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cassandraclare · 3 years

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The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed. “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself, reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

#the whispering room #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #cassandra clare #cassandra jean #chain of gold

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oneisallallisone · 3 years

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All I Know, All I Know Greedling x Reader fic Chapter 1

In a land ruled by alchemy, there are some who would call you a sorcerer. You intend to understand what this means. Along your journey you end up getting mixed up with two strange brothers, a military conspiracy, a potentially world-ending event, and the avarice of something more than human.

I wanted to see more Greedling x reader stories in the tag. This one’s going to be a SLOW burn, but we’ll get there. I have plans.

Read on AO3

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All I Know, All I Know

Chapter 1: Koldun

There are ancient legends: tales that tell of a city disappearing within a single night, stones that hold the power of god, of immortality itself, just to name a few. Myths such as these have been passed down through generations by word of mouth, pen to paper, and are woven into the fabric of everything that fascinates humankind.

There is no name for the legend that you are, however.

Alchemy is the science of understanding, reconstructing, and deconstructing matter. Alkahestry is the art of reading the Dragon’s Pulse, of sensing the flow of energy within yourself and the world around you, and then manipulating it. Both rely on a give and a take. A desire, an exchange, and a result. But you, with your will and your breath and the force that plays at your fingertips, are something else entirely.

No, there is no name in Amestris for you. But there is an ancient Drachman word for what you might be. A word so old and feared that it is uttered in barely a whisper. “Koldun,” they call you. “Sorcerer.” It is the only word that seems to fit what you are, and the way it is spoken is just as cold as the air that bites your ears and the tip of your nose. Drachman winters are harsh. The resentment of Drachman people who don’t understand your nature is harsher.

But enough about the cold. Now you found yourself in the warmer weather of the south, regretting the bearskin cloak you have draped around your shoulders. It might not be fit for a sunny day in Central City, but its weight provides a calming sense of familiarity. A small piece of home that was actually yours to keep.

The journey to Amestris hadn’t been hard, but it had been long. The mountain pass was no longer safe to use, as both Drachman and Amestrian soldiers were posted nearby at all hours of the day. The peace was holding out, for now, although it seemed like things could take a turn for the worse at any moment. So instead of taking the mountain pass, you traveled the road through the forest with a group of merchants who were on their way to Aerugo. They needed to pass through Amestris first. You’d parted ways with them in Central, and they wished you luck despite not knowing the full details of your mission.

How could you have told them, though? They would have left you for dead with nothing but the snow as a blanket for your final rest had you told them what you were. Koldun. The word still didn’t feel right in your mind, but it was the only lead you had to cling to.

So there you were, walking through the streets of Central in your too-hot bearskin cloak and worn leather boots, trying to find the greatest wellspring of information the West had to offer in order to gain some insight into the nature of your existence.

Only when you got to the First Branch of the National Central Library, you found a pile of rubble instead.

“What?” you gasped, barely audible. “No, no!”

You ran up what was left of the charred stairs and into the wreckage.

All around you were mountains of debris and ash. Wooden shelves reduced to nothing, charred husks of books no longer readable and scattered about. You stumbled around every turn, through every crumbling passage that looked once like it might have been a hallway, searching the skeleton of each room for anything that might look like a single page intact, but there was nothing. It was a ruin. You sank to your knees.

“Dammit!”

An involuntary surge of your power shook the room with your cry—violet waves that knocked loose a few pieces of stone that had not yet fallen. You buried your head in your hands and willed yourself not to sob. There had to be another place to find answers about your abilities. There had to be. You couldn’t have come all this way for nothing.

You were muttering this softly to yourself when another voice interrupted you.

“Um, hello?”

You turned sharply to an unexpected sight. A boy with blonde hair and a long red jacket, and…a massive armored fellow? The voice from before, coming from the blonde boy, spoke again. “Are you alright?”

You quickly rubbed your dampening eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m just fine.”

“We heard a crash,” the armored fellow said in a voice that sounded far more childish than you expected. “Are you sure you’re not injured?”

“Yeah, yeah I was just…throwing some things around. I’m fine. Just frustrated.”

“Did you happen to see who did this?” the blonde boy asked.

You shook your head. “No.”

He narrowed his eyes a little then. “How do we know you didn’t do this?”

“What?” you hissed. “Look, when I got here the place was already a wreck. I didn’t see who or what did this. I swear.”

For a moment it looked as if the boy was going to continue interrogating you, but then his eyes softened. He dropped his shoulders. “Alright, Al.” He turned to the suit of armor. “I guess we’re going to have to figure something else out.”

There was a clanking as the suit of armor, Al, hung his head. “I guess so.”

“Wait,” you said just as the boys were turning to leave. “Do you know if there’s anywhere else in the city that would store knowledge similar to what was in this branch?”

The blonde boy crossed his arms. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

You hesitated for a moment. How were you supposed to explain your predicament to these strangers? “Well…I’m looking for any sort of historical records or myths of people with beyond-human abilities.”

“So you mean like alchemists?”

“Honestly, not quite,” you said hesitantly. “But that wouldn’t be a bad place to start.”

The blonde boy huffed. “Well believe me, when it comes to people with ‘beyond-human abilities,’ alchemists are the only thing you’re going to find. Alchemy isn’t anything supernatural, but it’s the closest thing humans will ever have to augmented abilities.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“Yup. Anything else is just made up.”

The corners of your mouth twitched. Was it pride? Was it spite? The only thing you knew is that you wanted to wipe this guy’s smug smirk right off his face, and you could already feel the power surging to your fingertips.

You hadn’t even called upon it. It knew you.

Raising your hand, you allowed your energy to manifest at your fingertips. Small flickers of purple danced across your skin as you curled and flexed your fingers. It was like passing a coin between your knuckles.

The blonde boy’s mouth flew open, first in shock, then as if he was going to say something, and then settled into shock again. The armored fellow next to him startled.

“Brother…” the metallic voice rang.

“How…how are you doing that?” the blonde asked you.

“They didn’t perform a transmutation or anything!” the armored boy said, partially to his brother but mostly to himself, it seemed.

“I’ve never seen alchemy like that,” the blonde started, “Not even Teacher’s is like that. Seriously, how are you doing that?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” you responded.

“What?”

You pointed at the suit of armor. “What’s his story? I haven’t been in this country for long, but I know that citizens casually going around in full armor isn’t the standard.”

The metal boy shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I, well…uh…”

A resolute look fell onto the blonde boy’s face. He placed a hand on the armored torso of his companion. “Al, it’s okay. We can think of this as just another equivalent exchange, information for information. And besides,” he lowered his voice, “Whatever their power is, it’s not something we’ve seen before. We’d be idiots not to learn more about it. Maybe they can help us.”

You raised an eyebrow, but neither of the boys saw it.

The armored fellow raised his head to catch your gaze again. “Please just don’t freak out.” He brought his hands up to his helmet and pulled. There was nothing underneath.

At first you thought that the boy inside the armor must have been too short to stand within it. But then you took a few steps closer and realized there was no boy in the armor at all.

“Oh,” you said. “Well that’s not something you see every day.”

“And neither are you,” the blonde said. “We told you ours, now you tell us yours.”

You frowned. “Unfortunately there’s not much to tell. It’s why I came here, actually. I’m trying to learn more about the nature of my abilities, because they are definitely not…what you call alchemy.”

“Well, where do you come from?” he asked. “Maybe it has a different name in your country?”

You shook your head. “Alchemy exists in my country. It is something that is taught. I, however, was not taught any of this.” You lowered your gaze to the floor, preparing to say the words that you had only said to so few. “I am from Drachma. The only word they have for me is Koldun. It translates to sorcerer.”

#me looking at the greedling x reader tag: Fine. I'll do it myself #anyway this entire thing is the result of me listening to the 'loving you is a losing game' song and going 'hmmmmm'#'the greedling/reader vibes this gives....painful'#aha #greedling x reader #fma #fullmetal alchemist #greed x reader #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #edward elric #alphonse elric #ling yao #fmab x reader #greedling #fma brotherhood #fmab greed #fma greed

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theclockworkmonk · 3 years

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Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 4

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Read on FFNet

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

*******

Ginny had disappeared, dragged through the kitchen door, before Harry could come up with an excuse to keep her by his side. He sighed and took a long gulp from his glass of firewhiskey, welcoming the burning sensation down his throat. Whatever his family was so wound up about, Harry knew he wasn't in danger here, so he hoped the drink would dull his overactive auror instincts so he could enjoy the evening.

"So...how's the shop?" asked Harry, choosing to focus on George, "any accidental new body parts I can't see?"

"Harry, I'll have you know that we ascribe to only the highest of safety standards at Weasley Wizard Wheezes," said George with his nose in the air, "We strictly adhere to a dual-fault system to make sure a trained wizard is on-site to intervene in case of emergency."

"By that he means that he doesn't try any weird shit on himself without me there to rush him to St. Mungo's," said Ron with his mouth full, wincing as his mother smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden spoon for his language.

Harry's eyes narrowed at his best friend. "So you two are already partners now? Really wasting no time on bailing on me, aren't you?"

"Don't be a prat!" grumbled Ron. "No, like I said, it was just a thought that I had. You know, the kind of thought you would hope you could share with your best mate without him jumping down your throat?"

"Well I think it's a marvelous idea," Mrs. Weasley announced loudly from her place at the stove."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother? You're glad that another one of your sons is considering wasting his life at this silly business, instead of a respectable job at the Ministry?"

"Well, if said Ministry job involves chasing after Death Eaters every day," huffed Mrs. Weasley, "Then I suppose my nerves will take any alternative."

She sent a stern look towards Harry and pointed a threatening spoon at him, making him jump back. "You could do well to learn from Ron in that regard, Harry."

Ron was grinning ear to ear, bouncing in his seat from being the favorite child of the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with Ron doing the responsible thing." she lowered her voice to a grumble so Harry barely heard, "at least someone is."

Harry surveyed the tense atmosphere in the room again.

"Okay, what's got everyone in such a mood?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No one's in a mood!" said Mrs. Weasley quickly.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke up for the first time, and his voice too was less assuring than Harry usually found it. "I'm having trouble with a fascinating new muggle device I've discovered, would you mind giving me a hand out in the shed?"

"Oh. Sure," said Harry easily. Mr. Weasley got up from the table and led Harry outside. They entered the man's infamous tool shed, and Harry noticed new mechanical and electronic devices in various states of disassembly. Mr. Weasley gestured to his work table, where a VCR sat.

"I've heard that muggles use this to see recorded images, like a pensieve, but I've put in those black blocks, and nothing happens."

"Oh, well," said Harry, trying not to laugh, "You need to attach it to a television. It can't just work on its—"

He was interrupted by the door opening again, and Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley entering the shed which he always knew her to avoid, wanting nothing to do with her husband's "nonsense" tinkering.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" Mr. Weasley asked crossly, "We agreed we wouldn't. The boys—"

"I told them I was getting apples from the orchard," his wife said dismissively. She crossed the shed and looked beseechingly at a very surprised Harry.

"Harry, dear, you know how we think of you as a part of this family. We've been wanting to say….we hope that you don't think that has changed because of you and Ginny's relationship. We know young men have trepidation about 'the girlfriend's parents,' but you're not just our daughter's boyfriend to us, you're one of our own."

Harry was as touched as he was confused. "Th-Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"And one reason we had no objection to you and Ginny dating," Mr. Weasley continued, "is that we trust you to always do right by Ginny. To always do what's best for her."

Harry looked back and forth between them, their expressions pointed and expecting.

"Well — ehem — I'll remember that. I promise to never do anything to hurt her." He meant it.

There was another moment of silence before Mrs. Weasley spoke up again.

"Sooooo…." she prompted. "We just want you to be aware that….should you decide to propose…you wouldn't have to worry—"

"What!?" Harry's heart leapt into his throat and he knew his face had turned scarlet. "Oh, no no," he said, putting his hands up. "I'm glad to have your blessing, but we're not ready to think about that yet."

Harry rubbed his neck nervously. It was only a half-lie. In truth, Harry was ready to think about that. He thought about proposing to Ginny damn near every day, in fact. But he was fairly certain that Ginny was still years away from being ready. She was fiercely proud of her independence and she was still dealing with the papers referring to her as "Harry Potter's girlfriend" before "star Harpies Chaser," even without marriage.

Mr. Weasley sighed in what seemed like disappointment and Mrs. Weasley's mouth thinned and her expression turned sour.

"Well...the roast should be done, we should all head back inside."

The Weasleys led the way out of the shed and Harry cautiously followed them. When they arrived back in the kitchen, Harry saw Bill shoot his father a stern, questioning look, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Weasley shake his head grimly, and Bill and Charlie gave Harry a glare that would make Mad-Eye Moody quake in his boots.

Harry froze and all the breath left his body. It suddenly all made sense. He was the thing that the Weasleys were so on edge about. Ginny's parents inquiring about him marrying her.

They had somehow found out that he and Ginny were living together.

Harry suddenly felt like a sheep in a cage with several wolves.

"Hey mum," said Charlie, "while you were outside, Aunt Muriel floo-called and said that the gnomes are in her attic again. Apparently she's upset at the way dad tried to take care of it last time."

"Is she sure it's actually the gnomes, or is it the doxies nesting in her hair?" Mr. Weasley grumbled as his wife shooed him into their sitting room and through their fireplace. Harry's heart was thudding in his chest as the few Weasleys he could count on to not murder him due to this secret getting out abandoned him with the curse breaker, dragon tamer, master prankster, and Ministry power-broker.

Several murderous eyes turned towards Harry.

"Look...er…" Harry stammered. "I really thought that, after everything, we had all moved past the whole 'overprotective big brothers' routine."

"Yeah, we thought we had too," said Charlie darkly, "but mum and dad's diplomatic approach clearly didn't work, so the gloves are off. I guess we never figured that the savior of the bloody wizarding world would do this to our sister."

George snorted, still finding this whole thing quite amusing. "Sorry, do this to her? Harry's the real victim here. Ginny's a nightmare already, can you imagine what living with her will be like now?"

"What the hell are you lot talking about?" Ron cut in, looking around the room in confusion.

"I think your brothers have become aware of me and Ginny's...status change," said Harry.

"Oh, that is just so typical!" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and adopting her lecturing pose. "Ginny is perfectly capable of handling her own life and she doesn't need a bunch of chest-beating men to defend an outdated notion of her 'honour!' I still can't believe how sexist magical society can be sometimes."

"Yes, Hermione, our world is sexist, whether we like it or not" said Bill, not backing down. "You can pontificate all you want about how it's not right, or a double standard, but once the public finds out about this — and sooner or later, they will," he shot another glare at Harry, as if he wrote to the papers about it himself, "then it will change how people see her. And since she's a Quidditch star, the way people see her matters."

"Yup, can see the headlines now," George sighed dramatically, "the ambitious social climber Ginevra Weasley, raised in a pauper's home, so she used her feminine wiles to land herself this sweet gig."

"Look, ultimately, it's none of our business — no, I'm serious!" Ron finished in response to his brothers' looks of betrayal. "Look, Bill, Charlie, you two were only around when Ginny was a little girl. You didn't go to school with her. You never saw first-hand what happens when you try to meddle in her life to defend her virtue, trust me." He shivered a bit, as he remembered the traumatic memory.

"I don't even understand why we have to meddle," said Percy, "I just don't understand your logic, Harry. There's no question you would be willing to throw yourself into mortal danger all over again to protect Ginny. What you're hesitating to do is comparatively easy."

"His reasons don't matter, he should have thought of that earlier," said Charlie, pointing a threatening finger at Harry. "I don't care if this makes me a hypocrite, but you're going to do the right thing and—"

Ginny suddenly burst into the room, causing every word to fall silent. Harry knew that Ginny always hated it when people were obviously talking about her, but as he started towards her, he was surprised when he saw that her eyes were watery with tears. Ignoring all of the eyes on her, she ran straight towards Hermione, throwing her arms around her friend.

"Erm, is something wrong?" asked Hermione. She threw a questioning look to Fleur as she followed Ginny into the kitchen, but the young mother looked just as confused as anyone as she took Victoire back from Bill.

Instead of answering Hermione's question, Ginny withdrew from the hug and smacked Ron upside the head.

"Ah! What the shit!" Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ronald, language!" scolded Mrs. Weasley, re-entering the kitchen along with her husband, making the room quite crowded.

"That's your main concern?" asked Ron, "Not the unwarranted physical assault?"

"It's not unwarranted, it's for being a stupid, forgetful git!" barked Ginny

She walked up to Harry and took his glass of firewhiskey, still mostly intact.

"I need this more than you," she informed him, and began to raise the glass to her lips.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

Mrs. Weasley's ear-piercing shriek caused everyone in the room to wince, and Ginny momentarily jumped behind Harry for protection. "Merlin's balls, WHAT!?"

"Molly…" Mr. Weasley cautioned.

"DO NOT 'MOLLY' ME, ARTHUR!" his wife shouted back. She had a crazed look in her eye and she was pulling at her hair. She rounded on Harry and Ginny.

"We have tried to be respectful, but you two are clearly not ready for this kind of responsibility! I am so disappointed in you both for not taking this more seriously! You haven't even given a thought to how this will affect your careers!"

"Our careers?" asked Harry, confused. "How would that possibly—"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had gotten it completely wrong about what the Weasleys were talking about. The talk about responsibility, their careers, affects to Ginny's public image.

Somehow, the family had gotten word about the "honour" bestowed upon Harry by the Wizengamot, and all the implications that had for his and Ginny's future together. He supposed it wasn't too surprising that Arthur or Percy had heard about it through their Ministry connections.

He looked sideways at Ginny, and from one look he knew that she had come to the same realization. Both their faces split into wide grins as relief flooded through them that all of this drama was over something so silly. Apparently, the family somehow had the absurd idea that Harry would keep the title and actually take the status, power, and responsibilities being offered to him.

Harry and Ginny cracked up into delirious laughter, leaning on each other for support, which did nothing to help the livid look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

"Oh Merlin's beard, is that what has you all concerned? Don't worry about that," laughed Harry, waving one hand dismissively and wrapping the other around Ginny's shoulder.

"I mean, come on, we're obviously not keeping it!"

There was a moment of silence, then the entire kitchen exploded.

#hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hinny #romione #hinny ficfest #hinny fanfic #hinny fanfiction #ao3 link #harry potter #hp #harry x ginny #ron x hermione #ginny weasley #weasley family #farce #comedy #ron weasley #hermione granger

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

I’ll Handle This (12)

In Which Lila Learns about Skyrim

Ao3 | FF.net

Sorry for taking a bit with this chapter. It isn’t even very long. But I was in the hospital recovering from surgery. We’re coming up close to the end of the story, but there’s maybe two more chapters after this.

(Psst this chapter has hints to the next story I’ll publish after this one...as long as my ideas don’t change lol)

Lila was fired. It was immediate when they found out. Everyone sat in class, the lecture normal and lulling everyone into a soft state of sedation.

Then Lila screamed. The scream was the worst thing Marinette had ever heard. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her in horror.

She started bawling. Huge gasping sobs of someone who’d been shot.

“Lila?!” Miss Bustier gasped in shock and concern. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bustier!” She wailed. “I just wanted to peek at my email and—and—Mr. Agreste fired me!”

Plagg had to bite his tongue. He knew she was going to twist this somehow, but her sobbing was so beautiful to see.

“Oh Lila, I’m so sorry. It hurts a lot to lose a job. Especially when they don’t tell you to your face. That’s no fair.”

“He-he-he said that Marinette told him that I was making Adrien uncomfortable! She got me fired!”

Gasps, all around.

“What?!” Barked Marinette. “I had nothing to do with this!” Not exactly the truth...

“But that’s what Mr. Agreste said!”

Plagg stood, placing his foot on the seat, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing with the motion. He put his cowboy hat back on (since Mrs. Bustier had asked him to remove it for violating dress code...again.) “well now. Sounds like we got ourselves in a gosh darn pickle.”

Nino snorted.

“Adrien! You never said I made you uncomfortable! Marinette must have lied to your father!”

He flicked the rim of his hat. “Now slow your roll there, Buckeroo. I know my old man, and even if Marinette was mentioned in his email, it’s likely that he just wanted to place the blame on someone else.”

Yes, throw the old man under the bus. He still deserves it, even with whole hearted apologies.

“But you know, I do feel awfully bad for you, Lila. Losing yer job and all. How’s about I make it up to ya? I’ll come sit by you for a while. Keep ya company and cheer you up. Cain’t have gettin’ all akumatized up in here, you reckon?”

Not that Lila getting akumatized was even a concern anymore. But the world wouldn’t know about Hawkmoth’s surrender until Emilie’s fate was resolved. Adrien’s family deserved that much at least.

“Oh Adrien!” Lila cried. “You really are such a wonderful friend. But I couldn’t bear to make you move on my behalf. You need to focus on your work.”

“A cowboy needs to be exceptional at multitasking. That is, as long as Mrs. Brassiere is okay with it.”

Miss Bustier pinched the bridge of her nose. Usually, she was a very calm and level-headed teacher, compassionate and understanding. But Adrien’s antics were stressing her out massively. “Yes, Adrien, I suppose it’s fine if you move to—what did you call me?”

“Much obliged, Madam. If’en you’ll excuse me...”

Marinette watched with fascination as Plagg gathered up his materials and moved to the back of the class to sit next to Lila. Then she glanced in her purse, where Tikki and Adrien were hanging out. They both shrugged.

Due to the retirement of Hawkmoth, Adrien was now allowed to spend time away from the Miraculous without consequence. Plagg assured him that once the final condition was met, no matter where he was, his soul would return to his body.

So he spent the school day with Tikki, and the evenings with Marinette. It was a sweet deal, and it really gave Adrien the time to bond with her without school or akumas in the way.

He had even spent the night with her the night before, curled up next to her on her pillow, and purring every time Marinette’s hand glanced his fur.

Nino leaned back in his seat. “Do you know what he’s up to this time?”

“No idea...but I am eager to see where this goes.”

Nino shook his head with a shrug. Two nights ago, when Plagg was arrested, Nino gathered all the money in his savings and went down to the jail to bail him out.

Only to find out he was already let go.

So he went back home, and called Adrien’s phone relentlessly, hoping for an answer.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Chat Noir returned and explained that he was going home now, thanks for having him, he had to watch the mansion because his sort of repentant father was going to Tibet to resurrect his dead wife.

Nino gave up on logic and understanding, and just made sure Plagg had everything he had brought.

Now he would wait until the whole situation blew over, and hopefully Adrien himself, in his own body, would explain it all to him. Plagg seemed to oversimplify everything to the point it became vague.

Marinette, on the other hand, was very curious to see where this was all going. After all, Adrien’s previous tactic of being nice to Lila hadn’t worked. So what was Plagg hoping to gain from the same approach?

Wrassle her with his randomly appointed cowboy charm?

In science, two classes later, Plagg had elected to sit next to Lila still, despite her protests.

Marinette was close enough now to hear what Plagg’s master plan was.

“So there’s like several types of Mer, right? But not like mermaids. This has nothing to do with mermaids. These are mostly elves, but not all. So there’s Dunmer, right? Those are dark elves. And Bosmer, wood elves, and Altmer, high elves. The Falmer are snow elves, but they’re all twisted and savage, because of the Dwemer, which are dwarves!”

Marinette snorted a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, is something funny?”

“No ma’am, I had a tickle in my sinuses.”

“Ah, I see. Anyways, as I was saying...”

Lila always sat in the back of the class, despite her many alleged disabilities. This was probably to get away with the fact that she rarely paid attention during class.

It was the ideal place for Plagg to harass her and not get caught.

Poetry in motion.

“So you get to pick what race you want to be, but you’re always the Dragonborn. Despite the description, you don’t look any different. So a Dragonborn is someone that can devour the souls of dragons so they don’t get resurrected by Alduin. Let me back up, Alduin is an evil dragon that used to rule the world, and he’s resurrecting dragons so he can take over. There’s another dragon though, named Paarthanax, and he’s a good guy. He helps out the Tongues on the Throat of the World. Or the greybeards. Some call them Tongues, but in the game they’re called Graybeards. And the tongues are the monks that teach you to shout. And different shouts teach you different things, right? The dragonborn and the tongues are the only ones that are supposed to know how to shout, but there’s this other dude named Ulfric Stormcloak, and he knows Unrelenting Force, that’s the Fus Ro Da shout I was talking about earlier? He used it to kill high king Torygg to start a war. Oh yeah, so there’s nine holds with Jarls, right—“

The day ended, and Lila stood quickly. “Well Adrien, thank you so much for keeping me company today. I’m feeling a lot better. You can move back up to your old spot tomorrow.”

“Well, you shore are welcome, Pardner. But sittin here in the back has been mighty nice. I think I’ll stay! You don’t mind, do ya? It’s awfully fun to have you as company!”

Lila’s eye twitched, but she was aware that most of the class was watching them. “Yeah. That’d be...great.”

“Darn tootin’! Well, you look like you’re in a rush, don’t want to hold you up!”

“See you tomorrow!” She chirped, before hurrying from the room. As she passed Marinette, a dark look came over her face. The look of someone seething with rage and hatred, but trying to hide it.

Marinette would have been scared, if Lila hadn’t been dealing with Plagg instead.

Marinette went home, Tikki and Adrien talking to her from her collar.

“I don’t know. Plagg was successful with the first two tasks, but I don’t know how he’s going to turn Lila over to the good side.” Marinette mused.

“I don’t know if he has to. The condition is to just get her to leave me alone. He said he was doing some Pavlovian Jedi mind trick on her.”

“Well, I sure hope it works. Speaking of, where is Plagg?”

Adrien’s ears flicked. “He left pretty suddenly after class. I didn’t see him go. Hopefully, he went back to the mansion.”

“Do you want me to call him?”

“No, I trust him. He’s got things under control.”

“Glad to hear it! Ready for snack time?”

“Oh heck yes!”

—

Lila had to actively stop herself from stomping all the way home. Frustration rolled off of her in waves, and she mildly wondered why she hadn’t been akumatized yet.

Adrien Agreste was the most annoying person she had ever met. And oblivious too! He never picked up on any of her subtle hints to get him to shut up! She really didn’t want to be rude, because his friendship looked great on her, but wow. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. No wonder Gabriel was so protective of him. If he wasn’t cute...his personality was like a wet sock.

And he was weird. Weird mannerisms, weird speech pattern, just weird. Hopefully she could either get used to it, or Adrien would get a clue to stop being so obnoxious.

Finally, she reached her apartment.

“Home mom!” She called.

There was laughter in the kitchen. Her mother had a guest. While not uncommon, there was just a hint of dread that hung in the air.

Lila walked to the kitchen, only to see Adrien sitting at the table, talking to her mother! How?! How did he beat her here?! How did he know where she lived?! What the hell was he doing?!

“Adrien?” Lila gawked.

He rubbed his head awkwardly. “Sorry for popping in uninvited. I just...I was worried about you! You’ve been akumatized twice, and I didn’t want it to happen again since you were fired.”

Lila’s face paled as her mother gave her a stern look.

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Missy. I didn’t know you were modeling. And you never told me about being akumatized!”

Adrien gasped. “Oh no! She didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that was a secret! I won’t say anymore!”

“Any more?” Mrs. Rossi asked. “There’s more?”

“Adrien.” Lila bit, in warning.

“Well...I mean, you knew she was meeting with my father right? Something about being his muse?”

Mrs. Rossi looked horrified. “What! You were talking to a grown adult man?! Were these visits supervised?!”

Lila opened her mouth to answer, but Plagg beat her to it. “I don’t think so. Father is a very private person.”

“Lila Giselle Rossi! You are sooo grounded! No offense to your father, Adrien, but meeting up with an adult man, unsupervised? And to what, be his muse? What does that even mean? It sounds gross!”

“I swear nothing happened! He just wanted my opinion-”

“On what? What reason would he have to ask a 14 year old’s opinion?”

Plagg winced and looked at Lila. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I came here to help, but...”

Lila shook with rage. Her mother was a complete pushover and believed everything she said. Now Adrien had sewn the seeds of distrust in her and she wouldn’t get away with any white lies ever again.

“You’re dead,” She mouthed at Plagg.

“Adrien, thank you for coming here and telling me all of this. I’m very grateful. But I think it’s best if you head home now. Lila has some chores to do.”

“I understand, Madam Rossi. Again, I’m really sorry...I just wanted to help.”

“Oh don’t worry, you did. This is for Lila’s own good.”

He sheepishly looked to her. “See you tomorrow?”

Her eye twitched. “Yeah.”

And Plagg swiftly walked from the apartment, concealing his evil laughter until he got to the door.

—

The next day at school, Marinette, along with Tikki and Adrien in her bag, arrived at school just a few minutes before the bell rang.

Plagg was sitting at the front of the room, wearing a Pikachu onesie, and looking absolutely devastated. Nino sat next to him and had a hand over his face, doing his best to conceal whatever emotion he had.

Everyone else in the room was avoiding them like they had the plague.

Alya spotted her and came quickly, looping an arm through hers and escorting them out into the hall. “Girl, big news. I know you love Adrien, so this is going to be a blow. But here’s the thing...Lila told us this morning that Adrien came to her house yesterday and told her mom about her modeling job. Apparently, her mom didn’t want her working, and got upset that Lila lied. Adrien’s been insisting that it wasn’t on purpose, but everyone is kind of pissed at him anyway.”

Marinette said nothing, but bit her lip. She knew that this absolutely was on purpose.

“I’ll leave your actions up to you, but people are pretty mad at Adrien. Just letting you know.”

“Who’s side are you taking?”

Alya scoffed. “None. I’m staying out of this. Both people are in the right. Obviously Sunshine just wanted to prevent her from being akumatized. He was with her all day yesterday. It’s admirable, really.”

“It is.” Marinette said with a smile. Though she was smiling for a completely different reason. There were no akumatizations anymore. Everyone was safe now.

“We better get back in there, class will start soon.”

So they returned. Miss Bustier was in, and ready to begin the lesson.

Then Plagg raised his hand.

“Yes Adrien?”

“Before we start class, I want to say something.”

“Go ahead, Adrien. The floor is yours.”

He stood, and looked to Lila in the back of the room. “Lila, I know I apologized yesterday, but I’m really really sorry about outing you to your mom. I had no idea she didn’t know about your rendezvous with my father. I was just really scared that you were going to become akumatized, and I didn’t want that to happen. My friends are all important to me, and losing you would be like ripping out a piece of my heart. Could you ever forgive me?”

Marinette glanced Nino’s face, which twitched to hide a smile. Then she looked at Lila, who looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists.

After many breathless minutes, Lila smiled slightly. “I understand, Adrien. Of course you’re still my friend. I treasure you too! I’m sorry I got so mad.”

“Hugs?” Plagg raised his arms.

Lila could pretend to be happy and calm, but the paling of her skin could not be hidden. “Hugs!”

Plagg brought her in for a squeeze, and the class ‘aww’ed at their make up.

Except Nino, who let out the tiniest snort.

Marinette flicked open her purse to look at Adrien. He mimed a gagging gesture back.

And then Plagg took those last couple steps and joined Lila on her bench. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke up and said, “hey, maybe you should give her some space anyway.”

They just all let poor, socially awkward Adrien push boundaries and take his seat. Because he had apologized so earnestly for trying to help. And she had forgiven him. So everything was fine now.

Right?

As the lesson started, Marinette paid attention to the teacher. But occasionally, she’d hear the faintest whispers of Adrien’s voice (Plagg’s voice now).

“...so it’s commonly believed that the Nord’s came from Atmora with Ysgramor, but they believe that they settled Skyrim, so they’re kind of racist to everyone else. But also, the Empire came in out of nowhere and tried to upheave their way of life, and even told them which Gods they were allowed to worship. High King Torygg was playing cordial with the Aldmeri Dominion, and some of the other Jarl’s didn’t like that. So Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Whiterun shouted him to death. Just like the Dragonborn can. Though it’s never explained why he knows how to do this. So this started a whole civil war…”

Marinette chanced a glance behind her, and noticed that Lila had her head in her hands, and she looked absolutely miserable.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrien and plagg #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #identity reveal #chat noir #ladybug #fanfiction #I'll Handle This

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leesielex · 3 years

Text

Alright y’all. Posting another little snippet from my Fanfic. Big shout out to the wonderful @jilliebaby for volunteering her time to beta this idea that has been rolling around my head for years until I finally got the spine to put it to paper… or Google docs, ya know. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3: Jon Snow (The Bastard of Winterfell)

The Godswood was Jon Snow’s favorite place. Peaceful and secluded, the Godswood was rarely populated, and Jon swore he felt the presence of the Old Gods.

The Godswood was located between the North Gate and the Hunter’s Gate of Winterfell. One of the oldest keeps in all of Westeros built by Bran the Builder, who founded House Stark. The Starks were an ancient house of the First Men and still held Winterfell thousands of years later. His family lived in the Great Keep, which had a covered bridge that led to the Armory. The Armory was also located next to the Godswood, as was the Glass Gardens. In the Glass Gardens, they were able to heat the garden using the hot springs that resided underneath Winterfell. The hot springs also kept all the chambers warm all through winter. The library, the bell tower, the Maester’s turret, and the Kennels were all near Hunter’s gate. The stable was located between the Hunter’s Gate and the South Gate, while the Smithy, Great Hall, and the Sept (his father had built for his wife) were next to the South Gate. The First Keep, the Broken Tower, the Guards Hall, were located just north of the East Gate. Winterfell was considered quite an impressive keep, in size, stature, and age.

The snow crunched beneath his boots as he approached the weirwood tree. The white bark with crimson leaves that looked like blood flowing in the wind fascinated him. Although the face carved by the Children of the Forest (That’s who Old Nan had told him carved the faces at least) made him feel sad; the heavy eyes and thick red sap looked like the tree was crying tears of blood.

Suddenly Jon was brought out of his trance by a thud to the back of his head, followed by a splat of cold and wet. It took him a moment to realize he had been struck by a snowball thrown by his brother Robb. Well, half brother, as Lady Stark loved to point out. It wasn't until recently that Jon truly understood her hatred for him. He was only seven namedays, born at the end of Robert’s Rebellion while his father was gone at war. Jon saw the kind and caring, attentive mother Lady Catelyn Stark was to his brother and sisters. He had always known she did not love him the way she loved Robb. Robb was only a few moons older than Jon, and Catelynn doted upon him, always praising him for his knowledge of history, or his skill with a sword. Even though Jon bested Robb in many areas, he only ever got cold stares, pursed lips, ignored and, yesterday morning, he received a lot worse.

He and Robb were playing, as they did most days after lessons with Maester Luwin. Robb was pretending to be the last King of Winter, Torrhen Stark, the king who kneeled to save his people. And Jon was pretending to be Aegon Targaryen, the Targaryen King who conquered Westeros and united the Seven Kingdoms on dragonback; starting a dynasty that would last hundreds of years.

The two boys often pretended they were Targaryen conquerors flying on dragons. Sometimes Robb would pretend to be one of their ancestors from House Stark, while Jon was a wilding King Beyond the Wall, or a Targeryen. However, Robb would never let Jon be a famous Stark King. Finally, Jon had enough and told Robb so. It was his turn to be the Lord of Winterfell; a King of Winter. It was then that Jon found out why his last name was Snow and why Lady Stark looked at him with such distaste.

Robb turned to him and told him frankly, "You can never be a Stark. You can never be Lord of Winterfell or a King of Winter. You are a Snow, a bastard". This hurt Jon unlike anything he had ever felt. The air was sucked from his lungs. This coming from Robb, the one person who never treated him differently, who always made him feel part of their family. The hurt turned to fear, and then anger. His face felt hot, his eyes burned with tears, and he lunged at his red-headed brother.

"Take it back! Take it back! Say I am Lord of Winterfell! I am the King of Winter!!" Jon exclaimed as he wrestled Robb to the ground in the cold summer snow.

"What is going on here?" The shrill shriek of Lady Stark, with a red face and hands resting on her barely round stomach, broke through their tussling. She ran to Robb’s side. The look she gave Jon as she pushed him aside sent a chill down his spine, and he knew he was in trouble. "Go to your room, bastard, and stay there until Lord Stark says otherwise."

Jon could hear Robb arguing with Lady Stark. “Mother, it was nothing. We were just playing.” Robb’s guilt for having hurt his brother and best friend, and seeing the malice in his mother’s face, was evident in his voice.

“He is a wicked boy, born of sin and greed. It is in his nature as a bastard. You are too kind and good-hearted to see. That boy must learn his place,” Lady Catelyn sneered, while smoothing out Robb’s hair and looking him over to see if Jon had hurt him.

Jon ran as fast as he could to his room, not even stopping when he almost ran straight into his father and his sisters. "Jon! Jon! What happened?" His father, Eddard Stark, though most referred to him as Ned, called from behind him. Jon couldn't, no wouldn't, let anyone see him upset like this.

His father was a great man, respected by all, especially in the North --The Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North. Eddard towered over them all, had a long face, dark hair and gray eyes, all well-known Stark traits. He dressed as the hardened warrior he was, in boiled leathers and a large fur cloak, instead of the pompous grandeur popular with the southern lords.

Arya, his youngest sister, was a wee little thing, two namedays old but already Jon’s favorite. She was always on the go and getting into everything. Her mother tried to clothe her in elegant southern dresses. But somehow, before their midday meal, Arya’s dress would have another new rip and she would be covered in dirt, hair wild and unkempt, despite Lady Stark’s constant efforts.

Arya was also the only one who looked like Jon, with the long Stark face, dark raven hair, and grey eyes. Robb and Sansa both looked like their mother, with their Tully red hair and blue eyes. If you didn't know them, you never would have guessed they were Starks.

Sansa was a copy of her Lady Mother, and she was already a perfect lady. Sansa loved wearing elegant dresses and adorning her hair in the intricate braids and bejeweled updos of the south. Already acquiring quite the collection of fancy hairpins. Sansa also hated getting dirty, even at just four namedays. She already referred to Jon as her half-brother. Whenever he was around she turned her nose up as if he turned the air sour, just like her Lady Mother did.

Robb had always been his best friend. He had never made Jon feel left out. Quite the opposite. Robb seemed to make it a point to make sure Jon always was included. Until today that is.

Jon threw his door open and slammed it shut, running to throw himself on his bed. He had been holding back tears and as he collapsed onto his lumpy bed, in his tiny room, he finally let them flow. He kicked and thrashed and screamed into the pillow. Jon felt an anger burning inside him he hadn't felt before. It wasn't fair. All he had ever wanted was a mother. He had to watch as his siblings got hugs and kisses, and see they were truly loved, while he knew he would never have that.

He let it all out. All the pain and resentment and fear that plagued him from watching his siblings receive so freely the love he wished he knew. A love he knew only a mother could provide. He wasn't sure how long he remained like that, sprawled on the bed, wet from his tears, but he finally started to calm as his eyes became heavy, drifting into sleep.

Jon awoke with a start as he felt cool, damp air surround him. The dank smell and the hard earth underneath him, a severe contrast to his lumpy but soft bed. It was unnerving and disorienting. As he sat up, he saw he was in front of a woman's statue in the crypts beneath Winterfell’s keep. The crypts winded and twisted well below the great keeps surface in underground tunnels. One could easily get lost, or worse, trapped in a long forgotten tomb, as many areas were in disarray and falling apart after years of disuse and abandonment.

A single drop of dew dripped from the statue’s eye, giving her the appearance she was crying. The woman’s outstretched stone hand seemed to reach for him. A woman he had never met, yet he remembered it to be Lyanna Stark, the only woman in the crypts among the past Kings of Winter and Lords of Winterfell. Lyanna was his father's beloved sister and Jon’s aunt. A woman the realm bled to save after she was kidnapped by the mad Targaryen Crown Prince, Rhaegar. Defiled and stolen in the night, disappeared without a trace. Her oldest brother, Brandon Stark, and her father, Rickard Stark, bravely went to King's Landing to demand her safe return. Tragically, they all paid with their lives. The mad King Aerys burned his grandfather with wildfire, a horrid green concoction created by pyromancers and magic that burns hotter and longer than normal fire. Brandon Stark was forced to watch his own father burnt alive, while attached to a strangulation device. His sword was left just out of reach. He died fighting to reach the sword to try to save his father. Thus began the rebellion, when the Mad King then called for the heads of Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, Robert Barratheon, Lord of Storm's End, and his own Father, Eddard Stark. His father, hitherto was a rarely thought of second son, suddenly found himself thrown into the position of Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North.

Before Jon could think further on the sorrowful woman's tragic end, a tale his father never spoke of, and few truly knew of, a crow landed on the statue’s shoulder. The crow began to caw at him. "Wolf. Wolf," the black bird squawked, cocking his feathery head to the side. "Dragon. Dragon." Jon stood up and began to back away as the crow took off suddenly, flying straight at him. "King! King," He cawed as Jon sprinted towards the opening of the crypt. Before he could reach the door he heard a loud banging sound and the booming voice of his father.

"Jon! Jon! Unlock this door this instant!" The pounding continued. Jon shot up with a start, realizing it must have only been a dream. He was in his bed, and the banging sound was Ned was trying to open the door trying to enter his chambers. Ned continued to frantically knock, and push and pull on the door. Jon fell from his bed and clambered to the door to let him in.

"Why was your door locked and why did it take so long for you to open it?" Ned inquired with a stern and strong voice that made Jon flinch.

"I apologize, Lord Stark. I had fallen asleep and was lost in a dream," Jon replied, with much more manners and maturity for a boy still so young. His father instantly relaxed, though he was saddened at the formality used.

"When we are alone Jon, you may call me ‘Father.’ You know this," Ned replied with a heavy heart. "I came to speak to you about what happened earlier in the Godswood. Lady Stark is none too pleased with your behavior."

Jon's face fell. He knew he let his anger get the best of him. He and Robb often wrestled but never had they gotten into a true physical altercation before today.

"I apologize, f-father. I was wrong to treat Robb so," Jon said with a quiver, his eyes turning glassy as he remembered all that had transpired. "Why does Lady Stark hate me so? Why does she call me that word? Bastard?" He had heard it before but all he really knew of its meaning was that he, Jon, must be bad and evil, and that Catelyn was not his mother.

Lord Stark recoiled at the bluntness of Jon's questions, feeling the heartbreak behind his son's words. He had hoped Catelynn would come to at least tolerate Jon, but he knew to admonish her too harshly was unfair after he had dishonored her. Then asked her to raise a son that wasn't hers. A son that was a symbol and reminder of her husband’s infidelity that constantly plagued his Lady wife. Deep in thought, Ned walked over to Jon's meager bed, trying to find the right words. Jon looked on as his belly coiled and rolled.

"Jon, you are my son. The blood of the Kings of Winter runs through your veins the same as it does Robb’s and mine. Same as all your siblings. I apologize for the way Lady Stark spoke to you, but you must never let your anger get the best of you as you did today. Regardless of the circumstances of our birth, we can always strive to do the right thing, learn from our mistakes, and do our duty, while upholding our honor. It is not easy to have the burden of a strong house name upon your shoulders, it is even more difficult to have the name Snow upon your shoulders. Winter is Coming, and we must stick together to survive. When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies and the pack survives."

Jon could feel the weight of all Ned had laid at his feet, knowing this was always his burden to bear but having been blissfully unaware due to his youth. Jon still was unsure of what it all meant, but it weighed him down all the same. As if a physical obstacle was upon him, he felt his shoulders slump.

"Where is my mother, Father? Does she love me?" Jon had asked a time or two before but his father had never answered his questions, instead he always changed the subject. Jon could see this time would not be different by the way his Father's face fell further into sadness.

"Your mother loved you very much. I am sorry, my boy, she is dead." Ned spoke simply, barely above a whisper, as if afraid to say the words aloud. Jon cannot help the tears from falling, no matter how much he wills them to cease.

That was almost 24 hours ago, now Jon is back in the Godswood with Robb. His little belly rumbled as loudly as a wolf snarls; for Lady Stark had withheld his food whenever she could, and over-salted it when she was forced to accept his presence at dinner.

"Here Jon, I snuck you some cake from the kitchen." Jon knew this was Robb’s attempt at an apology. Jon thought about remaining stubborn, but as his stomach gave another rumble and his father's warnings that winter was coming echoed in his head, he decided to accept Robb’s offering. For as his father said, “the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Goof Week: Goof Troop: Forever Goof Review (Everything’s Coming Up Goofy, Good Neighbor Goof, Gotta Be Gettin Goofy) (Commission for WeirdKev27)

Yahhahhooooeeeey all you happy people! WELCOME TO GOOF WEEK! Now normally when a character who got their start in theatrical shorts has a birthday, I do a marathon of them. I have since last year with Donald and it’s one of my favorite things: it allows me to explore Disney’s rich history of them I was largely unaware of till Disney+, and allows me to revisit the shorts I grew up with in the case of The Looney Tunes or Tom and Jerry while discovering new favorites. SO naturally with Goofy’s birthday in two days I intended to do the same for him, especially since I’d covered Donald and Mickey the same way.

But fate had other ideas. Not thinking about this tradition, Kev, my patreon, friend and the guy who commissions a LOT of reviews from me ($5 an episode if your curious and I WILL make room on the schedule so your commission gets done as soon as possible), suggested reviewing the Goof Troop pilot movie Forever Goofy, later split into the episode Everything’s Coming Up Goofy and Good Neighbor. I loved the idea since I genuinely loved Goof Troop, and decided to do both that week.

It’s then I got a great idea.. why limit myself to JUST doing two things? I hit my 15 dollar patreon stretch goal, so a review of the Goofy Movie was on the Horizon anyway, and for it’s anniversary year Kev has been commissioning House of Mouse Episodes, so it wouldn’t be THAT much of an ask (and it wasn’t) to simply randomly select from a pool of Goofy-Centric episodes instead of all the episodes.

Thus GOOF WEEK was born, and Kev once again proved vital to all this by suggesting the special Sports Goof from the 80′s. I’d like to give him special thanks as outside of the Shorts Special, which as a patreon he still got to pick one and if you’d like to pick one for Donald’s special, sign on up even one dollar patreons get the honor. , this week is either entirely paid for by him or in the case of A Goofy Movie, is partly thanks to him. I wouldn’t be able to do NEARLY as many reviews nor make money off this without you bud, so thank you.

So naturally given the idea to do this two parter gave me the idea for this week and that Goofy Movie makes a logical finale for said week, it only made sense to start the week with Goof Troop. Bop-dop-da-da-do-bop, YEAH.

Goof Troop is the first Disney Afternoon show I ever watched and the only one I watched when I was younger, as Disney Channel used to play it ocasinally when I was younger and Toon Disney would do the same and I even got to Marthoon it when Disney XD did a weekend marathon. Given it starred my faviorite Disney Character, Donald hadn’t worked his way up to tying with him quite yet, I loved what I could grab of it. And as an adult.. it still holds up. It has problems i’ll get into, but it is a real good time so I was exastic to get an excuse to watch some of it and much like with Darkwing wish I had sooner.

Before I can h-h-h-hit it though, I have to talk about the series history. I ALMOST didn’t find anything: much like the other Disney Afternoon shows there really wasn’t much on the Disney wiki nor wikipedia, google turned up nothing... it wasn’t till I went to the Tv Tropes Trivia Page for the series, where i’d remembered reading about some early versions of the show, that I hit gold: A two part behind the scenes blog post by series co-creator Michael Peraza. You can find part one HERE and part two HERE. It’s a short but fascinating read.

Speaking of fascenating Peraza himself is someone i’d never heard of till reading this article but damn if he isn’t a legend. Seriously the guy’s career is as an unsung hero, starting work under the Legendary Nine Old Men, and working on some of disney’s greatest films: The Great Mouse Detective, Aladdin, The LIttle Mermaid, and Beauty and the Beast, along with live action cult classics Tron and Return to Oz via concept art. And concept art is where he’d hit his stride: he did conceptual work for all the big Disney Afternoon shows apart from Gargoyles, being one of the key guys in the early days of Disney Television animation. He didn’t stop at just designing things either as he worked as Art Director for Ducktales, The Proud Family and of course given how vital he was to it’s creation, Goof Troop, and to this days gives lectures with his wife to aspiring animators. He even did some guest work for the 2017 Ducktales Episode “Treasure of the Found Lamp!”. So yeah dude’s awesome

So how did he come to be a key part of this show’s creation? Well he’d just finished up some concept work on some other Disney Afternoon shows, and being a company man was glad to report to the Goof Troop..ers to help as the show was having trouble getting off the ground. The reason for this was the creative exec, who Peraza didn’t name out of kindness as the guy wasn’t a BAD person.. just a clueless one, this being his first job in film and tv. As such rather than work hard to develop around goofy or focus on his strengths the kid threw out one concept after another: The series got it’s name from a pitch that had Goofy as a scoutmaster, something I was glad to finally know. To quote Peraza

“ Although while I was doodling versions of the show that were destined to never see the light of the TV screen, the pitch date remained etched in stone and kept creeping closer. Various versions would find their way to the surface only to sink again into the wasteland known as the roundfile (trashcan). One moment Goofy was the Captain of the Fire Department, the next day a detective out of the Maltese Falcon mold, or a swash buckling hero fighting The Flying Dutchman.

The supporting cast he came up with really wasn't very supportive when you consider they sometimes included alien dragon babies with wings along with a large gorilla. Somebody at Walt Disney Television Animation must have really had a thing for giant gorillas around this time as they were plugged into almost every concept we assembled.”

It was clear that while Goofy COULD fit into just about anything, this exec was just throwing everything at the wall, nothing was sticking, and rather than try to refine his supporting cast, they kept having to throw them out and start over. And dont’ get me wrong, cartoons go through a lot of development and changes as they go.. but it’s usually born from a concept and usually by this point, they at least have what the show will be ABOUT in stone. While i’ve had the same creative changes and what not when coming up with projects that ultimately never saw the light of day, and currentlly some I hope to but might not, I’m not being paid by a studio to do this nor had a hard deadline. I was just spitballing trying to get something anything off the ground before reviewing gave me a steady outlet for my creativity and thus ballanced me to take my time with stuff. Peraza WAS turning out amazing art, like this concept art for the fireman pitch that honeslty makes me want to see it as a series. Who DOSEN’T want to see 9-11 with Goofy as the main character? Throw in Donald and grown up versions of Max, PJ and PIstol (And even not THAT much for the former two, as they did go off to college and all), don’t forget Roxanne this time out and you have a worthy goofy movie sequel.

So yeah this wasn’t working and the latest pitch was not great: Putting Goofy in ToonTown as a cabbie driving the Cab from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. As Peraza TRIED to point out to the exec, putting Goofy in a naturally goofy setting didn’t really play to the characters strength, his whole shtick being a goofus in a normal world. Enough of an every man to root for but also a slapstick joly weirdo.

The executive’s INCREDIBLY douchey response, especially since Peraza was a Disney Vetran at this point and had spent quite a lot of time on Ducktales, so he knew what he was talking about was “Do it anyway and leave the “Visionary” part to me”

As you can tell by MR. OOC there, this might be one of the most punchable sentences i’ve ever read.

So Peraza wasn’t in a great place and was naturally terrified when he got a call from Gary Krisel, president of Disney TVA, asking about the show and to see him about it.

Turns out though Krisel was a nice guy who already had a great working relatinship with Peraza, and genuinely wanted to know what was going on there and wanted his honest opinion. It’s why i’m not AGAINST executives in animation as sometimes they can come in when somethings clearly not working or allow a smooth transition of power if a propelmatic creator has to be booted off their own show so the show and i’ts crew don’t suffer as a result. It’s just more often than not they cause headaches or cancel shows for entirley stupid or self motivated reasons. But I will give credit where it’s do and point out times where there NOT stupid or homophobic or what have you and this is indeed one of those times.

Peraza was indeed straight with him: pointing out all the concepts they’d gone through, and like with the other guy honestly gave his opinon the ToonTown Pitch wasn’t working.. and he not only agreed but asked Peraza himself, actually respecting his experince instead of yelling at him that he has a vision that wouldn’t last the end of the day probably.

Peraza was HOPING this was where this was going and gladly gave him a far less high concept pitch and one truer to the character, quoted in full bellow:

“ My spiel went as follows, "Goofy is a recognized star of Disney animation, so why re-invent the wheel? His son is an average kid dealing with many of the usual issues they face: peer pressure, young love, grades, school bullies, and so on. On top of all that, he has the zaniest, wackiest GOOFIEST dad to live down. No matter how insane the situations get though, they will always love each other. They're a family." Gary asked how I would pitch it and I replied, "It's ONE day in the life of Goofy and son. From getting up in the morning to fixing breakfast, we see their difference side by side as his son tries to distance himself. No matter what though he knows deep inside that his father will always be there for him, whether he likes it or not."

If your wondering if Peraza noticed that that original pitch line is basically the peremise and emotioinal core of The Goofy Movie down pat.. your extremley correct and he notes that the film was based on said pitch even if he had no involvment with it that I could tell. The series would still use this but the whole embarasment aspect was toned down, and honestly fit a teenager better than an 11 year old..

So the exec loved it and Peraza shaped the core of the series: the idea of having Pete as his nemisis, pete having a nuclear family including a gorgeous wife, and the show being more slice of life and what not. He made some great sketches, got roaring approval and then pitched it to rousing success and the rest is history. Goof Troop was a moderate success and The Goofy Movie after it is a classic beloved by all. We have this wonderful man to thank for all that and I also thank him , on the offchance he ever sees this, for bringing Goofy into modern times in a way that did the man-dog justice. It’s thank to you we got this fun series, two great movies, and a goofy the way he is today: the best of everything about him rolled into one. Thanks man, free review.. not htat you NEED It since you’ve worked on things i’ve covered and what not, but I feel like I should offer. Outside of Peraza, I found one last bit of making of stuff before I get to the premiere proper. These two early concept shots:

The first has Max who both looks older and has red hair like he did in the shorts. Honestly I see a lot of his Goofy Movie self in thiis design, the only diffrence obviously being the red hair which was wisely changed to make the boy look more like goofy, something kept for the movie.

The more intresting one is this shot of the Pete’s. Starting with Pete he’s more athletic and has a perfectly tacky outfit. While changing him to be a bit more slovenly honestly fit this version of the character better, I do wish they’d kept hte outfit as the tacky gold and green jacket, the gold chain, the open ollar.. it all fits this version of pete so well, as well as his illusion of being a big shot when he is in fact a medium one. Peg is both slightly younger looking and far more doting and is so different I swear this picture looks like Pete remarried after the divorce and got some lipo. Pistol has about the same design but with a vastly different, more Isabella-ish outfit. Finally we have PJ who looks the same, but has a diffrent outfit and a far more sour demeanor, probably meant to be a bully. My best guess is sthis stuff comes from the pitch, and was likely made to simply get the basic premise across before fine tuning the characters for series

So with all of that out of the way i’m calling eveyrone to join in the fun under the cut and report to the Goof Troop.

Everything’s Coming Up Goofy:

Our first episode opens in a small but cozy trailer, where Goofy’s cooking up lunch as only goofy could: by making osme meatballs then serving them to his son over a game of table tennis, with Max doing the same. It’s really freaking adorable, and a dynamic i’m not used to since i’m more familiar with Teen Max. Seeing Max genuinely get into his dad’s hyjinks and enjoy them.. it just warms the heart and adds weight to The Goofy Movie by knowing there was a time the two really were thick is thieves before the stygian hole that is high school drained all that out of him.

So the two are like buddies and pals until the Mailman arrives, not even phased at this point. Turns out it’s a Diploma, and with this Goofy can get a job he’s been up for in Spoonerville and plans to move immediately. Max is devisated he’ll loose his friends and runs away to use a magical mystery box to keep them together only to end up in a land full of frogs with an old man who sounds like his dad minus the drawl and two other tinier frogs and ... I may have the wrong show. In fairness you try dislodging a finale where Keith David runs a 13 year old through with laser sword and then talk to me.

Goofy is sympathetic though: While he seems a tad oblivous to Max’s worries, it’s very clear he’s jumping on this job and this move so far to give his son a better life. Sure he runs through all the cartoon moving away talking points that don’t work in real life or most other cartoons such as there being a nice lake and that max can make new friends, and Max accepts it weirdly fast because this episode is only 22 minutes and they don’t have time for that subplot... but it’s clear the idea of a better paying job, a secure home not in an alleyway, and some stablility for his son is the real reason Goofy’s doing this, and he probably wants to simply give the boy the childhood he had growing up.

Meanwhile in Spoonerville, we meet Pete. To my shock this is where Jim Cummings took over the roll he was born for and has played since and with good reasons as Cummings is just amazing with Pete no matter the incarnation and excels here his penchant for playing jerks, hams and gravely voiced guys all coalesicing. Pete is planning on building what modern toxicly masculine weirdos such as himself would call a Man Cave on his lawn, because Pete is a very SPECIAL kind of douchebag. He also plans to stretch it into the neighboring property, tear down the house there and set it up.

This is news to his wife Peg, played by fellow voice acting Legend whose stillg ot it, April Winchell in her star making role. Peg is Pete’s strong willed wife who dosen’t put up with her husbands crap.. you know that trope that infected sitcoms for kids and adults of the doofy husband whose either a manchild , a skeevy self serving quipy asshole or some horrible combination of the two. The kind that has still been so prevealant the wife from one of said sitcoms helped produce a show about the wife finally doing the logical thing and plotting to kill the bastard. No really.. that’s an actual thing that’s happening. It’s even got a Little Bit of Alexis as Anne Murphy plays the poor, poor wife.

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And why yes the series is called Kevin Can Fuck Himself. And why yes said former sitcom wife was the same one on a sitcom called Kevin Can Wait who was fired because they wanted to retool the show with the wife from Kevin James other sitcom. That also is very really a thing that happened. Payback is a bitch aint it? Fun too.

But yeah from minute one Pete is a terrible husband: Peg is a realtor and thus is trying to sell the house because it’s her fucking job instead of letting her husband throw their family deep in debt to very likely illegally demolish a house so he has a giant yard to play in. I mean even if this is all played for jokes i’ts just not funny enough to not make him an utter bastard. The fact his response to her VERY valid criticism and subtextual worry he doesn’t’t take her career seriously is to fake a panic attack, from a very REAL tendency he turns out to have giant breakdowns under stress, to try and guilt her into letting him have his giant public man cave just backs this up.. as does the fact she simply glares at the camera as he’s clearly DONE this before.

Since I have to put up with this version of him for the rest of this episode, the next, AND a portion of the movie, i’m proudly introducing the Pete Sucks Counter. This will carry over to any other appearances of the guy from here on out. So that’s one for his insane plan, one for disrespecting his wife’s career and one for faking a panic attack to try and win an argument Pete Sucks Counter: 3

So because this episode ran short Peg caves and compromises: He can have the property if it isn’t sold by 9. So Pete does what ANY husband would do: uses his spy camera and booby traps he’s set up in the other house to try and scare away prospective buyers.

Yeah.. while the show TRIES to have Pete not as his old-timey villian self.. they traded in for him being fucking MODOK. I mean he is a grotesque monstrosity who has a nuclear family and spends all his time in a chair thing and can barely function as a Husband or Father. Though at least I can belivie MODOK LOVES his family which not so much with Pete.

To prove this Pete tries using a fake spider to scare some buyers then CALLS THEM TELLING THEM PEG IS A CON ARITST. I.e. something that if they mention to her bosses could get her FIRED. He respects his wife’s autonomy, what she wants and what she’s asked him for, which is a fair shot to sell the place before he tries to wreck the place, as well as likely what his neighbors want. I mean I can accept breaks from reality for comedy, snakebird is my boy.

So I can accept pete has this stuff.. I just can’t find it funny when these shenanignas very transparently show that while he surface level loves his wife he dosen’t respect her or actually listen to her except when she gets angry. He IS the villian so he’s still a slight step among monst sitcom dads but i’ts not great. I can find it funny that his den also functions as a super villian lair though. That shit will never not be great. Also Pete Sucks Counter: 6 For the record: one for the spider itself, one for having traps set up in a property hat both isn’t his and his wife is trying to sell and another for threatening her job and her self esteem as she is baffled at what she possibly did wrong.

So Goofy and Max get on the road, leaving moving the rest of their stuff to an old coot whose a friend of theres. So it’s goodbye Duckburg, Hello Spoonerville! And yes I headcanon this as Duckburg. Goof Troop is one of two shows that very clearly happened in SOME form, the other being Tailspin, the only difference being the time period (Goof Troop taking place in the 90′s and Tailspin in the 30′s or 40′s) and any adjustments for clashes with the 2017 verse. So going off that, we also know Donald and the boys KNOW goofy and didn’t remotely question his presence, as did the rest of the cast.

So figuring out the timeline, Goofy likely met Donald in college, even if he never finished college as per an Extremley Goofy Movie, which may not happen the same exact way given Goofy still has his old job and may not loose it in this timeline, though i’d like to think he still meets Sylvia. But point is he drops out, possibly to marry Max’s mom, they end up moving to Duckburg for her work, she sadly dies, and Goofy is left raising Max alone. Donald and Goofy likely bonded as single parents struggling in low paying 9-5 jobs. Goofy left here, likely said goodbye to Donald and the 5 or so year old boys offscreen , and left. As for how anyone else knows him that’s simple: he probably visits whenever he can. He’s a good friend, genuinely loves Donald like a brother in all continuities, and of course would show up with a progressively more then less grumpy Max every time. As for what I think the rest of the cast would think of him: Scrooge would hate him for his disaster area ways, but at least respect him as a hard worker, he just wouldn’t personally hire him which is.. it’s fair. Beakley would be aggravated by him. Webby would of course like him because she’s essentially him but competent and gay, and Launchpad and him .. god that’d be a joy to see. And drive up Scrooge’s insurance. Della would also like him obviously. I”m really disappointed we didn’t get a season 4 if for nothing else the fact we probably would’ve got another Goofy episode. It also feels weird he’s not in the finale in any way shape or form you know? Why have such a big guest spot for him and then just not bring him or Max back? GIVE ME MORE MAX DISNEY DAMN YOUUUUU So they move right along with Goofy excited to get back to where he once belonged, and to call Pete with the good news on his 90′s cell phone. Pete is utterly TERRIFIED finding out Goofy Comin and tries to send him off course to prevent it. Naturally despite nearly running into a truck, Goofy makes it to Spoonerville by evening anyway and we get a delightful bit that shows off BilL Farmer’s comedy skills as he rapidly lists off all the things in town while driving Max through town. It’s so damn smooth. This also is notable since before this farmer had just played the character in some DTV music videos, which stands for Disney not Denton but god I now want Shock Treatment with the Disney Crew. I mean who wouldn’t want Donald as Brad, Daisy as Janet, and Gladstone as Farley Flavors I ask you. Not sure who every one else would be i’m sorting that out. And if you don’t know what Shock Treatment is, here have this trailer with a nightmarish opening.

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Dammit now I want to watch Shock Treatment again... so I am. Found it in full on YouTube, and I feel no shame in sharing that as it’s not on VOD, nor any streaming service, the DVD, which I own, is out of print, and the Blu Ray is a UK exclusive. This film both needs to be seen more and needs another proper US release damn it!

So naturally Goofy somehow finds Pete’s house.. I dunno maybe Peg’s been sending him letters. Can’t blame her for having a wondering eye long as she dosen’t act on it. She’s married to a walking lump of ego, selfishness and cholesterol and likely only held on as long as she did for the kids. Which for the record Peg as a child of divorce whose parents got divorced rather than keep up a sham marriage or anything.. it’s not worth it. I was MUCH happier that way in the long term.

Anyways Peg and Goofy happily reunited while they awkardly try to get the kids to meet, with Goofy and PJ not warming up to each other at first, likely because Max just lost all his friends, and PJ clearly had none going into the series from context we’ll get later in the pilot. We also get a hilarious bit where Peg alternates between warmly greeting the goof’s and hilaroiusly shouting at Pistol to not play with worms.. in what honestly sounds like a protype for Miss Finster’s voice.

Meanwhile the kids try to hide a small crack in Pete’s boat.. which he notices as he’s just about to steamroll the house despite NOT having asked Peg if she sold it yet and just assuming, possibly opening himself and her to a lawsuit

Pete Sucks Counter: 7

Discovering his boat is trashed, he has a comical panic attack, which I can forgive since this was 1992 and they weren’t as well known as a serious problem. Seriously while pete is a bastard man.. the animation on him is GORGEOUS as it is HILARIOUS, while Jim Cummings brings the hell out of it. He’s kept the roll for three decades as of next year for a reason. Goofy ends up accidently destroying his boat in the process of trying to help him as you’d expect.

So Pete reluctantly lets the goofs sup with them.... and by reluctantly I mean he don’t wanna but Peg’s forcing him, which is pretty much the other half of their relationship in a nutshell: When pete isn’t lying and betraying her, Peg is forcing him to do stuff. As you can probably guess by how harsh i’ve been this aspect has aged INCREDIBLY poorly for me. This is your standard sitcom setup: asshole or dumbass or both dad, put upon wife who has to keep him in line.. but it’s just not how a GOOD marriage works and got so damn draining over time. Again and again we got things saying marriage is awful, comitting sucks unless your young, again and again. It’s why i’m REALLY happy we’ve been getting far better sitcom dad’s and marraiges lately. Bob’s Burgers is naturally the example, with the wife being the less sane one but both having their quriks and neither being so entirely dysfunctional you ever question the marriage. The Louds are another good example: Lynn Sr. And Rita NEVER right with each other that i’ve seen, have a perfectly happy relationship despite 11 kids, and wholly support each other, with Rita happily giving her husband the go ahead to quit his soul draining desk job so he could pursue his deream as a chef, and later letting him take a massive fincial gamble and open up a restraunt, purely because she belivied in him. Finally we have the Williams from Craig of the Creek who are easily one of the best married couples i’ve seen in western animation and one of them’s played by Terry Crews so that shoudln’t be a shock. I could prabobly find more but my points made: this trope REALLY ages the show poorly, more than any of hte 90′s specific tech or swinging theme song I just realized I forgot to talk about. Eh i’ll save it for the next episode.

I have NEVER liked this trope anyway: only simpsons has really made it work for me and Family Guy did until they just stretched it too far, and with Simpsons at least they freqeuently have episodes pointing out how unehalthy it is. It dosen’t help this trope somehow STILL isn’t dead, as evidenced by the fact Rick and Morty has it in spades and for SOME damn reason got them back together.. I mean they don’t fight anymore but it dose’nt fix the problem. So yeah while I’m not holding against the show TERRRIBLY as this trope wasn’t as widespread at the time, it still dosen’t make it GOOD even at it’s core.

Things get worse for Pete though as while Goofy praises him (And the Pete Kids rightfly wonder if Goofy is from space given the logic of ANYONE being that fond of pete. ) Pete finds out GOOFY bought the house he was going to demolish and will be staying with them till they move in. I have only one response to his misery....

Max also futzes with the tv which you THINK would lead to Peg finding out her husband is the antagonist of a Blumhouse movie but instead just does nothing.

So then we have Dinner where we find out SUPRISINGLY, Pete actually has a somewhat valid reason for resenting Goofy: Goofy cost him the big game in high school as Goofy and Peg were on the cheerleading squad together and Goofy accidently kicked pete in the face at a crucial moment, which Pete got the blame for. Granted I did say SOMEWHAT: Goofy is genuinely apologetic and says Pete shouldn’t of been blamed and Pete’s apparently been hiding the truth from his kids this whole time. I do call bullshit on that as while admittedly i don’t get into local football or any sportsball, Pete works at a dealership. At least one asshole would bring it up to either rile him up or out of genuine rage at something that happened at the very least a decade and a half ago. Pete hasn’t let go of this footbullshit DESPITE owning a successful dealership, having two wonderful children, an even more wonderful wife, and a friggin nice boat. But really.. it speaks to Pete’s character in any version: His ultimate undoing is his greed, his tendency to keep going and never settle. It’s something he oddly shares with Donald but Pete lacks Donald’s’s heart or redeeming moments. Pete just wants and wants and wants no matter who gets hurt because he’s inehently selfish and will simply TAKE It if he can’t get it. But it’s why he’s miserable, and ultimately ends up divorced: He can’t be satisfised so he often looses what he has.

So with Pete on the rampage Peg sends the boys upstairs. It’s here we get PJ’s first Woobie Moment: He has a room FULL of cool toys, comics and what not but his dad is such a greedy asshole he refuses to let the kid actually use them. He even knows this isn’t normal but is just resigned to it. Rob Paulsen is phenomenal as PJ, being funny and energetic, snarky and off to the side or depressed and fearful all with grace and ease and all making this all feel like the same sweet kid.

I mention this because Paulsen’s action is so good it highlights an issue with PJ: the writers lean way too hard into how much a hardass Pete is, to the point the series, likely intentionally, HEAVILY implies he physically abuses pete and the stuff on screen isn’t over the top enough, at least for tehse episodes, to get away with how he emotionally abuses him either. He talks down to him, doesn’t let him play toys and as seen by various episode synopsis and the next episode, uses mind games to keep him in line. THIS is why I can’t stand this version of Pete. He’s an abusive monster to this poor boy and I won’t stands for it, nor it being played off as a joke, especially since they try to ping pong between using it for comedy and using it seriously which just.. doesn’t work.

So Max earns his future best pals’ friendship by trying to help him.. and succeeding by pointing out that while he said not to use the Tank anywhere on the ground.. he didn’t mention the celling or walls and has the tank going up the walls. And clearly by the fact PJ is seen sleeping with it later, despite Petes’ss anger at this, Peg presumably ripped him a new one once she found out about the toys thing.

So that night Pete can’t sleep with Goofy tromping around the house and tries to whack him with a Golf Club. I’d give him another sucks count..

But given my brother lives in the basement and I sometimes accidently wake him by tromping overhead without meaning too, I DO get getting a bit fed up with someone clomping around and waking you up, and it is a slapstick cartoon so trying to physically assault someone is less of a crime here and more a setup for a punchline.

So get an UTTERLY hilarious scene as teh combination fo tripping on golf balls and Goofy singing his family lullabye, camptown races with lyrics

So Pete proceeds to have another freak out this time RUNNING ALL THE WAY TO DUCKBURG, THROWING THE OLD MAN OUT OF THE CAR AND THEN BRINGING IN THE GOOF’S BEDS AND BOXES BEFORE TOSSING THEM IN THE HOUSE. It is truly an amazing combination of Jim’s utter talent as he babbles hialriously and the animators as they just make it sing. It’s a great climax to part one. So with that the goofs are home and Pete semeingly gets to go to sleep.. until they start working on unpacking.

Final Thoughts On Good Neighbor Goof:

This is an excellent start to the series. The jokes are really well paced, the characters well introduced and the humor top notch> I had my complaints obviously.. but i’ts more systemic issues with the series, and stuff that honestly it dosen’t hamper my viewing experience for the most part. The PJ stuff does, but it’s not as big a deal this episode as he barely interacts with his Dad, but otherwise it’s stuff that just hasn’t aged well and they can’t be faulted for not seeing a deluge of terrible sitcoms a comin. The cast is top notch: I didn’t get to them in the proper review so Dana HIll deserves praise as Max, giving just the right amount of 90′s TV Kid mixed with real honest emotion and i’ts a tragedy she’s gone. She would’ve been right up there with the rest of this amazing cast in history. Though at least she got a worthy succesor.. but that’s not for now. For now we’re taking an interlude to look at the wonderfully 90′s music video that was aired along with this special:

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Gotta Be Gettin Goofy:

This was my raw reaction to this video. Now is it bad? No the song has great flow it somehow manages to scratch Bill Farmer’s goofy vocals with the beat, the rapper makes the cheesy lyrics work, and the chorus of “gotta be getting goofy” backs a great bit. It’s not a bad SONG.. but the video is a hilariously insane mess. We have two of the poor dancers forced to wear just.. HORRIFYING looking Goofy costumes that look like the Dog based sequel to cats that thankfully only exists in my nightmares

I pityt hose poor dancers. Meanwhile the rest of the dancers are wearing Goofy Baseball uniforms and letterman jackets for some reason. is it beause Goofy likes sportsball. I thoguth they just had them lying around but now I see the g’s on the uniform. They CHOOSE to do this. Max also does a shredding guitar solo, not the max up there the animated max. Combine that with LOTS OF random clips from the show and you get this thing.. and i’ts worth a watch> it’s just hilarously what the shit.. not the most hilariously what the shit thing i’ve seen.. not even this week... that would be this thing from the Eurovision Song contest...

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Your welcome. So moving on because this is already badly behind.

Good Neighbor Goof:

So our second episode opens with the Goof’s trying to move in and pete being upset their being loud. Now being upset your neighbors are being loud is one thing: Mine set off fireworks all week around fourth of July. Granted Pete would probably be the one doing such nonsense but still, I get it.. but it’s fair to have a lot of noise when your moving in and in Goofy’s case also trying to patch up a massive hole in the place.

So he does what any reasonable man would do and activates the earthquake machine he hid in the basement.

I wasn’t kidding about the MODOK comparisons. Granted the thing uses a belt to somehow do this.. but it’s designed to SIMULATE AN EARTHQUAKE AN DDOES SO WELL. The only reason Goofy’s not dead is that pete uses a low setting that instead ends up unpacking everything. IT’s a neat gag but again... PETE HAS AN EARTHQUAKE MACHINE.

Which Goofy accidently destroys his boat with. Meanwhile the boys try to talk over tin can phones only for Pete to notice and try to stop it because he’s a dick and doesn’t want his son to be happy because he hates Goofy. So Pete’s idea of a punishment is for PJ to wear the family shoes to go crush cans while wearing a helmet and given Pete mutters to himself about this keeping PJ away from Max i’ts likely something that he made up to torture his son soooo..

Pete Sucks Counter: 8 Max being a good pal agrees to help his friend crush the cans down to recycle for money and comes up with a zany scheme to do so

Meanwhile we get a few scenes of Pete trying to eff with Goofy’s day: Peg is making food for Goofy like a good neighbor/someone planning for their eventual divorce, so Pete makes him some too with tons of hot sauce. By the laws of classic cartoons, naturally Goofy loves it and wonders if Pete has hot sauce, while Pete trying it explodes his head Scanner’s style.

He then tries giving Goofy a chainsaw loaded with some kind of explosive or something... so yes he’s esclated to MURDER over.. Goofy annoying him a bunch as he’s apparently given up on the whole taking over that lot thing.

Pete Sucks Counter: 9 But it is hilariously petty and naturally backfires again by cartoon law as Pete ends up starting it for Goofy who can’t get it going.

Meanwhile PJ and Max inact the plan which is to drop a bolder with a rope on the cans, but end up having to ride the cans down when PJ lets it go too early and it ends up sweeping both boys on top of the box. They have fun though, with PJ actually getting to enjoy life for once and loving having a new friend.

So as his lot in life Pete has to ruin it by yelling at PJ for getting diryt, then for hanging out with max as he can SMELL the goof on him.. which means he’s either exaggerating or he knows what goofy smells like.

So he forbids PJ to see him insluting max.. while Max is hanging out the window and ends up crying. Oh and Peg never gets involved in any of this across both parts, likely because she dosen’t know.. which makes it even MORE horrifying as it gives off the implication Pete gets away with his abuse of his son because he hides it, like a real world abuser. But even then some things like trying to break up his and Max’s friendship or the toys thing you’d THINK she’d notice.

So we get more untetionally telling stuff as PJ says he’ll treasure this day and the only time he was happy.

Pete Sucks Count: 14 2 for the last scene, 3 for ALLL this one implies. But Max won’t give up the ghost no he won’t give it up. They haven’t the strength to hold on for long but if they both hold on together they can make each other strong. So he has a plan: have Goofy throw a Luau and invite the petes.

Peg naturally forces him to attend and Pete is a dick about it at first, but eventually enjoys himself when they do a conga line. The pets, Waffles and Chainsaw get into some antics. I do love Waffles because I love a kitty. Chainsaw is okay even though I love me a good doggo. Especially this one.

You are a Good Boy, Good Boy. But eventually while playing a party game about passing coconuts, Pete considers the coconut and considers the trees but dosen’t consider Goofy kicking him in the face AGAIN

So Pete is naturally a dick about this despite it being you know, an accident. But he takes it a step further by insulting Max Pete Sucks Count: 15 So Goofy gets mad. But here’s where a rather sizeable flaw shows up in the episode as Goofy.. acts exactly like Pete does about the insuing feud. He forbids Max to see PJ makes up rules and is generally petty and vindictive. And look Goofy could be in the shorts. He’s endlessly adaptable.. but here nothing about his character has shown he’d sink to this and it feels forced to bring abotu the climax.

Thankfully said finale salvages thing: That night Max pulls PJ into his room via the cans, and comes up with a plan.. weirdly asking PJ to hit him with a muffin to save their friendship... but it’s not random it turns out. His plan.. is brilliant. While I really don’t like these types of feud between neighbors make our kids suffer by making them not be able to be friends because we’re being petty children plots, this one has a REALLY clever solution to that: Max and PJ FAKE an oversclated fued similar to their parents, starting with insutls and throwing mulch and escalting to taking down each others fences and then throwing food at each other, before injuring their dads with planks and stuff, nothing serious just slapstick stuff, all to get both to settle down and try and get the boys to stop fighting.. it works like a charm, it’s full of great bits like Peg offering the boys pie only for Max to use it as amuination and i’ts just a great way to end one of these episodes. Not that I WANT more of these episodes but if your going to do this stock plot you might as well be creative with it.

So we end on the Petes and Goofs having a BBQ, all friends again, with Pete having his marina and Goofy nearly burning Pete’s house down and us getting a photo to end the episode.

Final Thoughts:

This one was a step down. Pete’s abuse is REALLY highlighted here and the plot is very paint by numbers and forces Goofy to be out of character for the last act for it to work at all. He just strikes me as too genuine and noble to hold onto a grudge this easily. Peg is also reduced from her usual feisty self to being oddly useless, not stepping in at ANY point to stop any of this depsite it being grossly otu of character. There’s a few great gags and a great climax, but the whole product is just okay

Later Today: Goof Week and Goofy’s birthday continue as I complete the trilogy of Shortstaculars with one about my boy! Featuring Goofy’s first apperance, his first short and the first apperance of what would eventually become Max!

If you liked this review, follow me for more and consider joining my Patreon which you can find RIGHT HERE. Even a buck a month helps me keep doing these and more gets me to my stretch goals, the next one up being the two remaining ducktales mini series, a darkwing duck episode a month and a reivew of the danny phantom film the ultimate enemy. And even a buck a month gets you access to exclusvie reviews, my patreon exclusive discord and to pick a short any time I do one of my shortstaculars. My next one is for Donald’s birthday next montha nd there’s only 6 days left to get on that pay cycle so if that sounds good to you get on in NOW while you still can and i’ll see you at the next rainbow.

#goofy goof #goofy #goof troop #max goof #P.J. Pete #PJ Pete #Pete Pete #Peg Pete #Pistol Pete #Sponerville #Gotta Be Getting Goofy #disney channel #the disney afternoon #disney afternoon #disney xd #disney plus

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Heartbreaker- Part 2

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 5573

Warnings: Sexual content, language and angst.

Beautiful mood board by the amazing @peterquillzsblog Thank you again 💙

So clearly, I have no self control. I got a little carried away. This was only meant to be a one-shot and here I am posting a second part 😅 @youbloodymadgenius, I hope you don’t mind 💙 Thank you for all the wonderful feedback from the first part, it inspired me to write this second part.

Part 1

...

“Here we have the famous Oseberg Ship. It was discovered by a farmer in Vestfold over a hundred years ago in 1904,” Her heels click against the hardwood floor, coming to an abrupt halt right by the ancient Viking ship, “It is known as the most beautiful Viking tomb to be discovered.” She watches the tourists surround the vessel, all sporting wide eyes as they take in the sight of the giant ship.

She goes on to explain the history of the ship, the noblewomen that were buried within and the various items unearthed in the vessel. She never grew tired of watching tourist faces twist in fascination as she educates them on the Viking Age and of the narrative that most didn’t know about besides knowing that the Norse were fearsome warriors. They were much more complex than that. The last half hour was spent exploring the rest of the exhibition and alerting the small crowd of the donations that would kindly be accepted for the preservation of the vessel.

Leading the small group back towards the entrance of the museum, she waves them off, thanking them for their time and wishing them a good day. That was only her first tour of the day. 2 more to go. Smoothing down her nicely fitted black pencil skirt, she goes behind the ticket counter, greeting the 2 cashiers, Anders and Christina, before checking the roster posted by the register for the next tour.

“I’d like to purchase a ticket for the tour at 2.” Immediately her head snaps up to look towards the familiar voice, her jaw clenching as soon as she sees those familiar blue eyes. Fuck. Her hand grips Christina’s shoulder tightly, causing the cashier to look up at her before she could hand him his ticket and change.

“What?” Christina questions, shifting away from her touch before smiling prettily at Ivar, “Enjoy the tour, sir.”

“Thank you.” He smiles back charmingly, the same kind of smile that had her hooked at that stupid party. His eyes shift to hers immediately, cocking his head as he purses his lips, trying to elicit a reaction from her. The reaction would have been to slap him, but she’d rather keep her job. Adjusting the collar of her white pinstriped button down, she turns away, muttering something to the cashiers before going straight toward the museum cafe. She ignores Ivar completely, her nude heels clicking desperately against the floor as she tries to get away from him as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t be able to catch up with her with his crutch. He must have been in pain that day to be going out with it. And who cares? Fuck him.

She gets herself a bottle of water, tapping her foot impatiently as the cashier takes his sweet ass time getting her change. She should have given him her card. Before she could slink away, Ivar gets a firm grip on her wrist, his large hand pushing her bracelets up against her skin uncomfortably.

“Wait,” He says smoothly, turning her gently to face him. She bites her lip, finally bringing her eyes to meet his. She couldn’t read him at that moment, but really, could she ever? Ivar was like a fucking android when he wanted to be. “You blocked me. I’ve been trying to reach you for days now.” She scoffs, removing herself from his grip and folding her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been unavailable.” She says with a shrug, giving him the best glare she could muster. It had been a little over a week since the incident and she had done well to stay out of his way, not that it was difficult to do so in the first place. They lived about 15 minutes away from each other, but it was still far enough that she wouldn’t really run into him, and Ivar drove everywhere which was the upside of her walking and taking public transit. Thankfully, they worked completely different jobs. What a nightmare that would have been if they didn’t. Of course, he knew where she worked. The museum wasn’t far from his office and he sometimes picked her up after work when he had the chance. She supposed that was the downside.

Ivar gives her a once over, admiring how her pencil skirt hugged her gentle curves and how her legs seemed endless in those pricey heels. He remembered how happy she had been when she bought them for herself. He insisted on purchasing them for her, what was a measly 2000 krones? That wasn’t easy on the salary of a museum tour guide, but she refused of course, and he kinda liked her all the more for it. But that was in the past.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He corrects, leaning heavily on his crutch, masking his discomfort as well as he could, but he couldn’t fool her. He licks his lips, raising a brow as if insisting she give him a decent answer. Who was he to insist upon anything?

“I have nothing to say to you, Ivar.”

“Come on, really? Nothing? I doubt it,” He snorts with a shake of his head, “Did you at least like the flowers? I stayed up all night finding the right florist that had your favorite flowers and that could deliver them early on such short notice. I had to pull some strings. It wasn't easy, you know.” What, did he want her to fall to her knees and kiss those expensive ass beige Chelsea boots that went well with his navy blue fitted suit? Fuck, she needed to stop.

“Oh yes, I loved them so much that I had to throw them out. They were too pretty. The little card was the best part. Thank you so much for that, asshole.” He trailed after her when she pushed past him, rushing out of the cafe. 5 minutes left till the tour started.

“Wait, slow down,” He calls out to her as he maneuvers himself through the crowd of people, finally catching up to her quick steps, “What did you want me to say? I warned you-”

“Yes, yes, not to fall in love with you, got it,” She dismisses his comment, “And I’m trying to accept that, so why aren’t you?” Ivar clears his throat, shoving a hand into the pocket of his tight dress pants.

“I want you to come back.” She snorts at his audacity, and he frowns, abruptly coming to a stop in front of her. He looks deeply into her eyes, her lashes nice and thick from her coat of mascara. He moves his eyes down to her lips, set in a snarl. That’s not the reaction he wanted, but at least she wore a pretty shade of lipstick.

“You must be out of your mind. Go back where? Your bed?” She whispers harshly over to him, “You’ve made a decision and so did I. Go do what you do best and leave me out of it.”

“But we were doing so great,” He whines, and she found it hard to believe she was talking to a grown ass man, “And I miss you.” He missed her body, not her.

“Fuck you.” She spits, fighting the urge to pour her entire bottle of water over him. Wouldn’t it be a sight to see him looking like a drowned rat.

“That’s what I’d like for you to do, yes. Preferably with you on top.” He smirks, loving how her face burned in both embarrassment and anger. He absolutely loved when she got flustered. It was cute. She quickly looks around hoping no one has witnessed their little exchange.

“This is a professional setting Ivar, so please do me a favor and respect my job,” She looks down at her watch, “I don’t have time for your bullshit. The tour is about to start. I gotta go.” She could already see the small group lining up, waiting to be led into the exhibit.

“Luckily, I’ll be joining you.”

“You hate museums.”

“Please, I’m totally interested in…” He pulls out the ticket, squinting his eyes at the description typed in the finest of print, “...The Gokstad ship.” He didn’t even know what tour ticket he fucking purchased.

“Oh god.” She groans, rushing over to the group to greet them. Ivar smiles, following right behind her.

God, her ass looked great in that skirt.

…

“The Gokstad ship was built at the height of the Viking period,” She begins, trying her very best to ignore Ivar’s piercing gaze. She was used to having eyes on her whenever she did her public speaking, but Ivar’s eyes were different. He wanted to devour her. “It was extremely versatile, but mostly used for raids and voyages.” The group of tourists, consisting of families with young children, began their picture taking of the massive ship.

“If you look up toward the stern posts, notice the absence of the notorious dragon heads. Although most of the wood has rotted away, archeologists believe there were never dragon heads fitted in the first place. This ship is quite fearsome without them, don’t you think?” The group erupted in murmurs as they turned their eyes up toward the very top of the ship.

The only person who lacked interest was Ivar. He smirks at her, leaning against the arched entryway while the rest of the group roamed around the perimeter of the ship, unaware of the silent battle between the handsome crutch man and the pretty tour guide. The fucker was making her nervous, her hands beginning to sweat as she fumbled with her fingers behind her back. When she shifts her eyes back to his she gulps. Slowly, he drags his tongue over his lower lip, coating the plump muscle in a shine before he bites down gently, wiggling his brows in suggestion.

Fuck him.

After what seemed like hours, the Gokstad tour finally ended and once again she brought the group back towards the entrance of the museum, suggesting they visit the cafe for a quick meal before bidding them a good day.

“I forgot how smart you are,” Ivar pulls up right behind her, his breath close enough to form gooseflesh on the nape of her neck, “My little bookworm, hmm?

“I’m nothing to you,” She whirls around, looking up at him with sad eyes and the same frown she’s been wearing for most of the tour, “Have a good day, asshole.”

…

Norwegian weather never seemed to agree with her. It was pouring outside and she didn't bring an umbrella. There wasn't even rain in the forecast till tomorrow. She runs down the steps of the museum, careful not to slip in her damn heels. The sidewalks were already slippery, and she had to mind her steps to avoid falling on her ass.

A familiar expensive car pulls up right beside her. This fucker waited an extra 2 hours for her to finish work, just to pull up in his car? "Let me give you a ride." Ivar lowers the window of the passenger seat, tapping on the gas pedal lightly to match the extremely slow pace she had in those heels.

“I’m fine.” She bites out, awkwardly maneuvering her trench coat over her head in a pathetic attempt to shield herself from the rain. It wasn’t too bad, she told herself, and the train station wasn’t that far.

“Seriously? You’re soaked and you’re gonna get sick. Stop being stubborn.” He scoffs, craning his neck to get a better look at her.

“Ivar, you're holding up traffic, just go.” The cars behind him began to honk their horns at Ivar’s turtle-like pace, but all he did was roll down his window and flip everyone off.

“Which is exactly why you should get in. Come on, it’s the least I can do.” He flashes her that charming smile, and all she could really do in that moment was to stare at his pearly white teeth and his perfect lips.

“Fine.” She grumbles, opening the door as soon as she heard him unlock it, quickly shuffling inside. She sits on her trench so as to not wet the fancy leather interior of the sleek black car. That was way too nice of her.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Just shut the fuck up and drive.” Ivar chuckles at her irritation, unaware of the potty mouth she had, but he liked that. He does as told, hitting the gas and taking off down the street.

The drive to her flat was mostly silent with the exception of the radio playing softly in the background. She makes sure to look out the window, staring at the most mundane details of a tiled roof, or counting how many people she could spot walking down the street. That was the only way she could successfully ignore Ivar without getting trapped by his gaze. After 25 minutes he pulls up in front of her building, and she doesn’t hesitate to hop out the car, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He rolls down the window, calling out to her retreating figure.

“Fuck no.” She yells back, not bothering to look back at him.

An elevator ride to the 3rd floor and a quick conversation with her neighbor, and she was entering her cozy flat in no time. After tossing her keys in the ceramic dish, she removes her heels, setting them to dry by the coat rack where she hung her trench and purse. She removes the tie holding her hair up in a ponytail, quickly ruffling her fingers through the knots to no avail. After switching on her fairy lights, she immediately goes to pull out a bottle of Pinot Noir from the cupboard, wasting no time in pouring herself a glass and gulping it down in almost one go. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to muddle her thoughts away from Ivar. Her heart was beginning to ache again.

The loud obnoxious knock on her door had her sighing dramatically as she already knew who was behind it. All she wanted to do was shower, maybe watch a show, eat takeout, and go to bed. It could’ve been so simple if it weren’t for Ivar.

“No one’s home.” She calls out, leaning her back against the door with the glass of red wine in her hand. She sips it lazily, hearing Ivar’s frustrated grumbling from the other side.

“Can I please come in?” His tone was boardline pleading, and she let out the most unbecoming snort before turning around and flinging the door open.

“What do you want?” She questions.

“A ‘thank you’ maybe?” He was leaning heavily against his crutch now, all that standing, walking and driving catching up to him. His nice clothes were damp from the rain and a few strands of hair escaped his almost neat bun, plastered down on his prominent forehead.

“Thanks. Goodnight.” Before she could slam the door in his face he shoots a hand out, stopping the door from closing any further.

“Please.” Was all he said, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was something akin to sadness swimming in those big eyes of his. Fuck. She steps to the side, opening the door wide enough for him to slip in before slamming the door shut. He stands there awkwardly as she moves back to her kitchen counter, pouring herself another glass before going on her phone in search of a playlist.

“Well?” He finally questions, removing his dressy boots and placing them right beside her heels.

“Well?” She questions back, brows raised.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a glass?”

“Here’s the wine,” She pushes the bottle forward, “I’m sure you remember where the glasses are.” She hears Ivar grunt in displeasure as she flopped down on the sofa, not caring that her clothes were soaked and most likely seeping through the material of the sofa. She should probably invest in some leather ones. After a minute Ivar plops down beside her, setting aside his crutch with one hand while gripping his wine glass in the other.

Once again, there was silence between them as her playlist filtered throughout the living room from her hidden wireless speakers. She always did have a love for classical music, Ivar realized. It was something to calm her nerves, like the star projector in her room. He does a quick scan of the living room. He hadn’t been inside her flat in a while, but nothing really changed. Maybe she added a couple of new plants to her collection but that was it. He wasn’t sneezing yet, which was a good sign. That meant no candles were lit. And that fucking cat hasn’t shown up to hiss at him, another good sign.

“You want some takeout?” She asks him in a bored tone, the kind of tone she used when she wasn’t particularly keen being in someone’s presence, mostly towards those she disliked. It was always the one she used when around a specific set of Ivar’s friends, or even his brother, Sigurd. She bends forward, picking up the stack of takeout menus that were neatly placed in a pile on the small wooden coffee table, filtering through them until she pulled out a menu that caught her eye. “Mexican?”

“Mexican is fine.” He agrees, taking another sip of the bitter wine as he raked his eyes over her form for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Her cheeks were dusted in pink and her hair was a wet mess. Her white button down was soaked, giving him a great view of the white bra underneath the thin cotton fabric.

“Stop fucking staring,” She mutters, “You’re not entitled to that anymore.”

“You’re right.” He clears his throat, bringing his attention to the TV that never seemed to be in use. He stared at his reflection off the black screen, wondering just what the fuck he was doing there. It was all spontaneous, you see. He’d woken up that morning with dozens of messages from his brothers and another dozen missed calls from Freydis. But none of them were from the person he wanted.

After his lunch break he decided to take the rest of the day off, much to Ubbe’s annoyance. He left his older brother’s office while hearing him shout out something along the lines of him being a lousy paralegal. Instead of doing his actual job, which was to draw up contracts for Ubbe’s clients, he decided to pay the fucking Viking Ship Museum a visit. He decided to pay her a visit. He didn’t give a flying fuck about those Viking ships, and he had little to no interest in his ancestors and their artifacts, but there was no denying that she looked amazing while talking about it.

While she orders over the phone, her cat decides to hop on the coffee table, baring his teeth and hissing at him immediately.

“Benji, come on,” Ivar groans, lolling his head to the side to eye the angry calico, “I send you your favorite treats and this is how you repay me?” Benji hisses at him again, standing on his little legs to appear more intimidating, but all he did was look like a fat spotted meatball. She tosses a throw pillow at him, successfully hitting the cat in the face and he immediately bolts off the coffee table and into her room.

“Your cat hates me.” Ivar complains, watching her set her phone down before getting up to pour herself another glass of wine.

“That makes two of us.” Was her snarky reply, her lower lip resting over the rim of the glass. Her eyes held a glint of danger, like she’d chuck the glass at him at any given moment. Thankfully she wasn't crazy like that. Instead she rolls her eyes at him, taking a sip of her drink as she leaned against the counter.

“You hate me?” He asked softly, his brows curving up in a worrisome look. He had absolutely no business looking the way he did. It was borderline adorable and she hated her thoughts for even thinking to describe him that way.

“Maybe hate is a strong word,” She says, swirling the dark liquid around the glass, “Dislike. I dislike you, Ivar Ragnarsson.” He frowns, turning away from her searing eyes for a moment, grunting when he stood with the help of his crutch. Fucking legs. Today was not the day. He walks over to her small kitchen, stepping closer to her until he gets in her face, arms caging her in as his hands gripped at the edges of the counter. His nose was mere inches away from hers, his blue gaze so penetrating she thought she could melt right into his arms. No. This was bad.

“What a shame,” He whispers, tilting his head down until his brow touched hers. He could hear her intake a sharp breath, her fingers gripping the wine glass tightly in the small space between them as her eyes fluttered closed. She looked so beautiful like this, cheeks flushed and lips parted as if begging for a kiss, and he had the biggest desire to do just that. He tilts his head, his nose tracing alongside hers, his lips so close to molding perfectly over her own. The knock on her door had him releasing a breath of pure frustration, groaning at the interruption. She blinks up at him, her eyes glazed in that lustful way he was familiar with. God, he missed that.

Shaking her head as if to clear her mind, she pushes Ivar away with little grace, hearing him stumble a bit as she made for the door. This was bad. Very bad. Searching the pocket of her trench coat, she pulls out her wallet, fishing for a few bills before pulling the door open, grabbing the bag of food from the delivery boy and handing him the money.

“I could have paid, you know.” Ivar says as soon as she slams the door closed, watching her drop the food onto the coffee table and rummaging inside.

“Paying for food isn’t going to change anything. Flowers aren't going to change anything.” She says, sitting on the sofa with a taco in hand. Ivar bites the inside of his cheek, sitting beside her and grabbing a taco of his own. She turns on the TV, putting on some random documentary about the Sami people as she takes another messy bite of her taco. Had she always looked this good while eating? He didn’t notice before, but he sure as fuck did now.

After a few minutes of silence, she gets up, packing away the trash and moving back to the counter to pour herself the remainder of the wine. She only drank like this when she was anxious, meaning, Ivar was making her anxious. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Hurt maybe? No, women never hurt him, not since that incident with Margrethe. He was the one doing the hurting now. So what made this any different?

Again, he gets to his feet with the help of his crutch, walking over to her and caging her in again, this time with her back pressed up against his torso. He lowers his chin to her shoulder, feeling her tense up at his actions. She smelled of her usual perfume. Chanel? He couldn’t remember, but the scent was amazing and had a desire raging within him. She pushes him back just enough to turn around within his arms, tilting her head up at him in a type of defiance that made him want to ravage her.

“It seems like that blonde hasn’t been fulfilling your needs. What was her name again? Freydis?” She knew what she was doing when she fluttered those lashes, worrying her lip between her teeth. She was teasing him, he knew. He didn’t want her to mention Freydis. He didn’t want to be thinking of that bimbo, not when he’s been craving her like madman for the past week and a half and finally, she was right in front of him just waiting to be tasted.

“She could never do what you can.” He mutters, inching his face closer to hers, his lips hovering over hers as they did before. He tries to steal a kiss, but she turns away from him, his lips landing on her cheekbone. Ivar groans, annoyed, pulling back to reveal his utter displeasure. He was desperate to kiss her, to feel her lips on his where they rightfully belonged.

“What a shame.” She shrugs, bringing her glass to her lips and taking another slow sip of her wine. She knew she was driving him crazy. He wanted her, she could see it in his eyes, in the way his body yearned for hers, how his hands gripped tightly at the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. He was like a wanton whore, silently begging for release.

“She could never do what you can.” He repeats again with a sigh.

“And what’s that, hmm?” She inches closer, her face so close to his as she questions him, “What is it that I can do? Because from the look of it, you seemed quite happy with her under your sheets.” She didn’t mean to say those words that angrily, but they came out rushed and heavy, the rage bubbling up within her. Ivar takes note of the vexation in her eyes, shifting his gaze back down to her lips. Fuck it.

He surges forward, crashing his lips to hers, molding them just like he wanted to. She takes a breath of surprise, hesitating to return the passion he was giving her until finally, she gives in, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her. She moans, delighting him greatly, and it was enough to grip her backside in his big hands, lifting her up onto the counter.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” He mutters over her lips, pulling out her dress shirt from her skirt, desperate to feel the soft skin beneath, “I’ve missed you.” She doesn't bother to reply, continuing to kiss him while she pushes his lapel jacket from his shoulders. She tosses it to the floor, moving to untuck his white dress shirt. “Did you miss me, kitten? I think you did.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, asshole.” She growls, working on unbuckling his belt. Ivar grins as a new wave of arousal hits him, slapping her hands away in order to rip her shirt open. The buttons flew everywhere, clinking over the counter and onto the floor, and wherever else they happened to fall, he didn’t really care. “Ivar! Benji might eat one of those!”

“Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new cat.” He says, pulling down her damp bra to release her breasts, her nipples immediately hardening as the air hit her skin. He wastes no time in latching on to a nub, swirling his tongue over her heated flesh. She squeals, her fingers weaving their way through the roots of his hair and giving a harsh tug, his neat bun tumbling down into a messy ponytail.

“Shit.” She groans, tilting her head back as Ivar nipped and sucked, worshiping her skin until finally dragging his tongue toward the valley of her breasts and up towards her neck. Just the way she liked it.

Ivar makes a noise of approval, grunting at the tight grip she had on his shoulders. He peppered kisses up her neck and over her face, being as gentle with her as he possibly could. Usually Ivar opted towards the rougher side of sex, with heated touches and sloppy kisses, but not that night. He wanted to give her soothing touches and tender kisses, anything he could do to please her. Anything to get her back to him.

He pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, moving his hand to cup the side of her face while the other holds onto the edge of the counter. She was breathing heavily, uncertainty swimming in her eyes as she looked up at him with a growing desire.

“Bedroom?” He whispers. She sighs, biting her lip. This was very bad. Bad, bad, bad. She nods her head weakly.

“Bedroom.”

…

Ivar didn’t notice when she had turned on her projector, but he was staring up at it now, watching the stars twinkle brightly against her ceiling. He laid with an arm behind his head, his skin still damp from recent physical activities. It was amazing, like fireworks shooting off in his head and it was exactly what he needed. It was exactly what he’d been missing, the touch of her skin, her little moans and whimpers, her nails scratching down his back. He was sure his back was riddled with angry red lines, and he knew it would sting once he showered, but he enjoyed it, so it didn’t bother him much.

He turns to look at her when he feels the bed shift, watching her naked form move in the darkness to light those damn scented candles around her room. He smiles, eyeing the little dimples on her lower back that became more pronounced when she leaned over her nightstand. The scent of roses filled the room, reminding him of the garden back in his family’s summer home. His nose pricked with the familiar sensation of a sneeze, and he immediately wrinkles his nose to keep it at bay.

She settles back on the bed, bringing the quilt patterned sheets she favored over herself. She faces him, but doesn’t look at him, choosing instead to follow the geometric shapes of a mandala printed on the linen. Ivar reaches out to touch her cheek, his finger tracing down her skin in gentle swipes. She looked so beautiful. The starlight from the ceiling and the flickering candles danced over her skin, draping her in a glow that made her look ethereal.

Any other time before last week, she would have enjoyed such touches. Okay, maybe she was enjoying them a little too much in that moment, but this was probably the last time she’d let herself fall into his sly little trap, right? Feeling his toned chest under her palms felt amazing, and his skin still had the lingering scent of his body wash. He was always meticulous in the products he used for himself, which meant he never used one of those 3 in 1 body washes that are a typical man’s holy grail. His skin always had a fresh smell, like cucumbers, and his hair had that pleasant coconut scent from the shampoo she introduced to him.

“You’re amazing.” Ivar whispers, bringing her out of her thoughts. His eyes flutter with the signs of sleep, his day ending in complete satisfaction. She was almost sad to be bursting his bubble, but if it were the other way around he wouldn’t be sad to burst hers. She clears her throat, preparing her next words carefully.

“Ivar?”

“Hm?”

“You can leave now.” Whatever drowsiness he felt had disappeared almost immediately, eyes now wide enough to bulge from his sockets. She wanted to laugh, but felt it would ruin the moment, and he wouldn’t take her seriously if she broke out in laughter, so she kept her serious face on.

“You don’t want me to sleepover?” He asked, dumbfounded, sitting up to lean on his elbows, gazing down at her.

“What for? You hate it here.” She says, waving her hand around to make her point. Ivar frowns, not really understanding her. She used to beg for him to stay, and she eventually stopped asking him after a while, but he was so sure that having him there and him deciding to spend the night would make her happy, so why was she not happy?

“I don’t.” He answers.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” He pouts, “I just prefer my place.”

“I’m not stopping you from going, Ivar.” She says flatly. His expression was comedic, mouth slightly agape and eyes blinking stupidly. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, staring down at his hands. His ego had just taken a beating.

“Are you serious?”

“Very.” Ivar’s face twists in utter confusion. How could she deny him? She wanted him. She loved him...didn’t she?

“But…”

“What’s the matter?” She moves closer to him, “Are you upset?” She taunts, her naked chest in full view for him to admire, but before he could, she grabs his jaw tightly, holding it in place to lock eyes with him. His blue irises were intense and mesmerizing, and was one of the reasons why she fell for him so hard. Ivar was beautiful, but his heart was ugly, and he needed to be put in his place. “Did you want me to still be in love with you despite the many times you’ve warned me not to?” Ivar remains silent, searching her eyes for something more than the words she’s uttered. There was nothing there.

She loosens her grip on his jaw, pushing him away from her. His face falls, utterly dejected. The corners of his mouth twitch as he stares at her, noting the little smirk that played on her lips.

“Get the fuck out of my flat, Ivar.”

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @syrenak

#ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar smut

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higuchimon · 3 years

Text

[fanfic] While They’re Away

Without Juudai here in the infirmary, it was very, very quiet. Misawa wasn't sure if he liked how quiet. Rei lay on the other bed under her blanket, trembling and shaking as Ayukawa-sensei did her best to keep her calmed and quiet. She clearly wasn't having any real luck with that.

Their best chance is if the submarine has medicine that can help. Misawa knew that wasn't a guaranteed chance, though. It was a chance, nothing more. What might work out better would be if they were able to return to their original world.

The logic laid itself out neatly. No one else here right now had a chance to get them back. Juudai might, but he was busy getting help for Rei right now. Misawa wished vaguely that he could get them to some of the monsters that he'd met who traveled these wastes - they might be able to help as well. But those that he'd met were far away now and he had to work with what he had. He rubbed at his face, not pleased at the stubble there. How was he supposed to think with all of that on his face?

How could he think when he didn't even have decent clothes on? And if he thought about it a little too much, he could even smell himself. It wasn't a pleasant aroma. He'd had to deal with it before in the desert. He'd taught himself to ignore it then, because he couldn't do anything else. Now - now he just might be able to.

Do the showers even work now? He'd have to check. This was the main building, where the gym was, which meant there were showers also, not just the ones in the individual dorms. But since they weren't connected to the main water pipes, he honestly couldn't guess right now what worked and what didn't, or for how long it would work.

He ground his teeth together, then forced himself up from the bed, grabbing automatically for the staff he'd carried with him for so long. It existed in his mind somewhere between a help for walking and a weapon - he'd used it for both - but right now he needed it more for support. He gripped onto it hard, making sure that he wasn't likely to fall over, and took a couple of wobbly steps.

"Misawa-kun? What do you think you're doing?" Ayukawa-sensei peered over at him from Rei's bed. "You shouldn't be getting up just yet."

He shook his head. "I"m fine. I have to start helping." He couldn't just lay here and vegetate, no matter how appealing it was to be in a clean bed that wasn't likely to vanish at any point. All though his body there ran the urge to do something, to make an effort to help those who couldn't help themselves. Not, as once upon a time, for the praise that would come from it. But because it needed to be done and he was the one who could do it, no one else.

Ayukawa-sensei came closer to him, clearly worried. "Are you certain? You were very worn out yesterday."

"That was yesterday." Who knew what could happen between now and when Juudai and the others returned? For that matter, who knew what had happened to Rei? They only had the faintest idea of what might be able to help her. The submarine might have antibiotics and they might be able to counter whatever it was. But he'd seen wounds caused by Duel Monsters before - carried several himself under his clothes - and chances weren't certainties. At least if they returned to their own world, the doctors there could have quicker access to medicine. Which meant that they had to get home.

But first things first. He turned to Ayukawa-sensei. "Are the showers working? And can you help me find a new uniform?"

"Yes," she nodded, eyes flicking up and down him in a professional way. "I have a few spares; one of them should be able to fit you." He could tell she wasn't happy with this but at least she wasn't going to argue about it. "Are you going to need a deck as well? Some of the students are outside guarding the school until Juudai-kun and the others get back."

Misawa considered that, then shook his head. "I think I will," he decided, "but not right now. I have other matters to take care of first." If the main building were here, then that meant the card store would be as well. He could check see if there were any cards there he could use. He’d lost the deck he’d had on him when he’d fallen here to a small thieving creature and never gotten it back, no matter how hard he’d searched. He missed Water Dragon terribly.

But for now, he carefully made his way to the door. He needed the best meal he could find and he needed to think about what he could do to solve all the riddles that were in front of him. Untold numbers of formulas danced about in his head and he knew that was one reason he would need to eat something - just to be able to focus on what he was doing.

A shower, shaving, something to eat, and then he could do all the math that he needed. For once he would be able to help with his natural gifts - and this time they needed his abilities. It might not be only up to him but until some other form of aid presented itself, this was what he would do. Cards would come later.

And if he were very lucky, by the time that Juudai and the others returned, he would have found the answer to getting them all home again.

In the back of his mind he also wondered, just what was the source of Rei’s strange wound? It looked so much like a claw…

The End

Notes: I don’t write Misawa very often. But the idea of what he did before DA showed up in the desert is fascinating. One day. One day.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #misawa daichi #gxmonth2021

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mythgirlimagines · 3 years

Photo

Talentswap Tuesday is today! Please keep your eyes peeled, or she just might jump out from the shadows to give you an impromptu makeover! It’s Myth, the Former Ultimate Makeup Artist!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

When you first of her talent, you would assume Myth to be some kind of Marylin Monroe-esque social media influencer. But despite Myth’s skill in standard makeup application, Myth’s speciality lies in horror and special effects. Able to turn a person from a beauty to a beast, Myth’s makeup skills are praised by both the horror fanatic crowd and the beautician crowd. As the third daughter to an American horror movie actor and a Ukrainian beautician, Myth’s talent manages to consist of the best of both worlds. Starting out as a humble assistant at some of her father‘s movie shoots, eventually Myth garnered internet fame for her tutorials on how to give yourself extra eyes or how to turn into a vampire. She still hasn’t lost any of her spooky and impish charm, even as an adult and chaperone of Hope’s Peak’s annual Kibo-Con field trip.

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RELATIONSHIP

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Storyteller

Folks come far and wide to hear Wyre’s macabre tales that can leave even the strongest of bodyguards shaking in their boots. Myth and Wyre knew each other ever since they were little, having bonded over their shared love of horror and the macabre. And you can bet your bottom dollar that their relationship is still going strong to this very day. Myth regularly helps Wyre with their makeup to up the horror factor, usually making Wyre resemble an oni or a dragon. This fearsome duo just love teaming up to scare the other Anons.

Outfit: White face paint with black circles around their eyes and cracks painted into their face, a large purple cape held together with a skull design, a black vest and red ascot over a white dress shirt, brown pants, black heeled boots.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Jazz Singer

With her proficient skill at both vocals and instruments, Anon Scar, also known by her stage name “Guardian of Soul”, managed to revitalize the jazz genre. You’d think that with her whole demon motif along with her cool and calm behavior on stage, Scar would be able to handle Myth’s horror. But all of that talk of demons and curses is merely a facade, concealing an easily-frazzled and heavily concerned mom friend. Myth loves drawing wounds on herself and pretending to be hurt around Scar, just to see Scar’s facade break.

Outfit: A black vest with a white music note design on the back over a white tank top, black pants, black fingerless gloves, a microphone around her right ear, the scarf and boots from her original design.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Forensic Sociologist

An expert on human behaviors, body language and social interactions, Fusion possesses an uncanny intuition and can read people like a book, making him a tough nut to crack for the more deceptive and manipulative students. Despite his creepy intuition, Fusion remains a kind-hearted, almost paternal, young man. Myth was thinking that if Fusion wasn’t so kind-hearted and she touched up on his makeup, his freakish intuition and his freakishly thin and tall body would make him the perfect horror movie monster.

Outfit: An oversized dark blue trench coat, an equally large red scarf that covers his mouth, the pants, shoes and glasses from his original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Beatboxer

Conquering rap battles after rap battles, Fusion II is famous for both her epic beatboxing skills and the equally epic roasts of her opponents. But similar to Scar, Fusion II‘s sarcastic and flippant demeanour is merely a facade. Deep down, Fusion II is a massive nerd, particularly for literature and poetry. This love for the written word can be found in many lyrics of her rap songs. Myth finds Fusion II to be a fun person to scare, especially when the beatboxer is in the middle of one of her breakdancing sessions.

Outfit: A white jumpsuit that is undone at her waist revealing her red tanktop and fake gold heart necklace underneath, blue and white sneakers, black fingerless gloves, a couple of piercings in her ears, a red cap worn backwards, sunglasses from her original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Seer

Ever since he was little, Janon has been having weird prophetic dreams and Janon felt the urge to draw them in his dream journal. Sleeping and drawing are about the only two things that Janon really puts effort into. Janon sleeps a lot to maximize the number of prophecies he can see, and he can get really grouchy if someone wakes him up in the middle of his dreams. As much as Janon tries to put up the image of a stoic emo, his ridiculous fashion sense and adorable appearance makes Janon Myth‘s number one teasing target.

Outfit: Back-length hair that he didn’t bother to cut with a couples of pencils stuck in, a pink ski cap with bunny ears, a white mask with a cat mouth and whiskers on them, a yellow raincoat, galaxy leggings, nothing on his feet.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Linguist

Coming from an influential family known for their international branches, Sparkle has a penchant for traveling and managed to pick up languages left and right. Currently speaking 14 languages at a native level, Sparkle has a loud, bombastic and dramatic personality. And that loud, bombastic and dramatic personality makes really great reactions to Myth’s jumpscares, along with the added bonus of hearing Sparkle curse in different languages. Sparkle would let Myth touch up on her makeup as long as Myth promises not to put gory details on the linguist’s face.

Outfit: A brown vest over a long-sleeved blue dress shirt, a brown skirt, grey nylons, black heels, a large cape with a map of the word on it, blue pauldrons.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Barista, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Perfumer

With the twin’s love for the cursed and macabre, Myth got along with them like a house on fire. Myth regularly hangs out with Egg at their coffee house and exchange their regular cursed inside jokes over a nice cup of joe. Wet Sock, despite their bitter personality, produces some of the best-smelling and luxurious perfume in the known world. Wet Sock’s and Myth’s shared love of cosmetics makes them quite the cursed duo. Both of them may have growing feelings for Myth and they usually fight over her, much to Myth’s amusement.

Egg’s Outfit: A white polo shirt, a green apron, black pants and brown loafers.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A white polo shirt, a black vest, black pants and brown loafers.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Fencer

Being raised by a prestigious family of fencers, Curious managed to dominate fencing tournaments despite their height and age. Curious is loyal, stalwart and above all else, chivalrous. Said chivalry earned them tons of admirers in their old private school. Similar to Fusion, Curious is also a tough nut to crack, for Curious just has this constant poker face, no matter what horrifying imagery Myth throws at them. But Myth is a determined little lass and will find a way to scare Curious, or she will die trying.

Outfit: Hair in a small ponytail, red and white jacket over a red vest and green tie over a white dress shirt, cream pants, black boots and gloves, always has their trusty rapier on their person.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Lucky Student

Having been admitted to Hope’s Peak via a mere lottery, Anon Nerd has a foul mouth and an equally foul temper, which very clearly came from the poor hand in life that his bad luck gave him. Nerd doesn’t really have anything to his name apart from being part of his school‘s debate club and getting into screaming matches against 13 year olds online. Because of Nerd’s easily-enraged and overreacting personality, Myth finds Nerd in particular to be a fascinating subject to scare. Nerd’s blushy face is just so darn adorable!

Outfit: A black hoodie hood-up, black sweatpants, white socks, grey flip flops.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Crime Novelist

Famous for both his graphic and suspenseful novels and his general evasiveness about his personal information, it truly was a wonder that Myth‘s favorite crime novels were written by not only a Hope’s Peak student, but also someone who is 5 years her junior. Myth regularly tries to socialize with her hero in literature, but despite writing graphic crime novels, Eldritch is cowardly and runs away screaming at the slightest chance of danger. Myth’s generally creepy behavior and interests doesn’t really help matters.

Outfit: Longer hair in a ponytail, a dark purple vest with an orange question mark on the lapel over a long white dress shirt, an orange cravat, grey pants, black socks, black slip-on shoes.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Lighting Designer

Dream has become famous for catapulting her school’s theater club to stardom with her amazing light displays. Dream and Myth both have careers centered around show business, they both admire Eldritch Anon and his novels, and they both have outgoing and childish personalities. But a certain quality about Dream prevents Myth from putting her on her list of friends: Dream is a fashion disaster! Myth always tries to give Dream a makeover and a tirade about how crocs are evil, but everything goes in one ear and comes out the other.

Outfit: A blue headband, part of her hair is put into a small sidetail with a green scrunchie, her hair is dyed a rainbow of colors, a black tanktop, a black, white, and pink jacket draped over her shoulders, various fake gold jewelry, orange headphones, white jorts, a blue and purple stocking on her left leg and a green and yellow stocking on her right leg, red crocs.

Iris Anon, Ultimate Jack-Of-All-Trades

Unlike other Ultimates with a clear-cut talent, Iris has mastered a ton of talents but not to the point of Ultimate status. Iris’s unorthodox Ultimate makes her an enigma amongst the other Ultimates. Despite not knowing what her plans are for the future, Iris is determined to make the most of the vast array of skills she mastered. Iris is very optimistic, able to see the good in even the worst and cursed of monsters. Myth admires Iris’s determination and Myth regularly uses Iris as her pranking accomplice.

Outfit: A grey beanie cap with a dark blue star design, a green flannel jacket over a white t-shirt, a gold coin necklace, light blue jorts, white socks and green loafers with white soles, glasses and bandages from her original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Toxicologist

As the scion of an influential family in the science field, Purple Anon is hailed as a prodigy in the field of toxicology. Because of Purple’s upbringing, her vocabulary is both old-fashioned and heavily uses scientific jargon, which makes her speech very hard to decipher by the Anons, with a couple of exceptions. Purple has a timid and easy-to-startle personality, usually hiding behind her good friend, Fusion. Myth regularly consults Purple on any new makeup products, to make sure that the makeup isn’t toxic or an allergen.

This series centers around the gremlin make-up artist trying her best to scare her conmates, but eventually, she opens up to others and proves to be a bit of a cinnamon roll.

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PERSONALITY

Having been surrounded by horror for the majority of her life, MakeupArtist!Myth is unfazed at the prospect of horror and revels in the macabre and unnerving. Despite regularly getting kicks from scaring her fellow Anons, MakeupArtist!Myth has a surprisingly kind-hearted personality despite her impish and devious first impression, and can dial back her horror for people like Eldritch and Purple. MakeupArtist!Myth is a massive fashion police towards the other Anons, particularly towards LightingDesigner!Dream. ——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

MakeupArtist!Myth wears her dyed purple hair in two space buns that she keeps up with blue scrunchies with yellow stars on them. She also wears an oversized grey and black sweater, dark blue short overalls, white gyaru-style socks, and black Mary Janes. Holding up her shorts is a belt that holds a bunch of makeup supplies. MakeupArtist!Myth has the same glasses from her original design, which frame her adorable dot eyes with elaborately designed eyeshadow. ——————————————————-

I hope you like this Tuesday’s Talentswap! I can’t wait to hear what you think of it! By the way, I’d totally recommend “Danganronpa: The Wolf’s Game”, if you want to see another Killing Game with an Ultimate Linguist as the protagonist! I wonder how Wolf Game’s Ultimate Linguist would interact with your Ultimate Linguist!

-Fusion Anon

—

Dang I would so like to be this good at makeup XD Wyre and I actually have a friend who’s super good with horror makeup

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bloody-britt26 · 4 years

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Hello! Inspired by that pastel crush post, may you share headcanons or a drabble of Raihan falling for a witty n strong jock/goth trainer who is basically trying to become the flying type gym leader in Galar (w a few dragons on their team too, like a noivern or an altaria), they came to the region due to their fascination w history/ruins, so Raihan's first meeting w them is in the vault as they admired the tapestries? (the dragon finds a new treasure within his vault 🤭) Love your writing btw 💖

Thank you! Again, I apologize for the delay. I have no excuses besides being a slow goof who is easily distracted by absolutely everything. I made a drabble for this, so I hope you enjoy! ♡

🐉 Raihan crushing on a future Flying-type gym leader 🐉

The atmosphere of Hammerlocke's vault was eerily quiet, not a single sound from the outdoors pierced the walls. It was the perfect environment for you, allowing you to be lost in your thoughts as you admired the tapestries. They told the story of Galar's beginnings, and it was fascinating to you.

Galar was a region filled with such a rich history, supported by vaults, ruins, monuments and art. It was the perfect region for a trainer that held passion and fascination for history such as yourself.

You held back a chuckle as you felt your pokéballs containing your main partners, Altaria and Salamance, shake impatiently. They hated being contained for long periods of time as they would rather soar through the skies, keeping a watchful eye on you.

They have been with you since you were a young child. The three of you have been through many adventures together, and they have travelled all around your home region of Hoenn by your side. They were the ones who fought their hardest for you to achieve your dream of someday becoming a gym leader specializing in Flying-type pokémon.

"Simmer down in there. I swear, I'm almost done," you said, lightly patting your pokéballs.

As you plunged back into your own little world, you hadn't noticed that a new presence had entered the vault.

When Raihan was notified by one of his gym trainers that a newcomer had entered his vault, he was curious to see what kind of person it was. Needless to say, he was pleasantly surprised to see how invested you looked. Hell, you hadn't even noticed him enter the vault, or approach you. He was a man of history himself, so he could respect any trainer that showed the same respect and admiration for Galar's history.

As you were admiring historical treasures, he found himself admiring you. You had a style that he was particularly fond of: varsity jacket, ripped jeans, baseball cap and military boots, all in dark shades and colours. You seemed to be going for a darker jock look, and it suited you quite well, in his opinion. Your eyes seemed to shine, expression cutely contorted into one of concentration.

With a smirk, Raihan cleared his throat, wanting to get your attention

Your eyes darted to your side, blinking at the new presence. "Oh, sorry…. I didn't notice you there."

Raihan shook his head, waving you off. "Don't worry about it. You looked like you were deep in thought there."

You chuckled. "What can I say? I've been a sucker for history ever since I visited my home region's ruins when I was a child."

"Foreigner, huh?"

You grinned. "Yes! Proud Hoenn native!"

"Well then, welcome to Galar. The name's Raihan, Hammerlocke's vault keeper and gym leader," he said, puffing his chest slightly as he was very proud of his titles.

"Gym leader, huh? Lucky man, it's always been a dream of mine to be a gym leader. I'm (name), by the way," you said.

"Really now? Is that why you came to Galar?" He asked.

"Well, partly. I also happen to think that Galar is one of the richest regions in history, and it's absolutely beautiful. It's nothing like the humid forestry environment that Hoenn has," you said.

"Hm… maybe we should battle someday. We could test if you've got what it takes to be a gym leader," he said, partly joking.

You looked at him with a small smirk gracing your features. "Sweetheart, I know I've got what it takes, and I'll gladly take you up on your offer. That is…. If they're not just hollow words, yes?"

Raihan blinked, surprised at your eager acceptance to his little challenge. You had a similar confident attitude as he did. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he wondered what kind of pokémon batted by your side for you to be so at ease in the presence of a powerful gym leader.

Once again, you felt your pokéballs shake, making you roll your eyes. "I should probably go… my Altaria and Salamance will have my head if I don't let 'em out of their pokéballs. Plus, I promised my team that I would let them roam around the Wild Area."

You chuckled when Raihan stood there, visibly looking like the cogs in his brain were spinning at the mention of Altaria and Salamance. The man was a dragon lover, you could tell that much by his physical appearance, choice of colours and clothing.

"Be seein' you, right? I still need to kick your butt in battle," you said with a brow raised.

As you started to walk away, Raihan snapped out of his stupor. "H-Hey, wait!"

You peaked behind your shoulder. "Yes?"

You had to hold back a laugh as Raihan fiddled with his hoodie. He looked like a child that was about to ask his parents something outrageous.

"Would it be weird if I come with you? I just-"

"You want to meet my dragons, right?"

He nodded rapidly, a big dorky grin on his face. "We don't have them here in Galar! Pleeease?"

"It's fine with me. Come on, dragon boy."

~~~~~~

Your time in the Wild Area had quickly turned into a playdate between your pokémon and Raihan's. His Goodra rested her head in your lap, seeming to have taken a liking to the head pats you had to offer.

Your Gliscor, Talonflame and his Flygon raced each other in the sky. His Duraludon and your Aerodactyl were play fighting while your Gyarados preferred to swim in the lake on his own.

Your Altaria and Salamance were getting smothered in attention by Raihan. He was an absolute dork when it came to dragons, and it showed quite a bit.

Raihan was ruffling Altaria's feathers, cooing about how fluffy she was. Altaria had no idea how to react, she sent you confused glances here and there that screamed 'Help, mom'. Salamance sounded like he was laughing at her, which probably was a bit of revenge for him as Altaria had laughed at him when Raihan kept taking selfies with him.

Raihan glanced at all of the pokémon that surrounded both of you. He had to admit: he was impressed with your team. Specializing in a specific type meant that you would need to have good type coverage to counter your weaknesses, and your team delivered. Your Gliscor could deal with rock and electric pokémon, and your Talonflame and Aerodactyl could deal with ice pokémon.

Your pokémon definitely looked well trained. Looking at Aerodactyl and Duraludon who were play fighting, he noticed how his ace dragon was visibly struggling to keep up with the prehistoric pokémon. The urge to battle you was growing as he felt that you could give him a run for his money.

He looked back at you and smiled softly at the sight. You were laughing loudly as his Goodra nuzzled you affectionately, you didn't even care that you were all slimy.

If you would let him, Raihan would love to get to know you on a more personal level, and maybe he could help you achieve your dream of being a Flying-type gym leader right here, in Galar. You had so much potential.

In the end, he ended up finding an extra treasure in his vault.

#pokemon imagines #pokemon sword and shield #raihan imagines #raihan headcanons #raihan x reader #raihan #reader insert #pokemon #pokemon headcanons #pokemon shield #pokemon sword

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reshirement · 3 years

Note

Sending one right back at you :) for the OTP questions, for bagginshield, 1, 6, 12, 27, and if you’re up for it 29 & 30! (no pressure of course I know it’s a lot)

hey, no worries @sunnibits! i love these! i used to have a friend where i’d post question lists that were sometimes a mile long, and she’d come into my inbox like ‘ALL OF THEM HAHAH’ so i’d have to spend two days writing an essay. 😂 not to say i didn’t do exactly the same thing 👀 but in any case thank you for the questions!

1. Who is the most affectionate?

This is a tough one because I think they’re both very affectionate, if in different ways. Physically affectionate, Thorin is going to top out on this one. If he wants to hold Bilbo (and Bilbo doesn’t seem to be in any kind of mood to stop him in a serious manner) he’s going to hold Bilbo or take his hand, give him a kiss, wrap him in his cloak and rest his chin on top of his head, that sort of thing so there’s absolutely no mistaking how he feels.

Bilbo, on the other hand, while he enjoys that sort of affection very much, I think would show it more in other ways. Rearranging meetings or taking on additional projects in Erebor when he thinks Thorin has too much on his plate, making sure Thorin eats more than once a day and eats well by cooking for him (honestly he will feed this dwarf hobbit style if he can get away with it, food is important), having a warm hearth, hot bath and a filled pipe ready for Thorin when he returns for the day from wherever he’s been, little daily things beyond the physical that absolutely radiate love and care.

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Hm. If you asked him, I think Bilbo would mention Thorin’s blue-grey eyes, the strength of his arms, the silver-threaded fall of Thorin’s hair. Things you can wax lyrical about in a sonnet or a story, things that make sense to share in conversation. But really, his favorite bits of the dwarf are probably more intimate, personal details, like the curve of his ear, visible on the rare occasions Thorin puts his hair back in a loose tie, the slight curl of the smile hidden just under his beard when he’s teasing. The roughness of his hands, the paler, almost dainty skin of his feet always hidden by heavy boots (once he stops chuckling about them, anyhow). Pieces of Thorin that feel like they’re just Bilbo’s, those are his favorites.

As for Thorin, I think he mostly appreciates Bilbo’s softness both in face and body (something the dwarf has not had much of in his life, and indulges in with Bilbo), watching the laugh lines develop around his eyes and mouth, the smirk Bilbo gives him when the hobbit feels he’s done something exceptionally clever, or when they share a private joke.

I also think he probably also has a fascination with Bilbo’s ears, but never brings it up because that’s just asking for a teasing volley about their pointed similarity to the ears of elves (which Thorin would vehemently disagree with both on principle and because honestly they look absolutely nothing alike, he’s spent a lot of time considering this, you see).

12. Who initiates kisses?

Depends on which part you’d consider ‘initiating.’ Thorin, for sure, is the one to swoop in for a peck on the cheek, a full snog or anything in between whenever the whim strikes him, but Bilbo is what I like to call a kiss angler. He’s the one who is going to make eye contact and tilt his head just so, or lean in just a bit too close over Thorin’s shoulder to see what he’s working on, probably with an additional, unnecessary hand on the shoulder that will tilt their faces that much closer.

This tactic is often subtle, and is meant to draw the dwarf in without technically shifting his focus from anything else, and honestly is such a common occurrence that the movement won’t even register with Thorin before he complies and Bilbo gets his kiss (not that he would mind in the slightest!)

27. Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Both of them. Thorin has nephews he raised, so I’m sure that move would be old-hat to him, and as a lighter sleeper, it would probably be him most often rising in the night to see about a child’s distress.

I think Thorin would absolutely sing to soothe a child as a go-to method, crooning a lullaby or two, and while I’m certain Bilbo would sing as well if a child wanted him to, he’d probably have to be asked first. After all, Bilbo’s a story-teller, and more likely to offer a tale over a song to calm and distract a little one from fears in the night.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart.

I think Frodo is right, Bilbo knew the value of the mithril quite well, but I don’t believe he knew at first when it was given to him, or had any inkling of it’s value, other than as a gift from someone he loved (whether he realized it yet or not) that he was profoundly worried about given the dragonsickness and the armies at the time.

But eventually, Bilbo found out. Whether from a dwarf friend visiting him in his home, or an old history book he was perusing years down the line, eVENTUALLY Bilbo learned what the mithril was, how incredibly valuable, how profoundly irreplaceable, and Thorin had handed it over freely with his heartfelt ‘It is a gift’ to Bilbo whilst in the throes of dragonsickness where he trusted not even his own kin.

Now as I said, years down the line, Bilbo’s at home, he’s coping, he’s living. He’s pushed it down in the traditional hobbit style of ‘I’m going to keep everything right here and then one day I’ll die.’ (considering the people he lived with in the Shire, there wasn’t exactly another option for him.) He’d loved Thorin then, and still does, but it’s a painful, perhaps romanticized tragedy, one that exists solely in the writers’ mind. Perhaps other than a double-handful of small moments, there was no real tangible proof that Thorin felt as he did, and it would be easy to convince himself over the years that whatever connection they appeared to have was perhaps a one-sided one. That they were dear friends, nothing more. After all, it’s easier to grieve a personal loss if it’s confined to the tragedy, and not the shape your future might have taken.

But the mithril, once the gravity of that gesture truly sinks in, what it meant, what it means. I can imagine that unlocking some terrible floodgates, and all of a sudden the battle was only yesterday and he’s grieving because Thorin loved him too, and he’s angry, furious. Angry at Thorin, angry at the both of them for not saying anything sooner, angry at himself, the dragon, the armies, the sickness.

Angry at what he lost, what they all lost, and I can’t imagine him being anything but horrendously overwhelmed, and feeling heartbrokenly alone. I think the mithril shirt would in that very moment go from a nostalgic comfort to a terrible burden, and I believe the night that Bilbo discovered the true worth of the mithril was the same night it ended up in the mathom-house.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it.

Now that that godawful headcanon is out of the way, how about this one for the book!verse? After the Battle of the Five Armies, Erebor held too many ghosts. Thorin did not fall, (though perhaps he meant to fall, what with the leaving behind of the armor before making that suicidal charge) and abdicating was not only the best option considering his actions under the goldsickness and how that might impact Erebor and future treaties with neighboring kingdoms, but also he fact that he’s lived his whole life for his people, he has succeeded in securing their ancestral home, and maybe carving his own path is now a desired option. He’s free.

Fili and Kili also live, but don’t want the throne. They’ve been raised in the Blue Mountains, and they love their uncle, love Erebor because of Thorin, and without him there, they’re not super interested in entering the line of succession, so Bilbo and Thorin travel to the Shire because Bilbo is adamant that it would be good for him, and Fili and Kili follow. It is closer to their mother, after all, to visit back and forth.

And perhaps the book Bilbo writes is helpful to them staying on the down-low. Everyone important in their life is sure to know the truth, so what if these three unnamed dwarves are the other hidden residents of Bag End (or perhaps, just one hidden resident and two visiting nephews), kept safe from discovery from friends and family both, and Bilbo and Thorin, somehow, had their happy ending?

tl;dr: THE LINE OF DURIN IS FINE, EVERYONE IS FINE.

#asks #otp questions #sunnibits #sorry i wanted to make sure i could sit down and answer in full <3 #thank you for the questions!!#that last one I guess isn’t technically an headcanon as much as wishful thinking but ah well

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duhragonball · 3 years

Text

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (153/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

And then there’s these jerks...

[24 December, Age 762. Planet Namek.]

A stiff breeze blew over the azure plains of Namek. The Time Patrol had recruited Luffa from the distant past to hunt down a mysterious enemy who was altering history. She had found them.

They were humanoids with pointy ears, snow-white hair, and ice blue skin. They wore matching costumes of black and red. Towa carried a long spear in her slender hands, while Mira appeared to be the warrior of the pair. With a voice devoid of emotion he threatened to destroy Luffa for daring to oppose them.

Luffa had already taken a beating. Undoing the changes to history had led her to several pitched battles with the Ginyu Force. Her pants were reduced to strips of yellow rags that hung from her waist and boots. Fortunately, her black compression shirt and shorts were much more durable. Since arriving in this strange era, Luffa had found her powers to be a pale shadow of her former glory. Once, she had been the Legendary Super Saiyan, and she would have destroyed the Ginyu Force with a swipe of her golden tail. Now, it had taken everything she had to defeat them one at a time.

She raised her outstretched hand towards Mira, and curled her fingers toward herself, beckoning him to do his worst.

"You acted a bit rashly a moment ago, Mira," Towa said. Usually you ask my permission to attack before you power up. Not that I mind, of course. This Saiyan will make a good test run for you, but I am rather fascinated by how eager you are to fight her."

"He's just smart, that's all," Luffa said. "He knows that I came here to fight, and you two are next on my list."

Mira charged at Luffa and the battle was on. She avoided what she expected was a right punch, only for Mira to grab her by the face with his left hand and drive her into the nearby hillside. She attempted to reverse the grab into an armbar, but he was quick enough to release her before she could lock in a grip. She settled instead for a barrage of punches and kicks. Mira deflected all of these with ease, but Luffa was only testing him at this point. So far, she liked what she was seeing.

"Towa," Mira called out. His voice was louder, but showed no more emotion than before. He spoke like a man reciting passages out of a phone directory, and now he simply raised his voice to be heard. "This is the one who has been interfering with us all along."

"I'd say you're right, Mira," Towa replied from a safe distance. If she was concerned at all about getting hurt during this battle, she didn't show it. It irked Luffa enough that she was tempted to fire a ki blast at her just to make a point, but she didn't want to give Mira any openings. She would deal with Towa in due time, or so she told herself.

"It's a shame, really," Towa said. "We made history a lot more interesting, and then you came along and put everything back to normal again, didn't you? How disappointing. You struck me as somewhat impressive, but all you care to do is maintain the status quo. That's not very adventurous of you, now is it?"

"Is that why you came here?" Luffa asked. "No big plan, just tampering with history for a few laughs?"

Asking that question nearly cost Luffa her head, as Mira fired a large ki blast from his hands that she almost didn't dodge in time. It was like her Galick Gun, but not quite. There was a hint of Saiyan style in Mira's fighting moves, but Luffa wasn't entirely certain what that could mean.

"Oh, I'm here for more than a good time, if that's what you're asking," Towa said. "But speaking of laughs, I did enjoy that part where you switched bodies with Ginyu. Very amusing. You had no idea he could do that, did you?"

"You two were watching us fight the entire time?" Luffa asked. "But none of us sensed your energy. I'm kind of surprised Kakarot and Vegeta aren't rushing over here now to see what I'm up to."

"Your friends will not save you," Mira said in his gloomy monotone. "They have no idea that you're here."

Luffa went low and attempted a kick to sweep Mira off his feet. He avoided her foot, but he failed to account for her tail, which hooked his ankle and flung him over her shoulder. He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to take back the initiative. Luffa pressed on, hammering away at his defenses with rapid strikes. Mira showed no sign of despair or frustration, but Luffa smiled anyway.

"I've been generating a cloaking field around us ever since we came to this time," Towa explained. "It doesn’t obstruct line-of-sight, but it does prevent outsiders from sensing our energy, so that way we can operate and observe without attracting any unwanted attention. That's why you didn't notice us earlier, or on Earth, when we were conducting experiments before."

"Experiments?" Luffa sneered. "That's what you call it? That purple crap you used on Raditz, and then Vegeta and the others?"

"I have to give you some credit," Towa said. "Because of how well you performed against the Ginyu Force, I decided to try the same spell on Frieza's entire crew. I wouldn't have considered trying it otherwise, not that I expected them to beat you, but it certainly made things more amusing. And it seems like you've gotten a little stronger since then. There's something odd about you. I like that."

Mira suddenly set his jaw and tensed his arms, and a bright green field of energy surrounded him, deflecting Luffa's attacks and forcing her away. As the field subsided, he pushed back on Luffa, fighting harder than he had before.

"Getting serious, Mira?" Luffa asked. "Took you long enough. I thought maybe you two were waiting for Frieza or some other goon to show up and bail you out."

"Hmph," Towa said from the sidelines. "I guess you thought I was bluffing before. You're from Earth, aren't you? What do they call it on Earth? A duck blind? Something hunters use to avoid being noticed by their prey. This whole area has been camouflaged, so they won't sense any of us, no matter how hard you and Mira fight. And we're too far away for them to see or hear us. Well, maybe Namekian frogs could pick us up. They have an uncanny power to sense humidity. Did you know that?"

Luffa hadn’t known this, but it explained how she found them. Captain Ginyu had trapped himself in the body of a frog, and somehow he had noticed Towa and Mira from a great distance away. Perhaps his new amphibian senses had picked up the moisture from their breath. If Luffa hadn’t been watching Ginyu, she might not have discovered them. But she had no intention of admitting that.

"So there won't be anyone else joining us?" Luffa asked.

"No one," Mira said.

"Excellent," Luffa replied.

She ducked Mira's next ki blast and then drove an uppercut into his abdomen. Despite his cold, stoic demeanor, Mira's eyes went wide as the breath was driven out of him.

Luffa used the lull in the action to turn her head and spit on the ground. "Don't get me wrong," she said. "I wasn't waiting for someone to help me, and I wasn't worried about someone else showing up to help you. I just wanted to make sure I could fight freely without causing anymore time anomalies. And if no one sensed that little love tap, Mira, then I guess they won't notice this either..."

She balled up her fists and began to scream. Mira recovered from her punch, but he wasn't in any hurry to renew his offensive. He stood his ground and winced as Luffa's ki aura grew stronger. Towa raised an eyebrow, but nothing more.

"You were so excited to fight me, Mira," Luffa said when she finished. "Let's see how you like me now." With a cheerful growl, she raised her left hand over her chest and flung a ball of green energy at him. Unable to dodge in time, Mira tried to block it, only to be stunned as the ki made contact with his body, like his hands had gripped a live wire. The damage was minor, but it gave Luffa an opening to slip behind him and drive her knuckles into the small of his back. To add insult to injury, she grabbed the length of cloth that hung from his waist and swung him around a few times before tossing him into the ground.

"Mira...!" Towa said under her breath.

"You said you watched everyone," Luffa snarled. "Observed all of the fighting. Didn't you pay attention to how those fights ended?"

She pounced on Mira's chest and knocked him over before he could get up. Then she began punching his head as hard as she could. Her hands glowed a furious crimson as she charged them with enough ki to make every blow as painful as possible.

"They ended with my enemies whimpering with fear!" Luffa shouted. "With me slaughtering them like livestock! And you call yourselves the hunters? Not anymore, Mira. Now you're just another victim."

At last, she hit him hard enough to draw blood. It was purple.

"Enough!" Towa gasped as she raised her spear. Luffa caught this motion out of the corner of her eye, and leaped clear of Mira to defend herself.

"So, you finally got bored with watching, Towa?" Luffa asked with a grin. "You're welcome to join us whenever you like. Mira could use a hand, couldn't you, Mira?"

With a horrid look in her eyes, Luffa glared at Towa as she licked Mira's blood off her knuckles.

"You have no idea who it is you're dealing with," Towa insisted. She was almost beginning to look worried. "Mira has defeated far greater warriors than you, little girl. Let me show you..."

The spear began to glow, and Luffa expected an attack, but instead it was Mira who was affected, as he suddenly glowed with a dark red aura, much like the one he had displayed before the fight began. He rose to his feet, and stared at Luffa with a renewed sense of purpose.

"Your fate is sealed," he said, his gloomy voice cutting through the rushing pulse of his ki aura.

"You can make him stronger?" Luffa asked Towa. "Hah! You should have done that in the first place! Do I have to kill him before you'll take me seriously?"

"I had been conserving that energy for other applications," Towa said. Now that Mira was back in the game, Towa had regained her former composure. "But I won't just stand by and let you damage my masterpiece."

Mira wasted no time. As he rushed towards Luffa, she noticed that his wounds had even been healed. Curious, she backed away, retreating into the sky and keeping her distance.

"You two make a hell of team," Luffa taunted. "Mira does the fighting and Towa handles support. Does she fight at all? I was looking forward to seeing what she could do after I kill you, Mira, but I'm starting to think she might not last very long."

Mira didn't answer. Instead, he increased his speed, and suddenly appeared less than a meter away from Luffa, then caught her with a roundhouse kick to her ribs. Before she could fall, he caught hold of her wrist, then wrapped his arms around her and dove head-first to the ground. Just as they reached the surface, Mira released Luffa and jumped clear, leaving her to suffer the impact alone.

"N-not bad..." Luffa muttered as she slowly rose up from the ground. But before she could get to her feet, Mira fired a wide ki blast over the crater she had made. For several long seconds, there was no sign of Luffa from within the intense purple light of Mira's attack. When he ceased fire, she was still alive, but had dropped to one knee, her head tucked behind her forearms in a desperate attempt to defend herself. The burns and scrapes on her skin proved that she had only barely managed to survive.

Mira attacked again, zipping around Luffa with blinding speed, and finally stopping to deliver an elbow strike to the back of her neck. She collapsed, only for Mira to grab her by the collar of her compression shirt and toss her high into the air. He crouched and widened his stance, then held his hands together on his right flank. As he charged his energy again, he spoke.

"Ka...! Me...! Ha...! Me...!"

"Wonderful, Mira," Towa said with a chuckle. "You really do know how to put on a show."

"...Ha!" Mira finished, and he extended his hands, wrist-to-wrist, and fired a burst of blue light directly towards the falling Luffa. The beam caught her in mid-air, breaking her fall and shoving her further into the sky. And further...

And then she stopped.

"What--?" was Mira's only reaction. And then he began to feel something pushing back.

"That... that can't be right," Towa said. "She couldn't be strong enough to handle that attack, especially not after the beating she just took...!"

And then the Namekian skies echoed with raucous laughter.

"Mira! Finish it now!" Towa said. "This is no time to be playing around."

"I'm not 'playing'," Mira said. His expression was as blank as ever, but the strain in his voice was unmistakable. He was doing everything in his power to kill Luffa. It just wasn't enough. And then, finally, his Kamehama Wave deflected at a near right angle. The beam continued on into the sky, leaving only the one who had deflected it.

Luffa dropped to the ground and smiled triumphantly. The yellow rags had all been burned away, and even her black shorts and shirt were beginning to show signs of wear. Her hands were trembling, and her eyes were wide with wild, desperate emotions. But she was still alive, and eager to continue fighting.

"Come on!" she shouted, pointing at her face.

"You've gone mad with terror, then," Mira said. "Very well."

He rushed Luffa again and struck her in the jawline. Luffa absorbed the blow, and responded with a punch of her own. Mira stayed on his feet, but the impact staggered him.

"That's not all you've got, you bastard!" Luffa snarled. "Again!"

"Mira, watch out--" Towa warned, but Mira took the bait. He tried a kick this time, and Luffa winced and gritted her teeth when his boot hit her ribs, but she recovered and fired back with a kick of her own, which landed squarely on Mira's right thigh. He shuddered as his quadricep began to spasm from the impact.

"You used to be a lot stronger than this," Luffa said. "I can read it in your fighting style. You're accustomed to fighting on a higher level than where we are now. But you can't attain that level anymore. You might get back there eventually, but you've got a long way to go."

"I have all the power I require to destroy you," Mira insisted.

Luffa laughed and held her hands behind her back. "You don't have anything," she said as she held up her chin, daring him to take another free shot. Her wide eyes glared at him as she waited for him to answer. "You've got skill, Mira, and you know how to handle all that power, but you've got no spirit, and that's why you'll never win against me."

"You're bluffing," Mira said evenly. "If you think your feeble threats can intimidate me, then you are a fool. I will end this here and now."

"Maybe you're right, Mira," Luffa said. "I honestly don't know myself, and that's what makes it so exciting. But I feel very sure of myself right now. Like the next punch you land is going to push me over the edge. So how about it? What do you feel?"

She held her ground, waiting for Mira to make the next move. For a moment, he hesitated, but only for a moment. "It's over," he said. "Don't worry. I'll use your energy well."

Then he drew back his right arm and prepared to strike, until--

"Hold on, Mira!" Towa called out. He stopped immediately, and waited for her next command.

"Looks like someone's not ready to find out if I was bluffing," Luffa said. "Too bad."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Towa said. "I only wanted to ask you a few questions before Mira kills you."

She approached the two of them and stood beside Mira, who seemed mildly annoyed at being ordered to stand down. Towa looked very calm, but Luffa couldn't help but notice how she held the spear in her hands, rolling it anxiously in her slender fingers.

"Who's supporting you?" Towa asked. "Who's backing you up? It's not as if you could have done this on your own."

"Why not?" Luffa said with a grin.

"Don't play dumb with me," Towa said. "You traveled through time, came to this planet, just to fight us? It doesn't make any sense. Someone put you up to this. I'd like to know who."

Luffa's only reply was the sadistic grin on her face.

"I see... So it's the silent treatment, huh? No matter." She gestured to Mira. "Let's leave her for now, Mira."

Mira crossed his arms indignantly, though his blank expression remained unchanged.

"You don't mind, do you?" Towa asked him. "As she is, she's nothing right now. I could extract her energy, but it wouldn't amount to much. But maybe things will be different... later."

Mira harrumphed in reply.

"Well, let's move on to the next era," Towa said.

"What makes you think you can just walk away?" Luffa asked.

The two of them turned their backs to Luffa, and Towa glanced over her shoulder and laughed quietly. "I'll let you live for now... little girl. But if you decide to get in our way again... I'll have you erased."

"Why wait?" Luffa asked, but before she could do anything, Towa and Mira vanished. She couldn't sense them anywhere. For a moment, Luffa considered that they might be hiding again, using the "duck blind" that Towa had spoken of. How long would it take to search the planet? Were they even still on the planet to be found?

Before she could weigh her options, the world around her began to fade into a swirl of colorful light. Luffa had experienced this before. The Time Patrol was bringing her back from the past. For now, her mission was over.

NEXT: The Time Breakers.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #luffa #towa #mira #namek

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insanityclause · 4 years

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Coriolanus is a play that’s more respected than revered. Why does it have a rather difficult reputation? Coriolanus is relentless, brutal, savage and serious, but that’s why I find it interesting. Shakespeare sets the play in ancient Rome: a far older place than the Rome more familiar to us – of Julius Caesar or Antony and Cleopatra or the later Empire. This Rome is wild. A city-state wrestling with its identity. An early Rome of famine, war and tyranny.

In the central character, Caius Martius Coriolanus, Shakespeare shows how the power of unchecked rage corrodes, dehumanises and ultimately destroys its subject. I’ve read that some find Martius a hard character to like, or to relate to – less effective at evoking an audience’s sympathy than Hamlet, Romeo, Juliet, Rosalind, Othello or Lear. Yet there is a perverse integrity and purity to be found in his obstinacy and honour, which sits alongside his arrogance and contempt.

The play’s poetry is raw and visceral, quite different from the elegance, beauty, clarity and charm found elsewhere in Shakespeare’s work. The warmth and delight to be found in his comedies are absent here. But the unstinting seriousness and intensity of the play is what makes it fascinating.

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How well did you know the play? I didn’t know it well. I had seen an early screening of Ralph Fiennes’s terrific film adaptation at the Toronto film festival in September of 2011. I was fascinated by the visceral intensity of the play: the power, hubris, and force of the title character; its lasting political resonance; and the immediacy and profundity of the familial relationships, particularly between mother and son – Volumnia and Martius – which struck me as perhaps the most intense and psychologically complex presentation of that bond I had come across in Shakespeare.

What drew you to Coriolanus as a character? I was fascinated by the evolution of Martius/Coriolanus as a character through the play. His arc is purely tragic. He begins the play as Rome’s most courageous warrior, is quickly celebrated as its most fearsome defender, then garlanded by the Senate and selected for the highest political office.

His clarity of focus, fearlessness and ferocity of spirit, all qualities that make him a great soldier, undo him as a politician. His honesty and pride forbid him from disguising his contempt for the people of Rome, whom he deems weak, cowardly and fickle in their loyalties and affections. He cannot lie. “His heart’s his mouth / What his breast forges that his tongue must vent.” He becomes a tyrant, branded a traitor, an enemy of the people: an uncontained vessel of blistering rage. He is banished, changed “from man to dragon”. Joining forces with his sworn enemy, Aufidius, he plots revenge against Rome: “There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.” And then finally, at the very end, as he watches his own mother, wife and son kneel at his feet and beg for his mercy, he reveals – beneath the hardened exterior of contempt – a tenderness and vulnerability not seen before.

That shift, from splenetic warrior to merciless “dragon” to “boy of tears”, fascinated me – and the fact that his intransigence, valour and vulnerability all seem to be located in, and released by, his complex attachment to his mother.

How does this play about politics and people resonate in today’s society? The play raises the question as to how much power should reside in the hands of any individual: a question that will never go out of date. “What is the city but the people?” cries the people’s tribune, Sicinius (in our production, brilliantly played by Helen Schlesinger). The people must have their voices. And, beneath that, I think the play also raises another complex question as to what degree any individual can withstand the intensity of idealisation and demonisation that comes with the mantle of unmoderated leadership or extraordinary responsibility.

It’s a physical role – how did you prepare for it with fight director Richard Ryan? Josie Rourke and I knew it was important to the clarity of the play that Martius be credibly presented as a physical presence. As a warrior, we are told, he “struck Corioles like a planet”. Big boots to fill. Hadley Fraser, who plays Aufidius, and I began working with Richard Ryan three months before we started full rehearsals on the text of the play. The fight between Martius and Aufidius is a huge opportunity to explore their mutual obsession (“He is a lion that I am proud to hunt”).

We also hoped there would be something thrilling about presenting it at such close quarters in the confined space of the Donmar. We wanted to create a moment of combat that was visceral, brutal and relentless. We knew it would require skill, safety and endless practice. The fight choreography became something we drilled, every day. Hadley was amazing. So committed, so disciplined. It created a real bond of trust between us.

You previously starred in Othello at the Donmar. What’s special about that space? The Donmar is one of the most intimate spaces in London. I must have seen at least a hundred productions there over the last 20 years, and as an audience member it always feels like a thrill and a privilege to feel so close to the action. There’s a forensic clarity to the space: the audience are so close that they see every movement, every look. For actors, there’s nowhere to hide. That’s exciting.

It’s what makes the Donmar special: the closeness, the proximity. Hard to imagine in the wake of Covid-19. Theatres everywhere need all the support they can get. But that’s what’s encouraging about National Theatre at Home. It’s keeping theatre going, but it’s also a reminder that the sector will need real support to stay alive: from the government and from us, the people who love and cherish it.

There is a rather bloody shower scene – what are your memories of that moment? I remember that the water was extremely cold. But I was always grateful, because the preceding 20 minutes – scurrying up ladders, down fire escapes, into quick changes and sword fights – had been so physically intense that the cold water felt like a great relief. Martius says to Cominius just moments beforehand: “I will go wash / And when my face is fair you shall perceive / Whether I blush or no.” So I washed.

The scene did have a thematic significance. So much of the play, and the poetry of the play, is loaded with references and characters who are obsessed by the body of Martius as an object: how much blood he has shed for his city; how many scars he bears as emblems of his service. His mother, Volumnia (in our production played with such power and clarity by Deborah Findlay), says in a preceding scene that blood “more becomes a man than gilt his trophy”. Later, during the process of his election to the consulship, to the highest office, Martius is obliged by tradition to go out into the marketplace and display his wounds, in a bid to court public approval; to win the people’s voices. Martius refuses, in contempt for both practice and people.

In the shower scene, Josie wanted the audience to be able to see the wounds that he refuses to show the people later on, but we also wanted to suggest the reality of what those scars have cost him privately. We wanted to show him wincing, in deep pain: that these wounds and scars are not some highly prized commodity, but that beneath the exterior of the warrior-machine, idealised far beyond his sense of his own worth, is a human being who bleeds.

It’s an intense performance, in a three-hour play. How did you unwind after the show? My first thought is that I was always unbelievably hungry. Thankfully, Covent Garden is not short of places to buy a hamburger. I will always be grateful to all of them.

How did you modify your performance for the NT Live filming? The whole production for NT Live was very much the same as it was every night during our 12-week run. Naturally, as a company, we couldn’t help but be aware of cameras on all sides, especially in a space like the Donmar. We were all so grateful that the National Theatre Live team had come over the river to the Donmar. I always hoped the broadcast would capture the headlong intensity of the whole thing. The play opens with a riot, and does not stop.

What have you been watching during lockdown? I was gripped, moved and inspired by The Last Dance, the documentary series about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls in the mid-90s (Steve Kerr!). Normal People for its two extraordinary central performances from Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones. I’ve rewatched old tennis matches, which somehow I have found very comforting: in particular, the 2014 Djokovic/Federer Wimbledon final. And – because we all need cheering up – Dirty Dancing.

#Tom Hiddleston #Coriolanus #interview #National Theatre at Home

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novamm66 · 4 years

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From Earth to Sky - Chapter Seven - Adamant & Hawke

Who doesn’t love an amazing fall Friday with another chapter!

They had travelled hard, the people sleeping in the wagons while still on the move, only stopping when the horses and druffalo needed rest. The army would reach Griffin Wing Keep in a day, and Varric had run out of time.

Varric found an outcrop of boulders that offered some privacy from the rest of the camp but still within the patrol routes. He was hoping that Cassandra would find him, and he didn’t have to wait long.

“How can you read in the dark?” She asked as she sat on a rock facing him, their knees brushing together. The smile on her face made Varric want to reach out and kiss her senseless.

“Good eyesight and practice,” Varric replied, placing his book aside. He put his hands on his knees and slid them to hers. He grinned at the hitch in her breathing. Don’t get distracted. Varric scolded himself, but he couldn’t help sliding his hands further up her legs before pulling back. “I actually have something to confess to you, Seeker.”

“Alright.” Cassandra nodded.

Varric took a deep breath. “Blondie is with Hawke.” The Seeker’s face was unreadable as she studied him. Varric swallowed his nerves and kept going. “We never really talked about what Hawke is doing with the Wardens.”

Cassandra started to laugh. Varric stared at her in surprise. “Not the reaction I was expecting.”

Cassandra snickered. “I am glad I can surprise you.”

“Would you care to explain? Or are you planning revenge in my sleep?”

“That’s a good idea. I will have to remember that.” Cassandra grinned. “I guessed that Anders was with Hawke long ago.”

“Really?” Varric’s surprise was evident, and this started Cassandra laughing again.

“I am a Seeker, Varric. I am usually rather good at connecting the dots. I know Hawke and Bethany are together. Makes sense with Hawke helping the Wardens. I have read your book enough times to guess at the history between Bethany and Anders, so It’s not surprising he is with her.”

“Colour me impressed. Not everyone picks up on those two in the book. But that doesn’t explain why you are so calm about the whole thing.”

“I know.” The self-doubt was clear on Cassandra’s face. Varric instantly reached for her. “I can’t say that I am not conflicted. But I respect and trust Kiaya’s judgement,” Cassandra squeezed his hands, “And I trust you. With the Chantry in chaos and everything I have read in the Seekers book, I have many things to work through. For now, I don’t think upsetting things before we attack the fortress would be beneficial for anyone.”

‘Wow, Seeker. You just might be the most amazing person I have ever met.” They had leaned closer together as they had been speaking, so Varric didn’t have far to go to kiss her. However, just before their lips met, someone cleared their throat.

“Evening.” The soldier on patrol said, nodding to them as he passed. Cassandra blushed, and Varric returned the greeting.

“I did pick this spot so that, if you throttled me, there would be witnesses.” Varric shrugged. Cassandra snorted, and they sat silently for a few minutes, fingers laced together over their knees.

Varric was the first to break the quiet. “Do you think Curly has made the same connections?” He was staring at the camp with worry in his eyes.

Cassandra squeezed his hand, trying to be reassuring while her answer was not. “I don’t think so. If he had, we probably would have heard him yelling.”

“Am I a coward for not wanting to tell him?” Varric asked, concern and shame clear on his face.

“Then, we both are,” Cassandra said with a shake of her head. “I won’t be telling him either. Kiaya has her reasons for keeping it from him,”

“Hawke made her swear not to tell anyone,” Varric interjected.

“And Kiaya is true to her word.” Cassandra nodded. “But, he’s not going to receive the news well.”

“Poor Smudges.” Varric sighed, and Cass stroked her thumb across the back of his hand.

---

Cassandra was on edge and bored at the same time. There wasn’t anything that she really needed to do. She was ready for the assault on Adamant tomorrow; her weapons and battle gear were as prepared as she could make them. She could be attending the strategy meetings with Cullen, but Cassandra’s forte was one on one combat, and there was only so much discussion on troop movements that she could take. She would be accompanying Kiaya into the heart of the fortress and, hopefully, stop the ritual. Varric would be joining Leliana, Sera and the archers to take and hold the outer walls. Their first fight since Varric’s injury, and she wouldn’t be there to protect him. It made Cassandra uneasy.

She shivered and wrapped the blankets more tightly around herself. There were no fires, they were too close now, and the desert was cold at night. The moon’s light created more shadows then they dispelled, perfect cover from anything watching from the walls, but it was just as hard to see anything among the rocks and tents.

Cassandra could feel someone watching her; she just couldn’t pinpoint where they were. She began to ease the dagger from her boot sheath under cover of the blankets. Before she could stand, a voice spoke from the darkness.

“I heard you were looking for me.” A shadow separated from the outline of tents nearby and moved towards her. Marion Hawke smiled as she approached, “I apologize for making it difficult, but in your profession, you must be used to that.” Hawke’s lips curved a little more.

Cassandra was stunned. She had never expected the Champion to seek her out. Cass had been avoided Hawke and her team, not wanting to add to the tension. This meant Cass was seeing less of Varric then she would like, but it was good that he was with them; Varric could defuse any situation. But Cassandra had never expected to be alone with the woman she had spent months searching for.

Hawke was just as intimidated as Cassandra had expected, but she was smaller then what Cass had pictured. Half a head shorter and with a slimmer build, then Cassandra, Hawke didn’t seem a threat on the surface. Still, with the controlled grace of her movements and her piercing blue eyes, Hawke was the personification of the bird of prey.

Suddenly, Cassandra realized she was staring, “I, Is there something I can assist you with?” Cassandra asked, falling back into formality to cover her surprise.

Hawke quirked an eyebrow, “I have come to ask your intentions for our mutual friend.” She said, adopting a formal tone to match, although her grin stayed in place.

“To see him happy,” Cassandra answered automatically and truthfully. “Does that meet with your approval?”

“Very much so.” Hawke’s face softened. “I wanted to meet you. You are important to him, and he is important to me, so I wanted to see what he was getting into.”

Hawke settled comfortably on the ground. “The fireside stories of Lady Pentaghast, Dragon slayer, and Right Hand, while fascinating, are not the most reliable of descriptions.”

“What?” Cassandra asked, a bit alarmed.

“Oh yes, Seeker. The stories of you are prolific, especially now. ‘The warrior woman who can quell men with a look.’ I just had to see for myself.”

Cassandra blinked. “That’s very…”

“Unsettling. I know.” Hawke rolled her eyes. “You get used to it. Sort of.”

“What did Varric say when you asked him? About us?” the question was out of Cassandra’s mouth before she could stop it.

Hawke laughed through her nose. “Dick all. He’s cagier than a fennec when it comes to you and to those of us who know him, that says a lot.”

“Really?” Cassandra said, surprise and glee equal in her voice.

Hawke nodded, grinning like a cat.

Cassandra swallowed, glad for the darkness, her cheeks burning. “Lady Hawke, I care very deeply for Varric. I only want the best for him and to see life treat him well. Of that, I can promise.”

“Not a lady. In practice or in name. Call me, Marion.” Hawke said. “All my friends do. Except for Varric.”

“Call me Cassandra then, or Cass.”

The informal introduction dissolved any remaining tension between them. But Cassandra couldn’t think of anything to say. Before the silence stretched too long, Hawke spoke first. “What do you know about Bianca?

“The crossbow or its creator?” Cassandra asked dryly.

“Good, Varric isn’t a complete idiot. What he likely didn’t tell you is that Bianca is a manipulative bitch who has been a thorn in Varric’s foot his whole life. I guarantee that she will turn up, and she always brings trouble when she does.” Hawke sighed. “Varric has always had a blind spot when it comes to her. I am hopeful that having you in his life will break that cycle, but I wanted to warn you. Bianca will not be happy, and she will have no qualms putting a knife in your back.”

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you.” Cassandra nodded.

“Now, can I interest you in some embarrassing stories of Varric?”

“Yes, please.” Cassandra laughed, passing one of her blankets over.

—

#varric x cassandra #Varric Tethras #Cassandra Pentaghast #Marion Hawke #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

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