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lambden · 3 years ago

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Hello! Tis I, Socks. In the most predictable of ways, could I ask for some Cahir content please? 50 from the list (writer's choice). And I'm always happy to see him shipped with Eskel, Lambert and/or Aiden. Or, if you're feeling platonic then BroTP with Letho or Fringilla?

G, 2.3K words, Cahir/Eskel, no warnings Prompt: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Also on AO3!

Geralt’s invitation is anything but simple, and the shape of it eludes Cahir’s usually bright mind. He cannot begin to consider it properly or fathom what it might mean for his future— a future that has been carefully planned out, and destroyed, and painstakingly crafted again, and destroyed again. He has grown tired of tending the ruinous garden of his career and life (two synonyms). So he considers, although only obliquely, Geralt’s invitation.

He finds it easier to think of the invitation in tactical terms, as though the witcher has proposed a mutually beneficial arrangement. Cahir, the parasite, will take refuge in the high walls of the secret fortress untouched by politics. Geralt, the host, will keep the Nilfgaardian menace who plagued his daughter’s nightmares within arm’s reach. Cahir is under no illusion that his stay will be one of comfort or luxury, but he only hopes it might mean a new life.

Upon his arrival at Kaer Morhen, Cahir re-evaluates the strategy in an instant. The walls are not high but crumbling, clearly maintained over several centuries by the dwindling numbers of the School of the Wolf. The occupants are not fearsome prison guards who track his every move, but ruggedly handsome mutants who drink until they’re sick and trade stories of slain monsters. And Geralt, the traitor, is nowhere to be found.

Abandoning his imagined hierarchy adds extra difficulty to Cahir’s perfect plan, and the confusion leaves him floundering when he meets another witcher who should rightly be the leader of Kaer Morhen: Vesemir, the eldest of the Wolves with enough scars to tell several lifetimes worth of stories. But Vesemir ladles out soup for Cahir without measuring the portions, teasing him about needing some meat on his bones.

Then perhaps in Geralt’s absence, the unlikely authority here is one of the other Wolves. Cahir watches them as closely as he can without arousing suspicion, but all he can glean from their interactions is that in Kaer Morhen, camaraderie and affection flow as freely as ale. The witchers clap one another on the shoulder and pull each other into hugs and offer compliments with no obvious ulterior motives. Despite having no blood relation and spending most of their summers apart, they are a family so closely knit together that Cahir feels ill just watching them. What a massive mistake he made by coming here.

Cahir sways to his feet, thinking absent-mindedly of finding one of Geralt’s sorceress friends to portal him away— maybe to Vicovaro. This is another mistake, as multiple sets of witcher eyes snap to stare at him, each more handsome than the last. Cahir winces but before he can apologize for the inadvertent interruption, the rudest Wolf shakes his head and softly tut-tut-tuts. “Where are our manners? We’ve been gabbing away the whole night; you must be fucking exhausted. You haven’t even had a drop to drink!”

“Forgive us,” the most handsome of the witchers, Eskel, pleads. Cahir thinks he would forgive a man with a face and body like that for just about anything. But he doesn’t share the thought, already feeling uncomfortable with the extra attention. “We aren’t used to hosting humans here.”

“Except Ciri, I guess,” Lambert retorts. “… But she drinks like a fish, so that doesn’t apply.”

They hadn’t offered Cahir anything except the soup. He elects to keep this observation to himself. “Is there somewhere here I can rest?”

Eskel begins to say something but Vesemir interrupts. “Geralt told us you were coming.” He rises, standing remarkably well for someone who put away that much liquor. “We prepared a room. It isn’t much, but it’s got a bed and some candles. We’ll have to get you some warmer clothes tomorrow too!”

Grimacing at the idea, Cahir nods anyway. He’s only made it through tonight by the virtue of the magical firepit that the witchers keep relighting. If he’s to survive the winter here, he’ll have to learn to dress like one of these men.

“I can show you to your room,” Eskel starts, but Cahir is already shaking his head before the witcher even finishes speaking. “Alright, uh… it’s down the two sets of stairs over there, hang a right, walk down that corridor, up that set of stairs, and then second door on the left. Got all that?”

Cahir nods, grateful for the literal and clear, albeit detailed, instructions. “Yes, thank you!” Eskel shoots him a big goofy grin like he’s proud or something, and the directions evaporate right out of Cahir’s brain along with every other coherent thought. But Eskel’s still beaming, so there’s nothing to be done— Cahir bows good-night to the other witchers, then heads in the direction of the indicated staircase.

Down two sets of stairs, to the right, down the hall, up one set of stairs, second door. Easy enough. He gets slightly distracted by the hall decorated with grandiose portraits of witchers long past, and then distracted once more when he spies an armoury through an open door before the final set of stairs. Cahir definitely wants Vesemir to give him a full tour of this place in the morning.

Cahir frowns and recoils as he quickly remembers himself. He’s only here thanks to Geralt, so he can hardly be considered a guest whose presence would warrant a tour of the facilities. He hurries up the stairs to his room, only stopping when he sees the rows of doors on either side. The Wolves could house a whole army of recruits in here; hell, once upon a time they probably had.

Down the stairs, turn right, down the hall, up the stairs… “Second door,” Cahir mutters. The second door on the right is shut but not locked, as he finds out when he gently pushes it open. From Vesemir’s meagre description Cahir had expected only a bed and candles. He hadn’t thought that the candles would be lit already, flickering silently as if to welcome him in.

The other furniture also throws him off his rhythm. Had Geralt really asked his family to set up the room like this? In the corner is a hideous suit of handmade red and gold armour that Cahir prays he won’t be expected to wear. The mannequin stands proudly next to a desk with a small amount of writing supplies. The stationery and decor is nothing like what he had in Nilfgaard, but Cahir imagines his role here will be very different from there.

His focus is immediately pulled to the bedroom’s centre of attention. The mattress is thick enough that he won’t feel the stone frame, although the bed looks comfortable enough. Cahir had expected a dungeon but this place is dressed like a palace. When he finally steps out of the entryway and the door swings shut behind him, the bed pulls Cahir in. He could resist it no more than a hungry drowner could resist a loud swimmer.

As fast as possible, Cahir strips out of his chilled, sweaty clothes and folds them carefully, leaving the pile on the chair. He sends one last withering glare in the direction of the horrible Wolven armour before clambering up onto the bed in only his smalls.

The pillow is cool beneath his head and neck but the pelts are warm and heavy, and it isn’t long before the insulation starts to make Cahir feel drowsy. He curls up on his side and pulls his knees to his chest, sticking his hands between his thighs only to cling to the warm flesh there.

He has no desire to do anything more— not while he’s a guest here, anyway. It wouldn’t be polite, and the witchers have been so polite. In return, Cahir wants to be good for them. That’s his last conscious thought before sleep claims him.

Every night of carousing must eventually reach its end, and when Lambert finally starts yawning, Eskel takes it as a cue. He sets down his tankard, ignoring the baying of his fellow witchers and rising to stand. “See you out on the Killer in an hour?”

Lambert receives his joke with a rude gesture and a jumbled, colourful mixture of profanity. Eskel grins, glancing around the room to regain his bearings before he heads to bed.

Despite the winding, complicated floor plan of this place, Eskel never worries that he’ll lose his way. He hasn’t been turned around here since he was a trainee, and even then this place had been a home and thus he knew its vague layout. A rough and murderous home, sure, but a home nonetheless.

He stumbles down the hall, nodding nonsensically to a portrait of some dead old Wolf and then taking the stairs up to the living quarters two at a time. While Geralt and Lambert have migrated to different parts of the fortress, Eskel likes staying in his old room. The memories remind him of how far he’s come, how much he’s grown, and all that he has sacrificed to get where he is now. Without those reminders he might get a better night’s rest, but he would sorely miss the splinter.

Being a witcher and all, Eskel can tell that something is awry before he even touches the knob of his closed door. There is a strange scent clinging to the air, and a muted thumping noise. At first he touches his medallion, fearful of an intruder, but… whatever has entered his room is not monstrous in nature, or at least not magical. Eskel braces himself, feeling around for his sword before quietly cursing; he had foolishly used it to chop up a melon for their dessert. If this is how he dies, Vesemir will resurrect him just to give him the lecture of a lifetime.

The door swings open easily and no one stands awaiting Eskel, but someone is lying in wait. He stares, dumbfounded, at the sleeping figure with messy hair and bare shoulders. Sleeping in his bed, under his covers. And wearing, according to the pile of clothing on his chair, not much at all.

“Cahir,” Eskel murmurs, too drunk to try to remember Cahir Mawr Different aemon Ceallach Whatever-the-shit. The man doesn’t stir, completely still aside from his gently parted mouth, lips moving so shallow breaths can pass. It’s a very pretty mouth. Eskel stares for perhaps a moment longer than he should. “… Cahir!”

“Yes,” replies the former officer without really stirring. Then a current seems to pass through him, jolting him back into consciousness— Cahir sits up ramrod-straight, the pile of blankets falling into his lap and revealing his pink, bare chest. He stares dead ahead but doesn’t seem to really process his whereabouts, let alone the identity of the witcher who interrupted his sleep. Despite his state of undress, Cahir repeats with practiced severity, “Yes?”

Eskel snorts, amused. Cahir’s dreary gaze finally lands on him, and the man’s pulse quickens at a speed that gratifies Eskel greatly. He asks, “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“Your…” Cahir drifts off, before blanching and struggling with the pelts. Eskel accidentally sees that he isn’t really naked, although his smallclothes leave little to the imagination. As Cahir thrashes about in panic he trips over his own words, stammering, “I was— I must have gone to the wrong room. This explains why it’s so nice! Shit! I truly did not mean to intrude upon you, and I will leave you posthence— ah, posthaste, I mean, shit—”

“That isn’t necessary,” Eskel waves away the increasingly frenzied complaining, and although Cahir clearly has more to say, he falls silent when Eskel approaches the other side of the bed and kicks off his boots. Still wearing his loose shirt and trousers that smell of apple cider and sharp liquor and sweat, Eskel tumbles down onto the mattress next to Cahir. The other man doesn’t move— he hardly breathes. If not for his racing heartbeat and wide eyes, Eskel would think him asleep again. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh.” All the air deflates from Cahir but he offers no protest, even when Eskel gently removes one of the pelts tangled up around his knees so as to snuggle under it. There is a sizable amount of room between them but their breaths are still loud enough to make the large room feel cramped, and Eskel wonders if Cahir can sense his own emotions and desires the way he can hear the human’s heart. “Then in that case, I’ll take advantage of the warmth for the night, thank you.” If Cahir hears how that sounds, he doesn’t acknowledge it or even miss a beat. “I will return to my own room in the morning.”

“Sure, it’s across the hall.” Eskel adjusts the pillow under his head before turning to stare at Cahir. He finds the man already watching him, which definitely makes things easier. With as much purposeful innuendo as Eskel can shove into the words, he says, “But I don’t mind if you take advantage again tomorrow. This is the most I’ve heard you talk since you arrived!”

Cahir blinks, chest rising and falling minutely. Eskel’s gaze dips down once more to the blush of colour between his pectorals, but Cahir surprisingly doesn’t move to cover up his body. Funny— Eskel assumed he’d be a bit of a prude, based on everything about him. Cahir finally protests, without any real fight in him, “I only just arrived at Kaer Morhen.”

“Hope you stick around for a while,” he rumbles, the comfort of his own bed mingling with the alcohol still clouding his brain. “We’re not so bad, you know.” Before Cahir can reply, Eskel drifts off; not just into meditation, but true sleep. Even in his dreams, Cahir’s proximity and warmth soothe him through the night.

#cahir fic #eskhir fic #cahir #eskel #eskhir #my writing #jaskiersvalley #asks #drabble meme #this was so much fun to write i love cahir pov!! you can fit SO many problems in that bad boy

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teamfreewill56-blog · 4 years ago

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FMA families had strong empathy

I have a strong belief that the capacity for compassion isn’t a learned trait. I believe that we learn how to identify it but we already have it. I believe that we are given our capacity for compassion through our genetics and that it’s something that can be enhanced and expanded. With this thought in mind I again would like to talk about Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. A lot of the characters have immense compassion and empathy. Ed, Al, and Winry in particular are extremely kind, compassionate and empathetic. Without constantly stating it Ed and Al repeatedly fight people without killing them and get very stubborn when their opponent tries to bait them into killing or taunts them for it. When Kimblee points out to Ed that sparing someone just gives them the opportunity to try to kill Ed again it doesn’t change Ed’s mind. He believes that regardless of a person’s physical state they are a person and saves Heinkel and Darius. He states that he needed their help with his wound but we know that even if Ed hadn’t been injured he still would have saved them from the debris. Ed explicitly states “if this is what showing mercy is going to cost me I’m going to have to get used to it.” Ed would rather bleed to death for not killing Kimblee than kill him. Al breaks his own legs to be able to reach Heinkel and drag him to safety, stubbornly stating that he isn’t going to let him die and that he won’t leave him there, and when Heinkel keeps insisting Al continues to tell him no and that he should “focus on something useful, like staying alive!” When Al confronts Kimblee about Equivilent Exchange Al beautifully states that it isn’t right for him to have to choose between getting his body back and saving everyone and that he refuses to choose between them. Winry in a much earlier episode helps a woman deliver her baby even though her only experience for it came from books she read! AS A CHILD. Later Winry not only can’t bring herself to shoot Scar even though he was going to kill Ed and Al she later insisted upon helping Scar with an injury. We see in a flashback that Winry’s parents were extremely empathetic, kind and compassionate, they helped Scar and insisted on staying and helping the Ishvalans they were caring for. Ed and Al also get these traits from both their parents. Trisha was unconditionally accepting of Hoenhiem and his immortality and even when she reprimanded him for calling himself a monster she did it very compassionately. Hoenheim repeatedly shows compassion, when he talks to Izumi about what was taken from her he doesn’t judge her AT ALL. His face is full of sadness and understanding as he tries to imagine how losing her baby twice must have felt and then he rearranges her organs to alleviate her pain and ease her breathing. Although we don’t know exactly when, after Hoenheim realized he was a Philosopher’s Stone he also realized that he could hear the voices of the souls inside him. And he immediately started trying to calm them down and assuring them that he would listen to all of them. Thousands of souls guys, Hoenheim sat down and talked individually with thousands of tormented souls and by doing this those souls kept their individuality inside him just like Kimblee did inside Pride. The capacity that Hoenheim has for empathy considering everything he’s gone through and how old he is that’s incredible. Hoenheim also befriends Father when he is still just a homunculus in the flask and treats him like a human in their conversations. Ed and Al similarly never cease to treat the human-based chimeras they meet as people. Ed and Al constantly show Honeheim’s level of empathy and compassion and they didn’t even know him until almost a third of the way through the series! And they never heard of these interactions we see on Hoenheim’s side. For me it’s no surprise at all that Ed and Al are as empathetic and compassionate as they are, it comes naturally to them because both of their parents, like Winry’s, had an incredible capacity for it and I absolutely love how determined they are to maintain it at any cost. It is so rare to see characters value life in the way that these characters do and I definitely feel so much respect for them as characters for that.

Show: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Creator: Hiromu Arakawa

Characters: Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, Van Hoenhiem, Trisha Elric, Winry Rockbell, Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell, Scar, Solf Kimblee, Pride, Father/Dwarf in the Flask

#fma fmab #fmab #trisha elric #van hohenheim #edward elric #alphonse elric #fullmetal alchemist winry #fma #fma winry #empathy

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selfinsertsenpai · 4 years ago

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Sometimes, Foster hopes and prays that there’s no God so that they don’t have to see him live the way he does.

He’s 28 years old (already too long a life for someone like him), and there’s a lingering smell of cigarette smoke when he enters a room, as if the ash in the air were writing his signature in front of his eyes.

He’s too tall -- he’s still not as tall as Bautista, and for that he’s honestly grateful, because how that man doesn’t accidentally knock his head off getting into the car is legitimately impressive. His limbs are gangly and he looks like an alien in a human suit when he moves.

He rubs the back of his head, his undercut getting less and less noticeable with every passing day. Dull, lifeless green eyes stare back at him. If he were any less optimistic, he would maybe want to rip them out of his skull, just so that he wouldn’t have to look at them (or any of the rest of himself, for that matter) again.

There’s grime on the motel mirror, and he feels some sort of sacred kinship with it, splashing water from the sink onto his face. The bags underneath his eyes only stand out more. “You need to go outside more,” his mother would tell him. But every time he did, it would never result in a tan. Just another splash of freckles somewhere on his body. (He doesn’t think about how badly he wants Bautista to find all of them, make constellations as if his body is somehow comparable to the clear night sky.)

It probably had something to do with his stark-red hair. Kids would call him shit like “daywalker” and “red-headed step child” when he was little. They would also call him stuff like “girl” and “miss,” which was equally as wrong. He wonders if they’d call him a girl now, or if they’d upgrade to blatant dehumanization.

It was hard enough being a “girl” going through a growth spurt that put you at a solid 6′2″ in freshman year of high school -- imagine how hard it would be to be in front of those same kids that had called him nasty names as he is now. (Maybe he’d deserve it this time.)

He looks like shit, and doesn’t feel any better. Bautista keeps asking him if he’s okay, as if the answer’s gonna change. (He doesn’t think about how his heart starts to beat faster when he hears the worry in Marc’s voice.)

His top scars are one of the few things that he finds any beauty in on his body. They remind him that he’s done what he can to create himself. He is his own man, and he no longer has the tits to prove it. He can’t help but crack a smile at the thought of the way Bautista chuckled when he told him that joke, about a year into their “partnership.”

The syringe of testosterone is lying precariously on the edge of the porcelain, a millimeter of movement away from being on the floor, ready to step on and stab your foot into. The thought of just taking testosterone accidentally like that has come into Foster’s head once or twice before. He doesn’t dare to think about how Bautista would react if he walked out of the bathroom with a hole in his foot.

It doesn’t register that his breathing is getting heavier and more ragged until he looks into the mirror again and sees that he’s crying.

He’d have to deploy the special technique to go to sleep tonight, probably. He might even have to cuddle up with his bottle of ginger ale, if it gets any worse. (He doesn’t think about how Bautista’s arm would be just about as thick around, and how much warmer it would be.)

A knock on his door disturbs his thoughts (and temporarily disrupts his panic attack, thank God for Marc Bautista), giving him a bit of time to try and excuse the tears streaming down his hollow cheeks as droplets of water from attempting to wash his face.

“You can come in, I’m not naked or anything.”

Bautista gives him a second before he takes Foster up on that offer. “I heard you breathing heavy. Wanted to make sure that you were okay in here.”

Foster chokes down a sob. “You ever thought maybe it was just me getting my rocks off?”

“Knowing you, I would honestly be more surprised if that were the reason.”

Foster looks up to meet his “partner’s” eyes, and this is one of the few times of his life that he’s actually felt small.

“Bautista, seriously, I’m fine,” he says, and he would almost get away with it if it weren’t for the breathlessness.

The taller man looks into Foster’s eyes, and he rests a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to lie to me, Pierce. You’re... Christ this is gonna sound pathetic. You’re my best friend.”

Something inside Foster breaks. A rubber band that had been holding his ball-joints in place snaps in half. He feels himself crumble into a pile of mushy messy lovestruck pieces onto the dirty bathroom tile.

“I wish I were a better friend,” he replies, his voice breaking. He means it, in many ways. To be better at showing that he wants to be Bautista’s friend, to be deserving of that level of trust and care, to be even closer...

“You don’t have to be better. You’re great already.”

“Can I hug you?” Foster asks, knowing that this was never guaranteed. He cares so much about Marc. He wants nothing more than to hold him close to his chest and forget about the weight of the past hanging around his neck for just one goddamn second.

When he nods, Foster can’t help but sink into the warm slab of muscle in front of him. He can hear Bautista’s heart beating in his chest, and he wonders if this is the normal pace it goes at, or if it quickens when he’s around, like Foster’s own does.

Jesus Christ, he’s so good at hugs. There was a nagging thought in the back of Foster’s mind that told him that he was gonna snap in half when Bautista’s arms wrapped around him, but he’s so gentle, and it makes the ache in his stomach pulse harder.

One of the arms holding him moves away, and Foster has half a mind to protest, until he feels it on the top of his head, softly massaging his unruly mess of hair, fingers sprawling out across his too-long undercut and too-windblown hair. If this was an attempt at making Foster feel comforted, it was working, but if it was an attempt to stop his heart racing, it was failing miserably.

Foster pulls his head away from the crook of Bautista’s neck in a daze, looking at him through blurry eyes. His face is scorching hot, and it only gets warmer when he feels a calloused hand cup his cheek, tenderly moving a thumb across his cheekbone, catching a tear in its tracks.

And the next thing he knows, they’re connected at the lips, and it’s so good. It’s so fucking beautiful. There’s no perfection to be had here, no fireworks, no swelling symphony. It feels like a release of tension. An elastic band coming back to shape after being stretched to its limits. The ball of anxiety and overwhelming fondness in Foster’s stomach unravels itself as he feels Bautista’s chapped lips slide against his own.

Despite the times this has happened before (however few and far between), they’re still not quite in sync with each other’s movements yet, bumping noses and occasionally clacking teeth. It’s the best kiss that Foster’s ever had.

This isn’t a good way to stop him from panicking, and they both know it, but it gets him out of his head, and it helps them in figuring out exactly what they are, what they want, how they’re gonna fucking make it like this.

Foster’s never been the best at showing restraint, and this is no different. He’s desperately trying to get his tongue into Bautista’s mouth within seconds, and his hands wrap around his neck, hands trying to pull him even closer. His spit tastes like mint, and it’s even better tasting than the mints he steals from Bautista when he’s not looking. It seems like Bautista’s defenses are down too, because he’s relatively quick to allow it.

He’s almost too focused on the sensation of kissing the man in front of him to realize that he’s being pushed backwards towards the wall, and it’s only once his back is pressed to it that it fully registers. Bautista’s hands leave Foster’s body and are now fully boxing the shorter man in. The force behind them would suggest that it’s less about wanting to keep him against the wall, and more as an act of self-stabilizing.

And CHRIST, Foster can feel how warm and strong he is, and he wants to keep kissing him into oblivion, but he knows this is a bad idea. He knows that this will end badly, he knows that they’d both beat themselves up about it if they let it escalate like that, he knows, he knows, he knows.

He pulls away for a moment, breath ragged, as his hand runs along the taller man’s jaw. (He doesn’t think about how sharp and perfect it is, or how nice the stubble feels underneath his fingertips. He doesn’t think about tracing his fingers down his neck, toward his chest, down his abs...

(Or maybe he does.)

#greenwarden #greenwarden oc #marc bautista #bautista x tracker #tracker x bautista #fic #greenwarden fic #this is an ambiguous piece of time. it could take place pre-greenwarden or during #me writing my own fic: *does vague hand-wave gesture* who's to say what the author intended #foster pierce #(you will notice a lot of my MCs being named foster. mind your business that's for me to self-insert about and you to endure)#anyway read greenwarden or perish by my hands #mc: foster pierce

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essays-for-breakfast · 4 years ago

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Let the Time of Separation Disappear

Kiane Week Day One: Touch/Feel

This group thing was a terrible idea. The Seven Deadly Sins – more like the seven daily prayers King sent to the Sacred Tree to put an end to this madhouse. No matter how skilled the individual fighters might prove in combat – and King had his doubts about at least two of the four oddballs in this matter –, they would not function as a unit. The afternoons he spent trapped in the community quarters high up in Liones castle demonstrated this point with such emphasis, he might laugh. That is, if he hadn’t felt so miserable.

On the rare occasion that the Mage, Merlin, showed herself, she would levitate in a corner of the room, smile to herself, and watch the disaster unfold. She played the group without the need of a single word, and King did his utmost to turn invisible whenever she teleported into their midst. But the Captain, Meliodas, would always shatter his efforts by showering everyone on the team with a disgusting excess of liquor only humans could find amusing.

And unfortunately, ‘everyone’ included King.

The third of the bunch, Gowther, did nothing much at all. He sat on the floor in his clunky armor, took away space, and sometimes speed through a book Merlin handed to him in about a minute. The mere thought of gluing his eyes onto a piece of manufactured wood filled with this many words gave King a headache.

And no, the alcohol was not responsible this time. Although the sight of Gowther’s untouched mug on the floor did produce a foul taste on his tongue. King hurried to open the nearest window, and swallowed a lungful of oxygen. A bit better. Even though the air circling around the human castle lacked the scents of nature, of conifers and pollen and grass heavy with morning dew.

“What’s the matter, King, you gotta throw up?”

King craned his neck to throw a death glare at the owner of the voice.

Ban was by far and away the worst. If a single human existed to whom King liked to demonstrate the deadly capabilities of his Sacred Treasure more than Aldrich, Ban would make for the ideal candidate. Careless, loud, rude, followed by the stench of alcohol wherever he went, and overall, the most human-like human King had had the displeasure to meet. The day he would fight alongside this man would without a doubt bring about the end of Britannia.

“I would have rather stayed in my cell,” King said with a pleading look in Meliodas’ direction.

“Too late. I got’cha out of there, so you owe me your eternal loyalty. Although I might free you from your debt if ya take another drink and relax. I’ve got good news this time.”

Gowther looked up from his book with a teeth-clattering shriek of his helmet. “Does this mean you have found one of our missing members?”

Meliodas grinned. “Bingo.”

“Nooo!” King buried his face between his hands. “Not another one. I won’t take another.”

The only hinderance that had so far saved him from the dreaded field missions as a special order of King Bartra’s Holy Knights with a special talent for lacking any resemblance of teamwork, had been their shortage of numbers. According to Bartra’s vision, seven knights would unite against an unnamed great threat. King’s lucky streak had not only pushed him into the spotlight as one of these seven, it had also chosen the worst people as his teammates. And he had little hope that the Sins of Envy and Pride would upset the trend once they showed up.

Meliodas wiggled an accusing finger in the air. “Now, now, King, you have to give her the opportunity to win you over. I met her by chance before she was sentenced. She’s a nice girl. And her grilled pork tastes far better than mine.”

“That’s a low standard to beat.” Ban robbed across the lavish carpet – the pelt of a white hound-like creature if King had to guess – and put an arm around the Captain’s neck. “I’ve never tasted worse food than yours!”

“Well, it’s not like cooking’s a revered skill where I come from.”

“To return to your complaint, King,” Merlin said while hiding her intentions behind the rim of her wine glass, “I believe our newcomer will surprise you. You might find that you share more than a few things with her.”

Aha. Another one of Merlin’s cryptic messages. Did the Captain carry with him a dictionary on the way she shared knowledge in singular puzzle pieces to understand her? And could King borrow such a dictionary?

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said with a sigh.

Meliodas clapped his hands together. “Great! But we gotta go out to the yard to meet her. She’s a little shy.”

With crossed arms, King floated behind the others through the great halls of the castle. Cold stone atop of more cold stone, decorated with stone ornaments. A handful of knights passed them on their way towards the yard and stared at the group with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Many a hand wandered towards the hilt of a sword, mace, or spear. King could handle the glares, as a Fairy, he had earned a plethora of glances and hushed comments from his prison guards throughout the past two hundred years. His human form did little to divert suspicion, after all, he hobbled behind an armored colossus, a drunkard, and a blond child. But what unnerved King far more was the fact that he would soon have to collaborate with these human knights and fight their war. Last time he had been forced to kill, his hand hadn’t stopped trembling for days on end.

King bumped into Ban when the latter stopped dead on the doorstep towards the yard. The string of curses he planned to hurl at Ban died in his throat, suffocated by the sight of his newest teammate. She reached thirty feet above the cobblestone, her head blocked the sun, and she refused to dissolve after one, two, four hacked breaths that escaped King’s mouth like whimpers.

She hadn’t changed one bit. Of course, she had grown in these two hundred years, the shape of her body had become more defined with added curves, but she still wore her hair in pigtails, she still shuffled her right foot over the ground, and she still hid her face behind brown locks when none of the other Sins raised their voice to greet her.

Her eyes, a shade of violet more intense than any forget-me-not – the same.

Her hands, strong and dirt-stained and able to form clay into fantastical figures – the same.

Her voice when she mumbled a “Hi, guys” into her hair – the same.

The world turned upside down and shrunk, King’s vision and his sense of smell narrowed until no one but her existed, her and a cave and a field of flowers he had called home. She had survived – what had led her here? Did she remember? No, of course not, the spell King had woven had plucked every last hint of him from her memory. But she still stood here, presented to him as his teammate. They could spend their time together like they had used to – but they would fight in a war together. She might get hurt, she might be forced to kill, she might see the failure he was, a killer who didn’t hesitate to end his best friend’s life. Even if the universe had worked its magic to make her remember him… wouldn’t she hate him? For abandoning her?

Ban smacked his elbow into King’s ribs. “Will ya say hi to her already? Otherwise my feet are gonna freeze to the ground.”

What? Had any of them talked? Had Meliodas introduced her already? King turned towards the Captain for help, but he only offered a knowing grin that matched Merlin’s expression to a T.

She extended a hand towards King, the skin covered by tiny scars from a life in the wild. “The name’s Diane.”

“Harle- You can call me King.”

“Nice to meet you, King.” The smile she gifted him was ripped right out of his memories, untainted by the two hundred years of separation.

And when he placed a trembling hand against her outstretched finger, every moment that had withered and lost its gleam in the darkness of his prison cell returned to him, and they were kids again. The games of tag, the stories she told him, the anecdotes about plants he shared with her, the sound of her laugh, the smell of grilled pork, the warmth of her body next to him when they slept.

All of this and more overwhelmed King at the touch of Diane’s skin. The sweaty palm of his human form against the softness of her fingertip, so close that he felt the individual grooves and bumps of her skin.

His heart might have well run away and forgotten to beat when Diane leaned forward. “We wouldn’t happen to know each other, right? Something about you feels familiar… I can’t put my finger on it.”

“W-where could we have met?” King blinked against the sting in his eyes. Probably dust. Yeah, definitely dust. “I’m sure you’re imagining it. You can find a face like mine all around human towns, right Captain?”

“Sure, but most of those folks can’t fly.”

“I always wondered about this,” Ban said. “But I’ve had at least two… three… five bottles of ale, so I can’t trust me ears or my eyes anymore. Speaking of, with our sixth member tracked down, the evening calls for a celebration! Captain, you wouldn’t happen to have more of that Vanya Ale stocked somewhere?”

Meliodas grinned. “I’m one step ahead of you. You’ll join too, right Diane?”

“How could I decline when you’re the one asking?” Diane winked at the Captain, but by some miracle, her eyes found their way back to King. “Still, I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before. It’s like a memory from long ago I can’t quite reach.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” King said. “People can imagine the most wonderous things when they’re dreaming.”

But he remembered. He remembered all of it, all the moments, the conversations, and the quiet togetherness Diane had forgotten. And on this day and throughout the next five years King stayed beside her. He found excuses to touch her, hand her a drink, brush her arm when floating next to her, high-five her after a successful mission. Her skin against his skin for the briefest of moments.

So that at least one of them remembered.

#kianeweek #kianeweek2020 #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfic #king x diane #kiane #king #diane #the sins #my writing #I don't know what this is #but it's not the prompt #too tired to edit

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soulslayer2020 · 3 years ago

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D&D Backstory - Zahra (CoS)

Summary:

Zahra is a half-drow who has only ever known life on the streets, and craves the power to live a long life like her full-elven brethren. Her chance arrives in the form of a strange dream...

5 years ago...

“E'sum ath al rah...”

A young half-drow with short, messy, dark purple hair cursed in Elvish under her breath as she bandaged her wounds. Once again, Zahra Calypso had been jumped by other street thugs and barely managed to defend herself. She was used to it. She had put up with it for 6 years since running from the orphanage that she’d grown up in. Being half-drow meant she wasn’t looked upon favourably by humans or elves. Hell, she wasn’t looked favourably upon by anyone really. She’d be lucky if she went a day without being spit on or mugged. She wasn’t completely defenceless, however. While lacking in the muscle department, she was quite dexterous and skilled with a dagger. That was only for if her silver tongue couldn’t get her out of a bad situation. She was quite charismatic and a good liar when she could control her tic - her scarred eye would sometimes twitch when she was struggling to keep up a façade. She was in no means ashamed of her scar. She had got it from dealing with a large group of thugs - roughly 10? She didn’t bother to count - and wore it like a medal.

Zahra sighed as she pulled her cloak around her, looking up at the clear night sky above Waterdeep. She had settled into a secluded alleyway where she blended into the shadows, hoping no drunkard would interrupt her trance. “Congrats, Zahra.” she muttered to herself with a small smirk, “You survived yet another day of bullshit. Here’s to the next one.” Zahra sat cross-legged on the dirty street before going into her trance, hoping for four hours of uninterrupted peace.

“...ugh...what the...?”

Zahra groggily opened her eyes as she found herself lying face down on a stone floor. Even with her darkvision, it was difficult to make out her surroundings. But she was able to make out stone walls with intricate designs carved into the walls. Was this...a castle? “Where the hell am I...?” Zahra muttered to herself before yelling, “Hello? Anyone home?” “Hello, Lady Zahra.” Zahra spun around trying to pin point the sound of the voice but it seemed to be echoing all around her, “Who’s there?! Show yourself! And I ain’t no lady!” “Now, now. No need to be aggressive.” The voice replied calmly, “I simply wanted to meet a like-minded soul, that’s all.” “Like-minded soul? The hell are you talking about?” Zahra asked still defensive. She went to grab the crossbow usually strapped to her back, but realised it wasn’t there. “You seek to extend your life, correct? And I’d also imagine you wish to become stronger. That alone gives us quite a bit in common, does it not?” The voice echoed. “How’d you know that?” “I have my methods.” Zahra sighed, “This is crazy...It has to be a dream, right? No way this is happening...” “Consider it what you will. But I am simply reaching out to offer you my assistance.” “With what?” Zahra scoffed. “Well, I won’t give you it immediately, you’ll have to prove your worth first, but I can see to it that you extend your lifespan. As for a more immediate gift, I can bestow some of my own power onto you.” “What’s the catch?” Zahra narrowed her eyes, “This is way too sketchy to not have a catch. And I know sketchy!” The voice chuckled, “All I request is to meet you in person. I cannot leave my domain but others can enter should I permit it. Seek me out and I will be able to properly bestow more of my gifts to you.” Zahra was silent for a moment, thinking it over, before chuckling. “Sure. Why not? If this really isn’t a dream, I’m curious to see where this leads.” “Happy to hear it. I hope to meet you soon...” “...my warlock.”

Zahra’s eyes snapped open as she awoke from her trance with a jolt. “T-the hell...?” she muttered, looking around in confusion, “Was...that really just a dream?” Zahra went to brush her hair out of her eyes when she noticed something in her hand. She looked down to see a black crystal with red veins coursing through it. It briefly crackled with red and black arcane energy which Zahra could feel coursing through her. “It wasn’t...” Zahra stared at the crystal in shock.

“Well, well! Look who it is boys!” Zahra jumped to her feet as the thugs from the night before entered the alleyway. “Didn’t learn ya lesson from last time, ya filthy half-n-half?” The leader laughed, “Guess we gotta pound it into that thick skull of yers!” Zahra instinctually went for her crossbow but remembered the pulsating crystal in her palm. A smirk appeared on her face as she held it up to the thugs, “Bring it on.” “Ooh, got a new toy?” The leader laughed, “That’ll fetch us a hefty price when we sell it after we-” The leader cut himself off as red and black sparks began to surround the crystal and Zahra’s usually sky blue eyes shifted to a crimson red. “Eldritch Blast.”

Zahra calmly left the scorched but alive bodies of the thugs in the alley as her eyes returned to their blue state. She tossed the crystal up in the air before catching it again. “Not bad...I could get used to this...” Zahra smirked, “That in mind, let’s go find this generous benefactor of mine.”

The next five years included Zahra becoming a travelling bounty hunter which she used as a front for her research into her patron’s whereabouts. Eventually she found herself in Daggerford to help in a missing persons case alongside a tiefling barbarian, a gnome bard, a drow ranger, and a fellow warlock who was human. However, the next morning after setting up camp, they found themselves chased off by wolf-like beasts into a misty forest unlike where they had fallen asleep previously.

Upon feeling the presence of these new folks entering his domain, Lord Strahd von Zarovich smirked before standing from his throne, “Rahadin. Prepare the carriage.”

“It’s time to meet my warlock and her new friends.”

#d&d 5e #d&d #d&d warlock #warlock #half-drow #d&d half-elf #d&d half-drow #half-elf #curse of strahd #strahd von zarovich

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saelwen · 4 years ago

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Pure Blood

Maedhros x Oc

Chapter Four

Summary: We all born with white blood which symbolizes our pure soul. As we grow up, our blood can change to red and become darker if we begun doing cruel things. The darker the blood, the cruel you are. Mine’s occur to be pure white but will continue to be after i meet my soulmate?

Warnings: fluff, they finally kiss ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°,)

Words:1,468

Masterlist

The strong smell of ale hovered the air in the small tavern, along with the smell of sweat. Laughter and singing filled the small room and men and women danced livelily in the middle.

Maedhros took my small hand on his larger one, and lead me through the cheerful crowd to a small private table in the corner. He helps me sit down and then took his sit in front of me, his beautiful red hair glowing by the flame of the massive fireplace and candles in the tavern.

I notice the nervousness in his stormy eyes. How his gaze follows the room as if something would come out from the shadows and attack him.

Putting my hand gently on his left hand, I tangled my fingers with his and gave him a small reassuring smile.

"Is everything okay?" i asked.

His stormy eyes met mine, drowning me with his beautiful sharp eyes. He shook his head and smiled gently at me, squeezing my hand.

"Everything is fine, Lady Rose." He took a deep breath and runs the tip of his tongue on his top lip. "I'm just nervous....It's been a while since I'm in the presence of a lovely maiden like you." he said with a small blush on his pale skin.

My heart start beat rapidly on my chest, my face feel hot and my mouth goes dry. A giggle fell from my lips as i push some black locks behind my flat ear. I've never felt this sensation before. Feeling so happy and thrilled but at the same time, feeling so.... terrified. Like if something would just snatch all my life and happiness away.

I clear my throat and smile shyly to him. "I'm flattered, Lord Maedhros. But I'm certain that you had seen more beautiful maidens than me." I said while looking to our intertwined hands.

Maedhros was about to answer when a servant girl come to our table. "What can i do for you two?" she asked, her dark brown eyes glaring to Maedhros.

"Two cups of water and two soups." he said with deep voice, making a shiver run down my spine.

"We don't serve water here, sir." the servant girl answered rudely, putting her small hands on her wide waist.

"What kind of tavern don't serve water?" he asked with an annoyed face, his stormy eyes fixed on the servant girl's.

A wicked smirk grew on her face and she poofed her chest. "The kind who also don't serve elf scum like you."

Maedhros's eyes turned dark and his delicate brows furrowed. As he opens his mouth to respond to her rude affirmation, i look to the girl and grab her arm tightly, noticing a small hiss coming from the servant girl lips.

"We will have two cups of ale and two soups, thank you." i said with a fake smile.

She nods slowly, rubbing the angry marks of my hand on her arm. She gave one last glare to Maedhros and walk away.

I look back to him, seeing the annoyed look on his face, along with sorrow. "Don't mind her words. She's just tired from working with drunk men all day." i say gently, trying to lift his mood.

He squeeze my hand hard, his long fingers shaking with anger and distress. He took a deep breath and nod. "You're right." he mumble. He lift his head and once again, i lost gaze in his stormy eyes. "Thank you.... You didn't had to do that."

I smile and shake my head gently. "I don't mind help people when they need it." I rub my thumb on his palm, loving the feel of his smooth, warm skin against mine. "Now, let's forget about the girl and have fun!" i say cheerfully.

The food came and we eat and drink while telling tales from our lives. I listen in awe as he told me about the all places he have been, teaching me other cultures and races that i didn't knew existed in this land.

I told about the stories i read, telling him that my favorite tale was of the brave human, Beren, and the most beautiful and graceful elleth walk in this land, Luthien Tinúviel.

Maedhros's face changed as i was telling about that tale, his gray eyes darken and his features harden.

"Did i said something wrong?" i asked quietly, afraid of making him mad or bored with my silly tales.

He clears his throat and smile gently, his gray eyes become lighter. "Not at all. I love hearing you talk, Lady Rose." he say gently, making my heart flutter.

I nod and look around the tavern, seeing more drunk men lying on the floor and women of the night searching for they next prey, they low cleavage showing their plump chest.

"We probably should go." Maedhros's voice caught my attention. "It's getting late and I'm sure that your parents must be worried." i sign and nod, not ready to depart from him.

Maedhros took five silver coins and put them on the table. Then, he grab my hand and lead me out from the busy tavern.

The cold air of the night hit my face gently, making a nice contrast with my warm skin. We walk towards my wagon, the noise from the taverb faded into the night as we walk away.

"Thank you for dinner and the lovely company, Lord Maedhros. I had a good time tonight." i say while petting Dante's strong neck.

"You're welcome, Lady Rose." he say gently. I met his his eyes, seeing them full of exhaustion, rage and....passion, so much passion.

Turning to him, i put his handless arm on my hand and stroke the scarred skin gently. His body become tense with my action and his breath was stuck on his lungs, his eyes carefully watching my hand slowly stroking his scars.

"It's disgusting, isn't it?" he asked after a moment, his voice come out in a breathless whisper.

I pull his arm up and kiss his scarred wrist, pressing my lips softly against his scar. My eyes never left his, studying carefully his reaction. His eyes widen and a gasp fell from his lips.

"It's not disgusting, Maedhros." i say gently, resting my cheek on his wrist. "This is a symbol of your strength.... A symbol that you have passed horrible moments but yet survived."

His hand cupped my other cheek and slowly he leans down, his eyes looking to mine and then to my lips. I lift myself on the tip of my toes and met his lips, moving my lips in sync with his thin ones.

The kiss was something I've never experienced before, well i never been kissed before but this was magical, better than any kiss scene on one of my tales. His lips were thin but soft, like i imagined.

His hand move down to my neck, cupping the back of my head gently while his handless arm moves to my waist. He deepens the kiss, his warm tongue begging for entrance in which i gave.

Moaning quietly as our tongues intertwine on each other. My all body was shaking and hot, as if the kiss was shotting me with thunderbolts.

I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands grabbing a fist of his red hair. Oh Gods, how can a simple kiss feel this good. He taste like ale and soup with a hit of apple. His scent filled my nostrils, making me dizzy. He smelled like pine wood and fire. He smelled like home, he was my home.

We pull away and Maedhros rest his forehead against mine. Our breath coming out in little puffs.

We stay silent for a while. Our eyes fixed on each other, watching our love grew on them. He comb my hair with his fingers and looked to my wagon.

"You better be going before i take you to my chambers." he says with a playful smirk which made my heart almost explode.

A giggle left my lips as nod, trying to hide my red face. "Yes! You are right."

He help me climb the wagon and gave me one last kiss. "Be careful on the road, melleth nin." he says with a serious face.

I nod and grab the reins, ordering Dante to move forward. "I will." i say while waving to him.

I look back one last time to see Meadhros and in the shadows, i saw a pair of sharp eyes glowing in the dark. I blink a few times and they are gone. Shrugging, i turn the wagon to the small road which will lead me to my farm.

I hope father isn't too mad at me.

Hey Guys!!! Here's a new chapter of Pure Blood!!! I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

Ko-fi

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hamliet · 5 years ago

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How would you have fixed Tokyo Ghoul (Re)'s ending?

I started answering this with a lot of trepidation and ended answering it extremely enthusiastically. I had a ton of fun writing this. Thank you.

I would have extended the manga by a few more volumes, and started from chapter 147, which is where I felt things went really off the rails.

I would have had the basic structure stay the same for a bit, but with a few changes. Kanou would not have committed suicide. Touka’s conversation with Shuu and Nishiki, as well as her conversation with Hide, Akira, and Amon, would have been painful, in which Touka expressed to Akira that she was struggling with her earlier words about how even if her father/someone she loves did something wrong, she would still tell them they were wrong. Akira and Touka bond for real, and Akira is able to help Touka declare, boldly, that Kaneki is worth saving (which Touka believes, but she is scared). Hinami listens, but doesn’t join in on the conversation.

Hide leads Akira and Amon to the CCG, along with Hirako and Yusa. Amon reveals that he is part ghoul, endangering himself, and Akira tells them that if they don’t work with ghouls, they have no chance. Most of the CCG refuses. Saiko, on the other hand, joins Akira, Amon, and Hide as they break away. Hsiao goes with her. Urie is alone and feels lost.

Saiko, Hsiao, Akira, Amon, Hide et al meet with the ghouls and agree to use the chaos to help search for Kaneki’s body (probably also found via the ring). Touka wants to go, but because she is pregnant, she chooses not to, telling Ayato, Hinami, and Shuu to bring Kaneki back to her. Touka is then left to take care of the kids from underground.

Since Touka is vulnerable, Mutsuki would appear then to challenge Touka. They fight, and Urie, who has been dealing with the desertion of Saiko and Hsiao, finally goes to find the ghouls. Higemaru joins him. They stumble upon the Mutsutou fight and have a similar confrontation to canon–except it ends with Touka being told to leave by Urie, but returning to tell Mutsuki she understands being abandoned, but hurting others isn’t going to help. Urie comforts Mutsuki in the same way Mucchan once comforted him. Ends with a Mutsurie hug with Mama Touka.

Kanou shows up, having found where Goat is hiding from tailing Kurona, who came back not knowing where else to go. He overhears that Touka is pregnant and gets greedy. Kimi appears and stops Kanou, giving everyone enough time to escape. She takes the ghouls to the CCG with Mutsuki, Aura, and Urie’s help; Yoriko decides to be brave and refuses to allow anyone to hurt them, which means both Mutsuki and Touka. Takeomi would, of course, protect his wife.

Meanwhile, Ayato, Nishiki, Shuu, et al are searching for Kaneki. Shuu gets increasingly distraught at the destruction Kaneki has wreaked and remembers Karren. Amon is the one who digs Kaneki up, but with help from Takizawa, who returns the cross, and Hakatori. They bring Kaneki to the CCG as well. Nishiki and Kimi reunite.

At the CCG, Hsiao has had Enough and she tells everyone at the CCG the truth of what happens in the Sunlit Garden. Aura, who went along with Mutsuki but is still nursing a grudge against ghouls, is particularly challenged by this, and Ui is angry and upset. Touka is terrified for Kaneki, and she and Hide talk, as do she and Yoriko in which she worries that Yoriko will blame her, but Yoriko doesn’t. Kaneki has the Torii Gate scene and wakes up, much like canon, and speaks to Hide, who is quiet and unwilling to be forthcoming. Kaneki goes for a walk with the Quinx and finds that people are turning into ghouls, again like canon. Saiko has a similar reaction to canon.

The kids from underground are the ones who work out a plan to get to dragon!Rize with Kaneki, as he is immune like in canon. Meanwhile, everyone unites to fight V, who appear with Eto-Owl like in canon. Yusa is told to stay behind by Hirako because he’s a kid, and he and Touka stay with an ailing Saiko.

While fighting, Ui encounters a resurrected Hairu, Tsukiyama a resurrected Karren, Arima for Akira, etc. The Quinx encounter revived Shirazu, and it’s traumatic for everyone. Shuu’s father is killed by zombie Karren. Kaneki and Ayato penetrate deeper into the underground with the kids. They’re attacked by clones, and Kaneki protects the underground kids, thereby partially earning his redemption. Meanwhile, Yoriko begins to turn into a ghoul.

V reveals again that they’ve been eating the corpses of investigators. Akira is using Fueguchi as her quinque and regrets it when she sees Hinami’s face, and they both realize that this is what V wants: to destroy their tenuous alliance. Akira hesitates using Fueguchi, and Takizawa saves her from the attack she left herself vulnerable to. Kurona appears, telling Takizawa they have to stop Kanou, who shows up with a barely-alive Hajime. Amon is horrified by what’s happened to Hajime and angry at Kaneki, before remembering that he has been willing to do similar things to Hinami. Donato and the clowns appear, and Amon fights Donato in a rage, until he remembers what Akira said earlier about good and bad being a part of parents, and Touka’s words about loving someone yet hating their actions. He tells Donato he loved him. Donato saves Amon from a V agent even though it costs him his own life.

Yomo and Uta fight much like in canon, with the same metaphorical imagery, and Yomo and Uta end it by coming to a genuine understanding and empathy even if they don’t see eye to eye. Kurona, Hakatori, and Takizawa fight Kanou while Amon takes Hajime to safety with Kimi, who redeems herself by helping saving Hajime, and Nishiki helps her. Akira saves Takizawa. Juuzou, terrified by whatever Kanou might have done to Shinohara, stops Kanou in the end, saving Kurona… only to begin to turn into a ghoul himself. His squad stay with him.

Kaneki finds Furuta. Ayato falls behind again like in canon. Kaneki and Furuta fight. Kaneki says something along the lines of how his life isn’t stylish, how he’s done terrible things and even has the blood of children on him, but he has a child on the way, a child with his blood too, and that he is alive, and he is not going to waste this life no matter how long or short it might be. Furuta reveals again that he wants everything, imagining a good life with Rize. He is defeated, but not killed, and asks if he, who has done so much evil and is dying anyways, has anything good to offer the world. Kaneki thinks of Touka and tells Furuta if he has someone he loves, he does. They then proceed to the Sunlit Garden.

Touka is terrified for Yoriko and works with Takeomi and Hide to venture into the lab for some kind of cure… where she finds Arata and Yoshimura. Distraught by her two father figures and hearing reports of Eto attacking people out there, she vows to do better for her child, and she and Hide free both Arata and Yoshimura… who recognize them and, without life support, don’t have long to live. Yoshimura leaves with Hide; Arata and Touka have a difficult conversation.

Rize is located in the Sunlit Garden. Kaneki and Rize fight, with the easy answer being killing everyone in the Sunlit Garden–including Rize, but also the children. He refuses. Shirazu and Urie have a particularly brutal fight, in which Urie’s insecurity issues come out and he starts to go kakuja again. Mutsuki kicks his ass and Urie tells Mutsuki that he loves him, and Mutsuki tells Urie he doesn’t need to earn his care, and realizes that all of what Urie has said is because he loves him but sucks at expressing it. They kiss. Meanwhile, Ayato’s fight is not going well, but just when it looks like all is lost, someone else saves him: Arata! Led there by Hinami, who found him with Touka and went to save him. Ayato and Hinami kiss.

Seeing Kaneki fighting to help save the kids angers Furuta, who shouts at him about hurting the Oggai, remembers his own sins towards children and those against him as a child, and in the end, he gives the last bit he has to give Rize back her consciousness, to heal her (yes she eats part of him). She remembers who she is while he is still alive, and he tells her she has to live, and he makes Kaneki promise to let her live. He dies thinking that, in those moments at least, he lived, and that perhaps if he had been able to think better, he could have lived all along. Kaneki realizes that it doesn’t matter if you have someone you love: either way, your life is valuable. Scarred lives are beautiful, too, and he thinks of Hide.

Rize getting her consciousness back wakes up all the other puppets of Kanou’s. Yoshimura ventures to the battlefield, led by Hide, and finds Eto, whom Hide had been working for. Yoshimura helps Eto turn on and kill Kaiko before they both die, at peace with one another. Ui assures Hairu that she is loved, kissing her before she dies in his arms. Karren recognizes Shuu and tells him she’s sorry for what happened to his father, but Shuu is the one who apologizes to her. Arima sees Hirako again and apologizes to him and to Ui. Shirazu is able to say a proper goodbye to Mutsuki and Urie, and asks for them to say goodbye to Saiko and Haru. The resurrected die.

Kaneki gives Rize his shirt to cover her, and they lead the children of the Sunlit Garden out into the light, encountering Ayato and Hinami and leading them (as children) out of the dark too.

Epilogue: Shikorae is tracked down post-battle, as is canon, but while he thinks of himself as an eldritch horror abomination, Kimi and the rest are able to help him, so that he is able to return to being Rio. Akira gives Hinami Fueguchi to bury.

Touka gives birth to Ichika, Shinohara wakes up and accepts Juuzou even as a ghoul, the large mass of humanity who are now ghouls provoke change so that the gov’t and CCG are actively working on treatment plans with Kimi leading them. Yoriko is accepted as a ghoul as well.

Edits for clarity: Urie tells Mutsuki he loves him at their first fight; Mutsuki decides to love Urie in the fight with Shirazu. Touka accepting Yoriko as a ghoul and that it’s not something for her to feel terribly about is part of Touka accepting herself as a ghoul.

Other edits: Oh, and Furuta? Maybe leave it ambiguous as to whether he died or asked Kaneki to let him escape.

#ask hamliet #tg #tgre #tokyo ghoul #Anonymous

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sabraefirst · 4 years ago

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𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

"Your 'Maker' is a story you humans use to explain the world. We have our own stories. I don't need to borrow yours."

"Spirits differ from each other, just as you and Hawke and Isabela are all human. More or less..."

"Magic can't be made safe and it can't be destroyed. Fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could.”

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖘

NAME: Merrill Alerion Sabrae

NICKNAMES: Daisy, Kitten

AGE: 19 in DAO, 20 - 28 in DA2, 30 in DAI

BIRTHDAY: 9:11 Dragon

GENDER: Female

PRONOUNS: she/her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Belavhana Alerion ( biological ), Marethari Sabrae ( not by blood )

FATHER: Athras Alerion

SIBLINGS: Ishana Mahariel ( not by blood )

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: verse-dependent

CHILD(REN): none

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆 𝖙 𝖙 𝖗 𝖎 𝖇 𝖚 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

FACE CLAIM: N/A - if anyone has suggestions lmk lmao, i’m awful at fcs

BUILD: slender, lean, average height

HAIR: short and choppy, ending just by her ears with braids scattered throughout her hair

HAIR COLOR: black

EYE COLOR: blue-green

SKIN COLOR: pale

DOMINANT HAND: right

ANOMALIES: scars littering both of her forearms and palms due to blood magic

SCENT: pine, dirt, and ( ironically ) daisies

ACCENT: a mix of ferelden / english and the free marches / scottish, though her free marches accent is heavier than her ferelden one

ALLERGIES: N/A

DISORDERS: Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD)

FASHION: primarily the popular fashion among the dalish, but after living as a city elf for nearly a decade, she’s incorporated some of their styles into her own. merrill wears lots of green and brown like her in-game outfit, though even if she doesn’t romance hawke, i imagine she still has that white romance outfit anyway. she only brings it out on special occasions.

NERVOUS TICS: merrill rambles a lot. she second-guesses herself, especially when meeting new people, so her mouth often gets ahead of her brain and talks the ear off whoever she’s speaking with as a result. she also tends to move in place, whether that be shifting from one foot to another or just swaying where she stands. she needs to keep moving.

QUIRKS: mostly when she first leans clan sabrae but still every now and then, she hates missing dirty jokes and wants to know about them. she’s very blunt when she asks whether she missed something dirty, much like in-game, but she hates being left out of things. during quiet moments, merrill also likes to hum quietly to herself.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: clan sabrae ( DAO - pre-DA2 ), the alienage ( DA2 ), nomad ( pre-DAI ), skyhold ( DAI )

BORN: nevarra

RAISED: nevarra until age 11, then ferelden once she was given to clan sabrae

PETS: no, but she’d love a cat

CAREER: First of Clan Sabrae ( formerly ); Arcane Advisor to the Inquisition

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: sides with the mages during the mage-templar war

BELIEFS: proudly dalish and an unofficial lorekeeper;

DRUGS: no

SMOKES: no

ALCOHOL: sometimes with friends, but not often - she’s a lightweight

DIET: omnivore

LANGUAGES: trade tongue, elvish ( broken, as neither of her clans used it exclusively, but over the course of recovering their lost lore she’s become more fluent in it ), and a little bit of tevene since elven and tevinter ruins tend to overlap

PHOBIAS: being alone or abandoned; the thought of having given up everything she ever knew for nothing; those big ass spiders found in sundermount

HOBBIES: reading, studying, gardening, knitting ( badly )

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: anywhere outdoors

MUSIC: merrill loves listening to bards sing. they tell the most wonderful stories

FOOD: various fruits, but specifically berries

BEVERAGE: can’t go wrong with water!

COLOR: dark green

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral good

MBTI: INFP - The Mediator

ENNEAGRAM: Type 4w5 - The Free Spirit

IDEOLOGIES:

- hates when people don’t take her seriously.

- loves when people give her nicknames like varric and isabela did. it makes her feel like she belongs.

- like anders, merrill loves cats and would be thrilled to have one of her own.

- despite having a thirst for knowledge now, merrill was the type of child who didn’t pay attention to her lessons and let her mind wander. she learns best by discovering the world through interaction, though she’s learned to appreciate books now.

- merrill can’t stand the taste of elfroot.

- though kirkwall was dirty and the hanged man’s ale tasted like piss, being in the city-state was the first time merrill actually felt like she was home.

- merrill still has nightmares about keeper marethari’s fate and vows to never let something like that happen again. she’d rather die herself.

#ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʟɪꜱʜ // headcanons #ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʟᴀɴ ꜱᴀʙʀᴀᴇ // muse #long post tw #this took me all day to write but i'm happy with it anyway

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fulgensun · 5 years ago

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[ When I discovered the FFX Ultimania Omega book had not only a long novelization of the whole story and trivia lists, but also snippets of the original plot and even parts of that original script and scenes (together with authors’ interviews and explanations) I knew I had to look more into it ! Points finger at it -- I want it haha. Admittedly, it was one of the first things I did concentrate on the moment my copy arrived, months ago by now ! Because so little of it is contained on the eng side of the fandom, it seems, that even the wiki had incomplete versions of these original parts of the script...

Honestly, I was surprised and baffled at the described snippets -- the ones similar to Tidus the plumber HH I guess that’s one known fact, but so much more was contained there... and all was deleted for a total change of the story-- but looking back at it now, I can’t help but wonder just how different the whole atmosphere and story would have been ! It’s something widely described and explained in the Ultimania... I have not seen anything like that ever posted anywhere, nor here or on other websites or wikis. While this won’t be a word-by-word translation of the script in the book, I feel - having a FFX centric blog like this, posting these little gems here, so that people can read them too, could be an amazing thing to do ! If these snippets can make people dream (ah...) or imagine how things could have gone, but don’t have the resources to know it since it’s all kept in an old book in Japanese, then that’d be awesome !

To make things look better, I guess I’ll keep part of the post under a read more -- !

REGISTAN

Before the book arrived, all I could find in the web, translated here and there, was the description of Tidus (the plumber yeah HHH) in Registan (the old name for Zanarkand) swimming around, meeting his group of friends at the Dome/Shrine of Registan and even fighting monsters underwater, where he’d also see a calm Sin passing by. The Dome was both a gathering place for citizens and a holy place -- with an altar and pictures of Yevon around, people would pray him for good health but it’s not considered a true religion as Yevon doesn’t seem to ask for anything in return. The Hymn (of the Fayth) would resound inside it.

In the end, they discarded the name Registan because a true city has that name - even though Zanarkand is based on the real city of Samarqand. Tidus was also described not as easy-going as we know him now. The script continues. Tidus, trying to hurry towards the Dome to meet his friends, would have met a group of soldiers fighting monsters in the street. They were supposed to be elite, chosen fighters, whose commander would shout orders at them. The commander being Auron ! The soldiers’ performance did attract a crowd; among them, Auron notices a man covered in a black cloak staring back at him and starts chasing him. The script reveals the cloaked man is, in fact, a Guado ! Tidus doesn’t notice this last part, and keeps rushing to the Dome... but he’s late, his friends have left already.

I have discussed in a HC post before how Tidus is able to cook. Well, that is something the original script had planned to show the player (so that we could feel nostalgia and closeness too, of Registan/Zanarkand) and something I inspired myself to, for said headcanon: there would have been a scene of him, cooking abundant meals at home (still a boat).

SIN ATTACKS

The next snippet tells of Tidus, some other day, entering the Dome. As he does, he notices a group of men in black cloaks exiting the Dome. A second later, panic settles. Announcements broadcast the same news and people start running and screaming: Sin is landing on Registan. As alarms invite people to evacuate the area, Tidus notices Auron outside the Dome helping people flee; Sin is indeed approaching the Dome area -- its body is scarred, pyreflies seeping out of it as many arrows and spear pierce its body. Sin opens its many eyes and stares at Tidus, before blinking, closing all its eyes except for two, brown-coloured pupils and keep staring at the boy, calmly.

Soldiers, in the meantime, keep attacking the still beast. Hurt, Sin tries to retreat back in the sea, destroying many buildings in the process and whatnot... but the men in a black cloak from before (the Guado), who have witnessed the whole scene, suddenly start following the monster. The script informs the reader the tallest cloaked figure is, indeed, the leader of these Guado, Seymour. Auron and Tidus follow the totally-not-suspicious bunch.

A very interesting thing I noticed... the script also has the dialogue of Auron and Tidus chasing Seymour and the Guado, who seem to want to do something to Sin. Auron DOES have his ‘This is your story’ moment ! And all is still supposed to be Tidus’ tale and flashbacks. The fact it all carried over to the game we know was nice to notice.

THE GUADO

Instead of Baaj as we know it, Tidus would have later arrived in a small lone island, most likely after having touched Sin. Exploring it, he would have found a video-sphere -- a scene of a mother and child would have played: the two would be conversing, but the language they spoke would be incomprehensible to Tidus. He would have also found human remains, buried in said island, of - he thinks, the same mother depicted in the brief video. The script reveals the language would have been the Guado’s native one. Tidus would have accepted the creepiness of it (’This place gives me the creeps’), grilled some fish and waited for someone to rescue him HAHA (it is also revealed he’d spend days alone, stranded in there...)

Here too, I kinda had some very familiar vibes of the whole situation. If I think of a hypothetical Guado language, a mother and child, desert abandoned island and all, the story of Anima and Seymour in Baaj comes to mind. Not to mention the script reveals the dialogue of mother and child would have become understandable once Seymour’s intentions etc were to be discovered by Tidus -- confirming the child in the video is most likely a younger Seymour (and probably that we would have learned the language of Guado as we do now with Al Bhed’s ! )

MACALANIA’S MUSICAL

This is my favorite. Do you remember those animal-like forest creatures you see in FFX, playing instruments around Spira, greeting even Mika and Seymour in Luca and encouraging you to catch butterflies ? Those are what nowadays remains of this original snippet of script, according to Kitase himself. The idea was to give Yuna an idol-like appeal (I guess they still had no idea what X2 would have done ahah) and this scene was a good example of it, together with the wedding ceremony, Toriyama confirms.

The pilgrimage party would have passed by Macalania during a peculiar festival: people of all races would gather in the woods to commemorate and celebrate the figure of Yunalesca, all sponsored by the Temple of course. Seems like a traditional festival, if you think about it, full of lights, magic, happiness, etc. There would have been a stage built in the forest, depicting a corner of old Registan and people would sit there, waiting for the programmed musical number to start (the musical band would be composed of the beings I described earlier !) Yuna would have been chosen to play as Yunalesca -- the script describes her as breathtakingly beautiful, dressed as Yunalesca (I supposed the bikini was not planned to be Yunalesca’s official attire... I hope so). The Guado would have built, with magic, a ‘fake-Sin’ prop to be used during the recital... but as the scene of the Final Summoning did approach, the Sin-prop would have started causing panic by growing bigger and bigger (turns out it was all Guado’s plan) so manacing and real-looking people would freak out and its giant size would destroy the stage and the lights. In complete darkness, a weird light would appear on stage. This light would shape itself into a precise figure: High Summoner Baska (YES, his original name was supposed to be Baska, later changed in Braska), Yuna’s father.

The audience would start yelling his name with joy, calming down, before a man yelled: “Do not fear Sin, for Baska has returned!". A violent wind would arise and the figure of Baska would disappear. Tidus’d then turn around and find out that man who just talked was Seymour. Angered, he’d yell: “That’s a fake! It’s a Guado illusion!” The script goes: people turn around to glare at Tidus, since Baska is a very loved figure among Spira’s people. Yuna remains still on the stage: “True, my father died ten years ago!”. People would turn their anger at the girl, asking if Baska had been Sent after his death. Yuna cannot lie and confirms his father could not be Sent to the Farplane, and that he may be a monster. The crowds protest: “So, are you going to kill your own father?! We don’t need you as a Summoner!”. Yuna would fall on the stage, probably overwhelmed by those hateful comments.

What does this make me understand ? Guado are seen as magic experts, they help with the festival but yet find a way to add their own, weird personal touch to the musical. Also Yuna probably does not know what truly becomes of a High Summoner after their death, and probably thinks that, by dying and not being Sent, her father became a rancorous monster (by now, we know that Summoner performing the Final Summoning probably do not need to be sent: Braska didn’t receive one and is still present in the Farplane in X and X2).

Also, it’s worth mentioning the holy spring scene would have had Yuna screaming (much like Tidus does in Kilika) all her frustration and helplessness at her destiny, crying against Tidus’ chest. There is no mention of the kiss, but I cannot be sure about it as an idea: the script for the holy spring scene stops as she buries her face in his chest and weeps. Being there an affection system, if you hadn’t bonded enough with Yuna, Kimahri would have consoled... and that, kids, is why Kimahri still is present in the holy spring / kiss scene in FFX ! It’s a nice reference.

The last snipper in the Ultimania is the party facing Yunalesca. I find the scene really similar to the original -- she calls them fools, asks who will take Jecht’s place. She calls human beings weak creatures who find new ways to substitute the dead ones and reject peace. She does try to attack Auron too, but he dodges her attack and the battle begins. Outside the Dome, much like in the game we know, Sin is watching them. But in the original script, he did carry people of Registan on his back. Why? Kitase and Nojima explain Registan was supposed to float above Gagazet (Fayth Scar weird column of water, anyone?). Before the final battle, the player would have had the chance to do a sidequest, in which Sin would have helped you carrying your Registan friends in Spira... yea, crazy. Tidus would have been briefly taken home again and helped his old friends, all carried on Sin’s back to Spira. But once they did decide on Registan/Zanarkand being a dream, the sidequest disappeared. ]

#ffx #final fantasy x #Final fantasy x ultimania #meta tag.#[ the fact i don't have an analysis tag ]#[ or proper meta one is embarrassing hhh ]#[ bless... bless the ultimania ]#[ like... if this doesn't make you curious!! ]#[ i wished more was explained BUT it's still a lot more than what I ever expected ]#[ beware long post under cut because i can't contain myself ]

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 5 years ago

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Shattered Reflections {18}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 17. Never Again A/N:

Sorry readers for another month long hiatus. I was busy with Helsa Week and then got a little lazy to edit and now I’ve got so many more chapters to edit. Oof. I hope to get some more chapters edited and post them before I get swept away by Helsa Week 2.0.

18. ‘Bullshit’

It was evening by the time, the Captain finally got the chance to go check in with Hans. He wanted to discuss how the first meeting with the guard had gone in private. As well as making sure he hadn't hurt himself too much during their impudent demonstration. He knocked on the door like he usually did, before entering the room. "How ya faring Westergaard?" He questioned. "Hopefully the doc wasn't too angry."

Hans seemed deep in thought, but jarred by the Captain's intrusion, and curious.

"Hm? Oh no. I didn't mention it to him, the pain went away, and this time there were no stitches to rip open, so I suppose as long as I don't collapse in a heap somewhere in the next day or so, I'll be fine." Hans suggested lightly. "Still, not a wise thing I did, but I purport to be many things, wise isn't among them. What brings you here, Captain? I didn't expect to see you again today."

Still, he was using titles. He didn't dress like a prince now any more than he had when he arrived by boat, all cotton shirts and sailor's trousers, looking more like a young pirate than an ex-admiral, let alone a prince. Still, there were untold years of experience in his eyes. Experience with sadness, with death, with anger and fury and complex sinister tidings, but he seemed so baffled by the concept of being liked. The cheers of the men still bothered him, somehow. They were good and positive and gave him positive feelings, yes, he was still a human; but he also felt saddened, because he didn't feel he deserved them-- or ever could. Those thoughts, he wouldn't burden the Captain with. Not for the moment, that hadn't been what he asked. He didn't want to make the Captain worry, any more than he wanted Elsa to worry for him. But he also didn't feel the need to disguise his thoughtfulness as playful banter or 'just thinking' or put on a happy face, as he might with Elsa. The Captain was a man, and a workhorse at that. He would surely know these same depths of thought?

The Captain slightly tilted his head and cocked his brow, at the distraught glazing over Hans, the Prince's eyes clearly reflecting his self-doubt.

"Thought it went rather well today, but it looks like you use a drink, a heavy one at that," suggested the Captain. "It was your own advice to the men, was it not? And you know what? You should take your own advice too. If you're well enough to fight, I think, you're well enough to drink. Come on Westergaard, I'll treat you to that drink," he urged. " I wish to chat with you as men, it's kinda hard to do that in this stuffy room." The Captain wasn't going to senselessly allow Hans seep into those dark thoughts alone, if he could help it.

Hans hummed a bit, tone still light but face unmatching, until he heaved himself up to his feet, as one might on a ship; a lazy but graceful movement, like a cat's casual saunter or a bird of prey's lazy low swoop.

"I'll warn you, Captain. I'm either very grim or very childish, and little in-between. And, I'm not above a challenge." He joked wryly, settling a bit. He took off his sword and set it on the bureau again. "In the Isles there are shelves in the taverns for weapons, but we're a little old-fashioned. I imagine it's not the custom here." He would adapt; weapons while drinking was an awful idea.

The Captain smiled a bit, that Hans had accepted his invitation without too much coaxing.

"Hope, I won't regret the invite later," he chuckled.

He nodded. "Not in Arendelle."

The Captain escorted Hans over to the town tavern, it was a leisurely walk away.

"So take your pick Westergaard?" The Captain stated, as they arrived taking a seat. "Curious to know what kind of drink you'll choose."

"I'm a man of the sea, what do you think I'd pick?" Hans pointed out wryly. "Rum, of course. The stronger the better. Ale for when you're thirsty, rum for when you have a thirst, ey?" Drinks, not women. That had a different prescription.

"You know, I think you're the only person I know who calls me by my last name alone, not some title. I think I could get used to it." He mused idly, leaning somewhat on his arm in the booth. He still looked terribly casual, it was easy to forget that he was a prince, and indeed easy to forget any rank he'd had. It almost looked more like the Captain was grabbing up a wayward young man from the street to teach him a few life lessons.

"You remind me a little of Captain Janssen. Only a little, of course. He's old enough that he seemed just as old when he was snatching me up out of the water by the back of my shirts grumbling about 'neglecting princely duties' I didn't have." He seemed amused by the old memories, but there was still that look of bitter-sweetness about it. "But, I suppose it's just the familiarity. You're not afraid to tell me when I'm being a shit, sometimes we all need someone like that."

"Of course, I should have figured," chuckled the Captain. "Is that so? Well, someone's gotta keep you grounded."

"You're first and foremost a man it's easy to forget that if you don't have something keeping you in check," he stated, and paused before transitioning. "And on that note, I think you did rather well in keeping the men in line today. It didn't go without a hitch that's for sure, but I think you really got through to them. You got them in a fighting spirit, you sure got a way with people, boy, --and I say that in the best way possible-- that it makes me almost envious. When you speak to them you get really down-to-earth, you weren't on some sort of high horse, you really show them that you're one of them, which is true because you're not just a soldier but a fellow man sworn to protect Arendelle just like them, and that in itself is rather respectable." The Captain was trying his best to get through to Hans, ease those doubts he may have, if he planned on being a good teacher to the guard he had to believe in himself first.

"Aye, there's the rub," Hans pointed out, ordering a drink as easily as a native to the country, "I'm not 'sworn' to a damn thing. I protect Arendelle because I have sins to pay for, and I like your country. Were I truly a bastard, I'd use this opportunity. I am, against what your men might think, the same man who raised a sword to kill the Queen. I'd be more comforted if your men were still suspicious. This tells me there's much to teach them. I may be truthful this time, yes, but how otherwise is this different from last?" Hans couldn't help but be disquieted at the notion.

"I've got an idea for training tomorrow. Another kind of test. Nothing physical, I'll sit and clean swords while the men do physical training, and talk. I'd like to test them. And you." He leaned back a bit as his drink was brought, looking bothered still. "It's not that I'm upset to be liked, per se. I'm vexed that it was so easy to get in again, like before. As easy as the first time, like nothing has been learnt." He leaned back, waiting for the Captain to get his drink.

"Even on a ship, I worked to be an admiral. My name could have gotten me a strong position, but I started scrubbing decks and moved up from there, and hit every position on the way. I may have hit admiral young, but damned if I didn't at least land on every job on the way." He was determined to do that, at least. "Damned if I'll be a useless shit, demanding ranks I never deserved." He scoffed at the thought.

The Captain ordered his drink, and it arrived shortly after. "You may not be sworn to Arendelle in the same sense as the rest of us, that's true, but that blade of yours says otherwise," he pointed out, grabbing hold of his drink.

"I see where you're coming from, the men were very spirited today, that's for certain, but I'm sure there's still lingering doubt among them. Just because the group as a whole looked determined it don't mean all the individuals are fully convinced. Some men aren't as open to expressing their concerns in public. Don't think just because they're willing to give you a chance that it won't be a challenge. They seemed to warm up to you, but trust doesn't come that easily, not when everyone is well aware of what you've done. They haven't forgotten, what you did is sorta hard to neglect. But then again, you did call for a clean slate and that also includes yours as well," he mentioned with a nod.

"What's the difference this time you ask? There's many differences for sure, but the main one is 'never again'." The Captain was using Hans' own words against him.

"If you are any kind of bastard now, it's definitely a stubborn one. I don't know if it's an Isles thing or if it's just you but, you're something else, you know that Westergaard? I don't know of many men, if any, that would be willing to accept more punishment after receiving a flogging like yours. Most men would have been content to surviving or just embrace death, rather than be bold enough to return to attempt to atone, especially when it seemed nothing more than a foolish gamble or a death wish. Taking that extra step to try to make amends really says a lot about a man and his conscience," he assured with a nod.

The Captain remembered something he forgot to say earlier. "It's not like the men are just blindly trusting you, a lot of those men have seen you in action, fighting alongside them. You know, you could have very well sat on your ass during the raid, no one expected anything from you, and yet you charged in to aid and got the scars to prove it, that's gotta count for something," noted the Captain.

"You've already exceeded expectations, with your actions." Thinking he'd talked too much the Captain shifted a bit in his seat. "All this rambling to say, you already try you're damnedest and yet you still don't think that's enough. You're too hard on yourself, and no I haven't forgotten the bad things you've done, but you dwell too much on them, you think they overshadow the good you've done or are going to do. You don't have to constantly try so hard to prove yourself."

Hans listened, and even after the first part about the sword, smiled a little to himself and looked away, as if he was flattered.

"Never again, is right." He agreed with a nod.

"I need someone like you around, too. I suppose I assumed they didn't notice me. I tend to, I'm not usually noticeable, apart from the hair. The Royal Shade." He laughed dryly. "We started calling the cat on my ship 'Your Highness', so I wouldn't have to answer it. Someone would ask for 'the prince' and we'd all point to the cat. He had the same fur color as my hair, we joked." He laughed a little at the memory.

"'Hard on myself', one could say that. Others might say 'not hard enough'. Murder is an exceptional crime, even attempted. Technically speaking I should've been hanged in the Isles, but my eldest brother didn't want to see that scene play out, when my dress rehearsal went so poorly before." He made a lot of theatrical references. From 'aye there's the rub' to speaking of 'dress rehearsals' and 'performances'. The oddity of that almost disguised the subtle suggestion laced there in his last sentence. He had another thought about the captain, but decided it was better left unsaid, at least for this drink.

"Perhaps they don't need to worry about lies yet, then. I'll worry about that some other time, and worry about reviewing those tests. I mean it, when I say we should add women and the Deaf to our roster. People who get overlooked, usually, can be the most determined. I've never seen fighters more determined than female pirates, for a certainty. Even cornered they'd sooner hack a chunk out of you than give up easily, perhaps because they know what can happen when they do, if the men they surrender to are anything less than honorable." He didn't like the idea, but he knew it was likely true. He was back to business, perhaps in hopes that the Captain forgot about his implications.

The Captain laughed a little at Hans' reminiscence of the red furred feline.

"That's true, a coup isn't something easy to overlook, nor should it be, but since you've been given the opportunity to redeem yourself, you need to find a balance between being too hard and too soft when it comes to disciplining yourself . I'll do my best to keep you in check, and if I think your slacking, I'm not afraid to reprimand you, if need be," he chuckled, but he was serious. The Captain had taken note of his mention of a 'dress rehearsal' and though he was curious of the reasoning behind it, he didn't bring it up (he was trying to brighten the boy's spirits after all), but kept in mind.

"I'll see what I can do about broadening up the recruitment, if you think we can find promising potential soldiers among people we failed to take into account, I'll welcome them with pleasure. We really can't afford to undermine anyone willing to protect Arendelle, especially when we need everyone we can get," concurred the Captain with a nod, getting back to talking business like Hans wanted.

"Agreed, the defenses seem so small for a castle so sprawling." Hans seemed genuinely put off by that. "At least in the Southern Isles, the castle has a boatload of well-trained princes with swords, and maids who know poisons, and the castle is built like a castle. It's ancient, it's meant to be sieged and survive. Arendelle is too new for ancient sieges and building clockwise spiral stairs for defense. It's a little unnerving. Are you kingdom guards or castle guards? It seems the team is too small to protect a whole kingdom, too large for a castle-- but the castle is such a unique shape for a kingdom. As if someone began by building a house, and forgot to stop." He was amused by the concept, certainly.

"Part of it might be that I'm fluent in sign language, at least for my brother. We could spread that sign language in Arendelle, if there is no current sign language here. A standardization would help to bind Arendelle and the Southern Isles, if only very slightly. Not that I'm after that for any personal reason, but my brother Bernhard is Deaf, and he never leaves the castle if he can help it. No-one takes the time or energy to learn, but his brothers. It would be nice to expand his horizons, if he could be convinced to venture outside." It wasn't for selfish reasons, but for a brother that he took an interest.

"Ah well, you didn't want to talk about this, I'm sure. So, what do men of good standing talk about here? I'm sure you don't talk about women in quite the same way we do on boats, but I'm not sure what else you'd prefer. I don't watch sports, but I do know a thing or two about pirates and good adventure stories and the like." He didn't say he didn't talk about women, only that he suspected the Captain wouldn't appreciate him talking about them-- which suggested, at least, that he was still a warm-blooded male who did take an interest in the opposite sex.

"Arendelle's defenses became inadequate due to the luxury of living peacefully for so long. Like I've said before and it's quite obvious to see, even though we're a fairly newer kingdom, we haven't really adapted with the rest of the world. It truly is a miracle that we lived so prosperously until recently, it's a good thing our kingdom was often overlooked," he admitted a bit ashamed. "The castle guard, though I don't think it makes much difference either way, most of the military resides here in the capitol and the rest of the armed forces for the rest of the kingdom's provinces are heavily reliant on the militia. The entirety of Arendelle's defenses require an overhaul," the Captain let out a disgruntled sigh. "And yes, the castle wasn't built as much of a stronghold, since it they were confident on it's optimal location near the fjord would be enough to keep out intruders. In days of olde it might have sufficed, being able to see incoming attackers and being protected by the fjord, but it doesn't really work when the enemy knows your defenseless and manages to evade the natural deterrent undetected," he explained, which is what happened during the raid.

"I'm not aware of an official sign language in Arendelle, but it could be quite useful in more ways than just strengthening our alliance," agreed the Captain. He thought it was admirable that he thought of his brother and wanted to find a way to broaden his horizons. “Definitely something you should bring up to the Queen."

"And you are correct in assuming I would not partake in discourse about women, for I am a married man. Though I probably wouldn't engage, nor would want to either, out of respect, even if that wasn't the case. Stories are good, yes, but men don't have to be constantly yammering in order to be entertained Westergaard," chuckled the Captain. Hans did like to blabber like a parrot given the chance, not the Captain minded, he was an entertaining lad, but all this talk could be rather exhausting.

"Drinks and cards could be adequate entertainment." The Captain took out a pack of cards and placed them on the table.

Hans held up his hands in defeat. "No talk of women, fair enough. I only do because the men often do and otherwise it makes them difficult to converse with." He assured sweetly.

"Congratulations on the marriage, and on being so faithful. I've known some right bastard men who aren't." He shrugged. He seemed a bit off-put, though. "I don't get to talk much at home, so I speak too much everywhere else. What shall we play?" He could shut up as easily as he spoke, though now he had more to turn over in his mind. "You've kids?" He proposed, short and purely curious. The Captain seemed like he would have kids.

"Thank you," he grinned, appreciating the compliment, he truly loved his wife. "You don't have to hold your tongue, just saying that you don't have to yatter," the Captain assured him, he didn't wish to discourage him. "There aren't many card games for two, we could play piquet perhaps," he suggested, with a shrug. "Unless you have something else in mind."

"Kids? Just one so far," he answered. " A little girl."

"Ah, that explains some things about you." Hans joked playfully, at the idea of a little girl in the Captain's family. "Let's see, you can't be that much older than me, perhaps... ten at the oldest, the way you speak of her?" He proposed, purely guessing as a way to keep the conversation alive.

He imagined the Captain to be ten years older than him, or a few years younger than that; and he himself was twenty-four, plenty old enough to have a kid himself, though he had no interest in it at the moment. Most seemed to have children young, so he guessed based on that.

"I've heard of Piquet, but never played. It's usually poker on a ship, or spades. If we had more people, I could show you how to play Cheat, or as most people call it, 'Bullshit'. Or Spoons, if we feel like a bunch of children, I quite like that one." He had no fond memories of gaming with his brothers, they weren't the gaming sorts, or those that were ones he wouldn't want to game with.

"Maybe we should drag someone else into our games. There's Speed, I suppose." "Is that so?" he gave a hearty laugh. "Though I'm well aware I am an old man at heart, I truly might not be much more than a decade your senior. You'd suppose, by the way I am, that I'd marry much sooner, but I didn't get wed until I was a tad bit older than you are now, the ripe old age of 27. How old are you now Westergaard? 24-25?" he questioned.

"We had our little girl soon after, she's almost six years old, and if you do the math you can figure out how old I am."

"Piquet is a bit complicated to explain. So if you can manage to get some others to join us, which I'm sure wouldn't be hard for you, then we can play one of your suggestions either Cheat or even Spoons if you really like," chuckled the Captain. "Might be one of the last times to be childish before the rigorous training begins."

"Twenty four." Hans agreed, amused. "I tend to assume most people have children by twenty, but I often forget the age discrepancy between men and women, too. Women tend to be married younger, men older, that was my assumption wrong. I was close to right about your age, at least." He laughed a little at the thought.

"Oh nonsense, there's always time around the edges to be childish." He assured, with a casual wave. "As I said on the boat: Shiny brass buttons are all well and good, but if making your men shine buttons all day makes the men hate you, then damn the buttons." He waved casually, and took another sip of his drink.

"Who fancies beating the Captain of the Guard and the worst criminal in Arendelle at a friendly game of lying at cards? I'll teach, if anyone wants to join us." He knew they were both recognizable faces in Arendelle, and he used that to his advantage in the tavern, picking up the cards to shuffle them loudly, a call to most men in the kingdom. "No wagers, I imagine it would upset the Captain, but we can always make the losers buy drinks." He suggested playfully, grinning over at the Captain, as if to say 'You have not yet seen the beginning of my charisma'

"Would you believe, my brother Eduard is the charismatic one?" He teased. "We're all actors, the lot of us. Some better than others. I learned to be whatever I need to be. Eduard learned how to be himself so well that everyone liked him for it. A mirror and a portrait, in a sense. Some may not like him, but he and I were always quite close." He continued shuffling the cards, hoping to be joined.

"I'm in, it's a slow day." A barmaid suggested, pulling over a chair and straddling it like a man.

"Oh, I like you already, you'll be good at this." Hans assured, waving her into the game. "One more?" He proposed, looking around.

"I guess you're right about all work and no play," he nodded remembering the proverb. The Captain was well aware of Hans charisma, that's why he asked him to be the one to recruit players. The captain shot him back a look as if saying 'Don't test my patience, boy.'

With the Barmaid joining in, a young man at one of the nearby tables finally stepped up, to fill the opening.

"If Ida's playing, I want to join too," he said determined, calling the barmaid by her name meaning he was a tavern regular or knew her personally. "See if I can finally get a free drink from her," he laughed, flashing her a smile.

Hans grinned at the Captain, a little more childish, a little more playful at the look.

"Now, here's how we play." Hans shuffled one last time, and began to deal all the cards. "No cards withheld, we deal all fifty-two. Whomever has the ace of spades starts. You play as many Aces as you have in the center of the table. Then, play to the left. The next person plays as many twos, and the next as many threes, and so on. If you don't have any, lie. If you suspect someone of lying, say 'Bullshit' or whatever variant you prefer. If you're caught lying, you pick up all the cards. If you try to catch someone else lying but they told the truth, you pick up all the cards. We play until either someone is out, or we can continue playing until only two are left." As he finished, they each had their pile of cards.

"So, who has the ace of spades?" He asked sweetly. He picked up his cards to spread them.

"Two aces." Ida played first, boldly. She seemed passing familiar with this one, at least. "Good luck on that drink, Derrick, you'll be waiting on it a long time." She assured. Playful banter, without anger, and it was Derrick's turn.

"Waiting until the end of this game is a pretty long time indeed," Derrick bantered back. He stared Ida down for a moment. "I think you're bluffing," he asserted.

"You sure about that?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course! Bullshit!" he exclaimed over confidently.

"If you say so." Ida shrugged nonchalantly and flipped her cards to reveal an ace of spades and an ace of clubs, before a large grin crossed her lips.

"Dammit!" Derrick groaned in disappointment. Picking up the cards to add to his hand.

"Still think you'll be getting that drink?" Ida boasted, roaring with laughter. The Captain laughed earnestly as well, the game had just begun and it was already off to a great start. Hans' turn followed.

Hans laughed. "Who would bluff at the start of the game, when the ace of spades must start? You had me going, unless the Captain's deck has two aces of spades? Cheating at poker lately, old man?" Hans teased, calling the Captain 'old man' in the same way the Captain called him 'boy'.

Just playful banter so far as Hans was concerned.

"No no, don't pass it to me, you still must play, Derrick, twos to the table." Hans insisted.

Derrick grumbled and played two twos, and Hans suspected at least one was a lie, but decided not to call him out.

"One three." Hans laid down his own.

"So, what makes you the worst criminal in Arendelle?" Ida asked, confident enough in herself that she wasn't the least afraid to ask.

"My reputation, of course, it is all a man has. Tried to kill the Queen, if you believe the stories. Now I'm teaching the Watch how not to let it happen again, and somehow nobody's had me killed yet." Hans didn't seem the least bit concerned about the number of patriots to the crown in the bar-- which was all of them. He took a drink of his rum.

"Bold move, admitting that here." Derrick pointed out, with a bit of a scowl.

"Aye and it's bold to call Bullshit on a first turn, we're all full of surprises. I tried to kill the queen, then I saved her during the Weselton raid. One good turn deserves another, and one good captain deserves another turn." Hans gestured to the Captain for his turn, as he reorganized his cards without fear.

The Captain nodded and made his move.

"Four Fours," he declared, placing four cards atop the pile. Everyone looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was being either really bold or really dumb.

"Now that definitely has to be Bullshit!" Ida insisted, knowing the odds of that were highly unlikely, she might have been more prone to believe three, but all four seemed impossible. The Captain turned his cards and revealed that he in fact had not been bluffing. Ida's mouth was agape incredulous.

"No way," she uttered.

"Sometimes life is rather unexpected, wouldn't you say? One shouldn't easily dismiss seemingly impossible odds," commented the Captain, giving Hans a knowing look. "You never know, taking that risk might end up being one of the best decisions you've made."

Ida was a bit vexed collecting all the cards and adding them to her hand.

"Two fives," she said as she started the new discard pile. "And actually think it through before you call bullshit this time, will ya, Derrick." There was a slight grumble in her tone.

Hans chuckled. "Tell that to my scars, Captain. I believe you but my back doesn't." He joked.

Derrick was smart enough not to call it this time.

"One six."

"Bullshit, at least lie bravely." Hans turned the card over, himself, and shoved the cards back at him.

"Two sevens. The trick to playing Bullshit, is being reasonably good at math, and watching everybody else. If everybody is equally surprised that four fours are being played, and nobody has immediately jumped down their throat, he must have all four." He shrugged. "It was the best decision to return, the worst to make it necessary, I'd say. The whole coronation affair was indeed my biggest regret in life, but at least it got me here, so it's not the worst of possibilities." He considered it a bit before nodding, as if he'd had to gauge some other possible 'biggest regret'.

"One eight. Making the best possibilities out of the worst situations seems to be one of life's favorite things to do," suggested the Captain. "Odds are rarely in your favor the way you want them, so you gotta make due with what you got."

"Two Nines."

"Bullshit!"

"Well, look at that you actually got it right this time," Ida taunted.

"Of course I did!" Derrick gloated, with a large smile. "Two Tens."

"I wouldn't say 'favorite', but I would say 'required'. I am the thirteenth, I was never destined for good things. If I get anything, good or ill, it's to be fought for. Three jacks." He set his cards down and shrugged. "And what of you two? A barmaid willing to play cards with a Captain of the Guard and a criminal, you don't seem scared of much. The Castle Guards are hiring, and we're certainly accepting female applicants." Hans proposed, diverting the conversation.

"Oh! Is that so? I might consider joining the guard then," she laughed. "It does get rather drab at the tavern. I'm not afraid of brawling with the boys, ain't that right, Derrick?" Ida nudged him with her elbow.

"Bullshit!" Ida turned to glare at Derrick, ready to hit him upside the head, until realizing he wasn't the one that'd spoken though, it was the Captain. She looked at him in confusion for a moment then remembered the game they were playing. He wasn’t doubting her capabilities, but Hans' cards. The Captain was a bit flustered at the momentary misunderstanding. Clearing his throat a bit in awkwardness.

"I don't believe it," he stated, once more this time with a much softer tone and use of words, the last time he'd spoken. The harshness of the way he'd said it last time, seemed uncharacteristic of him, hence the slight confusion. His articulation seemed to suggest that he wasn't strictly referring to the cards, but voicing his opinion of what Hans had previously said. He looked for the cards directly to Hans as he waited for the reveal.

Hans seemed curious a moment, then smiled.

"You've caught me again, Captain." He revealed his cards-- two Jacks, and a queen. "Now which part of what I said were you also calling bullshit on? 'Never destined for good things', I wager? Well, take it as you like it, but I've never believed in destiny, only power of will and determination. Just because I wasn't 'destined' for good things doesn't mean I can't force them, so I went and became an admiral." He shrugged, and picked up the few remaining cards. "If one must lie, lie boldly." He reminded the others with a sly smile. "And so the game begins in earnest."

"At any rate -that puts queens on your shoulders, Captain.- I look forward to seeing a woman in the Guardstaff. I've never known a woman with a weapon who wasn't twice as terrifying as a man with the same. I faced a female pirate once; her crew was taken quickly and she was by no means its leader, but she was the last we could restrain, and she nearly took a chunk out of one of my men in the process. I admired her boldness. She was more memorable than even her captain. It's just a shame that in most places the punishment for piracy is death. Who knows, maybe she got out of it, Anne Bonny did." Hans knew a fair bit about pirates, even the long-dead historical ones.

The Captain smiled, a bit relieved, he was perfectly fine with Hans being a self-made man, he had just been disturbed thinking that he thought he was a good for nothing, luckily that wasn't the case.

"One Queen."

"I'm really tempted to join myself," Ida affirmed. "I can help spread the word. Aside from myself, I also know a few other women that might be a perfect fit, as well, not your typical ‘angels of the house’ gals. That'd be ready to throw down a challenge in a heartbeat. Besides y'all might need a woman's perspective, especially if the guard's consist of a bunch of dullards like Derrick."

"Hey, I take offense to that!" exclaimed Derrick.

"Of course you do. It was an insult afterall, dear Derrick." She razzed. "Two Kings."

"I'm no dolt! I like to see myself as a risk-taker that didn't get it right," he confidently corrected with a smirk. "Four aces." He really did have two additional aces, that's why he'd jumped the gun last time, but Hans didn't know that. "Oh I definitely want to see you and your friends on the guard. We'll have to get some feminine-cut uniforms. And no I don't mean 'skirts'. Can't have you going about in ill-fitting wool coats on the Queen's watch." Hans observed.

"Always one queen, I'm surprised nobody called you on that, Captain." Hans wouldn't say he knew better, he could only confirm the existence of one queen, but he suspected someone else had the other queens. "If you manage to get through this night without getting caught at least once, I swear..." He took a drink of his own rum. "Oh right, my turn. Two twos." Derrick, however, had played two twos before. Hans had suspected at least one was a lie, but was it?

The Captain chuckled at Hans' allegation about the Queen card. Sipping his drink as well.

"Good, cause if you made us wear skirts. I'd expect the men to wear them as well," Ida said in a dead serious tone.

"Ida, why did you put that image in my head?" Derrick started laughing hysterically at the thought of the entirety of Arendelle guard wearing skirts.

Hans laughed too, both at the Captain, and at Ida's joke.

"Ah, you see, us Queen's men know the truth-- there is always only one Queen." He joked, with a mock-posh tone, like the royal everyone tended to forget he actually was. "Thank god it's this one, the one in the Isles is--" He elected to drink instead of finish that sentence, looking off as if to say 'well, you know.'

"Yes, the gents in skirts and the ladies in armor, I'd pay to see that. New rule, anyone makes fun of the female guards, they get a guard skirt." Hans proposed, with a wry grin. "We can tell foreign countries it's a Scottish Kilt, they'll probably be fine with it. Until the Scots visit."

Laughter boomed, and far beyond just the party of four playing at the table, they were joined by some of the surrounding tables as well. Of course people have been eavesdropping. How could they not? Who could easily ignore the Captain of the Guard sharing a drink with the most infamous and worst criminal Arendelle had to offer. Everyone was curious, because outside the castle walls there was only gossip of Hans.

Hans grinned to himself, and cast a somewhat playful look to the Captain.

"Oh I have an audience now, do I?" He hummed. "Our next round may require a bigger table, then. Come on, if you're going to laugh, join the conversation, god knows I like to talk, and I like to annoy the Captain, who gets annoyed at my talking. It's a perfect setup." He joked, letting his charismatic attitude come out again.

He was quite the chameleon. Morose alone, but the more people he could get to laugh with him, the more he laughed as well. He could tell stories or get serious, he could be a fury in battle, but still could not bring himself to anger when righteously struck by Anna. He seemed very unique in his manner, ever shifting. The more people there were to attend to, the broader his personality had to be, the more in-tuned with the other personalities he needed to become. He could be funny, but never silly. He could be chaotic, but never wild. Playful and childish, but never so un-serious that he couldn't come right back to a stern look when he needed to. In spite of his drinking, he still had an undercurrent of control. He knew exactly what mannerisms he was putting on.

The Captain lifted an eyebrow and gave him a slight irked glance in return. An 'Oh, brother' could almost be read from his expression. He let out a bit of exasperated grumble.

"If it keeps you from talking my ears off, everybody is more than welcome to join," he quipped, taking another swig of his drink. The Captain made his next move in the game. "Also if you want me to get called out for any 'bullshit', I suggest you do it yourself boy," he challenged with a slight simper. He could tell Hans was trying to play it safe.

"Ah, the conflicting nature of my character. Do I do for myself, because I am a hard worker, or let others take the risk for me, because I'm not a fool? A fine question, we'll figure it out when others don't pounce on their turns too quickly to call it." He laughed a little. "Are you calling me 'boy' because you feel old even though you're younger than my eldest brother? Or because you're irked about me putting you on the ground in the sword demonstration earlier?" Now he was just being a shit. In truth he thought it was endearing, mostly, but he was beginning to wonder about the nature of it.

"Not a fool, ey? You say that, but I've heard otherwise. If I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure 'Fool' is one of your official titles, granted by the Queen even, what an honor," chuckled the Captain. If Hans was being a jackass, he wasn't going to hold back either. "I call 'em like I see 'em," he shrugged a little before adding. "Boy."

Hans laughed, caught by surprise.

"The Captain has bested me in my own game." He raised a glass in salute. "But for the record, I gave my own dumb ass that title, thank you very much. It was easier than explaining to the snow-child why an attempted murderer is telling jokes to the Queen." He shrugged. "For my next act, I shall balance on a chair. Doubly fun if my next glass is a double." He finished his drink and set it down, just being playful. He was sarcastic, of course-- unless someone challenged him.

The Captain finished his drink and ordered another round, who would pay for it would be determined later. The game continued, and Hans and Captain were the ones with the least amount of cards. Ida and Derrick were the ones calling 'Bullshit' mostly against each other and Hans, the Captain did seem to be getting away with his plays.

"You know what I just realized, Westergaard? Unless I'm mistaken, if you lose I'll have to pay for it too, cause I doubt you’re given pension." he brought up. "But knowing you don't accept aid and value hard work, I'm sure you'll find another way to compensate." Hans laughed. "Always, Captain. Hard work like training Her Royal Majesty and your recruits for you? I forget, am I a prisoner or a swordmaster? Nobody seems entirely clear on what my role here is-- least of all, me." He leaned back and shrugged a little. He didn't drink yet, wanting to be clear on the monetary situation. He did feel he held the right cards. "Or did you intend for me to start a brothel? I grant you I'm handsome enough Captain, but that really sounds more like my brother Eduard's thing." That was definitely delivered like a joke, but he grinned wryly at Ida, hoping she would jump in on that setup.

Of course, Ida jumped in without hesitation, she wouldn't miss out on the chance of flustering the Captain of the Guard, how often would an opportunity like that present itself? Ida played along and began to look Hans up and down.

"Oh, yes. Easy money for sure. A man with all your qualities, are very hard to come by," she observed, with a glint of the eye. "You could easily undertake an entire brothel all by your lonesome," she was slightly poking fun at Hans for the 'start a brothel' comment, since brothels required more than one.

The Captain had gotten flustered from the beginning, since he was indeed reliant on Hans, and that in itself was embarrassing enough. But, when Hans brought up the alternative and even if it was just a joke, had made his eyes widen and his facial features shifted to utter horror. It was rather easy to ruffle his feathers, with that subject.

"Oh dear God, no!" the Captain shuddered, covering his face with one hand for a moment, before making his fingers rub the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Anything, but that." Hans had really tested the Captain's patience.

Hans snickered a little. "Sorry Captain, twelve brothers have rather made me good at teasing. God knows we're no good for anything else until we can swing swords about. Anyway, whatever your last play was, bullshit." Hans had been watching the game in between witticisms, and noted that he and the Captain both were perilously low on cards. He wasn't stupid, the game only got good when the pile was thick-- though someone picking the pile up late, as often happened, made for an intrigue as well, for then no-one truly knew the fate of the cards. And if he had to pick some up, well, Hans was one of the few who had strategies for Cheat beyond 'the last card in anyone's hand is almost always bullshit'.

"Finally calling me out on my bullshit. Congratulations it paid off," concluded the Captain, picking up the pile after revealing his cards. The pile wasn't too big, but thick enough to significantly push Hans in the lead with the least amount of cards.

"Don't be too proud, captain, I was aware of your bullshit a while back, but what are friends for, if not supporting one-another's nonsense?" He joked dryly. "Or perhaps, is it rude to call you a friend of a treasoner? I would hate to insult you." That was much less of a joke, as he continued to watch his cards. "Is this a bad time to admit that this game can easily go for an hour?" He smiled a little to himself and drank his rum, but there was a bit of insincerity to it. Any time he got to thinking about himself, it seemed he got a little less genuine, a little less jovial.

"I'd be more offended if you didn't think there was some sort of camaraderie between us," answered the Captain. "Considering we're gonna be spending a lot of time working together. If you thought I was good for nothing other than jokes and buying drinks, I'd be insulted for sure." He chuckled.

"You know not that long ago, if someone'd told me I'd someday be sharing a drink with Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, I'da laughed in their face and thought they were crazy." He laughed a little to himself. "Look at me now, I'm playing cards even."

"Now don't go blabbing that the Captain of the Guard takes criminals out for drinks, if the guys in the dungeon catch wind of it they'll have themselves a field day," joked the Captain. He chuckled a bit then got a bit more serious. "You really think I'd ask anyone to share a drink with me? And much less a common criminal? If so, you're sorely mistaken, I only reserve that privilege for people I respect." The Captain raised his glass and drank from it.

Hans seemed a little wry, and gestured around him.

"I imagine anyone here would have thought it equally hilarious so much as a month ago. I bring out interesting qualities in people, and they do the same to me." He admitted. "Forgive me for not thinking much of myself. I've earned an admiralty and that much I consider admirable. An Admirable Admiral. Hah. But the rest I could take or leave. Maybe the swordplay." He gave an offhand shrug. "Princes are a dime a dozen in the Isles, and you get the thirteenth free." Still, that was a joke, but he seemed somewhat lightened. His tone fluctuated seemingly with the tides, for how fluid he could be, jokes and jibes turning into self-deprecation and mild loathing for himself alone, yet he maintained a tone of friends at a bar, no matter how many were listening.

-- The night at the tavern continued with a few more rounds of cards, after the first game concluded, to Derrick's dismay he lost the first game and had to buy the table drinks. After testing the waters with the first round, a lot of the bystanders decided to join in the fun, for themselves. Which meant more drinks, quips and laughter. After a few rounds and tired of being awarded something simple like alcohol, they'd decided to up the ante for the final round and raise the stakes to something that was worth a bit more, (not monetary, but something that'd put their dignities on the line) they agreed to bet that everyone other than the winner had to sing a song. The Captain was greatly relieved to have won that round. Soon after disbanding what seemed to be an endless concert of drunken singing, that dragged on a tad bit too long thanks to Hans actually enjoying the punishment and crowd continuously asking for an encore, the Captain finally called it a night. He decided it'd be best if escorted Hans back to the castle before he became too inebriated.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Fanfiction #Frozen Fanfiction #fanfic #Shattered Reflections

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squirrelacorngliterfarts · 5 years ago

Text

Blood. 11

“ow!” (y/n) seeths, her foot slamming into the chair to her right, she kneels for a second, having just woken up she felt very sensitive.

her knees were sore from having cradled ivar all night. but in all reality, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

she wondered where he was this morning. when she awoke, she saw that he was gone, a cold empty spot resided where he once lay.

it saddened her, but she knew she had to go at talking to ivar slowly. she didn’t want to push him, she knew not too.

she hears her brothers snort, with laughter.

she looks up and meets the eyes of ubbe, hvitserk and sigurd, all staring at her with smirks and mugs of ale in their hands.

“shut up, will you?” she laughs, walking over and slapping hvitserk upside the head.

“i wasn’t the only one who laughed!” he argues, catching her hand before she can do it again.

“you laughed hardest, i heard you” she says, making him roll his eyes, but kiss the top of her hand nevertheless.

“good morning, (Y/n)” he greets, the other brothers following in suit.

“good morning. shall i get breakfast started?” she asks, already heading to the kitchen.

“you know we have slaves to do that?” sigurd asks, but (y/n) just shrugs.

“is it bad that i want to cook for my brothers on this beautiful morning?” she asks, throwing her hands up, her brothers laughing once more.

“what got you in such a chipper mood? hmm?” ubbe asks, sipping his ale.

truth is, (Y/n) truly wasn’t ‘chipper’. she was downright sad.

poor, poor ivar. it killed her to even think of his name. she knew he’d be acting strange, and she wanted to take away from that, distract her older brothers so they wouldn’t ask such questions about last nights events.

she didn’t want ivar ot have to remember last night, even though, it’d probably already scarred his mind.

“i am just happy. can i not be happy?”.

ubbe purses his lips, waving his hand about.

“alright then. nothing wrong with that”.

she heads to the kitchen, and as soon as she grabs the wood cooking fork, the door opens, revealing ivar.

he and (y/n) stare at each other for a moment, a small smile coming to both of their faces.

he looks to the room where his brothers sit, then back at (y/n).

“i didn’t tell them anything” she whispers, making ivar nod and smile a bit wider.

“thank you”.

he crawls his way into the room, his brothers greeting him and patting him on the back. but they didn’t say anything, not from what (Y/n) could hear.

“so, our father is returning from hedeby. what are we going to say to him? hmm?” ubbe asks, referring to the england situation.

(Y/n) sighs, hating even thinking about it. she knew she couldn’t go, she understood why, but that doesn’t mean it still didn’t sting when someone mentioned it.

“as i told you, i’m committed to going with bjorn. i can’t go with father” hvitserk says, another thing that stung.

she hated that everyone she knew and loved was leaving her. she knew they’d come back, but it still felt as if she were going to be alone.

at least she had her mother, ubbe, sigurd and ivar......

“sigurd?” ubbe asks, catching his attention.

(y/n) sees sigurd smile, staring deeply into ubbe’s eyes.

“i don’t know how you can ask me that with a straight face, ubbe”.

ivar releases a dry laugh, digging into a small bowl of dried fruit (y/n) had made the night before.

“you know i won’t go with father. we have discussed this many times” sigurd says, his smile fading.

“our father was defeated. he lost. all the magic of his past raids and successes were also lost. nobody loves him anymore. nobody believes in him, especially not the gods”. sigurd says.

(Y/n) feels her heart sinking into her stomach, her eyes starting to burn.

“you think that’s true?” hvitserk asks.

“yeah, of course it’s true” ubbe says, but (Y/n) can’t believe him when she sees the look on his face.

“what about you?” ubbe asks hvitserk.

“me?”.

“yeah. you act like you are committed to going with bjorn, when, in fact, you could change your mind and go raiding with father. so, why don’t you, huh?” ubbe asks.

just as hvitserk was about to answer, (Y/n) comes in, carrying four plates of their breakfast in her hands, setting them down on their laps.

she stands to her full height, wiping her hands along her dress skirts.

“i do” she says, her voice thick with emotion and pain.

“what?” sigurd asks.

“i love him” she says sternly, making her brothers confused reactions soften to a certain sadness.

they didn’t want her to hear all of that....

“i love him. i believe in him, and i think the gods do too. especially the gods” she says, making sigurd look down to his breakfast, avoiding her gaze.

“i asked father if i could go, and he told me no”. all her brothers look shocked at this, except ivar who already knew.

“but if he told me yes, you know i would be there raiding with him in a heartbeat. he has made mistakes, like every other man and woman and child on this earth. like bjorn said, he is not a god, he is a man. a human. and if you can sit here and tell me that you have NEVER made a mistake, i will take back everything i said”.

the brothers say nothing, just looking to her with guilt.

she nods.

“exactly. i know he wasn’t here for us growing up. but imagine the guilt and shame he felt. i don’t know if i could have came back either. and if i came back to this....” she says, motioning to her brothers, thinking of all the horrible words they’ve sad about him. “i’d leave, too”.

she grabs her furs and heads for the door.

“where are you going?” ubbe asks.

“i need to get away for awhile. please, don’t develop a hate for me while i’m gone!” she says sarcastically, slamming the door behind her on her way out.

they all sigh, except ivar who just shakes his head at them.

“you are all bastards. none of you deserves our father....”. ivar looks to the door that she slammed. thinking of how loyal she was, a pure light in a world of darkness.

“except her”.

@darkwhisperswolf @youbloodymadgenius @blonddnamedhandz @thelastemzy

#ivar's heathen army #ragnar #lagertha #bjorn #gyda #aslaug #ubbe #hvitserk #sigurd #ivar the boneless #vikings x lothbrok!reader #vikings #imagine #fanfiction #writing

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mexcine · 4 years ago

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La foire aux chimères [Carnival of Illusions] (1946) review: La foire aux chimères (literally, "The Fair of Chimeras," also known as Devil and the Angel), turned out to be something different than I expected (having only read a one-sentence description). I'd imagined it was going to be a film noir about a middle-aged man whose love for a younger woman causes him to turn to crime and eventually lose his life--and all of this is true, except it's less of a film noir-crime thriller than it is a romantic melodrama. It's a matter of tone and emphasis. It’s still an excellent film, though.

La foire aux chimères is set in Paris, apparently in the post-war period (although I suppose it could be taking place in the immediate pre-war era)--there are no references to World War II at all. Von Stroheim's character "Frank Davis" is clearly a foreigner, and early in the film his supposed accent is mocked by his fellow workers (even someone who doesn't speak French, like me, can tell he's not a native speaker: while he is apparently perfectly fluent, he just doesn't sound the same as the other characters). Frank's nationality and background are not explained at all--even his scarred face is attributed only to "an explosion," but when and where that happened is not elaborated upon.

Frank Davis is the chief engraver at a large bank (which also creates money for foreign countries); one side of his face is badly scarred from an accident. Frank is a stern task-master and perfectionist who says the banknotes he creates are forgery-proof. On the night of his 50th birthday (von Stroheim was actually 61 when the film was made), the lonely Frank visits a carnival and wins a doll. He is surprised to see an attractive young woman with a goat on a leash: she is Jeanne, the "Angel" in a knife-throwing act at the circus, and is blind (it’s a seeing-eye goat). Frank and Jeanne chat and he promises to come see her act. At home, Frank is greeted by his middle-aged housekeeper Marie-Louise, who has baked him a birthday cake.

Frank returns to the carnival the next night, but the weather is bad and the circus decides not to perform. Frank buys up enough tickets to justify a performance, and sees Robert--dressed as the Devil--throw knives at Jeanne. Afterwards, Frank visits Robert, his girlfriend Clara, and Jeanne in their trailer. Money changes hands, and Frank leaves with Jeanne, who will become his wife.

Six months pass. Frank and Jeanne live in a large mansion, complete with butler (Marie-Louise has also come along, at Jeanne's request). However, Frank has been borrowing money to finance their luxurious lifestyle. Lenoir, a disgruntled employee of Frank's bank, urges Frank to visit Furet's nightclub/casino: Furet intends to force the indebted Frank to cooperate in a counterfeiting scheme. However, Frank stuns Furet by handing over a check for the full amount owed, and Furet suspects Frank has gone into the counterfeiting business on his own (and he has!).

However, when the police visit Frank to ask his expert advice on counterfeit money recently discovered, Frank panics and tosses the printing plates into the river--Furet witnesses this, and blackmails Frank into resuming his criminal activities, but as part of a larger gang. As more and more counterfeit banknotes circulate, Frank plays a double game, allegedly helping the police while creating the false bills at the same time. Lenoir is arrested but Furet has him poisoned in prison so he can’t implicate the others in the gang.

Jeanne, unaware of the reason for Frank's frequent absences, fears he's having an affair and undergoes surgery to restore her sight. However, Marie-Louise warns her that Frank will be devastated if Jeanne shows pity when she sees her husband's scarred face. Jeanne pretends to still be blind, but her relationship with Frank changes. Jeanne and Marie-Louise visit the carnival, and discover Robert has given up his act because he can't find a replacement forJeanne.

Learning Robert and his friend Doudou are giving up show business and intend to become sailors, Jeanne meets Robert in a café; he declares his love for her and asserts that she loves him in return, but she refuses to leave Frank. He says he'll be on the midnight train, with or without her.

Back home, Jeanne is confronted by Frank, who accuses her of deceiving him about her vision and of having an affair with Robert. She denies this, but when Frank continues to heap abuse upon her, Jeanne flees. Frank follows, but loses her in the dark streets. He goes instead to Furet's club, where he shoots the man in his office, then calls the police and starts a fire to destroy the counterfeit bills in the safe. When the police arrive, Frank does a deliberate back-flip off the balcony and falls to his death.

As the film concludes, Robert and Jeanne are performing their "Devil and Angel" knife-throwing act, this time in a large theatre in front of an appreciative audience.

La foire aux chimères is generally well-produced and -directed, but isn't especially stylish until the final 7-8 minutes, when it goes completely off the rails (most of it is shot in extreme dutch-tilt), in a good way. Von Stroheim throws restraint to the winds, first angrily berating Jeanne, then chasing after her in remorse, and finally attacking Furet. As he tosses the false bills around Furet's office, he shouts--perfectionist to the end-- "I hate this paper!"

The climax of the film is even more powerful because prior to this point Frank Davis has been extremely restrained: even his response to a cruel joke played by his co-workers (putting flies in his mashed potatoes) is cutting but calm. Frank is proud of his skill in creating banknotes and is respected as an expert, but his personal life is barren. His relationship with Jeanne is problematical: he essentially purchases her from Robert, marries her, and gives her a life of luxury (none of which she requests, but none of which she rejects, either). A telling moment occurs when Frank learns Jeanne has undergone surgery to restore her sight: he goes into the hospital chapel to pray, and while we aren't privy to what he is praying for, one can only imagine it is for the operation to have been a failure (the best-case scenario would be for him to ask that Jeanne regain her eyesight but continue to love him), given his reaction when she says she's still blind.

The film generally presents a positive image of Jeanne, but upon closer examination her character is perhaps not as "angelic" as one might first think. She is a passive character for most of the film--as noted above, Frank is the one who takes her away from the circus life, marries her, and installs her in a grand mansion. She only takes an active role when she fears Frank is losing interest in her; she then secretly arranges to have an eye operation, believing her disability has turned him against her (this feels a bit odd: one would imagine that Jeanne would have sought out this operation earlier for her own sake, since she has no idea that regaining her sight would make her less attractive to her husband). Even though she subsequently finds herself repulsed by Frank's appearance and admits (to herself) her love for Robert, Jeanne is willing to stay with Frank--out of gratitude, one assumes--but he rejects her.

However, there are hints that Jeanne is not perfect. After attending the circus as the only person in the audience, Frank visits the trailer where Robert, Clara and Jeanne live. Robert suspects the "wealthy" patron is in love with Clara (a bareback rider) and is jealous (it's stated quite early that he and Jeanne do not have a romantic relationship), but Jeanne rather smugly says she knows it's Frank, keeping his promise (made only the night before) to watch her perform. Jeanne readily jettisons her role in Robert's act and her "home" to go with Frank, and accepts the new life he offers her without a second thought. After she regains her eyesight, Jeanne treats Frank in a significantly different manner. It's possible this is solely the result of his facial scars (and the age difference), but it seems more likely that a contributing factor is Jeanne's new freedom and independence: she no longer needs Frank, and while she's not immediately disposed to leave him, her world has suddenly expanded.

Jeanne and Marie-Louise visit the carnival--Jeanne dislikes the tawdry world she left, now that she can actually see it--and discover Robert and Clara have broken up. Jeanne spots an old poster of the "Devil and Angel" act and--seeing Robert for the first time--remarks about how handsome he is. Later, Robert sends his friend Doudou to Jeanne with a parting gift: the "wings" from her costume. She meets Robert in a café and they admit their love for one another. All that prevents Jeanne from running off with him right then is her gratitude to Frank--in a true film noir, Jeanne would probably steal money from Frank and flee, so at least she's not a completely evil femme fatale here. Nonetheless, if Frank had never met Jeanne, or if at any point she'd balked at Frank's controlling ways, Frank would have not become a counterfeiter and murderer and a suicide.

While Frank and Jeanne get the most screen time and character development, La foire aux chimères gives its supporting characters some attention. Furet is suave and likes to quote poetry (even as he's dying); Lenoir, although a minor, nasty character, is even given a girlfriend (who works for Furet and inadvertently delivers poisoned chocolates to Lenoir in prison). Marie-Louise is introduced as a stereotypical stern housekeeper, but she goes to the trouble of baking Frank a birthday cake so perhaps she has a soft spot for him; when Frank brings Jeanne home, Marie-Louise thinks she's a whore, but winds up becoming Jeanne's friend and confidant. Robert tries to replace Jeanne but the new candidates for "human target" are unsatisfactory; he argues with Clara and finally realises he loved Jeanne and made a mistake by allowing Frank to take her away.

The performances are all quite satisfactory. Von Stroheim is a sympathetic character throughout, although hardly a downtrodden "poor soul"--he's lonely but not pitiful. When he first arrives at the carnival, Frank stops in a café for a glass of wine; two young women come in, and Frank buys them champagne. They gaily accept, but hurriedly make their excuses to leave when they see the “ruined” side of his face. Frank smiles ruefully as they go: this has happened before.

Frank perverts his engraver’s "art"--his pride and joy, even his reason for living--in an attempt to win Jeanne's love (which he appears to have, but not because he's given her a mansion and furs), then becomes infuriated when he thinks he's been betrayed. Von Stroheim is excellent: while many have an image of him as just a shaven-headed villain, in fact this is chiefly a function of his Hollywood appearances--a number of his film roles (especially in France) were sympathetic, in whole or part (La Grand Illusion, to name just one, or Macao, l’enfer de jeu, one of my favourite von Stroheim movies).

Madeleine Sologne, of whom I knew little prior to this film (although she had a decent career), has a rather hard (while not unattractive) face, but towards the end of the film she somehow becomes more beautiful, perhaps because she's more animated and real when she "regains" her sight.

La foire aux chimères is a very fine film. The plot is predictable but also tosses in a twist or two; however, the strengths of the picture are in the performances, the direction, the photography and general mise-en-scene, all of which are top-notch. Well worth watching.

#french film #erich von stroheim #film noir #romantic melodrama #la foire aux chimeres

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