boy 2, Electric Boogaloo: these were not great years. 10 Cloverfield Lane was excellent, and everyone should go see it right now (because according to the box office, nobody saw it when it came out). Deadpool was funny but not groundbreaking for me. I disliked Zootopia because it was copaganda and another saccharine Disney focus grouped movie product (for the record, I only saw it because they were playing it for free at my university one Friday night a few years later). Batman v Superman sucked. I liked Civil War, but again, Disney. Finding Dory was disappointing because the original is so good (Marlin basically had to relearn everything he learned the first time). Independence Day was terrible, but it genuinely felt like a sequel made in the 90s, so there’s that. Ghostbusters wasn’t that funny to me; it’d be like if they remade Young Frankenstein, you can’t just remake a great comedy and expect it to work with a different cast. Suicide Squad sucked, Miss Peregrine was disappointing because I liked the book, Fantastic Beats was forgettable, and Rogue One was bland throughout with a horrible ending and one (1) fun scene with Darth Vader.

2017

Get Out (February 2017)

Kong: Skull Island (March 2017)

Baby Driver (March 2017)

Alien: Covenant (May 2017)

Captain Underpants (June 2017)

Spider-Man: Homecoming (June 2017)

War for the Planet of the Apes (July 2017)

The Dark Tower (July 2017)

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (September 2017)

It (September 2017)

Jigsaw (October 2017)

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (December 2017)

Top 3: Get Out was excellent, I had no idea Jordan Peele could do drama as well as he did comedy (and I loved the ending where the white family gets their comeuppance and the black protagonist doesn’t go to jail!) Baby Driver is easily one of my favorite movies of all time; this was the first time I watched a movie and knew immediately that it would be nominated for an Oscar (it should have won, dammit; the sound editing was perfect). Three Billboards made me cry, it’s so good. Other Notes: Kong was fun but forgettable. Alien Covenant was fun but dumb (I was able to guess the twist immediately because they included ONE shot of David reaching for a knife; exclude that ONE shot, and I never would have guessed it). Captain Underpants was fun (I loved the books growing up), but it was distracting to hear adult voices coming out of these 9 and 10-year-olds; I think the Netflix show does it WAY better. War for the Planet of the Apes was disappointing, because I loved the first two; they never actually show the war, all the soldiers die in an avalanche at the end. It’s more like Great Escape fro the Planet of the Apes, if anything. It was fun. Jigsaw wasn’t not fun. Last Jedi was a movie.

2018

The Cloverfield Paradox (February 2018)

Black Panther (February 2018)

A Quiet Place (April 2018)

Deadpool 2 (May 2018)

Solo: A Star Wars Story (May 2018)

Incredibles 2 (June 2018)

Operation Finale (August 2018)

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (December 2018)

Top 3: A Quiet Place was really good, and I liked how they got a real deaf actress to play the daughter. Operation Finale was cathartic and I’m surprised it didn’t do well (I think it was weird that Ben Kingsley played Eichmann because he played Itzhak Stern, a Jewish worker, in Schindler’s List; he’s got range, I guess?) Spider-Verse is the best animated film of the decade, best Spider-Man film ever made, and one of my favorites movies of all time. Other Notes: Cloverfield Paradox was disappointing because I liked the first two so much. Black Panther was good, but I just don’t like the MCU. Deadpool 2 was fun, but I probably won’t see it again. Solo was forgettable. Incredibles 2 was not as good as I hoped it would be.

2019

How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World (February 2019)

Toy Story 4 (June 2019)

Spider-Man: Far From Home (July 2019)

Terminator: Dark Fate (November 2019)

Knives Out (November 2019)

Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker (December 2019)

As it stands, I only REALLY liked Knives Out this year; it was an excellent whodunit and I cannot recommend it enough. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, I am never this engaged by a movie anymore, I had no idea where it was going, but I loved the ride the entire time (it was a SOLID movie, very tight, very well made). How to Train Your Dragon 3 was disappointing; not a great ending to the series, and none of the characters have grown any (all the comic relief idiots are still comic relief idiots, and in fact there’s a whole scene where the villain gets annoyed with one of them and let’s them go to have some peace and quiet, which undercuts his villainy by making him look like a Loony Tunes character rather than a real threat). I am swearing off Marvel movies from now on; I get nothing out of them anymore,and Disney will keep making billions regardless of my lost ticket revenue. Terminator 5 was not great, but probably the third best of the series (I’d probably watch it again, but like Genisys it is a guilty pleasure, not a movie I enjoy unironically). 1917 looks good, and I am excited to see it. Star Wars 9 look like a movie; after I see it, I am swearing off Disney movies entirely. I would skip this one, but my mom insists that we all go see it as a family for Christmas, so it’s literally a holiday chore for me. I want to see how it ends, but I don’t want to pay for it. Oh, and it’ll never end. They say this is the end, but we all know that’s a lie. They’ll start production on Episodes X, XI and XII before the decade is out (the 2020s I mean). Audiences haven’t reached Marvel Fatigue (and probably never will), so they sure as hell aren’t gonna reach Star War Fatigue any time soon; Disney will keep churning them out forever, at least once a year, maybe more.

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vaguely-concerned · 6 years

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McHanzo Fantasy AU

Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, PG-13, 2 400 words

Heavily inspired by the art of @nickutried, in particular this post right here — please check it out if you haven’t already, it’s good stuff!

On AO3

The dragon is watching the sunset as its twin lies curled up asleep next to it, letting out a low humming snore that sounds like nothing so much as a giant cat purring. When it spots Jesse it ducks its head in acknowledgement, a formal yet oddly cordial gesture.

Jesse tips his hat and takes up position next to a gnarled tree valiantly clawing for purchase on the craggy hillside. Beneath them the valley is dappled with golden light, patterns shifting as the sun goes down.

“Nice view,” Jesse comments eventually.

“Indeed. I trust you are well?”

The rumble of the dragon’s voice is like distant thunder in his mind, even as its mouth doesn’t move.

“Sure. Thanks for askin’.” Maybe he’s just going crazy but he thinks he’s getting used to the sheer size of them; having them towering in his peripheral vision has somehow gone from deeply unsettling to comforting over the last half a year or so.

The dragon tilts its head as if in polite inquiry. “You two have seemed busy today. Is he still doing better?”

Now that they seem confident their master’s wounds will all heal they have dialled back on the mother henning, to Hanzo’s obvious relief, but they still grill Jesse about how he’s doing from time to time as if he is privy to something they’re not.

“Yeah, think so. He’s just finishin’ up some training stuff,” Jesse says, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder towards the tent. “Apparently tossing me around like so much lint doesn’t quite cut it on its own.”

To be fair to himself it’s not like he’s really a pushover when it comes to the hand to hand stuff — he has survived enough bar brawls unscathed to prove that much, at least — it’s just that Hanzo seems to be made of different stuff than mortal men that way. Jesse has a sneaking suspicion that Hanzo considers him a sort of glorified free weight in these situations, but he can’t really say he minds. The sparring is nice, actually; it’s been a while and when you find him in the right mood Hanzo’s a surprisingly patient teacher. Never too late to pick up some new tricks.

(If Jesse has some less honorable reasons to not mind Hanzo pinning him to the ground with amused, fluid ease… that’s neither here nor there, and no one ever needs to know.)

“Have you decided where to go from here?”

“We’re looking to head north tomorrow. Mark seems to be tryin’ to shake us through the mountain passes, so we’re gonna cut him off half way.”

Considering that only one of the involved parties has the advantage of actual flying dragons… Jesse’s not too worried about this one. He’d almost feel bad for the guy, if he made a habit of feeling bad for men who have lined their own pockets by sending children to their deaths in unsecured mines.

It makes a vague sound — the dragons seem wholly disinterested in the details of any job beyond what’s needed to keep Hanzo safe. Jesse guesses that if he were a hundred feet long and could generally fit anyone trying to mess with him into his mouth in one chew he’d take the long view more too. “You are staying with us, then.”

Jesse clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “At least until the end of this job, sure.”

The dragon blinks its huge eyes at him with indulgent amused knowing. Jesse feels the tips of his ears grow warm and tilts his hat into his face slightly. Man, he needs to work on getting his poker face back in place.

“This is good,” the dragon says simply.

“Yeah, well.” He’s still smiling, though, doesn’t quite know how to make himself stop. Folding his arms over his chest he stands there a while soaking up the last warmth of the setting sun. The air is clear and sharp up here, like autumn’s making an early guest appearance.

He lights a cigar, trying to gather both the courage and the words he needs. As nice as all this has been — is, he supposes — he still doesn’t know the why of it, and it’s been bothering him.

Finally he says: “Y’know, I keep meanin’ to ask… Back there, when you found me. Why’d you choose me to help him, of all people? I’m hardly the kinda guy you reach for when you need a medic.”

The dragon takes some time to answer. “There was a recognition; there is something alike in you. You feel the same.”

“And how might that be.”

No pause this time, no need for deliberation: “Homeless.”

Jesse leans back against the tree, crossing his legs at the ankles and not looking away from the horizon. “...well.”

The dragon tips its head to one side pensively. “Does this surprise you?”

Jesse buys some time by breathing in a lungful of smoke and letting it out slowly. “No,” he says. “S’pose it doesn’t. Could’ve just asked me, though, instead of trying your claw at kidnapping.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Well, I sure as hell almost said no after bein’ dangled by the scruff of my neck over twenty miles of rocky countryside, you might as well have given talking a shot first and gone from there.”

The dragon chuckles. It sounds a little like a jovial earthquake. “Your insight, as always, is most illuminating. I will take it under consideration for next time.”

“What, you got plans to snatch someone else? Lookin’ to replace me with a better model so soon?” He means it as a joke.

Lowering its head the dragon bumps its snout against his chest, absurdly gentle for such a humongous thing.

“No,” it says, gazing down at him. This close you can’t help but smell it, like the scent in the air just before a thunderstorm and the sharp used fireworks tang of magic.

Jesse tries to meet its eyes but has to look away — still, he reaches out and lets his hand rest on its head, hoping that says what he doesn’t know how to. The dragon closes its eyes and turns into the touch like a cat. An enormous, scaly, startlingly-hot-to-the-touch cat conjured out of inexplicable arcane forces. Brushing his thumb over the smooth blue scales he wonders again where the hell Hanzo comes from to have ended up here, this wealth of magic bound to him and full up with ghosts like a haunted house of a man. He’s seen enough to know it wasn’t anywhere good, but then that’s a safe bet for anyone living the way they do, drifting from place to place and job to job.

Everyone out here carries their own ghosts with them, yeah, but Hanzo seems uniquely loyal to his.

Jesse’s left hand looks less unnatural against the pattern of the scales somehow, like the metal could have grown into the shape organically instead of under a hammer. Perhaps he should’ve asked Torbjörn to add in some filigree or engravings or whatever when he’d had it made, soften up the look of it a bit.

“Hell, what do I know,” Jesse sighs, letting his hand fall away. “Maybe kidnapping was the right call in this case. Not like anyone’s gonna miss me.”

“No?”

“No.”

Not now, and perhaps, in truth, never; for a while there he’d thought… well, easy mistake to make. Happens to the best of us. Half of them are dead now, anyway.

“He would. If you left.”

Jesse looks at his feet and doesn’t answer.

“He has been alone for a very long time,” the dragon says. “He has never let anyone stay before.”

An image flashes through his mind: Hanzo lying broken on the ground the first time he saw him, all that blood slicking the grass. Jesse flinches a little, shaking his head to make it go away. “He ever get hurt like that before?”

“Never. Before this I had not even seen anyone land a blow on him if he did not intend them to. He closes off his mind and refuses to tell us why he let them…” The dragon trails off. “Hm. I suppose his reasons are his to share or to keep as he wishes. Perhaps you could ask him, though.”

Jesse snorts, scuffing his heel against the ground. “Sure, that’ll go over well.”

“Hm?”

“Listen, my ma used to tell me both that you don’t gamble with somethin’ you’re not happy to lose and that only idiots go around opening old wounds expecting anything but blood. Smart lady — never had reason to doubt her before.”

“Could one question really change everything? You think yourself so insignificant?”

…I don’t want to have to leave again. Not this time.

“I’ll think about it, how ‘bout that,” Jesse says. “If the… moment seems right or whatever.”

The dragon lets him off the hook, giving a thoughtful hum and gazing back out over the valley.

After twenty minutes or so Hanzo turns up, clearly having had a quick wash in the nearby stream, shirt carelessly open and his hair down, still damp and tangling over his shoulders — it’s grown out a bit in the time they’ve known each other. Jesse takes a deep pull on the cigar.

“Hello again,” Hanzo says as he reaches out to absent-mindedly stroke the head of the sleeping dragon, who stirs amicably and cracks one eye open. You can see the pink lines of the scars on Hanzo’s chest through the opening in his shirt when he lifts his arm like that, too raw for Jesse’s liking even now but still healing.

“Hey,” Jesse says, giving a little wave with the cigar. Hanzo glances at him from behind a curtain of dark hair, his mouth soft with a small smile — he always looks more relaxed after a workout, as if he’s managed to burn away some of that tight terse restlessness he carries himself with. Those first few weeks of bedrest must’ve damn near killed him, in hindsight. “All wrapped up?”

“Mhm. You two — we have a long flight ahead tomorrow. You are free to hunt the rest of the night,” Hanzo says, giving the dragon’s flank a friendly slap. “Be back before dawn.”

The newly awoken dragon gives an anticipatory shiver, and were it just a smidge less draconically regal and dignified you get the feeling an excitable ‘fuck yeah’ might enter the picture right about here. It uncoils itself, exchanges looks with its twin and then gives a blithe nod to Hanzo and Jesse before rising up.

They take off and as always it’s disconcertingly quiet — some part of Jesse’s brain is still trying to argue that nothing that massive should be able to fly, never mind so silently. One of them twirls in a loop in the air on the way up, seemingly in a simple fit of joie de vivre. Jesse chuckles.

“Someone’s about to have a fun night out, anyway.”

Hanzo gives a noise of agreement as he folds his arms and leans against the tree next to Jesse, close enough that Jesse can feel the warmth of him along his side. It’s a peculiar, delightful sort of torture.

“So long as they do not overdo it and get careless again. If we are set upon by another huddle of villagers with pitchforks and torches I will be less than pleased.”

“I dunno, being mistaken for an evil sorcerer was kinda flattering, in a way. A class above the stuff people tend to want to arrest me for on sight.”

Hanzo huffs. “If not for your quick thinking we might have had to fend them off by more direct means. They should have fallen to their knees and thanked you.”

“Hell, if everything could be solved so easily by settin’ off some fireworks and shouting a lotta mystical-sounding mumbo jumbo…”

Grinning down at his feet Hanzo gently bumps their shoulders together. “It was an inspired move, I grant you that. If… characteristically unorthodox.”

“And I’ll stop bragging ‘bout it when I’m dead, that’s the one fuckin’ thing I’ve gotten right in years.”

His shoulder feels warm for much longer than it should from the brief contact, his chest even longer from the sound of Hanzo laughing. They watch the dragons fly away until they’re just faint pinpricks on the horizon.

Hanzo pulls his hair away from his face, the fading light playing over the silver at his temples. He shoots Jesse a look as he ties it back.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jesse says, kicking away from the tree. “Let’s get some stew goin’. You cut the cabbage, I’ll do my best with the spice we got left, it’ll be good.”

Hanzo grins a little as he does up a few buttons on his shirt. “Mhm, no hunting for us until tomorrow. I fear our evening may have to be a little more mundane.”

“Guess we’ll just have to make our own fun,” Jesse says, feeling all blood leave his face as his brain hears what his mouth just said and in what tone.

“Perhaps if we drink for long enough you could even beat me honestly in a game of cards,” Hanzo says breezily, thankfully sauntering off like he hasn’t picked up on the innuendo Jesse hadn’t quite meant to slide in there.

“Hey, that’s lies and slander, I’ve won my fair share of rounds,” Jesse protests, scrambling to follow him when he throws a glance over his shoulder.

“Because you cheat.”

“Because I cheat,” Jesse agrees, slinging his arm companionably over Hanzo’s shoulder. “That’s half the game, the gettin’ away with it. Doesn’t get more honest than that. I could teach you some of the tricks of the trade, if you’d like, never know when you might need an ace or five up your sleeve.”

“Who could turn down an offer like that?”

When he’s honest with himself Jesse can admit that the way Hanzo’s eyes narrow when he laughs makes him want to go all in with a bad hand, even if he knows he should by all rights have folded and walked away from the table months ago. Amari had been right all those years ago; he never did figure out how to quit while he’s ahead. It can only be a matter of time before his bluff is called and Hanzo realizes he’ll always be more trouble than he’s worth — but, well. He’s not proud. He’ll take what he can for as long as his luck will let him.

“We’ll make a proper scoundrel of you yet,” Jesse promises, the twilight settling around them as they walk.

Needless to say while Jesse’s freaking out about this, Hanzo lies awake at night staring up at the inside of the tent going ‘But how do I let McCree know how loved and wanted he is???’ haha, I am nothing if not predictably On Brand at all times

I’m not sure yet if I’ll write more for this AU or not, I just wanted to write something inspired by nickutried’s art for such a long time! If I do end up doing it it’ll likely be a longer more involved affair so please don’t hold your breath, you WILL die and I can’t be responsible for that D:

#overwatch #mchanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #mchanzo fic #Perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms #My writing

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edxnwood · 6 years

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1. HOUSE TARGARYEN

IN PENTOS, ACROSS THE NARROW SEA FROM WESTEROS, Daenerys watched the water in the sea rise and fall like deep breaths, seagulls flying high above her without a care in the world ━ except for the ones that actually had to catch some food ━ but otherwise, she wanted to be soaring high above the clouds like them, a smile on her face as she rode on the back of a large dragon. Despite her brother being malicious and cruel, she still pictured him on a dragon of his own, riding beside her as equals. She felt her dress fluttering in the wind, but her hair stayed in place, the curtain behind her waving in the wind softly. The tan sand of the beach was beautiful on a midsummer's day, the boiling hot sun smiling down at both her and it, warming her already hot skin to leave her feeling great.

Until she heard her brother's voice call out to her.

"Daenerys!" He calls out from within the home, making her sigh and her deep trance-like state fade away, her blue-violet eyes falling. Her head turns slightly towards the bath chambers, hoping her brother didn't call out for her any longer. It didn't work. "Daenerys!" Viserys watches a maid pass by, then sees his sister's outline in the curtains, her eyes watching him. "There's our bride-to-be!" He begins walking, his stare not wavering once, watching Daenerys walk into the chambers, letting her see the fabric that was splayed across his arms. His hair, his eyes, his skin color all haunted her; they were the same as hers, and, despite trying to run away many times in the past, trying to get away from him and his abusive ways, she still could see him in her. It was just the looks, yes, but it made her angry that he was still a part of her as she was a part of him. And her last name. It was an attachment to him and she would never be able to change it; people would most certainly know who she was by her appearance. "Look, a gift from Illyrio," he shows her the dress. "Touch it. Go on, feel the fabric."

She runs her hand over it, feeling the silkiness of it, and realizes that it was the softest thing she has ever touched. It flowed like water across her fingertips, the grey color of it was surely going to be subtle on her skin, but, by the look of it, there was a pin on the front that had a dragon head on it, her brother letting out a moan as she did so. "Isn't he a gracious host?"

She looks at him with her rare-colored eyes, her eyebrows furrowing lightly, "We've been his guests for over a year and he's never asked us for anything."

"Illyrio's no fool," her brother replies. "He knows I won't forget my friends when I come into my throne." He bunches up the dress and hands it over to a maid, her large collar sticking up from her neck, displaying her low status. People say that this town was one of the Free Cities, but the men and women with collars on their necks argued so, all of them having to use the same collars as the people in Slavers Bay, but theirs was made from gold. "You still slouch," he notes, making her a bit rigid, watching as her brother's eyes skimmed over her clothed body. She wished that Viserys was murdered and Rhaegar was alive; she wanted to know what her oldest sibling would treat her like. Was he mad and delusional as Viserys, the one that took after their father and wanted nothing more than to take back his rightful throne? Or was he like their mom, kind and generous, healthy and great? She hoped she was like her mother. Viserys moves Daenerys' hair off her shoulders, one hand creeping towards the curve of her lower back ━ where her spine and derrière met ━ and used his fingers to hook the loop of the knot and pull, "Let them see." His hands trail back to her shoulders, grabbing on to the small straps and pushes them off her skin, staring down as her breasts were slowly released. "You have a woman's body now," Daenerys moves her hands slightly as the top of the dress made it past her hips and onto the floor.

Viserys could see the light dusting of silver hairs on her vagina, the pinkness of the labia standing out from the pale skin over it, seeing the small little freckle she had on the right side of her cunt. He takes a deep breath and puts his thumb to his lips, then, without warning, reaches out and uses his thumb to run it over the skin above her nipple, making it wander down to let it and his forefinger cup his sibling's breast. Oh, had he wanted to fuck her senseless so many times, to throw her over the desk he had in his chambers and slam his cock into her aching hole, to make her scream his name and, after a few months, watch her belly grow with his unborn child, but he knew that if she wasn't a virgin, the deal would be off.

Daenerys endured the physical touches, telling herself that the Targaryens were known for incest, that it was part of their nature, but she wanted to run off, bash the heel of her hand into her brother's nose and watch the blood flow from it, stick his head in a firepit and watch his skin melt and his hair fall in pieces.

She wanted revenge.

"I need you to be perfect today," Viserys speaks against the silence of the room, looking up to let his eyes meet with Daenerys'. "Can you do that for me?" Daenerys doesn't say anything, her mouth opening and widening with no words or sounds falling from her lips, "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

That was what Viserys always called it. Waking the dragon. He always believed that he was the true dragon, that he was going to be the one that could breathe fire and burn entire cities to the ground, that he could let out one magnificent growl and all would bend the knee to him. "No," Daenerys replied, believing him, but at the same time, she didn't want to, that she was the last true dragon and Viserys was just a figment of her imagination, a sign of madness. Viserys nods down at her, giving her a small smile before walking away, making his way to the doors. He holds up a finger and faces her, "When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister," bile rose in Daenerys' throat, but she managed to keep it down, "they will say it began today." He finally walks out, leaving Daenerys to her own devices, minus the maids in the room, the Targaryen princess turning to her bath, her short legs carrying her body up the small flight of steps to the edge, steam rising off of the water, looking somewhat dangerous to the servants, but inviting and comforting to Daenerys.

Her foot sinks into the water, Daenerys' face blank and unreadable, her other foot coming down to join her left, carrying her deeper into the bath. "It's too hot, My Lady," one of the female servants says as she rushes to the edge, but, as soon as she sees that Daenerys was alright, that she wasn't screaming out in pain, she walks away slowly, eyes still on the princess' back, watching the pale skin sink deeper into it.

♕♕♕

Men and women walked around, some carrying umbrellas to shield their skin from the sun, all of them waiting for the Asgardian royalty to come towards the home and meet his new queen, all anticipating his reaction to the beautiful Daenerys Targaryen. There was a lot of orange, yellow and red clothing worn, but Viserys and Daenerys wore grey clothes, Daenerys' dress a few shades lighter than Viserys' dark outfit. Daenerys wore the dress Illyrio Mopatis gave her, her silver hair having two little braids that connected that the back of her head, the rest let loose. "Where is he?" Viserys asked, his impatient side coming through.

"The Asgardians are not known for their punctuality," Illyrio answers, the two thick braids of his beard moving as he spoke, Viserys nodding at him. They look straight ahead, continuing their wait. A few minutes from the square, Loki rode beneath a bridge with some Dothraki bloodriders he had encountered on his journey, all of them siding with him, making the God their new Khal after he showed them what he was able to do. Their horses' hooves pounded the cobblestone pavement as they stopped in front of an expensive mansion, an equally expensive-looking man talking in Icelandic, Norwegian, Faroese, and the extinct Norn language of Orkney and Shetland ━ the language of the Asgardian Gods ━ while spreading his arms out. "May I present my honored guests?" Illyrio finally says in the Common Tongue, letting the two Targaryens understand what he was saying. "Viserys, of House Targaryen, the third of His name, the rightful king of the Andals and the First Men, and his sister, Daenerys of House Targaryen."

Daenerys takes this as her clue to began marching up to her fiancé, her legs carrying her forward, but her brother's hand on her wrist stops her as Illyrio resumes his walk to the God, speaking in the foreign language. "Do you see that helm he wears?" Daenerys nods. "It is a sign of his status. No one but the Asgardian gods wears a helm that great. His brother, Thor, wears a silver helmet with wings on the side. Loki is known for his smart, cunning, mischievous ways," Viserys gets closer to Daenerys' ear. "And you will be his queen."

"Come forward, my dear," Illyrio says to Daenerys, her sibling letting go of her forearm and puts his hand back on the hilt of his sword, watching her walk closer to her soon-to-be husband, her blue-violet eyes wide and innocent, his startling blue ones looking deep into hers. Loki could see the outline of her nipples on her dress, the khalasar he had straining to keep their mouths shut or something bad would be placed on them by the trickster.

Loki had to admit that Daenerys was the most beautiful creature he ever laid his eyes on, with her light hair and amusing-colored eyes to how she seemed pure, righteous, benign, inexperienced. He turns on his horse and rides away, his men doing the same, leaving the young girl defeated, ashamed to bring possible dishonor for being too naive-looking, too young and childish for the man. The prince's features were branded into her mind, how he held himself with respect and honor. . . and how he had given her a glare before running off. She didn't hear Viserys' bumbling in the back, asking where the deity was going.

She replayed the scene in her head over and over, but all she could see were Loki's amazing looks. Startling blue eyes, high cheekbones, dark hair that flowed perfectly over his ears, black, straight eyebrows, and pale, almost translucent, skin.

"Trust men, Your Grace, if he didn't like her, we'd know."

#Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki x daenerys #daenerys targaryen #Daenerys #daenerys stormborn #marvel #game of thrones crossover

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ren-c-leyn · 6 years

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This fun little short story was inspired by @leopard-prompts ‘s writing prompt, here. Now, it’s a comedy and not meant to ruffle the feathers of any of my fellow writers.

Funny things happen when you work with an overly eccentric writer and a camera. You can get woken up before the crack of dawn to poetic ramblings and the smell of cheap coffee. You could find plane tickets and a copy of your contract laying on the floor from when they had been stuffed into your letterbox in the middle of the night. You may occasionally be standing outside of a bathroom in a foreign country, listening to them call themselves a terrible person for getting a phrase wrong in the local language.

Something kept me coming back, though. I think maybe it has to do with all of the amazing shots of places I’d never have gone by myself... or maybe it’s the weirdness that is the eccentric writer. Actually, I think it’s a combination of both.

I’ve seen many strange and beautiful things in my travels, but none more than the lines of prose, strings of poetry, and epic tales I find on paper mere weeks after I’ve snapped the perfect shot. Inspiration, he calls it. I’m on the fence about whether I want to call it amazing or insanity.

This morning, I found myself leaning a little closer to the insanity line as I stood in the airport for at least the dozenth time since new years. I didn’t even know where I was going. I’m sure the ticket said, but I didn’t want to look. I glanced at my watch as I stood in the line. He was insane. What kind of crazy person books a flight for just before dawn....

Oh, that’s right, he does. Something about how the rising sun catches on the silvery wings of the plane. I’m sure it sounded prettier the way he said it, but I was in an airport. Pretty didn’t exist here. In fact, I was pretty sure pretty was outlawed in this otherwise lawless building.

By the time I had gotten through customs and wormed my way to my seat on the plane, I was in a decently fowl mood. It wasn’t made any better by the out of tune humming coming from the seat beside me. He was tone-deaf. We both knew it, and yet he still insisted on humming. He also insisted on sitting next to the window and leaving me to be smacked in the face by everyone’s bags as they passed us by.

“You know, Cedric, I think maybe we should either turn your tour of Europe for research into one long trip, or maybe space them out a bit more....”

“But the characters haven’t finished telling me where they’re all going through their war torn world. Besides, is it really so bad to break away from the norm every few weeks? Go see lands we haven’t walked before? Retrace the steps of our ancestors and try to see the land as they once had? To imagine the dragons they must have seen and the terrors they survived? To stroll through the fields they masters and the forests they had not?”

“I don’t mind a break from normal, but airports are starting to turn into my normal and that’s not a normal I wish on anyone.”

Cedric, the eccentric writer that had hired me and my camera, laughed.

“I can’t say I blame you, Wyatt. Airports are only good for the endings of romantic stories and the beginnings of comedic ones.... Or perhaps the basis for a murder mystery, as foul of a mood as everyone is always in.”

I laughed softly. Yeah, that would be a book I would read in a heartbeat.

“So you see my point?”

“No, because the airports are only a small amount of our time spent. The rest of it is rediscovering the past and capturing inspiration on camera.”

“... Right.”

I decided to leave the conversation there, though he had touched up on the real part of my new normal that actually had me concerned. During our three week trip through the countryside of France, it had managed to elude us, to my delight. I snapped photos of wildlife, old building, scenery, everything beautiful and occasionally not-so-beautiful, if Cedric requested it.

I let my guard down against that one, horrible inconvenience, and that’s when it decided to strike. Driving down roads we had never been before, we must have missed a turn, or a sign, or something indicating the way back to the town where we were staying. A fact that eluded us until a few hours after we should have been back.

“Um, Wyatt....”

“What?”

“Before I continue this conversation, I just want you to know that this is more of a plot twist than anything. Think of it as a grand adventure of life’s design just for us....”

“What did you you do this time?”

“I didn’t do it, you see. We did it and....”

“What did you do?”

“I think we’re lost.”

“Oh, come on! Not again!”

“Like I said, it’s a plot twist. Unfortunately our writer doesn’t seem to be too creative, using the same old ones on us all of the time. Airports, beautiful scenery, getting lost, why not mix in lost luggage once or twice to keep it interesting?”

“Absolutely not! The airports and getting lost are bad enough without my belongings.”

“Why are you freaking out? We can handle this. Life has written this scene down for us so many times getting unlost should be second nature to us! We shall never be stranded like dear Robinson Crusoe.”

“At least he didn’t have to deal with airports....”

“Be silent negitivity and watch as I return us to our lodgings!”

Did he return us to our lodgings? Of course not. What he did manage to do was get us even more lost than we originally were, run our rental car out of gas, and leave us without a method to call for help since he ran mine out of battery earlier today.

I leaned against the back window of the car, sitting outside on the trunk. Silently, I stared at the stars. Something I noticed in our travels, the stars always looked more beautiful away from the city lights. I pulled my camera up to my eyes and started snapping photos while the eccentric writer sulked in the car.

“You should get out and look at these stars. Might hit you with some inspiration.”

There was no answer, but a while later there was the soft click of a car door. Then, there was the clicking of boots on pavement.

“They aren’t as glorious as the ones we saw the first shoot.”

“Nope, but they’re still brighter than any back home.”

“Yet you’d rather be at home instead of in our plot twist?”

I snorted.

“You said so yourself, our lives are written by a lazy hack if this is the best plot twist they can come up with. I’d rather stay at home until something more creative comes along.”

“Then maybe I should set my next story somewhere more interesting.”

“Japan?”

“Samurai drama?”

“Why not?”

“Why not South America? Tales of lost peoples and struggles through the untamed wilds?”

“Two words, poisonous snakes.”

He snorted.

“Wouldn’t that be a more interesting plot twist?”

“Not if I die from it.”

We bounced locations back and fourth for the rest of the night. The stars may not have been the best we’d ever seen, but that sunrise certainly was. I don’t know how many pictures of it I took, but I think the one with the laughing tow-truck driver and Cedric’s raccoon impersonation was my favorite.

Maybe I’ll never know why I agreed to travel with a writer and take photos of random places, people, and things to inspire their work. I do know three things, though. Airports suck, Cedric will always get us lost and still insist on driving, and something interesting would always come of the insanity later....

Like the five page copy of a story proposal I found laying on the floor, about a murder mystery story set in an airport, less than a week after our return and the disappearance of Cedric’s luggage.

#short story #a story by ren #comedy

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black-strike-otp · 7 years

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part 73

You seem to have stumbled upon a collection of cached files. How odd...

Readers may yet decode their own series of messages or day-to-day proceedings if they see fit~ I’d be curious to read any if anyone sees fit to do so. q: But we’re going to move along with this a bit, shall we?

Data Log: Day 3 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

We’ve yet to have any leads on the whereabouts of the Rising Star, or the Revenge II. Infiltrator and Nighthawk gave a few suggestions on where to start our lead when revealing their star charts were far more updated than those we’ve obtained and have on record. We’ll be heading to the nearest hub in hopes of speaking with the resident bots in hopes of information.

Data Log: Day 5 (Novastrike’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data omitted

[MISSING DATA: ERROR]... I pray that Guard is keeping watch over us. We could use all the help we can get.

Data Log: Day 6 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

Much of the Cybertronians residing on Moriturus appear to be suffering from injuries residing from a nearby world they call Centaris Seven. After Nighthawk took some personal samples for reference from the bots, they revealed that the planet contains a highly corrosive secretion upon its surface that eats through a mechs armor and protoform. We will be staying a for more days in hopes of coming across any strangers passing through to refuel at the small station, upon Nighthawk’s insistence to help the wounded as much as he could.

Data Log: Day 10 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

Screenings of the bots mentioned prior seem to indeed, replicate as we suspected an unknown parasitic organism in the slime that had coated the bots. Nighthawk has deduced that they are of no threat to us, and we no longer need to use precautionary hazard suits. The organisms do not appear to survive outside of their homeworld. Washing bots whose undercarriage still had residue from the ooze revealed substantial evidence. A thorough cleaning was recommended. Below is noted the chemical compounds and information taken from the cells for record to add to Cybertronian archives.

Data Log: Day 15 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data omitted

Its been roughly two full cycles now since we’ve disbanded from Decepticon Lieutenant and Weapons Expert Blackout and Novastrike. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Infiltrator and I have found no further evidence of the Rising Star’s whereabouts. We’ll be stopping on planet Xetaxxis in about 63 joors. Former information on the planet reveals it’s inhabited by a race of sentient robotic organisms just as Cybertron was. Will induct a study on occupants, if allowed. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Reviewing this data file later, I realized I had made the error in referring to that arrogant mech as an Officer of the Decepticons. Revoke that statement; data is old and irrelevant now. Rogue Blackout, former Commanding Officer of the Rising Star.

Data Log: Day 18 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

Documentation attached below on evidence of possible relation between Xetaxxis species and that of Cybertron. They appear more primitive in function than that of Cybertron, but their CNA suggests a pattern related to that of Cybertronians. Further studies will need to be conducted to be assured of this. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to return one day. Residents appeared friendly, but bitter and hesitant to meet strangers because of their feuding battle with neighboring robotic species on different homeworld. Is it simply in our species’ nature to clash? Requires further analysis.

Data Log: Day 24 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

There were some rather mysterious looking plants to look at today! Blackout had us stop by each one to scan for Cybertronian lifeforms, but we found no evidence. I took some photos to share with Nighthawk and Infiltrator, specifically the fauna, flora, and creatures we saw on some of the cluster of heavenly bodies. I really enjoyed the large gaseous planet the most; it was mysterious and flying through it scrambled some of Blackout’s instruments, much to his annoyance. We re-calibrated outside of the planet before taking off again. There was no way any Cybertronians would be surviving there with the electromagnetic field it generates. We’ll continue our search.

Data Log: Day 31 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

Received a transmission from Nighthawk. Will be joining up with him and Infiltrator on planet Floron 3. Infiltrator mentioned something about speculating rumors that there was insecticide sold there. Has to be the oddest bit of random information I’ve ever received and from a dragon, of all things.

Data Log: Day 33 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

Its been a long flight. I’ll record more information later. For now, going to recharge. Blackout and Novastrike appear to be in one piece. The kind femme transferred some data to my pad that she said I may enjoy looking through. She gives my processor something to muse over, how such an easygoing and docile bot could show interest in someone so opposing in forces than herself.

Data Log: Day 40 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

DATA LOST. RECOVERING... DATA FOUND. TRANSLATING... IMAGE RECOVERY IN PROGRESS...

(There appears to be no words here, just photographs taken of alien hieroglyphs. Whatever text there may have been, if any, seems to be lost.)

Data Log: Day 46 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

No progress on our quest. Energon reserves are running a bit thinner than we’d like, so we have decided to ration portions by a marginal fraction per daily units. According to all of our starcharts, there is supposed to be no planetoids for lightyears. However, we got to experience a rare sight: the formation of a star. Novastrike seemed to enjoy it. It was nice to see her smile; it seems like ages since she last did so.

Data Log: Day 52 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

These are my new favorite pics! Make sure Blackout doesn’t see these, he’ll never forgive me. (There appears to be images after a bit of scrolling. One if of Blackout smiling, another of him laughing, and yet another of him trying to scrub dirt from Scorponok. The next picture is blurry, and shows Nighthawk trying to scale Blackout to avoid a tiny, furry looking quadrapoid creature with large canines in numerous rows as Blackout attempts to step back and is obviously tripping over Infiltrator and Scorponok. Nova appears to have doddled something on this image: “They thought it was a scraplet for a nanoklik!” The final image simply shows Novastrike, taking a selfie holding the fuzzy creature. She’s grinning like an idiot, optics offline, with the faint shadows of Blackout and Nighthawk blurring in the background like they were moving swiftly to remove the creature from Novastrike’s arms.)

Data Log: Day 53 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files) ERROR - Data Omitted

[MISSING DATA: ERROR] I am never going back to that Unicron forsaken planet. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Infiltrator says he managed to get a scan of that scraplet-look alike monstrosity. As predicted, it’s carnivorous. He witnessed one feeding on the aquatic species in a nearby riverbed. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] I wish I could say that femme was brave, but she doesn’t know the horrors a scraplet can do to a bot. So instead of calling her ‘crazy’, I’ll just go with ‘ill-informed’. As per Blackout’s request, I will not send her the video obtained of a hoard of scraplets feasting on a bot, but I think that some reading education may still be in order.

Data Log: Day 57 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

Nothing of importance to log today. No new discoveries. Nighthawk suggests we split up again to track more space once again. I feel like I’m losing my touch, but even Nighthawk of all bots urged me not to lose hope. Searching all of space is just as daunting as I thought it would be.

Data Log: Day 60 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

Infiltrator and I have been headed for the Alpha Centauri region. Will record further data later, as of now trying to avoid a belt of meteors in a field. Not entirely sure if we’ll be able to find out way out of this mess alone.

Data Log: Day 63 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files) ERROR - Data Omitted

Nighthawk and I spent the day patching up the Jaguar. Boss was pretty displeased with the damages, but I’m not even sure the most experienced flyer could have gotten through that mess in one piece. Rocks were smashing against each other and causing a vicious cycle of debris. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Blackout seems to have received our transmission despite all the interference. Estimated arrival in 7 cycles or more.

Data Log: Day 73 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

We were intercepted today by a small group of bots. Blackout got a bit battered, but the Jaguar didn’t sustain very much damage. We’ve decided to further investigate the area before we draw more attention to ourselves by sticking around, and moving on as soon as possible.

Data Log: Day 74 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data Omitted

Novastrike insisted on Blackout being repaired, despite the mech’s disapproval. Unfortunately for him, he had to be given a little medical suggestive aid from my tranquilizer darts. I don’t think he’ll be willingly coming to me for a while for repairs now. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] The planet appears to have dormant volcano of sorts, fascinating. Infiltrator and Scorponok were sent out to investigate, with the approval of the other bots, and bring me back samples. I very much look forward to studying the geographical landscape later and studying the rock formations. I wonder if single-cell microorganisms may exist here, or fossilized evidence thereof.

Data Log: Day 77 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

No bot is quite sure, but Nighthawk and Blackout are feeling pretty positive they found a vapor trail left from a ship! Hard to believe; it’s so empty out here. I pray it’s the Rising Star. Primus and Guard be with us all, it would really lift the spirits around here if we could cut a break.

Data Log: Day 83 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

Blackmail. (There appears to only be an image left behind of Nighthawk, recharging, with Blackout obviously snickering just barely in frame. Upon closer examination, one can tell that Nighthawk’s frame has been decorated with the paints to give a false illusion of a feminine faceplate and frame.)

Data Log: Day 85 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

Infiltrator shared with me an equally impressive photo I added to my collection. I still don’t know if Nighthawk’s ever going to try pulling out that dent he put in Blackout’s armor, but I hope he does. I mean, it wasn’t like he was physically hurt by Blackout’s little gag. It’s a bit funny though, that the time these two seem to be on their best behavior around each other is when I’m actually around and awake. I feel like I have magical powers of influence around them!

Data Log: Day 88 (Blackout’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data Omitted

Evidence of a ship has been through this area, recently. We’ll be pursing as soon as Nighthawk and Infiltrator have finished collecting their samples on yet another wayward planet. [MISSING DATA: ERROR]

Data Log: Day 90 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

[ERROR: LOG APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN WIPED CLEAN OF DATA... RETRIEVAL IN PROCESS... ACCESS DENIED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.]

Data Log: Day 95 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

(There appears to only be images taken from a planet. They appear to resemble an extinct species glyphs and images depicting their history. The only note at the bottom is a simple state: ‘Process later. No obvious signs of life on this planet any longer. Perhaps gone, went off planet, or hiding underground?’.)

Breathing in loudly with excitement, Novastrike pressed her face against Blackout’s viewing panel. He gave a quiet grunt as he had to readjust some of his control panel; knobs moving and levers readjusting carefully.

“Nova, dear, I told you not to touch any of these. They’re sensitive.” he growled softly.

“Oh, sorry!” she squeaked, leaning off of him. She pressed her forehead lightly against the glass as she arched her back to better lean in.

Giving a quiet chuckle, the mech spoke quietly through his alt-mode, “Enjoying the view?”

“Yes!” she gasped. “Look at that planet! Look at it’s rings; they’re glorious!”

Giving a slight chuckle that echoed through his form, Blackout replied lightly, “I’ve seen far more glorious depictions before my optics.”

Sticking her glossia out, the petite femme gave a light swish of her tail to knock lightly against a portion side of his control panel; careful not to touch anything of importance.

Static crackled quietly through the obsidian space vessel as Nighthawk reported over the comm channel, “I have to agree with Novastrike. Absolutely fascinating. It appears that planet is shedding its rings though, sad to say. My scanners indicate that the equator and gravitational pull coming from the epicenter of that planet is pulling its own rings down in the atmosphere.”

“Oh,” Novastrike breathed. “That’s a shame. It’ll lose some of its beauty and charm.”

“Worlds are ever changing, little pupil,” Nighthawk sagely remarked. “That makes them no less beautiful than they are. Planets are constantly in a shift of development; growth and decay.”

“Is that what happened to Cybertron?” Blackout snorted. “We’re just in the decay part of all that scrap you just said?”

“No,” icily responded the seeker. “What happened to Cybertron is a lack of our concern for our own homeworld that damaged it so severely.”

“Cybertron will recover though,” the dragon added on quietly. “So long as we do not meddle in His healing process.”

“You think it’ll be inhabitable again one day soon?” Nova whispered, sighing with longing as she sank down to her knees. Her body flipped over, backstrut pressed into her escort’s control panel as she glanced out at the distant, twinkling lights and blueish toned planet far off in the distance.

There was a quiet silence between all the mechs. The small femme’s ears began to falter, and slowly drop.

“There’s no telling,” admitted the medic. “None of us have exactly seen our homeworld in many, many, many years now. But eventually, Cybertron will be healthy and we’ll be able to return there. Don’t give up hope.”

For Guard’s sake and in his memory, she would not. She remembered just how much he prayed that they would be able to go back one day. It was his dream to bring every bot he could back home, and she wanted to try fulfilling his goals as much as she could.

Inside of himself, the dark armored mech dimmed the lights as Novastrike recharged. He managed to get his holoform functional for a brief time, no matter how weird it felt to think about that his nanoties were creating a false impression of himself inside of himself.

Blackout picked her up and sat her into the chair, which unhinged at a point to lean back so she could lay at an angle. She muttered sleepily as she dreamed, curling her limbs into herself. His holoform smirked for a nanoklik as he looked down at her precious face, the soft lines of light bands moving against her before it flickered offline.

“My sensors indicate that the trail we’ve been following is getting stronger,” Nighthawk reported over the comm link.

Speaking in the quietest voice, Blackout huskily responded, “As do mine.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“Novastrike’s recharging.”

“Ah,” the medic murmured in a quieter voice. “My apologies.”

Blackout’s viewing screens shifted around, looking back at the giant orb of a planet and the array of space rocks they’d passed by a while back. His thrusters gave a quiet growl as he arced out wide from the brownish hued planet. Its radius was far smaller than those prior to the intergalactic debris they’d just went soaring through.

The Jaguar, to Blackout’s right, went zipping by him before returning to an idle pace once again. Nighthawk flicked a mocking salute at him as he passed.

“Proud of your little ship, aren’t you?” Blackout sneered.

“Beats your slow aft, that’s for sure.”

“I’m built to withstand blows from much bigger bots and heartier attacks. Your dinky little vessel is meant for what, a stroll around Iacon?”

“More like Crystal City,” teased the medic. “That’s where the majority of the scientific community used to be, anyway.”

“Yawn.”

“Don’t you dare insult the mathematical ingenious of my peers.”

“Your peers?” Blackout snickered. “Like who? Shockwave?”

“Ugh, don’t speak that deplorable name around me,” the mech stated with an obvious sense of distaste. “That mech is mad. Fusing bots together, dismembering them, his war machines and his mutants. There’s no science in that mech. His logic sensors are broken. All he delves in is chaos and revealing in the destruction he creates.”

“Like any good Decepticon would.”

There was a curious hum that came through the comm channel from Nighthawk.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” Blackout growled, irritated now.

“Being a Decepticon. Do you miss it at all?”

The dark mech went silent. As he thought over the medic’s words carefully, a shadow descended upon his screen, blotting out the light from above.

“Uh... Blackout,” Nighthawk quietly spoke over the comm channel. Whipping his form to the right hard, the former Hound gave a quiet snarl as he pulled out as far from the ship as he could that came upon him out of seemingly nowhere. Novastrike turned over in the seat as he turned, muttering as she slid down somewhat in her seat.

Banking hard, the mech moved his viewers to look at the side of the ship for a sign or identification series on while he climbed up to see the side of the ship.

“I don’t believe it,” he stated with shock, his voice carrying into the Jaguar as Nighthawk stared speechlessly at the vessel before them.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #Cute OTP #OTP Friends

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the-jade-burrow · 6 years

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This is my lore-based 100 Hatchling Challenge. Check out my thread here for details and the full story so far. If you’d like to join in that would be brilliant. The idea is you write your own story but in most cases so far i’ve had to write my own, so whatever I guess!

Chapter Eight - Azoth

Like seemingly most of Sornieth now, every dragon connected to the grape vine had heard of the plight of poor little Skif, the cursed dragon. What they hadn’t concentrated on was where the dragon was and who she was with. For nevermind Skif, she was with Ambrosia and he was sure of it. Ambrosia had sneaked away a long time ago now and all of his leads so far had led to her being in the forest. Who is Ambrosia you might ask and why did she matter? As a younger dragon completing his training with the Magician’s Guild, Ambrosia had been his rival. Ambrosia was good at making rivals and therefore not so many friends. Azoth was determined to become her friend at first thinking that there must be something she was hiding. He was sure that the dragon she showed to other people was just a shell. How wrong he had been. Everything he tried was rebuffed until he had nothing left to offer. He decided in the end that if he couldn’t join her he should beat her. When they were about to head to their final exams he wished Ambrosia good luck only to receive a stare in return. When it came to receiving their results, Ambrosia was nowhere to be seen. Her envelope left unopened. Azoth passed with flying colours yet that did not give him the satisfaction he wanted – he needed to know if he had beaten Ambrosia.

Note: You can read this on Google Docs which comes illustrated with dragon pictures and a nicer text format than Tumblr here. I’m looking for tips but not criticism. I’m not a writer nor do I want to really become one. I just like getting involved in the Flight Rising community.

Which brought him to today. He flew as high as he dare in hopes of spotting Ambrosia in the burrow below. One of the guards was eyeing him suspiciously and he was sure if he flew any lower he would receive confrontation. He did not care to meet the dragons below – only Ambrosia. Alone he could speak with her without the back-up of her clan. There was blue smoke coming from a cauldron next to one of the buildings which came to his attention. Blue smoke didn’t come from any old fire – perhaps there was magic here after all. The green tundra next to it certainly wasn’t Ambrosia but perhaps she may know of her whereabouts. Again he eyed the guard below and decided it was probably safer to come in via the entrance – or what looked like one to him.

After much conversation with various members of the guild – namely the guard that was eyeing him up earlier, a red coatl named Idris and his fellow colleagues who were both shockingly bright neither of whom would tell him whether or not Ambrosia was here. He tried to speak to the green tundra he had seen earlier who turned out to be a witch, but she simply looked at him and made a gesture that implicated her mouth was zipped tight. He sighed and turned to leave. ‘Azoth’. It was Ambrosia. Abrupt as ever. ‘I guess you want to talk. I suppose it’s been long enough. Follow me’.

He followed her outside of the burrow to a cave cut in to a large rocky hill. The cave was adorned with magical objects, some of which were old objects he recognised from being a hatchling whilst others he hadn’t seen before. He sat down and made himself comfy, reaching into his bag to get the envelope. Before he could do so however, Ambrosia began. He hadn’t expected her to be this willing to talk. ‘I suppose you’re here about Skif. How could you not be? If a dragon comes alone and hasn’t brought all their worldly-belongings with them it’s for Skif. The poor girl has had countless dragons turning up for her and I will not have someone like you trying to win her heart and break her curse. It’s just not possible. That girl is cursed for life and no amount of admirers will break it. Of course though, that doesn’t mean people should not try. Just not with love. In fact, I am in the process of coming up with a counter-curse. So you can just turn right round Azoth and go home. I’ll not have her heartbroken again.’ Azoth gaped at her. All thoughts of the envelope left his mind. ‘You think you can break a curse? Come on now Ambrosia, be realistic. As a matter of fact I am not here for Skif, but now I am here I think it’s a good idea to warn her what you’re up to. Do you not know the risks of counter-curses? They can be just as dangerous as the curse itself! Magic you should not be messing with and deep down you know that.’ Ambrosia did not seem phased by his outburst yet Azoth could tell the cogs were whirring in her brain. How could she justify counter-curses? Surely her magic had not grown that much without guidance that she thought she were capable. He looked at his bag with the envelope. Perhaps she had beaten him? Perhaps he could learn from her still. ‘At least let me help you. As much as you may dislike me you know how much I could help’.

A week later Azoth was still in the burrow. There were daily arguments between them which caught the attention of almost every dragon in the lair. On more than one occasion they had to shoo some body away who was trying to peek in the cave. Aside from the arguments they had generally worked well together and he considered what they had done to be progress. The green tundra he had seen on the first day offered to help but it seemed that Ambrosia had made a rivalry with her too. She later mentioned that actually her potions were of very good quality and they had worked together often. Azoth saw a glint in her eye which he took for a kindness he rarely saw. Azoth smiled to himself, perhaps progress could be made.

The following afternoon they were hard at work when Azoth had the feeling that somebody was looking at him. He turned round and saw nothing. Ambrosia whispered to him. ‘That’s the dragon we’re here for. Skif. She is what this is all about. Tell me you look at her and see the desperation in her eyes. She tries to hide it and she’s good at it but if you don’t feel the same passion to find this counter-curse that I do then you can leave right now’. He turned around again. This time he caught a glimpse of her. Ambrosia was right. His guts twisted. He had to find this counter-curse.

Skif left the cave after finally managing to catch a glimpse of the new Spiral that was visiting Ambrosia. Rumour had spread that they were working together on some kind of spell but nobody would say what. Skif couldn’t help but feel paranoid. Anything to do with magic made her wary recently and Ambrosia had always been intimidating. Having only had negative experiences with magic she couldn’t help but fear it and whatever they were up to in that cave she wanted nothing to do with it.

Two weeks later the spell was ready. Azoth was relieved. He didn’t think he could spend much longer in here alone with Ambrosia. His longer than expected stay meant he had had to involve himself more with the dragons in the burrow but they surprised him. He never really thought these dragons would ever be ones he’d want to socialise with but he liked them more and more as days went on. He didn’t see much more of Skif however and it seemed to him like she was avoiding both himself and Ambrosia. He asked her how they were to approach Skif with their spell. ‘Well, I’m not sure she’ll like the idea personally but we can’t do this without her permission either. We’ll have to get somebody to smooth talk her into this. How are your skills these days? If not I’m sure her friend Maggie can convince her. She got her into this mess after all’. She sniffed in disapproval. ‘Maybe it would be best coming from us?’ Azoth agreed. He had to be the one to tell her.

Skif had been called by Laressi to meet with her, Ambrosia and Azoth. Laressi was the leader of the clan and as kind-hearted as she was, if a meeting was called then it meant it was something serious. She asked Maggie to come with her for support. They met at the cave where they were waiting for her already. She gulped. This didn’t look like good news. ‘Skif, Ambrosia and Azoth have something they’d like to discuss with you. They have my blessing but please do not feel pressured into this, it is your decision.’ Skif looked from her towards Azoth and Ambrosia. What could it possibly be that she would be involved in this? Maggie elbowed her and gave her a knowing look. Of course, the curse. Everything always came back to that no matter what she did. ‘Skif, we have a proposal for you. Both me and Azoth have been working on a spell for you. It should cure your curse. You’ll be free to live your life as you please and your physical symptoms too should clear up. There is a bit of a risk…’

‘No’, Skif interrupted. ‘If there’s risk I’m not doing it’. ‘Please Skif, hear us out,’ Azoth began. ‘Let us go through it with you at least’. Skif shook her head. ‘No, the curse said only true love with solve the curse and unless that spell is made out of love it won’t work.’ ‘But..’ Ambrosia started. ‘No,’ Laressi interrupted. ‘Do not pressure her. Skif, please do think about it but take as much time as you need. In the meantime you two are to leave her to think. Let me know when you are ready with your decision Skif and we will reconvene’.

Skif thought long and hard about it. She could see the advantages and there were oh so many but magic had got her into this mess and she didn’t trust it to get her out. She sat outside her small hut listening to the sounds of the forest that interrupted the silence she desired. At least the hatchlings were finally asleep. Four coatls this time round, two girls and two boys who – ‘Excuse me’. Skif turned around. Azoth stood there looking rather meek. ‘I know we were to leave you alone to think but I couldn’t help coming over to talk with you. I thought you might have questions or I can go through with you how it works’. Skif stared at him a moment before sighing and nodding. ‘Come sit down then.’ Azoth moved over to her carefully. ‘Tell me Azoth, do you believe in true love’. Azoth did not reply straight away. He had never really experienced love but he hoped he would some day and had seen the power of it within other people. True love though? He wasn’t sure. Was there a difference? Skif did not give him chance to respond. ‘When you believe in love Azoth, I will believe in your spell’. Azoth blinked in shock as she turned and flew into her hut.

Azoth went back to the cave to meet with Ambrosia. He knew he couldn’t discuss love with her but perhaps she had some alternative solutions. She wasn’t there. Perhaps that was for the better. He mused some more on whether or not he did believe in love. It was always possible he could lie but he didn’t think he could do that to the poor girl. She clearly believed and he didn’t want to dismiss her faith so easily. He decided to sleep on it and decide in the morning.

Days passed and still Azoth could not decide. Meanwhile Ambrosia had been pacing backwards and forwards. She clearly hated waiting and thought Azoth’s uneasiness was for the same reason. He thought of the envelope in his bag. Would he have kept this with him for all this time if he didn’t have some sort of feelings for her? But what about Skif? He had grown to like her too over the past weeks. He had to speak to her. He had made his decision.

The meeting reconvened at last the next day – Laressi and Maggie were in attendance again. Azoth and Skif stepped forward. ‘We’ve come to a decision,’ Skif began. ‘We’re both in agreement that the ideal way to end this curse would be to find my true love but if that is to fail then I would like to try this spell to remove the curse’. Azoth took over, ‘I believe it would be less risky to try love too of course and I don’t suppose this is a private matter anymore either so…’. Azoth leant over to give Skif a quick kiss. Nothing happened at first aside them both flushing with colour. Skif felt warm and began to hope this meant the start of the curse lifting, but nothing happened. Azoth sighed. He hoped his new blossoming feelings for the Fae had meant something more. Ambrosia risked the urge to snort. ‘Shall we move onto the counter-curse now?’ Laressi glared at her. ‘Don’t be so hasty. We don’t have to try straight away if you don’t want to Skif.’ Skif shook her head. ‘We might as well. It doesn’t look like it will ever go away. Perhaps I could find a hundred true loves and this curse may never leave me.’ Ambrosia and Azoth prepared the spell. They muttered under their breath in words Skif and Laressi did not understand. Light began to shine from their claws which they directed at Skif. It surrounded her and she flew upwards in panic for a moment before she closed her eyes and tried to relax. The light intensified around the spots on her wings and face but as it did this it stopped suddenly. Azoth and Ambrosia looked at each other and their faces fell. ‘I’m sorry Skif, I really thought it would work,’ whispered Azoth. Ambrosia fell silent and looked at the ground with anger in her eyes.

Azoth spent the evening with Skif before making arrangements to leave the next day. He was so angry that the spell hadn’t worked but heartbroken that the kiss hadn’t worked either. He couldn’t stand to be here any longer. He promised Skif that he would return with a better spell one day. In truth he could use Ambrosia’s help so before he left he asked Ambrosia if she would come with him. She denied, of course. ‘I know I never explained why I left Azoth but I had my reasons. Since leaving I have spent my time alone. It is only now since that damned Pearlcatcher Wintergreen introduced me to these dragons that I have felt truly at home. Home at a place I would have once hated. I cannot leave them now.’ Azoth nodded in agreement. He too had felt that homely vibe where he never believed he would. ‘One more thing then, Ambrosia, before I leave. The real reason I came was to give you this envelope. It has your results in it from the exams we sat in the guild. Curiousity has never won, I kept it sealed all this time. Here’. He passed her the envelope which she took and smiled. Ambrosia rarely smiled so it was a sight to behold. ‘You kept it all this time? I guess you’d like to know the results then. Do you think I passed?’ Azoth shrugged. ‘I think you have the power now to pass those exams twice over. So what does it really matter? Working with you again has been – dare I say it – fun. I’d like to do it again sometime in the future. Let’s not leave it so long next time.’ ‘Of course. And Azoth? Don’t worry about Skif. I’ll look after her.’ Azoth nodded and picked up his bags before flying up into the sky. He turned once to look back at the cave to see Ambrosia opening the envelope and turning back inside the cave.

#flight rising

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untitledcreativeproject · 7 years

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Day 21. [527]

Oh man. So this 101 in 1001 thing. Half the items on here are just "lol i'm so random" bullshit. However. There are a couple things on the list that I have accomplished since my last update of it (as of 9/9/11 apparently). 26. Move out of my mom's house. 48. Find a willing photography model. (Sort of. Captain likes to take pictures anyway.) 53. Get all my Pokemon Sapphire Pokemon to level 40 or higher. (Pretty sure I did, anyway. and then I transferred them all to Pokemon Pearl when I had the chance.) 63. Buy more jeans. 65. Go to another gay pride parade. 74. Woodcutting - 99 (In Runescape, yes. This is where my priorities were then.) Anyway. Man, I kinda wish I still played Runescape. That was an easy 27 items on the list and I achieved all but one of them. Honestly though, looking back at my Livejournal is kinda embarrassing now. I stopped posting on there in August of 2013, right after-- sorry, had to check and see what nickname I use for her on here -- Mittens had come to visit me for a week. It's funny; looking back on the few posts I did have on LJ for the duration of our relationship, I didn't mention her much at all. Granted, I had a lot of other shit going on, but I feel like I talk about Captain all the fucking time on here. So there's that. Kinda wish I still played Flight Rising, too. I could probably have made up a bunch of little goals between getting genes for my dragons and collecting familiars to bond with. I wish it were as easy to make up and achieve goals in real life as it is in video games. I don't have the attention span for attempting to write up a 101-point list right now, I realize. I've gotten distracted by my Livejournal archives, Tumblr, and Neopets multiple times since starting this post. I'm still keeping up with learning Russian. Recently Memrise taught me how to say "I'm angry because I'm hungry," which is very important in my life. It's "Я злой, потому что голоден." I borrowed a book from the library that has been really helpful in learning more of the grammar rules in Russian. Memrise is good for learning vocabulary and phrases, but it doesn't really cover any of the proper stuff that you would get from a traditional foreign language class. I'm thankful that I had an education that taught me these basics in different languages, whether it was English, Spanish, or Latin. That discipline and that pattern recognition really helps me to feel comfortable with copying down lists of noun declensions and verb conjugations. I'm grateful to the language teachers I had for granting me this ability. I feel like the work I was putting in while I had the library book for Russian would have made them proud. I'm looking forward to borrowing that book again after I've taken some time to study/memorize all the notes I've taken from it so far. I still have half the book to flip through for more notes.

[Running Total: 19,017 words]

#Untitled writing project #rambling #personal #year 2

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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The studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as usual, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-colored blossoms of the laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid jade-faced painters who, in an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the black-crocketed spires of the early June hollyhocks, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive, and the dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

As he looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and, closing [4] his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

“It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done," said Lord Henry, languidly. “You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. The Grosvenor is the only place.”

“I don’t think I will send it anywhere,” he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford. “No: I won’t send it anywhere.”

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarette. “Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.”

“I know you will laugh at me,” he replied, “but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry stretched his long legs out on the divan and shook with laughter.

“Yes, I knew you would laugh; but it is quite true, all the same.”

“Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you were so vain; and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you–well, of course you have an intellectual expression, and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself an exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and consequently he always looks absolutely delightful. Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is a brainless, beautiful thing, who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don’t flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.”

“You don’t understand me, Harry. Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that [5] seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one’s fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit quietly and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are,–my fame, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks,–we will all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.”

“Dorian Gray? is that his name?” said Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward.

“Yes; that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you.”

“But why not?”

“Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to any one. It seems like surrendering a part of them. You know how I love secrecy. It is the only thing that can make modern life wonderful or mysterious to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?”

“Not at all,” answered Lord Henry, laying his hand upon his shoulder; “not at all, my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet,–we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the duke’s,– we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife is very good at it,–much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me.”

“I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,” said Basil Hallward, shaking his hand off, and strolling towards the door that led into the garden. “I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose.”

“Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,” cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the garden together, and for a time they did not speak.

After a long pause Lord Henry pulled out his watch. “I am afraid I must be going, Basil,” he murmured, “and before I go I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago.”

“What is that?” asked Basil Hallward, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

“You know quite well.”

“I do not, Harry.”

[6] “Well, I will tell you what it is.”

“Please don’t.”

“I must. I want you to explain to me why you won’t exhibit Dorian Gray’s picture. I want the real reason.”

“I told you the real reason.”

“No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish.”

“Harry,” said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, “every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the colored canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown with it the secret of my own soul.”

Lord Harry laughed. “And what is that?” he asked.

“I will tell you,” said Hallward; and an expression of perplexity came over his face.

“I am all expectation, Basil,” murmured his companion, looking at him.

“Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,” answered the young painter; “and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly believe it.”

Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it. “I am quite sure I shall understand it,” he replied, gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered disk, “and I can believe anything, provided that it is incredible.”

The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy lilac blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air. A grasshopper began to chirrup in the grass, and a long thin dragon-fly floated by on its brown gauze wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward’s heart beating, and he wondered what was coming.

“Well, this is incredible,” repeated Hallward, rather bitterly,– “incredible to me at times. I don’t know what it means. The story is simply this. Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon’s. You know we poor painters have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to remind the public that we are not savages. With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stock-broker, can gain a reputation for being civilized. Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious Academicians, I suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me. I turned half-way round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious instinct of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. My father destined me for the army. I insisted on [7] going to Oxford. Then he made me enter my name at the Middle Temple. Before I had eaten half a dozen dinners I gave up the Bar, and announced my intention of becoming a painter. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then–But I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I knew that if I spoke to Dorian I would become absolutely devoted to him, and that I ought not to speak to him. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

“Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all.”

“I don’t believe that, Harry. However, whatever was my motive,– and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud,–I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. ’You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?’ she screamed out. You know her shrill horrid voice?”

“Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,” said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

“I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and hooked noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was mad of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so mad, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.”

“And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man? I know she goes in for giving a rapid précis of all her guests. I remember her bringing me up to a most truculent and red-faced old gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and hissing into my ear, in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to everybody in the room, something like ’Sir Humpty Dumpty–you know–Afghan frontier–Russian intrigues: very successful man–wife killed by an elephant–quite inconsolable–wants to marry a beautiful American widow–everybody does nowadays–hates Mr. Gladstone–but very much interested in beetles: ask him what he thinks of Schouvaloff.’ I simply fled. I like to find out people for myself. But poor Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an auctioneer treats his goods. She either explains them entirely away, or tells one everything about them except what one wants to know. But what did she say about Mr. Dorian Gray?”

[8] “Oh, she murmured, ’Charming boy–poor dear mother and I quite inseparable–engaged to be married to the same man–I mean married on the same day–how very silly of me! Quite forget what he does– afraid he–doesn’t do anything–oh, yes, plays the piano–or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray?’ We could neither of us help laughing, and we became friends at once.”

“Laughter is not a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is the best ending for one,” said Lord Henry, plucking another daisy.

Hallward buried his face in his hands. “You don’t understand what friendship is, Harry,” he murmured,–"or what enmity is, for that matter. You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one.”

“How horribly unjust of you!” cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back, and looking up at the little clouds that were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky, like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk. “Yes; horribly unjust of you. I make a great difference between people. I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their characters, and my enemies for their brains. A man can’t be too careful in the choice of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some intellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me. Is that very vain of me? I think it is rather vain.”

“I should think it was, Harry. But according to your category I must be merely an acquaintance.”

“My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance.”

“And much less than a friend. A sort of brother, I suppose?”

“Oh, brothers! I don’t care for brothers. My elder brother won’t die, and my younger brothers seem never to do anything else.”

“Harry!”

“My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. But I can’t help detesting my relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that we can’t stand other people having the same faults as ourselves. I quite sympathize with the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper classes. They feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself he is poaching on their preserves. When poor Southwark got into the Divorce Court, their indignation was quite magnificent. And yet I don’t suppose that ten per cent of the lower orders live correctly.”

“I don’t agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is more, Harry, I don’t believe you do either.”

Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and tapped the toe of his patent-leather boot with a tasselled malacca cane. “How English you are, Basil! If one puts forward an idea to a real Englishman,– always a rash thing to do,–he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong. The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes it one’s self. Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it [9] will not be colored by either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don’t propose to discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you. I like persons better than principles. Tell me more about Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?”

“Every day. I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see him every day. Of course sometimes it is only for a few minutes. But a few minutes with somebody one worships mean a great deal.”

“But you don’t really worship him?”

“I do.”

“How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anything but your painting,–your art, I should say. Art sounds better, doesn’t it?”

“He is all my art to me now. I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the history of the world. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinoüs was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, model from him. Of course I have done all that. He has stood as Paris in dainty armor, and as Adonis with huntsman’s cloak and polished boar- spear. Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms, he has sat on the prow of Adrian’s barge, looking into the green, turbid Nile. He has leaned over the still pool of some Greek woodland, and seen in the water’s silent silver the wonder of his own beauty. But he is much more to me than that. I won’t tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such that art cannot express it. There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that the work I have done since I met Dorian Gray is good work, is the best work of my life. But in some curious way–I wonder will you understand me?–his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them differently. I can now re-create life in a way that was hidden from me before. ’A dream of form in days of thought,’–who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad, –for he seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty,–his merely visible presence,–ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have in itself all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of soul and body,–how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is bestial, an ideality that is void. Harry! Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remember that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price, but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have ever done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat beside me.”

“Basil, this is quite wonderful! I must see Dorian Gray.” Hallward got up from the seat, and walked up and down the [10] garden. After some time he came back. “You don’t understand, Harry,” he said. “Dorian Gray is merely to me a motive in art. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is simply a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I see him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and the subtleties of certain colors. That is all.”

“Then why won’t you exhibit his portrait?”

“Because I have put into it all the extraordinary romance of which, of course, I have never dared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He will never know anything about it. But the world might guess it; and I will not bare my soul to their shallow, prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry,–too much of myself!”

“Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. They know how useful passion is for publication. Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions.”

“I hate them for it. An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. If I live, I will show the world what it is; and for that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.”

“I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won’t argue with you. It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue. Tell me, is Dorian Gray very fond of you?”

Hallward considered for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered, after a pause; “I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. I give myself away. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we walk home together from the club arm in arm, or sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”

“Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger. Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. It is a sad thing to think of, but there is no doubt that Genius lasts longer than Beauty. That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate ourselves. In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly well informed man,–that is the modern ideal. And the mind of the thoroughly well informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-à-brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day you will look at Gray, and he will seem to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won’t like his tone of color, or something. You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think that he has behaved very badly to you. The next time he calls, you will be [11] perfectly cold and indifferent. It will be a great pity, for it will alter you. The worst of having a romance is that it leaves one so unromantic.”

“Harry, don’t talk like that. As long as I live, the personality of Dorian Gray will dominate me. You can’t feel what I feel. You change too often.”

“Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it. Those who are faithful know only the pleasures of love: it is the faithless who know love’s tragedies.” And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty silver case, and began to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and self-satisfied air, as if he had summed up life in a phrase. There was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the ivy, and the blue cloud- shadows chased themselves across the grass like swallows. How pleasant it was in the garden! And how delightful other people’s emotions were!–much more delightful than their ideas, it seemed to him. One’s own soul, and the passions of one’s friends,–those were the fascinating things in life. He thought with pleasure of the tedious luncheon that he had missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward. Had he gone to his aunt’s, he would have been sure to meet Lord Goodbody there, and the whole conversation would have been about the housing of the poor, and the necessity for model lodging-houses. It was charming to have escaped all that! As he thought of his aunt, an idea seemed to strike him. He turned to Hallward, and said, “My dear fellow, I have just remembered.”

“Remembered what, Harry?”

“Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray.”

“Where was it?” asked Hallward, with a slight frown.

“Don’t look so angry, Basil. It was at my aunt’s, Lady Agatha’s. She told me she had discovered a wonderful young man, who was going to help her in the East End, and that his name was Dorian Gray. I am bound to state that she never told me he was good-looking. Women have no appreciation of good looks. At least, good women have not. She said that he was very earnest, and had a beautiful nature. I at once pictured to myself a creature with spectacles and lank hair, horridly freckled, and tramping about on huge feet. I wish I had known it was your friend.”

“I am very glad you didn’t, Harry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to meet him.”

“Mr. Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir,” said the butler, coming into the garden.

“You must introduce me now,” cried Lord Henry, laughing.

Basil Hallward turned to the servant, who stood blinking in the sunlight. “Ask Mr. Gray to wait, Parker: I will be in in a few moments.” The man bowed, and went up the walk.

Then he looked at Lord Henry. “Dorian Gray is my dearest friend,” he said. “He has a simple and a beautiful nature. Your aunt was quite right in what she said of him. Don’t spoil him for me. Don’t try to influence him. Your influence would be bad. The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. Don’t take [12] away from me the one person that makes life absolutely lovely to me, and that gives to my art whatever wonder or charm it possesses. Mind, Harry, I trust you.” He spoke very slowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him almost against his will.

“What nonsense you talk!” said Lord Henry, smiling, and, taking Hallward by the arm, he almost led him into the house.

#DorianGray

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