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callistolivia · 4 years ago

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Asteroids Part 6; Sisterhood of Pallas Athena, Symbolism of the Asteroid Pallas Athene

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

The long overdue sixth part of my asteroid series is finally here.

The asteroid Pallas Athene is one of the more prominent asteroids covered in the astrological community thanks to Demetra George’s “Asteroids Goddesses; The Mythology, Psychology, and Astrology of the Re-emerging Feminine.” In this part, I will cover the asteroid’s symbolism and interpretation based on mythology, gathered research from authors such as Demetra George, and my own knowledge.

The ancient Greek goddess Athena may have been synonymous with the Egyptian goddess Neith and possibly other earlier known goddesses. Throughout this asteroid series ( and just in general for my astrological interpretations) I’ve tried to peel back further from Greek origins and more toward Kemetic or Sumerian origins for a pure and truly ancient understanding of asteroids named after Greek deities. However, I’ve accepted that for Pallas Athene, the Greek mythologies derive important symbolism that just isn’t clearly depicted from what we know of Neith or other earlier goddesses synonymous with Athena.

The Mythologies of Athena

Athena is the goddess of war and wisdom. She was revered by gods alike and those who worshipped her for her remarkable strength, courage, wit, and creativity. Her birth story begins with Zeus swallowing the titan Metis who was carrying the unborn Athena. After some time had passed, Zeus develops a headache that would only be cured by Hephaestus’ splitting open his skull. Out from Zeus’ skull Athena is born as a fully grown woman encompassing all of her remarkable traits. Athena was Zeus’ favourite child, for she was his creation; so purely in his image of goodness, power, and wisdom. Like Vesta (or Hestia), she is a virgin goddess, she serves herself and is whole with herself. Though, she had a friend who she quite possibly could have been in love with and she did love; Pallas.

Athena and Pallas Pallas was the daughter of Triton. She was equal to Athena in wisdom and the art of war. They were partners in battle and one day the gods were disputing which of the two goddesses were stronger. So the two goddesses sparred and Zeus interfered allowing Athena to have the upperhand. Unfortunately this ended up fatally wounding Pallas. Athena was so heartbroken that she added Pallas’ name to her own to honour her. While it is never mentioned in the myth between these two goddesses, I speculate the possibility that their relationship may have been more, possibly as lovers in war. In ancient Greek and Roman times, it was a known practice that soldiers would often become romantically involved with one of their peers, even if they had a partner back at home. This was because they believed you would fight better for someone you love, especially if it was to avenge the death of a lover.

Athena and Medusa While there are several interpretations of this particular myth, the one that I find significance with is the one that describes Athena aiding Medusa. Medusa was said to once be a very beautiful woman who made a vow for herself to remain virginal. However, her beauty drew on the male gaze and she was preyed upon against her will. The ocean god Poseidon tried to have his way with Medusa, but Athena stepped in and transformed Medusa into an ugly creature with snakes for a head of hair, and anyone who looked into Medusa’s eyes would turn stone. This myth often depicts Athena as jealous of Medusa’s beauty, but in truth, this would be extremely out of character for Athena who’s not concerned with how others perceive her, particularly men. Athena cloaks Medusa with ugliness as a defense– as a way to protect Medusa from unwanted attention. This myth parallels greatly with the internal struggle many people have, particularly women, with the threats and vulnerability that coincide with embracing beauty and femininity.

Helper to Heroes Athena often makes appearances in myths about a hero’s journey and aids the hero in some way. She often has some sort of valuable foresight or tool to give the hero. Mortals look to her for her strength, wit, and strategy. The story with Medusa continues as Athena actually aids Perseus upon hearing he needs to take Medusa’s head. She gives him a reflective shield so he can see Medusa without looking into her eyes and turning to stone. Many of the common interpretations of this myth state that Athena hated Medusa which is why she was so willing to help Perseus on this quest. However, following the interpretation I mentioned where Athena turned Medusa into a gorgon for her protection, Athena would have been the only one to understand the circumstances of Medusa. In addition to this, in the myth itself Medusa plays more-so as a symbolic prop instead of a character. Particularly because Medusa as a gorgon is described as having snakes for hair– snakes in myths can (but not exclusively) symbolize treachery and bad spirits needing to be expelled. We see this in stories like Inanna and the Huluppu tree where people often confuse “lilītu” with the actual archetype or character Lilith; there was no Lilith in that story, just spirits needing to be expelled from a tree.

The Seer Athena is often described by poets as being “grey-eyed�� and there is symbolism behind this. According to Wikipedia the choice to describe her this way is quite deliberate; “In Homer's epic works, Athena's most common epithet is Glaukopis (γλαυκῶπις), which usually is translated as, "bright-eyed" or "with gleaming eyes". The word is a combination of glaukós (γλαυκός, meaning "gleaming, silvery", and later, "bluish-green" or "gray") and ṓps (ὤψ, "eye, face"). It is interesting to note that glaúx (γλαύξ, "little owl") is from the same root, presumably according to some, because of the bird's own distinctive eyes.” Athena is also often depicted as or with an owl which is all deliberate symbolism of her wisdom, keen perception, and foresight. There is a seer quality about Athena that is tuned into aiding justice and heroism.

Themes of the Asteroid Pallas Athene

Fear or repulsion of feminine expression in oneself

Deconstructing heteronormativity

Equality, democracy

Psychic vision, foresight

Companionship, sisterhood, brotherhood

Same-sex experiences, perceptions, and empathy

Creative vision

Justice

Intellectual power

Maternal absence

Pallas Athene being an asteroid, only with prominence in the birth chart will her themes and the complexes arising out of those themes be noticeable. Otherwise, Pallas Athene in one’s birth chart demonstrates where one tends to have strategic foresight/vision, where one meets Pallas Athene-like characters, and where one is called to serve justice.

Aspects to Pallas Athene

Sun-Pallas Athene In hard aspects, such as a square or opposition, this contact can be quite troublesome and makes for complexes the individual will have to fight to overcome. The difficult aspects signify negative experiences with the paternal figure in their life which translates over into adulthood as having distrust in and difficulty with men. As most societies are patriarchal, these aspects tend to be harder for feminine identifying individuals. These individuals are keenly aware of the violence that can coincide with objectification, particularly the objectification of feminine expression. When this type’s innate identity is objectified, defences are put up and they reject and conceal their expression. Being viewed in a sexual nature in an unwarranted way kills the confidence in these individuals; it conflicts with how they view themselves as an entire being and their purpose. Being comfortable with one’s sexuality can be an issue in the more difficult aspects with this contact as well; there may be shame, repulsion, or rejection of one’s sexuality. To aid these complexes, therapy as well as companionship and empathy from people who share the same experiences or trauma is beneficial. In positive aspects, such as a trine or sextile, we see the opposite of the crippling experiences in the negative ones. These individuals tend to be comfortable and even celebratory in either binary expression; they are often quite androgynous. They are also quite comfortable in their sexuality as well as they are firm believers in dismantling gender roles and heteronormativity. These individuals are fighters for people with Pallas Athene complexes and injustice in general. They have a tremendous amount of strength, empathy, and willingness to understand gendered, sexual, and political issues. These individuals can find their life’s purpose, fulfillment, and accomplishments through their intellectual creativity. The conjunction brings out Pallas Athenian archetype within one’s character. These individuals will be very Pallas Athenian in that they will see within themselves the complexes that arise from both the positive and negative aspects. They often have quite a strong presence, cunning intellect, and the foresight vision.

Moon-Pallas Athene In positive contacts, these aspects bring out the psychic nature of Pallas Athene– Pallas Athene’s foresight and the wisdom in part with that. These individuals are empaths and healers. In the positive aspects, this is Pallas Athene reconciled with the fact that she never knew her mother; in individuals, it is a deep connection with the maternal expression within them (through a Pallas Athenian lens) or a deep connection with the maternal figure in their life. The maternal figure in their life may have been very Pallas Athene-like or could have been a contributor to giving the individual the strength, wit, and wisdom that matches Pallas Athene’s archetype. Creative vision is evoked by emotional exploration In negative aspects, such as the square or opposition, there can be an absence of a maternal figure. Just like Pallas Athena herself, this individual may have been raised by their father with their father’s interests on the forefront. As a result, feminine expression is often null or even despised or feared. These individuals may repress their emotions surrounding their own gender or sexuality issues. They can be quite defensive and unless the Sun has prominence in the chart, they can also disguise their expression and true identity. These individuals can be quite masculine, over-functioning, and independent; they fear depending on others and self incompetence. To aid these complexes, they need to surround themselves with people that can bring out the softer nature hiding within them; they need to see that being nurtured and loved does not diminish their strength and ability. The conjunction brings out complexes that resemble both the positive and negative aspects, though the maternal figure is most often present like in the positive contacts. Psychic vision is very potent with the conjunction and there is an urge to serve justice with it.

Mercury-Pallas Athene In positive aspects and the conjunction, we see individuals with immense creative intellect. These people are often leaders in the fields of science, art, politics, and law. People look to these individuals for their ability to strategize and look at the whole picture. As Pallas Athene touches the planet of communication, these individuals will often have a powerful voice, especially for those who don’t and are in need of justice. They can make for great advocates for gender and sexuality issues. In the negative aspects, such as the square or opposition, we see individuals who struggles to have a voice on gender and sexuality issues, or just in general. These people can find their voice by making connections with others who share similar issues and by being part of a group setting.

Venus-Pallas Athene The Venus contacts to Pallas Athene can be quite similar to the Sun contacts in that the complexes surrounding feminine expression tend to be the same. In the negative aspects, such as the square or opposition, there is the same repulsion towards feminine expression in oneself. It stems from fears developed from observing a patriarchal society’s perception of women and sometimes trauma. There may even be internalized misogyny present as these individuals have a tendency to reject traits that could be perceived as feminine, as they equate femininity to weakness and incompetence. These individuals present themselves as tough, rigid, unlike the others, and often androgynous or hyper masculine. They fear being taken advantage of and avoid any sign of weakness at all costs. Their inability to let their guard down can hinder close relationships; these people often deny themselves of romantic connections and keep everyone at arm's length. To cope, these individuals will put all of their focus into creative outlets and put their accomplishments on a pedestal over relationships. To aid rigidity and to reconnect with feminine expression, these individuals need to surround themselves with strong figures who are very confident in their feminine expression; they need role models and will find strength in numbers (being part of a support system). Re-education may need to be involved in the healing process as well. Exploring further with where ever Venus is in the individual’s chart and honing in on Venusian activities can really benefit this individual’s self acceptance, inner beauty, and sexuality. In the positive aspects, such as the trine or sextile, there is radiating confidence, beauty, strength, creativity and merging of masculine and feminine energies. In these aspects is where Aphrodite and Athena meet eye to eye. These individuals are often very comfortable in their sexual expression; they tend to be drawn to feminine energies. As Pallas Athene aspects tend to make for, these individuals also tend to be express themselves androgynously, but are comfortable with feminine expression. They are very celebratory over it, similar to the Sun aspects. These individuals tend to be quite independent, but definitely not closed off. There is often an urge to utilize their strength and confidence in advocating for women’s right and issues, and it should be encouraged as these individuals are often the perfect candidate to advocate on these issues. These individuals possess some healing abilities as well and heal others through empathy. Empathy for same-sex experiences is a prominent theme for both the positive and negative aspects; the natural connectivity or alliance with one’s gender makes them feel protected and valid. With the conjunction, many of the themes found in the Venus-Pallas Athene aspects are intensified. Pallas Athene is somewhat personified in the individual and there is a much more radical need to demonstrate their autonomy over how they choose to express themselves. Expressing themselves through creative means is often very important and almost always contains a very Pallas Athenian message.

Mars-Pallas Athene In positive contacts, such as a trine or sextile, Mars emphasizes that accomplishments and success can be found through Pallas Athene. Individuals with these aspects make excellent leaders, people want to nominate this type of individual to be in control and make the decisions. These individuals have a lot of drive, strength, and prestige, as well as empathy and compassion that does not diminish those qualities. There’s a keen awareness for underdogs and an urge to aid those beneath them. In feminine identifying individuals, utilizing masculine traits yields success, and in masculine identifying individuals, utilizing feminine traits yields success. Strong, lifelong companionship with the opposite sex is a common theme with these aspects as well. With negative aspects, such as a square or opposition, there can be intense strife with the opposite sex. Additionally, strife with one’s own gendered expression; either hyper masculine or hyper feminine to conceal one side of the binary. Much of the repulsion towards one specific expression is due to societal conditioning as well as upbringing; it’s a defense mechanism to protect themselves from being perceived as either too weak or too harsh. There can be a lot of anger within the negative aspects as well; it would be best to redirect this anger towards a cause, such as advocating for women’s rights, men’s mental health support, protecting children (particularly if the 5th house is involved), environmentalism, sexual freedom, religious freedom, and so on. Therapy and support groups can aid self resentment and resentment towards the opposite sex. With the conjunction, Pallas Athene is personified in the individual when they are challenged or angry. They may be quite radical, independent, and domineering; they are always in charge. They despise being perceived as incompetent or submissive. Pallas Athene’s strategic and cunning qualities are apparent in the conjunction as well; these individuals are not people you can fool or surpass, especially when a goal is on the line.

Jupiter-Pallas Athene In all Jupiter contacts, Pallas Athene’s psychic foresight is present. Individuals with these aspects are blessed with intuition and wisdom. They hold valuable advice and counsel to others as well as themselves. They tend to be respected by many; their companionships and kinships are their armies. Particularly in the positive aspects and the conjunction, these individuals would do well in politics, law, and creative arts. Serving justice is particularly important to this asteroid when in contact with Jupiter. Symbolically Jupiter is Zeus, Athena’s father, who loved and praised Athena the most out of all of his children. This may translate as an individual who had a similar positive relationship with their father; a father who is particularly proud of the individual, who may also could have been quite Jupiter-like. It also signifies the urge to be the same type of parental figure to their own children.

Saturn-Pallas Athene With positive aspects, such as a trine or sextile, there is creative focus and prestige. The hard work from these individuals doesn’t go unnoticed. Saturn amps up Pallas Athene’s urge to serve justice; there’s often feelings of responsibility over something as big as society. These individuals would do well in law, politics, or any position of leadership. Reconstruction of societal values is a common theme with these aspects. These individuals seek change for how society perceives gender expression, sexuality, and politics. On a different side of the same coin, these individuals may have a bit of rigidity within themselves when it comes to true self expression, particularly with expressing femininity. Though, the negative aspects are considerably more stark than the positive. With negative aspects, such as the square or opposition, there is almost always issues with the paternal figure or one of the individual’s parental figures (particularly if one parent is a stern, overfunctioner). The individual may have had high expectations held against them at a young age or there may have been a preconceived notion from a parental figure that the individual is incompetent due to how the individual expresses themselves or based on the individual’s values. The individual will feel inadequate to their peers, especially to a specific sex. There is rigidity in their expression, as mentioned earlier. These individuals may overcompensate for gendered stereotypes inflicted upon them. These individuals need to redirect their purpose for themselves and not for others. Therapy may aid them in relearning that they are not put on this planet to meet someone else’s expectations. Once confidence is regained, they can reign the creative focus, prestige, and leadership qualities that the positive aspects signify. The conjunction can demonstrate qualities from both the positive and negative aspects and is much more potent and noticeable out of all of the Saturn aspects.

Uranus-Pallas Athene In all Uranus-Pallas Athene contacts, there is an urge to come together with people to make change. Here is where Athena builds her army and strategically conquers and destroys harmful constructs. The aspects with Uranus are all about world betterment, particularly with issues dealing with gender and sexuality. In positive aspects and the conjunction, Pallas Athene’s geniusness is very apparent. Individuals with these aspects often find success in sciences or anything that utilizes creative intellect.

Neptune-Pallas Athene In all Neptune-Pallas Athene contacts, individuals can find access to psychic power and strong intuition. These individuals have dreams of prophecy and can see far into the future. These individuals also tend to have a knack for arts that require a lot of technicalities and vision such as music and film. People with the conjunction may find their psychic powers to be particularly potent and these people are often very spiritually aligned. Their binary expression has special importance to their spirituality. Spiritual devotion is merged with their self expression; whether that be the type of spirituality they practice or perhaps a special relatability to specific deities or energies.

Pluto-Pallas Athene These aspects are most apparent when it’s the conjunction or accompanied with a personal planet. These aspects give an individual the urge to really explore the psychology behind Pallas Athene complexes. There is dedication to understanding difficult constructs, particularly gender, sexual, social, political constructs. This urge is accompanied with the desire to transform the world’s beliefs, similar to the Uranus aspects. In negative contacts, these aspects can signify this urge stemming from a place of trauma and wanting to heal and rebuild the self.

Pallas Athene conjunct or in the house of the Ascendant Athena is personified in the individual. These are people of strength, prestige, wit, and beauty. They possess the creative vision this world needs. These people break societal norms through their self expression and defy gender and sexual stereotypes.

Pallas Athene conjunct or in the house of the Imum Coeli Here the asteroid is quite concealed as it is furthest away from the spotlight (midheaven) and squares the ascendant. These people tend to not outwardly express Pallas Athenian qualities unless certain aspects demonstrate otherwise. Pallas Athene’s psychic qualities are more awoken here as the individual identifies Pallas Athene inwardly. There may be a very Pallas Athenian person in this individual’s family or they are somewhat of a Athena-archetype themselves to their family (most loved child, most outspoken, known for creative intellect, etc.)

Pallas Athene conjunct or in the house of the Descendent These individuals encounter or even draw in many Pallas Athenian-like people. Either that because they are drawn to these types of people or their projection out into the world brings them about as a way of balancing the individual or teaching them something they don’t see within themselves. These individuals tend to have a particularly fondness (platonic, romantic, or sexual) to their own gender.

Pallas Athene conjunct or in the house of the Midheaven Here the asteroid is furthest away from home (Imum Coeli) and squares the ascendant. These individuals may possess some of the complexes Pallas Athene signifies on gender and sexual expression. There may be maternal absence and there is almost always a hyperfixation on career and success over relationships. These individuals are often the leaders in their workplace, if not, they still walk to the beat of their own drum and tend to be well respected. They may confuse the respect they earn by how they express themselves rather than their actual accomplishments. This can cause some difficulty around being true to oneself in terms of self expression. They need to seperate who they are being a factor in what they can accomplish and be known for.

#astrology #pallas athene #pallas athena #athena #asteroids #the signs

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minor-solemnity · 4 years ago

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Invention and Intrigue pt.4

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

You look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive.

You still spend a lot of your evenings with Tom. The only difference being that he touches you more often seems to reach for you without conscious thought or effort. You’ll be sit side by side and his fingers will tap rhythmically on your upturned palm. He’ll kiss your cheek after he’s walked you back to your common room and when he leaves, he’ll pause before letting your hand drop from his, as though he has to consciously remind himself to let you go. For someone who so rarely displays joy in physical proximity in public, he is surprisingly demanding behind closed doors. You’re charmed.

In public, you both keep your distance. You smile at him politely in the halls and he nods in acknowledgement in return. You like it this way. It makes the moments when his guards drop that much more satisfying, and honestly, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand Melanie’s excited gushing if she were to find out that you were dating.

There’s also the matter of his Slytherin cohort.

If you were a more idealistic person, you would probably be annoyed by the fact that he keeps his distance. You would probably question what you are to him. If he viewed you as something fun to pass the time with, but not good enough to be seen in public with. You’re not an idiot, no matter how much you might act like it sometimes; you know that your blood plays a large role in why he is so keen to keep your budding relationship a secret.

But you aren’t a more idealistic person and therefore you understand perfectly that his friends (though really, you’re not sure if you can call the boys he spends time with his friends) would likely abandon him if they knew about you. You’re honestly not sure how Tom even managed to build such a loyal following in the first place. You’ve not spoken about it, but you’re aware that Riddle isn’t a pureblood surname.

And so you spend two glorious months sheltering your relationship from the world, wrapped safely in your shared love of magic and the possibilities it holds and, more often than not, the green blanket that Tom had gifted you.

It’s on one of these nights in early summer, when the sun has only just started to set, and you’re making the most of the warmer weather that it all goes horribly wrong.

Tom leaves you in the entrance hall because he is Head Boy and apparently that means he has responsibilities that don’t include walking you back to your common room. You’re halfway up the steps to the first floor when the stunning jinx hits you. Distantly you hear footsteps and then there is a shadow looming over you and a familiar loud cackle ringing in your ears before everything fades to darkness.

You come to in a classroom you vaguely recognise as the one that Tom had taken you to when you’d kissed for the first time. You spare a moment to appreciate with grim irony that you weren’t wrong in your prediction that going into the dungeons would lead to (a probably very painful) death. Lestrange stands in front of you and your heart starts hammering when you see he’s holding your wand loosely in one hand whilst his own is pointed directly at your chest. You glance at the door behind him, wondering briefly if you try and make a run for it, but Lestrange is bigger, stronger and faster than you and without your wand, you are more or less helpless against him. “People like you contaminate everything,” He spits. You know exactly what he’s talking about. He must have seen you with Tom, must have realised what you were to him. By the looks of it, he isn’t best pleased. In fact, his aristocratic features practically distort themselves under the weight of his disgust.

Lestrange raises his wand and you are preparing yourself to welcome death with open arms when the door slams open. Tom is a rigid pillar of anger. There’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes and whilst he isn’t the most expressive person under normal circumstances, it’s nothing compared to the blank, cold rage that you see in him now. In front of you, Lestrange stills, something flashes in his eyes that you think might be fear before it fades. “Stay out of this, Riddle, if you know what’s good for you,” He says, and he’s angry, yes, disdainful and haughty, but you don’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

Tom doesn’t either because the mirror that is his expression cracks and a slow, cruel smile twists his upper lip. He looks terrifying and you’ve never been more grateful to see him. “Put your wand down,” He says, and it’s soft, cajoling, completely at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Put your wand down and look at me.”

And the thing is, Lestrange does. If you were unconvinced of the sway that Tom holds over his peers before, you aren’t any longer. You think that they would walk through fiendfyre if he ordered them to. Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle. He isn’t even holding his wand and a thought begins to form in your mind that he might just tell Lestrange to leave. You hope he doesn’t. You don’t care if it’s cruel of you, but you want him to suffer.

Lestrange makes a strange choking noise, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s trying to suppress a sob. For a moment, you wonder how Tom is managing it without his wand but then you remember the book he’d been reading months ago and your wonder morphs into shock and then awe. Legilimency.

With his back turned to you, you can’t see what’s playing across his features, but his hands are shaking and your wand clatters to the ground. Seeing the opportunity for what it is, you dart forward and scoop it up, immediately feeling safer and less afraid. Tom motions for you to join him, and for the first time since he appeared something resembling human emotion flashes across his face. As soon you’re close, he wraps an arm around you and presses his mouth against the top of your head in a vague approximation of a kiss. From where you’re now standing, you can see Lestrange’s expression all too clearly. His features are no longer distorted in disgust but rather in anguish. Eyes wide and unseeing, he shakes in front of you, any sense of superiority reduced to ash.

“Leave.” A single word. An order, a command and Lestrange is scrambling out of the room. It’s only when you can no longer hear his footsteps that your breath hitches and you begin to shake. You’re not sure how long you stand there, face buried in the folds of Tom’s robes, his hands rubbing gentle, comforting circles against your back, but finally, you begin to calm down enough to disentangle yourself from him. He leads you back out of the dungeons and towards safety.

When you get to the entrance hall, Tom turns and offers you his hand. “Walk with me.” His eyes are still hard, as though he still hasn’t shaken the cold contempt he’d exhibited earlier.

He must see the trepidation play out across your face because his expression softens marginally, dark eyes searching yours almost imploringly. Slowly, tentatively, you reach out and curl your much smaller hand in his. The dry warmth of his skin seeps through you, calming you in a way that you’re not sure is entirely advisable.

Six months ago, you had thought of Tom Riddle as an enigmatic, child prodigy. The finest wizard to step through the gates at Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore himself. A portrait of politeness and charm. Now you look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive.

It’s an intimidating thought, to say the least. To feel safe and assured in his presence is probably akin to self-destruction, but here you are: walking, hand in hand, through the rose garden.

“You know, I thought I had a good idea of what my future would look like,” He murmurs, running his thumb across the back of your hand. You hum noncommittally because your suspicion that his interest in the darker aspects of magic isn’t entirely academic is now confirmed. He has plans for his future, and now, you suppose, he has plans for yours too. “I think that the future might look very different from now on.”

“How so?”

“I’ve decided to take Slughorn’s advice and go into politics.” The words themselves don’t surprise you. Tom’s ambition, his intelligence, his ruthlessness all spell the beginnings of a lucrative career in politics. What surprises you is the fact that this wasn’t his original plan. But then you think about how you even came to know him and what drew you to each other in the first place and you begin to understand that Tom’s plans likely never constituted anything you could call legal. “When I first came to Hogwarts, I knew immediately that if I wanted to get anywhere in this world, I would have to ingratiate myself with the old families. They’re the ones who hold the real political power in this society. They’re the ones who have the final say on what legislature passes and what fails before it even reaches the Wizengamot. I’ve worked hard to… cultivate a loyal following, purebloods who will carry out my will without complaint.”

That still leaves you though. You’re not so modest that you’re unaware that you are, at least, a factor in Tom’s change of heart but that still doesn’t erase the unspoken issue that Lestrange’s actions had dragged into the light. “They might complain if you were to be seen with me, Tom. They will complain.” You sigh and regret for a future that has not yet come pass fills you. You can see it now, Tom, as Minister for Magic (because you cannot imagine that he would settle for less) with a beautiful pureblood wife to give him credibility in the eyes of a traditionalist society. “As you said, they’re the ones with the real power.”

“You misunderstand me.” He says and he leads you to a bench where you both sit. He turns his body towards you, sitting so close that your knees knock against his. He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead, he interlaces your fingers, holds it against his chest. You don’t want to hope that maybe this isn’t the end like it surely must be, but you find yourself hoping nonetheless. “They’re weak,” He says plainly. “They’re weak and they’re frightened. Lestrange attacked you from behind and stole your wand because he is afraid of you. I would burn their entire world to the ground for you.” He pauses and then smiles, slightly sinister, slightly cruel, entirely lovely. “As it stands, I merely intend to irrevocably change it. They will follow if they know what’s good for them.”

Melanie says that you’re dramatic, but you don’t think you hold a candle to Tom. Conviction and sincerity blaze across his face and you can’t look away. You pull the hand which is still wrapped tightly around yours to you and kiss his knuckles. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

END

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

A/N: Tom becomes minister for magic - his political enemies always seem to mysteriously disappear or otherwise change their minds. Reader makes sure that no one can prove anything tho. The Statute of Secrecy is dismantled and integration is in baybee.

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #minific #harry potter #harry potter fanfic

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writesowhatnext · 5 years ago

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crush: a noun and a verb // fred weasley

Summary: The reader works at The Three Broomsticks and has a bit of a crush on Fred. Well, more than a bit. Worse still, he knows it and he is one cocky bastard.

Request: Hi I’m not sure if you’re taking requests rn, but if you are, then I have an idea for a Fred Weasley x reader where the reader works at the three broomsticks and has a crush on Fred. He knows this already and purposely goes there (sometimes with George and Lee) to tease and annoy her. Ty, I love your writings x

A/N: this was such a cute request

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: swearing :) and also idk playful hitting I guess? The word abuse + bit of a steamy make out (not too steamy)

Fred Weasley was a menace to society, The Three Broomsticks, and, on a personal note, your entire existence.

You remembered the first time you met him all too well. You were behind the bar, somewhat overprepared for the influx of Hogwarts students you’d been warned about when two boys in robes sauntered in. They were obviously twins, handsome too and around your age with red hair and freckled skin and a distinct air of trouble. They laughed to each other as they walked over; one of them leaning on the bar to get your attention. What you didn’t realise until you got closer to the boy at the bar was how tall he was, or how lovely his dark eyes were.

“You alright there?” he asked, a charming smile on his face. You could feel your face heat up and whether he could see it or not, something about your bashful side-eye or immediate swallow to dislodge the lump in your throat gave away how nervous you were.

“What? Fine, yeah. Yes. You?” you blurted out. His eyebrows rose in amused surprise and you had to blink a few times before you remembered what you were being paid for. “Sorry, what can I get you today?”

His grin only widened when he saw how flustered you were, clearly enjoying that it was all because of him.

That was only the start of Fred’s monopoly on your attention. The second time he came into the pub, it was a sunny day and most students had gone elsewhere – the cosy atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks not a big seller in the sunshine. Not Fred and George though, they didn’t seem to care.

When they walked in, you couldn’t help but consider how attractive they were. Even after meeting them only once, though, you could tell them apart. You could tell which one had gotten you flustered at the bar and as you sat by the kitchens, ready for table service, it was hard to deny how attracted you were to him. Something about his confidence and the easy way he leant across the bar and the way he’d looked at you stirred something inside of you and whilst it wasn’t unpleasant, per se, you did not enjoy having a crush. You sighed, dropping your head into your hands and groaning in frustration. You had to curse yourself really: you get a new job and the first thing you do is go weak at the knees for a boy? Shameful, you thought.

“Y/N,” your boss said, handing you a plate of chips through the kitchen window. “I don’t pay you to sit there and think about how hard it is to be a teenager. Table twelve.”

Your expression turned dry at his words, but you didn’t say anything, only rolling your eyes when he couldn’t see as you picked up the plate and headed over to table twelve: a table crowded by two red-headed gentlemen with matching coats, butterbeer pints and, well, faces.

“Chips?”

You stood next to them; acutely aware of their eyes on you. The one that you’d spoken to before stared at you for a moment before a spark of recognition lit up his eyes and a smile lifted his features.

“That’s us,” they both said at the same time, moving their pint glasses out of the way. You placed the plate down gently, very much eager to leave without making a fool out of yourself by doing something stupid like throwing chips everywhere.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Somehow, hearing him speak the second time only worsened your reaction. Your face felt like it was on fire and as you opened your mouth, every single word you’d ever known died on your tongue. You nodded. He noticed your stiff jaw and your avoidance of eye contact and he wet his lips, smirking.

“Well, we’re regulars so I think we better introduce ourselves; don’t you?” he stuck his hand out and for a moment, you just stared at his outstretched palm and debated whether it was good for you financially to leg it out of the pub. “I’m Fred.”

With a gulp, you wiped your palm quickly on your apron, hoping he didn’t notice, before you shakily grabbed his hand. His smile widened and you tried not to concentrate on it too much, already far too aware of his warm fingers surrounding yours. When he let go, the colder air of the pub was nice. It would be a lie, though, to say you didn’t miss the contact.

“And I’m George,” his brother said, folding his arms and looking at you with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, a very different vibe to his brother. He made no movement to shake your hand and you were grateful. Given how completely nervous you were, you were sure it would’ve clammed up again instantly, had he offered.

“Y/N,” you nodded, smiling a little. Your nervous stuttering and sweating were starting to get on your nerves and you were keen to get a grip.

“You look a bit nervous there, Y/N,” Fred said, feigning mock concern. “Are you alright?”

In that second, you’d never been simultaneously more pissed off and attracted to someone. That cheeky bugger, you thought, teasing you for your crush on him. Annoyingly, his brashness only worked in his favour as you found yourself all the more attracted to him for it.

“Of course,” you tried to keep your voice level. You were failing if George’s amused smile was anything to go by. “Nothing to be nervous about, is there?”

You pursed your lips slightly, focusing on Fred for a fraction too long. If you’d looked any longer, though, you would’ve seen interest flicker in his eyes.

“If you’ll excuse me, gents, I’ve got to get back to work.”

As soon as you began to walk back to the kitchen, Fred whipped his head around to watch you with ardent curiosity. When he turned back, George was sending him a very deadpan, very knowing look.

After that, Fred came in every single weekend. Mostly, he came with George, but occasionally he would come alone. Sometimes he brought others with him. Many times, he bustled into the pub with a whole gang of students; one you recognised as Harry Potter, the boy from the papers. One very chilly day in December was no different. The pub was full of students trying to get in from the cold and Fred, one of them, as full of energy, as usual, steered a younger girl to the bar by her shoulders. She was much shorter than him but she had the same red hair and freckles. She was a great deal prettier too, mind you.

“Hello, my dear, dear Y/N,” he said, leaning on the bar as you cleaned a pint glass with a rag.

“Fred, what a pleasure.”

Your tone may have been sarcastic but you couldn’t hide the fondness that leaked through. It had been so long and yet you still couldn’t shake your crush. Of course, it didn’t help, though, that Fred never let you forget it.

“Y/N, this is my sister, Ginny,” Fred pointed at the girl vaguely, barely taking his eyes off of you as his elbows settled on the sticky wood beneath them. “Ginny, this is Y/N – the most beautiful barkeep in the world.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, used to his teasing. He always did this. He always complimented you to try to get a rise and, despite yourself, you couldn’t help your reaction to him. He thrived off your awkwardly shy expressions and shaky movements and your responses to his compliments spurred him on the most.

“I’m so sorry he’s your brother,” you said to Ginny, shooting Fred a dull glance. Her eyebrows, which had been tightly knitted together in a frown, lifted immediately and a smile spread across her lips.

“Me too, don’t worry. You get used to it,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly hardy for such a small girl and you wondered, for a second, what horrors Fred and George had put her through. You both rolled your eyes as Fred mocked hurt and with an awkward but sweet wave, she left the bar, probably in search of her friends.

“How about a free butterbeer for your favourite customer?” Fred asked, smiling cheekily. You bit the inside of your cheek, rolling your eyes again. You played along though, knowing that he enjoyed messing with you and you enjoyed, well, any time you could spend with him. You leant on the opposite side of the bar; eyebrows furrowed as you pretended to look around. You tried to ignore the close proximity between your upper arms.

“I don’t see Hermione Granger anywhere?”

He choked a laugh, unable to contain his toothy grin, obviously pleased at your answer.

“Now that’s just plain cruel.”

“And you deserve it.”

“Here I was, thinking you liked me.”

You narrowed your eyes at his sad puppy dog expression, barely noticing George approach. “And why would I like you?” you replied far too quickly. There was an edge to your voice, but you hoped he didn’t hear it.

“Very defensive. Did you hear that, George?”

“I did indeed, Fred.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Y/N fancied me or something.”

You rolled your eyes, pouring a pint of butterbeer and pushing it over to Fred.

“It’s on the house if you piss off.”

Fred stood up dramatically straight, saluting you and shooting you a wink before walking over to where his sister had disappeared to, somewhere by Harry Potter and an assortment of other faces you recognised. The wink sent your mind into overdrive and with a marginally annoyed huff, you shook your head to try to dispel the heat from your cheeks; you hoped no one noticed it in the warmth of the pub.

“You know he fancies you too, right?” George asked, reminding you he was still there. He leant away from the bar on one of the beams holding the ceiling up.

“Pfft,” you reach for a glass, pouring George a pint. “Yeah, and I’m the seeker for the Holyhead Harpies.”

“Y/N, Fred’s dragged me in here nearly every bloody Hogsmeade trip for the last three years. Do you honestly think he’d do that only for a laugh?”

You shot him a dry look as you placed the pint on the counter.

“Fine, maybe he would. But not for you.”

You watched George fish through his pockets for some coins before offering them to you. You just shook your head, folding his fingers towards him and pushing the money away.

“He really does like you; he’s just a muppet that doesn’t know how to stop taking the piss. Think about it, yeah?”

Your nod as he left was absentminded, and you couldn’t help but stew a little on his words.

It wasn’t until you were ending your shift about a week later that you saw Fred again. He was wearing his Hogwarts uniform when he barrelled through the door and you nearly didn’t recognise him. You couldn’t deny he looked good and even as he stalked towards you, his snow-covered shoes ruining the floor you had just mopped, you had to admire him a little. Something about the rolled-up sleeves of his jumper and the red and gold of his tie was a good look for him and you could barely focus until he stopped right in front of you, almost trampling the mop in your hand.

“You know it’s not just a joke, right?”

It was then that you realised how serious he looked, and – wait, shouldn’t he be wearing a robe?

“Are you not cold?”

“Blood freezing, actually, but let’s not avoid the question, sweetheart.”

Too concerned about the weather and his lack of appropriate attire, you didn’t even register his words. You just grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him over to a seat by the fireplace. Without another word, grateful that everyone else had left for the day, you fetched him a blanket, tossing it around his shoulders before sitting down opposite him.

“What are you doing here? Are you even allowed here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

With the blanket huddled around his head, a boyish grin shaped his features and your insides twisted at how cute he looked.

“So, you care if I’m I get into trouble?”

You rolled your eyes, thumping him with the back of your hand. He rubbed his arm but his smile didn’t budge.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted, an uncharacteristically shy look on his face.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Blimey, is there an echo in here?”

You went to hit him again but he moved away before you could. He tilted his head from side to side as if debating something.

“We were packing to go back home for the holidays and George told me that you think it’s all just a joke.”

“What’s all just a joke?”

You knew you were probably being dim but you didn’t understand what he was talking about in the slightest – you hadn’t expected to see him again until January and whilst that didn’t particularly fill you with joy, you’d made your peace with it.

“Christ, you are being thick today,” he said, barking a laugh. “Us. You think we’re just a joke. Me and you.”

Us? Your stomach turned inside out at the word. You hadn’t realised Fred thought there was a ‘you and him’. When you didn’t say anything, Fred looked down, messing with hte edges of the blanket between his fingers.

“And I couldn’t have you thinking that could I? So, I came down here-“

“Without a coat.”

“Without a coat,” he rolled his eyes. “Because I had to make sure you knew.”

“Knew what?”

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears and whilst you were partly sure of what he meant, you needed him to say it. Knowing your luck, you’d end up connecting the dots wrong and making a thunderbird out of a bowtruckle.

“That all those jokes and stuff-“ he looked at you then, letting out a humourless laugh. “I fancy you, Y/N, okay. In an actually quite big and honestly quite inconvenient way. And I realised, thanks to George actually, that you didn’t know that.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, mouth dropping open.

“You what?”

Your voice was much louder and much more incredulous than you’d intended. “You’ve been teasing me for bloody years and what? You actually feel the same?”

“Well,” he said with a small grin. “I wouldn’t say the same, you do have very strong-“

You moved to hit him with the back of your hand again when he caught your wrist and pulled you toward him. The blanket shrugged off his back as you were pulled over him, your faces dangerously close together.

“That’s practically domestic abuse.”

You could feel his breath on your lips.

“You know,” he wet his lips slowly, eyes flicking down to yours. “I’m quite glad I came,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand as you hovered over him. “Means I get to do this.”

His hand moved from behind your ear to your cheek and then he was kissing you. You would’ve been embarrassed at how loudly you sighed into his mouth had he not smiled, his hand abandoning your wrist to grab your waist, pulling you toward him so you were straddling his lap. Then his hands were everywhere, skimming up and down from your waist to your back to your hips; you could barely keep track as he stole your breath. The warmth of it all was perfect. His tongue lapped at your lips and your hands disappeared into his hair, pulling him closer. Against all that’s sane and good in the world, you both pulled away, breathing heavily. His hands settled on your waist as he stared up at you, eyes blown wide.

“Careful now,” he said, a smirk lifting the corner of his swollen lips. “Carry on like that, and I might think you fancy me or something.”

“You’re so fucking lucky I like you.”

And then you kissed him again.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #writing #imagine

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ofdragonsdeep · 3 years ago

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29: Debonair

Count Artoirel de Fortemps attends a ball for the Members of Parliament.

(ArtoirelxHilda? Sort of?)

The sound of the orchestra echoing out in the high-roofed walls of the Vault promised the trappings of high society to those within. Count Artoirel de Fortemps was no stranger to such functions, wending his way through the crowd with practised ease, but the surroundings sought to subvert the expectation of any passing noble, or indeed anyone who remained familiar with Ishgard, reimagined in the image that her saviours had planned for her.

Commonfolk in their best dress rubbed shoulders with nobility here, a formal gathering held for each and every member of the Republic’s new council. Artoirel had endeavoured to learn the names of each and every person sent as speakers for the House of Commons after the parliament’s formation, but even his memory was taxed to recall the names of their spouses and friends and other miscellaneous plus-one’s. In the same breath, the House of Lords was far expanded from the days of decisions made solely by the church and the four High Houses, though his upbringing had at least given him a head-start on remembering those names.

A buffet had been provided that had likely cost more than many of the commonfolk earned in a year, and champagne was being passed around among the merrymakers. It was not, Artoirel had noted, the best champagne, but perhaps that was the point. Besides, it made no difference to him, as he had made an art of refusing every canapé pressed beneath his nose, a cautious part of him still remembering the events of Falcon’s Nest, the reports he had heard of attempted sabotage on ceremonial functions, and his own persisting dislike of being intoxicated in public.

“Reckon you’ve turned down enough food to feed an orphanage, your Lordship. There better grub somewhere I should know about?”

Artoirel jumped at the noise, spinning on the spot to find Hilda - captain of the Watch, who were the de facto guard for this function - stood just a little bit too close.

“Sadly not, Lady Hilda. I simply neglected to prepare.” He took a step backwards, just slightly, and straightened the collar on his shirt. “I trust that the evidence of your keen eyes will stay between us?” Hilda laughed at that, folding her arms and regarding him with an appraising look. He appeared to come up short.

“Lady Hilda. Don’t get that one much,” she said. “How’s about this then? I won’t mention your disdain for Ser Aymeric’s fancy sausage creations, but you have to dance with me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Artoirel said, taken aback. Hilda winked at him, the smile fitting easily on her face.

“All that book learnin’ and here we are. You. Me. One dance.” She held up a single finger. “That’s the thing where you lead your partner round in circles, in case that was what was holdin’ you up.” Artoirel made an empty noise, then collected himself, clearing his throat as if it would save him face.

“Yes, I am aware of what a dance is, Captain,” he said, exercising incredible restraint to keep the ice from creeping into his voice. “I am simply at a loss as to why.” The single finger was pressed against her lips, inviting him to take part in her secrecy, as if he had any choice when he was not aware of the secret.

“That’s for me to know and you to wonder, your Lordship,” she replied. The gesture became a two-finger salute, and she turned on her heels and disappeared back into the crowd. Artoirel could only hope that she had retreated to actually do her job.

—

Though the guests were unusual, the itinerary was not. Entreés were followed by a time to mingle and exchange the latest gossip, and Artoirel’s feet took him around the room with all the emotion of one of Stephanivien’s strange robotic creations. Though he had despaired of his little brother in the past, he could not deny that Emmanellain’s head was far more suited for such endeavours than his, but he was a master at polite conversation nonetheless. The atmosphere was far more cordial than any such event would have been before the end of the war - there was less power to squabble over, more people who held it, and so less to gain by knowing a few choice and guilty secrets. Artoirel spoke with Aymeric and Lucia, shared their worries on the war which yet fomented at the front at Ghimlyt, all three of them hoping nothing untoward would occur in their absence. He listened to news of the progress on restoring the Firmament from Aurvael, attending with his father the Count. The Dzemaels ignored him, as they always did, but Count Charlemend and his young nephew at least engaged him in pleasantries.

The commonfolk had far more to say, if you knew who to ask. The view of the ongoing reconstruction of which Aurvael was so proud was well-received among the people, despite certain members of the nobility dismissing it as seeking glory from the worthless. Lord Francel had a good heart, and those who he was helping saw it, it seemed.

And the news. There was much of it, and the fine details a little different for each mouth it came from, but Artoirel listened and attempted to filter the nuggets of truth from the sheer volume of it. If only Emmanellain had not been busy with his duties at Dragonhead - though he could not help but be grateful that his brother was applying himself for once, he found himself at quite the disadvantage.

And then, as Artoirel had dreaded, the music changed.

Artoirel was a good dancer. He had been taught from a very early age precisely how one was to dance at a ball, the correct amount of attention to pay one’s partner to not suggest too much but not offend with inattention. The eyes will judge you on every line of your form, his mother had said, and he had taken it to heart, as he had many of her lessons, not all of them in his best interests.

Hilda caught his eye from across the room, and offered him a cheeky little bow. Artoirel let out a long breath, and crossed the room to join her.

“Might I have the pleasure of this dance, Captain?” he asked, holding out his hand precisely as he had been taught. There were whispers immediately, of course, although rather more of them were jealous than he had been anticipating.

“You’re flatterin’ me, your lordship,” she said, playing coy as he had expected her to. “I suppose it would be rude to refuse.” Artoirel mentally went through the motions of gritting his teeth, in order to remain outwardly poised.

Hilda was not dressed to dance the same way the other ladies who had taken the floor were. She had no dress to float with each step, but sturdy trousers and solid leather thighboots that clacked upon the dancefloor with a noise that was, at least, quite satisfying. Her fingers were not smooth, but calloused from holding a gun and holding the line against the ever-rising tide of pushback against their nation’s struggle for equality. Her nails were not painted, but filed down to not catch in the trigger. She carried herself with the confidence and expectations of nobility, the pointed tips of her hyuran ears the damning reminder of why she was not.

She could, however, dance.

“See, your Lordship? This ain’t so bad,” she said, sounding amused by his predicament more than anything else.

“Only one of us will be quashing foolish notions in the aftermath,” he replied, to which Hilda laughed. They separated, turned - Artoirel did not raise his arm as high as he was used to, when dancing with an elezen, and Hilda performed the top spin with remarkable grace. The dexterity that gave her the eagle eye and uncanny trigger finger she was famed for were putting in their work here, though he could not help but wonder who, precisely, had taught her.

“Don’t you think it would be more interestin’ to give them somethin’ more to talk about?” she offered. Artoirel did not stop dead on the strength of reflex alone, but the hells-damned woman had felt the way he stiffened regardless, and it seemed only to egg her on.

“It would be unbecoming,” he managed, and Hilda tutted.

“You need to learn to relax,” she disagreed.

They turned again, Artoirel holding his arm out just so, her gloved hand in his. He could not tell if she was fooling with him and - to his rapidly growing embarrassment - could not tell if he wanted her to be or not.

If his mother had been alive, she would have fainted at the notion of her eldest carrying on some scandalous affair with a commoner, and a half-blood at that. But she had been wrong about Haurchefant - he had loved him as a brother, or tried to, in the gulf between the two of them. There was no need for distinction between high and low-born now, and besides - did her ruby-red eyes not speak of a noble heritage that she had quite rightly cast aside as worthless?

She had asked first, he supposed.

“Perhaps we shall discuss this further when this event has concluded,” he allowed, and Hilda raised an eyebrow. She was surprised, but not displeased, and Artoirel wondered what that said for his character.

“Perhaps we shall, Lord Artoirel,” she said. “Damn, I owe Stephanivien ten gil now.”

Artoirel thought he should not have been surprised.

#huffs angrily at not knowing his mother's name #ffxivwrite2021 #posts at 6am and rockets off to bed without proofreading #Artoirel de Fortemps #Hilda the Mongrel

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years ago

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🤠OC Questionnaire: Beretta🤠

a.k.a. Cowgirl Vampire Reader from the Tales of Miss Fortune series

Full name

Blythe Bale

Preferred name/nickname

Beretta

Generally referred to as

BB, Miss Fortune

Appearance

FACECLAIM: Here’s a portrait I made using Artbreeder:

(but @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate photoshopped her green eye!)

SEX: Female.

HEIGHT: 5’7

WEIGHT: A little hefty due to all the muscle.

BUILD: Toned and muscular thanks to years of fighting wars and winning battles.

HAIR: Long, course, and auburn brown. Her hair comes down past her shoulders. She usually wears it down but sometimes has it in a loose braid with her ever present gambler hat on her head.

SKIN: Brown. Smooth and hard but cool to the touch ever since her Embrace.

EYES: She has heterochromia iridis: her left is russet brown while her right eye is forest green. They always seem to sparkle with mischief and her green eye, also known as her “evil eye”, glows whenever the Beast stirs inside her. Short black eyelashes.

MOUTH: Small mouth with plump lips. Slightly crooked teeth that are perfectly white teeth with very prominent canines that can retract when not feeding.

NOSE: Small and rounded with a wide bridge and small nostrils.

HANDS: Small hands with medium nails that can extend into razor sharp claws at will. They used to be rough with callouses before her Embrace, but now they’re incredibly smooth and just a little soft.

FEET: Small with wide insoles and short toes. She doesn’t trim her toenails since they’ll just grow back the next night.

SCARS: She had a scar across her nose when she was alive, but it quickly healed and faded away after her Embrace.

CLOTHES: Her entire wardrobe just screams cowgirl: boot cut jeans, tons of Western style shirts, large belt buckle, long leather jackets, and a few gambler hats.

OTHER FEATURES: She has vampiric fangs and just an overall air of otherworldliness that everyone notices on a subconscious level.

OTHER NOTABLE FEATURES: To be determined.

Speech

VOICECLAIM: To be determined.

ACCENT: She speaks with a very thick Southern drawl.

VERBAL TICS: She has a tendency to use “tsk” a lot when she’s annoyed.

LANGUAGE: She’s fluent in English, Spanish, Gaelic, French, German, Russian, Japanese, and Vietnamese along with some dead languages her Dame taught her.

ARTICULATION: She’s not the most eloquent when it comes to explaining things clearly, and she tends to go on storytelling tangents sometimes.

EDUCATION: She doesn’t use any long and fancy words since it’s more fun to cram a lot of words when she’s running her mouth off.

LAUGHTER: She has two types of laughter: joyful howling and malicious cackling. Her joyful laugh is loud and proud; it’s what you’re most likely to hear if you stay on her good side. Her malicious cackling sounds like death itself; only those who’ve earned her scorn hear its chilling timbre.

GRUMP: Not very often except for when she’s annoyed, letting out a few agitated hisses when she’s hungry.

BREATHING: She’ll let out the occasional humph and tends to sniff the air whenever she’s tracking by scent despite not needing to breathe.

Mannerisms

FACE: She has a very expressive face but knows how to hide her true feelings behind a disarming grin.

HANDS: She gestures a lot with her hands, especially when she’s welding guns since that always catches people off guard.

LEGS/FEET: She taps her feet and jiggles her leg as if she’s listening to some long forgotten song in her head.

EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: She’s prone to emotional outbursts whenever she’s on the verge of hunger or enters a fear frenzy. Lots of hissing, growling, and deathly screeching whenever this happens. But she also yips, yells, and yowls along with whatever mood strikes her at that moment.

HABITS: She randomly bursts into song whenever the mood strikes her, and she fiddles with her guns and whittling knife when she’s occupied with her thoughts. She also tips her hat a lot whenever she introduces herself or just as a general gesture of good will.

POSTURE: She tends to slump over a bit while standing, but she'll stand straight and steady whenever she’s shooting her guns.

WALKING POSTURE: She has a very distinctive swagger to her step that exudes casual confidence.

SITTING POSTURE: She crosses her legs and slouches in her seat.

PERSONAL SPACE: She doesn’t have much of a personal bubble, but has no problem letting someone know they’re not welcome within her space. She respects other people’s personal spaces, but has no problems getting into someone’s face when threatened.

SPACIAL AWARENESS: Her keen vampiric senses pick up even the most miniscule details, so she’s rarely taken by surprise.

OTHER: She likes to share very old Western sayings whenever the mood strikes her.

Health

DIET: Blood...mostly human blood, but she’s acquired a taste for demonic hybrid blood recently. She refuses to drink blood from the elderly, children, mages, and abhorrent mortals.

SLEEP: She doesn’t really sleep anymore...more like falling into a state of repose before the first crack of dawn. And she simply animates as soon as the sun dips below the horizon. She doesn’t have dreams while in this state per se; memories of past death and misfortune flash before her eyes repeatedly in the form of dreams.

EXERCISE: Not much since her muscles will never develop further than what they were when she died. And she can just buff herself with her blood if she needs a boost in strength and speed.

ACTIVITY: She’s a hard worker but tends to laze around until the very last second before getting to work. She only pushes herself past exhaustion if the task is of great importance.

CLEANLINESS: She bathes regularly, especially after certain bloody activities. She prefers a quick shower over soaking in the bath.

ODOUR: She faintly smells of leather, desert rose, and freshly dug earth.

MEDICINAL DRUGS: No.

NARCOTICS: No.

ADDICTIONS: Besides blood and death? No.

ILLNESS: Besides being a vampire? No.

INJURIES: No.

PARASITES: No.

OTHER: She must have blood every day or else risk succumbing to a hunger frenzy. In this state, she doesn’t care about keeping a low profile and she’ll feed without much thought about anyone’s safety. The only way to bring her out of this state is either waiting it out until she’s well fed, knocking her unconscious, or bestowing Final Death.

Personal

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT: Oh she’s an extrovert through and through! She doesn’t go out of her way to go unnoticed unlike most of her kind; the cowboy boots and gambler hat stay on no matter what! Loud and proud is her personal motto and anyone nearby will hear and see that for themselves.

OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: She’s a little bit of both; she always hopes for the best but knows that misfortune rears its ugly from time to time.

GENDER: Female.

SEXUALITY: She’s attracted to both men and women so long as they’re outgoing and have a good sense of humor. She prefers women more often than not but she’s had a few relationships with men in the past. And she’s not adverse to other supernatural beings even if it’s taboo within vampire society. She despises anyone who uses magic to manipulate others and will most likely dispose of them before they inflict even more suffering upon the world.

ROMANTIC: She’s not one for romance but won’t shy away from it either. And she enjoys romantic gestures though she’d never admit it out loud. She was married once before when she was alive but doesn’t plan on remarrying in her new life...and more children are off the table since she’s clinically dead.

MEMORY: She has a pretty good and very accurate memory, but the memories of her mortal life are starting to get a little fuzzy.

PLANNING: She’s more of a “act now, think later” kind of gal.

PENSIVE: She pretends to not brood over the past, but she’s guilty of reminiscing over old trials and tribulations that lead her to live such a dark life.

INTUITION: She’s honed her intuition over the years but it’s eerily accurate when death and misfortune are involved.

PROBLEM SOLVING: If they can be solved by shooting them to death then sure! But she’s not above asking for help if that doesn’t work.

GOALS: Her main goal in life is following death wherever it takes her and ridding the world of mages, witches, warlocks, and all other wielders of magic. Her short term goals are taking it easy in between and finding more customizations for her guns, Misery and Woe.

INSECURITIES: She doesn't have many insecurities...constantly being the bearer of misfortune takes a toll on her sometimes. But she hides it very well under her mischievous smirks and rowdy posturing. She rarely reveals her true nature unless forced since most mortals do not take very kindly to vampires.

ACHIEVEMENTS: She’s proud of her outlaw exploits as Miss Fortune and being well traveled even if it’s because her curse demands to dwell near copious amounts of death.

ANXIETY: Any notion of anyone figuring out her true nature. Fire and holy places make her really anxious. She’s also not fond of seeing children in distress.

OVERWHELMED: Not feeding enough causes a lot of stress.

SELF-HELP: She doesn’t until it becomes a nuisance. Then, she just tries to deal with it as quickly as possible.

COMFORTS: Hanging out at a bar with good music will always make her happy...even better with the right company to keep her entertained. She also likes to whittle whenever she needs peace and quiet.

BAD HABITS: Her constant paranoia is kind of like a bad habit.

PHILOSOPHY: She abandoned all her previous beliefs after her death, but she wasn’t really religious to begin with. She does pay proper respect to the Dark Mother of all Lillum whenever possible though.

TRIGGERS: Fire and terrified screams of children.

The Past

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: She had a very good relationship with her parents growing up; still has fond memories of helping her Ma with the chores and tending the horses with her Pa. Her relationship with the woman who Embraced her is not as warm though; very austere and aloof but she does show her caring side on rare occasions.

SCHOOL: She was homeschooled at her father’s ranch and she was a very bright kid.

ADOLESCENCE: It was difficult since her mother died before she could teach her about the changes in her body. And her father tried his best but he usually just let her figure it out on her own.

LEAVING HOME: She didn’t leave home until her father’s death. It was heartbreaking since she had to sell the ranch in order to provide for her daughter.

FURTHER EDUCATION: A higher education wasn’t available due to her social status, but she definitely broadened her horizons soon after her death.

FIRST JOB: Her first job was cooking and cleaning at local inns and bars. It wasn’t the best job nor was it as rewarding as her work on the ranch, but it paid for the roof over her head and food on her table while raising her daughter.

LIFE EVENTS: The birth of her daughter was one of the happiest moments of her life. She was forcefully recruited as a spy by a mage, which led to her eventual Embrace as a vampire. And being drawn to the Russian Revolution led to saving and Embracing a young woman.

WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: Her daughter was on the brink of death due to the meddling of a mage.

BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: She made a blood bond with her rowdy cowboy.

LESSONS: Those who wield magic bring nothing but trouble and should be dealt with immediately. Sometimes you get and sometimes you get got. If it doesn’t seem worth the effort then it probably isn’t.

LOOKING BACK: If she could replay her life and do something different, she would try her damnedest to keep her father’s ranch and raise her daughter in peace away from another man’s war.

Relationships

FAMILY: The only family she had growing up was her Ma and Pa. They made a living for themselves on her father’s ranch raising horses and tending to their own modest farm. She would’ve been an older sister but her mother and baby brother both died during childbirth.

Her Dame, the woman who Embraced her, is more like a strict tutor than a mother but that suits her fine. She’s much closer with her older “sister” and they traveled together often until going their separate ways. And she’s also close with her own “daughter” even though they bicker a lot about the dumbest things.

FRIENDSHIPS: It’s hard for her to keep many friends since she travels a lot but she doesn’t mind the occasional company from time to time. Anyone who doesn’t take life too seriously and can let loose is okay in her books. She can’t call anyone who falls under one of the codes of her clan a friend.

FRIENDS IN NEED: She lends them an ear every now and then but she usually distracts them with a good time drinking at the closet bar. She’ll sometimes offer some strange old sayings that sound like sage advice but otherwise will just let them vent before encouraging them to just drop their worries at the door while they drink their worries away.

NEEDING A FRIEND: She tends to deal with her problems on her own since she doesn’t have any close friends to confide in. The few friends she has made do worry about her often though but her carefree attitude convinces them to not pry into her private affairs.

ANNOYANCES: She usually deflects from arguments and disagreements with loud and rowdy humor.

ROMANCE: She lays it on thick with the flirting until one of them makes the first move. She looks for someone with good looks and wicked sense of humor...bonus if they tell great tales about their crazy exploits.

MARITAL PROBLEMS: She tried to be open about any problems with her lover but sometimes the old habit of deflecting with humor crops up. But a good ol’ fashioned fight (depends on her mood if it's verbal or physical) or a few rounds in the bedroom usually loosens her tongue.

ADVERSARIES: Anyone who takes themselves way too seriously.

ENEMIES: Anyone who embodies the very reason why her clan exists is instantly her enemy by default.

STRANGERS: She’s respectful enough to strangers but has no problem telling them to back off if they step on her toes too much.

FUN STUFF: She likes to hangout at bars even though she can’t drink anymore. She also likes to go horseback riding in the middle of the night but doesn’t mind joyriding on a motorcycle either.

DATING: It doesn’t matter what they’re doing so long as she’s with her lover. She still likes to be wined and dined too...just in a more vampiric sense now.

BEST FRIEND: Her crow could be counted as her best friend...mostly because she doesn’t have any real friends.

LOVE: Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter who somehow wrangled her undead heart.

WORST ENEMY: There currently isn’t anyone who she considers her worst enemy...yet.

RESPECT: Depends on the person. She had no respect for anyone who breaks the codes of her clan and shows no mercy when dealing with them.

Interactions

MINGLING: She’s quite the mingler and gets along well with others.

COMFORT LEVELS: She’s great at striking up random conversations among strangers and friends. And she has no problem shooing them away with a harsh glare if they make her uncomfortable.

PHYSICAL: She can be a little touchy-feely from time to time, usually in the form of pats on the back or shoulder. She only shares hugs with people she sees as a good friend.

GROUPS: She’s comfortable hanging out in a big group since there’s a greater chance for some rowdy fun.

OPENNESS: She’s open to an extent...she won’t talk about anything personal with others unless they prove to be trustworthy.

GENEROSITY: She usually makes her gifts and only buys treats if she couldn’t find a good piece of wood for whittling. She’d only lend money to a friend if she trusts them to not waste it. And she gets excited when someone buys gifts for her but it always comes with a reminder that they really don’t have to waste their hard earned money on a lazy bitch like her.

JEALOUSY: She’s usually not the jealous type but her dark nature rears its head and sometimes...and a jealous vampire is very dangerous. She usually deals with it by just plain ignoring it while going for a ride in the night.

TEMPER: She can be patient up to a point before getting worked up when it starts to grate on her nerves.

EMPATHY: She’s able to empathize with another person’s feelings since some of her vampiric abilities allows her to read their emotional state.

AFFECTION: She shows affection by giving one of whittled woodworks with all the charming compliments. She also likes to snuggle and nuzzle their neck with a soft purr if they're really close.

DISTASTE: She’ll outright tell someone she dislikes them to their face. She’s been known to stare at them while using her Evil Eye if she REALLY doesn’t like them.

ETIQUETTE: She can be very polite in social situations so long as everyone else plays nice, but she has no problem being rude if someone insults her.

RESPONSIBILITY: She’ll begrudgingly admit when she’s wrong and will try to correct it to the best of her abilities.

SELF ESTEEM: She sticks up for herself no matter who’s giving her a hard time. Her Dame taught her to never appear weak in the eyes of men since they always seek to tear down strong women.

CONFIDENCE: She doesn’t give a damn what others think of her.

HONESTY: She always speaks her mind honestly even if it might upset someone.

LEADER OR FOLLOWER: She’s more of a lone wanderer but has no problem slipping into either roll when the situation calls for it

PARTY TRICKS: She’s real quick with her guns, loves to whittle wood into a work of art in no time flat, and she can also sing surprisingly well.

PRAISE: She loves receiving compliments.

FAILURES: Her lazy and laid back attitude as well as her boisterous hollering can be a tad annoying to some people.

CRITICISM: She can take criticism so long as it’s helpful with just a little bit of back talk.

INSULTS: It depends on who’s insulting her. She usually just laughs it off before biting back with some of her own insults with her venomous stare.

EMBARRASSMENT: She’s not easily embarrassed but if it does happen, she’ll straight up hide her face with the brim of her gambler hat before making a quick exit.

FLIRTING: She can be real flirty for two reasons: scoring a meal or genuine attraction.

ATTENTION SPAN: She has great concentration and can hold it for an exorbitant amount of time so long as she’s fed beforehand.

SITUATIONS: Some of her vampiric abilities can deal with difficult social situations, but she’d rather just talk it out if possible.

Life

CAREER: She's a wandering mercenary who specializes in neutralizing mages and witches. It’s a well paying job with high risks but she derives joy from it.

PROMOTION: She’s quite happy with her current position.

BOSS: She’s her own boss.

DUTY: She’s a specialized tracker who shoots down bitches.

TECH: She’s adequate at using modern technology but prefers to not rely on it too much.

POLITICS: Not very political unless a mage is involved...then she’ll fucking kill them.

COMBAT SKILLS: She’s an expert with firearms and is very experienced with fighting hand to hand.

HOME: She doesn’t stay in one place for too long, so she really doesn’t have a home.

DAILY LIFE: She goes through her day-to-day tasks with her usually laid back attitude. Going out and doing a couple of jobs helps her relieve some stress.

INDEPENDENCE: Very independent since striking out on her own after selling her father’s ranch.

COOKING: She was a decent cook when she was alive but she hasn’t tried cooking after her death since all food tastes like ashes now. She does have a keen palate for blood though and can tell you all the complex notes hidden within.

BUILDING: She’s great putting together furniture, mending clothes, and just all around basic DIY.

CLEANING: She really doesn’t have a place she calls home, but she would be terrible at keeping up chores if she did.

SHOPPING: She’s not one for shopping sprees, only going to the store when it’s absolutely necessary.

DRIVING: She can drive if she has too but prefers riding on horseback instead.

FINANCES: She’s financially stable but doesn’t trust banks to keep her well earned funds safe. And she doesn’t really have to worry about paying bills since she has no home.

MARRIAGE: She was married a long time ago for a short time but now she’s single, and she doesn’t plan on getting married again.

KIDS: She had one daughter when she was alive.

PETS: She has a crow named Catha. She also tries to get a horse whenever she’s outside city limits.

DEPENDANTS: She has a vampiric daughter but she’s old enough to be out on her own.

LAW: Oooooh yes, she’s broken a lot of laws during her time as cowgirl and still continues to do so for various reasons.

COURT: She’s never been to court.

PRISON: She’s broken into prison a few times to free some friends but she’s never been an inmate herself.

TRAVELLING: She’s very well traveled but every day is a holiday to her.

MEDICAL: She doesn’t need conventional medical attention anymore thanks to her vampiric nature.

ILLNESS: She has PTSD and suffers from bouts of paranoia.

WORRIES: She worries about her daughter from time to time.

PEACE: She doesn’t mind peace and quiet when she’s in the mood but she prefers the hustle and bustle of people and great music over straight up silence.

PARTYING: She can never say no to a lively party!

HOBBIES: She likes to whittle wood into intricate pieces of art, usually in the form of lil statues and knick knacks.

#beretta #cowgirl vampire reader #OC questionnaire #Tales of Miss Fortune #YEEHAW! 🌹🤠🌹#harlot writes #harlot speaks

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6blackfilin9 · 5 years ago

Text

Just decided to show that I'm still alive over here

So guess it's LongShitpost Time

A very long post about The Batman's (2004) Penguin

And well, I've been thinking about making it for about a year, so.. here we are, watching me behaving like an easily surprised kid babbling about Oswald and how much I admire him and why

Actually nothin' important or highly moral here. If you still wanna read then just forget it's talk about a character from a kids show, I take this sh🐧t seriously and barely speak English

I like to take a lot of screenshots but can't use here all of them uuUUuUuuUUUUUGH

It's all about the 1st episode of 2nd season of The Batman (mostly, I also mention other my two fav episodes with Oswald)

I like it so much cuz this all just starts with "cat-mouse play" kind of cooperation which leads to "well guess you two will be chillin' in jail in pure mammalian harmony" and ends up with "oh no no no, this is your thievish girl, so you take her back"

"— You two pointy-ears make such a cute couple: his and hers."

"— Hm, made for each other."

I just crack up at this plot line so much

But well, being more serious, this episode unveils some of Oswald's personality traits quite vividly.

Going back to the first episode when he appeared, from the first sight it looked like the most of the time he acts like a mindlessly arrogant jerk who has no clue about what he’s doing, as most of kid-show villains, and tends to lose his temper fast , but if you look closer you’ll see that huge amount of his conduct lines are just a part of the games he plays

Like, he came to the Bruce's party just to take the damn list of guests, that’s the goal

But because of his behavior in public's eyes he wasn't the "strange quiet guy who's been looking around for all the time, than took the list of rich guests from butler and than left while there are robberies of rich people occurring in the city". He was "arrogant snobbish freak who thinks he's some sort of royalty (despite his family lost its place at the top of Gotham's society) so he acts around them as if they were peasants", so, for everyone it looks like the only thing he came for was attention, plus, influenced by negative emotions, people didn't notice such a potty movements as putting some paper in his jacket. I mean none even managed to notice that he stole the motherf🐧cking tray

(Well, for sure Oswald's quite snobbish about his family and it's "blue blood", can’t deny that, though he doesn’t behave that defiantly all the time and the only time when he completely loses it, cracks and explodes about this was when he became enraged hearing Alfred's words whom he took hostage in Bruce's house. That was a very bad day for him)

And come on, Oswald had patience and intelligence to figure out how to teach different predatory birds like ravens and owls, who actually tend to be wayward and even agressive time to time, to steal damn stuff from houses and how to make those f🐧cking badass high-tech umbrellas himself

So, cool man

If that episode showed his enormous arrogance, devotion to his family, resourcefulness, intelligence and hidden potential, this one shows how cunning, selfish, cold, ruthless and at some point insightful he can be

Back to the episode, it literally opens with the start of the strategy competition between Oswald and Selina

First they meet they start with a direct verbal flight for the Cat statue, which Oswald wins. So Selina, willing to get what she wants, desides to get down on a more manipulative subtle level playing love interest

So, of course Oswald gets stunned at first, I guess not every girl treats him this way every day, but he effectively uses this state to figure out his following plan and actions, and immediately starts behaving as a school boy in love.

So the man literally changed his tactics in a couple of seconds and figured out the new plan with the new “puppet” involved. Selina didn’t even notice anything thinking that she managed to hook him up easily so she now can manipulate him as she wants.

(guess Bruce was right, these two are worth each other: both prideful as heck)

So later their game enters the new fervent phase: they both play love interest in front of each other, and Oswald nailes his role just perfectly, making Selina even more convinced of his naivety so she reduces her alertness completely.

But guess he enjoyed this at some point. Like, Selina is a charming beautiful woman able to maintain a pleasant conversation with couple of dry sarcastic notes, so, I think this shade of sincerity helped him to play his part

And well, for quite huge amount of time Oswald makes that devil face with crooked grin which makes him look like a f🐧cking Satan, or just beings grumpy hardened journalist who had seen some shit which makes him look like he's about to have a severe breakdown, but here as he is around Selina in the first part of the episode he's completely calm like a damn fat cat, serious, focused and straight-faced, that's just gorgeous

He cracks up a bit ahead of time just once, when she manages to get the Bird statue

But as it goes to the showdown he doesn’t show even a hint of genuine sympathy or regret, he’s just like “well get reked Selina” and takes English leave

Well, I know it’s a kids show, Bruce saves the day and stuff, but Oz did literally put the bomb in the f🐧cking handcuffs so in case one of the two tries to put them off before the police arrive they actually f🐧cking die. I mean, that's kinda rough. But at the other hand it’s quite nobly but shortsighted of him to leave his enemies alive having a chance to interfere him later

And well, maybe Oswald isn’t good at etiquette, but he have never beaten Selina or any other lady if it came to close fight, while Batman did. Ozzie is a gentleman, shame on ya Bruce

And just to be said, the motherf🐧ucker didn’t even blink when the f🐧king half of his god damn umbrella was cut off right in front of his f🐧cking face. And oh my god, how f🐧cking firm Oswald's grip is that the hella heavy umbrella all made of f🐧cking metal didn't even swayed from the impact in the most stout place. Badass.

And just for a second, Oswald managed to dig to the bottom of that legend about the Bird and Cat statues and started putting the plan into action only after he had found all the necessary information about it (which he had to translate himself from ancient Egyptian), so that the first time he used it, it didn't turn out that he missed something and summoned some ancient shit so now the whole world is in danger (as it happens with villains in movies sometimes).

(The saddest part is that the only single thing that prevented the shit from happening was immense amount of luck. mean Bruce has all kinds of gadgets for literally any situation and knows literally everything just in case. Like, it was very useful of Bruce to study ancient Egyptian just in case someone decides to use egyptian artifacts for evil stuff. And they were so f🐧king lucky the the birds weren’t hungry and didn’t try to peck their faces off while they were climbing the god damn lighthouse which is already hella dangerous even without the maniac birds trying to knock you down)

Well, what do we have so far

Even if Oswald does have some temper issues, he's capable of making some keen psychological tricks, making strategies and keep his head above water, the only thing that actually hampers him is his own pride (like in the episode with Team Penguin. He does have some leadership qualities but he turns from leader into boss quite quickly thinking of himself only)

And, importantly, he is being at some level realistic and objective realizing that none actually takes him seriously.

He understands that for most of the people he’s just a deformed and depraved man with a funny voice, who’s also a descendant of the aristocratic family which ran out of money and lost former authority.

And he uses it for his own good. He couldn't if he didn't, otherwise he'd choose way less twisted ways of behavior

He knew what would the people at the party see in him, so he could predict what behavior would cause the result he needed.

He understood Selina wouldn’t take him as a serious opponent, seeing him as a lonely slow-witted man or whatever, being sure that she can hook him as any other in such an unpretentious way she thought she would be able to make him do all the work instead of her. His awareness made her plans all exposed and clear

But all this negligence combined with his pride does hurt him though, no doubt. There’s a whole episode about it, when he occupied Bruce’s house.

He has his own reasons to envy and hate Bruce, by the way. They both are from rich families, both intelligent, strong and talented, but Bruce is more young and handsome, plus, his family business remained successful. At this point he is much more luckier than Oswald

I mean even if it gets to falling Bruse safely falls on tent and Oswald falls on the dirty ground through hell, fire and high boiling water (I don't give a shit that it had been made for the comedy matters)

Basically, the only thing Oswald is doing is trying to restore not only the family’s honor, but also his own with help of money and growth of his authority. Maybe even to show others and himself that he’s something more than just a garbage. That he's something more than he seems to be at the first sight

But as far as I can see Oswald has never been that type of poor kid with low self esteem crying in a shower with the lights off and who then starts to hide behind the wall of arrogance as he grows up. I mean right in this episode he says that his mother had always told him that he was a handsome one, so I think his parents loved him, maybe even spoiled at some point, and gave him confidence and warmth he needed.

Though well, to be fair, children are cruel, and of course they would react to the child who lookes like a victim of a crazy geneticist's experiment in a very specific way. Some would avoid him no matter what it takes, for sure some would get used to him and communicate normally, but some would mock and bully him severely. So of course he would start to protect himself

But sadly he went in wrong direction, since his confidence became arrogance and his ways became much more twisted and radical

Even as an adult he’ve chosen a really slippery slope, though. He could've chosen a different path, but (as I guess) he couldn't overcome his sense of injustice and his resentment towards people around him, who actually neglected and loathed him. So he just sank in his negative experience and sharpened himself as the lone survivalist, which made him egotistical to the point when he doesn't care about the others and can actually stumble in some situations, being sure he can't be wrong

His actions can't be justified, but they can be explained. Oswald is really very understandable character

There is actually no moral of the post

Just me coming to conclusion that The Batman's Oswald appears to be quite deep in the first seasons

Yes, I just wasted about 5 minutes of your life, and you can't take those back

But I can leave you with a question besides frustration

Why in the bloody hell are they holding each other?!

I mean come on

Few hours ago they revealed mutual betrayal, he almost killed her, dropped her on the froor so she couldn't run away with the thing he needed, and now they hold each other flying away on a jet-umbrella

And don’t f🐧cking tell me they do this because of the fear that if one of them falls the other will too

No f🐧cking way

Just imagine flying on the f🐧cking jet-umbrella, you will cling to it so tightly that one day you will take it into your grave with yourself because you will not be able to unclench your f🐧cking fingers after a single flight, but instead of holding the motherf🐧cking umbrella they hold each other

So is it a weird joke or a very thick hint?

Who knows

#the batman 2004 #batman 2004 #the batman #screenshot #batman #comics #dc comics #dc #dc penguin #batman penguin #the penguin #oswald chesterfield cobblepot #oswald cobblepot #batman catwoman #dc catwoman #selina kyle #longpost #shitpost #the batman penguin

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imagine-darksiders · 5 years ago

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Would make a short of Strife rescuing a tiny human? Please ?

Short?

Hi guys, so I was writing this reply when it suddenly occurred to me that I’ve been neglecting you and I owe you, at the very least, a 6000+ word, Strife centric Christmas present. So although it’s isn’t a Christmassy piece per se, it all I have at the moment.

Thank you so much for being patient with me. XXXX

—

The photograph stands on a tiny, pink dresser, its edges cut back just enough so that it fits inside a silver frame, out of which peer three humans, their grinning faces never changing as they keep a quiet vigil of the bedroom and its otherworldly visitor, who – in turn – finds his sharp gaze frequently returning to the little, paper snapshot.

A pair of eyes, golden and glowing in the lightless bedroom, screw themselves shut tightly for a moment as their owner heaves a sigh and tries not think about what had happened to the trio of humans. He especially refuses to dwell on the youngest; the little boy in overalls and wellington boots who rides happily on his father’s shoulders in the photo, but who also so, so closely resembles the tiny, emaciated corpse twisted up in a wardrobe nearby.

These are the moments during supply runs that Strife hates the most – where he stumbles across the sad, broken remains of humans, all whilst he rummages through their homes and helps himself to what was once theirs with his only consolation being the humans back at the maker tree, who would survive just a little longer thanks to his pilfering.

If he thought too hard about it, he would be troubled, and the horseman could not afford that. Best to put it from his mind and move on, as he always has. As experience has taught him.

Peeling his eyes open again, Strife turns his back on the photograph and continues stuffing a dishevelled, cuddly pony into one of the leather pouches that hangs from his side.

’Just the essentials,’ he reminds himself before every supply run. ’Food, water and ammunition being top priority.’

But then, Ulthane had brought that kid to the tree and she’d cried all night, asking where her caretakers were and complaining how she couldn’t possibly sleep without a ‘Mister Bear’ and…

The horseman strokes a finger over the toy’s stringy mane before he withdraws his hand and fastens the pack up again, safely sealing it inside.

’In this instance’, he reasons, ’a soft toy is an essential.’

Besides, he’s already gathered plenty of food for today at least, and if he doesn’t get back soon, Ulthane and the other humans will start to worry where he is.

“Where Jones is,” he corrects himself aloud with a bitter frown.

He’s beyond the point of believing they’d care about Strife the horseman in the same manner they care about his human disguise.

Casting one last, solemn glance at the corner wardrobe, Strife once more finds himself fighting to put the humans’ fate from his mind.

It was so much easier when he thought – as many other species still do – that humanity was little more than a savage society with no ambition beyond killing and consuming to survive. Then, he actually met the little species and found everything he thought he knew about them to be a lie. His eyes had been opened, and he’d been left sadder, but wiser.

Humans had been treated like dirt for so many centuries.

And he hadn’t really cared.

Deciding that he’s spent more than enough time among ghosts, Strife steps back over the bedroom’s threshold.

Moving towards a set of rickety stairs, he reaches out to place a hand on the banister when he suddenly freezes in his tracks, his keen senses honing in on a sound coming from somewhere further down the landing.

A scuffle, then a snort followed by the scrabble of claws on a hard surface.

For several moments, the horseman remains at a standstill as he listens with rapt attention to the pants and growls he’d pin to a Goreclaw, if he had to take a wild guess.

The damn thing sounds as though it’s stuck. That, or it’s looking for something. Either way, it will be sufficiently distracted and chances are likely it doesn’t even know a horseman is in the vicinity.

Mercy’s grip sticks invitingly up from within its holster and Strife runs a thumb over the smooth surface, thinking.

He could just leave. It is only one demon after all.

But then…

The horseman’s mind drifts back to the little body in the wardrobe and his jaw immediately sets.

No way in Hell is he about to let that thing get at it. Dead or not, a kid doesn’t deserve to be reduced to marrow by a hell-dog. Strife could spare him that, at the very least.

Shaking his head and wondering when he’d become so sentimental, he draws his pistol and steps back onto the landing. Following the sounds of guttural snarls, he stalks through the crumbling apartment until he comes upon a broken doorway, torn off its hinges at some point by a hand greater than a human’s. Strife halts just shy of the entrance and presses his back up against the wall before inching his head around the corner, golden eyes narrowed dangerously as he scans the room beyond.

Far be it from him to err on the side of caution but he is curious to know what the demon is up to. His earlier assumption had been spot on. It’s a Goreclaw alright, currently in the midst of trying to shove its long talons underneath a chest-of-drawers, teeth snapping and drool flying from its snout.

“What the Hell are you doing?” he wonders quietly, observing while it retracts its foreleg and presses its nose up to the slim gap beneath the furniture.

He’s only ever seen the dogs get this excited when they’re on the trail of prey.

For a split second, the horseman’s blood runs cold at the thought of a human being trapped under there, though he soon shakes that notion off. No matter how tiny, there isn’t a human alive that could stuff themselves underneath there. Not with barely two inches of space between floor and wood.

Through the window, he’s distantly aware that the sun is no longer shining through a gap in the curtains, having sunk well below a building on the opposite side of the street, heralding the swift approach of night.

Aware that he’s burning daylight, and desperate to put a bullet in something, Strife obnoxiously clears his throat, rounds the corner and aims a cocksure grin at the startled demon when it whirls about to face him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says cheerfully, “Just wanted to stop by and tell you, there’s something on your face.”

A roar of outrage shatters the relative peace as the demon crouches, ready to pounce. It barely manages to plant its hind legs however, before a bullet tears out of Mercy’s chamber and buries itself directly in the Goreclaw’s skull.

“Ope, never mind, I got it,” Strife gloats, a smirk lifting his lips. The demon crumples to the ground, gurgling and twitching for a moment until it eventually lays still, dead on the floral print carpet. “Huh…I was hoping that’d be a little more satisfying.”

With his grim duty taken care of, the horseman turns on his heel to leave. However something nags at the back of his mind and he stops mid-stride, a frown pulling at his brows.

Just what had that demon been so desperate to get at?

Beneath his helm, Strife chews pensively on his lip, turning back to face the unassuming chest of drawers. After a moment’s deliberation, he gives in to curiosity, a newfound trait he wholly blames on the humans he’s been sharing a tree with for the past several weeks. Every one of them has a penchant for sticking their noses into strange situations, and it seems their behaviour has rubbed off on the horseman somewhat.

An obnoxious huff escapes Strife as he grabs each side of the dresser and picks it up effortlessly, as if it weighed no more than a feather and moves it aside to peer down at the dustless rectangle that had been left in its wake. It isn’t long before his sharp gaze lands on something out of the ordinary, a patch of colour in the otherwise murky grey.

“What the?…” Dumping the chest of drawers down to his right, the horseman squats to get a better look at what appears at first glance to be just another child’s toy.

“All that fuss for a doll?” he wonders aloud, reaching slowly down with a finger to prod at it.

Just then, before he can utter anything further, he almost jumps out of his skin as the ‘doll’ springs to life.

Rather, it suddenly leaps to its feet and darts sideways, gunning straight along the wall’s skirting with two, little legs pumping along like a steam engine.

“Hey! Woah there!” Caught off guard, Strife doesn’t think before he shoots out a hand towards the fleeing creature.

It can’t quite skid to a halt in time to keep from colliding with the horseman’s gauntleted palm that abruptly slams to the ground in front of it, and with a soft ‘plink,’ the human-shaped thing collides with his hand and falls back onto its rump so jarringly, Strife can’t suppress a wince. “Oooh, sorry about that,” he says, wasting no time in pinching his thumb and forefinger against the collar of a thin, brown shirt and plucking it up off the floor. “Now, what do we have here?”

Dangling his prize in front of his silver helm, he squints, head tipping to one side so he can get a good look at what he’s caught.

He very nearly drops it again when he realises what he’s peering at.

It’s a human. A boy, to be precise, and a fairly young one at that, clothed in nothing more than a ratty shirt and a pair of equally dishevelled shorts that hang low on his waist, too baggy to fit on his near skeletal form. They’ve even been tied in place by a strip of green twine.

Hanging limply from the horseman’s grasp, the little human tries to work his shirt loose, twisting this way and that but impeded by violent trembles that wrack his body. Realising that thrashing is doing him no good, he opts to reach up with miniature fists and attempt to tear the shirt free, tiny grunts leaving even tinier lips.

“You’re a human!” Strife blurts out, eyes flashing interestedly.

At the sound of his booming voice, the boy flinches and cries out, abandoning his prospects of escape in favour of clamping both arms over his head and curling in on himself, a meagre method of protection against his titanic captor.

Standing back up to his full height, the horseman continues to study his handful whilst planting his free hand on a cocked hip. “Well damn me, I didn’t think human kids could get this small,” he murmurs. Suddenly, his ears perk up at the sound of a diminutive squeak that emanates from the boy currently hanging from his fingers. ”What was that, kid?”

Shivering, his arms still shielding his head, the tiny boy swallows and raises his voice loud enough to be heard. “I-I ain’t a human!” he claims shrilly. Then, after a small pause, he adds, “And I ain’t no kid neither!”

“Not a human, huh? Well, you sure look like one.” Strife chuffs and raises a claw-tipped finger, prodding the boy in his stomach and eliciting a squawk of indignation. “Sure sound like one too…Kind of on the skinny side though, aren’t you?”

His words cause the boy to turn rigid and his arms peel back slightly to give Strife a view of ebony hair and wide, brown eyes. “What…what’s that s'posed to mean!?” he whimpers, “You’re not gonna…you’re not gonna eat me, are you!?”

“Mmm, haven’t decided yet,” the horseman playfully responds, tapping his chin in mock thought. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got much meat on you…Then again, I am pretty hungry.”

Behind his mask, he grins, though the expression promptly blinks out of existence when he notices a wetness has gathered on the boy’s cheeks.

“Uh oh.” That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d been sure human kids loved jokes! Hell, Ulthane had playfully threatened to eat some of the younglings back at the tree and they’d all thought it was a great game, even laughed their heads off when he made a slow swipe at them with one of his meaty paws.

“Oh, hey, no – I – Ah, damnit.” Like a flipped switch, Strife’s tone loses its teasing lilt and slips to something gentler. “Hey, ease off the waterworks, okay, pint-size? I was kidding.” Borderline desperate, the horseman lowers his catch into a sturdy palm and lets go of his shirt, even smoothing down the back of it with the pad of a careful finger for good measure although as he does, he becomes aware of just how prominently the boy’s spine protrudes. Human anatomy varies, sure, but that doesn’t feel right.

Jerking away from the encroaching finger, the ‘not’ human swipes furiously at his eyes, smearing tears across reddened cheeks. In spite of the horseman’s reassurance, he doesn’t appear convinced, eyeing the palm beneath him with about as much trust as he’d give a hungry snake, half expecting it to spring to life and squeeze the soul out of him. Truthfully, he hasn’t seen much of the world, even before monsters fell out of the sky, but he knows enough to tell that this metal-clad behemoth is most assuredly not human.

Human eyes don’t glow like liquid gold.

In the meantime, Strife gives himself a mental kick for making the child cry.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “You… got a name, kid?”

“What do you care?” the boy sniffs, all pretence of bravery made redundant by his trembling, “You’re just gonna drop me or – or squash me or something.”

Drawing his head back, the horseman frowns. “C'mon, you’re like – what? - three inches tall? Be kind of a dick move for me to hurt someone smaller than my thumb.”

Cautious surprise flickers across the youngster’s face and he swipes the back of a wrist under his nose, chin lifting to shoot a suspicious squint at his captor. “But…but ain’t you one of them demons?”

Strife bristles despite his best efforts. “Do I look like a demon to you?”

Ducking his head, the boy gulps but still balls his hands into fists and squeezes out, “Well, I dunno… You big'uns all look alike from down here.” He risks a mistrustful glare at Strife’s luminous eyes. “Like monsters.”

Apparently the Horseman has been spending too much time around humans because that sent an unpleasant pang bolting through his chest.

“Yeah, well…Speaking from experience, not everyone who’s bigger than you is a monster, kid,” he murmurs gently.

The boy blinks, caught off guard by the sober tone of voice he hadn’t expected to hear from this gargantuan, metal man. All his life, he’d had drummed into his head the mantra that if a big one caught him, they’d more than likely kill him. And those that didn’t would shove him in a jar or underneath a microscope - that last one had happened to his great, great grandfather. Or so he has been lead to believe.

And yet so far, there’s no jar, no microscope, and although he knows it’s far too early to be letting his guard down, the longer he goes without becoming a sticky mess under the heel of a boot, the more his nerves relax the strangle-hold they have on his heart.

Outside, the city grows steadily darker and with the absence of sunlight, a chill seeps its way through the broken window.

Drawing up his knees and hugging them to his chest, the boy falls victim to an involuntary shudder.

“Cold?”

The suddenness of the giant’s voice reverberating overhead causes him to jump and snatch his gaze up from where it had wandered down to his shoeless feet. On impulse, he blurts out a stubborn, “No,” and clenches his jaw shut again to stop it from quaking.

Strife raises an eyebrow and though his skepticism is hidden under a helm, it manages to saturate his voice. “Uh huh. I can see you shivering, kid.” Slowly, his fingers creep a few centimetres closer to the boy.

“I told you, I’m not a kid,” his handful mutters, “I’m nearly eleven.”

A snort of laughter bursts out of Strife before he can catch it, earning himself an icy glare. “Now, I’m no expert,” he chuckles, bouncing his hand slightly, much to his passenger’s horror, “But I’d’ve said eleven was well in the range of what a ‘kid’ oughtta be.”

“Kids can’t take care of themselves,” the boy explains, agitated, “I can.”

Strife draws his head back in mock surprise. “Oh hoh! Can you now? S'that why I found you seconds away from becoming a demon’s snack?”

Huffing, the boy averts his gaze from the dazzling yellow eyes overhead and mumbles, “I’d have been fine.”

“Whatever you say, half-pint.” The corners of Strife’s lips tilt up as he inspects the boy’s grumpy pout. “You know, you’re pretty feisty for such a little guy. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to go picking fights with demons a hundred times your size?”

Despite his far larger stature, the horseman can pinpoint the exact moment he’d said the wrong thing. The word 'parents’ has barely slipped off his tongue before the boy’s eyes suddenly clamp shut and his back goes rigid against Strife’s fingers. Understanding dawns at once and the horseman’s eyes lose some of that preternatural glow as he exhales softly through his nose. “Oh….Your folks’re not in the picture anymore, huh?”

Face now pressed into his knees, the boy shakes his head.

“Was it a demon?”

This time, Strife receives a slow nod, confirming his suspicions.

Blowing out a puff of hot air, he scratches at his neck and offers, “Damn. I’m…. sorry, kid.”

What else could he possibly say?

“…Hamish.”

Strife blinks, lifting the youngling closer to his eyes and peering down at him. “What’d you say?” he murmurs, giving the boy a gentle nudge with his thumb in the hopes of coaxing the words out again.

Luckily, he’s rewarded when his passenger finally looks up at him with a pair of drooping, brown eyes, their edges tinged red. “My name,” he tries, louder this time, “It’s not kid. It’s Hamish.”

The metal mask does little to conceal its wearer’s pleased grin.

“Hamish, huh?” He decides not to make a fuss about the tears rolling down the kid’s cheeks. “S'good to meet you. Name’s Strife.”

Confusion sweeps across Hamish’s features and he carefully extracts himself from his knees, scrubbing away the fresh teardrops. “Strife?” He hesitates for a moment to scrunch up his nose even further, and the horseman can’t help but notice that when he does, he bears an uncanny resemblance to Yarin after the humans tried explaining the concept of a computer to him. Strife’s grin widens of its own accord at the fond memory whilst its wearer waits patiently for Hamish to finish scrutinising him.

Eventually, the boy appears to come to some sort of conclusion as he huffs and rubs tiredly at one of his eyes, though Strife suspects it has more to do with not wanting to meet the horseman’s gaze when he says matter-of-factly, “That’s a weird name.”

Glad that his little acquaintance has at least stopped crying, Strife feigns offence. “It’s a Nephilim name,” he explains, “and - for the record - how do you know I don’t think Hamish is a weird name?”

The boy gulps, apparently mistaking the giant’s playful banter for real displeasure, after all, he had just insulted an unstoppable behemoth’s name. Eager to move the conversation along, he stammers out, “U-Uh, what’s a…a nephilim?”

The horseman, making note of Hamish’s renewed trembling, softens his tone. “A Nephilim is…It’s, uh…” Something stops him mid-sentence. Is he really about to tell this kid about the Nephilim? A brutal race of bloodthirsty, world-conquering titans? Of which Strife himself was a member? The horseman clamps his mouth shut. What if explaining who the Nephilim were prompts Hamish to start asking questions? Creator forbid the boy discover that the man holding him in his palm was one of four responsible for the total eradication of their own species.

With a hard blink, Strife focuses back on Hamish and notices the boy’s eyes are nervously darting all over his mask. The suffocating spell of silence had lasted longer than the horseman intended. Thinking quickly, he stumbles over an answer that he hopes will satisfy the boy. “It’s…Well, s'just what I am.”

Perhaps it’s only because Hamish has spent his entire life keeping his existence a secret, but the giant’s vague response doesn’t bother him half as much as it ought to. He gets it. The man probably doesn’t want anyone knowing about his existence. Hamish finds the feeling is mutual.

So, instead of calling Strife out on his blatant avoidance, the boy simply offers him a nod and says, “I knew you weren’t human.”

“Ha, only when I need to be,” the horseman chimes secretively, and before Hamish can ponder what he means by that, he’s unexpectedly bounced up into the air, letting out a startled yelp before he lands in the centre of the giant palm again.

“Anyway,” Strife begins, shooting a cursory glance out the window and wincing upon finding it utterly obscured by the ink of night, “There’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other once I get you to safety.”

Hamish’s fingers twitch against the tough gauntlet, a trickling cold slipping into his stomach. “Wait, what?”

“Well, today’s your lucky day, kid!” Strife puffs out his chest and jabs it with a thumb, proudly declaring, “I am gonna take you someplace safe.” Pausing for a moment to let that sink in, he watches the boy’s eyes grow wide, feeling a sense of accomplishment at seeing what he imagines can only be excitement, so he carries on, “It’s warm, away from demons, there’s lots of humans and enough food to last you a lifetime.” He stresses his point by poking Hamish’s belly with a careful fingertip. “By the looks of things, you could use a good meal. So, what do you say? How’s that sound?”

The boy remains silent for several seconds as he processes what he’s being told.

Then, to the horseman’s shock, rather than elation or relief, he’s met with a face full of horror and before he can ask what’s wrong, the boy leaps unsteadily to his feet and bellows, “NO!” at the top of his lungs.

Taken aback, Strife snaps his other hand up to close Hamish in a loose fist when it looks as though he’s about to jump off the horseman’s palm. “Hey! Easy there! What’s the matter?”

Hamish begins pounding ardently on the fingers holding him hostage, kicking his legs to no avail. This hulking stranger wants to take him away from his family home – the place he’s lived and loved and known his whole life - and dump him with a bunch of humans? Not a chance. “Let me go!” he cries, terrified at the prospect of being uprooted, “I’m not going with you!”

Baffled, the horseman tips his head to one side and frowns at the ferocity behind each blow on his metal gauntlet. “Stop that, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” He reaches up and catches one of the boy’s arms, holding it gingerly between two fingers. “Why don’t you want to come with me?”

“Because! This is – It’s my home!” Hamish all but sobs, pushing furiously at Strife’s metal thumb.

“Kid, this is gonna be your tomb if you stay here much longer,” the horseman tries to reason, “I mean, look at you, if a demon doesn’t get you, something else will. You’re skin and bone.”

“I’d rather take my chances out here than be surrounded by humans!” Hamish gives a final heave before collapsing over the enormous thumb, with one arm still held above his head, caught in a firm but gentle grip.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Strife almost laughs aloud at the thought of the humans at the tree hurting anyone. Three of them had actually cried after they discovered a dead bird outside the entrance. But even still, he has to put the boy’s mind at ease. At last relinquishing his hold on the skeletal arm, he sighs, “Listen, kid. Nobody’ll hurt you, okay? They’re good people. Besides – no offence – but I think they’ve got more important things to focus on than antagonising you.”

Unfortunately, Hamish either isn’t listening, or he just doesn’t care.

Glancing up at the giant, fresh tears streaming in a never-ending torrent down his face, he puts on the bravest voice he can muster and yells, “I’m staying here!”

“No, you’re coming with me.”

“No, I’m not! You can’t make me!”

Golden eyes flash brightly at the challenge. “Oh, you don’t think so?” Strife smirks, and without warning, begins to lower Hamish towards one of the pouches on his belt.

As soon as he spots where he’s headed, the boy’s struggling becomes increasingly wild. “No, no, no!”

“Sorry, kid,” the horseman murmurs, steeling his heart against the frightened wailing, “M'not leaving you here.” Using his free hand, Strife fumbles with the pouch’s leather strap and is just about to get it open when Hamish suddenly cries out, “Wait, wait! Just – I’ll go with you, okay? Just stop!”

The horseman pauses, considering the boy for a moment before lifting him back up to his helm. “What’s up? You claustrophobic or something?”

Little fingers dig imploringly into the gaps of Strife’s gauntlet as Hamish shakes his head. “No, I – I just…If you have to take me, then….at least let me get my things first.”

“Your things?” he echoes, squinting down at the kid and noting, with some semblance of relief, that he’s no longer putting up a fight. “Where are they?”

Shrinking underneath the giant’s dazzling stare, Hamish swallows noisily but manages to raise a shaking finger and points it over his shoulder. “In the walls.”

Puzzled, Strife glances to where he’s indicating. “You….lived in the walls?” He sees Hamish nod from the corner of his eye.

“There’s an, um…like a little crack in the skirting board, over there.”

Once again, the horseman follows a tiny finger as it points down to the bottom of the wall, where there is indeed a hole, just large enough to grant entry to a mouse, or perhaps someone else who stands just a few inches off the ground.

For several seconds, Strife deliberates the situation, his gaze flicking between the dark window, the hole and Hamish until eventually, he blows out a huff and shakes his head, turning back towards the doorway and lowering the boy to his hip once again. “Sorry, kid, but whatever it is, it can’t be that -”

“There’s something in there that belonged to mum and dad!”

Strife’s steps falter and he squeezes his eyes shut with a sigh.

Sensing his captor’s hesitation, Hamish prods, “Please? I don’t want to leave without it! It’s all I have left of my family…”

Family. The word plucks insistently at Strife’s heartstrings and he briefly laments the younger, colder version of himself that wouldn’t have flinched if he’d heard it. For some time, the horseman wrestles with himself, teeth grinding together until at last, he lets out a groan and stomps over to the hole in the wall. “Alright, fine.” Pausing to lift the boy up to his mask again, he levels a stern glare at him and adds, “But you gotta be in and out of there in one minute, okay?”

Hamish’s face brightens and he squirms restlessly as Strife lowers himself onto one knee and places his hand on the ground.. “O-okay, mister!”

Barely even waiting for the appendage to stop moving, Hamish all but dives off as soon as the fingers uncurl themselves, landing on the ground and haring for the wall, but before he can get too far, he finds himself jerked to a halt when the waistband of his trousers is pinched between two, enormous fingertips. Craning his head back, he stares anxiously at the horseman, flinching when a gruff voice booms, “I mean it, kid. In and out.”

“I-I got it!” Hamish replies hurriedly, desperate to put some distance between himself and the metal giant.

After giving him one last, calculating look, Strife finally relents, letting the boy go and leaning back to watch him scurry into the wall as fast as his little legs can carry him. Snorting softly, the horseman eases back onto his haunches, content for the time being to wait for his discovery to reemerge. “And here I thought I’d seen everything,” he muses.

——-

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Strife, a similar thought is occurring to Hamish as he races through the intricate maze of tunnels his ancestors had dug out of the house’s stone foundations. Spiderwebs threaten to catch the boy’s flimsy shirt and hold him back, but a lifetime of memorising every twisting, dust-choked tunnel meant that Hamish could navigate his way through each obstacle without even having to slow down. In almost no time, he’s scaled up the wall’s interior and burst through the tiny, wooden door that leads to his family home.

Slightly winded, Hamish takes a moment to collect himself, peering about at the candlelit kitchen and trying to decide where best to hide because he has no intention of going back to the clutches of that giant. To do so would be in complete violation of everything his family had ever taught him, and if he could do nothing else, at least Hamish could carry their lessons with him. Perhaps his mother would even be proud of him for tricking the giant into letting him go free, had she still been alive. Pressing his lips together, Hamish slumps heavily against the doorframe and exhales roughly through his nose, determined not to cry again.

All of a sudden, his whole world shudders as a thunderous boom hits the wall beside him, threatening to knock him off his feet. Crying out, Hamish drops instinctively to his knees whilst two more booms follow the first, one after the other, rocking the entire foundations of his home and raining dust down into his already grubby hair. Fear of being crushed by falling debris compels him to move, so he crawls across the still shivering room, every now and again having to doge pots and pans that are flung from their hooks on the ceiling until he gets close enough to the kitchen table to throw himself underneath it.

Then, as soon as they’d begun, the booms stop and everything grows silent, save for the clinking of a cup that rolls across the ground before coming to a stop just beside Hamish’s hiding spot.

“Hey, kid! You get the stuff yet?” Strife’s muffled voice calls from outside.

To his irritation, the horseman sounds entirely oblivious to the abject terror he’d just put him through – is still putting him through. Unaware that he’s balled his hands into fists, Hamish aims a harsh scowl at the wall, behind which the voice had come from and, in as brave a tone as he can summon, yells, “GO AWAY!”

There’s a pregnant pause, a heavy stillness that hangs in the air like a lead weight over his head and Hamish is just beginning to wonder if Strife had actually obliged him, when the horseman’s voice cuts through the brick again, considerably softer this time. “You know I can’t do that, little man.”

The boy scoffs aloud. “Yes, you can,” he retorts, “You just have to turn around and leave.”

“Hamish.” The pointed use of his name isn’t lost on the boy. “I am trying to look after you. Now would you come back out here so I can actually do that?”

The voice sounds closer now, as though Strife is speaking directly next to the wall outside his hiding spot and Hamish realises too late what a stupid move it had been to shout and give away his position. So, with lips pursed and arms crossed, he offers the horseman a stubborn silence. A full minute passes before he hears a low sigh from the other side of the wall.

He expects Strife to continue banging on the wall until the sound becomes so annoying, it drives him out. He expects the horseman to at least pretend to leave, then snatch him up again the second he steps from the mouse hole. What Hamish doesn’t expect, however, is for the wall of his kitchen to suddenly explode inwards.

A cacophony of sound beats on his eardrums and in a desperate bid to avoid being deafened, Hamish throws his arms over his head and presses himself into the floor, his scream swallowed by chunks of plaster and brick showering down all around him. When the dust settles, he still doesn’t move, not even when silence is all he can hear aside from the blood pounding through his eardrum.

Then, movement. Not from Hamish, but from the gaping hole that has appeared in the brick and cement, exposing his kitchen – his home – to the world outside. Choking on the fear that weighs down on him as surely as the ceiling above, Hamish raises his head and peeks out between trembling arms to see a colossal fist slowly dislodge itself from the tight confines of his kitchen wall, fragments of which tumble down around it, plinking off metallic plating and leaving a coat of dust in their wake. With a final tug, the fist breaks free, retreating enough so that what little light is left can spill through the gap and illuminate the hovel. As Hamish watches, too rigid with anxiety to move his limbs, a familiar pair of luminous, yellow eyes loom out of the dust and peer inside, swiftly finding him cowered underneath the kitchen table. Their gazes lock and they stare at one another, the boy’s eyes widening as a direct contrast to Strife’s, which narrow at the sight of him.

“You know, I don’t appreciate being lied to,” the horseman grumbles before adding curtly, “I thought we had a deal?”

Pinned helplessly beneath that glare, Hamish attempts to shuffle backwards further under the table, though his limbs have locked up and refuse to cooperate with his intentions. However, his mouth hasn’t suffered the same petrification. “I-I don’t make deals with giants!” The words tumble out before he can catch them. “I’m not going, so just!- Just leave me alone!” As he speaks, he continues to shimmy away until he emerges from beneath the table, all the while his every move is followed intently by an unwavering, yellow gaze.

An entrance to one of the many tunnels his family had built into the walls is just to Hamish’s left – shrouded in darkness and invitingly safe. If he could just reach it, he’d be able to disappear into the brickwork.

Taking a fairly solid guess on the boy’s next course of action, Strife growls out a warning steeped in thinly veiled concern. “Come on, kid. Don’t make me do this.”

With the deliberate slowness of one who doesn’t wish to provoke a predator, Hamish gets to his feet and in utter silence, they stare each other down, one defiant and the other dejected.

Then, the horseman eyes squeeze shut just for the briefest of instances, as if in pain.

It’s all the opening Hamish needs.

Like a rabbit with a fox at his heels, he bolts sideways in a mad dash for the tunnel entrance, his mind fixated on one thing only: Escape.

Although he’d always been the youngest family member, he could boast an impressive swiftness, outpacing even his mother and father as they raced through the apartment in playful capers.

His father had once said that Hamish’s speed would keep him safe.

His father was wrong.

The enclosed doorframe comes within reach and another round of adrenaline fizzes across his brain at the the tantalising prospect of freedom, so close it puts a hopeful smile on his face. He would not be made to leave his home. Fingers grasp the wooden edge of the door and Hamish readies to propel himself those last, precious few feet through the gap. He’s so focused on where he’s going, he doesn’t notice the rush air that whizzes past him, nor that it’s soon followed by a large, ominous shape sliding past his body in the darkness and curling into his path. However, he does notice when he slams against a solid wall of metal and leather - a wall that begins to gently scoop him backwards, away from the door, away from the safety of the apartment’s labyrinthian tunnels and straight towards a home-wrecking giant.

“No!” he shrieks like a banshee as strong fingers fasten around his midsection, ensuring him that this time, there will be no escape. The horseman will not be duped again. All too soon, Hamish finds himself dangling back in front of that avian mask and shying away from the palpable disappointment radiating from beneath it.

“Okay,” the low, unimpressed voice chimes, “I can tell there’re gonna be some trust issues between us.” Before continuing, Strife holds an admonishing finger up right in front of the boy’s face. “But you need to understand that you can’t just run off like that, kid! What if you’d gotten hurt?”

Reflecting on what he’d said, the horseman has to suppress a shudder. ’Shit, I’m starting to sound like Death.’

“What do you care if I get hurt!?” the boy challenges, “You’re the one who’s kidnapping me!”

Bridling at the accusation, Strife sets his jaw and snaps, “You got duskwings in your belfry, kid? I’m trying to protect you!”

“I don’t need you protecting me! I was doing just fine on my own!” Hamish bellows, balling his hands into fists and throwing them wildly in the direction of Strife’s mask, more as a show of defiance than anything else. He’s borderline hysterical now, barely sucking down enough air to keep himself conscious during the throes of panic.

Meanwhile, the horseman watches his display, taking in the boy’s skinny frame, the shorts that barely cling to his narrow hips, the dark bags hanging under his eyes and the grime covering his skin and clothes. “No,” he says with an air of finality, “You weren’t.”

There’s no further opportunity for Hamish to retort because he’s promptly swept in a downwards arch towards the horseman’s pouches once again. No amount of pleading, thrashing or crying garners a reaction out of the stone-faced giant who has turned a deaf ear to his tiny captive. Only when he lifts the flap of his frontmost pocket and lowers Hamish inside does he speak, simply to say, “This is for your own good.”

The boy’s backside touches something soft and fuzzy and he balks, inadvertently grasping at the fingers that unfurl from around him, as though they would pull him out of the very prison they’d slipped him into. The last thing he sees before his world is plunged into darkness is a now familiar pair of amber eyes gleaming down at him and pulling a whimper off his lips.

—

Strife expels a hot breath as he fastens the clasp on his pouch and finally allows himself an indulgent second to relax. Then, giving the bottom of the pouch a few, gentle pats, he turns once more towards the pitch black hallway, smirking when a minuscule foot kicks against his palm.

#darksiders #darksiders 3 #Strife #giant/tiny #g/t #angst #demon #borrower au #micro/macro #fluff #uiahi

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 years ago

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T O N Y

The Name Game || Accepting

T: How quick are they to cry? It’s so strange.

Beth-at-work is strong as a storm-battered rock in the roughest of seas, unflinching no matter what is dashed up against her, the eye of a very specific kind of hurricane. It doesn’t matter how terrible patients and more often their families can be with her. It doesn’t matter the kinds of awful treatment is handed down from doctors that are almost her age or a year or two younger who think themselves young gods. She handles it all with an emotional intelligence few people are capable of, much less able to sustain for the incredibly long hours she works. There’s never anything but empathy and kindness offered in return for it all. Beth-in-public is also a little unusual. Prim and proper to a degree that maybe hinted that she was actually a bygone from an era long past. She could have held her own with the post-Victorian matrons that ruled society with iron-lace handkerchiefs and a superiority that would have given the Almighty a complex were He the recipient of such a look. She tends to be quiet and polite, impeccably mannered and dressed.

But for all that these two Beths exist, there’s a third still, that very few get to see. The one who is so thinned skin that can be unravelled with a certain tone of voice, a particular look sent her way. This is the Beth that is reborn every time she walks into the Admiral’s home, the one who feels grief and sorrow and remorse every moment of every day she exists. This is the Beth that has been hospitalised against her will. This is the Beth that can’t stand up for herself, who feeds on everything she’s ever wanted to say but swallowed down instead.

This is a private Beth, one she doesn’t like to admit exists, and so... she doesn’t.

O: How much have they changed in the past five years?

There’s an unfathomably huge difference between twenty five years of age, and thirty. There is a gulf of grief in the ache of her brother’s death that’s marked her permanently. She’s still quick to smile, still wondrous of the larger universe and all the things in it, but it’s tempered now. She’s much more hesitant than she was to try new things, to extend herself beyond her shell. A reservation that was never meant to really exist but does, and it resembles shyness until someone tries to get to know her and then sees that it clings to her like cobwebs. She’s grown to dislike herself, now sees all the flaws and standards she can’t quite meet. Sees less inherent value in herself than ever before.

The ignorance and innocence that was funny five years ago is now immaturity, inexperience becoming harder and harder to hide, makes her realise how much less like other people she is, and that is a very painful kind of revelation. She tries though, to mimic other people, to minimise her faults. She puts more time into work than anything else to try and fill up her empty hours, and is genuinely happy for her friends who are moving on with their lives, the ones getting married, the ones starting their own families. She watches from the sidelines and cheers others on rather than trying to be in the middle of the pack.

N: Are they clumsy and/or prone to accidents?

A lifetime of dancing and surfing, horseback riding, mixed martial arts, and yoga have given Beth a preternatural grace and body control. She also has developed a keen spatial awareness in relation to herself and everyone else mostly due to her audio processing disorder. So no, fortunately, clumsy isn’t one of her flaws. Nor does she seem to be predisposed to accidents either, almost in an uncanny way. The only time she has less than near perfect control of herself and her immediate surroundings is when she’s asleep and the night terrors come. Then she will flop and flail like a fish out of water, if said night terrors are not accompanied by sleep paralysis. These incidents seem to drain a little of her robust life away and leave her tired, irritable, and cranky afterwards.

Y: What movie could they watch over and over again?

She mouths every single word of dialogue, silent as a film from a hundred years ago while the television screen casts a kaleidoscope of light across her features. From the moment Tony got up from work and she’d started the movie, it doesn’t look like she’s moved a muscle. Except that she’s had to, right?

The answer comes when the credits start after he’s come late and she closes her eyes, super-glossy with the dampness of unspilled emotion. She whisper-sings the Mark Knopfler theme, swaying under her pile of blankets.

My love is like a storybook story... But it's as real as the feelings I feel. My love is like a storybook story... But it's as real as the feelings I feel. It's as real as the feelings I feel. She doesn’t look away from the screen when the song comes to an end, and instead takes the remote in hand and starts at the beginning again. Beth knows Westley, Buttercup, Inigio Montoya, The Sicilian and all the other characters better than she knows real people. Maybe better than she knows herself. And whatever she happens to be chasing, maybe she finds a little of it in the story. She always makes sure though that there’s room for him to sit.

#Mahalo!Tony <333 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Bitter and Blue|NCIS AU #big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo

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mllemaenad · 5 years ago

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Why is everybody keep forgetting that elves had quite some forces and were not some helpless souls? Why do ppl forget that it's their own racism that initially caused the war in the Dales? Why everybody dismisses Minaeves' story about how her clan treated the unwanted mages? I mean Chantry sucks big time, but can we please stop making elves into some magic creatures that only do good. They do not. None of the races and religions in Dragon Age is perfect, yet one has a particular bias from fandom

Hi Anonymous person.

Um. Sorry, but … what? That’s … a lot of vitriol. I’m … going to do this point by point.

Why is everybody keep forgetting that elves had quite some forces and were not some helpless souls?

No one is claiming that the elves were ‘helpless’ in the sense that they were children, or somehow unable to fight. Elven sources are a bit spotty, for solid ‘in universe’ reasons, but there’s enough on the Emerald Knights to understand that they kicked some serious arse.

But. By the time Orlais set its sights on the Dales, it had already steamrolled over a bunch of other nations, effectively doubling its original size.

The grand nation of Orlais occupies a full quarter of the Thedosian continent and extends its influence far beyond its shifting borders. In ages past, Orlais flexed its military muscle, threatening territory belonging to Nevarra and Tevinter and outright invading Ferelden. One could argue that the Emperor or Empress of Orlais, regardless of competency, is the second most powerful person in Thedas – the first, of course, being the Divine.

…

Together, the two [Kordillus Drakon and Area Montlaures] transformed Orlais from a few squabbling clans controlling their own city states into an empire. Hand in hand, they conquered well into modern-day Ferelden and Nevarra, stamping out any worship of the Old Gods as well as lingering Alamarri and Ciriane Deities.

– World of Thedas Volume II

Sure, we have an account of the massacre of a pacifist nation (note that they are also vilified by the text, even though they are literally ‘helpless souls’ being overrun and slaughtered by an empire), but that is going to be the exception to the rule. Most of these ‘squabbling clans’ would have had warriors and fortifications. It didn’t matter. Orlais invaded, defeated them, forced them to convert – and absorbed the survivors. The Orlesian empire is The Blob.

Do you … not get how massive this thing is? A quarter of Thedas is under direct Orlesian control. That’s what came for the Dales. An almost endless supply of soldiers and weapons and supplies against one newborn nation. That’s what’s so scary about empires, once they get going: they can take the resources of the people they conquered yesterday – including the bodies of the actual people to be used as soldiers or workers – and use them against you today.

So yeah: big picture, they were ‘helpless souls’ being knocked down by the biggest bully in Thedas. They put up a hell of a fight – even took Montsimmard for a while – but they didn’t have the resources of an empire to sustain them, so they were screwed.

Why do ppl forget that it’s their own racism that initially caused the war in the Dales?

Okay so … racism. I feel like I keep saying ‘empires are bad’ and ‘conversion by the sword is bad’ and … these are somehow controversial statements that people want to refute? That’s … just a little bit scary, you know?

The elven people quite famously worked with humans. Specifically with the Alamarri rebels who took down the Tevinter Imperium. You know: Andraste?

At Shartan’s word, the sky

Grew black with arrows.

At Our Lady’s, ten thousand swords

Rang from their scabbards,

A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming:

Those who had been slaves were now free.

– Shartan 10:1.

– Dark Moon

There’s even a whole fucking verse about Shartan and his people making a bloody suicide run on the entire Tevinter army to try to rescue Andraste:

The Liberator drew the blade at his side

And charged the pyre, the freedom of the Prophet before his eyes,

But from the legion came a storm of arrows

Blacker than night. And the disciple who had fought side by side

With the Lady fell, along with a hundred of his People.

And among the Alamarri ten thousand swords fell to the ground in a chorus of defeat.

– World of Thedas Volume II

That’s pretty heroic! And pretty tragic! Elven slaves and human rebels standing side by side, fighting an empire. Winning, in the end, although at great cost. And yet what you’re trying to tell me is that the elves are ‘racist’ (also: not a great word to use in reference to an oppressed people because racism requires social power) rather than, say, justifiably worried about the growing power of a nascent empire?

He [Kordillus Drakon] began his holy quest at the ripe old age of sixteen by taking to the battlefield. At the time, each clan had its own variety of the cult of Andraste, its own rituals, traditions and versions of Andraste’s words. Young Drakon unified them by the sword.

– World of Thedas II

Orlais is aggressive and fanatical. It is running around slaughtering people who disagree with its religious beliefs. If you are a non-Andrastian nation sitting more-or-less on the Orlesian border, watching other nations fall and be forcibly converted – and those people just believed different things about Andraste – you have to know what’s coming. This really only goes one way. Are you really going to call closing your borders and prepping for conflict ‘racism’? Is that really the word you want to use?

Halamshiral, “the end of the journey,” was our capital, built out of the reach of the humans. We could once again forget the incessant passage of time. Our people began the slow process of recovering the culture and traditions we had lost to slavery.

But it was not to last. The Chantry first sent missionaries into the Dales, and then, when those were thrown out, templars. We were driven from Halamshiral, scattered. Some took refuge in the cities of the shemlen, living in squalor, tolerated only a little better than vermin.

– The Dales

Relations broke down completely when the Chantry sent missionaries. Because of course they did. The fact that Orlais fundamentally does not believe in religious freedom is the very thing that the elves are afraid of. It is also, you know, a pretext. Provocation meant to push the elves so they start something and Orlais can say it was their fault. There is almost always a pretext. The empire says it’s coming in to resolve a local conflict, or they’re dealing with an incident on the border, or they’re ‘liberators’. And then they stay. And they take.

Do you really mean to blame the elves for being conquered?

Why everybody dismisses Minaeves’ story about how her clan treated the unwanted mages?

No one has forgotten or dismissed Minaeve. Everyone is keenly aware that – on a meta level – Bioware did some quite ugly retconning in Inquisition to make both elves and mages look less sympathetic. Many people have noted that Minaeve’s story is the exact opposite of Lanaya’s story, and that neither Velanna nor Merrill talk about anything like that. Nevertheless, it is raised at least three times in Inquisition: by Minaeve, by Vivienne and by The Iron Bull. So yes, that is a deliberate retcon made at a late stage in the series in order to allow people to do exactly what you’re doing: yell that the elves are ‘just as bad’. It’s gross.

In universe, of course, it’s worth noting that Minaeve was seven when this happened. Whatever it was, it was terrible – but it may not have been what she thought. It’s also worth noting that the Dalish are wandering nomads with few resources, under constant threat from humans in general and templars in particular, and if they did find themselves forced to throw one mage child to the templars to protect the rest – that is fucking horrible, but says more about the world Orlais has created than it does about the elves.

But I have to ask – why do you think it’s so important that everyone remember a twenty-second pro-templar conversation with a minor character, instead of extensive conversations about elven society and losses with Merril and Velanna? Those are two grown women who have lived their whole lives as Dalish and have a keen understanding of the culture of their clans. Or whole novels about Fiona and Briala, respectively the leaders of the mage and elven rebellions?

I know the novels are supplementary material so I’m certainly not blaming anyone for being unfamiliar with them. But if there were things I wish people could always remember when talking about the elves – it would be those stories of oppression and revolution.

I mean Chantry sucks big time, but can we please stop making elves into some magic creatures that only do good. They do not. None of the races and religions in Dragon Age is perfect, yet one has a particular bias from fandom.

It’s … interesting that you brought ‘race’ into this. Because I didn’t. I haven’t been writing criticisms of ‘humans’. I’ve left the Rivaini alone; usually mentioned Fereldans favourably; I haven’t been talking about Antiva or Nevarra. They haven’t come up.

I was talking about the aggression of the Orlesian empire and its Chantry. The elves were brought up as possibly the people who have lost the most to Orlesian aggression. They’re certainly the best sourced of those people. I’ve talked about the Chasind and Avvar where I can (humans!). I’ve talked about dwarves and Qunari. I bring up the Daughters of Song and the Disciples of Andraste where I can, because I have references for them. I know that a whole lot of other cultures were destroyed by Drakon and his Chantry – but alas, I can’t say anything meaningful about them because there are no codex entries, in game dialogue or other reference materials for them.

Of course the elves are not ‘perfect’. While Zathrian’s rage is understandable, his decision to keep the curse going even when it began to threaten his clan was terrible. Merril’s clan was far too easily led to bully and exclude her; they were her family and someone should have stood up for her. Historically, the Dales probably made a mistake staying out of the Second Blight. I mean – I get it. The Blight softened up Tevinter enough to let the rebels take it down. It could have worked again against Orlais. But in retrospect – bad idea. Didn’t work.

Those are just examples. Of course there are more. But it doesn’t matter. That an elven character fucked up at some point does not change the fact that they face racial persecution as non-humans (and are pretty clearly coded as a combination of indigenous, Jewish and Romani people), that they face religious persecution as non-Andrastians and that the Orlesian empire stole their land and forced them into slums.

And I note all of this because of the … tenor of your Ask. Had you said something like “This elven stuff is great, but I’d like to chat about how the dwarves are basically facing an apocalypse and no one will help them, and also wouldn’t a story about a casteless revolution be great?” I would have said “Yes! Let’s talk about that!” Had you said something like “Isn’t it fucked up that the Qunari are treated largely as savage invaders, operating as an ‘Other’ it’s okay to hate?” I would have said “Yes! Yes, it is!”

But … this reads like a list of ‘reasons why people should stop pretending the elves don’t deserve to be oppressed’. And … somehow equates ‘Orlesians’ with ‘humans’?

I mean – surely you aren’t saying that our sympathies should not be with the frequently enslaved minority group who are forced to live as second class citizens in appalling slums, and who have been forcibly converted to a religion they don’t want to follow … but rather with the empire that took everything from them?

Because … I really hope not.

#dragon age #chantry critical #Anonymous

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amon-cavendish · 5 years ago

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hello! very excited to start writing with everybody :) please find the intro for amon “stick in the mud” cavendish (aka the duke “wet blanket” of devonshire) under the cut.

how is your character viewed by the ton?

Amon is respected, if not liked. It is common knowledge that he is a man of competence, who achieves precisely what he means to. As such, he is invited to many social affairs in London: he is a good man to have on your side in a rough patch. However, as of late he is beginning to suspect that people look on him with pity more than respect. His wife has humiliated him and made him look a fool in a society where appearances are so important, and his limp makes him look weak. He is quietly furious about these things, but refuses to give in to those pitying glances; he is more determined than ever to prove to the ton that he is still every inch the strong, forthright man he has always been.

what are two potential plotlines you would be interested in exploring with your character?

- I’m very keen to explore the fallout of the Duchess’ affair. They are publicly separated now, but Amon won’t be content to simply let the state of things remain as they are. He is not a man prone to flights of romance, but he knows the importance of marriage. He must have an heir to the duchy, preferably several heirs of whom he can be sure are his own blood, and that is not something that is currently achievable. There’s loads of options to consider here! Maybe he’ll try to repair things with the Duchess, maybe he could try to obtain a divorce through an Act of Parliament, which would be horribly embarrassing but would at least leave him free to take another wife. He can’t get an annulment on the grounds on non-consummation because there’s kids, but can he accuse the children of not being his? Who knows! There’s definitely a lot of options to consider here.

- At present Amon is a bit of a stick in the mud. He takes everything too seriously and wouldn’t know a holiday if he was kidnapped and shoved into a bathing machine. I’d love to explore a relationship that helps him relax a little, someone that encourages him to come out of his shell and enjoy himself for once. It would be good for him to attend a ball not for political interest, but because it can be fun to dance and eat fine food. He’s very concerned with the state of his reputation, and I think he would do his reputation a favour if he smiled, and leaned into his social life a bit more. Everything right now is terribly transactional for him, and he largely looks at people for what he can achieve with them. I’d love to explore him expanding beyond that. (A/N This will probably be Lady Poyntz, but I cleverly wrote and submitted my application before she was posted. However I am open to more than one person being a Soft Spot for Amon. He probably has the capacity to like multiple people at once.)

how does your character’s early life differ from their current life?

Amon’s life has followed a consistent trajectory. He was born and bred into wealth, and he was raised to expect the weight of the world on his shoulders. The only difference now, is that the weight is actually there. He wasn’t a playful child, though he would make exceptions for his sister. With more than ten years between them, he took his duties as big brother seriously and would commit himself to playing whatever games she fancied: tea parties, adventures out on the estate, stealing sweet treats from the kitchen for her, he would always indulge her. As he got older, he learned that indulging people is not always the best way to look after them, and he grew from a serious young man into a gravely stoic adult. He has always lived in comfort, always known servants and expansive hallways and sumptuous clothing. He also always knew that doesn’t mean you can rest on your laurels. Amon was born ready for his position, and he has taken it unwaveringly in his stride.

how does this character’s reputation differ from who they actually are?

Amon’s reputation is closer to who he truly is than he would care to admit. He does not want anyone’s sympathy, and it seems that of late, sympathy is all he is worthy of. It infuriates him, because he feels there is far more to him than the bad things that have happened, and yet it is now that people are really taking notice of him. He has never cared for fame nor love, and wants only to maintain peace and prosperity in Devonshire, but currently many eyes are on him. And yet, he is a pitiable figure in many ways. He has lived such a restrained life, and he has lived it for everyone but himself, and now it is beginning to come apart at the seams. He may not want to admit it, but people are not wrong to look on him with pity.

how does your character view themselves?

Amon views himself more as a utility than a person. He takes his duties extremely seriously and will always put those duties above his own well-being. While the rest of them are off gallivanting around ballrooms, Amon prefers to be in his study working. To use the modern vernacular, he is a workaholic. It is what he was raised to be. His duties to his duchy come first, and though he is not wholly against the idea of indulgence, is it always later, later, later. Since his wife’s affair became public knowledge, his tendency to overwork himself has only worsened. All the tutors in the world can’t teach a young man the art of self-reflection, and he means to ignore any and all personal ramifications of the Duchess’ infidelity for as long as he can. He views this as strength: he must, because if he stops to think on it for too long, he fears those certainties will begin to waver.

is this character a leader or follower?

Amon is a leader. His father placed a lot of expectations on his young shoulders: with no younger brothers for the title to fall to should anything happen to Amon, it was drilled into him from birth that he was born to lead. It wasn’t something he ever questioned, because he trusted his parents explicitly. He doesn’t even consider his leadership skills to be virtues, but instead qualities he must exhibit. When you are born to inherit a title, you do not allow yourself the luxury of days off. You do not allow yourself the luxury of questioning your own decisions. He can appear arrogant, and does not take counsel easily, and it is because he has never considered that to be an option. He has to believe that he is correct in all things, because if he is ever wrong, that means he has failed his father in his training.

what are two headcanons you have for this character?

- Though often perceived as cold, Amon is fiercely protective and loyal over those he cares for. This can lead to disagreements, particularly with his sister as they are both strong-willed. He thinks he knows best and can be bossy to the point of controlling, but he truly does just want to look after his loved ones. This protectiveness extends to his duchy, and he is very conscientious in his duties to Devonshire. He may not be beloved, as he maintains a professional distance from most, but nobody in Devonshire can say that he doesn’t care.

- Amon turned to drink after the Duchess’ indiscretions. At social events he still maintains his control, but in the privacy of his bedchambers he often drinks himself into a stupor. This is what led to the fall in which he injured his leg: he was drunk, and in a foul mood, and he lost his footing on the stairs to his chambers. At present the drinking remains a secret, though his household staff whisper about it. Amon is aware that it is a problem, but he is concerned that his reputation is tarnished enough, and has no interest in addressing this issue with anyone.

#about

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burialsocietyrpg · 4 years ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 —

LAZARUS AVERY • CIS MAN & HE/HIM • 25 • PUREBLOOD • KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS • PRIMARY PROPRIETOR & SECONDARY POTIONEER OF THE VERDANT RELIQUARY • HUFFLEPUFF ALUM

𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 —

even on the cloudiest days, most people thought of lazarus avery as a veritable ray of light. he was the eternal party boy back in hogwarts, with a smirk capable of charming the socks off any professor, ghoul, or fellow student. now, having charmed his way into the upper ranks of tom riddle’s gang, he’s still the apple of nearly everyone’s eye–– it’s too bad that no one bothers to look into his for long enough to notice that it never quite matches the grin almost always gracing his lips. the truth is, lazarus has been losing his confidence in tom’s leadership. actually, it would be more honest to say that he’d never liked tom riddle. with a questionable family history and that wildly unhinged look in his eyes, lazarus is certain that it’s only a matter of time before the guy goes off the deep end. fortunately, as his right hand, lazarus will be there when he teeters. and if he happens to be the one to blow the gust of breath that sends tom tumbling down, down, down to his demise? well, he was sure no one would protest. see, though he was known for his charisma, he’d always been more of a honey badger than the cuddlier counterpart. his qualities of hard work and dedication remained true to the hufflepuff creed, though helga would have fainted were she to know the admittedly dark ends to which golden boy lazarus had gone to to solidify his status in the world. as an avery, he was often overlooked in society in favor of the wealthier pureblood families, despite their position near the top of the sacred twenty eight compendium. never mind that it was alphabetic. it was a sore subject to him, made even more tender due to his rivalry with abraxas malfoy, who came from one of the wealthiest families in britain. the worst thing, though, had to be that when lazarus had joined the knights of walpurgis, romanced by pledges of a plan to cleanse society of the impure and unworthy, he’d expected to be led by someone of substance.. only to be sorely disappointed. for a while, he too had fallen under riddle’s spell, but that was before he’d remembered that there was no ‘riddle’ listed on nott’s pureblood directory. some casual research later, and he’d discovered the truth, the truth which he’d gladly weaponize at the right moment. surely, he couldn’t be the only one who’d balk at being led by a lowly halfblood. when the time was right, lazarus would take the throne and crown for himself, showing the world once and for all the rightful place of an avery- the very top.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 —

ARABELLA CRABBE— flirtationship — arabella’s always been a beautiful girl, lazarus has eyes, and he is not in the habit of denying himself beautiful things often. when she’d joined the knights, he’d met her with a warm welcome. he started with small comments, little smiles, little flirtations that could be overlooked and the more she engaged, the more brazen he got. he’s introduced offering little things he thought that might appeal to her, little gifts but meaningful, well thought out. he’s grown quite fond of the person he’s built arabella to be in his mind. besides, the crabbe family is close with the malfoys and that’s part of the appeal in getting into arabella’s good graces. as long as he’s more liked than abraxas, perhaps he will also be able to extend a positive, for laz’s purposes influence over the crabbe family ? but first he’ll start with arabella, who is certainly in need of a helping hand and who better than lazarus avery ? not only is he tom riddle’s second hand, he’s also much more proactive about their concerns.

ABRAXAS MALFOY — bitter enemies — abraxas malfoy and lazarus avery are, according to the stars, destined to kill each other. at least that’s what lazarus has understood from a tea leaf reading in his third year on his second day of divination and honestly that was good enough for him. abraxas got a one year head start on lazarus and that was the last lead that laz ever let him have. in lazarus’ fourth year and abraxas’ fifth, lazarus sat down next to him in a potions classroom with a bright smile on his face and an announcement that he had been deemed ready to take his potions OWL a year early. from that moment, laz made it painfully aware that he may be a hufflepuff but it was not for lack of slytherin qualities. the kind of dedication that he put in to showing up abraxas malfoy was almost impressive, but he did not stop there. in everything that abraxas did, from that moment on, lazarus seemed to be a step ahead with a smug smile all the way and a keen awareness that he has no margin for error. the moment lazarus trips, he’s sure it will be abraxas with his foot stuck out and laz has already promised himself that he would never let that day come.

PROSPERINA GREENGRASS — pursuit — prosperina greengrass is many things. beautiful, cunning, worthy of adoration, talented, worthy of the crown that sat on her head in her days as a slytherin a year above him. he was aware of her in their school days but he was focused on his studies and the flings that he chased with purebloods of a lesser status than someone like the greengrass heiress. there were school day situationships and then there was someone of marriageable quality and prosperina was the kind of woman that you would bring back to your parents. and while all of these are the things that laz claims to be utterly entranced by, those who know him best might also see what is clear to him: prosperina’s attention was something that abraxas malfoy wanted more than anything and lazarus wants nothing more than to take that away from him. if prosperina actually favored lazarus, though, that would be all the better. marrying her would be a crowning jewel in an already charmed life and the inheritance that accompanies her would be one to put him in malfoy’s stratosphere.

𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 —

FACECLAIM: thomas doherty ADDITIONAL NOTES: n/a UNFORTUNATELY, lazarus avery is TAKEN.

#hp rp #new rp #supernatural rp #dark rp #skeleton rp #lazarus bio #knight #taken #taken knight

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kitty-full-of-rage · 5 years ago

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His Dark Materials: Season 1, Episode 1 Reaction

So I watched the first episode of the BBC adaptation of His Dark Materials last night and let me just say, I love it so far. I adored the books when I was a teenager but they also tore the heart out of me, so I think I’m due a reread by this stage. Below the cut I’ll write not so much a review as a response to the episode, and it will contain some light spoilers so if you haven’t watched the episode yet, read at your discretion.

1. Lord Asriel

The opening sequence with little baby Lyra being transported to Jordan College by gyrocopter with Lord Asriel was visually stunning, I’m not going to lie. While the Great Flood is described as utterly devastating to many communities in Phillip Pullman’s La Belle Sauvage, Oxford just seemed to be partly submerged in pretty, dark blue river water. I'm aware that Asriel didn't bring Lyra to Oxford on his own - he only acquired Lyra because she was rescued from the Great Flood by young Malcolm Polstead and his friend Alice. But I understand the omission of Malcolm and Alice - there are plenty of characters for the audience to keep track of, and when Northern Lights was published, we had no idea that Malcolm or Alice even existed, so I suppose showing only Lord Asriel is fair.

As for Asriel himself in this episode, I really loved James McAvoy's performance. On Twitter it was kind of hilarious how many people were thirsting for him (no disrespect meant - I completely understand. That shock of grey going through his hair is quite fetching). I was a little bit wary when McAvoy was cast though, because while Asriel is certainly a very impressive character and obviously has a fierce devotion to the pursuit of intellectual freedom and personal liberty, he is also kind of a dick. I thought McAvoy might be a tad too likeable for the role, even thought that would help add to Asriel's magnetism. But McAvoy did an excellent job of capturing the essence of a man who had lofty but honourable ambitions, while also being a sub-par guardian to Lyra, however much she admires him. The scene where he puts her to bed upside-down perfectly portrayed how bad he is at touchy feely- stuff.

2. Lyra Belacqua and Dafne Keen.

Oh my word, Dafne Keen is wonderful as Lyra. She captures Lyra's zest for life and her adventurous spirit so well, and it's only the first episode! She's less feral than her book counterpart, who was constantly getting into mud fights with other children and was basically a wild thing. But it was a joy to watch Lyra and Roger running across the rooftops of Jordan College together in this episode. What I also like is that Dafne Keen really seems to understand Lyra, which is of course what you want from an actress but she seems to have a fundamental understanding of what makes Lyra such a fantastic character. Her Lyra is intelligent, 'brilliant but lazy' in a way, adventurous, and does have a passionate need to be acknowledged by Asriel, but it's as much about to pursuing her own dreams as getting approval from a paternal figure.

3. The Title Sequence.

I almost wept at how beautiful the title sequence was. The beauty of the visuals took my breath away and the accompanying music was absolutely stunning, and made me feel such exquisite hope and sadness for what this series might be able to do. There were nods to The Subtle Knife and the Amber Spyglass, the gorgeous image of the alternate worlds pressing against each other like the pages of a book, and then the re-working of an Escherian staircase, with Lyra walking up one side, and a boy (most likely Will) making his way down the other side.

4. The Gyptians.

Ma Costa, Farder Coram and even John Faa are such important formative influences on young Lyra, providing her with a very different sense of community to what she would have experienced in Jordan College. In this first episode though, we see them as their own people as opposed to them purely being seen through Lyra's eyes. The coming of age ceremony was very cool (having an animal companion is already awesome enough, but imagine getting a ring to commemorate the form your daemon took?). We get a sense of their customs, their traditions and how important their sense of community is to them, and of course as a marginalised community in this unequal society, Gyptian children are some of the first children to be snatched by the Gobblers.

5. Mrs Coulter.

Mrs Marisa Coulter. I could write for hours about Mrs Coulter and how fascinating she is as a character. I actually didn’t mind Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of her in the 2007 film, and I particularly like the reveal scene between her and Lyra towards the end of the film. But in this BBC adaptation, I’m very glad that we have a brunette Mrs Coulter. Her introduction and entrance alone were magnificent (again, the music was exquisite). And Ruth Wilson did a splendid job of portraying how charismatic she is, while also hinting at her duplicitous nature and ulterior motives. Mrs Coulter is a delightfully complex character, and manages to play Lyra like a fiddle in this first episode. Also, from clips I’ve seen from the trailers and from Ruth Wilson’s interviews, I get the impression that this is going to be a wilder Mrs Coulter than we’ve seen before. Some have dubbed her 'The Mother of All Evil', which is as well as being an impressive moniker, is also going to have pretty hilarious connotations by the end of this season. I feel as though I am going to have plenty to write about next week as the character is fleshed out more so I’ll just finish by saying that it’s going to be really nice to see this fabulous villianess grace our screens each week.

Some Quibbles:

Where are all of the minor characters’ daemons? And sometimes even Pan or Roger’s daemon or Stelmaria would disappear and I’d be like ‘Has Lord Asriel learnt to separate? Is that what is happening here?’ While this wasn't such a big deal in crowd scenes such as the scene introducing the Gyptians and the banquet in Jordan College, scenes such as that on the airship and in the corridors of Jordan seemed to show adult characters with no demons. This bothered me slightly, as it just came across as lazy. I know it's quite the undertaking to show every single daemon belonging to every single character, but that's the world that Lyra lives in. We can't just assume that every extra has a mouse or an insect daemon and so they're probably hiding in their coat pockets. Perhaps later episodes will do better in this regard. The daemons that we did see looked wonderful.

Sooo . . . Lyra brought no luggage with her on the airship to London? Also, was Mrs Coulter making sure that the airship was delaying take-off? Otherwise she was leaving an awful lot to chance. It was very possible that Lyra could have missed that flight.

Lyra shouting at the alethiometer was kind of hilarious. No hun, it doesn't so much as 'tell you' the truth as show you it. God, Dr Carne, you need to be more clear about these kinds of things.

#his dark materials #hdm #hdm spoilers

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dazzledbybooks · 5 years ago

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In Courting Mr. Lincoln, Louis Bayard, an accomplished historical novelist, breathes life into the massive cultural icon whom we know so well, but really don’t have much of a clue about. Read the book. You’ll thank me.” —Washington Independent Review of Books “…thoroughly researched and thrillingly plotted…Filled with rich historical detail and compulsively readable... 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The result is a triumph of a novel and an unforgettable read that is a true page turner.” —Bookreporter.com “Was Abraham Lincoln gay? The question, not a new one, is delicately and touchingly presented in Courting Mr. Lincoln … tenderly told.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch “An exquisite novel about how Lincoln’s courtship of the brilliant, complicated Mary Todd intersected with his long and very (possibly VERY) close friendship with Joshua Speed. Courting Mr. Lincoln is so subtle and human and heartbreaking, infused with sly wit. I loved every word of it, and the end is note perfect. My heart broke for both Joshua and Mary, and at the same time, they were the lenses that let me think about my favorite president in new ways.” —Joshilyn Jackson, New York Times bestselling author of Never Have I Ever “[W]ith a richly imagined setting and complex characters…a worthy addition to the fiction about-Lincoln bookshelf.” —Booklist “Bayard fictionalizes the early days of Mary Todd and Abraham Lincoln’s relationship in this delightful embellishment of American history. This charming love story delicately reveals the emotional roller coaster of two inexperienced adults traversing the unknown realm of love while trying to meet the demands and expectations of society.” —Publishers Weekly “In this sparkling tale of strategy and desire, Louis Bayard renders the origin story of the Lincoln-Todd marriage with a wit worthy of Jane Austen and the keen political insight of the best presidential biographers. When it comes to bringing our most revered historical figures to vivid life—and returning to them their full humanity—Louis Bayard has no peer. He is, quite simply, a master of the storytelling art.” —Liza Mundy, bestselling author of Code Girls “In exquisite detail and luminous prose, Louis Bayard has taken what might have been a footnote in the history of Abraham Lincoln and made it the story. It is as if there was a secret door in Lincoln's life and Bayard has opened it and walked inside. Suddenly all the pieces fit. Utterly fascinating and brilliantly convincing, this is a terrific book that people will be talking about for a long time.” —Mary Morris, author of Gateway to the Moon “Superb, witty, gorgeously written. For the length of this dazzling, subversive novel, I was plunged so deeply into the sitting rooms and muddy streets of mid-19th-century Springfield, Illinois, that I too had fallen in love with and had my heart broken by the awkward, young lawyer from Kentucky. Courting Mr. Lincoln is an essential read: it makes the past a human place.” —Christopher Bollen, author of The Destroyers “Courting Mr. Lincoln gives us a young Abe Lincoln as we've never imagined him. It’s a moving portrait, told with cutting wit and intimately drawn detail, of three friends struggling to find their own identities against the weight of social expectations.” —Thomas Mullen, author of Darktown and Lightning Men “Louis Bayard is a writer of remarkable gifts: for language, for imagination, for that mysterious admixture of audacity and craftsmanship.” —Joyce Carol Oates About the Author: Louis Bayard is a New York Times Notable Book author and has been shortlisted for both the Edgar and Dagger awards for his historical thrillers, which include The Pale Blue Eye and Mr. Timothy. His most recent novel was the critically acclaimed young-adult title Lucky Strikes. He lives in Washington, DC, and teaches at George Washington University. Visit him online at www.louisbayard.com.

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2020/02/courting-mr-lincoln-spotlight.html

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draconida · 6 years ago

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Shance Fic Recs (Part three)

More Shance! With Kuro and Sven too.

82- Mysteries Become Reality by FullmetalDude1 [M/M/M/M, Sven and Kuro]

The world is full of mythical creatures that are slowly but surely being integrated and accepted into society, but a couple of hate crimes and BS still happens.

Lance is a human in this world, doing his best to help Mythics out even if he's got a bad history.

Then he meets 4 super hot Mythics in collage and he is gone, but he'll never admit that.

At least, not until he's been held for ransom by a gang of haters.

83- i don't have too much but i know enough by quiddative

Lance shot a panicked look at Keith but the asshole just laid there uselessly. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snorted. “They’re your kids, after all.”

What?

“What?” Lance and Allura yelled.

Allura turned to Kolivan with narrowed eyes. “Explain,” she demanded.

Kolivan looked very much like he wanted a drink. “The two of them appear to be the Red and Black Paladins’ children from the future.”

(Or: Lance and Shiro's children appear from the future and emotions ensue.)

85- Remember Me by boredomsMuse

Back before Kerberos, Lance and Shiro had been close. Boyfriends, type close. Boyfriends who'd meet each other's parents, all of them, type close.

Except, none of the Paladins know that. Not even Shiro.

86- Starlight Starshine by stirlingphoenix

'He’s beautiful', was the only thought Shiro’s mind could process as he watched Lance in person for the very first time. Those two little words repeated themselves on a loop over and over, making sure he’d never forget this moment. He’d always thought Lance to be exceedingly attractive, but seeing him in real life, as opposed to the TV screen or a movie poster nearly blew his mind.

Shiro had every intention of getting out of there before he ended up doing something embarrassing. Nevermind the fact that Lance wouldn’t know who he was, he still wasn’t too keen on potentially making a fool of himself. But just before he could make a beeline for the exit, the sound of his proper last name echoed throughout the air, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks.

“Excuse me, Mr. Shirogane?” The nervousness that plagued his caller’s voice hit Shiro’s ears wrong, yet it was still oddly familiar to him, as if he’d heard that same tone over a hundred times before.

As it turned out, he had, just never like this. Turning around, he came face-to-face with the lead of the production, the one and only Lance McClain himself, standing before him with a curious, perhaps even anxious expression covering his face.

87- Hi by Nevermoree

"in a world where you have your soulmates’ first words tattooed in your skin, he, obviously, has… well, that."

88- Te prefiero a ti by Nevermoree [Explicit and only spanish]

Lance has been in love with Shiro since he can remember, so when he have the opportunity to spend the night with Shiro, he have decided not to waste it. It's supposed to be a one-night deal, but things do not always work out the way you plan.

89- How to get a hot, shape-shifting dragon-man to fall in love with you by charlotteXOyates [Explicit]

Discovering a new species is a dream every reptile expert can relate to, so Lance's excitement upon meeting Shiro, a man with scales and a dragon tail, is understandably through the roof. What's less understandable, however, is Lance's sudden desire to help the dragon-man with his rut…

90- Daycare, Toddlers, and a bit of Love by starryrosez

Lance falls in love with the father of a boy he looks after in daycare.

91- Claws by AshesTheTerrible [Explicit and omegaverse] Lance had clawed his way through the Galra military ranks. This was the most important day of his entire existence. He was being assigned to a commander. One of the most ruthless commanders in the Empire. He had to make a good impression.

It would be just his luck that he'd be stricken with the beginnings of a ruthless heat. He knew the suppressants made him sick, but he took them anyway. Anything was better than a fucking stupid heat. He couldn't very well look strong with his heat boring down on his shoulders.

But puking at the feet of your new commander doesn't exactly make you look like a model Galra either… hindsight Lance supposes. 92- Lance's Guide on How to Embarrass Yourself in Front of Your Insurance Adjuster by Eilera

“This is for my mama, Hunk. She was so worried about this whole thing. They just finished renovating. I’m not gonna let her down. If my name isn’t Lance fucking Hernandez Martine-holy fuck he’s gorgeous.”

“Oh no. No. Lance do-“

Lance didn’t even hear him because there was a fucking gorgeous god walking up the path to the front door.

(In which Lance is helping his mama with an insurance claim and he was not prepared for the smoking hot insurance adjuster.)

93- designated drivers anonymous by kalakauuas

"It’s halfway through his sixth attempt at a puppy-filter pic that the bathroom door whooshes open wider than Lance’s mouth trying to prompt the puppy tongue onto the screen. Right when Lance screeches in surprised terror, he takes the picture.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was occupied,” says the person who threw the door open, his hands rushing to cover his eyes quicker than Lance would run from his mom’s chancla.

The good thing is, aside from vaguely humiliating selfie poses, there’s nothing to see here."

Lance and Shiro meet through a shared hobby, if you consider hiding in bathrooms during house parties a hobby.

94- Tris for Guys by quiddative

“Um, my name is Lance McClain-Reyes and I have a personal training session,” Lance said, though it came out as more of a question than a statement.

The girl hummed and typed something on the computer. “Ah, right on time,” she said. “Looks like you’ve been paired up with Shiro. If you’ll just take a seat, he should be out in a few minutes.”

Shiro?, Lance thought as all the gears in his brain suddenly screeched to a halt. I must have heard wrong. There’s no way—

“That’s okay, Pidge, I’m already here,” said a deep and familiar voice just behind Lance.

(Or: What do you do when the guy you've been crushing on turns out to be your personal trainer for the day?)

95- easier to lose by quiddative [Explicit]

Shiro is at the peak of his NHL career. Unfortunately, being famous has its downsides, particularly when it comes to dating. And that’s on top of the fact that he’s still in the closet. However, a chance meeting with college student Lance, who seems to be the only person in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is, gives him hope that maybe he won’t die alone after all. Just as long as he can keep his identity a secret.

96- A Halloween Tail by Cathwren

Lance just wanted to have a fun Halloween night, but when homophobic idiots give him trouble he makes a new friend in the dashing young knight that swoops in to save the day. Secrets are shared and Lance can easily say he got a night to remember...and maybe even a boyfriend.

97- 13 stories for Halloween by liddie [Explicit]

A collection of 13 Shance stories for the month of October featuring (but not limited to): vampires, kitsune, werewolves, demons, cursed scarecrows, ghosts, merpeople, oni and whatever else comes to mind!

98- Head Start by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit]

Werewolves. If there was one scent Lance knew above all else, it was Werewolves. Being born from a werewolf father and a human mother Lance knew werewolves. So when he got to the Galaxy Garrison and smelled werewolf in his class his first thought was to make peace with the other wolf.

Sure, Lance was only a half blood, and the closest to transformation he'd ever gotten was sharpened canines and claws during a full moon, but he was still wolf. As such, wolves should stick together. He left his family pack behind to come to the Garrison, maybe he'd be able to form a new pack here.

99- Forgotten Gods and Scales Like Jewels by keir [Explicit and Dubious Consent]

Lance has spent his entire career searching for the elusive and forgotten god of war and lust, a god made of part man, part snake. The pieces are there, and once Lance puts them together, he and his team discover the long forgotten temple dedicated to the naga god, but more lies in store for Lance than he could have ever dreamed of discovering.

100- Of God's and Fae's by MommaVanillaBear

A fae of the ocean, casted aside and alone made the dangerous trek to the festival of lights, and though the way back should have been easy, his steps become lost and the ocean he searches for is replaced by thick foliage and towering trees. Caught by a creature that claims to be an Earth fae, the one of the ocean must spend a month living in the forest or else the God who watches the forest will become aware of him. And there was no way the ocean fae could fight or hope to escape the wrath of a god.

101- Pornstar Lance by Ryuani [Explicit]

Lance used to work as a pornstar but space kinda stopped that.

102- Take a Chance by nuuuge [Fem!Shance]

Lance really just wants the hot Basketball prodigy to notice her.

103- Yearning Touch by CirqueBordello (CircusTalia) [Explicit and Sven]

Sven volunteers to be part of an experiment. But when that experiment makes a change in his body, Lance is there to support him but also realizes he likes the new Sven.

104- The Shirogane Triplets by MermaidLance [Explicit, Trans Lance and the title]

Three Boys

One Lance

He's in for an adventure.

105- Next Time, Pack Them Separately by Quiddity

“So, uh, you in Detroit on business?” Lance asks. The guy glances at him and for a second Lance thinks that he’s terribly misread his mood and he’s about to be snubbed in the worst way. Then he notices the dark circles under his eyes. The man’s totally exhausted. “No,” the man says, shuffling together his papers and securing them together with a wicked looking alligator clip. “I’m headed to New York.” Lance perks up. “Oh! Me too! I’m headed there to meet up with- uh…” Lance is cut off when his neighbor unbuckles himself, stands, and pushes into the line of passengers with a muttered apology. Lance sits there, dumbfounded as the man opens the overhead compartment and pulls down his- Nope. That’s Lance’s bag he’s strapping over his shoulder. That’s his palm tree name tag, that’s his laptop, that’s his senior film project he’s been working on for the past six months and his external hard drive with only back up of three hundred hours of work just shambling down the aisle and off the plane. Oh no.

106- The Knotty Omega by keir [Explicit, omegaverse and little All/Lance]

Lance never saw himself doing porn, but the opportunity fell in his lap with a wicked smile and the smooth talk of Lotor, a producer. The omega finds himself at the center of attention for many horny alphas as he does the most taboo and engages in heat sex for the camera.

107- Double Trouble by liddie [Explicit, Kuro and Shiro]

When Lance agreed to help out at his grandma's flower shop during summer break, he didn't know that it meant managing the shop singlehandedly for months while she went adventuring off to Europe.

Sure, he needs to practice his magic with living things...and yes, plants are a good way to do that without bodies stacking up if something went wrong. But Lance can't even keep a dandelion alive to save his life, so how the hell is he going to keep the entire stock of his grandma's enchanted flower shop alive and healthy for four months?

The answer is simple. He's going to summon himself some help using the dusty old spell book he found in the attic.

It's too bad Lance's handwriting looks like chicken scratch on a good day…

108- To Drown In You by Val_Creative [Explicit and Trans Lance]

Humans are a fearful race, unable to conjure anything other than simpler, volatile emotions, or so Shiro’s mer-clan has taught him. Lance’s compassion and his openhearted empathy deepens Shiro’s need for more. And he’s only know Lance for the turn of a moon.

109- How Deep is the Love We Think We Know by mizufallsfromkumo [omegaverse]

It had been a considerable while since Shiro nested.

So long in fact he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Until he yanked one of the Castle’s lounge couch cushions out from behind Pidge. No regard for the fact that she was using it. He just knew he needed that one because it was the softest of all the other cushions. Pidge’s surprised squeak as she toppled to the side didn’t even register with him for a moment.

Or at least not till Keith called him out.

110- Repayment by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit and omegaverse]

“I need you to do me a favor Coran.”

“Anything for you, son.”

Lance stepped forward, digging his wallet out of his pocket and slamming it down on the desk in front of him. “There is a man here, an alpha named Shiro. He lost his arm in a car accident.”

“Yes, Takashi Shirogane. It’s a shame what happened to him.” Coran looked away sadly.

“I want you to take this credit card and give him everything he needs. The best, top of the line products.” Coran looked down at the credit card pressed between Lance’s hand and his desk then back up at Lance. “Please?”

111- Dream a Little Dream by thinkpink [Explicit]

Shiro is an adult- he knows how feelings work. He definitely knows his own feelings. Right?

112- Telltale Blush by thinkpink [Explicit and Dubious Consent]

“So why don’t we just skip the part where you throw lines at me and I pretend not to be interested, and you can suck my dick instead.”

113- Dress to Impress by thinkpink

How did Shiro even get sweatpants in space? And why are they so god damn thin!

114- A Dragon by liddie [Explicit]

On the day of his wedding, Prince Lance is carried away by a fearsome creature of old. The remote island is a prison and the dragon his keeper, although Lance is not completely alone. A mysterious man named Shiro is also a prisoner of the dragon, but as Lance learns just who he is, he comes to realize there is more to Shiro than he first thought.

115- In Flagrante Delicto by gwendy1

in flagrante delicto (adverb)

Definition of in flagrante delicto: 1 : in the very act of committing a misdeed : red-handed 2 : in the midst of sexual activity

116- Black's Deal by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit and little Klance]

I’ll give you what you need to get what you want, but you only get two quintent. Do you agree?

“Yes.”

Or the story of Shiro taking over Keith's body in the time of his disappearance between seasons 2 and 3.

117- The Beast Of Pirate's Bay by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit and Major character death, but don't scary you. Happy ending]

A loud shriek filled the air, causing him to fall back onto the damp metal of the ship floor. “I’m sorry.” He whimpered, covering his ears as the sound continued to ring out.

As instant as the sound came it quickly disappeared, leaving Lance to tentatively uncover his ears. “Please,” he begged, tears escaping his eyes as he looked over the side of the boat again. “I won’t even enter your territory if you just bring me a juniberry flower!”.

118- The Lion, The Witch, and the Cursed Ghost by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit]

When lance goes to Kogane forest in search of the cat he saw plastered all over the news he ends up with a lot more than he bargained for. But he's not complaining.

The ghost floated up, arms crossed as he looked over the trees. “I’ll make you a deal.” Lance’s eyes brightened, he knew his excitement was obvious. But, he didn’t care. “If you can find me in this forest before the sun sets, I’ll take you to see Shiro. If not, you will leave this forest without a fight.” He turned and lowered down to Lance’s level again, holding out his transparent hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Shiro must be the cat.

Lance reached out, taking the hand, surprised when he actually felt contact. “Deal.” Before he could even shake the hand properly it was gone, along with its owner, only the flutter of leaves in the air showing he had even been there. Snatching up one of the leaves, Lance grinned. This ghost vastly underestimated him.

119- That's not a phone by CrypticGabriel [Explicit and Trans Lance]

Lance had a part-time job at the movie theater. During his job, he liked ogling at a frequent flyer named Shiro. But he never expected to catch him doing the unthinkable while watching a movie. And no. It didn't involve a phone.

120- Let's Play A Game by liddie [Explicit]

About to leave for a little vacation time at his grandfather's seaside cottage, Shiro gets a text from Allura asking if he can drop her friend Lance off at the beach on his way. He agrees, but is entirely unprepared for everything that Lance is.

121- How Do I "Casual"? by The_Busy_Beee

Sometimes Lance loves living in the same building as his best friends.

Sometimes he hates it with a passion.

Usually only when Keith's involved, however.

Or:

Lance brings home a guy and isn't sure how to handle the "morning after" situation. Keith is exhausted and thinks Lance has murdered somebody.

122- Spilling Secrets by The_Busy_Beee

Everyone knows the past never stays in the past.

Or:

Shiro finally meets the Blue Lane crew, Lotor is a shit, and Lance really just wants today to go well.

123- Good Girl by strawberrylovely [Explicit and Fem!Lance]

Shiro hears Lance masturbating in the team bathroom. He’s not sure whether to help or run away, so Lance makes the decision for him.

124- Beautiful Breed by Blue_Queen662 [Fem!Lance]

Kept in captivity for years, Lance had not had any contact with others like herself in a long while.

Shiro had been gone from the sea for years. From being separated from his pod for a long time, he had forgotten how it feels to be loved by a mate.

Shiro has been chosen to be Lance’s mate. For his strangth, speed and intellect; it was decided amongst guests at a dinner party that the Champion will mate with Zarkon’s prize pet.

125- my boyfriend's back (and you're gonna be in trouble) by heavenlyrare

The Galra and the Alteans haven't been at each other's throats, thanks to Prince Lance's and Commander Shiro's relationship.

Unfortunately, the rest of the universe doesn't seem to know that.

126- Missing Pieces by AshesTheTerrible [Explicit]

Shiro comes back from two tours overseas a changed man. He has one less arm and a lot more nightmares. His best friend Keith convinces him Yoga is the perfect form of meditation to help with his PTSD and he's skeptical at best....that is until he sees the instructor and is instantly in love.

127- Full Moons and the Mornings After by Impetus

Lance really needs to stop letting stray wolves into his apartment.

128- My Best Friend's Brother? How Cliche by orphan_account

Lance has been pining after Shiro since he was 14, and the last time he saw him before Shiro left to go to veterinary school had been embarrassing as hell. But, things were different now. 3 years had passed, Shiro was back, and Lance was a new and improved version of himself. This time, Lance wasn't afraid to do what he wanted to.

OR that one where Lance hasn't seen Shiro in years but when he goes to drop some food off at Keith's house he walks in on Shiro working out.

129- How To Use a Long Rest by avoidingavoidance [Explicit]

In which the team's game of Monsters and Mana isn't actually a game, and Lance takes good care of Shiro. Several times.

130- Just Take That Breath in Your Lungs by mizufallsfromkumo [Omegaverse]

When Shiro was younger, and freshly presented as an Alpha, he use to think about how things would be when he claimed his mate for himself.

Ideally it would be their wedding night, but it wasn’t a necessity. Shiro was fine with whenever moment arose and felt right. And when his intended mate would find it, Shiro would turn on soft music. They’d maybe dance a little, or speak soft words of love. Then the night would progress in a slow, gentle, and loving path towards claiming.

Because yeah, Shiro was a hopeless romantic at times.

Sue him.

But that was the furthest thing that was happening, Shiro thought as he and Lance flopped into the nest both of them had constructed over two weeks ago.

131- Can You Find the Path that Leads Back to My Heart by mizufallsfromkumo

Lance was just left to sulk in the cockpit. And wonder just where his relationship stood with his mate, who had his soul transferred and fused into a clone's body. A clone Lance had just continued on courting like nothing ever happened, because he didn’t know his mate had even died in the first place.

Lance never thought going to space would be filled with so much drama.

Much less, drama that made his life sound like really bad telenovela plot line.

132- Some Good Shooting by AshesTheTerrible [Explicit and Trans Lance]

Lance and Shiro had been nothing but a hurricane of spats and frustration since the switching of lions. And then quite suddenly...they weren't anymore. Hunk couldn't figure out what had changed between the blue and black paladins but the rest of the team just seemed happy the two were working together. Maybe a little too well in fact.

Unbeknownst to the others, really all it took to change the two paladin's attitudes toward each other was one hard kiss in the hangar doors.

Parts 1 / 2 / 3

#shance #fic rec #vld #voltron #shiro/lance #vld sven #vld kuron #vld kuro #takashi shirogane #lance mcclain #svance #kurance #kuro/lance #sven/lance

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