#such sweet sorrow to be parted from another comic fair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bimswritings · 4 years ago

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Games and Prizes

Warning:none

Ships: Reylo/Finnpoe

A server event that I recently took part in, with the prompt I received being carnival for @perry-the-rebelpus! I've never written for in show ships but I loved doing this. It leans more towards fairs since that's what I have more experience with, but never the less, I hope you enjoy! I also took a more modern AU approach as I felt it was the best way to tackle this!-Bim

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“Really Rey, we don’t have to do this.” Kylo tried to convince her for what felt like the thousandth time, and most likely was. Ever since she had discovered he had never been to a fair, she insisted on going, even calling and finding someone to cover her shift at the mechanics. The stubborn girl wouldn't have it though, ignoring his protest as she hopped off the motorcycle, grabbing the helmet from his hands and tossing it along with her own under the seat.

“Nonsense. Carnivals are an important part of growing up.” Her hand interlocked with his own, guiding him in the same direction as the crowd that was steadily streaming in. Ranging from families with excited and energetic children, to young couples such as themselves. “There was one that came through town every year when I was a kid. My parents always took me for a special treat at the end of the harvest.”

Rey’s eyes took on a softer, more distant look. One that Kylo knew all too well. It was the same one he got when talking about his own family, feelings of both sorrow and yearning for better times. Times that, despite how much they both may want to, they can’t go back to.

He lifted their intertwined hand, bringing Rey’s attention back to the present as he placed a light kiss to her knuckles. A small smile curved her lips, and they continued on to the increasingly bright lights of the carnival, the setting sun only highlighting their peaks further.

Once inside, they were quick to buy their wristbands for the rides, Rey practically bouncing with excitement the entire time in line. As soon as the offending neon green bands were in place she was pulling him towards the rides, her eyes bouncing between each one.

“Oh, let’s go on that one!” She pointed towards what could only be described as a giant wheel. It was as if a ferris wheel had been taken and laid down on its side, with the seats all inverted and its spinning capabilities dialed up a thousand.

“I’m not sure. Those seat belts don’t look like they would do a very good job of keeping me from flying off.” He eyed the offending items warily, to which Rey simply rolled her eyes as she pulled him into line.

“Children go on it and live. I think you’ll be fine Mr. ‘Tall and Brooding’.”

It didn’t take long for their turn to arrive, and it seemed like only in the blink of an eye were they strapping into the seats, the ride operator barely giving the belts a tug before moving to his operating booth in the center. With the press of a button the ride was whirring to life, slowly picking up speed until they were all but plastered to the side of the ride. The seats they were strapped to began moving up slightly, and it was only now that he noticed they were on rails that allowed them to move up and down with the increased G-force.

The pressure pushed his face back, though nothing he wasn’t used to. It was hard to focus on the ride with Rey beside him however. Her laughter spilled above the loud whirring of the ride and excited and terrified yells of the other riders. It was something he would never get used to, with how carefree and joyful it always sounded. Something he would always strive to hear as often as he could. Nothing could compare to the gut churning reaction he had when he heard it, though the sight of her stumbling, off balance and clearly still slightly disoriented, as they got off the ride came in a close second. It did nothing to deter her, still smiling as she pulled him to the next ride.

On and on they went, ride after ride all evening. It was only after she had proceeded to destroy him in bumper cars time after time that he suggested they go and get food.

“We can ride a bit longer!” Rey had tried to protest, not content to take a break until they had ridden all the rides at least twice. It was the first time she had been able to go to such an event ever since her parents had passed, and she was determined to make the most of it, even if she went a little hungry. Her stomach seemed to have other plans however, cutting her off in the middle of her protest with a loud growl of its own. Her cheeks flushed as Kylo chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and steering her towards the vendors. All night the smell of the overpriced and greasy food had been tempting him, though he dared not to eat any of the potential nauseating treats while Rey was still determined to ride so many things that spun.

After paying for a slice of pizza each, as well as an almost comically large elephant ear to split afterwards, they settled down on one of the far tables away from all the action.

“Thank you.” Rey spoke, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had developed as they watched others pass by. He cocked his head slightly to the side, confused and prompting her to clarify further.

“For agreeing to come, I mean. I know places like this aren’t really your style.” She grew suddenly shy, finding her fingers more interesting than anything else at the moment. Her nails nervously picked at one another, though there was nothing much to pick at. Years of working at the mechanics had left them short and cracked in places, much tougher than you would think for the rest of her looking so soft. Yet her hands were one of his favorite things. Hands that held his own softly, as if they weren’t the hands of a man who had killed dozens; that would softly card through his locks while absentmindedly laying on the couch. Hands that would hold his face close, brushing over each scar tenderly as she whispered soothing words for minutes, hours. As long as it took.

He thought her hands were the most beautiful things in the world, both then and now, as he took them in his own.

“For you, I would go anywhere.” He leaned in closer, locking games as he lightly pressed his forehead to hers. She was warm, her skin almost burning in contrast to the cool night air. Though it was anybody's guess how much it was due to her body temperature, and how much was caused by the quickly rising blush that consumed her face. “Especially if I could see you as happy as I have today.”

“You two really need to get a room.”

The third voice took them both by surprise, so wrapped up with one another that they hadn’t even noticed their audience, and in his surprise Kylo jolted forward, bashing his skull against Rey’s before falling backwards off the bench and landing painfully on his tailbone.

“Finn!” He heard her joyous shout. Propping himself up on his elbows, he spotted the named man, who was currently receiving a hug from his girlfriend, as well as Finn’s own boyfriend.

“Dameron.” He nodded, climbing to his feet as the man returned the gesture silently.

It wasn’t that they didn’t like one another, quite the opposite actually. They held nothing but respect for each other, both having spent time in the air force. The only rift came from the fact that Kylo had run more covert missions, often flying solo or with just a single partner, while Poe was in charge of and flew an entire squadron. He thought of him as more of a mercenary, while Kylo would consider his potential wasted on such general missions. Still, the greatest offense in his eyes was still the fact that he had chosen to date someone from the marines. The marines. Of all the branches, he had to choose someone from the one known for shooting first and asking questions never. The two might have never seen each other after serving, yet fate had other plans; of which being in the form of their respective partners having been best friends through high school and college. They had only met again by chance after moving to the same small town in hopes of living a quiet, simple life.

“I should have known you guys would be here. You’re never one to miss a fair.” Rey continued, moving back around the table to sit next to Kylo once again, who was still rubbing at the sore spot on his head, briefly wondering what her bones could possibly be made of to have not even flinched at such a hit.

“Maybe if we told you, we wouldn’t have to be subjugated to your nauseating sweetness.” Poe teased, leaning across the table while Finn rolled his eyes. “I have to say, I’m disappointed in you Ren. There’s children around here you know.’’

Kylo said nothing, only gathering their trash and standing, the rest following in suit as he spoke.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, but we were about to continue our date night and-”

“You guys should join us!” Rey cut in, taking him by surprise. Even if it was her best friend, she was never really one for group outings, preferring just one or two other people.

“It would be just like old times!” Finn agreed.

Kylo was about to protest, and from the way Poe had opened his mouth he was too, but before either male could get a word out the two had already linked arms and were strolling away, deeping in conversation and leaving their dates forgotten. So, begrudgingly, the two men followed.

By this point night had fully set in and the activities of the fair were in full swing. Brightly colored tents lined the venue, creating makeshift paths that helped to funnel the large number of people into a form of organization. It seemed that Rey had had her fill of rides, as she and Finn continued on deeper into the games and shows section that ran along the outside. Here, vendors yelled and mocked, teased and prodded; anything they could do to get the attention of the passersby. Games of skill, strength, and pure luck, though anyone with half a brain knew that the majority were all rigid. Above and lining all the booths were more stuffed animals than Kylo had ever seen in his life, and though some of them he found creepy and downright ugly, he could see the appeal of some.

“Hey Rey! Look!” Finn pointed to one of the stalls, highlighting a create he had never seen before. It looked like a penguin, except the eyes were far too large, and it lacked a beak as well as the stark black and white of the animal in favor of more neutral tones.

The two were at the booth in a flash, the vendor already talking to them as Kylo and Poe caught up. Just from the looks of the man, Kylo immediately didn’t like him. He had spent enough time around others to be able to get an accurate read on them, and this guy had the same shifty, fox eyed look to him that all new recruits who were too big for their breeches had.

“Well hello there.” He leaned in, far too close for Kylo’s liking, and he felt himself tense, his pace quickening to reach them as the man continued his speel.

“Feel like testing your luck against the mysterious and dangerous kraken to free one of its victims.” He gestured to the creatures above.

Rey was immediately digging in her bag, looking for her wallet with Finn doing the same beside her. Before she could get too far however, he was there. Stepping between her and the booth, he pulled his wallet and slapped the five dollars on the counter. Poe did the same next to him.

The vendor collected the money with one fell swoop, tossing two balls onto the counter for them to load at the suction cup guns laying there. He did so with ease, the object feeling almost childishly small and fragile in his hands as he raised it to the target; a kraken shaped cutout a number of feet away. A spiralled target rests dead center in the middle of its forehead.

He fell into proper shooting position naturally, bringing the poor excuse of a sight to eye level as his arms locked.

‘Pop’ ‘Pop’

A jolt traveled through his body. Not because the dinky little object had any form of recoil, but because of how far he had missed the mark. The ball had barely even glanced the side of the creature, and from the look Poe had he had missed just as badly.

He shook it off, ignoring the amusement he felt coming from the two beside him and blaming it on the simple differences of the object from what he was used to. Of course it wouldn’t fire like a normal gun. Expecting the accuracy to be anything more than lacking would be stupid of him. Now that he knew just how off it was, he could adjust accordingly. Both paying for another round, the shooters were loaded and aimed in seconds. Going of where it hit last time, he raised the end a bit and brought it slightly to the right.

‘Pop’ ‘Pop’

They fired again, and again they missed.

“Oh, too bad my friends. I guess you’re not as skilled as your little dates thought you were.” The vendor taunted, sending a wink Rey’s way.

Feeling anger quickly starting to rise within him, there was no way Kylo was about to give up now. He paid another five, giving him another ball.

Then another.

And another.

Several minutes and thirty dollars later he was nowhere closer to winning, his shots, instead of coming closer, were going more and more astray from the target. With each miss his anger rose, and Poe was doing no better beside him.

“For the love of-”

“Ah ah~ Watch your language.” The vendor smirked, only making his temper worse. “There’s children around here after all. What example would you be giving them if you showed how much of a sore loser you were.”

Kylo genuinely thought he was going to hop over the booth and wipe the smug smirk from his face. A gentle hand brought his attention as Rey gently pried the shooter from his grip, a concerned smile on her face.

“Hey, let me have a shot at it.” He hesitated, not wanting her to feel the same discouragement and embarrassment he currently was. The look in her eye stopped him short. It was the same look she had whenever she was working at the shop or on his car at home. A look of utter confidence in what she was doing.

The three men stared at the two friends in astonishment as they high five, already moving on to picking out which of the stuffed creatures they wanted.ly the same position he had been in early, evidently having taken Poe’s place as well. The vendor leaned in closer, Rey clearly doing her best to ignore him as she focused on the target.

“Now sweetheart, what you’re going to want to do is-”

The familiar simultaneous pop of the ball leaving the suctioned end sounded, just as it had with his previously. Unlike their attempts however, instead of silence the pops were answered with the sound of a loud buzzer and the muted cry of the kraken as its eyes lit up red.

The three men stared at the two friends in astonishment as they high fived, already moving on to picking out which of the stuffed creatures they wanted.

“The one in the very back! He looks the softest!” Rey exclaimed, pointing. There was nothing left for the vendor to do but grumble as he grabbed the creature, along with Finn’s choice. All but tossing the animals he was quick to shoo them away, his persona turning from sour to cheerful on a dime as he lured the next group in to the nearly impossible game.

“I just don’t understand.” Poe shook his head in disbelief. Finn gave him a comforting squeeze.

“Rey and I grew up with these games every year. We’re practically professionals.”

“Yeah.” She nodded from under Kylo’s arm, which was thrown around her shoulder. “The vendors hated us. We nearly got banned the one year when we were going around seeing how many we could win before they closed.” They both laughed at the memory, leaving their boyfriends to simply shake their heads.

By now it had grown late, the group foregoing to visit any of the barns due to Poe’s hay allergy. They could always come back tomorrow. After walking the other couple to their car, they made their way back to their Rey’s ride. After pulling the helmets from under the seat, Kylo was surprised when Rey tossed the stuffed animal to him.

“Here.”

His brows furrowed questioningly as he glanced back between her and the creature.

“Are you...are you giving this to me?”

She nodded, slipping on her jacket to protect her from the wind.

“But you were so excited for it.”

“You said that you’ve never been to a fair before, so I assume that you’ve never gotten one of the ridiculously large stuffed animals from one.” She spoke, turning to him. “It’ll be a nice way to mark the occasion. Besides,” she smirked, moving to pull her helmet on. “,it's not like we don’t share a bed anyways. He’ll be there no matter what.”

With that she pulled on her helmet, tilting her head cheekily before tossing her leg over the bike. He climbed on after, his chest feeling lighter than it had all week as he wrapped his arms around her waist. The stuffed animal was sandwiched safely in between them, ready for the journey home.

There was no one more perfect for him, and he reminisced on the fact as the bike roared to life underneath him. He could already picture the stuffed animal and how ridiculous it would look in their otherwise modern styled and well kept room. Normally all the small trinkets and knick knacks Rey would bring home were restricted to her hobby room, him not being able to handle the clutter they created. This however? This would fit perfectly in their room.

She still had to be the one to name it though.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #reylo fanfic #reylo #finpo #finnpoe #poe dameron #finn x poe #kylo ren #rey x kylo ren #rey skywalker #star wars modern au #modern star wars #ben solo

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veiledsilver · 4 years ago

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Top five moments you've felt like the universe was messing with you.

Oh boy everyone get ready this is a long list. In descending order, from mildly funny looking back on it to "oh god oh shit oh fuck":

5. Catfishing: College Edition

In 6th grade, I decided to apply to colleges early to see how they were like. I was scared that if they knew I was too young, they'd arrest me. So I created a gmail account as my persona, a white 12th grader named Emilie Alexander. Emilie was planning to go into nursing, dating a high school linebacker named Kyle Kenderson, and deathly allergic to bee stings. If she even came near a bee, she would die.

This part was of the utmost importance.

See, I was constantly paranoid that one day, the jig would be up- I might forget that my fake last name was Alexander. Or the college dean might come knocking at my door and tear up my home in his mad search for Emilie. If that happened I would fake her tragic death, presumably caused by one big fucking bee.

I secretly collected my information. What nearby states were the prettiest to visit. Which colleges were the safest and most affordable. How often they held courses that I liked. In my emails with colleges I tried to sound as mature and professional as possible.

Then, one day, a college member asked me what high school I was in, so they could check my records.

My blood froze.

It was time to bring out the bee.

In response to their question, I sent an email that was like this:

"Dear Mr. McLaughlin, I was a proud graduate of- ugh! Ah! Kyaaaa! Uwaa! W-w-what's this... huge goddamn bee doing here?! Eek, pardon my foul language! It's just that, as I told you earlier, being stung by a bee would kill me.... and now it's stung me thrice (three times)!!

What do I do?! I can't die... I've always wanted to attend your beautiful college...

But this is... the end...

Mr. McLaughlin...

*looks at you sadly*

Tell... my mother... I loved her...

*dies*"

He never responded, probably because he was rendered speechless, but I never touched that account again.

My private gmail for fun stuff like tumblr still has "Alexander" as a surname, though.

4. Wild and Authentic

Alright. Alright. So. My art teacher in middle school.

Right off the bat, they endeared themselves to the tumblr art kids- they proudly used they/them pronouns, dyed their hair vibrant colors, deeply encouraged OC creation, and was chill with any art style even if it was anime. Mx. Mason was very cool, except for one thing.

We had complete artistic freedom when it came to their assignments, EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.

Drumroll, please.

Take a deep breath if you must.

Ready?

...

Cats had to have extremely distinct whisker pores.

YES, they believed that modern depictions of cats were too streamlined. Too... idealized. As a cat owner themselves, they were convinced that society's vision of cats did not do their feral feline ancestors justice. In making their faces flawlessly smooth-furred, we were stripping the cat of its true nature.

I found this out the hard way, when I was drawing warrior cats fanart for class (it was of Firestar cuddled in the arms of an orange haired anime catgirl who was his reincarnation in my first ever comic series, Warriors Neko Desu! ♡ Heart Academy Dokidoki).

Mx. Mason came over to look at my magnum opus, and I expected them to have their socks knocked off at my artistic talent. They lifted up my drawing for all to see, and I smugly leaned back in my seat.

Only for them to launch into a passionate lecture about how, in neglecting to draw whisker pores on cats, I was DENYING THIS FICTIONAL CAT OF ITS WILD AUTHENTIC SELF.

My friends absolutely lost it when I told them this story, and there was a period of time when all our discord nicknames were wild and authentic too.

As for Firestar and his counterpart Hoshineko Orenji-chan, I never did give them wild authentic whisker holes, but that's to be expected of a kittypet, I guess.

3. Stan Jungkook Or Whatever

A couple years ago, my family and I flew to Seoul, South Korea, to visit our relatives and teach me more about my heritage. It was very nice! I got to visit shrines and festivals and palaces, and I was in awe that this was what my ancestors had once seen in their daily lives.

Then, when we went to the modern side of Korea, I realized just how much I didn't fit in.

It was clear that I didn't know how to act, or how to speak Korean, and I spent my days fumbling around and getting scammed multiple times by salesmen. But I clowned myself the most... during an interactive event with kpop stars.

They had this experimental event where holograms of the boys would sing onstage and dance in place of the actual idols. Before the show began, girls could stand in booths that scanned their appearances, and holograms of THEM could dance onstage with the hologram boys.

I didn't know this.

When Cousin Ae-cha told me to step inside one of the machines, I thought I'd be hilarious and stand backwards, so it would scan the back of me instead of my front. As I walked out, I saw other girls putting on their best makeup, cutest clothes, and most expensive accessories, and I slowly realized that I was in danger.

But the danger didn't come until halfway through the concert, where the boys looked eagerly off-stage and a holy staircase appeared and all the hologram girls descended from heaven. There were cherry blossoms. There were roses. There was me, among the crowd of beautiful airbrushed girls, walking backwards.

I felt the judgemental gazes of twenty girls and their mothers.

Each boy danced with a girl, who got a cute animated moment with special effects, and sang about how they found a dream girl to have a true love romance with. Finally, all the girls vanished except one, and it was me.

One of the boys didn't dance with any girls, and now he was all alone in the rain, feeling dejected that HE did not find his true love girl to have a dream romance with. Then the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I emerged. Still backwards.

He was thrilled and sang about how my face (that he didn't see) stole his heart, and now everyone in the audience was giggling, and he slowly brought me very close to kiss me... but because I was backwards, his nose was cutely nuzzling my hair.

The audience members- at least the adults- were now laughing their asses off. His lips met the back of my head, and together we vanished into the wind.

I'd say I couldn't show my face there ever again, but I never did show my face, so... hm...

2. Horrid Little Temptress

If I wasn't a minor, I'd need a drink before starting this story. Sadly, I cannot drown my sorrows- and neither should you after you hear this, because it's only fair.

Mrs. Appleby was my Spanish teacher in like, 9th grade. Even the wild and authentic art teacher thought she was insane. Appleby forced kids to brew tea for her and yelled at them when they didn't get it right, and I thought she had a chronic squint until I realised she just did that to mock me and my Asian eye-folds. She forced us to watch Dora the Explorer to "absorb knowledge." Everyone fucking hated Mrs. Appleby.

But the worst thing she ever did... was during the school festival.

See, whenever she's angry, she zooms right into kids' faces to scream at them. Her wrinkled flesh would blot out the goddamn sun and all you see are her bloodshot yellow eyeballs so victims just stayed rooted to the spot like cornered animals or something similar. This is important.

Because when she was sampling her own brownies (read: hoarding them so no one else could eat them), one parent foolishly decided to grab one and she thought it was a student and she grabbed his wrist so hard she could've nearly snapped it and... and... zoomed into his face.

Except she underestimated his height and kissed him by accident, but it was more like her mouth was sucking in his face like a vacuum.

His wife was shrieking like an ape. His kid, my classmate, saw his social life flash before his eyes.

In her defense, she did not mouth to mouth with him on purpose and afterwards she cried in the bathroom and when I foolishly followed her in to comfort her, because I am a teacher's pet through and through, she snatched the paper towels I got for her and wailed that she was a-

A-

HORRID LITTLE TEMPTRESS.

If I had decided to not be kind, I never would've heard that string of fucking words. But I did. And I paid for it dearly. The end.

1. Violence IS The Answer, Sometimes

Thomas, my dearly detested.

Back in sixth grade, I used to have a crush on him because he had the surfer boy look with nicely tanned skin and pale blond hair and the clearest aquamarine eyes I've ever seen. He also liked surfing and swimming. He seemed like the perfect little trophy waifu except for one absolute dealbreaker.

He and his parents were extremely conservative and so, when I told him I liked him, his response was basically "haha no you're a [slur] and would probably eat my dog."

I was horrified and ran away to cry. But then, by the next day, I decided I needed to punish him. Thomas walked in before class started and I was waiting for him with these hands. I kicked him so he doubled over, slammed his face into his chair's seat, and quickly clambered on top of him to SIT ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. He started shaking and twitching and trying to pry me off, but eventually he went limp and stopped moving.

I thought he fell asleep, but Mohammed, another classmate who was bullied by Thomas, told me that Thomas might never wake up again (not that he was very sad about this. I didn't know until later, but Thomas said slurs at him too).

While I was sitting on the guy, he'd straight up passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Screaming and crying, I told our homeroom teacher that Thomas suddenly fainted, and she was the type of Caucasian that thought all little Asian kids were sweet and innocent, so it didn't even cross her mind that? It might've been me? Who sat on his head when she walked in?

He was sent home early that day. I had to go to a different school next year because Thomas's mom threatened legal action. The only reason I didn't get punished further was because my rich cousins out-Karen'd her and donated a huge amount of money to the school to keep them quiet.

Anyway, I never did anything that insane ever again, because something like that is enough for a lifetime. My cousins made it clear they would never back me up again. I was sure this whole event would be put behind me, too.

But last fall, during my first day of online learning... who did I see in my zoom meeting... BUT THOMAS! I had my mic and camera off, but the moment he saw my name, his face went pale. His soul would've left his body, but then it would've gone to hell, so it wisely decided to stay inside.

Still, out of shame and embarrassment, I never turned my camera on for the rest of the school year.

#asks #there you have it #i feel like I'm confessing my sins to the pope

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cutegirlmayra · 5 years ago

Text

An Idea’r

Prompt:

It was a deep, black night with a velvet sky covering the sky except for the single bright moon that illuminated the shining water with a glowing, flat beam upon it’s reflective, light blue surface.

The darkness was calming,... After all, Sonic had been in space with the boys for months. When he landed, Amy was overjoyed to hear they had succeeded, but even more so when Tails handed her a letter from Sonic, which he was told not to read yet.

Sonic had lost his earth legs, and needed to run around for a bit, but the letter was a message to meet him. Amazed that he was initiating a meeting, Amy secretly hoped it would be more than just a simple, ‘Long time no see!’ as was usually Sonic’s persona.

Amy crept through the night, trying to not disrupt the magic it had created for itself as soft sounds from crickets and other musical bugs lit up the atmosphere in an orchestrated procession.

Her boots would squish and slightly crush little weeds under her feet, elongated from the added moisture in the area and growing very healthy, strengthening and straightening out again after she moved over them.

Her hands cheerily brushed against the shadowed tree trunks, like her mind wandering through one delightful thought after another, as Amy serpentine’d through the line of trees in whimsical imaginings she chased in her head.

Sonic... Sonic... Sonic!

Her thoughts led her to spin out into the open with a gleeful squeal before bundling her hands up by her cheeks and looking out towards a lake.

Her awe for nature made her eyes sparkle with the water’s moonlit fancy.

“Oh wow! It’s perfectly beautiful!” her expression beamed the same as the moon, and she closed her eyes to smile and absorb in the atmospheric vibes that sent such a majestic peace to her soul.

Then a shiny red, gold buckled shoe stepped into view in front of her. It sped at lightning speeds, but only rustled the plants around them.

Her eyes squished in as her eyebrows narrowed, feeling the shift. “Is that..?”

She slowly opened her eyes as Sonic gave her a neutral smile, his hands on his hips with some heroic confidence, as though that image wasn’t printed forever on her heart.

Her face extended into one of pure joy, “Sonic!” she cried out his name, leaning forward with her arms out to her sides, a very feminine but happy surprise to her actions.

He bent his head slightly, “I’m glad you could make it... Amy.”

“Hehe, how could I miss it?” She jumped a little in her stride, coming up to him as he held up a hand to greet her, but stepped back with an awkward smile and nervous sweatdrop on the side of his face.

He chuckled as she slowed to a halt, still radiantly jittery from seeing him.

“I heard from Tails you all had quite a ride up in space!”

His expression seemed to change to a more serious contemplating, and he turned slightly away from her, closing his eyes as though concealing the doorways to his emotions once more.

“Something like that.” He looked away with a slight frown, opening the slits of his eyes as though showing a quiet sorrow to some unknown fact.

Amy wasn’t really paying attention, so lost in her enthusiasm at seeing him again that she completely tuned out the environment around her. “I was so worried! I’m glad that everyone came back safe! Ah..! Ohh... Sonic? Is everything alright?” she finally did notice his sudden aloof nature, and worriedly made a face to show her concern.

She placed a bent finger up by her open mouth, as though not sure if she should speak up and ask him what was wrong and ruin the moment...

Or at least, the moment she hoped would be created tonight...

“It... It was something.” he tapped his foot to the ground, as though avoiding the details. “But when everyone seemed to be disheartened, giving up hope...” he turned and walked to the lake, letting his arms fall down by his sides... but remaining poised with a natural power that Amy always admired in him.

After a long pause, he spoke again, facing away from her and looking out to the moon. “I wished you were there then... You always cheered everyone up when hope seemed lost. You would find it and regain our spirits somehow.” He watched the dark sky where no stars shone that night... as though lost in his memories.

It was unlike Sonic to be so preoccupied in thought or even in past events that have already happened. He always said the outcome and the moment were more important, but the adventure was always his favorite part.

Was this adventure... different this time for him?

“You... missed me?” Her face flushed a moment and she giddily smiled with nervous sweat spraying off the sides of her face, slightly pivoting her face away from his precious reveal of his thoughts out in space. “Ah, ah... T-that’s so sweet... b-b-but now I wonder.” she put her hands to the sides of her cheeks, “Hehee~ Maybe I should send you off with a spaceship full of men often!” she teased, thinking he might just have missed a ‘woman’s touch’ while up in space.

But when she turned back, grinning from ear to ear at her tease, she noticed he didn’t seem to react at all the way she had hoped.

Instead, his head dropped a bit down, almost melancholy like... and then something completely unexpected happened.

“Amy,... Are we... dating?”

Amy’s body just dropped to sitting down on the cool ground of weeds. She suddenly batted her hands to blow the heat off her face and excitedly kept her ecstasy down from being noticed by the handsomely solemn hedgehog.

She decided to play coy, quickly shifting herself to have her hands down between her bent on the ground legs and her face turning slightly away from him, down with a blush before up as if all-knowing but innocent about it.

“I always knew we were.” she teased, but slowly turned her eyes back to him, breaking her sudden playful nature in patient curiosity as to where this was going... what he would say next... and if all her dreams had been building her up for this moment.

Most importantly... what did he want from calling her out this night!?

There was a moment she was worried he wouldn’t say anything at all,... but his arms moved right back up to his hips, and his chest stuck up towards the sky that he returned his gaze too.

“Okay.” he simply stated, and that was enough to pause Amy’s movements in awe at what that could mean.

As though on cue, the crickets chimed back up, the night air blew into another still, and fireflies glided to a low light under the weeds... as though being transferred over to this moment in the lake’s fields to heightened the magical moment for Amy.

She just stared at the man she had longed to be able to love for the rest of her days, silently praying there would come a day where he would need and want her too, and that she could love and be loved without holding back; free in the moment and liberated from her lonely, dreary, and boring life forever.

There arose then a need to not lose whatever she had gained, whatever that was, whatever he had meant by that.

She quickly shook herself out of the shock and panicked that she wasn’t looking romantic enough, and searched the ground desperately for an idea.

She dashed to sprawl herself out and look ‘appealing’ by Hollywood standards but it was a silly attempt, and with sweatdrops profusely popping up along the sides of her head, she just smiled nervously as though submitting to whatever amazing thing was going to come out of his mouth next. “H-ha-haha, so like,... umm... you missed me that much, huh?” she wondered if he would cuddle with her? Would he try and hold her!? Would he kiss..?!

Her face kept showing her growing imagination as animated puffs of smoke burst from her head in the heat of her face’s open-mouth smile and sweaty sides of her face...

Then... his head turned to slightly look back at her with — once again—mysterious neutral smile that must have been holding back so much more... at least, she hoped there was something she was missing in it, and that it wasn’t just as simple as he was making it out to be.

Although, at least he was smiling to her... and at least he wasn’t making this a ‘okay, see ya later!’ gag...

She mentally gasped.

WHAT IF THIS WAS A ‘SEE YA AROUND’ GAG?!

He tilted his head and closed his eyes, “Something like that.” his soft but genuine voice shook her out of her attempts to look appealing.

Now she was simply intrigued. What was going on in his complicated mind? What was he hoping to accomplish by saying all this to her?

“S-so... what happened?” she nervously watched as he made his way calmly over to her, his face still showing a carefree smile and his eyes closed as if deep in his thoughts.

He sat next to her, and she quickly jolted up and sat properly this time, having her knees under her and her hands on top of them.

She blinked and watched him, waiting as he sighed as though relaxing, lifting a knee up and scratching the back of his bent head.

Individual quills stuck out from the gaps of his fingers, and Amy’s eyes shimmered as though wondering what was wrong.

How could anything be wrong!?

She shook her head, deciding to not dwell on it so much and create unnecessary anxiety.

“D-did... Did that moment where everyone seemed lost for courage... D-di-did that make you think of me differently?” she looked up at the sky, trying to not sound so nervous and shy about asking, but unable to successfully pull it off.

He looked to her comically, raising an eyebrow up. “All these years... and I tell you that only to have you act like this?” He held in a coughed laugh, which made her jolt and her quills stick up on end at her embarrassment. “You’re a funny one, Amy! Who knew you could be so fakely demure.” he called her out, eyeing her back with a smirk as she covered her face entirely and turned away.

“O-oh-owh-owwhhh, you couldn’t understand the complexity of a young girl in love’s heart!” she excused herself, but he just turned back to face forward and lifted his scratching hand down to the tip of his raised knee.

“Fair enough.” He conceded. “But yeah, I did miss you. I guess I realized this must be how you feel... when I’m not around, you would have to keep everyone believing. Somehow, you made everyone agree that things would turn out alright... And so long as I was around, you would just cheer me on, and naturally inspire others to do the same.” He turned away... but Amy dared to look back.

Her eyes widened.

Seeing the faint pink on his cheek in the dark night...

She stared once again in amazement, leaning slowly over to reach out and touch it as he continued, unaware of her entrancement at the color upon his muzzle.

She could only see a little bit of his nose, the side of his cheek, and the edge of his eyebrow as he continued talking, but her entire attention was upon that light streak of red... that she had never seen before.

“I always was appreciative of your efforts, Amy. But up there... where you weren’t around to help create that feeling of faith... I guess I realized how much we all really need you... in the end.” He looked at his hand, unaware of how close her reaching fingers were getting to his cheek. “I couldn’t bare to think of it then... how you must feel... when I’m not around for you, either.”

She paused, her fingers trembling as she felt the emotion begin to build up in tears around her eyes.

Sonic hated tears, she had to do something about this and fast!

She shook her head and sat back down from getting up to lean towards him, pulled back her hand and wiped the forming tears away, not wanting to spoil the moment.

The firefly glows were hushed but close, letting the intimate moment of shared feelings be while they quietly danced around the two lovers.

“Huh? Amy?” He turned back to her, as though worried. “You’re awfully more silent then usual.” He tilted his head, deeply curious of it. “What’s wrong? Am I saying something you don’t like?”

“N-no! That’s not it at all... hah...” she sniffed, trying to hide her uncontrollable emotions of joy from him.

He blinked, hearing the sniffle and wondering if she was alright, “Amy..?” He moved to try and see her expression but she hid it again.

“Ah-! Haha, wh-what did you want to see me out here for?! I’m sure you could have said this in your letter or even at my house! W-We... *Sniff* I mean, I could have prepared a picnic or something for your arrival, but I’m... I’m really glad you told me all this Sonic... Heh...” she continued to cry as she constantly rubbed her eyes, trying to fight back the flowing tears.

He paused a moment as she continued, listening intently...

“I’ve... *sniff* always believed in you, Sonic... of course it was hard when you were away. I know I shouldn’t, but I worried constantly about you! I couldn’t help myself. When you love someone so much, you deeply care about where they are or who’s possibly hurting them. Are they okay? Will they even think of you, remember you, after all the horrible things they had to fight and endure? Suppressing evil is one thing, but triumphing over your own doubts... the fears of your friends... that’s a battle in and of itself when you’re caught up in your feelings of anguish as well.” she kept bobbing her head, fighting the urge to sob but her mouth trembled with the faintest of whines as though on the verge of bawling into his arms.

“I’m just... I’m so thankful... I never wanted or would wish for you to experience those things of having to pep up your friends even when you’re feeling so horrible about everything... but if it meant you could see a glimpse of what I try to do for you... for everyone to keep supporting you and for you to focus solely on the fight and not worry about all of us, I-... I’m just so grateful...” she felt a hand softly, but firmly grip her arm.

As it made her turn, she continued to keep her eyes closed, though tears were obviously apparent now.

She felt it pulling her close and then sturdy arms embrace her, just as she wished they always would.

“Sonic...” her eyes squinted open.

He held her there, eyes closed, leaning his chin on her head.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled her head deeper into his chest, allowing herself to be emotional.

After a minute, she laughed, “How embarrassing. You’re the one telling me that hard experience for you and here I am, crying at it...”

Her smile and quaking voice seemed to inspire empathy from him though.

“It was the first time I’ve ever felt that helpless without you, Amy.” He quietly admitted, lifting his head up slightly so his chin didn’t hit her while he spoke, but his words hit home in another way regardless. “But you’ve had to go through your own battles countless times... I truly do admire you, Amy. You never give up. Because of your example, neither did I.”

Amy rose her shaking hand to grip his arm, his words meant so much to her, she was more than elated... she was comforted.

She pulled out of his arms momentarily, surprising him as he still had his arms around her.

“Amy?” He seemed to question why she moved.

Her eyes shook with a loving expression down at the ground, “Sonic... is that what you wanted to say to me?” She happily met his eyes again, and they sparkled far more than any stars, but the light in them filled Sonic’s with a sky that was littered in speckled lights alongside the moon.

He nodded into an absolute smile, with no sigh of doubt or uncertainty.

“Yeah.” he stated.

She gently closed her eyes then, still consumed in the feelings of love all around her. “Okay...” she repeated his words back to him, then excitedly reopened her eyes and clutched his arms further. “Then you have to promise me something, okay?”

He tilted his head, confused as to what that might be.

She demurely bent her head again and closed her eyes, dipping her chin down. “You have to never give up trying to cheer up others. No matter how much doubt or gloom may be present in them...” she flicked her eyes open with a resolving amount of powerful conviction. “And you have to remember that I won’t forgive you if you just give in to the doom, you have to save others just as much as they help save you, and you saving the world isn’t as important as inspiring those around you to believe that they can do the same!” She nodded with an inner strength he couldn’t deny in her eyes, and nodded similarly.

“I promise!” he grinned, willingly.

“Good.” she let him go, wiping the last of her tears on the back of her wrist. “Now... why did you ask if we were dating or not?”

“Oh, that?” He looked off to the side of himself, turning boyish, and put his legs in an Indian-style way as he held his shoes. His mouth formed an innocent ‘o’ as he spoke, “I guess I was just clueless is all.”

Her entire frame erupted.

“CLUELESS?!?!?”

“Uh oh! Amy! C-calm down!” he flinched back, but Amy’s whole being seemed to become a savage beast.

“YOU IDIOT!” she summoned her hammer at incredible speeds, slamming it down where he once was sitting as he leaped back like a frog and freaked out with the white’s of his eyes showing his wincing smile’s fear.

“Ah-haa!!!” he tried to run but she gripped a back quill’s tip, and he looked visibly shaken by not being able to run away. “Amy, I’m sorry! What did I do wrong!?”

“You jerk!” she threw him down and plopped his head on her lap, keeping him down as he reached his arms out in an attempt to show he wanted to get back up.

“A-Amy! Let me go!” He seemed to comically whine but Amy just ‘hmph’d and kept him there.

“You’re going to stay here and think about what you’ve done!” she pouted, not letting up one bit!

“H-huh?” he paused a second in his pathetic confusion. Looks like Sonic still didn’t understand his natural charm...

“And then you’re going to marry me!” she huffed in defiance.

“Whhhhattt...!? Ammmmyyyy!!!” Sonic may never understand the workings of a young girl’s heart...

The sounds of a helpless hedgehog echoed through the once peaceful lakeside field... and all the world stood once again, quietly still...

(Am I distracting myself from the feels of writing my fanfictions and prompts? Yes... yes I am lol.)

#sonamy #sonicxamy #sonamy prompt #cutegirlmayra #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose

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buffyversefanfiction · 4 years ago

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Buffy versus The Originals

Warnings: I do not own nor claim to own the copyrights to the following tv shows; “Buffy the vampire slayer”, “Angel”, “The Originals”, “The Vampire Diaries”. Nor do I claim to own any canonical continuation via comics, spin-off televisions and such. I do not claim to own any of the characters within either the Buffyverse or the TVDverse, I am purely doing this for non-profit as a fan of both worlds and fanfiction itself.

15 Plus: May contain medium to graphic displays of violence and torture, displays of witchcraft practice, horror elements, supernatural elements, sexual innuendos, and scenes of a sexual nature.

F/F, F/M, M/M, GEN + OTHER

Preliminary Round: Part One

Buffy Summers managed to stop yet another apocalypse not that there was ever any doubt that she would win, she always wins. Although, to be fair this time around her hometown of Sunnydale was destroyed during the big battle and what once was a beautiful Californian town looked like nothing more than a tribute to the Grand Canyon leaving Buffy and her friends homeless.

Luckily, the blonde-haired vampire slayer knew of a certain vampire with a soul called Angel who happened to live in a semi-decaying hotel located in Los Angeles, and after a quick and awkward phone call with the vampire she once loved Buffy, her friends, her loved ones, and her fellow slayers made their way to L.A. to seek refuge with Angel and his team at the Hyperion Hotel.

Angel well and truly had his hands full at the Hyperion Hotel after rejecting Wolfram and Hart’s offer, his city always kept him busy with its many supernatural creatures, but he also had the complicated mission of trying to wake the woman he loved from her supernaturally influenced coma.

So, when Buffy, his former love, called him up looking for a place to stay briefly he was more than willing to oblige, hoping Buffy and her team could help in waking Cordy up.

Cordelia Chase had gone from being a spoiled rich girl at Sunnydale High School, to the vision’s girl at Angel Investigations to a half human, half demon, hybrid that found herself getting possessed by a rogue member of the powers that be called Jasmine, the latter using a magical pregnancy to give birth to herself, sending Cordy into a coma shortly after giving birth.

Cordelia was the heart of Angel Investigations and it was struggling to operate without her, her friends and loved ones, were struggling to cope without her and so, Angel, Wesley, Fred, and Gunn were more than thrilled to have guests at the hotel who could lend a helping hand.

Faith Lehane had also gone through many changes herself, going from being a rogue slayer pitting herself up against Buffy, to finding redemption with the help and patience of Angel. So, after becoming Buffy’s ally once again, and helping her defeat the first in Sunnydale, the brunette Boston born slayer was more than happy to check into the Hyperion Hotel and catch up with her old friend Angel, especially after hearing the tall, dark, and handsome, vampire with a soul, needed help in waking Cordelia from a coma.

Buffy, Angel, and both their teams, sure proved to be the big help that Angel Investigations needed with the night-to-night hunting, and patrolling, however, the mission to awake Cordelia Chase struggled to pick up momentum which Cordelia herself began to grow impatient about as her fragmented spirit began appearing to them all frequently, complaining, and eager to get back into her comatose body.

Willow Rosenberg searched every grimoire, book, and magic shop to find a magical solution to Cordelia’s coma until eventually she came up with the idea to cast a spell which would not only summon Cordelia’s spirit but would force said spirit to return to her body. The spell in question required a non-beating heart, horns from a near extinct demonic species, and the translation of a long-forgotten language.

Willow waited for a reasonably quiet night to perform the spells she believed would bring Cordelia back to her body, waiting until it was just her, Buffy, Angel, and Faith in the hotel and gathered them all within the grand foyer of the hotel, as they each sat down on the floor in a circle, while Willow held a book in her hands, ready to cast her magic, ready to bring Cordelia Chase back.

The first spell to summon Cordelia’s spirit was performed, cast, and executed to perfection by the brilliant red headed wonder witch, however, the second spell to return Cordelia to her comatose body went a little awry as Willow accidentally opened a portal to a whole other dimension, a portal which wound up pulling Cordelia’s spirit into, as well as Buffy, Angel, and Faith before closing itself and leaving Willow completely alone, and without any idea of where they went, or how to get her friends back.

“Way to go Wills, now where the hell did, she send us this time?” Faith wondered as she, Buffy, Angel, and Cordelia found themselves, picking themselves up off the ground within the bayou in New Orleans late at night, each of them completely confused as to where Willow’s spell had sent them to. “I think it is safe to say we’re definitely not at the Hyperion Hotel, and knowing our luck we’re probably not even in Los Angeles.” Buffy replied to her, as she looked around the bayou, attempting to piece together where they were. “Hey! I’m back to being solid again!” Cordelia screeched with excitement as she threw her arms around Angel and pulled him in for a hug, the two of them equally as excited to see and feel each other once again. “Enough of the sickeningly sweet reunion time, we all know what happens when you get happy Angel.” Faith warned Angel, as she pulled him out of Cordelia’s arms, eagerly breaking off their hug. “You’ll lose your soul, then Cordy becomes food to soulless you, and me and B wind up tossing a coin to see which slayer takes you down this time around. “Well at least Willow’s spell to put you back in your body clearly worked.” Buffy stated to Cordelia, before the questioning slayer turned her attention to Angel. “You did not store her body in the woods, did you?” “No, I never!” Angel denied nervously, as he noticed a disapproving glare from Cordelia. “Not like you can blame him if he did, I mean maybe the big man’s still a little pissed about you bumping uglies with his son, I mean did you not used to change his diapers?” Faith teased Cordelia, more than happy to stir the pot between Cordelia and Angel. “Firstly, that was some wacky super powered bitch called Jasmine who not only hijacked my body but got me pregnant just to give birth to herself. Secondly, I would never sleep with his son when not possessed…stupid rogue powers that be hussy!” Cordelia snapped back at Faith, clearly disgusted. “I swear those powers that be can go straight to hell!” “As fun as this is, how about we change the topic and find a way back to the hotel?” Angel suggested to the women, more than eager to change the conversation about his son Connor’s past with the woman he loved. “Yeah, I don’t really want to hear about my ex’s love triangle with my high school classmate and his adult son.” Buffy agreed with the brooding vampire. “Straight to hell, you hear me?” Cordelia screamed upwards towards the clouds, hoping the powers that be were listening and heard her fury. As the foursome decided to explore their whereabouts it did not take them very long to find their way out of the bayou and learn that they were in the city of New Orleans, the only thing they did not know was the fact that they were no longer in their world, they were now in the Mikaelsons’ world…

Preliminary Round: Part Two

Josh Rosza had been through a lot since turning into a vampire, going from being a club kid turned vampire to best friend to the young harvest witch Davina Claire to the boyfriend of werewolf Aiden, but the hardest change in his life that he had to adjust to was losing his first love at the hands of a wicked witch called Dahlia, a loss that at first he blamed Klaus Mikaelson for.

Josh was never particularly popular with any of the original family of vampires and neither did he want to be, knowing all too well that friends of the Mikaelson siblings tended to quickly turn into foes before winding up permanently dead at their hands but all that had changed over the last few months following the notorious family defeating Dahlia.

Following Camille O Connell’s unexpected departure from New Orleans, Josh had managed to take over her job bartending at Rousseau’s which meant dealing with all kinds of clientele including none other than the hybrid Klaus Mikaelson himself, who had become a regular while drowning his sorrows every night since Cami had left.

Fear was quickly taken over by fascination as Josh’s reluctance to grow close to any original began to dwindle as friendship quickly grew between Josh and Klaus, a friendship which had started out with two lonely hearts before developing into something much deeper, a bond truly cherished by them both.

Klaus Mikaelson tended not to make friends easily mostly due to the fact he did not want to and even when the original hybrid did make the occasional friend it was never too long before he either watched them be murdered or they displeased him in some kind of way leading to him killing them.

However, following Cami’s decision to leave New Orleans behind for good, the fact Hayley Marshall had moved away with his daughter Hope and his brother Elijah was not currently talking to him, Klaus was in need of some kind of company and he found that and more with newbie vamp turned bartender Joshua Rosza.

Klaus found himself spending more and more time with Josh as a regular at Rosseau’s until the two unlikely companions quickly found themselves developing a friendship made from two lonely hearts graduating into something deeper and before long the original hybrid would come to think of the vampire bartender as his best friend, a friendship which Klaus valued greatly and would protect at any cost.

Rebekah Mikaelson had been granted her freedom from always having to be by her brother’s side, forced to endure heartbreak after heartbreak as Klaus put his needs and wants before her own time and time again, but now she was free and yet it did not feel like it to the original female vampire.

Rebekah had been travelling the world in search of a way to bring her brother Kol back, chasing leads from her older sister Freya, hoping to find some magical remedy to restore her family, but as the months went by and the leads grew thinner the original was starting to run out of steam and her warring brothers Klaus and Elijah was doing anything but making her feel free from her family entanglements.

So, Rebekah decided it was time to pay her family a little visit to reconcile Elijah and Klaus’ brotherhood having had to step in many times before, like when they thought over Tatia then squabbled over Katherine Pierce, as the blonde haired immortal beauty just found herself being thankful that this time her brothers weren’t fighting over another bloody doppelgänger.

Elijah Mikaelson had spent a thousand years sticking by his brother Klaus’ side, cleaning up his messes, and attempting to keep the rest of his family in line but after Klaus used their aunt Dahlia to cast a werewolf curse on Hayley, the woman he loved, he was done fighting by his brother’s side and although Hayley forgave Klaus after New Orleans’ regent witch Davina Claire broke the curse, Hayley decided to move away with Hope.

Hayley Marshall still popped into New Orleans as her and Klaus shared custody over their daughter Hope but she lived there no longer and although she did not live far from the city she lived far enough away to start a new life, a life that Elijah Mikaelson was no longer a part of much to his own heartbreak.

Elijah knew he could not blame Klaus entirely for Hayley’s decision to move but he also knew the curse sure did not help things, in fact if anything he believed it determined her decision and with her now gone and Rebekah too, Elijah was running out of reasons to remain forever by Klaus’ side.

Freya Mikaelson had taken to the oldest sibling role a little far too well and she had started to feel the weight that came keeping a family like hers from killing each other. Not only did the Mikaelson witch have to play mediator between a warring Elijah and Klaus but she was also using her expertise to try and help her youngest sibling Rebekah to find a way to resurrect Kol.

Family was not Freya’s only struggle however as she tried to stop Davina Claire and her vampire father figure Marcel Gerard from declaring war on her siblings every other day, while finding unlikely common ground with Vincent Griffiths in restoring their city for the better as well as keeping her promise to her brother Finn, one that meant finding him a suitable body that would require minimal violence if possible.

Freya literally had everything on her shoulders and was trying her hardest to wear it well, so the last thing that she wanted, needed, or even expected, was the arrival of two so-called vampire slayers, a demon, and a vampire with a so-called soul.

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maverick-werewolf · 5 years ago

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Werewolf Fact #55 - Arthur and Gorlagon, pt 1

This week, let’s take a look at a single story instead of a bigger overview of ideas and things. This time, I bring you a story from a 14th century manuscript - and it’s a King Arthur story, too!

There is a tradition you may or may not be aware of that folklorists often refer to as the “werewolf husband.” This is used to refer to a kind of story model that came around in the Middle Ages especially. Many of the stories I mentioned in brief in this post on werewolf knights (and how werewolves were often benevolent in the Middle Ages), but I’m going to get into more detail about one in particular here - King Arthur and King Gorlagon.

A fair warning before we get into this: as you may be aware, there were several medieval stories (though not all of them, despite what people like to think a lot) that are pretty down on women. This is one of those stories.

But the story contains a very fun werewolf, so let’s take a look at it! Since it’s very long, I’m going to be breaking it into two parts, one post for this week and one for (hopefully) next week.

I’ll be quoting from Frank A. Milne’s translation, which can be found here, but is also printed in Charlotte F. Otten’s A Lycanthropy Reader, one of my favorite werewolf folklore books.

Once upon a time, King Arthur was holding a banquet for Pentecost, a Christian holiday. Well, he was so happy he turned right around and kissed his Queen, Guinevere. She didn’t care much for that, because wow, that came out of pretty much nowhere. She asks him why he did that, so he butters her up telling her that she is the sweetest and most amazing thing. In response, she decides that he must know her heart. To which Arthur responds,

Arthur. I doubt not that your heart is well disposed towards me, and I certainly think that your affection is absolutely known to me.

The Queen. You are undoubtedly mistaken, Arthur, for you acknowledge that you have never yet fathomed either the nature or the heart of a woman.

Well, Arthur’s a little hurt at that insinuation, as you might imagine. So he swears up and down and all around that he won’t even eat until he learns the nature and heart of a woman. He sets off on a great journey to find the truth about all this, and he ends up visiting three different kings: Gargol, Torleil, and finally Gorlagon.

But in the courts of the first two kings, Gargol and Torleil, Arthur ends up getting talked into joining them for their banquets, which breaks his vow. So he scoots to the next king and then the next without learning anything at all.

Finally, he reaches Gorlagon, who continually beseeches Arthur to join him for his supper, but Arthur continually refuses, sometimes pretty comically. He keeps his butt firmly on his horse in the middle of a banquet, not eating anything, and keeps insisting that Gorlagon continue his story.

I’m pretty much fast forwarding through the other two kings because Arthur’s situations with them don’t relate to what I consider to be the meat of this story: the werewolf.

When Arthur arrives in the court of Gorlagon, Gorlagon convinces him to let his entourage stop and eat while he offers to tell Arthur a story instead of giving a direct answer...

So when they had seated themselves at table, King Gorlagon said, "Arthur, since you are so eager to hear this business, give ear, and keep in mind what I am about to tell you."

In this tale, we hear about an unnamed king who had a truly amazing garden full of all kinds of herbs, spices, fruits, etc. But he also had a sapling that was planted at the time of his birth, which was the exact same height as him, and to it his fate was tied:

it had been decreed by fate that whoever should cut it down, and striking his head with the slenderer part of it, should say, "Be a wolf and have the understanding of a wolf," he would at once become a wolf, and have the understanding of a wolf. And for this reason the King watched the sapling with great care and with great diligence, for he had no doubt that his safety depended upon it.

Well, the king, as you might imagine, was very concerned with the safety of this tree. He built a wall around it, he posted only his most trusted guards, and he didn’t let anyone but those closest to him anywhere near it. But, long story short, one day his queen and wife got interested in another guy and also observed him - the king - going into this garden so much. So she asked him - but unlike Bisclavret, he didn’t tell her. That made her mad, of course.

and improperly suspecting that he was in the habit of consorting with an adulteress in the garden, cried out, "I call all the gods of heaven to witness that I will never eat with you henceforth until you tell me the reason." And rising suddenly from the table she went to her bedchamber, cunningly feigning sickness, and lay in bed for three days without taking any food.

So she did that.

By the third day, the king gave up because he was worried she might let herself die. He tried to convince her to eat and told her that “the thing she wished to know was a secret which he would never dare to tell anyone.” She convinced him to tell her then, and she swore she’d keep the secret and not tell anyone.

Well, of course, you can imagine how that went.

The queen cut down the sapling while the king was away, hid it in her sleeve, and made to hug him but instead bapped him with it “struck him on the head with it once and again, crying, ‘Be a wolf, be a wolf’ - but she didn’t say the last part.

She said “have the understanding of a man.”

Instantly, the king turned into a wolf and fled, and she sent hounds after him. But the king still had his human mind (again: emphasis that werewolves always retain their human intelligence and that is part of what makes them terrifying).

At this point, our host, Gorlagon, insists...

Arthur, see, you have now learned in part the heart, the nature, and the ways of woman. Dismount now and eat, and afterwards I will relate at greater length what remains. For yours is a weighty question, and there are few who know how to answer it, and when I have told you all you will be but little the wiser.

As he will do time and again. And yes, he does seem very bitter that he married a crappy woman, doesn’t he? I suppose we can’t entirely blame him, but gee, way to pass judgment (he does apparently get over this, though, as he is married once more after this and also, uh, well - we’ll get to the other thing).

Arthur, though, is holding to his vow that he will take no food until he’s learned the truth. Arthur is apparently a good enough guy that he doesn’t take that to be the nature of a woman, so he insists that Gorlagon continue anyway.

So Gorlagon launches back into it: this king, now a wolf with the intelligence of a man - or, as we like to call them, a werewolf - is run out of his own kingdom with hounds on his heels. The queen, meanwhile, sets herself up with her lover and takes control of the kingdom.

So, over the course of two years, the werewolf king goes and finds himself a nice she-wolf and shacks up with her and has two cute adorable smooshy big-pawed fuzzy little wolf puppies with moist boopsnoots. No, I’m not kidding. The king goes and gets some she-wolf action and knocks her up. Kinky.

Now this werewolf decides that he wants revenge...

Now near that wood there was a fortress at which the Queen was very often wont to sojourn with the King. And so this human wolf, looking out for his opportunity, took his shewolf with her cubs one evening, and rushed unexpectedly into the town, and finding the two little boys of whom the aforesaid youth had become the father by his wife, playing by chance under the tower without anyone to guard them, he attacked and slew them, tearing them cruelly limb from limb.

It’s not so good.

After killing the illegitimate children of his cheating wife, the king of course gets himself and his wolf family in trouble for giving in to his rage and vengeance. But the wolves get away clean... this time.

The queen orders for careful watch to be taken for those wolves. But the king, consumed by anger and vengeance (sound familiar for a werewolf?), tries again. He kills some more people, “tearing out their bowels” (again: yes, werewolves are scary, not your cannon fodder) and getting away clean.

But, unfortunately, his pups were found in the woods and hanged. The poor, poor puppies.

And thus abruptly ends my sympathy for any humans in this story.

That, of course, makes the werewolf fly into a complete rage...

overwhelmed with very great grief for the loss of his cubs and maddened by the greatness of his sorrow, made nightly forays against the flocks and herds of that province, and attacked them with such great slaughter that all the inhabitants, placing in ambush a large pack of hounds, met together to hunt and catch him

The werewolf fled from country to country, ravaging everything, until he eventually “began to vent his rage with implacable fury, not only against the beasts but also against human beings.”

By the time he reached the third country, the king of that country - who was young and “of a mild disposition” - decided he would go and track the wolf himself with many huntsmen and hounds...

For so greatly was the wolf held in dread that no one dared to go to rest anywhere around, but everyone kept watch the whole night long against his inroads.

Exciting! Now instead of a super weird medieval story it’s become a classic terrifying werewolf tale!

And next time we’ll conclude the story (with more discussion, of course)! What will happen? Does the wolf get vengeance upon his wife who cursed him and the people who killed his poor sweet wolf puppies (I will never ever get over that he had puppies; I swear I will make a werewolf character have puppies and only find out about it later)? Will Arthur learn anything from this even though Gorlagon keeps telling him that he really won’t? Tune in next time and find out!

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff! And consider supporting me on Patreon. Every little bit helps and helps me run this blog, and you get goodies and a chance to vote on the topic of the next werewolf fact!

Patreon --- Werewolf Fact Masterlist --- Twitter)

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fordarkisthesuede · 6 years ago

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Batman the TellTale Series: The Tolls of Justice - Prologue

Welcome back to Part 2 of my Perseverance Project!

The one solid truth about the world is that it is always changing.

But things were going according to plan, for once. Tiffany was training to become Bruce’s protégé. Iman was settling in as Wayne Enterprises’ CSO. Alfred was traveling the world. John was slowly moving back into the world outside of Arkham. Bruce’s life was climbing in a steady, uphill line.

That is, until fate throws Batman a wrench. With every new death he finds, the case grows more chaotic, and the bigger it gets, the more dangerous his lifestyle becomes.

Soon Bruce’s life is more uneven than ever, and the only real constant seems to be John.

But can he even hold onto him, when their worlds are changing so much?

{Next chapter}

Continue on Ao3 or read below...

[Prologue]

Gotham Harbor always had a peculiar smell. There was the scent of the river, rotting wood, and seagulls with the odor of diesel and bunker fuel from the variety of ships in the docks.

And of course, there was the stench of dead fish that carried on the wind. It was that sickening sweet odor of death that Bruce always picked up on first, and it always made him think of his first case working with then-Lieutenant Jim Gordon. He’d never forget the sight of the dead salesman buried under a pile of yellow perch.

Bruce always hoped he’d never see another body around there. He was usually proved wrong.

“Any sign of them yet?” Tiffany’s voice asked over the communication link in the cowl.

“No, not yet,” Bruce answered, adjusting the focus on his cowl’s lenses. He sat perched near top of the nearby cell tower, watching the harbor line for the sign of the cargo ship drifting in amongst the fog. “Any movement down below?”

Tiffany snorted. “I think ‘Dice’ is going to lose his round to ‘Muddy’ at the table, but other than that the only thing going on down there is the weird tension between the two lookouts and ‘Four-Ears’. I swear he’s not actually reading that book…”

“Their delivery is late. They’re bound to be tense.”

“I dunno… What kind of name is Four-Ears for a leader of a gang, anyway? It sounds more like an insult than anything.”

“He’s not the leader, he’s a leader. Black Mask is the leader. He gives all his major subordinates nicknames to distinguish them from the rest of the group, unless there’s two of each name within the lower ranks.”

“…are you telling me ‘Muddy’ is that guy’s real name?”

“Yes.” Bruce answered, looking back out at the harbor. The fog was fairly dense, rolling over the water in slow streams, covering everything like a delicate blanket. The warm air of late May caressed the exposed skin of Bruce’s face, reminding him of the last time he’d been so close to the harbor on a case…

It had been over a year since the travesty the Riddler and the Pact brought to Gotham. Thirteen months and nine days.

Bruce heard the message tone in his ear like a small sonar beep. It wasn’t often he got a text message that late at night. He knew who it was from before he even glanced down at his gauntlet to read it.

Still on night duty?

Yes, Bruce typed back. It’d be better if you were here, he added honestly. Tiffany was still at the base, keeping lookout via camera drone, but it wasn’t the same as having a physical presence there.

The feeling’s mutual! I keep hoping I’ll wake up next to you…

Then I’d be able to make EVERYTHING better ;D

Bruce felt the corner of his mouth curve upward, despite the roll of eyes. I gave you that phone for emergencies. Sweet-talking me doesn’t count.

My heart burns for you like a match thrown on a box of oily rags!!!!

Doesn’t THAT count??

He was tempted to ask if John couldn’t even wait three days since he’d last seen him, but truthfully the time between their visits had gotten shorter and shorter as weeks passed. Bruce didn’t like keeping away for long, either.

A box of oily rags, though? That was a bit far, even for him. Almost concerning.

But he wouldn’t be John if he didn’t go a little overboard.

Bruce was halfway into typing ‘I don’t think I have enough burn gel for that’ when another text stopped him.

Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in your sight, fair Bruce ♡ ♡ ♡

He stared down at his gauntlet. He was getting quoted Shakespeare.

No, that wasn’t quite right - he was being wooed with Shakespeare.

That was…definitely a first. It was bizarrely pleasant, leaving a warm feeling in its wake.

I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, Romeo.

So soon?? :o

Stay safe for me, then, Brucie ♡

“Batman?”

Bruce blinked, closing the message system on his gauntlet so he could resume looking at the horizon. Sure enough, there was a shadow of a boat finally showing behind the fog.

“You got awfully quiet there for a moment. Who was the text from?”

“…how did you know I got a text?”

“I see the notifications for your gauntlet on this thing, remember?” Tiffany answered with a laugh. “Eight texts on duty, huh? Someone special you’re not telling me about?”

There was no way he was going to tell her he was texting John. “You said the heroin was coming in disguised as fan merchandise. What kind was it?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. This is the fifth time in two weeks you’ve gotten texts while I’m manning the cave. You have to tell me about them sometime.” Bruce winced, his good mood quickly disappearing. “Anyway, it’s all Sunset stuff. You know, that vampire thing from a couple years ago? I’m pretty sure they said it’s inside those weird plastic figures with the big heads. The heads are hollow, so they probably filled them with heroin and put them back in the collectible boxes.”

Bruce zoomed in on the ship in the distance. It didn’t seem to be in a hurry… It was a commercial fishing boat, not overly large, but it could certainly move faster than that. Bruce tried to watch the waves crash against the crest of the boat, but the water lapped at it as if there was no propelling force. “I think it’s stationary.”

“What, you think they’re going to take a lifeboat to the dock?”

“That’s possible.” If they did, it meant they would not be dropping off the heroin shipment right away. What would they come for? Payment first? That seemed like a poor decision…

Bruce scanned what he could see of the deck. Nothing out of the ordinary… But no sign of life. Even the dim light in the captain’s cabin showed only the silhouette of a man in the chair.

Warm wind hit his back, and Bruce heard the ends of his cape flap whip at his ankles.

Something was wrong. It was too lifeless. Too simple. There should be someone on deck when the boat was that close to the docks, keeping a look out for any signs they would be disturbed.

“I’m going out there,” Bruce said, gaging the distance between the tower and the boat. With the wind, he should get a good enough glide. Getting back would be harder – he might have to swim.

“Wait, what?”

“Something’s not right. The boat’s not running. I’m going to go check it out.”

“…normally, I’d ask if you were insane, but I already know the answer to that.” He could practically hear the light frown she was wearing; he narrowed his eyes at the light ableism. “You’d go even if I told you not to.”

Bruce frowned. “I wouldn’t go if you had a good reason for stopping me.”

Tiffany sighed over the communicator. “Do you want me to call Gordon?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell you the second I think we need backup.”

“So, what, two seconds after they start shooting you?”

Bruce ignored the comment and took a running leap off the tall warehouse, his cape outspread as the wind picked up, gliding him towards the small ship. He was almost weightless, flying freely through the foggy night.

It was simple and short, but the moment was always worth living in.

He landed on the edge of the boat, his boots hitting the metal of the front as he grabbed the railing with both hands and hoisted himself up as quietly as he could, his cape fanning out behind him.

Just as Bruce had thought, the motor wasn’t running. There were no footprints or signs of movement on deck. There wasn’t as much as a whispered conversation.

It was all quiet, and quiet on a boat like this meant something was seriously wrong.

He ran through scenarios in his mind. The motley crew of Black Mask’s lackeys back at the dock might have rigged it to explode. Or perhaps it could be an ambush job for him; they could be hiding, waiting for him to go below deck and then spray him with bullets.

It would be best to investigate the captain’s cabin – he could easily get there by hooking onto part of the roof-line and grappling up to the door. The lack of lights on deck would make it impossible for the captain to see him there now, so he should be safe…

The whir of the grappling line cut through the silent fog like a piano wire through butter. With still no noise out there, Bruce was getting that creeping feeling at the back of his neck.

The cabin creaked open in a rush as Bruce readied Batarangs in each hand, primed to throw at whoever was behind the door.

No one was there, aside from the captain, stiff in his seat, the dull yellow light of the control panel barely illuminating him.

It wasn’t the eerie stillness of the person in the chair that clued Bruce into what really happened, but it was the unpleasant smell of urine that lingered as Bruce stepped closer to examine the man.

A dark red line ran across the man’s pale neck. The crew-neck shirt was soaked with blood. Slight bruising on his forehead, suggesting he’d been held still. The man’s eyes were still blown wide in surprise. It was almost comical, with the small o-shape his mouth was set in.

His death been fairly recent. About an hour. A quick scan with his glove turned up no trace evidence.

“Oracle – the captain’s dead. His throat’s been cut.”

“Uh, there’s no chance it was mutiny, was it?”

“Doubt it. Call Gordon; I’m going to look below deck.”

“Got it.”

Bruce swept away, not seeing anything else of note in the cabin.

The lower deck was also suspiciously silent. Bruce made sure to walk slowly, wary of any trip wires or traps, and keeping his eyes and ears open for any hint of sound. It could still be an ambush.

The cargo hold had piles of cardboard boxes, all with the Sunset logo printed on top next to the word FIGS in a spiky word balloon. Bruce understood the collector’s value of such things – he still had pieces of Gray Ghost memorabilia stored in their original boxes in his media room’s display case. There must have been a few thousand dollars’ worth of figures alone, but with the price of heroin, it might have been a several hundred grand more.

A small fortune worth killing over. But the boxes seem untouched. Why?

Even simple revenge between a rival gang wouldn’t have justified leaving several grand worth of drugs behind. There were some gangs that didn’t like dealing with illegal substances - either for fear of getting their hands too dirty, or the fact that such things were so often stolen or seized that it wasn’t worth the investment. Surely a group like that would have shot up the place… And it wasn’t like those groups to go head-to-head with the likes of Black Mask. At least not alone.

Bruce heard the light patter of tiny feet on wood. Rats. The sound was coming from his left. Past the tower of boxes.

And tucked away behind a stack, another corpse, accompanied by a pair of rats trying to nibble away at his hands and face. They scampered away behind the boxes at the sight of Batman’s shadow.

This second man hadn’t died so cleanly. There were several puncture wounds, as if he’d been stabbed by someone playing five finger fillet on his torso. There was no instrument left behind, no broken blades or anything helpful. The size of the wounds and lack of torn flesh suggested something small and straight-edged, like a traditional switchblade or dagger.

Bruce ran his glove’s scanner over them, hoping to find any trace elements. Paint chips, hairs, fibers – anything.

“Another body, huh?” It wasn’t really a question. Just subtle disgust from Tiffany. “Randolf Barron, age 44, did time for smuggling, possession, and assault. Pretty sure the cotton-poly blend fibers sticking in the wounds are from his shirt.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nada. Where’d you find him?”

“Cargo hold. He’s been here about an hour.”

“God… I hope you find someone alive tonight.”

Bruce doubted it. “So do I,” he muttered, hoping he was wrong in thinking it would be a very long night.

He treaded carefully, hearing only a few squeaks and scampers of rodents. The kitchenette had two people, sitting in plastic chairs with very bloody eye sockets on the sides exposed to the door. If the blade was long enough, death would have been instantaneous

Bruce unclipped the miniature-drone from his belt and let it fly into the air to take an aerial shot. He didn’t want to risk contaminating the scene too much, and if there was someone hiding behind the counter…

There wasn’t. He frowned, zooming in on the wounds to the eyes – the blades were long, shoved or thrown in at an angle so they hit the brain. Near-instant death.

“Jack Whendleham and Kirby Noltz,” Tiffany repeated with a slight strain in her voice. “Both 39, Gothamites, tried for breaking-and-entering, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, cocaine possession… Ugh. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, but there’s probably more. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine… Just… I have this thing about eyes getting poked.”

No knives were left behind...but there were partial bloody shoe-prints moving from the doorway to the table. He’d need a closer look, but at least it was something. He might be able to piece together a full size, analyze the wear on the treads…

The killer could still be on board.

Bruce swept away, letting the drone fly in front of him as he kept a vigilant watch. There was no other sound aside from his muffled steps and the low hum of the drone.

There was a storage room, packed with more boxes…

And four more bodies, laid out in the middle of the floor with their heads all pushed together.

“Oracle, send your drone out here to check-”

There was a slight noise coming in over the ear-piece, like a firework had gone off in the distance.

“I can’t, Black Mask’s gang is on the move!”

“What?”

“Their van exploded, they’re leaving the warehouse! I can follow them but-FUCK!” Tiffany shouted, and Bruce heard the tell-tale sound of her fist hitting the desktop. “My feed cut out! It’s...UGH! Fuck them! They took it out! I’m not getting a power signal!”

“Oracle, send Unit Three out to try and track them. I need to finish searching the ship; the killer could still be on board.”

“I can’t, Three’s too far away, it’ll be too late,” Tiffany explained frantically, “What do we do?”

Bruce cast a look at the bodies. “The shipment will be in custody shortly. We’ll get other chances at the Black Masks; this takes priority.” He took a breath, trying to clear his head. “Alert the G.C.P.D. about the warehouse. Get Three out here and try to scan the area.”

“...I need bring it in for repair; the bio-scanner is malfunctioning.” There was a split-second pause. “I could throw on my gear and be -”

“No. Surveillance photos will do. We’ll look over the C.S.I. findings later,” Bruce emphasized, his voice-modifier grumbling over the line.

He let the drone fly up and get an aerial shot of the four dead men, hearing the whir of the machine and the light ‘click’ of the camera, and sighed to himself as he looked at the image on his gauntlet.

“It’s going to be a long night.”

Edits: added Ao3 link; re-formatted John’s texts to blockquotes (tumblr undid that formatting before I guess)

Notes: Welcome back, my friends, to the middle of a new series I call “The Perseverance Project” - as At the Brink of Midnight was my Season 3, consider The Tolls of Justice my Season 4; and an unnamed Season 5 will be released sometime after 4 wraps up. I have such sights to show you… A new “game mechanic” that will be introduced next time, old characters returning that I won’t spoil yet, new relationships to grow, fresh villains to introduce - we’re going to have so. much. fun! (ʃƪ¬‿¬)

If you’re ever in doubt of my new bi-monthly update progress, please visit my profile page on Ao3, or check my “bttts s4” or “ttoj” tag here on tumblr. Please keep in mind that I have much less time to write now that I’m fully employed - but the drive I have to finish what TellTale could not is currently shifted into the steady high speed of fifth gear. But I can’t stay at that leisurely cruise forever, so it’s bound to shift now and then to slower gears, and I know there will be days where it’s stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So I hope you’ll bear with me, and give me some encouragement on the way.

And since the next chapter is already written, and I love you guys so much that I don’t want to keep you in suspense for too long, it will come out early - so I’ll see you same time next week! (๑˘̤ ॢᵌ ू˘̤)*౨˚ൗ

*PS - Please reblog/like, or give kudos/comment/subscribe on Ao3! Your feedback feeds me!!

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pikapeppa · 6 years ago

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Fenris/f!Hawke fluff: Lyrium and Mushroom Roots

In which I take a little reflective look at the evolution of Fenris’s feelings for Hawke from Act I through III.

Read on AO3 instead: tinyurl.com/fenhawke14

********

- Act I -

“Wow. Oi, you beautiful idiots, come and look at this!”

Fenris glanced over his shoulder as he hefted his maul from the oozing spider corpse that was leaking its fluids across the cavern floor. He couldn’t see where Hawke had gone, but her cheerful voice was emanating from a particularly dark corner of the dank and twisting cave. “What is it?” he said tersely.

“It’s sparkly,” her disembodied voice replied. “Come and look!”

Isabela perked up as she sheathed her daggers. “Ooh. Is it treasure?” She and Merrill followed the sound of Hawke’s voice up a short rickety flight of stairs and toward a narrow crevice in the cavern wall.

Hawke’s barking laugh echoed from the crevice. “Treasure? You’re such a bloody pirate, Bels.”

“Thank you, sweet thing,” Isabela purred, and she and Merrill disappeared into the crevice with Hawke.

Fenris scowled as he wiped his weapon clean. They didn’t have time for another diversion; if they didn’t hurry, they would lose the trail of the slavers that they were chasing down. “Hawke, we should move on,” he called.

Then Merrill gasped. “Ooh, how pretty!” she chirped. “It looks like stars are stuck right there in the ceiling.”

Fenris frowned. Stars in the ceiling? he wondered, then shook his head. It wasn’t important. “We’re going to lose those blasted slavers,” he complained.

Isabela wandered out of the crevice looking unimpressed. “We won’t,” she assured him. “Pile of brainless pricks like that? They’ll get more lost down here than we will.” She sashayed down the stairs and leaned against the craggy cavern wall.

Fenris eyed her for a moment. “So? What was it?” he asked. He jerked his chin in the direction of the crevice.

“Not treasure, that’s for sure,” Isabela said with a yawn.

Fenris pursed his lips, annoyed at her non-answer and more annoyed still that he cared to know.

Then Hawke’s sunny voice called his name. “Fenris, get that fine ass in here and have a look!”

Merrill slipped out of the crevice. “Why bother? He won’t like it,” she told Hawke. “He doesn’t like anything.”

Especially not smug little blood mages like you, he thought resentfully, but he finally gave in. Their party clearly wasn’t going to be moving on until he ceded to Hawke’s wishes.

He made his way up the stairs and peered suspiciously into the narrow crevice. “Well?” he grunted.

“Come in here!” Hawke ordered, and Fenris grudgingly slid into the tiny dark alcove. He flicked his eyes up to the ceiling of the crevice, and instantly he understood what Merrill had meant.

Stars in the ceiling. The ceiling of this particular part of the cavern was studded with brilliant blue points of light that seemed to pulse and glow in a steady rhythm… or were they actually twinkling, like stars in the night sky?

He frowned. “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it’s deep mushroom roots.” Her chin was tilted up to admire the aquamarine lights, and without quite meaning to, Fenris found himself admiring her instead. The bluish glow was rather eerie, but it only served to lighten Hawke’s normally-warm complexion into an ethereal ivory shade.

He forced his eyes back to the ceiling. “It looks like lyrium,” he remarked. “The shade of it…” He shot a quick distasteful look at his own partly-exposed biceps. The colour of the lights in the ceiling matched the colour of his lyrium scars when they flared to life.

“Lyrium? Here?” Hawke said incredulously. “Dwarves would be all over this place if there was lyrium here.”

He shot her a chiding look. “Dwarves haven’t mined every lyrium deposit in the world.”

“Fair enough,” she admitted. “But this doesn’t look like lyrium to me.”

“Have you seen raw lyrium before?” he drawled.

A slow, sheepish smile crept across her face. “Er, no.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow at her, then folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling again. “I believe it’s lyrium.”

Hawke folded her arms in turn. “Well, I think it’s deep mushroom roots.”

Fenris scowled at her. “Mushrooms don’t have roots.”

She stared at him like he was an idiot. “Of course they do,” she said carefully. “How else do you think they absorb water and all that?”

Fenris sighed loudly. “Hawke, you are incorrect.”

She grinned at him impishly. “Such confidence, my broody friend. Well, there’s only one way to tell for sure.” She stood on her tiptoes and reached toward the ceiling.

He grabbed her hand in a panic and pulled her arm back. “Don’t,” he snapped. What was she thinking, reaching for an unknown glowing substance on the ceiling? “Whether it’s lyrium or deep mushroom, you’ll poison yourself.”

Hawke’s mouth dropped into a comical oh, and then she burst into laughter. “Maker’s balls, you’re right. I forgot,” she said, then continued to laugh.

Fenris stared at her in exasperation. She was so careless and impulsive and so damned joyful. “You’re an idiot,” he informed her haughtily.

“Only for you, Fenris,” she chuckled. “Only for you.”

He scowled at her brilliant smile. Then, with a jolt of embarrassment, he realized he was still holding her hand.

He released her as though she’d scalded him, then folded his arms defensively. “It’s… it is lyrium. I’m sure of it,” he grunted. He was thankful that the cool blue light would disguise his suddenly flaming cheeks.

She continued to watch him with that shit-eating grin, but Fenris refused to look at her, keeping his gaze instead on the ceiling. Finally she chuckled and folded her arms once more. “Well, whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Don’t you think?”

He twisted his lips. He could understand why she would find it pretty, what with the shimmering light and all, but Fenris had a difficult time seeing beauty in anything made of lyrium.

He shrugged moodily. “It’s potentially dangerous, that’s what it is. Now shall we go?”

She shot him an exasperated look. “Come on, Fenris, don’t be so grumpy. Dangerous things can still be beautiful. I should know.” She bit her lower lip and slid a suggestive look from his head down to his toes.

He wearily gazed at her mischievous little smirk. She really was careless, and so… so damned carefree. She stood here marvelling at sparkling ceilings when they were supposed to be hunting slavers. She flitted from one place to the next with blood on the soles of her boots and a grin on her face, laughter pouring from her raspberry-red lips as she sauntered straight into spiders’ nests and dragonlings’ dens…

Incautious and brash, he thought. The ceiling wasn’t the only dangerous thing here.

Nor was it the only beautiful thing, if Fenris was being truly honest with himself.

His belly was buzzing with an odd sort of warmth, but he ignored it and rolled his eyes. “Enough of this. Let’s move on.” He chivvied her out of the crevice.

“All right, all right. Whatever you say,” she said. She shot him another smile and a flirtatious wink, then skipped down the stairs to join Isabela and Merrill.

Fenris stepped out of the crevice. But just before he descended the stairs to join the others, he glanced back into the blue-lit crevice one last time.

The mysterious lights twinkled coolly in the darkness of the ceiling, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. Likely poisonous, he thought. He still couldn’t believe Hawke had wanted to touch them.

He examined the glittering ceiling for another moment. Then Hawke’s bright voice called out to him. “Come on, Fenris, these caves aren’t going to paint themselves red with blood!”

He finally turned away from the crevice, then made his way over to her side. She smiled smugly up at him as he approached her. “I knew you would like it,” she murmured.

“I don’t,” he retorted. How could he like something so potentially hazardous? He didn’t know enough about it.

It was rather beautiful, though.

- Act II -

Hawke slipped through the narrow tunnel, then gasped as she led them into the main cavern. “Ah, I remember this place! Look, just up those stairs…”

Fenris tilted his head in exasperation as he followed her up the stairs toward the narrow crevice in the wall. “What are you doing? You know already what is in there. We won’t find any silverite there.”

“But it’s been years since we were last here,” she reasoned as she slid into the crevice. “People could have hidden - ah! And here we go. A chest.” She grinned triumphantly up at him as he drew close. “Too bad Isabela’s not here. An actual treasure chest! And…”

Fenris watched with a kind of weary patience as she opened the chest. Her shoulders drooped in disappointment, and Fenris raised his eyebrows.

“A pair of torn trousers,” he deadpanned. “Excellent find. Those will fetch you a shiny copper penny in the Lowtown bazaar.”

She wrinkled her nose and elbowed him lightly in the knee. “Shut up. It was worth a try.” She dusted off her legs as she rose to her feet. “At least this means I get to look at this ceiling again,” she said, and she lifted her chin to admire the mysterious twinkling blue lights.

Fenris shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, then leaned against the side of the cavern. “Varric and Sebastian are likely finished scouting the other passage,” he said.

“They can wait,” she murmured. “Let them compare the size of their bows or something, even though we all know Varric’s is the biggest. Give me a minute in here. It’s so pretty.” She released a happy sigh.

Fenris hesitated, then grudgingly nodded and waited in silence as Hawke gazed up at the strange blue lights. He vividly remembered the last time they’d come here; at the time, he’d barely known her as more than an apostate mage with a clever tongue, an annoyingly cheerful outlook, and a refreshing degree of humility about her magic.

Fenris knew Hawke much better now. He noticed how Hawke’s witty tongue stopped people from seeing beneath her smile to the sorrow underneath. He saw the strength of will she needed to cling to that cheerful outlook of hers. He’d watched her difficult dealings with Gamlen and Carver, and he understood why she opened her arms so uninhibitedly to each member of their ragtag little group.

But Fenris knew even more than this. He knew the slopes of her ribs and the tiny birthmark at the small of her back. He’d run his fingers across the tattoos that twisted across her shoulder blade, and he’d admired the contrast between the hated white lines on his hands and the ebony ink on her golden skin. He’d tasted her skin and her lips and the sweetness between her legs. And then he’d pushed her away, incapable of letting her see him with the same clarity that he saw her.

Incapable, or simply unwilling? he wondered, as he often did. Was it shame that had made him turn her away, or was it pride? Or worst of all, was it cowardice? Still now, months after that one shining night with her, Fenris wasn’t sure. But what he was certain of was that he couldn’t stand beside Hawke in this tiny, intimate, beautiful little cave without feeling a physical pain in his chest.

Hawke interrupted his anguished thoughts. “I still think they’re deep mushroom roots,” she said.

He glanced at her to find her lips quirked in a teasing smile. Despite his distress, he managed a tiny smile in return. “I still think you are wrong, and that it’s lyrium.”

She chuckled softly. “At least we can both agree that they’re blue.”

Fenris tilted his head and studied the glittering lights. “I don’t know, Hawke. I believe they’re more of a turquoise-”

She snorted with laughter, then nudged him playfully with her hip. “Now you’re just searching for ways to disagree with me.”

“I don’t need to search. You make it so easy,” he teased.

She grinned at him. “That’s me,” she quipped. “Rynne Hawke, making broody handsome elves’ lives easier since Dragon 9:30.”

He gave a little huff of amusement, but he couldn’t quite look her in the eye. The would-be joke struck him like a punch to the gut. In many ways, Hawke had made his life easier; she’d helped him scare off Danarius’s hunters, and her assistance had allowed him to bring Hadriana to her well-deserved death. He’d lived in Kirkwall in relative peace for the last three years, largely because of his connection to her.

But ever since their… split, for lack of a better word, Fenris found it increasingly difficult to be around her. His lingering longing for her was a slow and bitter torture. All that he knew about Hawke - her hidden sorrow, the complexities of her family, the sound of her pleasure cries as she arched her back in bed… Everything he knew about her only served to remind him how little he knew about himself.

The ache in his chest was slowly moving up toward his throat. He turned away from her, desperately in need of respite from her lovely smile. “We should move on. I’m certain the others have finished comparing their weapons by now,” he said, and he slid out of the crevice.

A moment later, Hawke emerged as well. “It was probably a short comparison,” she said. “I mean, let’s face it. We all know who carries the biggest weapon of all.” She winked salaciously at him, then skipped down the stairs and off toward the tunnel that would take them to Sebastian and Varric.

He followed her slowly, and he didn’t bother to glance back at the blue-lit little cavern.

No matter what those blue lights were, they were surely poisonous. Nothing that beautiful was ever really safe.

- Act III -

“This tip had better not be nugshit,” Hawke commented as they wandered through the dank caves. “I do love a good stash of rare books.”

“Tell me again why you need more books?” Isabela asked. “You haven’t read half the ones you already have.”

“Nothing wrong with a well-stocked library,” Varric interjected cheerfully. “And don’t bash Hawke for her reading habits. She’s already read the most important books she owns.”

Fenris smirked at Varric over his shoulder. “By which you mean, of course, that she’s read Siege Harder at least a dozen times.”

Varric smiled. “Exactly.”

“Hey,” Hawke complained to Fenris. “Don’t pretend you weren’t the one reading it to me. You’ve read it at least three times now.” She pinched Fenris’s earlobe.

Fenris pinched her waist in retaliation, making her squeak with laughter. Then Isabela chuckled throatily. “Oh. I see why we’re really out here in the middle of nowhere,” she drawled. She tapped Varric on the shoulder, then sashayed toward a tunnel that branched away to the east. “Come on, Varric,” she said. “Let’s go this way and look for these so-called books. Leave these two disgusting lovebirds alone.”

Varric shot Hawke and Fenris a long-suffering long. “There had better actually be a stash of books out here,” he warned. “I didn’t leave the civilization of the city for nothing, you know.” He followed Isabela down the passage.

“Oh please,” Hawke called after his departing back. “Kirkwall is about as civilized as my mabari.”

“And whose fault is that?” Varric’s echoing voice replied.

“What, Kirkwall or my mabari?” she yelled. “Either way, it’s not my fault at all!”

Fenris shook his head in amusement. “Come,” he said, then gestured for her to follow him.

They walked through the main cavern and through a rickety doorway, then into another smaller cavern boasting a short set of stairs, and Hawke perked up. “Ooh yes, it’s that little spot with the glittering ceiling!” she chirped.

Fenris followed her as she hurried up the stairs and slipped into the crevice. Once they were both ensconced in the dark and glowing cave, he gave her a knowing look. “Is there really a stock of rare books somewhere on the Wounded Coast?” he asked.

She blinked innocently up at him. “Of course! Would I lie to you?”

He lifted one eyebrow at her. “Perhaps, if it meant escaping the city for some hare-brained adventure scheme.”

She placed a hand on her chest in mock offense. “Why would I ever want to escape the city? It’s so kind and welcoming there. It smells lovely and not at all like rotten fish. And it’s not at all full of mages and templars and nobles and thieves who want to kill each other. I love the city.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said. He pulled her against him, then slid his arms around her waist from behind.

She relaxed back against his chest and sighed heavily, then leaned her head back to look up at the ceiling. “It’s just so peaceful out here on the Coast,” she murmured. “Nice and quiet. Only the screeching of gulls and the cursing of ne’er-do-wells getting rid of dead bodies.”

Fenris huffed, then gently brushed his cheek against her short dark hair. “Remind me again why we still live in Kirkwall,” he murmured.

He was mostly joking, but Hawke turned slightly in his arms to glance up at him. “Do you want to live somewhere else?” she asked in surprise.

He tilted his head. He’d never really thought about it; quite honestly, he didn’t care where they lived, as long as they were together.

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Do you?”

She turned around again and was quiet for a long moment. Fenris simply held her as she rubbed her fingers absently against the faded red scarf around his wrist. Then finally she spoke. “I don’t know. It kind of feels like I can’t leave Kirkwall. Not with all the… the stupid Champion business.” She shrugged. “Besides, we can’t leave Isabela and Anders and all the rest. Especially not Varric. If we left, he would probably shed all of his chest hair in distress, and then Isabela would mourn his chest hair and she’d grow all haggard, and then all of Kirkwall would mourn the loss of the sexiest -”

Fenris lowered his head and brushed his lips to her ear. “Hawke,” he murmured. “Whatever happens, I will be at your side.”

She drew in a deep, slow breath, then exhaled carefully. “I know,” she whispered. She squeezed his hands, and they gazed in silence at the scintillating blue lights for a moment more.

Then Hawke smirked over her shoulder at him. “I still think they’re deep mushroom roots.”

He smiled back at her, then turned her around to face him and tilted her chin up with a gentle finger. “I don’t care what they are,” he whispered, and he kissed her.

She slid her arms around his neck, and Fenris wrapped his arms around her waist. He held her tightly and kissed her firmly, and when she broke the kiss with a joyful little laugh, he admired her smiling face.

“Tell me truly,” he murmured. “Is there a stash of rare books to be found out here?”

She smiled mischievously and stroked the back of his neck. “Does it really matter?”

He brushed his nose against her own. “No,” he whispered, and he kissed her again.

The coming days would be fraught with danger; of that, Fenris had no doubt. But until that time, he would follow Hawke’s lead from escapade to foolish escapade, just as he had always done.

Until that time, he would take pleasure in admiring something beautiful.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/ femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #pikapeppa writes #happy new year!

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rey-skywalkin-away · 7 years ago

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Kanera Fix-It Fic I was Talking About

Y’all thought I was joking when I said I had 3000 words of a fic all lined up to fix this, right? GUESS AGAIN. 4117 WORDS. I had to delete 90% of my original 3000 words and re-write it just now to conform to what happened in the midseason premiere, and it took me four hours, but I did it! Anyway, I put myself into the queue to make an archiveofourown account, but that’ll take a month to activate, so until then, I’ll just post this chapter-by-chapter on here. I got part 1 done tonight, and it might be a few days before chapter 2: I have college life and work that’s going to be occupying my time this week. But I’m not abandoning this. I am FUELED BY PAIN.

@secrettunnelyeah you’ve been losing your shit with me, so I hope this helps. @fluffyapplecat thanks for all your support! @commoner64 because you said “please””. @blueboxdrifter you expressed support for this a few weeks ago, so here you go! @brickhawk you gotta help read this shit before the next chapter. I can’t post again without a second opinion.

Um, I hope you all enjoy.

Fair warning to everyone else: this is my first time posting any kind of story online, and it’s as rough as any story can be. I normally spend time editing my chapters, as any writer should, but I was just hammering it out as fast as I could to a) get it done before I fell asleep and b) to give you all a little hope after this agonizing premiere. So I’m sorry if it’s full of errors that I’m too tired to edit right now, and that the format under the cut is kind of wonky. I’m not entirely happy with the content, either–it’s kind of melodramatic and rushed for my taste, but I’m running off pure emotion right now. Hopefully I’ll find time to edit it before I before I post it on Archive. The chapter and some explanations for various things are down below. Happy readings, and everyone be okay out there!

*Writer’s Notes*

First off, I had literally 20 ideas for how Kanan would survive this premiere, and I had “explosion” down for two of them. Here, he survives by basically copying Ahsoka during her fight with the Inquisitors and Force-clapping backwards into Hera’s arms. He gets burned up and spends 3 weeks recovering in a bacta tank. No one’s going into much detail about it in the story, because they don’t want to re-imagine it all over again, but that’s what I was envisioning happening.

Second, Kanan is still blind: him getting to see Hera before he died was painful and sweet, but I honestly felt he had a lot of growth because of his injury, and it needed to stay. (And disability representation is important).

Third, I can’t start calling him “Caleb Dume”, guys, I’m sorry! I’ve spent four years calling him Kanan, and I can’t get into the habit of calling him Caleb.

Fourth, his beard and ponytail are coming back.

Fifth, I have a very large, multi-fandom, decades-long (in-universe) fanfiction world that I’m always playing with and developing to further my own writing prowess, character development, and storytelling skills. I’m going to make references to that multi-fandom work in this story (not a lot, but if there are moments where you’re thinking “where did that come from? I don’t remember that in the show or comics”, well, it might be from the multi-fandom). I’m including this story in my collection of works, and I don’t feel like editing it all over again just to include references to it. So you should all be able to follow what’s going on, but there might be a few odd moments.

————————————–

Chapter 1

Hera checked her calendar again, counting down days and weeks and making notes as she went. Nine weeks ago…captured. Eight-and-a-half weeks ago…rescued. Five weeks ago, we…and four weeks ago…well, I’m now very late. I should’ve started another cycle by now. And on a regular diet for over eight weeks, with additional nutritional supplements to get back to full strength after confinement. And we’re hardier than humans; we don’t get so out of sync after missing a few meals and getting a few electric shocks. So that shouldn’t explain why I’m late. She then checked her star charts for any habitable systems nearby, and winced when there weren’t any. Should I divert our flight path to go to the nearest star system just to buy a test? No, we’re fine on other supplies, and everyone will ask questions as to why I think we need to make a stop. She would’ve killed for a certified medical droid onboard her ship in that moment, but she was out of luck. They’d left the medical system on that nameless little asteroid five weeks ago now, and they were back to their own devices out in space. Great. Just great. Gonna have to go on instinct this time. And she wasn’t liking what she was coming up with.

Hera opened her mouth to say the word out loud, but couldn’t do it. Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’re four weeks late, and your idiot self didn’t want to think about protection after you were saved by Kanan and the others. And after what nearly happened to Kanan…

After her rescue, after telling Kanan that she loved him, after he nearly died and had to spend three weeks in a bacta tank, the minute he’d showered off and went to his own bunk to be alone, she’d slipped into his room and reiterated her love for him. Free of drugs and pain, she’d finally broken down for once in her karking life and loved him, not as a general, or a pilot, or a freedom fighter. Just him and her, together, as it should always be. To remind herself that he’d been blasted back into her arms instead of dying in the fuel explosion, that he’d survived three flatlines before they could find him a bacta tank. That he’d eventually woken up and immediately began to listen for the sound of her voice. And afterwards, curled up in each other’s arms, she’d whispered that, now that his beard had grown back and his hair was beginning to return, he’d better keep it that way. Kanan had laughed, but they’d clutched each other in the semidarkess and just listened to each other breathe. No, of course you weren’t thinking clearly. He needed you, and you needed him. But look what came of it.

Hera rubbed the corners of her eyes and tried to think past the rising panic in her gut. What am I going to do about this? Pills? A clinic visit? Which is cheapest? What’s safest and gets me back into the pilot’s seat without anyone noticing something was wrong? She thought back to the pamphlets and medical texts she’d memorized when she’d left Ryloth to strike out on her own in the galaxy. Twi’leks were always targeted anywhere one went in the galaxy, and she’d prepared herself for what to do if she was attacked and how to handle any possible outcome. But thinking about the next few steps right now made Hera’s heart hurt. A few years ago, this would’ve been an easy decision for her. Three months ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Today…

Hera knew why she was conflicted. Will there ever be a tomorrow? We got lucky this time—will I be next? Or will the Force finally decide to call Kanan back to wherever it is Jedi go when they die? Will there ever be a second chance for us to conceive? She hadn’t given much thought to the end of the war, to her future, but sitting next to Kanan’s bacta tank and listening to his pulse monitor for several hours a day had broken something inside her, and she’d begun to think. A mild, deserted little planet. Not dry and harsh like Ryloth. Someplace cool and wet and green. A little home, with rooms for the rest of the family. Sabine can paint the family room with murals of our adventures. Maybe little tookas frolicking on the baby’s nursery walls. Zeb can carve us furniture with all the designs of Lasat that he’s lost. Whatever he can remember. Ezra…he can have a real bed, not a bunk. And a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a ration pack. When was the last time he had one of those? Chopper can have a nice oil bath and shut down without worrying that we’ll wake him up for an emergency. And our baby will run in the grass and will never know war, and…

Hera swallowed back tears and controlled her emotions. You’re dreaming again, Hera Syndulla. It’s one thing to admit your feelings for Kanan and finally be open in your relationship, and it’s another thing to abandon the rest of the galaxy to pursue your selfish dream. How many people want the same dream as you? How many people have the skills and resources to make that dream come true for everyone else that can’t help themselves? Your little fantasy will have to wait. Get rid of this and get back to work.

Her heart broke as she made up her mind, and a sudden fatigue overcame her. Raw emotion? Something related to the pregnancy? She knew nothing about pregnancy, come to think of it. Or how to be a mother. What makes you think you have time to learn? Especially now? You aren’t ready for this. You know what you have to do.

Hera wearily glanced at her chrono. A few hours until your shift. When I’m back in the pilot’s seat, I can tell the others I’ve got nerve damage from torture, and that I need to see a specialist somewhere. Maybe I could say we all deserve a treat after what we’ve all been through. She shuffled to her dresser and opened the secret panel on the side to check how many credits she had left in her emergency fund. Enough for the procedure and a little left over for the others. This could work. Damn it. This’ll have to do. There will be other opportunities, Hera. Just have hope.

But it could wait. The fatigue was seeping throughout her body, fogging up her mind and turning her limbs to jelly. A few hours to nap, and then it’ll be time to call everyone. In twenty-four hours, this will all be over. A few tears blurred her eyes, and she roughly wiped them away. Either get out all the sorrow now, or sleep and cry afterwards. Hera chose the latter, and she barely made it to her bunk before she collapsed on top of the covers and sank into a deep, misery-filled slumber.

———————————-

It only felt like a few minutes had passed before Hera was startled out of her uneasy sleep. “Who is it?” She rasped. She groggily sat up and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

“Hera? It’s me.” Hera shivered at the sound of his voice. Every word that he spoke seemed like a precious gift after what nearly happened. But now, after what she’d finally admitted to herself, he was the last person she wanted to see right now. Or, maybe she needed him most. Can he feel it? In the Force? Does he already know? Does he know what I’m planning to do?

“Kanan.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she couldn’t keep going.

“Can I come in? Please?”

Hera hesitated. Either you don’t tell him now, and you don’t involve him at all, or he knows what you’re planning to do. Could she do it alone? Without him? She didn’t know if it would be more painful to involve him, or to never let him know what could have been.

But Hera had made a commitment to Kanan when she’d told him she loved him, and there was no backing out of that commitment now, no matter how she’d chosen to handle her pregnancy. “Come in,” she whispered.

Kanan was framed in the light of the hall for only a second before he shut the door and crossed the distance to her bunk. He sat down next to her, his hands automatically wrapping around her shoulders; he froze when his hands met the rough fabric of her blanket. “Hera? What’s going on? Are you ill?”

Not in the way that you’re thinking, but yes. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I…” He hesitated. “I know it’s getting pretty old for me to say it, but I feel a…disturbance in the Force. Around you.”

Hera tensed up. Oh karabast. He knows. “Tell me what you feel.” In their first years together on the Ghost, if they had time to rest, they’d park the ship in the first meadow they could find. Stretched out on the hull, in the light of the stars above, Kanan would describe the world to her as he felt it in the Force. A web connecting all living things, from the deadly dance of predator and prey in the grasses below them, the cries of the plants as they cried out for rain, jostled to and fro by the silent paws of some canid beast, to the needy, incessant hunger of newborn chicks in the trees at the edge of the meadow…

This time, she couldn’t control her tears, and Kanan’s fingers were immediately brushing them away from the corners of her eyes as soon as she sucked in a strangled breath of air. “I feel…you’re so unhappy. You’re full of…pain, and despair. Hera, I don’t understand. Why do you feel like you’re losing something?”

He doesn’t know. Oh stars, if there was only another way…But there wasn’t. She gently took one of his hands away from her face and held it in her own. “You can’t understand because you’re looking in the wrong place.”

Kanan cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking into my mind…” She held his hand up, paused, and pressed his fingers against the still-flat skin of her lower torso. “Try feeling here, and you’ll know why I’m so conflicted.”

Hera wasn’t sure if he felt something in the Force or if he immediately understood her implication. “Hera–!”

“Only five weeks,” she whispered. “I wasn’t assaulted in prison, so I definitely know it’s yours. And I know the date of conception. But only five weeks. Not that far along, really…” She trailed off as she noticed Kanan’s face shutting down, closing off all emotion. Oh no. She waited a few moments to allow him to process the news, to say something, anything, but he didn’t. “Kanan? Luv? Tell me—what’s going through your head right now?”

He coughed. “Do you have any water?”

“I—uh—yes. There’s a pitcher and some cups on the dresser. To the left of my ‘fresher.” He nearly banged his head on the top of the bunk as he stood up and held out his hand to feel his way along. “No, your left.”

He bumped against the edge of the dresser and winced. “Do you want any?”

This was definitely not the reaction she was expecting. “…sure. I guess.”

Kanan poured two cups of water, spilling what seemed like half the jug before he was done. Hera took the cup from him so he could have a free hand to feel his way back to her side without hurting himself further. She sipped her water while he chugged his straight down and tossed the cup aside. “Kanan. Please. Talk to me.”

He sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know where to begin.”

“I don’t either. But we have to start somewhere.”

“Well then…I suppose…did you ever want to be a mother?”

Hera sat down her cup and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I hadn’t given much thought about my future after the war. But I started thinking about it when you nearly died.”

Kanan’s breath came in a soft, weak gasp, and he pulled Hera into his arms. She melted into his embrace and felt his trembling. At least he doesn’t hate me. And he knows me well enough to know what my feelings are on this. Somehow, she allowed herself to speak about her dream life after the war: their quiet home together, the rooms for the rest of the family, their child playing in the yard outside. She felt his tears begin to run down his cheeks and drip on top of her lekku, and she knew that he could feel her sorrow in the Force.

“You know,” he said slowly. “I hadn’t thought much about kids, either. But I started thinking about them more when we found the others. Especially Ezra. We’re like their parents already, aren’t we?”

Hera chuckled, in spite of her pain. “We definitely are.”

“And I started to think…it wouldn’t be so bad, to do it all over again. But with a baby of our own…”

Hera closed her eyes and pressed herself against his chest. “But…?”

Kanan swallowed; she could feel the effort it took him. “But I know you. And whatever you choose to do, no matter my feelings…I’ll support your decision. You’re the pregnant one, after all. You’re the one at risk. Its—it’s up to you.”

“What are your feelings, Kanan?”

“They don’t matter.”

Hera sat back and cupped his face in her hands. “Yes, they do. I love you Kanan, and I wouldn’t have told you about this if I didn’t want to involve you, no matter what. So please, tell me your honest, true feelings.”

“Honestly…I’d love nothing more than to have a baby with you. I don’t know when we’d get another chance, with the war…”

Hera sobbed, half with relief and love, half with pain. “This damn war. It poisons everything it touches, including us. Our futures…”

Kanan started to cry again. “I know you. And I know what you want to do. I know it already.”

“I want this baby, too, but I don’t know how we’d make time. We can’t have a baby here, on the Ghost. It would be cruel just to bring it into the world and have it blow up with us in battle. Or die from some sickness.” Everyone knew babies didn’t thrive in prolonged periods in space. “And we can’t send it to my father; you know how dangerous it is on Ryloth.” She’d told him about her brother before, and he nodded. She started to cry again, and they held each other for long, painful minutes. Stang, I don’t want to do this. But I have to. What other choice do I have? I can’t leave the war. Not while others suffer. But at least I won’t have to do this alone.

But, for some reason, she felt tension in Kanan’s arms. Hera pulled back again. “What is it?” Why do you look so…guilty?

“We could leave the Rebellion and raise the baby together. Or get an abortion.” Hera made a sound of assent in the back of her throat. “Or…there’s another option.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I were to leave the Rebellion, maybe with Ezra, and the two of us raise the baby while you and the others keep fighting?”

Hera gasped. “Leave? Are you serious?” Was he so upset about what happened at the fuel depot that he wants to run away?

“I don’t know how to put this into words. When I was in the bacta tank, in the coma, I remembered something. Something from…right after Master Billaba died. I’d forgotten it until I was at the edge of death. I don’t remember what happened, but… I woke up with the sense that I was supposed to die at the fuel depot.” He choked on the last few words, and Hera couldn’t have spoken if she tried. “And I feel that, whatever happened in that blank in my memory as I was running away from her body, it saved me. Not…oh karabast, I don’t know how to explain it. But whatever it was, it gave me a feeling: that I needed to leave the conflict, or else I wouldn’t get a second chance to live. For some reason, Ezra’s been getting a weird feeling, too. Not quite the same as me, I don’t think, but he’s been hinting that we need to leave and do more Jedi work away from the rest of the group. Maybe something similar happened to him when he was younger. I don’t know. I haven’t been able to ask. But…”

Hera stood up. “After everything that happened, you were just going to leave us?” Leave me? She couldn’t fault him for listening to his visions, but it stung, especially after she’d finally opened up and bared her soul to him for the first time in years. I give you my love and you leave. “Whatever happened to being careful about listening your visions? Or was that all just a bunch of Jedi nonsense you were feeding to Ezra? Hmm?”

“Absolutely not. This feels completely different from a Force vision. Like…someone physically told me these things and blocked my memory. Not the Force. Not some cosmic energy. A person.”

“So you’re going to run away because of some half-remembered whispers?”

He felt for her hand and pulled her back onto the bunk. “Hera Syndulla, I love you. I love you more than I ever knew I was capable of loving someone. And I wouldn’t leave you and the others unless I was absolutely certain that this vision was something I needed to listen to. It’s going to kill me inside to do it, but I believe it’s what must be done if we want to survive. What if there are other Inquisitors out there? And what if Vader decides to end us once and for all, especially with what happened at the fuel depot? I’m stronger now, Ezra and I both are, but we couldn’t defeat him. And I couldn’t let the rest of you be put in jeopardy because you’ve got two Force-users leaving a trail for a Sith Lord to follow.”

Hera squeezed his hand. Just a bit. “So…you’d leave? And raise the baby? Are you sure you could do it? With your blindness?”

“Ezra could be my eyes and help out. And think about it: we could keep the house while you’re all away, and you could visit whenever you wanted, and keep fighting. And you’d know that there’d always be a home for you to return to, and the minute you wanted out of the fight, we’d be there, waiting for you.”

Hera turned away. “Could you really do that? Wait at home while we risked our lives out on the battlefield?”

Kanan sighed. “I’d be happiest if you were home with us. And I want to keep fighting, same as you. But if we could make some of your dream come true this way…I’d bow out.” His voice caught, and Hera suddenly realized how hard this all was for him. “Just…promise me one thing. Could you do that?”

Hera took his hands again. “Ask me first.”

“If this war keeps dragging on…will you consider finding a window of opportunity to leave? And be with us?”

Could you do that? Leave the fight, even if it wasn’t over? But Kanan was sacrificing part of his happiness, too. He’d be worrying every day, watching their child, waiting for her to come home. And if she never did, all he’d have was their baby to remind himself of how happy they could’ve been. Hera reached over and cupped his cheek in her hand, her heart bursting with love for him. “Yes. I will consider it, Kanan, knowing that you’re waiting for me. You’re the only one who could make me leave this fight. You…and the baby.”

Kanan sobbed with joy and pulled her into a crushing hug. They cried together again, but Hera’s joy was bittersweet. Why can’t I get to fully enjoy my dream? I want to be at home with Kanan and the baby. But I can’t. Not just yet.

But this way, there was a chance to have that future, when there otherwise wouldn’t be. And Hera Syndulla’s life was never fair from the moment she was born; she knew it, and wasn’t one to dwell on it for long. Besides, there were much more wonderful things to think about. A baby. We’re having a baby. “If I don’t miscarry, that is,” she muttered to herself.

Kanan frowned. “What was that?”

Hera wiped her eyes and looked around to find some tissues for them both. “Sorry, thinking out loud.”

“About miscarrying?”

Hera found some tissues and grabbed them. She passed a few to Kanan and blew her nose. “Just…it would be awful for us to go to all this trouble just for me to miscarry after the stress of a fight.”

“Hmm. You’re right. Maybe we could hang back for a while and do some logistics work. At least until you’re further along.”

“I’m going to have to find a way to hide this pregnancy, Kanan. If Inquisitors are still out there, hunting down Force-sensitive children, they’ll come for our baby, I’m sure of it.” She paused. “Is there a chance the baby could be Force-sensitive?”

Kanan blew his nose and she took it from him to throw in the trash. “I don’t know. There was a pretty big taboo about getting pregnant at the Temple, if you could imagine that. But I guess there’s a strong possibility of it.”

“Then we’ll have to hide my pregnancy. No one can know about it. Well…maybe Mon Mothma. But she’s it, outside of the crew.”

“I…oh damn, I think that means that I’ll have to fake my death. Ezra, too, if he comes along to help out.”

Hera banged her head on the top of her bunk. “Ow! What?!”

“Careful, careful—the baby—“

“A bruised lek won’t kill the baby, Kanan. But faking your death—“

“Well, that’s what we’ll have to do if we want to make sure we’re not tracked down. If everyone believes without a shadow of a doubt that we’re gone, no one will come looking for us. And your “grief” will give you an excuse to pull back for a few months, while you need to hide the bump.” Kanan suddenly moved off the bed and ran to the tiny ‘fresher.

“Kanan!” But he waved her away, and she hung back, waiting until he was done vomiting. Then, she found a rag and wet it from the remaining water in the jug. She went over to Kanan, who was still slumped over the toilet. She pulled him away from the bowl and gently began wiping his face. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting morning sickness, remember?”

He snorted, but let her keep tending him. “It’s just…we’re going to have to make sure everyone thinks, beyond a doubt, that we’re dead. And that means leaving no body— ” He turned around to retch again, but nothing came up. “And that means—fire, and explosions—“

“Oh, Kanan…” She held him until the panic attack—or flashback, whatever it was—subsided, and he’d calmed down again. “We’ll find a way to make it work. A safe way. If there’s anyone who could do it, it would be Sabine.”

“And how could I do that to Ezra? Put him at risk like that?”

“Well, we have to tell him about the baby, first. We’ll have to tell everyone. But, for right now, let’s just go lie down.” She helped him to his feet and into her bed. They crawled under the covers together, and Hera settled comfortably into his arms. I don’t know how I lived without this for so long. This feels so right, to be here with him.

Kanan’s eyes were drooping. “Don’t you have a shift soon?”

Hera’s fatigue was setting in again. “I’ll just tell one of the others that I have a call to take from someone in Rebel command. They’ll understand. Or Chopper can take the shift.” She yawned and couldn’t keep her eyes open. “I’ll deal with it later.”

They fell asleep, wary about the future, but both full to the brim with love for each other and the life beginning in Hera’s body.

—————————-

Okay, so I promise that this story is going to get happier, okay? There’s just a lot of depressing stuff that needs to be ironed out in this first chapter. It’s not going to be all sunshine and roses, but it will have a happy ending.

I also was originally going to have Kanan and Ezra faking their deaths by pretending to blow up when the rebels attacked a weapons supply store. They were going to dig tunnels underneath and be well-away before the explosion happened, but were going to pretend to be killed by the fire/explosion/falling debris. It hits so close to home in light of the midseason premiere that I don’t know if I can do it.

Or maybe I will. Because I’m kind of sadistic.

Also, the reference to Kanan being “warned” to escape is the reference to my multi-fandom story. There’s some Prisoner of Azkaban-level time travel shenanigans that go on, but it’s not “adult Kanan visits ‘lil Caleb”. It’s a lot more complicated and I don’t feel comfortable explaining it.

#kanera #star wars rebels spoilers #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #swr spoilers #i'll tag more characters as they appear #but here ya go #my rough stories #star wars rebels

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imaginaryboyfriendcollection · 7 years ago

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HiddleHamlet: A firsthand account (Part II)

It’s 5 days later and I’m still suffering from what @hiddleston81 calls the Hiddleston Hangover.

This second half is now days late, oops, so a lot of this has already been said by now, but I still want to record it for posterity. Fair warning, this post is going to be a disorganised mess of my thoughts - swinging between genuine observations about play/performance and completely shameless fangirling - so, the usual. That’s what you’re here for, right?!

Here are some more things I want to remember about Tom’s Hamlet:

Tom’s already much-discussed perfect hair was just like in the programme photo above, but at a few key points, one lock of hair would escape from the slicked back gorgeousness and fall over his forehead. Yes, that’s right - an errant curl. And somehow I’m still here to tell this tale.

Dancing. IT HAPPENS. Only for a minute, but it is glorious. The first entry of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern comes with a beats pill playing danceable music (Kendrick Lamar, I think?) and they all bust out a few moves. I gasped. Snake-hipping, y’all! In the middle of Hamlet! Bless you, Sir Kenneth Branagh.

There’s one bit where Hamlet dives underneath the carpet and tunnels along and then comically pops out the other side. Another where he gets excited and leaps on and then over the back of the couch. He wears facepaint and wraps himself in a Danish flag. He does silly voices on behalf of the skull in the “Alas, poor Yorick” scene (a Scottish accented one, even - swoon). Tom was such a playful Hamlet in these moments, delighting in being unhinged. I loved that he was let loose like this - he had these offhand chances to laugh and play, while still being clearly and primarily defined by his grief and fury. Those contradictions seemed so human. I think, more than anything, Tom’s Hamlet is the most relatable one I’ve seen (I mean, apart from those times when he gets all murdery. But you know.)

His anger and sadness, though, were harrowing to behold. The scene in the very beginning where Hamlet comes out onto a nearly dark stage to play piano and sing is haunting - his pain is palpable, and the entire audience was hanging on his every word and motion. It was like a shot straight to the heart to begin the production. I recall reading some review that slightly criticised him as “obviously not a singer” in this scene, and I agree that it wasn’t his usual standard of vocal performance, but I would venture that this was intentional. I thought he still sounded rather lovely, but his voice was imperfect, thin and cracking with grief. This is supposed to be Hamlet alone in his sorrow, not performing for anyone as he does in other scenes throughout the play. The moment feels incredibly authentic, illustrating perfectly Hamlet’s current frame of mind, and it sets the tone for Tom’s entire performance.

I kept becoming mesmerized by the little details of him - a consequence of him being so close, in the flesh. It was impossible not to focus in on his overwhelming physical presence. He was so lean, lithe and yet all muscles, with this energy radiating off of him every time he moved. I couldn’t stop noticing and trying to memorize every tiny thing about him. I could see the veins in his hands, the freckles on his forearms, the sheen of sweat under the curls at the back of his neck. The pattern of his stubble and the little muscle clench in his jaw (urrghhh) and the way his eyes shone with tears in the stage lights. JFC, is he a beautiful human.

In his first scene (after the piano one) when he turned to our side of the stage, he did lock eyes with me and held it for a second, so I think that might’ve been him registering recognition. There will never be any way to know for sure...which means I am of course just gonna go ahead and believe my version, because why the hell wouldn’t I. Tom totally recognised me - IT IS CANON - at least in my head, forever, the end.

He did that face-cupping thing that he does to Ophelia in the scene where they kiss. His long, beautiful fingers stroking her cheek. Fucker. And the way he was looking at her...well, you can imagine it. Hamlet’s love for Ophelia in this scene is tangible, and the whole thing made my insides melt completely. Sighhh.

Oh, also - he PICKS UP tiny Rosencrantz and twirls her all the way around his body. It is literally the cutest thing and I nearly choked on my own saliva for how badly I want this thing that I’d never even thought of before, being grabbed around the waist by Tom and swung entirely around his body. UM GIVE ME THAT PLEASE. They were pretty adorable together and caused @hiddleston81 to immediately start shipping them (I would’ve too if I were a shipper, but I’m only able to ship my real-life crushes with one person, and that’s meeee).

Hamlet and Horatia had great chemistry too - they really seemed like comfy best friends, but with a good degree of physical affection between them as well. Basically, Hamlet has sexual tension with every woman in this play. Or maybe I’m projecting.

Oh, let’s talk about the leather. It comes out right at the end, for the incredible fight scene. There’s the already-beloved leather jacket of course, but also - leather gloves. The time he spent putting on the gloves was probably only 20 seconds, but it seemed like a slo-mo 5 minutes in my head, with imaginary sexy music playing in the background (wee-wee-wowww). After he gets the gloves on, he immediately runs them through his hair to slick it back all the way, and it is maaaybe the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I somehow didn’t burst into flames. Amazing.

Little tummy peeks happened a couple of times throughout the show, which were just too damn delicious for words. Again, he looked so good in his clothes! When on top of that, his shirt would occasionally ride up a bit over his tight, low-slung jeans and show that bit of skin, uhhh...heavenly powers, restore me.

Hamlet’s death scene is heartbreaking, obviously, and my eyes were full of tears. But still it was impossible not to notice that his shirt had ridden up again and his lower abs were on display, creating a complicated and weird mix of emotions, ie I am very sad but also extremely turned on, what is wrong with me?? He was also so close that you could see his chest rising and falling with his breathing, which is just so intimate, and I couldn’t stop drinking it in with my eyes. I never could take my eyes off him for a single second when he was onstage, even when the action would move elsewhere.

The older lady sitting beside me leaned over before it started and said, “Well, we couldn’t get any closer than this, could we?” and I thought, “Aw how nice, a sweet theatre-loving lady who wants to chat.” Then she said “Tom Hiddleston will be practically on top of us!!” and I thought “OH NO SHE’S A KINDRED SPIRIT.” This was proven true at the intermission when she asked me if I was “enjoying the view of Hiddleston’s butt.”

Me (in my head) I LOVE HER

Me: It’s like a chorus of angels singing in my ears.

Her: And his legs!!

Me (getting too worked up) HE’S SO LEGGY

Her: Have you seen The Night Manager?

Me: OH GIRL

One last thing. I know I got to be in Tom’s presence once already, in a completely astounding circumstance, but it was really special to be in the same room with him for this particular experience. I feel extremely grateful to have had the chance to be there, and do not take it at all for granted. His talent, charisma and grace as an actor shone in this role. He was utterly moving. He came alive on stage, and it was absolutely thrilling to witness. As someone who has seen all of his work and adored him from afar for years, this was something new. Being there with him, in this intimate setting, in his element...was beautiful. I’ll never forget it.

#hiddlehamlet #rada hamlet #tom hiddleston #i'm still in awe #help meeee #where do i go from here?!#what am i supposed to do with my long hiddles-free life stretching ahead of me?!#post-hamlet depression is REAL

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elvesofnoldor · 5 years ago

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i do have to say maglor as a character is weirdly inspiring for fanfic/ fan comic ideas cause i literally have, like, three versions of who or what he becomes after supposedly throwing the simarli into the sea and wander the shores for centuries to come

version one: the ghost bound to the shore

(in this version, maglor has faded from grief so much that he essentially became a living ghost. His own guilt over the bad deeds he has committed and allowed, effect of unfulfilled oath aka “everlasting darkness” and doom/curse of Mandos that came with it trapped him on the shore and a state between life and death. it is implied that his dead brothers did not go to the halls of mandos and were drawn to the last living member of the dead house. )

Despite his complicated feelings toward his surrogate father figure, Maglor, he looked for him. And towards the end of second age, Elrond actually found him by the exact spot where he has supposedly thrown the simarli gem into the sea, and Elrond pleaded with him to come back and fight on the behalf of his kins to redeem himself of the crimes he committed. “cleanse your soul of guilt so that you may come home”, Elrond said. Maglor responded with a sad smile and said that it would not be possible. He said that whatever he does, he would not be able to wipe the blood from his hands; he said that he is damned and that eternal exile is the fate of his lot. Elrond didn’t understand him for he has not heard the cursed spoken by Mandos himself, and in much frustration, he left Maglor by the shore.

Then third age came and war of the ring passed, and Elrond knew it was time to go home. He has seen too much, and lost too much, his heart was weary and he only wanted to bring his family home. So he made another effort to search for Maglor, only to find him by the exact spot where he left him ages ago. This time, it was maglor’s singing that led Elrond to him in a seaside cave where maglor made a small home out of. He lit a fire inside the makeshift fireplace, yet the air remains cold and stale inside the cave. Elrond pleaded with him again--this time he pleaded maglor to come home with him to the west. Yet again, maglor said no to his request. “My brothers are here, this is home for me now.” Maglor said. But Elrond is at the end of his patience and he would not have the cryptic response for an answer, so he dragged Maglor by the sleeve in an attempt to get him to come with. Frightened, maglor cried out, “I told you--i CAN’T leave!” then elrond suddenly understood why maglor refused to leave the shores all these centuries, why he always found him in the same spot on the same shore, and why the air is cold and stale inside the cave he “lives” in. Then the fire went out and Maglor tearfully said his goodbye--the final goodbye--to the child that was not his. When Elrond, in great sorrow, finally mastered the strength to turn around and walk out of there, he swears that he saw, at the corner of his eyes, the six other sons of feanor--with blood streaming down their faces--standing in a circle around the poor maglor.

version two: the legend, the “mad witch”, basically inspired by a post i reblogged yesterday

(basically the same idea as above, except that maglor is almost definitely dead--by drowning or completely faded from grief--and has become “as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after” according to the doom of mandos. In this version, elrond never found maglor in his search and this version is supposed to highlight how maglor came to love the twins--to make up for being responsible for their abandonment in the first place, and to take care of their family, even if they are just distant relatives. It was out of his desire to take care of his family and also out of his guilt over what he has done, this should not be rocket science lol. I shouldn’t think it’d be too hard to use your brain cells and understand maglor’s motivation instead of downright demonizing him and think it makes no sense that maglor loved the twins lol like can some of you not understand basic texts?)

The remote towns near the shore all know of an urban legend. Fathers and mothers warned against their children--especially the twins with dark hair--to be wary of the mad witch that led away from their parents. legend has it that a ghost of a tall and slender woman with long raven dark hair haunts the shores in white frayed robe, carrying nothing with her but a lute. She sings in a strange tongue nobody recognizes, and with her beautiful yet sorrowful songs, she is capable of bewitching the hearts of children. They say the mad witch has either killed her own two children or has unintentionally led them to meet their untimely deaths, and after she drowned himself, her spirit is doomed to wander the shores in grief, desperate for her children to be back to her side. Some says they once saw the mad witch by the sea or by rivers and ponds near the sea, and flee at her terrifying and desperate cries as she tries to wash the blood on her hands that she can not wash away. Every once a while, the mad witch would come near the nearest seaside town. There, with her fair songs and even fairer voice, she’d lure to her side a pair of young twins with raven dark hair as black as hers. She would then disappear to raise the children as her own until they come of age, and by then the grown children would, without fail, miraculously re-appear at their parents’ doorsteps--unharmed and healthy yet they can only speak a strange dead tongue which no one knows the origin of, possessing knowledge they should not know of and old tales long forgotten by most and unheard of to mankind. When they were re-taught the modern tongue of men, the now grown children would claim they have no memories of where they have been--saved the sounds of a gentle voice and the many sweet songs it sings.

Men’s Imagination weaved a haunting tale of the mad witch, but nothing about the tale came close to the truth behind it all. While the mad witch is neither witch or woman, the ghost is real and has indeed perished on the very shores it wandered. The name Macalaurë--as the ghost was once called--belonged to an elven prince from a time long gone, he was once known as the greatest singer among the clan of noldor elves. Like his kind, he once bodied the light of the two trees. However, that light died within him a long time ago and his heart was sick and broken by the oath long before he perished. Gentle he may be in spirit, he was not strong-will enough to defy the desire of his brothers, and he was just as lost as all of them. In desperation to fulfill their dreadful oath and avoid the consequences in the breaking of the oath, they have damned all of their souls. Three kinslayings, with the last one being the worst of it all, and Macalaurë had a hand in all of them. He closed his heart to his would be victims and shut out his guilt to do what he thought must be done. Some’d call it cowardice, some’d call weakness, either way his soul is stained and his heart made wary. In the last kinslaying, Macalaurë found two children--a pair of twin from the house of fingolfin, abandoned by their mother. There was blood, so much blood on his armour, his clothes, even in his hair. He watched his brother cut down unarmed elves one by one and worst of all--he helped him. Maedhros was filled with rage as he committed the crime while Macalaurë simply lied to himself as he always does. “It has to be done, they asked for it, we have to fulfill the oath and they should have been smarter than to refuse us that” Macalaurë thought to himself, “they killed our brothers and called upon our oath, so death they shall have to accept.” When both of them came to their senses again--when he came to his senses again--Macalaurë saw two of their kins shivering in fear at the sight of them. Macalaurë thought to himself, no more, no more blood, no more senseless tragedies, and he took them in.

At first they were leverages, bargaining chips, defences against rightful anger from gil-galad. Then they...become his children. Was it because they reminded him so much of the twin brothers he lost? Was it because the guilt of being responsible for their abandonment eat him from the inside? Or was it out of desire to make up for even a fraction of his crimes? Was it the children woke the part of him that longed to be someone’s parent, someone’s guardian? Or maybe it was all of them at once? Either way, the elven prince with a sick heart raised them and loved them--and he still does, and that much he was sure of. There was so much blood and he could not wash them away, and part of him thought maybe in loving the children--he could. Even in death, as he was trapped in a purgatory where time itself bleeds into each other and the past becomes the present and the future at once, he still believed that raising the twins can wash away his sins and regrets. So he repeated the act of redemption, over and over again, even when the twins he raised are never the twins he raised he loved and raised thousands of years ago--it did not matter to him.

Stories are always simpler than the truth, and perhaps it was better that the men of seaside towns know of the ghost...simply as the mad witch who mourned for her lost children.

version three, the happier version: The wandering Bard. only partially inspired by the post i reblogged yesterday

(maglor is alive and relatively well, he’s forsaken his identity and lives as a bard that moves from taverns in one seaside town to taverns in another. in this one, he evaded elrond’s searches for he could not face him at rivendell. this version emphasizes on maglor’s role as a poet and storyteller. in this version, he has written the manuscript he’d later title Silmarillion and he’d given that manuscript to Sam when he encounter the hobbit after he could not find Elrond at a now abandon rivendell )

Later on in the ages of middle earth, the drunks of tavern would speak of a strange young bard with raven dark hair and a pair of eyes darker than the blackest night. Like all bards, he sings of past deeds of kings and princes, lords and ladies; different than other bards, this one sings of events so distant in the past that they become barely believable. He sings of the tragic fates of kings and princes of elven king, and a land in which fae-like beings live among Gods, as well as two mighty trees that shine before there was even sun and moon. “Tall tales of fairies,” the loud mouth patrons’d say, “you make them up just for a laugh, lad, anybody can tell!” The young bard only laughs at the accusation and offers no defence. Sometimes he would amusingly rebut that he is no lad, and when the patrons asks of his age, he’d smile and simply say that he is “old enough.”. The young bard is embodiment of walking contradictions--he is both mischievous and cheerful, yet wistful and weary; his eyes are the windows to a bottomless storm, at the same time, they are the colour of gentle cool summer nights. some says that he is an old soul wearing the face of a youth, little did they know, they weren’t so much further from the truth.

However, only the ones that threaten his well being would be able to see his true identity--the face of an elven prince who has killed in too many battle and a taste of the wrath of elvenkind. Bandits often gamble at the tables and the clever bard’d always manage to win the rounds and takes their coins--even when they are sure that the game is rigged to their favours. So the crude men would ask for their money back, thinking that he was but an unarmed lone traveller who would fall to their knees and gave them all that they are owned and more. They were wrong, of course, when the bard struck a chord on his lute and sent them flying, when he moved like a snake on the ground and evaded their clumsy attacks with ease and used their weapons against them. Dead man tell no tales, or those who can hear what they’d say would be terrify of the strange young bard. But if you hear it from the bard, he’d only say that it’s regrettable business--he shed too much blood and he wishes that he could stop doing so.

The bard fathered no children, and took no wives, but he has taken sindar lovers of many kind through his life. After all, his voice isn’t the only thing that is fair about him. Some were women--mostly those that tend to him at the taverns and steal shy glances at him as he sings his songs, and most were men--mostly rangers and sellswords that pass through the towns for a gig or two. Men were short-lived beings whose hearts are filled with yearn for violent and filthy delights, yet ironically, their simplicity let them forgive him in ways his kins can never do. There once was a sellsword with hairy chest and tanned muscles, who killed men for a living and once helped him to dispatch a gang of bandits. When he told him about his true identity--under the guise of “lie”, of course--the man only laughed, “kinslaying was your greatest crime? if that was the case, I have killed my kins for a living and i don’t see the big deal in that.” The bard does not how to respond to someone who could not even understand his sins, and their ignorance is a bliss and relief to him at the same time. it was not hard to captivate the hearts of men with his beauty, but it was hard when he has to say no to those who wanted more from him than one or few nights of passion. The same sellsword has accompanied him for a while, and when he asked why the man has taken such interest in him, the sellsword simply said that he wish to protect him. Maglor is no wise prince but even he could tell that the man wanted to be with him, that the man has fallen in love. “you life is too finite to waste on someone like me,” Maglor had told him. “your life isn’t?” The man threw the statement back at him and it ached Maglor that he could not tell him the truth.

#yolanda talks #god if i dont draw a maglor + ghost theme comic before the end of the mouth for inkotoper then i will just have to perish

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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Why Beauty and the Beast isn’t the first Disney movie for LGBT audiences

The studio has promised fans its first exclusively gay moment in the live-action fairytale but that betrays a history of covert messages in its animated films

Its unprecedented for a major studio blockbuster, much less a family film, to pursue the LGBT audience. Gay viewers seeking mainstream self-identification in the cinema have usually had to settle for winking nuances and allusions, or at worst, the more oblivious homoeroticism of sundry Michael Bay-style brawnfests. No more, apparently: in an age when a film as overtly queer as Moonlight can win the establishment honour of a best picture Oscar, a corporation as large as Disney can also finally acknowledge the love that once dared not speak its name.

Well, sort of. A flurry of headlines ranging from the overly enthused to the overly outraged greeted Beauty and the Beast director Bill Condons announcement in Attitude magazine that the Mouse Houses live-action remake of their 1991 fairytale smash would boast the companys first exclusively gay moment. The more we heard about this supposedly startling breakthrough, however, the less encouraging it got. Historys first overtly gay Disney character, it turns out, is LeFou, unctuous manservant to preening, hyper-macho villain Gaston an underling who, in Condons words, on one day wants to be Gaston and on another day wants to kiss Gaston.

An obsequious servant who alternates between worshipping and hopelessly desiring his straight master? With a name that translates as madman and has also been used as a gay slur in French? In the reliably aggravating form of Josh Gad? Its not exactly the recognition that gay viewers have been waiting for, even if the finished film gives LeFou the most fleeting of hints at future romance with a kindred spirit.

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Condon, a gay film-maker known for such intelligent queer investigations as Gods and Monsters and Kinsey, must realise that this is no giant leap forward for on-screen representation, though credit him for stoking the off-screen conversation on the subject. This week has also seen him advancing the theory, allegedly founded by the 1991 films late lyricist Howard Ashman, that the Beasts story functions as a metaphor for Aids: He was cursed and this curse had brought sorrow on all those people who loved him and maybe there was a chance for a miracle and a way for the curse to be lifted, Condon explains. The phrasing is wince-inducing its fair to say most people with Aids would prefer not to think of themselves as cursed, or indeed as beasts but its a bolder way to queer the material than working a comic-relief subplot around a secondary characters sexuality.

Exclusively gay is a curious turn of phrase, not least when appealing to a community for whom inclusivity has always been a higher priority. One presumes Condons implication is that LeFous desires are unambiguously homosexual, not that theyre identifiable or relatable exclusively to gay viewers. For Disney animation has a long history of LGBT coding, intended and otherwise, that makes Beauty and the Beasts more official gay gestures look rather colourless.

Disney may not have granted a gay identity to any of its characters prior to LeFou, but audiences have been doing so for decades. A quick graze of the internet will provide fan theories to feed any hunches youve long felt about the happy-go-lucky companionship of Timon and Pumbaa, and their effective adoption of baby Simba, in The Lion King or indeed the foppish villainy of the same films Scar, an alpha lion who has never found a mate in the pride. Same goes for Baloo, the nurturing, carefree single bear of The Jungle Book, or the coy, eyelash-batting male skunk who introduces himself to young fawn Bambi with the immortal words, You can call me Flower if you want to. A few playful Disney animators have even teased us with queer allusions of their own: the character design of Ursula, the vampy, spectacularly tentacled sea witch of The Little Mermaid, was famously modelled on superstar drag queen Divine.

Speculating in this manner can be superficial, stereotype-dependent fun but doesnt really get to the essentially queer heart of so many classic Disney narratives, in which socially isolated outsiders yearn either for acceptance or transcendence. Pinocchios dream of being a real boy is a journey of self-actualisation that has prompted many a metaphorical comparison to the coming-out process; the same goes for sweet, sensitive Dumbo, whose chief point of difference from the rest those enormous ears at first makes him a figure of fun for bullying peers, before it enables him to soar.

Photograph: Allstar/Disney

Its not just the boys, of course. Pocahontas and Beauty and the Beasts Belle are marked early on as different from the other girls. Ditto the Little Mermaids Ariel, whose desire not just to change her circumstances but change her physical form has made her an unlikely object of identification among some younger members of the transgender community a girl who believes herself literally born in the wrong body. (Her ballad Part of Your World, meanwhile, is something of an all-purpose anthem for LGBT not-belongers.)

Fairytale convention may have locked these rebellious women into wholly heterosexual romantic ambitions, but Disney excitingly strayed from that rulebook in 2013 with Frozen, its record-busting rewrite of The Snow Queen. In Elsa, Frozen gave us a magically touched heroine who requires no male partner to complete her self-realisation. Fleeing the community while she independently comes to terms with her difference, she belts out Let It Go, a now-ubiquitous tune that not only became an instant Disney standard, but launched a million queer readings for its celebratory revelation of a once-hidden identity: Conceal, dont feel/ Dont let them know/ well now they know the fears that once controlled me cant get to me at all.

The film didnt give Elsa a girlfriend following her arguable coming-out, though fans are clamoring for one to be introduced in the upcoming Frozen 2. But down to its same-sex twist on the hoary old true loves kiss trope yes, theyre sisters, but its refreshing to see the supposedly all-healing properties of straight love taken down a notch its a film fully alive to its queerest subtextual possibilities. That may not make it Disneys first exclusively gay narrative, whatever that exactly means. But if were at a watershed moment regarding open LGBT representation in the multiplex, the absurd, conservative figure of LeFou hardly deserves all the credit for the changes that lie ahead.