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dulcewrites · 4 months ago

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you will hopefully watch hotd s2 and tell us ur thoughts my liege 🙂‍↕️

Ok so i was thinking about how to answer this because like… I’m not going to watch the full thing 💀. I only watched a couple of the episodes in entirety. I would say the only, and I truly mean only, good thing that’s come out of the rampant leak culture within this fandom is that I didn’t have to waste my time on a show that would not live up to my expectations. Which is wild because while I was excited for s2, my expectations were low.

I think my largest problem with hotd is not the changes or the plot points themselves, but how we get there. So I’ll just give you a couple of thoughts I had by character (gonna lump some together bc how storylines went):

Rhaena, Baela, Corlys, and Rhaenys: I’m lumping them together bc that’s essentially what the show does. Now this may be a #controversial opinion but the Velaryons gave Rhaenyra’s cheerleaders in f&b so I’m not surprised that’s their role in the show. People seem to the think the Velaryons were not makers of their own demise when honestly they were. Viserys and Rhaenyra played a big role don’t get me wrong, but they (Corlys) was hellbent on having his blood on the throne. IMO they are being portrayed at beholden to Rhaenyra, which they were in the book. That being said, show doesn’t help an already poor portrayal. Baela not advocating for Rhaena to get the Driftwood throne after Corlys offers it to her makes no sense. The “I am fire and blood” line from her was corny (she is her grandmother’s child lol) and just weird considering she is ALSO salt and sea because of her mom??? She was literally fostered by her grandmother on Driftmark?? It just goes back to this idea that everyone needs to prop up Rhaenyra. And how Rhaenyra’s plight is most important. Bc why cant Baela and Rhaena advocate for themselves while advocating for Rhaenyra. It would actually only strength Rhaenyra’s point.

Rhaenys had her moments but the way the writers clearly use her as a sounding board is heavy handed. Her death fell flat for me bc honestly idc. The writers handled Corlys affair poorly. At the same time Rhaenys being a “he knows where home is” woman makes sense for her lmao. She’s def that brand of faux liberal white women that immediately fold for the men around them. Rhaena possibly claiming a dragon is all around a dumb choice.

Daemon and Alys: Harrenhal did the heavy lifting. I appreciate them leaning into the magic and mystery around it. It is one of the through lines that made sense and was carried out. That being said, and I’m fine with people calling me bias for saying this, but Daemon is simply not very interesting to me. That whole thing was at its most interesting when Rhaenyra was yelling at him.

I like the story they have began for Alys. It would have been very easy to do the seductive, evil witch thing. I like that she’s off kilter but also very grounded and normal. That being said, I don’t trust them with her 🤷🏽‍♀️

Jace: I appreciate them finally acknowledging how Jace feels about parentage. He sees how fragile the lines of legitimacy are and he’s scared. I think it sets a good parallel between Rhaenyra and Viserys as parents. She is putting her children, at least Jace and Joffrey, in the same position Viserys put her in. Despite enjoying the choices, there isn’t that special something there. Emma does sort of act circles around Harry at times and it can be hard to watch but he did a pretty good job with the stuff the writers gave him.

Rhaenyra: I… honestly don’t know what to say about her lmao. I feel like she always gets taken to a point where she can be really fascinating… then they immediately reign her back in fear she will come off “unlikeable”. Which is crazy bc it’s been established that the general public, regardless of what is actually happening, will side with Rhaenyra. So, why not have some fun with her. I often walk away not knowing what kind of character or person they want Rhaenyra to be. I can’t even really call her complex. She’s like a bunch of tropes just sort of mashed together when the plot sees fit. Emma deserves better material idk.

Whew ok now let’s get into the messy part

Criston: Easily had some of the best/consistent writing not only for team green but the whole show this season. But people are hellbent on hating him so much of it just goes unnoticed. The only ire I have with Criston storyline is alicole. Not them together in a vacuum (I said before i see the beauty in both alicole and rhaenicent, though both are better when things are left unsaid), but more not knowing how they got together. The hard cut to them having sex as two repressed people leaves much to be desired. It’s basically set up to make them look like hypocrites despite Alicent being a widow and Criston knowing her for essentially two decades. Very different situations than s1.

Helaena: Ummm ???? Much like how Rhaenys is just a sounding board for the writer to hammer us over the head with, Helaena’s dreams get used at the whims of the plot. Because how did Helaena go from speaking in riddles that even she doesn’t seem fully understand to knowing exactly what they mean? Seeing that far into the future? Either that was just something made up so she could get a dig in against Aemond (blaming him for everything which is… a choice), used to absolve daemon (not good), retroactive try to fix problems created by GOT (yawn) or she’s always known what her dreams meant and just decided not to make them understandable (NOT GOOD!!).

She barely grieves Jaehaerys pass the funeral (that could be said for a lot of dead characters) on screen. I thought the “they killed the boy” line was weird. Why not just say his name 💀💀💀. Alicent calls him the boy too like ???? Also we are supposed to believe the bug girl doesn’t want to ride her dragon….

I think the only bright spot of her storyline has been the bond between her and Alicent. It makes sense that Alicent would cling to her daughter who she sees as innocent and that Helaena would seek refuge in her mother.

Aegon: another #controveral opinion maybe but whenever people are like poor Aegon, I just think of that clip from Big Little Lies where Madeline is like “I don’t give a fuck about homeless people!” 😭 (I swear it makes sense in context). It’s sort of the same problem for me that I had with Jace. The arc is fine, set up well especially compared to others but like… eh 🤷🏽‍♀️. I all the Aegon stans being weird about Alicent are doing too much at times.

Aemond: I did like that they leaned into Aemond, in public, making it seem like he did mean to kill Luke. But in private clearly having guilt over it. I think it was the best choice they could make considering the change to Luke’s death. Just knowing how insecure Aemond is, it would make no sense for him to admit to not having full control over Vhagar in that moment. It’s strange to me that people thought his resentment towards Aegon came out of nowhere. It’s pretty much set up from the moment the two of them interact in s1. I don’t think any of the points Aemond had made about Alicent and the war (ie saying that she was the one that mentioned them being in danger) were wrong but I think the sudden aggressive nature towards Helaena was weird. Like bffr. Them not showing us Alicent’s response to him killing Luke goes in the alicole pile of missed opportunities. Like did he even try to explain or was he hellbent on pretending from jump.

Alicent: well… where do we begin lmao. I already touched on why I didn’t care for the alicole thing. Let’s just address the elephant in the room that this whole “Alicent is free” bs isn’t real bc she’s still under the subjugation of a Targaryen - this time it’s just Rhaenyra So that’s supposed to make it better in some people’s eyes. I’m sorry but even as someone who has gone on record saying that I think the change they made to Rhaenicent was the best one, I can’t just let poor execution slide. I don’t even think Alicent having little legion to Aemond or Aegon comes out of nowhere. She has constantly, to a fault, reaffirmed her trust in Rhaenyra. What I don’t like is the writers first saying that Alicent needs to be humbled… as opposed to what? The super confident Alicent that’s always winning??? Then painting her coming to Rhaenyra as her choosing herself or some sort of liberation. Ok then why can’t she say one mean word about the man that abused her? Why is it that she can see through Otto (or at least she did at the end of s1… another think that was seemingly undid). But not Viserys, the man who happily went along with it. Why does Rhaenyra get have a moment where she realizes much her desire towards daemon was envy for what daemon represented. Or realizing he is a tool in her subjugation and how she’s sort of stuck in this weird space with him. But Alicent continues to insists that Viserys was a good man, father, husband, and king… all things that aren’t true.

Every person in the show at nausea talk about how great Viserys was. The writers say him and Alicent had a “loving relationship” so clearly they don’t think that man maritally raped her. It’s odd they writer her, even without the modern tools we have to explain gross relationships like the one Viserys started with her, to understand her children are by products of what were done to her but she can’t disparage the man who did said thing to her?

People will be like “Well she’s an abuse victim of course she would feel that way. Some victims do unfortunately love their abusers.” But if the narrative continues to tell us one thing, it is clear the writers actually think that. By those rules, they don’t see Alicent as a victim. There lies the issue in how they write her. It sounds absolutely vile to say a rape victim who spent all her adult life suffering needs to be knocked down a peg. Ryan compared it to the Driftmark knife scene which ??? Alicent immediately admonished herself for that and the next episode was begging Rhaenyra to come back. Soooooo

If it was really about protecting Helaena and her granddaughter, why not just go? Why run to Rhaenyra and self flagellate for her someone else’s enjoyment. Why does Rhaenyra essentially spew back every criticism the gp had about Alicent? And why does Alicent just take that….

There are plenty of other people who have expressed the problems with Alicent’s writing better than I have but this is just my thoughts.

#sorry this is long but…. yeah it has honestly turned me off a bit from the show #gwayne and Otto are just there??#I appreciate that it seems like there is one person on Alicent’s side… then she immediately gives away where he is so 💀😬🤷🏽‍♀️#hotd talk #hotd spoilers

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hunterscoffee · 4 years ago

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Masked Crush

Oneshot Masterlist Din Djarin/The Mandolorian x Reader Warnings: angst, violence, the usual sw stuff Word Count: 1.6k A/N: Tell me if you want a sequel/part two.

He was laughing on the inside, he really was. He had never seen your face, your body and he knew nothing about you. What colour were your eyes? Your lips? Your skin? What did your voice sound like without the modulator in its way. Even though he had never seen you, he was in love with you. The way your beskar curved over your chest, the rasp of your laugh through the helmet, your impulsiveness and most of all, no matter how closed off you seemed to others you were so open and caring to him and the child. Whenever he realised he didn’t know who you were beneath the armour he got the unhappily reminder that you didn’t know who he was either or what he looked like, to be frank he sometimes forgot who he was too.

Din’s latest reminder of his crush on you was when you had breathed a heavy sigh, one that the modulator picked up. He just cocked his helmet at you like your breath of relief was a massive insult to his flying. And as if you were reading his mind.

“That was an insult to your flying, we nearly died!” you clarified to him. He breathed his own sigh, but his of frustration and slight anger.

“I saved our asses,” he bit out, “not my fault the New Republic dropped out of nowhere.”

“It was New Republic space,” you reminded him, he could only guess what your expression looked like right now, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly quirked in the corner, eyes shining with amusement at how defensive he was acting.

What he did know of you was very little to go off, he knew that you had joined the clan when you were 13 by your own choice and you were born on Mandalore during the Clone Wars. And of course he knew of your reputation as a bounty hunter and he had witnessed your skill.

“You also did a shit job of trying to fix it,” you unhelpfully commented.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“Do you know the name of this super special Mandalorian?” you asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“No.” he said, you groaned at his unhelpful answer.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. "I'm going to get some rest."

You must have fallen asleep because you woke to the Razor Crest beeping out an orchestra of warning sounds and the ship herself rattling as you essentially fell to the planet's surface. Din was grabbing her controls with what must be a white knuckled grip. If all that wasn't enough a woman's voice was echoing through the coms warning your partner that you were coming in too fast.

"Holy shit," you breathed as you took it all in, powerless to do anything except watch and hold the child. Out of some miracle he managed to land the ship, on the platform, perfectly. But of course that didn't last long. Razor Crest tipped over the edge and plummeted into the water surrounding the platform.

"Fuck." that's all Din said, that was it.

"I'm flying next time," you growled.

"No, your kiffin' not," he snapped at your blatant rudeness.

"Mando look at the fucking transparasteel, you can't see see shit out of it, no to mention the state the metal alloy." you bit back, he huffed, chucking a few credits at the Mon Calamari by the spaceport and asking him to fix her the best he could, which to be honest couldn’t be that good by the looks of her.. You were too busy staring at the ship to realise he, the child and the frog lady had walked off, happily enough you got there in time to watch the reunion of the frog lady and the frog gentleman, it warmed your heart, just the joy you needed after such a shit day. In return for her passage the frog couple took you and Din to an Inn not far from the port and mostly filled with amphibious species. Just as you sat down a Mon Calamari approached you, asking what you wanted to eat and as quick as ever Din had just very coolly slid some credits across the table.

“Chowder and… information.” you would have killed to see his face when he said that, just his tone of voice sent shivers of arousal down your back.

As Din and the Calamari spoke you watched the kid and his chowder with jealous and hungry eyes, your stomach rumbled as if to acknowledge your hunger.

“Maker, I’m starving,” you murmured, not loud enough for the voice modulator to pick it up. Suddenly part of the child’s dinner launched itself at him, the baby let out a startled gurgle that turned to scared baby language. You pulled the dagger you had strapped to your thigh and slid it into the edible creature, then greedily watched as it fell into the bowl of probably disgusting chowder. What drew your attention from the child’s meal was a Quarren walking with loose shoulders towards you.

“You seek others of your kind?” he asked, his tone rough like someone who’d been hardened over the years.

“Have you seen them?” Din asked, overly curious.

“Aye, I can bring you to them,” he added, then he started chuckling and your blood ran cold with fear and adrenaline.

“Where.”

“Only a few hours sail, it’ll cost you though,” he added, getting up from the table. Without even consulting you Din slid even more credit across the table as if you weren’t broke enough.

“When do we leave?”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” you scolded under your breath to him, “You’ve put the child, me and yourself in danger.”

“You didn’t have to come,” he scoffed, though he had badly wanted you to come.

“And let you get killed, I think not,” you huffed, glancing over to the child’s cot. Your little conversation was interrupted when a shipmate came to stand beside you.

“Ever seen a mamacore eat?” he asked, you blinked, “Quite a sight, child might take an interest.” as if on cue you glanced over to the baby, he had his chin tilted up so he could watch his father. “You should come over, take a look.” the Quarren invited, Din hesitantly pushed himself away from the banner and followed the alien to the hatch in the middle of the ship.

You had seen Jedi, heard stories of how they could predict the future, get feelings about what was about to happen. You weren’t force sensitive but you had a devastatingly bad feeling about what was about to happen. You were right. It happened in seconds, the hatch door slid open and the crew fed the beast, the Quarren that had led you there began blabbering on about feeding the thing and then with the end of his staff the bastard knocked the child’s crate into the hatch and Din, without a thought dived in after him.

“Close the gate!” the alien shouted, the sudden shocked expression you wore turned quickly into a scowl.

“Demagolka,” you growled, planting your feet on the ground as you drew both guns. The hatch finished closing, and you shot your first victim, you had barely three dead when three beskar armoured individuals landed on the ship, the painting they wore was familiar but you couldn’t quite place it, no room for it, you were too worried about Din and the child. You had no choice but to put your faith in the strangers, taking off in the sprint to the control panels, trying to get there as fast as humanly possible, without hesitating shooting the Quarren that stood there.

“Maker, which one? Which one?” you tried to picture how the shipmen had opened and shut it, then without time to think you grabbed the leaver and pulled back. To your utter relief the gate slid open, you moved quickly to the edge of the hatch, reaching your hand down as Din came back up. With all of your strength you pulled him out of the water quickly. “Shit, Mando, are you okay?” you didn’t let go of his hand, he couldn’t see it but your eyes were wide with worry.

“The child,” he gasped out. One of the other Mandalorians dove into the water only to emerge seconds later with the child. Both you and Din breathed a sigh of relief as the child as child was placed back into Din’s hands. But, your partner's somewhat relaxed demeanor was cut off when the ‘leader’ removed her helmet and you were met with a face you never thought you’d see again.

"You're not Mandalor-" Din started before you cut him off curtly.

“Clan Kryze,” you spat out, so much uncontrollable venom in your voice. Her head snapped to you. You placed two hands on either side of your helmet then smoothly pulled it off.

“Y/N?” she whispered.

“Bo-Katan,” you had no room in your heart for pleasantries.

“Ad’ika please,” she started.

"Please what, mother?" you growled. Mother? Din nearly coughed in shock, then he saw your face, gone was the sarcastic, but kind Mandalorian Din knew and in its place was the living image of anger, grief and sadness. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull you into his arms, try to comfort you. Then he suddenly remembered the code, you had broken the code.

"Give me the child, I'm going to see if I can help with the ship," your voice softened when you spoke to Din, then hardened again when you turned to your… Mother? "If you so much as follow me I'll kill you." that wasn't a threat, it was a promise. Without another word you picked the child up and cradled him in your arms then ignited the jetpack on your back, and left Bo-Katan with tears in her eyes.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorion spoilers #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin

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fsketchart · 5 years ago

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Hunger Games AU - Daminette

WARNING : Hunger games includes murder, I don't condone it & I don't write it in detail. However, if it can still be triggering for you this is not the best head canon/AU for you. No shame if you're uncomfortable with it! You take care of you and your needs first! The hunger games has 24 children from ages 12-18 tossed into an arena, and are forced to battle with only one tribute allowed to keep their life. If you're not comfortable, I hope you find an AU that better suites your tastes!

WARNING 2 : If a character is killed off, it's to highlight that everyone that was killed in the hunger games (as there can only be one winner) was killed off NOT because I "hate" the character, but because I felt like it would be more important to remember that the people killed were not faceless characters. There were good people killed off, the hunger games doesn't ever really have a true victor. Everyone loses someone or something in the end. So if a character you like is killed off by someone else it's because I didn't want characters to kill off faceless people. I don't want anyone to forget that the people who are killed were real people with families.

LAST NOTE PROMISE : Tim is 19 in this one. Why? Because you'll find out. MWUAHAHAHAHAHAH (it's actually not that serious but let me have this.)

Also the I call the peacekeepers and people like them capitol guards to make it easier for people who haven't read the books to understand!

Heads up this is gonna be the 100th annual hunger games, the hunger games books didn't occur here.

If you read the books/seen the movies skip to the part where it says NOW in all caps.

For background info in case you haven't read the books / seen the movies, there are 12 districts not counting 13. Districts 1, 2, and 4 are the wealthier districts and every district essentially works for the capital. The capitol hosts a hunger games every year where 24 tributes, 1 girl and 1 boy from each district (District 13 doesn't participate, and won't be mentioned here) and the tributes are forced to kill each other for the capitol's entertainment.

Children from the wealthier districts volunteer tributes, by having the previous victors of the hunger games train them from a young age. Only one tribute can walk out of the arena alive. The poorer districts hate the hunger games and no one wants to participate in then, no one volunteers. All districts, to find a tribute, pool their names and have them written on a paper. Then, the names are chosen from a bowl, one girl and one boy, from the two bowls filled with names. The names chosen are forced to participate in the hunger games, unless someone else volunteers. Out of all 24 tributes, only one can live. Some people add their names in the bowl multiple times in exchange for extra food.

Every 25 years, the hunger games has a, "special," game where they add in special ways to choose the tributes who participate in the games. Examples being voting who becomes a tribute, double the amount of tributes, choosing from the remaining pool of victors, etc.

Children are the ones who participate in the games, ages 12-18.

NOW

•The 100th annual hunger games decided that this year, instead of everyone putting their name in the bowl or volunteering, the last names of families would be placed in. If a family was chosen, the family would then decide who of their eligible children would fight in the hunger games. Essentially being voted to be killed by their own family.

•Damian lives in district one, the luxury district. District one manufactures and trades luxury goods like perfume, fur coats I believe, jewelery, that sort of stuff (<---big vocabulary word.)

•Damian has trained for the hunger games since he was a child.

•He knew how to wield several types of weapons due to the excessive training he was put under. However, he easily injured himself and would require stitches often for his injuries.

•As he grew older, he realized he didn't want to die in the games, he wanted to live his life to the fullest.

•Marinette is born in the 8th district, the textiles (fashion) district.

•Her parents run a bakery there, but Marinette, having grown up surrounded by fashion, quickly became fascinated by it.

•However, she mainly focused on the bakery and quickly became handy with stitching and using a knife (in the kitchen.) She eventually became quiet experienced with a knife, and safety stuff (<---Big vocabulary word) as well.

•Her parents would sometimes injury themselves in the kitchen or her friends would try to rebel against capitol guards (district 8 is well known for uprising and rebellions.) She would often have to help stitch them back up once the capital guards became violent.

•The Wayne family was reaped from the pooling. Since Damian was the only minor in the Wayne family (Tim=19) he had no choice but to enter the games.

•The Dupain-Cheng family was also chosen for district 8. Marinette was the only one who could go. Her parents fought against it, but when the capitol guards threatened to get violent, Marinette jumped it and said she would fight, and gritted through her teeth about how it was such a huge, "honor."

•All tributes get 3 days to train / prep for the hunger games and they train in the capital.

•When they arrive at the capital, they were put in training, and would start a test to see their best strengths. Then, they would be ranked.

•People who had a higher ranking were more likely to get sponsors. Sponsors = packages would drop from the sky that would give food, water, medicine, etc. If the capital people liked you, they would place bets on you that you're gonna survive. To win those bets they try to keep you alive if you're their favorite. Thus, everyone puts on an act, a facade in front of the cameras and TV show interviews right before the hunger games start, and try to score the highest in the strength tests. The more the capitol likes you and thinks you have a shot at winning = more sponsors.

•Damian scores a 12. (Hella hecking high. Like most people who train their whole lives get like a 9 or 10)

•Marinette scores a 2, only for her ability to repair clothes and stitch stuff together using left over cloth. (Don't worry, we'll get back to this later.)

•Marinette spends the 3 days before the hunger games eating as much as she can to lower her metabolism so she won't starve in the games and improving her knife skills (which she didn't show at the strength tests.) She also studies as many books as she can about useful knowledge for the arenas.

•Damian spends it learning about his opponents, so he knows what to expect. The one thing he refuses to learn however are their names. He doesn't want to humanize the children he will soon have to compete against.

•There is a cornucopia at the center of the arena that has all the good weapons, however most people die at the cornucopia trying to retrieve supplies, especially at the beginning.

•When the games begin, Damian darts for it. He needs to get his hands on a weapon and he needs it ASAP.

•Marinette is like screw that I'm out! And runs away from the cornucopia to explore the rest of the arena and find a suitable water source.

•Water is often tampered with in the arena. The game makers (capital people who design the arenas) in previous games have tried to to poison it, only making it available if you slice open trees, make all the water salted, etc. A suitable water source is scarce. They almost always make it hard to find a good source of water.

•Damian survives the cornucopia and snags a sword but wasn't able to grab much else without risking his life.

•In the process, he already killed two people. He never even knew their names.

•But luckliky for you, I'll let you in on their names. District 7, lumber tribute was Luka. Luka went straight to the cornucopia so he could wield a weapon, trying to find a good axe to use. He promised Juleka he would make it back. Juleka screamed and cried when she saw his death on screen. She didn't leave her house for a few days. Neither did their mother.

•Ivan was also killed, district 12 of coal mining. He was sent in along side Mylene as the female tribute for their district. He thought that when Damian grabbed the sword he was aiming to kill Mylene who was nearby and tried to attack Damian first. Damian was alarmed and killed him right then and there. Mylene saw the whole thing but Ivan just screamed at her to run away from the cornucopia as he bled to his death. And so she did.

•Damian was shaking as he ran away from the cornucopia with her sword. He could only think that killing was nothing like Talia described. She said one stab, that's it's. Plain and simple. But it isn't plain and simple. Damian, for the first time in a long time, felt like crying.

•However, he was determined to make it back to his family. At any cost. So he brushed away the tears threatening to spill and moved onwards.

•Lila was from district 2, rock quarrying. The district is wealthy because they were loyal to the capital in the first rebellion, where other districts tried to rebel against the capitol, and failed.

•Lila wanted to make it back to the comfort of her mother, and was also willing to do it at any costs, similar to Damian. In the process of doing so, she killed one of district 4's tributes.

•District 4 is the fishing district, and was relatively wealthy. The tribute Lila killed was Kagami. Kagami was trained from a young age to kill, her mother taught her that she should have pride, and should be honored that she was able to participate in the games. And she believed her. Only in her dying breathes, did she realize that dying for the sake of glory and pride, spending her last few moments with the goal to murder other children, held no honor at all.

•Marinette's fellow tribute from district 8 was Adrien. His father was well known in the district and his family was respected among the capitol. His father designed the suits for the capitol guards and constantly made improvements to make them better for battle. When the Agreste Family was chosen, Gabriel was devasted. He begged and pleaded with them to stop, he was willing to make bigger, better, fancier, stronger, you name it suits. Anything to keep Adrien alive. However, the rules were rules. And Adrien promised to make it home to his father, to make sure his father would not be left alone in the world.

•Marinette and Adrien split up in the games. Gabriel warned Adrien not to make allies, and if he had to choose, be allies with districts the careers (will be explained later.) They were the ones with the best sponsors, and most surviving tributes came from the careers. Adrien tried to argue back that he was friends with Marinette and wanted to stay by her side, but his father silenced him. The hunger games was a place of survival and murder, there was no room for morals. You kill or be killed. If he teamed up with Marinette, he would have to kill her eventually if he wanted to win, and she would have to fight him as well.

•During the 3 day preparation, they spoke it over. Marinette and Adrien understood. They felt it would be best if someone else ended the life of the other, rather than having to kill the other themselves.

•Adrien agreed to it and Adrien, Lila, Alya, Nino, and Felix formed the career pack.

•Every year, the career pack is formed of the best districts, sometimes an exception being made (this case being Nino, district 3 of technology.) The careers split resources and sponsorships and work together to eliminate the weaklings first, and then betray one another near the end.

•Felix was district 2, like Lila.

•Alya was district 1, luxury, the female tribute alongside Damian.

•They agreed Damian was their biggest threat.

•And so the hunt began.

•When they fought him, a blood battle began. Damian was outnumbered but managed to get away. However, his right arm was severely injured, filled with stabs and cuts, not including the ones covering him all over. Damian managed to kill Nino and Felix however.

•Damian was stumbling as the first day turned to night. He passed out.

•Marinette found him rotting, nearly dead on the ground from bleeding.

•(Heads up I'm no doctor-)

•She had already found a small stream that provided clear water which she tested, and found some edible berries she recognized from her families bakery and the fruits they would use. There were no animals placed in the arena to hunt.

•Suddenly, Damian got a sponsorship, medical supplies. (I'm sorry I could never be a doctor people would die if I was-)

•Marinette used it to keep him alive and cleansed his cuts and stuff (wow look at my vocabulary.)

•When Damian woke up, Marinette was there tending to his sounds still.

•Damian immediately thought she was poisoning him and nearly tried to grab for his sword, but realized he was disarmed.

•She explained what had happened. And Damian saw the stitching and what not. (Writing skills level 100000000-)

•He asked why she did it.

•She explained that she didn't quite know. But she felt like she couldn't just leave him there.

•Damian felt guilty, like he owed her something for her kindness, but still didn't trust her.

•The look her gave her must have given it away, because she nodded in understanding.

•She offered him the remaining med supplies.

•"Where are they from?"

•"Your sponsor."

•"You could've lied and kept them for yourself."

•"I could've." She agreed.

•Damian stuck around for a little while. He told himself he needed to pay her back. She didn't accept the med supplies, stating she already did some research and read books on medicinal herbs and plants the preparation week for the hunger games.

•He never told her his real name, sharing names make you attached. His mother always taught him to avoid sharing names. It makes it harder to kill.

•So she called him Robin, and he called her Ladybug.

•Damian tried to justify him tagging along.

•"You kept me alive for 3 days, let me do the same."

•"...I can do that on my own."

•"Yeah...but...I got a higher score in the strength tests. I'll tag along. Besides, what if you're keeping more sponsors from me that belong to me?"

•He found every excuse to stay by her side.

•She found herself growing attached to his presence.

•She showed him things like water sources and certain berries that were edible.

•Of course, he stayed by her side gathering all these supplies.

•"What if the careers attack you gathering water? I need to repay my debt-"

•"Really, Robin. You don't need to repay me."

•"But Ladybug-"

•"No. Really-"

•"No I insist. I'm repaying my debt. Please?"

•"...fine."

•"( ◜‿◝ )♡"

•However, these fun times would soon end. With fewer and fewer tributes left, 7 in total, they knew it would only be a matter of time before they too were killed, or had to kill.

•It happened so soon, Marinette had been trying to keep a downlow profile to avoid becoming a target. But it seems like District 6's tribute of transportation, Garfield, deemed her a safe target.

•He found his Target and a stranger, a boy with black hair, sitting and talking under the comfort of a tree. They seemed at peace, almost content. He found it bizarre they would find it peaceful and take pleasure in small talk in the middle of the hunger games.

•When he began to attack, Damian immediately jumped into action. Garfield was using a trident he picked up at the cornucopia. Damian, however, was caught by surprise. He struggled to keep up with Garfield's moves. He was quick, deceptive, and swift. Garfield was caught off guard when he realized who the boy was, and wasn't expecting Damian, but if he could take out Damian, the girl would be no problem, right?

•Damian was knocked down and Garfield took advantage of that. He tried to aim for the chest but Damian quickly moved out of the way. Instead, it plundered into his leg. Damian screamed in pain.

•Marinette leapt into action. She was quicker than he was, and lighter on her feet. What she lacked in muscle she made up with in precision and quick thinking. She grabbed her knife and wielded it like an extension of her arm. She would not relent. The fight continued for about 5 minutes, of Garfield's strength versing Marinette's speed and quick thinking.

•Damian was left in shock. Finally, Marinette took advantage of Garfield's poor footing, knocked him off his feet, and aimed for the kill.

•Garfield's eyes wide in shock. He fell to the ground, shaking. Marinette's eyes looked horrified, and she just stared at her hands with the blade and back at him in shock.

•"I understand." Garfield said looking at her eyes. "It had to be one of us."

•He glanced over at Damian. "You know, I have a feeling we could've been great friends in another lifetime. Guess it doesn't matter anymore."

•He closed his eyes, and the canon that symbolized the death of a tribute was fired.

•Damian realized then, what Marinette was doing. How no one attacked for so long and how she fooled even him with her low score in the strength tests. No one but Garfield towards the end actually came to kill her. Everyone only saw her as a target to save for later. How in the interviews she acted helpless, and innocent. He knew now that she wasn't and that she was dangerous. And he knew for sure now that if she wanted him dead she would've done so a long time ago.

•Marinette didn't speak to Damian for a day. She just kept to herself. He made sure she ate well, and gathered food for the both of them that day.

•Marinette at night, just began to sob uncontrollably. Damian tried to comfort her but realized he too was crying. They just hugged each other and cried. Eventually, they became silent tears streaming down their faces until they drifted off to sleep.

•It was down to the final 4, tributes. Adrien, Lila, Damian and Marinette.

•When they went to gather berries the next day, all the soil was ruined. Water from the edges of the arena came in and crushed all the berries. The waves of water came from the outer edge of the Arena but the waves seems to grow weaker as they traveled to the center. The only suitable source of berries were at the center near the cornucopia. And with no animals in the arena and no suitable berries, they knew where the capitol wanted them to go.

•Before they went, they figured they should refill on water. However, one close look at the water shows that the water supply was contaminated with a special type of liquid, probably what was helping the water ruin the crops/plants/fruits.

•When they reached the Arena, Marinette and Damian are greeter with Lila and Adrien already fighting one another. There looks of betrayal at one another mixed with their anger and hatred. Marinette was shocked while Damian wasn't surprised. It was common for the careers to betray one another towards the end.

•Marinette's eyes hardened as she leapt into action to take advantage of the situation, Damian joining beside her.

•Adrien managed to get a good hit in Lila, and she stumbled and fell over. He aimed for the final hit before she dove underneath him and twisted his arm behind his back and killed him right then and there.

•The cannon fired.

•Marinette screamed as she ran over. She eyes were wide open and she charged for Lila. She swung her knife, no longer as precise or as swift as before. She was almost hysterical seeing her childhood best friend on the ground dead. She knew it would come, but she never knew she would have to see the light drain from his eyes in person.

•Damian tried to attack Lila but Lila was swift. She was too close to home, too close to her mother's hugs to let them take it from her. She took advantage of Marinette's sobbing and stabbed her and ripped the knife out immediately after. The knife cut straight through her skin and when it was pulled out Marinette was screaming as blood pooled out.

•Lila almost felt guilty, but she knew it was kill or be killed. Now to just get Damian-

•Damian let out a piercing cry. He grabbed his sword and began to charge. Unlike Marinette, he wasn't rigid or swinging wildly. Each slice of his slices unlike before, were precise. Each aimed to with one goal in mind. He was swift and would not relent. Never stopping, never pausing to adjust his grip. Lila couldn't catch her breath. With each step he took, she took another backwards. Until eventually, Lila had no place else to run, and the canon for her death was fired.

•Damian ran back to Marinette as she was coated in blood. Damian could only pray it wasn't hers, but he knew better.

•"LADYBUG!"

•"R-" Marinette sputtered and choked on her own blood. "Robin…"

•Damian was full on sobbing. He tried desperately to find something, anything to stop the bleeding. Marinette just looked with a sorrowful smile and clasped his hands.

•"Ladybug…" Marinette shook her head.

•"Call me, Marinette."

•"Marinette," Damian said, trying out the name.

•Marinette smiled and closed her eyes. •Damian kissed her forehead, wanting to stay strong for her final moments, and the canon fired one last time.

•With Marinette gone, Damian saw no reason to act strong. Damian's eyes pooled with tears, as his nose became stuffy and his eyes became shiny like glass. He began hiccuping and sobbing uncontrollably, as his body began shaking. His face was heated and he was almost incapable of speech. He only screamed out her name in sorrow as his voice was filled with pain. When his voice was nearly gone, he just quietly whispered apologies.

•A voice boomed from the sky. "THIS YEAR'S ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES VICTOR, GIVE IT UP FOR DAMIAN WAYNE!" Damian just held her hand, tears streaming down his face as warmth gradually left her hands.

•"This year was an exciting one, folks! I'm sure you all had fun watching at home!" the voice boomed. "I haven't seen such an entertaining hunger games in over 59 years! Bravo, Damian Wayne. I hope you walk out of this arena with great pride at the man you've become."

TAG LIST : If you wanna be added to my regular daminette post list (not daminette december) just let me know!

@kuroko26 @mystery-5-5 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mooshoon @littleredrobinhoodlum @ellerahs @emotionalsupportginger @constancetruggle @shamefullove @resignedcatservant @kceedraws @noirdots

#daminette #marinette x damian #maribat #maridami #I completely forgot to post this

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emptymanuscript · 4 years ago

Text

The Cat

I’m about 9 minutes into the movie Bright, and all the criticisms are kind of crystalizing. But one of the things that’s killing me is how they’re setting up the MC, Daryl Ward.

My bet is that the film makers thought they were setting up Ward as the cat. And they’re not.

The Cat is the term for a story abstraction from the book Save the Cat! by Blake Snyder and its sequels.

The Cat itself, is something (and it can be nearly anything that the audience will value) in need of aid that doesn’t HAVE to get it. A random cat up a tree can be the Cat. The cat that belongs to the person you want to get with, who has promised carnal relations if their cat is returned, can’t be the Cat because there is a significant reason and reward beyond simple morality for it to be helped.

If a character saves the Cat, gives it aid, helps it out, etc. when it’s just out of the goodness of the heart, that character is defined in audience perception as heroic. Most action stories will have the MC Save the Cat! in some way within the first few scenes. It’s a short hand way to show that they are “good.” And if you have a Save the Cat! moment then followed by them doing something “bad” you’ve SHOWN the audience the trajectory of the story: this person is a good person underneath but they’ve gone astray and need to find their heroism again to save the day. You’ve told the story in miniature. So it’s very useful.

But that’s not the only way to use the Cat.

In many stories the main character IS the Cat. The story in the first few scenes shows a moment where the character is clearly in need of aid and doesn’t really quite get what they need. They get enough maybe to survive but no one is saving them. This signals to the audience that this story is about growth and confidence. The MC will start out in a relatively helpless state and figure out how to come to their own rescue.

One of my all time favorite examples of that is the movie Ms. Congeniality. The opening scene, which is only about 90 seconds, is playing hard with the Cat.

youtube

The set up starts with the typical over the top Save the Cat set up. Our hero is going to ride into the rescue, save the cat, and be awesome. And then it turns. She’s not saving the cat, remember, the cat is something helped without reward, and she very much wants a reward. She IS the Cat. The real person in need of aid in this microsmic story is her. And she doesn’t get it. To keep going, she turns to her strengths and just barrels through. But, again, in miniature, this scene has told us everything we need to know about the trajectory of her story. She has all of the wrong kind of power, she uses it to mask her need, and what she is going to have to find is the “impossible” how to get what she really needs and how to draw helpers to her.

That’s the power of being the Cat. It draws sympathy. It paints expectations. And it communicates problems very clearly.

Unfortunately, many storytellers seem to believe that injury and/or pain is enough to make a character the Cat, and that just isn’t so. Cats are about choices and character trajectories. So, if you have someone shot in the first few minutes of a story, even though, yes, they NEED help and yes, they’re going to continue to need help to get back to where they were or better, it’s a non optional help. It carries with it its own reward. They’re better for no other reason than that they are recovering.

Go back to Ms. Congeniality and that’s not true. Her “saving” doesn’t intrinsically give her her reward. It gives her the key to then go out and get what she wants. They’re two separate goals. And that’s why it works. Her choice gives her another choice and that gives her her happy ending. If the story was merely a search for feminine power and getting it, it just wouldn’t feel as satisfying because it wouldn’t get the resonance of WHY feminine power is a necessity for her. As a really excellent rule of thumb, think of the Cat as representing the NEED of a character which must be fulfilled in order for them to get what they WANT. This allows for both happy and sad endings that are satisfying because they each deliver on the premise, even if it is a radically different outcome.

Ms. Congeniality has four fundamental outcomes arcing from that initial scene.

She can get the Feminine Power she needs and a boyfriend she wants - that’s a happy comedic story.

She can get the Feminine Power she needs but not get a boyfriend - that’s an “unhappy” comedic story, which can still be funny if she still pops the new not-boyfriend in the nose, happy and unhappy are textures as much as anything.

She can FAIL to get the Feminine Power she needs but get a boyfriend who appreciates her for who she really is - “happy” tragedy. Remember that comedy and tragedy in the literary sense don’t mean funny and tear jerker. Comedy means “what makes you sick but you get better” it’s about having trouble obtaining a goal but getting it in the end. Tragedy means “what kills you,” it’s about not being able to ever obtain the goal. So this kind of ending is really about saying that the goal was stupid all along.

She can Fail to get the Feminine Power she needs and because of that FAIL to get any boyfriend she might want. This is the pure tragedy. It’s both “sad” and tragic. She gets nothing. BUT this can still be funny. If you watch them closely, a LOT of slapstick comedies conform to this architecture. The characters enter the story as fools and leave the story as fools without having been enlightened one wit.

My extreme suspicion is that Bright wants to set up this kind of situation. Since the first thing we see of Officer Ward is that he feels under threat. All of his motions are indicative of someone who recognizes he is in extreme but non-immediate danger. He’s waiting for it. And then he’s shot. And then he’s clearly still having issues after he has recovered because his wife is urging him out of bed in the afternoon. He is the Cat, right?

Well, there is another relationship to the Cat that I think they’ve actually set up harder and is overriding that narrative.

Kick the Cat

You don’t usually see Kick the Cat in genre fiction. And there’s a very good reason. Genre fiction tends to lean toward “physical” action. By which I mean that the main conflicts of the plot happen outside of the Main Character’s body. The characters either go out and do something or something comes into their lives and forces them to do something. So, even though character growth is likely necessary and choices will be based on what they learn about themselves as people, that is expressed through the exterior plot. The Detective goes and solves and crime and that action results in the Detective’s change. Which means that internal character change is relatively harder to show because it doesn’t take center stage.

This means that a flawed person becoming a kind person works. But a deeply flawed, nearly broken person, who needs to grow into a kind person usually doesn’t. Because genre fiction doesn’t have enough cameras in that area where you can show it.

So when it happens in Genre Fiction, Kicking the Cat is generally an announcement that said character who does it is one of the villains and the reader should prep themselves for the sudden and inevitable betrayal.

Now that isn’t as true in Literary Fiction. Because Literary Fiction is the opposite of Genre Fiction in this way. Instead of the conflict generally being “physical”, the conflict in Literary Fiction is generally “mental.” The main conflict happens inside the body of the Main Character. So the majority of the action and most of the cameras are there. So Literary Fiction allows that kind of deep, essentially broken, flaw because it gives the story the space and insight to work with it. So it’s not as necessarily a trumpeting warning that you’re dealing with a villain. It can mean that this MC has a long way to go to fix themselves, if they can make it at all.

Unfortunately for Bright, it’s a Genre Film. AND I think that this is much more what they’re broadcasting. Remember I’ve only seen nine minutes so far. But the first nine minutes are saying a lot.

The opening credits play out over a visual depiction of a race war between the Orcs and the Police. This is, in visual language, the announcement that the Orcs are poor and oppressed and should be read as the equivalent of POC in our own world.

Ward, played by Will Smith, could open up a whole can of worms with that reading, and there’s clearly some intent to considering his neighbors are absolutely what you would see in a shot of the ghetto in another movie, but instead we go pretty much straight to:

He kills a fairy. It’s not depicted as innocent, it’s clearly a pest. But it’s also not exactly powerful. He kills it with a zealous slap of a broom. This is very plausibly the Cat. Especially with the reaction from his neighbors, who also have zero affection for the fairy but all react viscerally to Ward’s aggression. The essential problem with Cats as devices is that the audience takes them in subconsciously. There’s no opportunity for a sophisticated discussion when butts are in the seats. So the only way to control what the audience thinks is to be careful not to send conflicting messages. And this is a doozy. If it is read as a Kick the Cat moment, which I’ll be honest I am seeing it as, I can’t see Ward as the hero after this. I am waiting for his sudden and inevitable betrayal because he is absolutely one of the cops meant to be depicted up in the graffiti that slid past during the opening credits.

At this point, I’m not looking for his redemption. I’m looking for how he is going to pose a problem for the advancement for the story. Which makes him a villain and not a hero.

Worse, this is set between two discussions about his partner. I have to admit what I was really expecting was an action packed version of:

Not really the comedy aspect but that his partner was new and they had to work through their problems to get along and be their best.

There’s a reason that’s pretty much the gold standard. Because learning to get along is a standard useful storyline and commands both characters to grow. It’s the same basic dynamic as a Romance. The joy is in seeing people figure out how to click together in spite of their difficulties. The tension is ‘will they / won’t they?’ and you know they will but it’s very entertaining to see them work it out.

But that’s not what’s going on in Bright.

By the time the movie starts, Ward and Jakoby are already partners. Coming in in media res communicates that this isn’t really a story about a relationship forming. Which means they can’t really show the full arc of a relationship, and so that’s unlikely to be the focus of the story. Which communicates to the audience that they should have reason to doubt any kind of ‘will they.’

This is cemented by the three conversations immediately around the fairy killing. Ward explains to his wife that Orcs are different, not stupid, just that they think different. It is not him actually saying that the Orc isn’t stupid compared to a human just that they’re naturally different and can’t be held to the same standard.

He then tries to give that as a lesson to his daughter. Orcs are different so you have to keep Orcs in their proper mental categorization.

At which point Jakoby shows up again.

He is not welcome. Pretty much at all.

But here’s the thing, like his initial introduction:

Jakoby is depicted as kind and considerate. Up to where I’ve stopped, I haven’t seen him commit a single act of even aggression. He wants to know what kind of sauce Ward wants on his burrito.

He wants to pick up Ward to help him along. He responds with affection and magnanimous giving to Ward’s daughter. In other words, he’s coming across as the innocent in all this. Which really starts to qualify him for the Cat category. That may be ruined in the next ten minutes but right now, I’m looking at a guy who has been insulted and yelled at for doing nothing, who has only shown concern and kindness, and who exists around a framework of his established partner killing a fairy. If Jakoby is a Cat, then what I’m being taught to worry about by what the film is presenting is that Ward is going to try take him down. Because maybe tomorrow, Orc Lives Don’t Matter.

I’m being taught by the first 9 minutes that Ward is, at best, a potential villain. But that the story is going to be from his point of view. And it’s just not a great look. And I would suspect that’s a lot of what people were responding to when this movie first hit: that it is setting up a very unpleasant story line that usually doesn’t play out in the type of story that it is.

So, no matter how it works out in Bright, which I am probably now returning to, when it comes time for you to work with your own story, be aware of the messages you’re sending and what story arcs you’re selling. Cats as an abstract concept, no matter what they are, exist whether you love or hate Blake Snyder. They existed long before he coined the name. At an even deeper level it’s simply that your character’s actions and events in a story naturally carry a “moral” weight. We, as an audience, expect what your characters do to be representative of who they are, for good and ill. Where what they do conflicts with who they are, we’ll expect an explanation and a counterbalance. So be wary of doing something else. Sending the wrong message with the wrong set up can drive away audiences who would be perfectly content with your story without the conflicting information.

#writing #creative writing #writeblr #Bright #racism #movie

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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 4 years ago

Text

Superposition

a deancas college roommate-AU

Chapter 7 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

The Gift of Memory’s an Awful Curse

Dean woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before answering with a groggy “Hello?”

“Dean.” It was Bobby’s voice on the other line. “How you feelin’?”

“Fan-friggin’-tastic.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Bobby chastised. “The guy who drove you to the hospital came by the shop yesterday, told me what the doctor said.” Dean groaned. “You’re not comin’ back in until Thursday, you hear?”

“Come on, Bobby,” Dean protested, rubbing his eyes with a free hand. “Honestly, I’m already feelin’ loads better.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Bobby deadpanned. “No, you stay at home and get some rest. I can hold the fort for a week.”

“Whatever you say, old man. Hey, have you looked at Ca- at the guy’s car?”

“Barely. But, seein’ as it’s an old Honda, my best guess is valves are bent.” Bobby was quiet for a moment, then, “Dean, the guy told me his name was Cas Novak.”

Dean closed his eyes, silently begging the powers that be to grant him strength. “Weird name.”

Bobby snorted. “So you’re tellin’ me that’s not the same Cas Novak you met at WSU? The same one you brought home for Christmas? Well, that’s mighty strange, considerin’ he looks exactly like —”

“All right, all right,” Dean said. “Yes, it’s him. Why are we talking about this, anyway?”

“Just wonderin’.”

“Is Ellen still comin’ down for Christmas?” Dean asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Castiel.

“She called this mornin’, said she and Jo’d be here on the 23rd.”

Ellen and Jo were family, mutual friends of John and Bobby. Since Dean could remember, John had been sending him and Sam back home to Lawrence to spend Christmas with Bobby. He didn’t realize until he was older that it was less “go have fun with your Uncle Bobby,” and more “I can’t stand the holidays and would like to be unconscious for most of them.” A few years before his dad died, when Dean was maybe fifteen, the Harvelle’s started joining them. It became a tradition, the Harvelle-Singer-Winchester Christmas affair.

“I can’t wait to see ‘em,” Dean said, smiling up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, well. When’s Sam gettin’ in?”

“Tonight,” Dean replied. He looked at his watch. Was it really already noon? “‘Round eight, I think.”

“Damn, am I excited to see that boy,” Bobby said. “Well, you two head down here when he’s done gettin’ settled. He’s finally old enough to have a few beers.”

Dean rubbed his mouth for a moment. “Bobby,” he said, “he’s not even gonna be here. Well, he is, but he’s hangin’ out with some girl in friggin’ Kansas City after Christmas.”

“Good for him. ‘Bout damn time, too, he hasn’t even mentioned a girl since that Ruby broke his heart when he was sixteen.”

Dean thought he was going to explode. Was he the only one who saw how cosmically wrong this whole thing was?

“Right,” he grumbled. “Well, I gotta go to the store, get some actual food in the house.” Dean pretty much lived off of ham sandwiches and the occasional fast food burger. “I’ll see you later.”

Dean stood up, testing the waters of movement. He didn’t immediately feel like vomiting, and the room didn’t start spinning, both good signs. Turning on the light in the kitchen, he noticed he still had a mild light-sensitivity, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Satisfied, he grabbed his keys and the sunglasses Cas had given him, and headed out the door.

As he drove to the Wal-Mart at the edge of town, he wondered idly if he would see Cas again. Dean supposed, at the very least, he might see Cas when he and Bobby had his car fixed. Unless Bobby fixed it before Dean got back to work. He snorted at the thought. That was unlikely.

Thinking about Cas led Dean to thinking about his final days in Wichita, as it always did. He didn’t remember most of that May, or the rest of the year, for that matter. He’d spent the nights drunk and the days endlessly hungover. Dean couldn’t remember going to a single class after his father died in January.

What Dean could remember, what he always remembered, was Cas. Cas waiting for him to return from whatever dorm party he had found, Cas forcing him to drink water, Cas taking his vomit-stained clothes to the laundromat. Cas bandaging his hand after he punched the brick wall of their dorm room one too many times. Cas holding him as he cried.

A honk startled Dean from his thoughts, and he realized he was sitting at a light that had obviously been green for far too long. He sped forward. Maybe he wasn’t okay to drive.

Dean groaned as he pulled into the parking lot. It was packed. He wasn’t sure what he expected — Christmas was little more than a week away. Shit. He had been so busy in the shop that he had forgotten to buy a single gift. Bobby was easy — a fifth of Maker’s Mark and new trucker cap would be enough to bring tears to his eyes. Sam was more difficult; he lived in a different world. Dean thought he remembered that Sam liked Lord of the Rings in high school…

The year before, Dean had written him a check for ten thousand dollars, with “college” written in the memo. Sam had tried to give it back after realizing that was essentially Dean’s entire savings account, built up from working at Singer Auto Repair during the day and bartending the college joints at night. Two years straight. When Dean refused to take it back, saying, “You go and you get a damn degree, all right?”, Sam hugged him until he couldn’t breathe. Dean smiled at the memory. No way he was outdoing himself this year.

Dean picked up the basics from Wal-Mart — eggs, milk, some salad kits for Sam, a couple bags of coffee, some orange juice. He felt like a douchebag, wearing the sunglasses inside, but the fluorescents were unbearable. He grabbed two six-packs of beer to bring to Bobby’s, then surreptitiously added a pack of hard seltzers for his apartment, because, hey, he liked to switch it up.

Dean paid for his groceries and headed to the liquor store to pick up the whiskey for Bobby. Upon seeing a case of boozy eggnog, he couldn’t help remembering his first and only Thanksgiving in Wichita. They downed two pints of the stuff while watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Dean teased that maybe Cas, with his angelic namesake, was his Clarence. Then he fashioned a halo out of toilet paper and they laughed until their ribs hurt.

Dean grabbed a pint at the last second. For good measure.

Sam arrived at Dean’s apartment just after eight, and, Kansas City be damned, Dean was beyond happy to see him. Sam coughed out a laugh as Dean whacked him on the back in the midst of a hug.

“‘S good to see you, Sammy,” Dean said, radiating warmth. “Let’s go, Bobby’s itchin’ to give you a beer.”

Dean let Sam drive the Impala to Bobby’s, peppering him with questions about UT the whole time. Sam gushed about his pre-law classes, which Dean tolerated only because he had just gotten home.

“How’s your head?” Sam asked when he had finished nerding out.

“Fine,” Dean replied. “Fluorescents still make it hurt like a bitch, but honestly, I’m fine.”

Sam turned into the shop parking lot, the windows of Bobby’s apartment above providing the only light against the dark. “Hey, you never really answered my question yesterday.”

“What question?”

“That guy, who drove you to the hospital,” Sam said, carefully. “Was it Cas?”

Dean shut his eyes, willing himself against getting out and slamming the door behind him. He was not looking forward to this conversation. “Yeah. It was Cas.”

“He’s back?”

“No. I don’t know, man, he’s on his way to Kansas City for some big boy job.”

“Did you guys… You know…”

Dean gave him an incredulous look. “What, did we kiss and make up like some Hallmark movie?”

“Dean —”

“Sam, just leave it,” he growled. “Come on. Bobby’s waitin’.” The kid had been home for thirty minutes, and he was already giving Dean a headache.

Bobby greeted them with the biggest smile Dean had ever seen him wear. He pulled Sam into a tearful hug and clapped Dean on the shoulder. The three made their way to the kitchen.

Dean was driving, and still concussed, so he contented himself with a diet Coke and a few slices of the pizza Bobby had ordered while Bobby got beers for Sam and himself. Sam asked how the shop was going, earning about ten minutes of Bobby begrudgingly praising Dean for all his hard work. Dean fidgeted in his seat, face flamed from the compliments, doing his best to insist that it was a team effort, really. Sam beamed at him.

Dean changed the subject, prompting Sam to tell them both about college, despite having already heard the spiel on the drive over. Dean let his mind wander while Sam talked.

Bobby had been the one to call when Dean’s father had died. Dean remembered, it was the Monday after his nineteenth birthday, a snowy January morning. Classes had been cancelled, so he and Cas were watching Dead Poets Society in their room to celebrate.

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this. Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?”

“Dean, I hate to be the one to tell you this. John…”

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“He’s dead, son. I’m sorry.”

Dean had dropped his cell phone on the floor. It shattered.

Dean remembered emptying his school backpack and filling it with clothes, his toothbrush, some shampoo. He walked straight to the Impala, his hands shaking, tears clouding his vision.

“Dean. Dean! What happened?”

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.”

“Dean, the roads — we have class!”

“Screw the roads and screw class. Family emergency.”

He’d made it to Lawrence in record time.

He hadn’t even told Bobby he was coming, but he was waiting for Dean anyway. He found out that John had had one too many at the bar that night, but insisted on driving home, anyway. He ran into a tree going sixty, died on impact. Sam had been spending the night with a friend. Bobby drove him down to Amarillo, where John had been working one of his odd-jobs that was sure to dead-end when he started leaving beer bottles on site. Dean didn’t speak the whole way there, not until they picked Sammy up. Sam was crying. Dean wished he could cry, too. He felt like he was going to fracture into a million pieces. But he’d felt that before. Not this bad, never this bad, but broken all the same. He did what he always did. He hugged Sammy tight and told him it was going to be okay, everything is going to be okay.

The next thirty-six hours were spotty. A small funeral, just the three of them. Dean telling Bobby he wasn’t going back to school, he had to take care of Sam. Bobby staring daggers. He’d take care of Sam, Dean would finish that degree if it was the last thing he did. An argument, the only time Bobby had ever yelled at him. Dean and Sam sitting on the couch, sharing headphones and listening to Black Sabbath. Bobby pushing him out the door. Driving back to Wichita, numb.

The painful memory was interrupted when Bobby said his name.

“...We’d love to meet her, right Dean?”

Dean shook his head and blinked. “What?”

“Sam’s girl,” Bobby supplied. Sam blushed, looking at Dean.

“What about her?” Dean grumbled.

“I was gonna bring her around,” Sam said.

Dean wanted to be righteously angry with Sam for not telling him sooner, and for dipping out on him at the first sight of something better. But the kid just looked so damn hopeful.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’d love to meet her.”

They stayed at Bobby’s until midnight, reminiscing about past Christmases, the years Sam and Dean spent under Bobby’s roof. Eventually, Bobby whined about being too old to stay up so late, and that was their cue. Sam was properly tipsy, and Dean was exhausted. They bade each other good night, and Dean and Sam headed home.

Dean didn’t bother putting on music for the fifteen-minute drive. The Impala was silent as Dean drove, watching the yellow streetlights pass.

“Dean,” Sam said, “What’s up with you today?”

He was talking with the level of verve only achievable through alcohol. Dean gripped the steering wheel a little harder. Drunk people always asked too many questions.

“Nothing.”

“No, no, no, man.” Sam waved his hand for emphasis. “You’re messed up. You’ve been messed up. You know what —” he shifted upright in his seat “—you gotta talk to Cas.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Dean said shortly.

“Why not?” Sam demanded.

“I’m just not, okay? Jesus. You need to go to sleep.”

“Not true,” Sam argued. “Listen, I know that he left or whatever, but I’m sure he had a good reason, you know, and you loved him, Dean —”

Dean slammed on the brakes. The Impala screeched to a halt as the light in front of them turned red.

“What?” He asked in a low voice. “What did you say?”

Sam scoffed at him. “I mean, you weren’t trying to hide it or anything.”

“Sam,” Dean warned. “Stop talking. I mean it.”

“I’m just saying, the way you talked about him, the way you two were at Christmas, I’m pretty sure nothing he could have done —”

Dean punched the steering wheel. The Impala’s horn sounded. Sam looked at him in shock. The light was green. Dean took a deep breath and hit the gas, both hands gripping the wheel for dear life, now.

“We’re done talking about this,” Dean said.

He felt like he was having deja vu. After Cas left school, just after spring break, Bobby had called Dean to see how he was getting on. He’d put Sam on the phone. Sam was only fourteen, but already smart as hell, sometimes able to see through Dean’s bullshit.

“How’s Cas?”

“He’s a shithead, that’s how he is.”

“Dean, what? I thought —”

“Yeah, well, stop thinking. Fucker is gone. Guess he found someplace better to be.”

“What happened?”

“Fuck if I know. But this is the last time I’m talking about that son of a bitch.”

Dean pulled up to his apartment, anger and regret swirling in his head. He shouldn’t have yelled at Sam. He knew that. But Sam — well, sober Sam — knew better than to bring up Cas in any capacity.

Sam exited the Impala silently. Dean’s outburst must have been enough to shatter the alcoholic haze. Dean locked the doors and led Sam up to his door.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

Dean looked up from fumbling with his keys. There was a brown paper bag taped to his door, his name written on the front in clean, capital letters.

“No clue,” Dean replied, ripping the bag off the door. He unlocked the door and headed straight for the bedroom.

“Dean, come on,” Sam started, but Dean interrupted him.

“We can talk about it in the morning. Get some rest,” he grumbled.

Dean closed the bedroom door and set the bag down on his bed. He took off his jacket. Shed his t-shirt. Unlaced his boots. Splashed some water on his face. Brushed his teeth. Traded his jeans for sweatpants.

Finally, when he could avoid it no longer, he opened the bag.

Inside was… the Tombstone DVD. Dean picked it up, brow furrowed. He opened it, and the disk was there, along with a Starbucks napkin, tucked into the left side. This, too, had his name in that same, clean script. He unfolded the napkin, and read:

DEAN—

I WAS IN THE AREA THIS EVENING, SO I STOPPED BY TO SEE HOW YOU WERE FEELING, BUT YOU WERE OUT. YOU GAVE THIS TO ME IN COLLEGE. IT’S ABOUT TIME I RETURNED IT TO YOU.

IF YOU NEED ANYTHING, FEEL FREE TO CALL.

—CAS

Cas had written his phone number below the note. Dean frowned as he looked at the DVD once more. That dumbass. Dean had given it to him, it had been a gift. If this was some sort of peace offering, it was crap. He grabbed his phone and punched in the number.

DW (12:52 am)

movie was a gift, u keep those

DW (12:53 am)

but i guess u don’t want shit from me anymore

He knew he was being a dick, but, well, Cas had been a dick first. And it was late, anyway. Cas was probably already asleep. He didn’t expect a response tonight. Actually, he didn’t expect any response, at any time. He threw his phone on the pillow and got up to turn out the lights.

Dean flopped into bed, but was surprised to feel his phone buzz.

CN (12:55 am)

Apologies. I did not intend to upset you.

Dean squinted in consternation. Why was Cas even awake — wasn’t he some capital-A-adult, now? He was an accountant, with a job at an honest-to-god accounting firm. Shouldn’t he eat his BLT for dinner and be in bed by eight p.m.? Dean snorted at his own mental image.

He didn’t bother to respond, finding nothing more to say. He laid back down in bed, but his thoughts were too loud for sleep. He stared at the ceiling fan. It offered no advice.

Dean sighed. He was pissed. At Sam, at Cas, at himself. Still at his dad, always at his dad. So he did what he always did when he had nowhere to direct the anger.

“You motherfucker,” he whispered to the fan. “You waltz in here, with your college degree and your cushy office job. You drive me to the hospital and pretend you care. Well, guess what, you’re not allowed to care. You left, okay? We were friends, we were… We were family. I needed you, but you didn’t care then. So you can’t care now. You don’t get to come back here and remind me of everything I almost had. Fuck you. In every possible language, fuck you, man.”

The pressure behind his eyes lessened. The anger was still there, still burning beneath the surface, but this was enough for now. A temporary catharsis. A way to keep his sanity. He didn’t believe in God — couldn’t, really, after everything — but this was the closest thing he had to a prayer. He’d started after John died, after he’d realized that burying the guilt and the sadness in alcohol was killing him. When Sam got the scholarship to UT, he’d done it again, voicing the jealousy and fear that he’d never allow himself in the daylight. He didn’t know if it was healthy, but he also didn’t care. It kept him going. He could walk into work every day with a smirk on his face, call Sammy and crack jokes, flirt with female customers after he changed their oil. Screaming into the void kept the “passed-out drunk” nights to a minimum. It kept him from becoming his father.

His only lifeline. He was not, would never be, John Winchester.

-----

tagging @nguyenxtrang :)))

#destiel #supernatural #destiel fanfic #superposition

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swoopy-phantom · 5 years ago

Text

Minecraft Lore Time

Thanks to new ideas and updates in recent years, I’ve thought Minecraft to be purgatory. You are dead. You died in the real world. And so god has created a new one for you, just like many others. When you create a new world you are looking at it from god’s view when she is making your world. Choosing the assets and distinct features... she knows what you might and might not like. When you die you wake up in purgatory, like nothing ever happened in real life. You find yourself in the wilderness, forced to gather materials and start a new life. The angels watching over you in purgatory also helped create this world. They don’t look like the “ideal” angel though.. no. They are tall and lanky and will fight even you if it’s meant to keep yourself safe from the dangers of the world. They almost look like- wait.

is that..?

a zombie? why is it.. oh no.

You scramble to find a light source in the piercing dark veil of the night. Anything. Anything to fight off these horrible creatures.

These are your demons.

The Endermen come and in a way they protect you. They work with the phantoms. You see in this world you are meant to believe it IS the real world. Doing everything you’d do as normal. But something, in case you haven’t guessed, is wrong. It’s all wrong...

Where did my friends go..?

Where is everyone...?

You are alone.

The Endermen make sure you live a normal life. Or what they perceive as normal. Whatever god thought was normal when she was creating this world for you and giving the angels instructions. You are to eat, sleep, explore, and build maybe. Building extraordinary things. So long as you eat every day and sleep every night. You could die from natural causes such as starvation, or fall to your death from the highest point just from tripping and being clumsy. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing when night falls because that is when the demons come out whether you like it or not, and the angels are there among them. They make sure you go to sleep regularly and you’re not thinking too much about this world. They want you to think it is the real world. When you look at them curiously and start asking yourself questions, you are thinking too much. Don’t look at them because you will become curious and they will become angry. They’ll kill you if it means you’ll just go to sleep for the night. The phantoms have the same goal in mind. They’re just another form of “angels”.

The villagers are another aspect that’s just not right.. maybe when creating them in your image god maybe slipped up... somewhere. What is.. heh. Their noses... haha, and those heads. They’re like people.

What is.. oh? I’m sorry, I don’t have this kind of currency yet. Let me get some. Oh! There’s a farmer! Maybe he’d like some of the crops I grew at home.. maybe carrots? Here you are. And now I have emeralds to buy those books. But.. ugh. They’re in a different language. No matter. I just need a quill. Now where did that chicken go...

The villages were made in the image of cities. Unfortunately there is no technology, only magic in this world. Unless you find a way to become skilled with that red stone stuff, I don’t think you’ll be getting any closer to “modern” anytime soon. Now since there is magic, you must be able to get it and use it as you please.

What is.. oh! A cleric! You must make potions! How do I get one? Forged in.. what fire? Hell? Demons?? What are you talking abou- oh the rod.. oh. Oh.

Of course the magic will be hard to harness for yourself. Once you grab hold of it, keep it on a leash. And use it responsibly. Do not let the angels become aware. Deep in the caves you find the black stone the cleric spoke of, and light it like a fire, just like his instructions said to do. A mysterious gateway opens. It is very ethereal looking. It fits right into this world. This is your first use of magic. “Armor up” the cleric had garbled to you, for their language is much different. With your armor on and your sword ready, you walk into the gateway. Feeling dizzy, you find yourself almost immediately in hell. If only it weren’t so.. hot. You start sweating under your armor, but know you must keep it on. There is a.. oh god. What is that thing. Is it a squid? No, those are back in the ocean. I don’t think any kind of water life could survive a second here. It almost looks like a ghost. Why is it sad?

These are the ghasts. Unable to understand the cleric’s language, instead it came out as “ghast” rather than “ghost” and so that is what you call them. Hey.. it’s oka- WHAT THE HELL?!

He shoots a fireball at you, repelling any vivid emotions again. He is angry, and wants nothing to do with you. Do not pity him. If you do not stop looking at him right now you will die. You put your sword up in defense and- it fires back. You’ve shielded yourself. Successfully too. The fireball hits the ghast and you become locked into this kind of fight. Watch your step, do not fall into the ocean of lava below. There we go now just one more.. and it is dead. Tears..? Why do I feel stronger? Was that it’s soul that I just absorbed? I’ll save these tears for later. They almost seem crystallized. There is more ahead. You see a castle- no. A fortress. The yellow things.. they’re blazing hot! Blazing with fire.. what in the- Blazes. They are the Blazes you were told of. And you had to kill them. You rush forward with the mighty strength of the ghast in your soul and with the might of your sword you start cutting them up. One by one, gathering enough of what seems to be their spines for your brewing stand. The guards have been alerted. They are charred from the fires of this world.. poor things. Some of the lava and brimstone seems to have come to life in a big chunk. There are.. pigs? Men? We’ll call those pigmen. They must be guarding something too. Just do not interfere with their work, or you will be in a world of trouble. Is that.. oh no. The angels. Quick, find the warts for the magic and get back home. You stumble out of the portal, feeling dizzy as a drunk. Your home is just over there.. time for sleep, I guess. In the morning, you run to the tower you prepared for the magic you will be harnessing. You take the stone, the spines.. better crush some up for fuel. Everything needs power from somewhere. And it works. You place it on the countertop, grab your glass bottles. I guess these magics in bottles will need a base, huh? where was that river... oh right. These are going to be called potions, as the cleric had told you before your adventure. They are like spells, just drink the disgusting mixture instead. You pull out the fences, the sand of souls, and those warts you were told to grab. Do not step on the souls, you will sink and seem to walk slower, for they are pulling you in with them. These warts will be for future potions. Good thing you can grow them here. Now, what was the order? Oh right. Better hang up this chart he gave me for all of the possible potions to make. Let’s see.. the base. You place the water bottles into the slots of the stand. Now into the infuser these warts go.. it’s working! Now what? I have my base.. what would I need most right now?

You’re jumping so high you’re like a rabbit! And you don’t even get hurt! Now to fix my garden up. There’s no one here but.. it’s just for myself. And maybe if I can find an animal companion one day. Never thought you’d become a flower picker and potion maker, huh? This is nice... I could live like this for a long time...

—————————————————

Unfortunately.. there is another type of being in this world. The poor souls who are stuck in purgatory and decide that if they are dead, then everything else must die with them. God treats everyone fairly in this world. But sometimes she must punish.

—————————————————

Now, when you are creating your world, you are essentially creating it in God’s view. When you are choosing what you would prefer the world to look like and what seeds to pick for yourself, that is God looking at your souls and seeing what kind of person you were when you were alive. She is creating the world specifically for you. Choosing every individual setting for you. And her way of “punishing” you for being an awful person during your lifetime would be setting the monster level to “hard.” There are complications to this.. like how LDShadowLady is a wonderful person irl (this talk of “awfulness” has nothing to do with her) but she decided to play the One Life series, where it is on hardcore mode. This obviously in now way determines her morality lol. Same with the HermitCraft people! They are all wonderful. But just because they play on harder levels and do some of the things I’m about to explain and talk about, does NOT in ANY WAY determine their morality. They’re just having fun :’) But, all in all, Minecraft is just a game in the end. We are all just passionate. Back to the lore!!

—————————————————

Now the more heated people in purgatory are obviously going to be dangerous to some degree. Slaughtering everything that comes at them in the night. They don’t sleep, barely eat enough to sustain them, and collect every head the slice off, every bit of rotten flesh from the deceased souls and beings... they collect the glass eyes of the angels they fell, and the protective layers (membranes) and skins of the phantoms they slay. They end up taking over the Nether, making their homes there and literally living in hell. Using it as they please.

They have become too powerful.

God sends and obstacle their way. A withered being of sorts.. my goodness. It’s huge! Why does it have three hea- OH MY GOD. It throws a head at you! This thing is obviously dangerous.. use your bow and arrows! Dammit.. I can’t anymore. Guess it’s a sword fight then.

You have felled the giant creature and have absorbed its life force for your own experience. A star..? I’ve heard of these. I can use it to make a beacon...

God is waiting now.

After mining and mining. Digging and digging. Enchanting and enchanting... you’ve found it. The otherworldly portal. Space stares back into your bones and souls while you stare at it. After taking the last of the glass eyes you stole from the angels and mixing them with the power of the Blazes spines...

You

jump

in.

it’s dark.

You hear the roar from above you.

You see the black and purple oblivion around you.

You dig through the yellowish stone, up to the surface.

She flies overhead.

The angels look at you. There must be hundreds. You hear the deafening roar again.

God is here. And she is not happy.

This is The End.

After a long battle, you have killed God. Leave the egg. You do not care to hatch another god right now, for you have claimed yourself as the new one.

—————————————————

I have just described the two spectrums of Minecraft players: “Flower Pickers/ Potion Makers” and “Monster Slayers.” It doesn’t matter how you play the game, for it’s just a game. It’s totally okay to do whatever you want, because the game came from the creator’s imagination. By imagination, for imaginations everywhere.

Unfortunately Tumblr has messed up my text and spaces in some places during this, so I’m sorry if it ruins the intended effect of the writing.

#mineblr #minecraft #lore #minecraft lore #long post

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dreamlover31 · 5 years ago

Text

Wicked Games

Hello my fellow Tumblr fans, I’m sorry this took a while for me to post but I hope you enjoy the second of my story

Tagging: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @dreila03 @glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @melsquared79 @xemopeachx @sass-and-suspenders @laceybellerain

The sun rose across the concrete metropolis that is New York City, the beginnings of a new day which means a fresh start for those seeking it. At an apartment on the upper west side of Manhattan; the morning light peers through the sheer white curtains cascading an almost heavenly glow upon the slender body of a young woman. Her honey colored locks fan out along the pillow whilst her mouth was opened slightly ajar, however, the young woman’s brows furrowed and eyelids fluttered as the feeling of being watched consumed her. With a small groan, she opened her eyes and smiled at the sight before her; an older gentleman propped up on one elbow gazed his emerald orbs upon the awakening beauty, with an arm stretched out, she cupped his face at the same time her thumb stroked the scruff on his cheek. m soo

Little by little, she pulled him closer until their lips met, their kiss filled with sweet tenderness and love; after a moment, they reluctantly separated and laid their bodies back on to the bed. For a while, the woman ran her fingers through her paramour’s salt and pepper hair as he continued to stare upon her angelic face which was enhanced by the morning light coming through the window. In a sense, it was like looking at an angel. Their moment of bliss was soon interrupted by the buzzing sound of the alarm coming from the phone sitting on the nearby bedside table, the man grunted as he reached for it and silenced the offending sound; his hand swiped over his face to shake off the shackles of sleep but just as he was about to slip out from under the covers; he felt an arm wrapped around his waistline and a head upon his shoulder.

She hummed and sleepily said, “5 more minutes”

The older man smirked as his hand landed upon hers; his thumb caressing the smooth skin of her knuckles whilst his cheek rested beside her head. In a soft, gentle voice, he replied:

“I have to get ready for court mi amor”

With a huff, she eased her arm away to give him room to retreat from her embrace, quickly she slipped out of bed and ran up to her companion as he was about to enter the bathroom; essentially blocking his way and whenever he tried to move past her, she mimicked his movements to the point where they both grinned cheekily and started laughing.

“Charlotte I’m serious…I have to be in court in like 45 minutes”

“Come on Rafa…the world is not going to end if you don’t show up today”

He sighed, to everyone he knew, Rafael Barba worked himself to the bone to get justice for victims; it was an endearing quality to a point, however, there were those who like to throw out the old adage ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ or in this case Rafael. His mother Lucia often spoke about how the chance of her becoming an abuelita was dwindling as time went on, although, even he had to admit that both hers and Charlotte’s claims were not without merit and yet he would not relinquish his control to anyone; in his mind,he had devoted all his time into prepping witnesses, studying any potential case laws that the defense could possibly throw at him and overall strategically planning his cross examinations that to give it to a substitute would be a disservice to everyone involved. Ultimately, he cupped Charlotte’s face and planted a small kiss on her lips, his forehead rested upon hers and regretfully spoke:

“I’m sorry mi amor…but I just don’t trust anyone else to cover for me”

Charlotte nodded and she placed a chaste kiss on Rafael’s cheek, her hand gestured towards the opened bathroom door signaling to him to continue on with his daily routine, Rafael shed his clothes and hopped into the shower. Meanwhile, Charlotte padded into the kitchen where she grabbed the essential needs for the meal that she was about to prepare for Rafael; a man of his stature will need all his strength if he was going to dish out justice for the people of New York.

The smell of coffee and cinnamon filled Rafael’s nostrils upon entering the kitchen, after he showered, he trekked into the walk in closet and retrieved his charcoal grey suit, paired with matching vest and blue suspenders along with his paisley tie and pocket square. Once he was dressed, the prosecutor made his way into the kitchen where he found his beloved making breakfast; with his briefcase in hand, he pulled up a chair at the kitchen island and folded his hands on top while he observed Charlotte hard at work. Unbeknownst to her, she flipped the last stack of pancake on a plate and as she turned around to place it on the table, she jumped at the sight of Rafael sitting in front of her.

“Jesus Rafael…you scared me”

He chuckled, “Sorry…it’s just such a joy to watch you…you look so domesticated”

Her cheeks tinted by shade of crimson pink and a small giggle escaped her lips as she proceeded to lay out the plate of pancakes in front of him, and then she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and headed towards the adjoining coffee maker, after the hot liquid was poured into the mug, Charlotte set it next to Rafael just as he was cutting into his syrup covered stack of fried dough. In quick succession, she whipped up another batch for herself and joined him at the table. The couple sat in a comfortable silence while dining on their meal until Rafael checked the time on his phone and frowned; he slid it back into his breast pocket and got up from the table.

“I’ve got to get going or else the judge will have my head for being late”

Charlotte rose from her chair and leaned forward to kiss him goodbye.

“Don’t work too hard…I love you”

“I love you too”

Rafael picked up his briefcase and headed out the front door. As soon as she heard the door close, Charlotte began picking up the dishes from the table and put them in the dishwasher. Suddenly, she heard the front door open again, her face twisted into an expression of puzzlement but she smiled a little as she turned around.

“Did you forget something”

Her eyes widened, for the figure that stood in front of her was not her dear Rafael, but a petite raven haired woman who smirked mischievously as her hand rose towards Charlotte, her breath hitched when she saw a small caliber gun wrapped around her fingers; in a cold monotone voice, the young woman spoke:

“Hello Charlotte…we need to talk”

Rafael sat in his office typing away on his laptop, Liv and the squad caught a rape/homicide case in Midtown; they had a strong suspect but the evidence was only circumstantial at best so Liv texted him to see if he could get a friendly judge to grant them a search warrant for the perp’s home. He was finishing up the last sentence of his proposal when his phone pinged, thinking it was Liv checking on the status of the warrant, he grabbed the phone but furrowed his brows when he saw that it was from Charlotte.

I am going out of my mind…I miss you….is there anyway I can convince you to come home a little early?

A smirk crept onto his face as he typed up his response

I have to get Liv a search warrant…but after that I hope to be done soon

After the message was sent, he emailed his application for the search warrant to the judge and began to clean up the mess of paperwork on top of his desk; another ping drew his attention back to his phone. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw a picture of what appeared to be Charlotte from the neck down dressed in a red and black laced corset with matching panties and black thigh high stockings posing seductively with a caption below:

Don’t keep me waiting…or I’ll start without you

Rafael lowly growled as he quickly typed:

You are not playing fair carino

Before she could get a chance to respond, he slipped on his jacket that had been draped over the back of his chair and then closed his laptop; with his phone in his pocket and briefcase in hand, he headed out. Carmen, his assistant, was made aware of his departure and was told to forward his calls to his cell phone to which she nodded in agreement; upon exiting One Hogan Place, Rafael hailed a cab, during the drive back to his apartment, he checked his phone again to see if Charlotte had responded to his previous message only to find that she didn’t.

When the cabbie pulled up to the building, he paid the fare with the tip included and stepped outside the cab; with a quick wave to the doorman, he crossed over into the lobby and went towards the elevators, at that moment, one of the doors opened and he quickly entered the cart. He pushed the button for his floor and the cart ascended, the doors opened again once he made it to his floor; as he was walking towards the front door, he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

In the atrium, he placed his briefcase beside the foyer table and the keys inside the dish on top. It was then that Rafael noticed that the apartment was eerily quiet, his eyes scanned the room and stopped short when he saw one of the pillows from the living room couch on the floor, slowly, he walked towards it and picked it up; upon examination, he saw a hole in the middle causing his expression to change into one of confusement.

At the same time, he caught sight of something else, on the hardwood floor adjoining the living room and kitchen, a small pool of red liquid had covered most of the area, Rafael tossed the pillow on the couch and made his way over; he sat on his haunches and dipped his finger into the puddle. With his thumb and index finger, he rubbed the content of the puddle and sniffed it and then suddenly it was like a lightbulb went off in his head as he had come to the realization that what this was in actuality blood. Rafael’s heart sank and with quick reflexes, reached into his pocket and dialed Liv’s number.

“Benson”

In a hushed tone, Rafael replied, “Liv…I need help”

“Barba…what’s going on?”

“I don’t know…Charlotte texted me while I was work and when I came home…the apartment was deafly quiet and there’s blood all over the floor”

“Alright…where is she?”

“I don’t know”

“Ok…get out of the building…I’m sending Rollins and Carisi over…

Just as he was about to respond, Rafael felt something pressed against the back of his head, he froze as he felt a pair of fingers encircle his phone and snatched it from his hand; he could hear the call ending and what followed was the crunching sound of his phone being smashed onto the floor. With his arms held up, he felt a hand on his shoulder guiding him upwards slowly then upon standing he heard a voice:

“Turn around slowly…any false move and I will blow your brains out”

Rafael felt his blood run cold at the recognition of the threatening tone of voice…please god no…he complied with the intruder’s command and as soon as they were face to face, his gaze contorted into one of shock with an underside of fear. The person that stood before him was none other than his former lover Sophie, in her hands, she held a small 357 Magnum which was pointed directly at him; he swallowed hard with his hands still in the air. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he calmly replied:

“Where is Charlotte…what have you done with her”

Sophie smirked, “She’s fine…all things considered”

Rafael glared at Sophie, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sophie disappeared into the next room, all the while, Rafael was praying to God that Charlotte was unharmed and that Rollins and Carisi would be here soon, but as he was trying to get his wits about him, he saw Sophie reappearing with a disheveled looking Charlotte with the gun pressed firmly on her head. Rafael gasped in horror, Charlotte had looked as if she had been in a losing battle with Manny Pachiao, her face was covered in bruises and she was sporting a split upper lip but was even more devastating to see was her eyes, they were bloodshot and watery; almost as if she had been crying. Finally, what was the final nail in the coffin for him was the makings of a tourniquet wrapped around her knee; blood seeping out of it, Rafael bit his lip and clenched his fists in an effort to refrain himself from approaching Sophie and wringing her scrawny little neck but inside, his blood was boiling…this woman had the audacity to break into their home and assault the woman he loves, at that moment, he snapped out of his reverie when Sophie spoke:

“I have to admit Rafael…your girl is quite a scrapper but as you can see I can handle myself”

“Please Sophie…let her go…this is between you and me”

“I beg to differ Rafael…after all this is supposedly the woman that you want to share your life with”

She brought Charlotte to the couch with the gun still pointed at her head, Charlotte glanced at Rafael and her eyes spoke volumes; tears started springing and a look of hurt mixed with fear essentially crushed his soul. As much as he wanted to hold Charlotte and rescue her from the clutches of this mad woman, Rafael could only stand there helplessly.

“Listen…the police are on their way right now…if you give yourself up then maybe we could work out some sort of deal”

It was then that Sophie broke out into a smile and began maliciously cackling

“Sorry Rafael…but that silver tongue of yours won’t save you this time…you need to realize that they are consequences of the promises that you made…when you sleep with someone…your body makes a promise whether you mean to or not”

Sophie paused and looked at Charlotte, her lips coiled into an evil smirk as she continued: “Tell me something Rafael…do you believe in God? Because if you do…I am not as merciful as he is!”

She took the gun and dug it into the tourniquet causing Charlotte to scream in agony, Rafael’s expression was of pain and anguish over his loved one…he couldn’t help but blame himself for all of this…if only he had just went straight home after court instead of heading to Forlini’s then Charlotte wouldn’t be at the mercy of someone hell bent on destroying them.

“Beg me to let her live!”

“Please stop…I’ll do anything you want just let her go”

Then there was a pounding on the door

“NYPD…counselor are you in there?”

“Anybody comes through that door and they’re both dead”

“Carisi…I’m alright but Charlotte has been shot”

“Ok…listen whoever’s in there…we have the building surrounded…the only way out of this is to give yourself up”

“Over Charlotte’s dead body”

Rafael pleaded, “Sophie listen…I am so sorry about everything…I took advantage of you and treated you like a discarded washcloth but we can fix this”

Sophie arched a brow, “Oh really…well sorry sweetheart but I’m afraid it’s too late for that”

Charlotte could feel tears running down her cheeks as she took deep breaths to ease the pain radiating from her knee, then she looked up just in time to see Sophie press the barrel of the gun to her forehead, her heart was beating out of her chest as she heard the gun cock. She stared the woman down, it became apparent that there would be no reasoning with the likes of her but she decided to try something in an attempt to appease to her humanity.

“Sophie…I know that you have been wronged but when you think about it…so have I…I have been told the same lies as you…”

Sophie looked less than sympathetic…so Charlotte tried again

“Women like you and me, should be working together to punish those who royally screwed us over not against each other…and not just me but my unborn child”

It was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Sophie blinked at Charlotte’s admission, granting Rafael the opportunity to lunge at her and knock her down to the ground, Charlotte called out to Carisi for them to breach the apartment. Upon entry, both Rollins and Carisi had their guns drawn while Rafael continued to struggle with Sophie; he grabbed her wrist and banged it against the hardwood floor in an attempt to wrangle it from her grasp but at that moment she kneed him in the groin to which he howled in pain. Sophie regained her footing and aimed the gun at Rafael but before she could get a shot off, Carisi fired his gun and the bullet hit her in the head and then landed on the floor.

Rollins helped Charlotte to her feet as she got on her radio to call an ambulance and the CSU team, Carisi did the same for Rafael. For the next few hours, CSU processed their apartment since it was considered a crime scene, meanwhile, Rafael and Charlotte were taken to the hospital where she was getting patched up from the bullet injury to her knee, from there, they were brought to station. In separate interrogation rooms, they gave their statements to Rollins and Carisi; afterwards, they drove them back to their apartment to gather a few things. Charlotte barely said a word to Rafael the entire ride to and from the station, mind still reeling from the day’s events; as soon as they entered the apartment, she used the crutches given to her at the hospital and made her way into the bedroom where she grabbed her overnight bag and began stuffing clothes and toiletries inside, at one point, she had dropped a blouse and attempted to bend down to pick it up, as she struggles to pick up the flimsy piece of fabric, Rafael came into the bedroom and steadfastly went towards her and tried to help until she snapped:

“Don’t…I can do this myself”

He held up his hands in defeat and repeated her actions by packing up the necessities into an overnight bag for himself, when all was said and done, they joined Rollins and Carisi in the living room.

“Alright…so we can put you guys up in a hotel until CSU releases the scene”

“Actually…Amanda I won’t be joining you”

Everyone looked at Charlotte in puzzlement

“You can take Mr. Barba here wherever you like…but as for me…I will be staying with my sister over in Soho”

Rafael opened and closed his mouth a few times but no words came out, finally he said,

“Carino…what are you saying”

She looked at him with cold eyes and responded, “I am saying that you and I are done…I don’t ever want to see or hear from you ever again”

He reached for her, but she recoiled as if he was the most repulsive thing she had ever laid eyes on, and for all intents and purposes to her, he was.

“Don’t touch me…Amanda will you please get me out of here”

She frowned and placed her hand on the small of Charlotte’s back and escorted her downstairs, after both women left, Carisi looked at Rafael with such sadness and sympathy; his hand rested upon his shoulder as Rafael’s eyes became coated in unshed tears.

“I’ve lost her forever, Carisi…I have doomed myself into a lifetime of regret and loneliness”

“She just needs time counselor…

However, as much as he wanted to believe the young detective, Rafael knew that the damage was done and that there was no going back for them.

#rafael barba #Raul Esparza #rafael barba x reader #hell hath no fury

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queenharumiura · 5 years ago

Note

💐

Valentine’s Day Meme ||Still accepting||

[to note: as this is a vday meme, there will be a focus on romance. This is going to be more of a theoretical sort of thing given the interactions between the two aren’t much yet, and I’m not very familiar with the series that Rentaro is from. So this is going to be a fun theoretical playlist that will tell a story]

💐: A playlist for our muses

Gift of a friend- Demi Lovato

Scars to your beautiful- Alessia Cara

Human- Christina Perri

Believer- Imagine Dragons

Titanium- David Guetta ft. Sia

Confident- Demi Lovato

Count on me- Bruno Mars

I’m glad you came- The Wanted

Stand by you- Rachel Platten

I will be here- Steven Curtis Chapman

Heartbeat song- Kelly Clarkson

Can’t blame a girl for trying- Sabrina Carpenter

Teardrops on my guitar- Taylor Swift

Just the way you are- Bruno Mars

Give your heart a break- Demi Lovato

Can you feel the love tonight- Elton John

In case you’re curious I have my reasonings and explanation for choosing the songs under the readmore. It’s-- kinda lengthy;;;;;;;;;;;;

Gift of a friend

Haru gets the vibe that Rentaro is more of a loner type,which contrasts her social butterfly type. Haru is very friendly with othersand she’s quite popular in her own right. With his hobby of creature watching andpreferring insects over humans, she has the thought that he spends more of histime alone rather than immersing himself around others like she does.

This song sorta has the vibe of her feelings. She honestly hopesthat she’s wrong about the fact that he’s more of the loner type, since that’slonely. So this song embodies her hopes that he can see her as a friend and shewill try to help him open up and see the other good parts of life. Other peoplearen’t so bad. If you can make a friend out of Haru who is around your age,surely, you’ll be able to find others! Don’t worry! No matter what, Haru willbe by your side.

Scars to your beautiful

In our threads, we’ve both mentioned that Rentaro and Haruboth have crushes on people. Haru has a crush on Tsuna Sawada who… usually doesn’treally see her that way. Haru tries very hard to appeal (a bit too hard, in myopinion) to him, but he only has Kyoko in his eyes. Kyoko is a good friend ofHaru’s, so it’s hard to see that the person she likes won’t look at her themoment her friend Kyoko enters the picture.

Sometimes she’s been pushed away in favor of Kyoko as well,and that certainly would hurt in more ways than one. The way I headcanon Haruis that this has hurt her emotionally and it damaged her self-confidence. Thissong is something that she can relate to. The beginning of the song speaks toher on an emotional level. She feels ignored and hurt, but she doesn’t want toshow her pain. If she does, she doesn’t want for her friend Kyoko to feelsaddened by it. It’s not her fault that Tsuna likes her. After all, Kyoko is awonderful person. Haru is the one that’s lacking, surely.

The later portions of the song shows how she tries to cheerherself up when she’s alone, wallowing in her pain. Haru may be hurt, but inthe end, she’s an optimistic person. She’s got a lot of inner strength and she’llalways try to bring herself back up again. Haru is currently struggling withthese issues with the way I write her.

Human

This song has a slower tempo, and it is more of aself-reflecting song. She can try to hype herself up as much as she wants, andfake her smiles in order to not worry her friends. She can turn on her abilityto fake her happiness to not let anyone know how much she’s hurting. Be thatmachine that only shows what is expected of her, but it’s… tiring. The slow tempofits that tiring mood of hers. She can fake things to not worry her friends,but she’s ultimately only human. She can only hide so much of her hurt. She’sgoing to fall and get hurt, but she still has to try to stand up and be strong.

She does let it slip sometimes when she’s around others who aren’taffiliated with the Vongola, but she still tries to hide that part of her. It’sa part of her character to be positive and energetic. She can’t get down. It’snot like her. She tries to build herself up, and I’m sure her friends try to dothe same—but being ignored or brushed aside can make all that come crumblingdown. She can only take so much before she has to take time to herself and cry.Afterwards, she always builds herself back up again. The previous song is agood fit for that. This song I put lower on the list, because I feel this songshows better how continuous hurt and faking can tire you out. You start to loseenergy. Sometimes, you may start to lose yourself—like how she needs to be likea machine. Haru really doesn’t like to hurt people, so she would hate to makeanyone feel guilty because of her hurt, so she’d try to hide it as much as possible.

Believer

For some reason, I feel like this song works really well to representHaru’s frustrations. It gets really irritating after a while to be bogged downby negative feelings. Even more so annoying when you’re trying to hide thesevery feelings of yours.

I think that she feels that Rentaro is a bit of alike-minded soul, and she feels more comfortable around him to be honest withherself. I will go more in depth about it with a future song [“confident”], butI feel like after becoming friends with Rentaro, she really starts to realizehow FRUSTRATED she is. She’s upset about the way things have been and the waythings are. She needs to do better, and surely she can. She can believe thatshe can do better when she realizes that she’s so much more than she was madeto feel. The song kinda feels lowkey powerful, like Haru is now standing up andfighting for her own self. She’s going to move past the slow sadness and justfight to better herself again. She’s going to HEAL.

Titanium

A bit odd, but this song is actually a song about Haruagainst Haru. With the lyrics, it sounds like some person is attacking thesinger. In Haru’s case, it’s herself. Her self-deprecative feelings that criticizesher for her past mistakes and her not being good enough. She’s already resolvedto heal from her one-sided feeling with Tsuna, and she wants to build herselfto be strong like TITANIUM. Her thoughts can attack her all she wants, but shewill use that to fuel her desire to recover. No matter how much her thoughtsscream at her, she wants to believe she can get better. She’s WORTH something.

As she works on this process, she will learn to getstronger. She won’t fall back into those dark thoughts. She will learn to standup and be strong against anything- even figurative bullets. It’s going to be atough battle, but she will do this. She has to. The song is more upbeat and Ithink it fits well as if it musically depicts her will power for her ownbetterment.

Confident

I think this song is a good transition song that shows howHaru is starting to gain her confidence back. Having a friend who shares someof her hobbies and has a good opinion of her is very enlightening. Haru is very…passionate, and she definitely comes off as strong when she loves someone. Ilove Haru but I have to admit that. She is young so she may not know better,but she does lay it on strong. This is one of the reasons she gets pushed awaya lot, understandably so. That being said, she also got pushed away for justsaying hi because Tsuna didn’t want Kyoko getting the wrong idea. (trivia: that’swhy Haru was sensitive to the fact that she didn’t want to cause anymisunderstandings on Rentaro’s side for the Vday thing)

She is very hyperactive and a lil… on the zany side. Thissometimes either gets her in trouble, or judged by those around her. She isnormally shown not particularly caring for what others think, but I think that’smostly just her being a bit naïve. There were canon instances where her effortsweren’t appreciated, or were sort of brushed off. There are also instanceswhere she may get a ‘cold’ reception for something she does, but when Kyokodoes the same thing, suddenly the reception changes. I find it prettyhypocritical, but they are young kids here, so I get it. Still, I don’t thinkthat won’t hurt Haru. That would hurt you on a confidence level.

Like why is it that I can’t do the same thing as her? It’sthat kind of mentality. Even in the last chapter Haru finally confronted him aboutit like do you even look at Haru? Sadly, she went back to being in love withhim QuQ. I think it’s heavily hinted that Kyoko likes him back so--- I cry forHaru. So that’s essentially why I headcanon for Haru to have these feelings andpain. I personally think that Rentaro would be a good influence on her. Someonewho can appreciate her hobbies and truly appreciates her efforts. He doesn’tfind her annoying or useless [another thing she worries about].

I think befriending him helped her remember that there is moreto her than she knows. There are people who can appreciate her and think wellof her. I’m going off on a limb her and will guess that he’d accept her and herweird quirks. He thought well of her dreams of being a housewife but also beinga world-class costume maker. The fact he didn’t make fun of that and even saidsomething positive about it, really meant a lot to her. She does sometimes getmade into a butt of a joke in canon for her thoughts so I think that would be apositive thing for her. So, this song represents how she starts to truly loveherself again and remember how to be confident. Just because Tsuna didn’t payher any true attention, that doesn’t mean she’s worthless.

[Extra, but another reason why I feel like she’d feel lowkeyworth less than Kyoko is because aside from Tsuna, others pay more attention toKyoko. She’s the school idol, and she’s also the younger sister of one of the mainmembers of the Vongola. Not only that, it’s painfully obvious who Tsuna (theboss) likes, so others tend to pay more attention to her because of it.Essentially like a bias(?), and it doesn’t help that everyone goes to the sameschool except for Haru. She’s almost an outsider who somehow managed to wormher way into their friendship circle. So, Kyoko has a big advantage here, andshe doesn’t really have much. Most of what she does, it’s usually also paralleledwith Kyoko.]

Count on me

Haru is a very dedicated and loyal person. Once you becomeher friend, she is more than willing to help. Canonically, it’s been seen thatshe’s willing to risk herself for the sake of her friends. She can be ratherrash, but it shows that she’s someone who cares a lot for others, sometimes evenif it could be to the detriment of herself. From what I’ve read in our threadso far, I get the vibe that while Rentaro doesn’t seem to mesh well with otherpeople (of his age group) very well, he’s kind and caring to those he caresfor.

He’s got a sense of responsibility if him making food forothers means anything. The way he wouldn’t take advantage of Haru’s kindnessalso shows that there is a moral backbone that stems from justice. From this, Ifeel this song fits the two of them as I feel that Rentaro may reciprocate someof Haru’s feelings here. If she’s a dedicated friend who is willing to alwaysbe there for him, he likely would return the favor? If I’m wrong (sorry!),consider the song to be Haru’s one-sided feelings then. She’s a very dedicatedfriend.

Being that he’s helped her heal (whether he knows it ornot), Haru would feel very inclined to be supportive of him. She’s the type ofperson who would die for her friends, and Rentaro would also fit into thiscategory. Essentially, this song, you can say, primarily notes Haru’s wishesfor him to count on her. She wants to help him like he did for her.

I’m glad you came

I know that this song sounds more romantic but HEAR ME OUT,FRIEND. This song more accurately can be used to explain Haru’s feelings ofgratefulness. She’s truly grateful over the fact that Rentaro came into herlife and became her friend. To her, it’s amazing how things have changed in herlife for the better. I really like how the song starts out slow, but then itgets fast paced. It’s almost symbolic of how Haru’s mental/emotional state wasbefore and then after he came into her life.

She loves spending time with him, and she hopes that he doesn’tregret becoming her friend. Hopefully they can stay friends for a long time. Nomatter how much time passes, she’ll always be grateful towards him, and she’sso happy that he came into her life. This song is one of thanks. He truly didchange her universe (the emotional one).

Stand by you [&] I will be here

I liked both of these songs, since I think it can fit Haru’sfeelings of wanting to be a source of support for him as well, like he was forher. If he ever feels hurt by something, she wants to be there for him tosupport him. Maybe life is being tough on him, or maybe something is going onwith the crush of his. If he needs someone to talk to, she will be there forhim. Whatever he needs, she wants to do her best to help him in any way she can.Ignore the fact that the songs sound romantic. Just focus on the ‘I will bethere for you’ aspect of the songs. Shhhhhh. At this point, I don’t think Haruhas realized any romantic feelings yet. She thinks of it all in terms ofgratefulness.

Heartbeat song

LOL okay but—I found this song and I found it rather funny.Like with the beginning where there is a lyric like: ‘You, where the hell didyou come from? You’re a different, different kind of fun, and I’m so used tofeeling numb” had me like—Haru suddenly realizing “WAIT—what is this. What arethese feelings? Am I--?? Do I--? OMG I caught the feelings TM” It’s interestinghow crushes and love works. Sometimes it seemingly comes out of no wherebecause you didn’t realize it, or you were in denial. I feel that over time asthey spend more time together, Haru will eventually come to have feelings forRentaro—romantic ones that stem from gratefulness.

“This is my heartbeat song and I’m gonna play it. Been so long,I forgot how to turn it up up up up all night long.” These are the very firstlyrics and I think it’s great symbolism of how Haru forgot about how it felt tofeel in love for a moment and she forgot how to work with these feelings ofhers. So, this is basically a ‘HOLY CRAP- I CAUGHT FEELINGS’ sort of song. Lol Sorry,as soon as I found it, I needed to add it to this playlist. It’s not verydeep;;;;;

Can’t blame a girl for trying

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; So this song sounds prettyupbeat and kinda… funny to me? To me, this song sings about how Haru isderisively judging herself now that she’s accepted the fact that she likesRentaro. Like mentioned previously… Haru is… uh… passionate. She’s very… yeah…when she likes someone. So this song is about how she feels like this isn’tgoing to end very well because she’s dumb af. She can be her worst enemybecause of how passionate she is. Why didn’t she just keep quiet? What if shecares him away with how passionate she can be? To put it simply, this is literallya song of her worries that now that she realized she likes him, he’s going toend up scaring him away. Whoops. Even so, she can’t really blame herself fortrying. She’s a go-getter type and she knows it. OTL

Teardrops on my guitar

Haru is a person who loves to talk about love, so I’m surethat during their friendship, she would have asked many times about the personRentaro likes. She’s already talked about Tsuna a couple times in our threads,so you know that Haru is not shy about talking about love. She would definitelyask him about the girl he has a crush on.

IF he would tell her about her, Haru would support him asmuch as she can. Give him advice and all that. When she finally realizes herfeelings for him, then it’s like—oh no. I already resolved to be supportive ofmy friend. So it’s like – I gotta be supportive, but at the same time--- OUCH.So she’s pretty jealous about the person that he likes, but there isn’t afeeling of hatred. Rentaro is a good person, so surely the person he likes willequally be a great person.

If she makes him happy, she’d happily congratulate them. Ifhe’s happy, she’ll smile and hope for the best. So yeah, this song is aboutconflicted feelings, I guess?

Just the way you are

Yo—Haru is that kinda person who accepts almost everythingabout the person she likes. Hm? Yep, ignore the pronouns of the song. This isHARU’S song about Rentaro. She would totally be like ‘oh wow you did a thing.Amazing! You’re so wonderful!’ I guess you could say she gets blinded by lovelol. She’s not very judgmental that way. If she falls in love with someone, sheaccepts them for what they are. She will learn to love everything about them.

HOWEVER, like seen in the case with Tsuna in one instance,she WILL drop you like a hat if you do something that she can’t morally agreewith. In canon, there was a misunderstanding, and Haru thought that Tsunabecame a person who abused children. This is something that Haru would NEVERstand for. Children are innocent and she believes that they should beprotected. She’s very protective of children, so the moment she thought he wasabusing kids, she was more than ready to drop him like a hot rock.

Other than that, she doesn’t care. He’s famous for being a ‘nogood’ guy with little talents, and he’s not particularly known for any goodlooks either. Still, she was always very supportive and loving towards him. Shethinks that he’s an amazing person because she looks at the inside. Assumingthat Rentaro is a good and morally standing person, she truly would likeeverything about Rentaro. No matter what, she wouldn’t want anything to change,because love is about learning to accept someone and also compromise. Love isn’twhen you try to change someone to suit YOUR needs or preferences.

If you are going to change someone, you do it because youthink it will make them into a better person. I wholeheartedly feel that Haruwould agree with that statement. As such, this song is pretty accurate to how Harufeels when she falls in love with someone.

Give your heart a break

//MASSIVE SWEAT, okay so like—I don’t know much about the mediathat Rentaro is from, so I actually have no idea what his relationship is likewith his crush. I’ve no idea if they are canon or what—but because this is aValentine’s day meme--- I’m going off the premise that things didn’t work outbetween Rentaro and his crush. Sorry Rentaro;;;;;;; I’m rooting for you,honestly.

Now being serious here, let’s pretend there is a bit omissionhere. Going off the idea that things didn’t work out for Rentaro with hiscrush, Haru would in theory try to help him feel better about it by supportinghim the best she could.

He would need his own time to recover from the failure, andhe’d need his own time to notice Haru. I will not try to assume I would knowenough about him to choose songs about his POV, therefore this playlist willhave a big empty space.

All because Haru knows how it feels to not have your lovereciprocated, she’d heartedly support him. She wouldn’t take this time to tryto get him to like her. Heartbreak really hurts, and she won’t do something socowardly as to use the situation to her benefit. Haru’s really the sort to tryher best to help people, and she normally doesn’t even think about HERSELF. Thisis a girl who was more than willing to risk her life to escape from a safetyzone to try to find medicine to help a child who was very sick.

This is also the girl who was willing to fall to her deathif it meant that her two other friends wouldn’t fall with her. She was morethan willing to die for their sakes. There was little to no hesitation there. Whenher loved ones are in danger, she won’t even consider herself and she’ll do allthat she can for their benefit.

In canon, in a future arc, Haru did her best to be strong,to not allow her fear to show. She’d cry and be afraid in secrecy as to notbother the guys who were busy training for an upcoming battle. Even though shewanted nothing more than to tell them to not fight, she knew it would breaktheir resolve. She and Kyoko both had to hold back and tell them to do theirbest and to please come back safely. It’s not easy having to be thrust into adangerous situation and keep your own feelings hidden. Both girls had to remainstrong and try to be calm for their sakes.

When being told the truth about how dangerous theirsituation is, she purposefully brushed it off so she wouldn’t worry Tsuna. Shedidn’t want to start panicking at that moment or whatever because that’s notgood. It would put more of a burden on him. Instead, she walked away, and endedup crying to someone else. She mainly felt ashamed of herself for beingselfish. For context, Haru and Kyoko had gone on a strike, saying they wouldn’tcook or clean until they were told about what was going on.

On one hand it’s selfish, but in my opinion, it was theirright to know. They were suddenly thrown into a chaotic future where friendsand families were dead. In some cases, they didn’t know whether the missingpeople were still alive or not. The guys are training hard, always coming backbattered and hurt. During all of this, they were told nothing. Nothing. That’sunfair to them when they were dragged into the situation due to associationwith them. They deserved to know the truth, regardless of how scary the truthis.

They wanted to know, and so they went on strike. After beingtold the truth, Haru cried for her selfish feelings. The guys were going throughso much, but the girls selfishly went on strike because they wanted to know thetruth. She cried over this. I think this really goes to show how she tends toprioritize other people over herself with how she felt ashamed of herself. Understandablya strike is pretty intense, but they were so unwilling to tell the truth andwhen you’re caught in such a crazy environment, you’ll want to know what’sgoing on. Families are missing, friends are dead, they have to live in hiding,etc.

Not telling them the truth when they actually wanted to knowis cruel in my opinion. Sorry for the tangent, but essentially—Haru isn’t thetype to use that situation to her advantage in my opinion of her charactertype.

So I think somewhere down the line, maybe they both start torealize they have feelings for each other, but they hesitate. They haverecently recovered from heartbreak, but can they move on?

With the way I think this story plays out, they both helpedeach other with their own heart break, so they have an understanding of theother person and their pain. I think that this song is excellent in meaning. Neitherof them wants to hurt the other. They know how hurt the other was, and by what.They wouldn’t do the same things to hurt them.

Both would likely think about the other “let me give yourheart a break” because I’ll treat you right. I can treat you better than theperson who hurt you.

Can you feel the love tonight?

This is already super long, so I’m going to make this onethe last one. Arbitrarily I chose a song about how they decided to reciprocatetheir feelings for each other. Basically, a love song. It’s the last song andfinally it’s a love song lol.

Even if it is, it’s Disney. I’m sorry to be corny. I just… Ilove Disney. Forgive me. I think I chose it because it’s a cute song, but alsobecause I somehow can imagine them watching Disney movies together. Simpledates are great, please. Watching Disney together is great, please. Who doesn’tlove Lion King? Look Rentaro, you can animal watch. OTL||||||||||

I really tried to find a song that I felt would work to endthings off but it’s really hard? Trying to find a good duet song is HARD. I’vealready been working on this for over 3 hours and I’m tired QuQ Sorry for thelackluster ending. //sobs

-----------

Haha this was pretty long, and I’m sorry about that. I justget really heated about explaining my thoughts and I love to go into deep thinkingabout stuff. That’s why I ended up writing so much about this, because therewas so much to consider. If you read this, I hope it was an interesting read! Itried not to talk too much about Rentaro since I don’t have a good understandingof him. I was kinda just going off lil hunches based off what little I know of him.If this is very wrong, just consider this some weird AU ahahahha;;;;;;;;

I hope the playlist I made is good enough. Sorry if it wasn’t. QuQ

#Rentarc #Answered ask #thanks for the ask!#Neo speaks #Meme answered #((Hope this is good!))#((Sorry for taking so long-- I ended up taking this way too seriously whoops))

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meticulouswriting · 5 years ago

Text

Three Mages Walk Into a War, Chapter 12: Telling

Fic Summary: It sounds like the start of a bad joke: three mages walk into a war, and… Well, they’ll figure out the rest later. Chapter Summary: Quiet moments and confessions. Pairing: Lanyla x Cullen, Aliss Hawke x Fenris, Tamsyn Amell x Zevran Warnings: None

AO3 Fic Masterpost

*Author’s Note: this chapter is a little different in length and structure; it just didn’t seem right to sandwich these scenes between travel and party prep*

Hawke lost track of exactly how long she stayed there, propped up against a desk in a tiny library, the Hero of Ferelden’s arms around her. The Hero of Ferelden, who was also her long lost cousin.

Good thing I didn’t wear all the spiky bits today, she thought. She half giggled at the mental image of Tamsyn trying to hug her around her usual armor, and then found that once she started laughing it was hard to stop. Tears sprang to her eyes, and it was all she could do stop shaking long enough to try and wipe them away. She laughed harder at the ridiculousness of it, then started crying because it wasn’t ridiculous, it was her life and she didn’t know what she was going to do.

Oh. Hysterics. These were hysterics.

Tamsyn didn’t say anything, just let her laugh and cry herself out. When the sobbing and the laughter had faded, Tamsyn still didn’t speak, just handed Hawke a clean handkerchief and let her have a moment to wipe her face and catch her breath.

“Thank you,” Hawke said, her voice hoarse. “For everything.”

“Of course,” said Tamsyn. Her brow was still creased with concern. She watched Hawke warily, like she was waiting for another breakdown. When Hawke held herself together for another few seconds, the Warden continued. “I meant what I said about you not being alone. Whatever you decide to do next, I’ll be here to help you through it.”

Tamsyn walked to a box in the corner, one marked with both the Amell crest and a double griffon. She rummaged in it for a moment, eventually pulling out a pair of simple clay cups and a box of tea. Hawke watched every motion, letting herself focus on that instead of on the thoughts whirling through her head.

Setting the cups down, Tamsyn waved a hand over them, summoning balls of ice in each one. Another practiced gesture melted the ice, a third set the cups steaming. She added a precise amount of tea to each one, letting them steep as she turned back to Hawke.

“Does Fenris know?” she asked. Her voice was low, gentle, inquisitive without being pushy. It reminded Hawke of watching Anders in his clinic, watched him use his best bedside manner a scared patient.

Hawke wished that he was here now. She missed her friend, missed knowing that no matter how she messed up there’d be someone there with a hug and smile and a story about someone who’d messed up worse.

Hawke twisted the handkerchief in her hands. She was letting her thoughts ramble again, giving herself excuses not to think about what was actually going on.

“No,” she said, finally answering the question. “He knows that I felt sick, but I blamed it on the road and the party. I haven’t told him that I thought we were… that I was…”

“Are you going to tell him?” Again, Tamsyn’s tone was carefully neutral.

“Shouldn’t I?” asked Hawke. “Isn’t that… I don’t know, the right thing?”

“Don’t worry about what you think is the right thing, or what you think you’re supposed to do. What do you want?”

What did she want?

She and Fenris had talked about the future. About maybe, possibly, raising a family together. But it had always been more theoretical than anything else. Like the idea of packing away swords and not needing to wear armor every day, it was something that was always going to be later. When the wars were done, when they’d killed enough slavers, when it was all over.

And, yes, the idea of a couple of little ones with Fenris’s eyes and her father’s nose and her own ginger hair had been a favorite daydream of hers for longer than she’d like to admit. But it had never seemed possible, not with the life she led. So she’d shoved them aside and only ever mentioned it on the rare occasions she and Fenris had a spare moment to relax and to fantasize about the future.

None of those fantasies had included a war with an ancient magister.

But… had anything in her life ever gone according to plan? Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised.

It was an impossible situation, but… impossible situations were kind of her speciality.

So if she wanted this—and she did, she wanted it badly enough that it hurt—why the fuck should she let Corypheus get in her way?

She’d lost her father and her sister and her mother and her friends and everyone. Why should she let this be taken from her too?

“I want to do this,” Hawke said, finally. “I wasn’t planning on it, but… I want this, Tamsyn.” She could hear her own voice gaining strength as she continued. “I’m going to tell Fenris, and I know him, I know he’ll be there for me, but even… even if I’m wrong, I’m still going to do it.”

She realized that she hadn’t actually said the words yet.

“I’m going to have a baby,” she said. “And if Corypheus or Orlais or some new asshole tries to get in my way, I’m going to punch them in the fucking face.”

She stood up. Now that she had a decision, now that she wasn’t just scared and unsure, she wasn’t about to keep sitting and feeling sorry for herself. She very well might go right back to crying and feeling sorry for herself once the initial rush of certainty faded, but she was going to take advantage of that certainty while she had it.

She wiped her face again and waved away the tea Tamsyn offered. “Thank you, but, for now, I need to get going. I need to talk to Fenris before I do anything else.” She hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t actually know anything about what it means to be pregnant? Or, I know the basics, how I got this way isn’t some grand mystery, but… what do I do? To take care of myself and…” almost without thinking, her hand went to her middle.

Tamsyn set down the cups. “I can help with that,” she said. “There are a few teas, some herbs that will help you both stay healthy. It’s all basic enough, I’m sure the stores here will have it. And there are enough healers here that I can pull everything without someone realizing what I need it for.” She paused, thinking. “You are going to start showing, Hawke. Some of that can be hidden with your clothes, of course, but… you will need to decide how to go about telling people.”

Wonderful. Another thing on the to-do list she didn’t ask for. “I’ll… have to think about it,” she said. “First, though… I need to go find Fenris.” She turned away from the desk and started towards the hall.

“Aliss?” said Tamsyn, just as Hawke reached for the door. “Thank you. For trusting me with this. And… for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be an amazing mother.”

Hawke didn’t know where to look. She hadn’t been in Skyhold long enough yet to know all of the places where Fenris might be, and when she couldn’t find him with Varric, in the courtyard, or in the tavern, she’d essentially exhausted her list of places she was familiar with.

The longer she looked, the more she started to lose her nerve. She was confident that Fenris loved her, of course she was. They’d been through so much, and she knew that there was no fight he wouldn’t follow her into or enemy he wouldn’t support her against.

But there was a nagging part of her that had to wonder… was this it? The thing that would be too much?

She tried to shake off her fears as she climbed the staircase to the fortress’s outer wall and the door to her new office.

It was empty. Unsurprising, really; she’d only been in it herself to get to her quarters the next floor down, and in all honesty she wasn’t sure if many other people even know it was assigned to her now.

Hawke called down the ladder for Fenris. There was no answer, no light showing. He wasn’t there, which meant that Hawke had run out of ideas. With a sigh, she leaned against the edge of the desk.

She’d tried to focus on one thing at a time, on the actual process of finding Fenris before worrying about how exactly to tell him that she was pregnant. Compartmentalizing wasn’t always her strong suit, but it had worked for a little while. It was easier not to worry about how the conversation might go if she was busy thinking about how to arrange the conversation in the first place.

But now that she was alone, and couldn’t think of anywhere else to look, reality was weighing down on her again.

Andraste’s flame-roasted tits, how was she supposed to even open that conversation? Was she meant to just blurt it out? That didn’t seem right, but there wasn’t exactly a smooth way to drop a surprise pregnancy into conversation.

Biting a thumbnail, she drummed the fingers of the other hand against the desk. Planning was another thing that had never been a strong suit, but she felt like she ought to have one. Which would be easier to do if her head would stop spinning or her stomach would stop churning.

Maker, her stomach.

Just a moment later, she found herself bent over a vase in the corner that was probably meant to be decorative. Maker’s balls, but she was not looking forward to more of this.

Because whatever entity controlled luck and timing hated her, it was then that she heard the door open and close, soft footsteps entering the room.

“Hawke!” said Fenris, alarmed.

He went to Hawke’s side, dropping to his knees beside her, one gentle hand on her back. As she finished and sat back, Fenris brushed hair from her face and let her have a moment to collect herself. His brow was creased with concern, eyes searching hers as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“Hawke, what is going on?” Fenris helped her stand, letting her lean on him for support. “This is the second time in less than a day that I’ve found you like this, and you haven’t been acting like yourself…” the concern in his voice turned to frustration. “Aliss, I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Hawke took a step back, fingers twisting together nervously. Fenris just waited, watching her.

There was a pitcher of water and a pair of cups on a table in the corner. Hawke went to it, busying herself with getting a drink and rinsing her mouth. She didn’t meet Fenris’s eyes, but she knew he was still watching.

Finally, she set the cup down and took a deep breath.

“You’re right,” she said. “I have… been keeping something from you. Sort of. I just… I wasn’t sure before, and I didn’t want to worry you if I didn’t actually know, that didn’t seem fair, and, alright, maybe I shouldn’t have kept it to myself, but…”

She was babbling. Funny how being aware of that didn’t actually help her stop.

“I was scared, Fenris, and I didn’t know what to do or what to say or how to bring this up, and I…”

She realized that she’d started crying again. Also apparently not something she could stop.

Fenris stepped close, pulling her against him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just held her to him and stroked her hair.

“I am yours, Aliss,” he said. “Whatever it is, let me help you.”

Hawke took a deep breath. She leaned back enough to look him in the eye without breaking contact.

“What I’m trying to say, Fenris,” she continued, as steadily as she could, “is that you were right. About me keeping something to myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I was scared and I didn’t know for sure until just a little while ago.”

She steeled herself for whatever came next. Watching Fenris’s face, it felt like the world slowed down.

“Fenris,” she said. “I’m going to have a baby.”

His face went slack for a moment, apparently in shock than anything else. The moment dragged on. And on.

And then he was smiling. A wide, white grin split his face, and he pulled her to his chest in a crushing embrace.

He whispered something into her hair, and she didn’t quite catch it, but it sounded like her name.

“So you’re not angry?” she said, hating how small her voice sounded.

Fenris pulled back.

“Never,” he said. He cupped her face in his hands, eyes shining with love and unshed tears. He kissed her, tenderly, and leaned his forehead against hers when they parted for a breath. “Aliss, we’re going to have a baby.” He took a deep breath. “We have… discussed this, before, but I never really thought…” He pulled back to meet her eyes properly before continuing. “I never let myself hope for this. Not now, at least.”

Hawke huffed out a short laugh. “You and me both. I wasn’t exactly planning this, love.”

Fenris took one of her hands. “I know. But no, I could never be angry about this. We may not have thought it would happen now, but… do you want to do this?”

Hawke smiled. “I do, Fenris. More than I thought I could.”

He grinned again, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “Then so do I.”

She kissed him this time, and she could feel him still smiling against her lips.

When they finally parted, Fenris took a step back and looked her up and down.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, some of his earlier concern returning.

Hawke grimaced. “My stomach is still not particularly happy with me, but I think that’s normal.”

Fenris kissed her forehead. “Can I get you anything to help? Do you need a healer?”

“I saw one already. Tamsyn. She’s the one who helped me… figure it all out. She said she’d keep helping. There are some herbs, I guess. Things to keep me healthy.” Hawke sat down in one of the solid wooden chairs in front of the desk. “Apparently, having a baby is a lot of work.”

Fenris smiled crookedly and sat down in the chair opposite her. “I have heard that,” he said dryly.

Hawke sighed. “There’s just… a lot. And I don’t know even half of it. Even with the help, I am in way over my head. And there’s a war! With a giant evil darkspawn mage that I may or may not be responsible for unleashing. I can’t just quit, but I can’t keep fighting the way I usually do, and I don’t know how to tell people. Should I tell people? Isn’t there some rule about how long you’re supposed to wait before announcing anything? I don’t even know the rules about how to tell people you’re pregnant, much less how to actually be pregnant, and—”

“And we’ll figure it out,” said Fenris, when she finally paused long enough that he could get a word in. Because she was, again, rambling.

Hawke knew he was right. And she knew that she never had a real reason to be afraid of how he’d react. She loved Fenris. And she knew that he loved her. Whatever else was ahead of them, she would always have that to lean back on.

With that in mind, they started to put together a plan for how to move forward.

With her being the Champion, and both of them working so closely with the Inquisitor, the news would spread quickly once it was out. Both Hawke and Fenris wanted to avoid that for as long as they could. As long as it wasn’t obvious that Hawke was pregnant, they would try to keep it under wraps. They decided not to tell anyone else—other than Tamsyn—until they were back from Orlais.

Luckily, her role in Orlais wasn’t meant to involve combat. Mingling, chatting, and being a flashy distraction wasn’t likely to have too many risks to her health. The only downside was that Hawke would have to deal with a palace full of Orlesians while sober.

In the meantime, Fenris wanted to be there the next time she talked to Tamsyn. If there was anything they needed to do to prepare, he reasoned, it would be easier if they both knew more.

Hawke lost track of how long they talked, figuring out details, tentatively planning for the future. The small window in the tower’s outer wall showed a darkened sky, the sun already sunken behind the Frostbacks.

Stretching out the new kinks in her back, Hawke got out of the chair.

“I am exhausted,” she said. “This has been the longest day I’ve ever had that didn’t actually involve people trying to kill me.”

She reached out a hand to Fenris. “Come to bed with me? I’d like to just lie down for a little while.”

Fenris smiled, and together they made their way down to their quarters and into bed.

Lying there, in a warm bed, with Fenris’s arms around her, Hawke felt better than she had in weeks.

There was a lot ahead of her. She knew that, knew that none of it was going to be easy.

But she also wasn’t going to be alone. And, with Fenris at her side, Hawke knew that she could handle whatever came next.

#fenhawke #fenris x hawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x mage hawke #fenris x female mage hawke #three mages walk into a war #mine #my writing #aliss hawke

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loversandantiheroes · 6 years ago

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Lyrium Withdrawal, Lyrium Addiction, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, first comes the hurt, then comes the comfort, I swear there will be comfort

The threat of Adamant looms, and the cracks begin to show.

Perpetual love and thanks to @songofproserpine for the beta reading <3

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“And people say I’m stubborn!” Cassandra shouted after Cullen as the door shut.

Aadhlei stood staring at the door, thunderstruck. “Maferath’s balls, Cassandra, what was that about?”

The Seeker folded her arms with a sigh, arranging her face into a rough semblance of her usual irascibility. But there was an unusual, uneasy edge to it, the expression ill-suited to her face. Cassandra was worried.

“Cullen told you of his decision to stop taking lyrium?”

“He did. I can’t say it’s a decision that hasn’t worried me, but it was clearly important to him.”

The image of him came to her, bent over his lyrium kit. Some go mad, others die. A cold little knot landed heavily in her stomach.

Maker don’t you dare, she thought, and swallowed hard. “Am I to take it the attempt is going poorly?”

“Most attempts do,” Cassandra said with a sad shake of her head. “He is ill, yes. He pushes himself too hard. He always has, but more so now. The man has not stood still since we received word of Adamant. He has seen two Circles fall, and more than his share of demons because of that, even before Veil was breached. He is afraid that he cannot protect our people, or you, from what we will face. He is a stubborn man, driven, but that same stubbornness has twisted in on him.”

“He thinks he can’t do it without the lyrium,” Aadhlei said. For all his anger at the Order, Cullen still held - and, she suspected, always would - an unflagging loyalty to the people that served in it. The Templars were instruments crafted with a purpose, and even as he shed the chains the Order imposed he still sought that purpose, still sought to prove they could do the good he’d been raised to believe in. But now the Order was all but shattered, and so few Templars still stood that had not been cut down in the war or stained with red lyrium.

A familiar wave of regret twisted through her. Thoughts of Therinfal Redoubt and the things they had found in its deserted halls clutched at her with a thousand tiny hooks, each one a bright and burning red. For the thousandth time, she wondered if there was more she could have done, if there had ever been a chance….

Too late for that, she told herself. It’s done, let it lie. She dropped her head, letting the straggled mess of her hair hide her face. All the wear and worry of the past two weeks seemed to be landing in her at once. And above it all sat a new weight, a heavy, pressing concern that what was wrong with Cullen was beyond her ability to help.

Pulling her focus back, she realized Cassandra was still speaking, either unaware of the her distress or electing not to acknowledge it. “Cullen has the chance to break that leash to prove that it is possible, to himself and to anyone else who would follow,” she said, more than a little pride in the words.

“What can we do?” Aadhlei asked, trying to brush away her tears as discreetly as she could.

“Not we, Inquisitor. I have done what I can. He wants me to recommend a replacement for him. I will not. It is unnecessary, and quite frankly it would destroy him. He has come so far, and weathered so much already, I will not take this chance away from him simply because he is afraid.”

Cassandra took a step back, spreading her hands. “I cannot claim to know what he needs, but I know that he is capable. He can do this, he just needs reminding. And he needs care that he is too stubborn to seek out on his own. In that I must defer to you. You are the healer. And your bedside manner is certainly preferable to mine.”

Aadhlei sighed, long and tired. “We were to gather at the war table in an hour. Please inform Josephine and Leliana the meeting is postponed until we may all attend.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. The Seeker regarded her a moment longer, mouth pursed. “May I ask you something?”

Aadhlei nodded, barely listening. Already she was running down remedies in her head, trying to think of things to say, things to do. Anything that might help.

“There have been rumors around Skyhold for some time. About you and the Commander. I knew that he had long held you in high regard, but tell me, is it true? Are the two of you-”

“Would it be a problem if it was?” she asked, words worn to a needle-sharp point.

Cassandra gave a slight shake of her head, a strangely satisfied look on her face. “No. He needs someone. As do you, I suspect.” She cast a quick glance over Aadhlei, as if finally taking in the state of her. “I don’t suppose telling you to get some rest before you see him will do any good.”

A short, barking laugh escaped her. “Maker, as if I could sleep after - no, Cassandra. No it would not.”

“Then go. I will see to the council for the time being.”

The sight of him stayed with her as she rushed up to her quarters. Ashen-faced and shining with sweat, making for the door on legs that bore him up through strength of will only. The worst of it had been that jagged catch in his voice as he’d passed her, muttering for forgiveness. The shame in his voice, the defeat, had been overwhelming.

Her traveling clothes hit the floor in showers of dirt and sand. Every inch of her ached. Exhaustion left a tingling thrum in her limbs that made it feel as if she was still on horseback, rattling around in the saddle. All she’d held onto on the long, punishing ride back to Skyhold had been the promise of a hot bath and the thought of Cullen’s arms around her again. She hadn’t written. Not once since they rode out of the Western Approach. There had been no time. All the world for her had been fitful sleep and hoofbeats. Maker, she regretted that now.

What if I can’t fix it? Wounds she could heal. Breaks she could mend. Maker’s sake, she could even stitch up holes in the sky these days. But what could she do for wounds she couldn’t see? When the break was not a bone but something deeper and far more essential. When his body was tearing itself apart for want of a thing that poisoned his mind. What then?

Her mind kept returning to his words the day he’d told her about the lyrium - some go mad, others die - worrying over them again and again like a tongue on a loose tooth.

“Maker, don’t you dare,” she said aloud. Pointing a shaking finger skyward, she called up in a stern but breaking voice, “You hear me? Go kick over someone else’s ant hill. Or better yet, get off your omnipotent arse and do some fucking good for a change!”

Steady, child. Kenna’s voice, cracked and kind. You’re no good to anyone all twisted up.

Aadhlei braced herself against her desk, a strangled sob caught in her throat. Kenna, her foster mother, had taken ill one winter, not long before the war broke out. A cough came creeping in with the sharp winds and settled deep in her lungs. No remedies would touch it, no matter how hard Aadhlei tried. As the weeks wore on and her condition worsened, Aadhlei grew desperate. In the end she had given Kenna a sleeping draught to keep her settled and, in one last frantic attempt to save her, she had tried to heal her by magic. A powerful spell, not dangerous, but strong . The sort of thing she had always been discouraged from using, lest she risk drawing the attention of the Templars that roamed the village from the Chantry.

And it did nothing. But she was stubborn, a bull-headedness fuelled by love as much as fear, and she had refused to see the truth of the matter: Kenna was old, and Kenna was dying. And so she had kept on trying again and again, pouring magic into the old woman’s flagging body until she had run herself dry, collapsing out of sheer exhaustion.

When at last she woke, Kenna was dead. Her first failure. The first taste of real loss.

Hardly your fault, poppet. There are some hurts in this world that aren’t yours to heal. But that doesn’t mean you give up, and that doesn’t mean you sit about and do nothing. So you steady up, now. You’ve work to do.

“Aye, mum, so I do,” she muttered.

She threw open her wardrobe, breath shuddering through the tears that flowed steadily down her cheeks, grasping half-blindly for something clean and uncomplicated to pull on. A small pile formed beside her - things that were an ungodly mess of buttons, laces, and buckles - before she pulled free something ivory-colored and lace-trimmed. Either some form of fancy night dress or a long chemise meant for more formal wear. “Fuck it, that’ll do,” she mumbled, pulling it over her head. If it stained, Maker knew she could afford to have it replaced. Her apron hung near her potion cabinet and she tied it on rapidly, stepping into a pair of soft leather slippers and thumbing the catch on the cabinet.

Inside was an odd mish-mash of prepared potions. There were still a few bottles of the basic tinctures she’d mixed up for Cullen, and she scooped them up. Three squat bottles of a purplish-red liquid sat lined up on the far right side. Midnight Oil, she usually called it, something she’d put together to keep herself going when sleep wasn’t an option. A bad thing to make a habit of, but a help when necessary, and right now it was deeply necessary.

Aadhlei grabbed two of them, considered, then took the third as well. She cast a long, hard glance at the small wooden box on the bottom shelf, the one she kept a few lyrium potions in. If worse came to worst and she had to heal him with magic, if he’d even allow it, taking one now might not be a bad idea. Yet she had found herself almost unwilling to take them after Cullen had confessed he had given it up. It felt wrong somehow, offensive, almost, knowing what the substance had cost him.

In the end she decided against it, closing the door a little reluctantly. A faded green shrug lay across the back of her desk chair, and she slipped it on, too hurried to drag on a proper cloak. She pulling her big leather satchel off its peg, stowing the tinctures and two of the potions inside, and slung it over her shoulder.

Popping the cork from the third potion, she knocked it back swiftly and set off down the stairs for the Commander’s office.

The path felt like a gauntlet, deflecting staff and redirecting messengers with short barks of “Later,” “Fine,” and “On my desk.” Solas, looking worn enough himself after the journey back, regarded her perplexedly from his desk as she passed him, making with more than a little haste for the door to the catwalk. The coldness of the air hit her like a physical blow. The nervous buzz in her limbs subsided bit by bit as the potion began to take effect, but it did little for the tight coils of tension that wound up her back and around her ribs, squeezing tighter as the cold sank into her. Maker, why hadn’t she thought to take a damned cloak?

Unthinking, she pushed open the door to Cullen’s office without knocking. A mistake, to be sure, and hardly courteous to boot, but she was still too unnerved for the sake of courtesy, and now too cold to want to linger on the doorstep. As the door swung open she heard Cullen’s cry of frustrated anger and a flash of movement and brought the large, heavy bag up like a shield, ducking her head behind it. Something collided with it hard, ricocheting off to splinter against the door frame. The remnants of his lyrium kit lay scattered at her feet, a small shattered phial of crystalline blue glinting prettily in the weak torchlight.

“Maker��s breath!” Cullen lay half splayed against his desk, breath short and eyes wild, the momentum of his throw and the shock of her appearance knocking him off what little balance he still had. “I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you enter, I didn’t, I would never, are you -” He let out one long, shaking breath as she lowered the satchel and he saw she was unharmed. A fraction of the shock drained from his face, but what replaced it was a look of such utter misery it hurt her to look at. “Forgive me,” he said again.

Kicking the broken box away, Aadhlei closed the door, considered, then bolted it and crossed to do the same to the others. The last thing he needed was another interruption. “Talk to me, Cullen,” she said, willing her soothing voice to service, the one she kept in reserve for the sick or gravely injured. “What’s wrong?”

The creases in his brow deepened, shoulders slumping. “No, you’ve been riding for days. You don’t have to-” he began, and then his legs finally gave out and he collapsed against the corner of the desk with a groan. Aadhlei rushed to him, taking his weight, waiting for his breathing to slow and whatever spell had gripped him to pass.

“Aye, I do,” she said. “Come on, you need to sit.”

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he said as she eased him into his chair, sounding so small it was as if he was a child in armor, waiting to be punished for his failure.

“It’s alright, Cullen. But I need you to talk to me, and I need you trust me, alright?” She swiped a hand across his brow, felt the heat of fever under a slick of sweat. It gave off a sour smell, but beneath that Aadhlei realized she could smell the faintest scent of burning, like a lightning strike. “Are you in pain?”

He hesitated. Then, again, so very small, “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. All over. My joints are on fire. And my head.”

“Dizzy? Sick to your stomach?”

A nod. “Both.”

She began unbuckling his vambraces and pulled off his gloves. His hands were like ice, and covered in that same thin, slimy sheen of sweat. “Squeeze my hand, hard as you can.” He began to mutter a protestation and she put a finger to his lips. “Meant what I said. Hard as you can. Tougher than I look, remember?”

He nodded against her finger. The hand closed, squeezed just barely as firm as a handshake, then shook violently.

“You feel hot or cold?”

“Freezing,” he said. As she moved her hand from his mouth he caught it, pressed it desperately to the side of his face, and closed his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said again. Not just an apology now, but an appeal.

Aadhlei bent double, pressing her forehead to his, feeling the fever baking off him in waves and not shrinking. “There is nothing to forgive, Cullen.”

She did not expect him to laugh, or the for that laugh to sound so hard and bitter. He pulled away sharply, letting her hand fall.

“You should not sound so sure.” There was a horrible, manic sparkling in his eyes, feverish and wild. “You have no idea the things….you asked me once what happened in Ferelden’s Circle. Shall I tell you? It was taken over by abominations. One of the senior mages, Uldred, decided a Blight was a fine time to push for an independent circle. When the Grand Enchanter refused, Uldred and his ilk resorted to blood magic to get their way. We shut the Circle down so the maleficars could not escape, but that only trapped us in there with them. The Templars were slaughtered or corrupted. Most of the mages who would not bend the knee to Uldred’s coup were bent with blood magic or killed outright. Demons took care of much of the rest. My friends were cut down in front of me.”

A haze fell over his eyes, not dimming their fire but making it distant, and Aadhlei shivered. She had treated enough soldiers now to recognize that look, to know where he had gone, and that all she could do was hold on and wait for him to come back.

Cullen took a long, measured breath. Then another. A third breath, sharper and shallower, and Aadhlei thought briefly of a man preparing for a deep, sudden dive. “I was tortured,” he said in peculiar, toneless voice.

The word hung in the air, pendulously, like a body on the gallows. It seemed to hold such a foreign weight on his tongue that she wondered truthfully if he had ever said it aloud, ever allowed the admission of such a deep and private injury to be spoken.

“I don’t even know how long. Days, I think, but it felt like years. No food, no water, no lyrium. Demons scrabbling at my head. Or maybe it was the maleficars, I can’t be sure. I cannot be sure of much. It’s all…I...they tried to break my mind and I - how can you be the same person after that?”

He carried on, barely blinking, seeming to breathe only to keep the words moving. “For years I was nothing but fear and anger rattling in a suit of armor. Still, I wanted to serve. What else was there for me to do? And they sent me to Kirkwall. Maker help me, I thought I knew then. I thought I knew what needed doing, who needed protecting. I thought I knew who the enemy was. Meredith used that against me . Told me what she wanted me to hear and hid what she knew even I would oppose. I was her bloody lapdog for years while she abused the Mages - abused our people for standing up against her - and she used us to do it. And the Chantry did nothing. Not for anyone. Andraste preserve me, neither did I. I trusted my Knight-Commander,” he said, his face contorted in revulsion. “I aided her, for god’s sake! I defended her! By the time I saw through her, when the lies were finally too large to swallow and I saw the fear in the eyes of our charges for what it was, it was too late. It all happened again. Kirkwall’s circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.”

At last his eyes focused again and locked onto her with a desperate ferocity. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can,” she said, striving for a soothing patience, but her voice shook with tears she could barely keep in check. She wanted to help, she always wanted to help, but what cure could she offer for this? What remedy for wounds of conscience and memory? She sucked in a breath, trying for reassurance, for understanding. “Cullen, you don’t have to-”

“Don’t!” He turned his head away, throat working.

He wants the blame, she realized with an awful sinking in her chest. Wants disgust and anger, not sympathy. It’s all he thinks he deserves, especially from a mage.

The urge to reach for him, to give some kind of comfort was overwhelming, but she kept her hands locked on the edges of his desk, the knuckles slowly turning white. Not yet.

“I’m not going to blame you, Cullen,” she said softly. He winced, too raw for softness, but she kept on. “If that’s what you want of me, then I’m sorry, because I can’t do that. I won’t. When they sent you to Kirkwall, they didn’t send a Templar, they sent a man who was scared and wounded and looking for someone to blame. And that made it very very easy for the wrong kind of people to hook their fingers into you and get you to follow. That you’re trying to do better now, that you’re trying to change and make up for that - and bloody well succeeding at it - takes more strength than I think you give yourself credit for. And that it hurts you so deep says you have far more goodness left in you than you think. In my experience, bad men have little time for remorse.”

She reached out a tentative hand and laid it on his arm. He flinched, hard, and she drew back immediately. “Whatever happened before, you’re not that man now,” she told him. “You told me once that you joined the Order because you wanted to help people. And that is all I’ve ever seen you do. You’re a good man, Cullen Rutherford. If you want my forgiveness, for whatever it’s worth, you have it. But you’ve come far enough that maybe you should try to forgive yourself, too.”

A strangled sob escaped him and he twisted away. As if finally unable to bear her kindness any longer, he launched himself to his feet and set to pacing, unsteady but frantic.

Aadhlei’s heart sank. Wrong, wrong, Maker help me I got it wrong.

“How can you - why aren’t you angry?” he cried thickly. “How can you say such things - how can you even stand to look at me? Can you not see the blood on my hands? You should be questioning what I’ve done, the decisions I’ve made! Blessed Andraste, how can I atone for something when I can still feel it happening? I thought it would be better without the lyrium, that I would gain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me,” he said, harsh and strangled, a scream made quiet.

He fell to an anguished babbling, words falling from him faster and faster. His hands tugged at his hair, raking it into wild, ragged furls. Tears cut fresh tracks down his cheeks. It was a terrifying contrast to the controlled demeanor he had always upheld, but the small part of her, the part that spoke patient truths in Kenna’s voice, was almost relieved at his frenzy. A bone that had set poorly would need to be re-broken again before it could be set true. Break clean, Cullen, she thought, hopeful now in spite of her fear.

"Blessed are those that stand before the wicked and do not falter. I cannot falter. I cannot. How many lives depend on our success? Adamant waits for us, a demon army in its walls, and I am meant to lead our people into that! I must send you into that! And I do it hobbled for the sake of my own selfish pride! I swore myself to this cause - I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry! I should be taking it!”

With that last he lashed out finally, fist driving into the bookcase with enough force to crack the shelf and send books scattering to the floor. For a moment he simply stood there, teeth bared and hand bleeding, and then he slowly folded, the fight and fire extinguished all at once. “I should be taking it,” he said again in a voice heavy with defeat.

There it is.

She crossed to him slowly, and this time when she touched him - feather-light, a question of permission made with fingertips - he did not recoil. “Cullen. Listen to me. Forget the Inquisition, forget the war. Is that what you want?”

A look of horror settled on his face. “No. Maker, no. I want to be free of it. I need to.” Desperation and exhaustion shook his voice ragged, but his eyes seemed clearer and more focused.

“Then do not put your neck back in that leash for our sake. Please, Cullen. You can do this. I know you can.”

Cullen pulled his hand away from the broken shelf. A ragged gouge cut across his knuckles. He stared down at the trembling mess of his hand with a furrowed brow, listening to the gentle patter of his blood against the stone floor. “The sickness I can take,” he said slowly, “but these memories have always haunted me. Even with the lyrium. If they become worse, if I am not strong enough to endure it-”

“You are,” she said, and carefully cradled his bleeding hand. “I have never seen a match for the strength in you, Cullen. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

He hitched in a watery breath. “I’m sorry. I did not want to - I was afraid let you down.”

“You never could. I’m proud of you. But I will not stand by and watch you suffer and do nothing. You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you, Cullen. Please.”

Something settled in his face then, something like gratitude, and he seemed all at once steadier with it.

“You’re still here,” he muttered in a wondering voice.

“Aye, so I am.”

He leaned into her with a shuddering sigh, and Aadhlei thought she had never heard such a singularly relieved sound in her life. He nodded, forehead rocking against hers. “Alright,” he muttered.

Aadhlei shouldered her bag again and pulled Cullen tight to her hip. “Come on, lean on me. Let’s get you to bed.”

#da:i fanfic #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #f!inquisitor #f!lavellan #oc: aadhlei #this chapter is even more terrifying to post!! :D

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athenril-of-kirkwall · 6 years ago

Note

DA dwc! “You need to take your shirt off." for m!Hawke/Athenril :D

Phew! This one took a while, hope you like it. :)

Content warning: This contains a fairly realistic description of a heatstroke and its treatment. Apologies if that’s not your thing.

m!Hawke/Athenril, “Too Sexy For It” (AO3) [Mature]

“Hey, you can’t-”

“Shut it,” Athenril said, holding a single finger up to the matron of the Blooming Rose. Behind her, two of her hooded henchmen were taking another of their comrades by their arms, dragging his lifeless body through the doorway as his heels scraped the ground below him in a discombobulated fashion.

Madam Lusine, knowing full well who these people were and the price of crossing them, drew herself up to her full height of about half a foot over Athenril, saying “I’m not letting you use the Rose as your clandestine hospi-”

The redhead elf stopped in her tracks, wheeling around to face the madam. “Alright.”

Everything in the Rose, which already had slowed down to witness the bizarre entourage, now ground to a complete halt as Athenril dove into a concealed pouch on her studded-leather armour top, with some of the more skittish patrons and staff diving for cover when she swiftly withdrew her hand.

Thankfully, contained therein was no flask nor grenade, but just a handful of sovreigns, which she offered out to Madam Lusine.

“One room for the night. I know you have to have a healer here. Send him up.”

“I…”

“Make sure there’s no trouble tonight and there’s double that waiting for you.”

Eyes scanning the room filled with nervous and expectant guests, she conceded, saying, “Fine. But I never want to see you or your thugs in here again.”

“What if I fancied a lay for the night?”

“Leave the weapons at the door and maybe we’ll talk. Maybe. Premium suite, top floor. Get your sick friend up there, I’ll get our usual fellow from Darktown.”

Athenril said, “No names. Tell him there’s a dying man that needs his help and pull on his heartstrings. There’s no more gold in it for you if his patient dies on me. I’ve got an elf and a working girl on the way too. Point them there once they get here and give them what they ask for. You got me?”

“Fine, whatever. Porfira’ll show you the way.”

Led by the waitress, the smugglers-of-sorts made their way to the premium suite, practically chasing Faith out of it as they deposited their comrade’s feverish body onto the lush bed. Athenril jerked her head to the door, and the two thieves nodded in return as they went over there to stand guard. Once it closed behind them, her stoic demeanour washed away.

“Okay, Hawke,” she said to her twitching henchman, “I know you’ve been waiting for me to say this for a while now, but I need you to get your shirt off.”

Hawke, his head still wrapped in his hood and bandana, looked at her uncomprehendingly.

“Alright, I’m going to say this slowly for you. I don’t know what spell that maleficar hit you with, but your body temperature’s rising faster than a rage demon’s and I need you to cool down, starting five minutes ago. Tomwise and Elegant are coming with help, but you need to strip off that scale and banding I got you.”

He moved his hands towards his head, and took the hood off, but Athenril caught his hand as he started pulling at the corner of the bandana tied around his mouth.

“No. I told them no names or faces. I don’t want anyone tracing you from here. Come on then, Hawke, sit up.”

Hawke complied, wiping his brow even though the sweat had long since soaked into his head wrappings. Athenril reached for his sides, undoing the clasps and bindings holding his armour together, slipping his arms out of his sleeves one at a time and pulling his head through the centre hole none too gently, casting the whole thing to the ground with a clatter. His undershirt followed shortly after, joining the armour with a flumph.

Athenril stepped backward to examine her convalescent employee, picking up a faint commotion through the door downstairs.

Oh.

Oh my.

Hawke had been holding out on her.

All those years in King Cailan’s army, drawing a bowstring and carving up practice dummies with his twin seaxes countless times and building up the strength to be his own pack-mule had definitely paid off. Skeins of perspiration glistened across his well-built chest and abdomen; he’d shed ounces and ounces of sweat in a vain attempt to drive his temperature down from the incredible fever wracking his system.

She’d almost forgotten what she’d stripped him for when the door swung open to reveal Tomwise and Elegant, carrying a bucket of ice and a bunch of thin satin satchels each. Athenril swung round, eyes searching for the healer.

Answering her unasked question, Tomwise said, “He’s on his way. Needed to get a salve or balm or something. But he said to bag up some ice and place it alongside his body.”

“Well, then?” she asked.

Without any further instruction, the two of them got to filling the small satchels with ice normally reserved for drinks and shoving them around Hawke’s head, neck and armpits as dictated by the healer they’d found. Tomwise started reaching for his beltline, then hesitated, slowly turning to Athenril.

“What’s the problem, Tomwise?”, she asked.

The other elf said, “Well, ah, we need to shove two of these between his legs.”

“Then do it,” she ordered.

Gulping as he nodded, Tomwise looked over at Elegant as he proceeded to undo the buttons holding Hawke’s trousers up. Down they came, revealing his smallclothes. Barely registering their contours, Athenril’s employees gently pulled his thighs aside to shove the ice bags where they needed to go, and minus an involuntary twitch, Hawke didn’t seem to notice very much of it. If they noticed Athenril’s gaze, they didn’t make a scene of it.

A knocking at a door shook them out of the moment, and Athenril quickly threw a sheet over Hawke’s face.

She barked, “Who is it?”

One of her henchmen replied through the door, saying, “Darktown healer.”

“Show him in.”

The door swung open, revealing Anders, his arms filled with potions.

After quickly surveying the room, he pointed at Hawke’s barely-conscious form, ordering, “Get that off his face.”

Athenril stepped between him and Hawke. “No names or faces. Besides mine.”

He stood his ground, holding up one of the many vials he’d brought. “This is going to save his life. And I need you to feed it to him.”

Glancing to the side, Athenril said, “Fine. Reveal his mouth, Elegant.”

Nodding, she pulled it up just enough to reveal Hawke’s mouth and jaw. Shrugging his shoulders, Anders went over the man on the bed, sensing his temperature using three of his fingers, tutting and shaking his head as he examined him. Finally, he pulled a short jar out from his cloak, revealing a thick, faintly blue, paste, which he proceeded to slather on the chest of the previously overheating man before him, before applying a healing spell.

“What was that?”, Athenril asked.

“Ice salve,” Anders explained. “It’ll cool him down pretty much straight away, so you can remove those ice packs in a few seconds.”

After waiting those few seconds, she snapped her fingers, and Tomwise and Elegant proceeded to pull them out from Hawke’s crevices, Tomwise discreetly covering up Hawke’s smalls after he was done. Anders turned to Athenril, carefully placing the dozen or so vials on the side table, picking one up and gently emptying it down Hawke’s throat, showing the empty vial to Athenril.

“He’s lost a lot of essential minerals from his system, sweating like a topside nug,” Anders explained, continuing, “Feed him one of these now, then once an hour. If he falls asleep, get him back up to speed once he’s up. He’s stable now, but he still needs them.”

“What’s in them?”, Athenril asked, taking it from him. Before he could respond, she sniffed the open top of the vial, saying, “Berry juice?”

He crossed his arms, nonplussed. “Prophet’s Laurel. They’re very rare on this side of the Waking Sea, and it’s got everything he’ll need to go about running around the docks carving up maleficars or whatever it is that you do. I wouldn’t advise he do so again till a full day afterwards.”

“I’ll be the boss of that,” Athenril said, reaching for her purse. “How rare were we talking?”

“The salve was fifty silvers, and the tonics are ten each, so that’s a sovereign and seventy-”

She pushed a gold coin into his hand, cutting another in half with her knife on the table and passing one half of it to him. “My dagger doesn’t measure angles. Take it or leave it.”

Anders put the coin and piece away, conceding the point. “I suppose that’s the price to pay for putting another thug on the streets. Don’t worry, this doesn’t leave these four walls, et cetera. I’m hardly important enough for the Sharps to breathe down my neck anyway.”

With that, he left, and Athenril turned around to Tomwise and Elegant.

“Thanks. You’ve earned yourselves a little advance with your fast work. I’ll take it from here. Head back to HQ and tell them I want new guards six hours from now.”

She cut the remaining half into quarters, tossing them apiece to them as they left, leaving her alone in the top suite of the Blooming Rose with Hawke.

“Maker’s hairy tits, Hawke,” she said as she sat at the foot of the bed, “you’ve cost me a pretty penny tonight. At least you’ve shown you’re worth it.”

He pulled the cloth off his face, looking down at her as she idly rubbed her knees together. “Here I thought you kept me around because I was pretty. I could feel your wandering eyes when Tomwise and Elegant were shoving all sorts of nasty cold things around my nethers.”

“You, on the other hand,” Athenril said as she lay prone alongside Hawke, “must be wondering if this some delirious dream, because you’ve finally managed to get me in the most expensive suite of the Blooming Rose.”

“I don’t know,” Hawke replied, asking, “are you going to demonstrate a Tantervale Knot?”

She slapped him gently on the shoulder, causing him to wince from the heat rash. “Trust me, Hawke, this is reality. Still, we do have the room to ourselves here.”

“I don’t think whoever it was had this in mind, but I think I’m being advised to rest till I finish that course of tonics.”

“Well,” Athenril said, sitting up, “you don’t have to do anything.”

“How about…?” Hawke asked, glancing to the side.

“What about them?” she retorted, moving to the clasps on her shoulders. “Far as they know, I’m just making sure you don’t die on me. Hate to tell your mother that you bit it in the Blooming Rose of all places. Now shut up.”

“Yes, serah.”

Athenril pulled off her armoured top, revealing her smallclothes, draped over her small but perky breasts, and her toned figure, built from a rough life on the streets of Kirkwall. Like begot like, she supposed. She straddled Hawke, pressing her knee between his legs as she leant forward, kissing him on the forehead.

“Why,” Hawke said, “I think I feel my body temperature rising again.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up, Hawke?” Athenril asked, pulling aside her bra cups and shoving her chest in his face. He looked up, locking his gaze with her mint-green eyes as she lowered herself onto him, letting him wrap his lips around the tip of her breast, gasping as his tongue emerged to lap gently at it.

She looked down at him. “I think I like you here.”

Her nipple left his mouth as she got up, and she turned as she leaned back down, getting him to do the same to her other one. A deep hum of satisfaction passed her pursed lips as she felt Hawke shift around her knee.

“Hmm,” Athenril remarked, “I think you do too.”

Hawke broke away. “I think I do.”

“Well, I suppose I’m oddly glad that this happened. Figured it only took a curse to get your shirt off, Hawke.”

“And yours, serah,” he remarked.

“I’m a strong believer in equality, didn’t you know?” she asked ironically. “If I’m paying extra for you for things like this I might as well make the most of it. Any complaints, Hawke?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Good boy,” she said, leaning in once again to kiss him on the lips.

@dadrunkwriting

#m!hawke/athenril #m!hawke #hawke #hudson hawke #athenril #dragon age #dragon age ii #ao3 #fanfic #prompt fic #goblin-deity #athenril-of-kirkwall #dadrunkwriting #da drunk writing circle

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pineaberry · 6 years ago

Text

Self-Destruct

This is essentially a backstory for my new Jedi Consular (Vaakot) and Imperial Agent (Ara Cidran).

Warning: Death, slavery, mentions of mutilation

What happens when you break the rules and the Matriarch must execute justice.

The heavy rain pummeled the flagstones of the courtyard leading up to the manor’s massive wooden doors. A single hooded figure cut a path through the heavy drops and opened the entrance with the wave of her hand. The large building was unguarded, the heavy layer of dust betraying the fact that the manor had been abandoned a full year before. A single flickering light emitting from the study cut through the darkness. She pushed open the door and there was her brother, surrounded by tattered books and half-scribbled notes. She had hoped that after his lover’s death he would have taken time to mourn and spend time with his newborn child, but it was not to be.

He remained seated behind a large desk presumably absorbed within a tome of some ancient art, but Atrophine knew better. He was aware of her presence, they’d always been unusually close, even for siblings.

“Fallow, what have you done?” her rueful tone reverberated through the stone walls. The book slammed shut and durasteel gray eyes stared up at her defiantly.

“I did what I had to. I’ve claimed the birthright you denied me!”

“I can see through your borrowed words, Brother. I warned you Isaira’s ambition knew no bounds-”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare speak her name! All she ever wanted was to be worthy of me. Everything she did was for me! To free me from your control!”

“I am not here to argue about your lover’s inferiority complex.”

“You would know all about inferior lovers. The entire House is keenly aware of your love for the military. Does he simper and grovel and beg prettily?” he sneered,

“Mind. Your. Words. Unlike your petty infatuation, my husband has earned his place in my House.”

He bared his teeth at her in an angry grimace before shoving away from his desk.

“Isaira would never bend to my will like he does, but you couldn’t have that, could you? You couldn’t have her in your house without kneeling! You couldn’t have Isaira’s daughter challenging your supremacy! My daughter!”

“Am I to understand that you blame me for your child’s force-blindness as well? I don’t recall ordering you to breed with that woman. Tell me Fallow, is there any responsibility at all that you’re willing to shoulder at this point?”

“Explain it then! Explain why my pure blooded daughter stumbles blindly in the darkness when your own half-breed spawn all but burns with her strength in the Force!”

Atrophine unsheathed her lightsaber and glared at him. Only her love for him prevented her from igniting it and cutting out his insolent tongue.

“Maker’s sake Fallow, you’re a grown man and a healer at that. An articulate Massassi Brute spreads her legs and you forget two decades of medical training? I shouldn’t have to explain what you did wrong! I shouldn’t have to tell you her genetics were riddled with so much inbreeding and slave stock that she was a step up from sterile! She could barely provide you with a living offspring much less a force-user! You should have asked her to build you a temple not bear you an heir!”

“She was my lover! And you! You forced her to raise a force-blind child as a mark of shame! You forced her to acknowledge a damaged offspring just to humiliate her!”

Atrophine stared at him defiant, refusing to apologize for her actions regardless of how they were perceived.

“Is that why you did it then? Your inability to love your child, you complete lack of empathy for a life you created, had you resort to murder?”

“Don’t lecture me!” he snarled as he threw the heavy desk between them against the wall with a single swoop of Force, “Don’t stand there with your hands covered in her blood and lecture me about taking a life! All she wanted was to prove she was your equal and you killed her for it! You coddle and protect every strayed Imperial that wanders into your arms but when it came to her! When it came to the the center of my world! Where was you damned mercy then?!”

“She challenged my leadership! She demanded a duel because her ambition blinded her to her weakness! SHE COULD NOT LIVE AS MY BETTER SO I ALLOWED HER TO DIE AS MY EQUAL!” she snapped blocking a chunk of stone he’d ripped up off the floor. “And you Fallow… you were my brother! You had a daughter that depended on you and what have you done? You’ve broken into my library, stolen sacred holocrons, and murdered Lord Antarus in the process! Antarus was one of our own bloodline! Did you think I would ignore your actions? Did you think you would not have to face the consequences of your crimes?”

Fallow’s silver eyes narrowed but his lips curled into a mad smile. He released a barrage of lightning causing Atrophine to raise a barrier in order to block the attack. The attack rebounded and struck Fallow squarely in the chest.

“You’re too late!” he choked as he doubled over, “do what you will with me sister, it is done… I’ve created a child given every advantage available. A child whose genetic code was updated and refined just as you purified your own child. When the time comes… my son. Isaria’s son will take his rightful place as Darth Cidran...”

“Do you think me blind? Do you think I don’t know all of this?” she asked her eyes reflecting only pain and regret. “I could have helped you. If this is what you wanted, I would have given you the child. He would have been born in the Medical House and wanted for nothing. Even this, all of this could have been forgiven. But even now, that woman blinds you to your sin. You murdered Lord Antarus.”

“Antarus was a decrepit old man too loyal to an ideal to have any common sense.”

“You’re a fool and an idiot! I didn’t come here to kill you, Fallow. I came to see if you were capable of showing an ounce of regret. I came to see if you could give me even a single excuse to overlook what you’ve done!”

A group of Sith in hooded cloaks filed in solemnly followed closely by a man with unnaturally silver hair in an Imperial uniform. Moff cords and bars decorated his jacket. His cold blue eyes stared at the cornered Sith Lord.

“Lord Fallow, we have heard the accusations leveled against you. As Darth Cidran, I find you guilty of the murder of Lord Antarus. In accordance with our law, you are hereby sentenced...” Atrophine took a breath before her silver eyes hardened, “you and your bloodline are stripped of your House, your holdings, and your title. You will be put to death and all record of your name will be purged from the archives. Your holdings are forfeit to Lord Antarus’ surviving family.”

Fallow’s eyes widened as though only just realizing the seriousness of his crimes.

“You can’t… you can’t be serious! You can’t give away what’s mine! I have an heir!”

All eyes were on Atrophine as she remained stoic observing Fallow’s increasing panic.

“Your daughter was born legitimately. She will be given to Imperial Intelligence. If she is worthy, she will find her way way home. Until then, she is banished to live without a family.”

“And my son? What are you going to do with my son?!”

“Your son is tainted with Lord Atarus’ blood. His birth was an act of violence against our family. He has no place among us. He will be processed as a slave: sterilized, branded, and crippled so he may never again raise his hand against us. We will retrieve the power you sought to steal and he will never wield the Dark Side again.”

“You can’t! Atrophine! Atrophine, you’re my sister, you can’t!”

“I am Darth Cidran, and you are not my brother! You are a murderer and you will watch the entire process before you die.”

The rain fell heavy upon the large transparent window pane. It was a different storm than the one that had befallen Fallow’s manor, this one was lighter, almost gentle. Gray light filtered through the clouds casting a silver sheen over every surface. The Main House was tastefully furnished and kept in immaculate condition by a fleet of service droids. The walls held paintings and tapestries wrested from Coruscant, Alderaan, and various Republic holdings. There were priceless treasures and masterpieces claimed over generations with each victory, now beheld by only a select few. Usually the Main House held a softness and warmth unusual among the Sith, but displayed only towards their own, closely knit family. Today the House was cold.

Darth Cidran stood at one of the oversized windows and stared at a red smear on the courtyard. The deed was done: Justice and order restored at the price of her own heart. She stood, draped in crimson and gold, but feeling as though all the light had drained out of her. Her thoughts lay buried within her memories revisiting every moment where she could have changed the outcome. All the times she refused to act, she had justified it with the belief that her brother meant no harm. Darth Cidran stared at the lick of red being washed away by the soft rains.

She could have forbidden it. She could have spirited away the woman he’d become so entranced by. She could have forced him to remain in the Main House. He would have hated her, but he would still be alive.

She could have spared the creature’s life…

The idea had been repulsive to her. To have spared Isaira’s life after her disrespectful tirade would have tarnished her name. To allow that low-born creature to continue drawing breath after insulting her would have been a crippling blow to her honor. Yet now, faced with his loss she would gladly bear it.

“No. You’re wrong,” a voice cut into her thoughts and she glanced to see her husband approaching with a sleeping child in his arms. The light contrasted with the scar that covered most of the right side of his face, marring what would have otherwise been a pleasantly symmetrical face.

“I’ve not said anything dearest.”

“You were thinking it. I can tell because you get that look on your face, that same look you get when a healing’s gone wrong,” he replied as stood by her side.

“How is she doing?” Atrophine changed the subject to the sleeping toddler.

“Difficult to say. It doesn’t seem Fallow paid her any mind. She wouldn’t stop crying for her nanny droid. I’ve had one of the scouts see if he could find the damned thing before...”

“Before she’s handed over,” Atrophine finished the sentence for him.

Atrophine could sense his hesitation. Veroz was a practical man with practical thoughts, that wasn’t to say he was stupid, but often times she could sense his puzzlement at Sith customs and obligations. She’d caught him several times reading up on Sith codes of honor to glean some sort of understanding.

“Are you sure you want to go through with it? Wasn’t his death enough?”

“You know I don’t want to, love. It’s not her fault,” Atrophine replied as she carefully took the sleeping child from him, “my poor little Ara. I’d hoped you and Tremas would grow up to be the best of friends. I’d hoped you would have found your own way, your own strength, your own power. I would have been with you every step of the way. I would have given you every advantage, every opportunity.”

Veroz watched as his wife gently rubbed the small child’s back. He knew she was saying goodbye.

“You won’t remember my face, or your parents, or this place, but I want you to remember my words,” her voice became laced with strands of raw Force as she spoke, “always remember you have a home. You are not an orphan. You are not abandoned. You are not alone. You are loved… you are so loved… come back to us. No matter where you are in this galaxy, find us. Remember where you belong. Remember… that we will be waiting for you.”

They walked in silence down the brightly lit corridors to the nursery. She pressed a kiss on the toddler’s forehead before tucking her in bed.

“She will be out of harm’s way,” Veroz promised once they’d left the room, “one of my agents will place her in a secure home.”

“She will be a pureblooded Sith in the Republic without the Force to protect her. Her life will not be easy, but her fate is better than that of her brother’s,” Atrophine countered as they descended the great spiral staircase down into the kitchens. Veroz opened the ornately decorated door to the servant’s quarters and immediately heard an infant’s desperate cries coming from deep within one of the barracks.

An Inquisitor was there monitoring the child’s health with a scanner. He bowed when Darth Cidran approached.

“The procedure has been completed, my lord. He has been clipped and marked as a non-breeding slave.”

Atrophine gave a single nod in acknowledgement before dismissing the healer with a wave of her hand. Slowly she approached the crying infant. Unlike his sister, he was not dressed in silks and his ridges held no gold adornments. He was bare-faced and swaddled in coarse rags. His lips had been slashed with twin parallel lines to indicate his status as an undesirable, chemically neutered slave. All the physical modifications we easy enough to numb, she knew his pain and cries came from the force alchemy procedure he had just endured.

Veroz remained at the doorway at a loss to what he could say. There were no words to ever fix what was happening. Finally he fished out a tiny gold bracelet with a name set in shining letters and offered it to his wife.

“It appears Fallow named him. ‘Isauro’, after his mother.”

Atrophine stared at the gilded letters describing a child so very different than the one sobbing before them. She reached out and placed a hand over his forehead soothing his distress as she visibly forced herself not to hold him.

“Isauro of House Cidran is the child you would have been. You would have grown up within these walls. The gardens would have been your domain, the hidden rivers and wonders of the mountain yours to discover. In our libraries you would have learned of your legacy and the knowledge left for us to hold. Within our Houses you would have found your passion, your talent, your skills… you would have been treasured. You would have been our pride...” her hand clenched around the bracelet, “but that is not who you are. You are… the culmination of greed and malice. You are the by-product of a selfish desire that threatened to destroy us; a blind ambition that cannot be rewarded. Your wings have been broken, your song torn from your throat. We have taken back the power that was stolen. You will never know the warmth of crimson sands or the bond of family or the thrill of your first hunt. You will never fully experience freedom or passion or love. These are gifts from the Dark Side and they are denied to you. You are banished to the cold unfeeling depths of isolation. You are not Isauro, that child does not exist. I name you Vaakot. Do not search for your family. You have none. Do not search for your past, it has disowned you.”

Veroz listened solemnly as she uttered the words like a curse upon the child. He knew what would happen should Vaakot remain within the Empire. A crippled pureblood unable to use the Dark Side would be enslaved and suffer a particularly gruesome death. Even should Atrophine allow Vaakot to remain within her House, he would be disdained and abused by all of its members.

“The only gift I give to you, is a life within the ice. It will have to be enough, you will receive nothing else, Vaakot,” she said as the child cried louder and she turned away as though pained before summoning her Inquisitor once more.

“Take the creature to Nar Shadda. On the promenade’s second floor you will find a slave market. Sell it there and give the money to Lord Antarus’ heirs to make amends for his existence...”

Once the wailing child had been taken away, Veroz held Atrophine. They both knew what was in that market. The Republic kept a close eye on it and a Sith Pureblood would attract their attention. A life among the Jedi… a life among the cold barren wasteland of the Force was the best he could aspire to be. Tomorrow, he would take little Ara to her new life but Ara’s trip was the beginning a journey. Unlike Vaakot, Ara would be able to find her way back home.

#Sith Inquisitor #imperial agent #sith politics #world building #SWTOR

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chirag34 · 2 years ago

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week 2

5 leadership strength

Self-awareness-You can respond more effectively to circumstances or individuals that can trigger you if you practise self-awareness. This is an excellent trait for a leader to possess. Gaining self-awareness will better prepare you as a leader to recognise your emotions and create a toolkit for how to manage them in a work environment. Self-awareness can help one avoid pointless conflict. Being able to focus on something positive when in a negative situation. In my school time in 10th standard, I was not scoring good marks in exam meanwhile I didn’t get depressed but work on my mistake and passed my class with good grade.

Situational awareness-Situational awareness necessitates an external gaze. Making decisions requires a leader to listen, observe, and consider the dynamics of a situation. To make the best decisions, you must also have a sharp inward focus and consider both your strengths and weaknesses. With so much at stake, situational awareness is an essential part of leadership. Example, in my school time I was national level player in ping pong, so I was team captain, and we had a state level competition. In that match our opponent is strong at back hand drive skill, and I know that because I played with them before, so I made decision to put me in 3rd round to win that match. I made decision according to my weakness and strength.

Leadership is communication-As a leader, you need to be a skilled communicator in relationships at many levels, and with a wide range of different audiences. Therefore, it is vital that you can think clearly, and critically you must learn to handle the rapid flow of information within your organization, and among customers, partners, employees, and other stakeholders and influencers. Example: I said before I play ping pong in my school, I also used to give training to students in my school like beginners, so I was keeping my communication simple and direct, which help them to understand easily.

effective negotiation skills -will enable you to cope with a variety of different situations. Whether you are working on a complex deal, mediating in a difficult situation, or negotiating a new contract, it is likely there will be some compromise needed to reach a desirable solution. Example in my school day we student union wants to host a event on self-safety so we want permission as well as funding from college so we three leaders from union had a words with president or chairmen of college and he dined the permission for fund but in the end we explain whole procedure and effect after than events than we are able to negotiate them for that.

Courageous decision makers- Making the right choices is only one aspect of being a successful leader; in fact, some of the most effective leaders are those who can make difficult choices despite anxiety, uncertainty, and doubt. One essential trait of effective leaders is the capacity to meet these challenges head-on. Because of this, even when things appear uncertain, their team is confident that they can always count on their leader to make the right decisions. This kind of power gives followers a sense of security and contributes to the formation of successful teams.

One I picked is-

Leadership communication- right now I am Canada and you good to know that I am representing my college February in ping pong. This all happen week before I was not aware of clubs in college, I just go for playing usually in college one day club coordinator was me playing and we had a words together I told her mine previous background in sports than she take my trial and now finally I am president of that clubs as well playing for college to only because of my good communication skills.

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mistyschallenge · 7 years ago

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Don’t Move.

This is Haru Usasa.

She’s a level designer for Super Mario Maker. At the time I first found her, she’d been ranked the #1 designer on the network by star count, the #1 “maker” as they call it there.

That means a lot. I think for any of us it would be an honor to have as many as a hundred or even a thousand stars. I think for many of us it would be an honor to any stars at all. Usasa has a million stars, a million stars and counting, and just to hammer that bit home, just to drive in the scale of it, consider that at the time of posting, she has more stars, and more medals, than the next two highest-ranked designers combined, outstripping the greater of those two by a 700,000-star lead.

And that? That’s the low estimate. The real numbers are even higher.

Haru Usasa is, to put it bluntly, in a class all her own. She is, to put it plainly, a h*cking legend.

And also? These are the levels she makes:

youtube

Ta-da! It’s an automatic.

Some of you are probably cringing right now, but for those of you who don’t know, don’t mind, and would like to know more: Automatic levels (or automatic “courses,” to use the Super Mario series’ exact—and frankly, arbitrary—terminology,) are courses that play themselves, using objects and enemies to propel Mario forward with little to no input from the player. They first bubbled up out of the Super Mario World modding community (as did so many other aspects of the SMM scene that I am dead certain there’s an argument to be made that the original 1990 release is to SMW what Vanilla is to Doom,) starting with a series of musical courses set to megamixes from Nico Nico Douga.

An automatic, by the way, is also a type of gun, which I think is pertinent to what it feels like to look at one of these courses, or to play them.

And speaking of that, here’s an example:

youtube

Boom.

At this point, they’re practically a genre in their own right, but they’ve become a bit of a base breaker in the SMM community, due in large part to their growing ubiquity on the Course World servers. Some of us could take ‘em or leave ‘em, some of us love them, and many of us write them off derisively, as cheap star grabs peddled by lazy amateurs. (Which, I mean, aren’t we all amateurs here?)

But me, personally? I think Usasa here deserves every star she’s got.

This is the sort of claim you just have to put into context, so first let’s take a moment to talk about Sonic. Don’t bother mentioning the irony, I already know. But I promise, I am going somewhere with this.

People still have fond recollections of the Genesis-era Sonic games. The runaway success of a deliberate throwback like Sonic Mania is a testament not only to the strength of those recollections but also to the idea that, in many ways, the games still hold up today. But there is still a lot of contention about just what made them work, about what their essence was, beyond second-order issues like “multiple routes” or “gameplay-to-story ratio.” Some even argue that early Sonic wasn’t about speed so much as it was about platforming, pointing out, correctly, that these games weren’t nearly as fast as their successors would become.

But what isn’t talked about often enough when discussing what made those games special was their physics, and the way that Sonic was, in the end, all about its physics. Even Sonic’s speed only really mattered to the extent that it let the game express its physics.

Sound like a hard left? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Sonic was fast. But he wasn’t boosting Blue Falcon fast. He wasn’t even boosting blue hedgehog fast. No, Sonic speed had always been a darting speed, an agile kind of speed, a portal fling-swing kind of speed. There’s a post going into that difference in detail, and there’s a lot of detail to go into here, but this quote sums up the gist of it:

“Which of these moves faster, a commercial airliner or a roller coaster?

“Alright, now which one of these feels faster?

“[…] It’s pretty obvious that, although the airliner is going to (sic) faster for longer, the roller coaster is what feels the fastest. The reason for this phenomenon isn’t speed, however. It’s acceleration, which we can define as a change in speed, or a change in direction, or both (for short, a change in velocity.) The reason that the airliner feels almost motionless in mid-flight is that it builds up speed slowly, turns even more slowly, and gives your body plenty of time to adjust, whereas the roller coaster speeds up, slows down, lunges, dives, and whips around corners and corkscrews faster than your body can adjust.

“Which, coincidentally, sounds like something out of an ad for an old Sonic game.”

This is a big part of what made a paid fan project like Sonic Mania feel so much more authentic than Sega’s own in-house attempts at a Genesis homage, which faithfully recreated the musical style and visual motifs of those games but often treated their physics like an afterthought. The system of momentum that powered the games might’ve made platforming a chore, but they’re also what made loop-de-loops and corkscrews click: You could see the strings. You knew how this trick worked, and yet it amazed you regardless, despite this, because of it, because you could marvel at the intricacy of a system capable of stretching itself this far. You didn’t always gain much speed at any given time, but you didn’t have to; the thrill of the speed you did gain emerged from the yawning gap between your standard speed and the speed you could potentially achieve by manipulating this system to your advantage, by capturing that fire, by bottling that lightning.

Many will say that the reason reaching high speed felt so satisfying, in the end, is because “you had to work for it,” because it had to be “earned.” And while that is one way to frame it, I’d like to suggest, instead, that what made that dizzying acceleration worth watching was that it was always authentic: never scripted, never automatic, never anything more than an inevitable consequence of the game’s laws as they were written, carried out to the letter. Where later Sonic games would say with their on-rails sections: “Look at how fast Sonic is going,” the Genesis games said something fundamentally different:

youtube

“Look at the power, the raw kinetic potential, contained in these slopes and inclines. Look at what you can do, what you can create, and with nothing but a little weight, a little gravity, and a little push.”

It’s Phoenix Wright interpreting Newton. It’s you, as the marble in a Rube Goldberg Machine.

It’s the awful palpable potency of a loaded automatic.

I don’t...have to explain that last pun, do I? No? Okay, good. Then we can get back to Mario, because it’s the exact same thing for Mario.

The automatic courses in Super Mario Maker actually differ from the ones you see in Super Mario World on two key points:

1. None of them play music, and if there is one that does, I haven’t seen it. In fact, the automatic music course that these new courses sprung from appears to have split off into two separate genres, automatic and music. To wit, the top two course creators are an automatic maker and a music maker, in or out of that order from week to week. (The only other million-star maker is a musical course designer known only as Ochagama.) Though there are few courses, if any (again, I know of none,) that re-unify the best traits of both genres, the problem isn’t laziness or lack of imagination. Instead, it’s that Super Mario Maker’s course size limit is below that of any music mod I’ve ever seen. There’s a strict object limit, somewhere around 100 for enemies and obstacles like 1-Way doors and trampolines (though there is a separate and significantly higher limit for static blocks and coins.) This all leads to the second point:

2. Super Mario Maker’s automatic courses are DENSE. Where the old automatics chugged right on ahead to keep in time with the music, these courses bounce back and forth across the stage like a pinball. Rather than stretch 100 objects across ten screens, these courses pack as much as possible into a small space that folds over on itself to produce a spectacle of excess. It is a bursting, exploding thing, but it’s an explosion more like a blossom than a bomb. To cut it down to simple talk, it’s kineasthetic sakuga.

Super Mario Maker is, essentially, a sandbox game, like Minecraft. You switch back and forth between creative and goal-oriented play, and in either case your goal is to explore, engage with and appreciate the complex systems at play, the systems that allow the game to be what it is. Play is only valuable inasmuch as it helps you to do this.

It’s often complained that automatic courses aren’t “real” courses because you can’t play them, which echoes similar complaints in the last several years that games like Dear Esther aren’t “real” games because your agency is limited within them. Automatic courses seem like an extreme version of this issue: You’re not allowed do to anything, and even attempting to act, save for the few cases in which you are expressly asked to do so, is punished harshly. To a certain type of player, this approach to design is bound to come off as inconsiderate, even offensive.

The compliments that are usually given to these courses, on the other hand, typically come down to the amount of effort it must’ve taken to build them. And okay, yes, true, there’s a reason Usasa takes about a month between each upload, but I think that these courses can be appreciated on their own merits, on their merits as experiences. More than just cheap popcorn fodder, the automatic course is a surprisingly poignant example of a videogame, or a section of a videogame at least, without a player, as the “player” is traditionally understood, a non-player-centric space in which the only necessity is that the player be present to “perceive play,” as Mattie Brice puts it in “Death of the Player.” And even with that you could just, I dunno, watch YouTube or something.

Automatic courses do the same thing attract modes do for arcade games: They say: “Look at what this game can do.” Only this is different, because now you’re there and you can attest to the fact that the course is moving on its own. All you really need is to be there. Be there, and be very still, and you just might get to watch the game sing.

If you enjoyed reading this, here are some courses you may be interested in:

“全自動マリオカート　Automatic Mario Kart“ by ササエタマエ. A screenshot from this course was used in the essay. It’s the one with the red and black shells. ID: 635C-0000-0045-AF89.

“ ↑ﾎﾞﾀﾝを押し続ける鍵ドア半自動 Keep ↑” by うささ. Crams all the activity of an automatic into the span of a single screen. ID: 1747-0000-0259-926D.

“ 36回楽しめる自動マリオ 36 Auto patterns“ by さぼ. Allows you to take a different route through the course depending on which buttons are held down from the start. There are 36 routes total. It’s...kiiind of incredible. ID: 1883-0000-02C1-89AC. (Here is a video showing all possible routes.)

*ECK

#super mario maker #mario #game design #a study in smm #designer spotlight #course recommendations #haru usasa #automario

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springfieldleather · 7 years ago

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Making a Leather Pattern with Denny Lowe

Part of the Springfield Leather Company philosophy has always been to learn through projects. When you’re getting started, you often need to follow the instruction of someone more seasoned through a pattern or a kit. Denny Lowe is our resident master craftsman and, with a little help, he creates nearly all of our new patterns and kits. His latest project is making a guitar case, a project he’s never tried before. Here’s a peek into his process.

Getting Started

Planning, pattern making, and cutting

To make a pattern, you first need a product. Denny finds it easiest to choose from what he’s most passionate about. “Most of the time my projects are picked for me,” Denny says. “[The rest of my projects] are things I have always wanted to do.”

He began the project by making a case for his own guitar. “I wanted to make sure I made one big enough to take almost any size guitar. I have a pretty big guitar myself so I made one to fit it.”

Once he had his base settled, it was time to begin the actual pattern. Using a pencil and Bontex, he begins tracing the guitar. After tracing, he factors in the amount of space needed between the guitar and the case and what materials he might use between the guitar and the leather. “I decided I wanted about a half an inch of foam rubber on each side of it - all around it, so I added another half inch for that. Then I added another half inch for incidentals.”

Denny glues the gusset to the base

Of course, the guitar has to fit inside of something, so there’s the matter of the gusset - the piece of the case that connects the top and bottom. “I had to measure how deep the guitar was and I was also gonna have some foam above and below it so I added [the guitar depth] plus a little bit for good measure.” Denny opted to use foam from our store - all of which are about 1/4″ thick.

After getting patterns for both traced, he cut them out of Bontex and set to work. He opted to make the pattern for the lid of the case after he got the structure of the bottom complete - he originally thought this would improve the fit, but later found that this method made things harder. Next time, he says, he’ll fashion the lid by reusing the pattern from the bottom of the case and simply add more space all around.

After getting all of the patterns made, Denny cuts the shapes out of leather - just like you’d do with a purchased pattern. Denny knew he wanted to tool his piece, so the leather was easy to choose: Hermann Oak veg tan in 6-7 oz. He also made choices about other materials during this time. He would use Kydex as a stiffener for the top and bottom and line the case with velvet.

Designing the Case

Tooling, fitting and alterations

Once Denny has his leather cut out and tested for fit, he begins tooling. For this project that element was, by far, the most time consuming part.

His design approach for tooling is more spontaneous than the rest of the pattern. “I just start drawing flowers on it. There are no patterns for that, so I make something from scratch. I just make something that pleases the eye.” He says that this project put him to the test because of its size. “This was the biggest piece of leather I ever tooled. A saddle has a lot of pieces of leather but none of them are that big. A lot of design had to go into this case - there was a lot of space to fill.” He says that moisture wasn’t an issue for this piece, he just added water as needed and made sure to tape the pieces to prevent stretching.

Once the pieces are fully designed, Denny tests things out once more before permanently bringing them together with adhesives and sewing.

For this guitar case, Denny realized he made a mistake cutting out a piece and had to rethink his sewing approach. “I originally started out with a French box stitch which is an angled stitch that goes through both pieces of leather. I made a mistake when I was cutting it so I couldn’t do that.”

Denny said that misstep doubled his stitching time. “I would have had to hand stitch all the way around to begin with but I would have just had to do it once.” To put that into perspective, instead of hand stitching for 56 inches per piece (both lid and base), Denny had to stitch 224 inches. That upped his band-aid budget.

Still, he wouldn’t call it a mistake. “I never make mistakes, I just make more expensive products. That’s kinda what it turns into. It’s the same cost for the customer but it’s more expensive for me. To make or to do things that are mis-engineered and have to redo them or just make them work costs time and money.”

Denny had to weigh his options when it came to the hand stitching fiasco. He estimates that he put about 150-200 hours into this guitar case and that over half of that time was spent tooling. His choices were to redo the tooling or suck it up and stitch some more.

“I put a lot of time into tooling and I made a mistake cutting an edge to stitch [the case] together, so was I supposed to scrap that deal that I worked a week and a half tooling? Or do whatever it took to make it work? Every crafter is going to run into that situation. It’s like a carpenter or any kind of a craft or skilled laborer. You have to make things work because theory is different than practice every time.”

He says that pattern makers aren’t the only ones who must face this reality. “Patterns help but even that doesn’t solve every problem because materials are inconsistent. Especially a natural material like leather. It’s not like plastic poured into a mold. Some parts are soft, firm, stretchy, some are stiff - so you run into a lot of problems and you can’t match everything perfectly. You have to make them match. ’Course sometimes, you have to scrap it, but most of the time, you can salvage it.”

Once Denny had his strategy settled, he began stitching his days away. Once he had everything stitched and all of the materials put into place, he just had a few more tests to do. During this time, he made a few adjustments like changing the velvet interior color. In the end, he ended up with a pretty satisfactory product, but it wasn’t pattern-ready.

Pattern-ready

New methods, materials, and plans for the future

While Denny feels that his guitar case is good enough, he doesn’t think it’s refined enough for people to emulate- plus, he has a few bones to pick with his material choices.

The guitar case he produced was heavy. He estimates it’s about 20-25 pounds as it’s essentially made from two sides of leather. Still, he says, the weight isn’t his main motivation behind giving this project another go. “The one I made is usable and I love it, but the pattern needs to be refined.”

He says that his current pattern is too difficult to make decent instructions for. Hand stitching aside, he says that some of his design choices like making the top of the case last and using Kydex as a stiffener for the gusset cost him a lot of time. This was especially true when it came to shaping the top of the case as there was nothing solid to easily mold the shape from.

“I ran into a problem when I was shaping the gusset [trying] to get it to look the same on both edges. The top was just loose. I had to hand shape that and I ran into some problems. I’m thinking next time I’ll build a form. Then I can shape the Kydex around it.” Though, he admitted, he wasn’t exactly sure how he would pull that part off. The Kydex, he added, didn’t turn out as stiff as he thought it should.

For his second case, he’ll opt for a thin plywood instead. He says that this should give him the strength and flexibility that he was looking for while also cutting down on the overall weight.

He also wants to reduce the production time for his second attempt. Skipping the tooling will cut his project time nearly in half, but he’s thinking of more ways to get his time down. To do that, he’s focusing on the second most labor intensive step: stitching. “For the next case, I can machine stitch half of it. I don’t want to cut a corner, but I want to do something that’s a little simpler.” He says he isn’t quite sure how he’ll machine stitch some parts, but he’s putting some thought into it.

He also plans to cut the top of the case out using the pattern from the base. “Biggest challenge is getting the top to fit the bottom. I worried about that all the way through, because I built the top last. Next time I’ll build them at the same time.”

Finishing Touches

Turning a finished product into a pattern

We mentioned earlier that Denny doesn’t do these patterns alone! Though he designs them and even cuts out the original pieces himself, someone has to convert those lovely ideas in a cohesive product for our customers. Elizabeth, a member of our Research and Development team, checks in with Denny throughout the process and documents each step with photos and notes. Denny keeps track of the process in his head, so it’s up to Elizabeth to put everything on paper. After that, Elizabeth matches up photos and notes to develop instructions. Sometimes she even converts the photos into drawings for clarity. During this time, she checks back in with Denny to make sure that the instructions work. This is often when, she says, they add optional steps so that customers can make something unique. The Bontex patterns that Denny cuts out are scanned and converted into convenient outlines that are later specially printed so that they come out the actual size of the product. Once all of that is done, Elizabeth creates the packaging, names product variations, writes the product descriptions and makes it available online.

Product Reflections

Denny’s thoughts on making patterns and pricing his work

After explaining his process, Denny had a few more thoughts to share. He says that his favorite part of developing a new pattern is seeing how it turns out. “When you’re making a brand new pattern, when you’re thinking about it and it’s a lot of fun. Then you start trying to make it work and it’s not much fun. But, when you get to where you can start putting the pieces together and see what it actually looks like, it’s pretty fun! ‘Cause sometimes it comes out pretty good - it never comes out like I think it's gonna come out, but it always comes out pretty well.”

Though Denny doesn’t sell many products himself these days, he does like to think about what price he might charge for it. “If you ask me how much money I'm gonna make on it, the answer is $0. Considering the amount of time that’s in it and it’s sort of a unique product, I would say about $7,000 is what it oughta sell for. Without tooling, [the price] would decrease by more than half. If someone with a big name made that and not necessarily any better, I would say $10,000-$15,000 is what it would go for. It’s like a Louis Vuitton purse, the unknown craftsman’s is worth $1000 and [Louis Vuitton] is worth $3000.”

What’s Next

Finishing the pattern

Even though his case is done, the pattern process hasn’t ended. All that Denny can do is get cracking on the next iteration! He already started and he’s using some of our brand new shrunken bison! You can check out Denny’s progress by following us on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook or Pinterest.

If you’d like to see more of Denny’s patterns, check out our website. You can also see some of Denny’s work in our retail showroom!

#springfield leather #guitar case #guitar #leather #handmade

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