#and giving the hawke legacy a second chance instead

[the-second-moon]

behold my beloved new child, catreus auratus hawke. "cat" to his parents. "rook" to everyone else. fake surname "mercar" for stealth.

(i.e., an attempt to craft a baby who somehow sprang from dorian and default male hawke. how does that work? magic. don't worry about it.)

i've only played the very start of da:tv..... twice, as it melted my old computer's insides on my first go........

so catreus is my second rook attempt, and he has enriched my experience in several ways:

after getting himself in trouble at home, "go stay with uncle varric until the heat on you dies down" makes a lot of sense for a baby hawke

my imagined "i get to hang out with uncle varric!" dynamic makes the opening part pretty cute :)

also "rook" really tracks as a varric nickname for a baby hawke, especially if his other dad saddled him with a pretentious tevinter name. you know varric's not saying all those syllables.

(ok look. listen. the chess piece explanation is a double meaning and/or just a clever varric obfuscation of the link to cat's famous dad. don't @ me.)

anyway i'm still very much processing how i feel about this game but i'm quite pleased with my son boy

[cryptidclaw]

Do you have any info about ashfur/fall in your rewrite??

Ok so I could go on forever abt him bec he's like a secondary villain in Po3 but here's me rambling abt his motives:

His mother Brindleface taught him this idea if the perfect Thunder Warrior life, become a respected warrior, get a loving and dedicated mate, have kits, cary on your legacy. He believed his mother deserved this over anyone else and yet... her mate was Darkstripe who cared little for her or his kits and ended up betraying them all. And to top it all off his mother was killed simply for dog bait by the bastard his father was obsessed with.

Ashfall became obsessed with going above and beyond in achieving this perfect life. He wanted to make his mother proud, he wanted to have what she had wanted as some sort of way to make up for her short life.

He becomes jealous of MANY cats who seem to have achieved this life so easily, he becomes isolated from much of the order... He has caused a rift in his relationship with his sister due to his judgment over her choices (she chose to not follow this lifestyle their mother taught, she had kits on her own and didn't take a mate for years) , at one point Ash even implied that Fern's kits' deaths were the fault of them not having a father....

Ash becomes OBSESSED with Squirrelflight, to him she is the perfect mate, she is not only a young, beautiful and strong Thunder Molly, she is also the daughter of the Leader and Second... if he were to become her mate he would be part of the leadership's family. Their kits would be heirs and if Squirrelflight become leader, Ash himself could have a chance at being Second. To him this was the peak of the honorable warrior's life , to achieve this would be the greatest success. To him he "loved" Squirrelflight because she was a symbol of his chance at that life he so desperately wanted.

Squirrelflight left him because he was obsessive and she could tell he loved the idea of her instead of her... and she knew she still loved someone else (Crowfeather). Ashfall was DEVASTATED, it was as though his whole future had been ripped away from him. Its no wonder he switched to being obsessed with vengeance instead.

...

Also similar to his reasons for becoming attached to Squirrelflight, Ash became obsessed with Hawkfrost bec he symbolized Ash's new goals. Hawk would give him vengeance, Hawk would love him, Hawk would make him his mate and Second, Hawk would help him get the final laugh.

[girl-mercury]

okay, i'll bite: "timegem" is quite the compelling word! 💎 reveal to us a piece of the war-tinted romance! 🇺🇸

(from the WIP meme, where i listed my many, many WIPs and asked for people to let me know what they're curious about)

This fic is set not long after Captain America: Winter Soldier, and through the power of the Time Gem or whatever the stone is called, Steve makes a wish for a second chance and old dying Peggy is spontaneously young again! How great, now she and Steve can live together here in the future, it all worked out!

... except, she's like 93 years old, in life experience. She doesn't know what a PDF is, okay? She's been married and widowed twice, she has great-grandchildren, and she has spent decades creating the legacy of an intelligence agency meant to keep the world safe, crafting connections across the world to ensure the stability of this institution that can weather its missteps and, she hopes, do more good than bad.

And Steve, her lost love from her twenties, just cannonballed into the side of that institution and blew up her entire legacy, to rightfully destroy the tentacles HYDRA had buried deep within it, but with no thought to preserving anything or anyone SHIELD kept safe, or keeping any of its secrets. Peggy might not have been the most fanatical as some of the Cold War hawks out there, and certainly had pursued the process of accountability for a number of bad containment policies of those decades, but the shades of grey she learned to see and Steve never had the chance to are making their sudden reunion a lot more complicated.

So she decides, time to go on a trip and see the world she had a hand in making, now that she's almost anonymous again. Along the way, she spends time with Fury, Natasha, and Bucky, and eventually finds her way back to Steve.

A SNIPPET:

Peggy slowly blinked awake in the morning sunlight, feeling an ache in her muscles like she had just completed a marathon, which wasn’t that inaccurate, really. She was in Steve’s apartment, and it was 2015, and she was in her twenties, give or take seven decades. It was luxurious, to wake up and be present in knowing where and when she was with a mind she could depend on. (It was also luxurious to have better options for sex than Milt and John asking her over bingo if she wanted to be in a threesome with them. Nursing home hookup culture was not for her, at least not if men were involved.)

Steve was asleep, laying rigidly flat on his back despite not having been limited to an Army cot in years. The sun glinted against his golden hair, and she resisted the urge to run her hand over it, not wanting to wake him. Instead, she pulled button-up shirt from his closet on, leaving the scrubs she’d commandeered from the hospital on the floor, and headed for the kitchen. The coffeemaker was simple and similar enough to the ones she was used to that she was able to get a pot started, after locating the bag of coffee in a cabinet. A quick peek out the front door (after checking for anyone looking in the hallway; she was aware of the security risk) revealed no newspaper on the doormat, which was a shame. Steve’s laptop was on the table, but she hadn’t used a computer in years, and even then it had been one of the big ones in the nursing home where someone had already turned it on and helped her log into her email. She had had a bit more luck with Google searches and saving her favorite news websites, but that had more to do with her understanding of Boolean expressions through codebreaking and programming, decades before anyone dreamed up Google. 

She was younger than some of her grandchildren, but couldn’t figure out these damn computers. She’d have to learn, that and everything else that young people did. It was almost enough to make her tired at the thought. She’d programmed computers in the forties, for heaven’s sake. Then the computers got small and difficult. And turned into phones that weren’t really phones anymore. 

Peggy sighed at herself. No matter what the mirror might say, she was old. 

She was on her second cup of coffee when Steve joined her in the kitchen. “I made a full pot,” she said. “I knew you’d be up eventually."

“I was going to cook you breakfast,” he said, and yawned. “I never sleep this late."

“You must have needed it."

“After last night? Probably.” He smiled, and leaned over to kiss her. “So, how many eggs do you want?"

“Oh, none, thank you. I’m not really a breakfast person, not since my youngest moved out,” Peggy said. 

“More for me, then."

“Do you get the newspaper?"

“Only on the weekends.” Steve took the carton of eggs from the fridge. There wasn’t a lot of other food in there. “Usually I just read the headlines on my phone."

“Well, I want to start getting caught up on the world, since I’m back in it."

Steve cracked eight eggs into the pan. “I think I still have all my bookmarks from when I was trying to get caught up. I can pull them up on the laptop for you."

“I’ve only got a few years to cover, thankfully,” Peggy said and smiled. She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee. “I'm actually  more used to reading briefs, when I was the director, so I may ask Sharon to get a few of her less-busy resources to draft briefs for me. I’m more interested in SHIELD’s involvement, so any analyst who can bring together the public record and the leaked SHIELD files would be best."

“Hill might be able to point you in the right direction, since she’s basically managing what’s left of SHIELD resources these days…"

“Thank you for the offering your bookmarked pages, though,” Peggy said belatedly. “I just have my habits, you know. When you’re in charge of an intelligence organization you don’t get much of a chance for leisurely reading, and a pile of briefs is much more useful to me than anything else."

“I’m sure it is,” Steve replied, and slid the fried eggs out onto a plate, then doused them heavily in hot sauce. Peggy winced as the vinegary smell drifted towards her, the accompanying spice burning her nostrils, but she knew Steve would probably think it was just a pleasant kick. “I haven’t had to deal with that side of things too much, on the strategy and operations side. I’m not sure I’d be too good with the diplomacy."

Peggy snorted. “Stick with your strengths, Steve.” She imagined him in some of the delicate situations she had managed; negotiating operational freedom between autocratic countries sounded explosive, with Steve in the middle of it, yet she had not come to it as a natural, either. “After the war, I had to deal with a lot of men who didn’t know my value, and I tended to charge right through any battle, to show I could punch as hard as they could. But sometimes I had to be more sneaky to get done what I wanted, and… well, you grow into the diplomacy."

“I guess you would,” Steve said. “You’ve lived quite a life, it just feels different now that—"

“That I look like I did when we met?” Peggy asked. 

“That you talk like you did,” Steve said. “You’ve told me stories, over the past few years, but they were just things that happened in the past, if you could remember all the details. Now you’re talking like the director of SHIELD. Hell, you sound like Fury combined with a few of the NSA divisional directors we’ve collaborated with, and maybe a few State Department officials thrown in."

Peggy raised her eyebrows. “You did read my CV at some point, didn’t you?"

Steve laughed. “It looks a little different on paper than sitting at my kitchen table."

“And you didn’t even read the classified CV,” said Sharon, coming around the corner.

“Goddammit, Carter, can you stop breaking into my apartment?” Steve complained.

“Romanoff said you didn’t mind,” Sharon countered. “Hi, Aunt Peggy."

“Romanoff is consistently full of shit. Especially when she’s talking about me."

“Hi, Sharon. You know, you’re going to have to drop the ‘aunt’ sooner or later, before it gets strange,” Peggy said over Steve’s grumbling. 

“Probably, but I’m not used to all this yet,” said Sharon. “I brought you clothes. I had to guess the sizes, but I figured these had enough stretch to make up for anything being the wrong size. I don’t want to cut your morning short, but we’ve got a meeting with Hill."

“I thought we might,” Peggy said, and stood. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and get ready, and we can go."

“I’ll only take five minutes,” said Steve. “And can you return my spare key, please?"

Sharon let out a laugh. “I don’t need a key, Rogers."

[anonmonitor]

My guess was that they saw the decline in interest and profits caused directly by the oversaturation of both star wars and marvel and panicked. Like when legacy came out they pushed it so hard because they wanted their own sci-fi franchise to compete with both of them, and dropped Tron immediately when they acquired whichever one they bought first. Tron is their plan C (although at this point it feels like Z).

In the past 2 days I've thought of more ways it could go Catastrophically Bad than in the timespan between now and 2013 (back when I watched the now defunct Tron wiki rss feed like a hawk) in the pursuit of mainstream appeal. I saw an article try and explain what on earth Tron was to newcomers as "The Metaverse" which unlocked an all new series of fears lmao. They could try to appeal to crytobros (made even worse by the cryptocurrency that shares Tron's name). Will didney try to use it to push anti-piracy propaganda (LITERAL you wouldn't download a car)? Will they turn it into a blatant cyberpunk rip-off? Will they milk it for Nostalgia Points as That Thing That Happened In The 80s despite being so late to the 80s nostalgia train that its turned back into ore in the ground?

But. Maybe, by some stroke of luck, they do it... Okay. Like I absolutely am going in expecting that nobody told them what the blu-ray extras were setting up and Tron as is tradition gets to be on screen for like 15% of the movie (despite being famously mike wazowski'ed in his own franchise and being often reduced to A Tutorial he had yet to my knowledge been COMPLETELY absent from an installment with the exception of Identity (although I don't know for sure since I still haven't played it yet). But even in Identity you could at least argue that he's still there as a piece of important mythology that the whole game hinges around similar to how 2.0 handles it with giving Alan Tron's circuits) and they fumble the bag a bit overall.

But if anybody working on that movie could gleam ONE (1) single thing about what message Tron sends is that it encourages and inspires people to get into programming. I will acknowledge my bias because I am One Of Those People! I saw legacy for the first time when I was 12 and took the first opportunity to code in high school that I could (even though it ran during lunch) and now I'm halfway through an engineering degree (My dad showed me the first movie when I first got interested in circuits at a much younger age but my main takeaway from that was a very hazy and incredibly incorrect remembering of the solar sailer scene so it doesn't count). MAYBE they take the movie back to its cybersecurity roots, especially with internet integrating into our day to day living to even more of a degree than the last chance they had to do that, from internet banking, to smart appliances to internet fishtanks to Bluetooth bathtubs and MAYHAPS stressing the importance of said cybersecurity. Hell, I'd be happy if they took the megaman battle network approach and had programs fight malware because the smart oven is threatening to burn someone's house down. I can imagine some cool concepts with them riding the airwaves and GAAAH there's so much potential that they absolutely won't live up to, and I'm kind of okay with that. I personally think that legacy didn't live up to its potential, like wow it's been so long since the first movie came out and technology has advanced so much since then I wonder how they'll do the internet and portable devices and automated systems and handshake protocols and zip files an- WRONG! SECOND 1980S ERA COMPUTER. Like even though legacy didn't live up to my expectations of a Tron sequel, I still enjoy exploring the "what ifs" and ignoring the parts of canon that I don't enjoy. If anything it could ignite new inspiration in the fandom :)

Or it could be really bad and we get to collectively point and laugh at it and declare Automan the third installment instead.

ANYWAYS in summary if they make a program have RGB gamer circuits I WILL laugh out loud in the cinema.

I legitimately wonder who the target audience for TR3N is even supposed to be. It's clear the Tron franchise doesn't have much in the way of mainstream appeal. And none of the actors or narrative elements of the previous films are going to be featured. So, why is Disney bankrolling this thing? Did they just get sick of Leto pestering them and finally agreed to green light the film just to shut him up?

Yeah all of this. I honestly don't know.

I have long ago given up on trying to understand the choices of any large system of human actions (corporation, government, religion, political party, but ESPECIALLY corporation) as if it were a rational entity making choices like a person.

many batshit conspiracy theories stem from sheer desperation to understand just WHY these conglomerate entities choose to do things that, as far as we can see... benefit almost nobody... and don't even benefit the group as a whole, in the long term

but I think their choices are better understood as chaotic clusters of individual choices within them.

a scattered handful of individuals, in a few scattered, momentary, significant positions of power to make choices, each individually make the choice that benefits... them, personally.

their choices add up to... the Entity, as a whole, taking a direction that looks like... utter nonsense, from every perspective imaginable.

It's as if each cell in your body suddenly shifted to the course of action that... could lead to the longest lifespan for it, as an individual cell

many cells would outlive their individual life expectancy, by days or hours or minutes.

But the body as a whole, and every cell in it eventually, would die far too soon

and no one would ask why the body chose to do this. Because, clearly, it had no choice.

...that was much more serious analysis than you probably wanted. But it is 3 am and I have been in solitary covid confinement for a week and my filters for what I will post online are thinning dangerously, like a veil between this and some even more horrible world

tl;dr the actions of large groups of humans are chaos. but especially those who make up something like fucking Disney

[shadowed-dancer]

Why Wash should be the next #1 hero

This started as a joke but low-key I accidentally convinced myself so now it’s a 100% serious analysis.

Spoilers for the manga below

In order to understand why Wash deserves to be the next number 1 hero, we must understand why all the other heroes on the top ten list no longer cut it.

Endeavour

Where do I even start? Do we want to talk about the abuse of his children? How about the quirk marriage? Is Endeavour getting better? Sure. Is he better yet? NOPE! As of now, Endeavour’s legacy is DESTROYED. The media seem to be out for blood, so I doubt they’ll even want him as the Number 1 hero anymore. Society won’t be able to trust him; he’s been lying to them for over 20 years, and the public deserves better.

Hawks

Hawks? The man who murdered a villain despite heroes having a rule never to kill? But sure, that’s not a fair point. Some people think that that was justified, and I’m not here to talk about that. But even if you think that Hawks killing Twice was justified, Hawks is just kind of... dumb (no offence). My man put his friend in a deathlike state, looked at his body, and said, “I’ll take him to a dude who named himself Cremation. I’m pretty sure he hangs out with a doctor who turns dead bodies into Nomus. Nothing about this plan can go wrong.” Hawks took a risky move, and the public deserves someone who thinks things through a little more. (Also Hawks himself said he doesn’t want to be Number 1 so... yeah).

Best Jeanist

Best Jeanist is seriously injured. The man is missing an entire lung! He’s been through so much, and honestly deserves to rest. But also, he’s kind of dumb. Same deal as with Hawks, he was totally fine with his basically-dead-body being taken to the villains, may I reiterate one of whom was named Cremation. Seriously? How did Best Jeanist not get torched or turned into a Nomu? Oh, also his jean puns. He should be docked 50 points just for that. Wtf is “illegal denim?!?!?!”

Edgeshot

Nothing against Edgeshot, but he’s far too stoic to be Number 1. He has a high approval rating, but I doubt that those numbers will mean much as society’s views on heroes start to shift. The world needs someone who is likeable, friendly, and makes them feel safe. Edgeshot is cool, calm, and collected, but not Number 1 material.

Mirko

Mirko, the GODDESS among us mere mortals. She is an amazing fighter, but she got seriously injured and loses an arm in a fight. While this shouldn’t affect her leg-based fighting, she has still been weakened. Give her a chance to recover, she doesn’t need to pressures of being the new Number 1 right now.

Crust

He’s dead. Can’t have a dead dude as your Number 1. Sorry Crust

Kamui Woods

While seemingly a good choice upon first glance, Kamui Woods is still inexperienced. During his fight at the hideout raid, he captures the villains, but fails to take out his number one weakness (fire-user Dabi). If Grand Torino hadn’t knocked him out, Kamui Woods would have been burnt to a crisp. This failure to prioritize his weakness against fire ends up costing a major loss against Gigantomachia. Dabi is able to burn Kamui Woods out of the sky, leading to him dropping Midnight and ultimately leading to her death. Kamui Woods needs to learn how to avoid those he's weak against, or learn how to counter them, before he can be the next Number 1. He can't rely on others to take them out for him.

Yoroi Musha

This man admits that he only wanted to be a hero in order to be loved and respected, and it shows. Just as hero society is falling apart, when people need proper heroes more than ever, this man turned his back on everyone and retired. Absolutely disgraceful.

Ryukyu

An amazing hero. Out of all the heroes on this list, I’ll place her at Number 2. We see during the Overhaul Arc that Ryukyu cares for her students and also for the safety of the child they’re trying to rescue. She rescues many during Shigaraki’s massive decay attack as well, but I cannot give her first place. She is shown to be too hard on herself, and while it’s always good to be aware of your own faults, she’s a bit too critical of herself to be an effective Number 1. How is the public supposed to have faith in her if she is always second guessing herself?

Wash

Wash. My man. The Number 1 hero in my heart. Not only does Wash also save people during the decay attack, but it’s his actions after the fact that speak volumes to me.

A few days after the massive fight, people have turned against heroes. AND YET, my man Wash arrives at the scene of a fight, only to find himself too late. The people throw things at him and yell at him, giving him every reason to be angry or to leave them, but instead Wash helps get the injured people to a hospital. He puts his own feelings aside for the needs of the public, and if that’s not Number 1 Hero material, I don’t know what is.

“But! But! But! Wash is part of the problem with overly-advertised heroes!”

You’re absolutely right! But consider the fact that every hero is dependant on popularity to stay relevant. And, if I do say so myself, Wash is doing it the best. Look at his billboard below and tell me he doesn’t have the best one.

Move over, Dabi, there’s a new character who owns my heart.

Wash’s advertisement is simple and gets the point across. He’s selling an actually useful product (laundry stuff), unlike some other heroes, who try selling beauty products or other frivolous things that pander to consumerism, Wash is out there trying to keep people clean and comfortable!

And consider Dabi’s words here. “The only ones these ‘heroes’ protect are themselves”. You know who didn’t just protect himself? Wash. Like I said before, Wash was out there protecting people who hated him because he’s a good person. Wash is still doing his job, even after the world has started crumbling around him, and for that he deserves to be the Number 1 Hero.

My new rankings look like this btw

Wash

Ryukyu

Edgeshot

Mirko (assuming she still wants to work)

Kamui Woods

Gang Orca

Hawks (assuming people still want him)

Mt Lady (let her on the top 10 list dammit!)

Present Mic???

Uh... idk anyone is better than Endeavour

...why the hell did I write this?

[londonspirit]

After the pandemic delayed its highly-anticipated release, the In the Heights movie is finally coming to very thirsty fans this Friday - and, to make the premiere even better, a special behind-the-scenes look at the movie is hitting bookshelves. In the Heights: Finding Home is a joint venture with Lin-Manuel Miranda, screenwriter Quiara Alegría Hudes, and Jeremy McCarter - it combines never-before-seen photos and oral history style-storytelling to take readers onto the Washington Heights set, spilling all sorts of filming secrets. Here, in an exclusive excerpt, read along as the cast battles record heat to complete the "Carnaval del Barrio" number.

Washington Heights is dense enough, and lively enough, to offer a distilled version of the New York paradox: Life is a nerve-fraying ordeal that you miss terribly as soon as it's gone. (According to local custom, people don't just double-park here, they triple-park.) Everybody knew that shooting a movie there would be difficult and expensive. But Jon [M. Chu, the director,] couldn't imagine doing it any other way.

For all of its fantastical touches-what Jon calls its "sing-to-the-stars-y" energy-Heights has always drawn power from its realism, a depiction of life as it's actually lived. The sweet spot for the movie, Jon felt, would be offering "a very truthful take on living in Washington Heights, then upping it."

In other words: No matter how fraught the process might be, the cast, the crew, and all of their gear-up to and including their fake sun in the sky-were going to spend the summer of 2019 in Washington Heights.

"The essence of a movie dictates where you shoot it," explains Kevin McCormick, a Warner Bros. executive who was integral to Heights. "And there's no way you could not have made this in Washington Heights. To have a movie about this community and not film there would be such a lost opportunity."

The first thing they did there was listen. Members of the production team, particularly Samson Jacobson, the location manager (born and raised in the area-a definite plus), and Karla Sayles, the director of public affairs at Warner Bros., met with community leaders to field questions and respond to concerns. Once again, Luis Miranda was a vital resource, drawing on relationships he had built over decades to make introductions.

The producers vowed to do all they could to limit the physical footprint of the shoot. Cast members shared trailers that they might otherwise have kept to themselves. The production hired people from the neighborhood for roles onscreen and off. Instead of catering every meal, they encouraged actors and crew to buy lunch in area restaurants. They even funded a student production of the show at George Washington high school.

What you see onscreen is a two-hour-and-fourteen-minute record of movie professionals falling in love with a place and its people. They arrived uptown to discover that Washington Heights really was different from most places in New York. Locals opened the hydrants on hot afternoons and played dominoes on the sidewalks. The piragüeros really did park their carts on the sidewalk to hawk their flavors of the day. The fascination seemed to be mutual: Actors got used to seeing whole families-little kids and their abuelitas-watching from their stoops at any time of the day or night.

Which is not to say that it came easily.

To Alice Brooks, the director of photography, the weather problems were "insane." If a storm popped up on the radar anywhere nearby, they had to suspend production. This happened with schedule-wrecking regularity. They expected to be free of such interruptions when they went underground to shoot "Paciencia y Fe" on the subway. Instead, they experienced a torment familiar to every New Yorker but with a twist: They weren't waiting for the train to appear so they could ride it to work, they just needed the garbage train to pass by so they could go back to shooting their movie.

The need to solve the endless riddles of New York filmmaking had led the producers to add Anthony Bregman to the team. At this point, he reckons, he's filmed in just about every corner of his hometown, always looking for ways to capture the authentic look and feel of a place-even when the movie is surreal. (He produced Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a valuable point of reference for the reality-bending frame of Quiara's screenplay.) So he wasn't especially rattled when, on the night they filmed "Alabanza," a nearby building caught fire, or when, on another night, gunshots rang out nearby.

"You want the life of the city?" Anthony asks. "The life of the city is complicated."

The production lost valuable shooting time on both of those nights. They found ways to make it up later. But other days offered no second chances. Anthony remembers looking at the calendar before summer began, getting a feel for what lay ahead. Some days seemed manageable; some days seemed tough. Then there was "Carnaval del Barrio."

"That day," he says, "was impossible."

What turned out to be a defining episode in the whole long history of In the Heights almost didn't happen at all. Many a movie executive had suggested over the years that there wasn't enough plot in "Carnaval del Barrio" to justify a song that was very long and very crowded, which made it very expensive. But the song's power doesn't come from the plot, it comes from the theme. The characters rally one another's spirits amid a citywide blackout. They raise their flags and celebrate their heritage-and their humanity-in defiance of every force telling them not to.

That community-fortifying aspect of the song is "essentially the DNA of In the Heights for me," Quiara says. Beneath the joy, there's a legacy of struggle and resilience. " 'Carnaval' unearths that history. All we have is our fight to be here together, the testimony to our spirit."

To help ensure that the number would remain in the movie, she hooked it into the plot more securely, situating it as a farewell number for the salon ladies, who have been priced out of the neighborhood. But the budget wasn't the only limiting factor. "Carnaval" is unique in requiring virtually every member of the cast to be present at the same time.

The actors' complicated schedules meant that Jon wouldn't get all the filming days he wanted. He would get only one.

Which meant it was time for the hard, slow, unglamorous legwork of moviemaking: planning, organizing, rehearsing, designing, equipping, and rehearsing some more-months of it, all to give themselves the best possible chance to "make the day," to film the whole gigantic number in the time available.

In the world of making movies, "day" is a flexible unit of time, especially for a scene that would be filmed outdoors- in this case, a courtyard between two apartment buildings around the corner from where Lin went to preschool. They scheduled the shoot for a Monday, when union rules would let them start the earliest. And they picked June 24, one of the longest days of the year.

They didn't realize it would also be one of the hottest.

The song would be filmed more or less in order. Which meant that for the production, as for the characters, the salon ladies would lead the way.

Some of the movie's actors were new to musicals. Not Daphne Rubin-Vega, who plays Daniela. When Rent blew the mind of seventeen-year-old Lin-Manuel Miranda, she was onstage, playing Mimi. But when she arrived for hair and makeup on "Carnaval" day-at 4:30 in the morning-even she was feeling nerves. The uneven concrete floor of the courtyard wasn't like where they had rehearsed. The prospect of filming a seven-page song before nightfall seemed crazy.

She began to hear a voice of doubt in her brain, one that's encoded in a specific ugly memory. After wrapping her first film, she had gone to the airport to fly home to New York and mentioned to the woman at the ticket counter that she had just acted in a movie.

"That's funny," said the woman, who Daphne believes to have been Latina like herself. "You don't look like an actress."

Worries about how they looked, questions about what they were wearing, a general feeling of negativity-Dascha Polanco was feeling them, too. She always loved arriving on set to play Cuca, one of Daniela's fellow salon ladies, because it felt so much like coming home. She was born in the Dominican Republic and while growing up in Brooklyn used to make frequent trips to the Heights with her friends. ("Washington Heights is a small Dominican Republic," she explains.) Now she, too, wondered if she belonged. Am I capable of remembering the steps? she asked herself.

She decided to stop those doubts-for herself and the other salon ladies. She grabbed the hands of Daphne and Stephanie Beatriz, who played Carla, and formed the women into a profane prayer circle.

"Shake that s--- off," she told them. "I'm not going to let anyone or anything interfere with my performance today."

Daphne laughs as she tells the story. "She was so hilarious and said we were going to protect each other from that insecurity. That was such a beautiful thing-going in there with that determination to represent."

By 5:30 A.M., when the sun rose over Queens, sixty dancers had arrived. Christopher Scott, the film's choreographer, tried to prepare them for what was coming, backed by his full team of associate choreographers: Emilio Dosal, Ebony Williams, and Dana Wilson, as well as associate Latin choreographer Eddie Torres, Jr., and assistant Latin choreographer Princess Serrano. By six A.M., dozens of crew members had joined them, making the thousand careful adjustments needed to help a movie look spontaneous.

It was almost nine A.M. by the time Jon called "Action." The cameras started rolling, Daphne started singing, and the clock kept ticking.

Arrange the actors, position the cameras, do a take, reset everybody, do it again. As the sun climbed higher that morning, the temperature rose to what one crew member estimated to be nine hundred degrees. Look closely-see the sweat on people's bodies? Most of it didn't come from the makeup department. But there wasn't time for extra breaks to cool off.

"Please be quiet," a voice on the loudspeaker boomed at one point. "We gotta go."

At one point that morning, Jimmy Smits got his turn to shine. Playing Kevin Rosario wasn't his first Height experience. He had seen the show Off-Broadway and been "blown away" by it, he says. He had offered to help in any way he could, eventually recording a radio ad for the show.

His devotion to Heights carried into rehearsals for the film. As they got underway, he told Chris Scott and the choreography team, "I know I'm playing the dad, but the last thing I want to see is myself in the background, just waving my hands. I want to go all in." They obliged him. He sometimes hobbled home from the dance studio to ice himself for hours.

His payoff came on "Carnaval" day. He had a featured moment in the song: an intricate, whirling combination. The cast and crew watched him do it again and again, cheering him on. He could feel "a lightning bolt of energy" around the set, something he'd experienced only rarely in his long career.

Over the applause after one take, a voice rang out, ricocheting off the walls: "That s--- was crazy! For our ancestors!" It was Anthony Ramos. He, too, had a long history with Heights, but it wasn't as happy as Jimmy's.

Very early in his career, he had tried to get cast as Sonny on the show's national tour. It meant taking a bus into Manhattan from a gig he was doing in New Jersey, going through round after round of auditions. At last he made it to the big moment: a callback in front of Tommy Kail, Alex Lacamoire, and Lin himself.

He gave the song everything he had. He didn't get the part.

He thought he'd missed the one chance he would get to work with Lin, the writer who'd evoked Anthony's own world, Latino New York, so beautifully on a Broadway stage. He needn't have worried. A few years later, the same guys would hire him to originate the roles of John Laurens and Philip Hamilton, Alexander's son, in Hamilton.

When Anthony got to know Tommy and Lac well enough, he asked if they remembered not casting him as Sonny. They said they did.

"You weren't ready yet," Lac said.

Anthony knew he was right. "Only a homie would tell you that," he says.

But he needed one more break to make his way back to Heights and find himself sweating in the courtyard that morning.

In 2018, Stephanie Klemons, an original cast member of both In the Heights and Hamilton, directed a production of Heights at the Kennedy Center in Washington. The night before rehearsals were set to begin, she lost an actor to an injury. She reached out to Anthony: Could he step in with zero notice?

He didn't feel physically or mentally ready, and was about to pass, but decided to do it. That's how he got a second chance to show Lin what he could do in Heights-not as Sonny this time, as Usnavi. In a series of tweets, reproduced on this page, Lin commemorated how overwhelmed he was watching Anthony step into the role he once played. He, Quiara, and Jon all agreed that when the cameras started rolling, Anthony should be their Usnavi.

The bond between Anthony and Lin added to the drama of filming "Carnaval." Lin played Piragua Guy, so he was in the courtyard, too-or, rather, directly above it, on a fire escape. It meant that the whole cast and crew had a clear view of the brief duet that he and Anthony sing in the middle of the number. To people who knew their history, the sight made time go all swirly. Anthony had originated the role of Lin's son in Hamilton, and now he was playing the role that Lin had originated, and somehow the two of them were singing a duet in Washington Heights.

A quirk of the production process made the moment even stranger and more potent. All day, the actors had been singing along to prerecorded versions of "Carnaval" piped over the loudspeakers. But somehow they hadn't gotten around to recording Anthony's side of his duet, so they had to fall back on the only other version on hand: the Broadway cast album. Which meant that Lin wasn't just singing with Anthony that day, he was harmonizing with himself at age twenty-eight, when every bit of what was happening around him would have seemed like a ludicrous dream. "It was like time travel," Lin says.

By three p.m., when everybody had returned from their lunch break-blood sugar bolstered by the ice cream truck that Stephanie Beatriz had hired-time was growing shorter, the day hotter. Now when choreographer Chris Scott talked to the dancers, many listened with hands on hips, hands on knees.

From his fire escape, Lin did his bit to keep up morale. He joined in the clapping that broke out between scenes; he made silly faces; he pulled up his shirt and did belly rolls. Guests watched from the edges of the shoot: Lin's dad and wife, Quiara's sister, Chris's mom, Anthony's sister and mom. Anna Wintour stopped by.

Jon is not the type to direct through a bullhorn, barking orders from the shade. When they'd filmed "96,000" earlier that month on a couple of unseasonably frigid days, he had jumped in the Highbridge Park pool with the cast.

On this day, he darted around the courtyard, giving notes to actors, framing shots, conferring with Alice. He is also not the type to speak in mystical terms, but when he thinks back on that day, he remembers "the sun shining down like a laser-it was like the sun was shining out of everybody."

By late afternoon, the boundary between the make-believe world of the movie and the real world of the shoot had all but melted away. They had reached the part of the song where Usnavi and Daniela try to call forth their neighbors' pride in where they come from. Anthony climbed onto a picnic table and faced the whole cast, rapping, "Can we sing so loud and raucous they can hear us across the bridge in East Secaucus?" Daphne stood near him, arms wide apart, raising them up, willing everybody to stand tall, to keep going.

Both of them were throwing all their skill and commitment into their performances, the stars of two of Broadway's epoch-making musicals doing what they had trained to do. But they also weren't acting.

"To raise the flag for your country, to dance and recognize that we're all here together, and belong here, we don't need to be forgiven for it, or ashamed for it," says Daphne of what she was feeling. "There's a pride in being here from Colombia, or Panama, the D.R., Puerto Rico, Cuba, wherever."

At eight o'clock, with the sun sinking toward New Jersey, the dancers were still dancing. Eleven hours had passed since Daphne had belted out "Hey!" to start the song. Now Jon was trying to get the right take of sixty-plus voices shouting "Hey!" to finish it. In the movie version of the scene, the blackout ends when the song does, so a voice on the loudspeaker would announce, "The power's on!" That's how the actors knew the right moment to cheer that it was over.

After one such cheer, it really was over. Not just the take-the song.

They had done it. They had made the day.

Jon jumped into a swarm of dancers. (Ever see a baseball player hit a walk-off home run, then leap onto home plate into the waiting arms of his cheering teammates? That's what this jump looked like.) People were clapping and shouting and hugging and crying. Alice thought the whole thing was a miracle.

"You know when you see people at a concert cry, and you're like, 'I would never do that'?" asks costume designer Mitchell Travers. "That's what I did." He thinks it's the most sheer human energy he has ever been close to.

Anthony Ramos, in the middle of the crowd, launched into a speech. He can't remember his exact words. He hadn't planned what he was going to say-he hadn't planned to speak at all. He just felt that something needed to be said.

"I might have said, today we made history," he recalls. "This was for our ancestors who didn't get the opportunity to do this-who were fighting to have a chance to do what we just did. It was for love of the culture. It was for our kids, who look like us, to be able to see themselves on the big screen, to see us singing about our pride. Some s--- like that."

Somewhere in the crowd stood Dascha Polanco, cheering with the rest. She was sweaty, tired, tear-streaked-and beginning to feel the spirit move.

"I looked down and saw that concrete floor," she says, "and I saw those fire escapes up there, and I was like, 'New York.' "

She began a chant. It was slow and pitched low: "N-e-e-e-e-w York, N-e-e-e-e-w York." In seconds, the whole crowd took it up. "N-e-e-e-e-w York! N-e-e-e-e-w York!"

They were pointing to the sky. They were dancing.

"N-e-e-e-e-w York! N-e-e-e-e-w York!"

"It wasn't like chanting, 'Oh, I love New York,' " Anthony says later-meaning it wasn't a casual thing someone would casually say. "It was"-he drops his voice an octave and leans in-"I motherf---ing love New York. I'm proud to be from New York. I'm proud to be Latino from New York. That was the chant."

Lin, on his fire escape, was overwhelmed. Quiara, in the courtyard, guessed that people could hear them all chanting for blocks around. "It was the sound of joy and survival," she says. "And the sound of people who were really proud to be artists in community together-all our stories braided and interwoven at that one moment."

The long months of preparation had yielded the thing that movie people dream of creating: the burst of real emotion, the flash of genuine spontaneity. Some of it infuses what you see in the finished version of the song, but some of it can't be recovered now. It's an experience only for the people who got to be part of that impromptu celebration, the carnaval that followed "Carnaval."

That long day and its joyous finale capture, in miniature form, a lot of the Heights experience-what's powerful about it, what's rare. Instead of expecting little from the actors it featured, Heights demanded everything-not just what they could do, but who they were and where they came from. By fusing them with dozens of other artists making the same commitment, it gave them the feeling that Lin had wanted so badly for himself when he started writing the show: a sense of belonging, of being part of a group of people working toward a goal they all hold dear. That's why Anthony, looking back on filming "Carnaval," says, "That was one of the greatest days of my life. Period. If I never do another movie again, I did this."

"Something that arises in 'Carnaval' is a feeling of, 'There's a place for us,' " says Quiara. "But the place is not one that says, 'Oh, I definitely fit in' or 'I definitely don't.' It holds those questions. It allows those questions to exist."

Those questions, she has come to see, are universal.

"People are like, 'What is my place in the world?' That question is actually part of your place in the world," she says. "There's something about In the Heights. It takes such a burden off to hear, 'Yeah, there's a place for you. Here it is.'"

[peridot-tears]

MDZS but it’s Percy Jackson

Idk. Consider this PT’s coming out of retirement to make her last contribution to the fanfiction world. Will be moved to AO3 soon. Enjoy.

--

The new boy could shoot better than Wen Ning.

Wei Ying, everyone called him. The “ying” stands for “baby” or “infant”; not “hawk,” as he first thought.

Strange. It was more a nickname than a proper name, but one look at his boyish, sunshine face, and it was evident that something more proper would be unsettlingly serious. He had a big, stupid grin that was equal parts coy and...more stupid.

“Earth to Lan Zhan.”

He startled. “Ge.”

Lan Huan smiled at him indulgently, which Lan Zhan knew to be his big-brother smile before he thrashed him like a normal sibling. “If you’re so into him, why don’t you go make friends with him?”

“Ge...,” he said, only changing the intonation half a dial.

Lan Huan’s smile changed serious, just a little bit. His eyes flicked towards the new boy, whose arrow flew across the sky, and struck the target dead—because of Wei Ying’s hawk-like eyes.

“A-Zhan,” he said. “You’ll be claimed someday, and move to a cabin other than Hermes’s, but they are still good to us for taking us in. And, it is prudent to have friends in other cabins. He’s already made friends with those two from Apollo’s cabin.”

Lan Zhan felt his lips thin.

He didn’t respond, didn’t need to. But when it was his turn to shoot, and the new boy whooped for him and called him, “Lan-er!” he did not ignore him; he spared him a glance, and then refocused on what was important there and then.

His arrow thudded into the target. Dead and center.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wei Ying said to a boy next to him—someone Lan Zhan had seen with him before, attached at the hip—“let me go again, Jiang Cheng. Let me go, let me go, let me gooooooo.”

“My gods,” said the boy, rolling his eyes. “Fine, if it’ll make you stop whining.”

Wei Ying whooped; Lan Zhan hardly registered as he brushed past him to reach the spot he had been standing in seconds ago, because he was busy registering Wei Ying brushing past him. “That was a good shot, Lan-er,” he said.

Lan Zhan bit. “How do you know my name?”

“Who doesn’t know the great and refined Lan Zhan, brother of Lan Huan, who sleeps across my bunk in the cabin?” Wei Ying asked, eyes sparkling with mirth, like a naiad’s. “They say you’re the next Percy Jackson.”

Lan Zhan wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that.

Wei Ying winked at him, like a naiad trying to seduce him, and turned back to face the target, nocking his arrow. “看好了蓝湛“，he said casually, in their shared language.

Without realizing it—no one else was shooting on the range, all eyes on Wei Ying, so of course he would too—he obeyed.

Wei Ying had chosen a classic bow, all wood and strung with something hand-coiled. He stretched it back, all angles between the bow, the taut string, the cock of his arm. The feather of the arrow moved over his profile. It slid past his eye.

With a smirk, he released.

That was why he had chosen to take up Lan Zhan’s target...before anyone could collect the arrow Lan Zhan had shot. Wei Ying’s arrow touched the end of his in the blink of an eye; in another blink, it had pierced his through.

Wei Ying was not done. Before any demigod had the chance to bring their hands together, he had pulled and fired again, twice, three times, until there was a neat stack of arrows pierced together in a pile against the center of the target.

“You can clap now,” he told the stunned demigods gathered around the range.

They did, breaking into claps. Wei Ying turned back, casting another glance at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan felt his breath catch in his throat.

—

It was the first in a series of episodes in which Wei Ying played a game of Rile Him Up, with Lan Zhan as the main goal. And each time, it stirred up a raw feeling in him that made him go absolutely mad.

“He seems to want to make friends with you,” Lan Huan commented on their outing for strawberries.

Lan Zhan stopped their trudge up the hill—glide, more like, he refused to let his back bow more than necessary even on an upward incline—to sweep the horizon, the valley in the sunset. It was an orange sunset today, drowning Camp Half-Blood more than the sparkling sea in the distance could reach.

“He spilled my soup yesterday,” Lan Zhan said, and his older brother was kind enough to not add, But he immediately offered you his entire lunch and claimed he wasn’t hungry anyway. No, he just let it hang silently in the air instead. Lan Zhan had the best older brother in the world.

“He can be thoughtless at times, but still so thoughtful,” Lan Huan finally said, and this thought must have circulated in his mind for quite a while, because he said it after they had picked a basketful of strawberries in comfortable silence.

Sometimes, Lan Zhan thought he should be more talkative when they had these moments together; his brother was spending more and more time with that Meng Yao, also unclaimed, and if he were Wei Ying, he would probably be begging for Lan Huan’s attention back the way Wei Ying did Jiang Cheng. But he had such a secure attachment to his brother, who had been here when Lan Zhan was born silently as he lived. Lan Huan could go far, far away, but he would always come back for Lan Zhan to treat him with cold indifference. That was his love language, after all.

Why does Wei Ying want my attention?

Why does Wei Ying cringe at every mention of Cerberus, Hades’s hound?

Why does Jiang Cheng keep telling Wei Ying not to bother me, but then roll his eyes and look at me like I was the one bothering them?

Why am I thinking so much about Wei Ying?

“Didi,” Lan Huan said.

Out of it, Lan Zhan found his brother’s gaze. They were almost back at the Hermes cabin. “Ge.”

He just smiled. Lan Zhan was not sure whether to be annoyed or endeared. Well, it was his brother—so both.

The Hermes cabin was so loud this time of day, when everyone ought to be tired right before bed. But instead, it was crowded, and bustling, and there was one particularly guilty culprit in the middle of it all. Its name was Wei Ying, and its laughter could power an entire skyscraper in Monsters Inc.

Which he, of course, was narrating in great detail.

“Mike Wazowski is a Cyclops with amnesia!” he argued, while Jiang Cheng hovered in the background, rolling his eyes.

“Mike Wazowski took his girlfriend on a date to a sushi restaurant,” said another of the boys—Nie Huaisang, an actual, born son of Hermes. There had been a vague sense that he and his brother, Nie Mingjue would take on the legacy of the Stoll brothers as Cabin Eleven’s co-head counselors...until Mingjue had been claimed by Ares.

It was none of Lan Zhan’s business, but everyone wondered what kind of woman had managed to snag both Ares and Hermes as fathers to her children.

“Therefore,” Huaisang was continuing, seeming almost offended, “why would he eat fish? Poseiden’s pretty much all of them’s dad, that’s like eating his brother!”

“Well, yeah,” Wei Ying fired back, “that’s why he doesn’t know. Because amnesia!”

“The body remembers when the mind forgets!” Huaisang responded. “J.L. Moreno, the creator of psychodrama.”

“How do you even know that, when you can’t read?” Wei Ying fairly shrieked, obviously seconds away from calling his friend a nerd.

“You and I both have dyslexia, you know we can still read a little!” Huaisang actually shrieked.

Lan Huan cleared his throat.

All heads turned towards them. Lan Zhan wanted to be the younger brother rolling his eyes right now—Lan Huan had stage presence when he wanted to, didn’t he? But he had been taught to never, ever, ever roll his eyes, so he settled for giving everyone the cold shoulder as he walked away instead.

“We have procured some strawberries,” Lan Huan said goodnaturedly, and the entire cabin exploded in the sudden rush to gently wrest them from him before they were all gone.

“Me first!” Huaisang said, drowning somewhere in the middle. “I want to give some to my brother!”

“The Ares kids can pick their own strawberries!” Jiang Cheng huffed, strolling back to his bunk. He slept under Wei Ying. Wei Ying had the top bunk. And Lan Zhan had the next top bunk. They were next to each other.

Below him, the entire, considerable mass of Hermes demigods had turned into a sea of sardines. Had he and Lan Huan even picked enough?

Out of that sea exploded Wei Ying. “There aren’t anymore!” he exclaimed to the crowd that he was probably trampling his way out of right now. “No more, no more...sorry, guys...”

“You just put them all in your pocket!” one of the Hermes kids shouted. There was a split second of silence, before the shrieking cabin kids flung themselves at him. Those shrieks turned from accusing to disappointed as they realized...surprise, his pockets were flat and empty against his legs.

They pulled back, leaving him blinking innocently. “Why would I do that?” Wei Ying asked, sounding offended. “Why would I get more than my share? I don’t even like strawberries.”

“Uh-huh,” some of the demigods said, disbelievingly, but there was nothing else they could do. They drifted back to their beds, or the front stoop of the cabin, cradling their precious red-flavored catch of the day.

It was only once Wei Ying was left to his own devices that Lan Zhan turned his head to see him huddled with his brother and sister in the corner, gently pressing strawberries into their hands. Squint, and he could see them rolling from his sweater sleeves.

That clever little...

Truly, he was a son of Hermes. Lan Zhan could not wait until he found out who his father was, and he could finally go someplace where he would not have to hear Wei Ying snoring at night.

And yet, it was nine. Wei Ying was still huddled in the corner, giggling and whispering with his siblings. These sounds were keeping Lan Zhan awake, though his eyelids were heavy and he wanted to give in to that lull.

It was not until Wei Ying clambered his way into the bunk across Lan Zhan’s that his soft, happy snores filled their side of the cabin.

As he finally fell asleep, Lan Zhan realized that he had familiarized himself with the sound of Wei Ying’s snores.

—

Spring had finally burst into a full, ripened warmth that was gentle to them even at night. Wei Ying walked around in short sleeves now, which meant that he had to find a better way to hide things.

Lan Zhan sat by his brother as food appeared on his plate.

“Ah, your favorite! Watery soup!”

He twitched. “Wei Ying!” he said sternly, just barely stopping himself from covering his soup with his hands.

“Ah, I’m not gonna spill it this time, promise, promise!” Wei Ying said. “I said sorry for last time too, right? You can even have some of my food this time around! Or I could climb over and get some strawberries for you right now.”

Lan Zhan could feel his brother’s gaze on them both. “That will not be necessary,” he gritted out, picking up his spoon with deliberate care and slowness. And that would be the end of that.

According to him, not Wei Ying, who could not be stopped, “Ah, but those strawberries you and your brother picked the other day were so good. And you never got to taste them? What’s the point of a climb like that if you don’t even get a little bit? I could return the favor.”

“That will not be necessary,” Lan Zhan repeated. Maybe it would make him finally go away.

And on it went, Lan Zhan falling silent, Wei Ying bothering him still until his sister called him away.

“Sorry about that,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding not very sorry at all. “He’s adopted.”

Suddenly, there was a hush.

Lan Zhan could not describe it if he tried—the chattering camp fell silent, and he was compelled to follow. Nothing had happened. No sudden appearance of anything in particular. But he was sitting there next to his brother, all at once heavily aware of an uncomfortable silence.

He exchanged a glance with Lan Huan. It was not the sort of silence that led them to think there was some imminent attack oncoming, but he tensed slightly all the same.

At the front, Chiron stood, frowning slightly. He opened his mouth, but needn’t have bothered.

It became cold—the kind that felt like opening a refrigerator too fast on a steamy summer day. Lan Zhan was used to the coolness of clouds, but nothing like this. It was bone-deep, and that was how he knew who had come.

Not very far from him at all was Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan twisted his neck to see him let go of his siblings’ hands; he was standing between them, now staring straight at Lan Zhan as though confused. His eyebrows furrowed as he opened his mouth to speak, but for the first time, nothing came out. Black smoke furled gently from his clothes, rising above him, curling its tendons around them all. Lan Zhan refused to recoil when one touched him, and his unflinching bravery was met with a brief sense of...something. Resentment, maybe. Something dark. Something deeper than he could understand, though he understood perfectly.

As the wisps caressed his hands, his face, whatever smoke rose evaporated into a cloud above Wei Ying, whose eyes still never left Lan Zhan’s. He was stark, stark pale next to the black, and Lan Zhan was sure he looked much the same way.

Eventually, the cloud coiled into a shape. A crescent, though it stood like a tree.

A hush, for real this time.

Chiron trotted forward.

“All hail the son of Hades,” he said.

Wei Ying’s eyebrows dragged all the way up into his scattered bangs, as he finally blinked and looked around at anyone else that was not Lan Zhan.

Hades...the children of Hades rarely ever led happy lives, and yet here was Wei Ying, the brightest mark of light in anyone’s life.

But his large, puzzled doe eyes snapped back to Lan Zhan. Some part of them, Lan Zhan realized with a startle, was accepting. He even saw the hint of a smirk scratching the edge of his lip, like the revelation no longer troubled him. Like he embraced it, was excited for it.

“A-Zhan.”

Lan Huan. And, not just him, or Wei Ying—when Lan Zhan finally looked around, everyone was staring at him now. And he saw why, because his brother must be mirroring him: The two of them were surrounded by a reddish-brown glow, that slowly melted away. Nothing had changed otherwise, but there was viscerally something different—like his brother stood taller, his chin tilted higher.

“Oh,” someone gasped.

“Ah,” said Chiron. “All hail the sons of Aphrodite.”

—

[A/N: The “ying” in Wei Ying is a homophone for “hawk” and by extension, “eagle.” The more you know. I will be abusing the hell out of this wordplay.

This all started because of a talk I had with my good friend, whom I converted, and who I will love forever and ever. Crackhead culture? Mayhaps.]

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) be'sol STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.25 - I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks

Comfortember no.4 - Anxiety

Jango’s not even a year out of slavery when he finally tracks down Tor Vizsla. The chakaaryc hut’uun hadn’t made much of an attempt to hide himself or his forces at first, not until Jango had started picking his way through his terrorist cells with the clear intention of going after Vizsla himself. Vizsla was a coward, he always had been, so when he had heard that Jango had resurfaced from his enslavement and was coming after him, he had turned and fled, sending commandos and assassins after Jango to hopefully kill him before he tracked him down. Vizsla had been trying to stay one step ahead of him, but Jango has contacts and a long reach, and plenty of stubborn determination.

He has a single-minded focus on Vizsla, to enact justice for the slaughter of his people and see Vizsla pay for his part in the treachery. Obi-Wan’s been a great help to Jango’s mission; his ad is smart, and charming, and very unassuming. The adiik is able to swindle information out of a target without the sentient being any wiser, and slip away without gaining suspicion, because who would suspect a tiny slip of a child with fluffy hair and big eyes? He’s a quick study, and soaks up any lesson Jango offers him, and he quickly surpasses Jango’s own slicing skills. Obi-Wan is eager to help, happy to please, and even if he had moral arguments against what Jango was doing, he followed behind him loyally.

The Jetiise didn’t know what they had thrown away, but Jango isn’t about to alert them of it. He won’t be losing anyone else - not to the Jetiise and not to Kyr’tsad . Obi-Wan is his now, and Jango won’t be giving him up until his ad is strong enough to face whatever the world throws at him.

They track Vizsla to Tatooine, to a small port where he and some of his commandos were celebrating a successful bounty. Anger and hatred burns in his stomach at the sight of the ship that had been docked. It tastes like bile in his mouth as he stares at the crude paint job and the emblem of Death Watch emblazoned on the hull. It’s Jaster’s Legacy ; the AIAT/i that Jango had owned, and Jaster before him as well. It’s the ship Jango had called home since he was eight years old and freshly orphaned; he had grown up on it when he and Jas’buir weren’t staying at the Haat’ade compound in Keldabe. To see it defiled by the very people behind the death of his Buire and aliit makes Jango’s fury ignite like a supernova.

The Kyr’stad hutuun’le don’t know what hits them. Jango plows through Vizsla’s badly trained guards like a rampaging kyrat dragon, Obi-Wan watching his back like a shriek-hawk and shooting the stragglers that slip through Jango’s guard in places that would keep them down but not kill them. His hatred burns like fire in his veins, but every fallen Kyr’tsad commando still doesn’t lessen the heat or the ringing in his ears. Jaster’s Legacy still accepts Jango’s codes, likely the result of arrogance, and it stops any alarms from going off and alerting anyone to his presence as Jango tears through the drunken aruetiise .

He finds Vizsla in what had once been Jaster’s room. Jango hadn’t been able to bring himself to claim it after Jaster’s death, so it had stayed the way Jaster had left it up until Galidraan. Vizsla had poisoned the room with his presence; all of his Buir ’s datapads and charts were gone, replaced instead with even more of Vizsla’s crest. There are two naked Humans on the bed, and half armoured Vizsla lounging between them. All three of them freeze when Jango bursts in, westars drawn, but Vizsla is still a trained ramikad, despite being a traitorous coward without any kind of honour, and he’s rolling to his feet almost immediately, throwing his bed partners aside to lunge for the hilt of the dha’kad laying on the shelf nearest to him.

Seconds after Vizsla’s fingers touch the Darksaber, however, the hilt is pulled away by an invisible hand, flying past Jango to slam into Ob’ika’s outstretched palm.

Smart kid, using the Force to take Vizsla’s greatest weapon from him, and effectively drawing everything to a stand-still.

Vizsla’s pale eyes dart between Jango and the boy who had disarmed him, calculating. “Jango Fett.” The chakaar says slowly, and Jango’s fingers tighten around his blasters. “I see you’re still alive. How disappointing .”

Under his helmet, Jango bares his teeth, “Try harder next time, hut’uun .”

Vizsla chuckles, but his eyes shimmer with rage at the insult, “I’ll be sure of it.” He sneers, “I see you’ve taken after Mereel and picked up a mongrel yourself.’

“You don’t get to talk about my Buir .” Jango tells him with a snarl, “And if you touch my ad , I’ll separate you from your hands.”

“You wouldn’t challenge an unarmed man.” Vizsla says with a slimy chuckle that has anger trickling down his spine, and Jango bites off the snippy retort he wants to make about what he’d do with Vizsla’s arms and how unarmed he could make him. “Mereel must have taught you about the laws of challenge.”

Jango growls, “What would you know about proper challenges! You’re a hut’uun who can’t win a battle without cowardly tricks!”

Vizsla bares his teeth, pale eyes dark with sick amusement and hatred, “Then challenge me, boy .” He mocks, “Challenge me, and let the Manda decide the outcome.”

Snarling, Jango sheaths his blasters, “Meet me on the field, Tor be Vizsla, and face me like a Mando’ad or be named dar’Manda .”

“I’d need my baskar’gam first.” Vizsla says blandly, and Jango glowers at him.

“Then get to it.”

“ Buir .” Beside him, Obi-Wan speaks up, but Jango doesn’t risk taking his eyes off of Vizsla as the man methodically, and slowly, puts on his beskar’gam . “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“It’s fine, Ob’ika.” Jango assures him through clenched teeth, “I won’t lose.”

“That’s not-”

“What of my Darksaber?” Vizsla interrupts, tilting his head, but even with his buy’ce on, Jango knows the man is watching Obi-Wan with disturbing intensity.

Jango bristles, stepping in front of the boy and setting his shoulders in a silent threat, “What about it?” He barks, “You were disarmed - you lost the right to wield it.”

“ Jango- ” Obi-Wan’s voice shakes nervously.

Something in Vizsla’s body language changes, and it’s enough of a warning that has Jango going for his blasters again. He doesn’t get the chance to unsheath them, instead something rams into his side with enough force to throw Jango towards the wall. He hits the metal hard enough to rattle him in his armour and make his ears ring.

Disorientated, Jango almost misses the haunting sound of the Darksaber activating, followed by the noise of a small explosion and ringing screams. Jango stumbles to his feet, HUD glitching, and he has to pull his buy’ce off  to see what is happening, westars in hand.

Vizsla is gone, his bed partners huddled in the corner, cowering with fear, and Obi-Wan is picking himself up off the floor. The Darksaber is in his small hands, black blade humming, and there’s singed marks on his flight suit. Wide blue eyes meet Jango’s gaze, and the boy looks close to tears, blood on his temple and scrapes littering his freckled cheeks.

“You let him go?” Jango’s voice trembles when he speaks, rage crawling up his throat. He had been so close. So close to getting vengeance for his Buire and aliit . He could have won, he would have killed Vizsla, and he could still catch him if he hurried -

Obi-Wan sways, face chalky, and any thought of revenge melts away as the dha’kad deactivates and the teenager crumbles. Jango darts forward, feeling anxiety rise in place of his anger, catching his ad’ika before he hits the floor. Were there injuries he couldn’t see? Obi-Wan hadn’t had any beskar between him and the explosion. Shaking hands trace across the boy’s thin body, looking for injuries or blood, but the only wound he can see is the cut on his temple - though that doesn’t discount internal bleeding.

Could his ad be dying in his arms? He can’t help but remember holding Jaster in this exact same way, watching the life leave his eyes - would he have to see that happen to Obi-Wan too?

A pale hand reaches up, catching Jango’s chest plate, and the boy clings to him. “I’m sorry.” His ad’ika says shakily, voice slicing through the bubbling panic at the possibility of losing another person he loves, and Jango stares down at the pale face. “I didn’t want to lose you.” Obi-Wan sniffles, wide eyes haunted, “If you had fought him here, you would have died. He was never going to fight fair - his knife is poisoned.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Jango asks, instead of pressing him on the statement, and Obi-Wan shakes his head, curling up against Jango’s chest and tucking his nose into his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. In response, Jango lets out a low huff, hugging him tighter, guilt heavy on his lungs.

He had dragged Obi-Wan into his hunt for revenge, he had put his kid in danger without even thinking about it. He should be named dar’buir for such an act. Jaster would be disappointed in him. Myles would have spaced him himself and taken on Obi-Wan as only his own, and Jango would have deserved it.

Obi-Wan deserved better than what Jango was giving him.

“I’m sorry, Ob’ika.” Jango murmurs, horrified with himself. Obi-Wan’s thirteen, technically of-age, but he’s still Jango’s responsibility, and Jango could have gotten him killed. He had put revenge over his ad’ika , when Obi-Wan should have been his priority. “ Ni ceta .”

“Nayc, Buir.” Obi-Wan responds, “There’s always next time.”

Jango lets out a shaky breath, cradling the boy like the precious gift he is. “No. No, I won’t drag you into this anymore, ad’ika .”

“I want to help.”

“I know you do, Ob’ika.” Jango assures, brushing a hand through shaggy copper hair. “But he’s not the priority - he never should have been my priority.” He presses his nose to the top of the boy’s head, and just breathes, trying to push away the lingering buzz of anxiety under his skin. “ Ni ceta, ad’ika .”

“I got the ‘saber.” Obi-Wan says quietly, and Jango snorts.

“You did.” He says with a slight laugh, pride taking the place of his anger. Vizsla would be wanting it back, but Jango would make sure he didn’t get close to his son. “Good job, verd’ika .”

After a long moment of just holding his ad , Jango sighs, lifting his head to the two naked Humans still cowering in the corner. They hadn’t moved, and were instead staring at the two Mandalorians with wide eyes. He doubted they were warriors, they didn’t hold themselves as such, “Sorry for interrupting your evening.” He says blandly, “Jango Fett, he/him, and this is my son, Obi-Wan.”

The paler Human shifts, putting themself in front of the darker, despite their smaller size. “Shmi, Master Fett. Shmi Skywalker.” Skywalker hesitates in the face of the suddenly sour expression on Jango’s face, but he gestures for them to continue. “She/her.” She murmurs, clasping her hands in front of her chest, brown eyes darting to the other Human with her. “This is Caasi Chanchani, she/her.” She bows her head, seemingly unbothered by her state of undress, while Chanchani keeps her eyes averted.

It only takes Jango moments to recognize their body language, and somehow his respect for Vizsla, which had already been nonexistent, drops even lower.

They’re slaves.

“Your pucks?” Once, Jaster’s Legacy had been stocked with everything he’d need to remove their chips - a lot of the verde were among the Freed, Myles included - but that had been before Kyr’tsad had taken possession of the ship. He couldn’t be sure of the state of anything now, but if he had the puck, he and Obi-Wan could try to disrupt the signal until they could get the women the medical attention they’d need to get the chips removed.

Both women flinch, shuffling, before Chanchani steps forward, head bowed and shoulders curled inwards, the emitter for the bombs planted in their bodies held in shaking hands. Smart, Jango could recognize them easily as Mandokarla. They must have stolen the puck from Vizsla while he had been distracted by their bodies, he’s almost disappointed he’d interrupted them, if only to see if they would have slit his throat.

Jango grins, slow and satisfied, gently lifting the device from the woman’s hands. “I mean you now harm.” He assures them, turning the puck over to study it. It’s an older model, and would be easy to disengage. “Is this the only one?”

Chanchani nods, but it’s Skywalker who speaks again.

“We were rented from Master Gardulla, Master Fett.” Skywalker says quietly, “She would have the master emitter.”

“You don’t need to call me Master.” He tells them, then turns to Obi-Wan, meeting blue eyes as the boy lifts his head, showing him the device. “What do you think, ad? Can you deactivate it?”

Obi-Wan grins boyishly while the two women gasp in shock, “‘ Lek Buir .”

Neither of them held any love for slavers.

[yamadadzawa]

wip roundup

I was tagged by @autisticmidoriyas! thank you for inviting me to share in your suffering Kes! 

There’s...many. Gonna separate the BNHA and the Haikyuu ones and reblog this to my Haikyuu tumblr after instead of doing two posts. I am only including wips that I have started some amount of writing on. 

BNHA

1. Rebel in the Gray: the first fic I posted for bnha, that began with the premise “Aizawa and Izuku have to go on the run pre-UA”. Izuku witnesses the murder of a top 10 hero, by other heroes, and begins to uncover corruption and conspiracy within the hero commission. 

2. Terminal Velocity: the product of several ideas merged together (Izuku with wings, Izuku with a cat quirk of some kind, Izuku related to Hawks, Izuku raised by villains, Izuku adopted by erasermic). 

3. Anomalous Salvation: some time/dimension fuckery that results in Izuku gaining OFA from an Older Izuku...but not from his dimension. This anomaly leads to, you guessed it, salvation. For several characters. 

4. Try Different, Try Again: Izuku has AFO quirk, my version :) 

5. A Legacy Born of Shadow & Sun: a bnha x haikyuu crossover, with Izuku & his cohort of students as pro heroes, and the haikyuu characters as incoming hero students. Quirkless Shouyou, pretty heavy hints that he’ll be following canon Izuku’s path here. 

Bonus: Inko is alive and a good bean in all of these! 

Unposted

6. Kindred Flame: Izuku has a fire and telekinesis quirk, and wants to become a hero despite knowing that his father is a horrible man. 

7. Untitled-Quirkless AU: pretty much what it sounds like, a mosaic of different ideas I have for a quirkless AU, with an emphasis on Izuku & Shinsou. 

8. Untitled (Fond Nickname: Big Boy): Not a ton I can say about this one without giving away too much of the premise before it’s posted. Time and dimension travel, Dad for One, war, second chances. Pain. Healing. The good shit. 

9. Untitled-Katsuki Swap: A 5 chapter fic, that I imagine will be around 30k, where 28 year old Katsuki is swapped with a 15 year old pre-UA Katsuki. 

10. Untitled-Accused Traitor: A short fic, also probably between 20-30k, and my spin on the premise of Izuku being accused of being the traitor after his notebook is discovered. 

Haikyuu: all of these are currently unposted but will hopefully be going up soon! (genuinely do not know why all of these ended up with parentheses in the titles, it just...happened) 

1. we will always find each other, even here (especially here): Hinata Shouyou can see ghosts. Like the Karasuno Volleyball Team. 

2. Love is (a paradox): A mostly Kageyama-centric fic about soulmates. Familial, platonic, romantic, you name it. I just think Haikyuu is full of all kinds of soulmates, and it’s fun to play with that. 

3. The trying, reaching, failing (winning): I’m obsessed with KageIwaOi Soulmate AUs, so I decided I’d write one. My twist involves...injuries. Again, Kageyama-centric. 

Well. There certainly could have been more. I’m sure that Haikyuu section will amass more now that I’ve decided to really start focusing on it. 

Ahhh Kes already tagged Red and Chaos...but I suppose you can consider this a double tag. @plusultrachaos @12redsky34 and how about @faelwenholdsthelight and @aroandanxious if you wanna! I’m horrendous at knowing who to tag for these things, so anyone else is welcome to do it and consider it me tagging them as well! 

[fmbishop]

*  I'VE   GOT   MY   VEINS   ALL   TANGLED   CLOSE . 

                       *      ╰         chicago’s   very   own  𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡 𝐛𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩  has   been   spotted   on   madison   avenue   driving   a   1960   vintage   jeep   bronco   ,   welcome   !   your   resemblance   to   𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏   𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒏   is   unreal   .   according   to   tmz   ,   you   just   had   your   twenty   -   first      birthday   bash   .   your   chance   of   surviving   new   york   is   uncertain   because   you’re            𝒄𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉   ,   but   being   𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒕   might   help   you   .   i   think   being   a   taurus   explains   that   .      3   things   that   would   paint      a      better   picture   of   you   would   be         𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒅   𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅   𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒑   𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒆   ,   𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌   𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒔   𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉   𝒕𝒊𝒓��𝒅   𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔   ,   &   𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒔   𝒂𝒏𝒅   𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒔   𝒓𝒖𝒃𝒃𝒆𝒅   𝒓𝒂𝒘   .            (   i   cut   ties   with   my   best   friend   and   collaborator   because   i   was   secretly   in   love   with   her   ,   but   our   publicist   had   her   date   my   brother   instead   .   )      &   (   cis   male   +   he   /   him   )   +   (   ruby   ,   18+   ,   she   /   her   ,   pst   )


𝒊       .        𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒔       .

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆   :   elijah   alexander   bishop 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔   :      eli   ,   e   .   from   his   loved   ones   ,   he   recieves   variations   on   ellie   ,   ugly   ass   mustache   head   ,   tony   hawk   ,   and   zumiez   employee   of   the   month   . 𝒂𝒈𝒆   :      twenny   -   won 𝒛𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒄   :   taurus 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏   :   professional   skateboarder   and   youngest   x   games   gold   medalist   in   history   ,   brand   ambassador   for   several   skate   fashion   brands   ,   established   youtube   vlogger   ,   and   aspiring   filmmaker   . 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓   𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒚   /   𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔   :   cis   male   /   he   him   his 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏   :   heterosexual   ,   heteroromantic 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕   :   5’11 𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒔   :   the   black   sheep   ,   the   despondent   ,   the   fallen   angel   ,   the   isolato   ,   the   intangible   concept   ,   the   dirtbag   ,   the   doryphore 𝒌𝒆𝒚         𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔      :      -   churlish   ,   emotionally   reserved   ,   hesitant   ,   resentful   ,   self   -   sabotaging +   steadfast   ,   benevolent   ,   chivalrous   ,   reliable   ,   down   to   earth   𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔   𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆   :      hufflepuff 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈   𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒔   :   that’s   on   me   -   mac   miller   /   obstacle   1   -   interpol   /   just   my   luck   -   marc   e   bassy   &   blackbear   /   EARFQUAKE   -   tyler   the   creator /   superfast   jellyfish   -   gorillaz   /   here   comes   a   feeling   -   louis   the   child   /   horseshoes   and   handgrenades   -   green   day  /   boys   don’t   cry   -   the   cure   /   SUGAR   -   brockhampton  /   slow   dancing   in   the   dark   -   joji   /   come   back   to   earth   -   mac   miller   /   swing   ,   swing   -   the   all   american   rejects  

𝒊𝒊       .    𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚    .

harold   and   lillian   bishop   welcome   the   heirs   to   the   bishop   throne   on   an   early   may   morning   .   ceo   of   the   multi-billion   dollar   bishop   industries   construction   empire   ,   and   partner   of   the   bishop   &   franklin   international   law   firm   respectively   ,   the   boys   enter   into   the   shadow   of   a   last   name   prepared   to   build   onto   its   own   legacy   .   eli   comes   into   the   light   moments   after   his   brother   ,   a   hand   firmly   grasped   onto   the   ankle   of   his   twin   ,   victorious   to   emerge   into   the   world   first   .   parallel   to   the   biblical   brothers   jacob   and   esau   ,   his   nurse   notes   ,   but   his   parents   pay   no   mind   .   on   the   whim   of   a   meaningless   sequence   ,   the   elder   twin   is   delegated   as   the   champion   of   the   bishop   legacy   ,   to   bear   the   weight   of   their   family   empire   and   its   subsequent   legacy   on   his   shoulders   with   pride   .

elijah   ,   on   the   heel   of   his   brother   ,      isaiah   ,   by   a   mere   fraction   of   a   second   ,   bears   the   weight   of   his   second-coming   due   to   such   a   christening   for   the   rest   of   his   upbringing   .

the   black   sheep   is   perhaps   too   delicate   of   a   phrasing   to   explain   the   conflict   stirring   daily   in   the   bishop   household   ,   a   family   of   perfection   —   and   elijah   ,   the   foil   to   them   all   ,   a   failure   by   definition   ,   perhaps   crafted   simply   to   emphasize   the   feats   of   his   twin   brother   .   he’s   smaller   ,   scrawnier   ,   slower   to   pick   up   school   work   and   requiring   relentless   tutoring   and   support   throughout   his   elementary   school   years   .   sensitive   and   introverted   ,   he   spends   the   first   decade   of   his   life   cowering   behind   isaiah   as   a   shield   ,   receiving   constant   critiques   of   not   enough   ,   not   good   enough   ,   not   close   enough   to   —

he   tries   not   to   focus   on   his   shortcomings   ,   as   plentiful   as   his   parents   may   convince   him   that   there   may   be   .   any   expression   other   than   a   stoic   compliance   is   seen   as   contumacious   ,   swiftly   corrected   with   a   ‘   i   wish   you   would   be   more   like   your   brother   .   ’      eli   withers   into   himself   shortly   after   his   12th   birthday   ,   the   onset   of   puberty   and   a   discovery   for   a   natural   athletic   inclination   giving   him   some   semblance   of   musculature   ,   his   jaw   sharpening   and   gaze   taking   a   similar   harshness   .   his   body   becomes   a   fortress   ,   the   only   protection   he   can   implement   as   his   brother   begins   to   split   from   him   ,   taking   on   more   responsibility   as   the   twins   are   brought   increasingly   into   the   spotlight   of   their   family   name   and   fortune   .

each   moment   harboring   a   critique   only   stokes   resentment   behind   each   clenched   jaw   and   tight   lipped   smile   eli   has   to   fake   .   he   knows   its   all   for   show   ,   his   brother   is   the   only   true   heir   written   into   their   legacy   regardless   of   what   path   he   chooses   to   take   .   bearing   the   weight   of   a   whole   family   tree   of   disappointment   ,   eli   takes   on   odd   hobbies   and   begins   to   compose   bits   and   pieces   of   himself   as   the   him   he   wants   to   be   ,   dismantling   the   illusion   composed   by   expectations   to   mirror   his   infallible   brother   .   by   13   ,   his   secretive   hobby   becomes   an   increasingly   viable   career   in   skateboarding   ,   by   17   ,   he’s   hired   his   own   agent   and   moves   out   on   his   own   to   escape   the   increasing   burdens   of   being   the   bishop   legacy   disappointment   .   his   parents   all   but   excommunicate   him   ,   and   he   spends   spans   of   month-long   silences   between   them   with   only   his   brother   to   bridge   such   gaps   .   eli   is   gnarled   and   hidden   away   from   the   glitz   and   glamour   he   had   grown   so   comfortable   with   ,   navigating   his   shattered   self-image   and   desire   to   amount   to   something   entirely   on   his   own —   but   at   the   very   least   ,   he’s   free   .

it’s   a   tabloid’s   dream   ,   the   black   sheep   of   the   bishop   family   ,   reuniting   with   his   herd   for   their   move   to   new   york   .   eli   is   resentful   and   bitter   at   the   idea   of   uprooting   himself   ,   but   it’s   his   brother’s   impassioned   pleas   of   a   reunion   that   soften   eli’s   resolve   and   cause   the   young   skateboarding   sensation   to   follow   the   rest   of   his   distant   family   to   new   york   .   his   brother   assures   him   with   honeyed   promises   of   a   family   reunited   ,   a   change   of   heart   of   their   parents’      callousness   ,   a   desire   to   see   the   bishops   as   one   .     their   father’s   upcoming   retirement   and   a   supposed   reflection   on   the   cruelty   imposed   on   his   brother   are   all   cited   as   reasons   why   eli   should   just   come   with   them   .      and   eli   ,   hardened   and   bitter   to   all   but   the   implorations   of   his   brother   (   and   perhaps   a   gnawing   desire   for   some   sort   of   familial   validation   after   a   lifetime   of   being   dubbed   the   disappointment   ,   )   begrudgingly   follows   through   .

their   parents   do   not   .

it   awakens   a   particular   emotion   within   eli   to   see   his   parents   for   the   first   time   in   nearly   2   years   and   be   received   with   the   same   coldness   he   had   been   seen   off   with   at   their   last   meeting   .   backhanded   compliments   follow   fronthanded   insults   and   it   ends   with   eli   and   his   father   in   a   screaming   match   ,   fingers   jabbed   dangerously   into   chests   and   tempers   on   full   blare   .   the   betrayal   comes   not   from   a   set   of   parents   who   didn’t   want   him   —   eli   knew   it   was   entirely   too   good   to   be   true   to   be   taken   as   the   prodigal   son   .   the   betrayal   ,   he   laments   ,   is   in   the   falsities   told   by   his   brother   ,   the   one   person   who   had   spent   so   long   protecting   him   and   had   now   allowed   him   to   walk   without   guard   into   the   lion’s   den   .   eli   knows   his   brother   had   nothing   but   the   best   of   intentions   and   keeps   him   as   the   sole   bishop   contact   :   this   is   the   last   he   talks   to   his   parents   after   years   of   torment   .

they   stay   in   new   york   together   and   fill   their   time   with   work   and   the   occasional   youtube   video   at   the   behest   of   their   management   ,   random   vlogs   that   surprisingly   take   off   .   the   bishop   twins   become   something   of   an   internet   sensation   —   isaiah   a   charming   and   composed   law   student   ,   eli   a   brooding   and   unkempt   skater   boy   ,   with   a   dynamic   that   viewers   are   quick   to   fall   in   love   with   .   they   turn   out   content   on   a   regular   basis   ,   building   a   fanbase   through   their   vlogs   that   begs   for   collaborations   and   ‘   linking   up   .   ‘   they   go   through   the   motions   of   collabs   until   one   particular   set   of   youtubers   have   a   chemistry   with   the   twins   that   their   fans   eat   up   .   quickly   hired   to   the   same   management   team   ,   the   bishops   create   a   mini   vlog   squad   with   their   friends   ,   a   dynamic   that   finds   eli   more   emotionally   invested   than   he’d   care   to   admit   .   but   forever   the   self   -   saboteur   ,   he   keeps   himself   from   admitting   these   feelings   to   their   collaborator   ,   repressing   them   until   an   email   from   their   publicist   reveals   plans   to   have   her   date   isaiah   for   the   sake   of   views   .

eli   ,   despite   having   kept   his   feelings   from   practically   everyone   in   his   life   ,   takes   the   move   personally   and   cuts   off   all   work   with   their   collaborator   ,   the   ensuing   drama   being   enough   to   keep   his   publicist   happy   despite   whatever   happens   between   her   and   his   brother   .   their   group   goes   back   to   being   a   duo   ,   a   secret   for   eli   to   keep   perhaps   to   his   grave   ,   and   he   pushes   to   forge   on   with   creating   a   name   for   himself   out   of   the   shadow   of   his   family   .

(   um   for   context   slash   anyone   who   knew   version   one   of   eli   we’re   gonna   say   he   got   sick   of   the   celeb   world   and   went   backpacking   through   southern   asia   w   no   phone   n   no   outside   contacts   ,   just   recently   returned   to   ny   after   the   past   2   months   of   isolation   !   )

𝒊𝒊𝒊       .       𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

i’m   so   excited   to   bring   eli   back   .   …      i   love   wealthy   sm   lemme   give   y’all   a   few   bullets   for   the   rundown   of   the   uglie   mean   sk8r   boi   that   u   should   all   say   ‘   see   u   l8r   boi   ‘

as   the   bio   implies   ,   he   had   a   really   tough   upbringing   in   the   shadow   of   his   perfect   brother   .   a   lot   of   his   parents’   cruelty   resulted   in   the   personality   he   has   now   .

eli   is   most   known   for   his   resentment   of   wealth   and   fame   .   in   the   celeb   world   ,   he’s   always   known   as   the   one   who’s   just   a   normal   guy   .   super   down   to   earth   and   constantly   critiquing   ppl   who   let   the   fame   get   to   their   head

in   a   way   ,   he   gets   this   weird   sense   of   superiority   that’s   super   hypocritical   ?   like   he   thinks   he’s   better   than   the   rich   ppl   bc   he   doesn’t   act   boujie   ..   .   .   .   but   ?   he’s   rich   too   ?   just   bc   ur   chinos   r   ripped   doesnt   make   u   better   than   anyone   else   u   dumb   bitch

super   ,   and   i   cannot   emphasize   this   enough   ,   SUPER   emotionally   constipated   .   he   acts   like   he’s   above   it   all   to   serve   as   his   defense   mechanism   bc   on   the   real   he’s   terrified   of   being   rejected   by   people   the   way   his   own   parents   rejected   him   .   his   solution   ?   if   u   act   like   u   don’t   give   a   shit   ,   nobody   can   hurt   u   .

if   he’s   not   angry   ranting   ,   he’s   honestly   p   stoic   .   nobody   knows   what   he’s   thinkin   or   feelin   which   is   how   he   likes   it   .   it   gets   real   annoying   when   he   keeps   playing   the   cool   disconnected   guy   n   ur   like   ‘   what   do   u   want   for   lunch   ‘   n   he’s   like   ‘   i   dont   give   a   fuck   ‘   n   ur   like   ‘   we   know   dumbass   edgelord   we   still   gotta   EAT   tho   ‘

on   that   ranting   note   ,   he’s   usually   pretty   reserved   and   calm   during   things   like   interviews   or   talking   to   fans   .   when   he’s   in   touchier   situations   ,   his   defense   mechanism   is   to   switch   to   his   hairpin   trigger   hostility   .

ig   he   feels   like   he   has   something   to   prove   by   being   the   tough   guy   so   he   just   ?   gets   mad   super   easily   instead   of   processing   his   feelings   like   a   normal   person   ?   he   detaches   himself   from   his   emotions   bc   he   has   a   really   fucked   sense   of   self   -   worth   and   has   an   eternal   belief   he’s   not   worthy   of   happiness   so   he’ll   sabotage   himself   to   no   end

shockingly   sensitive   and   will   hold   onto   his   pain   as   if   to   fuel   him   .   he   takes   disloyalty   personally   and   will   often   hold   onto   abandonment   or   slights   that   happened   years   ago   because   they   genuinely   affected   him   ,   even   if   he   didn’t   show   so   at   the   time   .

in   terms   of   the   celeb   life   :   he’s   p   low   key   .   isn’t   much   of   a   partier   bc   he   has   social   anxiety   sdfsd   but   he’s   comfy   sipping   a   beer   on   the   patio   as   long   as   everyone   else   stays   inside   lmao   .   he’s   cool   w   hookups   but   isn’t   actively   sleeping   around   ?   like   he   could   prob   live   like   a   fuckboy   but   rlly   surprises   u   when   he   doesn’t   do   the   fuckboy   thing   ..   …   .   it’s   the   sensitive   boy   in   him   or   somethin   idk..   .   ..   mayb   he   just   can’t   care   enough   ..   ..      it’s   the   apathy   …   .

when   he’s   not   seeing   red   ,   he’s   rational   man   meant   to   BUST   everyone’s   stupidity   .   usually   the   only   mfer   w   common   sense   in   the   squad   to   plan   ahead   n   shit   but   if   someone   pushes   his   homies   ?   eli   comes   out   SWINGING   n   then   avoids   all   the   tabloids   about   him   sloppy   fighting   in   the   club   like   he’s   mariah   carey   n   can’t   read   or   somethin

cannot   flirt   for   the   life   of   him   ,   says   dumb   shit   like   ‘   u   smell   nice   ‘   and   hopes   his   muscles   do   all   the   talking   lmao   fuckin   BEEFCAKE

on   the   real   ,   when   he’s   calm   n   collected   he   can   be   surprisingly   sweet   and   this   is   when   the   down   to   earth   comes   in   .   doesn’t   get   attached   to   many   but   to   the   few   he   does   ,   he   defends   to   the   end   and   is   the   type   to   sacrifice   whatever   it   is   to   protect   them   .   this   mans   LOVES   his   friends   and   ppl   are   surprised   to   see   how   kind   he   can   b   bc   he’s   usually   masking   his   kindness   with   his   brutishness   lmao   .      

he’s   also   ?   surprisingly   funny   ?   we’ll   see   abt   that   tho   bc   most   of   his   shit   is   deadpan

most   of   the   time   :   just   fuckin   .   mean   as   hell   sdfsdf

anarchist   mfer   !   he   said   FUCK   the   system   ,   it’s   a   big   skate   energy   and   he   tries   to   be   as   creative   and   undefined   as   possible   .   follows   random   whims   as   he   learns   to   be   less   self   conscious   bc   now   he’s   his   own   brand   and   doesn’t   have   to   always   think   about   ‘   whats   best   for   the   family   ’   and   all   that   bs   !   he’s   rlly   passionate   abt   skate   culture   and   originality   and   is   a   really   big   outspoken   feminist  /  social   activist    bc   what’s   more   punk   than   dismantling   the   patriarchy  and  other  oppressive  power   structures  ?

on   that   note   .   lowkey   .   a   simp   KWHRJWE   he   acts   hard   and   won’t   let   any   man   come   after   him   but   he’s   afraid   2   be   mean   to   girls   n   lets   most   of   his   female   friends   bully   him   while   he   does   the   office   stare   in2   the   camera   .

i   always   stick   random   blurbs   downhere   but   the   mans   is   vegan   ,   cares   more   about   his   car �� than   anything   ,   spends   most   of   his   time   in   his   ratty   skate   clothes   that   barely   get   washed   bc   they   ‘   hold   the   energy   better   ’   (   nastie   )   ,   if   it   aint   sk8   shoes   its   socks   w   sandals   n   he   doesn’t   get   whats   wrong   w   that   ,   he’s   a   hufflepuff   n   a   ISTJ-T   myers   briggs  (  The  Logistician  )   ,   n   tbh   he   really   just   appreciates   the   little   things   in   life   ?   thats   eli   my   lil   meat   head   .

[dessiekarma]

My Harem is Entirely Bad Boy Types (Kirisaki Daiichi x Reader) Pt. 3

Chapter Three: Get That Girl a Megane!

 “No no no. You seem scared of the ball. Remember follow through with your wrist. Okay better, now try again.”

 Hara was surprised at the voice coming out of the gym. The team never practiced during study period but the instruction as well as the sound of sneakers squeaking was undeniable. Peaking his head into gym he squinted to see (Y/N) and Matsumoto assisting the rest of the second-string players.

Matsumoto had a weird place with the team, he was in the first string but not part of their web. He was down for their rough plays but also usually wanted nothing to do with them outside of basketball and well that worked out just fine for everyone.

 It was, however, a shock to see (Y/N) here helping him out. Hara and the others for that matter tended to forget that Kirisaki Daiichi had over twenty players total.

 “Hey girl!” Hara whistled for (Y/N), knowing it would annoy her. Sure enough she turned her head slowly to cast him a frustrated look before sighing and walking over.

 “Whadya want Hara? I told you not to call me girl.”

 “And I told you not to call me Hara, we should be on first name basis by now.”

 “Kazu-chan.”

 “Not that either! Whatever! What are you doing in here anyway?”

 “Managing the team. What else?”

 “You know this isn’t really the team right?” Hara whispered cattily. “I mean most of them aren’t bad but they’ll only ever get to play an actual game once all of us graduate.”

 “I know you guys are the main players but there’s a lot of first years on the team. They’ll inherit it, and don’t you think its better to leave a legacy as opposed to just graduating and letting the team crumble.”

 “I don’t really think about that sort of thing and I don’t think Hanamiya cares. Come on, you’re supposed to being doing stuff for us. Besides what do you even know about basketball?”

 “I did date a basketball player, ya know? I mean I would never be able to play an actual game but I’m pretty good at shooting. That’s a foundational skill so I might as well teach these guys, right?”

 “I guess, hey where’s Mako?” Hara said as if the thought suddenly popped into his mind.

 “Umm right here.” (Y/N) said with a quirked brow, pointing to the baby sling around her torso. “Did you not see him?”

 “Oh I guess I just didn’t notice. Good job finding a way to carry him around while you’re busy.”

 “Well yeah I needed to, since you suck so badly at taking care of him.” (Y/N) said poking Hara’s side.

 The male was about to retort before a ding on his phone caught his attention. Opening the text, he was greeted with an image of a scantily clad girl. Without thinking about it (Y/N) tiptoed to see his phone and whistled.

 “She’s hot! Is she your girlfriend?”

 “No, she’s not and don’t nonchalantly call other girls hot!”

 “Why not?”

 “Because you aren’t a lesbian!”

 “Says who?”

 “W-what? You had a boyfriend!”

 “Hmm I guess I did. You’re so funny to tease Kazu-chan!” The girl exclaimed with a laugh before giving him a wave and heading back to practice.

 Hara frowned as his manager blurred back into the background of players. Blinking his eyes hard a few times he sighed and closed the door to the gym.

 ‘So can you come over tonight?’

 The lavender haired male looked down at the text message from the girl in the picture and mulled it over. Scrolling through his camera reel he sized up his options.

 ‘My parents are overseas on a business trip, so we have the place to ourselves.’

 Welp that was good enough for him. She wasn’t his first choice but she’d responded the quickest with the least hassle.

 Typing out a quick response, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and made his way out the gym.

~~~~~

 “What’s with all this?” Seto asked motioning to the dozen new charms and button dangling from (Y/N)’s backpack.

 She looked up from her phone quickly to see what her friend was pointing at before quickly returning back to her screen.

 “My new obsession! He’s a character from Paranormal Payphone. Basically, it’s a new game where these boys call me from a payphone at certain times of the day and he’s my favourite!”

 “What’s so great about this character in particular?” Hara asked grabbing at the small figure on the zipper.

 “Besides the fact that he looks like Imayoshi.” Furuhashi retorted tiredly, before his own comment snapped him out of it.

 Everyone including (Y/N) was looking at him in disbelief. It was an unspoken rule that they avoid mentioning him around the girl, unless she brought him up first. They’d learned the hard way that when mentioning anything to do with Tōō there was a 50/50 chance she would cry.

 Surprisingly no tears came to (Y/N)’s eyes, instead she wrinkled her nose and let out a scoff.

 “I don’t see it! And I will not let that deter me from loving my best boy!”

 “Well clearly you have a type.” Hanamiya said sizing up the buttons. He’d never played the game nor even heard of it before now but with otaku shit…you could kind of tell which characters were assholes or not.

 “Hmm? I just think he’s cute is all! Like those glasses for instance! I always end up falling for the megane characters. Kyoya Ootori, Rei Ryugazaki, Austria, Tenya Iida!”

 The guys listened to her ramble off a long list of glasses characters.

 “She talking so fast, I didn’t understand half of what she just said.” Seto remarked as the girl slowed down to think of more characters.

 “I’m pretty sure she named a whole ass country in there.” Hara laughed blowing a large bubble.

 The guys were almost amused by the girl’s stupid antics and none of them noticed the sudden milk carton that came flying towards their table. It was only after they noticed their manager tense up from the sudden impact on her head that they all, without thought, got up from the table threateningly.

 “Who the fuck threw that!?” Hara snapped out casting a glance to (Y/N) who looked stunned as milk dripped off her forehead and down her back.

 Only after their initial defensive move did they notice a girl on her knees not to far behind where (Y/N) was sitting. Her tray was splayed on the ground, after having apparently tripped.

 “Sorry! I should have watched where I was going!”

 “That’s okay!” (Y/N) said wiping the liquid off her face. “No use crying over spilt milk after al-”

 She stopped midsentence as she turned to the girl who had not gotten up off the ground. The boys all noticed an unspoken exchange between the two. Yamazaki watched the situation like a hawk not prepared to let the girl take a step closer to (Y/N).

 “Hopefully you get yourself cleaned up, I’m sure you hate being…dirty.” The girl said with a smiling face but snark laced in her voice. With that she walked away and the guys looked back and forth between the two.

 “There’s no damn way she tripped, you know that right?” Seto asked finally taking a seat along with the rest.

 “Yeah I know but it’s not surprising.”

 “Because she’s Y-”

 “I went to middle school with her. We had some bad blood between us and I thought she’d gotten over it. I didn’t even know she went here. I didn’t think anyone I used to know before came to this school.” (Y/N) said looking more and more concerned as she spoke.

 “Before what?” Hanamiya asked analyzing the girl’s face.

 “Before highschool! I was so cringey in middle school!” (Y/N) said now back to her normally cheerful self. “But I’ve been here for a few months now, I wonder what triggered her to suddenly lash out on me.”

 “Probably because she’s Yam- oww! Fuck!” Hara called out rubbing his shin from under the table, clearly having been kicked.

 “It doesn’t matter. I just… Oh no! My plush got all wet.” (Y/N) said lifting a sopping wet miniature plush of the character she’d just been fangirling over.

 All of the guys suddenly felt a pang through their chests at just how sad her voice had sounded.

 Getting up from the table, Furuhashi walked over to the girl’s side of the table and extended his hand to her.

 “Come on, let’s go wash your clothes and your Jaeyoung plush. We have a washer and dryer in the gym.” He said smiling at her, hoping to get her sad face a little brighter.

 Sure, enough she grinned back at him before taking his hand and disappearing out of the lunch room.

 “How did he know the character’s name!? Why didn’t I think to take her to wash her clothes?” Yamazaki cried out as the two disappeared from sight.

 “He probably goggled it while she was fangirling. Clever bastard.” Hara said kind of impressed with Furuhashi.

 “You do know this is your fault, right?” Hanamiya asked Yamazaki who looked completely offended. “Don’t act so shocked. You know the real reason Mai went after (Y/N) and then you didn’t even stand up for her.”

 “I didn’t do anything!”

 “Exactly. Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve and then be surprised when certain people notice.”

 “Whatever, I’m gonna go take care of this.” Yamazaki said storming off from the table in the direction of the girl who left earlier.

~~~~~

 “What the hell is she wearing?” Hanamiya asked trying not to look at the girl sitting on the bleachers.

 “The back of her skirt had gotten wet too. She needed to put something on while it was in the wash.” Furuhashi explained.

 The flustered male glanced over to where (Y/N) was swinging her legs with the number 4 Kirisaki Daiichi jersey on.

 “Why’d you have to use mine?!”

 “You’re the shortest.”

 “I’m only one inch shorter than Yamazaki!”

 “Yeah but you’re thinner and a whole size smaller. This was the only thing that came closest to fitting her.”

 (Y/N) was leaning back on her elbows, her eyes not leaving her phone and Hara’s eyes not leaving her. After a few minutes she turned to him with a quirked brow.

 “What?”

 “You’re not wearing a bra.”

 “I was but the milk soaked all the way through. What’s it to ya?”

 “I can see a lot through the sleeves of the jersey. I can also see that you must be pretty cold in here after your shower. You look good.” Hara said with a teasingly seductive voice.

 “Yeah? Push that dry over processed hair out your face and you could probably enjoy the view even more.”

 “Bitch.” Hara grumbled as he patted the baby sling around his chest. Smirking he thought he’d try again. “So, no bra huh? Do you have any panties on underneath those basketball shorts?”

 “Why don’t you check for yourself? Maybe we’re wearing a matching set.” The girl deadpanned back, this time not even tearing her attention away from her phone.

 Hara grew red in the face and began to sputter.

 “Stop teasing him (Y/N), you know you have your anti-pervert shorts on under that.” Furuhashi said coming up to pat the top of her damp hair.

 “Damn, how does it feel to have a girl as quick and snarky as you?” Seto asked Hara with a laugh.

 “It’s cause she’s a otaku! All of those types are huge perverts!”

 “You’re hardly fit to be calling someone a pervert.” Hanamiya spoke up, finally able to gain his composure over the manager wearing his jersey.

 “I’m not a pervert. All you guys wish you could pull a different girl a week like I do.”

 “More like you can’t keep a girl for more than a week.” Seto chuckled tossing a basketball up in the air.

 “Why are you guys always picking on me! We’re supposed to be a team!”

 “Speaking of teams. Hey stupid, you’re coming with us to the Seirin vs Rakuzan game next week.” Hanamiya said to the girl.

 “What why would we go to that?”

 “Because Caps is obsessed with Kiyoshi.” Hara remarked only to receive a hard fist in his ribs.

 “Fuck off! It’s because I want to see just how well a team that beat us does.”

 “That’s understandable. I guess I can have my driver take me to the-”

 An obnoxious ringtone cut the girl off from her thoughts. Pulling her phone out she looked at the name and groaned. She appeared to be hyping herself up before hitting talk.

 “Hey Shoi-chan.”

 All the guys suddenly snapped their heads up at the cutesy nickname. Shoi-chan as in Imayoshi Shoichi?

 “I’m ummm with my team.”

 The reprimanding on the other end of the phone was hard to make out but clearly a voice of disapproval.

 “Did you just call me to bitch at me or did you actually need something!?” (Y/N) said with a scowl, startling the guys who had never really heard that tone from her.

 “Umm that’s fine, I guess. When? Okay. At the usual place? Sure, I’ll see you then. Bye Shoi-chan.”

 “Do you actually still talk to that guy?!” Hara exclaimed barely waiting for her finger to lift of the end call button.

 “Well yeah. I was a part of his team for a year and regardless of anything, he’s still really important to me.” (Y/N)’s voice sounded gravely serious and held a deeply sad tone. The brimming of tears in her eyes got blinked away quickly but it was clear to see their shared past was hurting her.

 “He doesn’t like us.” Seto responded glancing down at the manager.

 “I know. But…it wasn’t just my ex ya know? My entire team at Tōō didn’t agree with me coming here and definitely didn’t agree with me joining the team. After the breakup, nearly all of them called or found me to try and talk some sense into me.”

 “And Imayoshi asked you to meet with him, right?” Hanamiya asked.

 “Yeah he says he wants to talk. All this time has gone by and he’s never tried to come find me to talk to me face to face just over the phone. I need to see him. I…miss him.”

 “Then you should go. It’s not like we’re gonna try to stop you. We’re a bunch of cheating, violent bastards but we aren’t going to tell you who you can and cant talk to.” Hanamiya said with a shrug. “Just think for yourself. You’re an idiot but you’re not clueless, so don’t let him think for you got it?”

 “Yeah I know you’re right.”

 “So where are you guys gonna meet up?” Furuhashi asked as nonchalantly as possible.

 “Juniper café, why?”

 “Just curious.”

~~~~~

 ‘Why are we even here?!’ Hara text the group message before slamming his head on the table.

 ‘Because I want to know what exactly Imayoshi is gonna tell her. Nobody asked you to come you know?’ Furuhashi responded quickly

 ‘What’s with you guys and the huge spike in interest over (Y/N) recently? I thought it would die out eventually but you guys are falling for her hard!’

 “Well I liked her from the start!” Yamazaki joined in, sipping a cold tea.

 ‘I just think she’s cute, never gonna have a chance with her but I had nothing better to do today.’ Seto finally typed out, drinking a cup of what was probably just 15 espresso shots.

 ‘She could make an interesting self-selected candidate for me.’ Furuhashi added in.

 ‘Candidate for what?’ Yamazaki asked, much more chill after accepting the fact that he was not alone in his pursuit of (Y/N).

 ‘I don’t want to say until I know for sure.’

 ‘What about you Hanamiya? You’re being awfully silent on why you’re here.’ The orange-haired male typed out quickly.

 ‘Not for that idiot, that’s for damn sure. I’m here to make sure Imayoshi doesn’t put shit in her head that will cause problems for ME. Besides I want to know who she really is when she doesn’t know we’re around.’

 ‘Why is she running so late?’ Seto asked before peeping over the bench, where Imayoshi had been waiting for about ten minutes now. His back was to the team and they figured if they stayed down and quiet (Y/N) wouldn’t notice they were there.

 “Sorry I’m late! There was a sale on manga at the bookstore down the block!” A familiar voice called out as she burst into the room.

 ‘That explains it.’ Nearly all the boys text at the same time.

 “It’s no worries. I got you, your usual. Did you find anything good?”

 “Thanks. I was able to find a few things…umm why are you staring at me?”

 “You’ve gotten so much more beautiful in the few months I hadn’t seen you.”

 Seto pretended to gag as the rest of the team rolled their eyes.

 “Stop it, I look the same.”

 “No, you look happier…and that isn’t easy for me to admit. Ohh what’s this?”

 “Oh umm this is Mako.”

 “My my I leave you alone for a few months and you’re already a teenage mother, so soon after a breakup. Were you cheating?” Imayoshi said in a teasing voice. “Mako. I’ll assume my sweet little kouhai is the father?”

 Hanamiya made a move to stand up and fight when the other guys grabbed his limbs to drag him back down to seating position.

 “It’s a project I’m doing with Hara Kazuya.”

 “The gum munching kid with the hair in his eyes?”

 “Yeah…”

 There was a silence that washed over the table and the guys held their breaths wondering who would speak next. Surprisingly it was Imayoshi.

 “Look, I’ll get right to the point of why I came here. I want you to come back to Tōō with me. The team misses our little cheerleader, even Aomine asked about you the other day.”

 “I do miss you guys but I won’t leave them.”

 “The bad boys of KiriDai? Why exactly are you so stuck to them? Hmm? You detested them as much as the rest of us when you saw the Seirin game. What changed? Don’t tell me its simple physical attraction, you’re much smarter than that.”

 “I guess when I first saw that game…I thought they were bad people. But now I think…I know…sometimes good people do bad things. I think that deep down they’re good people. They’ve done horrible, really horrible things but they’ve also been really good to me.”

 The team was more or less stunned by (Y/N)’s honest answer.

 “‘Deep down they are good people?’ You sweet girl, I’ve told you a million times over that there’s no such thing as a good person.”

 Hanamiya felt the same chill run down his spine as the one he had when he first met Imayoshi. He’s said that very phrase to him as well.

 “I don’t believe that Shoi-chan.”

 “Because you’ll take it personally. You desperately need to think that you’re a good person and that your m-”

 “I don’t need to think anything. I know who I am, and I’ve made peace with that.”

 “But you haven’t made peace with the other half, have you? Ahh its to be expected, you’re young after all and with the life you’ve had you need to cling onto something. I came to you because I really am worried about you. Your insistence on staying with this team is self-destructive, I would go as far to call it self-harm. You know they’ll hurt you…haven’t you been hurt enough?”

 “I have but not by them. Not yet.”

 “Then don’t give them that chance. You know our fears aren’t unprecedented. Think about it, since going to that school and associating yourself with them, has anyone tried befriending you? Does anyone try talking to you when they don’t have to? You’re alienating yourself. You’re giving yourself a reputation and isn’t that the exact reason you left Tōō?”

 “I left Tōō because I have a goal and to make it happen, I need connections.”

 “I see, you’ve told yourself that enough times to actually believe that’s the reason. Stop punishing yourself, stop trying to fix broken people, and stop letting others hurt you.”

 “But Shoi-chan…YOU hurt me. All of Tōō did. You guys saw what was happening to me there and nobody said anything. You were all afraid to get involved, all too worried about yourselves. You told me to ignore what the people said but you never tried to make them stop.” The guys heard (Y/N) take in a shaking breath and couldn’t figure if she was crying or just about to.

 “Someone threw milk on my head yesterday and every single one of the KiriDai boys got up ready to fight someone. One of them even helped me get cleaned up.”

 “They all have you tangled deep in the spider’s web, don’t they? Once you realize that, you’ll never get out. They can predict exactly how you’ll react and change their personalities to be exactly what you want them to be. It’s not just a basketball technique, it’s a manipulation technique. You really think you’re something special to them? Think they’ll hurt anyone who crosses them but not you?”

 The boys could hear the whirl of the coffee machine and the chatter of other patrons. They could hear the cars outside and even (Y/N)’s shallow breathing before a sudden sharp intake.

 “I’m not anything special…but they wouldn’t hurt me unprovoked. Because I’m not trapped in their web, I’m part of it!” The boys felt the movement of (Y/N) push up out of her seat.

 “KiriDai is everything you say they are but they’re also a team. They may not give a fuck about anyone else, but they at least give half a fuck about each other and that’s already more than you can say for Tōō. They won’t hurt me, because I’m one of them and if anyone from Tōō is not okay with that…then I’m not okay with anyone from Tōō. Thanks for the coffee Shoi-chan.”

 The guys ducked their heads a bit as the girl stormed out of the café. They heard a deep sigh followed by some chuckling from Imayoshi’s table.

 “She’s hard-headed. I’m surprised you stubborn bunch have been able to handle her for as long as you have.”

 Most of the boys bristled, save for Seto and Hanamiya who had long since figured Imayoshi knew they were there. Standing up from their seats they turned to glare down Imayoshi who was giving them his signature creepy smirk.

 “How could you sit there across from her and tell her how shitty we were when you wouldn’t even defend your own girlfriend. You give her your emotionally abusive ‘leave your friends or I’ll break up with you.’ bullshit and yet you think she’s better off going back to school with you? Her shitty ex who wants to control her?” Yamazaki ranted out, saying everything he was gonna dream of saying later.

 “‘Shitty ex?’ Such a foul mouth with so much anger behind those words. Don’t tell me you’ve already developed an attraction to her? Is that why you’re keeping her around? To use her?”

 “I would never do that!” Yamazaki belted out.

 “No, I suppose even (Y/N) wouldn’t give you the time of day. None of you are really her type, after all. But I don’t blame you for falling for her, she is quite the catch. Not that any of it matters, she’ll come back to me and Tōō soon. It’s only a matter of time you see.”

 “And why exactly would you believe that?” Hanamiya asked with a deep scowl.

 “If I’m not mistaken, in a few months you’ll have a scrimmage with Yosen. It’s in your very nature to go about your usual rough play. (Y/N) isn’t a ref, she will be able to see every despicable and clever trick you pull. I wonder if she’ll still think you’re good people then?”

 Imayoshi slipped through the group and made his way to the exit before turning around with that smirk.

 “Do remember that she was mine first and I will get her back.” With that Imayoshi was out of the building and turning the corner as the Kirisaki Daiichi team stared after him.

 “How did he and (Y/N) actually date? What does she see in him?” Seto asked wondering how that couple could have ever worked out.

 “It’s because he’s a megane.” Furuhashi commented flatly.

~~~~~

 “Wow Furu you look so good!” (Y/N) exclaimed while burping the baby on her shoulder.

 Furuhashi gave her a small smile as he adjusted his glasses. They were the first two to make it to the game and were waiting outside for the others.

 “What the hell?!” Yamazaki exclaimed as he saw Furu.

 He and Hanamiya made their way towards them, both donning a pair of glasses. (Y/N) stopped patting Mako’s back to gawk at the three bespeckled males. Covering her mouth with her hand she left out a soft snort.

 “Did I miss a team memo? Why are all you guys wearing glasses?”

 Furuhashi and Yamazaki glared at each other, neither having anticipated the other to pull the same stunt. Hanamiya rolled his eyes and cursed his fate for the suspicious situation.

 “Since the game was gonna be crowded, we figured we would have to sit pretty far. The guys needed the glasses, so they wouldn’t miss anything.” Seto said, stepping out of a pretty nice car and waving to the driver to take off. He didn’t seem to have had the same idea as the others.

 “Ahh that makes sense! Hara should be in there already, holding out seats for u-” The girl didn’t get to finish her sentence as purposeful shoulder came and crashed into her own. Whipping her head around the girl snapped her tongue.

 Tōō stood not more than a few feet from her and Imayoshi had a teasing grin on his face. The rest of the team looked like they couldn’t actually believe (Y/N) was even standing next to the KiriDai team. Not turning her head, (Y/N) shot a hand out to grab Furuhashi as he had already taken a threatening step towards Imayoshi.

 Her hand delicately wrapped around the male’s wrist didn’t go unnoticed by the members of Tōō. Imayoshi sighed before chuckling his mean-spirited laugh that (Y/N) always hated.

 “That’s kind of cute, isn’t it? You’ve got your pet tarantula on a leash. To think you changed pets from an obedient puppy to this creature.”

 “Is he referring to himself?” Seto mumbled with a grimace. “More like a feral cat.”

 “Is that a baby?!” Wakamatsu suddenly bust out, taking notice of what (Y/N) was holding. The whole team snapped their eyes to her arms. Some looked baffled while certain people looked genuinely concerned. “No way, is that the real reason you went to Kirisaki Daiichi!?”

 (Y/N)’s face held no emotion and she gave no comment before charging past the team knocking her own shoulders with Imayoshi and a nervous looking brown-haired kid who had been avoiding eye contact with KiriDai the entire time.

 “Ehh my sweet little (Y/N), that was rude. Not even a word to poor Ryo. Looks like you boys are reverting her faster than I expected.” Imayoshi teased looking at her walk into the stadium.’’

 “What the hell does that mean!?” Yamazaki spit out.

 “I just mean that perhaps you’ll find how quickly you’ll rub off on her.”

 “Well then I guess that means you’d all better watch your backs.” Hanamiya said pushing through the team as well and following after their manager. “After all the female spider is more venomous than her counterpart.”

 With that the team walked inside leaving behind a slightly shaken Tōō and a particularly impressed former Miracle.

~~~~~

 “They were amazing!” (Y/N) exclaimed walking out into the cold with her team. “Their teamwork and skills were beyond belief! That’s true basketball!”

 “It was really great game. You guys wanna go grab ramen or something?” Seto asked with a yawn.

 “Ehh I’m not hungry.” Hanamiya responded quickly.

 “I don’t want to spend too much. How about we go to Maji Burger instead? It’s really close by.” (Y/N) suggested scrolling through her phone.

 “Yeah, that’s fine.” Seto said looking to the other guys who nodded except for Hanamiya who sighed heavily.

 “Ya’ll go, but I’m heading home.”

 “What no come on! We can’t go as a team if we don’t have our captain!” (Y/N) exclaimed reaching for his hand only for him to jerk it away quickly.

 “What the hell does it matter? I’m not even that hungry!”

 “Please please please please please! Go with us! I’ll pay!”

 “….Ugh fine!”

 (Y/N) let out a small whoop before snatching Hanamiya’s hand and giving it a small squeeze. Once again, he jerked out of her touch but the girl was content.

 “Alright so Maji Burger it is.” Seto said as the team began walking in the right direction. There was a question on everyone’s minds and surprisingly it was Seto who had the gall to ask (Y/N). “Hey so out of curiosity are you tight on money right now?”

 The team looked to her. If there was one thing KiriDai girls weren’t worried about it was spending money. Hanamiya was the first to turn away, figuring it was probably a personal matter for her. The others didn’t have as much tact and pressed on.

 “Oh don’t worry about me. My financial situation is…comfortable. But I don’t like asking for things and want to pay for stuff on my own. Right now I have saved a good amount of my money for a trip back home during winter break.”

 “Back home?” Yamazaki asked, slowing down to walk beside her.

 “To America! That’s where I’m from. I’ve been living in Japan since I was about 8 but I go and visit often”

 The guys took in that information pretty easily. They’d figured as much based on her appearance as well as the accent she spoke in.

 “Well I hope your trip goes well and…what is that!?” Yamazaki asked pointing an accusing finger at the girl’s phone charm.

 “Hmm a phone charm? It’s Zun from Paranormal Payphone.”

 “I thought you liked Jaeyoung?!”

 “Well I did but then I played Zun’s route and he was soooo cute!”

 “But he’s not a megane!”

 “Hmm? Megane are cute but that isn’t all I look for in my type!”

 “Ahhh!” Yamazaki let out a sound of frustration before taking the fake glasses off his face.

 Furuhashi had long since removed his, as they only got in the way during the game. Both of them turned to Hanamiya, waiting for him to remove them as well.

 The raven-haired male looked away from his team before pushing his glasses higher up on his nose.

 “Fuck off! Unlike you two I need these! My contacts tore!”

 (Y/N) tried to suppress a laugh but a giggle escaped her lips.

 “Cute!” She mumbled much to her captain’s displeasure.

 “Fuck off fuck off fuck off!”

[sleepyanddraw]

I HAVE A THEORY! and yeah I’m back...again!

well not fully here and...maybe a theory. I’ve been watching and slightly reading the manga of my hero academia. I’ve been falling head over hill and invested in this one character that everyone know. You know who it is? It’s ... Hawk!

yeah, this Guy!...

and I’m going to try avoid big image like these if that even is possible, since this post is going be very long and not to mention that it already going to be split into two parts. I really don’t need large image like these that almost make the post look like a long banner that just have this big image...Anyway, back to what I’m saying.

This post is a theory on Hawk. It kinda a unpopular opinion, but at the same time not so unpopular more like no one wants to add villain and Hawk in the same sentence kinda. And, Honestly, I can see why... It would be consider out of character for him to join the dark side since we seen what the guy is really like in the manga. Even though there are small bits and piece sprinkle in the manga, we know that he is a cool guy, that nice and a huge fan of Enji Todoroki also known as Endeavor.

Not to mention that this guy’s goal is that he want to give people free time and just relax. I mean what not to like about him especially since he such an attractive guy and doesn’t  even care about the rank hero system. He also even tip toeing around the League of Villain to try to get information out of them since he trying to play the part as of Double agents, but that very part is what I’m want to talk about. I’m going talk about Hawk as a hero in whole and that big giant Icarus symbolism that made very obvious about him and how that play into his character. So here’s the deal, There going to be three parts that I’m going to talk about of How I believe that hawk will fall to the dark side or how these play a part into him becoming a fallen Hero. The three parts is individuality, double agents, and Icarus.

So as I go down with each of my analysis, I want you to bare with me, cause this is going to be a bit messy and may contain grammatical error which is becoming of me when I want to ramble, but I need to talk about this. Cause if I don’t, it won’t get out of my head until I do. So with that say, Let’s get started!

1.INDIVIDUALITY and CHOICES

Manga and anime adaptation made it clear that quirk is the one to define you, not the other way around or least that how the society in this series portray it as such. I mean we have a few example like Shinso with his Quirk Brainwash. Which his classmates before he attended UA, bully him that the quirk is great for a villain and should become one. You can see how disheartened that is when someone tell you something like that especially when already have your eyes set on being a hero.

Although Shinso didn’t give into this, he did become resentful but refuse and instead still has his sight on becoming a hero. And Midoriya, a hero that didn’t have a Quirk but was given one. He believe that he was next All Might although that is somewhat true (symbol of peace), he still have to be his own kind of a hero and make that Quirk his Own. Which he eventually did.

What I’m trying to say with these example, is that Society did play a part with these two. Shinso had Society define who he should be and Midoriya had Society see him as next All might, but they didn’t let society pick a role for  them. They chose how they want to become and see how they should use their Quirk. The Choices they had matter cause it lead them create identity for themselves, their “individuality” and what make them, “them”.  Choices is seem to be very valuable in sense in this Manga and isn’t it odd when Choices are rob from Characters. It lead to only one choice, or a unlikely decision...Yes, I’m talking about the dark side.

Example like Tomura Shigaraki aka Tenko Shimura, that was rob of choices to be a hero and All for one decide that he should be a Villain cause of his very destructive Quirk. Or Gentle, another villain that fail the Hero Courses and saw only way to make a legacy for himself was to become Villain, yet both of them were still able define themselves in some form or ways.

Then you have Hawk, a pro hero but lacks the choices and Individuality. where he didn’t have the choice to become a hero. That wasn’t a decision for him at all. Basically that gifted quirk of his decided that he should be hero, and for those that saw potential in him saw that in him too.

Now you probably thinking, “well, He didn’t have to become hero at the time if he didn’t want to.” or something like that right? Well, How could he? When they offer to support his family at the time when he was young? Something that you can’t pass up at a chance like that. Especially when you consider how poor Hawk’s family was at that time.

Hawk is soldier or a groom hero that just doing what he told and that’s it.Basically he is a caged bird.  The Commission that he sometime work for made it clear that his individuality doesn’t matter nor his choices. while it does look like the commission have some concern for him, they expect him to do it. Hawk’s opinion, emotions, and who he is doesn’t matter the slightest to them. If it did matter, do you really think Hawk would become a double agent if he had a choice. And you know what suck, Hawk KNOWS that he doesn’t have option when it came down to becoming a double agent but still did it cause he still have a good heart.

Cause he Lack those traits, the League of Villain will value him more than the commission, but also it would allow Hawk to kinda be free a little bit and not be a Caged Bird. He’ll be able to find himself more.

Now here some side information that I thought recently about. Its hawk’s name.

Although, to be honest, I might be looking little bit too much into this than I need to, but isn’t it strange that Hawk name haven’t been reveal at all. I mean his real “real” name. I mean most heroes that are important or have been introduce. Usually have their name reveal but also their Hero Name, but Hawk’s name haven’t been reveal at all. Especially since he play a significant part in the arc and is consider right hand man of Endeavor. Not only that but also a mentor toward Fumikage. Which I have three reason why I think his name is not reveal.

1. There is no name, and he is just known as Hawk or Horikoshi didn’t bother with a name for him.

2. Horikoshi did make a name for him, but keeping it hidden for later use.

3. Horikoshi is trying to show that Hawk’s individuality is really not there at all, and he is just a hero that playing a part, and that’s it.

I”m going for two out of three reason. I just don’t believe Horikoshi would not give Hawk a name not unless it will play significant part later in the manga.

It could be a part of a character development of Hawk. Which may be his new identity, or his name be associate with another, such as the League of Villain. Due to you know, the League of Villain doesn’t technically use alias or code name. Some do, but not all. And I have something say about that but that’s a later time and another day for a theory.

I would love to see what you’re thinking on this matter of the code name use in My hero Academia, and what you think the significant could mean.

Anyway back to the original theory. Let’s talk about the double agent work now.

Which will be in the next post. Sorry, but I feel like this is already long as it is. You can check for the next part on my blog until I fix link. 

Thanks for reading!

oh and here the second part-----> 2

[creative-type]

The Murder of Arthur Wright XVIII

First Prevous AO3

AN: And here’s the big summation. I recommend reading on AO3 and the author note at the end of the chapter, as I have a lot of things to say and tumblr’s formatting isn’t the best for saying them. As always, thanks for reading

Chapter Eighteen: The Legacy of Arthur Wright

Margot paused as she entered Benson hall. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, though unlike the day of the mage’s conference there was no magic in the air, nor anyone besides herself and Dash to stare at her scars. It felt like an eternity and a half had passed since Master Wright’s death, when in reality it had been only days. How was it possible to feel so tired in such a short period of time?

Dash noticed her hesitation. “You okay, Prof?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Nah, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He scratched the back of his head. “It feels right, you know? Have you ever had a feeling like that, deep down in your gut?”

“Once or twice. Sometimes my gut’s been wrong.”

“Been there, done that,” Dash said. “Can’t let past mistakes hold you back, otherwise you never end up going anywhere.”

“Thank you for your words of wisdom, Master Cain,” Margot said sardonically. Then, more seriously, “Are you sure they’ll show?”

Dash shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Desdemona found them first. She entered the auditorium where her father died with her head held high and a set to her shoulders that reminded Margot of a soldier marching into a battlefield. Her eyes found the blackened wreckage of the stage, not yet repaired from the explosion, and gave a rather unladylike snort.

“You have a flair for the dramatic, Mr. Cain. I’ll give you that much.”

“Miss Desdemona,” Dash said respectfully. “I’m glad you could join us today.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said. “I’m here for one reason only.”

She walked to the front row of the auditorium and took a seat, somehow making the simple chair look like a throne. Dash tilted his head in curiosity. “Speaking of reasons, where’s your sister?”

“Hopefully far away from here,” Desdemona said. “I told you she’s innocent. There’s no reason to include her in this farce.”

Dash didn’t push the issue, choosing instead to meander next to Margot. He asked in a low tone, “Do you think you could track her?”

“Tobe thinks he could find a hair that was hers but I’m sure Abigail will have taken precautions by now,” Margot said.

“All right. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then.”

Dash was selecting a jerky stick when Felix arrived, accompanied by his wife. At the sight of Desdemona he came to a dead stop, and Isabella brought a hand over her mouth in shock.

Desdemona craned her head to look at them, a cutting smirk stretching across her face. “Long time no see, brother dearest.”

“Desdemona,” he said curtly. “It seems Mr. Cain was capable of finding you after all.”

“It seems so.” Desdemona turned her attention on Isabella. “You must be the one he managed to marry. You have my deepest condolences.”

“You have no right to speak to my wife that way,” Felix growled.

“I’m no Wright at all,” Desdemona said. “Father took care of that ten years ago.”

Felix flushed scarlet. “You brought that on yourself. You were given every opportunity and threw it all away for a girlish whim. Do you have any idea how your selfishness affected the rest of us? How could you do that to your family? To Abigail?”

“You leave her out of this,” Desdemona said, her voice as hard as steel.

“It’s your fault she’s dead!” Felix bellowed. He tore himself away from Isabella and bridged the distance between himself and Desdemona in seconds. Margot moved to stop him, but Dash put a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait,” he murmured. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

“Mother wept for you,” Felix snarled. “For both of you. Ungrateful brat, can you imagine the pain you’ve caused her? She lost both her daughters the day your selfishness overtook your sense. She had to watch Abigail waste away for five years and was helpless to prevent the despair for overtaking her completely.”

“Is that what she told you?” Desdemona asked disbelievingly. She laughed, “Gods, I always knew you were her favorite, but Mother’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?” She returned to her seat and crossed her legs for no reason other than to irritate him. “It’s a good thing we’re not here for her or Abigail, isn’t it? Hate me all you want, you had no reason to accuse me of killing Father.”

Sometime during the exchange Isabella had come up next to her husband. She looked up at Felix, making no attempt to hide her shocked surprise. “You accused your sister of murder?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Desdemona asked mockingly. “Tut tut, Felix. Don’t you know that communication is key to a healthy marriage?”

Felix’s blush crept down his neck, but whatever retort he was going to say was swallowed by the arrival of Adeline Wright. Desdemona saw her first, and she stiffened as their eyes locked. Dark brown vied with stormy grey for dominance, and in the end it was Desdemona who looked away, scowling.

“Felix, Isabella, I told you not to come,” Adeline said. “I am more than capable of handling a few insignificant upstarts on my own.”

“We wanted to hear what Mr. Cain had to say,” Isabella said, her tone equal parts explanation and apology. “We wanted to put this to rest.”

“Good to see you too, Mother,” Desdemona muttered from her seat.

“My daughter died ten years ago. You no longer have the right to call me by that name.” Adeline said, as cold and unwelcoming as ice. Without giving Desdemona a chance to respond, she turned to Isabella, her expression reproachful. “It is unbecoming of a woman to speak in her husband’s place. Felix is more than capable of explaining for himself.”

It was clear Adeline’s words cut through Desdemona’s posturing like it were made of wet paper. Twin spots of pink formed on her cheekbones, and she seemed to shrink two sizes smaller. Her hands bunched into her skirts in a white-knuckled grip, tendons protruding against her skin. “I never would have left if not for you. I hope you know that.”

Adeline’s head swiveled back towards Desdemona like a hawk tracking its prey. There was a slight flair to her nostrils, her quicksilver eyes burning with suppressed rage. “I gave you an education, a loving home, and carved a place for you in society. Do you know what my mother would have done had I shown even a quarter of the defiance you showed me? I did my utmost to raise you as a gentlewoman, a lady of superior manner and breeding. Tell me, Desdemona, have you managed to find a suitable husband on your own? Where are your children, or have you rejected your responsibility as a woman as well as your family name?”

“I have neither husband nor children, and I’ll tell you why,” Desdemona said, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotion. “I saw firsthand what happens when a woman throws herself at the first man that shows her the slightest bit of interest and had no desire to repeat your experience. Can you honestly tell me you would have married Father if your parents hadn’t pressed the issue? Why after so many years of unhappiness were you so determined for us to repeat your mistake, especially when Felix was allowed to wait until he found someone he actually cared for?”

Desdemona laughed coldly as all the color left her mother’s face. “Oh yes, I’ve forgotten after so many years of living with the less enlightened species: Felix is a man, so he gets to do whatever he wants. But know this, Mother, had I been afforded the same basic courtesy of getting to know my potential spouse on my own terms, I never would have left. Chew on that until you choke on your own bitterness for all I care. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

With this pronouncement made, Desdemona leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. She waited for Adeline to answer, a look of cold calculation in her eyes, and satisfaction flashed across her face when she could not. Margot would not have been surprised if Desdemona’s speech had been ten years in the making, each word carefully selected to hurt her mother in the only way she knew how.

It was frightening, in a way, how similar they were in that regard.

Dash took in the entire exchange, his hazel eyes missing nothing. Nodding to himself, he finally straightened to his full height and said, “Time to get started.” Clearing his throat, he vaulted nimbly onto the ruined stage.

“I thank you all for coming today. I recognize this is difficult for each of you, but while each may have a different motivations that brought us here, I think we can all agree that there is more to the death of Master Arthur Wright than meets the eye.”

Dash looked at each of the Wrights in turn. Adeline, Felix, and Isabella were clustered together while Desdemona stayed defiantly alone. “I suppose you guys have jumped the gun a little in clearing the air, but I think it’s past time for the truth to come out.”

A flicker of movement caught Margot’s eye. Dash saw it too, and for a moment he faltered, unsure of what to do.

Margot gestured for him to keep talking and ducked to the back of the auditorium were Abigail Wright stood frozen in terror. Gently leading her by the arm, Margot took her to the lobby outside.

“You came,” she said.

“I didn’t want to,” Abigail said. The nervous twitching of her fingers was back, stronger than ever. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Deep breaths, Abigail,” Margot said. “You’re not alone. Desdemona is in there.”

“Which is why I came. After all she’s done for me, I can’t let her face this alone,” Abigail said. She looked at Margot, looking absolutely lost. “Gods, Professor. They think I’m dead.”

“Yeah, they do,” Margot agreed. “But you faked your death to escape your father, and he is dead. What’s the worst they can do to you?”

“Have me committed,” Abigail said faintly. “Lock me up so I’ll never see the light of day again.”

“You know your mother better than I do, but do you really think she would admit publicly that you only pretended to throw yourself in a river?” Margot challenged, keeping her voice low. “She’s still telling people you married a diplomat to avoid the scandal. There’s no keeping quiet if she tries to oust you now.”

“She tells people I married a diplomat?” Abigail said, bewildered.

Margot nodded. “And that your sister eloped with an orc.”

“Is there a situation where she doesn’t marry us off?”

“I don’t think so,” Margot said.

Abigail said something in Elvish that Margot doubted Adeline Wright would have approved of and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I’m sorry if I throw up.”

She pushed past Margot and strode into the auditorium. What she lacked in confidence she made up for in gravitas. There was a stubborn set to her jaw that Margot now recognized all the Wrights possessed, and she acknowledged Dash’s questioning look with a solemn nod.  

“Ladies and gentleman, before we get started there is one more person who needs to get settled. I think you’ll find she needs no introduction.” As one the four Wrights looking at him turned to see who he was addressing.

Isabella shrieked with alarm and grasped the arm of a dumbfounded Felix. Both he and Adeline looked like they had seen a ghost, which, Margot supposed, they were. Silently Abigail walked past them and took her place next to her sister, evening the odds between the two factions.

“Abigail?” Felix whispered.

“Hello, Felix, Isabella.” Swallowing hard she managed to look Adeline in the eye. “Mother.”

It was then that Adeline fainted.

“She’s lucky Felix caught her.”

“I think high class ladies are trained to faint towards the nearest man,” Dash said. He sat on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs absentmindedly. Felix had laid his mother down on the ground and was using his wife’s smelling salts to revive her.

While this was happening Desdemona and Abigail had their heads together, whispering fiercely to one another. Margot couldn’t catch what they were saying, but watched with interest as Isabella crept away from her husband, slowly inching towards the twins. With a hand braced over the swell of her belly she crossed over the no-man’s land that divided the Wright family, finally catching Desdemona’s attention.

She rose to her feet and placed herself in front of Abigail. Desdemona was several inches taller and a great deal more intimidating than Isabella, and she used every bit of her superior bearing to look down at her sister-in-law.

“What do you want?” Desdemona asked.

“I don’t know you, but I did know Abigail,” Isabella said. “I have no idea what’s going on or what Mr. Cain has brought us here for. It seems like a cruel trick, but I know that can’t be it. Not after all this time.” She looked past Desdemona and said to Abigail directly, “I understand if you don’t believe me, but I’m glad you’re alive.”

It was difficult to say which of the twins was more astonished, but it was Abigail who moved first, rising smoothly to her feet. There was an anxious light to her eyes, not dissimilar to the expression Isabella wore. Carefully, like a wild animal testing a stranger intruding on their territory, she said, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I never apologized for my actions that night. It…it must have been a frightful shock.”  

“You were the one who was hurting most of all, and I never realized. I’ve thought of you every day for five years, wondering what I should have done differently,” Isabella said thickly. She smiled, still bewildered by what she saw, and said, “But it doesn’t matter now, because you’re alive.”

Then, with complete disregard for decorum, she threw her arms around Abigail in a bone-crushing hug.

“I am so, so sorry.”

Abigail stiffened at the sudden intrusion of her personal space. She threw a helpless look to Desdemona, silently begging for her to intervene. Even then it took Desdemona several moments to regather her senses, and she pried the two apart.

“I don’t think Felix would care much for you throwing yourself at your previously-deceased sister-in-law,” Desdemona said.

“I don’t care,” Isabella said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I never knew my parents, so perhaps I can’t understand, but as a girl I used to dream of what it would be like to have a family to love and cherish. It kills me to see this feud tear you all apart.”

“It’s not that simple,” Abigail said numbly.

“Perhaps not,” Isabella said, “but I wonder what would happen if any of you bothered to try.”

She glanced behind her, where Felix was now helping Adeline back to her feet. Adeline pushed herself away from her son, moaning softly when that little exertion caused her to sway dangerously on her feet.

Once Adeline was sufficiently recovered she wasted no time in fixing Isabella with a stare that would have made a veteran war mage cower in fear. Isabella let out a sharp breath through her teeth, and for a moment looked like she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

“No matter what happens, I’m glad you’re alive. Please believe me when I say that,” Isabella said quietly. There was another moment of hesitation before she finally went back to her husband’s side.

Desdemona whistled softly, eyebrows creeping towards her hairline. “I like her better than the last one Felix picked.”

“Isabella has always been very kind,” Abigail said faintly.

There was a lull, and finally some of the tension bled out of the room. It was only then that Dash chose to spring to his feet. Standing on the theater stage, he towered over the Wrights and commanded their attention with his presence alone. Removing his hat, he said, “I’m sure there are plenty of questions, and I promise they will be answered in due course, but the time has come to get down to the heart of the matter and the reason I’ve summoned you all here today: Master Arthur Wright is dead, and I’ve been doing my best to find out why.

"I have suspected from the beginning that foul play was involved. The authorities disagreed, and that was when I, along with Professor Margot, sought out Mr. Felix Wright for permission to investigate. It was at that day in the hospital that Mr. Wright hired me on the condition I prove his sister did the deed. A condition I failed to meet in a timely manner and was subsequently fired.

“My interest in the beginning was simple. Three years ago Master Wright hired Mr. Conan Westmacott to investigate Miss Desdemona. I was one of the men Mr. Westmacott had working that case—which ended in Mr. Westmacott’s retirement and the supposed death of Miss Abigail Wright, who had spent the previous two years institutionalized after a nervous breakdown.”

He paused to take a deep breath, his eyes flickering to Abigail. She was as tense as a drawn bowstring and just as likely to snap, but she gave the smallest of nods for him to continue. Clearing his throat, Dash said,

“Ten years ago Miss Desdemona ran away from home to escape what she thought to be an unbearable situation, causing great distress to both her parents. And yet Master Wright not only didn’t bring his daughter home, but disowned and cast her aside. Both Mrs. Adeline Wright and Mr. Felix Wright were devastated, albeit for different reasons, and neither forgave Master Wright for his decision, not realizing he had been blackmailed into inaction by none other than his second daughter, Miss Abigail Wright.”

“Lies,” Adeline hissed. “Lies and slander.”

“Which part, Mrs. Wright?” Dash asked. “Because your daughter was more than capable. She knew of the rumors that could ruin Master Wright’s research before it had a chance to get off the ground, and more than that held incredible influence over him. The mere threat of exposing the true progenitor of Master Wright’s theories would have been enough incentive to let Miss Desdemona go, let alone whatever nonsense happened while he was still teaching at the University.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Felix demanded. “My father worked alone. He always has.”

“No, you just never realized that his research partner was right under your nose the entire time, because apparently none of you ever considered it possible that Miss Wright was doing more than studying under your father's tutelage. Your sister was working directly with Master Wright to make his dream of mass Teleportation into a reality. You can call me a liar till you’re blue in the face, but the facts are the facts, and the proof is in your father’s own letters.”

The silence was deafening. Adeline, Felix, and Isabella were all dumbstruck, and Abigail couldn’t bring herself to speak in her own defense. She began to shake as the various members of her family stared at her like she had grown a second head, causing Desdemona to wrap a protective arm around her shoulders.

It was telling, Margot thought, that none of them accused Dash of lying. At least not immediately. Maybe the combined shock of the pronouncement in addition to finding out she was alive after all these years had silenced them, but Margot thought that perhaps they could hear the ring of truth in what he was saying. Abigail had always had a reputation within the family as being strange and bookish. Maybe it wasn’t so hard for them to make the leap that under her father’s careful instruction she had become a serious student of magic.

Dash spread out his arms. “I don’t say these things lightly, nor do I enjoy digging at old wounds without reason. It is my belief that everything that has happened over the last decade has played a crucial role in Master Wright’s death. This mess,” he said, gesturing broadly the Wrights, “is his legacy. More than any theory or enchanted ring.

“But before we begin, I must ask one last thing. Mrs. Wright, would you please be so kind as to remove your gloves.”

“Excuse me?” Isabella asked.

“Sorry, wrong Mrs. Wright.” Dash scratched the back of his head, momentarily breaking the illusion of complete control he had been trying to cultivate. “I’ve never done a summation where all the people had the same last name before.”

“You mock me, Mr. Cain,” Adeline said, a faint tremor in her voice. Her swoon, whether real or dramatized, had tilted her hat askew, and for the first time she looked vulnerable and afraid. “Remove my gloves? Whoever heard of such ridiculous nonsense?”

“The theory Professor Margot and myself have put together is dependent on one fact that we have not yet confirmed,” Dash said. “If I’m wrong, you’re more than welcome to rake me over the coals, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Your gloves, Mrs. Wright. That is, if you have nothing to hide?”

“I have suffered enough indignity at your hands, Mr. Cain. I will not listen to another word that you have to say. Felix, Isabella, come along. We’re leaving.”

Adeline Wright gathered her both her dress and the scraps of her tattered pride and moved toward the exit. She made it halfway before she realized her son had not moved. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch when she realized they would not be moving.

“Mother, he found Abigail,” Felix said plaintively.

“I…this is a trick. I don’t know what sort of evil who could give birth to such a scheme, but who would you rather believe, this orc or the greatest detective of our generation? Conan Westmacott saw Abigail jump with his own eyes. Her body was washed away to sea, and she is dead. D-dead and never coming back.”

Adeline’s composure, which had slipped considerably since Abigail had revealed itself, crumbled away entirely. She wept, not the graceful tears of a lady, but the ugly, uncontrolled sobs of a mother who had her heart ripped from her chest. She tore the black gloves off of her hands and threw them to the ground, and somewhere in the back of her mind Margot heard Isabella gasp.

Bandages covered Adeline’s hands, clumsily applied and in need of changing. At the sight of them Felix swore, and Dash nodded to himself in grim satisfaction.

“Wait, I was right?” Desdemona said. “Mother really was the one who killed Father? I didn’t honestly think…”

“It’s not that simple,” Dash said. “Prof, do you mind?”

Margot took Adeline by the elbow and sat her in the nearest chair. Gently she began removing the dressings, and was unable to stop a surprised hiss from escaping her at what she saw. The Wright matriarch’s hands were blistered and raw, the injury worst at the center of her palms and her fingertips. Calling on her magic, Margot gathered a handful of water.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Adeline demanded.

“Cleaning your wounds before they fester. I don’t know much healing magic, so it’s the best I can do for now.”

Adeline bore the humiliation stoically as fat tears continued to roll down her face. A few of the injuries went deep enough that Margot wasn't sure she had any feeling left. She thought of her own burn ointment back in her desk at the Academy and wondered if Adeline had self-medicated with something similar, or if she had simply gone without pain relief at all.

“You need a proper healer,” Margot said when she was finished cleaning the wounds. A cantrip removed the worst of the stains from Adeline’s bandages, though Margot didn’t know the spell that would have sterilized it entirely, and carefully she began the process of rewrapping her hands.

“Healers ask questions,” Adeline said numbly.

“Healers can be paid to keep quiet,” Margot said.

Adeline scoffed, a portion of her imperious nature returning. “There’s not enough money in the world that can keep a secret that’s desperate to come out. I’ve learned that again and again, and yet here we are.” She turned her watery eyes on Dash. “How did you know?”

“I told you, it was an unconfirmed suspicion. I noticed, Mrs. Wright, back when we first met. You winced when I took your hand. I didn’t think much of it at the time because you’re kinda racist and probably don’t like mixed-blood orcs touching you. But it kept happening, at the gravesite with your son, when you threatened me in my office, and just now when Felix helped you stand. Every time you touched something with your hands, you reacted as if in pain. And still I might not have thought anything of it, if not for Miss Abigail Wright.”

“Me?” Abigail said. “But I didn’t say anything about my mother.”

“No, but you did say your father protected his research with magic.” Dash clasped his hands behind his back and paced up and down the length of the stage. “Over the course of the investigation one thing became clear to me: Every one of you was trying to protect someone else. Why else would Mr. Wright be so quick to accuse his sister after not seeing her in ten years, or even knowing if she was there at the scene of the crime? Why else would Mrs. Wright approach both the professor and myself after we’d already been fired and demand that we leave her son alone? Why else would Miss Desdemona try to hide her sister, and why else would Miss Wright make it so clear that she and she alone had the knowledge needed to kill her father?”

Dash spun suddenly and pointed an accusatory finger at Adeline Wright. “You knew your son’s relationship with his father was on the rocks, and you knew that Felix spent the most time with Master Wright before his death. He had motive and opportunity to kill his father.”

He moved from Adeline to Felix and said, “You knew your mother fought with your father often. During the funeral funeral I overheard the servants say that Master and Mrs. Wright had a row the night before the mage’s conference. You knew how unhappy your mother was after years of scandals and the loss of two daughters. Mrs. Wright, you also had motive and opportunity to kill your husband!”

“My son had nothing to do with it!” Mrs. Wright shrieked. She bolted to her feet and held up her mangled hands for all to see. “This. This is proof that he didn’t!”

“Calm down, Mrs. Wright. I’ve not accused your son of anything yet,” Dash said. “Or you, for that matter.”

Adeline slumped back into her seat, a look of blank terror on her face. Again Dash began to pace.

“You told Professor Margot that your love and duty was to your children, and in Mr. Wright’s case I believe that to be true. He, after all, is the only one who came back. I can’t imagine what that would feel like, to cling so desperately to a child, your firstborn son, only for your own husband to push him away as useless just because they didn’t fit his idea of what sort of man he should become.”

“There’s no need for such introspection if you’re going to accuse me, Mr. Cain,” Adeline said. “I don’t deny it. I killed my husband. There, are you satisfied?”

“No, because it’s not true. You might have wanted to, but you don’t have the expertise to deliberately tamper with your husband’s research,” Dash said. “I do believe, however, that sometime during or after your last argument, you found Master Wright’s notebook where he kept his spells, and in a fit of rage decided to destroy it. Miss Wright mentioned that he kept it well-protected, and it seems like you managed to rip one handful of pages out before the defenses triggered. Your injuries kept you from accompanying your Master Wright to the conference, but it is clear now that you kept what you had done secret. All of Master Wright’s work on those pages would have been destroyed, including the formulas he had prepared for his demonstration.”

“But that’s ridiculous, even if it is true,” Felix said. “Father would have notice immediately and redone them. That has nothing to do with how he died.”

“You’re assuming that he had time to fix it,” Dash said. “Mrs. Wright played her part in this story, but she’s not the only one, because Miss Desdemona had decided to use the mage’s conference to extract a revenge of her own.”

“I don’t deny it, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said stiffly.

“It would be a hard thing to deny, seeing as how your brother was present for it,” Dash said. “See, it all goes back to Miss Desdemona running away from home. That one incident was the wedge that drove everyone apart. Miss Wright was determined to see her sister go free, and she took measures with her father to make sure it happened. I’m sure you can imagine how well Master Wright took such a betrayal, and even as she continued to work with her father, Miss Wright’s health and well-being began to deteriorate, culminating in the incident that led her to being sent to the asylum.”

“Gods…” Isabella breathed, eyes widening in horror.

“Miss Desdemona found her there, and together they hatched the scheme to get her out. When she learned what her father had done to her sister she became furious. That rage smoldered for three years, and when she saw an opportunity to strike back against Master Wright, she took it. I’m sure the fact Mr. Wright was there as well was just icing on the cake.”

Dash turned to address Felix directly. “You were right about one thing, your sister was the one who got The Death of Desdemona in Anansi’s hands. Now Anansi claims they didn’t use Desdemona’s face during that performance, but I’ve got an inkling suspicion they’re lying through their teeth. Either way it doesn’t matter. The performance shook both you and Master Wright to the core. While you went out to drown in your sorrows, Master Wright went to demand answers. It’s there we enter act three of this tragedy.”

Again he paused to gauge the reaction of his audience. Finding them suitably engaged, he continued,

“Master Wright never met Anansi that night, but he did meet his daughter. Miss Wright—that is, er, I mean Miss Abigail, not Desdemona who wasn’t even there—admits to seeing him, wanting some answers of her own after all this time.

“Miss Wright claims she lost her nerve and never said anything to Master Wright. That might be true, but again it doesn’t matter because after an unproductive interaction he stormed away. Miss Wright, you said you thought your father was afraid, correct?”

“Yes,” Abigail breathed.

“As well he should be, since he came thinking Anansi was wearing the face of your sister. You two look a lot alike, but you aren’t identical, and your sister doesn’t have the same eyes you do.”

Realization hit Abigail like a ton of bricks. She staggered back into her seat and buried her head in her hands.

“Master Wright came thinking he’d see Miss Desdemona, and he saw Miss Abigail instead,” Dash said, almost sadly. “I don’t blame him for running.”

“But that still doesn’t have anything to do with my father’s death,” Desdemona said. “Abby didn’t kill him. She wasn’t there the day he died.”

“Hold your horses, I’m getting there,” Dash said. “See, there was one more thing that Mr. Wright said that I didn’t think much about at the time. Mr. Wright didn’t get back to his hotel room until after two in the morning, which caused yet another fight, this time between him and Master Wright. Mr. Wright says he was in bed by three—which again I have no way of proving but think is probably true—and Master Wright was still up working. Because of Mrs. Wright’s actions and the shock of seeing his dead daughter, Master Wright hadn’t yet recalculated the formula he would need for his big demonstration. Mr. Wright, what time did your father go to bed that night?”

“I…I don’t know,” Felix said.

“Exactly. Now, Miss Wright managed to reconstruct the formula Master Wright used for the mage’s conference: ten kilograms of graphite Teleported twenty-five meters.”

“But that can’t be right,” Felix said, confused.

“It is, and I’ll leave it to Professor Margot to explain why.”

Margot stepped forward. “I was there the day Master Wright died. I saw the chunk of graphite he was going to use for his demonstration. It was small, able to fit into the palm of my hand.” She formed a ball of ice to demonstrate. “Abigail, you were surprised by the calculation you came up with because the ideal that your father had always been working for had been one kilogram, not ten. Am I right?”

“Of course she is,” Felix said. “That’s what we were going to do. That’s what Father had always planned on doing.”

Margot nodded. “The defenses on Master Wright’s rings were substantial. They protected against any outside influence interfering with the magic within the ring and encouraged stability with the internal elements. But there is no protection against user error.”

She let the ice dissipate into the air. “In order to Teleport the graphite Master Wright had to calculate its physical properties into the spell: Density, shape, and weight are all key components in this process. A smaller object takes far less energy to Teleport than a large one, and the rings themselves were only a scale model of what he one day hoped to build. Their energy capacity was limited simply because of their size. The power it takes to Teleport a ten kilogram object versus a one kilogram object is substantial. The rings would have been forced beyond what they were designed to do, but since the spell itself was technically correct none of the failsafes would have triggered. This surge of energy would have been more than enough to trigger a thermal runaway reaction, causing the explosion.”

“There’s a saying among orcs that you reap what you sow, and for ten years Master Wright had done nothing but cultivate bad blood within the family,” Dash said. “No one person is any more responsible than the rest. Master Wright’s death was one of a thousand cuts, and without the perfect storm of events leading up to the mage’s conference he probably would still be alive.”

He jumped off of the stage and replaced his hat on his head. “I said that I was suspicious of foul play from the beginning, but I was wrong. Master Wright’s death wasn’t murder, but a stupid, senseless accident. And if you want my honest opinion, he had no one to blame but himself.”

[andyhre]

Chapters 2-4

Chapter 2: Bored

Bohemond of Otranto was bored.  Bored of Otranto itself, of Norman Italy and the success of his late father's schemes for piecing together a duchy out of the petty principalities and exarchates in the toe and heel of Italy, much like his Uncle Roger had also done in Sicily, but mostly he was bored with the day-to-day business of being the disinherited son of a great man.  His younger half-brother had cheated him out of inheriting the Duchy of his famous father, Robert de Hauteville, whom everyone had called Guiscard -- "the wily one" in the French of his family's native Normandy.  If he were to rise to greatness, it would be through conquest of his own kingdom, much as Normans had been doing in the Mediterranean for the last 50 years.  But while Bohemond was stronger that Duke Robert Guiscard, he lacked the cunning that had taken Roger and Robert from younger sons of a nothing nobleman to the Count of Sicily and the Duke of Apulia and Calabria in the course of their lifetimes.  The problem for Bohemond was how to top their success, and it was a problem he could not solve.

 If only Bohemond had been born a generation earlier. His father and uncle had been destined for obscurity, the sixth and twelfth sons of a second marriage of a minor noble. But almost all of the Hauteville brothers had followed their centuries-old Viking roots, and taken to raiding, traveling to Italy to make their names and scrabble titles and lands to rule. Guiscard had been the most successful, but his even his much younger brother Roger had gotten the prosperous island of Sicily as a virtual kingdom.  If Bohemond had been born of that generation, then he could have used his ambition and strength to find himself a principality of some sort.  Instead, all of the petty princelings had been gobbled up by his elders and he was left to serve his younger brother, also called Roger, who’d usurped his rightful place in his father’s legacy.

 The Roman Empire had still controlled bits and pieces of southern Italy when the Hauteville clan arrived before Bohemond had been born.  With his father, he’d crossed the Adriatic and attempted to march on the Roman capital in Constantinople.  It always puzzled Bohemond why the Romans spoke Greek and why they did not rule the dusty, priest-ridden city of Rome to the north of his father's duchy, ruled by the Pope.  But that did not deter him from his efforts to conquer it.  He was made to conquer.  But to rule?  He'd not yet had the chance and things did not look good.  He'd led armies for his father in campaigns against the Empire, but they had all failed, and Bohemond, while noble in his efforts to make the best of a botched adventure, had come away with nothing.  When his father decided he wanted a new wife, he’d taken advantage of the fact that Bohemond’s mother was his too-close cousin, and thus Bohemond became a sort-of bastard, losing his patrimony to the children of his father’s second wife.

 So his chance at inheritance was gone.  And also gone were the days of a quick assault of a decrepit Roman fortress in Calabria or Apulia -- if he wanted his own County or Duchy, he would need to gather troops and try again to carve something out of the body of the Empire in the Balkans or the Peloponnesus.  And the Emperor of the Romans, Alexis Comnenus, knew the Hauteville family from their earlier attempts, and was wary.   So it was nothing doing there, at least not for now.

 So Bohemond was just bored.

 He'd even been given a boring name.  Not Bohemond, that was his middle name, one he'd chosen to emphasize to focus on a life of adventure.   His real name was Mark.  Who ever heard of King Mark?  No one would respect Duke Mark.  Mark, at best, was a petty knight with a tiny hamlet, Sir Mark of the Cattle-Crossing. Bohemond was a name destined for greatness, but was Bohemond going to find a way to fulfill his destiny?

And so he was stuck in Otranto, staring out at the Ionian Sea, frustrated and bored.  And then a ship came in, bearing the sign of a red cross on a field of white.  It was a new flag, unfamiliar to Bohemond, so he headed down to the docks, hopeful that this would add a little excitement to his otherwise dull, dull life.  What he found changed the world.

Chapter 3: Fat but Unhappy

Raymond of Saint Gilles should have been happy. Here he was, with a young and docile new wife, ruling over his warm, fertile lands of Toulouse and Narbonne. Just two autumns ago, his Uncle William had died and the inheritance had added much of the rich lands Provence to his growing principality spanning much of the Languedoc north of the Pyrenees. For a normal prince of his stature, life was good.

 But Raymond was not normal.  Yes, he had the girth emblematic of his rank, and had fathered children on all three of his wives, but inwardly he longed to make a great religious undertaking, and do Something Really Big for God.  His peers among Europe’s ruling nobility paid passing service to God in their words, and perhaps in their giving to the church.  But Raymond knew most of them were insincere, or at best motivated by fear of eternal damnation.  He, on the other hand, loved God, and as lord over so many souls himself, Raymond longed to do some great deed to prove his devotion to the only Lord he had ever known.  He’d taken a pilgrimage before.  He’d fought the infidel in Spain.  But he’d never found the one great deed worthy of his devotion to Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

 So he was unhappy, despite his wealth, power, and tremendous good fortune.

 Elvira was already pregnant with another child, and indisposed this morning.  Rather than wait for her to emerge from her chambers, Raymond decided to go hawking. With the barest of retinues, he ventured forth from Toulouse and headed north into the countryside.  Coming up the main road from Cahors, he spied riders – one clearly with the Papal crest flying behind him – and when they reached him, he was excited to see he’d been summoned to Clermont, a church city far to the north, to meet with the Pope himself and with Adhemar, the powerful Bishop of Le Puy.  Perhaps this was his moment, his chance to do something truly great for the Lord.  Had the Church chosen him to bring Spain fully back into Christendom?  He longed to find out what his Holiness had planned for him.

 He sent a page back to tell Elvira to pack and meet him start packing, and to meet him in Clermont, several days ride to the north. She would be days in planning, what with her pregnancy and the general difficulty that came with a young Duchess eager to establish herself as worthy of her new titles.  Rather than wait for her, he and the rest of his train went directly north, eager to learn what St. Peter’s successor had in store.

 As they rode off, something strange occurred to Raymond. Suddenly he was happy.

   Chapter 4: The Disinherited Duke It wasn't just.  His uncle Godfrey had chosen him as to be his heir, probably because they shared a name.  And as heir to the title of Duke of Lorraine, that was supposed to make him, well, the Duke of Lorraine, the rich lowlands that stretched from Cologne to the mouth of the Rhine.  He wasn't an oldest son, that was his brother Eustace who had inherited their father's title of Duke of *Upper* Lorraine, but Uncle Godfrey, that old hunchback who couldn't father a child for all the gold in Christendom, had named Godfrey his heir.  And when he died, the King of Germany hd pushed Godfrey aside.  It wasn't just! As he did on most days, Godfrey stewed on this for several hours, ranting about how Henry IV, whom everyone knew would eventually be crowned Holy Roman Emperor , had basically just taken Godfrey's inheritance and given it to Henry's own son Conrad.  Now Godfrey was hardly any better off than his twerp of a little brother, Baldwin.  Henry had left Godfrey nothing but scraps -- the towns of Bouillon and Antwerp, little pinpricks on the map his family had controlled for eons, dating back almost to when Charlemagne had divided the empire and created Lorraine as the middle Kingdom between what was now France and Germany.   Bldwin would snicker now and then, which Godfrey knew was just to get him started again, but sometimes he couldn't help it.  It simply was not just.

In the first few years, Godfrey figured he'd keep pressing Henry for a fairer split of the lands and in the meantime he'd just carve out a bigger kingdom by fighting for it, but when he looked at the family map, he realized King Henry had chosen shrewdly.  In every direction, his lands were surrounded, either by his own brother's patrimony, or by Conrad's, and if he fought against the son of his liege, there would be no chance of any further redress from that quarter.  Godfrey was stuck.

But Godfrey was the direct heir of Charlemagne himself (well, through  female line anyway), and he was not one to let a setback like this last too long.  Sure, he had been moping about Bouillon for over a decade, but now it was time to act.  Well, soon anyway.  Baldwin pointed out he'd been saying that it was time to act for almost a decade since the first decade had passed, and that Godfrey was getting old and maybe even a little hunched himself, just like the Uncle who'd given him such a worthless paper title of Duke of Lower Lorraine.  Godfrey and Baldwin had probably spent too much time together and things were getting a bit tense.

 For some reason, as the morning drifted into afternoon, Bouillon was suddenly abuzz. This was particularly unusual because Bouillon was pretty much never abuzz.  Godfrey dragged himself away from his full afternoon of self-pity and went to see what was going on.  Baldwin tagged along of course; Baldwin was like his  annoying shadow sometimes, almost an ever present reminder that despite his inheritance, Godfrey was also just a lesser son of a great house.

When they reach the courtyard, Godfrey got the news -- Pope Urban in Clermont, far to the south, had called for a great pilgrimage in force to liberate Jerusalem from the Saracens. On everyone's lips was a new word -- Crusade -- a taking of the cross as a sign of commitment to this great pilgrimage.   And Pope Urban particularly wanted the nobility who could afford to leave their lands in the hands of the others, or better still who did not have lands to leave behind, to lead this Crusade. Godfrey had land, yes, but Bouillon and Antwerp had never been much to speak off and it wasn't going to hold him back now.  Then he chuckled -- he'd give it to Baldwin and let him stew by himself while Godfrey set off for Jerusalem and a new chance for greatness, one that King Henry could not take from him this time.

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

For DWC, how about “You can’t just leave like this.” for your m!Adaar/Cassandra?

I think that’s meant to be an angst prompt but I’m going to exercise my humour-writing muscles instead, by your leave :P

m!Adaar/Cassandra, “You Can’t Just Leave Me Like This” (AO3)

“I’m going to lodge a complaint to the next Divine,” Qakarsaid.

Cassandra raised her eyebrow. “By all means. I’ll consider it with all the attention it is due.”

“I’m withdrawing my endorsement,” he grumbled.

“You are entirely free to catch up with Jim and retract yourown missive the moment Healer Adan clears you to leave your bed, assuming you’re fit to ride a horse,” the Seeker commented as she turned away from the Inquisitor, picking up her copy of The Tale of the Champion: Legacy of Blood and pretending to read it disinterestedly.

“Cassandra, get me out of this thing!”, Qakar bellowed, shaking with all of his considerable might against his sickbed, and especially the massive cast which was wrapped around his leg and tied to the ceiling.

“You, the Herald of Andraste, Leader of the Inquisition,” Cassandra scolded Qakar, slapping him on his shoulder with her book, “will stop acting like a child!”

Wincing in pain, albeit nothing compared to the agony which his leg had undergone recently, he muttered, “Fine. But I’ve been in thisblighted thing for half a week already, Cassandra, and all I’ve been able to see is these four walls and the light coming into that window. I’m going stir crazy in here, Cass.”

“Well,” Cassandra huffed, “let that be a lesson to you, and let that lesson sink in the next time you chase after a high dragon all by yourself.”

“What was I supposed to do, let it terrorise the Storm Coast? I’ve been informed by Josephine that the news has already gotten as far as Nevarra. I thought you’d be happy!”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, are you saying you chased after aVinsomer on my account?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. That’s not…well…it was one of the reasons, I suppose.”

“Am I supposed to be charmed?”, she asked sceptically.

Qakar shrugged his shoulders as much as he could in his position. “It would be appreciated if you were at least half as enthusiastic as Bull was once we brought it down.”

“You qunari…I beg your pardon…Vashoth and your obsessions. Why did you think you needed to scale the sharp rocks on that island to get up close to it, especially since your specialty is long-range attacks?”

“Hold up, you come from a family of dragonslayers. I thoughtyou might empathise.”

“Naturally,” Cassandra said, nonplussed. “Countless Pentaghasts throwing themselves needlessly at dragon nests and gettingthemselves eaten, or worse. Generations of foolishness only interrupted by growing bellies and sloth. How utterly noble.”

“I suppose I can rule out jealousy then.”

“Absolutely,” Cassandra said.

Pouting a little, he pressed on, “Agitated concern?”

Inhaling sharply, she put the book down on the side-table next to Qakar’s finished lunch none too gently. “Why must you treat everything with such flagrant flippancy, Inquisitor?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“That you are, and with a broken leg from falling off Dragon Island and unable to conduct any of the Inquisition’s business for a wholeweek. Don’t you care about your life at all? Why can’t you ever take anything about it seriously?”

Locking his eyes with Cassandra, Qakar said, “I absolutelydo, Cassandra. I’ve treasured every day since you decided not to execute me at Haven, and that’s why I’m just so frustratedat being tied to this damned thing. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

Cassandra exhaled, turning back to him a little lessagitated. “Well, at least you seem like you’re learning your lesson. If it’swhat it takes to get you not to breakyour leg fighting a dragon, I shall accompany you the next time you go outhunting them.”

“Why, are you not content playing nursemaid here?”

“And just when I thought you were making progress. Verywell, if you wish to pout and bemoan the injustice of your circumstances, Ishall leave you to it,” Cassandra said, packing her book away and standing upto leave.

“Wait-Cassandra-Please, come on, you can’t leave me herelike this!” he begged.

“I believe I can, and I will,” she said, reaching for thedoor.

“All right, all right, you’re right. I’ll act like anadult,” he conceded. “Please, just stay here a while. You’re the first personI’ve had a chance to talk to besides Adan and our advisors, and all I’ve doneis complain at you. I’m sorry.”

“Very well,” Cassandra said, turning away from the door. “Isuppose I could stay for a while. It is not as though I have much to do for therest of the day. What would you like to do?”

Qakar sighed. “Not much, as you can tell. Is that one ofVarric’s books?”

“Indeed it is. I had to withdraw a whole twelve sovereignsand nine silvers from the Seekers’ funds, as they were, just to track down thisvolume. And just to find out that he knew about Corypheus all along! It isutterly galling.”

“You’ll forgive him one day.”

“One day, perhaps,” she said. “While I am here, shall I readsome of it to you? Varric always says these things sound better when spoken outloud.”

Qakar raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s acting nursemaid?”

“Do you want me to read it or not?”

He meekly conceded, waving at her to start. She sat down,opening the novel to where she’d left off, tracing the rows with her fingertipsto find the exact spot.

“And so I told Gerav, ‘Thisis Hawke, the one whose blood you want to drink or bathe in or whatever. But ifyou’re after eternal youth, I’ve gotta tell you, Hawke’s no virgin’…”

She let loose a disgusted sigh. “This is why I prefer hisother work. At least he’s deprived of the ability to make himself the smartestman in the room at every opportunity.”

“Don’t stop on his account. At least this way you’re thesmartest woman in the room.”

Cassandra gently slapped his shoulder with the back of herfingers. “You charmer.”

“Charms, Lady Seeker, come second to seeing the obvioustruth, even if it is…difficult sometimes.”

“Shall I give you more chances to try your charms, or shallI continue?” she asked, folding her arms and looking back down on the page.“Ugh, yet another fight scene. I swear he’s paid by the word sometimes. I thinkI’ll skip it, by your leave.”

“I can think of something else we could do while you werehere,” Qakar said.

“Oh?”, Cassandra asked suspiciously.

Gesturing over to himself, he said, “I have to whisper it inyour ear, though.”

Groaning, she leant over, and no sooner had she come closein did he kiss her on the check. As she pulled away, astonished, she noticedthe smirk spreading across his face.

“Oh, behave yourself!”, she shouted, unable to keep mirthfrom rising in her voice.

“I thought you were giving me another chance?”, he askedinnocently.

“So I was,” she said, “but then again, you’re to stay offthat leg.”

“I promise. Just stay a while, will you?”

“For you, my love?” Cassandra asked, saying, “Anything.”

And she leant in and kissed him, leaving the book on thenightstand.

@dadrunkwriting

[zendelai]

Neither Prince Nor Priest

That’s right everyone, I wrote something today. I blame @penthesilea1623 for inspiring me with amazing writing. I also played Legacy for the first time this week, so here we are. 

--

Hawke was starting to see why Anders hated the bloody Deep Roads.

This trip was made worse by the fact that they actually had to be down here this time -- it wasn’t for an Expedition, or to save a family of foolish dwarves. Someone -- Corypheus -- was out for blood, her blood, and she couldn’t rest until the threat was dealt with.

And killing a being that inspired devotion bordering on madness seemed like a good idea for the world, anyways.

But that reminder didn’t make the walls feel any less like they were pressing in on her, and didn’t make her forget that there were miles and miles of ground above her that could crush her at any bloody moment.

Also, you know, darkspawn.

“Hawke.”

She started and froze in place when Varric spoke to her, her hand reflexively going to her bow. The Key. Whatever in the Maker’s name it was.

In a voice low with worry, he continued. “Sebastian is trailing behind us.”

Fear gripped her. Ice crawled down her spine. Her fingers trembled and slowly, as slowly as she could muster, as if her mind was resisting the actions her body knew it had to take, she turned.

Varric was right. Sebastian was trailing behind them. Far, far behind them.

She watched him stumble and she sprinted towards him, all blood draining from her face.

“No, no, no.”

Sliding to her knees beside him, she took his face in her hands and gasped in horror.

The grey pallor.

The stark black veins.

The white, glassy eyes.

It was the Taint.

“No, no, no, no,” Hawke repeated, over and over, a mantra borne of fear.

Varric and Fenris appeared at her side.

“I’ll be alright,” Sebastian lied; with great effort, he rose again, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of the stale air.

Fenris told Sebastian what she could not. “It’s the Taint, Sebastian.”

Eyes remaining closed, Sebastian muttered a prayer. “Maker preserve me and Andraste guide me.”

Lungs tight, Hawke’s instinct was to panic. To cry. To scream at the injustice, to blame the Maker, his Bride. But panic would not save Sebastian: a cool head would. Could. Maybe. The chances were small, but…

“Varric.” Hawke’s eyes found the dwarf’s, both set in determination. “Stick to the shadows and scout ahead. Find Larius. Tell him what happened. Perhaps… perhaps he will know the ritual.”

A lump in her throat formed, and through her dry mouth she forced it down.

Carver, struck down by an ogre, dead but not at peace.

Bethany, lying on the floor of the Deep Roads; the same grey pallor, the same blackened veins, Hawke’s dagger in her heart.

She would not lose Sebastian.

She would not allow it.

--

Voices.

New voices.

Tears sprung to Hawke’s eyes, but she swallowed them down.

Each minute -- each second -- had been an hour. With only Hawke and Fenris keeping the darkspawn at bay, Sebastian too weak to even draw his bowstring, each fight had been slow and arduous.

Fear kept Hawke moving. Fear and love. She would not collapse, she would not give up.

And now…

Four Grey Wardens rounded the corner.

Sebastian collapsed to his knees, gasping in exhaustion, and Hawke ran to them, frantic.

“You must help us,” Hawke gasped. Her fearful eyes fixed on the mage Warden, who appeared to be the leader; in return, the Warden’s gaze showed little empathy.

Without answering Hawke’s plea, the woman inquired, “Are you Hawke?”

She whispered, “Yes.”

“Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement. I am Janeka. It is your help that we need, your blood to release Corypheus.”

Varric’s voice resonated behind her, “This sounds like a bad idea, Hawke,” but she chose to ignore him.

With a gesture to Sebastian, she asked, “Will you make him a Warden?”

Wordlessly, Janeka assessed him down her long nose. “You will help us release Corypheus?”

Hawke nodded, and Larius cried, “No!”

“It will be done.” Janeka turned to her accompanying Wardens. “Dursten, you know what to do.”

Closing her eyes, Hawke sent a silent prayer to the Maker and Andraste for affording Sebastian this chance.

She knew he might not make it.

She knew this may be the last time she saw him.

But she prayed anyways, for a sliver of a chance was more than none.

Standing, she walked over to Sebastian and dropped by his side. Her trembling hand found his cheek, his handsome features marred by the Taint. Eyes closed, breath harsh, he appeared a shadow of the man she knew he was.

With every ounce of fierceness she could muster, she told him, “I love you.”

His eyes -- once bright and blue, filled with life, now covered in an unearthly film -- met hers, and through thick lips he muttered, “And I you.”

Not caring who was around them, not caring about the fact that they were in the middle of the cursed Deep Roads, not giving a damn about the judgment of the Maker, she grasped his cold cheeks and, for the first time, brought her lips to his.

So caught by surprise he was, at first he didn’t respond; but when he did, oh Maker, when he did, it set her alight. His lips molded beneath hers perfectly, so bright and alive in spite of the Taint; one of his hands reached into her hair, pulling her closer, and the other (cold, so cold) pressed against her cheek. Tears streaked down her dirty cheeks before, reluctantly, she pulled away, keeping her eyes closed for just a moment as if it could help her savour it longer.

“That was unwise,” Fenris growled behind her, but there was no conviction behind his words.

“I will find you,” Sebastian whispered, before Warden Dursten grasped his armpits and helped him up.

Through eyes blurred with tears, she watched him stumble away, wondering and hoping if the Maker would bring them together again.

--

Four months passed.

Four agonizing months, waking in screams bathed in sweat, Sebastian’s tainted pallor haunting her every dream.

For too long, she considered becoming a Warden herself, just so she could see if he was alive, but Fenris reminded her that the idea was madness.

Instead she haunted her own home like a ghost.

Each day passed.

Slower.

And slower.

Yet she was never ready to move on.

Never ready to let go of the last vestiges of hope.

--

“Messere! Your mail has arrived.”

The fire’s embers danced in her pupils, but her mind was far away.

In the Vimmark Mountains, to be precise.

Reliving that day, over and over.

Bodahn was beside her, wringing his hands. “You may want to read this, Messere.” He placed the letter on her lap. Her lethargic hands lifted it and held it before her eyes, which widened when she recognized the writing. Without sparing it a second thought, she ripped open the letter, eyes widening as they darted across the page.

To my love, Hawke,

I am alive. I survived the Joining.

They took me to Weisshaupt, so I hope this letter is not too delayed in reaching your hands. The Wardens treat me well -- they take care of me, respect me. They have a purpose which I believe in.

I miss you, every day. I didn’t say it in the Deep Roads, but you saved my life. I never hesitated with the thought of joining the Wardens knowing that it would bring me one step closer to seeing you again. If I only see you for a moment, it would all be worth it.

I will come back to Kirkwall. I will see you again.

Take care of yourself. Everyone else, too. Especially Anders, he worries me.

Send your letters to Weisshaupt and they will make their way into my hands.

All of my love,

Sebastian

He was alive.

She fell to her knees, openly weeping.

Whatever happened, wherever the world would take them, he was alive.

--

It had been three years since Hawke had received that first letter from Sebastian. They corresponded when they could, but she knew that it was impossible for him to see her without abandoning the Grey Wardens; his guilt was already heavy with leaving both the Chantry and Starkhaven, although he had little choice.

In that time, she had stopped a Qunari invasion of the city, slayed the Arishok, and became Champion of Kirkwall.

All of Hawke’s accomplishments were not enough to save the city from the war between the mages and the templars; feeling defeated, exhausted, and empty, she gazed on the charred corpse of the Chantry and beside it, the peaceful corpse of its murderer.

Closing her eyes, she muttered a quiet prayer.

“Maker, I have failed you. Andraste, guide me, where did I go wrong?”

“You could start by taking the blame away from yourself.”

Hawke’s heart stopped for just a moment, before it resumed at double-speed, thudding in her chest.

That voice.

That voice.

It couldn’t be…

Not now…

Could it?

Dark eyelashes flooded open, and the first sight that greeted her were eyes so familiar, so lovely, in crystalline blue.

“Sebastian,” she choked before leaping forward, completely without thought, enveloping his warm form in a crushing hug, ignoring the spikes in his Grey Warden armor digging into her flesh.

Her nostrils flared as she took in the smell of him, anise and leather polish, and warm tears slid down her nose into her open mouth.

Into her hair he whispered, “I missed you, Hawke.”

Through choking tears she managed to sputter out, “Fuck this city. Fuck the mages, fuck the templars. I’m going with you.”

Strong hands rested on her shoulders to separate them. His brow was furrowed as he met her gaze with blazing eyes. “Are you sure? This isn’t a life I would wish on you.”

Her jaw was set in determination. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

For a moment -- just a fraction -- she took in the sight of him. He appeared more worn and battle-weary than ever, but it only served to make him more handsome. His chestnut hair was mussed, the blue & grey of the Wardens brought out his golden skin tone and blue eyes, and the armor clung more closely to him than his white & gold armor ever did. And, Maker, the Andraste belt-buckle was gone. 

This time he was the one who pulled her in, crushing her with his embrace. Into her hair he muttered, “We will save the city first.”

Slowly, she nodded. They would save the city first, and then she would be a Grey Warden.

With Sebastian at her side, it was a fate she looked forward to.