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starlightsaeran · 3 years

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Moonchild

Author’s note: Hello hello! I’m so excited to be posting the first of two pieces created for the @mysme-rbb !! I’ve been unbelivably lucky to be paired with such an overwhelmingly talented artist, @pili-art {{please go show her all the love in the world!! }}, and I've had more fun creating these than I can even put into words!! I hope you love them <3

Summary: Saeran drifts off to sleep after another night of anxiety, but for the first time in a long while, his dreams are far from torturous...

Read on AO3: here!

Make sure to check out my partner’s STUNNING accompanying art here!! ✨

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Saeran wanders among the scintillating tightrope hung between the planets, tangled among the clouds.

The darkness is inescapable. A thick blanket of it envelops him, entangling everything it isn’t with everything he is, securing him, but never trapping him. It pulls him under into its reassuring embrace, and quellls the flames of his neverending fears and anxieties. The darkness is a lullaby to the exhaustion of his soul.

Saeran is alone. He had long ago grown used to being alone, and now he felt the most at ease when he was by himself, in the hours when he knew no one else was around to see his weaknesses and the insecurities that were always lit up like a neon sign behind his eyes. He enjoyed being alone, but the inevitable loneliness that managed to creep up on him without fail every time he was alone made him want to run far and far away. But every silver lining has its cloud, and Saeran, being as smart as he is, knew there would never be anywhere for him ro run to. In this moment, Saeran is alone, but he isn’t lonely. The darkness, though he is sure that’s all it is and all it has ever been, feels like a friend. It remains silent, watching, though Saeran knows it is never judging. That’s why he has always found it so easy to be comforted by the darkness, to melt it into it, until he can’t remember where the darkness ends and he begins. Intertwined - with the emptiness he came from, the emptiness he belongs to. The darkness hides him. Him, and everything he is, everything he has ever been and never will be. It sees him, though for once, that doesn’t scare him. He knows he can be himself within the darkness, though in reality, he has no choice. He is simply too tired to hide it now.

No, the darkness is not empty, not as his heart had once been, is usually for that matter, but right now he doesn’t feel it; the infinite, endless cavern of depression he can't help but fall and fall and fall into. There is no escape, for it exists within him. It is him, this nightmare he can’t awake from. His heart is a blackhole. Perhaps this, the ocean of nothingness that exists many lifetimes away from all human creation, this is the perfect place for a creature like him to reside. There is nothing for him to destroy here, nothing for him to tarnish with the breaths he can’t help but to take. He is something to be feared. But perhaps here, in a place as wholly consuming as this, in an atmosphere which plucks his every thought from him like they are naught but weeds in a flowerbed, the inevitable ache which demands to be felt cannot find him.

In this moment, in this place, he cannot feel the heavy burden of his heart. This is a welcome escape from the anguish of his daily routine. In fact, Saeran can’t feel very much of anything else either. Not the untamable wisps of his hair that usually torment the corners of his always tired eyes, not the ache in his bones from the repeating days in which his body is stuck in its chair whilst his mind runs at the speed of light, or the pounding in his head that refuses to cease. He can’t even feel the rips and tears in the skin of his fingertips, which usually serve as a constant reminder of his own weakness and lack of self control. He feels none of it. He feels...nothing. Like the darkness within which he is encased, he is still.

Saeran tries to recall how it was he wound up here, wherever here is, and vaguely remembers the ghosts of his tears as they ran down his cheeks, and the way their rhythmic flow ebbed him to sleep. His head had been resting on a pillow dampened by the tears he’d cried an hour or a day or a year before, and the night sky visible through the glass ceiling above him had seemed to be inviting him to rest with it.

That must be where he is now. Dreaming, his mind wandering as his body rests, safe. But if his body was resting beneath the stars, then where were they now?

Open your eyes.

Saeran hears a voice say, or does he? It’s hard to tell if the words had manifested from the darkness, or if he had simply imagined them himself from the newly relaxed state of his mind. All he knows is that those words had sounded unimaginably pretty. They were a sound unlike any he had ever heard before, even lovelier than windchimes, and sirens singing in a storm. They had felt like kisses from a butterfly gliding past his skin. Regardless of the origin of the words, he feels as though he has no choice but to obey. He isn’t sure he is even in control of his own actions now, and though he hadn’t realised they had even been closed;

he opens his eyes.

An uncountable amount of stars had suddenly filled all of eternity. They are shining in all their seraphic glory, as they dance and dance with themselves and with each other, a cacophony of love, a symphony of light. They are beautiful in a way that nothing else is, and nothing else could ever dream to be. They intertwine with one another, forming families of constellations and creating a sight like nothing Saeran had ever imagined possible. They light up the world, and for the first time, Saeran can see it as it stretches for miles and miles, a whole galaxy of possibilities. Each one twinkles and sparkles in greeting. To his surprise, Saeran can feel their excitement; they are excited to see him. Their colours fill his soul, and he aches to be one of them.

And there, like a lighthouse within the storm of the ocean, is the moon. Like a forgotten lover, she calls to him. One look is all it takes and he is mesmerized, completely and utterly lost in the light of her glow.

Saeran.

The voice was a breeze blowing softly through him, and it called his name with such tenderness, such care, possibly even… love? Now wouldn’t that be a strange sort of thing. Love, for a nightmare like him? Yes, he mustn’t let him himself forget, even in the paradise of a place like this, he was a nightmare within a dream, a beast amongst beauty, and the blackhole of his heart would tear this goodness to shreds. He couldn’t let that happen. No, as much as he wanted to stay, and oh, did he want to stay, he wouldn’t let himself be this selfish. He wouldn’t watch his happiness be ripped from him again. He had to leave, had to get out, had to find a way to wake up, had to-

Saeran.

He hears it again, and this time he realises the voice is definitely feminine. The way she says his name holds him captive. He hadn’t been able to feel a thing, now all of a sudden he feels her, and the warmth in her glow. He feels her surrounding him. He feels her hands, as though one was stroking his cheek and another tangles itself in his hair, grounding him, but never trapping him.

Oh, Little Prince. My cloud wanderer. My star wonderer.

He melts into her soothing touch as though there is no other choice. Her light finds its way to his every corner, lighting him up from the inside, and extracting all his fear. It reminds him that this is where he exists in the present. All that matters is this moment. He hadn’t realised in his sudden calmness that his eyes had closed themselves again, shying away from the light as he was used to doing, until he hears her say;

Look. Look at all of your stars. They shine for you and only you. With each breath you take, you grant life to a new star. They exist because you exist. This is your galaxy.

Her words were a command his soul did not possess the ability to disobey, as though she retained complete control over him, and so he opens his eyes and looks. He tries to take it all in; the words of which their truth he feels in some deep, unexplored part of his soul, and the billions of lights, each one its own individual life, all shining for and because of him. If he had been on earth right now the truth of it all would have brought him to his knees. He feels like he is falling. How...how could all of this exist for him? How could a creature like him even pretend to be worthy-

Let go, my love. You are not falling, but flying.

He wants to let go, has been trying for it seemed the entirety of his existence, but the weight of his heart was an anchor to the world with which he no longer wanted to have anything to do, especially not now. Not after seeing exactly where it was his soul could escape to.

A heart is a heavy burden indeed. And yet you handle yours so well, little one. My starlit dreamer, to love as you do is a wondrous thing. Flowers grow to meet your smile. Birds sing their joy when they feel your presence. A soul as pure as yours, and a star as sweet as you, well, it’s no surprise the weight of the love in your heart made you sink, and the Earth claimed you for itself.

He feels it now. The pull of the night. The song of the stars that matched the one his soul had been singing alone for so long. He is a star. A star with a heart too full of love. And it had caused him to fall to the Earth.

You have become earthbound, and now so many worlds exist within yours, within you, within the wonders of your eyes.

Although of course the truth is shocking, more than anything, he feels a wave of welcomed understanding wash over him. He is as calm as the night. He hasn’t learnt a new truth, it’s more like unlocking a very old memory. But it is a truth nonetheless, and one he hopes he can carry with him. A truth he hopes he will be able to recall on those recurring nights of agony, when it felt as though all the world were against him.

You know who you are in your heart, little one. You have survived until now. You have been brave, and you will be braver still. The stars have already written your name amongst theirs, and there it will always remain. Your home is only a dream away.

Then why, he wants to scream. If his home is amongst the stars and the love and the light of the galaxy, if he is so special to them, then why is he cursed to a life of pain and heartache? Why can’t he remain here, where for the first time in his life he feels loved and like he has an understanding of the world, he has a grasp on the workings and intricacies of life, and he doesn’t feel like he’s on the cusp of letting go?

The Earth needs you, precious one. There are lives you are going to save and smiles you’re going to bring to so, so many people. They need you. And they will love you more than you could ever imagine. Your struggles make you stronger, so that your heart may find the hearts of those that need you, and in turn you may pass on your wisdom and your love to save them. And every time they look up at the stars, on the painful nights as you have, they will see you there, shining brightly, and they will know they are safe. They will know they are loved. They will know there is a world out there waiting for them, and there are lives for them to save in turn.

You know the truth of who you are. You will carry that truth with you for always, it is not something your soul can forget. When the days are hard and the nights are long, remember that you are loved by stars both up here, and stars that are like you, whose overflowing hearts have caused them to fall through the night and land upon the Earth. You need each other, and together, you will shine across every darkened corner of a land that feels lost. Discover it. Discover yourself, and the weight of the love within you.

I will always be with you, dear one. The stars in your eyes are the tears in mine, and though there may be little rest for the moon, your existence will never be a burden to me. I exist to guide you through the night.

Saeran feels himself growing sleepy; not tired, as though it is torture to his eyes to keep them open. Not exhausted, as though even sleep isn’t enough to fix him. But safe, warm, full of love and of light, as though he himself were just a little cloud floating carelessly through the sky.

Rest now, my angel. Tomorrow, your eyes will once again light up the sun. For now, may you rest, and allow me to take on your worries. Whenever your heart bubbles over with fear, may your dreams carry you home, where we will always be waiting.

And as Saeran gives in to the waves of sleep pulling him under, he rests his head against the gentle surface of the Moon, and the smile on his face is bright enough to be seen from Earth.

#mysmerbb #mystic messenger #saeran choi

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

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An Art of Balance #11

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: Okay, now this is a long one, I hope you don’t mind. I had split this up into three parts to make things shorter but I just hated the way it turned out so much. So now you just have to endure an almost 5.5 k attempt of mine to describe feelings. Oh God. Sorry in advance. If anyone is interested in what the song the Weird Sisters are playing sounds like, I image it being something like Don’t Cry from Guns ‘n’ Roses. I actually like to think they sound a lot like them.

Thanks for the heads up @kc-needs-coffee

Warning: Use of alcohol (my characters do like a good drink, don’t they)

Word Count: ~ 5.400 (don’t hit me please)

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Chapter 11: Let Me Take You Dancing

The days leading up to the concert had gotten colder still. Everything was covered in a thick layer of rime, sparkling in the light of the pale November sun. Even the Black Lake had frozen over for the first time in years. The students daring enough to go for a round of ice skating soon told hushed stories of giant tentacles pushing against the ice from beneath the water, knocking heedless students off their feet.

Not particularly eager to get back out into the freezing cold, Lizzie and Charlie had dallied at Hagrid’s perfectly cosy hut far too long. As they were racing back towards the castle, the sun was already hanging low in the sky, their breaths forming in misty clouds in front of their faces.

They found the hallways completely deserted. Almost everyone besides those who had to stay behind at school had already gone to the village. Lizzie risked a quick glance at the giant clockwork above the castle gate while they were hurrying past it. The concert was due to start in less than an hour.

Sure enough, when she skittered into the Hufflepuff Common Room it was empty besides a handful of first years playing a game of cards. Lizzie continued towards her dormitory and found it devoid of her friends. Only the floor, covered in clothes pulled from various drawers, bore witness of the four girls having gotten ready to go out before.

Lizzie waded through the colourful assortment, picking up the odd piece of clothing belonging to her. She found what she had been looking for displayed on her bed. As always, Andre had delivered the outfit he’d made for her just in time. Lizzie ran her hand over the soft fabrics, her eyes lingering on the black heeled boots resting neatly beside the trunk in front of her bed.

She sighed as she picked the precariously high heels up for closer inspection and grimaced at the thought of squeezing into them. She had told Andre she was not used to heels that high when he had suggested wearing some to her in the first place. But apparently, Lizzie’s ability to walk without support was a worthy sacrifice to see the picture he’d had in mind come to life.

After a quick shower to get some warmth back into her body, Lizzie twisted her hair into a ponytail and got changed. She observed herself in the floor length mirror next to the entrance door. Although she severely lacked stability while doing anything more than standing, she had to admit Andre had once again outdone himself.

After she had stalwartly refused to make her appearance in a short dress in the middle of winter, he had opted for an off-white shirt made of a floaty material Lizzie wasn’t familiar with. It reminded her of silk, but it had a thicker feel to it. It fit her body in all the right places while the loose sleeves allowed her to move freely. The boat neckline ran deeper than what she would have normally worn, exposing a fair bit of her shoulders. Thankfully, it lacked any glitzy details that would have distracted from its impeccable fit. It’s simpleness complemented the black leggings made of soft faux leather that clung tightly to her legs. Combined with the boots Andre had given her, they greatly elongated her legs, making her appear much taller than she actually was.

Lizzie picked out some silver earrings and a matching necklace while contemplating the thick black cardigan still lying on her bed. Making up her mind, she dug into her drawer until she had found what she had been looking for. Holding her old Weird Sisters jacket up in triumph, she dusted it off before shrugging it on.

Andre would probably hate it, but Myron, the lead singer of the band, had given a jacket like hers to a handful of friends back in the early days of the band. If she didn’t wear it now, she wouldn’t know when.

Posing in front of the mirror, she presented herself to Mouse, who was eyeing her lazily from the bed she had made herself out of Skye’s favourite hoodie.

“How do I look?” she asked her four-legged companion.

Mouse seemed to examine her for a moment before she let go off the string she had been chewing on, opening her mouth into the widest yawn Lizzie had ever seen. She shook her head and started kneading the sweater with her outstretched claws.

“Don’t get all enthusiastic on me,” Lizzie muttered. She walked over to the cat to give her scratch behind the ears when her heel caught on one of the dresses on the floor. With a little shriek, Lizzie toppled, gripping the post of Skye’s bed for dear life.

As attractive as those boots made her feel, there was no way she would get into Hogsmeade without breaking both her legs first.

Decidedly more careful she grabbed her coat and walked out of her Common Room, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. Charlie, Andre and his date, a pale blond girl with a bored look on her face, were already waiting for her.

Lizzie opened her mouth to thank Andre for his effort, but before she could utter a single word, he pointed his finger at her, looking completely horrified.

“What, in the name of all that is fashionable, is this?”

Andre rushed over and tugged at her ponytail painfully. “I explicitly told you not to do that.”

With an exasperate sigh he got his wand out. He muttered “Evanesco” and the hairband holding Lizzies hair out of her face vanished, her brown curls falling down over her shoulders. He observed the result contentedly. “Now you look fabulous.”

Lizzie shot Andre a glum look. Since she had cut her hair the front bits constantly fell into her face, a sensation she had grown to hate. Out of habit, her hand went to her head to swipe it back when Andre pointed his wand at her face.

“Do not touch it,” he warned her, accentuating every word with a flick of his wand.

Lizzie glanced at Charlie for support, who hadn’t bothered changing at all. He gave her the tiniest shrug. Andre bossing her around showed just how nervous he was.

“May I change my shoes, though?” she dared to ask timidly. Moral support or not, she couldn’t fathom walking all the way to the village in those death traps. The concert would long be over by the time they arrived.

Andre was having none of it, though. “No, you may not.”

She made a face. “Why not? They hurt. Charlie is even wearing the same clothes as before,” she complained.

“Because Charlie is basically a troll.”

Despite herself and her increasingly numb toes, Lizzie had to giggle at this swipe at her friend.

“And besides, you are friends with Skye Parkin; you should be used to pain.”

Both Charlie and Lizzie were laughing at this point, while Andre’s date resorted to smiling politely, not sure what exactly was going on.

As the four of them finally set off, Lizzie linked arms with Charlie for support, letting Andre and Claire get ahead of them. When they were out of earshot, she quickly pointed her wand at her feet. Her heels vanished, turning her boots into infinitely more comfortable flats. She winced as the blood came rushing back into her toes.

Charlie shot her a lopsided grin. “I wondered how long you would last in those.”

He picked up his pace now that Lizzie was able to keep up with him. They would need to hurry to get to The Three Broomsticks in time.

“Come on, they won’t wait for us and I fancy something to drink. We’re going to be just in time to be fashionably late.”

Orion couldn’t remember when he had last felt so out of focus.

The main room of The Three Broomsticks was packed to the brim with people laughing, chatting or swaying to the sound of the music. The constant buzz of noise and the little amount of space unnerved him. His eyes were restlessly sweeping over the crowd while he repeatedly loosened and tightened his grip on the glass in his hands.

He was no stranger to social gatherings of course. Lizzie was an avid supporter of the Hufflepuff pre- and post-match parties; after she had convinced Skye to attend several times, it hadn’t taken long before the rest of the team had followed suit. While Orion preferred to focus on his inner balance before a match, he had come to enjoy socialising with the people of his House after returning from the pitch.

But this was something else. The parties in their Common Room consisted mainly of Hufflepuffs and the odd student from another House who had snuck in. Today, it seemed like almost the entire school had crammed themselves into the tiny pub.

Orion shifted against the wall he was leaning against. No, he really couldn’t say he was enjoying himself. He was thoroughly regretting giving in to Skye’s prodding and coming here in the first place.

Skye herself was standing a bit to the side with Penny, her eyes fixed on the Ravenclaws sat at a table a few feet to their right.

Judging from the angry waving of Skye’s hands, Orion guessed she was complaining about Rath, who looked about as comfortable as he was, breathing the same air as her. He was not intent on joining their conversation. His energy was unsettled enough without the negativity Skye was emitting.

Next to him, McNully was observing the same table out of the corner of his eyes. Ever since the girls had sat down, his friend just wouldn’t quit talking.

His ceaseless chattering was accentuated by wide, dramatic gestures. He was obviously trying to catch the attention of the table’s occupants. Orion wished he would just pluck up the courage to get over there and start a conversation with someone who would actually listen to him. He, for one, surely wasn’t.

Orion felt the trace of a headache building inside his throbbing temples. He absolutely hadn’t imagined coming here to be as exasperating.

The other girls in their company weren’t exactly inviting to converse with either. Tonks had left them to find her friend Tulip as soon as they had arrived; he could spot the two of them hanging about the bar, surreptitiously glancing at the huge barrel with butterbeer behind the counter. Orion made a mental note to not drink anything from it anymore.

Rowan just sat quietly at their own table, her drink clutched in her hands, shooting him a timid glance now and again. Orion probably should have made an effort to go and talk to her to ease her awkwardness, but he wasn’t in the mood for hollow chatter. How could he lift someone’s anxiousness while fighting the same sentiments himself?

It was a shame Lizzie wasn’t here yet. He found himself watching the entrance from time to time, looking forward to her finally showing up. Contrary to most of the group gathered around him, he felt like she was the only one he could actually have an agreeable conversation with. Usually, McNully would have been the exception, but his nervous jabbering was increasingly grinding on Orion’s nerves.

He decided to end his torment prematurely; bending down towards his friend, who was just elaborating on the different noise levels of a rock concert and a professional Quidditch match, Orion inclined his head towards the Ravenclaws whose attention McNully was so desperately trying to catch.

“It seems you have quite the admirer,” he shouted into McNully’s ear with a smirk. He was nodding into the direction of a certain redhead, who had been looking towards them way too often for it to be coincidental.

Much to his amusement, McNully paled visibly. His hand went to his head, unconsciously checking his hair. He had made sure it was meticulously styled for the occasion. “Are you sure?”

Orion hummed in confirmation. “Absolutely. She has been looking at you for some time now. Why don’t you get over and say hello?”

McNully nestled with his tie. “I don’t know, mate. According to my statistics- “

“Forget the statistics; they are only numbers representing the odds. And sometimes, the universe is set to defy chance,” he interrupted him.

Without giving his friend a chance to back out, he raised his glass towards the girls at the table, drawing their attention. Smiling broadly, the girl in question raised her own drink in response. She exchanged some words with her friends, before leaving her table and heading over to them.

Orion had left McNully had little choice but to play along. He clapped him on the back as his now silenced friend gulped visibly, once again checking his hair. Leaving them to their own, he pushed through the crowd towards the bar. Although he had to move deeper into the mass of people, he was thankful for a moment to himself.

He had just settled at a corner of the counter, when he spotted Lizzie sitting at a table at the far end of the room. Apparently, she and her friends had arrived while he had been busy getting McNully set up.

She was deeply engaged in conversation with Charlie Weasley and his brother Bill. To his surprise, she had decided to wear her hair open for a change. Her brown curls draped around her slender shoulders, contrasting nicely with the white shirt she was wearing. As if unfamiliar with the feel of her hair loose around her face, she raised her hand to her head ever so often, combing through it with her fingers.

Orion watched lost in thought as Lizzie threw her head back in laughter at some joke Charlie had probably made. He felt his mood sinking again. So much for a chance at a decent conversation.

As if sensing someone looking at her, Lizzie turned her head, her eyes scanning the room and meeting his after a moment. A radiant smile spread on her face as she discovered him at the bar all by himself. She exchanged a few quick words with the Weasley brothers, then grabbed her drink and left her friends to themselves.

Orion’s spirits immediately lifted, he felt his mouth curve into a smile as he saw her approaching. She was weaving through the dense mass of students gracefully, but just as she was about to pass the last row of people in front of the bar, she suddenly got caught on someone’s foot, stumbling the rest of the way.

Orion quickly reached out to catch her from falling, but the impact send her tumbling into him instead.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Lizzie straightened herself up, her face burning red.

“Don’t worry, you know I’m good at catching things,” Orion heard himself answer. He cringed inwardly at the horrendous joke he’d just made. What on Earth had that been about?

Luckily, Lizzie didn’t seem to have noticed. She looked around the room for other familiar faces. “This place is packed! I’d have never thought so many people would come. Where are the others?”

Before he could reply though, Penny came rushing towards them out of nowhere, virtually jumping on Lizzie’s back in excitement.

“Lizzie, there you are! What took you so long?!” she shouted to be heard over the music.

The band was playing a song with a considerably picked up pace by now. “Come on, let’s get dancing!”

Lizzie had just enough time to give him an apologetic shrug before the blond girl whisked her away and onto the dancefloor.

By the time the next three songs were over, Lizzie was breathless from jumping around with Penny and singing along to the music at the top of their lungs.

“Now it is time for your feet to catch a break, my friends,” Myron Wagtail, lead singer of the Weird Sisters, breathed into his microphone with his raspy voice. “This next song is for our sweethearts.”

As the dancefloor emptied of enthusiastic dancers and couples began to fill their places, Penny and Lizzie started making their way back to the bar. Lizzie’s throat was sore from singing, begging for a sip of water.

When they had almost reached Orion, Lizzie caught sight of someone making their way towards them. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realised it was Everett. He was smiling confidently, his intense gaze fixed on her.

Her mind racing, Lizzie set her eyes onto Orion. Without thinking on it any further, she stepped forward and grabbed his arm, dragging off him off his stool and back to the dancefloor.

She saw him raising his eyebrows at her in confusion. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Shamelessly using my knight in shining armour a second time, I’d say.”

Upon seeing her already taken, Everett was backing up again, chagrin written all over his face.

It was only now that she got aware of Orion still standing in front of her, both of them now surrounded by couples swaying to the sound of the music. Lizzie felt the heat rising to her face; she clearly hadn’t thought as far ahead.

To her surprise, however, Orion extended his arm, offering her his hand. Confused, she took it and he pulled her closer to him, his other hand coming to rest on her waist.

“If you dragged me here for whatever reason, we could as well go with the flow,” he smirked. Lizzie blushed even further, unable to think of a witty remark. She decided to just let it go and do as Orion had suggested. Concentrate on the song; go with the flow. She felt herself relax.

Orion was an excellent dancer, she’d have to give him that. He was leading her through the music confidently, making sure they weren’t colliding with other couples strewn across the dancefloor. Even now, the crowd was much thicker than she had anticipated.

Noticing the confused sideway glances some of their peers shot them, she chuckled. She stepped closer to Orion, standing on her tiptoes so she could shout into his ear over the music. “Seems like we’re attracting quite the attention,” she laughed lightly.

He only smirked as he slowly spun her around. Her fingertips tingled as their hands reconnected and despite herself, she felt her smile grow even wider. She tried to relax her already hurting cheeks, but she was simply enjoying herself too much.

Trying to distract herself from the tension she felt surging through her body from where Orion’s hand rested on her waist, Lizzie tossed her head in a futile attempt to get her unruly hair out of her face. Without giving it another thought, Orion lifted his hand, carefully tucking away the rogue strand that had been bugging her. The back of his hand accidentally brushed her cheek and Lizzie instinctively leaned into his touch, her heartbeat picking up pace. The thought of resting her head on his chest crossed her mind for a split second. Bewilderment mixed into the buzz she felt coursing through her veins. What was wrong with her?

“I’m surprised you chose to wear your hair like that,” Orion commented absentmindedly, apparently unaware of the indefinable mix of emotions he had just inflicted on her. “I thought you hated having it in your face.”

Eager to set her mind to something else, she concentrated on her answer. “It wasn’t exactly my choice. Andre forced this mess on me, and I’m rather annoyed by it.”

Orion furrowed his brow. “You should not let others dictate your appearance, especially if you don’t feel like yourself.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before the corner of his mouth quirked up into a small smile, something sparking at the back of his dark eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I think you look beautiful.”

Lizzie felt her cheeks blush dark red, while her heart suddenly seemed to skip several beats. Totally dumbfounded by his unexpected compliment, her mind raced for something even remotely clever to answer without looking like he had caught her unaware. Which he completely had. Her throat went even drier than before, while she still struggled for an answer.

She was spared further embarrassment, by Myron breathing a dreamy “Thank you” up on stage before the music picked up again. Still smiling, Orion let go off her hand as the rest of the crowd came flooding back on the dancefloor.

Suddenly surrounded by people again, Lizzie’s attention was thankfully diverted from the awkwardness of the situation. Dark eyes sparkling with amusement, Orion gave her a small wink before retreating back to his seat at the bar.

Although Lizzie tried her best to immerse herself in the pounding rhythm of the music, there was no way she could concentrate anymore. Tapping Penny on the shoulder, she screamed into her ear that she needed to get a breather. Her friend immediately made to accompany her, but Lizzie signalled her to stay. She wanted a moment to herself.

She desperately needed to sort her racing thoughts. Penny was usually a formidable person to ask for advice, but Lizzie preferred to get her mind in order on her own.

As soon as Penny’s attention had turned from her, it was all Lizzie could do not to run for the exit of The Three Broomsticks. She shut the door firmly behind her, cutting off the noise of the music and the dense crowd.

The cold air hit her heated body like a torrent of icy water. She contemplated slipping inside again to get her coat but ultimately decided against it. The quietness of the sleepy wizard village was a stark contrast to the raging concert going on inside the pub and Lizzie could feel her head clearing already.

Shivering, she wrapped her thin jacket tighter around her body and sat down on a wooden bench to the side of the building. The music reaching her ears from here was muffled, but she could still make out the familiar tunes.

Humming along to the melody under her breath, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold stone wall behind her. Now, sitting outside in the crisp air of the winter evening, the whole situation from before seemed completely surreal. A dipping feeling was building inside her stomach, reminding her of the nerves she usually felt right before a Quidditch match.

If it wasn’t for the tingling she could still feel in her fingertips from when Orion had touched her, she almost would have believed it had been a fever dream. The sensation was spreading rapidly into every part of her body the more she thought about it. How rough his hand had felt, calloused from the many years he had dedicated to playing Quidditch; his hold had been gentle though, prompting her to follow his movements without even a second thought.

Lizzie covered her eyes with both her hands. Her thoughts were running wild and she tried in vain to reign them in by taking slow and deliberate breaths. It was a technique Orion had taught her way back in her first season, when she had been a nervous wreck before her first match.

She let out a small cry of frustration as she realised how Orion had entered her mind again without being invited.

“You cold, snowflake?”

The sound of the familiar voice startled Lizzie from her thoughts with force. Jolting upright, she almost slid off the cold wood of the bench, only catching herself at the last moment.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that ever again,” she huffed, scrambling back into a more dignified position than lying half on the frozen ground.

Charlie only raised an eyebrow, a badly contained grin showing on his freckled face. Much to her relief, her black coat was hanging over his arm, while his other hand juggled two steaming mugs of mulled cider.

Lizzie shuffled over to made room for him on the bench. She took her coat off Charlie and shrugged it on, only now realising how cold she had actually been. As he handed her one of the warm mugs, she gratefully wrapped both her hands around it. The stinging in her palms as the blood came rushing back into them made her grimace, but it also helped clear her head properly.

“How did you know I was out here?” she asked her red-haired friend who had slumped down beside her.

Charlie took a moment to blow against his cider before taking a tentative sip, instantly wincing as he found it still too hot to drink. “How could I not? You practically fled the room after dancing with Amari; you almost knocked me out in fact.”

Startled, Lizzie blinked at Charlie. She hadn’t even noticed him.

She blew against her own cup before raising it to her lips. The sweet cider almost burned the tip of her tongue, but the warmth it spread from her stomach felt divine against the bitter cold.

Lizzie sighed, her breath forming as a cloud before her face.

“So you saw us dancing?”

“Are you kidding?” Charlie tried for another sip, more successful this time. “I think pretty much everyone saw. I mean, both of you have been on the Quidditch team for years now; people know you. I bet it’s quite the buzz already.” His laugh died in his throat when he saw her miserable expression.

Lizzie hung her head, her fears confirmed. Of course the people around them would have seen them, but she had hoped for the crowd having been too thick for anyone else to notice.

Her mind briefly flickered to Rowan. It was the first time since arriving at Hogsmeade she thought about what she had promised to her friend. This was certainly not what she had thought would happen, when she had dragged Orion onto the dancefloor just to get rid of Everett.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping on their warming drinks, Charlie allowing his friend to process the information he’d just given her.

“So, do you have a thing for him?” Charlie eventually asked her cautiously. When he saw her wince uncomfortably, he added a teasing “Do I need to be jealous of Orion Amari, of all people?” in a futile attempt to lift the mood.

Lizzie didn’t feel like bantering though. To drive her point home, she gave Charlie a pointed look, eyebrows quirked up, until he stopped laughing at her plight. Contemplating his original question, shook her head thoughtfully.

“I’ve no idea; I don’t know what happened in there.” She started drumming her fingertips against the rapidly cooling glass. “I never even thought of him other than a friend,” she mumbled more to herself, if anything.

Charlie silently watched her. He couldn’t recall a time when he had seen his otherwise confident friend as thoroughly rattled as in this moment.

“I don’t know if it helps, but the two of you would make quite the couple. The sparks flying between you could have been breathed by a Hungarian Horn Tail, from what I’ve seen.”

Judging by Lizzie’s unmoving expression, he feared he had chosen entirely the wrong way to cheer her up once again. But to his relief, a trace of the Lizzie he knew glinted in her eyes a moment later.

She playfully shoved at him, the cider in his hands almost slopping out of the mug and over his hands.

“What do you even know, Weasley?” She rolled her eyes at him, but wasn’t quick enough to hide the smile spreading on her face.

“Not much, I guess. Remember, according to Andre, I’m secretly a ginger troll.” He made a funny face what was probably supposed to be his personification of a troll. Beaming at successfully making her giggle, Charlie got up off the bench and offered Lizzie his hand. Accepting it, he pulled her up into a standing position.

His face grew serious, eyes flicking towards the fogged windows of The Three Broomsticks for a moment.

“Speaking of Andre, I’d better go see how he’s doing. I left him in a pretty state when I went after you.”

Lizzie tilted her head in confusion. “Why?”

Charlie sighed. “He got dumped pretty much as soon as we got here,” he elaborated. “Turned out his sweetheart was just after a pretty dress made especially for her. Andre found her snogging a guy from her year when he got back with drinks for them.

Despite her messy state of mind, Lizzie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you serious?”

She slammed her mug down onto the windowsill of the pub, turning all her confusion into righteous outrage at the foul treatment of her friend.

“Where is that sneaky twat? I’m going to punch that smug little face of hers!”

Hurriedly getting rid of his own mug, it was all Charlie could do to restrain the furious girl.

“Woah, calm down, that’s helping no one!”

“But she can’t just go and treat someone as lovely as Andre like that!” Lizzie tried to wiggle past Charlie, who looped his arms around her until her sudden flare of temper seemed to wear off.

Not entirely sure if it was a good idea, Charlie carefully let go off her, relieved she didn’t immediately use her regained freedom to storm back into the building and start a bar fight.

“I agree, sunshine; but hear me out: I can get you out of detention for a lot of things with my prefect bonus. Hitting another girl probably isn’t one of them though.”

Just to be sure, he put his hands on Lizzie’s shoulder and turned her around, marching her a few steps away from the entrance door.

“Tell you what, I’m going to go get Andre and then we’ll just head back to the castle together, alright? No hitting, no violence.”

Lizzie was still grumbling indignantly under her breath, but agreed after a moment.

As soon as Charlie had vanished inside however, Lizzie turned on her heels, marching along the main road at full speed. She hoped to be well out of sight before Charlie had located Andre and convinced him to leave .

She knew he would be furious with her for returning to the castle alone, and rightly so. The light was completely gone by now and the road back to the castle led through a stretch of forest for a good part. Although well lit, it was an unspoken agreement that neither of them was to go alone.

But she was in no mood for company. Neither did she want to comfort a heartbroken Andre, nor did she have a mind for Charlie’s jokes trying to cheer them up. She needed to get herself under control before seeing her friends. Seeing Rowan.

Seeing Orion.

She picked up her pace, walking as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run, her breath soon becoming heavier.

What a fine mess she’d manoeuvred herself into. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny the fluttery feeling still rising in her stomach even now when she thought back on dancing with Orion, how good his hand had felt on her waist and how badly she had wanted to rake her fingers through his long, jet black hair.

Lizzie forced her mind to stop with all the willpower she had to muster.

No. This was Orion Amari she was thinking about in an absolute inappropriate manner. Her friend, her teammate and her team captain. The guy her best friend wanted Lizzie to set her up with.

She came to an abrupt halt next one of the wrought-iron lampposts lighting the way and kicked a heap of frozen leaves out of pure frustration. It didn’t soothe her agitation in the slightest. Suddenly feeling deflated, she leaned her forehead against the cold metal post and closed her eyes to shut out everything but her own thoughts.

She would not do this to Rowan.

She just couldn’t. Rowan was her friend. Lizzie had promised her to help.

A sudden cold drop on her neck made her shiver inadvertently, quickly followed by another and another. Lizzie opened her eyes again and lifted her face to the dark sky. Despite her inner turmoil, she felt a wondrous smile steal on her face as she gazed up into the darkness, all sorrow forgotten.

It had finally started snowing.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #orion amari x mc #quidditch #the quidditch squad #quidditch squad #art of balance #lizzie jameson #charlie weasley #L writes #L is rubbish at describing feelings

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

The Cinderella AU is back...and with it, a proper introduction to the character who fills the “evil stepmother” role -- Carewyn’s cold, cruel grandfather, Charles Cromwell. If you’d like to learn more about Charles and his family’s canon counterparts, you can consult this post, but to summarize quickly, in Carewyn’s canon, Carewyn’s mother Lane ran away from home to elope with a Muggle, which ended up protecting Carewyn and Jacob from Charles’s emotionally abusive influence. (At least until R started going after them, because hey, what d’you know, in Carey-bear’s canon, Charles is R’s leader.) But in this AU, Carewyn has to answer to Charles for some reason...so yeah, that doesn’t bode well, does it? You’ll just have to read on to learn a little more about why that might be...

Fashion changed very dramatically during the Renaissance, thanks in large part to the cross-pollination of different cultures and influences that came from more extensive travel, the growing popularity of published works, and royal funding of the arts. Pre-Renaissance men’s fashion, at least for the nobility, was very big on oversized sleeves, which ended up creating a more “top-heavy” frame. (Just look at most portraits of King Henry VIII.) As the Renaissance went on, though, trunk hose (which creates that kind of “bubble butt” look that we’re used to seeing in William Shakespeare Halloween costumes) became the latest fad, shifting a man’s frame to be much more “bottom-heavy.” Women’s fashion briefly flirted with wide trumpet sleeves (as one can see in this portrait of a young Elizabeth Tudor, later Queen Elizabeth I), but by the time the 1550′s were over, rounded sleeves grew much more popular. Fitted sleeves also went in and out of style in a lot of Europe throughout the 16th century, though sleeves were considered a special feature on gowns, so they often had a lot of embellishments, such as paneling, embroidery, or puffs. One exception to this rule, however, was in Italy, where fitted, detachable sleeves that could be used on multiple gowns became fashionable. Fashion in Italy in the 16th century was notably understated and modest compared to a lot of Europe, which tended to favor a lot of ornate beading and embroidery -- there were even laws on the books restricting how “bedazzled” women’s fashion could be. One such law even banned stripes, as it was considered wasteful to use two different kinds of fabric just to make a pattern. That being said, there were plenty of people in Italy who said “screw the rules” and worked around them anyway. Carewyn’s dress in this picture is somewhat based on this design, but with some tweaking, most notably with a fuller skirt and more ornate and puffy sleeves.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the end of the month arrived, Andre requested that Carewyn come to his chambers bright and early in the morning. Carewyn had anticipated that the prince had some extra duties for her to attend to, but instead, he immediately led her over to a corner of his bed chamber that he’d drawn a curtain around. When he pulled the curtain back, he revealed a full tailoring station inside his walk-in closet, complete with organized rolls of fabric, various jewels and beads strewn about over a table, several unfinished hats stacked on the nearby desk, an entire separate wardrobe of unfinished pieces, and several mannequins with fine fabrics half-pinned on them.

One mannequin, however, was wearing a completely finished, luxurious dark scarlet gown. It was made of about six different fabrics, all cut and sewn together in a complex tapestry of folds and textures and trimmed with many sparkling beads and jewels. Also lying on the floor just in front of the dress was a pair of heeled shoes made of off-white cloth with red and white roses sewn into the toes.

Carewyn couldn’t help but gape. Andre was grinning from ear to ear.

“So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Carewyn glanced out the side of her eye at the prince, over to the dress, and back.

“Did you...make this, your Highness?” she asked, amazed.

Andre laughed. “Carewyn, please, it’s ‘Andre.’ But yes! I got inspired while working on your shoes, so I stitched this up to go with it. ...Do you like it?”

Carewyn walked around the mannequin to look over the gown, not daring to touch it. She’d never seen so many fine fabrics on one dress before -- velvet, linen, silk -- and all the embellishments must’ve taken full days to finish --

“It’s -- well, it’s extraordinary, your -- Andre,” she corrected herself very quickly noticing the prince’s pointed smile. Even she was finding it difficult not to smile too. “The beading on the sleeves, the lace work -- the alternating wool and cotton paneling along the bodice...it’s worthy of an artisan!”

Andre looked clearly both incredibly pleased and impressed. “You have an eye for detail, Carewyn!”

His face burst into a bright white grin as he bent down and picked up one of the off-white cloth shoes.

“I’m pleased you like it,” he said brightly. “I thought it’d be the perfect thing for you to wear today. Lord Cromwell sent a message to the palace asking Father if you could return home for a visit -- so I worked all night to get this done in time so that you could wear it for your outing with your new shoes.”

Despite her best efforts, Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the dismay and discomfort she felt off her face.

“What? Oh -- oh, your Highness, I -- ”

“Ah, ah, ah,” chided Andre, “what have I asked you to call me?”

“Andre,” Carewyn corrected very quickly, her eyes drifting up onto the dress rather than at Andre, “this dress is...truly beautiful...but it befits a lady of status, not -- ”

“It fits you,” Andre said, undaunted. “I used the measurements from your uniform fitting. It should fit you like a glove -- or better.”

Carewyn felt like her stomach was shriveling up. She hated turning away such a lovely gift -- under any other circumstances, she would love wearing it out and about. But...

“That...that is...it’s so kind of you, to use me as your template...”

Or “dress-up doll” -- that is what the Queen said I would be, isn’t it?

“...but I simply couldn’t wear such a gift on my visit...not when I have no comparable gifts to bring my cousins. Many of them are around my age, and...and well, I know Heather, Iris, and Dahlia would be very upset, knowing I got to wear such a beautiful dress and they didn’t.”

None of her cousins had ever been very respectful of Carewyn’s personal belongings. Not long after she first arrived, her aunt Pearl’s two bullying sons, Kain and Arsen, stole her jewelry box while she was sleeping and sold both it and its contents for pocket change. Her youngest cousin, her uncle Blaise’s bratty son Tristan, had once thrown a bottle of red wine out the window that shattered mere feet away from Carewyn and soaked her dress so badly that it never washed out. Even Iris had -- after Carewyn caught the eye of one of her suitors who’d come to call -- ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress so badly that she had to hide from sight for most of the day, until she’d managed to sew it up enough that her chest wasn’t exposed. Carewyn had had to hide her mother’s old dress from her cousins for years, for fear they might steal and/or ruin it.

Andre frowned deeply.

“Well, I hardly can send along anything for your cousins without knowing their measurements,” he said with a quick glance at the wardrobe full of unfinished pieces.

His face then brightened with an idea.

“How about this -- I’ll order you. I order you to wear this dress on your trip home, and to have your cousins give you their honest opinion of it. Then you must bring their opinions back to me. Goodness knows I could use some feedback -- and maybe a few new ideas, if they have them,” he added with a teasing grin.

Carewyn opened her mouth to object, but Andre cut her off.

“As your prince, I command you to showcase my work to your family,” he said through a broad grin. “Am I clear?”

Carewyn really, really didn’t love the idea -- but she had to concede that she could use this to her advantage. She needed a stable place at the palace in order to achieve her goals, and she could help maintain that stable place at the palace by justifying to Charles why she had to be there. And Charles’s whole interest in her being there was to try to endear the Cromwells further to the royal family, and maybe even secure one of her Aunt Claire’s daughters a space in that family...

So, with a heavy sigh, she put on a small smile and inclined her head respectfully.

“Very well, Andre. I’ll wear your work proudly.”

And so Carewyn set off for the Cromwell estate on horseback, dressed in the new shoes and dress Andre had made for her. The shoes were lovely and fit perfectly, but they were rather impractical for walking around outdoors. Carewyn thought to herself that she might have to continue wearing her old shoes when she returned to her palace work, if for no other reason that she hated the thought of getting them scuffed up.

As to be expected, when she arrived, her cousins reacted very hostilely to her appearance.

“Well, well,” sneered curly-black-haired Kain, “what do we have here? Playacting as a lady, little Winnie?”

“All hail Lady Cinderwyn, Duchess of Dust!” sniggered his similarly dark-haired brother Arsen.

He reached for her wide skirt, but Carewyn -- remaining on her horse -- steered herself far enough back that he couldn’t reach.

“I wouldn’t damage this, if I were you,” she said as coolly and levelly as she could. “It’s not mine.”

Arsen and Kain exchanged a mocking, wide-eyed look and an “oooooh.”

“Are you a thief now, little Winnie?” asked Kain. “How far you’ve fallen -- we might need to call the castle guard on you -- ”

“Cinderwyn’s a thief!” crowed tiny Tristan in a sing-song voice. “Cinderwyn’s a thief!”

Claire’s three daughters looked a lot less mocking.

“You have some nerve, stealing clothes from your betters,” spat dainty, brown-haired Heather. “Grandfather should lash you within an inch of your life -- ”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” Carewyn said very firmly. “Now I wish to see Grandfather. I have a message from the Prince he’ll want to hear.”

“Grandfather’s inside,” said Claire’s gangling, button-nosed son Elmer with a crooked smile. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy your new look, Lady Cinderwyn...especially with the finishing touch!”

He jumped right into a mud puddle that splashed everywhere. Carewyn just barely avoided the spray, but when she moved back, Dahlia and Iris successfully grabbed hold of her velvet brocaded skirt and yanked hard in either direction, as if trying to rip it.

“Iris -- Dahlia -- ” said Carewyn, her voice growing colder and harder as she struggled to hold in her temper and emotion as best she could, “if either of you have any ambition to marry his Highness, I would strongly suggest letting go of his dress this instant!”

All of Carewyn’s cousins stiffened.

“His dress?” repeated Dahlia, looking outraged. “You mean to say you took this from the Prince?!”

“He bid me to wear it, for my visit,” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “Or would you have me oppose his Highness’s will?”

“You...arrogant, pretentious, ungrateful little rat!” shrieked Dahlia. She tried to yank Carewyn off her horse, and there was a slight struggle as Carewyn tried to both comfort her horse and prevent Dahlia from dislodging her.

“Now, now, children,” said a very coldly serene voice, “a little less noise there.”

All of the Cromwell children looked up to see Charles Cromwell striding across the lawn. He was dressed in black, gray, and white with a dark red cape with black trim, and he supported himself on an ebony-wood cane with a dragon’s head carved out of black zircon for a handle. Behind him were Carewyn’s aunts, Pearl and Claire, with their husbands, as well as her uncle Blaise. All three of them were looking over Carewyn’s outfit disapprovingly -- Blaise looked particularly irritated, his upper lip curling as he rested a hand on top of Tristan’s shoulder that made the small boy flinch.

Iris and Dahlia were still clinging to Carewyn’s skirt, but they’d frozen up like startled cats when their grandfather appeared.

“Grandfather -- ” stammered Iris, “W-Winnie’s a no-good thief -- she stole this dress from -- !”

"I have stolen nothing,” Carewyn repeated coldly. She stroked her horse’s white mane several times to soothe it.

Pearl too had come up to rest a hand on Arsen’s shoulder and was looking at Carewyn very critically out her own almond-shaped blue eyes -- most of Carewyn’s family had them.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice a low growl in her throat. “Explain, then, what gives you the nerve to show up here dressed in such obnoxious clothes.”

“It’s positively garish,” added Claire in a higher, simpering tone from her comfortable spot in her husband’s arms, mirroring her sister’s disapproval like a child would imitate their older sibling.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very coolly. “Prince Henri will be very disappointed to hear that. He worked very hard on this.”

This startled all of the Cromwells. Blaise looked scandalized.

“And I suppose that makes you think the Prince favors you somehow?” he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously as he released Tristan’s shoulder and approached Carewyn’s horse. “Rather than just thinking of using you as some saucy little tart and then discarding you, just like your wretch of a father did your mother -- ”

"I think nothing of the sort,” Carewyn cut him off coldly.

Don’t you dare talk about my mother.

Charles, the least visibly startled, took a few steps forward. Iris and Dahlia finally released Carewyn’s skirt so as to get out of the way, and Charles came to a stop about three feet from Carewyn’s horse, his own almond-shaped eyes locked on his ginger-haired granddaughter’s face.

“I believe you owe me a full report, child,” he said quietly. “Stand before me and give it.”

Carewyn’s red-painted lips pursed as she picked up her skirts and descended from her horse at last. She looked up at Charles with a very stoic expression.

“Prince Henri learned that I would be coming to see you, as per your request,” she explained. “He commanded that I wear this dress, for my visit. He’s heard about my cousins and desires Dahlia, Iris, and Heather’s opinions on it. Then he requested I deliver their feedback back to him this evening.”

The time limit was a flat-out lie, but one Carewyn knew she could get away with. She did not want to stay at the Cromwell estate overnight -- she’d rather sleep on a lumpy old cot in the servants’ quarters than on the floor by the kitchen fireplace.

Claire looked at Charles, her face breaking into a rather eager expression. “His Highness wishes to hear from my daughters? He must have heard from the rest of the court of their extensive talents -- ”

“Or at least purported talents,” said Blaise under his breath with a rather cynical look. “Seems the rumor mill is working well...“

Pearl shot Blaise a glare, but Claire didn’t seem to hear him -- she had already whirled on Carewyn.

“Tell his Highness that the dress is a work of art, fit for a queen!” she said insistently. “And make sure that he knows that there are much better models for his work here, at the Cromwell estate -- Iris has a far superior build, Dahlia the most perfect shoulders -- ”

“I suppose Winnie can do far worse than inanely fawning over your daughters’ target on their behalf,” said Blaise in a rather cutting voice. “Mindlessly swooning certainly worked for you.”

“Blaise!” Pearl snapped reproachfully.

Charles’s eyes drifted over Claire and her three anxious-looking daughters thoughtfully.

“...What feedback...do you believe would most please his Highness, child?” he asked Carewyn.

“He appreciated it when I noticed the details,” said Carewyn. “I would think if anyone had any creative ideas to add onto it...or perhaps constructive criticism...he might react well to it. His Highness is very interested in fashion and tailoring...I’m sure he would appreciate knowing someone who could indulge in that passion with him.”

He must be awfully lonely, locked up in the palace all the time. It’s no wonder he tried to find things to do indoors that could bring him some joy, if he’s unable to go much of anywhere...

Charles’s eyes flitted over the silk and ornate beading on Carewyn’s sleeves.

“His Highness certainly does have an eye for finery...has the royal family come into additional wealth recently?”

“I don’t think so,” said Carewyn. “The castle staff is very limited. And although the nobility are all dressed and fed well and the castle is decadent, the staff is frequently short of common necessities like nails and coal for the fire. Not to mention the staff’s rations are sparse.”

Iris gave a loud, haughty laugh. “Ha! Probably just as well -- you could do with getting some of that meat off your thighs!”

“Iris,” said Charles very sleekly, even as the rest of Carewyn’s cousins sniggered.

His lips curled up in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“...It seems that the King and Queen are indeed in need of our family’s charity. But we must indulge their pride. It’ll be far easier for them to accept help from a future daughter-in-law and princess than simply from a loyal servant of the realm. Carewyn -- you shall report back what his Highness wishes to hear. Customize three answers for Heather, Iris, and Dahlia -- one fawning, one critical, one creative. Whichever answer he likes best, we will then pursue that route with the cousin you’ve assigned to it.”

His almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“And once we’ve secured an invitation from the Prince...I expect that you will step aside, to make room for your cousin to make her move.”

Carewyn’s expression didn’t shift.

“I’m not interested in courting princes,” she said lowly.

Heather, Iris, and Dahlia can knock themselves out. Andre will see through them sooner or later, and it’ll be all their own fault.

There was a cold, diamond-like glint in Charles’s eye. “...Yes...you truly don’t care to chase any man except for your brother...do you, Carewyn, my dear?”

Carewyn tried not to blink or look away.

“You have news of Jacob?”

Charles sighed airily. “I’m afraid not, my dear. I know he’s well, of course...but news from the War front, as you know, is simply impossible to come by...”

“You know he’s alive,” Carewyn shot back a bit more sharply than she meant to. “That doesn’t mean he’s well. No one could be doing well out there.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re happy that the first is guaranteed?” said Charles. “At least, so long as you do your duty to your family, and to me?”

It was a warning, but it was done so delicately -- it was like his voice was flirting with a threat, rather than flat-out making one.

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly as her gaze drifted to the ground.

“You know I wish no harm to come to either you or Jacob,” Charles said softly. “Losing a child was terrible enough, losing grandchildren as well...well, it would deeply upset me. And per our agreement, you are the one who must shoulder the burden of your brother’s and your debt to me...particularly since you have no dowry and no possible claim to my estate. Remember, Carewyn...you are responsible for how you are treated -- and for how Jacob is treated.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly together over her closed eyes.

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now then -- rehearse the answers you plan to give to his Highness with your cousins. I wish them to sound convincing, so that when one or more of them is invited to the palace, they will be able to play their part appropriately.”

Carewyn hated every minute of hashing out responses with Heather, Iris, and Dahlia. Like their mother Claire, they and Elmer were all “follower” type personalities who tended to echo whatever they thought would please others -- so Dahlia, Iris, and Heather were constantly trying to steal each other’s ideas to “improve” Carewyn’s answers, despite all three of them supposedly needing to take three different approaches as part of Charles’s plan. Even the three girls’ hostile attitude toward Carewyn largely came down to her refusing to follow their direction, despite her lowered status in the family giving them authority over her -- something that, Carewyn believed, they would never do if their positions were switched.

When Carewyn was finally ready to leave (and successfully avoided Tristan’s muddy hands when the wickedly grinning little boy forcibly tried to hug her goodbye so he could leave stains on her dress), Blaise pulled Charles aside. As the male heir of the Cromwell legacy, Blaise had always followed in his father’s footsteps most, but there was one thing they didn’t agree on.

“Father,” he said, his voice very low in the back of his throat as he watched Carewyn ride away at a fast gallop, “I don’t approve of her returning to that place.”

Charles smiled coldly. “You always have disliked sharing your toys with others, Blaise.”

“It’s a bad influence!” said Blaise, whirling on his father. “We can’t monitor what she does, how she behaves -- who she speaks to -- how can we hope to keep her, if we consistently open her cage?”

Charles’s eyes, the same color and shape of all of his children and most of his grandchildren, sparkled with something crueler.

“Ah, my boy,” he said sardonically, “you have much to learn about cages. Physical cages have strong bars, but ones easy to see and constantly weathered. But a cage forged carefully in another’s mind...can become so strong that the prisoner willingly chooses to stay.”

Charles turned on his heel, his lips curling up further still even though his face remained so doll-like and emotionless.

“As weak and overemotional of a thing she is, Carewyn is far more like you and me than Lane ever was. She’s very resourceful and she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants -- and that drive fuels everything she is and does. It may make her spirited, but it also makes it so that as long as she sees Jacob’s life in the palm of my hand...so too will she be.”

Blaise’s eyes flickered with a strange skepticism. “And...if Jacob’s life were ever not under your sway?”

Charles’s expression grew even more detached and emotionless as his smile faded and his eyebrows raised.

“...Would Carewyn really want to contemplate what state he’d be in, if he weren’t?”

Carewyn couldn’t be happier to leave the Cromwell estate behind. She didn’t slow down her horse’s pace until she’d reached the outskirts of the market, well after the manor house was out of sight. Only then did she slow her horse down to a leisurely trot, so that she could enjoy some time on her own wandering down the village streets before heading back to the palace. The castle staff wasn’t expecting her back to work until the following morning, so she could take her time.

Unfortunately for Carewyn, there was another reason her cousin Tristan’s hands had been so muddy -- and that reason soon became apparent when Carewyn reached into one of the pockets on the side of her saddle, thinking to temporarily change out of the pretty shoes Andre had given her and were now pinching her feet for the ride home. When she reached into the pocket, she instead found the tiny snake that Tristan had stolen out of the reeds by the nearby pond.

With a scream of surprise, Carewyn flung the snake to the ground -- the snake arched back, hissing angrily, and that in turn spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a loud, scared whinny, it reared back, bucking wildly.

“Whoa!” cried Carewyn. “Whoa, boy -- whoa!”

Several passerby turned around at the sound of the noise. A few looked like they wanted to help, but were too warded off by the horse’s kicking feet. Carewyn tried desperately to calm her horse, stroking its mane with one hand and clinging desperately onto the reins with the other, but it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough to wrench her horse into submission. And so when the horse gave a particularly violent jerk, Carewyn was thrown right off.

“AHH!”

Out of nowhere, someone dashed forward. Carewyn ended up slamming right into them, and the two landed roughly in a heap in the dirt.

Carewyn watched her horse gallop off the street, her face very tense and distraught. She then looked down at the person she’d landed on top of, and she gave a visible start.

Her “hero” was a man about her age dressed in modest clothes with tanned skin, slightly-too-long dark hair, and a beard. His sparkling black eyes were squinted slightly as he winced in pain, but nonetheless shone with some concern as he looked her over.

“Are you hurt, Lady Cromwell?” asked Orion.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #carewyn cromwell #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #andre egwu #orion amari #my art #my writing #orion!! you sweet tofu-eating knight in shining armor!!#and charles cromwell you no-good bastard :I #the cromwell clan by and large are terrible people but all of them are dark shades of gray except for charles #he's always been the worst of the bunch easily since he first appeared in my head #but hey for a character who leads r in his canon I guess that's not surprising #charles's cane has a black dragon head which is a reference to the hebridean black dragon which appears on the cromwell coat of arms #like mythical dragons the cromwells hoard their treasures -- not just financial wealth but also their family #it's frankly no wonder carewyn's learned to be stoic and sophisticated in this universe looking at how charles acts and treats her #she got her more tearful and emotional outbursts beaten out of her by her cousins' bullying #and yet she's too proud to grovel and cower :(#I'm looking forward to writing some more pleasant stuff in the next part <3

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graceslavenderhaze · 3 years

Text

bright { connor stevens}

synopsis: connor knows your soul and you know his. now that knowledge is put to the test.

authors note

part two of haunted!

in this story a evil eye bracelet is use, which is a talisman used for protection against misfortune and injury. i have used evil talismans since childhood and their apart of my culture which is why i’m adding them into my writing.

also i tried my best to reconstruct the timeline so if there’s some mistakes and gaps, i tried lol.

also the major plot twists i threw into this? whip lash worthy

Your walk home was accompanied by your tears and broken heart. While your mind was on auto pilot buzzing through every moment you spent with Connor, trying to pin point the exact moment everything had gone wrong. Was he being honest with you? Did he suddenly start caring all of a sudden what your over bearing parents thought about your relationship with him? Or was he just never into you that much to beginning with. You weren’t immune to hearing the whispers in the hallway and how cruel your classmates could be, while Connor always reassured you. Your mind always had that deep corner that was out for blood and to hurt you.

Your cheeks were raw and your eyes were stinging by the time you had returned back home. All the lights were out downstairs and upstairs. You snuck back into your bedroom with ease. You had no willpower once you entered through your windowpane to do anything. You shrugged off the jacket and your shoes, managed to changed into the first pair of clean pajamas you saw and the second your head hit the pillow, you were out.

You woke up to your alarm and felt like you had been left on the side of the road after being ran over. You sat up to check your phone and saw that there had been a few notifications from your socials and texts from Luke, they were about Connor. Adding insult to injury. You stared at the texts debating if you should even them, and deciding against them. You couldn’t deal with this decaffeinated.

“So he just broke up with you? Out of nowhere?” Carrie said as you had finished ranting to your friends. You nodded and her face furrowed. “That’s out of character for him, he looks at you like you put the stars in the sky.” She said nonchalantly making a turn onto out of the coffee shop parking lot. You took a sip of your coffee.

“It’s so out of character for him.” Kayla commented from the backseat, you turned slightly to look at her. “Obviously we don’t know him as well as you do but c’mon that’s so weird.” It was weird, you didn’t put everything together in the moment but something was definitely going on.

“You’re right.” You murmured. You didn’t want to give yourself excuses but something was definitely going on. As you rolled into school you noticed Luke and your eyebrows furrowed, Connor wasn’t with him. They always walked to school together. Unless he ditched.

“Hey!” Luke announced as he walked up to Carries car when you’d gotten out. “Hi.” You said shortly walking past with your friends. “You seen Connor yet?” You and your friends stopped short. “Why would she keep tabs on her ex?” Carrie snarked. Confusion washed over Luke and he went silent as a sympathetic look was cast your way. You smiled before you and your friends continued your way to class.

After school, you stayed late to hang with Kayla as she choreographed some more things for dance while you worked on your homework. Eventually you were both kicked out by the boys wrestling team and when leaving the coach asked if you knew where Connor was, you shook your head and went your way with Kayla. “He didn’t show at all today?” You voiced with concern to Kayla, she met your face with mutual concern. “You should call him. Breakup aside this is some criminal minds type shit.” You nodded. You pulled your phone out and your finger hung over his contact before you finally pressed down.

The ringing went on and on which just built up your anxiety. Then his voicemail. “Hey it’s Connor, leave a message if you even do that anymore it’s the twenty first century.” You swallowed and looked at Kayla. “Hey, i know i’m probably the last person you want to hear from but where ever you are can you just call me and let me know you’re not kidnapped or something morbid like that. ok bye.”

“Effective.” She said as you opened the passenger door. “Well sorry i don’t have a go to my ex who i love is missing might be missing and i’m concerned voicemail at the ready.” You said buckling your seatbelt. “Weakling.” She said pulling out of the school parking lot.

“Where’s y/n? “ Hanna asked as they went through Connor’s backpack that they had found in the woods the day prior. Luke hadn’t spoken anything of Connor and yours breakup with the rest of the group and they’d been confused on the absence of their friend. “Connor and her broke up the night before he went missing.” Luke said to the group. The room went silent other than the humming of the art room lights.

“Is that why she’s been avoiding us?” Gabby asked, she’d seen you several times and you’d dodged. It wasn’t intentional it was just that they were Connors friends first. “Probably.” Jai said continuing to look through the backpack when a letter addressed to you fell out. He looked at the group, “Nope not reading it.”

“None of us are!” Hanna said as Luke inched towards it. Gabby nodded, “I have class with her next period. I’ll give it to her.” She said shooting the boys looks. The boys both put their heads down like dogs in the dog house.

Eventually, the bell had rung so the group went separate ways and when Gabby saw you in class she sat next to you before you had the chance to move seats she dropped the letter on your desk. “We know why you’re avoiding us. But he left this for you, Luke found his backpack in the woods yesterday and he’s convinced something happened.” She said keeping her voice down not wanting to draw any attention to the two of you. You nodded taking everything in.

You slipped the letter into your backpack. “I want to help but things with my parents aren’t the best right now and besides my shifts at the book store i’m on lock down.” You explained to her, there was nothing more you wanted than to help Connor. She nodded. “I totally understand. I’ll text you updates.” She said with a reassuring smile. You gave her a smile and then turned your attention to the class even though the only thing you could think about was the letter in your backpack.

It had been hours before you were able to read the letter that Connor had left you. It sat there taunting you. You ripped it open and didn’t know what to feel. It just had a post it note that said you’re enough, then ticket stubs from dates you’d been on and a wax bracelet with an evil eye charm attached. You put the bracelet on almost instantly. Nothing made sense.

What you had was a piece of the puzzle.

On Monday, Connor was here. Sleep deprived, worried eyed and self heart broken. Tuesday came like sunrise and he was gone as if he never existed. The only thing left was his backpack and laptop that was password encrypted.

On Tuesday, his backpack had been found in the woods he last was in before he disappeared. With trinket lights, a letter for you, and a note that was chalked up to be clues.

On Wednesday, his friends went through his backpack at school. Hanna and Luke snuck into his house and stole his laptop in hopes of figuring out more about what happened to him. Later, that day Jai finds out the group didn’t make it out of the woods in time and was in deed cursed by the shadow man. Jai was almost taken in his basement, Hanna and Seth were almost taken in their living room, and Gabby while on a jog.

Not being able to get any contact of Luke who was at wrestling practice, Gabby stole her mom’s car to hopefully save her friend. The group took refugee at Connor’s house for the night. The shadow man came back and they managed to fight him off this time. Hanna cracked the password to Connor’s laptops and they figured out that he was cursed too. He was researching into the curse and was going to the lighthouse to preform a ritual to end it all.

Pieces came together, like the corners of a puzzle.

When Thursday rolled around you found yourself studying in the cafeteria when Gabby and Jai came to sit with you. “Hey.” You said looking up from your textbook. “Hi.” Gabby said with a nervous look on her face. “What’s going on?” You asked looking at the both of them with confusion and concern at the same time.

“Your mom’s maiden name is Murphy, right?” Jai asked as he pulled out an old yearbook. You nodded, “Yeah but what does this have to do with Connor?” Jai placed the open yearbook in front of you. “This is June Murphy, she was the first victim of the shadow man curse we think, she was the light house keepers daughter, well one of them.” Gabby explained to you.

“One of them? Whose the other?” You asked flipping to the next page, and staring up at you was your own mother. Who looked somewhat like. “Oh shit.” You muttered. “We didn’t know for sure.” Jai said sympathetically.

“It’s definitely her, probably think it was me if her name wasn’t there.” You said looking up and pulling your phone out to take a picture of the year book pages. “She chastises me for lying when she has a whole hidden identity.” You said slumped in shock.

“We’re sorry.” Gabby said placing her hand on your wrist in an act of comfort. “Maybe she knows something that can help with Connor?” Jai implied, you shrugged. “I’ll talk to her later and let you guys know if it’s anything helpful. I have to go meet Carrie about the glow dance.”

“Also Jai, If you’re planning on asking Kayla. Her dress is purple. Just a heads up.” You said as you grabbed your textbook and walked away from your two friends with questions swirling around your head. How was this suddenly a real life scenario in your life?

“Mom!” You announced when you walked in your house. She was in her bedroom. You hadn’t talked to her since the night you last saw Connor. “We need to talk.” You said, She smiled. She thinks she going to win, she has no idea what’s coming.

“I’m so glad you came to your senses about that boy.” She said. You laughed pulling your phone out. “No we need to talk about your double life.” Her face went pale and fear overstruck it. You had never seen your mother scared in your entire life, not even when you broke your arm.

“Tell me your secrets and i’ll tell mine.” You said with your arms crossed. She sat there for a minute before she exhaled. “First you need to understand everything i did was to protect you. Second, i need to know what you know. ” You nodded, you’d never seen your mother like this before so whatever she was about to say must be gospel truth.

“I know June Murphy was the lighthouse keepers daughter, well one of them, she tried to save the lighthouse and failed, then she died. Not so long after the light house was shut down and then her dad died not so long after her.” You said and your mom nodded.

“June fought to save the light house and was only a few signatures short. She’s a lot you, you’d like her. One night she decided she’d turn the lighthouse on by herself. Only problem was we’d thrown the key off the cliff into the water earlier that day. June swore she saw it hanging by a low branch. So we went to get it. It was pouring so when she came just close, she slipped and she fell.” Tears collected in your mothers eyes and you regretted everything you said about her earlier.

“My father was devastated and took a book of shadows. He turned himself into a monster to try and get my sister back. In the end, i lost them both.” She said as she stood up and went into her closet pulling out out a medium sized wooden chest.

“I changed my name, moved to an out of state college and when i married your father. We moved back here, perfect place for a family. No one remembered me because there was nothing worth remembering anymore.” She placed it down and opened it. There was pictures, a baby blanket and other keepsakes.

“At the time i couldn’t understand how my father turned himself into a monster to save a daughter he lost, when he still had one who was alive. But after i had you. I understood. I could never let that happen.” You sat there. Your parents had been hard on you but if this was the reason? You had no reason to complain.

“Does dad know?” You asked. She nodded, “You can’t go through something like that and keep it to yourself you need to let burdens off your shoulders and lean on the ones you love.” You nodded. She sat next to you on the bed “I’m sorry about what i said about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my, um, that’s a whole mess right now.” You said to her. “He broke up with me the night we fought, i snuck out of my window. Then went missing the next day and his friends who are also my friends, but that societal you can’t have mutual friend with a significant other bullshit was in my head, found out he was in the light house cottage before he disappeared so they went there too. He wasn’t there but his backpack was in the woods, which are cursed so now they’re cursed and they’re trying to save him and themselves before the shadow man takes them like they took Connor.” You rambled on. Your mother look at you as you had three heads. “Are you cursed?” She asked placing a hand on your shoulder.

“No but like i’m sitting on the sides watching everyone i love get taken so i wish i was at this point.” you said as your mother took you into a hug and you started to break down. “I don’t know what to do, i need someone to tell me what to do.” You cried into her shoulder as she soothed you like she used to when you were a baby.

“It’s going to be alright, we have something that the shadow man doesn’t.” she said getting up and grabbing something from your dads side of the closet. A small book, before she grabbed your hand. “Where are we going?” You asked. “A family reunion.” She said as you both walked out of the front door and into the car. She looked over at your wrist, “Where’d you get that?” It was the evil eye bracelet.

“Connor left it for me before he disappeared.” You said subconsciously rubbing the bracelet to soothe yourself. “Smart move.” She said as she pulled out of the drive way. “Why?” You asked you knew the evil eye was protective. “A protective talisman, gifted by a lover? He had every intention of protection you from the shadow man whether he was taken or not.” She said looking over. “Breaking up with you, the letter, and the talisman? He loves you. Call it motherly intuition.”

“Yeah well when we save him, i have a lot to talk to him about.” You said as you looked out the window. “You could talk to me about it.” You looked back. “I realize that in these past years protecting may have drawn a wall between us and that's not what i want and that's not what i ever wanted.” You knew it would take some time but you wanted it too. “I don’t know if that would work. I usually complain about you and dad.” You joked as you looked back out the window.

“A magic shop? What are we witches?” You said to your mother. She turned to you. “Mom.” She ignored your advances and once you made it to the door you were asked about a password.

“Lemme guess abracadabra?” The door slide open. This wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened this week. “See you’re a natural.” Your mom winked. Your eyes widen. A man in an extravagant purple suit answers the door. He’s taken back. That makes two of us.

“Okay, to recap. You’re my dad’s brother but he decided to never bring you up for some unknown reason and my family has ties to magic and shadow powers?” Your mom and Sardo nodded. “Is there any other major family secrets you wanna tell me?”

“Teenagers.” Sardo muttered. “Wait teenagers as in plural.” Your mother said turning her attention to Sardo. “Yes i run a magic shop, teenagers come in.” He said nonchalantly. “Have any other teenagers come in today asking about the shadow man?” You asked.

“Well there was this group of rugrats earlier today.” The midnight society. “Earlier this week this tall, lanky, one dressed in all black came in for a spell book.” He explained. “Connor?” You asked. Sardo got up and went through his purchase slips. “Yes, Connor Stevens.”

“What’d he get?” Your mom asked while you got up and took the slip from your new found long lost uncles hand. “Skeleton key and a love potion.” You said looking back up at her. “He didn’t use a love potion on me.” You said to your mom.

“Oh this is the boyfriend? Wow family drama must be fun on facebook!” Sardo said sitting down. “He had the book of shadows though. How’d he get it?” You asked as you put the slip back. “He broke in and stole it on monday night.” He exclaimed.

“It was in a life or death situation, i think that’s excusable.” You reasoned. Sardo shook his head, “That book brings nothing but trouble and even more darkness into the world every time you open it. It’s a book of shadows. Its dark magic. Not white magic.” He announced with a dissatisfied look on his face

“And you all want me to learn this? I’m not being sold on it.” You said sitting back in your seat. “There’s more than dark magic. There light magic, green magic, crystal magic and so on. Every practitioner chooses between the dark path and the light path.” Sardo explained as he stood up to grab a grimoire.

“What path will help me save my friends? Is there a path for that, cause i want that path.” You said as your mom rubbed your shoulder. “You don’t choose a path, the path chooses you.” Sardo explained pushing the grimoire close.

“What if dark magic chooses me?” You voiced, silence washed over the room. “Why do you want to save your friends?” You were taken aback, why? “Wouldn’t it be easier to let them all just be claimed? Throw in the towel, make new friends.”

“No!” You bellowed. “That’s not right, there’s always a way and when there’s love there’s light.” You explained. Your mom smiled at your answer. “If that’s how you feel. Dark magic won’t choose you.”

By the time you’d left the magic shop it was late and Gabby wasn’t answering her phone. You’d given an update about what had happen.

It was starting to make sense, not perfect sense, not just yet.

On Friday the glow dance had rolled around, what also rolled around was a stomach virus that had cause Carrie and Kayla to miss school and not be able to attend the dance. Gabby hadn’t been in class so you assumed she was also out with the stomach virus. Hanna met up with you during lunch letting you know what happened the night before. She tells you that Luke’s returning the book of shadows after school and everything should be back to normal now. Oh how wrong she was.

You weren’t able to see Connor after school, you had a shift and then were going to get ready for the dance. Gabby texted you that he was feeling up to going so you’d see him there. An hour into the dance and you ended up wandering the halls. You had felt this pit in your stomach and needed air.

But once you went into the hallway the pit just grew larger and larger. “Hey stranger.” Your eye evil bracelet burned and blinded. You looked up from your wrist and turned around. “Connor?” You asked. There was a screaming voice in your head. It felt wrong. “Who else?” He asked coming closer. You saw a light shine through a classroom and walked backwards towards it. Once the light enveloped you and Connor still stayed back. His sleeves were rolled up and his wrists were bare. The real Connor wears a rainbow bracelet you made him.

“The shadow man perhaps?” You suggested, the smirk on “Connors” face dropped. You inched closer to the switch that controlled the hallway lights and switched it on, when the lights were on “Connor” was gone.

You started to go towards the gym seeing your friends on stage with Sardo and “Connor” in the crowd knowing a rescue mission was already in place. All you could do was stand there and wait. Within ten minutes, the shadow man had out smarted your friends and Jai sacrificed himself to save the group.

On Saturday you were completely left out of the loop. You heard nothing. Gabby wasn’t answering. Hanna wasn’t answering. You feared the worse and could do nothing to save your friends. That what Sardo said earlier was going to come true. You still had that pit in your stomach. You were reading your grimoires but it felt useless, why study if right here and right now. The people you care about most are disappearing through your finger tips.

On Saturday night your parents brought you upstairs and put your to bed, but you stayed restless with worry. You stared at the ceiling and walls of your bedroom before at some point your mind gave up and lulled you to a nightmare filled sleep. Losing Gabby, Losing Hanna, Losing Jai, Losing Luke. Losing Connor. Like a broken tape it looped over and over and over.

It all fell apart right in front of you.

On Sunday morning Kayla and Carrie had recovered from their stomach flu. Your mom invited them over in an effort to distract and cheer you up. You told them everything. Life’s too short to keep secrets from your best friends. Especially when you don’t know how long you have left with them.

Suddenly it was Friday again and you were at your shift at the book store again. You pulled your phone out to text Carrie and Kayla. They both responded with the same texts they did on the Friday of the glow dance. “What the actual fuck.” You muttered. The door rung several times signaling a mass group of people walked in.

The midnight society had just seen that Sardo was alive and remembered that you work Friday shifts. Which caused them to practically sprint to see you, Connor leading. When your friends all walked through the door you stopped in your tracks. “Seen a ghost?” Gabby said with a smile. “i hate you all i hate your children and your childrens children.” You said rushing to hug her.

“Hear that Connor?” Luke said causing his friend to hit him upset the head. “That’s a two way road.” You said hugging Hanna. Then Luke, Jai and Seth. Then there was Connor.

“I’m gonna go take a nap, really tired see you guys later.” Gabby said excusing herself. “Same honestly, later.” Hanna said leaving with Seth. “I’m just going to go.” Luke said dragging Jai with him. You laughed at your friends.

“I’m scared that if i walk any closer you’ll disappear like last time.” You said looking at him. He walked towards you. Grabbed your hand and placing it on his heart. “This real enough for you?” He said leaning his forehead against yours. You smiled. Noticing the blinded evil eye he smiled, “So that worked.”

His head moved to rest on top of yours and you wrapped your arms around his torso. “Legally, you’re obligated to stay like this for at least twenty minutes.” You laughed moving your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m okay with that.”

“I didn’t mean breaking up with you, i just didn’t know what happened when he took you and couldn’t let that happened to you.” He said slightly holding you closer. “I understand. Just never do it again.” You said to him, he laugh and nodded.

“So the glow dance?” You pulled away because your shift was starting to end. “You’re up for that?” You said as you started putting stray books in the resort bins. “I’m always up for a good time.” He said sitting on the front counter. You nodded, “Pick me up at 7.”

“What about your parents?” He questioned. “A lot happened when you were gone.” You said starting to rant to your boyfriend.

it rebuilt it self.

#are you afraid of the dark #are you afraid of the dark imagine #ayaotd #ayaotd imagine #connor stevens #connor stevens imagine #luke mccoy #gabby lewis #hanna romero #jai malyas #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #grace writes

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redhairedfeistynerd · 5 years

Text

Life is Gourd

For @sunmoonandbucky and the delightful 1.5 challenge that was posted eons ago. Thank you for your patience.

This short piece is only the start for this sweet trio - more will be posted in the coming week. Word count: 1600+ Warnings: frustrated Bucky, soft Bucky, sad kids

Single Dad Bucky

The first year after his divorce was the hardest – starting over on his own with his two young children has its ups and downs and he just wants a few regular moments with them.

“No daddy, that’s all wrong!” Piper whined, her face dropping, clearly disappointed with her father’s work.

Bucky looks at his daughter, she had definitely mastered the art of pouting. He cut into the pumpkin again, trying to fix the mouth he carved. “You told me you wanted a smile with two teeth and that’s what I carved for you, Pip,” Bucky said as he pulled out the knife and placed it next to orange creation.

“I wanted the two teeth on the top, not on the bottom,” said Piper, her bottom lip quivering and eyes starting to well up with tears. “It needs to look like my teeth,” she says, pointing to the two empty spaces in her mouth. “You should know that daddy.”

Bucky let out a sigh, this was the part of parenting that he found frustrating. The pouting. The tears. The dreadful whining. The faces his daughter could pull off were worthy of an Academy Award. He felt defeated by the 4-year-old standing beside him. Running his hand through his hair, he took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. Today was supposed to be an easy day, one where he could take his girls out and do something normal, something that brought joy and smiles to his daughter’s tiny faces. Their schedule was clear – no work, no school, and no daycare. He needed this time with his girls, it was important to feel like a family again and pumpkin carving was the best way to start.

“How’s your masterpiece coming along,” a female voice asked from behind Bucky, snapping him out of his self-talk.

Turning around, he saw one of the female employees of the rec centre he frequented with his young daughters. He had noticed her behind the front desk the first time he brought Piper to swimming lessons the year before. She offered a friendly smile and a quick tour of the amenities and let Bucky know she would be there for the next hour if he had any other questions. Here she was today, dressed for Halloween and willing to help all the families in the gym.

“My daddy made a mess of it,” Piper replied as she pointed to the pumpkins toothy grin. “He put the teeth in the wrong spot and I don’t like it.”

Bucky’s cheeks warmed, embarrassed by being called out by his daughter. Of course, she would blab about that right away. Defeated again. No Father of the Year award for him.

“You ok there? You’re looking a bit flushed in the face, Mr…”

“Barnes. My daddy is Mr. Barnes, lady,” Piper offered.

“Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.” Standing up from his chair, he reached out to shake the woman’s hand. She slipped her hand into his, her grip tight and covered in slime; pumpkin guts he notices as he pulled his hand back. His blue eyes ran over her quickly – hair pulled back, Halloween headband with ghosts on springs bounced as she walked over to the stroller.

“And who is this little sweet pea?” She asked Piper, peeking into see the sleeping ladybug in the stroller.

“Riley. That’s my little sister, so that means I’m the bigger one.” Piper points her thumbs towards her chest, clearly proud of her role of big sister.

Bucky took in the scene in front of him; his daughter telling Y/L all about her little sister and what their plans were for this Halloween. He heard Piper ask what the women’s name was and cursed at himself for not asking her when they shook hands.

Y/N.

“Show me what you wanted your pumpkin to look like and maybe I can work with your daddy to fix it up for you.” She moved over to where the pumpkin was sitting, took a quick peek before squatting down to Piper’s level.

“The teeth are wrong, daddy messed them up,” Piper tells Y/L, her tiny fingers pointing to her dad, clearly calling him out.

Y/L looked up to Bucky, her eyebrow raised and trying to stifle a laugh; his daughter was not impressed with his handiwork.

“What were you thinking, Piper? How did you want your pumpkin to look? Maybe a silly face?” Y/L asked. “A silly face like this,” she added while sticking her tongue out and rolling her eyes to one side.

Piper giggled and poked her fingers into the mouth, running her fingers over the two teeth. “The teeth should be on the top row, not the bottom. Sometimes daddy doesn’t listen-

“Piper,” warned Bucky, “you don’t need to go and tell people that sort of thing. I’m trying my best here.” The comment agitated him, he really did try his best for the girls but this whole ‘single father’ thing was still fresh and instead of four ears to listen, there were now only two.

Y/N nudged Bucky’s knee softly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to judge you. I see you with the girls around the rec centre all the time. Swimming, art classes, and now you’re here for family pumpkin carving. You clearly hear what they want to do, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Y/N turned back to Piper, and explained how she was going to fix the pumpkin’s teeth.

Bucky handed off the knife to Y/N and watches as she removes the teeth he had carved; she places them where Piper instructed her to. Pulling several toothpicks out of her apron, she presses them into the orange flesh quickly. He can hear her humming as she works away, her fingers are inside the pumpkin now and he can see the pieces shifting together to complete the puzzle. Standing back, she admires her work before revealing her makeover of the pumpkin.

“All right Piper, here’s the big reveal!” Turning the pumpkin towards Piper, she watches as delight spreading across her small face.

“Daddy! Look! Y/N is a pumpkin dentist. She fixed it and now it looks perfect.” Piper bounced around next to Bucky, her braided hair flopping with each jump. He feels a smile creeping up, with each of Piper’s movements, his face showing the happiness he feels inside.

“How about we take a picture and you can show it to you mom?”

Y/N had expected the little girl’s face to light up and the mention of sharing their creation with the other parent. Instead, Piper turns to her father, face now solemn and looking to him for an answer. Y/N watches as Bucky pulls her to his chest and embraces her and whispers something into her ear. His large hands rub small circles on her back as she says something equally as quiet to him. Bucky looks over Piper’s head, his eyes meeting Y/N’s as he mouths ‘sorry’ to her. She’s not sure what the sorry is for and the confusion must show on her face because Bucky hugs his daughter once more and gently guides her to a table with other children decorating Halloween masks. She skips over to a free chair and joins in as if nothing had happened.

Hands in his pockets, he walks over to where Y/N is. “I appreciate you helping us out with the pumpkin, I’m pretty sure Piper was a few minutes away from a full on melt down.” He keeps his head down, sliding one foot back and forth on the gymnasium floor. “We’ve had a tough year, the three of us and I’m thankful that you took the time to help us out. It’s been hard for Piper without her mom around for family events,” he discloses.

Y/L isn’t too sure how to respond, an awkwardness has fallen over both of them. She musters out ‘You’re welcome, Bucky’ and watches as he walks over to the craft table, crouching down to watch Piper as she paints a cat mask. He runs his hands gently across her dark braids and whispers something in her ear, making her grin and throw her arms around his shoulders. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifts her up and takes her mask from the table, a smile on his face as he walks back to where his younger child sleeps.

“Can y/n come too?” Piper asks, tugging on Bucky’s sweater and jumping up and down.

Bucky can’t help but smile at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “How about you join us for a hot chocolate, we need to pay the pumpkin dentist somehow,” he asks.

“This dentist definitely takes sugary drinks as payment.” Y/L shoots a smile Bucky’s way. His blue eyes meet hers and he responds with a grin. “Give me a sec to check out and we can head out.”

Bucky watched as the ghosts bob away from him, chuckling at how hilarious she looks. He can see her talking to an older gentleman, laughing as she hands him her apron, and jogs back to where he is standing with his girls. “I’m all clear and ready for marshmallows and whip cream,” she laughs and Piper gives her a high five.

“You um…forgot to take off your headband,” Bucky says shyly, hoping not to embarrass Y/L.

“There is no WAY I am taking these off, look how cute they are!” She reaches up and runs her hands over the fuzzy ghosts. “You like them, right Piper?” The little girl nods and reaches out for Y/L to hold her hand.

Bucky can’t help but smile. As hard as this day had been for him, it seems to be taking a positive turn. Piper is happy and he can’t seem to stop smiling. One hand on the stroller, he reaches with his free hand to hold Piper’s other hand.

“Lead the way Pip, I bet I know exactly which shop you’re going to pick.”

#1.5kconstellationswritingchallenge #bucky barnes #single dad bucky #my writing #pumpkin carving #family #sunmoonandbucky #redhairedfeistynerd

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manggojooz · 5 years

Text

Pick A Side (Part 2)

pairing: Taehyung x reader

word count: 1,735

genre: university!au; angst, it’s still angst; slice of life stuff

warnings: none

note: although it’s unplanned but this will now be a series (y) please support it lots.. and reblog if you like this series <3

previous part: Part 1

“But sometimes, when you choose not to pick a side, you have essentially picked a side.”

“What? How does that even make any sense?", his face was nothing but bewilderment.

How do you even go about explaining this without sounding like you are making a mountain out of a molehill?

“Y/N, I’m fine with girls being jealous and all but the one thing I cannot stand is you throwing a tantrum by threatening to break up with me. I don’t do this break up and get back together thing. If we are breaking up, it will be for good... so... are you sure? That we are worth less than this argument you had with Jihyun? Are you sure that you are prepared to give us up over something like this?”, he reasoned as if he was giving you a second chance to backpedal.

“I’m trying to tell you that you have already picked your side, Taehyung, but if you don’t see it that way then fine, I’m telling you again... not everything has a middle ground. And this time, you have to choose one. So... will you be on my side?”, you threw the second chance card back at him.

Taehyung was obviously annoyed by now, he looked nothing less than he was about to curse at your stupid insistence on this.

“There’s no need to answer me anymore”, you shook your head in disappointment as you left.

---

He was serious about what he said too. He never contacted you again after that night. You weren’t sure if he really was in your life this whole time. The only times you were sure you actually did date him were when you opened your chat with him and went through the old messages. If you were hurting this much, it must have happened, right?

Needless to say, the news of the break up spread fast and furious, given Taehyung’s popularity, and so did the rumours as to the reasons why.

Y/N is such a petty girlfriend. Y/N was jealous of Jihyun. Can’t Taehyung even have friends now just because he is dating Y/N? Taehyung deserves better... She’s so selfish...

There were so many, to the extent that even you became aware of them despite how ill-informed you usually were of the gossip around school.

The first lesson you learnt from this was that giving in to someone becomes something taken for granted over time. Because you did it once, because you did it twice, you are expected to always do it. And when you choose to not do it, when you took a stand for yourself, you became the mean one, the selfish one, the petty one.

“Oh please, who doesn’t share such videos nowadays, it’s even in the news. I heard Y/N was just being overly sensitive and got upset that Taehyung didn’t side with her.” You were sitting in a corner of the library trying to focus on the textbook in front of you when you overheard the conversation between two of your classmates behind the bookshelf that blocked them from seeing you there. The third time this week.

Lesson two: the entire world would simply conclude that you were not worth supporting, because the one person that everyone presumed would or should have sided with you, chose not to.

Not once did you try to clarify or defend yourself. How do you stand up against the rest of the world by yourself? Where do you even start? Who was going to listen to you? What is the point anymore?

When you believed that nobody would take your side, you too, have abandoned it.

All that was left was your desperation and desire for the world to move on, to leave you alone.

---

And alone you were. You didn’t have many friends in school to begin with, the only few you had were closer to Taehyung than they were to you.

Avoidance became a valuable skill. Good thing you didn’t share any common classes with him this semester but you still had to avoid him around school and you decided to stop going to the painting club. From what little you heard through the grape vines, he went about his activities as he normally would.

Isn’t it usually the case that the one who was more blameworthy, ran away more? What have you done so wrong to be avoiding him like this?

---

Eventually, you worked up whatever courage you had left in you and decided to join a new club in school to prevent yourself from sinking into further lonesomeness.

The people in the photography club were generally friendly to your pleasant surprise. You had been attracted to the club when you saw a wall full of photographs outside the club room. The club welcomed anyone to propose captions for the photographs and a few of them had post-it notes stuck to them; some captions were funny, some were sentimental, you found solace in reading all of them.

Even though you did not attend club activities too regularly, you ultimately managed to produce a photograph you felt was worthy to be placed on the photo wall. You had gone to visit a friend near the countryside over the weekend and the lake that you passed by had already started to freeze over. In the morning fog rising in the dusk, it looked desolate and you were compelled to snap a picture of it.

Two days after you put up the photograph, you passed by the wall on your way to one of your classes. A yellow post-it note was stuck on the corner over the white sticker that had your name written on it. Someone had written a poem on the post-it:

“A thick ice has formed Atop a winter lake on which I was thrown away A thick ice has formed In the dream I shortly went into My agonizing phantom pain Is still the same.”

You peeled the post-it off the photograph, peering at it and then at your photograph again. You finally had an inkling of why you avoided Taehyung to this extent.

The one who was hurt more, runs away more. Because although you pretended like your wounds have frozen over, that everything was calm on top, you knew it was not all that frozen underneath.

---

Finally the first semester ended, the winter break was exceptionally cold. And then it was the first week of the second semester of your sophomore year. You strolled into class very early, only a few seats were taken and per usual, you walked up the stairs all the way to the back of the small lecture room, picking a seat in the last row.

There were two girls who came in after you, they sat down in the row right in front of you and started to take out their things when one of them whispered softly, “I heard Taehyung’s taking this class too...”

“And so? You know he has a new girlfriend now right? Stop being so boy crazy...”

“It doesn’t hurt to have an eye candy in class”, the first girl giggled.

You were not surprised you would eventually end up in a common class with Taehyung, it was inevitable given how small the arts faculty was in this school. What surprised you was how your heart pinched upon hearing that he has a new girlfriend. Has it still not been long enough?

It's about time though. For him to get a new girlfriend, for you to stop avoiding him, for everything to return to normal. Maybe seeing him together with his new girl would do the trick for you, you could only hope.

“Is this seat taken?”, a sweet voice inquired. You looked up.

He had a shy smile, and everything about him was tidy and neat. His simple white shirt was tucked into his light blue jeans, his hair was short and he styled his fringe up revealing his forehead, flaunting his impeccable features.

“Umm... no... it’s not”, you answered, although you were still a little taken aback by the suddenness of the stranger’s approach.

He widens his smile a little and puts his backpack down on the seat next to you, along the aisle. The classroom was starting to fill with people. “I’m, Haejoong”, he introduces himself as he sat down.

“Oh... uh, hi, I’m Y/N. Are you new here?”, the question came out a bit too abruptly, but you couldn’t help but wonder why you never noticed him around before.

“I major in film-making, it’s my first time taking a pure arts class, if that is what you mean”, he laughed while answering you.

Just at that moment some guy at the front of the class squawked loudly, “Oh~~ here comes the campus couple!”

Both Haejoong and you turned towards the front entrance of the classroom. Your heart stops a little seeing Taehyung walk in. His smile looked more captivating than you remembered it to be, reminding you of the times he used to smile and goof around with you. It was just because you haven’t seen him in such a long time. That was the best you could come up with to rationalise it to yourself.

Taehyung almost immediately spots you, even though you were hidden behind rows and rows of other students. It was strange, how he was always able to see you even when you hid so far away from him. He sees you looking at him, and he momentarily contemplated letting go of the hand he held, but he eventually catches hold of himself. The hand he held slowly dragged him further into the room, his eyes only focusing on her now.

The girls seated in front of you were quietly whispering something again, occasionally glancing back towards your direction. And this time you couldn’t hear them, perhaps you didn’t want to hear them.

Haejoong notices when Taehyung stared at you, although it was short-lived, and he turns to look at you closely.

You thought you had been alright, you thought you would be alright, even if you weren’t, you thought seeing him with his girlfriend now would finally force you to put it down.

You couldn’t have been more wrong, not when the girl who was now by his side is no other than Jihyun.

How cruel of him... to answer your last question to him in this way.

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facets-and-rainbows · 5 years

Text

Bloody Fairy Tale (part 1)

The first part of the longest canon-ish story we have about young Shiro! Now in English woooooo!

Picture is from this post by @strongcraving, check it out!

Love, faith, loyalty, devotion, even the fear of death—none of them could save me.

So then what can rescue me from this ugly world?

La Buena Diosa—a totally unremarkable little village tucked away in a corner of South America.

I found out this village existed totally by coincidence. But the more I learned about it, the more I thought this had to be the place.

This was the place where I could get everything I wanted.

The lonely cemetery in the center of the village was…yes, it was like the toy box I dreamed of as a child.

Once I had my sights set on my goal, I started visiting the village frequently. I said I had an interest in religious art; it was a pretty good excuse, if I do say so myself.

Most of the villagers had the sort of insular attitude you tend to get with rural villages like this, but fortunately one of the kids really took a liking to me, so they stopped acting so standoffish. She was a little girl named Anita, and as long as she was with me I could move around the village completely naturally. Thanks to that, I was able to put a lot of care into my preparations.

I owed it all to Anita.

“Señorita, I love you!”

As she walked next to me, Anita gently reached for my right hand. Her hand was warm and a little bit damp. It reminded me of a newborn puppy.

When the girl’s eyes met mine, her suntanned brown face broke into a shy smile. I smiled back warmly.

And in my mind, I softly told that poor noble child:

Once you become a ghoul, Anita, I’ll use you to make my finest Naberius.

Then I’ll finally be able to love you back.

I hope you’ll forgive me, but until then…

I just don’t find you cute at all…

“Stay calm, everyone. It’s okay.”

On my tenth visit, I had some ghouls I revived beforehand attack the village.

It took everything I had to contain my joy as I skillfully guided the bewildered villagers to the church in the middle of the cemetery.

It went well.

I had made careful preparations, but I was still almost scared by how well it went.

After the shocking experience of being attacked by dead bodies, the villagers totally trusted and depended on the nun Maria LaMorte. It would be a trivial matter to dispatch them all by daybreak. Like taking candy from a baby…

But the most important question was how to kill them.

Poison? Strangling? Or maybe…

As I searched my mind for the method that would damage the bodies the least, I felt a tug on the sleeve of my habit. I looked down to see Anita clutching it in her shaking hands. The color was drained from her brown cheeks, and there were big tears welling up in her eyes.

“Will…we…all be killed?” came the weak voice, desperately trying to swallow the fear.

“Oh, Anita, it’s okay. It’s okay. I won’t let that happen.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve made a barrier with holy water around us, so the ghouls can’t get in. It’s safe here,” I lied, and gently hugged the girl. “Now, go find your mother.”

Anita gave a small nod, but suddenly looked toward the window by the door and murmured, “A light…”

“A light?” I tilted my head in confusion, then followed Anita’s gaze. She was right: the sky to the southwest of the village was lit up like midday. The entrance to the village was in that direction, facing the highway.

There was no mistaking it. That was a flare.

And not the kind that motorists use—it was a special flare used by exorcists to fight demons. I knew because I was carrying a few of them myself.

Could the Vatican’s dogs have sniffed me out here already? No…it was too soon for that.

After a moment’s hesitation, I turned from the window back to Anita.

“Something might have happened. I’ll go take a look. Anita, you stay here in the church,” I ordered.

Anita’s expression changed. “No! You can’t! Señorita, you’ll be killed!”

“Oh, Anita. It’s okay…It’s okay.” It was nice that she was worried for me and all, but this was honestly the most annoying thing I could imagine. Getting too friendly is a problem too, I sighed internally. “I have weapons and everything. If anything happens, I’ll run right away. Okay?”

I cajoled the flustered Anita into calming down a little and stepped outside the church. The southwestern sky was still lit up.

Well, it was a small village after all.

It didn’t take long to pass through the cemetery and rush to the source of the light. Even so, the flare had gone out by the time I got there.

In the darkness, I sensed the presence of live humans, not ghouls. I quietly hid behind a nearby house.

Straining my eyes in the dark, I could make out two men surrounded by ghouls.

One was a tall, lanky Caucasian and the other was an average-sized Asian. Both were wearing imposing black uniforms—the official uniforms of the Order of the True Cross, which I also belonged to. The Asian was carrying a handgun in a holster at his waist, but the white guy looked to be completely unarmed.

My, my, aren’t you two poorly equipped?

I couldn’t suppress a grin.

And I thought they had come from the Vatican! I shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that.

Laughing at my own rashness, I decided to watch them for a bit.

The group of ghouls was beginning to recover from the flare. The Asian man tossed a holy water grenade at them.

The ghouls wailed in agony as holy water exploded into the air around them.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeyyyaaaaaaaaaaaagh!”

Urk…

Seeing the ghouls suffer made my heart cry out in pain too.

But it’s only holy water, I reassured myself. As long as it isn’t AAA grade it’ll only stop them temporarily. Besides, there are only two exorcists.

I had ten times that many ghouls.

Even as I was thinking it, the Asian man was already being attacked by a few that had avoided a direct hit from the holy water.

Enraptured, I fantasized about the moment when their claws would tear apart his flesh.

But the foreigner nimbly leaned back and landed a strong kick on a ghoul’s jaw. In the same swift movement, he elbowed another ghoul, leaped back, and started reciting a prayer in a loud, clear voice.

The words came out fluidly and musically, savage like a beast, and filled with a power that took hold of the listener’s mind and wouldn’t let go. There was no kindness enveloping you, no feeling of purity.

Despite that, it moved my heart and soul more strongly than any prayer I’d ever heard.

Even as he unveiled such an impressive recitation, the man kept knocking aside the ghouls that attacked him from all sides.

So many Arias would have been defenseless while chanting; you had to admit this man’s reactions were impressive.

He moved like flowing water. I didn’t know much about martial arts, but even I could tell he was pretty good.

Perhaps this was real-life kung fu, like you see so much in Asian movies.

I was captivated by the man’s movements for a while, but soon realized this was no time to be distracted. First off, why was the Asian man the only one fighting?

Where was the other guy?

I searched for the white man in the darkness and found him standing uselessly away from the commotion, not even lifting a finger to help. Maybe he was frozen in terror at being surrounded by so many ghouls. If that was the case, he had to be pretty pathetic.

“Amen,” the Asian man finished, making the sign of the cross in the air.

In an instant, the demons possessing the bodies were expelled and the corpses went back to just being corpses…or so he thought.

But as it turned out, the ghouls weren’t exorcised.

They kept swarming the two men as if nothing had happened.

The Asian man groaned something in another language and clucked his tongue. Probably wondering why his chant hadn’t worked.

I leaned back against the house’s old wall and laughed silently to myself.

Think that’s strange? It’s strange, isn’t it?

But that isn’t going to cut it.

My condolences.

Why don’t you give it another shot?

Once I was done laughing for a bit, I peeked my face out again to see how those foolish men were doing. A ghoul was just about to attack the Asian man savagely.

The man dodged without wasting any movement, knocked the attacking ghoul down with a bare-handed punch, and mercilessly twisted its neck. He put all his strength into it, and the ghoul’s head came off of its body with a sickening snap.

The man tossed the head aside without batting an eye, then ripped the arm off of another ghoul and knocked it to the ground. He stomped on it, putting a thick-soled boot through its chest.

“Gyaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

My blood ran cold at the pained scream.

Apparently, the man had switched strategies as soon as he realized chanting wouldn’t work. He was planning to physically destroy the ghouls one by one.

As I watched the man fighting against the huge horde like it was nothing, I found myself trembling.

This is bad…

At this rate, a ton of my most valuable parts would be damaged.

I was done observing.

I slipped a hand inside my habit and took out a flare from the holster on my thigh. I quickly removed the pin and threw it above the two men and the ghouls.

The flare exploded in the darkness, bathing everything in blinding light. The ghouls slowed down.

“This way!” I yelled in English. The Asian man noticed me first. He looked at this sudden newcomer with suspicion.

As I’d expected, he was extremely wary. I would just have to force my way in. I reached my arm out and urged them to come with me quickly.

“This way! Hurry! The light won’t last long!” My feigned desperation was worthy of an Academy Award, if I do say so myself. The man rushed over to me right away.

It had been hard to tell from far away, but he was about 10 centimeters taller than me, and I was 170 centimeters tall. Average height and weight—no, I suppose he was tall for an Asian. Up close, his face looked cleaner and manlier than I had thought. With his pale hair, he could have been a boy, or a young man, or way older than me. Not that I was good at guessing Asian people’s ages anyway.

“What’re you doing here? Are you an exorcist?”

“Save the introductions for later,” I responded to his fluent English question. I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into running with me.

“Hey, you too! Come quickly!” I yelled at the white guy, and made a beeline for the church. He tottered along after us, looking like he couldn’t care less about what was going on.

#translation #blue exorcist novel #bloody fairy tale #there's gonna be so many parts of this #it's so long

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galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

A Funeral: Chapter 21 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood, pregnancy, Recreational Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol, Protective Arthur, BAMF Arthur, Shady Belle Chapter

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big. All of this brings them closer to one another, as well as to their future—a complex mixture of romantic dreams and a practical escape from the outlaw life. To achieve this, they must effectively change the course of the stories written into their stars, and work together to make hope, rather than fear, their reality.

Credit to @bearly-tolerable for the banner!! Art is my own.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 21: The Gilded Cage, Pt. 1

The next day, Arthur and Mary Beth went into St. Denis in a coach driven by Charles with John riding shotgun. The idea was for them to be seen at the saloon the night before the party, to try and calcify the illusion, give it layers, create witnesses. If the town was as beholden to Angelo Bronté as the gang had been led to believe, then surely this would be no exception. Arthur was wary, but he was playing along, too, mostly at Hosea’s reassurance. When Arthur told him about Dutch’s one-month request, Hosea had sighed and thought on it for a while. He said he was torn. He became quietly emotional at the prospect of being able to attend the wedding, but he was concerned. He was concerned about Mary Beth, and whether she was going to get pregnant. He said Shady Belle was no place for a baby or a pregnant woman. He said the stakes are high for pregnant women. If something goes wrong, there’s little any ordinary person can do. They need a doctor. He became so worried, in fact, as Arthur was talking to him on the porch of Shady Belle, that he smoked profusely, coughing between each drag, and Arthur began to wonder if something bad had happened to Hosea, before Arthur even knew him. If, like Arthur, he’d lost somebody, somebody small.

“Well, we know a doctor,” said Arthur, lighting his own cigarette.

“You do?” said Hosea.

Arthur nodded. “We met one in Emerald Station. He and his wife own a bed and breakfast up there. They took us in a couple times while we was gone.”

“What does he know about delivering babies?”

“His pa used to deliver babies for slaves escaping up to Canada,” he said. “In Wisconsin, during the Civil War. But Hosea, Mary Beth ain’t pregnant—not yet, as far as we know.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, adjusting his collar, flicking his cigarette. “It’s on the table. You need to plan for these things, Arthur.”

“I know.” Arthur took his hat off, ran a hand through his hair. It was hot that day. He thought about Deer Cottage, how it had meant something. He tried to assuage Hosea with an agreeable tone. “I know.”

That night, at the saloon in St. Denis, the plan was for Arthur to play a little cards with Mary Beth acting as his intelligent Girl Friday, making just enough noise to be seen, but nothing too flashy. Charles and John stayed near, stoic and dressed as security features. Charles was to sharpen his knife and look intimidating while John was to do nothing but smoke and speak only when spoken to, keeping an eye on Arthur and Mary Beth from the bar. Arthur dressed as he normally would that night, but Mary Beth was outfitted at the tailor, and with a small bounty provided by Dutch himself, purchased two dresses: one of more casual frills in a lavender pink for the night at the saloon, and then a ballgown for the party—far more elegant—dusty blue in color with lace sleeves and a collar, and a fabulous, feathered hat to match. She was delighted by the opportunity to wear such pretty things, but she told Arthur as they entered the saloon that night that she also felt a fraud and sort of like a bird on stilts.

“Everybody’s looking,” she said when they crossed the floor to the bar. The room was lively, filled with smoke and piano, and it was mostly men, but there were women here and there, and it was unclear how many of them were just there to mingle, and how many were actually saloon girls. They were not all paired with men.

“Just pretend they’re looking at me,” said Arthur, nodding at a few of the men at the poker tables. “That should help.”

“Well, the women are looking at you,” said Mary Beth. “Looking like they might devour you whole.”

“I highly doubt that, Miss Gaskill.”

“Shh,” she said, smiling, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear, using a full-on fake Texas twang. “It’s Mrs. Kilgore, Tacitus.”

Arthur laughed. He looked around. People were staring. Mary Beth looked pretty, and she stood out, even in this crowd. That, he could not deny. “You know, I, too, am starting to feel like a bird on stilts,” he said. “Let’s talk to the bartender here for a minute, and then we’ll find ourselves a seat.”

“Sounds good.”

After a touch of small talk, Arthur ordered a bottle of chilled rosé with two flutes as well as a hefty glass of Kentucky Bourbon for himself. They cozied into a booth at the front of the saloon, and Arthur poured the rosé, and they touched glasses. “To Sean,” said Mary Beth. It had become a tradition between them. Despite his big-mouthed hubris in life, it was the sadness of his passing that had brought Arthur and Mary Beth together. They had not forgotten the funeral to the north.

“When are you gonna hit the tables?” said Mary Beth. “You gonna cheat the cards or play fair?”

Arthur gave her a look. “I ain’t gonna cheat cards with you here, Mary Beth.”

“Why not?”

“Because it ain’t gentlemanly to cheat cards in front of a lady.”

She smiled.

They sat and drank and talked for a while. Mary Beth had an idea for a story of which an old veteran, not unlike Hamish Sinclair, was the star. Arthur liked listening to her talk about her creative brain and all of its weird inner workings and ideas. He was no storyteller but he felt a natural inclination toward language and always had. He was a tough cookie and over many years had grown accustomed to the idea that his inner life was worthy only of hiding. But two weeks of loving Mary Beth made him a little more sure of himself in that his depths were meaningful. He was not weaker for them, or at least they did not change who he was. It was freeing and made him periodically dizzy while participating in their conversations. She expected him to be smart, and she expected him to think deeply. This was the difference between Mary Beth and so many of the other people in his life—including certain of the women who had once claimed to love him. Mostly this meant Mary, but she was so far out of his heart by now, he could hardly remember their troubled times as well as their times of bliss.

Arthur didn’t tell Mary Beth about Hosea and his state of mind from earlier that day at Shady Belle. He didn’t want to pressure or worry her. Also, his tendency was not to go counting on things that were still ideas and preferred concrete proof before he made his plans and decisions. He would not make any decisions about Mary Beth getting pregnant until Mary Beth was pregnant. Until then, they were just moving along. Until then, it was just them two, and he felt safe with that because he knew he could talk to her about anything.

After some time, Arthur was getting ready to go see about the poker game across the room. But a group of young men had entered the bar a little while before, well-dressed, sort of loud, and now one of them was approaching he and Mary Beth at their booth. He was wearing a derby hat and an annoying tweed jacket, and he was looking like a schmuck on vacation from classes at the university. He was also drunk, and slack-jawed, the front of his pale ascot soiled with what appeared to be whiskey or beer. The moment he sat down across from them, Arthur raised his eyebrows and picked up his glass and looked at Mary Beth. She was looking at him, too, in confusion.

“You know this guy?” she whispered.

“No,” said Arthur. "Do you?"

“No. Do you think he’s lost?”

Arthur sighed, set down his glass, and looked at the college boy. Then, he knocked on the table, loudly, three times. “Hey,” he said. Then he snapped his fingers in the young man’s face. “Hey.”

He grunted.

Arthur continued. “May we help you with something, boy? Because if not, I kindly suggest you move on.”

“How much?” he said finally. He was speaking to Mary Beth and ignoring Arthur, which was unexpected. It seemed dangerous, but Arthur did not interject at first. The young man was sort of swaying from side to side. He had hollow, glazed eyes.

“Excuse me?” said Mary Beth.

“How much is he paying you?” said the young man.

“Paying me?”

“I’ll triple it.” He reached into his pocket, started counting through the bills in his leather wallet. “You’re the prettiest dove I ever seen.”

Mary Beth got pissed off, once she realized what he was talking about. “I ain’t no dove,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And even if I was, I’d be discerning. I wouldn’t touch the likes of you. Drunken college boys don’t really blow the wind up my skirts if you know what I mean.”

The young man got rowdy then. He smacked his hand down on the table. “How much,” he said, louder this time.

That started something.

Arthur reached across the table, with alarming speed. He garroted the young man with one hand, holding him to the booth. The young man made a loud, guttural noise, and his eyes got big as melons. “What the—”

Arthur studied him, raising his chin a little. Then he lowered his voice, collected, and spoke. “You wanna raise your voice to a woman?” he said, filled with meanness.

The young man, his eyes bugging, shook his head, though there was little room for movement. "No—" he managed.

“Good,” said Arthur, real smooth. “That’s good. Because if you do, know you'll pave your own path to eternal damnation, boy. But I promise, if you raise your voice to mine again, then I will pave that path for you. Understand?”

The young man nodded again. Arthur held him there for a moment longer, to make it really count. Then he let him go and casually straightened and dusted off his ascot as if nothing had happened. The young man gaped, confused, looked at Arthur and apologized.

“Don’t apologize to me,” said Arthur, sipping his whiskey. “Apologize to the lady.”

The young man gulped, capitulated. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“You’re forgiven,” said Mary Beth.

Then he rushed out of the booth, and quickly out of the saloon. Standing by were John and Charles, with keen eyes. Arthur put them at ease with a single two-finger salute. It then took him a minute to compose himself. He took another drink of his whiskey and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Mary Beth, after a long, deep breath. “I just don’t appreciate men with bad manners. Makes my damn blood boil.”

“It’s okay,” said Mary Beth. She was holding his hand under the table now. “He deserved it, and thank you, by the way. I mean, I know you never would’ve actually killed him.”

Arthur laughed to himself. He reached for the bottle of rosé to top off Mary Beth’s glass. “Probably not,” he said.

After that, the night went quickly. Arthur won four hands of poker with Mary Beth standing by his side, lighting his cigars and fanning herself demurely with a Japanese-style fan she brought herself. John had secured them a couple rooms upstairs and before they tripped off to bed, Mary Beth went to the bar to buy a bath.

“It’s been a long time since I bathed in anything but a river,” she said to Arthur as they went upstairs. He was chewing a toothpick. “You wanna come?”

Arthur smiled. In truth, he preferred Mary Beth bathing in the river. He would have her any way, but straight from nature—that was what he liked best. When her curls got long and straight and wet and they went all the way down her back, and the world smelled clean and big and cold and free. He longed to return. The swamps had begun to stifle him once more and the city was but another trap in elaborate disguise. He removed the toothpick from his mouth and placed it behind his ear. Even still, he would have her any way. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

The bathwater was hot and that was one thing that you forget. The water is warm, and the soap is slippery. Mary Beth scrubbed the soap into Arthur’s hair and molded it so that it was shaped like a spike. Then she rinsed it, and it fell flat to his face and made him smile. He scrubbed her hair, too, and it felt good on her scalp. Once they were clean and the water was still warm but beginning to cool, Mary Beth sat facing him, holding his hand and tracing the hard parts and the creases with her fingers. Once in Kansas City she had met a woman at a saloon who knew palmistry. For fifteen cents, she read Mary Beth’s palm and for another fifteen cents, she taught Mary Beth some of the meanings of the lines and the shapes of the hand. Arthur’s hands were big and square—of the earth, if she wasn’t mistaken, reliable and practical in the way they manipulated the world. His heart line was deep and solid, suggesting that he cared intensely for the people in his life, but there were breaks here and there. It wasn’t easy, she thought. There had been a lot of adjustment and a lot of pain. His lifeline was short and very deep. He traveled alone. He had seen and experienced many things, but almost always in a state of independence and solitude. Sometimes, she thought, he seemed to prefer it that way. But not always.

This was all she could could remember. She said nothing of it, closed his fingers into a fist and let his hand drop back into the soapy water. He was very relaxed, leaning back with his head on the rim of the tub, eyes closed. In this moment, she felt as if she were looking in on some private moment of Arthur's. Their love was new, and while they had fallen hard into a regular pattern of intimacy, she knew that a part of him would always be separate from her. Not in a bad way, just in a real way. She could not share his body, or his mind. That was just a complex strangeness of loving someone this much. No matter how much she wanted to climb inside of him and live there, she could not. She sighed. Her sigh must have sounded like something—something loaded. He opened his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he said, scrubbing one of his hands into her hair.

She shrugged. “I miss the river,” she said.

This made him laugh. He looked at her, real hard. “Me, too,” he said. Then he sat up, disturbing the water. Some of it splashed out of the tub and onto the floor. He became serious. “You sure you wanna do this?” he said. "The party?"

She got wistful. She was flushed in her cheeks and on her chest. She could feel it. She had fair skin that could get a little splotchy with the heat. “Yes,” she said, smiling big, real positive, just like she was wont to do.

Meanwhile, John and Charles stayed down at the bar a little while longer. Once the poker game ended, the tables began to clear out, and the bartender dimmed the lights, and the overall mood of the place changed. It was no longer lively and awake and instead became blue and filled with mystery. The boys each ordered a big glass of bourbon like a nightcap and sat across from one another at a booth in the corner, listening to the smoky sounds of the piano. They sat in comfortable silence for most of ten minutes, drinking and watching the people go in and out of the saloon double doors. Then, at some point, Charles cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I haven’t been here that long,” he said, turning the heavy glass slowly between his hands.

"And?" said John.

"And," said Charles. “I still think I know Arthur.”

“He’s an open book when he wants to be,” said John, watching the bartender. He was drying a glass with a long, linen towel.

“I get that,” said Charles. “But I just—I get the sense that he hasn’t been happy for a long time. I've been meaning to talk to him about it, but it's been a lot going on, for everyone.”

John nodded. He took a long drink and looked down at the scars in his knuckles. “He’s had some fucked up shit happen to him,” he said. “I mean, we all have, but losing a kid? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Jack.”

“Arthur had a kid?” said Charles.

“Yeah,” said John. “He died, maybe nine years ago? Murdered. Him and his mama. He should be thirteen now, on his way to becoming a man. Instead—” John trailed off. He shook his head.

“Jesus,” said Charles.

“I know,” said John, taking a drink. “But Arthur. He just wears it, you know? He don’t complain. I don’t know how he found the will to get past it, but he did.”

Charles finished his glass in one long swallow. He set it down, his eyes watery. “I’m happy for him,” he said. "And her."

“Me, too,” said John.

“He’s like a brother to you, right?” said Charles.

John nodded again, taking a drink. “I guess so.”

Charles sighed. He took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and then he said the pack and the matchbook on the table and slid it across the John. John took one, lit it, and they smoked. Somewhere in the room, a drunkard was yelling at a woman. The bartender slapped him across the face and a large man in a black vest came and threw him out.

“I had a girl once,” said Charles after a little while. He had smoked the cigarette down in almost no time flat. He put it out in the ash tray on the table.

“What was her name?” said John.

“May,” said Charles.

“That’s a nice name.”

“Yeah,” said Charles. “She was a nice girl. An artist. She used to mold flowers and animals out of clay. We met in Boulder, maybe a year before I met Dutch.”

“What happened?” said John.

“A fever,” said Charles. That was all he said. He then removed one more cigarette from the pack and set it on the table.

John just stared at him. It was so sad. “I’m real sorry, Charles,” he said. “That’s no good.”

“You’re lucky,” said Charles. He took out his knife.

“What do you mean?”

“Abigail,” he said. He split the cigarette open with the tip of the knife. He flattened it and removed some of the tobacco, sprinkling it to the floor. “Don’t blow that, man.” He then took a little bag of dried marijuana plant out his front pocket. He broke apart one of the buds and put the plant inside the guts of the cigarette with the tobacco. Then, he closed up the cigarette and sealed it with his tongue. “You want one?”

John finished his whiskey. He set down his glass, and he slid it to the wall. “Sure,” he said. Then he stared at the cigarette.

John hadn’t smoked marijuana since he and Arthur had scored a bagful off a belligerent bull rider in Kansas City, five years before. In fact, it had been the same year Dutch had brought home Mary Beth and the year that Abigail would get pregnant. It was also the year before John would leave the gang. When he left, he went to Salt Lake City and joined a pack of moonshiners for a couple months. When that didn’t pan out, he stole a wagon off them, bought a shack in the hills near Logan and drank himself to a right stupor. He felt bad about everything. He felt bad about Abigail, about the baby, about Arthur. He couldn’t shake it, so he drank. At some point, he decided he had to go back, but it was too late, and Dutch and the boys were long gone. He spent the next five months searching for them. It was harder than he’d realized. He never told no one that was how long it took. He found them, eventually, in Arizona, when word hit that a couple of blots-on-the-town had robbed a bank in Flagstaff. The pictures on the wall in the Sheriff’s Station were of Arthur, Bill, and Karen. A goddam fuckin trio if he ever saw one. He almost cried, he was so relieved. He tracked them to the heels of Oklahoma not two weeks past. When he showed up to camp, it was the middle of the night, but Arthur being Arthur, was out chopping wood all by himself. When he saw John, he came right over, but he would not speak. He beat the living shit out of him instead. John had no recourse. He tried to fight back at first, but after a while it was clear that Arthur was his superior in strength and also in pure, unmitigated rage. John came out of it with a fucked up face and his arm in a sling. They didn’t speak at all for weeks.

He got high with Charles and then together, the two of them went for a walk along the city streets, looking at all the painted doves there and how they posed, trapped tightly in their gilded cage of St. Denis.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #mary beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #hosea matthews #charles smith #john marston #a funeral

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seriouslycromulent · 5 years

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MCU’s Captain Marvel - Thoughts, review & more

I’m off to see DC’s latest superhero reincarnation Shazam later today, but I wanted to make sure I captured my thoughts on the MCU’s last superhero outing, Captain Marvel, so I don’t get my feedback crossed.

I know I’ve said in the past that I’ve been a bit burned out when it comes to comic book movie (CBM) adaptations, but there are a few here and there that still catch my eye, and essentially I’ve boiled it down to: “Does this genuinely pique my interest?”

Now, I wasn’t too interested in Captain Marvel based on the trailers and didn’t plan to see it, but I struck a deal with my Mom. (Backstory: She and my stepfather go to see all the superhero movies because, hello!, they’re the nerds that nurtured this Big Nerd. Seriously, I started reading comic books because of them, and my geekery just grew and grew. I rely on them often to fact check the fandom details most comic book nerds on Tumblr claim to be authorities on. And yes, their 40+ years of comic book knowledge and expertise puts most of you to shame.)

With that said, she wasn’t very interested in Shazam. She said it looks like they’re aiming for a kids-only audience, and that made it kind of m’eh to her. But I said I would go see it because I’m a Zachary Levi fan. Billy Batson’s OK, but for me, it’s the casting of Zach that piqued my interest. So the deal was that she would see Captain Marvel and tell me if she thought I’d like it. And I’d see Shazam and do the same for her. Based on her commentary, I went to see CM, and now I’m returning the favor.

That was the intro.

Now, here’s the set-up.

If you’ve read anything related to the CBM-world here on my Tumblr, you know that I am a supporter of the DCEU, X-Men and the MCU, but I go hardest for the DC universe. You’ll also know if you stop by often that my point-of-view rarely matches up with the popular perspective within the fandom world, in general, or in the fandom communities, specifically.

But unlike some (dare I say, many), I never want to harsh anyone’s squee! If you loved something that I didn’t. Bless you. Live in that love, and pay me no mind. I have no desire to rain on anyone’s parade simply because I don’t land on the same conclusion regarding comic book characters or their feature film adaptations. I don’t think less of you, hate you, or even care if you don’t agree with me. If you do, that’s cool. If not, that’s cool too.

But before I jump into my mini-review of Captain Marvel, allow me to prepare you for how I roll. Here are some examples of where I landed after watching many, but not all, of the films from the MCU, DCEU, X-Men, Deadpool, and Spiderman franchises. I repeat, I rarely share the popular perspective or take on a CBM as the masses. You have been warned.

I enjoyed Ant Man and the sequel. If they made a third film, I’d see it.

Logan is a brilliant masterpiece, and I would change absolutely nothing about it.

Although I’ve never been a big fan of origin stories because they’re typically written like the audience is simple and can’t appreciate anything beyond the most cookie-cutter of plots and a paint-by-numbers of good and evil characters, I enjoyed Sam Raimi’s first film of the Spiderman franchise the most when it comes to comic book adaptation origin stories. So far, he’s still the person to beat in this category.

I enjoy most of the X-Men films, but often find the changes they make to the characters unnecessary and poorly executed. I also want Bryan Singer to leave the Summers boys alone.

I found the Wonder Woman film completely underwhelming. Why? See my #3 regarding origin stories.

I enjoyed Black Panther, but was not really wowed by it.

I enjoyed both Deadpool films, but I still think his character is highly overrated by male fans. I like the movies for what they are. They don’t really say anything. You’re just meant to “Ooh!” and “Aah!” and LOL! Then go home. I can respect that.

I thought Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice was brilliant, and easily one of the best comic book-based films of the last 20 years. That film is a work of art, and I’m saddened that Zach Snyder’s vision wasn’t appreciated and respected by the studio. Even if the mainstream public thinks that comic book movies should be light and fluffy with virtually no connection to any messages of substance or strong characterization, the studio should have respected his vision and let him complete it with Justice League.

I liked The Avengers and I thought Age of Ultron was pretty decent, but I felt that Civil War was a mess of poor characterization, weak execution, absurd conclusions, unresolved tension, and a dispensable villain unworthy of the audience’s time. Literally everything the mainstream public and MCU fanboys (and fangirls) complained about Batman v Superman applies to Civil War, not to BvS. Civil War was the film that was rushed, and it shows.

I have virtually no interest at all in the main storyline of the MCU anymore. I don’t care about Thanos. I didn’t see Infinity War, and I don’t really plan to see Endgame. Yes, I’m aware of certain events happening regarding specific characters. Still don’t care. The run-up to this final showdown with Thanos was so poorly done and underwhelming that I have no emotional investment in this fight anymore.

Now, if you’re still reading, I want to say thank you for sticking around and ... welcome to my brain. Since this post is already long, let’s dive into Captain Marvel.

I saw the film twice. So that right there should tell you I enjoyed it. Yet, the weekend it came out, apparently, a bunch of fanboys and a handful of critics took to their keyboards and YouTube channels to review it and cry disappointment. Ultimately, I didn’t care too much because, again, it didn’t really pique my interest.

Then my Mom told me what she thought about the film and how it was the antithesis of what the fanboys and reviewers were claiming, and this ... is what actually piqued my interest. I love a good mystery, and I felt as if I needed to see the film for myself to not only see what the hubbub was about, but to also determine who was wrong/right.

So I saw it the following Tuesday after its opening weekend. And I walked out feeling as if the MCU had finally grown up.

What I liked

The 1990s nostalgia without the 1990s “nostalgia.” That is, the language, the clothes, the tech, the venues, etc. were all great throwbacks to this oddly romanticized decade without any of the romanticizing. As someone who was a teen throughout the ‘90s, and remembers it somewhat differently than others, I appreciate that. Respect.

Maria Rambeau. She is a best friend who gets to shine and enjoy the spotlight in her own way. She also has dark skin and short hair. (Yes, it matters.) But more importantly, Maria Rambeau isn’t a sidekick. Instead, she is the best friend everyone dreams of. Not only is she smart, fearless, and a badass behind the controls of a space-worthy fighter jet, but she’s also not judgmental. I don’t know many people who wouldn’t have some residual anger over being made to believe their ace boon was dead for 6 years, then one day just knocks on your door and say “What’s up? I’m not sure who I am.”

The villain-turned-not-so-bad-after-all Talos, played to perfection by Ben Mendelssohn, has the best one-liners and reaction shots in the film. Also, we get aliens with a variety of accents, character depth, and families.

Despite the fact that the passengers on the light rail/subway car saw the “old lady” could handle herself in a fight, the surrounding passengers did get involved to try and pull Danvers off of the old lady because, from a common sense perspective, this young woman should not have been trying to beat the hell out of an old woman. Kudos to them for trying to do the right thing.

I’m scared of Ms. Monica and her guilting her Mom to fly with Danvers, Fury and Talos on a life-endangering mission. When she said, “Just think about what kind of example you are setting for your daughter if you don’t go?” I was like, “No, she did not!”

The perfect subversion of the “prove to me you can beat me without weapons” gag at the end. Not only because it means that Yon-Rogg (Jude Law’s character) might show up in later films, but because that trope is sooooooo annoying. Plus, we all know she’s stronger, so why bother?

There’s some subtle commentary about the treatment of refugees as terrorists or enemies of the people by the same people who made them refugees in the first place. I would like to think that commentary is intentional, but that may be asking for too much.

What I didn’t care for

The CGI on Phil Coulson’s face. Um, yeah. That was not good. It would seem they spent more time on getting Samuel L. Jackson’s face just right so he could look believably younger, but then they ran out of time to do the same for Clark Gregg.

The CGI they used on Annette Bening’s face is ... not great in some scenes. Not all. Just some.

Why does Danvers sitting down with Fury in the bar for a Q&A about their past provide proof that they’re not Skrull? If the Skrull can’t adsorb distant memories, then this Q&A would only fill you with confidence to trust the other person if you actually know the other person. Danvers didn’t know Fury before that day, and he didn’t know her. Sitting there and answering questions only lays the groundwork to determine if they’re not Skrull later, but it shouldn’t provide proof that they can trust that the other isn’t a Skrull at that very moment. Also, how does Fury know that the Skrull can’t shoot blasts from their hands? He’s just going to take her word for it? Although given he was told by his “boss” to stay close to her and find out what she knows, I could see this as him simply playing along for the sake of his mission.

I’m not really buying this imaginary world where a black woman in the military is taking the time to keep her hair straightened while flying jets and working on special aircraft missions. However, I will suspend disbelief this time due to the fact that Rambeau was working on a top secret project and therefore was not necessarily hindered by the typical schedule of the average fighter pilot. ... This time.

I wished we could have seen more of Gemma Chan. Yeah, Minn-Erva’s a bad guy, but ... it’s Gemma Chan. I already had fanfiction theories playing in my head about her relationship with Yon-Rogg before I left the theater.

What I loved

We go on a journey with this character. We learn about her as she learns about herself, which is what keeps us invested beyond the “she’s going to be Captain Marvel by the end of the movie, obvs.” idea. This is an origin story done in a far more interesting and captivating way than anything presented in the Marvel cinematic universe since Iron Man. We get flashbacks to the most unassuming events of her life that later turn out to be the most important ones. Where others complained about this approach to an origin story, I wholeheartedly applaud it. Nothing in CA: The First Avenger, Thor or Ant Man was as clever or interesting as this angle when it comes to introducing a superhero’s origin.

I don’t want a flurkin. But at the same time, I want a flurkin.

Having a villain who turns out not to be a villain, and a mentor who turns out to be our actual villain, was to me another sign that the MCU has finally realized that complexity isn’t a bad thing and not every story must have a one-note single-purpose villain. Yes, we get a little bit of that in Ronan (Lee Pace’s character), but to lead the audience down this road where not all the information you receive can be immediately trusted suits me just fine. It’s realistic and engaging. Danvers’ confusion mimics our confusion, but not so much that we can’t enjoy the story. We don’t have it all figured out and determined who has the moral high-ground until she does. I love that. And as a writer myself, I respect that.

I love, love, loved the 1990s songs in this movie. Not only because the songs reminded me of my adolescence and you can never go wrong with Garbage’s “Only Happy When It Rains,” but because No Doubt’s “I’m Just A Girl” is THE perfect song for the big showdown between Danvers and her former Kree brethren. I almost jumped out of my seat in excitement when I heard that music intro. Kudos to whomever made this soundtrack!

There is no love story. Unless you count the love between 2 best friends/family being reunited, there’s no love story. Thank you.

When I first started watching the film, I had to scratch my head. I thought, “Since when are the Kree good guys?” After watching every season of Agents of Shield and knowing how it’s the Kree who leave mankind dangling on by a thread, manipulating them, torturing them, and turning them into their own little ant farm, my brain had to pause and question this version of the Marvel universe where Danvers is a Kree. But as the story continues, of course, we’re led on this journey where we learn 1) I was right not to trust the Kree as good guys, 2) there are some Kree who are good and Dr. Mar-vell is one of them, and 3) the MCU is capable of writing stories where character development isn’t sacrificed just for laughs and boss fights. See what I mean about growing up?

I think that’s it for now. This review is already long enough, and I’m sure I could discuss more details about the film if I had more time. Yes, I am aware of the mainstream critic and fandom backlash against the film. I’ve heard some of the complaints, and frankly, I struggle to find the justification for them anywhere in the film.

I read one critic complained saying that because the audience doesn’t know who Danvers is from the beginning, she’s hard to root for or identify with. I disagree. The audience learns as Danvers learns. And by the end of the film, it’s clear that what matters most about her is not her name or where she’s from, but what she does with her power. Personally, that’s a great message to everyone when you think about it.

I’m also aware that a lot of the fandom backlash has been ... how do you say ... male-driven. I think that’s unfortunate given that Captain Marvel is the MCU’s first female-led superhero movie and it’s long overdue. I don’t know if CM is flawless (I doubt it), but I know I enjoyed it as much as (and in a lot cases, more than) the other superhero origin MCU films. The message was great and the character relatable.

No, I’m not saying everyone can relate to a human-turned-all-powerful-superhero by a blast that should have killed her, but we can all relate to understanding that it doesn’t matter how many times we are knocked down, what matters is how many times we stand back up.

I’m not usually one for the hokey, after-school special messaging that a lot of MCU films (and DCtv shows) push, but that message about what makes her a hero (the standing up after getting knocked down) seems just as powerful as the message behind what makes Steve Rogers a hero (it’s not the special serum, but the fact he was willing to die for his countrymen in battle). I’m not sure how Danvers’ story is less worthwhile than Rogers’ story.

As for fanboys saying the studio should have just made a film about Natasha/Black Widow, it’s statements like that that make others wonder if your dissatisfaction with Captain Marvel isn’t rooted in misogyny. You would rather watch an origin film about a female team member on an already predominantly-male team where she plays a role, but is in no way as strong or as powerful enough to go toe-to-toe with most of the team members. Hmmm?

Hear how that sounds? There’s nothing wrong with liking Natasha. She’s the bomb. But again, making a film about Black Widow instead of Danvers, leaves the Avengers with one less female character, and one less character who can kick ass and take names with the big boys. The fanboys -- whether intentional or not -- have painted themselves as afraid of Captain Marvel’s strength and the power she has to be actually considered an equal to the other members of the team.

Perhaps if they said the MCU should’ve made a standalone or origin film about the Scarlet Witch, the misogyny wouldn’t be as glaring.

I don’t know. I’ll leave that argument for others for now. I’m heading out to movies now. Shazam here I come!

#captain marvel #shazam #brie larson #zachary levi #mcu #dceu #dceu positivity #wonder woman #batman v superman: dawn of justice #dc comics #marvel comics #avengers: endgame #avengers: infinity war #zach snyder #justice league

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presumenothing · 6 years

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知否【番外 • 朝歌】

excerpt translated from original post @ lofter

(apropos of nothing, a translation of my favourite scene of this fic because why not, really?)

(context notes: from that fic where Changsu survives the final battle but gets amnesia, emperor Jingyan goes to meet him disguised a commoner, lots of court shenanigans and plot things ensue, very good 10/10 would rec – this scene specifically is from a bonus chapter post-ending, after Changsu has been Minister of War for a couple years, and is surprise-visiting the Capitol Patrol with incognito!Jingyan, because Jingyan.)

Changzhi Alley was not far from the Capitol Patrol, and they arrived in a blink. Mei Changsu and Xiao Jingyan descended one after the other, identified themselves to the soldier standing guard at the door, who stammered hesitantly for several moments: “This… our Commander Lie isn’t here right now, Minister... do you want to come another time?”

“I’m not here to see Sir Lie.” Lie Zhanying was out of the city on business. Mei Changsu had intentionally sent him out, and so naturally knew this, “I’m only here to look around, is that a problem?”

“No, of course not,” that soldier hurriedly stepped aside and said, “Please come in.”

Mei Changsu moved forward to enter, and Xiao Jingyan quickly caught up a few steps behind, said softly: “Army men have their own rules. Be careful, don’t get yourself hurt.”

“I know.” Mei Changsu answered shortly, heading straight for the drill grounds.

Xiao Jingyan shook his head helplessly; as if this looked like he knew it at all. He had no choice but to follow closer. Further behind them both, Li Gang was already thinking about whether he should call Fei Liu over.

This person before them was Chief Mei, was Minister Mei, was Sir Su, and none of these identities would let him charge by himself into the middle of a crowd of army men. Yet there was still Young Marshal Lin, the only one you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

On arriving at the drill grounds, they saw a large group of Capital Patrol soldiers practicing horseback archery. Having commanded the soldiers of Jing Manor for more than a decade, Lie Zhanying really did have a way with leading men. Even though he was absent today, this daily practice of the Capitol Patrol was still not chaotic in the slightest, only giving the impression of thorough and meticulous order. Mei Changsu had led men himself to start with, and in these few years as the Minister of War, the number of armies big or small that he’d seen was far from few. And he truly hadn’t seen any with such organised training among those either; not too different from the Chiyan army, even.

“Not too different”, meaning that there was still a difference.

But Qi Meng was with the Capital Patrols today. He was an old hand from Jing Manor, and there’d already been some old offences and exchanges between them when Mei Changsu had been Su Zhe. Now, seeing Minister Mei having come alongside His Majesty, he immediately put down his bow and arrow, ran over and asked brashly: “Minister Mei, how are you free to come over today?”

He’d grown some brain in these few years, at any rate, and didn’t blurt “Sir Su” once he spoke, nor did he directly mention the identity of Xiao Jingyan, who stood behind Mei Changsu in a commoner’s clothes. His Majesty the Emperor was immeasurably relieved by this.

But Xiao Jingyan could no longer feel relief, very soon after.

Mei Changsu nodded, smiling: “The year is ending soon, I thought I’d come give the men my new year’s greetings a little earlier.”

“Oh, oh.” Qi Meng agreed, then did an idiotic thing in the next moment. He turned his head and cried loudly, “Over here, brothers, Minister Mei came to wish everyone an early new year!”

In a hubbub of sound, the previously crowded drill grounds suddenly emptied of people, all having rushed in front of Mei Changsu, fists in front of their chests as they called: “Greetings, Minister.”

Qi Meng immediately found his enthusiasm: “Come, brothers, let’s put on some good shows for the Minister!”

Xiao Jingyan’s expression turned severe on hearing this.

Possibly in Qi Meng’s mind, “a good show” was just to show off and flaunt. But he’d been messing around in the army since young, had lived together with those soldiers who ranked lowest in the army, and he naturally knew that these few shows here and there were very likely to turn into provocation.

Mei Changsu looked Qi Meng up and down briefly, said: “As you please.”

“Changsu!” Xiao Jingyan warned lowly, hardly caring about his identity any longer.

Mei Changsu only answered with a smile, turned, asked those gathered: “Which of you will start first?”

Before his voice could fade, one thin and tall soldier, apparently with the rank of centurion, had already stepped forward and said: “We’re running horseback archery manoeuvres today, so let’s start with archery. Any objections from everyone?”

“Good!” chorused the men of the Capitol Patrol.

“Then allow me to start this with my inadequate attempt.” That person bowed cupped hands at Mei Changsu, and immediately someone moved forward to hand him a longbow and quiver of arrows. Taking these, that person raised the bow and nocked an arrow, the tip pointed straight at bullseye.

Qi Meng, entirely unaware of what was about to happen, still felt quite self-satisfied as he said: “This here is the sharpshooter of we the Capital Patrol, capable of hitting a willow leaf from a hundred paces. Just you wait and see, Minister.”

Mei Changsu only hid his hands in his sleeves, stance rather composed despite the situation.

A metallic ting, followed by the whistle of wind right after. That person laid the bow down, bowstring still quivering lightly, but that arrow had already nailed bullseye.

The drill grounds were quiet for a moment, then a round of cheers followed. That person turned and bowed again: “There is my inadequate attempt. Please advise me, Minister.”

Mei Changsu lowered his head, lightly toying with the tassel of the warmer in his hands: “Not bad.”

“Please advise me, Minister.” That person only stared at Mei Changsu, and insisted.

He had his own ideas of the situation. Although that arrow had hit home, his actions had not been to standard, with a flaw that was neither big nor small. If Mei Changsu could not see it, he naturally wouldn’t burst out now, but having a good laugh after the matter was only necessary.

He dared bet that Mei Changsu couldn’t tell. This dynasty had always viewed restraint to be in good taste, and practising martial arts as vulgar; which high official still knew how to draw a bow, how to shoot an arrow? And moreover, this Minister of War looked both thin and weak, as if he was lacking from some illness, and not at all like he knew any martial art.

Of course, Mei Changsu did not practice martial arts, but he was not only Mei Changsu.

This was a true case of falling victim to one’s own cleverness, of essentially showing off before a true master. That person didn’t look much older than twenty at most; who even knew what he had been doing back in those years when Lin Shu had been drawing bows on the battlefield, when he had taken the rank of command over millions of army men.

“Your archery skill is very good.” Mei Changsu said slowly, “Save that when you were drawing the arrow back earlier, you only pulled it back to your nose and not to your chin. On the battlefield such a small error counts for nothing, since being able to hit the target is what matters, but when practising on the drill grounds, those rigorous standards should still matter above all.”

“Thank you for the advice, sir.” But that person did not give up: “Please demonstrate, sir.”

The entire field fell quiet at these words. Qi Meng finally understood how major an error he’d made, and hurriedly attempted to mediate: “This… this… Minister Mei is a scholar, how would he know archery? All of you back to practice, back to practice!”

This attempt was worse than nothing at all.

But that person didn’t leave, only held his hand with the bow and arrow out to Mei Changsu. There was not even the slightest emotion in his eyes, but it was more provoking than even provocation itself.

Mei Changsu sighed softly, and said to Li Gang: “Get the Vaindraw bow.”

“Yes,” answered Li Gang simply, and was about to step back when he heard that archer interrupt and say, “What manner of thing is the Vaindraw? Sir Mei, a common child’s plaything is different from a bow worthy of entering the battlefield, how can you treat them the same?”

“Sir is of high status, how can he compete with you.” Xiao Jingyan stepped forward, blocking Mei Changsu behind him, and said coldly, “If you truly want a competition of archery skill, I’ll do it with you.”

The deeply-settled power of a decade as the Emperor slowly spread, and those gathered could not help but lower their heads, not daring to meet it head-on. Even that sharpshooter was no exception. But matters having reached this point, if he backed down now, the one being laughed at would be none other than him. So he could only say, stubbornly: “I didn’t say anything about competing with Sir, merely seeking advice. And Sir does not need to hit the target either, just run through the motions as a demonstration for us.”

Mei Changsu had only been silent. On hearing this, he grasped that tassel lightly, and said calmly: “Only a demonstration, you say?”

“Yes.” That person answered hurriedly.

“Very well then.” Mei Changsu said, “Hand me the bow and arrow.”

“Xiao…” Xiao Jingyan still wanted to persuade, but in the split second when he said this name he understood completely. Yes, he was Lin Shu, Lin Shu of the silver armour and long spear, going back and forth on the battlefield with the whistle of wind. Yet on this day he had been forced into a corner by such insistent provocation over a competition of archery. How could he stop himself?

The words that had reached his lips were swallowed whole, changed into: “You be careful.”

Mei Changsu only patted his shoulder, indicating him to move aside, and answered with a look that told him to rest assured.

Without the Poison of the Bitter Flame impeding his body in these recent years, Mei Changsu’s physical condition was much improved. Though he still feared the cold, still fell ill more often, most of it was non-life threatening. This bow was not a long-distance strong bow either; drawing it back was still an easy task.

The reason Mei Changsu had not dared to lightly agree earlier was his worry that the bow would be too strong, one that needed a little inner strength to draw back. But now he saw it to be only a soft bow for practice, and no longer worried. These hands had not held a bow in almost two decades; on touching a bow and arrow once again, the sensation was still familiar as if it had been only yesterday.

He’d really only wanted to see the others demonstrate, perhaps vicariously relive those days when he’d put on those grand displays in such occasions. But unexpectedly the reliving had become reality, without allowing for him to hesitate or retreat. He could actually make excuses to refuse, but he was unwilling. Who cared that it was only for one moment, that he might lose face; even if he could only become Lin Shu again in this moment when he drew back the bow fully, it would already be good fortune from Heaven. He could not ask for more.

After all, the loss of face was Mei Changsu’s to bear.

Lin Shu thought this rather irresponsibly, I only need to do what I should, and do it well.

Bow raised, arrow nocked, tip pointing right at that bright red dot on the target.

Let one hand go, fletched feathers catching the wind as the arrow flew. As Mei Changsu had expected, it hit bullseye dead centre.

The drill grounds were very quiet, so quiet that even the hissing sound of Mei Changsu taking out a second arrow could be clearly heard.

Drawing the bowstring fully back again, Mei Changsu smiled faintly, and the arrow tip deviated slightly.

Let go again, only to see that arrow go straight through the one shot by that sharpshooter earlier, splitting it into two before hitting bullseye once more.

The third time taking arrows, and this time Mei Changsu withdrew three.

This bow was too soft, Lin Shu frowned, who knew if it could spur three arrows.

So Mei Changsu leisurely tightened the bowstring slightly, and again nocked three arrows on it.

This motion was only most familiar to Xiao Jingyan. Xiao Shu was best at archery, able to fire up to three arrows at once, and all three arrows could split or stay together. Split, they could hit three horizontally-placed targets; together, they could all hit the same one. He himself could only manage three arrows on one target, at most, yet he had not seen someone split arrows to hit three targets for a very long time now.

He was likely the only one who could understand the expression in Mei Changsu’s eyes at this moment. Brimming with brightness, high of spirit.

That was the gleam and brilliance that Jinling had been missing for years, that was the person he had awaited for so long, now returned.

The bowstring shivered, and three arrows flew in three arcs.

Bullseye, on all three targets.

The entire field was silent for an instant. “Good!” someone called out first, and so echoing cries surged up like the tide. Mei Changsu paid it no attention, only stared blankly at the bow in his hands, stood blankly in a daze.

Xiao Jingyan moved forward, put the cloak around him, and said: “Let’s go.”

The bow Changsu asks Li Gang for or tries to, anyway is the one he uses in chapter 45 of the novel during the sneak attack at night, described per langyascribe’s glossary (though I altered the name):

Draw-in-Vain [畫不成] – the mighty crossbow made by the Ban family, currently in Mei Changsu’s possession; its name comes from the Chinese idiom, “there are many painters in this world, but they draw in vain a grieving heart”

#nirvana in fire #nif fic translation #nif #mei changsu #xiao jingyan #listen...... badass changsu is fav #also for the life of me i can't figure out how to translate 献丑 naturally lmao #today on: things i did because i felt like it #also instead of sTUDYING FOR MY FINALS #LISTEN I JUST REALLY LOVE THIS SCENE OKAY #ninja edit fixed some language effups

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lunamanar · 7 years

Note

Hey, Luna, are you still doing the ask thing? If so, I was wondering if you had any headcanons regarding the Leonhart and Heartilly extended families? As in, do Squall, Linoa or Ellone have other still living relatives? People always talk about the parental issues in this game, but the rest of their families possibly being around never gets brought up.

I’m always “doing the ask thing,” haha~

(pardon me I’m gonna ramble real quick and then I’ll answer your actual questions)

I actually used to do this quite a lot before I got a new job and had to move my entire family of three people and eight(8, VIII) cats 500 miles northbound. Which was…incredibly stressful, and I just had no energy or brainspace left at the end of each day to communicate much, if at all, with large groups of people. So this stuff was right out. It pretty much tore me away from tumblr for a year and a half. I’ve been really bummed about that and kept trying to “get back into it,” but my several meager attempts at jumping back in got sidetracked by life responsibilities, and especially with tumblr’s new restrictions on external links not being searchable, the whole trawling for art thing I used to do just isn’t as feasible at this point in time because I have to edit each post very carefully so it will still show up in a search. That’s time-consuming. Maybe when I go back to 3rd shift in December (I hope) I’ll be able to art-hunt “full time,” again, but I just have a limited space in which to do that, now.

However, I can still do asks! And I really enjoy them, they’re fun and engaging and, hell I admit, I like it when people want to hear my opinion on things. But I was having a hard time, uh…asking for asks, haha. It felt too much like I was begging for attention. But then stuff happened and I had the worst pain spike I’ve had all year, and I kinda just broke down and said I needed a distraction. My chronic pain issues can be absolutely debilitating, and can lay me flat in bed for days (I had to take two days off work last week). But if I can manage to engross myself in something creative, it’s like a shot of cortisone. I think I get something of a rush, an adrenaline/endorphin kick out of it, and it does a lot to mitigate whatever the hell it is that causes my problem. I mean, that’s probably true of a lot of illnesses; you get attention and positive feedback and your brain rewards you with pleasant chemicals. But whatever, it worked and now I feel like I’m getting back in the game. I just have to keep the momentum up, now.

*cough* Ahem. So you asked me a thing. I will answer.

I do have headcanons about Squall’s extended family, specifically. I’ve not built out Rinoa’s yet…partially because it just never really comes up in the stories I’ve either plotted out or written. So I can’t answer that part of it–yet–but I can talk about Squall’s.

Working backwards: starting with Laguna’s side, Laguna is the oldest of two siblings, and not one, but both of them are kinda “black sheep” in the family. Partially it was their upbringing; Their mother, Elga Loire, was overworked and underappreciated, often working two jobs to keep food on the table (which she did very well). She didn’t have a lot of time to spend with her kids because of this, and the main reason for it was that their dad, Sevren Jr., was…kind of a loser? I mean, no, that’s not a good word, but a lot of people would call him that. He was an inventor. And always, always on the verge of the one that would make it big, this time. Automated chocobo saddles, “sliding” shoes to make walking more efficient, paramagic-powered chairs….yyyeah. You get why they were broke all the time. Sevren often traveled to demonstrate his newest creations, so he was absent a lot of the time, too. But when he came back, he would always bring the boys–Laguna and River (you must see where I’m going with this double-entendre)–some new toy or strange item from whatever country or town he’d visited.

This was fascinating to Laguna, in particular. Even as a kid, he dreamed of traveling the world. When he got older, joining the army seemed like the fastest way to do that, soooo….he roped his two best friends into joining with him. Heh.

Now, River…wasn’t into that stuff so much. He thought it was silly. He preferred to help Elga when she was at home, and even when she wasn’t, he ended up doing a lot of the house chores while his older brother went out and nearly died repeatedly trying to do dumb things. River was ‘fine’ just keeping to himself, reading and listening to music when he could get the radio to pick something up. As he grew up, he became a bit of a…punk? Like, he would be listening to Bad Religion in 1992. On the other hand, maybe Dream Theater when he was feeling happy. I imagine him looking a lot like Leon in KH2, but with hazel eyes (Sevren’s were brown) and no Griever all over his clothes. He cut his own hair so it always looked a bit jagged and unkempt, and he left it semi-long. Just generally prescient. He became pretty resentful of authority because he saw how it treated his mother and conspired to keep them all poor, and him too, when he got old enough to get a job (Laguna never had one until the army). It made him all the more determined to help his mother (and father, to an extent) weather the storm until the tides changed.

But then…well. They changed. But not for the better. Their dad died, and very suddenly, of an embolism. And, bitter as she was about having to support the family nearly single-handedly, Elga Loire loved Sevren quite a bit, and fell into some pretty deep broken heart syndrome. Inconsolable, she lost both her jobs. Laguna had already traipsed off to the army with his friends, and wouldn’t be aware of any of this for several weeks. River was left to care for their mother alone, and although they owned their small home, she had to sell it just to make ends meet. She moved in with a friend, and River…well, she sent him to the army, too. She insisted, thinking it was the best way to get both her sons out of this mess. Laguna already seemed to be doing well.

River did not do so well. He survived boot camp, but deserted his first year in service.

Laguna never heard from him, after that…and their mother passed away not too long afterward.

So…that’s Laguna’s end of it. As far as anyone knows, River is still out there. But Laguna hasn’t seen him in nearly 30 years. So, Squall has a missing uncle out there, somewhere, maybe.

Raine’s side…haha, geez, I might need to make a chart. In some ways, Raine is easier because she has no siblings and doesn’t know who her dad is. But I’ve traced her lineage back a bit further, and it gets…weird, in places. I might not be able to describe all of it, here.

Raine’s mother’s name is Gale. Gale is still alive, and Squall does meet her, once. It’s a solemn, one-time meeting, more an acknowledgement than a reunion. But it’s good. Gale is very practical. She never married, and never told Raine’s father she was pregnant (she didn’t like him for a permanent fixture). She was also a businesswoman. She owned and ran a hotel in middletown Dollet for many years. That’s where Raine got a lot of her experience before setting out on her own. Gale has sandy brown hair that she keeps short, and looks a bit like a taller Ellone in business casual, haha. But, but–those blue eyes. She has those. Her relation to Squall is evident.

It’s important to remember that although I enjoy both “he named himself” and “it’s Raine’s maiden name” theories, I’m pretty firmly in the camp of Raine’s last name being Leonhart. The story of Gale’s mother, Shiara (this is Arashi [storm] with the syllables reversed), depends on it, because she is the originator. I can’t detail the entire thing here–just too long–but the brief synopsis is that Shiara was a sorceress, in a time when sorceresses (”witches”) and “resistance” groups hell-bent on killing them all were in a state of cold war with one another. When Shiara became a sorceress, she panicked and ran away. She ended up being captured by one of these resistance factions, and had what I can only call a very complicated relationship with the faction’s leader, Dericho (this is the river Jericho with the first letter changed, making it phonetically very similar to Derecho, which is yet another type of storm).

Dericho’s faction was called, yes, the Pride, and they operated under a familiar leonine emblem. Of all his ancestors, Squall probably most closely resembles Dericho facially. Dericho is slightly shorter, his hair is a bit darker, and his eyes are a bit more on the grey side, but his posture, the way he carries himself, his facial expressions, his voice, even the sweep of his hair and the length he tends to keep it are all very familiar. A lot of those qualities were apparently recessive and just skipped a couple generations before thy found a match and popped up again.

How Shiara came to have Gale is a story I’d personally rather tell in prose, but I will say that it was Dericho who essentially named her, telling her in all his years of vetting people who want to be worthy of being called a Lion, Shiara was the only person he’d met with the heart of one. She carried that with her the rest of her life.

She is not, sadly, alive, having died at a ripe old age (and not terribly, since she was prepared with a willing successor nearby). She never actually told Gale about her powers, and to the very last, Gale never knew. The touch of sorcery ended there, seemingly. Dericho is also gone.

But I’m not done yet. One more generation, and this time, Hyne’s power is quite evident. Dericho’s mother, Hanwei, was a sorceress, his father was her knight, and they were quite open about it, feeling safe with it in their particular neck of the woods. Dericho was very familiar with the touch of his mother’s magic–she used it with him the way any mother would use a gentle hand, soothing scraped knees, gently grabbing his arm to pull him out of trouble–from fifteen feet away. His father, Mael[strom], was quite happy in his service to his wife and sorceress, and both Dericho’s parents loved him very much. When they embraced him, he could feel their connections tangling around him, and it was a very comfortable, safe way to be a child.

Of course, we can’t have that, can we?

When Dericho was about 5 or 6, they had been attending a fair that ran late into the night. Dericho started to nod off, so they went home early. It was a short distance, so they decided to walk instead of paying to ride a carriage to their home. Unfortunately, as you can probably guess, they were ambushed, by a particularly nasty faction called the Ridgebacks. Upon discovering Hanwei was a sorceress…well, let’s say the result was not pretty. At all. Dericho watched both his parents die, and his mother in particular, because she had no nearby successor. He was then “adopted” by the very faction who murdered his parents before his eyes.

Without going into specifics, they took this traumatized child, a blank slate, and turned him into one of them. But…not quite. By 17, Dericho didn’t know any other way of existing than as part of the factions, anymore, but he knew he still hated the Ridgebacks for what they had done. He murdered his “mentor” of a dozen or so years, killed several people, and took several more boys near his age on his way out of that particular clan. He started his own faction, with his own rules, and one was a “special” way of dispatching witches without having to burn them to dust. The Pride made their name on this and other standards which set their bar just a tad higher. They’d been in operation for almost ten years when Shiara showed up.

Then, as I said, things got complicated.

I should also note that Shiara and Dericho both lived in Centra. It was not long after Shiara flew free that the fateful Lunar Cry occurred, which deposited the Crystal Pillar and destroyed a third of the continent. Shiara barely escaped that disaster with her life…and her newborn daughter.

So….yeah, I think that’s about it, for now. If I ever get to working out my Rinoa’s tree, maybe I’ll put that up here as well, but for now, Squall’s all I’ve got, and his is hell in a handbasket.

I hope you enjoyed it, though!

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rose-of-pollux · 7 years

Text

Another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary: In which having to go undercover in yet another musical production results in the shoe being on the other foot--Napoleon is the unwilling performer this time, and Illya is going to enjoy every dang second of it.

This is the slash version; the gen version is on my Dreamwidth, and they’re pretty much 80% identical.

Not cross-posting this as I’ll be expanding this in the future.

Napoleon stared in wordless dismay as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t even begin to describe the monstrosity he was wearing—a sequined brown costume that sparkled under even the dimmest of lights. As if that wasn’t enough, his face was decorated with green and yellow makeup to make him look like a stylized Greater Bird of Paradise. He sighed, trying to recall just how he had gotten into this predicament.

It hadn’t started this way at all; Napoleon hadn’t flickered an eyelid when Waverly had called him and Illya into his office to inform them that their old ally Janet Jerrod had found some trouble in a new musical production—possibly an indication of more THRUSH activity, with someone having taken over Machina’s prior position. Waverly had, naturally, decided to get an agent on the inside to investigate, which was why he had summoned Napoleon and Illya to his office.

And Napoleon had been ready to gloat as Waverly gave the details of the assignment—with Illya growing more and more stony-faced with each passing second. Their previous assignments with performance art—Off Broadway and at Eurovision—had ended up with Illya in ridiculous costumes and singing (much to the Russian’s ire), and Napoleon hadn’t seen any reason to think that this time would be different.

“I, ah, will do my best to look around behind the scenes while Illya dazzles everyone with his musical talents,” Napoleon had said, with his usual grin.

“Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Mr. Solo,” Waverly had replied. “However, that won’t be necessary; Mr. Kuryakin will be doing that job.”

“…How’s that, Sir?”

“You will be the one dazzling everyone with musical talents, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon’s face had turned down to a look of utter dismay; Illya, on the other hand, had cheered up immediately.

“Sir, would it not be better for Illya to do that role?” Napoleon had protested, as Illya glanced at him with a maddening smirk.

“He may be more experienced in that, yes,” Waverly had agreed. “But the fact of the matter is that THRUSH will likely be expecting him in this sort of thing. They will not, however, be expecting you.”

“…Sir, if it was a Shakespearean play, I wouldn’t have minded,” Napoleon had said. “But this sort of thing--”

“Is part of your job, Mr. Solo,” Waverly had finished. “Now, no more of this; it’s off to work—both of you!”

And so it came to pass that Napoleon was staring at his costumed self in the mirror. He was barely aware of the knock on his dressing room door.

“Go away!”

“Hmm, now that sounds familiar—exactly what I said to you during our Eurovision Affair!” Illya said, entering the dressing room anyway with several large plumes. “Ah, and look at you! A paragon of costumed perfection!”

“Did you come here to gloat?” Napoleon said, with a frown.

“Da, I did,” Illya said, without a shred of guilt, as he walked around Napoleon in a circle, taking in the costume from every angle. “And also to give you these plumes—you ‘forgot’ them when you took the rest of the costume.”

“I don’t need plumes!” Napoleon insisted. “I look ridiculous with them!”

“You look even more ridiculous without them!” Illya chided. “The plumes are what will identify you as the Greater Bird of Paradise. Now stand still and accept your fate!”

“Must I?”

“I did twice before, and now it is your turn, and I will not let you escape it,” Illya said, as he began to attach the plumes, and then let his hands run down Napoleon’s back and backside. Napoleon gave a little jump, but seemed to ease up.

“A man is a bird…” Illya sang, quietly.

“Illyaaaaaaa…”

“Shh,” Illya purred. “I promise you…” He whispered into Napoleon’s ear. “I will make this worth your while…” He ran a hand down Napoleon’s back again. “I promise…”

Illya chuckled—a deep chuckle—and Napoleon felt a spark of electricity travel down his spine.

“Illya--”

“Ah-ah-ah,” the Russian teased. “I had to dance for you when I was a peacock. Now, you will dance for me.”

Napoleon’s eyes were alight with a furious fire.

“Dance…” Illya purred again. “Attract your mate, and then earn your prize. Go on. As your coach and agent, I am supposed to assess your performance. And as your mate, you are supposed to be showing me what you have to offer.” He smirked. “Dance. Show me what you’ve got.”

His eyes still afire, Napoleon danced his routine, not taking his eyes off of Illya’s who watched him, the smirk still on his face. Napoleon ended his routine on a pose on his knees, but then was forced to look up as Illya gently placed a finger under his chin and made him look up at him.

“That was… good…” he said. “You are obviously inexperienced, but… I can show you.”

He gently guided Napoleon to his feet.

“You are going to learn a lot of things before this mission is over,” Illya declared. “And I will enjoy every moment of it.”

“I’m sure you will…” Napoleon said, unable to stop his eyes from rolling.

“And perhaps…” Illya added. “I can see to it that you find it enjoyable, as well.”

Napoleon blinked, contemplating this, but, suddenly, he frowned.

“No pictures,” he ordered.

Illya glanced at him with a feigned look of innocence.

“Pictures?” he asked, in a tone that fooled no one. “Why, Napoleon! I wouldn’t take any pictures of you… any more than you could take them of me!”

The “deal” was a silent one—Illya offering the pictures of Napoleon in this costume for the Polaroids from Eurovision of Illya’s peacock costume that Napoleon had hidden away. And Napoleon shook his head, stubbornly.

“No deal.”

Illya let out a mock sigh.

“Very well,” he said. “Oh, and by the way… your costume needs more glitter.”

Napoleon let out a squawk worthy of the Greater Bird of Paradise as Illya tossed some glitter that sparkled conspicuously in Napoleon’s dark hair. Napoleon’s look of furious indignation dissipated as Illya began to laugh—a phenomenon so rare that Napoleon just couldn’t help but look at him with fondness.

Perhaps, he decided, he may as well resign himself to his fate—and hope that things would be as enjoyable as Illya had teased.

#Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #napollya #the man from uncle #mfu fic #drabble

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douglasrdenton-blog · 5 years

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A Countdown of Our Top Blog Posts of 2018 (Which Was Your Favorite?)

2018 was a big (HUGE) year for EHD. The staff doubled in size (SAY WHAT?!?), we wrapped up the labor of love that was the Portland Project (stay tuned for more reveals in 2019), the mountain fixer is ALMOST DONE (and by almost done, we mean there are walls and floors and bathrooms and a kitchen…furnishings are still TBD-head to this post for the most recent update), we launched two super awesome new sections of the site-all the cool kids are hanging out in the Rooms and Shop page, are you?-so yeah, pretty epic. And just wait for next year. We're predicting that 2019 is going to be full of so.many.amazing.things, and we cannot wait. Hopefully, sitting here in 365 days, we'll all look back and say OMG WHAT A FUN YEAR, THAT WAS THE BEST YEAR EVER, but before we get there, we have to wrap up this year, and what better way to do that/get all nostalgic than to look back at the top posts we published these past 12 months.

These are the stories you readers devoured (and commented on) the most. It's a grab bag of topics, from beauty to politics to house tours to trends…and a sprinkling of controversy.

#11: My Style Evolution, Where It's Going, and A Big Return to OG EHD

We originally only planned on doing the top 10 posts of 2018, but how could this post, which set the tone for what's to come here at EHD, not make it in when it was just a 100 page views away from claiming its seat at the popular table? We write our own rules around here, and no one said a “Top Posts of the Year” roundup couldn't include ELEVEN stories. This post was honestly months in the making. With two heavy renovation projects, the whole “style. play. every day.” aspect of this site (and me) kind of fell to the side, and I'm sure the team could see me twitching from withdrawals. In this post, I take a deeeeep dive into my old homes, my style and what's next for me. It's a good one, so if you missed it the first time around, don't make that mistake a second time.

#10: 7 Things I Learned After Instagramming a Photo of Obama & Losing 4K Followers

I really hemmed and hawed about whether to hit “publish” on this one, but some of the team campaigned hard for it because we knew it would cause chatter (and boy did it ever create chatter-it currently has just about 900 comments…you guys had A LOT to say here, as I knew you would). Writing about what was going on in my head before, during and after I randomly and really without too much thought posted a doctored photo of Barak Obama on Instagram one weekend night, only to have a major exodus of followers. If you've ever wanted to read my thoughts about feminism, where I stand on posting personal views on politics and, well, basically, what I learned from this whole thing, head here.

#9: A Romantic Glam Bedroom Makeover with Opalhouse by Target

It's so fun to do inventory at the end of the year of the posts that hit the most with the readers, because it's one of those moments where we get reminded of the posts we published AND LOVED. We post roughly 260 posts every year, so it's easy to be like “Oh yeaaahhh” when you see something make the list. This is one of those posts. Not to say that we forgot about this post at all (it actually had a sister post-I was tasked to showcase Target's new Opalhouse line this spring and because I couldn't pick just one way to use the product in a room, I did two rooms, duh), but I sort of forgot just how sweet and great this room was. That headboard almost broke the internet (and was almost instantly sold out on Target.com for weeks and weeks). You can't see it in this photo, but the Art Deco-y blush velvet swivel chair we used in the corner of this room was also just SO good. All around, just one of those rooms you can't stop staring at (so for good reason it made our Top 10).

#8: My Kitchen Design a Year Later: Lots to Love & Some Regrets

Another post that sparked controversy in the EHD reader universe, except this time, I didn't really anticipate it like I did in the Obama post. This post ran on Arlyn's first day as Editorial Director, so since I was busy onboarding her, I kind of got to ignore the fact (for a few hours, anyway) that everyone was VERY, VERY upset in the comments that I would even think to change anything in my kitchen that I wasn't happy with a year in. Words thrown around by you guys: “frivolous,” “ridiculous,” “wasteful.” What I thought would be a fun idea to dissect what I did in the initial reno and what, in retrospect (and after living with things), I think could work better in terms of style/design and functionality, well…you didn't necessarily agree.

#7: House Tour: Mel's New Place Makes Us Want to Declutter Immediately

EHD veteran Melanie Burstin's house tour was a year (give or take) in the making. Back in early 2017, she revealed her previous apartment in Silver Lake she shared with her boyfriend at the time, but since has moved into a smaller place for herself that she repurposed many of her pieces into. I personally think it was fun to see the same furnishings used in different floor plans (so did you guys). Mel had been making guest appearances on the blog this year since going off on her own with her Etsy shopping series, but it was really nice to hear from her and see her enviably minimalistic design eye at work again.

#6: The Living Room Rules You Need to Know

I don't want to say too much about this post beyond the fact that it was super helpful both for us to have all in one place and, clearly, based on traffic numbers, for you all, too. We walk you through all the “design rules” you need to know about to get a living room that feels “just right” and pulled together, from furniture placement to rugs to lighting (like, did you know sconces should be placed 5 to 6 feet on the wall from the floor?). Consider it our 10 Commandments for arranging your living room (well…22 commandments, but 10 felt more poetic for that tagline). Yes, all rules are made to be broken, but we all need to know the rules first to know how to break them.

#5: “I Design, You Decide”: Mountain Fixer Style

Our very first “I Design, You Decide” vote! While I miiiight regret ever coming up with this “genius marketing” idea for the mountain fixer (not because I didn't want your input, but because it was OUTRAGEOUSLY TIRESOME to design two fully pulled together schemes for every room of the house that both Brian and I loved equally…yeah, what was I thinking?), it's fun to look back at a time before I knew how much time/money/energy this whole series would take. BUT GUESS WHAT? The house is nearly done with the renovation phase, and like I said in this post, I do plan on continuing the polling process, but just at a smaller scale (sofa selection, instead of an entire living room plan, for instance). In this first post, I introduced the two styles we were considering (Refined Scandinavian Chalet-what I really wanted-and Brian's dream, Rustic Scandinavian Cabin. You guys picked…well, click over to find out (or get a refresher) and stay tuned for 2019 for all the reveals we're going to be rolling out once I get it all furnished and styled out (though I'm in no rush and plan to take my time here).

#4: House Tour: A Warm Scandi-Inspired Home

Before we got to Mel's home reveal in August, we tested the waters of showcasing other designers' work/homes with Samantha Gluck's beautiful house. Taking our #4 spot proves you guys were both into her work (which isn't surprising…she's an EHD veterans-she worked on the Cup of Jo and Oh Joy studio makeovers) and seeing house tours. Plus, the reading nook in her playroom also took a top placing in our Best of Instagram post from last week, so overall…lots of favorites here with Sam's home. We promise there are more to come in the new year, and we'll keep curating them as long as you guys keep reading them.

#3: Hair Update: The Team EHD Reveals

Honestly, we had NO IDEA this post would somehow skyrocket to top 3 for the year (with only a few weeks really to get all those page views). We made a heavy push to the intro of this post as well as the reveals on Instagram and you guys devoured it, but once our friends at Cup of Jo also shared the post, as well, that catapulted this to the winner's podium FAST. And while the comment section on this one was a bit action-packed (a lot of you professed that you were disappointed in some of the reveals, that they weren't drastic enough, that no one dared to shave their heads/go bleach blonde/whatever is worthy of being a worthy “transformation”), it was still so much fun for us to experience-and write about-a different kind of “makeover.”

#2: 2018 Design Trends for the Bathroom

Last week, we broke down all the individual trends we uncovered and contemplated this year in this post[LINK], but we purposefully left out our larger trend predictions (like this bathroom one)because we knew they had been our most popular posts of the entire year and didn't want to show our hand too early. Black fixtures, built-in ledges, monochrome everything, “wet rooms” where a freestanding tub and shower coexist in one space…all ideas that were fun to think about, some we actually incorporated into our designs for the mountain fixer and Portland project this year. Which were your favorite? Which made you go “yuck/hard pass”?

And FINALLY….OUR TOP POST OF THE YEAR IS…

(sorry if that was annoying, just trying to virtually pause for dramatic effect)…

#1: 2018 Design Trends: Kitchen

THIS ONE! We kind of gave it away in our #2 spot when talking about the sister post to this one (bathroom trends for 2018), but obviously, you guys were hungry for new, fresh, exciting ideas for the kitchen. We absolutely plan to do this one again in the new year, even though kitchen design doesn't turn over super fast, but there's always someone out there doing something fun and innovative that makes us go “OMG WE HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT THAT.” These first 12 design concepts we uncovered at the beginning of last year still feel pretty solid all these months later (though maybe things like terrazzo are still pretty niche), and we can't wait to see how many continue to play out in the mainstream and what else pops up to ogle and wax poetic on.

THAT'S IT! Thank you again SO MUCH for coming here every day (this year as well as the last eight) and reading what we have to say. Come back later this week to see what we've cooked up for 2019, a reader survey (pretty please tell us about yourselves and what you want to see more/less of this year) and lots of fun new content.

Happy New Year everyone. xx

The post A Countdown of Our Top Blog Posts of 2018 (Which Was Your Favorite?) appeared first on Emily Henderson.

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sapphic-sith · 7 years

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More Thoughts on My DC/Star Wars AU

Note: This idea mostly takes place sometime around The Old Republic Era because Zakuul. But any actual story will probably take place a few years after KOTET. IDK, I’m just jotting down and blogging ideas as they come to me. So stories are subject to change depending on when I decide to have any of this take place. Even the Galactic Empire era could work well because Zakuul would be much more like Themascyra- an isolated world lost and forgotten by time, thought only to be a myth after 3,000+ years.

Superman: The Attack on Tython had been a devastating blow to The Jedi Order. Younglings were scattered everywhere from the sanctuary of Kalikori Village to planets far from The Sith Empire’s influence. One such younging was merely a baby- a baby that was grabbed at the last minute by a young Jedi and taken onto a small shuttle. But the shuttle took heavy damage from Imprial ships before it went into hyperspace.

The shuttle barely made it to Tatooine, practically falling apart on its way. Although the young Jedi did not survive the crash, the baby miraculously did. He was found by a pair of moisture farmers and taken in to be raised as their son. Ca’al Kent (still working on the name) wasn’t just strong in The Force, he was immensely strong with it. He could move boulders since he was a toddler, leap over buildings in a single bound, some people claimed he could even fly as he levitated himself.

But once Zakuul had begun its invasion of both The Republic and the Sith Empire, Ca’al’s parents thought it best to keep him on Tatooine and away from the Jedi, fearing their son would be taken away or even killed because of his power. However, that didn’t stop Ca’al from training. The shuttle he had crashed in also had holo records of various Jedi teachings. He watched and studied all of them, teaching himself the Jedi ways to follow the Light side of The Force so he could use his abilities and strength to help and protect the galaxy.

Batman: (This one is still up for re-writes because I feel making Batman Force-sensitive would take away from one of the things that makes Batman awesome which is being badass with no powers. But being a sith seems so suiting for him. I have also debated between making him straight up sith or a fallen jedi.)

Bruz Wane (also working on the name!) was born to two of the most powerful and influential Sith lords of Dromund Kaas. Both parents worked for the Sphere of Biotic Science and founded a company that was dedicated to advancing medicine and cybernetics to help the citizens of The Sith Empire. But when an 8-year-old Bruz was leaving the Sith Opera with his parents one night, they were intercepted by an assassin who fought and killed both of Bruz’s parents. The boy would have been next had Imperial troopers were not heard rushing to the scene, causing the assassin to flee.

Bruz was determined to find out who sent the assassin after him and his parents, vowing to avenge their deaths. When he wasn’t investigating, he was training. He wasn’t nearly as strong with The Force as was expected of him, but he didn’t let that stop him either. He trained ruthlessly to master every known saber technique and honed his body into a nimble powerhouse that could take on every sort of abuse possible. It wasn’t long until he discovered that his parent’s death was caused by the corruption that ran wild within the empire. The assassin had been hired by another sith lord who worked in the Sphere of Biotic Science and wanted control over their work and dominion. But the sith lord was powerful and Bruz was determined to do whatever it took to kill them himself.

He went to Korriban to train but found little there. They were still rebuilding after the attack from The Republic and with limited resources tahnks to the tributes to Zakuul. Using his family’s wealth and resources, Bruz aided in rebuilding the Sith Academy before moving on to continue his training. He found himself training and learning with Voss mystics, ran into exiled jedi that taught him how to focus and what helping others can do to better the galaxy, he even got caught up in fighting alongside Mandalorians against the oppressive forces of Zakuul. But as he fought and trained, he did everything he could to help not only the innocent of the Sith Empire, but the innocents of the galaxy. But his primary focus was ridding th Sith Empire of crime and corruption.

Because Bruz was not a traditionally trained sith in that he never had a master, he found it quite easy to make up his own persona. He customized his own armor and made sure his gear his his identity completely. Bruz called himself Darth Jen (sith word for “dark” “shadow” or hidden”, also WIP name) and built up an influence and used his family’s wealth aid those suffering in the galaxy. He often found himself working along with the rogue “jedi” Ca’al and the two of them also soon found themselves joining The Alliance.

Wonder Woman: There was a small cult on Zakuul that worshiped The Old Gods. But unlike the Heralds of Zildrog, they kept mostly to themselves and honored The Immortal Emperor Valkorion. The leader of this cult wanted nothing more than to bare a child but she failed to find any man worthy enough to be her husband.

During a tribute visit to Valkorion, the cult leader’s sorrow was felt and when the God-like emperor asked what was wrong, she told him. All Valkorian said to this leader was that The Force can work in mysterious ways. Unbeknownst to the cult leader, Valkorian (or rather Vitiate) had used his powers manipulate The Force so the leader would become pregnant. Although he would never admit it, he knew the cult leader would tie her pregnancy to his power and further cement the cult’s loyalty to him.

9 months passed and the cult leader gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. The girl was named (insert name here, but honestly Diana sounds like it could pass as a Zakuulan name, then again most Zakuulan names are 1-2 syllables. But for the sake of this post I’m just gonna call her Diana) who was born with brilliant blue eyes and dark hair. She was strong with the Force and naturally athletic. It was only natural for her to join the Knights of Zakuul.

Diana excelled at her training and trials and rising quickly through the ranks. It was when she just moved up to The Honor Guard that Zakuul lost their Immortal Emperor Valkorion and Arcann took over and began invading the rest of the galaxy. It was clear to Diana that they were bringing pain and suffering to innocent people throughout the galaxy. But she was a loyal knight, was she not? She had a duty to protect her new emperor and High Justice Vaylin. But when rumors of the Elite Knight Senya Tirall defected due to Emperor’s Arcann’s actions, Diana found the inspiration to do the same.

Diana traveled to various worlds that were under Zakuul’s reign, doing everything she could to hep the people her empire had overshadowed. She fought against monsters and skytroopers, even her fellow knights. She went on dangerous missions to restore power plants and take down criminals that took advantage of the weak and oppressed. Diana’s compassion and strength soon reached The Alliance and was recruited to join their cause. She even adopted the red and blue of The Sith and Republic and incorporated them with what was left of her knight’s armor to be a symbol of justice to the galaxy.

So yup, that’s what I have so far. This is what I have been working on all day over the essay I should be focusing on for school. And this is just my Old Republic story and origin ideas. Once I have enough steam for the movie eras I’m sure to make a whole separate post for that. Now I have some art and toons to make....

#swtor #star wars #dc comics #star wars the old republic #superman #batman #wonder woman #I am open to name ideas!#I would love to hear other ideas and opinions on this!

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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When a Hotel Is Home: A Bellman, a Bartender and an Artist Share Their Stories

http://fashion-trendin.com/when-a-hotel-is-home-a-bellman-a-bartender-and-an-artist-share-their-stories/

When a Hotel Is Home: A Bellman, a Bartender and an Artist Share Their Stories

In partnership with Freehand Hotel NY.

Freehand New York is one of those places you hear about over and over until you finally cave, give it a visit, and then suddenly, urgently get it. At least that’s what happened to me. The hotel carries the kind of word-of-mouth lore normally ascribed to old New York institutions like the George Washington Hotel (where Freehand is now housed). But it’s actually fairly new, and it maintains both a modern and old-world charm that either confirms and defies that, depending on the minute.

Freehand New York sells itself as more than a place to book a trendy room, get a fancy cocktail, or enjoy a social media-worthy meal — although I can personally confirm it more than checks those boxes. It’s a transient space founded on the idea that art and community need to be celebrated and nurtured, and that spirit is present in the rooms as much as in the people who populate them. Sometimes I stop by for no reason. It’s a nice place to just be.

In partnership with Freehand New York, I asked three people who work at the hotel and contribute to that magic to tell me their stories. First, in the lobby, you’ll meet Hero, the friendliest bellman in the world. Then, on the 19th floor, you’ll meet Miguel, the artist in residence who’s choreographing a new dance performance. Finally, up on the roof, with sweeping views of New York City before her, you’ll meet Yoly, a bartender from Puerto Rico who’s game to make you any cocktail you can dream up. Read their stories below, and then pop over to Freehand New York to meet them yourself.

Heroni Navarro

Hero is a bellman at Freehand New York.

I am one of the bellmen at Freehand New York, which means I’m in charge of making sure people’s luggage is checked in and checked out, and that people feel welcome and want to come back. We’re diplomats, as bellmen; we make sure that everyone’s happy.

I’ve always been a very outgoing person. A friend of mine wanted me to work with him as a bellman for years because he knew I had the personality for it, so that’s how I started. At other hotels I’ve worked at, though, I’ve felt like a robot reading a script. At Freehand, we’re allowed to be ourselves and professional at the same time. We have a saying: Good vibes only. The guests bring that, too. If I’m having a shitty day, someone will be like, “Hey! Why are you not smiling? I like when you smile.” They bring me up; it’s uplifting. I haven’t had a day where I didn’t want to be at work.

There are five bellmen at Freehand. We’re close, like brothers — one is the little brother, one is the middle brother, one is the hard-headed brother. I was the first hire, so I feel like I’m the older brother. I want things to be perfect, so I take a lot of responsibility for all of us. Some of us are lax; others are more organized. We all have different personalities, but that’s what makes us work.

The wildest thing that’s happened at Freehand is probably Hotel Man Repeller. We had a wild checkout; there were like 200 people from Man Repeller who came at one time. We had all these bags lined up outside and when everyone ran to the bus, I had to move out the way because I didn’t want to get stampeded. That was one of the funniest moments for me working as a bellman. It was really fun.

The most challenging part is the physical aspect. I stand on my feet all day, I carry bags, I get taxis, I am outside in the cold, I am outside in the heat. It’s very physical. People always ask me, “Where do you get the energy for this?!” I do get tired, but I just have to bring it regardless.

I like making friends with everyone. We had this Italian guest, and I kept trying to say “nice to see you” to him in Italian, which is “piacere.” Instead I was saying, “Porcini, porcini!” This dude was like, “What?!” Turns out I was saying “Mushroom, mushroom!” We were laughing so much. He never forgot me after that. He left a note in the elevator that said, “Porcini Hero!”

I like putting a smile on people’s faces. I had a guest the other day who came up to me and told me that I’m his kindred spirit because I’m always so jolly and so happy. This guy is always here and in a good mood. That makes me feel good, that I can make an impact. That’s what keeps me coming back.

Miguel Gutierrez

Miguel is the Bard artist in residence at Freehand New York.

I am a performing artist, a dancer and a choreographer, and I also compose and perform music. I’m currently the Freehand Fellow Artist in Residence, in partnership with Bard College, where I’m using the studio space on the 19th floor to create a dance-based performance. Right now I’m rehearsing a new dance piece called, “This Bridge Called My Ass.”

The piece explores the tensions that exist between identity-based work — in this case, LatinX identity — and abstract-based work which, for better or for worse, has often been rooted in whiteness. I’m working with an all-LatinX cast and we’re playing with questions that come up for us around those issues and seeing if identity-based and abstract-based art are, in fact, in opposition to each other.

The title is a play off of this famous book in the 80s called This Bridge Called My Back — a series of poems and essays put together by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria E. Anzaldúa and a seminal text of third-wave feminism. This book was really important to me when I was younger, but a lot of issues raised in it really haven’t shifted that much. If you read one of the essays from it, you might think, This sounds just like a Facebook post I read yesterday. It makes you think about the weird, cyclical nature of our relationship to the politics and poetics of identity.

With the kind of work I do, I don’t think of dance as a mode of interpretation as much as a mode of perception. I think what I do is create physical relationships and engaged actions that then have an associative quality. When people watch a performance, their minds go through a whole range of thoughts. Dance puts people into a space where they don’t know what the fuck they’re looking at, and I think that’s a really fertile space. The same could be said for music or non-figurative painting. A lot of people get confused by dance because they think it’s supposed to be mimetic, that it has a one-to-one relationship with meaning. Like if someone does a gesture with their arm, it might mean they’re hungry — but no, they just did that with their arm. With dance, you’re looking at a group of people, and when you look at people doing something together, you start to interpret and read identity into those people, whether they want that or not.

I’ve been thinking about what it does to people to look at brown or brownish bodies doing actions that are read more as abstract. Does abstraction belong exclusively to white bodies? Do people want brown bodies to perform entertainment? We’re also using objects and different colored fabrics that obscure us and also evoke things like seeing versus being seen.

I came into dance really young. My sister was a cheerleader, and I was obsessed with watching her practice. I would teach myself the routines. Later I took visual comedy classes in school. They put me in the yearly performance of the Nutcracker because I was one of the few boys in school — boys are always overly-privileged in dance contexts. I got really into that and thought I’d end up in more jazzy, entertainment-based stuff. When I got to college, though, and learned about modern dance and post-modern dance, I realized there was this whole world of dance tethered to philosophy. I’m a person with a whole lot of ideas, and this form felt like the way I could access those things. I dropped out of college but kept working with small ensembles — companies where the process was highly collaborative.

Art is severely undervalued in this country. I’ve been in the field for some time, but I’m in the same pool of competitors as anyone else applying for stuff. When you’ve been doing something for 25+ years, to feel like there’s no security that you’ll get what you need to do what you do, that’s hard. It’s a very precarious position. Yesterday’s successes are not tomorrow’s. It takes a tremendous amount of resources to make these projects happen. The conceptual things are difficult, too — people are interested in the new, hot, young people. But I still have a lot that I want to do with my work, and I want my practice to evolve.

We’re still really early on. We’re just generating the piece here at Freehand, and we will probably perform it at a larger performance-based venue in New York. I’ve spent a lot of time in hotels because of the nature of my work. They’re like airports in that they become the people that animate them at any given moment, but no one — except maybe the staff — owns the experience of what that is. It’s nice; it gives us a different sense of allegiance while working here. It gives the place a slightly different life.

Yoly Báez

Yoly is a bartender at Broken Shaker, a bar on the rooftop of Freehand New York.

I’m from San Juan, Puerto Rico. I moved to the States six years ago and I lived in Miami for three years. That’s how I got to work at Broken Shaker in Miami. I started as a cocktail server there, and after a year and a half, they asked me if I wanted to learn to be a bartender. I started intense training for six or seven months, and after that, I was working behind the bar. But I always wanted to live in New York, so when I heard that we were opening a Broken Shaker here, I came to visit in November for a pop-up that we did here and I fell in love with the view and the location and with Freehand. So I decided to move here to help with the opening and to bring the Miami vibe here to New York.

I’ve been bartending for five years. In Miami, I was very active in competitions and representing the bartending scene as a woman. Bartending has a few big national competitions such as Bacardi Legacy and Bombay Sapphire’s Most Imaginative Bartender. I got into the semifinals of both of them. You have to create cocktails that are very creative — you can make anything that you want and you have to do an entire presentation. It’s a whole production. They have 500 to 700 submissions, and people make crazy stuff!

Bombay Sapphire was my first competition. My cocktail was called Catch My Wave — my inspiration was the ocean because I’m from Puerto Rico. It was clarified milk punch with blue foam on top. Clarified milk punch is a cocktail that has milk in it but is completely clear. It’s a five-day process to make. I wanted to do something I’d never done before. I am a filmmaker and I wanted to combine both passions, so I also created a fish tank effect by projecting a video of waves in the background. It was a trip. It was super fun. I made it to the top ten. In 2017, I also won the Pineapple Award for Rising Bar Star in Miami. It was a People’s Choice Award. I was really proud.

I like working at Broken Shaker because I can be myself. I can create anything that I want, not just vodka sodas. We have so many ingredients and so many tools to be creative; we make everything from scratch. It’s like I’m cooking but with liquid; that’s the way I see it. And I get excited to see people get excited. I like to create an experience for my guests. It’s not just about creating a good cocktail for them, it’s about creating the best experience and seeing their faces light up. For me, it’s like a performance.

I like when people come to my bar and say, “Make me whatever you want,” and then just list a few flavors they like. I like that they trust me, and I like to surprise people. I add little flamingos, alligators, flowers. I like to play around and make it fun because that’s the whole point. I don’t see bartending as a job. It’s a space to have fun and be creative.

My first day at the opening of Broken Shaker in New York, I was working the bar by myself, taking care of the entire room. I had no idea how to use the sale system because it’s a different system than the one we have in Miami, so I was taking care of the service bar, the terrace, and with the new system I was like, “Aaah! Somebody help me please!” We had 906 guests on opening night!

I love it. It’s a challenge, but it’s fun. I never thought that I would make it behind the bar. Never in my life. But the people who trained me listened to me and worked with me, and now I’m here and I love it. It’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.

9 PHOTOS click for more

Visiting New York soon? Freehand NY is hooking MR readers up with a 15% discount if you book through the website with code MANREPELLER. See you there!

Photos by Edith Young.

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