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solitaire-sol · 8 months

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Prongsfoot Week 2023 - Day 2

What Headcanons do you have for this ship? IE, things like, James made the first move or Sirius got James into crosswords. Anything really.

I definitely got carried away with this one, but...

⌘ James was Sirius' first friend; Sirius was James' first real friend.

⌘ I HC James as short until the growth spurt that puts him at slightly shorter than Sirius, so until then the taller-than-average Sirius hones his Potter Protection Instinct because James may be tiny but will still go at bigger/older Slytherins. Sirius is a little disappointed when James gets taller, and secretly gratified that James still has to look up at him a bit.

⌘ They start sharing a bed early in First Year because James has never been away from his parents for so long; he pokes his head through Sirius' curtains, sees he's awake and declares he's going to stay because Sirius obviously needs the comfort. Sirius has been lying awake, staring at the canopy, thinking about how his parents will react to his Sorting, so he scoffs but lets James stay. They both sleep very well and continue to share beds for the rest of their time at Hogwarts.

⌘ Sirius is noticeably cool to the touch, to the point that James initially thought he was sick or something, much to Sirius' confusion. James runs hot, and they both love snuggling under the blankets on a cold night.

⌘ Sirius was initially startled by James' tactile nature, then kind of disappointed and a little huffy when he realizes James is like that with everyone; when James figures out what's bothering Sirius, he ups the physicality with Sirius so Sirius knows he's special. It becomes common to see Sirius with his head in James' lap, or James sitting between Sirius' legs and leaning back against him, or constantly touching each other or each other's clothes, like holding onto a sleeve/scarf/belt. They want to know where the other is at all times, ideally by physically confirming it.

☾ Bonus Moonchaser HC: James is especially tactile with Remus as it gets closer to the full moon, going full mother-hen (checking his temperature forehead-to-forehead, stroking his hair, massages if he's achy before/after) and while Sirius never says anything, he can't help getting a little sulky/snippy because he secretly suspects Remus is playing it up. He kind of is, because it's the only time Remus can get more of James' attention than Sirius.

⌘ They sit next to each other at meals and in class, whenever they're able, so they can hold hands under the table. This starts before anything romantic, so James can support Sirius when he gets another Howler from his mother and Sirius can reel James in when he's having trouble focusing in class. When there's no table, they improvise, like sharing a blanket at a Quidditch match and holding hands under it. It's not because they're embarrassed, it's just a private thing that's just for them.

⌘ Sirius initially starts calling James 'Jamie' because James' parents call him Jem or Jemmy, and James gets horribly embarrassed when Sirius reads it in a letter from Euphemia and starts using it; he forbids Sirius from calling him Jemmy, so Jamie is Sirius' "compromise." James starts calling Sirius 'Siri' in an attempt to annoy him back, but Sirius just shrugs it off because James can't say it in any way that doesn't sound affectionate. No-one else uses these nicknames.

⌘ They both love to give each other gifts: James' varies wildly, all types and price-points, anything he thinks will make Sirius laugh or smile or roll his eyes and pretend he's not charmed. Sirius' gifts are more carefully chosen and usually more expensive because he goes for quality. Sirius also likes giving James things he can wear, which James does, because Sirius likes seeing James wearing them.

⌘ Sirius realizes his feelings are romantic first and has a thousand reasons why he shouldn't tell James, first and foremost being that Sirius Has Issues and doesn't want to inflict them on James; Sirius can lash out verbally when he feels hurt or vulnerable and he's terrified of doing real damage to James, who can brush off most things but can be terribly vulnerable and sometimes insecure where Sirius is concerned. It takes some time before James can convince Sirius that he's willing to accept said Issues and that they can deal with them together.

⌘ James takes much longer to recognize his feelings as romantic because their friendship is already romantic in so many ways; he's actually capable of hiding his feelings well because restrained-James-in-love isn't much different from normal-James-with-his-best-friend. If James is pining, it's because he knows Sirius could have anyone he wants and has no qualms about going after what he wants, and he hasn't gone after James yet, so he must not want James. James doesn't want to be one more person who puts their expectations on Sirius, so he's willing and able to be Just Friends.

⌘ When they get together, it's either completely easy and natural or comes only after pining and angst and tears and self-loathing because they shouldn't be asking for more than what they have, which is so wonderful and perfect and it'd be selfish to want anything more.

⌘ James is openly sentimental, though negative emotions are different, something to keep to himself so he doesn't worry anyone; it becomes a huge relief when he realizes that Sirius won't judge him for it, despite Sirius usually being happy to jab at everyone's weakpoints, even those of friends. Sirius is cool and aloof on the outside, but on the inside he's gushing about how happy James makes him and how brilliant James was in that duel and how amazing James' arse looks in his Quidditch kit. The difference in communication styles leads to early problems when Sirius doesn't say it aloud, so James isn't sure if he's reading Sirius right or just hearing what he wants to hear; Sirius initially doesn't know how James could not know how much Sirius adores him, but starts verbalizing more, quietly murmuring you were great out there or I absolutely adore you into James' ear at appropriate/random times. It makes James melt.

⌘ James is rebel-curious, lol, he likes bending the rules but doesn't want to disappoint his parents with "bad habits" like smoking and drinking, so Sirius technically starts them off but knows James is interested and just needs a nudge as an 'excuse'-- He never pushes for anything if he doesn't think James doesn't want to try it, which includes sex and kinks later in life. It also gives Sirius a bit of a thrill because he never completely stops seeing James as 'the golden boy,' so James smoking/talking dirty/etc will always be a turn-on. Once James finds out he's more than happy to lean into it

⌘ Sirius starts thinking about getting a tattoo, then James suggests they get matching ones, which makes Sirius' heart almost explode because James is doing something transgressive and it's permanent and they're going to be linked forever. The first tattoos are small and easily-hidden, but they like to touch/kiss each other's, even after they both get more (Sirius gets a lot more, of course).

⌘ Sirius and James spark so many sexual awakenings, separately and together. There were definitely rumors about how close they were and more than a few people fantasized about having both together. I HC Sirius as not dating/sleeping around because he's extremely selective and has a very high self-worth; he doesn't think much of other people in general. When he does get involved with others, it's usually in reaction to James being in a relationship/trying to deal with his feelings for James, and in those relationships Sirius always holds back emotionally/has to be the dominant party because he only trusts James enough for that to change.

⌘ James has a somewhat old-fashioned view of love and sex due to his elderly parents, so while he likes when people flirt with/admire him, his 'dates' tend to be more like hang-outs. He's still a teenage boy, though, which leads to James and Sirius being each other's firsts: First kiss, first handjob, ect. James doesn't like anyone else enough to consider them and Sirius hates the idea of anyone else touching James like that, especially for his first time, because what if they're not good at it or hurt him or-- No, it's best that James comes to Sirius, what are best friends for?

⌘ Sirius drinks heavily when he's stressed or sad or otherwise Having Feelings, but only in private; James is a very social person and a very social drinker, and he can go from being pleasantly tipsy to a friendly drunk to a casually slutty drunk without really realizing it. Part of the reason Sirius barely drinks in public is because he's keeping an eye on James. Sometimes drunk!James gets clingy/handsy with Sirius and it kind of drives Sirius insane, because he's sure it's just because James is drunk and not because James' subconscious is trying to get them together.

⌘ James is neither jealous nor possessive because, lovingly spoiled as he is, he hasn't ever been denied anything or had to worry about losing it; he never considers that he might lose Sirius as a friend, and he never worries about someone seducing Sirius away after they're together because no-one has the power to make Sirius do what he doesn't want to. James does get insecure, because he knows Sirius can lose interest easily and it takes a long time for Sirius to convince James that he doesn't have to worry about that, Sirius can't ever get bored with James.

⌘ Sirius isn't jealous but is possessive, both before and after he and James get together. There's not much that matters to Sirius, certainly not anything that matters as much as James, and he's going to hang onto James come Hell or high water: While usually not overt, he makes his claim known, platonic or otherwise. This is why he and Lily don't get along until after Hogwarts: Sirius would dislike someone for "stealing" his best friend even if there weren't romantic feelings involved. He and Lily are also more alike than they first seem, so naturally they clash over James.

⌘ They're both spoiled rich kids, but James knows how to cook and do chores the Muggle way because his parents made sure he did, in a 'appreciate how good you have it' way. Both of James' parents like cooking so he becomes surprisingly good at it, and he likes to cook for Sirius because Sirius appreciates it so much.

⌘ They're both well-versed in the usual manners and traditions of an aristocratic pureblood, but the Potters let James have fun with it while the Blacks stressed achievement for the sake of prestige; Sirius is better, technically, but he doesn't enjoy it until James. Dancing is only fun when James is in his arms (and vice-versa), the piano is only worth playing again because James is entranced by it, languages are only interesting when James gushes over how amazing Sirius sounds, they should go traveling together so Sirius can show off!

⌘ If Voldemort/Jily doesn't happen, they do travel and are blissfully happy, but James wants to settle down and have a family (surrogacy or mpreg) while Sirius is hesitant. He says it's because he doesn't want to be tied down, but it has a lot to do with his family: He knows happy families exist because he's seen the Potters, and he thinks James would be an amazing father, and Sirius is afraid that he'd ruin that due to his own family background. This is one of the few sticking points where they're initially really at loggerheads, because Sirius can't bring himself to be completely honest about why he's hesitant so James thinks Sirius just doesn't want a family with him. They eventually work it out, of course.

⌘ In AUs with mpreg, James is always the one who carries any kids, be it Harry or OC offspring; he loves being pregnant, he knows Sirius doesn't like the idea of being pregnant himself, and he loves how doting Sirius is during and after the pregnancy. Their children call James 'Dad' and Sirius 'Papa.'

⌘ I HC James as having a successful pro Quidditch career before suffering a near-fatal injury as he approaches potential retirement age; it scares Sirius enough, and maybe James if they already have kids, that James agrees to retire. He could become a manager/coach/commentator, but he might become a stay-at-home dad just as easily, especially if they'd been holding off on having kids. James would thrive in this role, raising the kids and gardening and making friends with neighborhood housewives and old biddies and local kids. He'd want to give Sirius the loving, happy home he never had when they were younger, and give their children the same kind of happiness he knew growing up.

⌘ For a canon/canon-adjacent HC: Sirius modifies his motorcycle to have a sidecar as soon as they find out Harry's on the way, so he and James can take baby Harry out on the bike.

#ProngsfootWeek2023 #Day 2 #prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter #sirius black #james potter x sirius black #sirius black x james potter #i type FAR TOO MANY words #i ramble when i'm sleep-deprived #headcanon by sol

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janghoefett · 2 years

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How Boba, Din, and Cobb propose 😍

Boba Fett x GN!Reader Din Djarin x GN!Reader Cobb Vanth x GN!Reader

No one asked for this, but here you go! There is nothing explicit, but all my work is 18+.

Cobb Vanth

Cobb Vanth is a traditionalist. If there’s one man who’s going to get down on one knee and profess his love from the bottom of his heart, it’s him.His romantics were always borderline corny, but it was something that always endeared you to him. So, naturally, Cobb decides to pop the question as the twin suns are setting amidst the backdrop of open sand.

With one flash of his bright smile, he doesn’t have to say a word to make you accept him, but he does prepare a lovely little speech.

“Now I know you’re probably getting an idea of what I’m about to ask you,” he smiles, nearly blushing as he looks down to reach into his pocket. “Sweetheart, I adore you. I’m not good with words like this and I wish I knew how to tell you everything you mean to me… but I do know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He pulls out a simple yet elegant ring he had commissioned by the local blacksmith, presenting it to you in his gloved hand. “Will you have me as your husband?”

You don’t need to think about your answer.

Your wedding is a town event. Everyone is elated to see their beloved marshal finally settling down with the love of his life, and Freetown is strung up with lights and wildflowers.

The ceremony happens in the town center, with mismatched chairs lined down the street and a simple altar placed at the forefront for the couple and the efficient.

There’s plenty of drinking and dancing and merry celebration to be had! It was easily the best night of your life, and Cobb is quick to whisk you away to start your honeymoon for some much needed privacy.

Din Djarin

Din Djarin is a traditionalist to some extent. He takes marriage VERY seriously, as one should, because marriage is the ultimate lifetime commitment for a Mandalorian. But there is nothing about Din’s lifestyle that is traditional... for you, however, he’ll do anything to make it work.

His proposal is going to be very improvised and very heartfelt. He’s been thinking about it for a while, of course, and has maybe even broached the subject with you with some lighthearted conversation just to get a feel for where you are at.

When Din officially asks you to marry him, it is not going to be flashy or scripted. Din speaks from his heart, like he always has, and is simple with his words.

“Marry me,” he says softly one night, as you’re lying against his chest.

Boba offers his palace as a wedding venue. It was an extremely generous offer, but admittedly you were worried that the setting would be unromantic and dark. You are quickly proven wrong.

Boba Fett does not half-ass a celebration at his palace. You marry at the top of the spire with a cool breeze drifting through the air, carrying the scent of the lavish bouquets Boba had so graciously provided.

You wondered why Boba was so intent on being a host, but he later confided to you that he values you and Djarin immensely, and after all you had been through in Mos Espa, he figured a little merriment was in order.

It’s only the bare minimum of guests in attendance. Cobb comes all the way from Freetown, Peli is there hanging on to the kid, and Boba and Fennec serve as witnesses.

You celebrate with a lovely meal prepared by the droids and retire to the ultra-luxurious suite that was made up for you on the other side of the palace, far out of earshot from anybody...

Boba Fett

Boba Fett never thought he would get married. Sure, there were others who came before you, and perhaps in his younger days he may have toyed with the idea almost as if it were a joke. But he was always just too set in his ways, and his attention was always preoccupied by the next hunt, and the next, and the next...

With you? There’s something different about what he has with you, he can feel it in his bones.

It takes him a long time to come to terms with everything. He’s not in a rush; he knows that what he has with you is real, and he doesn’t necessarily need to put any labels on it. Eventually, however, his mind starts to change, and he blames it on going soft in his older age.

Truthfully, he’s just so in love with you.

He wines and dines you at the palace one night. He looks handsome in the warm lighting, and you can just feel that there’s something special about the evening. There’s something in his eyes.. they’re softer, maybe it’s the way they reflect the light.

“I am not a young man, and my life has been lived in solitude. You have brought me life I did not know I was lacking. You have shown me far more compassion than I am deserving of. I am utterly yours, my love, and I wish to have you always... so I am asking for your hand in marriage.”

The wedding of a daimyo is quite the event. Boba wants the whole city of Mos Espa to share in the festivities, feeling that his union to you is such a joyous occasion that all should be invited. The ceremony itself is quite small, but the city erupts in a great party that lasts for nearly three days.

Fennec insists she can take care of things at home as Boba takes you on your honeymoon.

It’s private, peaceful, and calm, and Boba couldn’t ask for anything more.

#din djarin x reader #cobb vanth x reader #boba fett x reader #cobb vanth #boba fett #din djarin #star wars #headcanons #the mandalorian #the book of boba fett

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songue85 · 2 years

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Food and Trumpet

In the large (improvised) outdoor kitchen, Julieta was in her own world. They said food was her Gift. People were half right, though. It was Cooking.

To the Eldest of the Second Generation of Madrigals, Cooking was always magical. Like the alchemists of old, Julieta Madrigal was inspired, even in her young days, to create new recipes, cook up concoctions and brew ingredients together in shapes, colors and aromas completely unique. The fact that her empanadas could heal broken bones was just a consequence, the real magic was in how to make the perfect bread crust to stick, to make sure the aromatic oil was present but never drenching and how to make the best spice blend for the relleño de queso y pollo.

Today the air was filled with sweet and savory aromas, as a couple of young villagers helped out (and learned from) Julieta as she prepared a large thank you meal for all the workers, while the experienced mother stirred a cauldron bubling with a hearty potato-corn sancocho, while also getting the chicharrones cooking along the rice.

She put the ladle aside, pulled some small green twigs from her apron's front pockets, expertly plucking and crushing the mix of leaves and sprinkling the result over the green paste she left on the side, whisking them in. She took the barest sample with a small tasting spoon, gave an approving nod and passed the dish to the oldest of her helper, who was still younger than her niece Dolores. "Gilda", she said in her kind but commanding voice, "good work, the aji is excelent, just felt like it needed more cilantro myself."

Ermenegilda, or Gilda, acquiesced. She was the third child of the Monteros, excellent providers of some really good queso de capa. The young woman was here for the same reason as her elder brothers were, to help the Madrigals, but she would be lying if she wasn't taking the chance to learn as much as she could from the best cook of all the Encanto.

Some of the components for the bandejas paisas were already set on the table, and, as it was fig season, some brevas caladas were at another table, just cooling down before the lunch hour. Gilda almost missed the approaching well suited man, knowing what was about to go down and not wanting to miss a bit.

Julieta felt the hands on her hips and, with practiced ease, let herself go as her husband Agustín spun her in place, charming as the first day they met. She always wondered how someone with so much talent for dancing could be so clumsy in doing anything else. "Buenos dias, my love, how can I h-", and that was as far as he got, as a wooden spatula hit him lightly on his forehead, a gesture both adorable and threatening. "Mi corazón, I love you with all my heart, but stay away from my kitchen".

He had the decency of flushing, while giving a small laugh, "Oh, mi paz, wouldn't dream of causing any problem, just wanted to h-", the raised spatula made him shut up.

"Perdón, señora", said Julio, her other helper, a teenager just a few weeks older than Camilo and her Mirabel. His pregnancy was a risky one, and Julieta, pregnant herself, always had a time to visit his mother Andira while bringing some buñuelos to help out with the worst side effects of gestation. His birth occured with little problems, and her friend named her son after the Madrigal.

Today, Julio had been put in charge of both keeping the slow boiling of the mondongo soup and watching out for the inevitable visit of Mr. Agustín and his offers of helping. Julieta did not need to add her husband accident-proneness to her list of worries today, bless his heart.

"It's for your own good, mi amor", she said, already pouring some butter on a hot pan for the platanas fritas. "you could always-", she turned, just in time to see the large, conical golden flower.

"To you, my love", he said, his voice doing that charming tone that made her fall in love with him so many years ago. She wondered where was he hiding that before, as she picked it up, and brought it closer to her chest. A kiss on her other hand and her husband left the cook there, enamored and speechless.

The silence was broken by the arrival of her daughter Isabela, who eyed the flower in her mother's hand.

"Mamá, is that an angel's trumpet?!", she asked in concern.

"Hm... maybe? I don't know? It was a gift from you father."

"And also really, really poisonous", Isa warned. "Careful with the sap, that's where the toxin is the strongest."

Of course, "Ay, Agustín...", she said, dropping the present and running to check on her husband's condition.

-------

inspired by the recent works of @kianamaiart, @papermachette, @kinschi and FandomTrashCan ( @lunylune ), among others

#Songue85 writes #encanto #fanfiction #my work #julieta madrigal #agustín madrigal

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reinvent-and-believe · 3 years

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saying your names

Prompt: hallucination Relationships: Geralt & Visenna Rating: T Content Warnings: unintentional but constant misgendering by a parent; depiction of gender dysphoria in a small child; reference to child self-injury (scratching); abandonment issues; minor book spoilers Summary: Visenna's child is claimed by a witcher through the Law of Surprise. When she bears a daughter instead of the promised son, she thinks she's cheated Destiny. But Destiny rarely accepts such defeat. (Or - the trans Geralt mommy issues fic)

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

i. The Brave Knight

There’s an old fairy tale from far-away Toussaint, one Visenna remembers her grandmother telling her when she was little more than a babe, of a cohort of the bravest knights who gathered at the behest of the first duke to slay monsters and defeat villains and protect the land from all manner of evil. They were five in total, but none rivalled the gallant Sir Geralt, who defended the innocent and the weak, who perfectly embodied the Virtues, who fearlessly and faithfully loved the beautiful maiden Liliana. It’s a story like no other, full of heroics and chivalry, grand quests and epic romance. Visenna remembers sighing as a little girl, of braiding flowers into her shining copper hair and pretending to be Lady Liliana, rescued by that most puissant and most chivalrous of knights.

She hopes that her own daughter will love the tales as much as she did, so she recounts them while Greta lies in bed, wide dark eyes barely blinking as she soaks in every detail. She’s two now and obsessed with stories, any silly rambling thing Visenna remembers from childhood or improvises about the forest creatures near the village, but none have captivated her quite like this tale.

The next day, Visenna hears her daughter whacking at the swaying cattails at the bank of the river with a stick. “I defeat you!” comes the tremulous cry. “I Sir Geralt! I brave knight!”

It’s a small thing, and silly, yet Visenna goes cold.

ii. The Babe

When she realizes she’s with child, Visenna knows it will be a boy, feels it as sure as she feels the wind on her face, the blood pounding in her veins. She’s happy for a time. She knows the horrors women face, has seen, has felt firsthand the cruelties the world inflicts on beautiful little girls. Better a boy, then. Better a boy with a chance at a good life, a boy she can teach and train, a boy who won’t beat or violate or torment.

A mere month before the babe is due, the man returns, and finds her with child, and tells her what he’s done. He blames Destiny and the Law of Surprise and Tradition as Visenna learns a new type of cruelty men can inflict.

And so she hardens herself, tells herself that she will not become attached to what’s growing within her, this life promised to pay a life debt. “Don’t be absurd,” her friends tell her, through nervous glances. “You always assume the worst. It may well be a girl. The witcher won’t have need of a girl.”

But Visenna knows it, feels it with every spark of chaos within her and every pulse she sends out. The babe will be a boy, and she will have to give him up to the witchers, to be trained and transmuted into something other, something more and something less than the child she’ll birth.

And so Visenna grows cold.

When the midwife puts the squalling red girl with dark hair and wide dark eyes in Visenna’s arms, she sobs for days, sobs until she has no tears left and her eyes are raw and swollen. She won’t let the tiny thing out of her sight, barely lets others hold the babe, even in her utter exhaustion. Destiny may have promised her child to the witchers, but Destiny made the folly of giving her a daughter instead of the promised son.

iii. Greta

Greta will not wear her clothes.

At first, it’s almost a game. Visenna dresses her in a frock while the three-year-old protests then glares in turn when she’s overridden. She moves stiffly in the garment, pulling at the sleeves and tugging at the skirt, but she complies. But the minute she’s out of her mother’s sight, the dress comes off, and Visenna finds her naked, regardless of the weather. And the process repeats.

The struggle over clothing is only the beginning. Generally obedient, respectful, intelligent, Greta is nonetheless not an easy child, prone to inconsolable fits of panic and distress, prone to disappearing if not constantly monitored. It’s as though Visenna has birthed two different children. There’s the sullen, timid girl who hates wearing clothing, who barely speaks, who flinches at the sound of her own name, who stiffens in panic sometimes when she’s called, who cries at the slightest provocation, who goes missing only to be found after a frantic hour of searching lying on the floor in the narrow space between her bed and the wall, staring blankly, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then there’s the other child, the one who cuts dark curls short with the pruning shears from the shed, who runs fearlessly through the woods, slaying invisible monsters all around, yelling and laughing and breathless.

When a young couple with a son not much older than Greta moves into a nearby cottage, Visenna hopes that companionship will stabilize her daughter’s volatile, inexplicable moods. Instead, it leads to an immediate altercation: on the first day Greta and the boy Marek play together, the boy’s father shows up on Visenna’s doorstep, furious, with a wide, bleeding gash in his hand. He’d found them wearing each other’s clothes, he tells her. Greta had refused to surrender Marek’s clothes, and when he moved to force her out of them, she’d bitten his hand. “Like a rabid beast,” he spits out as Visenna runs past him to the small shack where Greta makes herself as small as possible, shaking all over.

Visenna shoves a few coins at the man with a glare. “Buy your son another outfit,” she snaps, and when she kneels down to Greta’s level the terrified child’s arms wrap immediately around her neck. She takes her child home in the roughspun tunic and trousers.

(Maybe she should punish the child for biting, but Visenna knows the ways men can be cruel, had seen the terror in her child’s huge brown eyes. Even if he meant no harm in trying to retrieve his son’s clothes, she can’t help being glad the child bit him rather than permit his touch.)

Visenna has never listened to Greta’s thoughts before, rarely listens to anyone’s on purpose, hates the uneasy sense of violation the act stirs up in her. But as she carries the silent, shaking child home, the thoughts ring so loudly she can’t keep them out.

Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl.

Then:

Not a girl.

iv. The Child

The morning after the incident with the neighbor, Visenna lays two outfits side by side on the bed: the tunic and trousers nicked from the neighbor boy, or the dress most frequently tolerated, a plain shift of soft linen, comfortable and loose.

"Which would you rather wear today?" Visenna asks, making the beds as usual. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees out of the corner of her eye the hesitation, and then the child grabs the boy's clothes and cradles them in trembling arms.

Visenna visits a tailor and trades in little frocks for breeches and shirts. She watches her child’s face light up when she presents them, watches the child run reverent fingers over each garment, little hands doing their best to neatly fold each piece.

She stops calling the child Greta; stops calling the child anything but child. The child doesn’t seem to mind this namelessness; on the contrary, the child thrives. The too-thin frame rounds out with healthy, nearly chubby development as the child begins to eat more than a few bites at each meal; weak, skinny arms and legs grow strong with constant running and playing in the woods near the house. Banished is the pale, terrified little girl; only the rambunctious, talkative, joyful child remains.

"When I'm a knight," the child tells her one day, coming in from the yard wearing a bucket as a helmet, "I'm going to ride a big horse."

"Oh, a big horse," Visenna echoes, ladling the soup into a wooden bowl and blowing gently to cool it. "What will you name the horse?"

The child considers this. "Does it have to have a name?"

"All creatures need a name."

The child doesn't speak for a long while. Then that piping, gentle voice rings out. "What if the horse hates its name? It won’t be able to tell me."

Visenna sets the bowl down on the table. She doesn't ask any of the questions pounding through her head as she looks at her nameless child, lost in thought. She doesn’t think about Destiny, how a witcher may well show up at her door at any moment looking for their payment, doesn’t think about taking the child there herself. "Helmet off," she says instead, running a hand through dark curls when the child obeys. "Come, eat your soup."

v. The Butcher

She first hears whispers of the Butcher of Blaviken when she’s traveling through Poviss, brought north by an outbreak of smallpox needing healers. She hears of the vile, deranged, white-haired witcher who slaughtered nearly an entire village unprovoked, even women and children. She thinks little of it. The child she left with the witchers over half a century ago had brown hair, and the years would not have turned it so quickly, not on a witcher.

If he’s even still alive.

She puts the thought away, carefully, as she has for decades.

She thinks of it a little more in Kovir. “You’re one of them!” shrieks a woman in the tavern, pointing at a bulky man sitting in the corner. “One of them witchers like that Butcher! I seen your wolf necklace!”

All eyes train onto this disfigured witcher who is not Visenna’s child. (Does her child bear scars like this? Do his shoulders stoop in such defeat?) He scrubs a square hand over his face, looking almost pained, before he shoves away from the table in silence and leaves.

School of the Wolf, then, just like the witcher she’d surrendered her child to with naught but a letter left at the inn where he was staying. Your Child Surprise will be at the crossroads by the river at midday. A few brief, stilted sentences explaining that the child was different from other boys but Destiny had chosen him nonetheless. A terse plea that the witcher treat the child with kindness, to protect him if he could. A postscript, written in a shakier hand than the rest of the letter. My son’s name is Geralt.

Vesemir. The child’s father had called him old, grey-haired even then. Is Vesemir this Butcher, the ruthless, barbarous old witcher who leaves a trail of fresh corpses in his wake? Had she entrusted the helpless child to a merciless brute all these years ago?

It’s not until the notice board outside of Tridam that she understands. It’s a fairly standard notice concerning some vague, nondescript monster that’s caused disappearances, pleading for help from any witcher, excepting the butcher Geralt. Show your face in Tridam and we’ll finish you off like they should have done in Blaviken.

Her child, the Butcher of Blaviken.

She doesn’t know what happened in Blaviken, can’t find a clear telling. Killed a woman, some say, killed an army, killed all but three people, killed everyone down to the dogs and cows and sheep in his rage. Tales grow in the telling, she knows, but she can’t dispute it. Perhaps he is evil incarnate, perhaps by sending him to the witchers she doomed the continent to bloodshed, perhaps he is the monster in these furious whispers.

But she can’t help remembering the tiny, terrified body, rocking in the corner of a shack, those wide eyes staring up at her in panic. “Like a rabid beast,” the man had said, but Visenna found only a petrified child shaking in the corner.

vi. The White Wolf

The young man swaggers towards Visenna. Between the bright turquoise doublet, the enormous feather swooping dramatically through the air on his jauntily tilted hat, and the self-assurance of his stride, he looks like a veritable peacock.

It’s her own fault. She knows she’d been staring, but the sound of that name on his lips…

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” His smile is bright and surprisingly genuine, reaching all the way up to his eager blue eyes. He’s younger up close than she’d imagined from across the tavern, barely more than a boy. “Though not half so lovely as you, I daresay. Might I interest you in a drink?”

She nods, silent. Watches him charm a passing barmaid who blushes and quickly returns with the desired ale. He slips into the chair across from Visenna, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together beneath his chin, fixing her with a wide-eyed, adoring smile.

Before he can speak, she asks, “Your song. About the witcher.” She pauses, unsure what she means to ask. “Did you write it?”

Somehow the boy looks even more delighted. “Indeed I did! By the gods, it’s wonderful to chat with a fan. It’s one of my most recent compositions. How did you like it?”

“Hmm.” The boy’s song had been so jarringly different from any reference to the child she bore than she’s ever heard. In the bard’s honeyed voice, he sounded almost heroic. She hesitates. “Do you know him?”

“Only a little,” he admits, but there’s a slight flush on his childish face that he attempts to cover with bravado. “The song is the true telling of our grand adventure. I accompanied the White Wolf on his quest to defeat the Devil of Posada, the most terrifying monster to ever...well, terrorize the good people of the Valley of the Flowers.”

“And he’s...he’s not what people say?” Those huge brown eyes staring up at her, tiny body trembling. “Not a butcher?”

“Oh my good lady, not at all!” The bard’s expression of dismay is guileless, earnest. “He saved me, put himself between me and harm’s way when we were captured by the elves, offered his own life for mine.”

A life debt. Just as the child’s father had promised the Law of Surprise to the old witcher, the vow that had set the course of Geralt’s life before he was even born. And now this strange boy owes Geralt a life debt of his own.

“So that’s why,” she confirms cautiously. “Why you write songs for him. Make him the hero when men would be more than happy to remember him as a monster.”

The boy hesitates, his charismatic blustering slipping as he bites at his bottom lip. He reaches distractedly into his pocket, finding some trinket he rolls about in his palm to occupy his busy, nervous hand before he slowly answers. “Even if he hadn’t saved my life I would have written about him. Well, not if I hadn’t survived that particular encounter, of course. But if I’d gotten away myself, or if I hadn’t followed him into the wild in the first place, I would still have written about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I…I don’t think he’s known very much kindness.” The bard doesn’t look at her, quite, as he speaks, slower and softer than before. “You ought to see the way he responds to a simple compliment, you’d think his head might explode, he twitches and looks bewildered and grunts angrily. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so very sad.” He’s quiet for a moment, tracing the wood grain in the table with his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. “But he’s kind, even if the world isn’t. He gave his reward for the contract to the…well, to someone who needed it more. And before that, he…” He glances down at the dull gold coin between his fingers, rubbing absently at worn, beveled edges, his face flushing prettily. “He liked my singing.”

She watches the bard, lost in thought and fiddling with a lone coin, for a long while.

vii. Geralt

A slip of a thing running through the woods. Frightened. Alone.

A fight. Gruesome, brutal, fast.

The stench of decay.

“And me? What did I do? I bandaged a wounded man who’d fainted away and put him on my cart and didn’t leave him to expire. It’s an ordinary matter.”

“It’s not so ordinary. I’ve been left...in similar situations...like a dog.”

Blood. Not running, red and healthy and clean; slow. Thick. Dark. Foul.

Infection.

Youths dancing in lusty delight on a warm spring night. A woman with raven curls, naked and wistful in his arms, the warmth of a bonfire lighting her face a beautiful gold. Children screaming, playing in a dried moat. A queen, formidable and sneering, full of contempt.

Hideous wounds, threatening the leg. Amputation may be necessary, without immediate intervention.

Resin in the air.

Ashen hair matted over the clumped, drying cake of blood deforming half of a pale face.

Black potion with a green seal. And then darkness.

Visenna awakes with a start.

The druids’ campsite is still, the last embers of the fire the only light in the darkness of the forest. She pulls the woolen cloak around her thin shoulders, grabs her medical bag, and goes to find the witcher that was once her child.

She finds him a pale and bloody mess on the back of a cart, eyes open and unseeing. He’s racked with feverish chills as his body desperately attempts to fight the infection poisoning him.

She helps the merchant move Geralt carefully onto blankets on the ground. She tends to him, as she’s tended to thousands of others. She cleans his wounds, scraping destroyed, decaying flesh away from healthy tissue, pulling the gentle pulses of chaos from the earth to purify his blood, draining infection and necrosis and narcotic alike from him.

She’d cleaned blood and dirt and debris from scraped knees, once, the too-fast beating of a little, huge heart pounding so loudly she could feel it. The wounds of childhood.

His pulse is slow, the drumbeat of a dirge.

She’s warm all over, suddenly, then cold. Her vision swims before her eyes.

A little more. The pulsing wanes, wavers as she begins to join him in the dark void beyond consciousness.

No.

She breathes, her eyes closed, then returns to her work.

She feels him stirring before he makes a movement, senses him swimming to the surface, coming to. He’s quiet, still, blank. When his eyes open, he’s staring at the treetops above them. His face is impassive. Lifeless.

The way she would find him, sometimes, after he went missing as a child. Staring at nothing. Trying not to be.

She can hear it in his voice. He knows.

His leg will heal, now. She’s done all she can.

She moves on to the bedsores, massaging ointment carefully into the open wounds. His body is stiff and unyielding beneath her touch.

She gives him what she can. “It’s my profession,” she says. Her voice is steady, cool. It’s no excuse, no answer, but it’s what she has. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at.” This much at least is true. This much she can give him.

She’s always known she would meet him again. She never sought him out, never avoided him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” She hears it, as though it’s someone else’s voice.

“I want you to look at me.” It’s a snarl. Not a sound she’s heard from those lips before. “How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”

She knows enough. She meets his gaze.

Those eyes, the greatest marker of his difference, his inhumanity. They’re golden, now, instead of brown. His pupils are wide, round, black, pained. They aren’t so different. So monstrous.

Just the eyes of a terrified child lashing out in desperation.

“Do you know it doesn’t always work?” he demands.

“Stop it, Geralt.”

And something breaks.

“You don’t get to use that name!” There’s a frantic rage dripping off every syllable, hatred and agony, like a festering wound ripped open and left to bleed. He glares at her with a wild fury. “Vesemir gave me that name.”

And he’s a child, he’s three years old and screaming like he’s being tortured when she calls his given name. He’s five and distraught over the thought of a horse who hates its name and can’t tell anyone. He’s four and he’s a trembling mess with blood beneath his fingernails, shaking and unable to stop ripping at his own flesh.

“You trusted Destiny rather than trying to find me yourself,” he begs.

A child with nothing in the world running through the forest and into the arms of a witcher.

There’s a tear running down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Visenna says softly.

“Why?”

She’d known since before he was born that she wasn’t to keep him. That Destiny had other plans.

When she thought she had a daughter, there was hope.

“The answers will only hurt us both.” Carefully, Visenna presses him back into the makeshift sickbed.

“Yen was right.” His voice is low, barely audible, a broken murmur. “It’s not enough to be destined for each other.”

A child runs through the woods and finds a witcher waiting.

Brown curls become ashen locks. Eyes swirling brown and gold and green.

“Something more is needed.” He’s not speaking to her anymore. He’s staring up, at the treetops and through them to the stars above, his eyes losing and regaining focus. “I...I want…”

“No.” Her voice is soft, and she sees him relax into the smooth cadence in spite of himself. “Go to sleep, Geralt.” She hesitates as his eyes grow heavy, begin to drift shut, and she can’t help leaning toward him to gently whisper, “And just between us, Vesemir didn’t give you that name.” She lets herself reach out, carefully brushing white hair off his sweating brow. “It doesn’t change anything, but I’d like you to know that.”

“Visenna…”

“Sleep. I was just a dream.” She hesitates, watching silently as he fights the exhaustion, like a child fighting to stay awake past his bedtime, begging for one more story. “Sleep, Sir Geralt.”

He does.

viii. Sir Geralt

She does not see him again.

She travels to Sodden and heals the injured, soldier and mage alike.

She hears tales, as she has for years.

Geralt’s kidnapped a young Cintran princess for unspeakable, nefarious purposes.

Geralt died on Thanedd, caught up by chance in the mages’ bloody revolt.

Geralt led the forces of Lyria and Rivia against Nilfgaard, earning himself a knighthood and a position in Queen Meve’s army.

(She doesn’t believe any of them, doesn’t let herself care either way, but she hopes the latter is true. Hopes he lives out the rest of his days a brave knight, as he always dreamed of becoming.)

Visenna works. Cleans and stitches and bandages wounds, wanders from battleground to battleground. There’s no shortage of work for a healer.

So many tales of Geralt the witcher, Geralt the traitor, Geralt the butcher, the knight, the outlaw, the hero, the father. Of his victories and defeats, his loves and enemies, his transcendence, his demise.

Visenna listens to them all. Collects the stories, the lies, the praises, the calumnies. She draws them carefully within her. Carries them with her as she continues on the path.

For all the rumors and speculation and ballads, of all things, for all the different Geralts, there’s one that’s hers and hers alone. A skinny, adventurous child with brown curls and a bucket-helmet falling into his eyes who swings a gnarled oak stick as a sword. He’s ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the weak against the unrelenting onslaught of monsters only he can see.

#the witcher fic #the witcher #geralt of rivia #visenna #trans geralt #my fic #still don't really know how i feel about this but here it is #witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

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soyouthinkucanwrite · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1 - intentions, a Tom Holland series

The name of the series is super random, don't mind me. No warnings. Reader is a postgraduate student at NYU, made a docuseries on her research and the show got picked up by Netflix. She goes on press tour and meets Tom on a ‘chat show’. This could be an amazing few days or more? It’s been interesting writing how they’ll deal with distance and tight schedules once ‘honeymoon’ is over...

(y/f/n) = your first name

(y/l/n) = your last name

(y/n) = your name, complete or not

1.8k words

Chapter 1 - A new city

Chapter 2 - Show time

Chapter 3 - Unexpected texts

Your docu-series was doing better than anybody expected, well, anybody but you, it was a project that you really believed in. You sold the first season to Netflix with its 10 episodes shot all in NYC and they premiered with almost no press or promotion. But still, the wholesome moments and captivating stories had already become viral and people were so impressed by you. The text was amazing, and your improvisation and good mood lifted the spirit of the whole thing, making it the new feel-good show everybody was binging and talking about.

Better late than never, Netflix decided to promote the show and so they sent you to give interviews and go on talk shows. You still didn’t have an agent, something that you were in desperate need of, because your phone was blowing up all the time with offers for publicity deals, new interviews, and even some job offers. You couldn’t think about that now, you had to focus on making this “press tour” the best possible so, in the next meeting with the Netflix executives, you could close at least two more seasons for your show (and maybe score some other deal for yourself). With all this, you still had to worry about grad school (you still had at least one more year ahead of you until you get your PhD, if you managed to get time to write the dissertation)! You’d have lost your mind for sure, if it wasn’t for your producer and partner in business, David. He was helping you schedule everything and organizing talking points for the promotion tour, but ultimately you were the face of the operation. Fair is fair, that’s why you got to find an agent ASAP.

Currently, you and David were in London for the last bit of the trip, after tomorrow, you guys were going back home to NYC. One thing at a time, you thought to yourself while he talked on the phone with his fiancé outside of the coffee shop you guys were grabbing a bite at lunchtime.

You looked outside the windows, this was your first time in London and you couldn’t stop thinking about how it looked exactly like everything you ever imagined but so much more at the same time. Just like NYC, in that sense. You smiled thinking about maybe shooting a season here someday.

“Hey! Did you order something?” David snapped his fingers and to get you out of your trance.

“Huh?” you looked up.

“Earth to (y/n)? I thought you were hungry?” He laughed at you.

“Sorry, but common, look at this city! You can’t blame me for getting hypnotized.” You answered while he went straight to the counter to order some food and beverages for you guys.

“Yeah, it's beautiful. But this weather, how can someone function with this much moisture all around? Is like the air is heavier.” He said sitting back.

“The air is heavier because of the pollution, probably.” You joked back. You always loved big cities, but that didn’t mean you’d close your eyes for their problems, you just had a better tolerance for this kind of stuff. “How’s Lukas anyway? Everything alright back home?” You asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. He’s just touring wedding venues. He was really happy with the sudden budget increase.” He answered.

“Well, if he waits long enough, his budget might get even bigger. Speaking of which, we got to talk to some layer about that meeting next week. I think we’d be smart to go in there with our terms very well thought about.” You said.

“Right. I’m looking into it. You worry about finding that agent. One thing is the show, the other is your image. And something tells me the more you’re valued in, the more we can negotiate for the show.” He reasoned while the waitress walked towards the table with two plates.

“Own! Is so sweet to have a friend looking out for me!” You joked and threw a napkin at him.

“I am! You’ll see that when your huge face it's on Times Square and you’re closing the deal on some penthouse at 5th.” He laughed.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes at him. David was sweet, but he wanted nothing to do with the celebrity part of this project of yours and you knew he said this kind of stuff in a condescending kind of way. He wasn’t wrong, but you also couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy the attention you were getting because of the show. Maybe he didn’t felt like that because he had Lukas, but you were more than ok to take a few selfies with strangers and doing some photoshoots here and there. You liked the attention, but as long as you were concerned, penthouses and money deals weren’t included in your idea of happiness. Regardless, everything was so new and fun. Thrilling, if you didn’t spend too much time thinking about it.

“Is everything ok for later? Is just this one today, right? Then Radio One tomorrow morning?” You asked him before taking a bite of your sandwich.

“Yes. Yes. And yes. Mary sent your clothes straight there and someone from the show will make your hair and makeup. I think we should go right after here? We’ll have some time to kill there, but I think we can hang out backstage.” He answered.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we could walk around. Get to know the city? Maybe visit-”

“Excuse me?” You were interrupted by two girls, apparently close to your own age.

“Hi!” You answered happily, but you could see David recoil in his seat (probably already expecting to be asked to snap the picture).

“You’re (y/f/n) (y/l/n)? From that Netflix show?” One of them asked the blonde one.

“Yeah…its (y/l/n), actually, but that’s fine!” You laughed and tried to be friendly.

“Oh! Sorry! We thought the show was so cool and you’re so beautiful!” The other friend said, the one with black roots and blueish tips.

“That’s sweet! Thank you for telling me! David helped me produce it, did you know?” You pointed to the guy extremely uncomfortable in front of you. You loved messing with him.

“Hi.” He said uncomfortably. There was an awkward silence.

“Anyway, would you mind taking a picture with us?” The girl with blue hair asked you.

“Sure! No problem!” You answered quickly and got up to pose.

After you guys took some selfies and David took some pictures of the three of you, you insisted he was in the shot too and the girls agreed politely. He wanted to kill you, but you didn’t care, you were only messing with him. How often you had the chance anyway?

“Thank you so much! Bye!” They said as they left you two to finish your meal.

“If only every teenage with a phone was this civilized,” David said grumpily.

“You complain too much. They were sweet! And they liked our show! That’s awesome!” You seated back.

“I guess that’s pretty great.” He smiled at you. But his smile died once he looked at his clock.

“Anyway, finish eating. I don’t think we’ll have time to even hang around backstage. They told me we’d have to be there at 3” and its already 2’30!” He told you while signaling the waitress for the check.

When you got to the studio, which was in central London luckily and not far from where you guys had lunch, there was a corridor with some doors and your name was in one of them. The Graham Norton Show was super fun and guests sat together on the same couch while being interviewed at the same time. You hadn’t even thought about who the other guests would be yet, but you had to put on the outfit that Mary, the Netflix stylist, had prepared for you and get your hair and makeup done.

“Hey! Can you find out who the other guests are while I change?” You asked David.

“Sure! I’ll be right back!” He answered opening the door and letting a small middle-aged woman inside.

“Hi!” She greeted him. “I’m Rosie. Here for makeup and hair.” She announced.

“Hi! I’m (y/n)! I’ll just change real quick, do you have a cape we can put over the outfit so it doesn’t get dirty?” You asked already undressing in front of her, David was long gone by now.

“Sure, sure. We have to be quick though darling, you’re going on in 30 minutes.” She said opening the little suitcase on the counter under the mirror.

You put the dress on and sat on the chair in front of the mirror.

“You can keep it simple, all the way. I get more nervous if the hair and makeup are too pretty, afraid of ruining it with my movements and sweat. Which of course, only makes me move and sweat more!” You laughed, trying to make conversation and relax.

“Relax, you’re already beautiful! We can just make some curls and after I’m done with your skin, a good eyeliner and pink lips?” She asked. You were glad she was nice and chill about it.

“Sounds perfect! Do you know who the other guests are? We were kind of squeezed in today.” You laughed again.

“Oh! Yeah! Its -” She started to say but was interrupted but David coming abruptly inside.

“Ok! Don’t freak out!” He said.

“I already am! Why would you come in like that? What is it?” You asked already freaking very much out.

“Its Tom Hanks. And -” He said.

“WHAT? Are you serious? What the hell man?” You tried to move but Rosie pushed you back on your seat.

“Yeah. And Jake Gyllenhaal and Tom Holland. And Stormzy is singing later. They’re promoting Spider-man and Hanks is here for the new Toy Story.” He explained.

“I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m going to die.” You mumbled.

“Well, which one it is darling? I’ll just add some more blush anyway.” She laughed at your reaction.

“Fuck David, they must really be betting on us. Why else would they put us on the same couch as Tom Hanks and those guys? Super-hero guys!” You reasoned with him.

“I was thinking the same thing…” He started to talk but he noticed your expression.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Relax! You’ll be great! You’ll do great! They were really excited to meet you actually! They love the show!” He told you trying to calm you down.

“Oh, man! What? They’re out there? And they want to meet me? And I’m in here? Oh boy, they must think I’m so rude!” You thought out loud.

“No! No! I told them we were late and you had to get ready. Yes, I chatted with Spider-man and Bumble Boy.” He gloated.

“Bumble boy?” You laughed at him but thanked him with your eyes because you knew he was just trying to distract you. There was a knock on the door and a stage assistant pecked inside.

“Hi! Is Miss (y/l/n) ready? We’re starting in 5 minutes.” She said.

“All ready!” Rosie answered.

“Oh lord. Thank you Rosie.” You were freaking out but didn’t want to forget to thank her.

“Oh! I forgot to mention. Gwyneth Paltrow is here too.” David said before running out of the room.

“WHAT?” You wanted to chase him but were scared to fall from low blood pressure.

#Tom Holland #Tom Holland fanfic #tom holland x fem #tom holland reader #reader is famous #Tom hanks #jake gyllenhaal #graham norton #interview #tom holland one shot

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hendrickfw · 3 years

Text

A ray of hope/LU AU

The end was near. An enormous asteroid, a hundred kilometers wide, was about to impact Earth. The last time it happened was about seven hundred years ago, during the golden years of heroism. A young white duck astronomer wearing a red jacket watched through his telescope, noting the object getting closer to Earth.

-Jet? Please turn off the light and get to sleep.

Jet´s brother, Turbo, was sleeping in a blue pajama. He stood up and walked to his brother.

-I can´t. I´m a witness of a cosmological event never seen before!

-Wait. Space, you mean?

Turbo loved space. He pushed his brother apart and started watching through the telescope. His eyes opened wide at the incredible sight of the rock.

-Guys, someone is trying to sleep here- said Rebel, putting his pillow over his head.

Jet, Turbo, and Rebel were triplets, all brothers of the large Duck family. They lived in Acmetropolis in their uncle´s Nash Duck house. Their mother traveled through all the galaxy, so she rarely was with them. The trio also passed their time with their uncle Ebenezer McDuck.

Rebel went with them after his complaints were unheard. He used some green pajamas. He wasn´t so happy about being out of bed.

-Wow, that´s so cool! You never told me a pink lady was flying over there!- exclaimed Turbo, making Jet curious.

-Pink lady? What are you talking about?

Jet pushed his brother and started watching through the telescope, impressed by the phenomenon before his eyes. A strange pink-dressed woman flying near the asteroid fired some kind of ray to it. The meteor was destroyed, although some debris continued its trajectory to Acmetropolis.

-That´s impossible! That is some abnormal event! How is a woman able to fly? What did she fire? Why...?

-Kids. What are you doing?

Another white duck opened the door. He was Nash, the uncle of the ducklings. He seemed mad after seeing his nephews out of bed late at night.

-Nothing, Uncle Nash- responded the three, hiding the telescope behind them.

-You should be sleeping. Remember that tomorrow we´ll visit your uncle Ebenezer.

-Ok, Uncle Nash- the trio responded again in unison.

The ducklings returned to bed, ready for the next day. Although, the strange event they have just seen got them intrigued.

While they were sleeping, some meteor debris fell to the city with some cosmic energy. Fortunately, it wouldn´t affect any individual. Right?

Acmetropolis University

It was a summer day in the city. The people could feel the heat of the day. There was, at least, one person, or animal, without that kind of problem. He was Tech E. Coyote, a Ph.D. student of the Technology Department of the biggest and most important university in the city.

Tech, as his ancient name suggests, was a coyote with brown fur. His green eyes, concentrated on his latest invention, still showed a wild persona, but also wisdom. He was wearing a lab coat. Despite someone's sound entering into the lab, his concentration didn't leave the device in front of him. Smith Pierce, Tech's professor, entered the lab. The coyote did not hear his presence until he felt someone touch the chair where he was sitting.

“You should rest. We're going to have a meal with the rest of the class at Pizza Fest. You coming?”

“I don't think so, sir. If I want to investigate the astrological phenomenon of the time, I must finish the intercosmic suit.”

Of course, the genius knew about the asteroid in the direction of the planet and wanted to investigate it closely. Very close. Smith, as much as he wanted to convince Tech to get out, knew he wouldn't make it. The professor sighed and walked out.

“If you change your mind, we will be waiting for you. Warner Street corner with Mouse.”

Tech nodded from afar, still adjusting the suit's protection systems. There wasn't much time, as the asteroid would arrive in a few days.

“You know? If you listened to me, I'd introduce you to my friend the roadrunner. Both could complement each other very well in the lab” asked a female voice. Tech had to start paying more attention to his surroundings while he was working.

“The delivery guy? You know I don't trust working with anyone since Casey, Lexi.”

After Smith's departure came Lexi Bunny, a tan fur bunny. She didn't study anything related to science. Instead, she was an athlete. She had been a cheerleader in high school and was now looking to pursue basketball. Despite this, she had taken some physics and engineering courses (specially to learn more about those subjects than his brother) under Tech's mentoring. Since then, they have become good friends, although Tech has had confidence issues.

And that's why Lexi wants to include him in ger close group of friends. In addition to the roadrunner whose name went through Rev, there was his older brother Ace. Rev also claimed to have two friends who would introduce them today. Just the ideal situation to take Tech.

“Today Rev will introduce me and my brother some friends. You should come, it'll be fun.”

“I can't. I have to finish this before I miss the opportunity.”

“Then do it as a favor. Remember the time you...?”

When Lexi pursued an objective, she usually made it. That's what he admired her. Well, he had to admit that, from the few times they'd come out, he'd had more fun than usual. Maybe he'd do the same this time, even though there'd be more people outside of her brother and herself.

“All right, all right. I 'm going. Just help me put some things in store” the most he tried to hide his smile, he just couldn't. He really enjoyed the company of the bunny.

As they both began to pack the objects Tech used, Tech recalled a recent comment from the bunny. That would serve to kill the silence in which they were involved.

“And... are you sure you want to do it?”

“I don't know. It's a big step and, so far, Ace hasn't taken it well.”

“We can postpone it so you can think about it better, discuss it with him and, well, with me. We haven't decided everything.”

“Doesn't it bother you? It's a decision that's yours too.”

“Not at all. I'd rather you be comfortable, specially.”

Lexi felt unsure of the action to take, but at least she was happy to have Tech's support. It was comforting to some extent.

Once they both finished storing everything, they left the University and walked to the city subway, from where they took transportation to downtown. Tech felt somewhat uncomfortable about being in such unhygienic, crowded environments, but at least having Lexi by his side giving him conversation took those thoughts out of his head. Soon they arrived and took to the streets of the metropolis. A short time passed, and they entered the Pizzarriba establishment.

Pizzarriba was a pizza restaurant created in the 21st century, miraculously afloat after losing almost all its establishments to Pizza Fest. Luckily, the original restaurant was still standing. It continued to maintain the same style as in its founding years, specially to attract customers.

Lexi, followed by Tech, walked through the door. It was Tech's first time on the establishment. Lexi quickly ran to one of the tables. Tech recognized her brother, Ace, whose grey fur was unmistakable for the coyote. He wore a jacket and jeans, his typical outfit after finishing his auditions. He was the only one on site, probably saving space for the group. The table was big. How many friends would the roadrunner bring?

- What's up, Doc? Ace asked Tech after hugging and greeting her sister.

-Hi, Ace.

Ace gave room for both of them to sit down. Lexi sat next to him and Tech was left next to her. Before they could start chatting, the three of them heard the door of the restaurant open with an unusual sound of someone talking.

“... a-robot-commissioned-by-my-dad-so-I-had-to-look-for-a-replacement-and-you-know-how-difficult-it-is-to-find-a-modulator-at-the-middle-of-desert-so-I-improvised-putting-together-several-remnants-of-old-inventions-with-something-of-cheese--which-reminds-me-have-you-proven-this-pizza-is-delicious-and-look-there-are-my-friends-hello-Ace-Lexi-and-you-should-be-Tech-is-a-pleasure-Lexi-told-me-a lot-about-you-and-your-inventions-sound-awesome...”

Tech started to feel dizzy. He didn't know what it could be, but it started a little after the roadrunner arrived. By focusing on his problem, he failed to hear the last words of him, at least until Lexi interrupted him.

“Hello Rev. Tech, he is the friend I have told you about.”

Tech tried to return to his posture and reached out to say hello. He didn't expect a loud, quick handshake from the roadrunner. He heard that he continued to speak with the same speed and joviality, which caused the coyote more dizziness. It was nothing to his liking. Rev was the typical roadrunner one could find in the desert, with blue plumage on the body and violet on the tail. He was wearing a sports suit because he probably was used to run a lot. After the introduction, Rev returned with his friends and introduced them.

“He-is-Slam-the-Tasmanian-demon-and-he-is-a-professional-fighter-and-very-good-at-it-I must-admit...”

Slam was a little bigger than the average Tasmanian demon. He was huge in Lexi's opinion, but behind his smile she saw the personality of someone friendly rather than intimidating. They hoped it would, even though Lexi didn't hesitate. Tech failed to understand Slam's growls, but by his raised hand he suspected it was a greeting.

“... and-he-is-Duck-and-between-him-my-brother-Rip-and-I-we-are-best-friends-practically-brothers-or-what-do-you-say?”

The black duck was crossing his arms, without saying a word. Everyone noticed that he looked coldly at Ace, who looked back at him the same way.

“Rev, I didn't know you knew the duck.”

“Umm-yes-why-do-you-know each other?”

"Unfortunately," Duck replied.

"And this got awkward," Tech said louder than he wanted. Slam made sounds agreeing.

The three newcomers sat in front of those who were already there. The large size Slam occupied in the chair explained the size of the reserved table. Lexi was the first to break the tension when she saw Duck's shirt.

“Where did you get that? I've been looking for that shirt for centuries!”

Duck watched his shirt. He changed his expression of discomfort to a smirk. He looked at the bunny pointing at his shirt.

“This shirt? Please, the biggest fans of Duck Dodgers are the only ones who can carry them.”

"I-didn't-know-that-you-were-fan-of-Duck-Dogers-too-Lexi-I-mean-it-is-fantastic-other-thing-that-we-have-in-common.”

“Well, lady, it is your lucky day. I´m the Duck Dodgers fan club leader so I may allow you to join us. Do you know where we are?”

“Please give me something easy. Here was Dodgers' first fight in 2021 during the concert of a famous band of the time.”

“2021? Wasn't he a hero in 2500?” Ace asked, intrigued or her sisters´ knowledge of the character. He knew of her love for the hero, but not how much she had dived into his history.

“Actually, no. It's a common mistake. Duck Dodgers debuted at this restaurant in the 21st century but is best known for his heroics in the 25th century. Besides, it wasn't at a concert by a famous band of the time. The Caballeros were not popular when they played in the incident" corrected Tech. Everyone looked at him and Tech felt uncomfortable. “What? You can't be the only ones interested in superheroes.”

“Told you” bragged Lexi to her brother with a big smirk.

"Sure, I already knew that." Duck bragged too, though everyone distrusted his sincerity.

“Wouldn’t-it-be-amazing-to-have-superpowers-or-what-do-you-think-guys?” Rev asked with his speaking speed. “I-mean-I-already-run-fast-but-I-wouldn´t-be-annoyed-if-I-was-faster-or-which-powers-would-you-guys-like-to-have?”

"Definitely jump higher, be able to reach places I couldn´t." Lexi replied, already knowing the answer.

“Besides the intellect, which I already possess, probably some form of technokinesis. It would be helpful to me when working.” Tech replied, showing off and being honest at the same time.

Slam made incomprehensible sounds to others again, but Rev interpreted them as the ability to eat more.

“I don't want superpowers. With my agility I could kick any thief” said Ace confidently.

“Finally, you share my opinion, Ace. I wouldn't need either. Duck Dodgers never needed. I just need my natural duck strength.” Duck added.

“Where was that strength when you needed my help moving a ladder in the supermarket, Duck?” The others couldn't help but laugh a little bit about the anecdote.

“The ones with wheels to move around, Ace?”

“Nice deduction, Tech.”

"You are despicable..."

--------------------------------------------------------------

The afternoon passed quickly and was fun, even for Tech or Duck, who were the most apathic. After eating the pizza and getting to know each other a little better, everyone returned to their homes. Everyone had their own responsibilities to attend.

Rev was the first to get home thanks to his speed, despite being the one who lived the farther away. The roadrunner arrived at his parents' house. Ralph, his father, greeted him immediately, diverting the little attention paid to his son Rip. He asked his favorite son to help him build his new Robo-Amigo as Rip was too "inexperienced" in the robotics area. Without hesitation the roadrunner arrived to the garage, where he began to work.

Slam, after lunch, arrived at the arena where he had a contract to fight. At the moment his fights were against unexperienced players, as his sponsor, Pierre Le Pew, still kept him to fight the great cup champion for later. The demon didn't want to serve just cheap entertainment because he wanted to have fun with the fights, besides being able to have an extra income if it wasn't too much, because the economy wasn't going well lately for him.

Duck came to his apartment, which was extremely messy, with dirty laundry all over the place. It looked like a homeless man lived there. And, honestly, it was near the truth. Despite the ducks´ confident and arrogant behavior, Duck was nothing but a drag on society. Not even that house was his: it was an unpaid hotel room for four months. Duck's life was miserable, and he knew it very well. Only his job of picking up trash from a public pool said it all. Duck threw himself in his bed and looked at a photograph of his adoptive parents, dead at that point. Duck missed them and would do anything to bring them back. It was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Tech returned to college, to the same lab where he spent the rest of the week working. He was already late and had to continue with his armor. He had Lexi's insecurity in mind. The coyote hoped she could solve the problem. But the voice of the roadrunner didn't go out of his mind either. In truth, listening to him speak so much, with that force and speed caused him a terrible headache. He didn't dislike him, on the contrary, they were almost “birds of a feather”, but that voice detail was still there.

Lexi and Ace returned to their apartment. It was humble, the best they could get. With Lexi's scholarship and Ace's salary as a stunt, it was the best they could rent. It was cozy, but Lexi wanted to change. Between the two brothers several discussions had been emerging and Lexi thought the best was to take some time apart. Luckily, she had found support in a coyote, who was willing to share the same roof with her. It was a possible way out.

Ace, meanwhile, was saddened by the constant conflicts with his sister. He understood that she needed her space and was no longer a child, but he was the older brother and their parents had commissioned him to protect her. Was he wrong to want to do his job?

But, despite each other's problems, the same event brought them together. It wasn't their meeting at Pizzarriba. At about 6:30, they all fainted without any apparent explanation. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed and they were taken to the hospital.

------------------------------------------------------------

Some general stuff. This is my AU fanfiction of Loonatics Unleashed where the heroes have some solo adventures before they form the team. This is an awfully done introduction. I don´t really trust my English writing abilities, so please tell me if you find any grammatical mistake. If any hero wants to help me with that part I will not be able of thank you enough.

I finally decided to make it a shared universe with my other fanfiction: Los Tres Caballeros viajan de nuevo. I´m not sure if I´ll use any characters referencing that story because I want to focus on the show cast. For now I just want to put the important pieces on place before starting everything.

And feel free to comment. I´ll try to upload more but, I´m finishing this semester and the exams and essays will take my time. Anyway, for those shippers, I may have some Tech/Lexi at the start but I´ll transition it to Tech/Rev and Danger/Lexi.

I hope you like it and happy weekend to everyone.

#loonatics unleashed #tech e coyote #lexi bunny #ace bunny #rev runner #slam tasmanian #danger duck

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monster-bait · 4 years

Text

Monster Match: Tomo the Kappa; M Kappa x F Human, NSFW

Monster Match for @ur-favorite-pincushion; I'm a pansexual female, but I'm not very attached to being feminine. I exercise a lot and I'm pretty muscular, but in a lithe way. I love the outdoors and I draw a lot

**please check her page for ADORABLE artwork of Tomo!

Mount Iō loomed above the river as you pushed through the greenery. The sharp, vegetal smell of the forest—loamy black earth and green sap—filled your lungs, and a blanket of leaves and fir needles coated the forest floor, cushioning your steps. It was colder than you were used to and the signs warning of Ussuri bears put you on edge, but you were loathe to move back to the road, where the crunch of gravel beneath your steps would announce your presence far and wide, alerting the beasts of the forest and river to your nearness.

There was something here, something near the river, and you were determined to see it again.

You'd been in Hokkaido for close to a week, traveling from Sapporo to Abashiri by train, before venturing on Shiretoko National Park. The peace of the park was a stark contrast to the other areas of the country you were familiar with: the bustle of Osaka and Tokyo’s non-stop hum and blur of lights. The atmosphere here was serene, the dense forest home to sika deer and the warned-of bears, and somewhere ahead was the waterfall. It was beautiful and peaceful, and you were pleased with your chosen subject.

You wanted to sketch the waterfall and the surrounding area, wanted to capture the lush green and rolling waters...and you wanted to find out what it was that you’d seen yesterday.

You’d arrived too late in the day to do anything other than a bit of hiking, scouting the area before the small shuttle would take you back to Shiretoko Five Lakes. Today you’d left at sunrise, had hitched a ride with a family from the Five Lakes, and had set the alarm on your phone so that you’d not miss the shuttle in the evening. The day stretched before you and you sucked in a lungful of the cool air.

You were close.

Close to the spot you’d been in yesterday, when you’d broken off from the small group of tourists who were also journeying to the hot spring waterfall. You’d moved up a small gravel path, away from the group, hoping you’d catch sight of one of the deer. At one point, the forest had opened to an open valley, and the deep blue of the Pacific glittered at the horizon, wide and endless, framed between mountains. You’d stopped, eager to pull your sketchbook out of your bag and take a few photos of the breathtaking vista when you’d heard it: a splashing in the river, close to where you stood.

Other than the sound of the of the water, the forest up til that point had been still. The chatter of the group had been swallowed by the trees when you’d separated from them, and there were no other sounds that indicated another person had been moving up the trail. Maybe a deer? Or a bear? Despite the frightening thought, you’d carefully picked your way over tree roots, unable to resist the opportunity to see some magical moment of wildlife. The carpet of fir needles allowed you to walk silently until the Kamuiwakka came into sight, babbling over rocks as it burbled down its course.

The person...creature? who had moved on the rocks was neither deer or bear.

They blended into the murky green riverbed so entirely that at first you had a hard time discerning they were actually there at all, but movement betrayed them and you’d watched, utterly spellbound.

Their skin was a mottled green, you could see once your eyes adjusted to the landscape. It was a man...or at least man-like, not that you’d had an occasion to meet many green-skinned people walking about. Stocky and compact, they weren’t particularly tall, but you admired the hard plain of their abdomen and sculpted arms. You worked out quite a bit and were very fit, and man or woman, a nicely-muscled physique always caught your eye. Their arms and legs seemed long for their compact stature, and as you’d watched, they’d squatted on the rocks, gathering greenery into a vine-woven sack across their chest.

Laughter had cut through the quiet, followed by the crunch of gravel as the tourists returned from their time at the waterfall. Had it really been that long? It had seemed like only minutes had passed since you’d broken off from the group.

You’d taken your eyes off the creature on the rocks for less than a heartbeat, but it was all it had taken for it to disappear, camouflaged against the riverside.

Rejoined the group, you’d trudged behind as they crunched up the gravel path. The signs warning of the bears were every dozen meters or so, but as you’d walked, you’d noticed another sign nailed to a tree, much older-looking than any of the bear warnings you’d passed. The script was faded, but you’d been able to make out a curious figue—stooped, with webbed hands and feet, carrying a lumpy pack upon its back...

Now you were back. You wanted to sketch the waterfall...but you also wanted to go back to the spot you’d been in yesterday, to see if the creature would be there again. The image of the green man on the rocks twisted and grappled in your head with the image on the sign, the faded old warning, and you wondered if your suspicions were right.

It wasn’t long until you reached the valley vista that had stolen your breath the previous afternoon and you turned, following the sounds of the water until the treeline opened and the river came into view. There was nothing there. Too much to hope for.

Still, the riverbed beckoned, lush and green and warm, fed from the mountain’s natural hot springs, and you couldn’t resist its pull. You’d dressed in layers for the hike with water-friendly shoes, setting off with no hesitation once you’d peeled off your tek jacket, bundling it into your pack. Ahead were the falls, and you were eager to commit the landscape to the pages of your sketchbook.

You’d been carefully moving over rocks through the bath-temperature water for close to an hour when you felt the sensation of eyes. A prickle of goosebumps rose on your arms, despite the warmth of the water, and you whipped your head around, scanning the trees for the source of the sudden feeling of watchfulness.

There was nothing there, nothing that you could see, at least. The warning of bears made you swallow as you pushed forward through the knee-deep water. The weight of eyes did not leave as you climbed the waterfall, nor for the hour as you sat to sketch and at length you decided the risk of some predator waiting to make a meal of you was not worth staying any longer. You can always come back tomorrow.

You were clamouring down the slope, attempting to stay upright while keeping your backpack from dipping into the water when you lost your footing and slid down the final few feet of the smooth river bed. As you struggled to sit up in the churning spray, you realized your feeling of being watched was not merely paranoia.

Glittering black eyes met yours, startlingly close in the water, and you gasped.

Bears were clearly not what you should have worried about.

It was the creature you’d seen the day. Your lungs seized, unable to draw breath as it rose from the water, looming above you, but before you could scramble backwards defensively, it strode to the bankside, the waterproof sleeve containing your dropped sketchbook clutched in its webbed hand.

“This is very good,” it mused, flipping curiously through the pages from where it sat on the rocks.

You took advantage of its distraction to regain your footing and push away slowly, putting what you thought was a safe distance between it—him, for its deep voice was unquestionably masculine—and yourself. He was, as you saw from a distance the day before, short in stature, but exceptionally well-muscled with long, well built arms, ending in wide, webbed hands. Jet black hair circled his head, nearly touching his solid shoulders, but the crown of his head was bare, reminding you of a western monk’s tonsure. You were not close enough to see the detail of the unusual hairstyle, but you wondered…could it be?

He’d come to the drawing you’d made the night before, a sketch of him upon the rocks, and his forehead scrunched, the pointed beak of his mouth dropping open.

“Is this me?” he demanded, thrusting the book out to you. “Is this how I look?”

As he leaned, you saw the depression at the top of his head, water sloshing. Holy shit, this is not a drill! A river kappa, an actual kappa right there before you!

You knew the stories of the creatures, knew how dangerous they were, that they ate people. There were towns all over the countryside that posted signs near bodies of water, warning of the dangers the elusive creatures posed. What were you thinking coming back here?!

Everything you knew about kappas whirled through your mind and you clenched your ass reflexively, remembering that there was definitely a connection there, when you realized you hadn’t answered the creature’s question.

“Y-yes...I saw you on the rocks yesterday and I drew that when I got home. I hope you’re not offended.”

They were very preoccupied with manners, you remembered learning. You’d not gotten a clear look at the kappa the day before, so you’d drawn from memory and improvised the details—the odd proportions and powerful-looking arms and skin like a dappled fern as he moved on the rocks. As he scrutinized the drawing, clutching the sketchbook in his webbed hands, you blushed, thinking that you might have embellished the creature's well-sculpted physique in your sketch.

Before you, the kappa grinned, showing off a row of jagged, pointed teeth. “This is how I look!”

You bit back a grin of your own as he puffed out his well-defined chest, clearly pleased. You’d exaggerated, but only a bit, you reflected, surreptitiously eyeing the kappa’s solid form. You were no delicate flower yourself—you worked out often and possessed a decent bit of muscle mass...but it was still nothing compared to the creature before you. Kappas were known to be extremely powerful...he could do you a good bit of damage, even if you put up a fight, you realized with a swallow.

“You are a very great artist.”

You blinked in surprise. There had been nothing in your books about Kappa engaging in conversation with a human without owing a favor of some sort, practically nothing at all about them being friendly without cause. “You-you may keep that, if you’d like. I can pull it out of the book for you.”

“You do me an honor.” His voice was grave, but his black eyes still glittered with mirth, pointed teeth glinting with water.

The alarm on your phone chose that minute to chime, reminding you it was time to make the return journey to catch the last shuttle, and your unexpected companion tensed.

“I-I have to go back now, back to the trail. Otherwise I’ll be stuck here and a bear might eat me.” You considered the irony of your statement, as the far greater danger nodded sagely in agreement.

“Yes, nasty creatures they are. You will allow me to escort you to safe passage. And then you will come back.”

The sound of the waterfall was not enough to disguise the beating of your heart, as it thudded in your ears. His muzzle curved down in a sharp looking beak and you imagined him being able to shear off your fingers with ease, but at that moment, his eyes were wide and you could only describe the expression on his face as hopeful. That he seemed so eager for your return made you shiver, a mix of fear and curiosity. You considered that he might be leading you into a trap, and your posterior cheeks clenched once more. Still...you can’t stay here.

“That...thank you, that would be appreciated...and yes. I will come back, if I am able to go home safely tonight.”

You clutched a cucumber as you navigated your way up the riverbed

You’d fought an internal argument with yourself the entire evening the night before. Of course you’re not going back! That thing wants to eat your liver! But, you rationalized, the kappa hadn’t hurt you, hadn’t seemed interested in doing you any harm at all. Don’t be such a hypocrite...you searched him out, went looking for him! It was true, you were forced to admit. In the end, your curiosity won out and you’d taken the shuttle from the Five Lakes once more.

The cucumber you clutched was an appeasement, a welcoming gift to greet your new, green friend. There was an additional cucumber in your bag, to use as an escape diversion if necessary, and as a parting gift otherwise. Surely the books couldn’t have been wrong about that.

You found him waiting upon the rocks.

“You came!”

You were struck once more by his glittering eyes, widened in surprised delight, his beak of a mouth turned up in a beaming smile at the sight of you.

“I did, and I brought you this,” you returned his grin, holding out the cucumber, laughing when he exclaimed in delight.

You introduced yourself as he bit into the delicacy, hoping there were no supernatural ramifications to exchanging names with such a creature. “Do you have...is there a name I can call you?”

As you spoke, he slid off the rocks, into the water. Your entire body clenched, thinking about the warning sign you’d passed on the trail, remembering one from a pond you’d taken a picture of in Fukuoka, warning people against swimming in the kappa-infested waters. It’s fine, you told yourself, forcing your sphincter to relax. He wasn’t going to hurt you.

“You wish to call me by name?” His brow was furrowed and his head cocked, the water in the depression atop his skull sloshing dangerously. “There has never been a human who wished to know such a thing.”

The water was swift that day, and as it rushed in rivulets around your ankles you were able to hear the far off voices of tourists approaching, trekking to the waterfall. The kappa before you froze, turning to listen to the approaching voices before his eyes met yours once more.

“You are interested in the natural sights here, yes? You have done me great honor, so I shall take you to see the things you seek...you may call me Tomo.”

“The mushrooms give visions...I am told he uses them to commune with other spirits. When I left the amabie had taken the bag and he was trying to set her on fire, but her tail kept splashing the flames from his hand. ”

You doubled over at the image, nearly choking on your mouthful of rice at the image of an oni and a duck-faced mermaid locked in battle over a sack of psychedelic mushrooms Tomo had sold them.

He was a leaf gatherer, you’d learned, a medicine man of sorts. Poultices and salves that he made from his gatherings were then bartered and sold with other kappas, as well as the other creatures who inhabited the region. He’d been telling you about an oni who lived in the remains of an ancient temple nearby who smoked the mint he bought from Tomo in his pipe, with other herbs, in addition to being “a great connoisseur” of mushrooms which grew in the forest.

“If you traded with humans they’d probably all want the mushrooms,” you laughed.

You were mystified to learn of an entire subculture existing right under people’s noses, yet Tomo said he did not trade with humans, as a rule.

It was the fourth day you’d come back to the river, the fourth day since you’d met the kappa, following him deeper and deeper into the forest each day. You’d been cautious at first, thinking of the wood cuttings from the feudal age, depicting kappas attacking humans as they bathed, lagging behind your ebullient guide, but it had quickly become evident that Tomo had no interest in causing you harm.

He was barely able to control his excitement when you returned to the riverside every morning, eager to show you something new and examine the ever-changing contents of your pack. He was insatiably curious, you discovered: more interested in hearing about your work and life in the city than he seemed to be in dragging you to the bottom of the river and feasting on your entrails.

Today you’d brought lunch, a box of takeaway sushi rolls, including several aptly-named, cucumber-stuffed kappamaki, and Tomo had been overjoyed to try human food.

“Humans are not so kind, usually,” he shrugged, before shoving another of the sushi rolls in his mouth. “Not like you.”

“Yes, but that’s because we think your kind are always trying to drown people!”

He shrugged again, examining the small containers of soy sauce and nitsume. “There are some of my kind who do themselves a disservice. Are there not humans who do the same?”

You were forced to admit that he had a point.

“You’re right,” you laughed, dipping your own roll in the soy as he picked out another cucumber roll. “I guess there’s two sides to every story. So kappas trying to steal people’s shirikodama is just a myth?”

His laughter was a deep rumble, and your stomach flipped as you imagined feeling the vibration against his strong chest.

“Oh, the shirikodama is real, and there are those who go about retrieving it poorly.”

You clenched, your ass cheeks tightening on their own once more. The shirikodama was a small gem thought to contain the human soul, which was kept, allegedly, in the anus, which kappas were obsessed with obtaining. The thought of carrying your soul around in your ass had always seemed funny to you, but it was less so at that moment, as Tomo continued to chuckle, his sharp teeth glinting in the filtered sunlight.

“Don’t worry, bijyo...there are more pleasurable ways of obtaining such a treasure, if one is inclined to do so.”

The sun was beating down.

Summers in Hokkaido were fleeting, and the northern prefecture spent six months of every year blanketed in heavy snows, but summer, while it lasted, was sweet. It would be your first contract this far north, the first time you’d be out of the major cities. Sapporo had been described to you as more relaxed, less expensive, with an easier pace compared to the non-stop bustle of Tokyo and Osaka. You had friends who had made Japan their permanent home after years of teaching, and all had told you the northern prefecture was most kind to expats from all over the world, and you were looking forward to the change of pace.

The long winters promised skiing and snowboarding, but you would need to make the most of the summer months, of the hot, sunshine-filled days and balmy nights.

Today was one such a day, as the sun beat down, managing to cut through the forest trees and reflect brightly off the river’s surface. The heat of the day coupled with the warmth of the spring-fed river became too much, and not long after Tomo had set off, leading you back to the falls, you paused in the waist-deep water, pulling your t-shirt over your head.

You had not considered what a scandal you’d cause.

The sports bra you wore was in no way obscene, but your tattoos were on full display.

In an instant, Tomo was before you, his black eyes wide as saucers as he silently raised a webbed hand to trace over the red blossoms and vines above your breasts. You wondered if you ought to show him the spray of flowers and insects across your back, but it would have required movement, you decided, and you were rooted to the spot. Beneath the double weave top, your nipples hardened to peaks, under the slow drag of his lethal nail against your delicate, ivory skin, and time seemed to stop. He smelled of the riverbank, you realized, vegetal and green; lush plants and running water, and at that moment it was the most seductive smell in the world.

“Come,” he murmured, reluctantly dropping his hands from the colorful display across your chest.

The breath you’d not realized you’d been holding came out in a heavy exhalation as you followed his outstretched hand, feeling oddly disappointed. Don’t be stupid, you told yourself sternly, keeping your eyes trained on the shell-like carapace of his back. It’s not like anything would happen anyways.

“You have not seen the sacred pools.”

You shook your head. You had never been able to gain admission to any of the onsen, thanks to the hot springs’ strict policy against tattoos. You’d heard many yakuza jokes during your time in country, and although you’d heard of people sneaking into the public baths using bandages and artfully placed washcloths, your particular ink meant experiencing the onsen was not something you’d been able to partake in.

“No, I’ve not.”

“Then we go there now.”

Tomo’s eyes glittered as he pulled you forward, the bag you’d brought him bouncing against his shell.

The backpack was a match your own—rugged and water-resistant, and you’d filled it with things you knew he’d like: a sketchbook of his own in a protective sleeve, a roll of heavy duty duct tape in a fanciful sushi roll design, a bottle of dashi, and a sleeve of fermented cucumbers with spicy peppers. He’d been gleeful when you gave it to him the day before, exclaiming over each item in the bag like a child on Christmas morning, and you’d been pleased with his reaction feeling that it was the least you could do.

Your own sketchbook and was now full of the things he’d shown you, as well as your phone’s camera—the falls, the most scenic turns of the river, sika deer nesting in the tall grass and running down the flower-covered mountainside, their fawns gamboling beside them. An Ussuri bear, swiping a great paw into the river, waddling away a short time later with a fish in its mouth.

You’d learned about the various plants that grew on the river’s banks, thriving despite the colder climate, and had several little pots of your own Tomo-created remedies.

It had been an amazing week and half, but your vacation time was rapidly dwindling and you were dreading having to return to your life and reality in just a few day’s time.

The hot spring pool was not near the others you’d seen at the falls. The rocky outcropping was difficult to traverse, not something the tourists who came to the falls would venture, and completely secluded. Just as the occasional break in the forest trees, the view afforded from the pool showed you the sparkle of the Pacific in the distance, deep blue and shimmering.

“No clothes,” Tomo interrupted your stupor over the view, preventing you from stepping over the pool’s rocky ledge. “No man clothes in the sacred waters.”

You experienced a swoop, low in your belly, and pressed your thighs together in response. You knew that already, knew well that clothing was not allowed at any of the onsen you’d not been permitted to access before. If anything, this was a privacy you’d not be afforded in traditional bathhouses and hot springs, where locals and tourists alike crowded in, unselfconsciously naked in public.

Here you were alone, just you and Tomo, and the intimacy of the seclusion—and the thought of his curious eyes moving over your naked body—caused arousal to curl through you.

He wore no clothing, had not since the first day you’d spied him on the rocks. The vine-woven pouch he wore slung across his body served to cover his genitalia, or so you’d thought at first, until the afternoon he’d removed it, giving you no glimpse of any further fodder for your completely inappropriate dreams. The stories of kappas being lecherous opportunists were clearly untrue, for Tomo had never done anything to make you uncomfortable or take advantage of you in any way. He’s sweet and friendly, you’re just a horny perv!

Your shirt came off first, before unbuttoning and sliding your shorts down your hips. You wondered what his reaction would be to see the tattoos continue down your back and sides, moving down over your hips and thighs. Keeping your eyes averted, you made a project out of carefully folding your things and placing them in your pack. Your underwear were next, folded and placed into the crease of your shorts, before you unhooked your bra.

By the time you joined Tomo, goosebumps covered your entire body and he was nearly invisible in the steam.

The wide, blue Pacific dominated the view, dazzling at the horizon, separated from where you sat by hundreds of meters of dark green forest. It was serene and peaceful and beautiful, and you were glad to be experiencing it at last.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed through the steam, and Tomo hummed.

“There are many things of beauty here.”

His words made your breath trip, a moment before you felt the cool press of his nail at your back, tracing over the giant dragonfly there. “Nature is alive in you,” he murmured, nail moving onto the spider inked into your skin before following the line of a petal-laden vine back around to your front, moving over your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. When his fingers brushed over your hardened nipples, you jumped, but did not pull away. “Extraordinary.”

The softness of his touch coupled with the seclusion of the pool had your sex quivering beneath the water. Just relax, he’s only interested in the tattoos, everyone always is. “What should we do next?”

Tomo considered. “There is a place we can go that is very warm. The waters converge in front of a cave in the rock, and we can build a fire there.” It sounded cozy, you thought, nodding happily. “First you must enjoy the healing properties of the waters...and we can mate, if you’d enjoy.”

His voice was so casual, you thought you’d misunderstood. We can...mate? Surely, surely he meant something else. Right? The images of kappa molesting human women ran through your mind; it was obviously not a concept that would be foreign to him…”Yes, I would like that,” you heard yourself agree.

You wondered, as webbed hands moved down your body, if you had unwittingly walked into a trap, your shirikodama at risk.

The long claws on his webbed hands flicked over your nipples, twisting the hardened peaks until you gasped, before dragging down your body to push your knees apart. When his knuckles pressed into your silky, hot folds, you knew they would find you slick.

You’d wondered about his cock in your narrow hotel bed at night, sliding your fingers between your legs the same way he did to you then, but your dreams could never have matched the reality of the appendage that curved up between you. Longer than anything you’d seen before, bumps and frills all the way down the long shaft, ending in a bulbous, fist-sized head. You’d initially thought it was black in color, until you’d wrapped your hand around it, realizing it was dark purple.

He groaned as you stroked him, hips thrusting upwards, when it happened. The tight ball of his cockhead unfurled like a great flower, a pulsing, spade-shaped funnel that curled and quivered when you caressed it, and before you could react, Tomo was lifting your hips, guiding his bizarre-looking cock to your entrance. You wondered, as he thrusted up into you, filling you entirely, if he’d been thinking about fucking you from where ever it was he lived in the forest every time you’d had your hands thrust down the front of your panties in your too-small bed.

There was an impression in the rocks, smooth and tilted, and he quickly pushed forward with his powerful arms, settling you into it so that he could pump into you in earnest.

You were just beginning to feel the ebbing of your own orgasm approaching, his flared edge of his giant cockhead pressing into you deliciously as you gripped the edges of the shell at his back, when he withdrew. Before you could even protest, the flower-like funnel pulsed and you were able to feel the powerful bursts of his release even through the steaming water of the hot spring.

Tomo lifted you easily in the water, moving you to recline on a wide, flat rock that left your torso submerged in the steaming water, but your lower half elevated. Your thighs were shaking when he lowered his head, and the first pass of his tongue over your throbbing clit had you dropping your head back, nearly drowning yourself in the process.

His tongue was rough and his movements steady and as you barreled towards your climax once more, you felt his claws tracing over the flowers and vines at your hips. When his tongue left your clit, you almost cried out in distress, sucking in a mouthful of the water, but his kneading knuckles quickly replaced it, rolling over you rhythmically. His tongue, in the meantime, drifted lower.

“There are more pleasurable ways of earning the shirikodama, bijyo.”

His tongue was hot, hotter than the steaming water as it pressed to your ass, hot and slippery as it licked you fervently. The act felt far more intimate than anything you’d ever engaged in, but you were to close to your peak to contemplate it. The slippery hot tip of his tongue pushed into your tight pucker just as the pressure at your clit pushed you over the edge and you seized against him, moaning into the open air in the sacred water, feeling yourself arch and lift as you pulsed against him, the horizon spinning as your vision was wiped by pleasure.

You were resting against his chest when you came to, the steam of the water obscuring your vision.

“That was a beautiful gift,” Tomo rumbled at your back. “You honor me.”

The sky, you realized, was already deepening to indigo, the last shuttle of the day long since gone. The alarm reminder on your phone had likely gone off shortly after you’d reached the falls.

Sliding your palm down his chest, it came to rest against his well-muscled abdomen. His cock had resheathed, and you wondered how much stimulation it would take to tantalize it out once more. “I missed my bus.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “We shall go to the spot I told you of. It is warm there...I will keep you safe.”

You nodded knowing he would. “I-I have to leave soon. In a few days, I need to go back and start work.”

“You do...but you will come back?”

You turned to face him, unsurprised to find his glittering black eyes wide and hopeful. One of the perks of your job was ample vacation and travel time, and you wondered, once you were back in Sapporo, if there was a chance you could receive a remote location, perhaps Shibetsu, something closer…

“I will,” you said with certainty, leaning up to kiss his beaked mouth as stars appeared above in the endless indigo sky.

#Exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #kappa #kappa boyfriend #monster match #monsterbait writes #monster x reader #monster x human

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lvlyhao · 3 years

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「PART ONE: HOPE」

Humanity series; Q.K

A/N: this truthfully is a basic ass apocalypse!au but i couldn’t care less so that’s that on that. come talk to me if you wanna tell me your thoughts i’d literally cry out of joy other chapters coming soon!!

important: i know i put minor character death as a warning but it’s not, i repeat, NOT one of the nct members. jesus, i’m not that cruel. having said that, please enjoy it.

word count: 1.3K

pairing: none (yet).

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

next chapter

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

When the world you know is going through an apocalypse, many things become outdated, antiquated, old, or useless. Call it as you will. They no longer serve their purpose. At least, not when one-third of the world population is dead, and you fight zombies daily.

You could probably go over 100 items that fit the description—cellphones, high heels, short skirts, televisions; really, nearly anything that you were once happy or proud to own.

The one thing that stuck to you the most, though, was a heart.

Of course, no two hearts are the same, but you mean yours. People that naturally don’t care about others probably have an easier time, but, gods, look at you! How could you keep that golden heart of yours safe from the claws of despair? How did you plan on picking up its pieces every time it fell apart?

Well, you reasoned to yourself, the week after the virus began spreading. Maybe I just shouldn't.

At that moment, your brain told you it was the right decision. No one has the time to deal with these sentiments when their life is always on the line, right?

You sure hoped so, because that one, fateful night, you blinked back the tears, swallowed hard, and killed every bit of fear that still lived in you, killing, as well, part of your humanity.

Looking back now, contemplating the night sky, you can admit it had been scary. Very scary.

Rumours about a new virus, different from anything the world had ever seen, got out pretty fast. People talked about it everywhere, and even more at the hospital where your parents worked. But, you know, people always talk. A disease that could turn someone into an actual zombie, with no conscience and the need for human flesh? There was just no way in hell that was true.

“Sure, Hendery”, you used to mutter to your friend, not paying attention to his absurd theories.

Not too long later, you came to regret it. Did it take both of your parents dying for you to believe it?

Your lips twisted into a scowl. Life can be an unfortunate thing.

After you had gazed into the eyes of your mother's colleague when he told you the news, nothing was ever that frightening again. Sure, the undead, boo-hoo. Glassy, unblinking eyes, a putrid smell and a keen sense of hearing. Thousands of them slowly crawl across probably every city in the world, hunting for their next meal. Simply terrifying, you snigger bitterly.

To be fair with the people you have come to know, that always seemed scared out of their wits, they were in a lot more danger than you. Why, do you ask?

That is quite simple. You are immune.

You did not waste your time trying to understand the words your father had told you the night before he died. It was something about a specific section of your DNA that stopped that virus from spreading to your brain, or, whatever. You thought he was kidding, laughed it off and headed to bed. You remember having bad dreams that night.

Not being capable of turning into one of them did come in handy later, when you had already found a group of students from the university you used to attend. While you couldn't say they looked well back then, being alive was the most they could do. They were all mostly younger than you—not at all smaller, per se, but more naive, more fearful.

More reluctant to go looking for food when they were running out of it.

The minute they told you about the problem, you took it in your hands to care for them. Chuckling at their protests, you had said someone had to look out for the children, and so you did.

The morning you left to scavenge for food didn’t go half as bad as you expected. Having nothing but a bow and some arrows, and some short knives on you, only getting chewed on one shoulder was way more than you had hoped for. During the fight at the crumbling supermarket building, you thought maybe you were going to lose a finger or two, possibly break a leg. But a bitten shoulder? That was pretty cool.

You were almost pleased with yourself when you marched back to the campus dorms, dragging behind you a cart filled with everything you could get your hands on. Among more essential items like rice, you had even managed to smuggle some jelly beans, dropping them quietly by Chenle’s side with a secretive smirk. However, the lighthearted atmosphere didn’t last for too long—just until Taeyong’s eyes landed on you.

You can almost hear his loud gasp and choked shriek again, yanking at your jacket with rubber gloves to get a closer look. As he visibly paled and grimaced, you could tell it was worse than you thought.

Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, or the small feeling of achievement as you saw your boys eating again, but getting the wound treated did not hurt that much. The weight on your shoulders did not lessen, and you were still very aware of the smell of death that clung to your clothes, but… you were satisfied. As satisfied as a ruthless fighter such as you could be, anyway.

That night, lying close to each other and talking in whispers, you told them about everything that had happened before you found them: the death of your parents, how you found your weapons, and your decision to free yourself from fear. You might have left out the part about the mild numbness that came along, but did it matter? They listened like you were describing to them all of the secrets in the universe, and barely even blinked. It would have been endearing if thoughts about them being on their own for so long had not made you set your jaw forcefully.

About two days later, while you sharpened your knives on the corner of one of the rooms, Taeyong had sat down beside you. His once blond hair had turned ashy, and black, where his roots had grown. His clothes were ripped at strange places and were not at all fashionable. He no longer was the model-like nursing major you used to know, but the caring gleam in his eyes was as evident as ever. His heart was still whole.

He quietly spoke to you about the change you had inspired in his friends. Knowing about your fearlessness had done something to them.

Donghyuck had not cried himself to sleep ever since. Doyoung was not shaking as badly when he had to help Tyong at the med bay. Renjun no longer paced in circles like a lost boy, and Jaehyun was definitely more appreciative of the throwing knives you gifted him. Small but important things had changed, and you could see it in their smiles as they passed by, wishing you a good morning.

Your speech, as improvised and adrenaline-driven as it had been, had given them something not even Johnny's jokes could bring—and that was saying a lot. It gave them hope, sewing together the small pieces of the people they used to be.

Maybe it was not the kind of hope to go back to their old lives, studying their asses off for finals one day and attending 3 frat parties the other. No, going back to those times was ahead of what anyone could wish for, but, maybe, just maybe, they could finally dream of a new future. Things in this future would be entirely anew, most likely different from what they know, but perhaps not all bad.

Maybe it was not the kind of hope to get back what they had lost, but simply hope, and when the world you know is going through an apocalypse, that's enough.

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final notes: i??? really like this fic??? soon enough i’ll make a definitive masterlist so you can find the chapters easily tho, so look forward to it~

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onslaughtsixdotcom · 3 years

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Scaling Up Dragon Heist

Around April or May of 2019, I started to run Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, one of the official WotC 5e hardcovers. I’m still not done with it, although that is largely the fault of COVID and my own extensions to the campaign.

I think Dragon Heist is one of the better 5e modules by WotC. I think it’s got a strong playground for the characters, and Waterdeep has 30+ years of publication history to draw on. The release of the module also heralded in a HUGE amount of third party extension content, including the famous Alexandrian Remix. I hadn’t heard of this before I started running my campaign and having ideas about how to do it, so it didn’t influence me--although I’m sure we came to a lot of similar conclusions and ideas, based on common perceptions of what the actual flaws are of the module.

Still, despite those flaws, I think they help the module rather than hinder it. It gives the DM a shitload of room to improvise and draw in the margins, rather than some other 5e adventures which feel like they can’t be fucked with in the least.

Here’s the kicker: I started my adventure at level 4. We had a pre-existing party that I had run through the classic N1: Against the Cult of the Reptile God. (Fun fact: A map that I drew is the 3rd Google Images result for that. Woah.)

The party spent a few real-world weeks traveling across about 7 days of overland travel where I ran some drop in one shots; including Mike Krahulik’s Dusk (a Twilight parody) and a really fun 2 hour diversion where the players saw an ancient blue dragon take off the roof of a church during a wedding. Then they arrived in my city: Dawnharbour.

I don’t run the Forgotten Realms. I find it not to my taste. Most of the names suck. The lore is invariably boring or weird, and not the fun kind of weird. I was going to run Dragon Heist, and I was going to put it in my own city. I gave the players some justification previously for why they would want to go there: The cleric’s sister had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Reptile God and turned into a Yuanti; a snake person. The bard had stolen a golden statue of the Reptile God and wanted to melt it down and plate his violin with it. I told the cleric that they would need a high level magic user and someone in Dawnharbour could probably help them; ditto the bard needing a highly skilled magical blacksmith. The third player didn’t really care where they went since he was on the run from his home country. So, off to Dawnharbour. They reached level 4 when they got to the city.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the details of my city or everything I changed for the campaign. Instead, I’ll talk up some hard and fast ways to make the adventure work for a higher level party. Most of them revolve around the encounters. I’m assuming the party will start around level 4 or 5.

Chapter 1

The book opens with the players in the Yawning Portal, a famous tavern with a big ass well to a megadungeon underneath. (More on this later.) They’re hanging out doing whatever when a troll and some stirges pop out of the well. The book says that the players get attacked by the stirges while the owner of the bar, a typical Forgotten Realms 15th level Fighter running a fucking bar for a living deals with the troll.

A troll is CR 5. They can handle a troll. If they can’t, you have a bigger problem.

Next up the book leads them to a Zhentarim warehouse. When they get there it’s abandoned and there are (ugh) 3 Kenku. Kenku are like tengu if they sucked. They’re bird people who can only speak in mimickry, like parrots. They can only repeat words they’ve heard before. This is stupid as fuck (especially when a player wants to be one) but more importantly, they are incredibly weak. I think the kenku are just hanging out or they got captured by the Zhentarim who left them there after they bail or something like that. Whatever.

I put the Zhentarim there instead. I put like 20 Zhentarim. I used the Spy statblock; they don’t have a lot of CR and at level 4 or 5, the players are real slice and dicey about killing them. They can basically carve through two of these dudes in a turn. It was *really* fun to just have the players mow down these mooks. They used the 2nd floor to their advantage, casting Grease on the stairs and creating a bottleneck and then picking them off with ranged attacks and spells. I think I might have given the Zhents 1hp and treated them as minions (see 4e).

I think I had the police show up after they were all dead; someone heard the commotion and called the cops. I think I also put an NPC there; I shuffled around a bunch of the NPCs the module uses. (They got their quest to save Volo from Bigby in the Yawning Portal; instead of finding Volo here, I think they found my equivalent of Renaer Neverremember.) There was a day’s break between this and them going into the sewers in the next part.

The sewer introduces the Xanathar’s minions. I believe a Duergar is actually there and I took this as a sign--I made most of Xanathar’s mooks Duergar, and then decided--this dude is a Beholder and he has a Mindflayer for a lieutenant. The Xanathar’s forces should ALL be classic D&D dungeon monsters, like rust monsters and umber hulks and ropers. This gives you a wide variety of weird shit you can throw at your players at different CR levels, and the idea of a gangster Beholder who thinks hiring a bunch of umber hulks to go shake down a local deli is fucking hilarious. But, it doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Throw some umber hulks or something in this lair. Go nuts--the weirder, the better. Xanathar’s crew should have no qualm about hanging out with a gibbering mouther or a carrion crawler.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is the least developed chapter in the book. It also revolved around a bunch of Forgotten Realms faction nonsense that I wanted nothing to do with. I used this time instead to formally introduce the Xanathar, the Cassalanters and Jarlaxle. After they foiled his plans to rig a goldfish competition (think a dog show but for fish), the Xanathar became convinced the players worked for the Zhentarim and invited them to have a sit down about their intentions; if they worked for the Zhents he wanted to formally declare war. The players hated the Zhents--they killed an NPC they liked back during N1, partially to set this all up. Xanny was cool with that.

The Cassalanters were a way to introduce a new player. They call up the Blackstaff to say, hey we have a magic item, can you send a guy here to deliver it? (Magic item possession is illegal on the streets in my setting, but if someone important hires you to transport it, then you can do it. This makes being a courier a very lucrative job; lots of people are just carrying around other people’s stuff for a living.) They almost immediately knock out the new player sent to pick up the item, and replace him with their dofflegagher. The idea was that the dofflegagher player would then infiltrate the Blackstaff’s organization.

Blackstaff is no dumbass and hired a random dude off the street--my new player. Then, Blackstaff hired the rest of the party to go rescue him--mostly as a ruse to snuff out the Cassalanters and get evidence that they were shitty.

When they encountered the Cassalanters, I used a Cambion; one of their servants turned into him. This guy slowly became a recurring lieutenant; he was basically the Goldar for the Cassalanter’s Lord Zedd and Rita Repulsa. At the time, I hadn’t read any lore for Cambions; I’m not particularly concerned with monster lore the way the guys who make the game write it. I literally thumbed through my deck of monsters, saw this winged devil horn dude, and said, “Right on, he looks like he’ll work.” A Cambion is CR5, more than suitable for the encounters the party will have with him over the next few levels. The Fiendish Charm ability is fun and can really fuck with the players; I ruled, of course, that anyone under its affect would obviously be free if the Cambion was killed. Even after it was killed, he just kept on coming back, because he’s from Hell and killing him on this plane doesn’t really do anything.

As the players continue to face the Cassalanters, a go-to seems to be spined devils. This is fine but not very powerful for a level 4, 5, 6 party. Therefore I suggest supplanting it with barbed devils. They’re CR5. Adding one or two of those to an encounter with spined devils can make this a real fun encounter that isn’t too horribly overwhelming, especially if at least one of your martial characters has a magic weapon (which they fucking should; they’re level 5!)

IMO you can also introduce Jarlaxle in this chapter; a fun way is through his Zardoz Zord persona. It could simply be that Jarlaxle knows Volo (or any other NPC the players know) and wants to invite them to a free meal to get to know them. In my game, Jarlaxle operates openly as himself (I found it would just complicate things if he was someone else) and invited the players to his yacht shortly after they met the Xanathar, to formally tell them all about the Vault of Dragons, the Stone, and how everyone they have met in the city is after it.

Chapter 3

I am not the biggest fan of this part of the module. I think nimblewrights and similar creatures are really dumb and don’t fit my D&D world. A lot of the stuff in this chapter is investigation stuff, and you can play that out however you like. It doesn’t drastically need scaling up, though you may have to account for something like Zone of Truth that they might not normally have access to. It also helps if you do the opposite of the book, and make the police a bunch of shitheads who don’t care about the city--this way the players are actually motivated to help. I’ve seen a LOT of posts that open with “the fireball happened and my players shrugged and said they would let the police handle it.” Horrible! The police should either be incompetent, apathetic, or (best case) both. They don’t care who did this and if they did, they wouldn’t be able to catch them. Now it’s completely on the players.

IMO it also helps if you do the leg work to make the NPC someone they actually care about. In the book it’s an NPC they’ve never met but they have a mutual acquaintance through--it would be nice if they get invited to a dinner with this NPC or something similar prior to this. Or, change it to be any NPC they like who you don’t mind killing. Hell, they’re level 5 or 6 at this point--if they got a cleric, they can even cast Revivify and wake the dude up. They could even cast Speak With Dead and immediately find out who blew him up or what he was doing here!

Moving on, there’s the Gralland Villa. I retooled the name to actually sound like a good name; sue me.

The book has a bunch of Zhents hanging out here. A simple way to make this dramatic and hard is to pull the trigger and make the players fight their way in. The stone is right here at the villa and they need to steal it. Sounds simple enough.

Things got complicated for my party when a recurring NPC appeared. She was an ex girlfriend of the bard in our party; they were both Tieflings. She now worked for the Zhentarim and was basically their second in command. And she was here to steal the stone, come Hell or high water. The bard, still in love with her, was perfectly content to let her steal it and even cover her getaway. The rest of the players, not so much, but when the chaos was ensuing and she was literally running past them with the stone in hand, made the decision that it was smarter to try and help her escape and then figure out how to get the stone from her later, than try and get it from her now.

This led literally directly to chapter 4.

Chapter 4

By now it’s obvious: I used all 4 bad guys.

I ran through the chapter and picked the coolest maps and best encounter ideas, including the rooftop chase, the theater, the sewer and the courthouse. I weaved them together carefully, and all the changes I had made to the groups paid off when they entered the theater, chased by barbed devils and our Cambion friend, only to have an Umber Hulk with the Xanathar’s logo painted on his face crash through the stage, flanked by two Duergar. Add in some Drow gunslingers and it was a fucking party.

(the large hexagon is where somebody cast Darkness; the big scuffed circle is a grody spot on my grid tiles. I still need new ones...)

The courthouse had a great scene where the Cassalanter dofflegagher impersonated the chief of police, interrogating the players for the code word to activate the stone (I added one; who cares?) until the real chief of police showed up! The players had to do an entire encounter with this guy while handcuffed; thank god for verbal only spells, right?

From here the stone ended up with the players, and then it ended up with Jarlaxle who they are working for. Jarlaxle attuned to it and told them the Vault of Dragons is inside Undermountain; 3, 5 levels deep? Who knows? And it requires 3 keys: The Crown of Asmodeus, the Ring of Winter, and the Robe of the Archmagi.

I gave these 3 magic items to the Cassalanters, the Xanathar and Manshoon. This is a pretty common hack and it means the lairs in the book actually get used. I made up one of the magic items (Crown of Asmodeus) and stole another from a module I don’t intend to run as written (the Ring of Winter is, I believe, in either Tomb of Annihilation or Storm King’s Thunder). They’re fun!

So the rest of the campaign has been the players bouncing between going deep into Undermountain, the megadungeon underneath the Yawning Portal, and going to the 3 different villain factions to steal their shit.

The villain lairs are NOT statted for level 5 players AT ALL. The players have no hope of actually killing ANY of the villains at level 5; to fight the Xanathar is a pure TPK at level 5. But at level 8, like where my players are now? One of them died and then got Revivified; the others all survived or made their saves when they were hit by death or disintegration. (In the spirit of the Xanathar, I rolled every eye beam randomly, rerolling if I had used that ray in the last round.) That’s about the best you can hope for with a Beholder IMO!

The rest of the lairs you can mostly run as-is. Any very low CR mooks, basically anything lower than 1 or 2 CR, I would probably replace with a higher CR variant. We’ve already discussed what you can replace them with above, and if you’ve made it this far into the module, you should have a pretty good sense of what your players can handle.

#dnd #dragon heist #waterdeep dragon heist

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lunarpleurodon · 2 years

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「Grieving Period: second sentiment」

I had been so excited To see my friends that day That I put on makeup, Wore a new skirt,

Had matched everything with hand-made jewellery And brought my skateboard, even though it was heavy I thought you’d learned, by that point, Better than to waste my time

They were right, what they said about you

I feel like both the half-named kid And the protagonist he devoted himself to Who left him behind for helping him out Well, I just hope some cool asshole shares a smoke with me

I’ll rationalise myself out of that dream, too

「1854, in London」

I mean, I’ve dealt with loneliness before, I’ve dealt with that feeling, of not having friends, Of not being liked, of not having a chance at love, But now I’d be finding comfort solely in other people’s songs

Ah, maybe I’ll run after him again,

All the pretty girls online Share photos with their friends And kiss them like their lovers, Call them by their names

You guys weren't cool enough for that

And now I guess you never will be

“But there’s always been someone who’s been replaced,” Was a half-realised truth And a line that made that girl cry And now it’s my turn

I can’t wait to watch all of you Fill in for a newer, cooler version of me, With not even half the skillsets I picked at Like a moth-eaten meal,

Fumbling about, crying ‘if only the sky weren’t laughing at me!’ Needing my help all over again Ah, but that’s a weaker sort of vengeance talking, isn’t it? I think I’ll call up that model

And share a smoke with her in a skatepark

And I know he’s talking you down, Saying ‘you don’t need that girl anymore’ I guess we never did I can do without him now

(I WAS YOUR FRIEND, THAT’S NOT FAIR, YOU DON’T NEED HIM, IT WAS ALL I WANTED)

Oh,

I don’t belong in California

(but it was me who brought us to Santa Monica)

There isn’t anything I’ve done To warrant your bad behaviour Even if you don’t believe it, It’s true that the way you made me feel

And the way I act because of it Is completely fair And all of this is your fault I don’t need you anymore

「real men don’t need other people,」

I cut your hair, (I should have pulled it) You said we’d spend time together But now it’ll never happen

Because you walked out a long time ago, And I was right to think about doing the same Why did I put it off? So much for forcing my smile

That’s right, I’ll become a fully-fledged adult!!

(Things are about to get a whole lot worse.)

I’ll be real with you about it, I miss that group chat I miss randomly dropping details about nothing in there Just talking about the things I liked, just getting nothing done

It was fun while it lasted

It’s true that I wish it could have gone on forever

How much improvised poetry Did I perform to you, just saying words, just making things up? Oh how much I tried to connect with you You should never have been born

「You’re gonna wish you never harmed me!!」

Your tricycle will become a fully fledged adult with two wheels You have me to thank for that bike, but, You cut me out like you didn’t need me anymore And I just pretended not to look

Will anyone ever say sorry to me?

You said you loved me You said it I even said it back Because I thought, for real this time,

That I was changing I was supposed to play the harlequin Wasn’t it me, who was the main character of your story? Ah, I guess this entire time,

You were the main character of mine

I’m so torn up about that You said you loved me And I swear, back then, I even almost believed it

Melancholies of a pierrot, Or something like that... ...Are you mad at me? Oh, what do I care,

I’d always been the friend since thirteen, But I guess that that guy Will become the ‘boyfriend since eighteen’, huh? Well, it’s fine like that as well

「it’s all re-used」

You’ll be perfectly fine without me, Like you have been this whole time behind my back, It doesn’t sit right with me, that I should be so upset While you’ve got a job, a car, while you’ve got a boyfriend and you’re crazy about him,

Ah, you don’t care

How quickly I went from being so happy, so excited for you, To hoping your downfall arrives, crashes into you, breaks you up And you don’t ever find your footing again I’m sick of just watching the shadows of birds flying over me

And that girl, too, Will eventually become a distant friend I barely keep in touch with Until, at some point, I don’t even talk to her either

I guess that’s what it means to grow up

「I’m gonna be a real man」

With my favourite pink scrunchie, And a half-eaten, heart-shaped lollipop, My glittery green eyes sparkled more than usual And ruined the makeup I’d worked so hard on

「Regretfully, in tears, that song I'm humming, whose song is that?」

Some of the best years of my life were with you.

I hate you.

「sentiment」 it was the beginning of summer

Ajin: Demi-Human, Gamon Sakurai: chp. 31 Real Men, Mitski Checkmate, Conan Gray deja vu, Olivia Rodrigo Can You Sleep at Night?, Flumpool

#poetry #sjg #im something of a poet myself #ajin: demi human #mitski #conan gray #olivia rodrigo #yeaaaaaassssssssssss second sentiment lets goooooooooo #grieving period #i have one more which is finished right now........... ill post it tomorrow

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years

Text

Catfish (2/3)

Welcome back to another chapter of this BS! Enjoy!! Our poor reader goes on a date and gets to know this mysterious “James” a little better. Anyway sorry for having no self control!

Warnings: fluff, major catfish, they kiss ew, suggestive language

“Good morning, Captain!”

“Ughhh good morning.” Yami yawned, wishing he was back in bed, before sitting down at the head of the table. His gaze swept across his squad, who were already chowing down on breakfast. Charmy was always on top of every meal, churning out good food for everyone to enjoy. “Hey, you, why are you awake? Today’s your day off.”

“Oh! I just wanted to get an early start,” you piped up in response to his questions.

Vanessa giggled as she sipped from her first wine of the day, not quite drunk yet. “I’m surprised you can get up so early when you stay up so late writing those letters~”

Yami frowned as everyone but you started to snicker at the comment. “Letters? Who’re you writing to?”

Today, you were the one with the bright red ears as you glared around at everyone. “N-No one!”

“It’s that guy from the mixer, right?” Finral asked. “Tell us more!!”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about-”

Right as you said that, a small portal opened up and a letter dropped down onto the table, right in front of Yami. He picked it up, and couldn’t help but snort with laughter. “It’s for you, Casanova.”

Everyone at the table burst into gales of laughter as you turned a shade more befitting a tomato than a magic knight. “Yami! Give me that!”

Yami examined the letter momentarily, noticing that there was no return address. That’s a bit strange... His eyes narrowed as he spotted something curious. This symbol on the seal... it seems really familiar...

“Here.” He tossed the letter to you, and you quickly put it in your pocket before anyone else could snatch it away. “Who is this guy, anyway? He’s not the type to break your heart, is he?”

“No, no, he’s sweet,” you assured him, finally feeling your face start to cool down. “Finral’s right... we’ve been corresponding ever since the mixer. I was going to go see him today, actually.”

“Well, have fun.” Yami picked up the newspaper and flipped it open with a flourish. “Just make sure he uses a condom.”

“YAMI!!”

Ever since the mixer, you and James had been writing letters back and forth. His were always filled with questions and demands for interesting stories, as if he didn’t have enough of those in the library where he worked. You spent a lot of time detailing everything for him because you knew he wanted all the details, no matter how dull. He always responded enthusiastically, but failed to give much information about himself, claiming that he would tell you plenty in person.

Well, today was that day. You hitched a ride with Magna to the Capitol before making your way to the Royal Library. It was located on the outskirts of the castle, a gigantic, intimidating building that towered above the rest of the city. The King was in there, and so was the Wizard King. You’d never meet the King, but you met the Wizard King a few times when you tagged along with Yami. This was the first time you came here alone, and to say you were nervous was an understatement.

“You’re here!” A familiar, cheery voice greeted you as soon as you entered the musty building. The library was kept dark and cozy, only lit by a few hanging fixtures. But here was James... he looked exactly like he did last time, but now he was wearing a royal staff cloak over his regular clothes. One side of this glasses had a smudge on it, but you could still make out his lavender eyes. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

“Me too, James,” you replied happily, giving him a bright smile. You couldn’t help but blush as he automatically took your hand and kissed it, just like he did at the end of the mixer. It was a simple, almost chaste gesture, but somehow it sent you reeling.

Jesus... I never expected to get a crush on a guy like this! You didn’t really consider yourself as having a “type.” You liked each person differently. However, James wasn’t the usual guy you would fall for. He was geeky, scrawny, bubbly, and almost erratic. But there was something about the way he moved, the way his eyes saw the world, that made you want to stick around. “So, what are we doing today?”

“I have a whole plan, don’t worry!” he told you happily, letting his hand stay in yours. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, we aren’t staying here?”

“Nope! Don’t worry, it’s still going to be nice.” With that, he lead you out into the hall and towards the exit of the castle. His brown curls bounced with each step. Cute... he seems to be really excited, you thought, averting your eyes. I’m looking forward to learning more about him-

Suddenly, there was a sound of stomping feet from somewhere behind you. Both you and James turned to the sound, seeing that it was approaching from around the corner. Soon, a voice suddenly rang through the corridor.

“I swear!!! If you’re running off again to cause problems, I’ll have your hide! The King will, too!”

James’s grip on your hand tightened. “Uh oh... um, follow me!” You yelped a bit as he suddenly started running, right towards the window. He reached up and pushed it open, then spared no time in climbing up onto the windowsill. Before you had a chance to ask what the Hell he was doing, he help out his hand, a gentle smile on his face.

“Do you trust me?”

You hesitated only for a moment before reaching out and taking his hand once more.

With one sharp tug, James pulled you out, pushing off the window. You screamed as you realized that he had probably just doomed you both, since you were a few stories above the ground. “James!! What the-”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence, because in the next moment you were flying, faster than you thought was possible. You screamed again, almost slipping out of his hands. James pulled you up and wrapped an arm around your waist securely. “Hold on!”

“It’s not like I have a choice!”

A couple seconds later, you slowed down and skidded to a stop. You immediately pushed him away and staggered back. “What the Hell!? Are you trying to kill me?”

“No! Why would I do that?” He looked genuinely hurt for a moment. “I’m sorry, but that guy back there is... uh... pretty strict.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I thought you said you had the day off?”

“Ah! I do! I do!” James’s insistence was suspicious. “But if he saw me hanging out with a girl on my day off, he would probably make me go back to work anyway. You know? ANYWAY-” He grabbed your hand again before you could question him further. “There’s a good spot nearby, follow me!”

You looked around for the first time and realized that you were standing by the side of a dirt road out in the countryside. In the distance, you could see the capitol, but you had to be miles away by now! “James, was that flight magic?” you asked as you followed alongside him, glancing back at the landscape frequently. “It was incredible...”

“Yes, yes, flight magic. That’s my magic,” James answered awkwardly. “And I’m glad you think so...” He laughed a little for some reason. “Thank you for coming out here with me, by the way.”

“My pleasure! I think it’ll be fun,” you told him, causing his smile to widen.

“Good! To tell you the truth... it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date. A real date, you know? In fact, I wasn’t really planning on it at the mixer, either. But hey, the best things in life are unexpected, right? So I hope you can forgive me if it seems like I’m improvising this!”

To be fair, he seems to be improvising every word he says, you thought to yourself, but you nodded happily anyway. “Of course! I love the unexpected.”

Eventually the two of you reached a small hill by the side of the road, with a few trees adorning the top. James told me that he likes the spot because you can frequently see travelers moving along the road to the capitol. “Especially on Exam day, it’s fun to see what types of people are coming to try out for the Magic Knights,” he explains as we reach the top.

“Did you ever try out to be a magic knight? Your magic seems pretty powerful,” you asked, sinking down to sit in the cool grass.

James shrugged. “Not... really. No. It’s not for me.”

“Oh? Why not?”

He stared down at you for a moment curiously before breaking into a little smirk. “Well, why do you like it?”

You shrugged, but the answer came to you surprisingly easily. “Well, I guess I like feeling like I’m doing something important. Captain Yami trusted me with a spot on his squad, and I’m more than happy to prove that he made the right choice.” James cocked his head slightly, intrigued as you kept talking. “And if I can make even a little difference in the world... then it’ll be worth it.”

“... that’s admirable.” You looked up at James as he sat down heavily next to you, that smile still on his face. “People like you should be magic knights. I’ve seen plenty of people that should probably find other avenues of employment. But, I don’t want to wait anymore, let’s eat!” He produced a picnic basket out of nowhere and set in in front of you. “I hope you’ll like what I picked out for lunch!”

“J-James, you brought all this?” Your eyes widen as he opens it up and starts pulling out a startlingly large amount of food. “You didn’t have to-”

“Oh, I did, though. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t treat my date right?” He punctuated his phrase with a wink, obviously proud of himself as you went red for what had to be the hundredth time that day. You didn’t say another word, and started to eat. Some of this stuff is pretty fancy... I hope he didn’t spend too much money. Is he a noble? You were curious, and kept glancing over at him as you ate. “You know, I would have never expected you were like this,” you told him. “Like, uh...” He blinked slowly as you tried to express your sentiment. “You’re pretty good at making a girl blush, that’s for sure.”

“Am I? Oops!” He laughed it off. “But, you know what they say about librarians~”

“... huh?”

“... never mind.”

You changed the subject before the awkwardness set in again. “So, what kind of family are you from? You seem like nobility.”

James swallowed his food before answering. “Yeah, my parents are from a long line of nobles. Lot’s of expectations, and everything! Sometimes I’m afraid I’ve disappointed them. Even now that I’m...” His voice trails off before he finishes his sentence. “But yeah. I assume you’re not?”

“No, not at all. My parents weren’t really important at all. We lived on a farm, actually.” You smiled a little sadly at the memory. “It wasn’t easy, but we were comfortable... until...”

James’s hand suddenly came up to rest on your shoulder, and you looked up to see him gazing at you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go on.”

“...thank you.”

After the food is gone, you did the promised magic demonstration. James’s eyes sparkled as bright as the gems you conjured up for his. “And then...” You flicked your hand, sending a volley of the green emeralds shooting into the ground, cutting right through the grass. “I call that spell Emerald Splash!”

“Such quick and flashy magic!!” James exclaimed, jumping up to go examine the damage. “How much control do you have over them?”

Without warning, four more gems appear and shoot right at him. However, before they hit him, each one deflects around him. It caught James off-guard and he flinched heavily. For a moment, you thought you felt a sudden surge of mana come off of him, as if he were about to deflect it. However, he relaxes once he realizes that he wasn’t in any real danger. “You can control each individual one?”

“Only a couple at a time, but yeah.” You smiled proudly as James came bounding back to you like a golden retriever. “Amazing! Maybe gem magic really is my favorite.”

“...” For some reason, his words struck some chord in you that made you start to feel sad. “James, you don’t have to say things that aren’t true, just to-”

“But, they are.” Before you knew it, he had grabbed your hand again, gazing right into your eyes. You were a bit taken aback, especially when you realized how... close your faces were together. “You... you are amazing.”

“I’m... ordinary.”

“That’s what makes you amazing.”

Oh boy. It takes everything you have to keep your jaw from dropping. Your heart quickened as you noticed his eyes drift down to look at your lips, then slowly moved back to meet your gaze once again.

“...Ja-”

Your words are instantly swallowed by his lips as he leaned in all at once to give you a shallow kiss. The gesture shocked you to your core, and you couldn’t even react. James realized this and quickly pulled back. “AH! I-I didn’t mean to do that so suddenly, I-”

This time, you were the one to cut him off, closing your eyes and leaning in blindly. Somehow, your lips connected again, and this time James didn’t pull back. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you into a tight hug against his chest.

You remembered reading about first kisses in books. “Sparks flew, “the stars aligned,” “the chemistry was explosive,” and other corny phrases were all used, but this was the first kiss where every single one of them was true.

Neither of you wanted to pull back, so you didn’t. James moved for air just once before diving back in. Wow, James... maybe your ‘fun fact’ at the mixer should have been that you’re a good kisser, you thought to yourself as you felt his hand stroke through your hair, causing you to shiver from head to toe. Maybe I should stop ignoring nerdy guys!

The two of you laid in the grass for a long time, tongues, teeth, and lips battling it out. But eventually, things cooled off, and you finally opened your eyes to look at the boy who held you in his arms.

His glasses had slid off during the session, and you sucked in a breath at the sight of his eyes. That deep purple color was almost hypnotizing, something about it so intoxicating and beautiful, yet...

sad.

James’s eyes were tired, stretched thin over a longer time than should have been possible. They were heavy with some emotion you couldn’t quite place, as well, but an emotion that was familiar to you somehow. But above all...

These eyes... they don’t belong in this face.

“Are you okay?” You were a bit startled when you realized that he was talking to you. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, it-”

“NO! No,- I mean,” You couldn’t help but giggled as he looked relieved. “It was good... I liked that. A lot.”

“Ah... good. Me too.” James smiled and rolled off of you to lay down, his hand still entwined with yours. You rolled onto your side to rest your head on his chest, still wondering what it all meant. Everything seemed to add up about him, yet... nothing did. You were sure there was something he wasn’t telling you, but the desire to dig it up was quickly fading.

I like James just like this... I don’t need to know anything else.

“Maybe this is a selfish thing to think...” James’s voice was deeper than usual and he mumbled to you. “But you might be just what I need...”

Warmth blossomed in your chest at the admission.

“Well... then I’ll be more than happy to stick around.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed your forehead before the two of you drifted off for a short nap.

(later)

“So, how was the date?”

You looked over at Yami as you arrived back at the base. He was still reading a newspaper, but this time in the living room. Old habits die hard. “It was great, actually.”

“Good for you.” Yami turned the page. “What’s this guy’s name, again?”

“James! He works in the Royal Library.”

Yami let out a chuckle. “A librarian, huh? You know what they say about librarians~”

Huh?! That’s the second time I’ve heard that today! “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Yami said with difficulty as he started laughing harder. “Librarians are so straight-laced and all... but then you get to know them, and find out they’re secretly kinky in bed!”

You felt the blood drain from your face as Yami kept laughing at you. “AH! I-I didn’t need to know that!”

“You asked, though.”

“... whatever.”

However, nothing Yami could say could ruin today. You grinned to yourself as you headed up to your room, knowing for sure that you would be dreaming of James, and maybe he would be dreaming of you.

Is it just me or is this chapter so much more better written than the last one? IDK. Anyway send me a comment if you enjoyed it!! The next chapter will be... interesting. I’m still trying to decide if I want to include some ~spicy~ elements so let me know what I should do 0.0

#black clover #short fic #catfish #julius novachrono #julius novachrono x reader

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a-twst-oc · 4 years

Text

Day 5: Dance

“Make sure you wash your hands!”

Antoine calls out the demand as soon as you entered the kitchen. The sound of boiling liquid and cutting echoes around the mouth watering scent of a meal being prepped greets your senses. Not wanting to get hit by the ‘Soap bar of Doom’ TM, you complied to his demand.

"You caught me at a pretty bad time as you can see. I'm trying out on a new recipe. If you came here to talk then please sit on that chair over there.", he motions where a wooden chair that is placed against the wall and off to the side but still have a good view of the kitchen. "Please do be careful, I wouldn't want to accidentally spill some hot contents from this soup I'm making onto you" he explained, voice dipped in worried. They were genuine feellings too as he glances at you with a concerned look.

Understanding the situation, you went over to the chair and sit down.

You ask what kind of recipe he is learning.

"It is an old one, a soup that even the one who made it couldn't perfect... It has great potential but it was never reached" he replied back as he picks up the ladle that was in the pot and gives it a sniff.

"That is all the recipe says but...", His nose scrunches up as a frown appears on his face, "It doesn't smell right..." He muttered as he puts the ladle back. He walks over to an open cookbook, most likely where he found the recipe, and stares at it with keen eyes. He lets out a sigh as closes the book with a slam. "They say a cook should always follow the recipe when it comes to great chefs but this time I need to improvise" he said aloud to himself.

He quickly went back to the soup that is still cooling down and turns the stove back on. Taking a big whiff, he recognizes the missing compents and quickly sets off to work.

It happened so fast too, mixing in liquids, adding some herbs and other ingredients. He would occasionally mix it before giving it a small taste test, seeing if there was anything to improve, before continuing that loop until a nice warm bowl full of soup was presented on the counter.

"I think I gave it my all" he said proudly with a smile on his face. He motions you to come over and see his creation and you did so.

The scent lured you in like a siren song as you went to grab a spoon to have a taste before he stops you.

"Wait, this soup is usually dipped with bread first before eating, I recommend you try that first before eating it with a spoon." He explained as went off to the pantry and presents you with a loaf of crispy bread.

"Do you know the best way to tell the bread is good is not by taste, not by smell, but the sound" he stated as he slowly held the bread up to your ear and gently adds pressure to the bread. There was a light crackling noise while a serene smile appears on his face.

He gives you the bread and you decided to break off a piece and dip the bread in. The soup clings onto the bread as the excess drips back down into the soup.

It tastes amazing.

The flavours mixes together in perfect harmony, not one ingredient felt overwhelming and the bread just adds texture to the soup.

"Cooking is an art, you see. It is like a dance one must try to balance all the flavors and make sure both scent and presentation meets that expectation as well" Antoine said with passion. He looks giddy to know that you enjoyed the soup. He grabs a bowl for himself and pours his in and looks at you with a smile.

"Shall we eat this meal together?"

#twstober #day 5 #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #my oc #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #Antoine

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who-is-olivia · 4 years

Text

Who Is Olivia?

Harry Styles x OC

Harry proposes during the recordings of Made in the AM. [4.2k]

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: hello! fine line is on the way and i think i might have a creative meltdown when it arrives, so i'll just keep posting whatever i please with all the beautiful content harry's ever brought to light. this chapter is a throwback to old school 1D fanfics, bringing the boys back because i'm soft and i miss one direction =) enjoy xx

August 2015

“And you will find me... in places that we’ve never been, for reasons we don’t understand, walking in the wind” he sings in the booth for the 8th time, then stands quietly for a few seconds to give her a clean cut spot. “How’s that?”

“You’re almost hitting the note, but it’s not quite yet” Olivia comes over to the booth, “If you put more pressure in it you might find the best placement, come on, do it again”

He rubs his frown in stress, it’s late and he’s tired, having Oli press him is not helping at all. “Don’t we have a take already?”

“We have, but you can do better”

“Come on, love...”

“Trust me, you can do better-“

“Can we take 5?” he asks Julian, who just shrugs. It’s already late, it makes no difference. However, Olivia doesn’t take it half as well as him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m bloody exhausted, that’s what, and having you... diss me every two takes is not helping”

“You think I’m picking on you?” she asks skeptically.

“I’m just saying you don’t criticize Liam or Niall half as much as you do me” he fires back in frustration. Instead of lashing out as he expects she will, Olivia waits for him to calm down and then spells it out for him.

“The only reason I push you is because I want you to give your best. If you want someone to pat your head and shower you in compliments, you’ll sound fine, but fine is also mediocre” he nods in agreement, letting his head fall embarrassed. At the comfort of that position, he almost lets his eyes close but he knows once he does that he’ll probably fall asleep. “We’re almost there, just help us out”

“Alright... I’m sorry” he replies with a small sigh and so she pulls him to a hug, letting him rest his head on her shoulder as she strokes his back.

“Forgiven” she leaves him with a small smile and a quick kiss, “Don’t forget to put pressure on it”

Julian starts the recorder once again, signaling to him that they’re rolling before playing him the playback. “And you will find me... in places that we’ve never been, for reasons we don’t understand, walking in the wind”

Oli waits for a couple of moments before grinning, “I think it’s the take, come out here”

After Zayn left, making the fifth album was insane. The four of them kept pulling to completely different artistic directions, Julian could barely help them with the singles so little he could give some coherence to the album. That’s when Oli decided to step in.

Harry knows he pales in the shadow of her abilities as songwriter, virtuosi and producer altogether so he willingly gave her the helm. At first, the other lads were uncomfortable with her command, fearful that this was one of Harry’s things he does for love, but surely enough Olivia proved herself to be very experienced. Harry always wanted to be an entertainer, but he never truly endeavored to become one before the X-Factor, however Oli’s been almost genetically programed for that, studying music ever since she could talk, studying every part of the process and also rubbing shoulders with generations of rockstars. She’s the woman for the job.

For their luck, Oli and Frank have been touring across America keeping track of One Direction’s leg in there, often making shows in the same city but a few days apart. To keep up with the recordings, she’s been making an extra effort, dedicating almost all her vacant hours to the album. As they often record in hotel rooms, it at least offers a place for them to pass out after endless hours of work.

“Check it out” she places the heavy headphones over his ears so he can hear the mix with the guitar base. Her whole equipment lies on the bed and over the tables, it’s the best she and Julian could assemble... at least it gets a really great sound.

“That sounds really nice” he smiles at her.

“See? I told you”

She takes all the material they recorded and starts mixing with Julian at their improvised studio. At some point, Liam and Louis decide to participate, leaving Oli free to rest after long hours of work. She curls up in the bed and immediately blacks out, making Harry feel a bit guilty – through all his hissy fits about exhaustion he never once considered how tired she must’ve been feeling, as not once did she bring it up. But now there’s no point in apologizing, he just lays behind her and spoons her back, holding her like a big teddy bear through deep slumber.

He wakes up hours later with her still unconscious in his arms. It takes a moment for him to realize where he is, getting up without moving her the slightest he notices Julian and Liam still glued to the computer. At the balcony, he finds Louis and Niall sharing a beer and laughing while the sun creeps up the horizon, so he decides to join.

“Morning lads”

“Morning, Romeo” Niall pokes.

“What’re you up for?”

“Trying to come up with something, we’re still missing a couple tracks” Louis explains, taking a gulp of beer. “You’ve got anything?”

“I always do, just don’t know if it could make it to the album” he mentions while resting his back on the railing. He keeps a writing journal full of poems ever since the band started, and in it he keeps great ideas that never saw the light of day. Recently, he wrote one that feels very personal and very cheeky... just thinking about it makes him laugh. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I have a really great one”

“How does it go?”

“It’s silly...”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I just play around with Oli’s name” they raise their brows, ready to mock him. “One of these days she was telling me something about alliterations or something like that, and I just played around with the phrase-“ he blushes, “‘I love Olivia’, because the L sound just bounces off. So I wrote a song for her that went I live for you, I long for you, Olivia, I’ll be now idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia... see? It bounces off”

“S’ a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Niall comments skeptically but Louis is thoroughly entertained. “Using her name on the song, it’s not very subtle”

“We’ve got songs with names on them” he argues, playing with the glass bottle. “Don’t see why not”

“We better tell Liam about it-“

“Tell me what?” the man himself walks through the door to join his bandmates with a bottle of his own.

“Harry’s got a cool song for the album but it’s got Oli’s name on it” Niall explains.

“Is she cool with that?”

“She doesn’t know yet” Harry clarifies.

“Well, is it a good song?”

“It’s not done yet, but it has potential” he insists while noticing how much their confidence as a group has grown over the past few months. They embark on his idea without even hearing the full song, although they’ve been rewarded for their trust time and time again. Harry came up with some great compositions this time around, taking all his experience with the band and Olivia in consideration.

“If you want, you can make a demo when we get to London and show us what you’ve got. I think we booked Abbey Road for a couple of days”

“Alright, I’ll give it a go”

Before they start the British leg of the tour, they get a couple weeks off schedule which give Harry some time to finish the melody before actually recording it. The last shows of the American leg take place fairly close to New York, so he and Oli get to go home ahead of everyone else. Sadly, one side effect of touring for three months in a row is an empty fridge, making them drag their already exhausted bodies out of the house for their meals.

“Do they need someone for the orchestras? I know a guy who can help” Olivia tells, holding her Starbucks cup in one hand and Harry’s on the other.

“Thanks love, but we’ll record the rest in London”

“Oh, right! I forgot... shit, I’ve got to book a flight” she gets ready to fumble for her phone but he holds her wrist.

“I’ll get a private one, just chill, I’ve got this” he soothes, pulling her hand to his lips then smiling amicably.

She smiles back but it immediately flips into an irritated growl. “For fuck’s sake”, he turns around and notices a couple paparazzi snapping at them. When they notice they’ve been caught they lose all decorum and just harass them.

“Harry, how’s the tour? Are you taking a break?” one of them asks, shoving the camera on his face.

“Hey, back the fuck off-“

“Oli, don’t” Harry holds her closer, taking the sunglasses from his shirt and handing them over so she can at least cover her face. “Let’s get a cab”

“Have you been talking to Zayn?” another one asks.

“Would you please let us through? We just wanna walk” Harry pleads politely.

“Sure man, I’m just doing my job” a third one steps out of the way, helping him and Olivia reach a cab and leave the streets for good.

“77th with Central Park West, please”

Olivia watches the paparazzi stay behind as the taxi speeds by, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a restaurant beside Central Park, I went there the other day, thought you might like”

She smiles, “Look at you, all local and stuff”

“I’m looking forward to at least a year of vacation, might as well learn my way around”

“Oh, thank you, by the way” she returns the sunglasses which he stores in his shirt once again.

They disembark at Central Park, being faced with an enormous queue outside the restaurant they were set to enter. In spite of it, they decide to walk around anyway. The park is a couple blocks away from their apartment, a purposeful decision as Harry appreciates extensive morning jogs when he sticks around. Although they come from polar opposite backgrounds, they both grew accustomed to New York and truly built a life in the city.

“A little blue bird told me that we’re recording at Abbey Road next week... is it true?” she taunts.

“Yes...” she celebrates discreetly, “You’ve never been there?”

“No, never! I always wanted to record something there”

“And Uncle Paul never took you?” he mocks.

“Very funny” she scowls in return, pushing him away.

“You know, it’d be crazy to go to Abbey Road with a Beatle...” he pulls her back, “What do you say? I give you the Road, you bring the McCartney?”

“He’s probably busy” she laces her arm around his, “Uncle Jim used to say Paul and Ringo only show up if there’s a wedding or a funeral... let’s see which one comes first”

“Let’s see” he looks down, his mind immediately sinking deep in thought.

They’ve talked about getting married, they agreed to it months ago but they never made a move to officialize it. They didn’t arrange a party, invite their friends or consult a register office — hell, he didn’t even buy a proper ring. For a moment he frets she might think he’s given up, they’ve been living in good graces for three years straight, the only reason they’re not properly married yet is... inertia. Maybe, with the stars aligning and time on their side, he can come up with something.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“You got all quiet all of a sudden” she rests her chin on his shoulder, “What is it?”

“Just random things in my mind”

“Yeah, no shit!” he chuckles, “Mind to share?”

“Have you ever written songs about me?”

She frowns, “Not exactly... I usually write about what I feel, and you’re usually the cause of that but it’s way more complex than that. Feelings are a mix of all the baggage you have from life and a catalyst, something that makes you express that. Sometimes that’s you, sometimes it’s not”

He sighs, sometimes she’s humiliatingly clever, “That’s very... fancy”

“I know” she holds on to his hand, holding another over her eyes as the sun hits them directly. “Have you ever written songs about me?”

“All my songs are about you in some way, shape or form, I don’t even have a fancy answer for that” he takes his sunglasses off again and places them over her face, she mutters a small ‘thanks’. “And it’s a bit weird ‘cause I always want people to relate to the songs but I feel like they’re too specific, might as well just slap your name in the title” he suggests almost as an internal joke with himself.

“I think you’re not getting this right”

“Yeah?”

“Take Uncle Paul for example: he wrote a bunch of songs with names on them and people still relate to it. Like Michelle, Dear Prudence, Sexy Sadie...”

“I think they listen to it more like made up stories than like autobiographies”

“Maybe, but you see, these songs have a clear subject and yet everyone can be touched by the lyrics. When you hear Dear Prudence do you think about Prudence Farrow locked up in her room at an Indian meditation camp?”

“I didn’t even know that story” he admits.

“Exactly, and you don’t have to! ‘Cause when you hear Dear Prudence you understand it’s about going outside, enjoying the day and feeling good about yourself”

He ponders, maybe his song can make its way to the album like that: being based on this incredible experience he lives every moment they’re together but still describing something everyone goes through, “Yeah, it feels like that”

“See? And he’s not talking to you, he’s talking to Prudence” she points a finger on his face to prove a point. “The best art makes you feel personally addressed, even if there’s a name between the artist and the listener. You can quote me on that”

“Alright, clever clocks” he pulls her to a hug and presses a playful kiss on her lips, which extends to this sweet contact in the middle of Central Park. This last album has been challenging, it’s pushed Harry so hard he sometimes feels he’s not up to task as a singer, a composer or a producer. And having her beside him’s helped him realize all the things he can do as well as what he can be better at. He breaks the kiss but keeps his forehead pressed against hers. “Thanks, love”

“I can tell when you need a pep talk”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my left nipple starts aching” he laughs between them and curtly gropes her left tit.

“This one?” she pushes his hand away.

“Stop it!”

Their domestic week ends too fast, soon they’re back in London to record the rest of the album. Her words help him finish the song without any insecurity holding him back, in fact it inspires him so much that as soon as he gets to London he walks into Cartier and buys her engagement ring. He chooses a delicate one in rose gold with flowers engraved on it and a small diamond nestled between the carvings.

Today is the last day of recording at Abbey Road and he decides this is the day he’ll propose. However, to do it right, he’ll need a plan:

“Lou, keep her busy in studio 1” he instructs, gathering the four of them on a circle with their arms around their shoulders, almost like a football team, “mess up as many takes as you can-“

“That won’t be hard” he mocks.

“Liam and I will record the strings and the vocals at studio 3, remember, you have to stall her there”

“We get it mate, keep her in studio 1” Niall sighs tiredly.

“Right, when I call her up, you wait outside the hallway. I’ll play her the song and ask, if she says no... please, pretend like it never happened-“ Lou smacks the back of his head. “Ouch!”

“Stop saying that, focus!”

“Alright!... when she says yes, you can bring it on” they all nod excitedly, “Don’t forget to bring Frank up!”

“We’ve got this” Liam hypes, putting his hand in the middle so they follow. “3, 2, 1-“

“We push!”

The plan gets into motion when she arrives at the studio, leaving her coat at the door. She starts taking pictures of the lobby to send her Uncle, but as soon as she crosses the security Louis comes over and drags her to studio 1.

“Come on lass, we’ve got loads to do!” he pulls her by the hand playfully.

“Calm down, I can walk!” she groans but jogs behind him nonetheless.

While she’s busy recording Lou’s uncannily messy vocals, Harry and Liam greet a violinist that plays the sheet music for the chorus and the outro. They’re recording and mixing at the same time, hurrying to get a decent enough base for the vocals with what they’ve been working on for the past couple of days, skipping through compressors and equalizers just to get something done.

At the hallway, Niall is returning from the restroom when he catches Olivia sneaking out studio 1 to look for Harry.

“Oi! What’s up?”

“I can’t take this anymore, if Lou messes up one more time I’ll hit him with my shoe” she pulls her braids out of her face. “Where’s Harry?”

“I... I don’t think he’s here yet” he messes up the last few words. God he sucks at lying, and his hard accent doesn’t help one bit.

She frowns suspiciously, “You sure?”

“We can call him later, come on” he pushes her frustrated self back to studio 1, “we don’t have all day”

Few more hours pass and Niall replaces Louis in the recording booth to give her a break, they know he’s got the best intentions at heart but it’s not working a treat. Harry steps into the booth to record his vocals in one go, it doesn’t sound great but he can work on it better if they actually decide to put it on the album. He’s got a lot to prove with this song: for once, he has to prove himself as an artist that can make something incredibly specific and still relatable; and then prove himself to the band, even if it’s probably their last album he wants to be relevant in it. His songs were never really taken seriously, neither were Zayn’s, and he doesn’t want to thread the same path as him.

At last his input is enough, they get great takes and start mixing it together with time to spare — that is, until Louis rushes inside: “Lads, come on, she’s not buying it! Tell me you’ve got it”

“We’ve got it!” Liam replies enthusiastically but Harry holds him back.

“Wha- No! I-I haven’t got anything!” his heart starts racing as it never did before, the prospect of the big moment being so close terrifies him. “I’m not ready for it”

“Of course you are! Mate, you’ve been together for ages, this is just one more step” he encourages, holding Harry by his shoulders.

“Bloody hell... what if she says no?”

“She won’t say no!”

“What if she does?!”

“Then nothing changes! You keep on living your life just without a ring and a wedding date” Louis argues, crossing his arms casually as he tries do play it cool. “Now, can I call her in?”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, Liam’s hands slip from his shoulder with a friendly pat. “You’ll be great”

They leave the studio with encouraging looks, leaving him alone and anxious in the vast studio. He pats his jacket to find the box safely stored inside his pocket, one more time he takes a deep breath. This is happening. The silence seems to extend for ages when the door opens again, this time for Oli to sneak in. Once he sees her it dawns on him what is about to happen, but he doesn’t panic... instead he feels at ease.

“What are you up to?” she tip toes inside and sits on his lap, pressing a quick kiss on his lips.

“Just checking this demo”

“Hmm, quite the professional!” she mocks, looking at the tracks. There’s too few of them, only one vocal track and three instrumentals. She’s about to mess with it when he holds her hand.

“Before you play... just bare with me, it’s not ready yet, it’s just a demo –“

“It’s okay Haz”

“– I know, but it just might not reach your standards...”

“Harry... look, I know how hard you’re working on this, I’ve watched you learn this bit by bit for years. I had a lifetime of learning what you learned in five years, don’t be harsh on yourself” she strokes his hair with a humble smile, as if she’s begging him not to torture himself about it. “Now, may I?” he nods in response so she hits the space bar.

The metronome count starts and a simple violin chord plays before Harry’s vocal kicks in blasting around the room’s sound system. Although she loves every piece of him to the bones, there’s something special about his raspy voice that gets her weak in the knees. She listens to it keeping her eyes fixed on the ground to better focus on her hearing. The first couple of verses are a bit weak, but she won’t say anything to an already nervous Harry. The following ones sound a bit better until it comes to the pre-chorus.

“Please believe me, don’t you see the things you mean to me oh! I love you, I love you, I love-I love- I love Olivia”

“Wait” she frowns at the computer, then the chorus progresses.

“I live for you, I long for you Olivia-“

“Oh my god...” her eyes turn to him in a bolt, he only smirks with those cheeky dimples of his and hugs her waist closer.

“... I’ll be now idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia. I live for you, I long for you, Olivia-”

“Oh my fucking god...” he laughs at her reaction, covering up her mouth in a struggled gasp. “You didn’t!”

“I did!”

“When you’re gone and I’m alone you live in my imagination, summertime and butterflies all belong to your creation. I love you, is all I do, I love you...”

She chokes a bit at the lyrics, and that is the moment Harry chooses to get the velvet box from his pocket and show it to her. “Oh, come on...” she cries absolutely overwhelmed at the sight of that beautiful delicate ring. She was successfully fooled, in no way would she ever imagine that the sound he was working so hard on was for her and that it was also his proposal... still, all she can do is smile and cry at the same time.

“I think I’ve said it all already, but still” he starts, her reaction causing him to tear up a bit. “You said you wanted a ring, a speech and an ugly cry”

“I did, didn’t I?” she tries to say through a sob.

“Will you marry me, love?”

“Yes! Of course!” she cups his cheek earnestly and kisses him with all she’s got, leaning into him gently but with the sheer will of a hurricane. She breaks the kiss only to wipe her own cheeks and leave a strained chuckle, “I swear to you, one of these days you’re gonna kill me”

“No way, who’s gonna finish the album” to that, she can only roll her eyes. “May I?” he takes her hand.

“Please” she watches him slip the delicate ring on her finger, astounded by his attention to detail. “It’s so beautiful... everything Haz, seriously, the song is...” she huffs, absolutely speechless. Harry smiles in satisfaction, lacing her hips as she hugs his neck pressing herself completely against him, feeling his love irradiating from every pore.

“I meant every word” he whispers, cupping the back of her neck and showering her with small pecks on the cheek.

“She said yes?” they both turn to the door and find Liam, Niall, Louis and Frank lining up at the frame waiting to come in.

“Of course she did!” Harry answers smugly.

“She said yes!” Lou screams, sparking a big celebratory mayhem of champagne popping and flying paper around them. “You should’ve seen his face when we left, he was totally passing out”

“He was shaking” Liam adds.

“Thanks mate, cheers”

“Were you stalling me today?” she points to Louis in accusation.

“In my defense, I was told to stall you for the whole afternoon”

“Can’t believe you were all in it... how long have you been outside?”

“We got here when the music started, I gotta say... it’s really good” Lou compliments, handing them plastic cups of champagne.

“Really good” Niall joins, “We should put it on the album... I mean, if you’re ok with it”

“I’m more than ok with that” she laughs.

“Than that’s it! Just missing another three songs” Louis mocks.

“Can we take a break? Just got engaged, if anyone noticed" Harry shrugs, his inner egomaniac begging the attention to turn back to him.

"Cheers!" they join cups in the center an down the content of their cups merrily, then doing it again this time with Harry and Olivia crossing their arms to do so.

A/N: and that's it! just a small taste, i've got more stuff cooking, adore you has been driving me crazy all week but i'm still figuring out how it makes me feel and how it can become a story... you'll see xx

Check more at masterlist

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otterknowbynow · 4 years

Text

Will Break for Food

Hunk and Lance go on a post-curfew kitchen excursion that leads to some eating and some thinking and some talking.

also on ao3

It’s a terrible idea, sneaking into the kitchens. Cadets aren’t allowed to just have free access to the food stores, let alone industrial-size appliances, which -- if Lance is honest with himself -- feels reasonable, considering the caliber of kids he’s met here already. Platt and Harper would have a field day, and he’s not sure much of anything would survive if Griffin stopped flexing long enough to try to light a stove. Hunk would at least -- probably -- know what he was doing, but it’s still a terrible idea.

“What if we get caught? I’m not getting chewed out by Iverson just because you wanted to make a sandwich!”

“Sandwiches are obviously not on the menu for the homesick and decent-meal-deprived,” Hunk says dismissively.

“Well, then what are we making?” He can’t resist asking. The answer won’t make a difference, he’s decided. It shouldn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter that asking made Hunk’s entire face light up. He’s not breaking the fundamental rule of being a decent cadet his third week. He’s not doing it. That’s one way to guarantee he’ll never be a fighter pilot -- he’ll be stuck in cargo for life. But he won’t pretend he’s not curious, and he’s even more curious when Hunk ducks under his bed and pulls out a plastic container, the lid of which he whips off with a flourish.

“We’re making ramen!” His expression is positively giddy; Lance can hardly stand it.

“Ramen? That’s your brilliant idea for a meal that’s better than what they throw us in the mess?”

“Real ramen, Lance, not with those mysterious flavor powders you get in the little plastic-wrapped blocks.” Lance looks in the tupperware and has to admit this looks a lot more complicated than the packets he generally associates with the word. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t happening.

“I’m not sneaking out after curfew, breaking into the kitchen of all places, and risking being yelled at, suspended, thrown off the waitlist for fighter track --”

“--Now, come on, they wouldn’t do that.” Hunk interrupts, his face softening. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not worried,” Lance says, sarcasm creeping into his voice and settling in like a cat jumping into a familiar lap. “I’m being realistic. They’re not just gonna say, ‘oh, good job boys, that’s some choice ramen!’”

“You don’t technically know that; my culinary skills are incredible.”

“According to who exactly?”

“Well, my mom, at least.” Hunk grabs the back of his neck self-consciously. “But, the point stands! She has excellent taste.”

“Hunk --” Lance starts again, but Hunk cuts him off.

“Please?” he asks, his eyes going wide. Lance suddenly finds himself unable to meet them, and looks down instead, ignoring the swooping feeling in his stomach. Maybe he’s hungrier than he thought he was.

“I just don’t think we should be breaking rules when we’ve just gotten here,” he mumbles at the floor.

“Lance, I miss cooking. I miss my family. I miss home.” The pleading in his voice cuts straight into his heart, and Lance feels his resolve break all at once.

“Fine,” he says, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “But only because I just realized I’m starving. And if we get caught, I’m telling Iverson you hypnotized me.” It doesn’t even feel like a lie.

“I can’t believe they don’t bother locking the doors,” Lance whispers, following Hunk through as the entrance slides open. The doors lead to easily the largest kitchen he’s ever seen, and his family’s kitchen back home is no slouch, full of butcher-block counters and a massive farmhouse table. There’s a lot less wood in here -- everything is gleaming stainless steel -- which makes it feel remarkably cold. Lance is suddenly glad this plan involves soup.

“What? Of course they lock them,” Hunk says incredulously. “Why did you think I brought this?” He holds up something that looks a lot like a graphing calculator.

“Uh...because you’re a nerd?” Lance offers, raising his eyebrows.

“No --” Hunk stops suddenly and frowns. “I mean, well, yes, technically, but the kind of nerd that knows how to make a door...unlocked.”

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Since like last Thursday," he says, shrugging.

"Hang on --" Lance holds up a hand, feeling his eyebrows stretch up to his hairline. "-- you've been homesick enough to consider midnight kitchen escapades for a week already? Hunk, that was after like...two weeks of being away from home!"

"I know," Hunk says, his shoulders slumping a little. "Seems like it doesn't take that much, I just...love my family, y'know?"

Lance swallows a sarcastic "that's one way of putting it, I guess," and lets the breath he'd taken in for it come out as a sigh.

"I do know," he says instead, the sarcasm cat apparently leaving him to embarrass himself. He's looking at the floor again -- tiles this time, as opposed to the carpet in their dorm room. "My family's close, too -- emotionally, I mean. I miss the fields, too, and the animals...deserts are cool, and all, I guess, but nothing normal grows here." He clamps his mouth shut, his lips together extra tight to keep the words from escaping any more. He did not sneak out after curfew with a kid he's known less than a month to get made fun of for talking about feelings.

"It only took me a week before I cried the first time," Hunk says quietly, and Lance looks up at him, surprised. This time he doesn’t even think of a sarcastic response; the sincerity is too jarring.

“Huh?” It’s all he can muster, but it’s enough that Hunk goes on.

“It’s not being away from them a week, like, obviously I’ve been away from my family for a week before, but it’s just -- thinking about all of it. Like, how home will always be home, but how it also never really will be again.” He shrugs, and Lance nods absently, but a moment later what Hunk’s just said hits him and he breathes in sharply.

“Oh, wow, I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he says, suddenly very aware of his heartbeat, which seems a bit too quick for standing still in the middle of a dark kitchen, even with the adrenaline of rule-breaking and risk. It never really will be again. Of course the farm is still home, to an extent, and his avuela’s little house in Varadero is still home, to an extent, but the main thing that’s always defined home for him is wherever his family is. When his older siblings went off to visit Dad in the summers and he was left behind with Mama, it never felt quite like home until they were back. When the others moved out and Marco and Luis started their own families, it was weird, but they were still nearby, and they came over more evenings than they didn’t. If he thinks about it, the weirdest was definitely when Veronica left and was suddenly missing from Shabbat dinners, except when she was home on breaks. That’s him now, he realizes. No wonder he was willing to break into the kitchens with Hunk on a Friday night.

“Lance, buddy, you okay?” Hunk’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he nods, probably a few times too many.

“I’m good, I’m good,” he says, still nodding a bit. “Let’s -- let’s make some ramen.” Hunk grins at him and moves to put the container he brought from their room on the enormous stainless steel island in the middle of the room.

“Alright, now I know we can’t do a stock from scratch, but the stock cubes my mom gets are the best, and I slipped a few into my bag before I left home -- you never know when you’ll need a burst of flavor, right? Especially with cafeteria food. They’re chicken; don’t worry. All the rest of this okay for you?” He’s moving rapidly, setting out different smaller containers that were inside the one big one he brought. There’s a tupperware of tiny foil-wrapped cubes, a couple packages of noodles, and a bag of paper-thin, pink-tinged flakes of some kind. Lance isn’t sure what those last things are, but there’s a hechsher on the corner of the bag, so he shrugs.

“Sure.”

“Excellent,” Hunk says. “Hey -- can you check the fridge and see what they have in the way of veggies? We’re gonna have to improvise a bit.”

“You don’t think they’ll notice if we take all the onions?” Lance asks, feeling the panic rise a bit in him again.

“We’re not going to take all of them,” Hunk says reassuringly, pulling a cutting board and a knife from the counter next to the sink and bringing them over to the island where he seems to be setting up a prep station. “Just, like, one. See if there are any green onions or carrots or -- you know, whatever looks good.” Lance shakes his head and moves to the line of big industrial fridges, bracing himself for the noise of the seal releasing when he moves the lever on the first one to open it. Any noise the fridge makes is completely overshadowed by a series of incredibly loud clanging sounds from behind him, though, and he whips around to see Hunk holding a giant stock pot and looking a bit sheepish.

“It was on the bottom,” he says apologetically.

“Shit, Hunk, we don’t need the entire building to know we’re in here!” Lance remembers to keep his voice to a whisper, but it’s a close thing. He holds up a hand so Hunk won’t move and listens carefully, but all he can hear is the hum of the fridges and his own breathing, which has sped up to what strikes him as a totally unnecessary rate. He forces it to slow down and lowers his hand slowly.

“Sorry,” Hunk mouths at him silently, and starts to move toward the stove. Lance takes a deep breath and turns back to the fridge, hoping there’s something there that makes this worth the trouble.

Twenty minutes later, they’ve managed to assemble what smells -- to Lance at least -- like an absolutely delicious soup. His stomach is growling loudly enough that he’s pretty sure it may wake some of the instructors on its own, never mind the avalanche of pots earlier or Hunk ripping open the noodles now.

“Grab us a couple bowls?” Hunk says, dropping the noodles into the pot gently and grabbing the paddle he’s been using to stir them in. Lance nods and scans the back wall to try to figure out where the dishes must be. He’s settled on a likely-seeming alcove when he hears someone laugh loudly and freezes.

“Did you --” he starts, and Hunk nods emphatically, eyes wide, his arm still stirring the pot automatically, though he seems to have forgotten that’s what he’s doing. Lance gulps. Now that he’s listening more carefully, he can hear the murmur of voices from somewhere nearby. He moves softly toward the door back to the hallway, ears as alert as they’ve ever been. There’s a sudden burst of laughter again, shared between at least two people. It’s cut off suddenly by a loud shushing sound, and the voices are near enough now that Lance can make out what they’re saying.

“Do you want Iverson to catch us? God, Griff.” Oh, man, Lance thinks, if James Griffin is really out there, now would be a chance to get in good with him, convince him he’s a worthwhile guy to get to know. He wishes he weren’t so tired and so hungry -- he probably doesn’t have the brainpower right now to manage anything nearing cool, considering sarcasm has thoroughly abandoned him already.

“Come on, what’s he going to do? Kick us out? Hate to break it to you, but I’ve got the top GPA in this place. They’re not gonna touch me.” That’s Griffin’s voice, alright. Lance raises his eyebrows and turns to look at Hunk, who has put the paddle down and turned the heat off on the stove, wiping his hands on a towel he has tucked into his belt. Hunk frowns, shakes his head slightly, as if to say “not worth it.” Lance turns back to the door and sighs, realizing as he does that he’s been holding his breath for what must’ve been nearly a minute, listening.

“Hey, what’s that smell?” That’s Harper, Lance is sure, which means it’s probably all three of them, getting up to some midnight trio shenanigans. Weirdly, he doesn’t envy them nearly as much as he would have a week ago, before he got to know Hunk, and certainly before they broke into the kitchen in the middle of the night to make ramen, which, he realizes now, is exactly what Harper’s smelling. He bites back a yelp at this realization and sets his jaw. Hopefully they’ll all just...move on.

“I don’t know, Harp, Kogane’s grandma’s house?” And yep, there she is. Platt's presence also confirmed.

“What? You know Kogane doesn’t know his grandma.” All three of them dissolve into snickers at that, and Lance blanches. Keith Kogane might be arrogant and snobby as hell, but he doesn't deserve that. He's glad on a certain level, though, that they seem to have dropped the idea of investigating. Their laughter and voices fade away as they continue down the hall toward the cadets' quarters, and Lance feels his heart rate start to return to normal. Hunk, behind him, clears his throat, and Lance turns around.

"You know, I really don't understand why you even try to hang out with them," Hunk says softly.

"What, you think I'm not good enough for them?" he hears his own voice snap angrily before he can stop himself. So much for late-night lack of filters being maybe a good thing. Now Hunk is telling him he doesn't deserve to be respected and looked up to like those three? He can feel his eyes burning and tells himself it's because he's tired. "Like, I know I'm not --"

"What? No." Hunk looks absolutely baffled. "Good enough for Griffin? For Griffin?" He seems to have forgotten they're breaking at least four different rules and curfew, his voice rising. "Lance, that's the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say, and you manage to pack them in, buddy." This is the first time Lance has heard anything like bitterness in Hunk's voice, and it throws him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, the anger draining out of him.

"I mean," Hunk says, deliberately, crossing the room so they're standing eye to eye and lowering his voice again. "They're not worth it. Like, sure, they're popular, and they’ve got top marks, or whatever, but they're assholes. You want to be an asshole? Is that what you want? Because getting in good with assholes is how you turn into an asshole."

Hunk's right, of course. They are assholes, all three of them, but the relative kindness of a person has never really been part of his criteria. His survival strategy has been the same since he was thrown into a new country as a ten-year-old with nothing going for him but decent swimming skills and a tourist industry English vocabulary.

“Maybe I already am an asshole,” he says, more sincerely than he means to.

“I mean, sometimes!” Hunk says, throwing his hands wide. “We all are, sometimes, but that’s no reason to just lean into it.”

“You’re never an asshole,” he says sullenly, back to staring at the floor.

“I’m -- that’s not true, but we don’t have to get into that right now.”

“I just want people to like me,” he mutters, still not looking up. He can feel tears pricking the back of his eyes, and it’s easier if he doesn’t have to see Hunk’s face. It’s such a simple want, after all, and yet one he's had to work so hard to try to fulfill. Join team sports, crack the jokes, keep an air of detached irony at all times, and maybe -- just maybe -- people will fold him in as one of the cool kids, not notice that he’s dragging behind in class. He's starting to think that's not the same thing as liking him, though.

“Maybe try listening to people who aren’t assholes, then?” He looks up to see Hunk smiling ruefully at him.

“That's a thought," Lance admits, and his vision blurs. He blinks rapidly. He will not cry in the mess kitchen at one in the morning. He will not -- before he can finish the thought a second time, Hunk closes the distance between them and hugs him, really hugs him, not like the perfunctory hugs he gives to his tias when they're in for a visit over the high holidays. He breathes in sharply and feels his whole body tense, startled, and Hunk lets go of him immediately.

"Sorry," he says, hunching his shoulders a bit. "I didn't mean to --"

"No, that's okay," Lance says, a bit surprised that it is, actually. He laughs, which is kind of a relief since he much prefers it to crying. "I'm just not, uh, used to it. You should warn me when you're going off-script like that."

"You're not used to hugs? Or not used to hugs from me? Because I totally get not wanting to hug a stranger -- not that we're strangers, but you know, you've only known me a couple weeks, might be weird, you know --" Hunk trails off helplessly, his hand gripping the back of his neck, eyes looking somewhere over Lance’s shoulder.

“Uh, in general,” Lance says, and it’s his turn to hunch his shoulders, sticking his hands in his pockets for lack of a better place to put them. “My mom’s the only hugger in my family, really, and I haven’t seen her in awhile, so.” He doesn’t mean for that to come out nearly as bitterly as it does. He winces, looks back at Hunk to see him standing with his arms open.

“Buddy, if you need one -- oof.” Hugs are nice, he realizes, when they’re not being demanded by relatives you hardly see, whose primary purpose in visiting seems to be to comment about how tall you’ve grown, “and yet still so skinny! Are you feeding him enough, Marlinda?” Oh, thinking about his mom right now is not a good call if he wants to keep the tears from coming back, he realizes, and steps back out of Hunk’s arms, dashing the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes before Hunk can say anything about it.

“So how about that ramen?” He manages casual as a tone, which is not bad, all things considered.

“Oh, yeah! Bowls?” Hunk walks back over to the pot and Lance meets him there with two bowls from the back alcove. They’re a bit shallow, in that weird shape of cafeteria bowls everywhere that’s somehow not great for cereal and soup or for pasta, but they’ll get the job done. Hunk ladles noodles and broth into both, with some onion and a bit of wilted spinach they were pretty sure no one would miss. He tops each bowl with half an egg he boiled earlier and offers one to Lance, who looks down at it and frowns.

“Uh, Hunk? How are we supposed to eat this? I’m pretty sure the caf doesn’t have chopsticks.”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Hunk says lightly. “But I do.” He goes back to the container on the counter and pulls out two pairs, handing one to Lance.

“Wow, you are a nerd,” he says, laughing. There’s nowhere to eat but the floor, and Lance is suddenly glad for all the cleaning details cadets get put on, since it’s probably been bleached in the last six hours or so. The two of them settle with their backs against the counter, and for a couple of minutes the kitchen is silent apart from the slurping of noodles and the clinking of chopsticks against bowls.

The ramen is cool enough by now that Lance can eat it quickly, and it’s absolutely bananas how delicious it is. He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that packages don’t measure up to the real thing, but the real thing isn’t usually an option.

“Wow, Hunk,” he says when he can stop to take a breath. “This is something else.”

“It’s taking you on a journey, huh,” Hunk says, nodding. “Best food does.”

“A journey to deliciousville,” he says. “To tasty town, to flavor planet --”

“-- Alright, buddy, I get it.” He’s laughing now, a little bit, but Lance needs to be sure he understands.

“I don’t know if you do? But if I keep trying to explain, that’s going to keep me from eating it, and that is...Unacceptable.” He looks over at Hunk as he goes back to his bowl to see his roommate smiling down at his own food, his whole face almost glowing with pride. “I mean that,” he adds quietly. “This is, like, really good.”

“Thanks.”

It’s gone in minutes, and the empty bowls make him feel almost wistful, but he realizes as he carries them over to the sink to wash them that he’s also horrendously thirsty.

“Hey, Hunk --” He turns, only to see there’s already a glass of water being offered to him. “Oh, thanks.” Hunk nods, drinking his own water before they both move to clean up. The good news is Hunk at least has been assigned enough cleaning details that he’s mercilessly efficient. It seems like it comes with the territory of having an often-turbulent stomach. Although if he’s used to food like this, Lance thinks, it makes a bit more sense that the commissary stuff doesn’t exactly treat him right.

“I can’t believe you have a homemade mac and cheese recipe and you didn’t go with that for this whole stunt,” Lance whispers, trying to keep from laughing as they sneak back toward their quarters. Hunk’s container is full of leftover ramen now, and Lance is just hoping it’ll fit in their mini-fridge without a problem.

“I mean, would you have been nearly as impressed if I’d made something that simple?” Hunk asks him with a grin, nudging their door open with his shoulder.

“Honestly? I’m a simple man, Hunk,” He grabs Hunks shoulder and throws his other arm wide gesturing at their room as a whole. “Show me a big bowl of carbs and cheese, and I’m happy.”

“We can always make it next Friday,” Hunk says, shrugging. Lance laughs and shakes his head, dropping his arm.

“Right, sure, we’re definitely doing this again.” The sarcasm cat is back, thankfully, and he can’t resist adding -- “because we didn’t come close enough to giving us both full-blown panic attacks already.”

But despite his claims, it becomes something of a ritual before long, to the point where Lance will come back from service on Friday night, change into jeans instead of pajamas, and read comics for maybe five minutes before Hunk looks over at him.

“Still homesick?” He asks, every time, without fail.

“I mean, kind of,” Lance says, frowning. “Not like, really homesick, I’m not a baby about it or anything.”

But Hunk gives him that look, eyes wide, pointedly hopeful, and he knows that even if he wanted to say no, he’s not entirely sure he could. And every time he sees it he sighs, puts down whatever issue he’s reading.

“If Iverson catches us, I’m blaming you.”

#vld #voltron #voltron fic #lance (voltron)#hunk (voltron)#scribbles #I Love My Kids A Stupid Amount: Here They Are Again

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pierrotdameron · 5 years

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Dafne Keen does not much look like Lyra Belacqua, at least not as Philip Pullman describes her in His Dark Materials. In Northern Lights, the first book of the trilogy, she is “like a half-wild cat”, with dirty fingernails, green eyes and grubby blond-ish hair. Keen, who is half British, half Spanish and lives in Madrid, is darker and is already the master of an intense glare, as anyone who saw her alongside Hugh Jackman in the Wolverine swansong Logan will know. When we meet, in a London hotel, she has the self-possessed cool of a total pro, even at 14. But there are plenty of Lyra-esque flourishes that make it obvious why she got the part.

She was almost 12 when she finished filming Logan. She had heard about the BBC/HBO adaptation of His Dark Materials, then in its early stages, and sent in an audition tape. But she didn’t hear back. “I thought, never mind, I’ll just carry on with my life,” she says. “Which is when I got stung by the jellyfish.”

The production team had finally replied, asking her to make another tape. Keen was on holiday in Puerto Rico. “I thought, right, I’m going to have a chilled-out swim and then I’m going to get ready. I suddenly felt this thing on my face and then it started stinging and then it expanded all over my face. I ran to my mum and I went, ‘Mum! Is it really red?’ My mum went, ‘No it’s fine.’ And then she went, ‘Oh no, it’s not fine.’” Her face was red and swollen but she had to do the tape. “So my audition is with a jelly-face,” she smiles.

The next step was to meet Ruth Wilson, who plays Mrs Coulter, one of the best evil characters in children’s literature. “I was sitting in the waiting room with 20 other girls,” Keen remembers. “I was thinking, oh god, they’re all blond. I don’t physically look like this character, and these girls all do. I went in, shook hands with Ruth, and five minutes later, she looked at me and said, ‘You know, you have the same eyebrows as me.’” Fans of the books will know that this is a big thumbs up. Days later, she began rehearsals, with Wilson and puppets. In Pullman’s books, people have daemons, an animal manifestation of their “inner self”, which lives alongside them. Because the daemons on screen are CGI, the actors shot their scenes with puppets to make their interactions as authentic as possible.

When Philip Pullman writes, he isn’t trying to bring down the church, he’s bringing down the system

Naturally, Keen is practised at describing what her own daemon would be, were this world to have daemons in it. “Mine is quite easy to figure out, because it’s what everyone called me on set. Everyone calls me Monkey.” In the books, daemons change form until their human reaches adulthood, when they settle as one fixed animal. Keen particularly liked hers as a pine marten.

We meet the morning after the world premiere of His Dark Materials, which was the first time Keen had watched it. “Everybody had seen it apart from me! I’m really busy filming season two, so I had no time to watch it. I had Philip Pullman right next to me, and I was like, oh god! But I think he liked it.” Did he offer his approval? “His wife came up to me and was really lovely and was saying I was the perfect Lyra. I was really happy to hear that.”

Keen had not read the trilogy before she auditioned. “Now I’m a massive, massive fan. As soon as I read the books, I knew this was a good message to the world, and it’s important that we have stories about young girls, because there aren’t many,” she says. At the premiere, Jack Thorne, who wrote the screenplay, likened Lyra to Greta Thunberg. Though she does not know it, the future of the world rests on Lyra’s shoulders, and she has to fight tooth and nail to defeat the forces that wish to suppress free will and independent thought. Keen approves of the Thunberg comparison. “I am genuinely in awe of that girl.”

There have been various adaptations of His Dark Materials over the years: a Radio 4 series, a play at the National Theatre and the 2007 Hollywood attempt, The Golden Compass, with Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig. It was supposed to be a trilogy, but only the first was made – and Pullman’s theme of an abusive authoritarian religious body was watered down almost beyond recognition. The television series seems more comfortable with its source material, and its Magisterium, the governing body of the Church, is portrayed as a fascist regime.

In 2007, the Catholic League called for a boycott of The Golden Compass, despite the religious references being excised, and the Vatican also denounced the film and Pullman’s writing. Keen had seen it – was she aware that this new version might be controversial, given the backlash the movie attracted? “I thought that was sad, but I understand why they had to do it,” she reasons, diplomatically, of the decision to soften the book’s themes. “But I think people are reading too much into it. When Philip writes about the Magisterium, he’s not bringing down the church, he’s bringing down the system.”

Keen was born and raised in Spain and is bilingual. Her mother María is Spanish, and as well as being her acting coach is also an actor, as is Keen’s father Will. He has a part in His Dark Materials, as Father MacPhail, part of the Magisterium faithful. “He is terrifying,” says Keen. “He always plays bad people. I don’t know why because he’s so nice. I genuinely think it’s because he’s bald and has green eyes.” She practically grew up in a theatre rehearsal room, because of her parents, but she thought she would be a biologist, like David Attenborough. “Then I found out you have to study biology, and to do that you have to study maths, and I went, mmm no, I’m not doing that. I hate maths so much, you can’t even imagine.”

A friend of her mother’s was making a short film, and needed a child for it, so Keen gave acting a go. She loved it. She did a series in Spain, The Refugees, alongside her father. (“He was playing my evil father, yes. Always got to give it the psychopathic twist.”) She picked up an agent, who put her forward for Logan, and she got down to an audition with Jackman. “In the waiting room, once again, there was this perfect LA beautiful blond girl. I was just, like, a small, scrappy Latin girl. I always think it’s not going to work out for me, and then it went really great.” She auditioned with Jackman, then asked if she could try again, only this time she said she’d like to improvise the scene. She was 11. “My heart was beating big time,” she says. “I thought, I’m just going to dive in and ask them, and they loved it, so I was lucky.”

Jackman remembers the audition well. “[Director] Jim Mangold looked at a lot of actresses for Laura. When he told me about Daf, I was hopeful, but when we tested together, I was blown away,” he says over email. “She was every inch Laura. When Jim asked her if there was anything more she wanted to show us, she said, ‘Can I improvise?’ That’s the actor that got the part and who you see on screen.”

“Hugh is the nicest human being,” she grins. “I used to call him the human jukebox because he was always singing. Lin does the same thing.” Lin is Lin-Manuel Miranda, who plays Lee Scoresby in His Dark Materials. He got Keen tickets to see his smash-hit musical, Hamilton. “Two VIP Lin-Manuel Miranda guest tickets. I felt like such a diva.” On set, she would find herself singing the songs from it, but was too shy to sing when he was there. When Miranda had finished shooting, they all went for a meal to see him off. The bartender recognised him, and put My Shot on the stereo. “Me and Lewin [Lloyd, who plays Roger] were like, we’re not throwing away our shot, we’re singing this song.” They all joined in. “I’ve got videos of me and Lin singing it.”

Right now, Keen is preparing to go back to Wales to film season two, which loosely adapts The Subtle Knife, the second book in the trilogy. The third season, which will take on the astonishingly ambitious The Amber Spyglass, may take a little longer to pull together. Still, she is happy to live as Lyra for a while yet. She has taken plenty of her away from the experience already. “She taught me to speak up. Be bold, be brave, be yourself. Don’t follow rules, because rules can be useful, but they can be very stupid and pointless,” she says – sounding very much like her Lyra herself.

#His Dark Materials #Dafne Keen #the part about her dad sjskjskj

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