#also not wither of the characters i was expecting but well she tends to surprise me like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

Chalk Lines || Alec Volturi x Reader ||

Summary: Alec has met his mate, but he isn’t quite sure he wants one. With a few revelations from Marcus and the discovery of a hidden talent, Alec finds that having a mate isn’t actually all that bad.

Warnings: Implied homelessness, a brief mention of your standard Volturi violence

Words: 3427

The witch twins had quite the reputation and none of the adjectives used to describe them were necessarily pretty.

Deadly.

Cruel.

Sadistic.

Terrifying.

It was a useful reputation given their occupation, but it wasn’t necessarily a true reflection of either twin’s character. Though she may have been hot-headed and quick to torture her adversaries, Jane became far less terrifying when one knew about her penchant for collecting coins; she’d sworn both Demetri and Felix to secrecy when the pair had stumbled across the tiered briefcases in her room, specially designed to hold centuries worth of different coins in varying types and shapes. Alec on the other hand was considered less likely to explode with rage but seen as the quiet and calculating type, yet if anyone saw him squirreled away in Volterra’s library, nose glued to the pages of a book as it so often was, the jagged edges of his cold silence suddenly became a lot softer and he looked far less threatening.

Sadly, people rarely looked beyond the surface in this modern world. It was for that very reason that Alec had not seen his mate in the two weeks since you’d been brought to Volterra. It had been pure coincidence that as they tracked the abnormally large nomadic coven, they’d stumbled right through the alleyway the young human was huddled in. Alec had been locked in place the moment he set eyes on you, your tear stained cheeks turning his muscles rigid until the others had been forced to stop with him. You were about the same age as he had been when he was turned he thought, which only made it all the stranger that the young human would be alone in a filthy alleyway so late at night. He couldn’t just leave you, not when he could smell the oncoming storm and all you had was a flimsy looking jacket and a leather-bound book to your name. Of course, they also couldn’t have just left the hunt, not when those nomads had drawn too much attention already.

The human hadn’t particularly appreciated being forcibly removed from their alleyway to witness the execution of five vampires, or maybe it was the fact said vampires tried to kill you as Alec and the others flitted about tearing them limb from limb? Either way the violent spectacle had not been the best introduction to the supernatural world, and the fear in your eyes whenever you saw Alec, Demetri, Felix or Jane ever since that moment was something that irked Alec more than he let on. He didn’t even necessarily want a mate, so the instinctual upset he felt at your obvious distress had only made his irritation worse the longer the situation dragged on for. Caius was getting impatient to, insisting the little human be turned and the threat to their secrecy you represented eliminated. Aro was of a different opinion, wanting you to have some time to adjust to your new life in Italy and to start feeling comfortable amongst the Coven members, lest you be thrown into a heightened state of anxiety and terror when you were turned.

Alec hadn’t even seen the damn human he had being trying to avoid and track down in equal measure. If Caius’s ranting hadn’t been enough to drive him mad Jane had been giving him an earful about making himself miserable by ignoring you. He knew he was being a little petulant, but the truth was he was forever frozen at 13 (maybe 14, he wasn’t too sure since the date wasn’t kept as religiously in the medieval era and his human memory was blotchy at best) and didn’t want to be eternally bound to a lover. It was in the library, his eyes rereading the same page he’d been stuck on for the last twenty minutes, that Marcus found him. He greeted his master with a gentle inclination of his head, mildly surprised when the older man glided to the opposite end of the sofa he sat on and sank down into the leather.

“Haven’t you read that one before?” Marcus asked. His voice was no more than a breath of air, a sigh carried on a gentle breeze. He was not known for being loud or brash. Alec glanced at him, not surprised to find his master staring straight ahead with the same mournful expression he always held. Well, it was Didyme’s portrait that hung above the fireplace after all, she had loved reading to.

“I have read everything in here at least five times over.” Alec pointed out, bringing the ghost of a smile to Marcus’s lips. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for Marcus to join him in the library, though it was far more common for their evenings to spent in silence since he wasn’t the best conversationalist. That was okay though, since Alec wasn’t particular keen on conversation either, preferring the quiet and the calm it brought. The last moments of his life were spent full of screaming and shouting and he found himself rather adverse to loud noise now.

“I wonder, has your mate seen this library?” he mused. Alec frowned slightly, the familiar irritation bubbling within him at the mention of his mate. Maybe he didn’t want to share something with someone who clearly wasn’t keen on sharing even a sliver of their time with him, had no one though of that?

“I would not know.” He replied, though he couldn’t quite keep his voice even. Marcus hummed slightly under his breath, his eyes never once leaving the painting across from him. Alec felt the usual sympathy that bubbled within him when Marcus looked like this, when it was clear his coven and his duty were all he had left but all he wanted was to be ash on the wind, finally free. Marcus called his name softly, forcing Alec to turn his attention from his book (that he was no further through than he had been when he started reading almost two hours ago) and look back at the ancient one.

“I do not think they want a mate either.” He said, surprising him. Alec thought he had hidden it rather well, but he should have known that Marcus would see. He read relationships, he saw the bonds that formed between people and no doubt had acknowledge how weak the one Alec shared with his so called mate must have been. Hell, he was surprised it hadn’t withered and died yet.

“They…don’t?” he questioned. Marcus shook his head.

“Relationships look different, for everyone. Romantic threads tend to be a different colour, yours…yours resembles something more akin to friendship.” He informed him. Alec’s brows tugged down into a frown.

“Mates don’t have to be romantically involved?” he questioned. Marcus chuckled.

“No, platonic relationships between mates are more common than you think. Perhaps there ought to be another name for these kinds of mates, but I believe, what yours would like more than anything else, is a friend.” His voice was calming to the turbulent thoughts in his head, and Alec found himself nodding along as if part of him had known that all along. The problem was, Alec wasn’t exactly sure how to go about making friends either. He didn’t have all that many, and he supposed that you didn’t have all that many either given the state he’d found you in. Looking back on it, he couldn’t honestly say he found that he was as curious as a mate should be. The mates he knew were all romantically involved and completely devoted to everything about their other half, yet he’d never really felt that intense sort of pull towards them. There was a pull there for sure but…it wasn’t strong.

“I’m not sure how to be a good friend.” He admitted quietly, setting his book aside.

“Sometimes souls are joined together not because they are the missing other half, but simply because the halves that already exist compliment each other so well.” Marcus said, his eyes turning back towards Didyme’s portrait. Alec followed his gaze briefly, finding himself a lot calmer somehow when he thought of his mate as something other than a life partner. Now he wasn’t caught up in the worry of expectations, he felt guilt start to creep in. His mate had been left alone in an unfamiliar castle after a terrifying experience, and he had done little to soothe them since their arrival. He sighed quietly, pushed to his feet, and bid his master a quiet farewell before heading to Demetri’s room. What was he even supposed to do when he found you? What was he supposed to say? What could make up for a fortnight of ignorance on his part?

“Alec, are you planning on knocking or will you continue to dwindle away the evening hours by standing like an idiot at my door?” Demetri wondered, opening it just enough to lean his shoulder against the wooden frame. His face was smug, like he knew already what he was here for. Alec didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Do not waste my time and less of it shall dwindle away, then.” He retorted, face unchanging. Demetri cocked his head, his smirk widening slightly as the silence settled between them. For those who knew Demetri well, it was easy to tell when he was using his gift. It was practically instinctual for him at this point but Alec saw the brief lapse of his attention, his eyes shifting from sharp and keen to vacant as he reached for your tenor, not seeing the hallway anymore but a variety of what he had described as colourful cords once.

“Same place they’ve been the past few weeks.” He said finally, his smile falling slightly, “One floor up right at the end of the corridor above us.” Alec frowned slightly. That corridor was abandoned, what was his mate doing there? With a slight nod of appreciation to Demetri, Alec turned on his heel and moved swiftly down the corridor towards the stairs leading upward. A lot of the upper floor had been destroyed in Marcus’s rage after he had lost Didyme. He had torn through most of the castle in his rage, rumour had it, but some of it had simply never been restored. Alec slowed his pace, eyes cutting through the gloom. The ripped tapestries and the leaves and dust that had blown in from broken windows left the whole place feeling rather eerie. He wondered briefly how his fragile mate could stand to be in such a place. Didn’t humans prefer lighter, warmer places? Then again, you had been left in an alleyway for some bizarre reason and Alec had know idea how long you’d been there.

A faint glow came from the room at the end of the corridor, the soft yellow light of a lamp he realised, as he moved closer. He could hear a gentle humming to, the melody building to the lyrics of a song he didn’t recognise drifting through the quiet toward him. He paused in the doorway, taking a moment to stare in awe. Unbeknownst to them, you had turned this abandoned room into your own personal haven, away from the vampires and the rest of the world. The floors were swept clean, the ivy that was creeping through a few other windows stripped away and cut back. The tapestries were removed from the walls and artfully ripped to create overlapping, mismatched pieces for an abstract, faded carpet in one corner. The shelves had been cleaned and polished, Alec recognising some of the books as those that had been provided in your room by them, but there was also a myriad of art supplies he knew hadn’t been. Currently, some of the tapestry was being used to soften the stone beneath your knees as you continued to add to a small, colourful piece in the corner of the curved wall.

It took him a moment to realise you were holding chalks, blending the light and dark to make varying shades for grass. One half of the large expanse of wall opposite the window was dark, in shades of grey and black and white. The one thing that did stand out was vibrant red of a figures eyes, and as Alec looked closer he realised that the blended figures were cloaked, depicting exactly what his mate had seen the night they met. The other half was still taking shape but was clearly supposed to be a brighter image.

“You have incredible talent.” He complimented. You jumped at the sound of his voice, heart jolting and speeding up in your chest as you dropped the chalk. With wide eyes, you stared back at Alec before scrambling to your feet, wiping chalky hands on the cloth protruding from the pocket of your jeans. Swallowing nervously, you glance back at your artwork before dropping your eyes to the floor, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the tapestry carpet. Alec thought you looked quite small like that, like you were embarrassed almost or expecting him to berate you, to laugh, or worse.

“Thanks.” You mumbled. Alec hadn’t heard your voice sound like this before, the soft tones soothing and mellow, much different to the harsh sounds of screaming the night you’d met.

“May I come in?” he asked. He felt like he was intruding. You had set up plenty of lamps about and cushions on the carpet to make a small seating area, this was their space, not his. Slowly, his mate nodded, and Alec looked back at the chalk art on the wall once more.

“I…can rub it away.” You said, sounding uncertain. Alec immediately shook his head.

“Please don’t. I meant what I said, you have talent.” He lifted his hand without thinking, placing his index finger on a section of white and rubbing softly. Running his thumb over his finger, he marvelled at the slippery feel of the chalk dust between his fingers. “All of this is chalk?” he asked, the surprise in his voice obvious. He had never used chalk before as a medium. You nodded your head, pointing to the bucket of chalks at your feet, they were small and worked to stubs in some cases, but you clearly had made do.

“Did you never draw on the pavement with chalk as a kid?” you asked him. Alec’s lips twitched upward, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes.

“When I was child, we barely had roads.” He answered. He heard your heartbeat falter a little in your chest, the shock registering on your face. Now he took the time to look you over, he realised you looked quite calm here in your little space. You clearly felt at ease here, your (Y/E/C) eyes soft and open for him to read. Despite that, you were clearly still a little wary of him to, unsure of what to say, what his intentions were in coming here. “How long have you been drawing?” he asked, hating the way the silence grew so easily between you both. You shrugged a shoulder, moving towards your little cushion area and settling yourself cross-legged on the floor, looking up at him curiously. Alec folded his arms, remaining standing. Truthfully, he’d be no more comfortable on the floor than he would be standing, but he also didn’t want to invade your space when you were quite obviously sizing him up.

It was odd to feel like he was intruding in his own home.

“A while, my Mom taught me.” You answered. It was no more and no less than he had asked for. Alec nodded along, uncertain what to say next. How did people make friends? Drawing your knees up to your chest, you dropped your chin on top of your legs, looking up at him. Come to think of it, you hadn’t taken your eyes off of him yet. Alec let his eyes wander once more, taking in the books and supplies scattered about.

“You need some new chalk.” He noted. Maybe he could do something about your passion to try and gain your trust a bit?

“I can make do.” You answered immediately. Alec frowned.

“You’ve barely any left.” He retorted stubbornly. You shrugged at him again, like you didn’t really care much either way. “Well, we can go out tomorrow and get more maybe…or some new books for your shelf, if you like.” He offered. You tilted your head, regarding him like you were watching an interesting experiment through a microscope.

“You don’t have to.” You murmured, looking mildly bewildered by him. Alec got the impression not many people offered to do nice things for you.

“You’ve yet to see the city. I think that should change.” He said, and with a time to pick you up at your room tomorrow he left you be. He wasn’t even half-way down the corridor when he heard the scraping of chalk on the stone once more. Alec wasn’t honestly prepared for just how much time it took. He had thought you had been quite calm and comfortable with him that night he first went to you, but it was weeks before you held a fluent conversation with him, letting him freely know your thoughts without being prompted by questions, some of which you wouldn’t answer. You were clearly not used to trusting others, but over the weeks Alec spent learning to draw from you, reading with you, helping you further decorate your nook of the castle, he couldn’t deny you had developed a strong friendship. He felt complete, calm, happy even. Marcus had been right. Fate had drawn the two of you together not because you were meant to be his missing piece, but rather you were meant to smooth over the cracks and heal one another so that when the person who was meant to fill the gap came along, they got something a little less broken than before.

“Alec? I don’t think I ever said thank you, did I?” you asked, four centuries later while overlooking the Parisian skyline. You were on a mission to eradicate an idiotic nomad with a terrible habit of torturing humans, something Felix was very upset he was missing out on. Alec looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Thank you for what?” he questioned. You grinned at him.

“For choosing this little sewer rat to be your best friend.” You poked and prodded his side as you spoke, making him squirm slightly as he tried to bat your hands away. His serious expression faltered, melting into a carefree smile before he laughed and snatched you up, threatening to drop you over the edge. It would have been a lot less terrifying if you weren’t on one of the highest beams the Eiffel Tower had to offer.

“You want to keep trying your luck? Well? Do you?” he demanded, grinning wildly as you squealed, fingers curled tight into his arms. Alec reeled you back in, settling you on the beam beside him so you could go back to swinging your legs back and forth. For a moment the sound of your laughter fading into the night was allowed to settle, drifting away on the breeze as the silence grew between you. It was then Alec spoke. “You don’t have to thank me. I think I did it as much for me as I did for you.” He confessed. He could feel your eyes burning holes in the side of his face and risked a glance sideways, seeing your understanding expression. You knew all of his past, the same way he knew yours. You had both healed each other from a considerable amount of trauma.

“Well then…here’s to us.” You declared, standing to grip the metal beam behind you and you leaned out, chin up high and free hand on your hip in a ridiculous, ostentatious pose. You looked oddly like you were trying to model for a statue pose. Alec snorted.

“I am not doing that.” He said.

“What? No! Come on! You can’t leave me hanging like this!” you protested. Alec stood, shaking his head and starting to climb down.

“Watch me.”

“No!”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Best friends don’t let each other do stupid things alone!”

“You are never alone, I just prefer to watch your stupidity from the side-lines so I can be as affiliated with it as little as possible.”

“I’ll race you then!”

“Y/N don’t you dare jump off of the top of the Eiffel tower! Even we’re not that indestructible.”

“You ruin all my fun.”

#the volturi #alec volturi #alec volturi fanfiction #alec volturi imagine #x reader #alec volturi x reader #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #volturi fanfiction

290 notes · View notes

bots-basket · 3 years

Text

Safety in numbers #6

Balan had Placed the girl down in a more comfortable position as the Tims crowded around her to keep her an eye on her- And also keep her from toppling over. He couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble she had gotten into to cause her to be in such an exhausted state.. But then again- There has been some strange thinking’s going on lately...

— Earlier —

The bout tunnel Balan had been stuck in was filled with the Black crystals and they were getting more aggressive by the minute- growing in every direction and trying to strike down the magical maestro. He might’ve not been able to destroy them, but he could definitely dodge them without much difficulty.

He flipped and spun out of the way with ease and avoided getting hit by the ominous crystals.. but even Balan knew he needed to find another way to deal with these troublesome growths before there wasn’t any room to dodge anymore.

And then, The crystals suddenly stopped growing. That’s strange.. And when Balan decided to get a closer look to the crystals, the color faded the moment he touched them.. and a few moments later they crumbled into dust. Even stranger still. But now that they aren’t attacking him, he could finally get out of the tunnel.

Glancing to the main crystal that was still blocking his exit, Balan Raised his Fist and simply smashed into it, watching the pieces fly without much resistance. He would probably wonder about what made these crystals so strong than weak in the first place- but now was not the time. That and he didn’t want to get stuck again.. talk about embarrassing.

But as soon as he entered the Stage.. He wished he has stayed within the bout tunnel. Everything had completely warped way more than Balan could've imagined..

Everything that José had loathed had come to be.. The entire area was dead and withered.. no a single crop in sight. The dirt was a pale dried out color and the sky was a deep dark purple.. And he couldn’t sense anything or anyone. Nobody was here. What could’ve happened here..?

— Present —

Balan gently placed his hand onto the now sealed off door that lead to the once beautiful and luxurious Farmland turned wasteland... He had no idea where José..no.. Barktholomew could’ve gone. Usually once they’ve turned into a Negati Boss, they’d stay in their mindscapes to protect them... so why would He leave, Especially when his scape had turned into.. That?

Balan frowned as he traced his fingers over the outline of the doors Handles securely sealed together... He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. As if On cue, a Familiar Voice broke him out of his wonderings. Whipped his head around to see another standing beside him.

“ For Once, I Too don’t like the looks of that Door.”

It was Lance. At Once Balan got into a defensive position incase The Negati Master wanted to try and throw down, but was slightly surprised to see him hold out his hand and shake his head.

“ I’m Not here to fight.”

“ Then why are you here?”

Balan raised an eyebrow to him as Lance held up his other hand to show something to him.

“ I want to know what’s going on.. starting with this.”

The Negati Master was holding a strange little Orb between his fingers, and it was giving off its Soft and Steady green pulse glow. Seeing this little orb slightly confused the wonderworld Maestro as he looked onto it with a lowered Guard.

“ what is it?”

“ Something Powerful. While you were off Lallygagging, Something Happened within Barktholomew’s Mindscape.”

“ I wasn’t lallygagging! I- just wasn’t able to come right away. Speaking of Barktholomew, What happened? I saw his Mindscape in complete ruins when I arrived.”

“I’m Not completely sure. But What I do know is that Barktholomew went completely out of control-if I hadn’t stepped in, She would’ve been no more. Where were you?”

“ I was stuck in one of the bout tunnels, no thanks to you.”

“ What are you implying Balan?”

“ Your Negative crystals had sealed me in, and then started to ATTACK me. Since when did they get so powerful?”

“ crystals..? That wasn’t me.”

“ What?”

“ I couldn’t even enter the bout tunnels, let alone create crystals to stop you. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t me.”

“ Then what could’ve possibly done that?”

“ Whatever sent Barktholomew into frenzy, and then ruined his Mindscape.. It’s a mystery. And then there’s this thing.”

Lance moved the little orb between his fingers before glancing over to the girl.

“ And Her.”

“ Her?”

“ Before anything happened, she had a few of these little things. She talked to them and was always carrying them. And When Barktholomew went wild, This particular Orb Leeched off of my power-”

“ It wHaT-“

“- and summoned a Beast. It was nothing like anything I’ve created before, and yet in a way- it felt like it was like me.. Not A Negati. I want Answers as to how and why that thing appeared, as well as to what’s going on.”

“ I might not know what’s going on.. but I can explain the orbs.. for starters, The one your holdings name is Bass.”

The two turned to see the girl sitting upright and rubbing her eyes slightly as she made her statement. She had woken up a little bit ago, but decided to remain quiet and listen, as she did best. She Readjusted her glassed before petting one of the Tim’s that had excitedly bounced into her lap.

“ Your awake! Thank goodness your alright”

Balan let out a sigh of relief as he headed over to help her up with his usual big ol grin on his face.

“ Bass?”

Lance murmured as he looked to the orb that Glowed significantly brighter than it did before.

“ His Name’s Bass... And He can hear you. He’s one of my Guardians.. they’re all my guardians.”

Rosie replied as the little orb glowed a Brilliant green as brightly as it could whenever she said his name. It was obvious that it was very attached to her. The girl reached into her hoodie pockets and pulled out three more orbs, the ones she had from before.

“ This is Zephyr, Roxas or Rox for short, and Onyx. And you already know Bass... And um.. I’m Rosie..”

Each had their own steady glow of color that brightened whenever she said their name out loud. Balan leaned in to get a better look at them, now completely interested in whatever these strange things could be.

“How Curious! And you say they are your guardians, Rosie was it?”

The magical maestro mused as he reached out to touch one of them, Only to get aShock to his fingers. He cringed back a little and shook his hand, not expecting the sudden electric jolt. The Action made A small Laugh escape the girl as she looked to him with a small smile.

“ Sorry...Roxie just gets Excited. His core has a small crack in it- so his power tends to leak out when he gets too emotional... Yeah- Well.. Um.. they’re my guardians Cores at least. They used to have bodies to go with them-! Until they didn’t...”

Rosie began to become a little more uneasy the longer she spoke, gently tugging on her braids with her free hand. She’s wasn’t so used to talking too much around others.

“... I hope I’m not prying, but What happened to them?”

She felt a twinge in her chest when she heard Balan’s Query.. Her mouth felt kinda dry and choked up as she remembered the unfortunate events that happened to cause them to loose their original forms.. She began to tremble as She started to get scared again..

“..I- T..They-..”

Lance watched Quietly as not only the Tim’s, but the Negati aswell began to also get closer to her in attempts to calm her down. Balan however recognized this reaction, as she had reacted the same way once before. His expression changed from a worried look to a slightly more serious one.

“ It’s because of those men from before, wasn’t it?”

“......mmhmm...”

“ What Men?”

Lance interjected, his attention to this conversation now apparent. Now they were making some progress within this mystery. Balan turned from the girl to make eye contact with The Negati Master, his expression unchanging.

“ Some unsavory characters were trashing the theatre lobby searching for her. And judging by their rude behavior, their intentions weren’t well intended. It got to the point I had to politely remove them from the premise.”

“ Hmm.. that reminds me of something, I had found this when examining Barktholomew’s area.”

Lance reached into his coat with his other hand and pulled out the capsule he had found inside Barktholomew’s Mindscape thanks to the Negati. Once it was shown, their reaction was the same as before, Hissing and growling at it. But The Negati weren’t the only ones disturbed by it. The Tim’s themselves curiously glanced over at it- only to suddenly cringe away from it and Lance as far as they possibly could. None of them liked it.

And When Rosie herself headed over to see what it was, She Nearly stumbled backwards and dropped the cores if Balan hadn’t of caught her. A look of pure terror filled her eyes as she began to hyperventilate once more, shaking uncontrollably as she slipped into a panic attack.

“Rosie? Rosie! ROSIE! Hey- Hey! It’s Okay, it’s okay.. Your alright- Breathe! just Breathe.. We’re right here.. Nothings going to happen to you, I’m right here.”

// I Didn’t expect Something like this little capsule could set her off so badly ... What happened to you..?//

Lance thought as he stood there examining the capsule while Balan did his best to calm her down.. but it wasn’t working.. She just clung onto the now dimly glowing cores and stuttered out a Name as the cold realization hit her like a Winter freeze.

“T..T..Tobais.., Tobais is Here...We’re all gonna die..”

#{ daydreaming; drabble }#{ safety in numbers; balan wonderworld!verse }#{ shy but sweet; rosie }#{ follow your heart; balan }#Balan #Lance #balan wonderworld #balan wonderland #( Yep. it’s him. )#( my veteran followers may scream now )

19 notes · View notes

livlepretre · 4 years

Note

God I wanna pick at your brain so much. Its made me cry so many times that I don't even mind anymore. Okay, so, which is the strongest character you've come across in books/movies/shows? And what was the moment that you fell in love with Elena as a character? Also, which incident made you disappointed in her within the first 4 seasons, if any? Please humor me. You've made me discover my hidden interviewer... ❤

Pick away! And 💙💙💙your tears are watering the fic, thank you, it needs them to grow

Hmmmm I think I’d have to go with Rand al’Thor from the Wheel of Time book series for the first question (soon to be a tv show if covid ever allows them to finish filming season 1!). Rand’s role in the book series is very much so the “chosen one” storyline, which is terribly fun to read but completely horrific and soul-scouring for him to experience, but what really gets me about his character is the emotional depths that the writer plumbs with him. I tend to gravitate toward stories about depression-- not surprising, I’ve had some serious bouts with it myself over the past 15 years-- and there’s just something about the intimacy of Rand’s emotional portrait as he spirals and burns-- his depression, his trauma and ptsd, the friendships that wither and the ones that turn out to be so profound and deep that they will not abandon him, even at the bitter end, the terrible anxiety and stress and anger and all of those things Rand feels that boil along... really truly awful things happen to Rand, and Rand does really truly awful things himself, but I suppose that what I love the very most, and the reason I’m so often misty-eyed whenever I read about Rand in the later books in the series is that there’s this thread of hope-- sometimes so thin it can be totally overlooked-- that runs through the whole thing. Hope that he will prevail, that he will make it over the finish line. Hope that he can figure out how to be a good man (again?). Hope that he will forgive himself. Rand really embodies the mantra that I told myself so often in my darkest times: when you can’t hold on, hold on-- and I can’t recommend going on that journey with him enough. (also in other news he’s a hero that hits all of my villain kinks so I am L I V I N G for that)

Had to think about this for a bit with Elena-- because the thing is, there were definitely moments where I liked her a lot in season 1-- honestly I usually can’t be compelled to watch a show or read a book unless the main character is my favorite/I at least like them a lot, since, you know, we have to spend most of our time with them-- I really liked her when she slapped Damon during the Halloween party, I really liked her when she drank at the bar with Bree, I really liked her during the whole “steal the grimoire!” and 50′s dance arc. Like I mentioned above, I tend to be really sympathetic to characters who are depressed, and characters who are grieving, so it’s possible I was really predisposed to empathize with her. I think the moment I LOVED her though was in Let The Right One In, when Damon told her to wait in the car and then Elena completely disobeyed him and snuck into the house and saved Stefan herself. That was the first hint that Elena was willing to take HUGE risks, and that she had this uncanny bravery that bordered on suicidal and also it was a stunning display of her loyalty and her love. So, that entire thing just S E N T me.

The disappointed question is really hard, because so long as the writing is good, I tend to really enjoy it when characters do bad or uncomfortable things-- things which in real life of course would have me on the war path, but which I tend to revel in when I’m watching. For example, if I were to try to judge Elena not as a tv show character but as a person, then definitely the whole thing with Damon would be a disappointment-- she should have wanted nothing to do with him after the way he used Caroline in season 1, and of course, the fact that he’s unstable to the nth degree-- but it’s a vampire tv show and so I have always understood the Damon/Elena thing as embodying the storyline of being seduced into darkness/metaphorical death, and yes, it’s terrible terrible terrible, but Elena is pretty much defenseless against it as a young orphan girl with no parents to guide her or offer her support, and no friends truly capable of it because they are also still kids (and because honestly a 26 year old aunt unused to laying down the law is not a sufficient substitute no matter how hard she tries). There’s a narrative reason why Elena is an orphan and it’s to make her vulnerable to Damon (and to Stefan, whom I think is pretty much as bad, he just pretends he isn’t for his own piece of mind). So, even when she falls in love with Damon, I’m not disappointed-- it’s the storyline I was watching and expecting because it’s a vampire tv show and that is what I signed up for. (I would say I was disappointed in the tv show for failing to make it as disturbing as it should have been though)

So I think my only real source of disappointment in Elena is in season 4 onwards when basically she drops Stefan off of her romantic radar as soon as she decides they’re breaking up. This was my biggest problem with TVD in general, and where whatever was holding the increasingly fragile storytelling together really started to fall apart. For years I had chomped at the bit for Delena, but I didn’t want just “Damon and Elena get together and that’s that!” I wanted a reversal of the Stefan/Elena/Damon love triangle wherein Damon and Elena would be together but that tension and longing and understanding with Stefan would still exist and make Delena maybe untenable the way that Stelena had been. The show was really built on the complication of not just having a love triangle with both brothers in love with the unfortunately polyamorous girl, but with the brothers having their own relationship to deal with. The problem with knocking the Stefan/Elena leg off of the triangle is that it just made the Damon/Stefan leg shakier and it made the Damon/Elena leg much more boring than it needed to be.

I guess I do have disappointment in the writing for Elena from the time she is turned into a vampire onward. When she was human, the writers made a huge effort to think of ways to make her a power broker in the group-- she was always negotiating, tricking, daggering, pulling dangerous stunts like slitting her own throat or stabbing herself or falling backwards off of those bleachers in order to trick her adversaries and win. The best thing about Elena was that she had this cunning mind and a ruthless streak that was shockingly cruel and balanced so well against her loving and kind nature. When she became a vampire, they just started having her use super speed and super strength to solve all of her problems instead of having her outwit her opponents and that was dull as dishwater.

Also I’ve mentioned this before but I am dreadfully disappointed in her grasp of history (but that could be the school system’s fault, they jump all over the place in history class without any rhyme or reason as far as I can tell). I die a little bit inside whenever I have to hear her describe 1492!Katerina as “the sweet peasant girl.” Like, I’m sorry, Elena, how does a sweet peasant girl in 1492 find the resources and connections to travel all the way to England to cover up her scandalous pregnancy? It seems more likely that Katherine’s father was a land owner of some wealth or connection, and it frankly just embarrasses me so much to think of Elijah hearing her say this. (like, this isn’t having a problem with the idea of Katherine as a peasant, it’s just that she so obviously wasn’t that it just comes across as so painfully absurd and ignorant and also weirdly belittling of the peasants, like, oh, this sweet peasant girl, so innocent! so naive to the ways of the world! give! me! a! break!)

#anonymous #elena gilbert

5 notes · View notes

emptymasks · 4 years

Text

Wither and Wilt

Pairing: Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria/Der Tod | Death

(as in Rudolf has a crush on Der Tod, it’s up to you whether Der Tod truly returns his affections, I wrote it that he does truly like Rudolf but you’re welcome to interpret it anyway you like)

Words: 2032

Rating: General Audiences

Read on Ao3 @ emptymasks. I can’t put the link or tumblr blocks the post.

Notes: Death is based on Uwe Kröger's Der Tod from the original 1992 production, with a little bit of inspiration also drawn from the Hungarian production's A Halal. You could probably picture anyone as Rudolf, I kept imagining Andreas Bieber and Lukas Perman's portrayals while writing it. Death is genderfluid in this because 1. I'm genderfluid and I see Uwe's death as genderfluid and that representation matters a lot to me , and 2. Uwe literally descried his Der Tod as fluid in gender and sexuality. So there's your canon genderfluid, pansexual Death.

So... you will most likely laugh when I say how i got the idea for this fic, that after having several WIP's for various Elisabeth fics, I ended up writing this because, right, I was playing Animal Crossing and of course I've made several of Uwe's and Máté's Der Tod costumes for me to wear in the game and while wearing my 'Uwe Tod Jacket' I put a white wildflower in my hair and literally had to leave the game so I could right this because the idea came straight away.

It was unusually sunny for April. Sunlight peaked in out of the tree branches of the gardens, casting speckles of stained glass windows onto the grass. The many flowers and shrubs only sought to pair with the weather and make the most pleasant day of the year so far.

It was the weather that had driven Rudolf outside. He loved the fresh air, loved feeling it on his skin, despite how his family would prefer him cooped up inside. (Though they always seemed to want him inside when he wanted to be outside, and outside when he wanted to be inside. Forever wanting for him whatever he wished for the least.) He'd forgone a jacket or coat, allowing the breeze to flutter against his white shirt that billowed out as he moved.

A glimpse of sunlight and a walk alone through the gardens was one of the few pleasures in life Rudolf had at the moment. One of the few things that was just his. He was fortunate that the spring air hadn't coaxed anyone else outside and he got to enjoy all of it to himself.

Although... there was one person who couldn't damper his walks, only increase the joy Rudolf found on them. And as if he'd been waiting for Rudolf to think of him, the wind turned bitterly too cold for a moment and a pair of footsteps were at his side.

They didn't speak for a while. They didn't need to. Rudolf found comfort in his old friend simply being by his side, he needn't do anything. They walked in tandem until they came to a small clearly populated by wildflowers and Rudolf could feel the wind high on his cheeks.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" His voice was quiet, as if afraid it was a stupid thing to say.

"Quite," Death's reply was soft and it called to Rudolf like a siren and he turned his head to find Death wasn't staring at the clearly, he was simply starting at Rudolf.

Rudolf felt his mouth part and cheeks flush and he didn't know how to prolong the moment and he definitely didn't want to say anything that would cause Death to leave. He walked a few paces more.

"Would you like to sit with me for a while? It doesn't have to be long, I know you're always busy, and you shouldn't feel like you have to spend any time with me and..." Rudolf trailed off as Death sat down at his feet.

"I assure you, Rudolf, I wouldn't be wasting my time by spending it with anyone I like."

"Oh..." He winced at how stupid he sounded. "Alright then."

He sat down opposite Death, not close enough to touch, afraid of what would happen if they did but also longing to know. Death turned his head and looked out across the gardens and Rudolf took the chance to stare.

Out of all the times Death had come to him, only a couple of them had been outside of his bedroom. (Not that that had any implications, he pleaded at his heart). The few times they'd been outdoors had been at night or in the evening, the light low and dark, Death rivalling the moon with his glow.

This was the first time he'd ever seen Death in the daylight.

Rudolf felt like he had to hold his breath as he gazed. The sun made Death's hair a more buttercup yellow, more colourful than he'd ever seen it, and only highlighted how pale his skin was even more. Where human's skin would darken a red colour, his seemed to be... blue. Rudolf thought about how impossible that was, but this was Death. For all he knew Death's blood was blue, if he even had blood at all. Light gleamed off his skin and it almost looked as if there were tiny, intricate crystals along his cheekbones, glistening and shimmering.

He didn't know what Death could be looking at, and realised Death very well might not be looking at anything at all. He may just be content to let Rudolf stare. And so Rudolf tore his gaze away and looked down. The more colourful flowers had given way to ones of pure white and Rudolf plucked one up with an idea. A stupid, childish idea that Rudolf found himself acting on.

“Here,” Rudolf reached up, the pale white flower trembling in his hand, and tucked it behind Death’s ear. “White looks nice on you.”

Death’s face cracked for a second, broke out of its usual cold and calm expression into one of quiet shock, and then the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Why, thank you, my little prince,” He spoke and Rudolf thought about how often Death’s voice sounded like it was only for him, as if everything Death said to him was their own little secret. A black gloved hand reached towards the bundle of white wildflowers in Rudolf’s hands. “Why don’t you match with me?”

Rudolf’s hands jerked back and Death’s face morphed back to looking cold. He tilted his head. Always so curious about humans and their funny little worries.

The cold gaze lingered on Rudolf, he could feel it baring down on him as he looked at his hands.

He hadn’t meant to react as quickly and sharply as that. Should he explain himself? He wished sometimes Death would just ask him things more often, but Death was so content to just sit and wait until Rudolf was ready to share and that just caused more anxiety to swirl around in Rudolf’s stomach. What if Death wasn’t really waiting until he was ready to speak? What if Death just didn’t want to know and if Rudolf opened his mouth he’d just be bothering another person, disappointing another person, words and ideas tumbling out of his lips before he can stop them, his passion seen as immaturity and naivety. What if Death was merely humouring him, and as soon as Rudolf spilled his heart all over porcelain skin and black velvet, he was met with jeers; His mother sat on her throne as Death coiled around from behind her and leaned into her ear, lips brushing against skin, heat and temptation and desire pouring out of his mouth as she looked down on him in scorn.

A sudden coldness brushed against his hand, then slowly pressed down and Rudolf fought the urge to shiver.

Death’s hand laid bare against his own.

He knew of course, that all that was ever under those gloves were hands, just ordinary hands (well ordinary looking hands), but he half had expected something monstrous. Perhaps gnarled or scared skin. Perhaps a blue glow that seemed to linger around Death just as he would enter or leave his visits. Perhaps claws.

Instead pristinely manicured nails decorated the soft, albeit cold, skin that rested against him. Death was a prideful being. He still had his head slightly tilted, eye’s deciphering a puzzle.

“This is about more than you not wanting to wear flowers in your hair…?” Death said it like he himself quiet sure he was asking a question.

“It’s…” Rudolf felt like he’d surfaced out of water and had the urge to take gasping breaths. “It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s… It’s not something a man does.”

“According to whom?” Rudolf forced himself to keep still, even as he thought he heard Death almost chuckle.

“Grandmother said-”

“Oh, your family and their silly, little ideas-”

“Grandmother said that men don’t wear flowers. Flowers and pretty things are for women and girls to wear and for men to admire.” Rudolf was surprised at how he continued to talk over Death. From anyone else he would have received a reprimand, but Death looked proud.

“…You’ve put one in my hair.”

“Yes, well, to be honest I’m never really quite sure if you’re a man.”

He didn’t mistake Death chuckling at that.

“I’m never quite sure of that myself, either. I find it tends to change with the wind," And Death got Rudolf to chuckle in return. "So, tell me,” He leaned forward and got that glint in his eyes as if he’d just spotted an opportunity to gain something, some new piece of information or emotion. “Is it wrong for me to be wearing it? Or are you seeing me as a pretty woman to be admired by your masculine gaze?”

Rudolf could feel his face heating up.

“Or perhaps, my dear prince, you don’t think it’s only women who should be admired?” Rudolf tried to pull his hands back, but Death had a firm grip on them. “It’s alright, it’s quite alright. I’m truly flattered. And, let me tell you this because I think you need to hear it, it’s perfectly normal. There’s nothing wrong with it. Your grandmother’s opinions on the other hand… Who is she to say what you can and cannot wear? My future emperor,” Death reached out with his gloveless hand and brushed his fingers over Rudolf’s cheek and he shivered. “Only you are in charge of what you do, how you choose to dress, and who you choose to be.”

He held Death's gaze for what felt like an eternity. Everything seemed to be waltzing around them as they themselves where held captive in their own dance, twirling as the world fell down around them.

Death seemed like he was waiting for something. Rudolf sat, frozen, and Death retracted his hand.

"I think you'd look rather fetching..." Death murmured as if talking to himself, but well aware that Rudolf could hear him. His fingers skated over the flowers standing proud from the ground, ghosting over them but never touching. The flowers almost seemed to bend out of his way, as if they knew who he was, what he could do.

Their eyes met with a challenge in Death's that said 'pick one'. Rudolf's hands moved blindly as he wrapped his fingers against what he hoped was a flower and tugged. He'd thought his hands had been shaking when he tucked one behind Death's ear, but it was nothing compared to how much they were quivering now.

"Will you...?" Rudolf held his hands forward and Death hesitated for a moment, fingers twitching. Was there a reason why he hadn't just picked one himself and placed it in Rudolf's hair? Rudolf knew what Death's kiss could do, and he'd wondered if the reason Death wore gloves was the same. But he'd just been touching Rudolf, and he was still alive.

Death's eyes flickered between the flower and Rudolf's eyes, before he leaned forwards. He picked the flower up carefully by its stem and slid his finger and thumb together, causing the flower to twirl around. He watched it with a curiosity Rudolf would have described as 'child-like' if it wasn't Death he was trying to describe.

He was almost mesmerised by the spinning of the flower that he almost didn't notice it at first. The flower was drooping ever so slightly. He thought perhaps Death's group was just squashing its stem, but it seemed to keep drooping and drooping. Death moved his hand and Rudolf followed with his eyes as the flower was drawn up to Death's face.

White petals brushed over cold lips.

The flower yielded.

It furled in on itself and faded, the top of the stem turning a pale, rusted brown. Death's hand moved and Rudolf was amazed that the petals didn't fall out. Perhaps somehow Death was keeping them in there? Rudolf expected cold brush against his ear, but none came. Death was still moving, picking and plucking more flowers, and as he wove them together they cried out and wilted. He closed up the chain and held it up, inspecting it, before shifting his gaze back to Rudolf.

Death raised himself up into his knees and placed the circle dead flowers on Rudolf's head.

"There," Death said. "A crown fit for an emperor. My emperor."

There was a sound like the ghost of a snapping branch and Death turned his head.

And then he was gone, and Rudolf was alone, frozen as the petals started to fall from his head.

#elisabeth das musical #der tod #elisabeth the musical #elisabeth musical #todolf #crown prince rudolf #mywriting #mine

17 notes · View notes

skylights422 · 5 years

Text

Seed of a Memory

Here is my piece for @arowrimo! This features D&D iterations of my novel characters, and there’s a lot more to both of these characters’ stories, but hopefully this serves as a nice introduction to them.

Title: Seed of a Memory

Language: English

Category: Short Story (Theme: Subverting Romantic Tropes, Fantasy)

Prompt: Friendship

Genre: Fantasy, Drama

Word count: 1907

Content warnings: Brief mentions of racism and arophobia.

Summary: Fiera Casales takes a stroll with her pretend boyfriend and ponders the importance of things like love and memory.

Cold. Distant. That’s what the others had always called her, in whispers that faded down the corridors, in offhand remarks that begged judgement be met with indifference. Ever since she had awoken surrounded by cold ruins, vague images and feelings telling her that whoever she had been, she had been unwanted, and decided to become an anthropologist. They admired her skill in spell casting and dedication to her cause, but questioned her work, and refrained from getting too close. They doubted a high elf lacking the famed fair complexion could advance at such a rate without deception. They thought it undignified to spend so much time studying the cultures of ‘lesser’ species.

But it was well enough that they did not want to spend time with her. She did not very much want to spend time with them either. They were narrow minded and could tell her nothing of her missing past. They gossiped about her ‘lack of love’ despite their own callous indifference towards her. It was enough to simply know how they thought, and how to best maneuver them to make her life easier.

It was also, she had to admit, more convenient for her current study that she not have much to lose in regards to relationships, as she was currently committing an unwritten social taboo simply to see what changes it might or might not have in the long run: she was ‘dating’ a drow elf.

The bitter, hated enemy of her people, so often described as ruthless killers and amoral abominations, as nature’s greatest mistake. She had often wondered if the drow were half as vile as the stories told, but after having met one it seemed more likely the hatred came from an old grudge allowed to fester, the separation of their countries making outlandish exaggerations difficult to disprove. A high elf being a partner to a drow elf was unheard of, and she had just enough status to see the effects of such a scandal.

The drow elf in question, who now lead her down a street gently by the arm, was a fellow by the name of Kadri. They had met quite by chance at a library, when she was knocked down a staircase and nearly took him down with her. Things were sorted out, and she had immediately wanted to interview him despite her own nervousness once realizing what he was. It took some persuasion, and the promise to make the interview a two-way one (she felt she was enormously fortunate that the first person from her sworn enemy’s country was a scholar such as herself), but she got to spend the day conversing with him. Despite the clear distrust he held towards her and his barely concealed agitation, it proved to be one of the more amiable and fascinating conversations she’d ever had. He answered questions thoroughly and with a frank wryness, and asked thoughtful questions in return.

During the next two weeks they met up every day to talk more, and typically ended up conversing for hours on end. They were both frank with their prejudices, though she felt them growing more at ease as time went on. She learned Kadri was a warlock, sworn to serve the demon Kir’giren after they saved his life when he was a child, and was disappointed but unsurprised to learn he had suffered several times at the hands of her people. She told him about her fractured memories, and of her time spent with the sea elves.

By the time Kadri had to depart to serve his master on some quest, she was surprised to find that she was missing his company. She didn’t tend to miss people, if anything she felt more at ease when she alone in her house. Usually the only feelings of longing she felt were in connection to her mangled memories, the faces she could recall but not quite put into context. She definitely couldn’t call the feeling she had love, if she had to guess she probably missed the intellectual challenge of working with someone so different and so on edge.

Regardless of the cause, she determined that if ever they crossed paths again, they would speak at length. That was when she realized that he would actually be perfect for an experiment that she had had in mind for some time, if he could be persuaded. Suffice to say, they did cross paths again, she did manage to persuade him to fake being her partner for up to six months, and they had now been living together and pretending to date for a little over a month. And the initial reaction of her people was horrified confusion as she and Kadri had expected, but over the weeks, opinions started to become more varied. Some applauded their bravery, others thought Kadri had cruelly put her under an enchantment, and some thought this was the final proof that she was a willful traitor and could never be trusted.

Just walking down the street as they were now, people were glancing and glaring at them, some people hurried to get out of their presence, others stared and whispered to their neighbors. They were walking through the city square, browsing some shops before looking for a place to eat.

“Are your thoughts happy, Fiera?” Kadri asked, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Huh? Oh, I was just reminiscing a bit. So perhaps bittersweet is a better descriptor. Why, did I look happy?” she asked.

“You looked contemplative. Are your contemplations ones you’d wish to share?” he said. Fiera turned to look at him properly. Even now he insisted on keeping his hood up in public, and his eyes were watchful, but underneath the wariness he did seem genuinely curious.

“I suppose…if I may ask, what do you think of love? I promise it’s relevant,” she said. Kadri seemed only slightly taken aback by the question; one of the first things she had told him before agreeing to the experiment was that she would never love him, and if he fell in love with her then that was his own problem to deal with alone, so he already knew the subject was one she had given thought to. He gave the question a moment of thought before answering.

“If anything, I think it is something I understand very poorly. I claim only to love Kir’giren, but that is truthfully a wild oversimplification. I know it drives others in equal parts to great acts of generosity and great acts of cruelty. I know there is very little agreement, between individuals or between groups, what exactly ‘true’ love is, and yet they at the same time take for granted that people will recognize it with ease and react accordingly. I have read enough to have some idea what most people see as loving actions, and to know that it is associated with attachment. But that is where my knowledge ends, I’m afraid.” He said.

“Then you don’t know much more than myself,” Fiera sighed. “I was wondering about the nature of feelings, and the nature of relationships, and how they relate to memory. You have all your memories intact, and have, I believe, had crushes before, so I hoped you might be able to offer some insight. You don’t suppose emotions can be born of memories, do you?” Kadri looked quizzical.

“Crushes? I would hardly relate those to love…ah, but to answer your question, not exactly. I think it more accurate to say emotions are associated with memories. We do feel things in the present, after all.” He said.

“True…then I ask you instead, are there any memories you would forget if you could? Would you still be you if you had different memories?” she said. She knew she was prying at what was both purely a hypothetical and quite possibly personal, but the possibility of losing more memories, or of not being who she used to be, were ones she considered often. If she asked too personal a question Kadri would just tell her that.

“Hmm… I believe it may be more truthful to say there are many things I wish had never happened to me in the first place. But they did happen, so I would not let go of them.” He said. Then he chuckled to himself. “But then, I am an incredibly miserable person often stuck in the past. Surely, if I had different memories, the essence of me would be the same, but I would see the world in a different light.” Fiera thought about that. Without her old memories, she had been forced to grow new ones, and she wasn’t discontent with them…

“That is fair. I suppose I just wonder if my old memories have truly withered away or not. It can feel strange to be ‘moving on’ when that is not certain.” She said.

“Well, I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to in any way judge…” Then his expression grew slightly softer. “Truly, Fiera, you are not lacking in any respect. You are exceptionally driven and kind, and brilliant beyond compare. I do not doubt you will find joy and peace in your own way, no matter the circumstances of your memories or your relationship with that nebulous thing called ‘love’.” Fiera smiled at that. Kadri would sometimes just say stuff like that, about her or about some of his old travel companions, and yet still denied having friends or attachments in this world outside of his master. Though she did sometimes wonder if he simply idolized anyone who wasn’t cruel to him. Either way, it was an appreciated statement even if she yearned to be able to confirm its truth in a more concrete way.

“You are kind to say so. I have a similar faith in you.” She said, and she did believe it. Kadri gave a laugh, and the thinly veiled pain in his eyes made it clear that he didn’t.

“Truly, you are too generous. Ah, but here we are, I don’t think I’ve been to this place before. Can you tell me of it?” he said. Fiera silently noted the quick change of subject, and then went on to tell him whatever she could of the little restaurant they had come upon.

She had always been called ‘cold’ and ‘distant’. And even now, she knew she was not in love. But she didn’t feel cold, or distant, when she was chasing her memories or spending time with Kadri. She wasn’t sure why he seemed to be an exception, perhaps it was simply because he had no expectations of her other than to fulfill her side of their agreements without mocking or betraying him, which was easy enough to do since he always did the same on his end. No, the feeling wasn’t love, but it was a warm kind of feeling. She wondered if they were friends, or only amiable business partners, or if it really made a difference. Certainly, if she called him her friend to his face, he’d probably find some excuse to go away and never return. But privately, she would like to think of him as a friend. She didn’t know what her past would reveal, about herself or about those she must have known, but there was always the present, and a dream for the future.

Perhaps the memory of joy and peace could still be grown in some other way.

#arowrimo writing #aromanticism #my writing #arowrimo #aromantic #non-fandom

15 notes · View notes

crystalelemental · 4 years

Note

First off to be clear, I don't think Kaga is close to perfect when it comes to writing female characters. That being said, there were plenty of strong women in his games such as Brigid who is Kaga's favorite character in Jugdral. Many of the worst moments in SOV like Alm's lack of flaws, the sacrificed witches, the infamous Celica trusting Jedah scene, & such came from modern IS & were NOT in Gaiden.

I’m not surprised to hear that, because Brigid is really good, hilariously she’s especially good in Thracia. Thracia actually has done the best of the two games of his I’ve played. But Genealogy...really didn’t do that well overall. Most of them barely got shit. The main female leads, Deirdre and Julia, are somehow the least important members of the cast, despite having so much of the plot centered on them. They barely speak. Sure, he did pretty alright with some of the female side characters who don’t get a lot of focus, but is that doing well with female characters when the prominent ones are treated as plot devices more than people?

SoV is far from perfect, but without knowing what Gaiden’s like, I can’t necessarily make the comparison effectively. What I can say is:

I don’t think Alm lacks for flaws, but I do think the game heavily favors his type of approach, and tend to paint him as the one who’s in the right between him and Celica. Which is bullshit. Also, male MU was a big thing at the time. Awakening worked well and Tharja was super popular, so I’d bet they believed male lead had to be right all the time and super good, and also there must be a female character who is super devoted to them above all else. Hence, Faye.

The witches as a concept are only a problem because of the all female thing. It’s basically a type of “virgin sacrifice” type deal, and sets up the flag for Rinea’s fate. It really doesn’t do great, but it’s as simple as “any sacrifice counts” to fix. They didn’t though, so it’s still not great, especially when you changed it to that.

Celica trusting Jedah...man, I actually agree with Celica on that. It’s in the same vein as Eirika trusting Lyon; what are you going to do, defy them outright and risk ruining everything? Jedah didn’t exactly present a lie to her. The dragons are deteriorating, and everything he said about the land falling to ruin is the entire motivation behind her setting out in the first place. The land was dying, she set out to find Mila to see what the hell was happening, and found out that Mila wasn’t there. Now Jedah shows up, tells her that the gods’ absence and deterioration results in this, and that if they don’t do something to sustain the last living god, the continent will wither and die. Not to mention, Jedah is basically the pope of the other half of your religion. As a devotee to Mila, are you really going to be that severely skeptical of Duma’s pope? Probably not. Dude probably knows what he’s talking about when it comes to the gods, and what he’s saying is reflected in what’s happening to Valentia, and matches up with the entire reason she started her quest. We, the audience, know he’s not trustworthy. Initially, Celica has no reason to believe that he’s not also trying to find a way to save the gods. If self-sacrifice would do it, of course she would. That’s the entire reason she left.

My point being, neither is going to be perfect, but I prefer what the more recent games are doing to what the really old games are doing. Characters like Eirika and Celica get a lot of shit, but honestly I find them perfectly believable and good characters, with serious flaws. I think a lot of times, they get sandbagged because their male counterpart is always considered the best thing ever, and is never, ever wrong about anything, so them being more believably human stands out as a flaw compared to their god-tier male counterparts. Which...is that a flaw of the character, the writing, or player perceptions saying they’re not being done well? What counts as meeting the expectation? We need an older female character, who’s also a villain, who has to be self-motivated, but her motivations have to be not about her beauty or romance or anything, but the villains can’t be just evil for evil’s sake, etc etc etc. I’m not immune to this either. There are things I’d like to see that don’t exist in the series, and think would improve it if they did it. But I also think female characters are way more likely to be put under this type of scrutiny as “badly written” than are their male counterparts. Look no further than how fans perceive Ephraim and Micaiah if you want proof of how differently characters get analyzed based on gender alone.

2 notes · View notes

darkhymns-fic · 5 years

Text

Give Me Chocolate!

Yuan was not much for sweets, while Martel loved them. But surely she could eat something better than apple gels…

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Yuan Ka-Fai/Martel Yggdrasill, Kratos Aurion Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: This is a gift fic for @ssc-chico for a Secret Santa exchange held in the Colloyd discord server back in December! I wanted to combine the idea of sweets with Yuan/Martel. Much of this story was inspired from this comic by Chico! Thanks so much for being a part of the server and happy holidays!

–

When traveling the roads for days on end and avoiding the populous towns that would turn away even at the hint of a sharply pointed ear, there were few luxuries that they could afford. Yuan knew this.

Still, Martel had asked him once.

“You don’t have much of a sweet tooth, do you?”

The question was sudden, surprising Yuan out of his task – stamping out their campfire that morning so that the group could start heading off. Kratos had already gone ahead to scout the forest area with Noishe (always demonstrating his skills at every opportune moment, of course), while Mithos had tagged along. The boy rarely left Martel’s side, but when it came to promises of learning from the human, even the boy could be swayed to leave the company of his sister.

Yuan treasured those rare moments, when it was just him and Martel, when it felt as if no other ear was listening in for once. This was also his chance to truly impress her, now that he had set out on this journey with them. Within the circle of trees the group had taken shelter in the night before, Yuan stood up tall, trying to gaze at Martel with the confidence he used to have as a past military officer.

But of course, that confidence deflated the moment she smiled at him, as she did now, making him fumble in his words – and movements.

“W-What gave you that idea?” he asked, trying once again to put out their campfire with a kick of his boots against the dirt. He had instead successfully kicked the dirt up so high that it landed right in his face. He coughed loudly, trying to wipe it from his hair.

Martel simply smiled, even laughing just a little bit. She placed a hand against her mouth, eyes shining as Yuan tried once again to gain some semblance of dignity. “Nothing, though I guess you prefer something more earthy than sweet!”

Another cough and Yuan was sure that he finally got the dirt out of his mouth. Well, at least the campfire was out. He flicked his long cloak behind him, then cleared his throat. “Still, that is not a question I expected to hear you ask…”

The sun had only just started peeking out from the horizon, painting the sky a pink hue. It blended with Martel’s hair, the green color as rich and bright as the grass beneath them, seeming to take a brightness that Yuan couldn’t turn away from.

Then he caught himself staring, clearing his throat again. Why did he always have to lose all common sense when it came to Martel? Finally, he had a chance to be alone with her again, with no pitying look from Kratos, or a curious stare from Mithos. And yet he kept messing this up. I must be making this unbearable for her, he thought shamefully.

Martel was kind to not comment on his sudden awkwardness. Instead, she seemed to move closer to him, which Yuan could only tell by the nearness of her staff. Delicate fingers held it aloft, and soon she was smiling up at him, the morning breeze picking up her hair.

“You never eat the gels, you know!”

Yuan blinked. “Uh, what?”

She laughed again, never taking her eyes off him. The same green, the same hue of the fields they traversed. All this green that could wither away if we don’t succeed, he thought to himself. But her eyes gave him hope still.

“Mithos loves apple gels the most. They go well with an added pinch of honey, though we haven’t had some in a while.” She tilted her head, dreamily looking towards the clouds in the skies. She always seemed so calm, despite how far they traveled, how far they had to be from so many others to even get a morning such as this, with no burning smoke or jeers from a crowd to disturb them.

She turned back to him. “But you avoid the gels completely! Do you not like them at all?”

Yuan blinked, too confused to even be tripping over himself as he tended to do. “Gels are for healing us, to restore our energy… They’re not exactly meant as desserts, you know.”

Martel nodded in agreement. “True. I suppose it was just that me and Mithos could barely afford to get real sweets… gels were much cheaper in comparison, and every store sold them. You could even make them if you had the right ingredients.“ She sighed, as if reliving a pleasant memory. "And a dessert that heals your aches is never a bad thing.”

Yuan instantly felt guilty – had he just basically ridiculed Martel for her tastes in desserts, all molded by her circumstances? I’m such a fool.

She noticed his sudden somber mood, tilting her head to the side. “Yuan, is something wrong?”

“Um! N-Nothing, Martel. It’s nothing.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “I guess you don’t really like sweets so talking about them must be boring… I’m sorry, Yuan.”

“No! It’s – it’s not that at all!” Yuan coughed. “I mean…this has just reminded me how long it has been since I’ve had any kind of dessert actually.”

“Ah! Would you like these apple gels then that I’ve been saving for Mithos?” With an airy laugh, she gestured to a pack on the ground near their belongings, overflowing with the red gels. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having his share.”

“Martel…” Yuan faintly protested as she plopped one of the wobbly, gooey-looking things in his hand. He had eaten far, far too many of these to ever miss them, but Martel looked so pleased, the green of her eyes shining so bright.

He would never be able to taste the apple gels as anything but much-too-sweet medicine. But, through that familiar taste, the faint hint of honey reached him…

–

“Kratos!”

Kratos turned to him, his face as static as ever, in contrast to Noishe who stood with him, looking to Yuan with a dopey smile. The Arshis was just about to pounce on him while Yuan tried to flail him away.

“Down! Not now!”

“Is there something you need, Yuan?”

Finally, after pushing away Noishe and his slobbery tongue, Yuan faced Kratos. Of course, now his hair was a damn mess…

“I will be taking over the restocking of our supplies today.”

He used a stern voice as he spoke, one he put on for his troops when he had been a Sylvaranti officer. It made men listen to him. But maybe because since Kratos was human, or a knight, or was from Tethe’alla, it only made him raise an eyebrow..

“You mean our grocery shopping?”

Yuan sputtered, shifted on his feet. “W-well, yes, I guess if you put it that way!”

“I thought you had said that such a task was beneath you.”

Oh, of course the human would remember that little detail from months back…

“I just figured that I should help take over some of your heavy duties,” Yuan said through gritted teeth. After all, Kratos would keep taking watch, or making their camp, or even speak to other strangers while they traveled, no doubt quite easy to do because of his human heritage. “If you would rather not, then I see no point in arguing.”

Kratos seemed to consider the suggestion, looking to a curiously-whining Noishe (asking the creature his opinion on the matter?) and then his eyes flickered to the other side of their camp. Martel was seated with Mithos near a birch tree, happily chatting with him, their laughter ringing through the air.

“Ah,” Kratos merely said, then nodded. “I see.”

Yuan huffed. “You see what?!”

“It is of no matter. If you would like to do the shopping, that is fine by me. But will you be alright? The nearest town is of human population.”

“You forget that we’re in Sylvaranti territory. I can find ways to gain trust. Got yours, did I not?”

“Hmph,” Kratos said with a smirk. “But if you do go, just remember to get some treats for Noishe.” He patted the creature’s head, scratching behind the long ears. Noishe wagged his tail. “We are running low.”

Yuan frowned. “Ugh, if I must…”

–

It was rare that Yuan could be completely alone with Martel, but he had managed another opportunity on that same day. Kratos and Mithos had, quite mysteriously, went somewhere else to train just at the time he had arrived. His back was laden with packs – full of food, bandages, and the treats for Noishe, of course. But that was not all he had.

Martel knelt by a rushing river, laying her hands within its currents. She had her eyes closed, appearing to be at peace.Yuan was reluctant to disturb her, but his footsteps must have been less than steady, for then she turned.

“Yuan. Glad to see you safely back. I was a bit worried.”

Her soft tone, combined with the smile she gave him, nearly made Yuan flush. “I…I can take care of myself. There is no need for you to worry.”

Martel smiled. She seemed so relaxed and peaceful. When with her, Yuan felt the world stand still.

He remembered suddenly what he had come here to do. “Ah, actually I wanted you to… have something for me?”

“Hm?” Martel tilted her head in curiosity. “What do you mean, Yuan?”

“W-well, um…” Why did he always have to be so tongue-tied around her? It made no logical sense yet here he was, flushing as if he were a schoolboy in front of his crush, ready to give her a gift.

He supposed he wasn’t that far off, in all honesty.

“Just, let me get it first,” he said, partly to recover from the intensity of her gaze. She looked as if she already knew everything… and she must have. Just as Martel knew that he was infatuated with her. It was one reason (besides finally getting Kratos to respect him!) that he ever even joined on this journey.

From the pack, he got out the package he had bought from the shop, though his hands shook. Why did they shake? Why must he keep acting like a young fool like this?

Martel’s eyes flicked to what he held. “Chocolate?”

Damn it, he meant it to be a surprise! But he hadn’t exactly wrapped it well… “Um! Y-yes, it…it is..”

With a sigh, Yuan held the package out to Martel. He was…not the best gift-wrapper. A small ribbon tied over the box was essentially the best he could do. The box itself was rather plain, but he hoped that to Martel, such plain appearances wouldn’t matter.

“I wanted to get you something sweet. Nothing too fancy. I suppose all the talk of desserts had made me nostalgic for them.”

Martel continued to stare. Her staff was not at hand, placed carefully on the grass near the river. She thoughtfully placed her fingers against each other, apparently so very fascinated by the box he held.

“T-They’re bon-bons! They’re a bit like gels, if you think about it. Here.” Yuan pulled away the box cover, showing off the rows of fancifully decorated chocolates, drizzled over with an array of colors, from blue to silver to gold. “These ones happen to have apple-flavored filling!” he said, pointing to the top row. “And these ones…um… have a bit of honey..”

Yuan pulled at his collar nervously, wondering if he was going about this all wrong. Martel was still staring at him and at the box. Maybe she didn’t like this type of chocolate? He should have done more research.

“Um, Martel?” he asked. Her gaze was very focused, very beautiful – but unnerving.

He was just about to apologize when Martel asked, “Could you feed me the chocolate?”

Yuan’s brain felt like it was overheating at such a request.

“Oh, I am sorry.” Martel pressed a hand to her mouth. “That was very strange. I don’t know what came over me.”

Yuan didn’t get anywhere in life by squandering his opportunities. It was the only way he had ever made any top position. So with his heart thudding in his chest, he took the chance.

“Yes! Of course I will!” Yuan cleared his throat. “I mean… if you would like, I can do that for you.”

The usual dreamy expression Martel held seemed to change just then. It was mesmerizing, it was fascinating in its existence. She genuinely looked surprised, caught off guard by his words.

“You would do that for me?”

Yuan nodded, taking one of the bon-bons, holding it carefully between two fingers. “Yes, I can just-”

Martel was suddenly much closer to him, smiling brightly, hands behind her back as she looked up at him.

Yuan was speechless. She was so close to him that he thought she was about to kiss him.

…Gah, of course not! He shook his head, and just went on with what he promised to do. He held up the chocolate near her mouth. “Well… open up then.” He still felt so nervous!

Martel, bouncing on her toes, opened her mouth, even saying, “Ahhh~”

Yuan thought he would pass out the moment her lips brushed against his fingers, taking the chocolate from him.

She leaned back, her face so euphoric, pressing one hand to her cheek in happiness. “Oh! This is delicious, Yuan!” She took her time chewing the treat, enjoying every second. “And it even has a bit of cacao powder!”

“Ah, yes. I felt that would help more with the flavor.” Yuan still had his hand up, remembering the sensation of her mouth. “So you liked it?”

“Yes! I liked it so much.” Martel, with obvious excitement, reached for one of the chocolates in the box he held. He thought he was taking them for her before she held it up to his face.

“Uh! M-Martel…”

“You must try this, Yuan! It’s so sweet! Say ahhh~!”

But he had never seen her so happy. So happy over something so small and trivial. They were just chocolates. Simply meant to satisfy a craving. But she was enjoying it so much, like he had given her something precious.

Maybe a small thing like this meant more to her than he realized.

Trying to ignore his nerves, Yuan leaned forward to quickly take the chocolate from her fingers. A brief taste of something very sweet. He heard Martel’s soft laughter, and felt his own happiness light up his chest.

“Very… delicious,” he said with a blush, chewing the chocolate, tasting the hint of honey. Martel gazed at him, eyes as green as the hills around them, as green as the world they were trying to save.

–

After so many years, it was hard for Yuan to think about finally resting, about finally staying in one place. But as he gazed at the small sapling that was supposed to be the new World Tree, he didn’t feel the urge to move anymore.

So much of his life had been chaotic – but where the tree rested, there was a peacefulness that was familiar to him.

“Yuan?” spoke a voice, just as familiar. But it was not really her.

Martel, the spirit with the face of the woman he had loved, gently walked over to him. She had a staff held in her right hand, a smile that was soft and bright, eyes that reflected the greenery of their world.

“Did I disturb you?” Yuan asked. Being the guardian for the tree, he felt he still had much to learn. “I only came by to check on things.”

Martel nodded, then looked down at what he held. “Oh. Is that chocolate?”

He smiled at her. The box full of bon-bons were drizzled in an array of colors, from blue to silver to gold. “I’ve gotten a bit of a sweet-tooth,” he admitted. He had made these chocolates himself, made with time and care.

He saw her look at the chocolates with curiosity, with an interest that spoke of something human and so very familiar. “They look very well-made,” she said, her voice so soft.

Yuan held out one chocolate to her. “Would you like one?”

And, he didn’t even have to tell her what to do. Martel, with an echo of the happiness he once saw in the Martel of 4000 years ago, leaned forward to take the chocolate from his fingers. She then leaned back, face bright, her cheeks painted with a hint of red.

“This is delicious!” she said, with an excitement that was also familiar. “Thank you. It has a taste of apples…and honey.”

“You’re welcome,” he told the spirit, thinking he would feel sadness. But instead, he felt contentment, smiling at her. “These were her favorites.”

#tales of symphonia #martel yggdrasill #yuartel #yuan ka fai #kratos aurion #fanfiction #one shot #Christmas

10 notes · View notes

raywritesthings · 5 years

Text

One Simple Act

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Barty Crouch Jr., Cornelius Fudge Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (Pre-Relationship) Summary: When the third years are subjected to Moody’s lessons on the Unforgivables, Ginny and Harry together stumble on a secret plot that has a ripple effect. *Can also be read on my AO3*

The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw third years sat nervous and excited at their desks, waiting for the start of class. Their latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had told them today was to be a practical lesson unlike any they’d ever had before.

“It’s no good just knowing what the Unforgivables are,” the grizzled ex-Auror had stated, pacing the aisles with a wooden thump to every step. “You need to be ready for what you’ll be up against. You need to feel just how hard of a fight it will be. And no curse is harder to fight than the Imperius.”

The electric blue eye had stopped swiveling for a moment as a dark look crossed the marred features. Every last student had held their breath.

“The older students have all completed this exercise. Some might say third years are too young to be expected to do the same. I say age doesn’t matter to a dark wizard who’s intent on bending you to his will.”

At her desk, Ginny Weasley shifted uncomfortably at the memory. No, age didn’t matter to dark wizards. Not even first years were too young.

Fortunately no one else seemed to notice her discomfort. The bell had rung, their teacher had arrived, and they were all too busy following the barked instructions from Moody to get out of their seats and form a line. Ginny found herself shuffling near to the end of it.

“I will perform the Imperius Curse on each of you one at a time. Your job is to try and break it. It won’t be easy, and truthfully I don’t expect any of you to do it. Not on the first try, anyway. Even the slightest sign of resistance to what I ask you to do while under it is something to be proud of.”

The students exchanged a few looks up and down the line, some more scared than others. Ginny didn’t know how she looked.

Moody motioned with one hand. “Creevey, you first.”

Ginny did her best to remain calm as the distance between herself and the front of the line grew shorter and shorter. It was just Professor Moody. Her dad had always called him a great man, respected him for everything he’d done in the war. Ginny knew Hogwarts wasn’t always safe, but this was.

“Is it wrackspurts?” Said Luna, light and airy in her ear. Ginny tried not to jump; she hadn’t realized her Ravenclaw friend had gotten in line behind her.

“What?”

“You keep shifting about on your feet. I thought it was a particularly persistent swarm of wrackspurts giving you trouble.”

A shaky chuckle escaped her, relieving some of the tension in her shoulders. “Er, maybe, Luna.”

Up ahead, Demelza was doing a series of pirouettes. She looked pretty and graceful. It didn’t seem so bad. Nobody had fought it off yet, and Moody didn’t look frustrated.

“Weasley,” he said, and with a gulp she stepped forward. The professor raised his wand. “Imperio.”

A fog seemed to settle over her eyes and in her mind. Ginny forgot all about Professor Moody and the other students standing and watching her. She felt calm, totally at peace, and couldn’t remember why she’d been so nervous.

Skip in a circle, said a voice in her head, one Ginny did not recognize. It was soothing, persuasive.

Just like Tom had been.

The calm that had washed over her vanished in an instant, replaced by a blinding panic.

This can’t be happening, not here, not now.

Skip in a circle, the voice repeated with insistence. A perfectly reasonable request. Not like before, not like the times she’d been made to do the other things.

Tom’s requests had started off reasonable, too, though. Write to me, Ginny, I’ve been so lonely. Tell me about Hogwarts, I’ve missed it. Who is this Harry Potter?

The voice said skip in a circle, but all Ginny heard was come to die.

“No!”

Her arms were thrown out in front of her as the classroom slammed abruptly back into place just in time for her to watch a wave of something burst from the wand that she didn’t remember putting in her hand and hit Moody square in the chest. He flew back into his own blackboard and slid down the wall.

There was a horrible beat of silence, pierced only by a few murmurs and one whispered, “Bloody hell.”

Their professor’s magical eye swiveled about before fixing unerringly on her. A hoarse noise escaped him that it took a moment to identify as a laugh.

“Wicked, Ginny!” Colin was practically vibrating with excitement and looked ready to dive for the camera he still kept in his bag. The other students were all staring at her in a mixture of shock and what seemed to her fear.

“I think the wrackspurts have gone,” Luna remarked brightly. “That was quite clever of you.”

Ginny ran past Luna, down the aisle, and out the door. She kept running down corridors and up stairs, trying to put as much distance between herself and that room as possible. Her thighs started to burn with the effort, and at last she pushed past a tapestry Fred and George had shown her hid a secret passage between the fifth and sixth floors.

Once in the secluded space, her steps slowed and Ginny leaned against a wall before sliding down it as her legs gave out. The frenzied escape over, her actions started to catch up with her. Ginny stifled a sob with one hand, then squeezed her eyes shut as tears sprang to them.

She just had to still let Tom get to her, didn’t she? When everyone else had long put it behind them and hopefully forgotten. Now there was bound to be more of that talk. And Merlin, Professor Moody had to think she was bloody mental! She didn’t have the first clue how she was going to explain herself, much less show herself in that class again. Maybe it was lucky she’d knocked him down; with that eye of his, he’d have been able to follow her straight here, and Ginny needed the space to breathe.

She was not alone for long, however. A pair of footsteps coming from the opposite direction echoed towards her before stopping.

“Ginny?”

Oh no. “H-harry?” Of course one of the few other people who was privy to knowing of this secret passage was one of the last people she would want to find her like this.

Harry appeared, tucking what looked like an old bit of parchment away in his robes. His eyes were wide and still brilliantly green in the dim light afforded to them. “What’s wrong?”

Ginny hurriedly wiped at her eyes. She knew crying tended to make Harry uncomfortable. “Nothing. I just, um, sort of ran out of Moody’s class right in the middle of it.”

“Moody’s class? What for?” He took a couple steps closer, lips quirked in bemusement. “I mean, he’s a bit mad, but brilliant.”

She hung her head. “It was stupid. He was training us to resist the Imperius Curse, and I threw it off.”

“Really? That’s amazing, Ginny!”

He sounded impressed, and Ginny wanted to be happy about that, but she couldn’t. “No, but my magic sort of — I hit him with it. I didn’t mean to, I just panicked. I know it was just a lesson, but all I could think of was first year.”

Harry had gone very quiet. “Oh.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s probably stupid, but after- after that year, I promised myself no one was gonna force me to do anything I didn’t want to do again. And I know Moody wasn’t going to make me do horrible things, but I...I’m not sorry I forced him out. But I didn’t want everyone else thinking about it and talking about it all over again.”

The sound of him moving caused her eyes to open again, and Ginny could only watch as Harry sat beside her on the floor.

“They might not,” he tried to reassure her. “Loads of people have had bad reactions to Moody’s lessons. You should have seen Neville when he went over the Cruciatus Curse.”

Ginny sent him a withering look. They both knew being compared to Neville wasn’t usually considered a compliment. Not that that was Neville’s fault.

Harry grimaced. “Well, at least you did throw it off. I didn’t even manage that on the first try. I sort of half-stopped myself and banged my chin on the desk.”

She couldn’t help a small snort of laughter, which Harry laughed at.

“I don’t really know what I did. I guess it was accidental magic. I haven’t had an outburst like that since before Hogwarts.”

“At least you didn’t blow up your aunt,” Harry offered sagely. He was quiet another moment or two, his eyes studying her. “Do you want to go back to class?”

Ginny frowned at her shoes. “Not really.”

“I think you should see Madam Pomfrey.”

Ginny turned bright red. “I’m not ill—”

“No, but you’re pretty shaken. Ginny, I — I knew you were unhappy, but I didn’t think it was my business two years ago, and I let it happen to you. I don’t want to make that mistake again, not with a friend.”

She stared at him, not knowing what to say, or maybe how to say it. Why did she still have to get so tongue-tied around him?

Harry drew back and seemed to falter for the first time since finding her. “That is if you want to be friends.”

“Of course I do,” Ginny blurted. “I mean, we are, aren’t we? Why wouldn’t — oh.”

The dismal look on his face clued her in.

“Harry, you know I’d never believe those things people are saying.” How could she think for even one second that the boy who had rescued her from the Chamber, comforted her through her tears and shielded her from those who might have accused her, be the attention-seeking brat Rita Skeeter was painting him as? Even the nice boy who stayed at their home over the summers and seemed perpetually surprised by her mother’s hugs didn’t fit that image.

“I never thought Ron would believe them,” he muttered to his trainers.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I’m a prat, too.” Harry’s lips twitched, though he said nothing. “He’ll come round. Can’t force it or he’ll get more stubborn about it.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

They both stood, each accidentally reaching for the other’s hand to help them up. Ginny stepped back first, desperately fighting the blush that wanted to transform her whole face into a tomato.

Harry didn’t comment as ever and began leading them back the way he’d come.

“Haven’t you got a class next?” Ginny asked. “That must have been where you were headed.”

He shrugged. “It’s History of Magic. I doubt Binns will even notice.”

Ginny smirked. He was probably right about that. “Why were you in a rush to get there so early, then?”

“I’m trying to avoid crowds,” Harry answered bluntly.

As it was, the bell rung just as they’d reached the sixth floor, and the two of them had to fight against the flow of foot traffic as everyone else streamed out of classrooms and towards the main staircase. A couple of nasty looks were sent their way, and she caught the flash of a Potter Stinks badge here and there.

“Potter!” Called a particularly nasal voice, and Ginny glanced to see Harry’s expression instantly sour. She couldn’t much blame him; she’d done the same. “Got a new Weasel to be your best friend?”

Ginny looked round at Malfoy’s smug face. “Haven’t you got arts and crafts to get to? Got to be too early for nap time, but you are getting a bit whiny.”

She kept walking, not even bothering to check what impact those words might have had. Malfoy was already being buffeted in the other direction by the crowd anyway.

Harry quickly fell in beside her as they finally cleared the crowd. “Ginny, that was brilliant. I don’t think Malfoy knew what hit him.”

She gave a shrug. “He’s a prat. Him and his whole family. He’s lucky I don’t hex him.”

He cast another glance at her. “Do you know a lot of hexes?”

She dared to flash him a grin. “Comes in handy when you want Fred and George out of your hair.”

They pushed open the doors of the Hospital Wing and entered the empty ward. Madam Pomfrey was near the other end of the room, refilling various jars and bottles. She looked up at their approach.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I was hoping not to see you until the first task, at least.”

“Er, no Madam. Actually I was just bringing Ginny here,” Harry explained, taking a slight step backwards.

The mediwitch hummed and turned her eyes on her. “What seems to be the problem, Miss Weasley?”

“It’s really not much. I was just a bit shaken, and Harry thought I should see you about it,” Ginny said, unable to help downplaying it. “I sort of did a bit of accidental magic in Professor Moody’s class when we were practicing the Imperius Curse.”

Madam Pomfrey dropped the jar of ointment she was holding but didn’t seem to notice it shatter. “Practicing the what?”

Ginny shared a look with Harry. “The Imperius Curse, Madam.”

“Practicing it on what? The students?” When they could only nod back at her, the mediwitch lost all color. “In beds, both of you.”

“Er, I had that class a couple weeks ago—”

“No excuses, Mr. Potter! Stay in those beds until I have summoned the Headmaster!” She swept from the room and slammed the door behind her. They both heard the sound of it locking on the other side.

Ginny turned to Harry with a single eyebrow raised. “Still think this was a good idea?”

“I didn’t think she’d go mad,” he replied, frowning at the door. Knowing they were stuck for at least some time, the two of them found a pair of beds next to each other and sat on the sides to continue talking. It was actually quite easy to talk to Harry once they got going, she was beginning to realize. “What’s she getting Dumbledore for? He would have told Madam Pomfrey about the lessons if she needed to know, wouldn’t he have?”

Ginny thought for a moment. “Moody said he got special permission to show us the Unforgivables. You reckon he was lying?”

“I don’t know.” Harry’s brows had practically knit themselves together, and a deep frown had set on his face. Part of her wanted to ask what he was thinking, but another part told her it was better to give him the silence.

They both looked up when the doors opened again and Madam Pomfrey swept through with the Headmaster close behind. They stopped in front of the space between both beds.

“Good morning,” Professor Dumbledore greeted them pleasantly. “I’m glad to see you both appear in good health. Madam Pomfrey seems to believe the situation rather urgent.”

“Miss Weasley, if you’d tell the Headmaster exactly what you told me,” the mediwitch prompted. At the same time, she started waving her wand over the pair of them, and Ginny could only assume she was checking for damage.

Ginny couldn’t quite find her voice for a moment. The last time she’d had this much of Albus Dumbledore’s attention, she’d only just been rescued from the Chamber and been convinced he was going to expel her. Her eyes landed on Harry, who gave an encouraging nod.

She drew in a breath and said, “Well, I came to see Madam Pomfrey because Harry thought I was a bit shaken up. You see, he’d found me after I ran out of Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

The Headmaster’s head tilted in a mild sort of curiosity. “And why did you do that?”

“I was embarrassed and a bit scared, I suppose. I’d done some accidental magic when Professor Moody used the Imperius Curse on me.”

A stillness seemed to settle over the room. Professor Dumbledore hadn’t moved, but even so his demeanor seemed to change entirely.

“Mr. Potter says his class has undergone it as well,” Madam Pomfrey added, twisting her wand between her fingers as her eyes darted between them and Professor Dumbledore. “What is he thinking, Headmaster?”

“I believe that is something only Alastor can answer. Poppy, if you would fetch Minerva and Severus and ask them to meet me at Professor Moody’s classroom, I’d be most grateful.” His gaze remained calm, but he wasn’t even able to muster a smile as he added to them, “It is best that you both remain here under Madam Pomfrey’s care for the moment.”

“Is something going on, sir?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid that is yet to be determined,” the Headmaster answered. He left the Hospital Wing before either of them could ask anything else.

“I expect to find you resting when I get back,” Madam Pomfrey warned them as she, too, made for the door. “Especially you, Miss Weasley. The Imperius Curse, what next?”

The door slammed behind her, and they were left in silence.

“You don’t have to stay,” said Ginny.

“Pretty sure I do,” he replied. “Anyway, something’s happening and this seems like the best place to hear more.”

Ginny felt herself smile even as she shook her head. “Should’ve known.”

“What?”

“Always the mysteries with you.” She leaned back against the pillow she’d propped up against the headboard. “Moody’s mad, everyone knows that. He already turned Malfoy into a ferret without asking. Dumbledore’s probably taking McGonagall and Snape with him to give him a lecture.”

“Maybe,” Harry grudgingly admitted. He leaned over the side of his cot and rifled through his bag. “Might as well start on Divination. Not like I need the book for that, anyway.”

Ginny hummed in agreement.

Harry placed an inkwell on the nightstand and looked up. “Which classes did you pick? I never asked.”

She shrugged. “Never mentioned. I’m in Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes. That one’s not much of a blow-off, but I hear it beats Trelawney most times.”

Harry grimaced. “Wish someone had told me that.”

“What can I say? Perks of being the youngest.”

She’d put on a false airy voice, which caused Harry to snort. He then started outright laughing at her bemused look.

“Calm down, that’s nowhere near my best stuff,” she found herself saying, a little worried for him. She had always felt Harry had a more refined sense of humor, considering it tended to match her own.

“Sorry,” he said, still grinning. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately. Especially with Ron not...well. Not that Hermione isn’t brilliant,” he rushed to say. “But she’s, er, not exactly—”

“Gifted with a funny bone?” She guessed.

Harry nodded. “Exactly.” He frowned a moment later. “Which probably makes me sound like an ungrateful git.”

“It’s okay to need more than one friend in your life, Harry,” Ginny said. “You can’t expect Hermione to be everything you need, but it’s not wrong to feel a lack.”

He stared at her for a long time, so long that it was very hard for Ginny not to turn away. It occurred to her that this was perhaps the longest conversation she’d ever had with Harry, and that she’d been rather carefree with her words. What if he didn’t appreciate that?

When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “I want to be angry, but I just miss him.” His untouched Divination homework was shoved to the side, and Harry drew his knees up to his chest. “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

Something in her ached, watching him like this, so small and vulnerable and desperately lonely.

But before she could speak, the Hospital Wing door was thrown open, and Madam Pomfrey strode through with a stretcher floating behind her. Ginny and Harry both exclaimed in shock at the occupant.

“Professor Moody!”

Ginny felt nearly overwhelmed with terror. What had she done? Moody had still been conscious when she’d fled the classroom and — hang on, what had happened to his leg?

Madam Pomfrey did not acknowledge either of them. Instead, she transferred their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor onto a bed of his own and drew curtains around it, only to emerge moments later and head straight into her office.

“What’s happened to him?” Harry asked when she returned carrying a number of bottles and jars.

“The Headmaster will explain as much as he sees fit,” she snapped, though her voice shook badly. Ginny and Harry exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Neither one of them could see beyond the curtain, and Professor Dumbledore’s explanation didn’t seem to be coming any time soon as the minutes dragged on and he did not return.

When the large double doors finally did open, they were both surprised at who came in.

“Ron?” Said Harry.

Her brother blinked at them a moment. “Oh. You two are alright, then.”

“Course we’re alright,” said Ginny. “How’d you two even know where to find us?”

For Hermione was right behind Ron. She gave him a little nudge to go on.

“Malfoy. He was telling all his friends you and Harry were at the Hospital Wing.”

“So you wanted to see for yourself?” Harry asked. His chin was raised in clear defiance.

“No, of course not, Harry!” Hermione said. “The way Malfoy was talking, he made it sound as if something awful had happened to you and Ginny.”

“Should’ve realized the git was lying,” Ron added, scuffing his shoe on the floor. “He kept looking over to see if we were listening.”

Ginny could feel a smile starting to form. “You were worried about us.”

Ron’s face was turning a splotchy red in places. “Well, yeah.” He chanced a glance at Harry, who looked considerably more relaxed. “It’s not like I want something happening to my little sister. Or, well…” Her brother trailed off, clearly at a loss.

“A friend,” Harry offered cautiously.

Ron nodded stiffly. “Yeah. My- my best friend, really.” Then he didn’t need another push from Hermione because he was starting towards their two beds, Harry’s in particular. “Look, mate, I really didn’t mean all those things—”

“Me neither,” Harry spoke right over her brother from sheer eagerness. He got off the bed and they met on a sort of awkward handshake that morphed into a hug midway through.

Ginny and Hermione exchanged smiles tinged with a silent boys.

Then the other girl walked over to join them. “What are you two doing in the Hospital Wing, then?”

“Sort of a long story. Moody’s way worse off though,” said Harry, nodding to the curtain Madam Pomfrey or her patient still had yet to emerge from.

“Moody? What happened to him?” Ron asked.

But the doors to the Wing opened yet again and in strode an ashen-faced Professor McGonagall. She drew up short at the sight of all them.

“Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Well, I don’t suppose it would make any difference to ask you to leave. The whole school will have to be told soon enough.”

Hermione spoke up for the four of them. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“The Headmaster had tasked me with informing Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley of the results of our meeting with Professor Moody on the subject of his lessons.” The normally unflappable Transfiguration professor drew in a breath and released it. “It transpired that the man we questioned was not, in fact, Professor Moody at all.”

“But Harry said he’s right over there!” Said Ron with a wide sweeping gesture towards the curtain.

“Yes, we rescued him from his captor. I don’t suppose any of you are familiar with Polyjuice Potion?”

Ginny watched Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchange a look that seemed rather significant. “No, Professor,” she decided to answer for them.

“It is a potion which allows the drinker to take on the physical appearance of another person for a certain period of time,” McGonagall explained.

Hermione gasped. “Professor, you don’t mean to say someone has been impersonating Professor Moody?”

“I’m afraid I do, Miss Granger. And a very dangerous individual at that. I don’t mean to exaggerate the situation, but had Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley not brought their concerns to Madam Pomfrey, serious harm could have been done.” She took a couple steps forward. “As it is, Potter, we have discovered how you were entered into the Triwizard Tournament.”

Ginny felt her mouth drop open. She couldn’t believe the turn the day had taken. And all because she’d ran out of class and bumped into Harry!

—-

Just because Harry often had shocking news presented to him didn’t mean he’d gotten any more used to processing it. His heart was pounding in his chest all the while his mind had gone curiously blank. Yet something in him managed to voice the demand, “I want to see him.”

McGonagall’s lips almost immediately pursed. “Potter, I don’t believe that to be wise.”

“But Harry’s got more right to than anyone else!” Ron protested, and Harry felt a surge of warmth. Having Ron back as his best friend was easily the best thing to happen all day. Ginny had been right; it had just needed time.

“He’s not still dangerous, is he, Professor?” Hermione questioned.

McGonagall frowned, which meant Hermione was right. Before she could answer, however, Madam Pomfrey drew back the curtains around the cot.

“Bloody Hell!” Cried Ron.

Hermione’s hands had flown to her mouth. “He looks awful!”

“That’s the real Moody,” said Ginny.

This Moody was much thinner and paler than the one they’d thought they knew as well as missing both his magical eye and wooden leg.

“The Headmaster wished for me to tell Mr. Potter to come to the Defense Against the Darks Arts classroom when he was ready.” It was clear by her tone that the hospital matron did not approve.

Professor McGonagall sighed through her nose. “Very well. Potter, with me.”

None of his friends tried to argue with her to come along, too, not that it mattered. Harry knew he would end up telling Ron and Hermione all about whatever happened. He added Ginny to that list, seeing as it was only due to her that they’d found all of this out.

Harry followed McGonagall all the way to the Defense classroom and up the stairs to Moody’s office — or not-Moody’s office, rather. The atmosphere of the room was tense, the only sound being the buzzing of an insect by the window.

“Has the Minister been called, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“He is on his way. Thank you for bringing Mr. Potter, Minerva. Harry, I would like to introduce you to Bartemius Crouch Jr., though I believe you have met before.”

“Crouch?” Harry repeated.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Yes, Harry. The son of one of our Triwizard organizers, though Mr. Crouch Sr. is apparently unaware of this particular development.”

Harry stared down at the young man, for he was fairly young, with sandy blonde hair and vacant eyes. That apparently had more to do with the Veritaserum, or truth potion, that Snape had given him. Snape himself stood against one wall, his dark eyes boring into Crouch Jr. with the intensity he usually reserved for a particularly hated student.

“He was just explaining to us how it was he who stole your wand at the Quidditch World Cup to cast the Dark Mark into the sky,” Professor Dumbledore continued.

“Then it wasn’t Mr. Crouch’s House Elf?”

“Apparently not.” The Headmaster turned back to their captive. “How did the Elf come to be framed, Barty?”

“I was stunned by the Aurors while wearing the invisibility cloak,” Crouch Jr. answered in a dull, even tone. “My father searched the bushes and found me with Winky. He knew what I had done but he couldn’t admit it, so he fired her.”

Dumbledore continued to ask questions of the Death Eater, as he bluntly stated himself to be. The longer Harry listened, the more a cold dread began to overtake him. This whole time, one of Voldemort’s servants had been among them, pretending to help him, secretly plotting Harry’s demise at his master’s hands. He shivered at the thought. Then, faintly, a woman started to scream...

Harry jolted with shock as his brain finally caught up with that cold, creeping feeling. “Professor Dumbledore, I think a Dementor’s here!”

Dumbledore looked up sharply. “Minerva.”

Professor McGonagall strode to Moody’s open office door and gasped. “Minister Fudge, what on Earth—”

The helpless feeling of the Dementor was nearly upon him. Harry screwed up his courage and searched for something happy — his parents, smiling and waving from Hagrid’s photo album; Sirius asking him to live with him instead of with the Dursleys; Ron, his friend again; the sweeping relief that had filled him when Ginny woke up in the Chamber — and cried out, “Expecto Patronum!”

Prongs burst from his wand and charged out of the office, causing the Dementor to flee down the corridor.

“Merlin’s beard! Dawlish, go and wrangle it!”

The man the Minister had brought with him nodded and ran off.

Fudge marched inside. “Albus what is the meaning of all this? You said there was a Death Eater in the castle!”

“And there is. A Dementor was hardly necessary, however.”

“But safety! And how could a Death Eater have gotten into Hogwarts?”

“You may ask him yourself, Cornelius. He has been disarmed and dosed with Veritaserum and is therefore quite harmless.”

Fudge approached slowly, his bowler hat turning rapidly in his hands.

“What is your name?”

“Bartemius Crouch Jr.”

“And how are you alive?”

“My parents smuggled me out of Azkaban with my mother taking my place. I was a prisoner in my father’s home under the Imperius Curse until my master sent for me.”

“And who is your master?”

“The Dark Lord. He sent his servant Wormtail to free me, then tasked me with infiltrating Hogwarts and delivering Potter to him at the end of the Tournament.”

Wormtail. The half-remembered dream he’d had this past summer was real. And if it was...

Fudge didn’t seem to know what to say to any of that for the moment. He looked to Harry once, then collected himself.

“Who is this Wormtail? What is his real name?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

Harry’s heart soared.

“But Pettigrew’s dead!” Fudge snapped. “Black killed him!”

“Pettigrew escaped Black,” Crouch Jr. droned on. “He framed Black for the whole thing. Betraying the Potters, killing the Muggles. It was all Pettigrew. Then he hid as a rat when his information nearly destroyed my master and Black came after him. He returned to my master out of fear, but his efforts allowed my master to find me.”

A confession from a trusted servant of Voldemort’s. Harry could hardly believe the sudden upturn in his luck. Sirius would have to be declared innocent!

Fudge asked a few more questions, mostly going over the same things that Dumbledore had. By that time, Dawlish had returned with the Dememtor, though it seemed subdued somehow. Harry still kept his wand in his hand and one eye on it.

“He’ll have to be taken back to Azkaban. Maybe even Kissed,” Fudge said to Dumbledore.

“And as to his information concerning Sirius Black?” The Headmaster asked in the same sort of tone that one might use to inquire about the weather.

Fudge pulled a face. “Well, he’s mad, isn’t he? Azkaban must have done it.”

“Ah, but you forget, Cornelius, that young Mr. Crouch here hardly spent time in Azkaban.”

“Well then there’s something wrong with the potion!”

“My Veritaserum does not produce false results, Minister,” said Snape, though it looked as though it pained him a great deal to confirm a story that proclaimed Sirius’ innocence. “If Crouch says Pettigrew was the traitor and still alive, he is.”

“Then it appears there has been an error in the justice system, Cornelius,” said Professor Dumbledore. “With this new information, it seems Sirius Black ought not to be hunted, but asked to come in for a proper trial.”

Harry stared at the Headmaster in shock. Sirius had never had a trial?

“Information from a Death Eater who’s been harbored by one of my Department Heads?” Fudge emitted a short laugh, though it hardly sounded amused. “Albus, just think. We’re in the middle of hosting an international tournament here!” Fudge looked around at them all. “If this got out, it would put the magical community at large into a panic! Not to mention how it would look to the other schools or governments. It cannot get out!”

“But Sirius!” Said Harry.

“Black seems in little danger of the Ministry at the moment. He’s evaded us for over a year,” Fudge said with an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. “After the tournament, after the other schools have gone, then perhaps the matter can be looked into.”

“Very well, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore before Harry could protest again. He turned to the Headmaster in disbelief, but was ignored. “What of the matter of Lord Voldemort?”

Fudge wasn’t alone in wincing but was definitely the worst of the lot. “He’s dead, isn’t he? What’s he to do with it?”

“Crouch just told you he’s still alive,” Harry said before Dumbledore could even open his mouth. “Why not ask him where he is? Send a Dementor there?”

Fudge shook his head. “It’s preposterous, that’s all. Probably Crouch managed to break free of the Imperius on his own, convinced himself You-Know-Who was still out there. No, he’ll have to be Kissed.”

Harry couldn’t believe the events happening now, but for a much worse reason. Fudge was just going to ignore Voldemort and his plans? There was proof right in front of his eyes!

“Cornelius, I implore you—”

“I’ve an escaped prisoner to return to Azkaban, Dumbledore. My schedule is full enough without discussing wild theories. Dawlish, bring Crouch Jr.”

The Minister and the man called Dawlish left with Crouch and the Dementor.

Professor McGonagall’s lips were thinner than Harry had ever seen as they passed her, and she turned to Professor Dumbledore scarcely after they had departed the room.

“Albus, what’s to be done?”

“I’ll have to reach out to some contacts. Lord Voldemort cannot be allowed to escape again.”

“Headmaster,” Harry spoke up, stepping forward. “What about Sirius?”

“Sirius will have to wait, I’m afraid.”

“But—”

“In case you don’t realize, Potter, the Headmaster has far more important matters to attend to,” Snape cut across him with a vicious sneer. Harry glared back.

“Severus,” Dumbledore intoned with some authority. His voice turned more pleasant as he continued to Harry, “For now it would be wise for you to return to your common room. I am sure Poppy will have her hands full seeing to all the students who have been affected.” A frown deepened the lines in his face. “It is a troubling day to learn that the Unforgivables have been performed inside Hogwarts’ walls.”

Harry was sent on his way by the professors, angrier than he could ever remember being at all three of them, especially Dumbledore. How could they all stand aside and let the Minister do as he pleased? How could they expect him or Sirius to sit around and wait? This was his godfather’s freedom on the line!

He was still fuming as he entered the portrait hole and would have missed his friends if not for them calling his name. Harry turned and headed over to where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were seated near the fireplace.

“Pomfrey let you all out, then?”

“Yeah. She’s got a line out the door of the third through seventh years, though,” Ron told him. “Reckon that will take all night.”

“Well, I feel better knowing the teachers are taking this all seriously,” Hermione stated. “It should have been obvious Moody wasn’t who he claimed to be when he used an Unforgivable. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

“It’s hard to see someone for who they are when they approach you from a position of trust. Or friendship,” Ginny pointed out quietly. Harry nodded; Ginny had more experience with that sort of thing than most, maybe even more than him. She pulled herself out of her own withdrawn mood, lifting her chin as she regarded him. “Go on, Harry. Who was he, really?”

“It’s gonna sounds mad, but he was Mr. Crouch’s son,” Harry stated.

“What?” Ron exclaimed.

At the same time, Hermione began, “You don’t mean Mr. Crouch—?”

“I don’t think he was in on it. This was Voldemort’s plan.” Harry went on to explain everything Crouch Jr. had told them under the Veritaserum. By the time he had gotten to the part about him being taken to be killed by Voldemort in the third task, Hermione’s eyes were brimming with tears while both Ron and Ginny were almost deathly pale.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “It’s horrible. And Moody even said — or not Moody, but he- he said someone might be using the tournament to kill you. And he knew the whole time!”

“Yeah, well that’s not the worst part,” Harry said. “It’s Sirius.”

Hermione and Ron both sat up a little straighter, but Ginny tilted her head in confusion. “Sirius Black?”

Harry winced. He’d forgotten — but then, perhaps the more people who knew and believed now, the better. “Yeah. He’s my godfather and he’s innocent — we met him last term.”

Ginny’s eyebrows both shot up. “I mean, people were talking about you and a run-in with Black, but...hang on, why’d he attack your bed, then?”

She was looking at her brother now, who explained, “He wanted Scabbers, cos Scabbers was an animagus the whole time. He was the bloke that really killed all the muggles and betrayed Harry’s parents, not Sirius.”

“Scabbers was a person the whole time?” Ginny’s face wrinkled up in disgust. “Ron, he slept in your bed some nights.”

Ron’s face turned very red. “It’s not as if I knew!”

“I know, but — are you alright? Do mum and dad know? You should- you should talk to someone.”

Ron was turning a bit green now as he considered his sister’s words, while Harry did the same. He hadn’t put much thought into how Wormtail’s disguise affected Ron. He never considered much how things affected anybody after the fact. Not when Hermione had been petrified, or Ginny possessed. A part of him always assumed they’d get on with it the way he did, but maybe that wasn’t quite right judging by Ginny’s current concern for her brother.

“Harry, what does Crouch Jr. have to do with Sirius?” Hermione asked, no doubt trying to keep him on track.

He nodded. “Crouch said he’d had help from Wormtail and told the Minister that Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew, that he’s alive, and that Sirius was innocent — but Fudge won’t call the search off for him.”

“What?” The cry of outrage had come from multiple of his friends. Even Ginny looked angry on Sirius’ behalf, and she’d never met him.

Harry scowled. “He’s worried it’ll cause a scandal and about how it’ll look to the other schools. He didn’t even really promise they’d look into it after the tournament. Just said something vague. It’s just like when they sent Hagrid off in second year.” He was about fed up with the Ministry of Magic these days.

Hermione looked just as troubled. “I can’t believe how much injustice is being done. I mean, it turns out poor Winky was innocent, too!”

Harry turned towards her sharply, about to snap a retort that Winky’s fate of being fired was far less severe than Sirius’ twelve years in Azkaban or even Hagrid’s short stint, but a hand reached out and touched his arm lightly. He looked and found it had been Ginny, who let go almost as quickly as she’d reached out. But it had done the trick in keeping his temper from boiling over.

“Um, Harry, what did they say they would do about- about You-Know-Who?”

He frowned, but replied, “Dumbledore said something about contacting people after Fudge left, but I don’t really know.” He sunk down in his armchair as he reflected on how little he really had learned.

“Well, at least the tournament should be safer now, right?” Ron asked, clearly trying to lift Harry’s spirits. “Apart from the tasks.”

“Yeah. Apart from them.” He still didn’t know what he was supposed to be facing in the first task, and it would be upon him before he knew it he was sure. Still, Harry’s mind was on Sirius and his situation. How could he help?

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung inward to allow some of their housemates through, effectively ending the conversation. Harry decided to head up to an early bed, not wanting to face whatever inquires other students might have.

Despite his attempt to catch up on sleep, Harry tossed and turned all that night, waking up in a sour mood the next day. His two best friends and Ginny accompanied him down to breakfast regardless, which he was somewhat grateful for as the stares and murmurs from the students of all three schools was even worse than usual. No doubt at least some of the story about the fake Moody had leaked out. At least they all knew now he hadn’t entered his own name into the Goblet.

Some of the third years were not as keen on him, he realized after a few moments. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in particular were staring at Ginny. She kept her gaze fixed resolutely forward as she took a seat on the bench next to him, asking Ron to pass the kippers as if it were merely just another day. How much had she had to put up with rumors and other people’s eyes over the years? It probably didn’t help she was easy to pick out in a crowd. Her hair was a mane of fiery red and her eyes a bright brown.

Perhaps, a small voice in the back of his head pointed out, Harry had been doing his own fair amount of watching Ginny Weasley since meeting her at Kings Cross.

The morning mail arrived and with it a copy of the Daily Prophet for Hermione. Harry hardly paid any attention to it, at least not until Hermione let out a shriek.

“What?” He snapped.

“Oh, Harry, look! That Skeeter woman’s article — it’s about Sirius!”

Harry dropped his fork and nearly ripped the paper from her hands to read the headline.

DEATH EATER AT HOGWARTS

DISAVOWS SIRIUS BLACK AS MEMBER AMIDST MINISTRY COVER-UP

“Bloody hell! Skeeter’s actually helping you out for once, Harry!”

“But how could she know all this?” Hermione seemed too stunned to even remember to admonish Ron for language. “She wasn’t there. She couldn’t have been!”

Harry shrugged. “Who knows? But now the Wizarding World knows there’s not something right with what happened to Sirius.”

“You should talk to her,” Ginny said.

He stared at her in disbelief. “Skeeter?”

“She’s the only reporter that’s been hanging around Hogwarts with any regularity,” Ginny pointed out with a shrug. “Plus she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Ginny’s right,” Hermione admitted grudgingly. “It’s going to be important to keep this story in the news.”

“Skeeter put you in a good light, too,” Ron added. He was scanning through the article. “Says here that ‘the young boy stood his ground against the Minister’s call for censorship’. Powerful stuff.”

He rolled his eyes at Ron’s teasing grin.

“Have you got any photos of Sirius?”

He blinked up at Ginny. “What?”

“Any good ones. You know, not the Azkaban one. We could ask Colin to make a copy and you could send that to Ed to run with another story. Change the public perception of him.”

Harry thought of the photo of Sirius from his parent’s wedding, handsome and smiling broadly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got something. You think Colin would help?”

“Course he would,” Ron answered before his sister could. “Him and his brother only run your fan club.”

A few more owls were still arriving to drop off deliveries. One landed in front of Ginny with a note that she took. “It’s from Charlie.”

“What’s it say?” Ron asked.

“Hold on. He’s in the country, near Hogwarts. He wants to meet by Hagrid’s Hut to show me something. Says you can come, too, Ron, as long as you promise not to tell Harry.” She looked up with a cheeky grin at him. “Oops.”

Hermione suddenly clutched at his arm. “Harry, if you can’t know about it, it has to be about the tournament.”

That made a perfect amount of sense, though the follow up realization filled him with dread. “And if Charlie’s involved…”

All four of them paled.

“Don’t worry, mate. Ginny and I will go check it out. See what you’re up against.”

“It might not be a full-sized dragon,” Ginny offered.

“Yeah, could be Norbert-sized before he got too big for Hagrid’s.”

“He still bit you,” Harry pointed out. Ron grimaced but had no reply. “I don’t know what I can do against a dragon.”

“Borrow the sword of Gryffindor?” Ginny suggested, only half-joking he thought. Maybe if he said some real nice things about Dumbledore, Fawkes might take pity on him?

“Sirius might have advice,” Hermione pointed out. “Anyway, you should get in touch with him to see what can be done about all this in the Prophet now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that,” Harry decided.

“Whatever happens, we’ll all help you, Harry,” Ginny promised. Ron gave an affirming nod, and even those small assurances made him feel better.

Ginny’s belief in him in particular was an unexpected boon. Though she’d never been one of his naysayers, they’d not often gotten to talk like this. It made him glad he hadn’t turned around and gone a different way that afternoon when he’d spotted her dot on the Marauders’ Map. But the sound of her soft crying, rather than repelling him, had tugged at something in his chest and he’d had to see what he could do. He wasn’t sure why.

Whatever the reason, he thought he might just be making yet another good friend. And he’d have to think of some way to thank her. If not for actions against a disguised Death Eater and their subsequent journey to the Hospital Wing, who knew what might have happened?

—-

Sirius nearly didn’t believe it at first and was glad to have a copy of the Prophet Harry had sent along to verify his claims. People were speculating as to his innocence?

He wasn’t sure what he remembered if anything about this Skeeter woman, but if she was raising the alarm surely others would pick up the story. And that left him with a decision to make. Did he come forward? Seek a trial after all these years? Without Pettigrew in hand, did it truly matter?

He left the cave he’d scoped out in the mountains overlooking Hogsmeade in order to go to Remus’ for some advice. When he reached his old friend’s house, the other man reached to pull him up to standing, hardly seeming to realize he was still a dog.

“They’ve got him, they’ve got him, Sirius—”

“Who?” He asked once he’d transformed.

“Peter!” Remus declared with an almost unhinged glee. “Caught in a raid! An Auror named Shacklebolt brought him in. Amelia Bones in the DMLE says if you surrender yourself in forty-eight hours you can have your trial. She’s gone completely over Fudge’s head!”

“It- but how? What raid? What were they raiding?” He asked hoarsely.

“I don’t know. I suspect Dumbledore had something to do with it, but he only owled me to ask if I’d been in touch with you or not. He’s promised to meet you in the Ministry atrium himself to make sure it’s all above board.”

Sirius could hardly believe his own ears. They wanted to give him a chance to prove he wasn’t guilty of those crimes. After all these years, after ordering him to be Kissed on sight.

“Give me some parchment. A quill. I need a barrister.”

The next several days were a blur of legal jargon and papers. He was seen by an extremely limited Wizengamot. Mostly only the pureblood families, though for once that was in his favor. Regardless of their personal feelings for him, they were all no doubt offended by the implication the firstborn son of an Ancient and Noble — or ignoble, by his reckoning — House could have received such shoddy treatment by the law until now. With a living rat in custody and even a severely weakened Mad Eye Moody himself testifying that Pettigrew was one of his attackers this past summer, his innocence was secured. He was a free man.

The first thing he’d done was write to Harry. The letter was hardly legible, his hands had been shaking so much. Then some Aurors had escorted him to St. Mungo’s for treatment on the Ministry’s sickle. Remus had met him there; he hadn’t been allowed to sit in on the trial or even wait outside, much to both their anger.

He’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that one of his escort was also his own cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. They’d had an awkward catching up session, but she’d promised to pass on his love to Andy. Maybe they could see about repairing that old bridge.

Harry’s reply came back while he was still in hospital. He was overjoyed but frustrated because the professors wouldn’t excuse him to see Sirius. He also asked if Sirius’ offer to come live with him still stood. He wanted to give a definitive yes, but one moment in his trial stood out to him.

“As Mr. Black has been cleared of all charges, his official guardianship of the minor Harry James Potter will be reinstated,” Madam Bones had declared.

“I should add that Sirius will share that guardianship role with Harry Potter’s Muggle relatives,” Dumbledore had spoken up, as was his right as Chief Warlock. “They are the boy’s primary caretakers over the summers, and it would be far too disruptive to change that.”

Surely the Headmaster wasn’t trying to dictate where Harry lived anymore? He’d understood it before, but now?

Instead, he focused on the other part of Harry’s letter dealing with the tournament and the dragon he was going to have to face. Harry would need all the help he could get in coming up with a strategy. Sadly, Sirius wasn’t deemed well enough by the Healers to attend the first task, but he sent Moony in his stead. He reported back that Harry’s flying had been spectacular.

Once released from St. Mungo’s, he grudgingly returned to the old Black family home. Not because he particularly wanted to use it — the memories were unpleasant and the company was worse. But since the Headmaster was acting stubborn in the letters he’d sent about having Harry stay with him over the summers and holidays, Sirius was bound and determined to prove he was just as concerned about his godson’s safety. Grimmauld Place was already Unplottable, and he and Remus had been cooking up other protections as well.

The first thing implemented was releasing Kreacher from his service the minute he’d realized the old Elf was still kicking around in the filth and grime. Apparently that had been too much for his heart, though Sirius would be lying if he said he’d miss him.

They had some time to make all other arrangements, as Harry wouldn’t be leaving the castle for the Christmas holidays. There was an event for the tournament he was still being forced to compete in. And perhaps to try and save face, Sirius had received a curious invitation from the Ministry itself in the leadup to Christmas Eve. He decided to keep it a surprise to his godson.

With a new shave and haircut and the cleanest and finest set of robes he’d worn in over a decade — complete with a Hippogriff feather in his lapel courtesy of Buckbeak — Sirius returned to Hogwarts on a chilly December evening. Dumbledore greeted him pleasantly enough at the door, and he was directed to wait inside the decorated Great Hall with the rest of the staff and other adult guests. The youngest there was a man with red hair and glasses who could be guessed to be a Weasley of some kind. He shook the kid’s hand but otherwise kept his attention on the double doors.

They finally opened and students began filing in. As Sirius caught sight of a familiar mop of messy black hair, he decided to extend the ruse a little further. He left his seat for a few moments, taking his name placard with him, and pretended to examine one of the ice sculptures with his back to the room.

As one of the champions, Harry soon arrived at the table with his date on his arm, another redhead though this time a girl. Possibly a Weasley? It’d be a first for generations.

“Harry, Ginny, very good to see you both,” the young man from before stated with a very grandiose air.

“Sure, Perce,” the girl named Ginny said. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Percy, who’s this empty chair beside us?” Harry asked, always one with a keen eye. Had to be the Seeker in him.

“Well, that place is for a very special guest, the Minister arranged it all personally or so I hear.”

“Oh yeah? Spill then, who is it?” Ginny prodded who had to be her brother. As Sirius turned around, however, Harry finally caught sight of him and rushed forward.

“Sirius!”

He couldn’t help a laugh as his arms went around his godson. Laughing was coming easier since he’d seen those Healers, truthfully. “How’s that for a Christmas surprise? How are you, Harry?”

“Fine. You- you look great,” Harry said, stepping back a little. He seemed to remember he’d left behind his date to get to him and backed up a couple of steps. “Ginny, er, this is Sirius. My godfather.”

“I could guess,” the girl said, though her dry tone didn’t match the warm smile she wore watching the pair of them. “Harry’s had so much to say about you the last few weeks.”

“Well he’s been positively reticent about you,” Sirius replied, reaching out to shake her hand. “Ginny- Weasley, I’m guessing?” She nodded, and his eyes darted to puffed up Percy in the background. Proud older brother, then. “That’s good. Harry’s lucky to have gotten in with all of you. And finding a girl to boot!”

Ginny’s face turned a bit red, and Harry hastened to say, “Ginny and I are here as friends. I mean, we’re not dating.” He looked at his date, a smile rising on his lips. “I sort of owed her a favor.”

“That’s how he asked me, too,” Ginny told him, and she gave an exasperated shake of the head. Harry had the grace to look sheepish. “But it was a favor, in a way. I wouldn’t be allowed to attend otherwise. I’m a third year.”

Ah, bit young then to be thinking of anything beyond friendships then, the both of them. Sirius had never quite grown out of that stage, it seemed. Still, they seemed to like the other’s company well enough.

Hermione came over to their end of the table as well, as she seemed to be the date of the Durmstrang champion. Then they all had to be seated quickly in order to begin the meal.

Sirius enjoyed talking to both Harry and Ginny. The three of them kept up a steady chatter that drowned her brother out; too bad it wasn’t Ron with them instead. He thought he spotted the other boy down at one of the tables with another kid he could swear had Alice Longbottom’s round cheekbones.

He had an altogether enjoyable night. Harry hardly wanted to leave his side, though he did nudge his godson into taking Ginny out onto the dance floor for a couple of songs even after the obligatory champions dance. Neither of them were pros, but they seemed to get on well enough. He did get in a conversation with Ron, though he didn’t meet the boy’s date; she seemed to have gone off on her own. Such was life. He let Harry’s friend know dating wasn’t all it was cracked up to be sometimes and not to worry too much if the right person hadn’t come along, yet or ever. That only marginally helped. Sirius suspected the right person might actually be dancing with the Bulgarian Seeker at the same moment.

He bid Harry and his date a goodnight and happy holidays in the Entrance Hall before returning to Grimmauld Place, humming carols under his breath. It was hard to remember ever being so happy in a long time.

Harry continued to write over the months, and Sirius was amused to note Ginny’s name was cropping up far more often in the letters, along with Ron and Hermione’s of course. Perhaps his godson was slowly coming round to the point. He wouldn’t push him.

The second task was one he could attend, though he almost wished he couldn’t. It was bitterly cold down by the lake in February. Luckily, a few warming charms took care of that for himself, Remus and Harry’s friends.

Neither Ginny nor Hermione were among them, though the reason for that became clear as the challenge was announced. He and Remus both exchanged surprised looks at the idea of putting actual children at the bottom of the lake — sure, when they’d banished all the Slytherins’ beds out there in third year it was against school rules, but actual children — and watched closely to see what Harry would do.

When Harry eventually returned after all the others with not one but two hostages, Sirius felt his heart swell a little with pride. The poor boy had sacrificed a possible lead in the competition to ensure everyone’s safety. Whether it was needed or not, he was glad to see the moral character of his godson shining through. And the judges saw fit to award him a fair few points for it as well.

They hadn’t discussed whether or not Harry ought to be trying to win this thing anymore. Crouch Jr.’s plan beforehand had called for it, but now that all of that was out of the way, it wasn’t as if winning came with extra consequences. Sirius was of the mind that if Harry was being forced to compete he ought to make them all feel sorry they’d forced it, and whether or not that involved taking the Triwizard cup for himself was up to Harry. He wouldn’t tell him what to do either way.

The next time he saw his godson was the day of the third task, just as he had finalized the changes to Grimmauld Place. Family had been invited to spend a day with their champion at Hogwarts, and Sirius curiously found himself accompanied by Molly and Bill Weasley. He knew from everything Harry said that the Weasleys had been a big part of his life since joining the Wizarding World, and the matriarch in particular seemed wary of him. A thirteen-year reputation did that sometimes.

“Molly, it’s good to finally meet you. Fabian and Gideon were some of the best of the best I ever met,” he decided to begin with.

She blinked in some surprise, caught off guard. “Oh. Yes, they- they were both excellent wizards.”

“Ron might be giving them a run for their money, though. And I’ve met Ginny as well. Harry seems fond of her in his letters.”

She latched onto that detail eagerly, and he thought he caught her eldest trying to hide a laugh. Harry joined them soon enough, so they stopped their idle gossip in favor of sharing stories about the castle through the generations. Over the afternoon, he met the final two of the Weasley bunch who were still in school, a pair of twins whose humor ran towards the ostentatious end of the scale. They carried it well with their double act. Yes, Sirius could see why Harry enjoyed himself so much around the whole group.

Together, he went with the Weasleys and Hermione to the Quidditch pitch which now looked a sight with all the hedges growing up out of the grass. James would never have stood for it; that was sacred ground. He smiled to himself at the thought.

They cheered for Harry as he entered at the same time as the Diggory boy, the other two following after certain intervals, then they all sat and waited.

“Who planned this tournament?” Sirius asked after fifteen minutes of staring at hedges. This was the second time he was sitting in some stands watching a bit of scenery. “Can’t believe Remus got to see the only good one—”

“Sirius, look!” Hermione cried.

Harry had reappeared with the Diggory boy, each holding one handle of the trophy and grinning broadly. They all rushed down to the grounds to meet them. Ginny got to Harry first, her small form managing to slip through the crowds quickest, and enveloped him in a hug. Young Mr. Diggory was receiving the same treatment from a girl he thought the boy had been dancing with at the Yule Ball if he remembered correctly.

Ginny pulled back from Harry and the two grinned at each other with full blushes staining their cheeks. Then Ron was clapping Harry on the shoulder and Molly Weasley was going in for a hug that looked painful. Harry’s eyes searched out the crowd for his.

Sirius took his turn and gave him a hug of his own. “Well, I’d say you showed old Voldemort, Harry.”

Harry grinned up at him. “Yeah. Apart from the fake teacher and the plot to kill me, it’s not been a bad year after all.”

Sirius threw his head back and barked a laugh.

—-

Albus entered the Ministry and quickly headed down to the lower floors rather than to the Minister’s office. Cornelius had been voted out shortly after the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament, and thus his days of advisement seemed to be at an end. Rufus Scrimgeour was a far more guarded man.

Nevertheless, Albus was here on a different errand entirely. It was nothing urgent. Rather, he took this trip to reassure himself, as he had once a month since the middle of last fall.

He was admitted into the Department of Mysteries and taken to the little room by a guide, as they were expecting him. There he viewed the small wraith suspended in its case, the same as all the times before.

Lord Voldemort himself.

They hadn’t known what to do with him upon arriving at the old Riddle House and incapacitating both Peter Pettigrew and the snake Nagini. The latter had proved interesting, as there had been great difficulty in killing her. His old suspicions were gaining new life, it seemed. There were likely other things he needed to see to in Little Hangleton yet.

Though the pitiable creature had been able to raise a wand, he was no match for Albus’ power, and a quick disarming spell had taken care of any threat. Now, the Unspeakables told him, he grew weaker even in the stasis they held him in.

It was not foolproof. Albus did not doubt that someday some servant perhaps even more deranged than Barty Jr. might arrive to release their master from imprisonment. Sybil’s prophecy, after all…

But for now, they were at an impasse. Harry was not yet ready to complete his destiny. Only a select few knew that what remained of Tom Riddle — consciously, at least — was here. Sirius suspected, perhaps, and was pushing for answers to give to Harry, but for now he would have to ask both their patience. Harry was young, after all, and deserved a childhood with all the usual things like schoolwork and friends and even, perhaps, a blooming crush on the youngest Weasley.

Sirius had pushed for one more staple of childhood; spending time with family, and not the Dursleys. He’d been loathe to agree but also loathe to get into the details of why Harry needed the blood protection from his aunt at this time, so he had conceded. He know only knew of where the boy was because Sirius had deigned to share the location with him. He had learned from past mistakes and made himself Secret Keeper of his home.

Things were on a far different path to what Albus had started to expect, he reflected on the lift back up to the Ministry atrium, particularly when he had received that letter from Harry about the dream he’d had over the summer with Tom and the old Muggle. But perhaps it wasn’t for ill; an indirect blow had been dealt to Lord Voldemort by Harry Potter, and all through a simple act of care towards a friend.

Love sometimes wasn’t grand nor was it always mysterious. And he knew few who had the intuitive grasp on it that Harry Potter did.

#hinny #ginny weasley #harry potter #sirius black #hp #albus dumbledore #ron weasley #hermione granger #cornelius fudge #minerva mcgonagall #poppy pomfrey #barty crouch junior #remus lupin #and a smattering of others #my writing

11 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 5 years

Text

Borrowed this neat little list from @ask-iraiel.

01. Oldest OC: This would be the departed @lady-handhour, who started off as a human (Gilnean) Warlock character in Vanilla WoW, and my very first heavily Rp’d character. She is now a banshee that is bound to the Ghostlands and surprisingly is still fun and interesting for me to write after all these years.

02. Newest OC: @wraithsongs is my newest character, a Dark Ranger. I haven’t written very much for her or introduced her to RP, her blog just merely aesthetics now, so I haven’t done a lot of advertising, but she will be getting some stand alone stories very soon.

03: Favorite OC: A hard question, as I like something about each character I was inspired to create and develop. My favorite to write for and develop has been @echoesofthelight lately, I think, though who I end up writing/rping for is really influenced on my daily mood and the interest shown in a character by others.

04 Favorite OC Design: I really love sketching out my more supernatural-looking characters, and of them @gravekeeper-anna has been the most fun to play around with. Though she recently had a more darkly whimsical look to her, she’s recently going through some revisions to her design, and its been an interesting challenge to try to put together what she looks like now as I take my group’s Rp contributions into consideration. (Truly some amazing writing occurred and I love the people that support my little forsaken lady so much. )

05 Main Reason for Making OC’s: Rolling a character and developing an OC are two very different things for me, and usually an OC comes out of an idea that haunts me or one that is built through a bridge of stories on one of my already existing characters. Inspiration is a very large motivator for me, and I usually can’t go on playing a toon I create unless they really come alive for me in my mind.

06. Describe Your Character Creating Process: This is probably intertwined a lot with the answer for number 5...it all starts with being inspired by something, being haunted by a concept for days or weeks that I can’t shake. Usually I’ll start writing some the concept, sketch out things for myself, and then I’ll share my ideas with an Rp friend I trust to see if it sounds...well, sound. Then if I’m lucky and confident with my idea, I can see it flourish into stories and Rp, and maybe even more grounded art.

07: Character Ships: The word ‘ship’ has a few meanings for me, as they can mean different types of relationships continuously written with a regular rp partner that for me, revolve around character exploration and development. I currently have a romantically-inclined ‘ship’ between Safrona here and @thefirstperished. On @echoesofthelight I tend to do a lot of character developing with @renwyck’s writer, a platonic relationship. And @roselyn-ravenblade has a mentor/mentee relationtionship with @asharinhun, and she also has a fine friendship building with @natereising.

08: My favorite OC ship has been what has developed between Safrona and @thefirstperished. It was something that was organically Rp’d and a little unexpected, but has been very satisfying. There is a rich intimate exploration into both of our very not normal characters that always pulls me right in and keeps me and Saf both on our toes, or sinking in a sea of feels or even snickering to myself. Throw in there that I just admire The First as an amazingly written character in his own right, I’m just always looking forward to see this deeply bonded relationship develop however the way it does.

09. Weirdest OC: I think the majority of my characters have a little ‘weirdness’ to them, and that is what makes them enjoyable for me to write. I think the weirdest concept I have is my Forsaken Monk at @danseindeath which is possibly too off kilter to even legitimately RP. I love her twisted, violent aesthetic though, so I keep her blog around. That’s where the most disturbing of my inspiration goes, likely.

10. Villains? @danseindeath was supposed to be the most villainous of my roster, but not sure anymore, as I’m not actively writing that character. I honestly have trouble writing a clear hero, or a clear villain. I usually play with moralities, dancing in a grey area. There is always a reason for the things one does. I suppose right now @lady-handhour is my most ‘lawful evil’ of my characters, but on the whole, most consider undead and their motivations to be ‘evil’.

11. Would you consider yourself nice to your OCS? I didn’t used to be. I think I liked writing tragic characters much too much. Many of my characters don’t have great orgins, and some characters, by the gods, did I put them through the wringer. But I’m coming to a point that some of these characters I’ve written for so long falling into pitfall after pitfall of ruin (some ten years rl in running) deserve some positive development for once, or having things work in their favor.

12. An OC you’ve killed (if you havent killed anyone, who would you kill?) Most recently I tried to permanently retire @gravekeeper-anna after the assault on Lordaeron by the Alliance after Teldrassil’s burning with her execution, but some dear writer friends weren’t having that at all, so she is returning, slowly but surely. :) A grateful nod must go to @sanguinesorceress, @duraxxor, @silvertonguedaggermaw and @nixalegos for inspiring her recreation.

13. Are any of your OC’s parents? Safrona has had terrible luck being a parent, but she can remember some semblence of what it felt to have a child, somehow. As can @lady-handhour. @gravekeeper-anna is the a motherly guardian to the Lost of Lordaeron in a way, but right now, it is @wraithsongs that has had a child survive her, and sadly, it probably breaks her brain. Maybe one day one of my characters will get to have a healthy parent-child relationship, who knows?

14. Are there any OC’s you find yourself neglecting? I find I’m neglecting @delaurac a lot mostly because his story has fell flat on its face for me and I think I’ve fallen into making him a punching bag, and I probably don’t want to go that route again with ANOTHER character. Just lack of steady inspiration for me when it comes to Quint.

15. An OC that is difficult to write/draw/rp: That would be Saraj the Ethereal. I have always, always wanted an Ethereal character, but he falls into all those categories of being a highly intelligent, centuries? old entity that I just don’t have enough lore on to a point that I don’t know if I can ever deeply write him, while also being very hard to draw as a space mummy, and being someone that just shows up as cameos for the Courier. I dearly love this character though.

16: Tallest/Shortest OC: Shortest: @roselyn-handhour, tallest is Safrona’s Shivarra, that I sometimes bring in as an IC interation.

17: Oldest and Youngest OCs: Youngest OC is @roselyn-ravenblade in her early-mid twenties and the oldest is Saraj who is...who knows how old Ethereals are.

18: Do you dislike any of your OCs? Well. I wouldn’t ever want to meet @danseindeath in real life, but the idea of her intrigued my horror-appreciating brain.

19: Have you ever made a self-insert? I think there are aspects we identify with or that intrigue us as writers that we put into characters to make them relatable to us and therefore inspire us to write, but I stayed away for a long time from really putting big chunks of my personality into my characters. They were for a long time art that I released into the world, subjects that I subjected to stories, environs, and the impact of other characters on their existences. That changed a little with @roselyn-ravenblade, as I just started writing her half the time with my own reactions in a social environment. And its made her feel more of a real character to me as an effect, and its all kinda amusing.

20: An OC regret: I regret sometimes letting myself get too carried with making characters. I feel like I sometimes don’t have the brain to keep up with them all. Its often a feeling that makes me want to shelf a character, or retire them, but I never can pick who. And then I just feel like I’m giving up on one of my creations.

21: An OC you didn’t expect to be popular: I honestly did not expect Safrona to be so popular. She is a courier. There should have been nothing very interesting about that. She was my very first Tumblr account though, and she’s been around for a time here, and I was fairly active in having her interact with people. Am still a little stunned at the follower count she has, and moreover that it isn't dropping. I don't feel she is as popular with people now despite all this, just an old account and characterization I haven't shelved. This of course does not wither my massive love and gratitude for those that have written with Saf, ever liked her posts or reblogged, complimented and supported this character somehow. Just still pleasantly surprised.

22: An OC you didn’t expect to love: Many years ago, there was this gnomish warlock I knew in Vanilla Wow that really grew on me that I cant even remember the name of. He completely stuttered through his every word consistently, and while reading his text may have been annoying to some, I just appreciated the time he put into his characterization so much and how well he was rp'd with anyone and everyone that any group rp function we ever had felt a little empty if he was not attending. He is probably the reason for near automatically loving gnome rpers when I see/read about them. Strangely, I never really had a good gnome character that I could think of rping myself.

#ooc #OC prompt meme

12 notes · View notes

caladhel-iarian · 5 years

Text

Talking to Dhel is like going to dinner at Dick’s Last Resort

General Information—— —

FULL NAME: Caladhel Ia’rian.

NICKNAME(S):

Dhel.

Dek.

Hardass.

The Ice Prince.

Smokestack.

Ladle.

Daddy. This is an excellent way to ensure he never talks to you again. Use with caution. And by caution, probably don’t ever call him this if you like his company.

Various other silly, syrupy endearments his brothers come up with on the fly.

TITLE(S):

Crown Prince Caladhel.

Master Caladhel.

Professor Ia’rian.

AGE: 305. Roughly the equivalent of a human in his mid-to-late 30′s.

BIRTHDAY: October 29.

RACE: Highborne. Yes, he has distinctly Sin’dorei colouring. But take a look at his ears, his height, his build, his face--he is not Sin’dorei.

GENDER: Male.

ORIENTATION:

Heteroflexible.

Sapiosexual.

Demisexual.

MARITAL STATUS:

Married to his work.

(He’s single. Good luck changing his mind.)

Physical Appearance—— —

HAIR:

Thick, black as pitch, and silky. Mostly straight, though the jagged ends tend to swoop in all directions. He has two long strands that drape over his shoulders and touch his abs, long bangs (often swept to one side in a ponytail), and the rest is a choppy mess.

EYES:

The irises are a rich chocolate brown with gold flecks. If they didn’t glow lime green, they’d resemble a deeper, darker tiger’s eye stone held up to the sunlight.

His eyes are narrow and almond-shaped, and they slant up at the outer corners. They’re also rimmed in black lashes thick enough and long enough to make many women envious.

HEIGHT: 8′ even. He’s a big boy.

BUILD:

Many students express surprise when first confronted by this professor. They expect withered, hunched old men with beards longer than table runners, or frail, fragile dolls who would shatter in a stiff breeze. Instead, they get an enormous, broad-shouldered elf who looks like he could probably swim the entire Great Ocean without getting winded.

While he’ll never resemble a walking refrigerator, if you catch him naked, you’ll find plenty of lean, defined muscle. Dhel has a swimmer’s build.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A lip piercing that he doesn’t always wear.

Glasses. If he’s not wearing contacts, he’s wearing his glasses. Otherwise, he can’t see his hand in front of his face.

Tattoos. Many, many tattoos.

Knotty scars around his ankles, his heels, and his soles.

He has a birthmark on the tip of his right big toe; it resembles a bird with wings spread.

Both cheeks dimple when he smiles.

His smile is crooked; the left side of his mouth pulls up higher.

You’ll rarely see him without a cigarette and a cloud of purple smoke hanging around.

TATTOOS: Left arm:

Family crest on the inside of his forearm (a massive tree on a hill with the sun rising behind it).

Infinity symbol curling around his wrist. It looks like a musical staff.

Musical staff around his bicep. The staff contains notation and a few lyrics.

A trio of fox kits chase a red butterfly down the outside of his forearm.

Right arm:

Azure cloud serpent Ouroboros on the outside of his forearm.

Marionette with cut strings on the outside of his bicep.

Words from his favourite poem on the inside of his forearm.

Fleur de lis on the inside of his wrist.

A Punch ‘n Judy stage with the titular characters on the inside of his bicep.

From his neck down, he is covered in runic tattoos that are only visible when he uses magic. They glow a vivid violet during his spellcasting.

PIERCINGS: A lower lip piercing. He doesn’t always wear it.

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

Cigarettes.

Pen and paper.

Eyeglasses.

A mithril ring on a simple silver chain around his neck. The ring is shaped like an ivy vine set with emerald leaves and tiny moonstone flowers.

A string of jade prayer beads wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet.

Books.

A briefcase and/or messenger bag filled with folders. The folders contain assignments he needs to grade and outlines for future assignments he can give his students.

Personal Information—— —

PROFESSION(S):

Crown Prince and Heir Apparent.

Vocalist, pianist, and lyricist for the rock band, Dysphoria.

Adjunct professor for the Sunfury Spire (Silvermoon) and the Violet Academy (Dalaran).

He teaches World Mythology, Ancient Runes, and Advanced Evocation for the older students during the fall term, and general education for the kiddies during spring and fall terms.

On occasion, he also teaches ballroom dancing as an afterschool elective.

HOBBIES:

Collecting books.

Reading everything he can get his hands on.

Writing poetry and short stories he never publishes.

Ice sculpting.

Working on the book he does plan to publish.

Traveling and urban exploration.

Baiting people with harsh banter.

Tutoring kids.

Tea ceremony (both teaching and indulging in).

Making paper lanterns.

Solitary walks.

Playing piano.

Pointing out all your faults.

SKILL(S):

Natural inclination for frost magic.

Conjuration.

Evocation.

Singing.

Playing piano.

Undefeated champion of hide and seek.

Making people upset.

Making people cry.

Born to teach.

Martyrdom.

Being an asshole. He’s real good at it.

Likes to think he’s great with words.

Despite how acerbic he is around adults, he’s fantastic with kids.

Observant. Probably too observant.

Analytical to the point of paranoia.

Pointing out your flaws.

Hypocrisy.

Scrying.

Making a damn good cup of tea.

He’s a walking, insulting bag of dicks, but he’s surprisingly good at picking out gifts for people.

Getting pissed off faster than you can blink.

Fashion. The man’s a snappy dresser. Just as snappy as his mouth.

LANGUAGE(S):

Thalassian.

Darnassian (ancient and modern).

Shalassian.

Gutterspeech.

Taurahe.

Common.

Zandali.

Pandaren.

Orcish.

RESIDENCE:

He owns a penthouse apartment in Silvermoon. It’s located near the Court of the Sun and he shares it with both Lin and Bren--and the rest of his family whenever they come to visit.

He also has a penthouse apartment in Dalaran, smack in the middle of Runeweaver Square.

In the Brydydd Theatre outside Tranquillien (Ghostlands), an entire suite of rooms has been set aside for him.

Back in his homeland, he still has his private suite in the royal palace.

BIRTHPLACE: Sunset Palace on Skyfire Isle. It sits at the end of Morning Glory Lane in the capital city of Berl’din Mor.

RELIGION: He’s about as religious as a rock.

Relationships—— —

SPOUSE:

Unmarried--whether by choice or because no one can put up with his acid tongue, who knows?

If you’re interested in getting him down the aisle, best of luck to you.

CHILDREN:

None at the moment. But he’d love to have a large family of his own.

Because his genes are just as dominant as the rest of him, if he ever knocked a woman up, she can expect that her first child will be children, either twin boys or triplet sons. His line has bred true in this fashion for countless generations.

PARENTS:

Taenaran Ia’rian (father).

Sumire Ia’rian nee Ker’anith (mother).

SIBLINGS: In order of age:

Calaglin Ia’rian (triplet and elder brother by two minutes).

Calabren Ia’rian (triplet and younger brother by two minutes).

Ylinderwyn Ia’rian (sister).

Kethian Ia’rian (sister).

Istaunna Ia’rian (sister).

Kouwin Ia’rian (brother and twin to Kouyuu).

Kouyuu Ia’rian (brother and twin to Kouwin).

Yenchul Ia’rian (brother and twin to Tevryn).

Tevryn Ia’rian (adopted brother and twin to Yenchul).

Phirayaela Ia’rian (sister).

OTHER RELATIVES: Too many to name here. Suffice to say, he comes from an enormous clan and holidays are busy. Both his grandmothers are still living, as well as his many-times great-grandmother.

PETS: N/A

Traits—— —

•extroverted / introverted / in between.

•disorganized / organized / in between.

•close minded / open-minded / in between.

•calm / anxious / in between.

•disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

•cautious / reckless / in between.

•patient / impatient / in between.

•outspoken / reserved / in between.

•leader / follower / in between.

•empathetic / indifferent / in between.

•optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

•traditional / modern / in between.

•hard-working / lazy / in between.

•cultured / uncultured / in between.

•loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between.

•assertive / timid / in between

Additional Information—— —

SMOKING: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never/ sometimes / frequently / to excess.

Extra—— —

FACECLAIM(S): Aoi of the GazettE (Shiroyama Yuu). But mostly, I just draw him.

VOICE CLAIM(S): His own, I suppose.

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic.

NAME PRONUNCIATION: Caladhel

CULL-uh-dell

CULL-ay-dull is also a possible pronunciation, but this is considered obscure and doesn’t really see use anymore.

Ia’rian

YAH-ree-ahn

IN GAME NAME:

I don’t really play WoW anymore, but if you’re interested in him and you play Final Fantasy XIV, you can find him on Balmung under the name Kaito Fujiwara.

Otherwise, you can hit me up on Discord. Ask me for it. But be warned that I am slow to respond both because I have projects to work on and I make drafts of all my posts; I want to give you the best I can write.

OTHER:

You May Know Them If:

You’re a fan of music and you follow any bands around Azeroth and/or Eorzea. He and his band have been featured a few times in a popular music magazine called “Azerothian Axes.”

You’re a Magister/Magistrix. He’s part of the Conclave of Mages in Silvermoon and a decorated war veteran.

You ever attended classes at the Sunfury Spire or the Violet Academy; he’s taught there for several years now.

You also teach classes at either of these locations.

You’ve been to music concerts, including the concerts held each month in the Darkmoon Faire. He and his band have performed on this stage.

You’re friends with a girl who’s had her heart broken by this icy bastard and you’re out for some revenge.

You grew up in Silvermoon and played with the other kids. He’s probably kicked your ass at hide and seek.

Rp Hooks:

Find him in a bookstore and he’s more likely to be mellow enough to carry on a conversation with you. He likes books. Get him talking about them.

Find him in his favourite cafe in Silvermoon and he’s probably sitting at a table alone, grading student papers. Be smart in your approach and he’s less likely to try to bite your head off. Tea is a good way to get him interested.

If you’re a fan of his band/music, interact with him after the show. Approach him during the meet and greet. Just be sure he’s around his brothers or he’ll probably say some unpleasant things. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t bring him gifts. Or do, if you’re the sort of person who really enjoys conflict.

If you’ve ever taken one of his classes, talk to him. Ask him about his lectures. It’s a surefire way to get his attention and if you can speak with him intelligently, you’ll get on his good side. Or at least not on his “I wish you’d fall off the face of this planet” side.

Are you the adventurous, treasure-seeking type? Meet him on one of his journeys to collect ancient knowledge from ruined cities and tombs. Just be wary of his brothers lurking in the shadows.

Have kids who are fond of wandering off when you’re a little distracted? They are a bazillion percent safe with Dhel. Let your kid approach him and they’ll find a stern but gentle caretaker who will protect them while he helps them find their lost parent/sibling/nanny/governor. Just be ready for him to give you a tongue lashing for being an inattentive adult. And definitely do not call him “daddy” unless you never want to see him again.

Dhel is pointing out your flaws.

#character knowledge #lfc page #triplets #Caladhel #Dhel #world of warcraft roleplay #world of warcraft rp

16 notes · View notes

tarotmum13 · 6 years

Text

Tarot Lessons for Beginners - Part 4

My dear student - I feel like I should apologise for the title! You are a "Beginner" no longer!

By now, you have a grasp on the system that Tarot is built on, you have at least a basic idea of how each card may be interpreted, you can work with your deck in the manner you choose - without clinging to myths and superstitions. You have done some background reading, you (hopefully) have found a deck that suits your style, and you are beginning to use your cards in a spread rather than regard them individually.

I am so proud of you!

Now it is time to learn how we can get more information from the cards that are dealt.

We will do this by looking at a practise-spread, applying what we have learned so far and then looking beyond...

I have chosen a simple 3 card spread, looking at my Past, Present and Future - and you will be surprised how much information can be gleaned from it.

To start our Reading, we look at the story being told in each card and apply it to my particular situation. This will give us insight in to where I am coming from, how my life is progressing right now, and what I can expect from the future. We try to connect each card to the one before, so they form a coherent story rather than little separate puddles of information.

In the Past position we have The Fool. We see a young witch, excited about leaping off a cliff. She is fully trusting that her broomstick will carry her soaring in to the sky, off on an adventure to see the world. She pays no attention to the clouds on the horizon, they are far behind her and she doesn't think they will catch up. Her trusted cat can see the possible dangers here, yet does not leave her side. I like that in this particular card, we get a view of what lies beneath the cliff-edge. We see water (indicating emotion), and a boat. So even if this great leap of faith does not go as planned, there is a safety net there. The young witch will likely bruise her pride, and experience some emotional turmoil, but will land in the sea and be rescued by the sailors... to apply this story to my life, we can say that I used to be a happy-go-lucky individual, not afraid to take some risks and trusting in my abilities and skills to help me take off in life. I had friends, family, people I could trust by my side and I even relied on the kindness of strangers to help me out should I stumble and fall. And fall I did, on several occasions!

In the Present position, we find the 6 of Swords - the mood has changed... gone are the clear bright skies, there is some darkness now but I can still navigate by the light of the moon and stars. It is autumn and the wind is blowing... the fields below are still looking fertile and green, but the trees are shedding their withered leaves as I too must shed that which no longer serves me. I no longer try to go it alone, but have learned it is okay to rely on others and accept their help and guidance. I am leaving, looking back at what is no longer for me, but being pushed along by the brisk autumn breeze. I have bagage now, so carrying a heavier load I do not fly so high... My carefree and trusting younger self lead me in to a relationship that was unsafe. I had to flee, literally, relying on my family back home to support me as I find my feet again.

In the Future position, we see the 9 of Pentacles. We can see the witch, a little older and wiser. She looks relaxed and so does her trusted cat. She can afford to enjoy some rest and take time to expand her mind rather than worry about where the next meal will come from. The tree next to her is bearing it's fruit - she has tended it well and now she can rely on it to feed her, and bring in some money when she sells what she does not need for herself. She is enjoying the wine that was made from her past harvests, but it has grown better, richer, more balanced with age. She has put down her broomstick, it will be there should she choose to move on, but she seems settled, enjoying her life. What this means for me is that my hard work will pay off, I can build a nice, comfortable home and will have enough to get by - more self-sufficient now, I no longer have to rely on others to bail me out.

These are the bare bones of our reading - but what more information can we provide? As we discussed before, we can turn over our deck and look at the card that lies at the bottom for some more information.

In this case, my Shadow Card was the 5 of Cups: This card shows the witch looking forlorne, filled with sadness and regret at the spilled wine in front of her - paying no attention to the lavishly set table behind her. The sea in front of her signifies how emotional she is feeling. There are trees behind her showing she is well rooted, she has stability and grounding, but right now she doesn't feel any of that... to me, this card warns me that I need to turn around. Stop mourning my past and that which I have lost, get up, dust myself off and look at all the riches my life has to offer that I can be grateful for. It is true that I suffer some melancholly, missing Scotland and the people, places, material things I had to walk away from to put myself out if harms way...

 What else can we see?

We see that this reading consists of one Major Arcana card and 2 Minors. This indicates that in our youth, we were ruled by the Fates - we followed the Rites of Passage, being pushed out of the nest and learning to fly for ourselves - we accepted the opportunities Life offered to us and questioned little, going with the flow. Then, as we got older, we were more concerned with the day-to-day ups and downs of our life, we made more conscious choices and took control of our own destiny. A majority of Minor Arcana cards tells us that we hold the key to our future and there are not subject to those big, life changing events that are beyond our control.

Next, we take note of the Elements and Suits represented. The Fool card shows a body of Water, as well as clouds massing in the sky - so we can consider both Water and Air represented here. The 6 of Swords again brings Air, the Suit of Swords representing Thought, Clarity and a Sharp Mind. The 9 of Pentacles brings in the element of Earth, where we can put down Roots, grow fertile Crops, and find Gold to satisfy our Mayerial longing. The Shadow Card teaches us that it is Water, Emotions, that may keep us from enjoying all that we have. Wands are not represented, that is something to be mindful of too! Maybe we are lacking some Fire, some Inspiration?

Now - Lets look at how the characters in the cards are interacting with eachother.

The young Fool has her eyes closed, she is boldly turned towards her future, but is not really thinking ahead. She lives in the Now, the joy and exhilaration of the moment. If we look at the next card, we can see the figure glancing back, is she looking at her younger self with some sadness? Or is she reproachful? Does she mourn for how carefree she used to be? Or does she blame her young, naïve self for leading her here, to this point in her life where she has to leave everything behind except what she can carry in her bag... and even then, she chose to bring sharp swords, the pain of what happened to her. Or is she in fact looking straight at us? Now, here? Are the swords there to defend herself should she need to? Maybe she would do well to look ahead... There her future self is facing her way, but not in distress or anger. She can see where she is coming from, and she knows that her experiences made her who she is now - Maybe she still keeps her travelling-hat and broomstick close, because she has learned to be prepared in case life forces her to move on, but she can be content with her lot. What advice would she have given her younger selves if she could speak to them now? Something to think about...

 As you can see, looking at the card interactions gives us more information than if we had just considered each card individually.

But we can see even more! We looked at the story within the cards, and at the people in them. But we haven't yet looked at the numbers!

In basic numerology, each number has it's own meaning attached. Numerology is a broad and complicated subject, and would be a study in itself should you wish to learn more. But knowing a few basics can already provide us with more insight.

So, going by the (brief) insights above, we can choose to consider each card individually:

In the Past, The Fool carries the number 0 - all opportunities are open to us, we have endless possibilities. In the Present, the number 6 tells us that we are making changes based on our aknowledgement of the facts - we are emerging triumphant because we are not suffering our situation but rather taking the necessary steps to improve our wellbeing. We might feel some pain as we think of our memories, but we know we are heading for better things. In the Future, the 9 speaks to us of satisfaction, knowing we have come a long way and are almost at the end of our cycle - where we have come to terms with the path our life has taken and can see, looking back, that our struggle was necessary to lead us here, to this point. Now, enjoy! Who knows what the next cycle brings?

We can also choose to give an overall number or value to the spread - we do this by adding up the individual numbers (note that I do not add the Shadow Card, as it was not technically part of the spread but rather an adendum, providing extra insight and information):

0 + 6 + 9 = 15

As the outcome is greater than a number between 0 and 10, we add the numbers again:

1 + 5 = 6

6 is the overall number for this particular reading, telling us that no matter what has happened or what is still to come, we can be proud of our accomplishments and we have triumphed over adversity!

 As you can see, a simple 3 card spread has given us a lot to work with! I will recap for you the different ways we have used the cards to get insight in to the situation:

- Read the story depicted in the cards - Apply it to the individual situation, making connections so the story flows - Look at the Shadow Card at the bottom of the deck - Note the amount of Major and Minor Arcana cards - Look at which suits/elements are represented (and which are lacking) - Inspect the way the cards interact with eachother - check basic numerological values

 If you do all of this when executing a reading, you will have a wealth of information at your disposal!

 I sincerely hope that you have found at least some of my guidance useful, and that you take pride in how far you have come. You are now no longer a Novice, but a real Tarot Reader, ready to practise your craft!

 My advice is: Keep practising and studying - there is always more to be learned! Don't be so vain as to think you know it all, but stop second-guessing yourself and thinking you don't know enough...

Find your balance, and most of all: have fun!

 I will still put out the Adendum with card keywords, but this is it folks! The Beginners Lessons are over - keep your eye out for a more advanced class...

 I thank you for your attention and send you out in to the big wide world of Tarot, my Love and Affection will always be with you.

Xxx

 P.S: I add a link to the previous lesson, should you have missed it - each lesson contains this link to the one before, so you can go back to the beginning if you want to review your progress.

https://tarotmum13.wordpress.com/2019/01/13/tarot-lessons-for-beginners-part-3/

#tarot lessons for beginners #card interactions #basic tarot numerology #bringing a spread together #telling the story in the cards

32 notes · View notes

esteliel · 6 years

Text

Les Mis Tecklenburg

Okay, the long overdue Les Mis Tecklenburg review, which might not be of much use to anyone else but I immediately forget things if I don't write them down so here's more than you probably wanted to know about this production.

The stage itself was amazing and so impressive, because it was HUGE, and they had built actual houses on it with basically two levels for people to stand/sing on. It was really impressive to look at though I'm not sure if it really added that much to the show, because it mostly meant that characters spent a lot of time running from one end of the stage to the other, and that it put characters on different levels when I feel like their actual positions don't reflect that (i.e. Javert spending some time surveying the town below from the highest point up by the cross when he is explicitly NOT above society but below/outside it, and Valjean as Madeleine dealing with the entire Fantine/factory girl fight while standing on the first floor of the factory above everyone else, when I feel that even as Madeleine he never was above people/never distanced himself via authority, but rather tried to keep his distance via escape by walks etc.)

At the front of the stage, there was a huge gap for the conductor, and both at the beginning, when Valjean receives his yellow passport, as well as during their encounter in the sewers, Valjean and Javert stood to each side of it, divided by this insurmountable gap as they faced each other, which on the other hand was using the stage symbolism perfectly! <3

As to the cast, they were generally good, I don't have complaints about a single actor (except for the kids, who were terrible with the exception of Sunday's little Cosette. I don't understand why professional productions don't go for slightly older kids. I don't even expect the quality of Broadway children, but these children were for the most part so horribly wooden that it was painful to watch. If you can't find a seven-year-old with at least a small amount of singing and acting experience, I promise that a twelve-year-old Gavroche will work just as well. :/)

The most important thing, I really, really enjoyed both Valjean and Javert. Valjean especially brought so much into it acting-wise, especially his first Soliloquy - he is so stunned by the bishop's compassion that there's a moment of genuine anger at the bishop for claiming that Valjean's soul exists/is important, and it was just one of the most emotional soliloquys I've ever seen. <3 He's also super cute with little Cosette, and after the Thénardier's inn, they stole that trick where he's dancing with little Cosette, and then behind a wall switch her with adult Cosette who continues to dance with Valjean to show the time skip, which made people laugh. Also Valjean brings little Cosette a red dress to wear instead of a black one, which adult Cosette is also wearing.

Javert was also fun - very focused, very driven, but without falling into that common trap of resorting to shouting or Angry Hammy Javert which was mainly what I got to see lately with Hume and Thaxton. It's just... so nice to sort of wipe the slate clean and see what sort of acting choices someone makes in a non-replica production, because it sometimes makes you realize that bits you hate but which you feel are unavoidable given the book are actually not. Like the Karlstad Thénardiers, who were so good and completely avoided that slapstick comedy route. Anyway, it was really refreshing to watch Kevin Tarte's Javert. I don't even think he did anything unusual acting-wise with Javert, but it was really solid and convincing acting and not a single moment where he took the easier path of Shouting instead of Acting.

Marius was very cute looks-wise, perhaps even a bit too cute because he didn't come across as awkward at all for the most part, but he was enjoyable to watch. Cosette looked way too old on the photos I'd seen but came across as perfectly fine on stage. Fantine was REALLY good, it's rare that I'm surprised by a Fantine's acting ability these days because they mostly tend to go the safe and boring routes, but Milica Jovanovic really pulled it off. I wasn't wowed by Eponine either but she was good too, just not anywhere close to my top 2 Eponines.

Even the Thénardiers were generally entertaining, though I feel like their slapstick routines would have grown boring just as quickly if I'd seen it more than twice. Thénardier had this bit which was hilarious my first evening, where during their negotiation with Valjean, he tries to sneeze into Valjean's coat, only Valjean pulls his coat away and so Thénardier sneezes into his own hands and then tries to wipe them first on Valjean, then on Mme T.'s boobs, but both give him such withering looks that he just gives up.

It was a bit less hilarious the second time around, and if I'd seen it thirty times, it probably would have ceased being funny pretty quickly, but alas that's not going to happen. (I did end up wishing I'd booked a third date...)

Random observations in a list because I've had this doc open for way too long already:

- OMG they sing it SO SO SLOWLY I'm not used to that any more! It was nice in parts, but in other parts it felt super unneccessary and drained scenes of their energy. This also meant that instead of the usual 3 hours running time this ran for 4 hours including the lengthy bows. On Saturday, the show ran from 7:30pm to 11:30pm (and then I was waiting around at the stage door until 1:30am because apparently the cast was inside playing poker, lol. But it was worth hanging around because I got a nice signed photo of a bare-chested convict Valjean showing nips. Not my own, mind you, Patrick Stanke brought those out himself. Clearly he knows what Javert his fans want. :D Made the long wait in the cold worth it though, and I made stage door friends for breakfast the next day yay.)

- There was applause in the weirdest spots? Like, applause for all the Amis dying on the barricade...

- Silververt shoots himself! This is only the second production I've seen after Sweden 2016 that makes Javert commit suicide by his own gun, and I love it - way preferrable to the awkward Broadway suicide staging (and obviously Wattsvert's joyful ascent to chair heaven). During his Suicide, Javert climbs all the way up to the third level of the stage and stands at the foot of the big cross up there. Then he shoots himself at the end of his song and falls down to somewhere hidden behind the small wall. Apparently there's a mattress placed there for him to fall on, and he told us that night that after his Suicide, he just kept lying on his mattress for a long time, listening to the show go on below and soaking in the atmosphere. By that point it was definitely past 10pm, it was completely dark, there were huge trees gently swaying in the wind around the stage, and it was such an amazing atmosphere that I'd have done the same. (Also, during his Suicide, there was a bat attracted by the light that kept fluttering around him while he sang his final verses by the cross, which made all the Tanz der Vampire fangirls around me very happy. I, on the other hand, was happy because I still love Shoujo Cosette's Vampirevert a lot and Javert should totally turn into a bat and suck Valjean's virgin blood more often. <3)

- After the show, we got to walk out across the stage and I feel like they should totally do that at the Queen's because it's such fun to get all close and personal with the set. :D

- Then during bows they teased the hand kiss!!! >:( Argh, I've never been teased more in my life. Very unfair!

- That first evening with the show starting at 7:30pm, Stars took place during actual twilight! So so gorgeous. <3 I love open air theatre (except for my ongoing love-hate relationship with the Globe).

- During the Prologue, Javert just lets the yellow passport drop to the floor, which I've admittedly seen many Javerts do, but here there were several meters between them which added an extra level of derisiveness to it which I've never seen before. And then Javert nodded to his guard underling to hand Valjean his bag, who also gave Valjean a disgusted look and dropped the bag right where he stood to leave with Javert.

- Fantine's death happens in this room which has four wooden pillars and gauze curtains in between, and when Javert comes in for the Confrontation, he's hidden behind the gauze curtain at first, spying on Valjean. And he's wearing leather gloves which he slowly tugs off finger by finger while singing his first lines. <3 Thanks for catering to my kinks.

- Then at the end of the Confrontation when they're facing off, standing almost chest to chest while panting with manly resolve to kill each other if neccessary, Sister Simplice who was watching all of that steps forward and gives them a Look and shakes her head at Javert, and they both awkwardly retreat. (And then scene change so I guess here it is indeed Sister Simplice who helps Valjean escape! <3)

- Oh and also Fantine's Death Room turns into Valjean's Death Room, and this time it's Fantine who gets to approach from behind the gauze, and then later watch Cosette and Marius from behind it for a while until Valjean dies.

- Also in Montreuil after Runaway Cart Javert also brings Valjean his coat, and he helped him into it and on my first day gently smoothed it down his back. <3

- Gavroche has the most ridiculous death. OMG seriously, there's no need to slow everything down so much. Gavroche has already made it back to safety atop the barricade, and remains there for an eternity while triumhantly singing his final two lines, and then is shot. It makes literally no sense that he wouldn't take cover for an entire minute when they've already been shooting at him.

- Also their Enjolras, wtf? I actually liked him, he was charismatic and generally fine and his singing was okay, but then both times, absolutely out of nowhere, he turns his final "is free" into this rock scream. On the other hand, he's the last to die on the barricade, which is always enjoyable to watch.

- Also they have both Javert and the Thénardiers join the cast for the Finale which I neither like nor think makes sense in any way at all, even if you believe that it's supposed to be 'heaven' because the Thénardiers aren't dead. Also except for Valjean, none of the characters even believe in Paradise as Reward for a Virtuous Life - the reward the amis are fighting for is very much about the situation of the living, sigh.

- Anyway, a fun production, I hope I get my boot of this because I need to watch Silververt shoot himself again with company, and definitely worth all the travel. (I should have seen it three times, honestly. <3)

#les mis tecklenburg #do i need a theatre tag

9 notes · View notes

fanficsofmine · 7 years

Text

I Like The Bartender - Yixing Smut

Word Count: 3,134 Contents: Smut Characters: Reader x Zhang Yixing Soundtrack: Moon U - GOT7

“‘Ey! Sweetheart! Come over here and pour me a drink babe!”

I closed my eyes to resist the urge to roll them. I took a deep breath before spinning on my heels and slapping a cheesy grin on my lips. I reminded myself that I had chosen a bartending gig for nights like this.

We were swamped. I had restocked my bar twice already, and I was dangerously close to loading everything up a third time. I had already sent my barback to the stock refrigerator to get me a few more cases and a keg of beer.

However, as slammed and irritated as I was, my tip jar was also on the verge of overflowing. I glanced at it to remind myself why I stuck with bartending.

“What can I getcha sir?” I rested my elbows on the bar. I made sure to press my arms against my chest so that my cleavage popped out of my low cut top a tiny bit. My red lace bra was peeking out as well. There was a reason my bar was always busy, and I felt no remorse behind my decision to flirt my way to my rent payment.

The man made no attempt to pretend like he was not staring straight at my chest.

“Well, a double whisky and coke and a night with you should suffice.” His friends roared as though he had just spoken the most incredible pick up line that they had ever heard. One pat him on the back and shouted, “smooth, Kris.”

There was no denying that he was handsome. His bottle-blonde hair was turned up into a perfect quiff. His deep eyes and smile screamed, “fuckboy.” If it had been my night off and I was not exceptionally annoyed with how he had just addressed me, I might have given him my number.

Alas, the circumstances were different.

“So a double whisky coke. That’ll be six bucks,” I said as I made the drink. I stuck a napkin on the bar and placed his drink on it.

“Do you have a tab or cash,” I asked, but he seemed to have other plans.

“How about, instead of six dollars, I give you my phone number and we call it even?” He teased the straw of his drink along his lips and winked at me.

I reached over and took the glass from his hand, leaving him with only the straw between his teeth and the surprised look on his face.

“It’s three dollar wells tonight. I poured you two shots in this glass. You owe me six and to quit harassing the staff and threatening to not pay for your drink, or I’ll have my buddy over there show you where people who don’t pay for drinks hang out. Here’s a hint. It’s outside with no re-entry.”

I nodded my head to the bouncer who was watching from the corner of the bar. He knew that I was capable of handling my own, but it was always nice to have him for a visual threat.

The guy named Kris rolled his eyes and threw a five and a one on the bar. I handed him his drink back and thanked him, my sweet demeanor back. He rolled his eyes and turned away, his group of friends in tow.

I shook my head and tossed the cash in my register.

When I turned back to the bar, I was surprised to see one of the guys had hung back.

“Sorry,” I apologized, “I thought y'all had left!”

He had a softer look about him. He had black hair that was shaved on the sides and pushed back. His eyes were kind and his smile formed adorable dimples in his cheeks.

“I wanted to say sorry for my friends back there. They tend to think they’re a lot cooler than they are when they drink,” he slid a few ones in the tip jar, “for having to put up with him.”

“Thank you! You really don’t have to do that-” but he raised a hand to cut me short.

“Let me,” he insisted.

“Okay. Fine. But only if you let me do this…” I reached down and poured another whisky coke, “this one is on the house. Thanks for being sweet.”

He smiled at me as he accepted the drink. Before he walked away, though, he threw a few more dollars in the tip jar.

“Come back and see me before the night is over,” I called after him.

“I bet you say that to every drunk guy who tips you well,” he called back, but not before turning and winking at me.

That wink sent butterflies flying through my stomach. I blinked my eyes a few time after him and then shook my head. I had work to do, and I could not let a handsome stranger throw off my groove for the night.

Periodically, he would catch my eye. He was in my line of sight as the other girls and I were doing our bit where we danced on the bar. Later, when I was running to the bathroom while my manager covered my bar, I had run directly into him. He had managed to catch me before I tumbled to the ground.

“Y'know,” he leaned in close to my ear, “I had hoped I would get to have my arms around you tonight, but this wasn’t quite what I was expecting.”

I rolled my eyes and smacked his arm,but laughed. His sweet nature made his pick up line more genuine than threatening. I escaped his embrace, but before I jogged to the bathroom, told him, “I told you; come back to my bar later.”

As the night neared an end, and the dj called out “last call,” over the microphone, my bar started to pick up again. A line of people formed to close out tabs for the evening. It stayed formed until about thirty minutes after close.

The last person in my line happened to be the handsome, kind man from earlier.

“Dimples,” I greeted him as I began organizing my receipts, “I was positive you had left and forgotten about me.”

I pointed at a stool and poured him another drink. I waved the bouncer down and told him to not kick him out, as he was there on my invitation. Sometimes, being the head bartender had its perks. He nodded and walked away after he had realized that he did not need to chase the guy from my bar.

“Yixing, since you asked,” Dimples said as he took a drink.

“(Y/N), but I think I’m going to stick to Dimples.”

He laughed. It was a light and airy laugh that made it impossible not to smile.

“So, your friends aren’t going to worry about you, are they?” I started counting my register. I had become good at multi tasking, so holding a conversation while counting bills wasn’t difficult for me anymore. I made sure to face them all the same direction, something I knew was a pet peeve of my boss’ if it was not properly done.

“Nah,” he took another sip of his drink, “they found a group of girls actually willing to fall for Kris’ charm. They were going back to our apartment to play beer pong. They seemed exceptionally unphased when I told them I would catch up with them later.”

Yixing shrugged as I asked, “what? Not enough girls for everyone, so you’re stuck here?”

I was teasing, but he smirked and said, “I think there’s a song that better describes it,” and proceeded to sing, “I like the bartender,” by T-Pain. I laughed and threw a handful of napkins at him.

We continued to carry small talk while I closed up my bar. I traded my tips for bigger bills and gave the bar one final wipe down before turning back to him.

“I appreciate you keeping me company!” I wanted to leave the ball in his court to see if he would ask me to hang out.

Luckily, he did.

“Hey,” he started as we began to walk out of the bar and into the parking lot, “I really don’t think that I want to go home to a house party. Are you hungry after a long shift like that?”

I nodded and clutched my stomach, “I’m starved! I’m practically withering away!”

Yixing chuckled at my dramatics.

“There’s this great taco place that’s 24 hours. They have these smothered burritos…” but I cut him off.

“I know exactly where you’re talking about! Josie’s! Of 19th!”

He nodded and I offered to drive and bring him back to his car later since he had been drinking.

When we walked in, I made my way back to the corner booth without waiting to be sat. Yixing looked surprised, but followed me. We sat down, and my favorite waitress made her way over with two glasses of water and two cups of coffee.

“Thanks, Marie,” I smiled at her as she walked away.

“So you’re a regular, then,” Yixing asked, “and you drink coffee at nearly 3 am?”

I tore open a sugar packet and stirred it into my coffee.

“Don’t worry. It’s decaf,” I nodded at his cup that he was eyeing nervously, “I like the warmth of the drink, but I don’t want to be awake for over 24 hours at a time.”

He seemed relieved by my words and began to doctor his to his preference.

“I’ve been coming to Josie’s pretty much every Friday night since I started at the bar. After a long night of loud music and drunk dudes, there’s something refreshing about the comfort of a quiet diner with few, but friendly and kind faces.”

Yixing let a little grin dance across his lips, “I can understand that, I guess. I’m sure bartending isn’t the most fun job in the world.”

“It has its ups and downs. The money is alright. Some nights are shitty. I get patrons like your friend Kris more than I do patrons like you.”

He smiled again and sarcastically asked, “what do you mean, ‘like me!?’”

“Nice. Not annoying.” This time he let out a big laugh. That laugh was going to become one of my favorite sounds, I could tell.

It was dangerous how easy it was to be around Yixing. We sat and talked while we ate as though we had known each other forever. He felt like an old friend as opposed to someone that I had just known a few measly hours.

Once we paid Marie, (well, once Yixing had paid for both of our meals after insisting relentlessly), we made our way back to my car. He called his roommates to see if the party was still going on.

I could hear the loud music and shouting from the opposite side of the car. He seemed annoyed as he hung up the phone.

“Do their parties normally go on for this long?”

He let out a heavy sigh, “unfortunately. Sometimes they’re not as long winded if the girls aren’t as interested once the alcohol wears off. I guess I didn’t get to avoid it this time.” He shrugged.

I looked at the clock on my dashboard. It was a little bit after 4 a.m. I wanted to go to bed, knowing that I had another late night tomorrow, but I also wanted to continue to be around Yixing.

“Hey,” I started, nervously nibbling at my bottom lip, “why don’t you just crash on my couch tonight,” I offered, “I have my own apartment, so no noisy roommates.”

He feigned surprise at me, “(Y/N)! I’m shocked! If I didn’t know any better, I would assume that you were trying to seduce me. A sweet girl like you, inviting a strange man back to your apartment? I’m appalled at your assumption that I’m…”

I cut him off by slamming my lips into his. I grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He did not pull away. Instead of acting surprised by my sudden action, he grabbed a fistful of hair and let out a slight moan of satisfaction.

When we finally broke apart to catch our breath, Yixing said, “thank god. I’ve been wanting to do that all fucking night.”

“So, are you staying at my place or not,” I asked.

He nodded and kissed me one more time, a bit more gentle this time.

I drove to my apartment. Yixing seemed unable to keep his hands off of me. He played with my hair as I drove. His fingers skirted along my thighs. Once we arrived at my place, he held my hand up the sidewalk, placing sweet kisses on it as my other hand was occupied with opening the front door with my keys.

The moment that we were inside with my door shut, Yixing’s hands cupped my face and he kissed me again. I tiptoed a bit and wrapped my arms around his neck. Our tongues met and, occasionally, he would pull my bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a slight moan from me.

I guided him back to my bedroom.

“I thought I was getting the couch tonight,” he joked between kisses.

My hands flew to his shirt and began to unbutton it.

“Who says that you still aren’t,” I quipped back as he reached down and returned the favor of pulling my shirt off.

He chuckled but did not let it distract him. Suddenly, his arms were around me and I was spun around. My back landed against the bed and Yixing hovered over me. He undid the snap on my jeans and pulled them down. I was left in my red laced bra and black boy shorts.

Yixing drank in the sight of me as he stood to remove his own pants. His eyes traced every inch of my body, and I assumed that he liked what he saw by the way his eyes darkened with lust and his tongue ran along his lips.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said.

He made his way back over me. His mouth landed right under my jaw on my neck. He kissed and sucked at the spot. I let a little hiss escape as he bit to solidify the hickey there. He kissed it gently, as if to soothe the area. He then continued by repeating this several times along my collar bone and across my body.

He placed a deep, dark purple hickey at my hip bone right next to my tattoo that was there before hooking my panties with his thumbs and pulling them down my legs. He positioned himself between my thighs before looking back up me for approval.

I do not think that I had ever been more turned on in my life than I was with seeing Yixing, mouth hovering over my core. I nodded to give my okay, and his tongue immediately landed on me.

My back arched, and Yixing’s hands flew to hold my hips down. His tongue swirled, alternating between my slit and my clit. Occasionally, he would suck my clit between his lips to create a new sensation.

After a few moments of pure bliss, Yixing took one of his hands and used two of his long fingers to slide into me. I was so wet that it was easy for him to do so, and he wantonly groaned against me, sending a vibration through me that nearly threw me into my orgasm in itself.

“Shit,” he removed his lips from me momentarily to speak, “I wanted to make you cum like this first, but I can’t wait. I need to feel you this wet around me.”

He removed his fingers and gave my folds one last lick before he stood up and removed his boxer briefs. I whined at the lack of contact.

Yixing pumped his length a few times before kneeling in front of me on the bed again. He grabbed my legs and hooked one over his shoulder.

This made his initial thrust deeper than I had expected. I gasped out and he held still to make sure that I was able to adjust properly.

“You okay, love,” he watched me intently to make sure that I was not hurting too bad.

I nodded, “just had to adjust. Please move, Yixing. I want to feel you more.” Yixing moved slow at first. His hips maintained an easy tempo. I was able to feel every inch of his cock as it filled me again and again.

Eventually, he picked up his pace. I felt a knot tightening in my stomach. Both of our breath becoming ragged.

Yixing’s name left my lips as desperately as though it was a prayer. I repeated it over and over, gasping. I knew that I was going to cum soon.

Suddenly, Yixing pulled out of me. He readjusted us quickly, before I could even complain about the sudden lack of contact. He was sat on the bed, and had pulled me to straddle him. I slid down on his cock, wrapping my legs around his waist.

Hands clawed at each other’s back. Our mouths landing on any exposed area that we were able to. Every single place that our skin could touch, we allowed it to. His hands tugged at my hair, exposing my neck to the side. He bit at my skin, leaving more love bites in it.

My hips rolled, and I felt myself tighten up around him.

“Go ahead, beautiful. Go ahead and cum,” Yixing managed to say between moans.

I found my release with one last movement, and I felt Yixing find his climax simultaneously. Our foreheads pressed together as we slowly rode out our highs together. His hands moved down my spine at a slower, less aggressive speed and I shivered as he sent chills through me with his gentle grazes.

I sighed contently as he placed a sweet kiss on my cheek. I stood up and made my way to the bathroom to get myself cleaned up.

I stared in the mirror and laughed.

“I guess at work tomorrow I’ll be wearing a turtleneck instead of a low cut shirt, huh?” I spun in circles, catching my reflection all the way around, and admired the scratches and hickeys on all of the various parts of my body.

Yixing came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “I hope that I didn’t hurt you,” he whispered.

I met his gaze in the mirror. I liked the sight of him draped over me.

I shook my head, “it was all perfect.” He turned me around and kissed me again.

“Let’s get you some sleep so that I can take you to breakfast in a little bit.”

247 notes · View notes