#duncan tends to just tease the two about their 'age difference' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carewyncromwell · 3 years ago

Photo

“And now for a scene at the end of our tale

Of two ghostly lovers under a moon so pale.”

x~x~x~x

background picture source (x) // effects courtesy of Lunapic and EZGif

x~x~x~x

The first snowfall outside of the Cromwell Manor happened in mid-November, about a week after the house’s new Master had left Liberty Square. It was also the first day in almost two hundred years that the Beating Heart Bride, Carewyn Cromwell, left the perimeter of her family home.

It was the Wanderer, Orion Amari, who had encouraged her. Carewyn had been concerned that, while they were fully materialized again, she wouldn’t blend in with mortals the way Orion was somewhat able to...but seeing the snow that year had awakened something in Carewyn she’d nearly forgotten was there.

She used to love the winter, when she was alive. Charles Cromwell used to have to host parties during that time, to keep up appearances in town, and Carewyn loved the times when her grandfather, aunts, and uncle would be preoccupied with entertaining and she, Jacob, and Lane could simply have some quality time alone together by the fire, a hot chocolate drink in hand as they sang and chatted the night away.

And so Carewyn took Orion’s hand and accompanied him outside. She’d paused momentarily when she reached the end of the porch -- Orion had waited patiently for her, holding her gloved hand gently in his, until she’d readied herself enough to take those first steps. Once she had, her face had lit up with such pure, joyful relief -- then, her once-again blue eyes shining, she steadied her grip on Orion’s and ran with him into the trees.

The two ghosts swept through the woods with speed, their clothing at times mere mist. At more than one point, Carewyn was even giggling and laughing -- it was a girlish sound, and yet overfull with happiness. It filled Orion’s heart up with such warmth, to hear it.

Orion took her toward town, stopping just before the main road. It was here that Carewyn saw cars for the first time -- Orion told her about the beat-up old Chevy pick-up truck he had to drive when he worked at a lumber yard, back in the day, before drifting off onto a tangent about how many more wanderers the world creates, when it’s unable to keep balanced enough for beavers to build dams or birds to make nests. Although someone like Duncan Ashe probably would’ve asked what the hell Orion was going on about, Carewyn listened indulgently and was somehow even able to follow along with his thought process.

Carewyn then walked Orion through the neighboring woods so she could point out areas she’d used to know. Although almost all of the old structures were gone now, she was still miraculously able to point out where the Weasley cottage used to be; the barn where Bill and Charlie used to hide in the hay with Carewyn whenever Charles came looking for her; the place that used to hold the large tree that Bill taught her how to climb so that they could go stargazing; even the plot of land where Ron planted his very first sapling, which now sported a huge, beautiful tree. Then she led him over the hill, pointing out other spots along the river and the town of Liberty Square below that had once been places she’d known, like the governor’s mansion and the local church.

Then, in the twilight of evening, the sky opened up. Snowflakes cascaded down, swirling through them with a biting cold. The chill didn’t affect Carewyn the way it would’ve in life, of course -- but oh, even just being corporeal enough again to feel anything at all...to be free enough to feel any of it, to be outside in it --

Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from closing her eyes and twirling around, her arms spread wide as the wispy, insubstantial skirt of her wedding gown swirled around her, ghosting the trees. The snow and winter air rushed right through her, and it was enough to make her glowing red heart race.

When Carewyn opened her eyes, she found Orion merely standing back and watching her, his black eyes sparkling softly. Carewyn bowed her head, her eyes falling to her hands.

“Forgive me,” she said, trying to mask her self-consciousness with a pretty smile, “I...forgot myself.”

Orion’s lips spread into a soft smile as he shook his head. “On the contrary...I would say you remembered yourself...and I’m glad of it.”

He tentatively took a step forward. His gaze trailed along the hair that had curled up beside her cheek and then back up toward her eyes, almost self-consciously.

“...I’m...glad...that you can finally be happy,” he murmured.

Carewyn raised her gaze to look him straight-on in the eye. The eye contact had a slight, but still noticeable effect on Orion -- his posture grew that little bit stiffer, his gaze just that little bit glassier.

“Orion?” she asked.

Orion bowed his head, his lips still touched with a smile as his hands clasped lightly in front of him. “I’m sorry...your eyes startle me, at times. I’d seen your portrait in the Manor...yet I’d almost forgotten your eyes were once blue.”

Carewyn tilted her head, smiling a bit wryly despite herself. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Orion looked up. “Disappoint? Hardly. Blue suits you far better. It evokes the sky, the sea -- forget-me-nots and cornflowers...peace and serenity and nourishment and life.”

Carewyn giggled behind her gloved hand. “‘The Wanderer’ must have charmed many a maid in his day, with turns of phrase like that.”

Orion actually flushed, though he tried to hide it by shrugging and turning his gaze skyward. “None purposefully. I’m afraid my only mistresses at that time were the ones called Mary Jane and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds -- sex and romance weren’t the things my brain tended to drift toward, when under their influence...”

Carewyn raised her eyebrows. “Really? Hm...and here I thought you’d be the more experienced dancer, out of the two of us.”

Orion blinked. “Dancer?”

Carewyn nodded. “Whenever Grandfather would host parties, or we’d attend others’, everyone was expected to dance. It was considered the only ‘proper’ way to socialize, back then.”

She sounded a bit disapproving of this.

"You must’ve had your fair share of admirers,” presumed Orion.

“If I did, they didn’t approach, out of fear of Grandfather or Blaise,” Carewyn said stiffly. “But frankly, I was almost glad of it...it seems cruel to lead someone on with a dance, when you can’t see yourself being happy with them, to begin with.”

Orion smiled fondly. Carewyn smiled in return as the two fell into a pleasant silence. Then, after a moment, she straightened up and extended a gloved hand out to him.

“...Will you dance with me, Orion?”

Orion was visibly taken aback. Carewyn’s eyes grew a little smaller, gaining a warmer, fonder glint as she bowed her head to him meaningfully.

The Wanderer’s black eyes flitted down to her hand to up at her face. His tan cheeks once again betrayed a flush as he stared at her -- then, his teeth grazing his bottom lip in the lightest of bites, he slowly reached out and took her hand.

They both stepped forward, resting a hand on the other’s shoulder, and they came together in a tentative waltz. Orion hadn’t really waltzed before, so Carewyn led instead, guiding him in the dreamy, gliding steps across the snow.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit off-rhythm,” Orion whispered, his voice attempting mischief, but still sounding oddly shy. “Could...you sing something, perhaps? To help me?”

Carewyn’s blue eyes softened. Resting her head on Orion’s shoulder, she closed her eyes and sang tenderly beside his neck.

“Can you remember who I was? Can you still feel it?”

Carewyn heard Orion take a very soft, but sharp intake of breath. She steadied her grip on his hand and on the square of his back.

“Can you find my pain? ...Can you heal it?”

Carewyn heard Orion swallow.

“Carewyn...”

His voice was very quiet, no louder than the wind itself, yet it seemed weak with longing: almost aching.

Carewyn brought her hand gently along Orion’s back, wanting to reassure him. “Then lay your hands upon me now -- ”

And oh, how he did. Orion enveloped Carewyn in his arms, pulling her so close to him that one could hardly tell where one started and the other began, and he twirled over the ground with her, his eyes sliding closed as he cherished how Carewyn warmly, lovingly sang those words. The words of the song he’d so frequently played on his guitar whenever she was on his mind...

“ -- And cast this darkness from my soul... You alone can light my way -- You alone can make me whole...once again...”

Orion's heart was as light and blazing as a star. He felt like he’d reached enlightenment itself -- the closest thing to Heaven he could ever reach -- as if everything was right and everything would be right, forevermore, so long as they were one. And they were -- they were one, together and free, for the rest of their afterlives...soulmates, in the truest sense.

“Bride,” he whispered. “My dear Bride...”

Orion tentatively brought his hand up her back as if to bring her closer. Carewyn’s face rested in the crook of his neck.

“So I am, Orion,” she said softly. “Yours.”

Orion seemed to tremble, hearing this. Then he crumpled in on her completely, burying his face into her neck and breathing in her scent as he tried in vain to contain his emotions. Carewyn trailed her hand up through his hair; Orion in return brought a hand up onto the back of her veiled head, cradling it.

They danced this way in each other’s embrace, caressing each other’s faces and hair, until close to dawn. And from that night on, it wasn’t uncommon for the other ghosts in the house to notice a strange, angelic glow around the pair, whenever they were in each other’s company.

For, it seems, the Bride traded one ring for another -- this one liberating, instead of binding.

#haunted mansion #my art #my writing #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #I COULDN'T RESIST OKAY #the christaween feels are real #but yeah you can damn well bet blaise pearl and claire weren't happy #blaise maaaay or may not have tried to murder orion again #only for orion to bounce his own head off his shoulders to evade his axe bc sorry bro that trick only works once #jacob ends up needing some time to accept it too though even then he always kind of gives orion the side-eye #duncan tends to just tease the two about their 'age difference'#at which point carewyn coolly points out duncan's with her brother which usually shuts him up #LMAO #but yeah admittedly I probably could've used moondance from corpse bride as inspiration music #but I'm sorry the grand finale of edward scissorhands is just...it's just beautiful ;~;#I'm not huge into the idea of getting married someday but wouldn't that be *glorious* wedding music? seriously #caps cw

19 notes · View notes

sweetteaanddragons · 5 years ago

Text

Further Thoughts on a Silmarillion/Highlander Crossover

- Caranthir does not tell Maglor about the immortality thing. Maglor finds out anyway because it turns out Caranthir is really bad at this not dying thing. He spends a terrible two minutes thinking Caranthir is dead.

- When Caranthir wakes up, all their enemies are on fire, and he doesn’t really have to ask why. He explains about the immortality thing. That is all he explains. He spends the next several hundred years trying very hard to make sure Maglor does not find out about the other thing.

- Maglor finds out about the other thing like. Fifty years into this. At most. He does not bring up the fact that Caranthir was probably found in the woods as a baby despite the fact that this is a GREAT STORY, how has he not heard this story before, WHY DID NO ONE MENTION THIS, but he is pretty sure Caranthir does not know, and he doesn’t want to upset him.

- This leads to much hilarity when at one point they are both desperately trying to keep a dwarf immortal from Saying the Thing. Inevitably she does. This leads to further hilarity and also a heartfelt conversation that they are never going to bring up again.

- Maglor periodically points out that he’s older than Caranthir and has somehow managed to not die even once whereas Caranthir has died approximately fifteen times by now, how are you this bad at this. Caranthir is obviously a trouble magnet and also obviously needs way more practice with his sword. He teases him about this constantly.

- Caranthir retaliates by teasing Maglor about being the fragile one. Whenever they’re living in a seaside town he tells strangers they’re there for his brother’s “delicate health.” Maglor is not amused.

- (They do not talk about the fact that Maglor panics each and every time Caranthir dies, or about the fact that Caranthir panics every time he wakes up from having died, because what if something happened to Maglor in the meantime.)

- (They have survived the loss of five brothers. They have survived the loss of nearly the entire rest of their family. They have survived the death or departure of almost all their people across the sea. They have become probably unhealthily dependent on the survival of each other in order to cope.)

- (At this point, they both pretty much embody, “If anything happens to my brother, I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.” The only difference is that Maglor would follow his Silmaril into the ocean and Caranthir would go and pick fights until he found one he couldn’t come back from.)

- They argue frequently about where to go next on their constant travels. Someone points out to them that there’s no rule saying they have to keep traveling together.

- “My brother is far too delicate to travel alone,” Caranthir says.

- “I am going to kill you in your sleep,” Maglor says cheerfully, and they never bring the topic up again.

- Maglor keeps performing throughout the years at everywhere from street corners to taverns to king’s courts. The rise of modern photography and the internet makes doing this anonymously considerably more difficult, especially once phone’s start having cameras in them. Even small gigs at tiny restaurants start being a risk, and they have a very near miss with Maglor going viral on YouTube. Maglor starts having to perform in disguise. Caranthir envoys suggesting increasingly ridiculous ones.

- The other immortals they run into tend to assume Caranthir is young because he always introduces Maglor as his older brother, and Maglor doesn’t register as an immortal and looks about Caranthir’s age, so Caranthir can obviously have only been an immortal for a couple of years at most, right?

- Some take this to mean Caranthir is easy prey. They are very, very wrong.

- (Caranthir has been fighting for thousands upon thousands of years. He is very, very good at this.)

- (Also, he won’t bother you if you don’t bother him, but if you DO bother him, or his brother, he sees no reason to abide by the stupid rules of a Game he never agreed to. He remembers a time before this nonsense. He is NOT PARTICIPATING.)

- (In other words, he is not going to fight your stupid one on one fights both because it’s stupid, and because it’s not like he could stop Maglor anyway. If they’re going down in a fight, they’re going down together.)

- (Some people think this is cheating. After everything else he’s done, Caranthir could really not care less. Also, most of those people are dead shortly thereafter, so.)

- (The Watchers are not sure what to make of either of them.)

- Duncan MacLeod does not think this means Caranthir is easy prey. He thinks this means Caranthir needs a teacher. He offers.

- Caranthir is about to turn him down and get out of town, but Maglor steps in and says that Caranthir would love that. Caranthir made a mistake in his last duel and Maglor is feeling snitty about it and about Caranthir’s refusal to practice more. Caranthir is accepting the practice or so help him -

- Caranthir is not amused by having to pretend to be a novice at this, though he grudgingly accepts that Duncan is very good at this for someone of his age.

- This is approximately when Methos shows up to visit Duncan. Methos ran into them approximately four thousand years ago and unlike most people, he had realized at the time that they were already ancient. He hadn’t heard so much as a whisper of them since and had assumed they were dead.

- They are very much not dead. Duncan has just introduced Caranthir as his student.

- WHY HAS DUNCAN JUST INTRODUCED CARANTHIR AS HIS STUDENT.

- Methos enjoys occasionally springing surprises on people. He does not enjoy this.

- (The world is changing, and it’s getting harder and harder to hide, and Maglor is pretty sure that sometime soon people are going to notice, and someone is going to try and strap his last remaining baby brother to a dissection table.)

- (”We could sail home,” he says. It is not the first time he has suggested this.)

- (”The boat would sink,” Caranthir says, like he always does, and normally that’s the end of it, but not this time.)

- (”You’d be fine,” Maglor points out.)

- (Caranthir glares at him. “You wouldn’t.”)

- (Maglor resigns himself to getting home the hard way. Hopefully, they can still hold that off for a good while yet.)

#caranthir #maglor #highlander #undying #methos #duncan macleod

184 notes · View notes

magnoliasinbloom · 5 years ago

Text

Crash Course Love

Infinite thanks to @anna-swims and @lcbeauchampoftarth for being awesome betas.

AO3 :: Previously

12: Past Tense [Claire]

I’d been dreaming of Jamie.

I had dreamed of his hands roving all over me, touching me, pleasuring me. I thought I had dreamt his hand on my breast, his arousal pressed against my bum, and I shamelessly ground my body on his, in my lust-fueled dream. The sound of his voice had hit me and it had stopped being a dream.

I’d made it become reality. I’d gone for broke and kissed him, and more. What on earth had possessed me to do that?

You’re insanely attracted to him, that’s why.

He hadn’t rejected me, and for that I was grateful. But now paranoia had set in and I was worried about what our encounter would do to our budding friendship. Afterwards, I had felt a little stilted and awkward. He gave no outward sign of discomfort, but was attentive and polite as usual.

But now that I knew what Jamie looked like in the throes of passion, starting a conversation became doubly hard. The roads had been cleared, the snow storm having spent itself in a night. After breakfast with his family and being hugged goodbye by everyone (including my vague promise to Ellen about coming back soon), he had driven me home; the radio was on a little bit loud, breaking up the silence between us. We managed a few half-smiles, a brush of hands here and there, and a promise to call each other soon. We had a wedding to attend, after all.

I had a few texts from Louise and a voicemail, who wanted to go over the flower arrangements one final time, now that the wedding invitations had been mailed and RSVPs were pouring in, including mine. The wedding was set in a few weeks, right before Christmas. The shop was closed on Mondays, but I texted her back so we could meet up later that week. I did a load of laundry. I went over some invoices for the shop. And all the while, in the back of my head, the memory of Jamie’s mouth and hands on me lingered.

The ringing of my phone startled me out of my reverie; Jamie Fraser flashed on the screen, and my heart pounded in double-time. The tension in my shoulders eased and I felt something unclench in my stomach I hadn’t even realized was there.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sassenach, it’s Jamie. Well, o’ course ye ken that, mobiles show ye who’s calling, don’t they. But why do we always answer the phone like we dinna ken who’s calling, right?”

“Hi, Jamie. You know, you’re right about that. I’ll start answering my phone differently from now on.” I laughed, set further at ease by the Scottish burr of his voice.

“Och, weel, I just wanted to thank ye for accompanying me to lunch. And being so nice to my family. They absolutely loved ye, I think ye could tell. And I wanted to say… sorry. I guess. For the… this morning, ye ken. In case ye were regretting it. Or if ye think I was out of line.”

“Actually, Jamie, I was hoping you didn’t think I was out of line.” My hands fiddled with the papers on the table. “I think I was pretty clear about what I wanted. But maybe you didn’t want to be pawed at and I don’t want you to think that it’s all I wanted from you. You’re my friend, and I wouldn’t want this to come between us.”

“Friend?” Jamie repeated.

“Of course, I consider you my friend,” I said, confused. “Aren’t we friends?”

“Aye, of course, Claire.” He paused. “There was one more thing I wanted to ask ye. As friends, then.”

“Sure.”

“I meant to ask ye out. On a proper date.” Jamie’s tone went up on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“A date.”

“A real one. Not just coffee—unless that’s what ye would like, of course. But I thought perhaps dinner.”

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate any longer. My fingers gripped the phone tightly, and the swooping feeling of butterflies was back in my stomach, but for a good reason.

“Really?” Jamie asked, incredulous.

I laughed again. “Yes, Jamie, I’m saying yes. Would this Friday be alright?”

“Sounds perfect. Shall I pick ye up at 7? Did ye have anything in mind that ye’d like?”

“Whatever you choose will be fine. I trust you.”

He didn’t know how much.

- - -

For the rest of the week, I spent my days dreaming about my date with Jamie. Date, date, date. A real date. I put in flower orders for bouquets and tended to the indoor plant boxes that held rosemary, parsley, and thyme, but all the while my thoughts were with Jamie.

After meeting Louise on Friday morning for some final wedding details, I left the shop in a hurry, already planning my outfit in my head. Dress up, or seem casual? Maybe a mix of both? As I ransacked my closet, pulling out shirts and jeans and the few dresses I owned, I decided to call Geillis.

“I have a date tonight.” I didn’t even bother to say hello as soon as she answered.

“Ye do?” Geillis Duncan was one of the few people in Glasgow who’d made Frank and me feel welcome back when we were new to the city. She owned a small but popular café near the flower shop. Our friendship had survived my breakup; it dawned on me that we hadn’t talked to each other in a couple of weeks, and she knew nothing about Jamie. I filled her in on some of the details, keeping the most recent private ones to myself.

“So he’s picking me up in like, an hour, and I don’t know what to wear!” I wailed, trying to zip up the back of a dress and giving up in frustration.

“It sounds like ye’re overthinking this, Beauchamp,” Geillis said. “Why don’t I come over now and lend ye my black skirt ye like so much and the yellow top? It’ll bring out the color of yer eyes, I’m sure Jamie will love ye in it.” She was giggling madly at the idea.

“Don’t tease me, Geil, I’m so not in the mood right now. But thank you.”

We hung up, and twenty minutes later she was at my door, helping me with my hair and make-up after I had dressed. I knew there was an ulterior motive to her being at my flat, and she confirmed in no uncertain terms that she wanted to see Jamie herself.

“Geillis, please don’t—”

“Relax, Claire. I just want to see the lad’s whose bonny red hair has ye in such a fluster.”

“You have red hair, you know.”

Geillis clucked. “’Tis not the same, and ye ken it. When will he be here?”

Before I could respond, there was a knock at the front door. It was promptly seven o’clock, and I glanced at Geillis in a panic. She smoothed down the skirt and pushed me towards the entrance. Heart pounding, very much aware that Geillis was peering gleefully around the hall for a glimpse of Jamie, I opened the door to find a very dapper Jamie. In dark jeans, a pressed sky-blue shirt and a black coat. The hues of his outfit brought out the intense sapphire of his eyes as his own gaze raked me over and seemed please at what he saw. I blushed.

“Hello, Sassenach.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek and his fingers lingered briefly on my arm. I caught the scent of his cologne, like tart lemons and spice.

“Hi, Jamie.” We stood there for a few seconds that seemed an eternity, before a loud harrumph and a fake cough from Geillis broke us out of our reverie. Jamie peered into the flat as I quickly grabbed my purse from the kitchen table where I’d left it before.

“Is there someone here with ye, Sassenach?”

“It’s my friend Geillis, but don’t worry, you don’t need to meet her and she was just leaving. Weren’t you, Geil?” I raised my voice for her benefit as I led Jamie out of the flat. “Lock up when you go!” I shut the door on one of her loud laughs; I was sure to hear from her later.

We walked to the stairs and Jamie tentatively reached for my hand. I grasped it firmly and squeezed in reassurance. Traipsing down the stairs, and remembering the last time we had done so together, I felt stupidly happy and shy all at once.

The restaurant he’d chosen was a low-key pub tucked into one of Glasgow’s winding alleys. We ordered wine and the awkwardness that I’d feared after our previous encounter was gone. Jamie and I talked animatedly about our week; my preparations for the upcoming wedding and flower arrangements, and he told me of the distillery and all the Christmas orders they had to fill.

“I was thinking of a new special blend; aging whisky in tequila barrels, not regular oak. The flavor is more complex, so different from what I’ve tasted. I plan to call it something like da anam, two souls.”

“That sounds very different! Where would you get the barrels?”

Jamie spoke of partnering up with several tequila producers in Mexico, as I speared rosemary potatoes with my fork; all the while we poured glass after glass of ruby wine for each other. Conversation flowed between us just as effortlessly.

Over dessert sometime later, I felt the back of my neck prickling. I sensed eyes on me, and they weren’t Jamie’s. It felt wrong, somehow.

I turned my head slightly and found Frank looking at me. He was with Sandy; he quickly bowed his head and shifted his attention elsewhere. I felt my face flush. I swiveled back and dropped my fork with a clatter.

“Sassenach? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—it-it’s Frank.”

“Where?” He looked around wildly and I shushed him and clamped my hands on his arm in desperation.

“He’s back there, with the blonde. Just—be discreet.” Jamie got a good long look and then leaned in to whisper quietly.

“Didn’t ye say Sandy—his fiancée, with the giant ring ye mentioned. Wasn’t she supposed to be pregnant?”

“She might have had the baby, I don’t know. Her stomach was pretty big last time I saw her.” I sneaked another look.

It wasn’t Sandy.

She was blonde like Frank’s fiancée, but this wasn’t her. She looked even younger, fresher-faced, and was definitely not pregnant.

Cheating, lying, bastard.

I took deep breaths and Jamie ran a hand soothingly down my back. I shivered and grabbed my coat off the back of my chair.

“Jamie, I’m sorry, can we go?”

“Of course, Sassenach.” After quickly settling the check, he stood up as unobtrusively as a six-foot man ever could and pulled out my chair. He put his arm around me as we walked quickly to the exit.

It was inevitable that we pass by Frank’s table, though. The restaurant was a bit crowded and the layout made it impossible to avoid him. As we did, I got up the courage to meet his eye, bolstered by Jamie’s warm hand on my back. He wore a shamed expression, and could not hold my gaze. The woman stared back curiously at us, and I heard her ask him who I was.

“No one,” Frank replied, a slight tremor in his voice. Jamie tightened his grip on me, and I knew he’d heard him too.

Jamie came to a sudden halt near their table; he turned to face me, and with a soft whispered, “I hope ye dinna mind this,” pressed a soft kiss to my pursed lips. I opened my mouth in surprise, and he continued to probe gently. I found my arms rising to encircle his waist, clutching at the back of his coat. I dimly heard Frank clear his throat and murmur something unintelligible. I had ceased to care, though, lost in the fog of kissing Jamie.

Jamie’s mouth trailed across my cheek. “Dinna listen to him, Sassenach,” he whispered as he nuzzled my ear. “Ye’re so much more than ye know.”

- - -

A/N: I finished writing it out, so new chapters will post on Thursday. Finally, a schedule! The whisky in tequila barrels is actually a thing. Can’t find an English link, though. Thanks for all your likes, reblogs, comments. <3

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #CCL12 #/17 #we're getting there #i'm not a drinker

206 notes · View notes

dontlikedarkness · 5 years ago

Text

Wonderland

Growing up together meant a lot of things. At first, it meant nothing more than following each other around daycare and annoying the living hell out of each other. Courtney would put on a front for their parents so that she’d be seen as the victim - but she played the part too well, and soon, she was spending half her time at Duncan’s house. Her parents worked a lot, so they jumped at the chance to have somebody pick her up after closing time. They thought extra time with her friend was an added bonus, although her mom didn’t quite approve; she’d learned through the grapevine that Duncan was a troublemaker at school, but was desperate enough to risk it. Besides, she was confident (and rightfully so, for the most part) that Courtney had inherited enough of her own stubbornness and need for structure to resist Duncan’s antics.

Once they’d moved on to kindergarten and eventually grade school, leaving Courtney with the Bivona household for after school care became a matter of convenience. Duncan’s eldest brother was soon old enough to watch them himself, once his mom had gone back to work after maternity leave, and Courtney’s younger sister, Kate, was easy enough to look after. They both appreciated the company of another kid their age - though they’d never admit it.

It became natural for the two to be together. Her dad would drive them to school in the morning, and his mom would pick them up after, so it made sense that they’d hang out in the times in between. Not that they ever meant to, but they were comfortable around each other, as it tends to happen when you’ve known someone since they were in diapers. They’d gravitate towards the other’s familiar face on the first day of school, and be paired up together every day afterwards. Teachers thought they were a good balance, though they never quite understood it. Courtney was useful when Duncan’s attitude and issues with authority needed reigning in, and Duncan always knew how to bring her out of her shell. As odd as it was, it worked.

The roof had been his idea, of course. Who else would see a house and wonder how much of the neighborhood they could see? Purely for devious reasons, he’d said, though she knew better than that. It took months upon months to convince her to go up with him, and it was her roof - had it been any other roof, chances are she wouldn’t have agreed. The only reason she’d said yes in the first place had been pride, because he claimed she was too chicken to go up there, and she’d needed to prove him wrong.

She’d fallen in love with the spot fairly quickly. It was easier to see the stars up there, and she could get out of her house without ever having to leave. It wasn’t breaking the rules - it was skirting them. Which was good enough for her.

Soon enough, it had become an unofficial meeting ground. A safe place, of sorts. He always knew where to find her when she was stressed and overwhelmed, and she knew where to find him when he was pissed about something. They would go up there just to talk, and sometimes they’d stay for hours before Courtney inevitably realized it was past midnight and they had school in the morning.

Even before they’d started dating, it had been there. It started with innocent cuddling in the fifth grade, because Courtney got cold easily and neither of them ever remembered to bring blankets. They’d bring a laptop up and watch movies until the battery died, or until they found themselves talking, too distracted to focus on the screen. Slowly that had progressed into cautious hand-holding, a gentle swipe of his thumb over the back of her hand. She would lay on his chest, eyes on the stars, pointing out every constellation she knew, and speculating on the ones she didn’t. Eventually he knew them by heart, and he’d hold her hand as she gestured at them, naming them off before she could so much as open her mouth. As much as she pretended it annoyed her, she found it oddly endearing. It meant he cared enough to listen, and he didn’t care about anything.

“Princess” had been his nickname for her ever since they could remember. She’d been playing dress-up one day while he idled about, making off-handed comments about how dumb she looked, when she’d decided on the princess outfit. “It makes me feel powerful,” she’d told him, tiny hands on tinier hips. “Whatever you say, princess,” he’d shot back, and it had stuck. When the name began to send a torrent of butterflies through her stomach, she’d known she was in trouble. That was when the hand-holding had transitioned into kisses; soft at first, and completely innocent. He’d kiss her hand and say “your highness” with a mock bow, she’d kiss his cheek and then ruffle his hair in response to the rare but steadily more common compliment. His forehead, when she was proud. Her nose, because she’d complained about her freckles. Neither of them could admit that they wanted more. It was too scary an admission - she thought they were too different; he thought she deserved better. And so the no-longer-quite-so-innocent kissing and cuddling and whatever else continued for a while.

It was sophomore year when she’d decided enough was enough. He helped her push her boundaries in every way - so why not this? His pining had become painfully obvious, and everyone was urging her to do something about it, because while he acted like a lovesick puppy, he respected her too much to make a move without some sort of sign from her. Of course, there had been many signs, but he was incredibly oblivious to them, blinded by thoughts of ‘she would never want me’ and ‘I’d only drag her down’. It was up to her to take matters into her own hands.

So she invited him to the roof, under the pretext of having a movie night. She was up for re-election as student body president, and he needed an escape from his overbearing father; it wasn’t entirely out of left field that either of them would want a night to relax. She spent an hour up there making everything perfect: she had blankets and pillows and all their favorite snacks, and a slew of romantic comedies neither of them would particularly enjoy lined up to watch. He was quick to figure out something was up, fixing her with an expectant stare the moment he’d finished scaling the trellis. “Somebody die, princess?” He’d asked, and she turned beet red. She’d gone overboard, because that was what she did, and she’d set up a date for an entirely different set of people. All they ever really needed was some cheesy thriller and a bucket of popcorn, not some elaborate set up, but she’d let her nerves get the best of her and had immediately gone into overdrive to take her mind off of it.

He could sense her building panic, and he silenced it all with the gentle brush of a hand over her cheek. She squeaked out a meek protest, though both of them knew she didn’t mean it. Her hand snaked up to twist through his hair, pulling him closer, and before he knew it her lips were on his. Gentle, but demanding, leaving him gasping for air. Nothing had ever felt so right, to either of them.

The transition from best friends to more was nowhere near as complicated as she’d expected. They were slightly more public with their affection, he’d sneak into her room for sleepovers and late-night cuddling, and they kissed a hell of a lot more, but beyond that, very little changed. They still bickered to no end and argued over the simplest things, but it was never enough to split them up. It hadn’t before, and it still wouldn’t. They had a bond no one could explain - nor hope to break.

The roof had weathered it all, a constant throughout their relationship, even as it grew and changed. It was a symbol of everything they’d overcome and everything they had yet to endure, and it gave Courtney the strength to believe in them. The strength to speak up.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, princess,” he teased, feathering a kiss on her nose before pressing his forehead to hers, content in their closeness as they lay beneath the stars. She frowned, shifting herself up slightly so that their eyes were level. “You can’t tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you, Duncan. Like she’d worship you if she could. Like you’re some sort of god and she’s a mere mortal, awed to be in your presence.”

His thumb brushed across her chin before settling there, with her head cradled in his hand. It was difficult to find words when she was there, looking so unbelievably beautiful, ebony eyes wide and almost wounded. He could drown in those eyes. Probably would, if he let himself.

“I hadn’t noticed, no.”

A scowl replaced her frown and she rolled her eyes, though she didn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch. His warmth was addicting. “She’s practically drooling after you.” He pulled her closer, letting her shift against his chest until she was comfortable, his shoulder acting as her pillow. “What can I say? I’ve been distracted.”

“You have?”

“It’s hard not to be, when you look at me like I’m the stars in your sky. You don’t idolize me like she does - you see every part of me, the good and the bad, and you still think of me as your equal. Your better half. Tell me, Court, how could she ever hold a candle to you?” His tone was heartbreakingly gentle, and the soft brush of his hand down her spine had her at peace. “Duncan?” She asked, propping herself up again so that she could see him.

“Yes, princess?”

She sighed then, her hair falling across his face as she leaned forward the tiniest amount. “Thank you. For putting up with me. I know I can be… a lot, at times, and I’m not the easiest person to be around. The fact that you stay… It means a lot. More than you could possibly know.”

A sharp intake of breath was the only indicator that he’d heard, and they both remained silent for a few moments before he spoke, his voice slightly unsteady. “God, Courtney… You make it sound like such a chore.”

“What?”

“Just… being around you. I don’t put up with you, because I don’t have to. Every second I get to be near you is a gift. You are so fucking special, princess, and it hurts that you don’t see everything I see. You are gorgeous, and talented, and smart, and brilliant and funny and all sorts of amazing. You are my everything. You keep me steady, you give me a shake back to reality when I’ve gone too far, and you talk me down when I need it. Nobody understands me the way you do, without even trying, and shit… You complete me, Court, you really do. And it’s terrifying and awful and scary but you are beyond worth it. Princess, I…” He choked up suddenly, and gazed up to her, hoping she’d understand everything he couldn’t find the words to say.

“Duncan?”

He broke, then, a single tear sliding down the side of his face. She brushed it away, leaving her hand there, so small a gesture, and yet so incredibly tender and powerful. He held it there, rubbing gently circles into the back of her hand, relishing the intimacy of it all.

“Fuck, Courtney, I love you. So much. And you don’t have to say it back, but… I needed to say it. I think you needed to hear it, too.”

He expected her to tense up, to push him away; anything to signal that she wasn’t ready, that he’d moved too fast, and screwed everything up as per usual. When she didn’t, he thought that might be worse.

“Duncan.”

“Hm?” He responded, a quiet hum of a response, because words were failing him now.

And then her hand slid free, tangling itself in his unkempt hair, her nails pressing softly against his scalp. “Kiss me, damn it. I love you too. More than anything in the world.”

They melted together, then. Two souls perfectly in harmony, against all odds. Beautiful, and perhaps doomed. But none of it mattered. Not in that moment; not ever, because they didn’t care. They would fight for each other, always. A constant in each other’s lives, just as the roof had been in theirs. Forever entwined.

this can also be found on ao3 here

#duncney #total drama #total drama courtney #total drama duncan #td courtney #td duncan #total drama island #my writing #dontlikedarkness #queued post

58 notes · View notes

daughter-of-the-prophet · 7 years ago

Text

Alistair (Tv Tropes “Origins”)

Adaptation Dye-Job: Becomes increasingly red-haired in the next two stories, and red-haired and blue-eyed in the comics.

Adorkable: As Leliana comments in a conversation with him, his sense of humor, coupled with his awkwardness and nervousness around women, makes him strangely endearing and is a large part of his charm. This is one of the things that make Ilona attracted to him.

Always Save the Girl: He makes it clear he values Ilona’s life over his own.

Amazon Chaser: Ilona knowing how to kick ass and fight with a blade is one of the things that makes Alistair attracted to her. He even fondly notes in Awakening "I married an indestructible goddess."

Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking: His description of what’s wrong with Orlais at the moment during his cameo in Dragon Age II.

Alistair: “Oh the usual: attempted assassinations, uprisings, fancy parties with stinky cheeses..”

Battle Couple: He’s this with Ilona.

This is also combined with Royals Who Actually Do Something as he becomes King and marries her as well.

Berserk Button: Loghain becomes this to him after his betrayal of Cailan leads to the death of all the other Grey Wardens, and Duncan in particular.

Big Eater: It’s a Grey Warden thing, apparently.

Breakout Character: He has appeared more in more Dragon Age media than any other character. Thus far he’s been in all three stories, a trilogy of comic miniseries, and the novel��The Calling, where he appears as a newborn.

Broken Pedestal: Like most, he holds Loghain in high regard before the Battle of Ostagar, privately admitting that while Cailan is the King, it’s Loghain to whom they have to look for victory. Then Loghain retreats from the battle, leaving the King, the Grey Wardens, and Duncan to an ignoble death, and then blames the Wardens for regicide. From then on, Alistair has an undying hatred for the man and it becomes very personal.

Buffy Speak: Tends to lapse into this at times.

Alistair: “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re some sort of… sneaky… witch-thief!”

Butt-Monkey: Everyone gets a turn to mock him. Even Brutus. Ilona is the only person who doesn’t treat him this way, which is possibly one of the reasons why he loves her.

Contemplate Our Navels: Morrigan accuses him of doing this while traveling to Lothering, in so many words.

Corrupt the Cutie: After meeting the woman he believed was his maternal half-sister and being treated uncharitably by her, he loses many of his squeaky-clean morals, but the loss of naive idealism makes him more understanding of his subjects when he becomes King.

Covert Pervert: He apparently spends a fair deal of his time ogling Ilona’s ass. Wynne teases him about it.

The Creon: Alistair intentionally avoids mentioning the fact that he is actually the senior Grey Warden - because he doesn't want to lead. In fact, he didn’t want to become King of Ferelden for exactly the same reason.

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass: Despite the fact that he’s… well, Alistair, he is very much capable of holding his own in a fight, being able to take on numerically superior opponents and even dragons.

Dare to Be Badass: Ilona invokes this in Alistair after convincing him to take the throne.

Deadpan Snarker: Like father, like son: Maric snarked just as much as him.

Deuteragonist: The secondary storyline (Ferelden's Succession Crisis) pretty much revolves around him.

Disappeared Dad: Although he understands why King Maric couldn’t acknowledge him as his illegitimate son. He is also this to his son Kieran.

Dork Knight: While Alistair is heroic, noble, and brave, he also lacks confidence and fumbles when talking to women.

Ensign Newbie: During the Korcari Wilds mission, but he soon makes it clear that he’d rather have Ilona take this role. Morrigan even lampshades it. The Darkspawn Chronicles shows what would have happened if he hadn’t been able to pass the buck. He manages to make it all the way to the Archdemon. But then it ends badly.

Entendre Failure: He’d happily hop borders with Zevran given the chance - after all, he’s never even been close to leaving Ferelden.

Evil Laugh: He has a very impressive playful one that he breaks out on a couple of occasions, such as when jokes about having a nefarious plan to make the other party members mutiny and have him take over as group leader. In a subversion, he once breaks into a cough mid-evil laugh.

The Fettered: As much as Ilona, especially when he becomes king.

First Girl Wins: Ilona was the first woman his own age he ever encountered after having been sent to the Chantry at age ten to be a Templar and then being a part of the Wardens (who, in Ferelden, had no women currently in the order until Ilona came along). Unless you count that one time in Denerim… but those women were not like Ilona.

Foil: To Zevran. Two orphaned boys who were raised communally (Alistair in a castle, Zevran in a whorehouse) who were shipped off to an organization at an early age (Alistair to the Templars, Zevran to the Crows) without their consent, which largely defined who they became as an adult (Alistair a duty-bound warrior, Zevran a loose and easy assassin). They both even have prolific (often deadpan) senses of humor. However, while Alistair is an adorkable virgin who hides his pain behind a shield of duty, honor, and lame jokes, Zevran is The Casanova who Really Gets Around and hides his pain behind a charming smile and a devil-may-care attitude.

Generation Xerox: Potentially to both of his parents. He’s a Grey Warden like his mother Fiona and becomes King of Ferelden like his father Maric. He also conceives a son out of wedlock with Morrigan, a mage like how his father conceived him out of wedlock with Fiona, an elven mage.

The Good King: Alistair turns out to be an excellent monarch, having a common touch which makes the people of Ferelden love him, and quickly learns the finer points of administration. Combined with Ilona as his queen, Ferelden ends up with one hell of a Ruling Couple.

Good People Have Good Sex: Alistair is a sweetheart, and falls for Ilona who is also loving and kind. After his first time having sex with her, Alistair comments that the Chantry sisters had him half-expecting to be struck by lightning for doing what they just did. His beloved reassures him: “Not for that performance.” Ilona also has a “girl talk” with Leliana and Morrigan, where she assures them (out of his hearing range) that he is very good in bed.

Half-Human Hybrid: The Calling reveals that Alistair’s mother is Fiona, an elven Grey Warden and lover of King Maric. This makes Alistair elf-blooded. The children of elves and humans are always born human looking. In Inquisition, Fiona herself vaguely hints at her relationship with Alistair, but never outright says it

Happily Married: To Ilona, it’s stated in the epilogue that he openly adores his wife, much to the delight of the people of Fereldan.

Henpecked Husband: In Dragon Age II, it’s made clear that Ilona is the one who wears the trousers in the relationship. It’s treated very lightheartedly, however, and when Alistair calls her “the old ball and chain,” it’s said with obvious affection.

Alistair: "Just because she killed an Archdemon, she doesn’t scare me!“

Teagan: "You just keep telling yourself that, Your Majesty”

Heroic Bastard: And a royal bastard at that. He notes he should use that line more often.

Hidden Backup Prince: He’s a bastard, and in line to the throne! His claim is apparently roughly equal to that of his half-brother the king’s widow.

Hidden Depths: After he becomes king, he turns out to be better suited to the job than he expects to be. In Dragon Age II, he demonstrates a willingness to allow fleeing mages to enter Ferelden so long as they follow the laws of the land. Meredith is annoyed that the new king does not immediately comply with her demands. In Inquisition, his codex entry notes that the people love him.

Hunk: Quite manly. Quite handsome

Hurting Hero: He rarely says it outright, but the massacre of Duncan and the other Wardens scars him pretty deeply, to the point that he harbors an intense and bitter hatred for Loghain. He’s lucky to have Ilona be there for him and to listen to him without judgment.

Idiot Hero: Morrigan and Anora both accuse him of being one. Although he has his moments, they’re never at critical junctions. He even calls himself an idiot hero at times.

Alistair: "Look, I can’t be king. Some days I have trouble figuring out which boot goes on which foot.“

In Touch With His Feminine Side: Mostly in terms of his open, emotional personality. Alistair is very expressive of his feelings, doesn’t even try to hide his grief over the deaths of the other Wardens (often sounding on the verge of tears whenever it’s brought up), often approaches Ilona to talk about his grief, and invites her to talk about her grief as well. This annoys some of the more stoic party members (particularly Morrigan and Sten), who feel he ought to suck it up since Real Men Don't Cry, though it doesn’t deter him any. Alistair is also pretty unashamed about his less-than-manly moments, going so far as to joke with Ilona that he should wear a dress to distract the darkspawn, and mentioning a girly scream he once emitted when he first joined the Wardens

This is also a point in his favor with the romance, since Alistair gives Ilona a rose he had sentimentally picked earlier for different reasons but which now reminds him of her, wants to wait to have sex since he wants his first time with her to be special, and is very open about his budding romantic feelings toward her (even if he’s not always the most eloquent about it).

Intergenerational Friendship: With Wynne, who becomes something of a surrogate mother to him.

Irony: Alistair is a Human Templar Grey Warden. His (real) mother is an Elven Mage Grey Warden

It’s Personal: Towards Loghain for causing the deaths of the Grey Wardens and Duncan in particular.

This is also the reason why Ilona allows him to be the one to kill Loghain when she chooses to have the General be executed for his crime.

Knight in Sour Armor: Although he’s aware that Grey Wardens often must do pretty bad things for the greater good, and lives in a world that has rarely shown him any kindness, he still feels as if it’s still worth being a decent person and protector.

Knight Templar: He was training to be one, though only in job description; he flat out states that a life devoted to single-mindedly hunting down apostate mages was not for him, and it wasn’t his choice to pursue that future.

Lady and Knight: It’s more accurately Knight and Knight, but after starting a romantic relationship with Ilona, he definitely behaves like a White Knight to a Bright Lady towards her.

Lethal Chef:

When Morrigan joins the party, one of the first things he asks is “Can you cook?” Then he explains that if he has to cook, they’re all as good as dead.

Leliana later asks him in a conversation what was in the dish he made for the party’s supper the previous night. When he tells her it was a lamb and pea stew, she comments that it had a texture she doesn’t normally associate with lamb. He explains this by telling her that this is the way all Fereldans cook.

Alistair: "We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that’s when I know it’s done.“

Love Interest: To Ilona.

Manchild: At times, his decisions are more reminiscent of a temperamental teenager than a defender of the whole land. These are often potential Jerkass moments. He also gets called a lad/boy several times.

Mr. Fanservice: He's adorkable, handsome, and a hopeless romantic. The voice doesn’t hurt either.

Nature Abhors a Virgin: While Alistair himself is pretty okay with the idea (aside from teasing), the plot is most definitely against him. In order for him to have a happy ending with Ilona, he must impregnate Morrigan by sleeping with her. Apparently, a man can be a virgin, but can’t remain one for long and can’t have just one woman in his lifetime for things to work out to his benefit.

Odd Friendship: Despite being a former Templar, he quickly strikes up a friendship with Wynne and seems closer to her than any of the other companions. This is rather understandable, as he freely admits he was terrible at being a Templar and never wanted to be one in the first place.

Orphan’s Plot Trinket: Averted - he had an amulet that use to belong to his mother, but threw it at a wall and smashed it in anger as a child after he was sent to the monastery to be trained as a Templar. Ilona later finds it in the study of Redcliffe Castle, having been glued back together by Arl Eamon and gives it to Alistair as a gift, but it has no further relevance to the story.

Parental Abandonment: Repeatedly.

Both his mother and father weren’t present in his upbringing, primarily due to reasons of death (or so he was told) and not being able to recognize him due to his illegitimacy.

After Arl Eamon married an Orlesian woman, who took an immediate disliking to him, Alistair was sent to a monastery.

And then Duncan, who was the closest thing he ever had to a real father, dies in the battle of Ostagar. If Alistair has abandonment issues, they’re not hard to understand.

The Pig Pen: According to Wynne, he smells just as bad as the dog. When he mentions being raised by flying dogs in a joking way, Ilona playfully tells him “That would explain the smell!”. This whole conversation takes a turn for the tragic once Ilona learns that Arl Eamon used to make Alistair sleep in the kennels in order to keep him out of the way; to a small extent, he actually was raised by dogs.

Properly Paranoid: To the point where some of his dialogue may well be Foreshadowing.

His suspicions that Flemeth had ulterior motives for sending Morrigan with the party are completely correct.

In DAII when he meets Hawke, he urges her to continue protecting Kirkwall; Hawke responds by asking him, “Protect Kirkwall from what, exactly?” Alistair expresses the opinion that Knight-Commander Meredith is probably the biggest threat to Kirkwall - and he’s absolutely right.

Raised by Wolves: He jokes about this to Ilona. He was raised by dogs. With wings. Who were devout Andrastians. And hated cheese. She eventually learns that Arl Eamon had him sleep with the hounds as a child, so this actually isn’t far from the truth.

Reluctant Ruler: Though he’s the senior Grey Warden, he’s not at all interested in being the party leader. Despite, or perhaps because of, his lineage, Alistair is very clear that he does not want to be a leader. Nevertheless, he is given the crown and proves to be good at the job of being king.

Rousing Speech: Gives a damn good one to the army before the battle of Denerim.

Royals Who Actually Do Something: After becoming King at the Landsmeet, he makes it perfectly clear that he’ll be on the front lines and leading the charge during the Battle of Denerim and the assault to take down the Archdemon.

Sad Clown: He sometimes uses humor to cover up his grief. Ilona isn’t fooled but completely understands and jokes along with him. None of the other party members are fooled either, and his humor is often irritating to other people; Shale says as much outright.

Shout-Out:

Seeing as the series was heavily inspired by it, Alistair is one for Jon Snow from A Song of Ice and Fire. Each one is a bastard from a respected royal family who doesn’t know who his mother is and who suffered mistreatment and neglect at the hands of their stepmother figure. Each one is offered the throne and is part of an elite group that slowly is dying out but are vital to the survival of the world in the face of the reawakening ancient evil they were created to fight.

Also, with Buffy the Vampire Slayer serving as additional inspiration, it’s possible that Alistair’s jokey mannerisms and Butt-Monkey status were based on that of Xander Harris.

His romantic relationship with Ilona is also somewhat similar to Steve Trevor’s romantic relationship with Diana in the 2017 film Wonder Woman. Both are soldiers who fall in love with a warrior princess who can clearly kick ass and while not completely helpless are usually the ones who need saving and particularly by that said love interest.

Sibling Yin-Yang: Unlike Cailan, who merely thought himself the Warrior Prince, Alistair proves to actually be one.

Sickeningly Sweethearts: His romance with Ilona comes close to this if Wynne and Morrigan are to be believed. Wynne doesn’t seem to mind; Morrigan is another story.

Single Woman Seeks Good Man: His benevolent personality is one of the reasons why Ilona fell in love with him.

Spare to the Throne: Unfortunately, he’s a bastard, so he wasn’t raised to the task. Needless to say, he’s not happy about the idea of becoming king after being trained for something completely different and being quite forcefully assured that his illegitimate status would prevent the question.

The Talk: Wynne starts giving him one when he begins an intimate relationship with Ilona. Once he realizes what she’s going on about, he interrupts with a highly embarrassed, “Andraste’s flaming sword, I know where babies come from!” She delights in the fact that she gets him to blush.

Trademark Favorite Food: Jokingly admits to having “an unholy obsession with very fine cheeses.“ The fandom has kind of run away with this one.

Turn Out Like His Father: Oh yeah!

Undying Loyalty: Has this towards the Grey Wardens and the woman he loves.

Unexpected Virgin: As a result of growing up in the Chantry and then being recruited directly from there into Ferelden’s Grey Wardens (which currently had no female wardens until Ilona showed up). Alistair is reluctant to talk about it (for understandable reasons), so this is treated as a minor revelation during his romance with Ilona.

Warrior Prince: Unlike Cailan, he actually fits the warrior part as well as the prince.

What’s Up, King Dude?: After being made king, the epilogue potentially states that he frequents taverns, endearing him to the common folk.

The Wrongful Heir to the Throne: He sees himself as this.

Younger Than They Look: He looks and sounds to be in his mid-twenties to early thirties, but he’s actually 20-years-old at the start of the story. See Manchild above

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #Alistair Theirin #Alistair #king of ferelden #Tv Tropes

33 notes · View notes

sentofighta · 6 years ago

Text

The Muses page short description:

This is for everyone to read to know about them. It will be updated if I added more muses.

The Fina.l Fantasy Muses

Name: Einar Vilho

Age: 24

He is the captain of division 6 of the Milites army. He is a stoic guy, rarely show emotions because he focuses on what is in front of him, especially in battle. Pride might be his sin since it cost his right arm and now it was replaced with a magetik arm though NO ONE knows about it except who serves under him and the higher ups because it is hidden beneath his long sleeve coat. Einar does not favor any country in this war, he simply fights because he wants to protect the place his uncle, Gustav lives in nothing more. The reason why he lives with his uncle because his parents died due to the poor environment and economic situation in Milites/Byakko. They had to send him away to his uncle when he was just a baby to survive. Thanks to the crystal, he does not remember them thus why he is very protective of his uncle. He does not wish to forget him either. He is very weak in front of children though he can still be stern with them so they won't grow up to be lazy and spoiled children. His childhood friend being Sora/ @/crownofsmiles and love interest and soon to be his wife.

Name: Hotaru Takumi

Age: 17

Hotaru suffered when her father died in the war because all the memories of him were wiped causing her mother to have a mental break down. Izumi, the mother, loved Ryuichi and it pained her to not lose memories of someone who seemed to close to her. Hotaru was forced to leave her sweet life and with the help of her uncle, she was assigned to be a subordinate to one of the classes back in the Magic Academy. Being just 12 years old, she had to wait four years until she was able to join a class but in this time, she learned a lot. Thus, she was chosen to join class 9, infamous class of being class of the lazy bunch, however, they are actually the class responsible for Intel and black operations. Hotaru is a spy. She will do anything to complete her job eve stoop low to take down a comrade because of her pragmatic self. On campus, she is very jubilant, only a facade in order to collect information from the cadets. Despite how she seems, she cares for her comrades, mostly her classmates because she knows they don’t have a chance unlike the other classes to bond and create memories since to each their own mission.

Name: Lian Shiro

Age: 16

The happy-go-lucky girl. Lian is the youngest child of her family, being two siblings, older sister and brother who are as well in Suzuku’s army. She is shy and keeps her distance from people. Thanks to her wild imagination, she is often seen writing stories and her daily activity. Lian holds Class Zero on a high pedestal because to her they are the very heroic symbol. They seem like the heroes she read a lot of stories about, selfless and strong. She is a cadet at class 6. Lian likes to write down everything that happened, is happening and what will happen to be a sort of reference to people in the future once this war ends; to know that there are people suffering and fighting in case the crystal erased everything as always.

Name: Eight

Age: 16

Class Zero monk. Eight is one of Arecia’s adopted children and a member of class zero. He is the youngest and shortest male zeroes wise. Eight uses martial art as fighting style because he is repulsed by how weapons take life easily. His logic is to feel the same pain as his enemy so he won’t forget he had to kill them. Eight is the calmest individual in the zeroes making him a good reference for quick decision making in tough situations. Being energetic, he is always training or doing anything to pass his time instead of being idle. Eight has a sensitive spot due to his height which made him a very competitive person.

Name: Machina Kunagiri

Age: 17

Cadet of class 2 the vanguard, he was moved to class zero with his childhood friend Rem Tokimiya to keep an eye on the vermilion cadets. Machina lost his rother, Izana in the Liberation Operation which made him forget him thanks to the crystal erasing his memories of the dead. The cadet was later notified of how his brother was killed because of Class Zero thus he became the only spy on class zero instead of weighing this mission on Rem as well. He is kind and straightforward young man who likes chocobos. Because of what he went through, he became fearful of death and losing his close friends and loved one. Currently, he is figuring his emotions to Deuce @/oursongofhealing.

Tales. of muses

Name: Naomi Jalal

Stage name: Aiden

Age: 20

One of the 459 orphan that Noir and the gang picked to be part of their family, living in the Nam Cobanda Isle, the Dark Wing. Aiden is from the Isle of Feres the same isle that was destroyed in the Hod war. She does not know anything of her old life because she was just two years old when it happened thus Noir picked a new name for her ‘Aiden’ and she started working with the Dark Wings as a thief and in the Black Dream as a performer. Being around different people, Aiden picked up different skills. She is quite the narcissistic lady something that she developed because of the many roles she did.

Name: Balan

Age: 31

Elympion spyrix engineer that switched to work on a better way to use mana without killing the spirits through the spyrites technology. He is the cousin of Alvin (Alfred Vint Svent). He is a cheerful guy who likes science and teasing his cousin. Realistic and optimistic who has a habit of betting (gambling.) He is the person you go to if you want any little secret on Alvin. Balan knows a couple good stories on Alfey. He is very proud of what he makes and the people who work for him including Jude Mathis who without his help and the other the spyrites project would have died before it could start. (also he is the actual tox hero because A.K.A the one who saved their butts.)

Fire. Emble.m Muses

Name: Saleh Errol

Age: 19

Half Plegian half Ylissean, the child of a plegian scientist and a ylissean lady who survived the war. Saleh was a student under the avatar during the time they were staying in his village. He learned a lot from them and made him more eager to explore the world and himself as a person and learn what interests him since everyone had pretty much interests and he had none. He gets affected by the sudden disappearance of the avatar but it only made him more resolved to go out and discover his new passion--Alchemy. He is currently traveling with Duncan group of merchant and when he is not, he is traveling with other groups or on his own. He seeks the knowledge of anything related to Alchemy to hone his skills and further his study.

Harvest Moo.n Muses

Name: Feiruz

Age: 20

The cheerful and optimistic farmer. She has a trouble of staying organised so a friend suggested that she try a job that can help her fix this problem and she grew fond of taking care of animals and tending to the land. She is not an expert but she likes to learn everything about how to become a good farmer and animal caretaker. Feiruz has a small farm that she made on her family land and works her way to make it bigger. She got the support of her family and friends. Feiruz is the loudest person when she wakes up. You can practically hear her ‘GOOD MORNING.’ Often people get annoyed at how loud and overly cheerful she can be but she learned by experience to tone herself down (though at times she fails because she gets very excited about something.)

Resonance Of. Fate Muses

Name: Leanne /Renabell (jp)

Age: 22

The Huntress that works in Vahyron group. She is a good natured person with a big heart tends to forgive who wronged her. Her skills are not too shabby in shooting especially with her trusty frying pan. She likes fashion and often when she is not on a job, she is walking around the streets, visiting the local boutique shop to look at the new clothes or join Vashyron to level 7 in Le Chit-Chat Noir for a drink.

Name: Zephyr

Age: 17

Coming out of a traumatic and life-changing experience, he started to work with vashyron who took him in after that. Zephyr is a softie and funny guy only to who are very close to him but otherwise, he is a quiet and reserved character, speaking only when he sees fit. his cool side often disappears when the situation is about the safety and well-being of his teammates, Vashyron and Leanne.

#⌈⌈ooc. (faty speaks)#⌈⌈updates. (muses logbook)

1 note · View note

still-finding-our-way · 4 years ago

Text

R5, R6

(SX 540672) 12/12/ 2020

Serendipity, rhizomes and lines.

On my studio desk I have a number of rocks, stones and pebbles. None are particularly rare or precious, most have been collected locally yet every one is an object of beauty. One such stone is a sharp piece of flint. Small enough to hold in my palm, it has become my go to de-stress stone. I like to let its razor sharp edges bite, just a bit, into soft skin. My teasing wake up call. It has volume and weight, four planes—a tetra. One side runs smooth, curving to meet a granular knobbly surface, bone-like and skeletal, like the indenture of a clavicle or ankle bone. The underside of the stone is cut sheer, sliced through its core, creating a flat expanse onto which it is able to stand upright, before rising into a terraced plane, each step the size of a thumb print, a patternation that reveals the cryptocrystalline formation of flint (‘crypto’ meaning ‘secret’ or ‘hidden’). I found it on a beach in Cornwall. A dark grey stone with a white thread running through its centre. Its shape and size tickles my imagination, and as I turn the flint over in my hand I play with the idea that it was used as a Neolithic arrowhead, chipped away, stone on stone some 5000 years ago. The structure of flint requires a level of skill and expertise to shape; one wrong strike will send fracture lines through the stone rendering it useless as a tool. Our early ancestors were artisans and makers. Over and over, I have drawn this stone, feeling it’s texture, the sharp edges and definite weight in my palm. It does not take up much space and yet every time I draw it, a different angle or plane opens up. It is never the same. A small rock, inert and fixed, offering infinite possibilities.

You think you know something, someone, some place. A line on the horizon, a spit away from the sea and moor. Clambering over rocks, swimming in icy rivers and streams, climbing trees and making dens. 'Whence cam'st thou, mighty thane', pronounces Duncan in Act 1 of Macbeth. The utterance of such a question now comes with a cautionary red flag, one that implies exclusion and ‘you are not from here’. Too bad, coming from a white working class background, where histories and lives are lost, undocumented and unrecorded, I have no idea where my roots are tangled. I cometh from nowhere, no fixed abode, shallow rooted, spun together by frail relatives that can’t, or don’t want to, remember. To remedy this unknown, I was gifted by my eldest daughter a DNA test for my 50th birthday. The results from my spit reveal a blueprint that aligns with peoples who cluster around the North East of England, with a smattering of Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic, Scottish and Irish. Farmers and seafarers I suspect, a web of people who somehow managed to survive hunger and disease, violence and brutality, the lustful fumble in the hay and the traumatic birth. The odds were not good—about one in 400 trillion chance of being born according to the boffins. In staking a claim on the improbability of existence we got lucky, very lucky.

Where we come from and who we are. Layers of paint, fresh applications, still wet bleeding into others, making new colours and new pictures. Blending and binding. Some work and some don’t. It seems so arbitrary how we come to be. I should make time to salute the stream of past people, winding all the way back to the bones of dear Lucy, 3.2 million years ago, and her mother and grand-mother, all coming and going, doing their time. But, I won’t, it's enough to breathe in the noise of now. One heart beat, a blink of the eye and we are gone. Serendipity, luck, random, the throw of the dice. The cells didn’t bind in the correct sequence and the possibility of life just slipped down the toilet. Is it any wonder we seek out patterns to create order and structure, finding comfort in numbers and story; assigning value in the unexpected, and agreeableness in what wasn’t sought. Ones and zero’s, lines and dots, giving shape to all things. Artists do this all the time. Seeking opportunity in the accidental and unintended. Any stick, stone, door, book, conversation opening up new creative possibilities. The rhizomes seeking out a good place to settle, a place to nourish. The patterns, whether real or not, helping to make sense of the intensity of the here and now.

Jennie’s story is fascinating. Her blue eyes, flaxen hair and Bridget Bardot pout might have you thinking she is of Swedish heritage, whilst my dark skin, hair and black eyes has in the past suggested Mediterranean roots. Not so, the paint palette is muddied. I will let Jennie tell her story. One thing to note here though, Jennie is an adventurer, she has travelled all over the world: on her own, through work, with friends and lovers. Occasionally I have joined her but mostly I skirt the edges of Western art history, moseying around European capital cities, museums and galleries. Both of us are wanderers in different ways. Parallel lines. The same but different. I am amused to read that women of ‘a certain age’ partake in what Jennie and I are doing—walking and exploring local history. I also note the term ‘a certain age’ is often used to describe middle-aged women, usually accompanied by a roll of the eyes and a double-fingered quotation sign. It is basically code for women no longer of a fertile age—post 40 and therefore deemed unattractive, and given age tends to gift experience (though not always) they carry a certain confidence i.e., speak their mind and know what they want.

A simple stone. We are breathing, blinking and unstill.

We ask ourselves how did we not know about this walk? It is literally a stones throw from Jennie’s parents village, just over the hill yonder, where Jennie spent her teenage years and part of her adulthood, and where I lived for awhile whilst homeless and lovelorn. Of all the places on Dartmoor this is an area that I would confidently say we know well, and yet here we are discovering new trails, hidden valleys, different perspectives and layers and layers of history, a thread of which connects with Jennie’s recent travel’s with her son to the other side of the world. The walk begins in the small Devon village of Meavy on the southwest of Dartmoor, a place I have cycled and walked through many times, enjoying a sup or two at the Royal Oak on the way. The route follows the river Meavy upstream to Burrator dam not far from Down Tor, where Jennie first set this adventure in motion as we glugged champagne and watched the setting of a glorious October sun. From Burrator, the road winds through Sheepstor village and into the woods where earlier in the year, at the height of bluebell season, I waited with my children for the badger's to come out. Hunkered down amongst bramble and fern at dusk, quiet as mice, hearing the birds hush and darkness settle. The children were not scared but reverent and awed by being in the woods at night, a time and place synonymous with the darker side of fairytales: of wolves, witches and being lost, and where the unknown and the unformed lurk. We whispered and signed to each other in the darkening gloom, until we no longer needed words and laid back in a bed of fern, faces turned upwards, watching the patchwork of sky between the canopy high above turn from indigo to midnight blue and then merge dark into the tall trees, the cool air lulling us to sleep.

The ax strikes and life reclaims as swift as the blade can cut. My hand brushes the damp surface of a lopped off tree stump in the woods down from the reservoir, and I stop to observe a platter of squirming, burrowing, scuttling, squirrelling, decaying life; three empty acorn shells evidence a previous luncheon. I have set the objective to notice more when I am on these walks, to seek out habitat changes and to learn and know the names of things. But always I surrender to just being, breathing in the light and air, the atmosphere. I feel happy on these walks, a sense of euphoria and lightness washing over. It feels good to leave aside the cerebral and to let the physical, the motion of walking awaken a realm of sensing and scanning. She doesn’t say but I know Jennie has arranged this walk pre-Christmas because she is aware I am struggling with sadness—a sadness caused by my natural melancholia and tendency to ruminate, and a much bigger life crisis. Battle hardened to general romantic crisis’ I am not so experienced with career rifts, and so I have withdrawn and pulled down the blinds. But it won’t do and I know, as Jennie does, that the moor will help to alleviate the mental muddle I am in, and even if the effects are only temporary, it will store up the memory bank, to plunder and remember during the times when I get locked in.

Ten minutes into the walk Jennie spots a Heron standing stock still in the woods by the river Meavy. Camouflaged against the bare trees, charcoal grey and ochre, we watch it rise and drift across the valley. Great grey wings, near 6ft in span, pulse slowly, its head and neck arrow-like thrust forward piercing space. It has a primordial presence. In mythology it is linked to the sacred Ibis, a bird revered by the Egyptians as representing Thoth—their god of wisdom, writing and magic. I take it as a good omen. The wood is dazzling, ice cold water tumbling down from Burrator reservoir. Wood, rock and foliage glisten from the early morning downfall, the ground water-logged from weeks of incessant rain. The element of water is strong here, 4210 mega litres—enough to quench the thirst of a city and the surrounding hinterland—held in check by towering granite slabs that form a 23.5 metre high gorge. Completed in 1898 and extended in 1923, the reservoir pools run-off from the surrounding moor and water from the river Meavy. Standing downstream from the dam in the wooded valley I hope the granite wall holds strong. The sun breaks through and turns up the volume on colour. Saturated greens: acid, moss, lichen, pine and fern. We watch a man on the other side of the steep valley, oblivious to our presence, pissing freely, a spray of urine forming a perfect arc; glinting golden droplets catching the sunlight.

Having learned nothing from our previous walks we decided not to take the obvious path and instead followed the course of the river upstream. This meant having to clamber over rocks and fallen trees, until we reach the imposing dam wall and are forced to scrabble up the steep bank, thick with mud, to get back on the road. Jennie leads the way, an experienced hash runner not deterred by the muddy terrain, she turns into a sure-footed mountain goat, while I, slip-sliding, defy gravity and somehow fall up the slope. Walking over Burrator bridge we pass the man we saw pissing earlier and beam broadly, making sure we hold eye contact for a bit longer than comfortable for him. We then follow the road up to Sheepstor village, and—given we are women of ‘a certain age’—we are keen to nosey round St Leonards, the C15th village church. But sadly, the door is locked so instead we admire the Lych gate, a covered over a double gate with a lychstone to rest the coffin before entering (‘Lych’ or ‘lich’ meaning corpse in Old English). At the time I did not notice the foliate skull carving above the main door, only a little while later when we sat for lunch under a massive oak tree, which we reckoned to be near on 500 years old given the size of its girth, do I undertake a little online searching and read to Jen a short history of the church and its whereabouts.

So intrigued by what I find that I go back a couple days later, this time with my dog and younger children in tow. In particular I wanted to see the foliate skull above the porch. In recent years there has been a growing interest in Pagan symbology such as the ‘Green Man’ and the ‘Three Hares’, several examples of which can be found in churches across Dartmoor. The ‘Green Man’ is usually represented as a carved face with foliage growing from the head, mouth, nose, ears and eyes. It is presumed to be a pre-christian Pagan symbol representing renewal and life—from death comes life—that has been absorbed into Christian ideas of resurrection and life after death. Often found in churches and cathedrals across Europe, its more macabre cousin, the foliate skull, is said to have appeared after the Black Death in the 14th century. The skull at St Leonards church is carved with ears of wheat sprouting from the eye sockets above an hourglass. The suggested date of its making is given as 1640 and it is suspected to have originally been part of a sundial. Now it sits behind glass in a small recess above the porch, and on this particular day was partially obscured by condensation so I could not see the inscription incorporated into the sculpture: ‘UT HORA SIC VITA’ (As the hour so life passes), ’MORS JANUA VITA’ - (Death is the door of life) and ‘ANIMA REVERTET’ (the soul will return).

As a motif representing vegetation, rebirth and resurrection, the ‘Green Man’ archetype is found in many cultures across the world, including the ancient Egyptian God Osiris, the god of fertility, agriculture, death and resurrection, who is often depicted as green skinned, alongside several green figures found in Nepal, India, Iraq and Lebanon, the latter dated to the 2nd century. I wonder how far the Green Man story goes back? As a cross cultural archetype it suggests a commonality of belief about the life cycle that is interconnected with the land. Whilst its incorporation into ecclesiastical architecture alongside other apparent Pagan motifs, points to the fluidity and evolution of belief systems, which subsume and build on pre-existing ideas, even when the incoming authority seems most rigid and contained. Most of the what we know about the ‘Green Man’ is based on speculation and supposition, as we have no historical evidence as to why and for what reason they were made. Instead the ‘Green Man’ motif has been reclaimed and remoulded at various points in history from Romanticism to Neo-Paganism and most recently as a symbol for the environmental movement.

A little village church under the shadow of the looming granite tor on the southern edge of Dartmoor, connected through culture and shared beliefs with a much wider world and history. If the Green Man does not provide enough evidence of these interconnections, then the large sarcophagus, protected by iron railings in the churchyard, and housing the remains of James Brooke, First Rajah of Sarawak (29 April 1803 – 11 June 1868) alongside two other White Rajahs should affirm the connections without doubt. It was whilst peeling the shell off hard-boiled eggs, freshly laid by my chickens that morning, at the foot of the big oak tree that Jennie realised that she had previously encountered the story of James Brooke whilst travelling through Borneo with her son. A sultry jungle, 7,000 miles away on the other side of the world tied by empire and colonialism, violence, power and trade to this peaceable village. I find out a little more about James, the questions concerning his sexuality and love for men stick with me more than the dates, titles, skirmishes and conquests. I go back again to the church on new years day and with fresh snow on the ground, sipping steaming hot chocolate on the bench overlooking Brooke’s slab of a tombstone, I retell the story of what I know to my children. They hang off the iron railings and argue over the remains of the Christmas chocolate, I don’t think they were listening.

Reading: Lyon, N., (2016) Uprooted: On the trail of the green man (London, Faber & Faber).

https://www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk/sheepstor_church

0 notes

kromelazarus · 8 years ago

Text

Children of Buramadgee

TY & Shazza's Eldest Child

* He's the complete opposite of his parents; quite bombastic and enthusiastic compared to TY & Shazza. But has the same strong and brave heart like them, much more charismatic than his father.

* He's a big fan of Super Heroes, he always read comics that he alwaysbuy with his earnings from helping the residents of Buramadgee. But his biggest heroes shall always be his dad, mom and the Bush Rescue Team. But he can't help but brag about being the son of a hero, especially if his dad saved Buramadgee numerous times.

* He's fond of the Super Hero concept so much, that he asked Maurie to train him to be like his father and Julius for cool Gadgets and Rangs. But his father is always ahead of him and stop him from doing any hero business. He really is that easy to read.

* But like his father he has a fear for the creepy-crawlies like spiders. He also have his father's weakness; Tim Tams.

* He always play with the bilbies along with his cousins, even when they grew out of the nursery. He always act as a supporting leader and giving them morale support whenever the group is down, he always know what to say in the desperate time of needs.

* Maurie always scold him for not following his instructions most of the time, especially when they are doing basic training in Buramadgee HQ. He really loves doing his own ways, but it often ends up getting scolded by Maurie or TY.

* Despite his nature, he is quite a musical genius. He has a sharp sense of hearing and can play a tune from just hearing it. His favorite instrument are wind instruments, he especially got this trait with the Bilbies when he can hear "beautiful song of nature". He has a good response time and can tell from a mile where the sound is coming from.

* He's quite an easy target from being teased because he can be so gullible at times, often leading him getting hurt at times or getting himself in trouble when the subject of "Heroic Justice" is involved. He really means well, but it often make his dad worried.

Sly & Naomi's Eldest Child

* A quiet & timid individual, just like his dad, but quite a mama's boy. Always target of bullies at schools and often getting saved by his cousins. He always spends time with his parents and his cousins, but barely a social butterfly unlike TY's child.

* He has a broad sense of fashion, never had one simple design on him. He always changed his clothes day by day given by his parents, especially from his dad. He even starts knitting at a young age.

* He is cold and sharp-tongued kid when he's angered, especially when they mock his family member like his parents or cousins. But he is afraid to fight back when he made his dad cried when he run away from home, he keeps himself quiet and afraid to make friends with anyone because of it.

* But once he warmed up, he often talks about the trends and fashion, offers knitting advice or even fishing. He can even crack a joke or two when he's in a good mood.

* When he's feeling alone or sad, he always talk to his cousins or his parents that he knows he can trust for a good advice or pep talk.

* His favorite hobby is cooking, especially making exquisite dish from high-class main course and desserts. He learned this when one of the bilbies thought him about the bounties of natures and learning to expand upon thanks to his mom when they tend to cook together.

* He has the most survival instincts and the most cunning, he can identify any edible and poisonous plants and mushrooms. Due to his quiet nature, he can easily sneak up to anybody without realizing.

Betty and Duncan's Twins.

* One is a Big Dreamer and A Genius, often talk about as the new inheritance of Fair Dinkum as he knows very well of business or even as a Successor for Julius' Place. The Other is a Prodigy in the Performing Arts thanks to Mascot Mark, he's always in awe when Mark talks to him about Drama & the cool tricks he learned with the other performers.

* They often help their parents in their home at a young age, even without any rewards as seeing them happy is enough for them. Making the parents happy that their children is learning responsibility at a young age.

* Both are eager to inherit the park with different reasons: One live up to his parent's legacy, but he knows too well that he has to sacrifice his own dreams of working with Julius and becoming a Tech Guy in Buramadgee. The other, while not very competent in the business market, wants to be part of the park as well as one of the performers in the park itself.

* They both have a knack of sweets like cotton candy thanks to the park, which makes their parents concern for their health at times. They really don't like eating greens when their parents tried to feed it to them. So they often hide from them when they smell veggies in their homes.... to no success.

* As mentioned before, they excel in tech and performing arts respectively but both has a keen sense of sight, intuition and smell. They operate both the Bunyips and Gunyips with ease at their time in the Buramadgee and they both can identify any tracks and navigate their way without any use of tools.

@freakova I partially blame you for this. :P

#Thank you really #TY AU #TY the Tasmanian Tiger #Children of Buramadgee #I think that's a lovely name for it

5 notes · View notes

footyplusau · 8 years ago

Text

Rohan Connolly predicts the 2017 AFL season final ladder

Few things a football writer churns out have the capacity to embarrass them quite as much as a season preview. Trust me, I know.

Last year wasn’t a great one for me on the prognostication front. So bad, in fact, I managed to leave both eventual grand finalists out of my forecast top eight. Yep. Really.

Hope to heartbreak: Where to now for the Swans? Photo: Getty Images

In my defence, the Western Bulldogs after 22 games were only three spots higher than I’d placed them. And before the finals, who seriously thought the seventh-placed Dogs, nursing a truckload of injuries and facing a road trip to Perth, could actually win the premiership?

But as much as a qualifier, that’s a good example of just how difficult this tipping business has become. To adapt American industrialist Henry Ford, history, increasingly, is bunk.

So much so that, headed into the 2017 premiership season, there are only two teams I’m prepared to say categorically won’t be playing finals: Brisbane and Carlton.

Some teams you can’t discount (but I’m about to)

Before I run through my top eight, another qualifier … we’ve had 17 seasons since the turn of the new millennium. In only one of those have there been fewer than two changes to the final eight. In 11, the top eight has changed by at least three teams. And if ever a year looked capable of tossing up a repeat, it’s 2017.

That said, I’m sorry fans of North Melbourne, Geelong and Adelaide, finalists all last year. It’s nothing personal.

Admittedly, I’m not sure North Melbourne will fall quite as far as some are predicting. While there’s certainly been a massive clearing of the decks, the Roos have plenty of promising talent still to have much of a go. I like their trade-ins, too, Nathan Hrovat a real talent up forward, ditto Marley Williams out of defence. I’ve got the Roos 11th. That’s not necessarily outright failure. But nor is it a vote of confidence.

Harry Taylor playing forward for the Cats: Inspiration or desperation? Photo: Getty Images

Geelong worries me, even coming off a top four finish. Zac Tuohy is a good pick-up, I like the look of newcomer Tom Stewart, but Corey Enright remains a big loss defensively.

There’s plenty of talls besides Tom Hawkins, but how reliable are Zac Smith and Rhys Stanley? Will Mark Blicavs be as effective with the abolition of third man up? And is Harry Taylor playing forward inspired, or a move borne of desperation?

In the midfield they have a crack duo – Dangerfield and Selwood. But Geelong to me seem to have lost much of the x-factor. The Cats will need Steve Motlop and Nakia Cockatoo both pulling out special seasons to help recapture it, and another level reached by Cam Guthrie, Mitch Duncan, Sam Menegola and Scott Selwood. And they’re big asks.

Adelaide’s firepower is the envy of most. The Crows have Rory Sloane and Scott Thompson in the midfield; their backline is solid indeed. But several players – Richard Douglas, David Mackay, Matt and Brad Crouch, Rory Atkins, perhaps even a forward thrown into the pivot in Charlie Cameron – are going to have to rise to another level.

So who makes the eight?

At the bottom of the top, I’m including three newbies (two precocious up-and-comers and one habitual tease) who weren’t in the eight last year – and one who was.

A fit Jamie Elliott will add even more potential to a healthy Magpies attacking line-up. Photo: Getty Images.

Collingwood? I can see the eye rolls from here. But surely they are overdue a bit of luck on the injury front.

Importantly, the Pies have pumped another year’s experience into a considerable army of younger players. Jordan De Goey, Brayden Maynard, Josh Smith and Tom Phillips are just a few who have shown good signs in pre-season.

Not everyone has been a fan of their top-ups from other clubs. But former Docker Chris Mayne and Giant Will Hoskin-Elliott could make a difference up forward, alongside a healthier Jamie Elliott and Alex Fasolo, enough support for the very promising Darcy Moore.

The defence still looks a little thin for height and strength. But there’s no denying the class and depth of the Pies’ midfield now. Daniel Wells would be merely the icing on the cake for the likes of Pendlebury, Treloar, Sidebottom, Adams, Greenwood, Crisp and so on. I give the Pies another chance.

If they don’t make it this year, coach Nathan Buckley has conceded he’s as good as gone. I might be in a bit of trouble, too, after going out on a limb for them once again.

New co-captain Jack Viney leads an imposing group of tough young Demons. Photo Getty Images

It’s been coming a while for Melbourne. But I reckon they’re ready, and not just because of an impressive JLT series. An already decent midfield bats deeper now with Jordan Lewis and Jake Melksham. Michael Hibberd offers more valuable defensive run.

Mostly, though, it’s about a number of players looking ready for career-defining years. Christian Petracca is the most obvious. But throw in Jesse Hogan up forward. Christian Salem, Clayton Oliver. Their younger stars are tough, too. Think new co-captain Jack Viney and Angus Brayshaw. It’s an imposing blend.

There’s some enthusiasm out there for writing Hawthorn off. I don’t share it. Of course Mitchell and Jordan Lewis are major losses. But Tom Mitchell and Jaeger O’Meara pretty handy replacements. Then there’s a “recruit” called Jarryd Roughead who has a profound impact both up forward and on the ball when unleashed.

Yes, some players are going to have to go up a cog or two. But you don’t lightly dismiss any team with names still like Rioli, Gunston, Burgoyne, Gibson, Birchall, Smith and Breust.

Like the Demons, St Kilda look ready. Perhaps more ready. The Saints were close enough to taste it last year. Now, in my view, they have the requisite midfield depth given the pick-up of Koby Stevens and Jack Steele to assist Steven, Armitage, Ross, Weller, Dunstan and co. Not to mention a more imposing-looking defence thanks to the arrival of Nathan Brown and return from suspension of Jake Carlisle. I think they may be a little more consistent than Melbourne.

Steele reinforced: The Saints now have the depth to stake a top eight claim. Photo: Getty Images

The top four

In the disappointment of that elimination final loss to the Bulldogs, it was easy to forget that West Coast won nine of 10 games in the lead-up. The Eagles’ biggest weakness has been midfield depth. And they have done a lot to remedy that with the recruitment of Sam Mitchell, who should take an enormous load off Matt Priddis and Luke Shuey particularly.

The Western Bulldogs? Well, Luke Beveridge’s coaching performance last year may well go down as close to the best of all time considering the catalogue of injuries suffered along the way.

New Bulldog Travis Cloke’s got a point to prove. Getty Images

On paper, at least, they should be better again, particularly up forward, where a team that was only the 12th highest-scoring outfit in 2016 now boasts an All-Australian key forward in Travis Cloke keen to prove a sizeable point to Collingwood, and, back from suspension, Stewart Crameri.

We already know there’s depth, evenness and a great coach. It’s psychology which may prove the Bulldogs’ biggest challenge trying to back up a premiership for the ages.

The runner-up

The juggernaut that is Greater Western Sydney is certainly going to take some stopping. No one beats the Giants for depth of talent. Still in the bottom half of the AFL in terms of age, GWS now boasts the fourth-most experienced squad in terms of average games per player.

Besides the glut of experienced youth, GWS have nailed all their experienced recruits, too, going back to Callan Ward, then Shane Mumford and last year, Steve Johnson. Perhaps Brett Deledio will prove a similarly inspired pick-up. But are they as dependable, week in, week out as the team I’ve tipped to win it? Not necessarily.

And that team is … (drum roll)

They are such a perennial we tend to take them for granted. I certainly did this time last year.

But who is as reliable as Sydney? The Swans have missed finals just once in the past 14 years, and played in five grand finals over that period. They finished 2016 on top of the ladder, and despite some very untimely injuries and not a lot of luck, were still within one point of a grand final lead with just seven minutes left to play.

Up forward, they have not only Lance Franklin, whose pre-season has looked ominous, and Kurt Tippett, but potentially a revitalised Sam Reid, and now some decent ground-level goalkicking support in Tom Papley.

Can Lance Franklin break his premiership duck with the Swans? Photo: Getty Images

The midfield remains the AFL’s most consistent. Tom Mitchell’s ball-winning ability is a loss. But Isaac Heeney (once he recovers from glandular fever) might provide a touch more class in there. Ditto Callum Mills should he spend more time there.

And while Heath Grundy and Jarrad McVeigh aren’t getting any younger, the reinforcements keep coming. Aliir Aliir in the key post, Zak Jones to provide run off half-back. Coach John Longmire has more flexibility than perhaps he’s known at his disposal now.

And after two grand final losses in the space of three years, he and his list have motivation to spare. I have a hunch it might be third time lucky for this band of Swans.

The post Rohan Connolly predicts the 2017 AFL season final ladder appeared first on Footy Plus.

from Footy Plus http://ift.tt/2ntpppS via http://footyplus.net

#Footy Plus

0 notes