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kurogane2512 · 2 years

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~Our Era~

Character: Eden x Herrscher! Reader (no gender specified)

Warnings: Angst (slightly suggestive in the middle)

Synopsis: Your last day with Eden

First time writing anything on Honkai, hopefully it is good....

"The field of golden wheat swayed~"

"Where can the wandering rider call home~"

"Oh, my love, may we never part ways~"

"Oh, my love, may time stay still for us...."

An angelic voice reverberated in the Elysian Realm as soon as you entered, you knew who it belonged to all too well. You squinted your eyes then silently walked towards the lounge and stood behind a corner to listen and not interrupt the star herself- Eden.

"Why are you hiding, my friend?"

The same angelic voice called out to you which caught you by surprise and you sighed then walked out of the corner.

"I'm not hiding, I just didn't want to interrupt you."

"Hehe~ I don't mind, Y/n. Come, have a seat."

Eden patted the seat beside her on the lounge sofa and you proceeded to walk towards it when she suddenly spotted something in your hand.

"Ara? Is that....a wine bottle?"

"Oh....yes. It is a wine of this era, you said one time you'd like to try some so I got a recommendation from Raven."

"My, how kind of you. Come, let us drink together, my friend."

Eden summoned her gold goblet as you proceeded to pour the wine for her, she observed the grape color of the wine with curiosity by swirling it around then looked at you, seeming to expect something.

"Drink with me, Y/n."

"O-Oh, you know I don't drink."

"Mmm just once?" She requested, making you shiver at how soft her voice suddenly became, almost like pleading you a final time, "For my sake?"

Her golden eyes looked at you with love and yearning and you melted into her request, she smiled watching you pour the wine in another goblet then you both clunk your glasses together. You intently watched her take a sip; she paused after a moment of drinking and pondered with her eyes closed, relishing the taste.

"Truly delicious, it's quite different from the wine in my era but delightful nonetheless. Please thank Raven in my place for letting me have a taste of this era's creations."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Eden."

You smiled at her and sipped from your goblet too, she rested back on the sofa with the goblet still in hand and sipping between intervals.

"Say Eden, the song that you were singing earlier...."

"Hm? Ah, that one....Hehe, you could say it was the last song that the heaven and earth of that era heard."

"You sung it...?"

"Mhm, it was the final scene of my life, of that stage that belonged to me."

You looked at her and sensed that she was in deep thought as she stared into empty space while swirling the goblet in her hand. You then gently kept your hand atop her palm and lightly squeezed it.

"Would you tell me more of your stories just like all the other times? I'm very excited to hear them."

You smiled and tried to cheer her up, Eden loved to tell you about her past. From all the Flame Chasers, she was the most approachable and easy to talk to; she always had some story to tell you whenever you came starting some months ago. You came here to find answers for your own era but got lost in the beauty of the past, in the beauty of Eden and her angelic voice.

"Of course, Y/n." Eden smiled then took another sip of the wine and began recounting another story from when she was still the star of her era.

The two of you had spent many hours together this way, just getting lost while talking of the begone time, you also shared your life experiences with her; how you became a Herrscher and how your life went from that moment on; even showing her some photos of the cities of this era.

Elysia teased you about it a lot saying that you have gained a crush on Eden which makes her jealous but truly, she was simply trying to give you a reality check- to be the hand that reaches out to you and pulls you out from the sea of the past before you can delve deeper and be forever lost. Your purpose was to dive deeper, to find answers, but not this way.

"You know, my friend...." Eden suddenly spoke and snapped you out of your trance, her voice slightly slurred which indicated she has gotten drunk now.

"....I wonder how your era looks, Y/n. The trees, the buildings, the oceans and seas. If only I could touch them and feel them....compared to my era they must still be flourishing since there are Herrschers like you who are on humanity's side. You are really strong-willed to be able to win over the Honkai and take control of your destiny...." she paused and trailed off then looked to the other side.

"If at that time...." she continued in a low voice with a bit of hesitation, eyes still not meeting yours, "....you had been the Herrscher that appeared in Australia then....I wonder would things have turned out differently since you were able to control your powers early on before they caused irreparable damage....?"

Your eyes widened at this unexpected thought of hers, it's true you were similar to the Herrscher that appeared at that time since both of you had control over fire. You knew what incident Eden was talking about, it was the day her life changed forever and the stage where she once stood upon to perform underneath the blinding spotlights became a battlefield of blood and pain.

"Eden....you are drunk."

"Mmm, no I'm not~ I can still drink a bit more~"

She winked and for some reason continued gazing at you, your heartbeat started fastening as she didn't move her gaze at all. She moved a bit closer and began leaning closer while pursing her lips forward and you held her shoulders to make her stop.

"You are really drunk, Eden. You aren't thinking right...."

Your face was as red as Eden's hair color, she simply chuckled and kept the goblet down then held your wrists and easily removed them from her shoulders, you couldn't deny her at all. Within a moment, you felt soft and moist lips on your cheek, you didn't even know why it felt so real and how that was possible in the first place. It wasn't a small peck; it was a loving kiss that lingered on your skin after she moved back.

"You are really adorable for a Herrscher, Y/n~"

"E-Eden! Now even you are making fun of me like Elysia!"

You pouted and crossed your arms then bashfully turned to the other side, Eden chuckled then came closer and wrapped her arms around your waist and kept her head on your shoulder, gently embracing you.

"My apologies, Y/n. I wasn't making fun of you; I was simply telling the truth. You really are adorable, being with you always warms my heart because you are such a good listener. I don't think I have ever spent so much time with any other visitor, they usually didn't come to me since I didn't really have useful information compared to others like Ellie and Dr Mobius. I was just an entertainer after all, a star who died with that era."

"Your stories are equally important to me Eden, knowing about how entertainment and arts were in the previous era is very useful. It....makes everything very real and gives me some relief knowing there were people like you who remained faithful to their art and continued pursuing it in some way, even after losing so much. I wish the people of my era could experience your singing too...."

Eden remained silent at that for a moment then made you turn around to face her and cupped your face.

"My era was long destroyed, Y/n, and I chose to end with that era. My singing belonged there, I belonged there...."

She trailed off and you waited for her to continue but instead, she swiftly leaned in and captured your lips with hers in a soft kiss. It again felt so surreal to you, how could a simulation's touch feel this human and yearnful? But you decided to give in to your desires once, just once. After all, today was possibly your last day in the Elysian Realm, you didn't know if you'd see Eden again or not so you wanted to become selfish just for once.

Eden's arms wrapped around your neck as naturally as yours around her waist and pulled her closer to deepen the kiss. She slipped a moan from the sudden force of being pulled closer; God, how heavenly that voice was. Your lips cuddled together in a heated yet loving kiss, her tongue soon slipped inside your mouth and rolled with yours. A faint taste of wine enveloped your senses and made you more intoxicated than you already were from the kiss. Soon enough, you were pushed down on the couch and Eden was straddling your waist, her face having a look of longing and affection.

"Y/n....will you let me...?"

Her breathing was haphazard and face as flushed as her own hair, she was drunk yet still fully in her senses. You swallowed a lump in your throat then gave her a nod to which she smiled and leaned down to kiss you once again before kissing other parts of your body and making love to you. Such angelic moans echoed in the Realm, much ethereal than her normal singing. She truly was the star of her era in every way, you even wondered if she ever got this intimate with someone during her time.

The two of you held each other closely as you laid together after a sensual night, her hand gently caressing through your hair as her fingers grazed your scalp. She was just a simulation yet she felt like a real human after so long, a fire lit in her heart the whole night which engulfed her and reminded her of the fire of that day but compared to the fire that destroyed her life, this fire gave her love and warmth and she concluded that it was because it was your fire.

"Oh, my love, may we never parts ways~"

"Oh, my love, may time stay still for us...."

She hummed one last time before you woke up the next morning and were ready to go back and end your trial. You didn't share many words with Eden other than the usual words of parting, both of you had already said all that you wanted to last night. She watched you walk away from her while waving her hand with a smile on her face then sighed once you were out of her sight.

"My era was long destroyed and I chose to end with that era. My singing belonged there, I belonged there but....for the first time, I wished it didn't. For the first time, I wished I continued to live like Hua and Kevin so that....I could meet you, Y/n....so that I could really meet you and be with you. So that we could go out and travel the world together, feeling every touch and sound of this era. My voice would sing only for you in this era, just for you...."

A tear rolled down her eye which she swiftly wiped away then disabled herself for some time. You looked back once and saw an empty lounge; the usual smiling face of Eden was no longer there and the realization finally hit you-

The fact that she was never there to begin with.

You could see her, hear her, touch her and feel her yet it wasn't her.

It never had been.

You knew that from the beginning but couldn't help yourself from falling into this sweet trap and being dazzled by Eden's golden light. You were able to win over the Honkai and gain control of your powers but couldn't resist this, resist her.

"If I was born in your era, perhaps we could have had a different life; a different encounter, a different meeting, a different relationship, a different....togetherness. It could have been our era...."

#eden x reader #honkai eden x reader #honkai eden #honkai impact eden #honkai impact 3rd #honkai x reader #honkai impact 3 #honkai 3rd #honkaimpact3rd #honkai impact x reader

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tale-of-two-new-kings · 7 months

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"A tale of two new kings" - [Blog lore]

{3,000 years ago; Across the newly formed plains that were carved during the fights of gigantic, ravenous beasts that once filled the land. Stood tall atop a large jagged edge of raised ground and rock; was one of two legendary guardians of said land; a greatly large maned-wolf, it's fur a mix of crimson and navy, bearing gold armor of the Shield of the Fighting Master. And sat on it's back was it's most trusted person; a fair skinned boy, 16 years of age with fluffy blonde hair and eyes like sapphires, dressed in attire befitting of the highest rank. The boy and his trusted partner stood up straight and firm as they meticulously scanned their surroundings. The boy's expression harden and focused. But nothing could prepare the boy in red as the sound of pounding paws and a flash of blue would soon whiz by him followed along with a "Last one there's a rotting exeggcute!" shouted in a playfully teasing tone. The force of the wind carried by the swift movement caused the boy to tumble forward on his partner's back- his navy cape flying forward over his head. "Augh-pft-" The boy sputters as he fumbles to push his cape back over him, and as soon as he does, he shouts back at the passing figure in a annoyed, flustered tone. "Ugh- Tarax! This is supposed to be serious!?" That flash of blue came from none other than the other legendary guardian of the land; a similar great maned-wolf with furs of pastel cyan and pinks. Bearing golden armor of The Fairy King's Sword which was sheathed to it's side. This mighty beast also had it's own partner riding it's back that had thrown a look back at his compatriot, but all that he got in response was a head of short wild purple hair thrown back in laughter. The wolf's rider; Tarax, was a dark-skinned boy, also 16 years of age, with eyes like golden fields of wheat or honey. He hunkers down close to his mounts ears and says "Come on ol' girl, lets show those Slowpokes why we're kings!", The wolf responds with an excited growl before unleashing a resounding bark that flattens the tall grass around them; clearing their surroundings.

In a matter of moments the sounds of a second quad of wolf paws join in the race; as the quartet bound towards no real destination. The cyan wolf is far in the lead- when there's a sudden rumble and about 30 feet away the ground cracks open to reveal a Dynamax den. "Rex, look out!" The boy in red shouts from behind. The cyan wolf harshly skids to a stop- its sharp black claws digging deep in the dirt. The sudden stop causes the boy in blue to flip and roll forward off its partner's back, his own back hitting the grass with a 'thud'; after a garbled "ugh-" before taking in what just occurred. He gradually starts giggling as the adrenaline continues to course through his veins. The boy in red approaches and stops at a safer speed before hopping of the magenta wolf and rushing to his friend. "Rex! Tarax, are you alright?" he asks, only to be met with his friend's trailing off laughter, "Ehehehe~ Yes, yes I'm fine Lance". Tarax says with his forearm slung over his eyes to block out the bright sun. The boy in red; Lance, stands up a bit straighter and places his hands on his hips; giving an exasperated look to his lax partner. "I warned you to take this seriously." Lance lightly scolds. "Bah- You have lost your sense of fun mate-" Tarax immediately responds as he moves his arm off his face and limps it on the grassy ground under him. Suddenly Tarax feels his knuckles hit something and it breaking upon the hit- like glass? All four seem to notice the sound, "What was that?" Lance manages to ask first, "A cluster of stars again?". Tarax sits up, and leans over to where his hand had landed; moving away long grass to reveal a... flat piece of black glass, and other welded materials; it's backing a golden hue- yet it weighted nothing like what he thought metal would be... "...What is this?"

[TLDR this is just how they find the phone- was not expecting this to be this long lmao. Asks are now open :]

#pokemon rp #pokemon irl #pokeblogging #Tale of Two Kings #King Tarax #King Lancelet #[goddamit thats just tears of the kingdom herjwef-]#[blog lore]

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apocalypticwafflekitten · 3 years

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Summer Night

Post-Burn Kabal x Reader

A/N: Is the self-indulgent? Yes. Is it completely unrealistic in MK context? Yes. Do I care? No. So here’s some fluffy hurt/comfort because this man needs love and I’m here to give it to him.

So, I wrote most of this while listening to this song, so feel free to give it a listen while you read!

Original Imagine/Summary Kinda Thingy: So there’s a poem mentioned in this story, and it’s one that I actually did write a while back for a Creative Writing class. It had this same kind of summer night setting, and I really wanted to use it in an actually story, so this is born partially from that, and partially from allll the feels I have for Kabal. I cannot express how bad I want to give this man a hug.

Warnings: A very emotional, insecure, soft Kabal who needs all the comfort in the world. Very much a hurt/comfort fic. Other than that, nope, just fluff for this man and all the love he deserves!

Word Count: ahhhhhhh I’m on mobile!

He didn’t think you’d ever look at him again. The scarring that marred his face mocked him for even thinking of it. The face in the mirror before him was hideous. Long ago he’d accepted the idea that you’d only ever see him with his mask on. That you’d only want to see him with the mask.

But what did a mirror know? You’d always been there for him before, and you hadn’t shown any sign of leaving him now. Maybe you’d stay. But who was he kidding? One look at his face and you’d go running off like everyone else.

No. That’s not right. He had to have more faith in you than that. You wouldn’t leave him like that. You wouldn’t run away from him. That’s what he would do. You were stronger than that. Stronger than him at least.

So every once in a while, the idea, the notion of taking off the mask and showing you what was waiting beneath it tempted him. Sometimes he wanted to rip the thing off and beg you to see that he was the same man as before. Even now, as he replaced the respirator on his face, he wondered if you would say anything should he leave the bathroom with his face bared to you. All your possible reactions swarmed his imagination until it was all just noises. Some were screams of terror, others were violent sobs. And sometimes it was silence, followed by the creaking of a closing door. It was all too much.

He shook his head to clear it all out, and took in a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the wheat and corn fields just outside the safe-house.

The two of you were on a job. It was an easy in and out mission that didn’t really matter much in the long run, but it was important for you. It landed you smack dab in the middle of a prairie on the border of a farmer’s land. The crickets chirped and soft breezes flew through the open windows, carrying sweet scents and the peaceful air of a summer night.

When Kabal saw no sign of you in the the house, he looked outside, only to find you sitting on the porch swing, looking up at the stars above you. The chipped, white paint on the bench looked almost blue as the moon began to rise, lighting the surrounding farmland in a silvery, glowing light.

“Hey,” Kabal greeted tentatively, “What are you doing out here?”

“Hey. I was just looking at the stars, taking in the farmland and the open space. It’s making me a bit homesick to be truthful, but I still like it. Something about seeing the night sky right against the crest of a grassy field with nothing else between them is...it’s beautiful. It’s calming in a way. It’s so simple and plain, but there’s more to it than that. It’s more beautiful than you would expect. I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but hopefully someone out there understands.” You smiled to yourself and curled up further on the bench-swing, holding you knees to your chest while a slow, steady rock lulled you into your thoughts once more.

Kabal took a moment to follow your eyes and see what you were talking about. He wasn’t surprised that you were right. The gentle hill that rose about an acre or two away hit the horizon and kissed the night sky. And it was beautiful--even through the red tint his mask gave everything. You couldn’t see the city that lay beyond the hill, nor could you see the fence that marked the plot of land. It was just grass and sky, and the stars haloing the moon.

“I understand. It is beautiful. More than you would imagine,” He repeats you, thinking about something else you’d mentioned, “You said it made you homesick?”

The question sits in the air for a moment as Kabal took a seat next to you, using his legs to keep the swing’s gentle rock going.

“Yeah. This place remind me a lot of my home, and I’m just realizing how much I miss it,” You lean in to his side, letting him drape an arm behind you out of habit, “But that’s not a bad thing. I mean, if I hadn’t’ve left, I never would have met you.”

You kissed the side of his mask, and rested your head back on his shoulder. Sometimes you acted as though nothing had changed. The way you so casually kiss his mask, and lean back into him as if you’d just kissed his cheek bewildered him. Could you not see how awful it was? How messed up it is that he even has to wear this thing? Or how messed up the face beneath it was? Well, of course you couldn’t see that, but still. How could you see this and still love him the way you had before the fire? And what you’d said? Was meeting him some monument in your memory? Was he really worthy of that? Maybe he would have assumed so in the past before all of this, but now? How could you still see him in such an important light?

“Hey. Hey, Kabal? Come in Kabal!” You laughed when you saw his head shake as he was brought back to the present.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t help but smile a little when he heard your laugh.

“Come with me.” You whispered, eyes wide and full of something warmer than mischief, but not entirely different as you stood and held out your hand.

“Where are we going?” Kabal asked, but truthfully he didn’t care. Being with you was enough no matter where he was, as long as you were there beside him.

“You’ll see.” You smiled and took his hand, guiding him off the porch, towards the cornfield aside the house.

Your hand in his was small and gentle just like he remembered. He wanted to remember more. He wanted to remember everything about you. The way you used to hold him at night and tell him how safe you felt in his arms. Or how you would trace his face and kiss his eyelids while he napped on your lap. He wanted to memorize the smell of your perfume, but only by kissing the tender skin of your wrist and whispering there how much he loved you. He wanted to admire you like that again, instead of following you with wide eyes from behind a mask. For once in a long, long time, he actually wanted to take the mask off, if only to kiss you and see your beautiful face again without the red tint his glowing eyes gave the world.

You brought him out to the edge of a cornfield where the tall stalks looked gold under the starlight, and the bright moon gave enough light to walk by. The sky seemed endless above these shining fields, as if all the cities in the world melted away and the land before you stretched on forever. A long, emerald, grassy plane where dainty wildflowers grew in the spring stretching across the horizon and beyond it. In this moment, walking with Kabal, the safe house faded away and the crickets’ chirp dissolved into the air. It was just you and your lover beside you, walking your own moonlit trail by the side of the cornfield.

Kabal loved the sweet aroma from the crops beside him. When he looked up he constantly found himself in awe of just how many stars he could see. There were trillions more up there than he had ever known of and it gave him exhilarated chills. The most beautiful part though? It was you. You happily took stride next to him and let a comfortable quiet fall over you two.

He kept looking to you, although you never noticed, or if you did you hadn’t said anything about it. Just...the way the moonlight lit your face made you look like something divine—something perfect for him. Something he wanted to hold and squeeze and touch and love. Something he wanted forever.

Kabal was broken from his reverie when you suggested sitting on the wooden fence that outlined the neighboring farmer’s land. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t too terribly bad either, just a little wobbly. To make up for it though, the view from this spot was beautiful. The moon hung high above the safe house, watching over the small building and the grassy plot where it lay. He could see why you’d decided to sit here of all places.

You were quiet for a few moments, enjoying the gentle breezes that would pass by. It was comforting—unlike anything Kabal had felt in a long long time.

“You know, I wrote a poem once about walking through a corn field to sit and talk with the moon awhile. Sitting here with you reminds me of it.” You think out loud.

“Hmm. I didn’t know you wrote.” Kabal remarked, finding himself suddenly curious about your apparent hobby.

“Yeah. A bit. When I have the time to. But that doesn’t happen often these days.”

“No joke. You a big fan of poetry?”

“Oh yeah. I could go on for days,” you smiled bashfully, turning away, “but I don’t think you want to hear about that.”

“I wouldn’t mind. Especially if it was you doing the talking.” You could hear the smirk coming from behind the mask, and you cherished it—loving the moments when the old Kabal would shine through.

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll steal you for a day and lecture you on my favorite poets.” You laughed at your own joke, but Kabal hoped that one day you would. Getting to see you excited about anything always lightened up his day.

You both sat on the wooden fence for what seemed like ages, silently enjoying the warm, quiet night together. You would point out constellations every once in a while, and at one point you got so excited about a shooting star that you nearly fell off the fence! Kabal had to rush a hand behind you to keep you from falling flat on your back! But there was a long stretch of time after that where the two of you settled into a comfortable silence and you leaned against him, letting your head rest close to his heart.

“Can I ask you something?” Kabal whispered, breaking the silence with a quiet push.

“Sure.” You answered, keeping your eyes on the stars above.

“Do you...do you still love me? With the respirator and everything?”

He saw the way your head whipped around to face him and he knew he’d struck something deep in your heart. Your eyes went wide, and a worried tilt crested your brows. For a moment he felt stupid for asking. The small amount of time where you went silent to process his question felt like minutes where his insecurities could eat him alive and swallow him into the night.

“Of course I still love you Kabal!” You rushed out, trying to think of a million ways to reassure him. You held his hands again, and those deep, wide eyes looked right into his, “What’s brought this up?”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t know how you can love me like this. You can’t even see my face. And I’m...I dunno...I’m different.” He mumbled, looking down to his hands, and how yours held them so tight.

“Kabal,” you began with a careful, comforting tone, “I’m always going to love you. Mask or no mask. Burns or no burns.”

He took a moment to let your words sink in, watching you as he realized what your words meant.

“So the mask...doesn’t bother you?” Kabal asked, allowing just the littlest bit of hope to seep into his voice.

“No. Not at all.” You replied simply,

“Why?” He had to know. His voice may have been a quiet scratch through his respirator, but behind it was all the desperation of a man lost.

“Because I know it’s still you under the mask. I’m still sitting next to the man whose perfect idea of a date was barhopping until the early hours of the morning, then drunkenly watching bad movies on your couch until the sun came up. I’m still sitting next to they guy who spent a whole hour explaining the lore of Ninja Mime and why the fourth once was shit. And I’m still sitting next to the guy who played Christmas carols for me on his marimba just to make me smile. You see, I fell in love with you. Not your face or your body. You. Yes it’s different now. Yes it’s a bit of an adjustment, but you’re still you under the mask, so it makes it easy for me. It’s not hard to stay in love with someone you fell for a long time ago, even if they look different.”

By the time you were done there were tears streaming down Kabal’s face. He wanted to hug you and kiss you and hold you all at once forever. His heart was pounding and twisting and clutching and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I love you!” Kabal declared desperately, with all his heart in it. You didn’t miss the hitched sniffle that came from behind the respirator, “I love you so, so much.”

In every word you could hear the thanks that was pouring from him. In that small phrase, in those six words, he thanked you for everything you’d said. He thanked you for not giving up on him, for continuing to be by his side through everything, for showing how you loved him and how deep it truly ran. He put everything he was feeling into those words, everything he couldn’t find words to say. He put the way his heart clenched in those words and you could feel it - his words carrying his whole heart .

Kabal pressed his forehead to yours and you nuzzled your nose against his mask, enjoying this tender moment with him - one of few you were able to have in your line of work.

Before he could pull away, you decided to act upon a wish you’d had for months now. Your only hope is that Kabal would let you. You slowly took your hands from his and ran them up his arms, feeling his strong muscles beneath the marred skin. The bumpy pattern rippling under your fingers when he twitched. You kept your forehead to his as your hands travel over his shoulders to rest for a moment at the base of his neck. There you wait for any sign. Any signal that he wants you to stop. Instead his breathing grows heavy and he tenses, anticipating everything you might do, but he doesn’t stop you.

Ever so slowly, your hands trail up to the sides of his mask and you rub circles against it with your thumb, trying to soothe the man beneath it.

You give him a small smile before bringing your fingers to the edge of his mask. For a second you’re able to slip your fingers beneath the respirator and feel the curve of his jaw. But before you could pull it further from him, his hands shoot up to grab your wrists, a moment of flooding insecurity breaking his resolve.

“Are you sure?” His question is quiet, almost quivering in his tone.

You give him that smile again before looking straight into his eyes.

“Yes. Yes I’m sure.” you insisted with a gentle warmth in your voice.

Kabal let out a stuttering exhale, and let go of your wrists. His hands found themselves sitting restlessly in his lap as every muscle in him was tense with fear.

Again, with caring conviction you began to pull the mask from his face, revealing the scarred surface beneath. His emotions were plain and clear for you to see in his tilted brows and the glistening tear streaks falling down his uneven cheek.

You took a minute to look at him--to see what the fire had done and why he had been so reluctant to show himself to you. But just moments after the mask had been removed and his face had been bared to you, you broke out into the largest smile Kabal had ever seen.

You whispered with happiness warming your tone; happiness like Kabal had never heard before, “There’s that handsome face. I’ve missed you.”

Kabal looked you in the eyes, tears welling up in his own at your simple response to his horribly scarred face. His heart caved in relief, letting him slump against you, once more pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’ve missed you too.” He whimpered, finally letting himself go--letting the buildup of anticipation and fear drop from his shoulders so that he could finally do the one thing he’d wanted to do most since the fire.

He kissed you. Hard and desperate and oh so familiar. His lips locked onto yours as they had a million times before and he wondered how he’d gone so long without this. Your lips played against his the way they always did. Damn it everything was perfect. He whined, sobbing into your kiss as joy and relief flooded his every nerve.

You pulled him back, wanting to kiss him again and again and again for the rest of time. He was still here! Your Kabal! Here to kiss you until you were dizzy, and love you until the world stopped spinning. You couldn’t get enough. Each kiss more desperate than the last as you held his face in your hands and wiped away his tears.

He broke off for just a moment to grapple onto you, hugging you right against him.

“You have no idea how much this means to me.” He whispered in your ear. His chest hurt with how his heart ached for you. He wanted you close—so close that he could never lose you.

You smile to yourself and bury your face into the crook of his neck, drinking in his smell and nuzzling against his skin. You reach up and gently card your hands through his hair, offering him comfort and reassurance.

Again, it’s just you and Kabal, and the sound of his breathing, quiet and labored beside you. His hands gripped the back of your shirt in tight fists, and every once in a while you’d hear a quiet sniff.

But in a few minutes you felt his breathing grow ragged, and as much as you wanted to stay in this embrace, you knew he needed to replace the respirator.

“Hey, come on hun, you need to put the respirator back on. I love getting to see your face again, but I’d love to keep you alive even more.” You laughed a little, meeting his eyes once you’d pulled away.

He laughed a little as well, grabbing the mask and slipping it over his face again.

You watched him, listening as his breathing evened out until he turned to you. You imagined he quirked an eyebrow under the mask.

“Whatcha staring at?”

“The handsomest man in the world.” You smile up at his face and grab his hand as he stares back into your eyes.

“Come on, let’s get back to the house. It’s getting kinda chilly out here.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nodded and stood from the fence, beginning the walk home with you by his side.

Tags!

@onabouteverything

#kabal x reader #kabal mk #mk kabal #kabal #kabal mortal kombat #your honor I love him

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revasserium · 3 years

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beauty as a perspective (or a study of truth through the lens of a boy who has always believed in fairy-tales)

anon: And it is beautiful with Hinata First love with kageyama? Please :)

101. and it is beautiful hinata ; 1.8k words

there are so many things he considers to be beautiful -- the sunrise, the sunsets, the way the moon lingers on the horizon after a whole midsummer’s night, like it’s waiting for the first rays of sunlight to spill across the world, the way the stars are relentless in their twinkling, as if emboldened by the darkness that beholds their very beings -- that they are made all the brighter by night’s all-consuming dark.

there are other things too -- a well-aimed spike, crystal cut and down the line, right next to the pole, a perfectly arched toss, slow enough for thought, but too fast for the opponents to follow, the double-rolling saves that noya-sempai had promised to teach him and still hasn’t gotten around to, the way a clean sneaker sounds against the well-waxed floor of a freshly cleaned gym, the sound of a volleyball meeting skin, the flutter of a net, the chorus of voices as it echoes towards the ceiling.

the cheers of the crowds when a point gets scored. when a match is won.

the weight of happiness, so light and yet so, so heavy too, enough to make his bones feel like they’re filled with gold or silver or maybe magic itself. he thinks there’s nothing more beautiful than playing... and winning.

until he meets you.

your name breezes through him like a summer wind through wheat, leaving no part of him unruffled and untouched, all this thoughts tangled and out of ordered, but so beautifully so. he watches you go like a child watching the end of a really good dream, powerless to stop it, but still with the naïve hope that perhaps, if he just kept his eyes open (or closed) for a moment longer, maybe, just maybe you’ll stay --

“hinata-kun, its your turn to help clean the classrooms.”

he snaps out of his reverie (did you know that’s the word for daydream in french? how fitting, right? and when tsukki had asked, drop-jawed and all, where the hell hinata had learned such a thing, all he could do was shrug and blush and say he’d read it somewhere -- to tsukki’s compounded shock and confoundment), the teacher is watching him with a hiked eyebrow, and half the class was giggling. but you, you’re standing next to his desk with a sweet, expectant smile and he’s lost all over again.

(who was he, anyway? before he knew what your smile looked like? what your voice sounds like? what the color of your hair was beneath the morning sun, or in the golden glow of dusk?)

“let’s do our best, hm?” you offer him your hand.

hinata had never wished for after class chores to last forever, but he has now.

he doesn’t know how you get onto the topic of volleyball, but it always ends up there somehow... with him -- and he finds himself rambling like he always does when he’s nervous, blabbing out an invite because yeah! it’s pretty cool! and there’s a practice match today! and oh, yeah! i’m on the starting lineup and of course you can come watch! i’m super awesome y’know! --

and then the horrifying, daunting realization that he’s going to have to play. with you watching him. with your eyes, like pools of amber so deep and clear they remind him of melted caramel during the holiday school fairs, with your smile like tasting a favorite treat after a long, hard day’s practice, with your laughter and your voice like -- like --

“what’s this? hinata’s brought a friend?” there’s something in the texture of suga-sempai’s voice that hinata isn’t sure he likes but he’s too nervous to call it out at the moment. instead, he tries desperately to explain why the hell he’d brought you along, not that he’s really sure either, other than the fact that he doesn’t ever want you to leave his sight ever again in his whole life but, well, he can’t really say that out loud without sounding like a freak --

“uh -- it’s not -- i mean, yeah! we’re friends! i think so at least -- well anyway -- ahhhhh -- she likes volleyball and there’s a practice match today and i told her she could come and watch cause i’m really awesome at it and she just moved here from tokyo, or actually she stayed in france for a while before that! can you believe it? hey -- wait do you know kenma from nekoma? they’re from tokyo too, right --?”

kageyama fixes him with a flatlined look even as you smile.

“she’s not from the same school, idiot.”

hinata puffs up as he turns to kageyama but thankfully, daichi is there to pull them apart before things get really nasty. he flashes you a sincere and somewhat apologetic grin.

“ah, thanks for coming. you can find a seat up there, and uhm -- welcome to karasuno.”

hinata finds himself watching you go (he nearly yells when you wave at him from the second level, that is until kageyama elbows him so hard in the side he actually does yell).

“focus, boke!”

“shut up, crappyama!”

“ha? what did you say?”

“both of you, quiet!”

they both flinch at the sound of daichi’s voice.

but hinata can’t help stealing another glance towards you, thinking that this feels different, somehow. different than all the other practice matches he’s played before. it’s like his vision is sharper, all his senses on high alert -- he can smell the sweat on his teammates’ skin, can see each spec of light as it refracts off of the newly waxed gym floors, can feel the weight of your eyes on him like a superhero’s cloak -- beautiful and full of responsibility.

and he plays well that day, he thinks -- got a few really solid quick’s in, and he only messed up on two of his serves, which, all things considered, is probably a record low for him. kageyama only yelled at him five times, also on the low side.

they manage to scrape a win, and it was mostly asahi-san’s doing -- noya-sempai being awesome as ever, too. still, he thinks it’s been a good day. he almost forgets that you’re watching for a while, but only for a while, and as the match draws to a close, he’s again keenly aware of your eyes on him.

he turns to grin up at you, shooting you a thumbs up. he finds you no longer sitting, but standing by the railings, your eyes huge and happy as you wave down at him. there’s a flush to your face that makes him want to walk off a bridge right into a very, very cold river but he shelves that thought for later as you make your way down the stairs, jogging right up to him, your smile so brilliant he thinks he might go blind if he stared too long.

he blinks, still dripping sweat down his now very wet uniform.

“shouyou! you were amazing! i mean, you are amazing --!”

he almost jolts at your use of his given name, but then he remembers you asking (because you liked the sound of it or something; he’d forgotten what you said after that cause he was too busy marinating in the fact that you liked the sound of his name) if you could call him that. and him saying yes.

“for a while there it looked like you were flying, like really flying!”

he nods along with your excitement, his smile growing so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt and god, what what happen if he just kept on smiling wider and wider? what would happen to his face? would it stretch and keep on stretching? or maybe he’ll accidentally split his face in half and have to get stitches from the hospital, which wouldn’t be fun but for you, he thinks, it’s worth it.

“y-yeah! cool! right?” he leaps ups as if to illustrate, but as with all things he does on a spur of the moment impulse, it doesn’t go quite as planned. he ends up smacking his head on the doorframe of double gym doors, leaving him whining, curled up into a ball on the ground, and you kneeling by his side.

“shouyou? are -- are you okay? oh my god, what happened?”

he winces as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, grinning awkwardly up at you.

“i wanted to show you!”

“show me what?”

“what it looks like to fly!”

tanaka is fussing over hinata, loudly asking if he’ll get a concussion while tsukki is remarking to that getting a concussion might be good for him; noya and tanaka are both laughing so hard they’re also curled up on the ground.

you giggle, “save some flying for next time.”

“for... next time?”

“yeah, for the next time you play.”

“will... will you be there?”

you smile, nodding, offering him a hand.

“if you want me to be.”

“yes! yeah -- oh man, i do! i really really --”

“good, then i’ll be there.”

“aahh, that’s amazing! super great! ahhhh i’m so --- mmmm -- i’m so happy!”

he leaps up and is about to jump up again before he realizes you hadn’t let go of his hand yet.

he blinks, heat washing up his face like jumping head-first into a steaming onsen.

“hey! you said you’d save some for next time, right?”

hinata laughs, “right -- for next time.”

you give his hand a squeeze before letting go, turning to greet his teammates. hinata watches you, like he’s been doing from the second he’d set eyes on you a week and a half ago, when you’d introduced yourself to the class.

like when he’d all too enthusiastically volunteered to show you around the school, like when the pair of you had stopped in the library, and you’d run your fingers along the spines of all the books like greeting old friends.

like when you flipped open a book of fairy-tales and traced the outline of a boy with melting wax wings, plummeting from the sky.

“you know, i used to always daydream about flying as a kid,” you said.

hinata quirked his head, “why?”

you smiled, “dunno, seemed like a fun thing to do.”

hinata smiled then too, “well, it’s not that hard.”

you looked at him, “you... know how to fly?”

“sure i do!”

you laughed, then, but not a mocking kind of laugh -- a delighted, dancing kind of laugh that made hinata’s whole chest fill with hot air and helium.

“you promise to show me some day?”

hinata had nodded so hard his head might’ve come right off it’s hinges.

“hey, what’s ‘daydream’ in french?” he asked.

you blink at him, “reverie.”

“wow... beautiful.”

you laughed again, nodding, “it is, isn’t it?”

and he decides then, watching as you smile at something suga-sempai says, as you quirk your head curiously at kageyama, making him flush a hilarious shade of crimson as well, that sure, there are a lot of beautiful things in this world.

but none of them quite so beautiful as you.

#haikyuucreations #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #hinata shouyou #haikyuu headcanons #hinata shouyou x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shōyō #hinata #floofy floof floof #haicuties #idk where the title came from dont ask me #ah its so fitting that the first two things i write are kageyama and hinata pieces lol like i said not much has changed #god i cant wait to reread the final arc and write the shit out of timeskip hinata and kageyama #fuCK timeskip everyone go d i love grownup casts #the ending took my soul and trampled it in the best of ways and just wow i have a lot of eelings and thoughts about it #but yeah anyway as always stan hinata and kageyama they legit dont get enough love eventho they be the fuckin main characters okay

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ducktracy · 3 years

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186. september in the rain (1937)

disclaimer: this review contains racist content and imagery. i do not condone any of this content whatsoever—it’s being displayed purely for educational and historical reasons. with that said, i have much to learn myself. PLEASE let me know if i say something wrong or offensive. it’s never my intention to do so, yet i want to learn from my mistakes and own up to them provided that should happen. thank you for your patience and understanding.

release date: december 18th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: james c. morton (various), danny webb (various), wini shaw (blue dye bottle, morton salt girl), mel blanc (louis armstrong’s speaking voice)

(original title card courtesy of jerry beck.)

the final cartoon of 1937 is an interesting one: it’s the shortest cartoon in the WB library, with a runtime of about 5 minutes and 50 seconds. when the cartoon aired on TV in the ‘90s, the blackface caricatures were cut, further shortening the runtime to about 3-4 minutes. not only that, but a bulk of the animation is recycled from previous cartoons, such as how do i know it’s sunday? and clean pastures—both freleng entries.

like we’ve seen from many a cartoon before, this short chronicles the adventures of store products coming to life and putting on various acts.

open to the interior of a store on a rainy night (hence the title), the eponymous song underscoring the scene. the camera pans right, closing into a bottle of blueing singing “am i blue?”.

the gags, at least in the first half, are relatively disjointed: immediately after the blueing sequence, a snake charmer prompts a bottle of toothpaste to squirt out a strand of toothpaste and wave in the air like a snake. little time is wasted cutting to a can of searchlight (salmon), a searchlight on the can’s label sparking to life for a full 3 seconds before moving onto the next gag: maids from “old maid cleanser” doing a dance, a gag repurposed from how do i know it’s sunday?

a loose precursor to the camel’s breakdown in porky in egypt (which is much more thrilling than what is presented here), a rubber glove comes to life, inflating itself and serving as a makeshift pair of bagpipes, accompanying a line of camels strutting along on the camel cigarettes logo. reused from freleng’s 1935 entry flowers for madame, two dandelions perform the highland fling along to the music.

wipe to a bunch of apples, where a worm pokes its head out from a hole and tentatively crawls along. stalling’s bumpkin score of “in the shade of the old apple tree” is fitting and fun to listen to, as are treg brown’s sound effects of the worm inching its way along. however, bad news for the worm: a line of hungry chicks plastered on the bon ami powder cans (here labeled “my am i”) pursue the worm, who flees like he’s never fleed before. stalling’s score is masterful, the score morphing into a flurry of excitement as the chicks all gang up on the worm. one of the chicks manages to swallow the worm, who thus is thrown about and inches along like the worm as it struggles to be freed. finally, the worm manages to separate itself from the chick, and hurries back into an apple for safety. while nothing new, stalling’s music score manages to breathe some life into a tired scene.

the next scene is directly reused from how do i know it’s sunday, just with different vocals: the morton salt girl and the u-needa biscuit boy sing a duet together beneath the “rain” from the shredded wheat box’s waterfall. if anything, it’s interesting to see old footage now colorized.

cue the barrage of blackface caricatures: the al jolson caricature from clean pastures sings the title song--the jolson way, of course. the premise of jolson singing this song would be reused in future cartoons, such as the grand finale to 1941′s porky’s preview. he and aunt emma (a parody of aunt jemima) engage in the whole “sonny boy” shtick--i suppose if anything, subtle movements on jolson such as the head tilts bring a nice feeling of depth and construction to him (i wonder if this is the work of bob mckimson?), but the entire sequence is merely too gross and uncomfortable for it to have any merit. jolson finishes the performance by singing “good evening, frieeeeends!”, an opening/closing line that he sung on his radio show shell chateu. daffy would borrow this as late as 1950, closing out his own rendition of “the merry go round broke down” in bob mckimson’s boobs in the woods.

caricatures of fred astaire and ginger rogers dance together to a perky waltz rendition of “september in the rain” as an interlude. the animation is rotoscoped, and therefore quite elegant, though i do wish they had attempted to push the caricatures just a bit more, especially when the two of them begin their tap dance routine--the graceful, realistic human designs fit well with the waltz, but seem a bit out of place with the mood shift brought on by the ending tap dance. nevertheless, props to carl stalling for finding a way to turn the title song into a waltz. his music is the highlight of the cartoon.

(friz freleng’s september in the rain on the left, 1937, bob clampett’s 1943 tin pan alley cats on the right.)

fats waller and louis armstrong (whose caricatures are reused from clean pastures) don a box labeled “gold rust twins”, a parody of fairbank’s gold dust washing powder (warning for blackface with the link). mel blanc voice’s louis’ cry of “SWING IT, BROTHER!” cue an admittedly rousing rendition of “nagasaki”, with fats waller on the piano and louis on the vocals. the animation of waller playing the piano would be directly reused in bob clampett’s tin pan alley cats in 1943, proving to be a rather anachronistic caricature in comparison to the more streamlined--yet equally offensive--caricatures brought on in that cartoon.

though the entire sequence is gross and uncomfortable, the energy it possesses is much needed in comparison to the rest of the cartoon. it feels much more on par with the energy in clean pastures. ken harris does some great smear animation of two chickens angrily bobbing their heads to the music, and the animation of aunt emma dancing to the music is snappy and jaunty. all of this is being analyzed from a technical standpoint--good animation does NOT make the caricatures or content being animated any more okay, but the techniques put into conveying the animation do constitute some recognition. at the very least, here, it feels as though freleng actually has his heart in the cartoon. the rest of it, not so much.

the sequence draws to a close, as does the cartoon: we do one last pan across the shop, trucking in to the shop’s window, revealing the rain pouring in the night sky. iris out.

this cartoon is not one of freleng’s stellar entries, even without all of the disgusting caricatures. if anything, this is more of an obligation than a cartoon, something to please the boss with song and dance numbers and tired gags that have been antiquated since the mid ‘30s. reprehensible as the caricatures are, the “nagasaki” number at the end was admittedly the short’s highlight. the animation is snappy, fun, energetic, and stalling’s score is infectiously energetic. however, that doesn’t redeem any of the content being animated, or the short in total for that matter. you are not missing anything by skipping this entry.

but, despite such a sour end to a great year, 1937 has been a GREAT year for WB, undeniably the best year of cartoons thus far. the acquisition of mel blanc was the turning point. porky is finally growing some personality and is able to display it, more and more notable characters (such as daffy and even elmer, despite being a prototype) are popping up, the directors are all feeding off of each other and competing to put out funnier cartoons, etc. this is the year where the tunes become truly loony. and 1938 is even better! porky and daffy become an established duo, tex avery hits the sweet spot with his cartoons, chuck jones becomes a director of his own... there’s much to look forward to. we’re only just getting started!

as per tradition, here’s a link to the cartoon--obviously view this with discretion.

#lt #september in the rain #looney tunes #freleng #reviews #long post #racism tw #blackface tw #ugh

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ballerinaroy · 4 years

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roses on a breeze

Ron/Harry On Ao3. Inspired by Roses on a Breeze by Bear's Den.

It was a lot like when a bludger came out of nowhere, the realization. Too focused on the snitch to see the warning signs, all his effort concentrated on Voldemort instead of the passing thoughts that had been increasing in frequency. And he knew at once what he needed to do.

“I have to get away.”

For years he’d been an observer, present but not a part of his best friends falling for one another. Years spent waiting, anticipating, pushing down the lonely feelings that came whenever they crossed a new line, drifted closer together.

But it was no longer a possibility, not just a not so distant future. They had kissed, had hurled the final barrier and it was no longer a when but a now.

“Harry?” Ron asked, concern in his eyes.

“I have to get away,” he repeated, for the first time in his life immensely grateful for Voldemort. Able to use the excuse of his fame and their victory as a reason to flee. “From this all, I just need some time.”

And to his utter disappointment it was Hermione who uttered the words. “We’ll go with you.”

He wanted them but not them and there would be no going back.

“No,” he said, even though the thought of being apart was just as painful as the thought of staying.

And for the first time in his life Harry was thankful he was an orphan. Ron had a family. Harry was not burdened.

“I need some space.”

Harry anticipated more arguments, or perhaps they had expected this of him. For he to take the cowards way out rather than face what came next. But they merely rose, teary-eyed and embraced him, hands lingering even as they pulled apart to stare at each other, and then Hermione broke away to pull supplies out of that beaded bag of hers.

And Ron, who watched Hermione with the fondest expression. As if he hadn’t seen her fish around in the bag hundreds of times, as if giving Harry his things was an extraordinary act of kindness. A pain shot through Harry watching him look at her like that. An expression Harry would never know.

Love. In love. How could he have been so oblivious?

It took days for the news to spread. Voldemort dead, really dead. It was out of habit that Harry stuck with the wizarding community, but he’d left to get away, and even walking into a pub became a two-hour ordeal. Harry lost count of the number of people who’d shaken his hand and sobbed on his shoulder. His money was useless and he left dozens of drinks untouched for the generosity of his fellow wizards.

And inevitably he’d run across someone who knew him, actually recognized his face from school and the first question from their lips- “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

A unit, one he was never meant to be separated from. And yet he had willingly left them.

So he left behind the world he had saved in favor of anonymity. In favor of a world where he wasn’t known or adored or depended upon to comfort. A world he could be Harry— just Harry.

It took some getting used to life in the muggle world. He might have been raised without the aid of magic but the past seven years had been formative and even things like light switches were a routine he had to re-learn.

“I never hear the telly in your room,” the pleasant landlady he rented a room from commented one evening at dinner. “I don’t think I could cope in all that silence.”

“It’s nice,” Harry said truthfully enough. “That’s the reason I chose this place, the quiet.”

He’d tried a room in London but the noise of the city had been maddening and there’d been too many people. A red-head at every corner that caught his eye. A mean-looking man who reached for his mobile with too much speed for Harry’s comfort.

So he’d settled in the country. Jumping from town to two before settling on this one. A small town square, country fields with paths for him to wander down. Whispers behind his back about the strange man but not questions to his face. The exact sort of oblivion he’d been craving.

A fortnight into his stay, his routine dinner at the tiny pub was interrupted by a new face. Young, no more than a year older than he and although the man was greeted rather than eyed with suspicion like Harry, it was clear he didn’t belong in the village. His clothes too pressed, hair too stylish.

“Is this seat taken?”

His accent was hard to place. Foreign yet familiar. It didn’t feel quite polite to ask.

Harry shook his head as an invitation and the man sat, offering his hand.

“Theo Page.”

Harry hesitated, but it was clear that this was no ordinary encounter as the man’s eyes swept his forehead, searching for the scar just barely obscured by Harry’s bangs.

“Harry Potter,” he gave in and the man eyes widened though he had the tact not to say anything.

They sat quietly, side by side. Neither broaching the unspoken subject until Theo’s drink was before him, the barman out of earshot.

“You didn’t go to Hogwarts,” Harry told him, appraising the taller man.

“No, I didn’t,” he frowned. “Mother wouldn’t hear of it. She tolerated the country but the second she could she leveraged my education to move us back to France. It’s one way to give a kid a weird way of speaking.”

Theo took a sip in a manner that seemed strangely dignified. “I suppose it was for the best with the way everything went to shit in the last few years.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry said without thinking.

To his surprise Theo snorted and looked highly amused. “I should be thanking you shouldn’t I? Hero and all that? Or is it more customary to buy you dinner?”

Harry shook his head. “The most I’ll tolerate is a drink.”

“Shame,�� he replied and something about the air seemed to shift. “Even if I were to take you someplace nice?”

Theo asked, but never directly. Treated Harry like a normal person, or, at least as normal as anyone could treat someone who they knew had done impossible things.

It came up when talking about quidditch—“I was captain my last year, or I would have been but halfway through the season I got put in detention for almost killing another student.”

Or when they were reading—“I don’t know about a cure but basilisk venom can be stopped by Phoenix tears.”

And of course when the dragon they’d let loose was found making a nest of a farmers wheat farm-“Yeah that was me.”

But Theo never looked frightened or pried Harry for more. He merely shook his head and said “I should have expected.” Before kissing Harry’s cheek and turning the page.

It was somehow easy being with him, gave him the same sort of serenity that being with Luna did. Or Ron…Ron.

Harry did his best to filter out the similarities between the two. From the color of their eyes blue, but with flecks of gold when the sun was rising to the way they pronounced armor. Or the way they grinned and stared when Harry made some witty comment. The way that grin would make Harry feel like the funniest person in the room. The way that grin made Harry’s heart swell. The way he’d give anything to make that grin occur again.

Close, but not close enough.

“You know, I was only supposed to stay in England for a month,” Theo mentioned to Harry three months into his stay. “My parents keep writing asking when I plan to continue my tour.”

Harry had avoided talking about it, the day Theo had to leave. His world tour the customary trip for graduating students. England was just supposed to be a stop and Harry knew he was too.

“I understand,” Harry accepted at once.

Theo looked at him, disappointed. “You could come you know.”

“What?”

“I’m headed to Brazil,” Theo explained. “Everything’s already sorted. You could come too.”

“To Brazil?” Harry repeated.

“And then a few stops in North America and Eastern Europe,” he went on, voice a strange sort of casual. “I suppose I should go down to Egypt too, that’s where I’m supposed to have been all this time you’ve been stealing from me.”

“I never asked you-“

“You’re not hearing me,” Theo said, for the first time frowning. “I know you didn’t ask, I wanted to stay.”

“And you’d want me to come?” he asked stupidly.

“Yes.”

And so he did.

Traveling with Theo was different from their life in the countryside. No longer did they have to sneak around, try and hide their relationship from prying eyes. At dinner and at clubs Theo would put his arm around Harry proudly, showing him off.

“Hero of the wizarding world,” he would announce to curious eyes. “Harry Potter.”

The war hadn’t left England but news of it had reached far. The fear had spread across boarded enough to make Harry a hero in a place it hadn’t even touched.

“You don’t have to tell everyone,” Harry said, irritated when night after night Theo had paraded him around like a show dog.

“You should celebrate,” Theo told him sincerely. “When I found you you were so miserable. You deserve happiness.”

“I’m happy with you,” Harry argued. “Not with everyone knowing who I am.”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, I never realized.” Theo looked disappointed in himself. “I just wanted you to be happy and here I am-“

“Look you didn’t know,” Harry swooped in, taking pity on him.

“But I should have. You were hiding for a reason.”

“You didn’t know,” Harry assured him. He put his hands on either side of Theo’s face and forced him to look at him. “It’s not all the time it’s just…I like my privacy where I can get it. Just don’t go shouting my name, yeah?”

They went on to Los Angeles and to the desert where old rituals were supposed to have been performed. Experimental magic, spiritual. And as he stared up at the cloudless night sky and was filled with wonder at the sight of hundreds, no, thousands of stars twinkling back at him, Harry couldn’t help but wish a different man was holding his hand.

They’d written, Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny even Luna, uneventful descriptions of her day which Harry cherished. But he’d found every excuse not to write back. To avoid the questions about where he’d been spotted. About who he’d been spotted with. But as the crisp fall air of the Americas turned frosty and holiday decorations took over towns, Harry re-read their letters with a lump in his throat.

“I think I’d like to go back,” he said casually after days of trying to work it into conversation. “To visit.”

Theo’s eyes had widened. “I thought you liked traveling.”

“I do,” Harry replied earnestly. “I just…I miss home.”

“I didn’t know that you had one.”

Harry didn’t have to ask Theo to come along with him. He merely took the lead, packing their things, arranging a portkey. Harry a passenger on a trip he should have been conducting. The ministry was bustling when they landed, disorientating, hearing familiar accents after months of foreign ones.

He’d wanted to get one to a less crowded destination, but Theo had insisted, seemed to revel in the attention Harry was receiving. His head raised high as Harry ducked his own, wanting not to be seen.

Harry? Harry Potter?

Voices he didn’t recognize all around him, whispering his name. But then, just as quiet, he heard his name from far away and turned at once.

There they were like he’d never left, sitting on a bench at the far end of the corridor. When he spotted them he broke into a run and they jumped up and met him, Ron first, nearly knocking Harry off his feet and Hermione hitting him like a bullet.

It was hard to remember what he’d feared returning to in that moment, arms wrapped around one another, oblivious to the onlookers and it was only when he heard a gentle clearing of a throat that Harry even remembered he’d left Theo behind.

Even so it was difficult to pull away, put his hand in Theo’s and introduce him to the two most important people in his life.

“Ron, Hermione, this is Theo.”

There’d been no ability to gauge their reactions via the post and Harry wasn’t quite sure how they’d receive him. News of their relationship hadn’t exactly been quiet but Harry had told them anyway.

Of course, Ron’s messy scroll had answered. We’d be happy to have him.

“How do you do?” Hermione asked, the first to offer her hand.

Rather than shake it Theo did the funny sort of bow that he did whenever he was trying to be charming to a lady and raised her hand to kiss it. Ron and Hermione shared a look that Harry did his best to ignore before Ron offered his own hand to shake and quickly abandoned Theo in favor of retrieving Harry’s bags that he’d thrown to the ground.

“So, America?” Ron asked, throwing his arm around Harry possessively. “Charlie says they have some wicked magic over there.”

Theo had wanted to go out but Ron and Hermione had planned a dinner in. An intimate night with wine and catching up on names.

“Dean and Luna?” Harry chocked out.

Ron snickered. “I don’t know who was more surprised, Dean or the rest of us.”

“They did spend a fair amount of time together at Shell Cottage,” Hermione defended, a small frown on her face.

“What’s that you were always calling, it?” Ron asked, “Trauma bonding?”

Hermione nodded and Harry turned to Theo. “Dean was in our year, spent the last year on the run and Luna…”

“She’s the one you’ve been writing to?”

Harry could feel Ron’s eyes shoot to him and he refused to meet his questioning look. “Yes, the one I’ve been writing to.”

For the first time since his return the air was strangely tense. Theo, oblivious, launched into another line of questioning which Hermione was eager to answer and only when Harry thought it safe did he dare glance at Ron. His hurt, confused look hadn’t faded. It made Harry’s heartache to know he’d been the cause.

It was only when dinner was finished and they’d been volunteered to clean up that Ron asked. Alone in the kitchen, Theo and Hermione at the bookshelf swapping recommendations.

“You’ve been writing to Luna?” Ron asked with forced casualness.

“Er—yeah, we exchanged a couple of letters.”

“Ah,” Ron said grumpily, turning his head and staring out the window. “Well, glad you had someone you felt safe writing to.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Harry defended.

“Like what?” Ron demanded. “What was it not like?”

“It was…” he paused, “Easy, writing to her. There weren’t any expectations.”

A pause, a shift in conversation, and Harry knew it wasn’t just Luna they were talking about.

“But my letters, they were asking too much of you?”

Harry shook his head but did not say anything. After a minute Ron sighed, turning around, leaning against the counter and putting their faces in very close proximity.

Harry hesitated. “There were just things…things I wasn’t ready to talk about.”

“With me?”

“With anyone.” He paused, fussing with the towel he’d been drying with.

Their eyes met and for a moment Harry was lost in the deep blue. Then Ron nodded towards Harry’s guest and he understood the question.

“He doesn’t ask,” Harry whispered. “Doesn’t care about what happened to me.”

“I don’t care,” Ron breathed, begging. “I won’t ask.”

Harry let out a long breath. His eyes were beginning to sting yet he dare not look away.

“But you have Hermione.”

Ron blinked, glanced into the other room, and when Harry dared look over his shoulder Theo and Hermione were both staring at them.

“Right,” Ron nodded, pushing himself away from the counter. “I have Hermione. Which means I’m not good enough for you.”

“No, Ron-“

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked then, rising and walking towards them.

“We’d better be going,” Harry said suddenly. “Long day.”

“Harry?”

If it had been Ron, he might have stopped. But he didn’t speak another word. Merely watched as they put on their cloaks and shook Theo’s hand.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

By morning news of his return had spread so far that when they left their accommodations in the morning a crowd was outside to greet them. And while Harry tried keeping his head down, tried ignoring the calls for autograph or explanation of where he’d been, Theo gave his dazzling smile and waved and looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Sorry,” Harry excused when they finally managed to break through the crowd a quarter of an hour later. “We got caught up.”

“You could have just stayed at ours,” Ron said, a trace of a scowl on his face. “It was like this for us too.”

“It’s no trouble,” Theo excused. “Wanting to welcome their hero home.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that in light of Ron’s outburst made Harry want Ron to hurt too and he put his hand in Theo’s.

“I’m sure it will die down once they’re used to me,” Harry excused as if the attention didn’t bother him.

Ron’s eyes widened in disbelief and Hermione, oblivious or intentionally trying to avoid an argument said bossily, “Well, we’d better get a move on, otherwise we’ll miss out reservation.”

The tension carried them through the day, the week. Hermione chattering on as though nothing was wrong. Ron with his arm around her and offering compliments for the most mundane statements, Harry firing back with his own displays of affection.

A silent war, infecting their afternoons in London, dinners with the Weasleys. Harry hyperaware of wherever Ron was, who he was speaking to, what he was saying. He cataloged every time he put his arm around Hermione, every time his lips met her skin, every time his laughter rang out.

Theo was merely a distraction, an annoying insect always trying to rope Harry into whatever conversation he was having. As though he couldn’t recount their travels on his own. As though he were incapable of meeting someone without introduction. But Harry had traveled the world with him. He knew Theo’s capabilities and finding a way into someone else’s conversation was a natural-born talent.

“Drinks?” Ron prompted at the end of one night.

Their time back in England had flown by in the blink of an eye and tomorrow afternoon a portkey would take them on to France to celebrate the New Year with Theo’s family. A trip Harry dreaded more and more with each passing day.

“Oh, no I’m afraid we’ll have to decline,” Theo answered, trying to help Harry into his cloak.

“If you don’t mind I think I’ll go with them. Last night and all.”

Harry didn’t miss the way Ron’s shoulders relaxed, the relieved grin on his face. Theo turned expectantly to Harry, and he knew he wanted him to decline. But Harry wasn’t ready to let it go, let them go. Their time here hadn’t been enough and although they’d yet to resolve the underlying tension between them, Harry didn’t want to let him out of his sight.

“I’ll make sure you’re comfortable,” Harry told Theo, ignoring the way his eyes glinted with disappointment.

Another pause, Theo staring at him expectantly. But he didn’t dare say anything challenging in public.

“That’s alright,” he said, making a show of looping Harry’s scarf around his neck and using it as leverage to kiss him. Harry allowed their lips to brush, allowed Theo to tussle his hair. “Don’t stay out too late, I was hoping to pack.”

Harry knew it to be a lame excuse. He almost never did the packing. Theo didn’t like the way Harry was content with disorganization. Still Theo lingered, wanting no doubt for Harry to escort him home and when Harry declined to offer he made a show of walking out, flashing his smile at strangers while they followed meekly behind.

It was only when he was gone that Harry felt the tension leave his own brow. Snow was beginning to fall, making the streets of Hogsmeade picturesque. It made Harry’s heart swell, a feeling doubled when Ron threw his arm around his shoulders.

“Where to?”

“Theo mentioned he planned to stay in France,” said Hermione in an innocent tone. “After the holiday.”

Somehow they’d avoided mentioning him all night. It was until they were back in Ron and Hermione’s flat, cheeks still rosy from the bitter cold that he was mentioned.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said evasively. “I think that’s his plan.”

“And what’s your plan?” Hermione questioned.

The tone, which had been homely and jovial, was suddenly very serious.

“Because you could stay here,” Hermione went on, she looked to Ron for back up. “With us.”

But he couldn’t look at her, didn’t care for her reaction. Instead his eyes sought Ron’s.

“We wish you’d stay,” Hermione went on, begging. “It feels like you only just got here.”

“Do you really?” Harry questioned, unable to help the whine in his voice.

But he wasn’t asking her. Eyes still trained on Ron, begging for him to meet his look. Begging for a reason.

“Of course,” Ron answered gruffly, still refusing to meet Harry’s gaze.

He paused, waiting for Harry to—what? Argue with him? Their eyes met again, one of those long, tense stares that they had become experts in. What he needed was Ron to need him but that didn’t seem a possibility.

“But only if you want to.”

It was the same blow repeated again and again ever since his arrival in England. All Harry wanted was to be wanted by the one man who didn’t seem to care.

Suddenly he couldn’t stay quiet. His liquor lubed lips couldn’t hold it in.

“You don’t like him,” Harry accused.

Ron’s cheeks enflamed but his tone was meek. “Do you?”

Harry had expected a fight, had been itching for one to relieve the uncomfortable air between them, but this?

“Of course I do.” Harry snapped. “Why would I have traveled the world with him if I didn’t like him? Why would I bring him back here, to meet you no less, if I didn’t like him?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged one of these infuriating glances.

“What is it?” Harry asked, his temper rising. “Why don’t you like him?”

And still Ron refused to take the bait, letting out a long sigh and settling back in his chair.

“You’ve been my best mate for years,” Harry went on. “Don’t you think I can tell?”

“He’s using you,” Ron snapped at last. There was a moment where he looked as though he regretted the words leaving his mouth and then he doubled down. “You want me to be honest? Fine, I think he fancies you because he likes the attention and I don’t like the idea that he’s using you for your name.”

“He’s proud of me,” Harry defended.

“And!” Ron’s voice raised over his, “I think you came back because you knew we wouldn’t like him and wanted an excuse to kick him to the curb.”

“I didn’t-“

“Then what? Why’d you bring him here?”

“Because I thought you’d be happy for me!” Harry shouted.

They’d both risen to their feet and Harry wasn’t sure when it had happened. “And don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical?”

“Hypocritical?” Ron asked, glancing back at Hermione who was now in the doorway to the kitchen, hanging back.

“Yeah, well, you and Hermione started shagging-“

“Oi! We’re dating Harry,” Ron said firmly. “Though I wouldn’t expect you to know you ran off before we even knew what it was.”

Harry felt his eyes roll and a second later felt himself blasted back and Hermione voice shrieking “RON!”

He pushed off the hands trying to help him up, searching for his own wand but Hermione was too quick for them both.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry watched as both his and Ron’s wands shot from their hands and clattered to the ground beside Hermione.

“What’s gotten into the pair of you?” she shouted from just feet away. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You said you were okay with it!” Ron growled.

“And what would you have done if I had said I wasn’t?”

They stared at one another in confusion and as his mouth caught up to his brain, Harry could feel his whole face flushing.

“What?” Ron asked, stunned as Harry turned away, searching for his wand on the ground. “Why wouldn’t you’ve been okay with us dating?”

Harry shook his head, wiping at his face as if it would remove the heat from his cheeks.

“Harry.” His tone was different now, the fight was over just as quickly as it had begun.

There was a gasp and when Harry looked up it wasn’t Ron but Hermione, her face alight with realization. “But you never said.”

Harry hung his head in shame. He’d run away to avoid this conversation, had convinced himself that he’d be able to hide it and here, now, within days Hermione had figured it out.

“Never said what?” Ron asked, his confusion turning into anger once more. “Never said what?”

“There was never a good time,” Harry muttered, staring at his trainers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. “I never…and then-“

Hermione bustled over, stepping between him and Ron and stared at him, her face just inches from his.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not,” Harry told her. His eyes were now stinging and just seconds away from leaking. “The two of you, you’re happy.”

She sighed, putting her hand on his face and stroking his cheek. Harry dared a glance at Ron and found his face red with fury.

“You said!” he began but Hermione merely raised one hand to silence him and at the same time leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear. “It’s alright, tell him. We’ll be okay.”

And then she was gone, Harry sight of Ron unobscured.

“I don’t love Hermione,” Harry told him before Ron continued to get angry. “I mean, I do, just, not like that.”

“I don’t understand,” Ron said plainly, glancing between them. “Then what’s the issue? Why was seeing us together so terrible you had to run half a world away?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “It wasn’t you, I want you to be happy together. I do, honest.”

“Then what?” Ron begged.

He paused, took a deep breath, and then said quietly. “It’s just, I want to be happy too.”

“I don’t understand,” Ron repeated. “If you’re not happy then-“ Harry took a step towards him. “Then why’d you leave?”

“Tell him,” Hermione urged.

“Harry?” Ron asked, begging.

“I swear, I didn’t know. I think I didn’t have time to process, what I was thinking,” he paused and revised, “feeling.”

And Ron, who he knew better than he knew anyone, took only a beat to process. His eyes widened and then flickered up and down Harry, waiting for him to laugh, to retract.

“So you?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. “Yes, I do.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed, looking suddenly very unsteady on his feet.

Without thinking, Harry rushed forward, offering him a steadying arm and Ron grasped him, staring desperately at Harry’s face. They were so close now Harry could feel his breath on his cheek, the jumping of his heart…or was that his own?

Then, just as sudden, there was no space between them.

Their faces inched together and then together they closed the gap, both to their lips crashing together, Ron’s hand clutching at his arm, his back, weaving into his hair and gripping possessively and Harry reciprocated, stepping into him, putting to good use all of the wasted kisses he and Theo had shared in open spaces.

Theo. The name drifted from Harry’s brain without guilt or consequence.

“When did you? How did you? When did you realize?”

Harry’s eyes drifted open and found Ron before him, staring desperately. But there was no horor on his face. No hint of shame or regret.

“You were always watching Hermione,” Harry replied and in sync their eyes drifted to their observer. “I was watching you.”

Ron’s hand tightened on his back but they didn’t look at each other still.

“I’m fine,” she declared despite the tears in her eyes. “Honest.”

Still clinging to him desperately, Ron begged, “I don’t want things to change.”

Hermione let out a little chuckle. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, change.”

“But I love you,” he told her, and then turned to Harry, panicked. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

The words he had been so afraid to be discovered now passed between them casually. It made his heart swell, tears stinging his eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Ron said, panicked. “Bloody hell, I can’t deal with you crying.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes but Ron beat him to it, pushing up Harry’s glasses somewhat clumsily and smearing the tears with the pad of his thumb.

Harry couldn’t remember anyone being so tender and he had to double his effort not to sob.

“Is this why you left?”

Harry nodded, bowing his head.

“You should have said something,” Ron repeated. “I would have-“

“We’ve always been pretty lousy with feelings,” Harry mumbled, allowing Ron to tug him close, taking refuge in his shoulder. “And after the Horcrux.”

Ron stiffened, but only for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose we have.”

From the safety of Ron’s neck, breathing in the scent he’d been so desperate to recreate Harry whispered. “You’ve always been the thing I’d miss the most.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron said in an awed sort of voice. His lips pressed against the crown of Harry’s head and warmth spread down his spine.

Harry looked up at him, amazed again at the tender look in his eyes. “What does this mean?”

As they’d always done when faced with something impossible, they looked to Hermione, tucked under Ron’s other arm and staring at them with happy tears in her eyes.

“Harry I’ve always been there for you,” Hermione said firmly. “Why would this change anything?”

Harry laughed, unable to help himself, putting his arm around her at last and she leaned up onto her tiptoes, kissing Ron’s cheek then Harry’s.

“Just promise you’ll stay,” she begged, “I can handle just about anything except you leaving us again.”

Harry nodded, looking to Ron for confirmation.

“You’ll have to end things with that pompous git,” Ron told him firmly.

“Ron!” Hermione shouted.

“What?” Ron asked, “I agreed not to say anything but I told you the moment we met him he reminded me of Malfoy.”

Harry paled and Ron, in the true fashion of a best mate, let out a barking laugh.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, his face growing hot. “You should have said something.”

Ron took pity on him, lifting Harry’s chin with one finger. “Just wanted you to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I am.”

#Rarry #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #Ron Weasley #Harry/Ron #rarry fan fiction #ot3-1 #roywrites

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justgottafinishthischapter · 5 years

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Worldbuilding Tips: The Five Visitors

You’ve done it. You’ve come up with an idea for your fantasy world, but right now it’s mostly curb appeal and decorations without much else. So, you have the skin and flavor of your fictional world, but what if you’re having a bit of trouble coming up with the meat needed to make your world juicy and delicious? Well, I have a little game that can help flesh out your world.

Imagine a ship or whatever other kind of vehicle arriving on the shores or outskirts of your fantasy land and from that vehicle emerges 5 people from our own mundane world: a historian, an economist, an anthropologist, a diplomat, and a cartographer. There are some other visitors, but these are going to be the most universally beneficial.

The Historian:

This person is going to be interested in the backstory of your world. They don’t need to know every minuscule detail (though they wouldn’t turn that much information down) and just a general overview would be much obliged. Many fantasy worlds such as Tolkien’s Middle Earth and Martin’s Westeros are far more rich and interesting due to the amount of effort put into crafting their world’s histories. If you’re stumped, look to real world history for inspiration. It doesn’t even need to come from the middle ages so long as it works for your story. You should be able to answer questions like: How long has the dominant civilization been around? What are the biggest defining moments in your world’s history? What things are common knowledge that every child is expected to learn (such as George Washington being the first president of the USA) and which stuff is known more by historians and social studies teachers? And as you’re discussing the rest of the visitors, think back on how the answers you give would impact the historical aspect.

The Economist:

You don’t have to know the exact cost of every single thing in your world, but have a good guess. Be able to at least have a scale of price. If someone can buy a loaf of bread for 13 of your world’s currency, but a house costs 17, that would mean that either that bread is very expensive, that house is very cheap, or each unit of your currency is equal to a lot of real world money. Whatever you use to refer to your currency, keep not only price scaling in mind, but economics. If you have a port city, there’s going to be a lot of merchants in that area. The first primary export you’re likely to see in such a port town would be seafood, but also keep in mind the things that are closet to that port, as well as the climate. Greece for instance is a very rocky and mountainous country, so while they can grow crops, they would not have been any match for medieval French Aquitaine, the crown jewel of medieval farming territory. It’s also worth remembering that food in the middle ages was far more valuable than it is today. There was an old saying that wheat is worth its weight in gold. It was southern France’s bountiful soil that caused it to become one of the richest and most coveted territories in medieval Europe. So, keep in mind where resources would come from and where they would need to go, as well as trade that would be useful. A seaside farming town might not have any good access to raw minerals, while a city in the frozen mountainous north might not be able to grow crops, but are bountiful in minerals. The correlation of supply and demand now opens a vital trade route between them. This becomes more complex when the topic of war comes into play. The kingdom that supplies your crops and food is at war with your oldest ally. Now there’s a dilemma between having enough food to feed your people, or betraying the trust of a long time friend. Now your world building can be used as a part of your drama and narrative tension. The economy also impacts culture. What is considered a display of wealth, or is a common status symbol? What are the living conditions of the poor, the working class, the rich, and the aristocrats? Is there upward mobility? In the middle ages, you were what you were for the most part, especially serfs: peasants tied to their land. It was illegal to leave your territory, but there was a saying in the middle ages that “city air makes you free” that once a serf made it to a city, they’d be free of the life they’ve escaped.

The Anthropologist:

Every society has a culture. The way they act, think, dress, believe, talk. It’s all impacted by culture. Beliefs tend to be tied either to what has come before, or based on the world as observed. While many modern fantasy pantheons are based on ancient Greece, it’s not the only model to live by. In a loose interpretation, religion in it’s earliest stages was a rudimentary science used to explain why things happened. A culture that developed along rivers, sea coasts, and other popular trade routes are far more likely to be diverse melting pots due to the frequent traffic of people coming and going, and the common sight of foreigners choosing to set down roots. Meanwhile, a more out of the way and isolated culture is far less likely to have widespread cultural diversity. Tying back into history, a country that has experienced a number of successful wars may tend to think of themselves as invincible, or may try to police the issues of other countries, assuming they’re always on the right side, or that they can’t be defeated. The same culture may ask a high price of any other culture that asks them for militaristic support. Ask what things your people value, be they material or abstract ideals. However, try to refrain from creating a Planet of Hats, a trope often seen in Star Trek and similar Sci-Fi shows and even some Fantasy stories where everyone of a single race all have mostly the same skills, interests, personalities, and roles in the global culture. This is also the time to start thinking about myths, legends, folk heroes, and historical people and events worth celebrating, as this may be when you start to craft holidays or celebrations. This could also lead into discussing religion, and the gods or lack there of that might be celebrated by your culture. How does your society reflect itself in art, music, literature, dance. Does the way someone dresses tell you something about their place in society? Some taboos come from simple logic. The reason it’s frowned upon to eat a cow in India is the same reason it’s immoral to eat horse in western culture. Both are beast of burden livestock worth a lot more alive than dead. Cows produce milk, a source of nutrients and health. Horses are strong and were used in just about everything from plowing fields to pulling entire families or communities a great distance. Horses even became status symbols, as even in modern culture, owning a horse or pony is still considered to be (largely) a snobby rich person thing. Understanding not only what your people believe, but even just a vague idea why they would believe it is a vital aspect.

The Diplomat:

As this landing party is your fantasy world’s first contact with our own reality. How would they react to the newcomers? If there’s more than one society in your world, how would each society, country, kingdom, race, etc. react to something completely foreign? Would they try to forge an alliance? Open trade negotiations? Declare war? Prepare a feast? How would they feel about the way we dress? act? talk? How would they react to different levels of progression in technology? Could an unbiased third party from our world help two feuding sides come to peace with one another? How would they feel about knowing of a world beyond their own? Are there actions or behaviors acceptable in our own society that are considered offensive to them?

The Cartographer:

Although it’s not necessary that all fantasy worlds have a fully designed map, it is a good idea to have at least a rough idea of where things are in relation to one another. This can tell you about climate, resources, wildlife, natural borders, natural disasters, food chains, and more. It’s worth at least taking a crash course in understanding how geographical biomes tend to be laid out in order to make your world feel more real. Some authors claim that a world map is the single most important feature, others say it’s not that important. Frankly, trust your gut based on the kind of world you have. You may need a map, you may not. It really depends on the size and scope of your world. For instance, with Disney’s

Zootopia

, the entire world doesn’t matter. The audience doesn’t need to know where in the world Zootopia is, or what climate or biome it’s in. Zootopia itself is the world being built, and the separate districts and biomes of the city explain the world that’s being focused on.

Secondary Visitors:

They may still be important to your world, but are less likely to be universally helpful to all people.

Biologist: if your world has creatures beyond those found in our real world, it may be worth exploring how their bodies work on a more scientific level in order to give more realistic weight to their supernatural abilities.

Linguist/Translator: If you feel compelled to come up with a language no matter how basic or complex, it may be worth while to consider the problems with communication. this may also extend to unique idioms, colloquialisms, and slang native to your fantasy world.

Teacher/Scholar: Regardless of whether or not there is a formal education system in place in your world, a teacher may be interested in how knowledge is passed down, and what information the culture might have that would be unknown to people of our world. Whether that’s how to keep a wild animal from charging you, to knowing how to forge a mineral that exists only in your world, being able to readily answer questions is generally considered to be a good thing.

Healer: There may be healing spells in your world, there may not, but most fantasy stories tend to involve either action or adventure, both of which tend to cause fights. And since fights tend to lead to injuries, it’s important to know what can and cannot be treated, and how readily available these healing abilities are to the public.

#world building #worldbuilding #fantasy writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing worldbuilding

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tabikato · 4 years

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Hero, Chapter 11

Read all chapters here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980170/chapters/60475255

Standing at the lake's edge Hue breathed in the cool night air, wind gently tousling hair as stars rippled on the water. As if they were glowing fish flitting along the mirror surface. In the shadows of clouds stood the island tower, imposing in its height but with a feeling of loneliness. His idle thoughts trailed to what it would be like to live there, to never leave there...to remain inside and rarely feel the grass beneath his feet, the wind cooling his skin. Sounds of leaves gently playing their tune overhead, the chittering noise of an animal traveling through brush for its next meal or shelter. Without freedom...the thought alone suffocated his very soul, like ropes tightening across his body...threatening to cut off his blood, his air. Maybe if he had never known it he would not desire it so but even still, could that be called a life?

Whether he thought so or not was irrelevant, they were here to enlist the mages’ help to save Connor. The others were in the tavern behind, taking in what little rest they could after their travels here. It hadn’t been easy. Sibylle’s guess that Connor had been the one possessed was the right one, forced into the presence of a child whose face twisted in hellish delight. Not a face someone so young should ever sport. When the demon realised they were there to stop them, they sent a controlled Teagan and guards after the group, running to hide further in the castle. It didn’t take long to knock them out, setting Teagan’s mind back. Isolde begged them to save Connor, to free him from the demon now housed in his soul. Which seemed like an impossible task to him except…

Jowan had spoken up, offering his services to bring a mage into the Fade. There they could defeat the demon’s hold and free the boy without harming him. Of course it required a lot of lyrium and mages which they were short on but he could still perform...with blood magic. A willing sacrifice to die for Connor, to save him. Isolde immediately jumped at the chance...anything to save her son but Sibylle had stepped up. With a slap across the blood mage’s head, she took command of the situation easily, informing the group they could get the needed lyrium and mages at the Circle of Magi. It would be a week’s trip but Teagan and Alistair both agreed it was the better choice. Nobody had to die. Decision made, they left Jowan and Teagan to watch the boy and quickly headed towards the Circle, taking rest only when they really needed to.

“Ah, what a picturesque view. The whole imposing tower on the lake really must do wonders for tourism.”, a lean figure plopped down next to him, stretching his arms above his head and throwing a grin his way. Another odd bump in their road had been this man; Zevran. Odd how it was just two days ago but seemed more distant. The elf sat close by, breathing in the same air but chatted away about...anything really. It was like him and Alistair had this need to fill silence because the silence scared them for some reason. Not that Hue minded, listening to Zevran prattle on was relaxing in its own way, ironic since the man had tried to kill him. Crimson eyes looked over the other once more, taking in tan skin and brown eyes filled with as much mirth as his lips were. Wheat-coloured hair was tucked behind his ears, laying gently along the back of his neck. It stood in contrast against dark skin and the weathered green and brown of his armor, like the strands had soaked up lots of sun. Not gold like Sibylle's but it was still pretty in his eyes and looked soft. Another striking feature (which he had a lot of Hue mused) was the black tattoo along the left side of his face. It started at the end of his left brow and curved down in smooth lines along his cheek and ending at his jawline. Just one of others on his body, Zevran had said with a wink when Hue asked about it. It made him think back on how they met...

Zevran waited by the upturn cart, twirling an arrow between his fingers to pass the time. The other Crows hidden, checking their own weapons or idling about but eyes firmly on the path ahead. His job this time was rather simple; eliminate the stray Wardens and any who travel with them. Far be it from him to question why someone would want to kill off Wardens or hire this many Crow to do so, a job called for the best and that was why he was here. Luckily they had to wait no further as their bait walked up the path with the group in tow, a smile on her face that mirrored his. Amber eyes locked on to the red ones, suspicion turning to recognition but it was too late. With a signal of his hand, the group was surrounded by Crows and a log pushed to block their exit. It was fight or die. Angry red met him once again but this time he had pulled out his bow, arrow aimed right at the elf’s head.

“The Gray Warden dies here!”

With that sentence the battle was set, arrow released straight at Hue who...caught it without blinking and pulled out his own bow. Oh, shit...that was actually kind of sexy. Wait. The arrow that was meant to end the gray warden was now embedded in the cart next to his head, making him realise he was severely at a disadvantage with long range. No worries, he can close the gap. Pulling his daggers out, he gave them a twirl before rushing towards the shorter elf, dodging a few more arrows. Screams and explosions created a symphony to their fight and he swung both down above the other. Alas, the elf had thought to use his bow to block. It was a stalemate, he tried to kick the other in the chest but the slippery archer jumped back, dragging him along by the blades. When the other moved to retaliate Zevran also dodged, stumbling them both but eyes never left the other. Okay, he’s got this, he’ll simply sweep the other’s legs out and get him to the ground. Easy enough.

Or so he thought, what he hadn’t expected was the other man to let go of the bow, making him stumble forward. In mere seconds his blades hit armor and a forehead crashed into his, blurring his vision for the first shot. Another crack and it grew dark, body losing momentum as he crashed to the ground in a heap. The last thought that raced through his mind was what in Thedas did Wardens eat to have such hard heads?

He wasn’t sure how long he was out and honestly, he was pretty sure by this point he was dead. So when his eyes fluttered open he didn’t expect to see curious ruby-like eyes staring down at him. Hair in the colour of dandelion covered some of his face but it was close enough to his that Zevran could make out every inch. From the tanned skin marked with curving green tattoos, Dalish in nature now that he thought of it, to the sloping of the nose close to his. Hair stood up in places, poofed out in others but also cupped a handsome face. It looked soft as well as lips that were drawn in a rather charming frown. Close enough to see sweat gathered on smooth skin, the string of muscles on his neck taunt as he looked over the felled assassin. Huh. Maybe he did die after all.

“Mmm...what? I...oh.” Blinking again the sensation of pain firmly made itself known in his head, ah, “ I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.” His voice came out strained, not missing the snort of a laugh from the other.

“Nah, decided I wanted to torture you first.” That voice was...rather rough for such a youthful face. Gritty but not that deep and the grin was rather cheeky, baring teeth in a teasing manner. Huh, interesting.

“Oooh, so you kept me around to have a bit of fun, did you? Hmm.”, he grinned back before lifting up on his elbow with a grunt, “But the purpose behind torture is usually to interrogate, yes? In that case, despite the potential for fun, perhaps I’ll save you a bit of time and get right to the point.” Now that he was sitting up properly he gave the other elf sitting on his haunches another once over. Unfortunately the armor kept any illusions of his physique a mystery...ah, such a shame.

“Oh?”

“My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Gray Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.”

“Which I’m happy about.”

“Haha, I suppose you would be, yes.” Curious eyes kept trained on him, tilting his head a little as if trying to figure him out. Like a dog cocking their ears, cute.

“What are Antivan Crows?”

“They’re an order of assassins out of Antiva, highly respected and highly dangerous.” The pretty red-head behind the elf cut in but that only seemed to make the warden more visibly excited.

“You came all the way from Antiva?”

“Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.” A hum was his response, the unfiltered look of curiosity made him want to laugh. He had just tried to kill this man, failed of course, but honestly he should be showing more anger or caution about this.

“Why are you telling me everything?” At this innocently said question Zevran had to laugh.

“Why not? I wasn’t paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely.”

“Aren’t you at least loyal to the people paying you?”

“Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you’re done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.” Shifting to a more comfortable position he didn’t fail to see how curiosity seeped further in, making the elf lean in a bit more. Within this distance he could easily kill or kiss the man but odds were both actions would end with his life forfeit so he just settled on charm.

“I’m listening.”

“Are you actually entertaining this? He’s probably lying through his teeth Hue.” Ah, so the elf’s name was Hue, that’s an interesting name. The human in question wasn’t wrong in his caution but maybe the elf’s curiosity was too much or maybe this Hue felt he was useful somehow, either way he was given a chance and he was going to take it.

“Well, here’s the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.” Emotions read easily on Hue’s face; surprise was the first before melting into thoughtfulness. Luckily the man seemed rather strong because being that easy to read was a quick way to get yourself killed in certain situations. Hopefully they never have to set foot in Orlais.

“Serve me huh”, he chewed on those words before speaking again, “Can I expect the same kind of loyalty?” Zevran scoffed, fake offense lacing his tone.

“I happen to be a very loyal person. Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing. That’s not a fault, really, is it? I mean, unless you’re the sort who would do the same thing. In which case I...don’t come very well recommended, I suppose.” A chuckle exploded out of the shorter elf, breaking the rest of the tension between them.

“No worries there, I don’t expect you to die for me”, he tilts his head again, “what stops you from finishing the job later?” Ah, a fair question.

“To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child.” Brows drawn down; sadness, pity, good...so this one had a heart, “ I think I’ve paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can’t touch.”

“Me.”

“You. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I’d rather take my chances with you.” Plus Hue was much better to look at than his previous employers which was a bonus. And he didn’t expect him to die, talk about a lucky break.

“Won’t they come for you?”

“Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help.”, grabbing that arrow out from the air pretty much cemented that, “And if not...well, it’s not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?” The silence passed between them for a moment, rendering his earlier verdict of the elf being easy to read a bit moot. Honestly he had no idea what was going on behind those crimson eyes, whether this Hue would take the bait or simply determine everything he said was bullshit. Of course he was a master at keeping his cool, not showing an ounce of tension in his body as he stared back. This seemed to make the warden grin, a light chuckle passing his lips.

“You must think I’m royally stupid, huh?” Ah, so it was the latter. Which was a little irritating because he had been the most honest he’s ever been. Maybe he could double down, talk his way out of this...or whatever, what does he have to lose at this point.

“I think you’re royally tough to kill”, he grounded out before tilting his head slightly, “and utterly gorgeous. Not that you’ll respond to simple flattery. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a handsome man.” Shrugging his shoulders he decided to screw it all and lay out all his honest thoughts, if he’s still killed after this then it is what it is. Bored eyes flickered back to the warden’s face and ah...oh. There was no mistaking the blush that coloured the other’s cheeks, eyes wide. When their gaze met Hue turned his away, adorably flustered, clearing his throat to gain back some control over his features. Now this was definitely interesting and if things worked out, a very alluring bonus.

“What do you want in return?” Hue was trying to be serious but the tone came out in almost a pout, what an innocent soul this one was.

“Well, let’s see. Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?”

“And? What can you offer?”

“I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more...sophisticated...now that my attempts have failed.”, his grin grew bigger as he went on, “I also know a great many jokes. Twelve massage techniques, six different card games? I do wonderful at parties, no?”

“Okay, fine.” The warden raised up from his haunches, rubbing the back of his neck as he finally willed away the last of the blush.

“What?! You’re taking the assassin with us now?! Does that really seem like a good idea?” The human’s voice pitched up, waving his hand in Zevran’s general direction in disbelief. Hue blew some of his hair up, shrugging his shoulders at the other.

“He can be useful...besides, Gray Wardens enlist all help, right?” The other warden pouted a bit, seemingly trying to find a way to argue that but coming up empty.

“I suppose...I see your point.’, he sighed in resignation, “Still. If there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.” Another chuckle from Hue, looking more relaxed at the other’s reluctant approval.

“Are we truly in need of him? I find it unwise to invite the reason you must sleep with one eye open along”, a dark-haired beauty spoke up from across the way, standing next to a rather gorgeous blonde. Well...he certainly did pick the best team to join, all the women here were exceptional beauties.

“I suppose if he did try to kill them again we could simply punish him”, this time the blonde spoke, arms slightly crossed underneath her chest. Hopefully that involved rope. A hand appeared in his view, trailing it up to his new employer...leader? Details weren’t really that important. He graciously took the hand, being pulled to his feet easy enough with a strong grip.

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation...this I swear.” Gripping the hand back just as tight, he gave a firm shake to seal their oath. However, Hue didn’t let go right away, pulling Zevran closer in with a surprising amount of force until their noses were only inches apart, voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“You better be.” A feral grin graced his lips, soaking in Zevran’s surprised look before he let go and turned on his heel, signaling for the group to move out. Well, that was probably more sexy than the warden intended it to be. If he placed his bets he would probably guess Hue was trying to be intimidating to get back at him for earlier, however, it definitely wasn’t intimidation Zevran was feeling.

“Hey Hue”, looking up he saw the other warden address the other, making the elf turn back to them, “earlier in that fight, you grabbed that arrow right out of the air! How did you even do that?” Oh, yes, that. That was definitely a question Zevran would love to hear the answer to as well, it had certainly burned its way into his memory. Hue went rigid, lips a thin line as his eyes went a bit wide...why was he suddenly frightened like that?

“I...I thought I was gonna die and reacted”, words forced out, nerves colouring his pitched tone, “ I have no idea how I did that.” Zevran blinked; once, twice...so it was all just pure luck? Suddenly the other Warden belted out, holding his stomach from guffawing at Hue so hard. The chain reaction was instantaneous, Hue’s nervous expression melting into his own boisterous laugh. The red-head and blonde women chuckled behind their hands, very much amused with the situation whereas the other scoffed, rolling her eyes in boredom. The qunari also did not seem to find the humour in this, rubbing the bridge of his nose but everyone could feel that any lingering tension was gone. Gone was the battle from before, the bloodthirst, the killing. Now they laughed, the Wardens making jokes at the other as the group marched forward, with their new addition of course.

Which brought his thoughts back to the elf currently sitting by his side, eyes scanning over the clear surface in thought. Hue usually responded much better to his rambling, asking questions and eyes swimming with curiosity but now he seemed...introspective. Which is an odd state for him to be in if Zevran could tell from getting to know him the past few days; Hue’s curious and energetic nature was a driving force for all of them. Though he supposed that was unfair to say...even someone as extroverted as him would have times like this, yes?

“Zevran…” The Antivan perked up, Hue’s voice loud in the stillness of the night air.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Oh? This should be good. Go ahead”, elbow on his lifted knee, he put his cheek on his fist, looking over at Hue with a grin.

“Why did you want to leave the Crows?” He knew this question was coming, it was only natural the other would be curious. It wasn’t like he made it a secret that he hadn’t wanted to stay.

“Well, now, that’s a fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living at least as far as such things go.”, he shrugged lightly, “I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?”

“But what would you rather do?” He opened his mouth before closing it again, amber eyes studying the other’s face. Honestly...he had no idea, nobody had ever asked him that before or rather, nobody cared to. What he wanted out of his life never mattered in the long scheme of the Crows and his choices...those certainly hadn't mattered. Still, why was his mind drawing up such a blank...he could lie to most anyone but Hue’s innocently spoken words gave him pause. Maybe it was because nobody had ever shown genuine curiosity of who he was before...

“Now that you mention it, I am not entirely certain”, he breathed out, looking at the lake, “I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I’m told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn’t know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.”

“That sounds...awful”, his nose scrunched up, anger mixed with pity as he could see the gears turning in Hue’s head.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits”, leaning back on his hands, he looked up at the stars with a chuckle, “In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women...and men, or whatever it is you might fancy.” His eyes moved to the side, lingering on Hue’s with that last hurried sentence.

“Ah.”

“But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It’s a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty. But confining.”

“So you have no freedom…”

“My dear Warden, what is freedom anyway?” Hue turned to look at him, confusion on his face, “I suppose you have lived free with your emotions and choices and that is what you know to be so. But a bird raised in a cage only knows it’s cage, what is freedom to it other than death, yes?”

“No, a freed bird can learn to live outside its cage if it’s brave enough.”, he watched the Warden shift uncomfortably, eyes downcast, “though...I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to force it to. Is it wrong of me to think everyone deserves the freedom to choose whether to live in the cage or outside of it?” Zevran watched Hue’s gaze move to the ground, shifting his feet awkwardly in the dirt and he too felt awkward. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle Hue’s kind nature but it was nice to know that someone out in this world gave a damn.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.”, laying back on the ground, he put his arms behind his head, tracing the patterns in the sky above, “As for what I’ll do in the future...presuming that there is one...I truly can’t imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.”

“I’m happy to have you along.”

“And here I am, happy to be had! Isn’t it wonderful how things work out that way?”, his laughter carried on the wind, making the ends of Hue’s lips quirk up in a smile, “now if only I had more things I fancied this would be a remarkable night.”

“Oh, what is it you fancy?” Hue snorted, looking down at the other amused.

“I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting”, his eyes locked onto Hue’s, smirking, “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?” Again that beautiful blush bloomed right over his cheeks, visible even in the dark and Zevran reveled in the way Hue flustered. It was such a stark contrast, to see the usually hyperactive man turn shy with just a few well-placed words.

“Not at all…”, came the murmured reply, lips turned down in a pout, “wait...you said you fancy all of that then you said me? Does that mean you think...I’m…?”

“What? Dangerous? Strong? Handsome enough to turn heads even in a Chantry? Surely you know all this, yes?” Zevran watched as Hue gaped, eyes wide as the blush started to spread down to his neck but he wasn’t hiding his gaze now. Instead he was turned where he could stare at the Antivan openly, floundering with thoughts that he couldn’t quite get out so he simply shook his head.

“I…”

“You?”

“I just…”, clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck, a rather adorable expression on his face, “...I’ve been flirted with before but...nobody’s ever said so many things like that so honestly. I mean...is it honest?”

“I gain nothing to lie about this”, Zevran sat up, leaning in closer to the other with a smile, “besides, I know what I like and rather be honest about it. Life is too short to hide away like a cloister sister.”

“Hmmm...is everyone in Antiva like this?”

“Antivans are passionate by nature, yes, but I like to think I have an extra special something, hmmm?”

“Yea, you do”, Hue smiled back, shyness completely erased as he laid his chin on his knees, “you’re fun to be around Zevran and handsome too. I’m glad you sucked at killing me.” Cheekiness lit up crimson eyes as Zevran laughed, head thrown back in genuine mirth.

“I’m talented in many things but I could-”

“Suck well if given the chance?”

“You know me so well already.” Hue slapped Zevran gently on the thigh before both men dissolved into laughter. Tonight had been rather educational to say the least, now he knew his Warden was of a similar persuasion. Of course he’ll wait and see for more information but it would be an excellent opportunity between all the darkspawn and the killing if they could escape the world with a bit of fun. He’d love to see what other wonderfully open expressions the other could make in the right situations.

“We should join the others”, with a helping hand, he stood up and watched Hue walk to the tavern, staring very openly at his backend. Now if only he could convince the other to ditch the bulky armor for something much more...fitting.

Back in the tavern Hue joined up with the rest of his friends, sitting next to Alistair as Leliana was reciting yet another tale. He watched her eyes light up, showing such passion for the stories she weaved beautifully. Maybe one day there’d be tales of them and their adventures...hah, as if. Of course that’s not what he was there for, tapping Alistair on the shoulder to get his attention. Zevran came to sit nearby, listening to their lovely bard but not above eavesdropping on the two Wardens across from him.

“Here”, digging through his bag, he pulled out what looked like a pendant, handing it over.

“This...This is my mother’s amulet.”, Alistair handled it carefully, looking it over this way and that with awe, “ it has to be. But...why isn’t it broken? Where did you find it?”

“I found it when we were in Redcliffe castle”, he continued, ignoring the scolding the other was about to give, “in the study. Was trying to find some sort of handy explanation but found that instead.”

“The arl’s study?”

“Yea.”

“Then he must have...found the amulet after I threw it against the wall. And he repaired it and kept it?”, confusion creased his brows as he slowly turned it in his hands, “I don’t understand, why would he do that?”

“You probably meant more to him than you think”, Hue stole the tankard in front of Alistair, taking a swig as the human was engrossed with his thoughts. If he stared any harder he might just set the thing on fire.

“I...guess you could be right. We never really talked that much, and then the way I left…”, a shaky sigh left his lips before he shook his head, looking at Hue with fondness, “ Thank you. I mean it. I...thought I lost this in my own stupidity. I’ll need to talk to him about this. If he recovers from his…when he recovers, that is. I wish I’d had this a long time ago.”

“That’s what I’m here for, to help with your stupidity”, Alistair snorted at that, watching Hue’s grin grow as he drank.

“Did you actually remember me mentioning this?”, a nod from the elf, warmth blossoming in his chest, “Wow. I’m more used to people not really listening when I go on about things.”

“Huh? Sorry, did you say something?” An elbow met Hue’s side and he laughed, drinking the rest of the tankard before slamming it down. Zevran watched intently over his own drink; the playful, almost boyish nature of the two wardens. One wouldn’t imagine that these two were the only ones around who could stop this Blight but a childish nature is much more preferable to a leader who cares for no one. Which Hue cared, too much in his opinion, but he supposed that’s what the rest of them were here for. Taking care to protect that “flippantly careless nature” as Morrigan so lovingly called it.

“Hey! Hue, that was my drink!” He laughs when Hue jumps up out of his chair, moving across the table over to him with a wink to escape Alistair’s indignant tone. Things were going to be very, very interesting indeed.

#dragon age origins #dragon age #zevran arainai #zevran x mahariel #hue #fanfic #Tabi's writings

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carsonstcne · 4 years

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— && guests may mistake me as ( wolfgang novogratz ), but really i am ( carson stone + cis male + he/him ) and my DOB is ( 11/26/1997 ). i am a ( hockey player ) and would like to stay in suite ( 308 ). i won’t be much of a bother because i am ( confident & loyal ), but i can also be ( impatient & guarded ) at times. personally, i like to ( play video games, watch espn & do facetime calls ) when i have the time to relax, and my favorite snack is ( trail mix ) to have in my suite. thank you for checking in! ( nessa, est, 21 ).

tw: mentions of sports-related injury, surgery/rehabilitation.

so, yes, it is nessa bringing back on last character who happens to be a hockey player for the nhl !! if you’re interested in plotting with this guy, please dm here or on discord !! i’ll be linking his pinterest board and full bio here once they’re done, but hopefully this suffices for now.

the first-born of the stone children came into the world with a bang -- a couple of weeks earlier than planned, in the middle of the night, screaming his tiny lungs out as soon as he'd left his mother's body. what his parents didn't know at the time was that the manner of his birth would be indicative of what they should have expected from him in general. from a very young age, he was always pushing to do things sooner than he was expected to -- trying to sneak out of his crib, starting to walk before learning to crawl first, reaching for objects and almost knocking a number of things over his head -- he was curious, energetic, and drained his parents' energy as they ran around after him and tried to keep him out of trouble. it was a wonder they decided to have more children after what he put them through. perhaps they'd hoped that another kid would give him someone to play with at home and give them some time to themselves.

the day his baby sister was born was the day carson deemed as the worst day of his life. he grew up in four bedroom, three bathroom house with the perfect yard in east grand forks and enjoyed life with his parents and the family down the road. the stone clan lived extremely comfortably due to dad being a well-known generational farmer and mom a world-renowned chef to be reckoned with. to say the stone children grew up spoiled would be a safe and accurate statement.

carson loved having his parents' attention all for himself -- a bit of a greedy shit right off the bat, but he loved genuine affection and love. in fact, the boy was lucky enough to have that with two families: his own and the one down the road. his mom was best friends with the pretty neighbor lady with the pretty daughter who was close to carson’s age. the two had been forced on play dates as the two mothers lived their dream and promise to raise their first borns together.

when his sister came into the picture, carson felt as though he was now boring, unwanted, and worst of all, replaced. he despised the baby girl from a young age and oddly enough, the neighbor’s daughter didn't seem so bad anymore. a very long story short, a friendship and admiration grew between the two over the years while carson tried to not resent being a brother.

it wasn't until his sister's first crush broke her heart when she was seven that carson felt any real 'brotherly' feelings towards his sister. he likes to think that he was empathetic with her, but it wasn't that. it was more so that he did care, but there was opportunity for him to help her, protect her, and threaten the little shit that rejected his sweet sister. that started the hero complex and co-dependency issues that he and his sister share.

life was pretty easy for him, he was always pretty much a good kid who was raised to be polite to others and also just be himself. fortunately, since a young child carson had the type of personality that just drew people into him and he got along with everyone. caron’s interest in hockey would start at a young age, when he’d find himself simply tuning in to the many hockey games that his parents played around the house -- to the point that he easily memorized positions and the players.

since he lived so close to the university of north dakota, he used to go the university's hockey games as a little kid and that's how he found a love for hockey. it was one of the few things that kept his attention and carson just knew he was meant to play. carson was one determined son of a bitch. as soon as he got the idea to be a hockey player in his head, he stuck with it. as a child, he begged his parents to put him into a kiddie league and they ultimately said yes.

hockey was something that carson poured all of his energy into. his home life was filled with homework and watching his sister, but hockey practice was where he could be freed from all of that. he lived for practices and games for that reason alone. hockey has always been one of the very many steady things in his life. growing up, carson wasn’t exactly a star student in his classes. he was smart, but not in a conventional sense. if you asked him the quadratic formula, he would look at you like you were speaking a foreign language. however, if you asked him about who won the stanley cup in 1998 and the player statistics of that year, he’d be able to essentially recite a wikipedia's worth of information without any hesitation.

to avoid the extra-curricular tutoring that his parents insisted he needed if he was going to go get into a good school, he headed for the rink. the year carson turned thirteen, he made his town’s youth hockey team, preparing himself for the dream of making the nhl in a few years time. his small town team took home the championship the year he was named captain. “he’s the strongest center i’ve seen in years”, noted one of the coaches. it was the height of carson’s teen years. he was invincible -- eternally youthful. his parents stressed that he couldn’t rely on his body or physical prowess to carry him through life; your mind was the only reliable tool you are given. because they didn’t want their son to neglect his grades, they set out new rules: homework must be done on the way to and home from the rink, at least, and he had to help out around the farm once a week. even though they wanted carson to keep up with his schoolwork, his parents were the most supportive when it came to hockey. they cheered him on at every game, allowed him to get the best equipment, and even created a hockey rink in the backyard for him to skate on when the roads were terrible during the winter months.

2013 was a whirlwind year. before then, carson was just another small town boy with dreams of going to “the show”. there were plenty of bull-headed, ambitious boys that were willing to work for it, ones better than him, they said, but they didn’t have the heart he did. there was nothing more important than following his dream -- not prom, not exams, not girls, not friends. carson was that boy, the one with no plan b. people would roll their eyes when he missed another party or had to reschedule a test because of practice or games. but those same people were in the stands, cheering him on through every goal and assist after he made the “brandon wheat kings” and could finally say he was in major junior league. how fast he made captain surprised nearly everyone, except him, of course. sure, carson’s parents shoved university brochures down his throat every chance they got, but so did everyone else. “hockey isn’t a concrete career carson, you have to have a backup plan” rang in his ears, but instead of discouraging him, it spurred him harder. in every news interview, he was prepossessing -- with dark hair, maturity, and experience oozing out of every word. whether it was an act or not, it looked good. this wasn’t a dream, it was a pending reality. the charming, big-hearted boy matured into a courageous, focused, but still bullish, young man those seasons.

since he wasn’t eligible to be drafted just quite yet, carson decided to leave the major junior league to attend boston university and play for their hockey team. allowing him to continue his studies while still being able to play hockey. when he was a freshman, he suffered a very serious knee injury while on the ice and in front of scouts. carson had been so focused on wanting to be a nhl player that he didn't even care how serious his injury was -- as all he could really think about was how he blew his chance at impressing scouts, even though his injury wasn't at all his fault and a freak accident. however, the one good news that he got was that, once he'd healed from his surgery he could resume playing again, so it wasn't like it was completely over for a chance for him to one day accomplish his goal.

it took a little while and some extra hard work, and after going through a lot of physical therapy, by the age of nineteen, carson was a first round draft pick for the washington capitals and was officially a professional hockey player, just like he'd always wanted. hearing his name called for the nhl draft was almost a distant memory; the memory muddled like a far off dream. in reality, it was a binding contract that said where to be and when, a hefty salary with strings attached, plus a shiny signing bonus. his knee must stay healed and solid or everything would be snatched away, no pressure. even still, they must have enlisted a wide angle lens to fit his smile in the frame. his friends cheered him on from their screens at home, understanding why the boy was always on the go, had time for no one but himself, still bore a heart of gold. carson was on a plane that night, flying out to america’s capital, and settling into a hotel that would be his home for almost three months until he secured housing downtown. that year he spent busting his balls for the team that allowed him to shine like the star he was, proving himself to men ten years his senior, and adding on to his hero complex. being on a team with alexander ovechkin could’ve made carson look like an amateur, but all his hard work would pay off, as he got show the world just how great of a player he was.

seeing all of the changes in his life and the change in his personality, his parents were calling almost every night to tell him that it wasn’t too late to back out of the nhl. his sister constantly asked him if he was doing okay. his rehab doctor occasionally emailed with concern about missing physiotherapy appointments. carson rarely, if ever, kept in contact with any of his hometown friends and found himself feeling more distant from them than ever. leaving his girlfriend of four years to start fresh. this was a new life, it was serious, this was adulthood. they would only interfere or pull him off track, and one injury had done that enough already. no one was slowing him down now, a pig-headed boy, and he didn’t know how to stop even if he wanted to.

he became quite a popular player throughout the league, leading the league in goals. despite putting up career numbers in goals and assists, he became a household name from setting a record for most minutes in the penalty box. carson tended to be a pretty physical player, bumping people from behind or hitting them into the boards. he’d been suspended on more than one occasion, which would make him be considered a dirty player. many players weren't too keen on his style of playing. but it never deterred him, he loved the physicality of the sport, the sheer amount of strength and endurance it took to keep up.

off the ice, some would likely say that carson is the type of person who'd be hard to miss in a room. when he was younger, he used to be louder, thinking that would grant him the attention he needed, but as he's aged, he's honed his people skills more and relies on his charm and intelligence much more than the volume of his words (but he can be loud, it's the sort of ability you don't lose with time). he's confident to the point where he can be considered arrogant, tends to be a perfectionist, and rarely (if ever) caves in once he's made up his mind. he's very energetic but gets easily bored with things, unless they truly catch his interest. along with that, the tabloids wanted to make him out to be this bad boy villain that he wasn't. he tried to ignore it, but the more he ignored it, the more the rumor mill ran wild. he just didn't understand why he couldn't just play hockey and not have to deal with the rest of the bullshit. sure, he has had some one night stands and hook ups but no where near the amount that people have claimed in the past. some girls he hooked up with in the past have sold him out to the press. sold photos of him sleeping or something along those lines just because they contributed to his "bad boy" image.

if carson’s hockey career couldn’t get better, it most certainly did when the washington capitals won their first stanley cup in his 2nd year with the team. so then he became a stanley cup winner, playing beside his favorite players, hanging with his friends, drinking more than he should, risking more than he should, loving more than he should. a mix of contrary traits and confusing quirks that defined his life as a hockey player.

it was the season after carson’s most successful season yet. his dedication and award-winning attitude landed him on center ice, staring down jeff carter across the center line. after the referee blew his whistle in the third period, carson saw nothing but black. a hard hit was a hard hit, but this was more -- it was personal. a grade ii separation of the acromioclavicular joint, also known as a shoulder separation. it could have been worse. his mother swore she saw his clavicle hanging from a thread, but that was just hearsay. it didn’t matter what she said, he were benched. his chirps before the game had gotten him in deep with a teammate from los angeles. he told carson to stay home and that he was just a pretty boy. but that’s exactly what he wasn’t going to do. six weeks of recovery, three months of rehab -- no one could take this away from him. was carson resilient, or just stupid?

lightning doesn’t strike twice, and carson’s journey to play for the washington capitals would prove to be difficult. before he got to get anywhere on the ice, he was a glorified locker room attendant, basically. it would have taken a miracle to get any playing time. his first few games back were difficult. carson was desperate to get play time and there just wasn't any chance for him to get it. he worked so hard to get where he was that he felt stuck. people kept telling him that it would happen soon. well, soon would never be good enough for him. commentators and sports analysis were saying he wasn’t as good as he used to be. which left carson feeling like he was under a microscope at all times. in addition to that, he would learn that while he loved the sport, being a professional athlete also meant you were apart of a business -- so, as a great as he was, it didn't stop him from being traded to a different team just a few years into his career. from washington d.c. to chicago, he was traded at just the blink of an eye.

as a washington capital, he worked his way to becoming an alternative captain which is why is hurt him so much to be traded. he thought that the team would be his team for years and they just traded him off like nothing. and sure, his performance wasn’t the best but he had one bad season after his best one yet. so carson was a little mad because he didn’t think he deserved to be shipped off to a new team.

now he’s in the windy city, looking for a new start in his hockey career and decided to stay at the malnati for the time being. he’s still feeling a little bitter about being traded so early in his career, but realizes that he still has the privilege to play. he’s been in the city for only a few months and is hoping to restart his career and life.

plotting

carson may come off as a jock... well, he is a jock, let's be honest here, sport is a huge chunk of his identity and it's also the reason why he can't stand still for too long. the boy has a lot of energy, it needs to go somewhere and what better way to use it than slamming into some people on the ice? he's loud, blunt, occasionally rude, he doesn't look for the attention on purpose but he draws it because of his demeanor.

carson has never had a hard time befriending others. in school, he was a troublemaker and an athlete -- a mix certain to get you popularity. but even now at twenty two years old, he isn't afraid to make himself look an ass to entertain others. he's never been shy and can talk to just about anyone.

carson is the kind guy who schmoozes his way in and out of every conversation, effortlessly gliding through social situations with confidence and style. his time on the ice has served him well, glowing in the spotlight but also having some grace to share it with nineteen other people. most of his rivals are deliberately trying to see him fail. he’s nothing if not a team player, as cliche as that is. he’s a natural leader and wants everyone to work together towards ultimate harmony. when you're out partying, he’s the guy that takes charge and decides what bar you’re going to. he’s always been someone who has been pretty free-spirited and marches to the beat of his own drum. he has quite the charming and engaging personality, he practically can get anyone to do anything but he's far from the manipulative type. half of the time, he uses his charming ways to get his friends to let loose and be as care-free for a moment as he tends to be. however, he's not someone who is too careless, he knows when to have fun and he knows when to take things serious. carson is someone who's going to be loyal to his friends, he's going to treat them like family and he's going to be there for them, no matter what they're going through and it doesn't matter if he can relate or not.

he cares about the people he has in his life and is a genuine, sincere, sensitive dude. always the boy who leaves his heart on the ice after every game, stands up for what he believes in, and is an unadulterated good person at heart. unfortunately, he tends to be so harmonious that he becomes influenced by others’ attitudes. if he’s around dicks, he’s going to act like a righteous, self-concerned asshole, if that’s what everyone else is doing. the insecurity of being young and impressionable, especially now with the spotlight shining a little brighter, tends to make him want to meld into the people around him. the weakness of his knee and shoulder caused him to become more anxious and protective of his reputation and abilities, coupled with the feeling that his parents are waiting for him to fail so he can pursue a more “realistic” path. he knows what he’s good at and has a hefty dose of confidence and ambition in him, but he can come off condescending and arrogant in the same light. ultimately, a true people-person who sees the good and wants to shed light on it, but sinks deeply into insecurity and fear if he feels vulnerable. but no matter how much he tries to put on a “hockey bro” aesthetic, he’s unabashedly a naive, soft-shelled boy who doesn’t know any better than to trust everyone means well.

not that carson has had a lot of time to date, with practices every morning and/or evening, and games every weekend, but the desire is there. throughout high school, when relationships were plentiful and bound to blossom, he was preoccupied with his sport. he did his fair share of complaining that he didn’t get that same teenagehood that his friends did, but then again, most of them played too. girls and dating came second to the game, refining their craft and honing their skills was more important. maybe not in their hearts, but in their heads, and for carson his head ended up winning more often. it was almost cut-and-dry that he would put his potential career over a relationship; one was up to him, and one was completely up to chance. in his heart of hearts, he is a sensitive, emotional dude who feels deeply and knows the clock is running on the rest of his life that he’s neglected in lieu of furthering his career. if there’s one thing that might subdue his parents' restlessness about him making no real “concrete” life decisions, it would be bringing home a girl that actually stuck. if he could avoid heartbreak for life, ensure that a girl would never come between him and his goals, then it would be in the cards. remember the pretty girl who was his neighbor as a little kid? when she came back into his life the summer of his junior year, it wasn’t supposed to be a long-term thing, just a summer fling. something to get his mind off of his impending career decisions, a “break” from the action. but, the only thing that takes more time than a relationship is a breakup, so somehow between her controlling, over-dramatic insistence that he pay attention to her any time he had a chance to breathe and carson’s innate desire to be independent above all else, they made it work for four long years. though, once he got into the league as a rookie, he had broken it off in favor of “enjoying his youth” (may or may not have been influenced by his old teammates) and was living the playboy years that he never got to enjoy when he was a teen.

since coming to chicago, he has dated off and on. there's been nobody serious, but i could see him dating someone for a couple months at max. he's a little distracted by everything going on in his career, so he's not completely focused on finding someone, but he's also not opposed to it. he's just not sure what he wants, and he's still so young that he doesn't feel like he needs to worry about what he wants quite yet.

the blackhawks are a really important part of his life, he sees them as a family of sorts and he does his best to be in their good books. he's one of the resident idiots and troublemakers because on top of cracking dad jokes, he tends to jump into any stupid idea that comes up (he also gives a lot of them) and he's been known to play pranks on some of his teammates, especially when they're away for a game.

wanted connections

his childhood best friend and ex girlfriend, olivia “ollie” im -- you know those childhood best friends that parents comment how cute they’d be together? yeah, that was ollie and carson when they were little kids. at first, they didn’t get a long considering they were set up by their mothers. however, over time they became close friends. like family, even. ollie moved away when they got to middle school, but he always thought about her throughout the years. when he saw her for the first time during the summer, he was quite in shock since he thought he’d never see her face again. when they started their relationship, carson played in canada with his junior team and then they continued their relationship when they went off to separate colleges. they kept their steady long distance relationship, and he was faithful to her despite all of the difficulties they faced. it was when he was drafted in the nhl that caused a rift in their relationship. his calls were less and less, which left ollie feeling like she wasn’t a priority anymore. i’m requesting her because of how interesting their dynamic would be to explore.

his little sister, amelia -- as mentioned, carson here has a little sister that he’s pretty close to. he played his big brother role of helping by stepping in and help take care of her when he needed to. without a doubt, he's all about family, he loves and is very protective of each and every single one of his family members. he's a pain in their asses, but he loves them loads and he'll go out of his way to try and help them out if they need it, even when it's something he has no idea about.

work out buddies -- working out is something that carson is really into, so i'd love to have a person or two he works out with regularly and they just shoot the shit while they do it, try and motivate each other, and cheer for each other when they get a new personal record in. overall, he's very much into sports, so anyone sporty or athletic he probably could have crossed paths with.

pet buddies -- carson is looking to get a dog, so maybe he befriends some other pet owners? or walkers. he’s looking to get a coonhound, and they’re an extension of speed and need all the time outside.

sports fans -- since carson lived in boston for a bit, baseball became another sport he liked to watch. the red sox are his team. give him some baseball fans to argue with, to rejoice with, to get into a fight with for some silly arbitrary reason.

lingering feelings -- i've also had this idea of a friendship that fell apart because carson fell in love with a guy and then didn't know what it was, so he ended up being a complete ass about it. he was the first guy to really bring him any sort of awareness to his sexuality, and carson was rough on himself at first as he came to terms with that. it wouldn't have gotten anywhere but they might still be on ends because of it and it might be fun to play with, so hmu if you're interested!

in all honesty, carson’s open to quite a bit! he'll have connections with anyone through the malnati. maybe some fans or something too? like super fans that are really into him might be cool? i'm just spit balling with that. i'm also sure there will be plenty of people that are just annoyed by the thought of him because y'know there are some people who dislike the blackhawks for very valid reasons. feel free to throw something at me, i'm game to try anything!

#malnatiooc #malnatism #malnatiintro #i have been working on this for hours FSDHFFSF

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whoaiminactivenowwepa · 4 years

Text

On The Run (fanfic) - Chapter 1: The Deal

Summary: Lee decides to leave Texas with a childhood enemy after agreeing to help each other out.

A/N: AND SO IT BEGINS. Woof, this is my first time doing this sort of thing. I had a lot of fun writing the interactions between these two and I really hope you guys enjoy it.

Word Count: 2681

Notes: I mention here that Hester is a jackrabbit when she’s really an arctic hare. In the canon, Lee doesn’t know that she’s a hare until he meets Iorek in Once Upon A Time In The North. Wanted to clear that up in case anyone here hasn't read the book.

Speaking of OUATITN, I never got to finish it yet either, and I took the liberty of writing in some tiny details that might contradict from it. So sorry if I accidentally get any Lee Scoresby backstory info wrong.

Anyways, enjoy!!

-----

"Can't you move any faster?" Lee Scoresby whines softly, waiting by the back door of the Wright’s family mansion.

After several more minutes, Jane suddenly emerges from the window above him and she climbs down the vines growing down the side of the brick exterior walls. Hanging around her shoulder was a satchel of the last few things she needed before they leave.

She releases the vines and lands on the grass right in front of Lee, taking him and his jackrabbit dæmon, Hester, by surprise.

She's followed by her own dæmon, a Eurasian lynx named Zachyre, the feline landing just as gracefully on all fours.

Lee blinks before he follows Jane, who is now running into the wheat field ahead where his new balloon had already been set up and ready to take off.

Jane was just Lee's age, in fact, a few months older. She was a beautiful young woman of slightly built but slender frame. Her hair was of short curly blonde and she wore an expensive-looking leather bomber jacket that reflected her wealth quite easily. The handkerchief tied around her neck was her signature touch. The handkerchief changes everyday but regardless, you almost never see her without one.

Their hearts race as they run down the golden wheat field and nostalgic memories of carefree childhoods resurface.

The two young adults were running down the fields like children on recess after a boring first period at kindergarten.

The cool spring breeze seemed to make the gold in Jane's hair fly, and the skyline of wooden ranch houses, towers and trees seemed to blaze past Lee like he was already soaring great speeds. They weren't even in the skies yet, but they had never felt so free.

Jane makes it first into the gondola, where she had already began removing the ropes and anchors holding the balloon in place. Lee sprints faster and hops inside right at the nick of time.

The balloon immediately takes off as the draft pulls them high into the stars. After a few moments, the balloon stabilizes in the air. Lee takes off his hat and sinks onto the floor as he and Hester catch their breath.

"Jeez... Were you planning on leaving us?"

"You weren't running fast enough" She laughs and sinks down onto the floor as well, breathing heavily.

Whatever, I still made it, he thinks to himself.

This was it. It was finally happening.

Lee had wanted to leave the country for so long and that day has finally come.

He has no expectations, no specific plans. Just a hunger to be in some place new; to start a new life and completely start over in unknown lands, where nobody knows his name and nobody can hold him back.

He could go to the beaches of Greece. He could mine jewels and diamonds in the Malaysian mountains. He could befriend Eastern witches. He could fly to the North and meet a panserbjørne. The possibilities were endless.

It would be just he and Hester against the world. Well, at least that was what he had originally planned. But things had gotten... Complicated.

Jane opens her satchel to double check its contents. Inside it was some extra gold and pearl jewelry she planned to sell for extra money, and an aeronaut's manual. It was this small thick book with a picture of a balloon on the cover.

He honestly couldn't believe he decided to take her with him. He had always quite loathed her family name for how they bossed the low and middle class around liked they owned everything and everyone there... Which they sort of did, but that wasn't the point.

It took Hester some convincing him for him to realize it, but he needed some guidance if he really wanted to go through with their little "expedition". Not just guidance on where he should go first but also on actually flying the balloon. Thankfully, he knew someone who was knowledgeable with both.

The only problem was... That person was Jane Miller Wright. They were never exactly in the best of terms since childhood, and he had always found her to be quite the annoying presence.

But she offered a deal with him. It was simple: She'll give him flying lessons if he agrees to take her away from home. She wouldn't tell exactly where she was going, just what she was leaving behind, and that she'll show him where she needed to go.

-----

Lee gets on his feet to look at the scenery. The town was lit up by small glowing dots of streetlights and outdoor porch lights.

The moonlight glimmered over miles and miles of crops, fields and open land where he used to spend his weekends re-enacting the Battle of the Alamo with the orphans his uncle and aunt looked after.

He could see them just pass the clocktower he once climbed with a childhood friend long ago. It was the tallest structure in town where every sunset, it promised a beautiful view of the sun meeting the dots of trees on the horizon.

This town carried 21 years worth of memories. It was almost as if his whole life was being laid out before him... And he's about to leave all of it behind. Gosh, he didn't realize how much he was leaving behind.

Lee had been considerably quiet for quite some time now, and it wasn't very like him.

"Hey. Lee, you in there?"

Lee stands there in silence for a bit before he gets out of his own head.

"Sorry, I was just... Thinking."

"Really? That's a rare occurrence."

"Oh, har-dee-har." Lee groans as he puts on a thin coat that was hung on one of the balloon's load supports.

"This whole 'venture was my idea, you know."

"Yes, and you've hardly thought through it. You don't even have the skills to fly this thing"

"That's exactly why I agreed to bring you here, isn't it?"

Lee's quick hands suddenly pulls out the aeronaut's manual from behind his back. Jane scoffs. Now that was one impressive skill Lee had that she didn't.

"So where do we start? Teach me, teacher."

"And if I don't?"

"I really hope you didn’t hit your head when you jumped out of that window. Seems like you amnesia-d the deal out of your noggin. Look, if you don't fill your end of the bargain, I'm afraid I'd have to take you right back to that filthy mansion of yours."

“You will do that?”

“Of course I will.”

Lee steps closer towards her. Just inches apart, the tall man looked down at her with dark, intimidating eyes.

"After all, balloon's nothing without its pilot." he points at the subtitle of the manual which reads exactly that:

A balloon is nothing without its pilot.

They hold each other's glare, both of them insistently standing their ground. Suddenly, a devilish smirk tugs on Jane's face.

"Has it not occurred to you that this balloon's already got a pilot?"

Lee's brows furrow "What do you mean?"

Then suddenly, it dawns on him. Hester groans and mutters to herself as the thought only now comes to her as well.

Shit. He really didn’t think this through.

She's the only one here who knows how to fly this balloon.

Shit, the deal was a ploy! And she really was trying to leave him behind back there. That part of her plan didn't work out, but it didn't matter. She's still the only one here with flying experience, so with or without him, this balloon was practically hers now.

Jane laughs at the look on Lee's face and grabs the book back from his hand while he's pre-occupied.

She strides onto the far edge of the gondola and began working with the ropes and levers in a pattern that was alien to Lee.

He groans. She's showing off.

"So this whole thing was just about stealing my balloon, huh?"

"I'm honestly surprised it took you this long to figure it out." Jane comments, side-eyeing him as she worked. Boy, he would do anything for a chance to smack that smirk off of her face.

"She's joking." Zachyre hops onto the cushion seats so he's on Lee's eye level. "We weren't trying to steal from you."

"Are you, now? I'm pretty sure you just stole my balloon from me... And kidnapping me too, I suppose."

Lee faces back to Jane, "and here I thought I could trust you. I should've known thievery runs in the family." He says in a mocking tone.

His last statement almost sets her off.

"You're one to talk about thievery--!" Jane angrily stomps as she walked up to Lee. Lee takes a few steps back, actually getting worried at what she’s about to do with the rope she was holding, but Zachery steps in her way, purring loudly as he rubbed himself against her leg. It always calms her down.

"He's just trying to aggravate you; trying to make you regret getting involved. But we shouldn't give him that satisfaction." Zachyre explains softly.

Jane takes a moment to collect herself with a deep breath.

"Alright, cowboy. For your information, I haven't broken any promises yet. Your balloon is still yours, I'm merely taking over management."

"Ah." Lee replies, dry sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm a lady of my word; I will teach you how to fly... In time."

She walks back towards Lee, locking a potent glare as she ties a knot with the rope in her hands.

"But in the meantime, balloon's nothing without its pilot, isn't that right, Mr. Scoresby?"

She walks away, her hair flips as she turns to continue what she was doing. Hester giggles in amusement. She had to admit, this was entertaining to watch.

Lee as well couldn't help but smile as a soft chuckle escaped him.

"Alright, then... Captain." Lee rolls his eyes. "Perhaps the least you could do is tell me where we're going?"

Jane glares at Lee with the same belittling side-eye look. She hesitates, then rummages through her other bags. After a few seconds, she pulls out a large folded piece of paper and sets it down on the floor. It was a world map.

Lee kneels down next to her while Hester approaches one edge of the paper. They were clearly excited. They never had the money to travel outside of Texas, so anywhere seemed to be a great place to start.

Jane studies the map for a few seconds then points on a drawing of European land.

"London." she concludes.

Lee squints and his brows furrow.

"London? Seriously?" Hester grunts.

"What?" Jane raises an eyebrow at her.

London was always known to be a bit of a fancified city. The people there were clean and wealthy and flaunted flamboyant expensive apparel and jewelry. Probably Jane and Zachyre's type of destination but definitely not Lee and Hester's.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Hester and I won't exactly... Fit in." Lee gestures himself and his dirty farmer attire. His moustache was thin and as messy as his hair. He was wearing an old checkered button-up under a thin cotton coat, with dark blue jeans and boots covered in mud and wheat.

"Why do you even need to go to London of all places?"

"Why not? I thought you wanted to see new places. I'm sure you've never been to a city like London before."

Lee raises an eyebrow. Was that another brag?

"No, but I was just hoping for something more... I don't know, fun? Like a beach, or an art museum in France or at least some elephants in Africa or something."

"There's plenty of things to do in London! And if you're so concerned about fitting in, I'll buy you some clothes when we get there."

"You will?"

"Yes. You have a terrible fashion sense anyways."

Lee laughs then shoots back. “Says the girl in bell bottom jeans.”

“What’s wrong with my jeans?”

“Those stopped being cool like, 2 years ago.”

They go on like this for what feels like hours. At first, it was a small debate over whether or not bell bottom jeans were still cool. Afterwards, they continued nitpicking the smallest things about each other, just mocking one another with Jane’s petty insults and Lee’s purposefully terribly jokes.

Hours pass. Finally, the gondola had reduced to a comfortable silence as small beams of orange sunlight began to appear in the sky.

Jane looked after the balloon as they continued going northwest, while Lee sat quietly on the cushioned seats reading the aeronaut's manual. Every now and then, he'd look up at Jane to watch her work, trying to figure out on his own which was which and what did what.

Lee looks at the opposite side of the balloon and noticed Zachyre and Hester whispering something to each other. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Eventually, Lee began to yawn. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy and he could barely comprehend what he was reading anymore. That meant that Hester was getting tired too. She excuses herself from her conversation with Zachyre and hops on the seat next to Lee.

“We should sleep” she says as she gets on his lap and moves the manual out of his line of sight.

“Hello to you too. You two seemed to be enjoying yourselves.”

“I’d say the same about you and Jane.” She replies. Lee exhales sharply from his nose.

“Well, you clearly weren’t listening to our conversation. We were arguing over bell-bottom pants and haircuts, Hester.”

“And you were having fun. Both of you. I could tell, and Zachyre could too.”

Lee gives her a confused look. That’s what they were talking about the whole time?

“Look, I’m as surprised as you are. But you know, we’ve never really got to spend time with them alone before. Maybe leaving with their company wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Lee considered her words in his silence. She had a point. He hardly knows anything about her other than her last name was Wright. They lived in opposite sides of the city, so they only ever saw each other in local events and competitions. Whenever that happens, they either get into discourse with each other’s group of friends or prefer to avoid each other. But surprisingly, spending alone time with her doesn’t feel very different from spending alone time with his own good friends.

The mocking, the petty insults, the deprecating jokes followed by laughter. Only difference is that Jane is a girl, and he'd never met a woman with her kind of attitude. In fact, now that he thought about it, that quality about her is kind of admirable.

The idea of having quality bonding time with Jane seemed crazy to him. He looks over at her. She’s sitting down now, just watching the clouds fly past her and feeling the wind in her hair, deep in her own thoughts. He began to wonder if similar thoughts were running around her mind about him. Is she enjoying his company? Is she as surprised about it as he is?

“You know she tried to steal our balloon and leave us behind, right?” Lee looks back at Hester.

“Honestly? It seemed like something you would do.”

Lee chuckles. Perhaps he and Jane had more in common than he’d like to admit.

Before he could continue the thought, Hester suddenly cuddles up with him inside his coat. “Go to sleep.” She says with sterner tone in her voice. Lee wanted to stay awake, but Hester’s soft furry body against his stomach felt so warm and relaxing and cozy. It was making sleep all the more tempting.

He rests his hand over her and holds her close as he began to lean a bit onto the empty gas tank on his side. She’s right. She always is. About sleeping at least. He’s going to need a lot of rest for the adventure in London. Hopefully, it will be as memorable as Jane insists.

#fanfic #au #his dark materials #lee scoresby #on the run fic

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weremarkable · 5 years

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LA Confidential - nice read and pictures 👌

Corduroy jacket, $2,730, and pants, $795, both at Ermenegildo Zegna; rollneck sweater, $185, by Mr P. at mrporter.com

Oh, it was such a sleepy, idyllic town until Armie Hammer came along with those chiseled charms of his. Eighteen months ago, the Italian city of Crema drew occasional visitors for its sweet ravioli and the Gothic 17th-century bell tower in the piazza. But then something positively scandalous happened involving an overripe hollowed-out peach, and Crema was anonymous no more. 😄

If you’ve seen Call Me By Your Name, you’re aware of the indelible moment in which Hammer plays erotic muse to last year’s juiciest moment in film. To sidestep spoilers, let’s just say that Timothée Chalamet, Hammer’s young costar in the coming-of-age drama, discovered a fruit-forward way of quenching his desire for Hammer’s character. Heaps of award nominations (including a Golden Globe nod for Hammer’s performance) and a global invasion of drosophilalike movie tourists followed.

“I went back to Crema after Call Me By Your Name had already come out, and walked into the duomo, which had been so calm and lovely when we filmed,” Hammer, 32, says, shaking his head a little in the courtyard of a Hollywood hotel. At 6 feet, 5 inches with bright blue eyes and a polished smile, the movie star in the conversation is impossible to mistake for someone else. “A few girls were standing together looking at their phones, and one of them looked up at me and just went, ‘Holly f---! There he is!’ And I thought, That’s it. Everything’s different here now.”

Donegal cableknit sweater, $595, paulsmith.com

You could say that about Hammer too. The actor noticed a change at the Oscars last year. The first time he attended, in 2011, to support The Social Network (through the magic of split screens, Hammer played both of the Winklevoss twins, who claimed the Facebook idea was theirs), he felt lost in the blur. “You’re on the red carpet looking around at all the insanity going, ‘What the hell?’” he says. “It was like being in a car accident.” But last year, the experience was one to savor. “I walked into a situation where suddenly I’d done a lot of work with a bunch of different people, and it was all, ‘Hey, how are you?’ ‘Oh, wow, great to see you.’ ‘Isn’t this fantastic?’”

Hammer’s orbit continues to widen. This season, he appears opposite Felicity Jones and Justin Theroux in On the Basis of Sex, a biopic directed by Mimi Leder about the life of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Hammer plays Marty Ginsburg, a husband-of-the-century type who cooked and cleaned, and also argued cases alongside his wife in support of her pioneering legal career. “I talked to a lot of Marty’s law students and family members, and said, ‘Be totally honest—he couldn’t have been as great a guy as we’re making him out to be,’ and they all said, ‘You’re right. He was better.’ What the hell do you do with that as an actor?” Hammer obviously figured it out: The role is getting early Oscars buzz in the best supporting actor category.

Hammer portrays another dedicated family man in Hotel Mumbai, based on the terrorist attacks in 2008 at Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in India. It costars Dev Patel. Hammer’s character has to make a Sophie’s Choice-style decision about whether to protect his wife or the child he’s separated from. The production shot in Adelaide, Australia, shortly after Hammer wrapped on those magical months in the Italian countryside. “I went from riding a bicycle in paradise and drinking wine at lunch to getting chased down the hallway by guys with machine guns,” he says. “At a certain point, you just go, ‘Acting is a really weird job.’”

Replica leather trench, $4,980, by Maison Margiela at Barneys New York; classic T-shirt, $335, at Louis Vuitton; wool trousers, $225, by Mr P. atmrporter.com; L.U.C XPS 1860 timepiece in rose gold, $21,700, by Chopard at Neiman Marcus; Tyler lace-up boots, $318, at Frye.

On the surface, you would think Hammer could have chosen any career—or none at all—and done quite well for himself. It’s not just that he clearly won the DNA lottery; he’s good-looking enough to attract giddy triple-takes even among the blasé hipsters at the hotel. But Hammer is also—brace yourself if you haven’t heard—part of a storied dynasty. His great-grandfather was the Russian-American petroleum baron and philanthropist Armand Hammer, whose name is emblazoned upon buildings and institutions such as the Hammer Museum and Armand Hammer Golf Course in Los Angeles. This is the tycoon who traded caviar and furs with Vladimir Lenin in exchange for American wheat shipments and later bought the company that manufactures Arm & Hammer baking soda, mainly because he got a kick out of the name. Google around and you’ll see images of adorable little Armie—born Armand Douglas Hammer—on Great-grandpa’s private jet.

What’s interesting is how the family legacy shook out. Armie’s parents, Michael Armand Hammer and Dru Ann Mobley, now divorced, relocated the family to the Cayman Islands from Texas and Los Angeles when Armie was 7 and his younger brother, Viktor, was 5. Although the Hammers are mostly of Jewish descent, Armie’s parents identified as Christian evangelicals, and, while in the Caymans, founded Grace Christian Academy, which the Hammer boys attended, and the Christian Communications Association, a not-for-profit Christian radio station. When Armie announced he wanted to pursue a life in show business and left high school to follow his acting dreams, he was effectively disowned for the decision. Ironically, Hammer’s first significant role, at 22, was in a biopic of the young Billy Graham. “When I first got into this, the reaction was basically, ‘Are you out of your mind?’” Hammer says. “But when [my parents] saw how hard I was willing to work and how passionate I was, and that this wasn’t just a fad, they said, ‘OK, we get it.’”

Hammer insists he’s been independent financially since he was 19, and that’s been a prime motivator as he’s shouldered his way through hits and misses (The Lone Ranger and The Man From U.N.C.L.E. were supposed to be his megabudgeted star vehicles; they weren’t.) “I’m so thankful that from a young age, I’ve never had to take anything from anybody. You never get to take money without something attached to it, so I didn’t want those encumbrances. I wanted to live my life without anyone telling me what to do, and that’s meant everything.”

Donegal cableknit sweater, $595, paulsmith.com; crew neck T-shirt, $55, Vince.

Hammer and his wife of eight years, food TV personality Elizabeth Chambers, have a daughter, Harper, 4, and son, Ford, 2, who travel on locations with Hammer when he’s not dadding around L.A. “I do a good portion of the school runs, and I cook breakfast for everybody every morning because it’s not like I have a 9-to-5—and also, I love it,” says Hammer, who collects vintage typewriters and won’t say no to a good cupcake (the couple owns two high-end bakeries in San Antonio, where Chambers grew up, and Dallas).

In between the cooking and baking, Hammer finds time for Hollywood. This year, he appears opposite Dakota Johnson in a horror-thriller by British-Iranian director Babak Anvari. “I play an empty shell of a man who works at a dead-end job at a dive bar in New Orleans, which was surprisingly enjoyable to do,” Hammer says. He’s also starring in a remake of Rebecca, Alfred Hitchcock’s first Hollywood film, with Lily James. The film shoots in London, which, unlike that serene village in Italy from Call Me By Your Name, maybe—just maybe—can handle “the Hammer effect.”

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MIKE ROSENTHAL; STYLING BY MARK HOLMES; GROOMING BY KC FEE AT THE WALL GROUP; SHOT ON LOCATION AT VILLA CARLOTTA, LOS ANGELES

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ikesenhell · 5 years

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The Light

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 4. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: LET’S GET BACK INTO IT. Thanks to all my readers who stopped in and @velociraptor-detective for always line editing.

Once upon a time, their parents would all gather around the worn wood table. It was reserved in the town hall for two things: the traditional gatherings (which somehow survived both the fallout and the test of brutal, cruel time, the heavy hands of invaders who so desperately tried to crush every trace of her culture) and long nights spent piecing together matters of state.

Tonight was neither. Instead, they gathered to solve the mystery.

“What do you think the easiest way is?” Ieyasu mused, prying apart stacks of eyewitness reports and missings persons documents.

“Perhaps,” Mitsuhide suggested calmly, “We begin with the locations of missing persons.”

Masamune shook his head and set his boots on the table. Ieyasu smacked them back down. “That won’t show all that much if they all came from the town, would it?”

“Perhaps they are abducted from specific parts of town--the perimeters, or such.”

Mitsunari pulled out his chipped glasses, nearly fumbled them, and somehow settled them on his nose without incident. No one commented. “What if we positioned the sightings?”

Ieyasu wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Let’s consider the possibility that these abductions are concurrent with ship sightings as a smokescreen.” He folded his fingers together, purple eyes flickering with thought. “If that is the case, then perhaps plotting its path would provide us valuable insight into where the perpetrators may strike next.”

Mitsuhide allowed a ghostly smile. “And if that path is variable?”

“Then we can plot your idea. It’s simply a matter of starting.”

Masamune nodded decisively. “Alright. How long do you think this will take?”

Ieyasu sighed in tandem with Mitsuhide’s laugh. Mitsunari just blinked and smiled. “Only a day or so.”

“If we left the computer here to his own devices,” Ieyasu scowled. “So I guess we’re forced to help him out. He’d mess it up otherwise. And what are you doing, exactly, while we’re up to this?”

He took too long to say, and he knew it. The moment his eyes wandered from them, Ieyasu sputtered a simple, “Don’t.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You don’t have to. They tried to kidnap her, and you think going out there to meet them is going to do anything?”

“Meet them? I think you’ve got the wrong idea of what I’m doing.” Masamune smiled and waved at them, dipping back out the door. “I’m not doing anything that foolish.”

---

The motorcycle would be too loud normally. Fortunately, he had the means to silence it, even if it meant taking a few minutes to exchange the mufflers.

Unfortunately for him, that meant she found him.

“What are you doing?”

Masamune glanced up, screwdriver clenched between his teeth, and tried his best to look unassuming--while doing mechanic work at one in the morning on his muffler, of course. She brushed back a lock of her hair. Hell, but the moonlight did some magic on her, didn't it? In the daylight she was beautiful. In the nighttime, cast against the stars and her black hair reflecting silver, she was a creature of the sky. “Nuffing.”

“Sure looks like something.” She crossed her arms. “Going out for a ride?”

“Aww, naw essact--” Finally he spit out the tool. “Not exactly.”

Her dark eyes roved over the small kit he’d prepared: the machete, a bottle of water, a can of ancient mace, a flare gun, and some chalk. “You’re going to scope them out.”

“Maybe,” he hedged. “We need to at least track down where your would-be kidnappers are, don’t’cha think?”

She didn't answer that. Instead, she headed back towards Ieyasu’s house and disappeared inside, the screen door fluttering shut behind her. Masamune shrugged and went back to the screws, only to startle when it flew open again a couple minutes later. Rather than her work clothes, she’d thrown on a black jacket and a pair of thick boots.

“No.” Masamune zipped up his tools and chucked them closer to the house. “You’re not coming.”

Boldly, she straddled his motorcycle anyway, snatching up a helmet. “Make me.”

“Listen here--”

“I’m listening.”

“I just got you away from them, d’y’think I really want to put you right back where they can take you again?”

“And they could take you.” She flipped down the visor and patted the seat. “Let’s go, big guy.”

Masamune gripped his hair. “They don’t want me as bad as they want you!”

“So you’re going to have me sit here and play the pretty damsel in distress while you work it out? I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “We’re going to have each other’s backs. I want this solved as much as you do. Come on. Do you have a map?”

“A map?” He echoed. “Why?”

“To mark anything suspicious. Easier than trying to memorize it in the dark.”

She had a point. Defeated, Masamune slumped back into the house, stole one from a rolltop desk and slipped back out, remembered he didn't have anything to write with, ran back inside and gathered a fistful of pens, and returned once more. “You ready?”

“Ready as I can be.”

As much as he wanted to deny it, Masamune was a bundle of nerves as he kicked his legs over the side of the motorcycle. Her hands knotted tight against his stomach, head pressed into his shoulder blades.

Here went nothing--or everything.

The engine was kitten-purr quiet as they pulled away from Waŋblí Hoȟpi. Out into the plains they rolled. Stars winked and spiraled overhead. The moon shuttered away behind the clouds. Off in the distance, lightning shivered over the mountains, but it was too far for thunder to roll. Grasses turned to corn and wheat. Deathly quiet rippled through the stalks, only the crush of a gravel road under their tires.

Suddenly she rapped her knuckles against his chest.

Masamune didn't need the ‘why’. He shut off the lights and the engine, and they sat in the quiet, wind gusting between them. She shivered and pressed closer. There--there in the neat rows, a small green light was flickering.

Bingo.

He kicked off his motorcycle and dragged it into a ditch while she marked their location on the map. Into the field they crept. Thank god for the wind--every crack and snap underfoot threatened to give them away. What if they were discovered? He had no idea what awaited them on the other side. Was it a dozen of the maniacs? Was it just one? Was it a simple light? Who knew. His heart pounded in his mouth.

At last, they reached a clearing, a small house sitting in the center. On the porch was spray painted a simple message: THE GODS COME FOR FAITHFUL

“I bet you a whole jar of honey this place is involved,” Masamune muttered. “Mark it down on the map.”

The screen door on the porch swung open, shattering the silence. Too late. They broke into a run, desperately diving back into the corn. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Shots ripped through the stalks behind them, dirt spraying into their eyes. She screamed. Masamune wrenched her forward by the wrist.

“Go! Gogogo!”

Ahead of them, the green light winked. Shouts echoed behind them. Desperately they plunged deeper and deeper into the field, pressing on through the alarm and gunshots and crash of corn, and then--

“Shit,” she hissed.

“Fuck,” Masamune assented. They both staggered into the new clearing, a high wall separating them from freedom and only an ancient silo well to the right of them. It was the thing winking green, a faint light from some unknowable technology filtering through the water from deep, deep below. A dead end. “Get behind me.”

“Masa, a machete isn’t going to do anything against a shotgun--”

He knew that. Still, he pulled her back and drew the blade. There was only one good chance at this, and if he was lucky, they wouldn’t fire blindly into the clearing and risk destroying a perfectly good wall. God, he knew he shouldn’t have brought her. Too late. Readying himself, he ground his heels into the dirt and lifted his sword arm.

“Wait--” She gasped, wrenching at his backpack. “Wait, wait--”

“What are you doing? You’re throwing me off--!”

The intruders crashed through the last line of corn separating them--three men, guns in hand and at the ready. Masamune braced himself for the inevitable. If they were lucky, she’d still get away--

“Think fast, fuckers!” She shouted.

FOOM!

The explosion of flame almost blinded his good eye. One of the assailants screamed; part of the field went up, the fire rendering them in perfect clarity. She, still clutching tight to the flare gun, yanked at Masamune’s arm.

“Let’s go!”

“You’re a fucking genius!”

“Iknowlet’sgo!”

He couldn’t help himself. As they tore back into the field, leaving the flailing attackers behind them, Masamune released a whoop.

“Shut up!” But she was laughing too; that anxious, giddy laugh of being alive. “Run faster!”

“I could beat you in a running contest, don’t get at me!”

“You aren’t right now! Consider it one!”

Somehow they made it back to the road and scrabbled onto the motorcycle, peeling off as fast as they dared toward Waŋblí Hoȟpi. The sky rumbled threateningly. Masamune just leaned back his head and bellowed another laugh.

“I completely forgot about the flare gun!”

“You’re welcome!” She huffed unconvincingly, shoving the helmet on. “I saved our skins!”

“You did! Hell, Kitten, you were a mean aim with it too!”

The wind picked up. Masamune leaned into the comforting handlebars and exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever. Her head pressed into his back and--not for the first time--he wondered what it would feel like if it were her soft cheek, not the hard plastic helmet. Prairie air thick with impending rain swelled in his chest.

And so did questions.

“So,” he pondered aloud, turning into the main street. “Think I learned something to question.”

She stirred against him. “What’s that?”

They pulled up alongside Ieyasu’s house and staggered off the motorcycle, discarding their helmets. Masamune ruffled his hair to bring life back into it. “That light in the well.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s the same color as the ship, isn’t it?”

Her pause went on long enough that the sky interrupted them. The first droplet pinged off the metal frame, the second hitting him square in the nose. As they raced inside, the patter turned to a wall of water, drowning out everything except the cacophony of rain. She wrung out her hair over the sink and stared out the window.

“You might be into something,” she agreed at last. “But what, exactly? How would a light from some pre-War tech have anything to do with a ghost ship? They’re just the same color. Is that a coincidence?”

“Maybe,” Masamune agreed, carding his hand through her hair to detangle it. “I’m a dumbass. But I couldn’t help but notice it. It makes me think.”

“Mmm. Think what?”

His mind was already elsewhere. She rested her hip into the cabinetry and let him braid her hair the way he’d learned so long ago from her father, show her love in one of the ways he could let himself. There was no telling where he’d be in a year. He had to take his pleasures where he could, and she--she deserved something more stable than him.

But god. He wanted it so badly he could almost taste her.

“That maybe,” he allowed at last, never clarifying what he was talking about, “there’s a chance.”

#Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Masamune #Ikesen post apocalyptic au #The Light #G&G #Glitter & Gold #my writing #lakota MC

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ohsweetsweetie · 5 years

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I decided to type up a detailed-ish analysis of every AH tarot card I made since some of them get pretty weird with symbolism that can be lost without context. It starts with The Fool going in order until The World.

Also I apologize to mobile users. This stuff is all under a read more, but Tumblr mobile doesn’t care. :(

Here’s a link to the tarot deck tag if you would like to see all the cards!

The Kings’ Tarot

The Fool: The Fool is Jester Gavin, Royal Jester and best friend of King Michael the Righteous. This card is simple in its imagery compared to other cards. Jester Gavin is in the center looking at a white rose (above the roses around him) with his hand over his heart at the edge of a cliff and surrounded by a field of yellow roses with the sun high in the sky above him.

Gavin looks at the white rose with adoration and his right hand is placed over his heart. On the middle of his collarbone is King Michael’s family symbol, a golden bear paw embedded in ruby surrounded with a rope of gold, which shows his affiliation with the royal family. He is represented by the yellow rose (joy, delight, platonic love). The white rose in his hand is King Michael’s symbol as is the sun above him (Michael being The Sun card and Justice). His golden greaves were a gift from King Michael.

I The Magician: The Magician is Mad King Ryan (not to be confused with King Ryan or Dark God Ryan). He’s in his laboratory high in a tower, looking at a glowing magenta potion in a bottle with a smirk on his face. On the table are coins with the AH star, a gold sword, a silver goblet, and a wooden wand. Behind him is a bookcase with many old books. A vine of some kind has taken over the walls and is even spilling out the window. In the background and foreground are rose bushes covered in pitch black roses (death, beginning anew, drastic change). His crown is simple being only gold with 8 spikes as decoration though one of the spikes has snapped in two.

This is a scene more than a representation of the card itself. It is the moment the Mad King discovers his knack for dark magic. This is the moment he spirals out of control and eventually sells his soul to darkness to become the Dark God.

II The High Priestess: The High Priestess is Queen Lindsay, the wife of King Michael. Like Jester Gavin, she too has the symbol of King Michael’s court on the middle of the neckline on her dress. Behind her is a crescent moon (femininity) and a calm sea which takes up the entire background. It’s the last few minutes of twilight, the horizon is still a few shades lighter than the upper portion of the sky. Beside her are two pillars: one black with a capital B (Boaz “in his strength”) and the other is white with a capital J (Jachin “he will establish”). They represent duality of light and dark. In her hand is a parchment with the word “Tora” symbolizing a sacred knowledge which she keeps hidden from the viewer as only she has the power to read it.

III The Empress: The Empress is Achievement City itself instead of being an actual person. Wheat that is ready for harvest is in the foreground. In the middle ground is a field of green grass and an empty chaise lounge draped with a red velvet throw and an orange satin pillow. It seems as if no one has ever sat on it. Behind the chair is a dense forest and beyond that is the Altar of Pimps, a snowy mountain range, and King Geoff’s fortress. The sky is clear save for twelve stars arched above like a crown.

IV The Emperor: The Emperor is King Geoff the Proud. He sits atop a barren, rocky cliff during sunset on a throne of stone which is gilded with gold. At the top of the throne is a stone ram’s head (masculinity). The throne itself is broken and cracked with age and wear. King Geoff is dressed in shiny, intricate armor. In his hand, he holds a globe which contains the map of the original Achievement City (you can see the Altar clearly near the center). He was the first king, someone who kept the throne long past anyone should, and thus is remembered as the original ruler.

V The Hierophant: The Hierophant is King Jeremy the Lively. He sits on an intricate golden throne with violet velvet cushions. In the back board of the throne are carved cutouts of two crowns, making the one he wears the third above his head (ruling the conscious, sub-conscious and super-conscious). His hand is held up in a blessing. There are two pillars either side of him: law and liberty. Transparent violet curtains frame his throne and sit between himself and those who are below him to show he is removed from the common people. Two keys representing the keys to heaven sit below him in his throne.

The Hierophant involves a shared group identity and rites of passage which I thought fit Jeremy’s integration into the group well.

VI The Lovers: The Lovers is a simple card. A single white rose and a single yellow rose circle around each other in the middle perfectly, never touching. Below them is a field of deep red roses (love, longing, devotion, admiration). The Lovers can represent any kind of relationship, not just romantic.

VII The Chariot: The Chariot is once again King Jeremy. He rides in a golden chariot pulled by a black horse and a white horse (duality). It seems as if he is the one driving the chariot, but a closer look reveals he holds no reigns, just a wand (wisdom). This suggests the chariot move and turns to his will seeing as his expression is serene despite the circumstances. Above him in the violet velvet canopy are six pointed stars representing his connection to divinity. This and the crown carved into his chariot are throwbacks to his other card The Hierophant. Also Jeremy is a monster truck so of course he gets the chariot.

VIII Justice: Justice is King Michael the Righteous. He sits on an elaborate golden throne with red velvet cushions with his family symbol sitting above him. In his right hand he holds a double edged diamond sword (justice by force has consequences) and in his left a golden scale (balance) containing a human heart on one side and a yellow rose on the other about where his own heart would be. He sits in a garden of white roses on a stone and mortar path. Also his sword is see-through, check it out.

IX The Hermit: The Hermit is King Ray the Admired. He walks alone atop a snowy mountain, not a person nor creature in sight. He’s wary, but not fearful as he travels. In his hand he holds a lantern with a six pointed star inside to light the way (wisdom). The lantern only lights the close surroundings and thus he must keep walking to find the path he insists on following. The aurora above helps light his way though as if the world itself wishes for his success.

X Wheel of Fortune: The Wheel of Fortune is Matt, an alchemist. He holds a cracked stone wheel in front of him though not with his hands as it first seems. On the wheel is the AH logo, letters, and alchemical symbols. Clockwise, the symbols are mercury, sulfur, water and salt. These are the four alchemical building blocks of life. Clockwise, the letters are T, A, R, and O. They can be read a few ways. Tarot (as in the cards), tora (wisdom like in the High Priestess), and rota (Latin for wheel). Each corner of the card is decorated with a wing for the four winged creatures of the fixed zodiac (Taurus, Leo, Aquarius, and Scorpio).

XI Strength: Strength is a scene between Jester Gavin and Edgar the Minotaur. They are deep within Mad King Ryan’s stone maze. Gavin has the minotaur in his hands and although the minotaur is menacing, it is not attacking him as he’s using his inner strength to tame the beast (which he ends up killing anyway, but not yet). The infinity symbol chiseled into the wall above Gavin’s head shows his endless potential.

This scene is after the Mad King overthrows King Michael’s reign which leaves the king dead. Gavin, in a fit of vengeance, finds the strength within him to go after the Mad King by killing his guard minotaur and then by killing the Mad King himself. When Gavin thrusts his sword through Mad King Ryan’s chest, his blood is revealed to be pitch black having already pledged himself to the darkness and with his dying breath, he lays a curse upon Gavin knowing he will be next in line for the crown.

XII The Hanged Man: The Hanged Man is King Gavin the Foolish (not to be confused with Jester Gavin). He has been crowned as king though he remains unhappy having lost the person closest to him and as a result of the curse the Mad King had done. King Gavin is hanged by his own volition, his expression is somber as he punishes himself for what has happened. He still wears the golden greaves, but his crown is simple and silver, nothing like the extravagant crown the late King Michael wore. He sees himself as not being worthy of that crown.

He hangs from a birch tree (renewal, starting over) in the shape of a cross. On the tree hangs King Michael’s cape and family symbol. The cape blends in well with the tree itself making it seem like Gavin is hanging from the cape instead showing how “hung up” he is on Michael’s death (don’t kill me for my bad jokes). The surroundings are cloaked in twilight (his “sun” having set which parallels The Fool). There’s a single star twinkling in the sky which is the brightest star in the sky Sirius (part of Canis Major). The myth of the constellation Canis Major is about Laelaps, a hunting dog, who could catch anything who was tasked with catching a fox who could never be caught. The paradoxical nature caused Zeus to turn the two to stone and cast them to the sky.

XIII Death: Death is the Grim Reaper. This is a scene representing the death of the first king King Geoff. The reaper holds a scythe in one hand and an hourglass in the other. The hourglass is King Geoff’s life. All of the sand inside is black and in the bottom chamber to show his time has run out. In front of the reaper is Geoff’s crown which is upside down as another way of showing it’s the end.The background is gray and dull, the sky is cloudy and it’s raining which seems to not affect the Grim Reaper.

This card was originally going to have the crown of every king as a symbol of death being inevitable buuuuuttt….. That didn’t happen lmao

XIV Temperance: Temperance is King Jack the Humble. He pours water from one goblet into the another (the flow of life) with a square (the world, natural law) surrounding a triangle (humanity). He has one foot on land (staying grounded) and the other in the stream (to be in flow). It’s sunny and cheerful despite the human skull decorating his shawl. There’s a long path into mountains in the distance (journey of life) which ends at a glowing crown (staying true to your ambitions).

XV The Devil: The Devil is Mad King turning Dark God Ryan. He has given his life to the darkness for power and it’s starting to seep into his skin as ugly, tainted veins. His expression is unnaturally smug. Also every time I draw King Ryan, I make his pupil really small, have you noticed that?

In front of him is Edgar the Minotaur who has his arms around Edgar the cow and Ryan’s squire Kerry which represents the unholy transmutation of Kerry and Edgar into the Minotaur itself. The Minotaur is almost protective in it’s stance even though Kerry is so afraid. Behind them all writhes the dark magic that Ryan uses. It emanates off of him.

XVI The Tower: The Tower is the Tower of Pimps and is the most straightforward and symbol-less cards. The Tower of Pimps sits on a stone pedestal and is slightly dirtied though each block is intact. It sits in the middle of a forest and tells the world of the next to be crowned.

XVII The Star: The Star is the star from the AH logo. Underneath it are 7 eight pointed stars (the 7 chakras). It sits in a vast starry sky.

XVIII The Moon: The Moon is self explanatory. It’s the moon. Though the towers of trees are a nod to the tree towers created during the King Gavin let’s play.

XIX The Sun: The Sun is King Michael holding a diamond sword up. The sword glints brilliantly in the light and Michael is cast in a deep shadow.

XX Judgement: Judgement is knights Alfredo and Trevor. They are riding horses away from a mountain range and sun rise while looking up at the flag Trevor is holding. On the flag is a stylized Tower of Pimps, the flag of Achievement City. Above them is the silhouette of the late King Geoff with an intricate halo and far-reaching angel wings which shows that he still has an influence over the kingdom despite his death.

XXI The World: The World is a contrasting realistic space view of a planet and moon. The topography of the planet is the extended version of Achievement City (Xbox One version). Above the world is a loop in the shape of an infinity symbol representing the cyclical nature of the planet.

And that’s all I feel like typing! Everyone’s outfits are based on their Minecraft skins. Gavin is a creeper, Ryan is the man in a kilt, Lindsay is Kazooie, Geoff is Master Chief, Jeremy is the castaway skin with a Rimmy Tim influence, Michael is Banjo, Ray is a man in a tuxedo (or Tuxedo Mask), Matt is Jack of Blades, Jack is a Trials Fusion rider, Kerry is both the Minecraft cow and Juno, Alfredo is default Steve with a skeleton head, and Trevor is the iron golem.

There’s a lot left that I didn’t write though it’s mainly the card’s meaning itself for the most part. The meanings are the same in these cards as they are in the Rider-Waite tarot deck. Tell me if I missed anything you want to know about so I can elaborate!

#the kings' tarot #achievement hunter #roosterteeth #roostersweet #minecraft kings au #rtah #long post

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theshinsun · 5 years

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Shinsun’s Haikyuu!! master fic rec list

Yeah so...I figured I should make a list for haikyuu!! as long as I’ve made one for KNB. This one’s probably gonna be just as long.

KNB list here.

Again, stars by the ones I consider must-reads, but otherwise these are in no particular order

*jaywalkers by Batman – (mainly KuroTsuki, also DaiSuga, BokuAka, etc, multichapter/series, completed) This college AU is...to date, probably the best use of fanfiction as a medium that I’ve ever seen. I’d recommend this fic to everyone who enjoys Haikyuu!!, everyone who enjoys college shenanigans, and really anyone who just enjoys a good story. Jaywalkers is a novel, jam-packed with humor and feelings and rich character arcs and little moments that feel so real and hit so hard that you’d swear you’ve experienced them yourself. The language is beautiful, and so is the story, it’s so worth reading through at least once. (I’ve probably re-read it close to four times now, and this author’s writing style has significantly impacted my own).

*the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle by kittebasu – (IwaOi, multichapter, completed) Stumbled across this fic on someone else’s rec list, and dove right in without realizing it was over 60k words...but it was so worth it. Oikawa is an entomologist, Iwaizumi is an Olympic volleyball player and is avoiding him. There is humor, there is angst, there are postmodernist time period switches, this fic is a ride and I love it.

*I like the way your clothes smell by Mysecretfanmoments – (KageHina, multichapter, completed) I would be hard-pressed to find a Haikyuu!! shipper that hasn’t read this fic by now, but on the off chance you haven’t, what are you waiting for? It’s KageHina awkwardly trying to figure out how to be together for 20 chapters and it’s great.

*romance ‘n’ all that jazz by rarepairenabler – (GoshiHina, oneshot) Musician AU! Goshiki and Hinata both want to play their respective instruments on the same street corner…rivalry and hijinks and eventual feelings ensue. This fic kinda gives off a Kids on the Slope vibe and the language is at turns gorgeous and hilarious, I definitely recommend giving this a read.

*Last Year’s Wishes Are This Year’s Apologies by Zee – (UshiOi, oneshot) A really good UshiOi fic in which Oikawa is rude, and then drunk, and then even more rude…also I remember a blowjob scene in there somewhere that had a significant impact on my smut-writing style…if that tells you anything.

*The Dream That Wakes You Up by rarepairenabler – (OiKuroo, multichapter, completed) One of the best fake dating AUs I’ve ever read, in which Oikawa is a sex god and Kuroo inevitably catches feelings for him but then there’s the whole fake dating rules thing of course.

Daredevil on the Slope by Smokey310 – (BokuAkaKuroTsuki, multichapter, completed) Roadtrip fic with the OT4! I love Smokey’s writing tbh it’s just the right amount of ridiculous and sincere and it gets me every time.

Only The Jellyfish Know by Anonymous – (IwaOi, oneshot) It’s the Seijou third years being hilarious dorks and also best friends on the last day of their last year in school together.

moonfall by Batman - (KuroTsuki, oneshot) Again, Batman’s writing shines in a league all it’s own, in this modern magic/witch AU about the five things of Kuroo’s that show up at Tsukishima’s house, and the one thing that never left.

#SnapShots by freakofnature – (KageHina, KuroKen, etc, multichapter, in progress) It’s the pastel punk au that handles gender nonconformity with surprising…realism? I dunno, I kinda want to say comfort, like the author seems really comfortable with writing trans folks and as a trans folk myself I say kudos, ‘cause I seriously struggle with that shit.

the perfect stranger by downmoon – (DaiSuga, multichapter, completed) Now if you know me, you know I’m a sucker for single dad AU. This one’s got single dad Daichi and it is...perfect. Also Kageyama and Hinata are little kids! I love this fic it just makes me smile every time I read it please go read it so you can smile too.

right in the head by Mysecretfanmoments – (BokuAka, multichapter, completed) It’s a zombie apocalypse AU! With all the drama and bloodshed you’d expect from that, but also a couple surprising twists and turns that set it apart from the rest. A bit of a long read, but a good one.

Apple Curry by inkleafclover - (TeruDai, oneshot) A really adorable single dad!AU with Daichi and Terushima, cooking things, and Kageyama as Daichi’s son which is just...precious. This one is short but so cute.

To Build a Home by rarepairenabler …Actually fuck it anything by rarepairenabler it’s all gold. this one, though…is a oneshot, with OiBoKuroo (idk what their ship name is) as neighbors and BoKuroo are already together and Oikawa is crushing hard and it plays out pretty much how you’d expect. Amber’s writing is phenomenal though, I’d give all their fics a go at least once.

Nishinoya The Brave by azumanishi – (implied AsaNoya, oneshot) This one is super short but the payoff is fantastic. It’s literally a joke, but the punchline is so damn good and well-timed it gets me every time. Always worth a read.

Disney’s “Tsukishima The Reverse Mermaid” by Smokey310 – (BoKuroTsuki, multichapter, completed) Department store/stuck in an elevator AU. I had to dig to try and find this one again but I really love it, as always with Smokey’s writing it’s equal turns of humor and emotions and that just makes for a good read.

Cloudy With a Chance of UFOs by masi – (UshiOi, oneshot) Here it is, the fic that made me ship UshiOi. Oikawa’s a space enthusiast, Ushijima’s a farmer I think? They meet when Ushijima discovers a crop circle in his wheat field.

World Will Follow After by Authoress – (DaiSuga, oneshot) Biker Daichi and ice cream shop employee Sugawara. What could go wrong?

now, keiji by livecement – (BokuAka, oneshot) Bokuto helps Akaashi when he needs to relax...it’s definitely effective *winkwonk* This one features stubborn Akaashi and dominating Bokuto and we all need that, right?

What Are We Drinking Anyway by Smokey310 – (TsukiKage, oneshot, plus some unrequited OiKage) I wouldn’t usually ship this but this fic like…understands that these two don’t really work together and the only reason they do here is because they’re drunk. It’s really well-written and witty and I enjoy it. Also Kageyama calls Tsukishima a hippopotamus at one point.

love and victory by bigspoonnoya – (KageHina, oneshot…but also part of a series) In this one Karasuno loses to Shiratorizawa (eventually), but still, some things never change.

favorite color? by rarepairenabler – (BokuAka, oneshot) just a really adorable little fic about Akaashi’s preferred method of dealing with Bokuto’s spiraling.

Defectio Solis by Moami – (KageHina, oneshot) Hinata’s stopped talking to Kageyama, and he slowly self-destructs as he tries to figure out why.

Yaku and the Beanstalk by Mysecretfanmoments – (LevYaku, oneshot) Lev gets his arm stuck in a vending machine…because of course he does…and Yaku has to deal with him.

Timeless (We Have 30 Days) by glass_owl – (IwaOi, oneshot) And finally, this angst monster. Basically it’s a universe where a number appears on you a certain amount of time before you’re supposed to die. Iwaizumi finds out Oikawa’s been numbered. Enough said.

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ohmyjinkies · 6 years

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Beauty and the Beast - Richonne Modern Day AU

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart. ~Helen Keller

“Ex-Yankees starting pitcher, Rick Grimes was never a vain man. Still, a near-fatal accident left him with enough scars to make him want to hide away from the world. Now the only beauty left in his blemished llife are his two grown kids, his weekly Sunday dinners with his daughter Judith and his beloved flower garden. Scarred, body and mind, he could not see beauty outside of those three treasured things. For 23-year-old Judith Grimes, life was finally falling into place. Freshly graduated from journalism school and armed with a passion for fashion, she’s landed a coveted internship at the powerhouse fashion magazine, Rive. As assistant to the New York City’s most powerful and iconic editor-in-chief, Michonne Dumas, Judith is living her dreams and learning at the feet of a legend. A global fashion tastemaker, former model turned magazine editor, Michonne Dumas had heard the word "beautiful” thrown around so liberally that it had started to lose its meaning. Ironically though, she knew as the originator of the coveted “Dumas Look”, she had created the unattainable fashion ideal of perfection that drove her and the whole industry. Secretly, however, she had begun to despair that she was becoming numb to all things physically beautiful. That is, until she notices the lovely flowers her new junior assistant has on her desk every week. Fresh blooms from Judith’s father’s garden, the bouquets continually seem to brighten Michonne’s day. Before long, those delicate blooms from the amateur horticulturist become a welcome daily reprieve from her relentless pursuit of physical perfection. And when Michonne finally meets Judith’s mysterious father Rick at the company’s charity ballgame, as the young woman hoped, sparks do indeed fly. Though, to Judith’s chagrin, not the romantic kind. Yet, it is from that very first encounter that they both begin to learn —things of true beauty can also be things which are deemed imperfect.“

Tale as old as time…

Rick was already missing his garden. The sky was blue and cloudless. The sun was bright, but there was no humidity in the atmosphere. It was the perfect day for puttering around with his flowers. But he had promised his daughter, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

He was thankful that the baseball cap fit low enough on his head to cast shadows around his face. The throwing gloves he wore hid the patchwork, Frankenstein-esque scars on his hands. He could no longer run even a mile, but physical therapy made it possible for his limp to be hardly noticeable. Although, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with the fast strides of his daughter.

He held on to her forearm. “Judy, you know your dad’s an old man. Slow down some.”

People were milling around all over. He felt his chest tightening and his breaths coming out faster. He’d adapted to his solitude over the years, only welcoming the company of his children. Crowds of people made him nervous now.

Judy tossed her head back to look at her father. The bouncing curls of her chic bob haircut matched his greying curls perfectly. Always attuned to him, she recognized the apprehension in his eyes. She squeezed his hand, but didn’t slow down.

“Daddy, I wish you would stop calling yourself an old man. You’re not even fifty yet.”

Rick shrugged. “Forty-five is pretty near fifty.”

“You have to wait at least twenty more years to collect Social Security, so you’re not old.”

“My knees beg to differ. Why are we walking so fast? There’s still an hour until the game starts.”

“I know, but I want to make sure I’m not late in case I’m needed to help with any last minute details.”

“It’s just a charity baseball game. Should go smoothly. You worry all the time like your mother used to.”

She shot him a sad smile. “That’s what Grandma always says too. Guess it’s in my DNA. I just want to make a good impression. Show Michonne she can trust me with the details. She’s so great. I don’t want to let her down.”

“Michonne is your boss, right? Calling bosses by their first names in the office is a thang now? Back in my day—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Judith cut him off. “Back in your day you rode cows to school. Grew your own wheat or whatever. I know Daddy. Maybe you really are an old man.”

Rick chuckled. “Actually, your uncle Hershel grew vegetables, not wheat on his farm.”

“What I said still applies, old man.” She pointed to a woman whose back was to them. Her locs were long and reached down past the middle of her back “There she is. Let me introduce you. And please be nice and personable, Daddy.”

Rick smirked. “Aren’t I always?”

Judith laughed and rolled her eyes. “Nope.”

His smirk faded as they walked closer. Having new people in his orbit unsettled him. He tried to pull his cap further down, but it wouldn’t budge.

Michonne turned around as she heard footsteps approaching her. Rick had seen her pictures in the fashion magazines Judith used to read as a teen. He always passively admired her beauty, but he didn’t expect the radiant women before him. She was dressed down in a custom baseball jersey with her magazine’s name written in gold letters on the front. Her black shorts showed off her shapely legs. Her smile was warm and sincere as she immediately pulled Judith into a hug. She smiled at him over his daughter’s shoulder. He looked down at his shoes as a wave of insecurity washed over him

Judith, not picking up on her father’s reluctance for once, pulled him in closer. “Michonne, this is my Dad, Rick Grimes.”

Michonne’s smiled widened making her even more beautiful than Rick first thought.

“Ah,” she said. “So this is the doting father who makes sure his daughter always has beautiful, fresh flowers on her desk. Very nice to finally meet you, Rick.” She held out her hand to shake.

He clasped her hand. He could feel the smoothness even through his gloves. “Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

Michonne chuckled. “I missed that southern charm. Don’t get much of that here in New York.”

“Michonne is originally from Georgia too, Daddy. Atlanta, not a small town like you.”

“Yes, born and raised,” Michonne said. “I still get homesick for sweet tea, and my aunt’s sweet potato pie.” She pulled the young woman aside. “Judith, could you go help Sasha and Jackie with setting up the magazine display near the entrance?”

“Of course Michonne.” She kissed Rick on the cheek. “I’ll be right back, Daddy.”

He watched her rush off wondering when his little girl became a grown and responsible adult. He turned back to Michonne, who was still smiling at him. His nervous tick was to run his hands through his hair. He felt the urge to at that moment, but he thought better of removing his cap.

“So,” She took a step closer to him. “I didn’t put two and two together when Judith told me her father’s name was Rick Grimes. You’re the same Grimes that played for the Braves and the Yankees, right?”

Rick looked down as if he was almost embarrassed at her knowing who he was. “Yeah. That was me. Didn’t think anyone in the fashion industry would recognize an old baseball player.”

Michonne gestured her hand around the baseball field where they were standing. “Well, we are at a charity baseball game. Beside lots of fashion models date baseball players.” She whispered as if conspiring with him. “It’s a bit of a thing.”

Rick laughed. “That is true. Many of my teammates dated models. And playmates.”

Michonne chuckled. “I bet.” She tossed one of her long locs behind her shoulder. “Besides that, my own father was a huge Braves fan. I used to watch the games with him. David Justice was his favorite player, but you came a close second. He hated when you left and signed with the Yankees.”

“I almost regretted it. I missed home a lot when I moved up here with the kids. Though I did miss David most of all. He was my favorite too.”

Her smile radiated even more. “So you and my father will have lots to talk about if you ever meet.”

He nodded and laughed. “Yeah, our very own David Justice fan club.”

Her voice lowered a couple of octaves as she tilted her head to the side. “I remember reading about your accident, and saying a few prayers for your recovery.”

Rick nodded. “I appreciate that. God was looking out for me that day. My kids didn’t need to endure the cruelty of losing both of their parents.”

“Judith talks about her mom sometimes. She and her brother were both pretty young when you lost her, I remember her saying.”

“Yeah. Judith was barely out of diapers, and my son, Carl, was in the first grade.”

“Had to be tough to continue your baseball career, and raise two kids.”

“It was. Very grateful for my mom though. Couldn’t have done it without her.”

“I know all about the miracle of grandmothers. My mom died when I was young also. Spent so much precious time with my Granny. Judith and I have bonded over some shared experiences. She’s a great kid.”

He smiled. “I always thought so too, even if I’m kinda biased.”

“The best dads always are.” She clapped her hands together. “So, the game will be starting soon. I know you’re an all-star, future hall of famer, but I was known to hit a few home runs in pick-up softball when I was a kid. So don’t think you’re going to strike me out.”

Almost feeling like his old, cocky self when it came to his baseball skills, he crossed his armsover his chest and smirked at her. “Is that right?”

She winked at him. “All I’m saying is watch yourself.”

A woman with a short afro came up to Michonne and whispered in her ear. She nodded and told the woman she would be right there.

“Editor-in-chief duties call, but I’ll see you on the mound, Rick Grimes.” He smiled a genuine smile for what felt like the first time in years at anyone other than his children. “Can’t wait.” (” The First Meet“ - Flash Fic written by @blacklitchick )

I want to say a HUGE Thank you! to my two collaborators @blacklitchick and @iminyjo <3. The both of you have been amazing during this project’s lengthy journey ;) -xo OMJ.

#richonne #au!series #omj #*mine #Beauty and the Beast - Richonne Modern Day AU #this is not a fic #just a fun what if plot project #please don't ask me to write it because I can't write - period

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