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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

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"Love potion/spell" for evil!hawke x anders from bad things bingo! If you don't mind

OOOh this was delicious, thank you so much for the request!!!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: Fenders, dark Handers

Characters: Anders, Fenris, Garrett Hawke, Merrill, Varric Tethras

Tags: non consensual love spell, implied abusive situations, evil Hawke, pre Fenders

Rating: Mature

Fenris is fairly certain he’s losing his mind.

It’s not that he particularly wants to know anything about the mage’s love life, or, increasingly, of Hawke’s. Every day he finds himself regretting further not taking Isabela up on her offer on a position on her crew, shortly before she’d escaped the Qunari attack and Garrett Hawke’s wrath. But, unfortunately for Fenris, a keen and observant nature was absolutely essential in a bodyguard, and Fenris was the perfect bodyguard. So he was acutely aware of the lantern Garrett had been keeping lit for their loudest apostate companion for almost ten years, and the cruelty with which the man had kept himself entertained with Merrill in the interim. Fenris also knew, for a fact, that Anders had rejected Garrett’s attentions with increasing volume and acidity no less than 37 times.

Which made this….difficult to explain.

Anders is sitting in Hawke’s lap. He’s not wearing his coat: Fenris realises he has almost never seen the mage without it, unless he’s sleeping or badly wounded, and sometimes not even then. Without the padding of the thing, Anders’ body is too thin in a painfully familiar way that Fenris refuses to examine. His loose, stained shirt hangs off broad shoulders built for both more fat and more muscle than the mage’s body had been able to maintain in the face of starvation. His pants are belted loosely around his waist with an old twist of cloth, and he’s not wearing socks. He also has both his scarred, freckled arms hooked loosely over Garrett’s shoulders, and keeps dipping closer to him to press kisses to his cheeks, neck and lips.

In the corner of the tavern, an annoyed looking Varric is plying Merrill with ever harder liquor. The elf herself looks like she is on the edge of either tears or murder, and whilst Fenris thinks he might prefer the latter he’s more than a little concerned that she might start a fight she cannot finish. And he does not know which side he will take, if it comes to that.

Garrett has both thick, hairy arms around Anders’ back, his tanned skin rippling with muscle as he leans in to bite down hard on Anders’ neck. Anders sighs a happy, loud moan, tipping his chin back as Garrett presses a line of kisses along his bruising neck, and Fenris finishes the wine in his bottle.

It’s possible that Anders is just drunk. It’s possible that his spirit - demon - has given up its fixation on abstinence, and this combined with what Fenris has also perceived as a drought of amorous attentions to rival his own - Anders has decided to at last give in to the one man whirlwind of charisma that constitutes Garrett Hawke. It’s entirely possible that this is the case.

But when Fenris gets up to stand, and the wine in his body sends him staggering to catch himself on the closest wall, Anders looks up at him with an expression of clarity that is violently jarring only because it’s the first time Fenris has seen it this evening. “Fenris? Are you alright?”

Fenris opens his mouth to reply. But it’s at that moment that Garrett grabs a fistful of Anders’ hair and pulls it, hard, in a way that brings visible tears to Anders’ brown eyes even in the candlelight. This is enough to have Fenris starting forward, his discomfort having long passed second hand embarrassment and begun to evolve into genuine outrage. Which means Fenris is close enough to hear Garrett’s voice when he growls against Anders’ lips, “Pay attention to me, amatus.”

Fenris hardly needs the strangeness of the Tevene on Garrett’s lips in his rough, Fereldan accent. Anders’ expression visibly softens and changes, as if he were about to fall asleep. He blinks slowly at Garrett, pupils dilating so wide his eyes are almost black, and giggles in a way Fenris hasn’t heard him do since Isabela left, ducking his head to nuzzle against Garrett’s neck.

“I’m always paying attention to you, love.”

Fenris feels the drunkenness falling from his limbs like rain, finding lucidity with the familiarity of old habit. It’s not easy to resist the urge to look back as he walks away from the couple at their table to the bar where Varric and Merrill are. But he manages it, and when he reaches the old, scarred, graffitied wood of The Hanged Man’s bar, he supposes something of what he’s feeling must be showing on his face, because Varric immediately stops talking.

“What is it, broody?”

“Blood magic.” Fenris realises, quite abruptly, that he is very, very angry. The realisation and the alcohol make him dizzy, and he takes a moment to collect himself, waiting for the white hot rage rising at the back of his mind to settle into something a little less blinding. Around them, the patrons of The Hanged Man cheer and sing and laugh. But Hawke and Anders’ voices keep cutting through the noise, like sirens in a gale, and Fenris cannot seem to tune them out.

“What would you let me do to you?” Garrett’s voice, smug, boasting.

“Anything,” Anders, sighing, careless in a way he’s never been in this city, until now.

Merrill leans forward, lips pinched tight at the corners as she moves her gaze away from the men in the corner. “What do you mean, blood magic?”

Fenris glances down at his hand, and is half surprised to see the lyrium sewn into his skin glowing, softly, like moonlight in the half-dark of the tavern. He looks back up at Merrill, then Varric. “It’s an old Tevene spell. Illegal, mostly. Certainly outside of Tevinter. A love spell.” Fenris spits the last three words, mouth twisting. “Though love isn't the word I'd use for it.”

For the first time in almost ten years of knowing him, Varric looks visibly angry. Fenris wonders if this is what he’d looked like, when he found out that Bartrand had betrayed him. Probably not. Garrett was there. He would have had to keep up appearances.

Next to Merrill’s hand on the bar, roots and vines abruptly shoot up from the long dead wood. Corff makes a soft sound of surprise, staring at Merrill as if she’d grown a second head. She doesn’t spare him a glance, getting to her feet and swinging her staff over her back.

“Let’s go. I need to collect some ingredients.”

Fenris nods, following her, but Varric stops between the tables, glancing back at Hawke and Anders, now shamelessly making out in the corner of the room. Varric looks at Fenris, and in the lines and new wrinkles of his face, Fenris thinks he sees more grief than anger. “Won’t he wonder where we’ve gone?”

Fenris says nothing. Instead, he watches Varric reach the same conclusion he had, and averts his eyes when Varric’s shoulders fall and he lifts one hand to his forehead. Norah swerves around him, two trays of drinks in either hand. By the time she’s gone past, Varric’s collected himself. Fenris reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once, firmly.

“Come on. We aren’t wanted here.”

Varric’s mouth tightens, but he follows them outside, into the cold Kirkwall night.

#dadwc #bad things happen bingo #fenders #handers #da2 #anders #hawke #fenris #anon #my fic #dragon age 2

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mst3kproject · 3 years

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Atlas in the Land of the Cyclops

Here we have a movie with a big, brawny hero in a very short skirt, whose hobbies include drinking potions, napping, and bending prison bars! He stars in a film that is poorly-made, mythologically questionable, and deliciously ripe for heckling. What more could a MSTie possibly want?

Long ago, Ulysses blinded the cyclops and outsmarted the witch Circe, and they’re still pissed about it. As the movie begins, they’re on the verge of completing their revenge by murdering Ulysses’ last descendants. The last king of Ithaca is killed in a raid, but his young son is smuggled away and left in the care of an old shepherd. Upon hearing of the slaughter, Maciste goes to the land of Sadok to save Queen Penope and the other women of Ithaca, who have been taken captive by Circe’s descendant, Queen Capys. On the way he saves Capys from a rockslide and they fall in love, each not knowing who the other is… which goes on to make things very awkward later. Nobody in the movie is called ‘Atlas’.

Nobody Named Atlas Goes Anywhere Near the Land of the Cyclops is a bit oddly put-together. Theoretically the plot – the need to protect baby Prince MacGuffin from Queen Capys’ soldiers – is established quickly, but then it seems to take a while before anybody makes any progress. This is because a lot of the early plot developments happen by complete accident.

After making sure the baby is safe, Maciste sets out for Sadok. He quickly finds out where Capys is keeping the Ithacan prisoners, but this isn’t clever detective work – it’s just a coincidence, when some soldiers ask him to help them carry a giant amphora into the palace. Meanwhile, Capys has been told that somebody named Maciste knows where Baby MacGuffin is, and orders her soldiers to find this man and bring him in alive. Her Vizier, Ephetus, does so – but again, it’s an accident! He arrests Maciste for wandering into ‘The Forest of the Vestals’ and sentences him to death for that before ever learning his name!

Once Maciste is in Capys’ custody the movie finally seems to figure out where it’s going, but this over-reliance on coincidence makes the first half of Nobody Named Atlas Goes Anywhere Near the Land of the Cyclops feel very muddled. The only thing that really needs to be an accident to make the plot work is Maciste and Capys meeting in Circe’s cavern without knowing they’ve already sworn to destroy each other. Following that with more coincidences feels like filling time.

The bit where Maciste is arrested is really weird, actually. The Vestals appear to be playing Blind Man’s Bluff, and Maciste just wanders into the middle of it. The blindfolded woman bumps into him and feels up his pecs for a moment while he stands there grinning awkwardly, then she pulls her blindfold off, screams, and faints. Soldiers then run out of the bushes and arrest Maciste.

So that was odd… then there’s the way Ephetus decides to have Maciste executed for harassing the Vestals. They put him on a board over a lion pit (every ancient kingdom has a lion pit) and tie a long rope to each of his wrists. Then six white guys in green skirts pull on one rope, and six black guys in white skirts pull on the other. Eventually, of course, Maciste overpowers both teams and everybody but him gets to be Fancy Feast. Only once that’s all over does Ephetus realize that this is the guy the queen wants delivered to her alive.

There’s other weird shit that goes on, too. In another sequence, Maciste is getting his ass beat by Ephetus’ flunky Mumba (Paul Wynter from Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules, still buffer and oilier than the guy playing Maciste) and, having recently been drugged, is barely able to fight back. He gets a second wind when Mumba throws him against another giant amphora, which breaks, dousing him in wine. Maciste blinks a few times, and then suddenly becomes unstoppable. Was it the alcohol, or the blow to the head? There’s a truth serum that is administered by pouring it into an enormous wine goblet… and this isn’t just a thing for Maciste, either, everybody in this movie drinks booze from glasses the size of their own head. Nor can we forget the guy who gets thrown overboard from a ship, and out of nowhere a shark just appears and eats him immediately.

None of these are a full-on WTF Moment but all of them are kind of bizarre and many of them got a laugh out of me. A lot of them also tie in to the movie’s main obsession, which is Maciste’s Feats of Strength.

We are treated to many of these, all of which go on a little too long. They are filmed in loving detail, particularly focusing on the muscles in Maciste’s back, which are so well delineated that they almost comprise an anatomy lesson. We get the obligatory lion-wrestling scene (totally separate from the later lion pit scene), in which we are relieved to learn that yes, Maciste does have underwear beneath that miniskirt. We get him holding up a stone roof that’s threatening to collapse, there’s the giant amphora and the inevitable prison bars, all while Maciste makes some very constipated faces.

My favourite bit is when Maciste rolls a giant boulder into the middle of a road so the soldiers can’t follow him. What makes it funny is that this is clearly not the first take: the boulder has been rolled repeatedly, and there are places where the paint has come off to show the white Styrofoam underneath.

All this emphasis on Maciste’s rippling trapezius muscles makes the movie feel just a tad homoerotic. One shot where the camera pans slowly around Maciste’s body while Capys walks a circle around him could be an attempt to depict the female gaze – a very rare thing in movies. But I don’t know what to tell you about the Maciste-vs-Mumba fight scene, which is either trying very hard to be sexy or else I’m just looking through tumblr-coloured glasses again.

The climactic battle with the cyclops is pretty great. The cyclops is played by a normal-sized stuntman made to look like a giant through camera angles, which means that Maciste can never be in the same shot with him. There are ways to do this well but Nobody Named Atlas Goes Anywhere Near the Land of the Cyclops does not use those – instead we just get some really funny jump cuts.

According to the movie, the reason Queen Capys wants to carry out her ancestress’ revenge on Ulysses is because until it is complete, she is under a curse. Capys herself describes this as being ‘forced to live in hatred’, but it is very unclear what this means. Early on, Ephetus confesses his love for Capys and she replies that she doesn’t know what the word means – this made me think perhaps her curse was an inability to fall in love. A few minutes later, however, she has laid eyes on Maciste and his sheer manliness thaws her icy loins in a matter of seconds. So… is her curse supposed to be that her subjects hate her? They hate her because she keeps feeding them to a cyclops! She could stop that at any time! Her curse can’t be that nobody can love her, because Ephetus and Maciste both do!

I mentioned that Nobody Named Atlas Goes Anywhere Near the Land of the Cyclops shares an actor – Paul Wynter – with Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules. It also shares a director, Antonio Leonviola (he also made Thor and the Amazon Women, the movie that runs over the opening credits of Cave Dwellers). Maybe that’s why both movies have an evil queen who is supposed to be redeemed by her love for Maciste. You may recall that I didn’t think Mole Men did this very well – Halismuya continued torturing people even after her supposed change of heart. Land of the Cyclops does a bit better.

We don’t actually get an impression of Capys’ journey, but we do see the beginning and end of it. As the movie begins, she’s callously throwing victims to the cyclops and looking forward to breaking her curse by killing Ulysses’ last two descendants. At the end she sacrifices her life trying to save Baby MacGuffin despite knowing that it means she will never be free. Her motivations for switching sides are unclear – she says that knowing Maciste has ‘changed her nature’ but we don’t ever see him trying to convince her that this child deserves to live. She does remark that when she’s with Maciste she’s ‘only a woman’ rather than a queen… so maybe he brought out her maternal instincts?

I also don’t know what Ephetus’ determination to kill Queen Penope along with her son is all about. She’s not a descendant of Ulysses, but he actually puts off killing Baby MacGuffin – the thing he believes his queen wants him to do – until he has identified the child’s mother. The movie also never explains why this kid, whose father was the king of somewhere else entirely, apparently has the right to succeed Capys as ruler of Sadok.

Nobody Named Atlas Goes Anywhere Near the Land of the Cyclops is a pretty lousy movie, but it’s a fun lousy movie. It’s kinda racist and kinda sexist, but no more so than a thousand other movies of its vintage. The only complaint I might have about its entertainment value is that it needed more crappy monsters. The cyclops is pretty bad, but he doesn’t show up until the very end. Fortunately, the rest of the movie has plenty of other stupid shit to fill it out.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #my cheese steak #atlas in the land of the cyclops #nobody named atlas goes anywhere near the land of the cyclops #60s

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rougebangtan · 4 years

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pairing: jungkook | reader

genre: strangers to lovers, fluff

word count: 1.840

prompt: old rock + can fulfill the ghostie bingo prompt

warnings: there’s a little making out in the end, so if you don’t like that, please be warned.

You roll your eyes in annoyance at the man in front of you. It is the third consecutive week that he has come to the store without making any purchases. The young man always wore all-black outfits, and would come by in the afternoons, granting you the honor of his visits. He would browse the store, flicking obnoxiously through the CD’s and records for hours on end.

One thing you had to give credits where the credit was due, however, was his impeccable sense of style. He dressed himself in a very unique and pristine manner; even as he tried to look badass, he most certainly looked soft and innocent. The amount of detail he put on his looks was nothing short of admirable. You caught yourself more than once enthralled by the way his earrings would dangle on his lobes.

The shop you work in is in a rundown spot of the city’s downtown which, in turn, had caused you to see all kind of people. Not many where as pretty as the handsome boy that was showing up so often, but you weren’t going to allow yourself to be biased; his pretty privilege had already cut him a lot of slack. You’ve grown impatient with waiting. It’s already been close to a month and the guy hasn’t bought anything.

Sucking in a breath, you think about your options. You have two: you either ignore him or finally set him straight. The choice is clear to you since your mama didn’t raise you to be a quitter. You feel yourself marching towards him before your mind processes the closeness between the two of you. You have your resting bitch face on and that’s what you attribute his stunned expression to as he gets even more wide-eyed.

With a silent sigh, you observe how he shifts in his spot, his legs alternating which one sustains his weight. Oh, boy, now he’s anxious? If anything, it’s you who should be.

“Hi,” you utter with a blank expression plastered on your face, adopting the most authentic salesperson persona you can. “We usually rather to let your customers pick what they want themselves, but you seem kinda lost. I’ve noticed you come to the shop often… I was wondering if you need help?”

He shifts under your gaze, looking absolutely caught off-guard. “Hmm, yeah,” he agrees while his hand goes to scratch his nape in a deflective move. “I could use some help… sorry about always leaving empty-handed. I’m just a very indecisive person.”

You chuckle lightly at that. The boy is super cute. “What are you looking for, pretty boy?”

“A gift.” He answers, and something evil stirs inside of you. You’re going to hell for the thoughts that swirls in your mind.

“A gift? For who? A significant other? A friend?” You query, subtly gauging his relationship status, and he seems to pick it up quite fast.

“It’s for a friend. We’re in a band together, and this store has many LPs that he’d like to add to his collection.” He explains, but he doesn’t keep eye contact for too long.

His cheeks heat up at how intently you pay attention to him. You figured that if he’d just waltz inside your workplace during three weeks to buy something, you had the prerogative to make him squirm.

“I like this one better,” you say as you pick up the Queen LP. “Their music definitely tells a story… I’m not quite sure about the words to describe it, but it just makes you feel nostalgic. In a good way, though. Makes your heart beat a little faster.”

As he stays quiet, you continue to go off about your favorite music in order to give him some insight in what to buy.

“Whereas this one,” you lay the LP in your hands down to grab another. “is kind of a little chaotic. I won’t say it doesn’t grow on you, but it’s a hard one to wrap your head around. At least for me.” You admit with a shrug.

“It’s hard to really get into it every time I try to listen.” His eyes were wide when you said that, and the pink shade that tainted his cheeks had started to creep up to his ears.

“I will take that one, then. Jimin will probably like it. He’s a chaotic person, so the concept suits him.” The man nodded.

“You sure? Don’t you want to hear a few tracks before you make a decision?” You question him, not wanting to be the one to blame in case the LP turns out to be a bad choice.

When he nods again in reassurance, you comply and walk back to the cash register, so you can ring up his purchase. What you don’t expect, however, is when he mutters: “What’s your name?”

You grin at the sheepish manner that he asks for it, and you wish you could hold his face between the palm of your hands seeing as he looks adorable, even with the pretense badass look. “Y/n. And yours?”

“Jungkook,” he replies earnestly.

“Well, Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you. Here’s your LP,” you announce and hand him the record. “It retails for a total of $15,99.”

He reaches on his pockets after taking the LP from you, and drops a 20-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change,” he whispers once he watches you moving around the register.

You gape at him briefly before you watch as he begins shifting again, and you could drool when he bites his already very pink lips. It’s not difficult to notice he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know how to, which is why you wait for him, Jungkook, with an expectant expression gracing your features.

“Thanks,” he settles on saying. Lifting the bag in hand, he clarifies. “For the LP, I mean.”

“You’re welcome,” you respond, a smile never leaving your face. “Thank you for your purchase. Hope you make good use of it.”

He still looks uncertain, but he nods and moves to the door to leave. “Yea, thanks again… Catch you a next time?”

It’s your turn to nod at his words. “Sure. See ya next time, Jungkook.”

When you return his hopeful sentiment, he beams, and as he makes his exit, you swear you could see a skip to his step.

Today was insanely hot, not even your outfit was helping, and you had chosen a smaller tank top paired with some bike shorts because of the weather. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen Jungkook, and your days felt like clockwork. You hated that he spent weeks coming to the shop, but as soon as he was confronted about it (very nicely, you add), he stops passing by.

You weren’t sure if it was the sweltering heat, but what you knew for certain is that the day passed in an agonizingly slow pace. You could count in your two hands how many people had entered the stop, and for that reason, you decided to close earlier. It wasn’t super early to close, though; it was only 10 minutes before your actual schedule.

When you get to the door, however, you’re met with a pleasant surprise. A scarcely dressed Jungkook is sweating in front of you, gasping for air, and his eyes twinkle in street’s lighting. He looks delicious, and the neediness you often feel quickly rekindles at the glorious sight you were gifted with.

“Y/n, hi!” He greets you, but you can see he’s still a little breathless.

‘Hi,” you greet back, second-guessing what you should do. You cave to the needy part of you that wishes to eye the boy for a longer while. “I was just about to close up… but you’re sweating buckets. Do you want a glass of water?”

He only signals in consent, and you step out so he could enter. You close the shop regardless, since that way you’d spare yourself of the trouble of leaving it open and Jungkook stays behind, watching as you do so.

After you give him a huge glass of ice-cold water, you observe him suspiciously. Resting against the counter, you wonder what was he doing there? His eyes are mesmerizing, and even as he gulps the refreshing liquid down, they never stray from your figure. You smile smugly to yourself. Your tank top left your bountiful cleavage on display as well as your back tattoos, and you’ve been proved that such combo had an interesting effect in men.

“What are you doing here, Jungkook?” You finally speak up when he stays silent. He seems surprised because his eyes, which were glued to your chest, are suddenly looking back at yours.

“Like what you see?” You tease.

He blushes at your statement and his hand soon find his nape. You noticed his recurrent mannerisms relied a lot on body language, and you could sense how shy the boy actually is around you.

“I forgot…” He mumbles with uncertainty, then shakes his head. “I didn’t know how to… askforyournumber.”

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowed.

“I didn’t know how to ask for your number.”

“Oh?” You gasp, then slowly stalk over to where he is. “Really? You should’ve told me… instead of coming to the show so many times, then vanishing.”

You watch in entertainment as his eyes widen so much, it looks like they could bulge out of their sockets. “Oh… I’m sorry about that.”

“How about this, Jungkook?” You say and your eyes flutter while staring at the beautiful boy, at the way his tongue moistens his lips. “You give me a kiss, and I give you my number. Would you like that?”

He nods repeatedly, eyeing your chest and tattoos wantonly. “Do you want to touch?”

Without saying anything, Jungkook touches the ink on your shoulders reverentially, his fingertips soon finding the crook of your boobs. You also put your hands on him, sneaking them underneath his shirt, and you swear you had to hold back a moan when you feel his pecs.

Needless of verbal communication, your lips brush against his, and he eagerly accepts the kiss. The pair of you kiss for minutes, his tongue brushes against yours sensually and you lose it when you feel Jungkook’s hard dick poke on your thigh. As you separate from one another, you realize you don’t want his manly hands to get off you.

Resting your hands on his chest while you gaze him through your lashes, you try to ask him out in the most nonchalant way. “Do you want to get out of here?”

His smile is blinding, and his hands grab your hips in reassurance. “I’d love to.”

The smile on your face is also uncontainable, so you rush to pick your stuff up and lock the backdoor. On your way out, you almost can’t believe you’re in fact walking hand-in-hand with the mysterious boy that thought dropping by at your work was a good flirting method.

If it was good, you didn’t know, but it was damn well effective.

a/n: Sammy !!! here it is, i envisioned the reader as you @breadoffoxy ily! Jester, @youarejesting, thank you for borrowing me your prompt. I hope to have done it justice. 🤍

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fluff #bts drabble #bts scenario #bts fanfic #btsghostiewritersnet #btswriterscorner #heartsforbtsnet #btsgoldnet #btswritersguild #thehouseofbangtan #thetruthretoldnet #bangtanscenery

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retroateez · 3 years

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Seventeen

length: 3k

tag list: @hewwo-from-the-other-side

prophecy masterlist

Strolling arm in arm with Seonghwa, the kingsguard of Ateez's powerful monarch, was not a situation you had ever expected to be in, not in a million years.

But yet, here you were, clutching onto the tall, handsome man as he led you through hallways and down great wooden staircases. Really, you didn't know what you were more nervous about, being in the spotlight in front of hundreds of people, or seeing Wooyoung dressed like this.

Your gown, an exquisitely made garment just for you, fits your form beautifully. The skirt sways gently with every step you take and every so often, you swear you catch the stitched butterflies fluttering with ease.

"Yeosang enchanted the butterflies," Seonghwa explains quietly. "They gave me quite the fright too when I saw them moving."

You smile, thinking of Yeosang whispering softly to the fabric and watching as the rose pink butterflies come to life.

Before long, you're both stood in front of the great oak doors that lead into the main hall. Seonghwa adjusts his position, putting his heels together and straightening his back. You can tell he's done this countless times before; he knows exactly how to carry himself and you would expect absolutely nothing less from the man who exudes regality.

"I don't know if I can do this, Seonghwa." You exhale sharply, tightening your grip on the kingsguard's arm.

"Of course you can!" He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "All you have to do is walk, and sit. When Wooyoung comes to you and offers to dance, you accept, and then you dance."

"I'm- I'm not cut out for fancy stuff like this." You say, looking up at him with sad eyes. "I'm just a nasty little street thief."

Seonghwa scoffs.

"You think a street rat would ever wear something as beautiful as this? Nonsense! The past is the past, Iris. You're one of us now."

Something about Seonghwa's words calms you, the thought of being accepted by (almost) everybody in the castle warming you to the heart. In a sense too, he's right. The shades of your old life had been completely cast out, starting with Yeosang giving you a proper home, and Hongjoong giving you a job of sorts.

Really, you had it all.

But the insatiable hunger for more still burned within you, and no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind, it would come back ten times louder.

Seonghwa reaches out and knocks firmly on the door, and immeditately, both of them are pulled open.

You stand there, mouth agape, taking in the scenery before you.

The great hall has been completely transformed, from an empty, lonely space to a bustling center of hospitality and entertainment.

On the far left, where Hongjoong's brilliant throne is, sits a long table, with space for nine people. In the center, is a smaller, but no less impressive version of the throne, where you assume the king himself will be sitting.

Off to the side of that, is a rectangular platform, upon which is Mingi, expertly playing his lute whilst accompanied by three other men playing various instruments you couldn't name. The rest of the hall is full of grand oak tables, each one lined with people chattering and singing along loudly with Mingi's song. Every table is graced with an abundance of hot food and goblets of ale. Whole roasted pheasants, hogs, mountains of golden roasted potatoes and boiled carrots covered every single surface and filled the air with a delicious aroma.

You spot Yeosang and Wooyoung occupying two chairs on the top table, conversing with each other, probably about the prophecy. You also spy San admist the guests, who laugh heartily as he speaks to them. Perhaps a jester is more than jokes after all.

At the end of the table is a sturdy young man with chesnut brown hair, who looks incredibly familiar to you, but you know you've never met him. Next to him is Yunho, who you grin at, happy to see a familiar face. He doesn't reciprocate your smile, instead giving you a small wave. You pray that he hasn't noticed the stolen textbook.

Seonghwa keeps you closely by your side as you glide into the hall and the silence in the room becomes abundantly clear.

Everybody is watching you.

All the guests take their seats and they sit like obedient children, observing as the stoic, cold-faced kingsguard accompanies you to your seat at the head table.

For some of them, this is a completely new experience; to see Seonghwa leading a beautiful woman to the most importaant table in the room. But for the older attendees, it is a sight they haven't seen since the passing of the Queen.

It's only when you're sat, Hongjoong's empty seat to your right and a giddy Yeosang to your left, that you realise you were holding your breath the entire time. Seonghwa tucks your chair in gently, and takes his own place on the other side of Hongjoong's vacant space, with Wooyoung faintly blushing to his right. The noise in the hall picks back up again, allowing you to quietly converse with your mentor.

"You look positively beautiful, my little student." Yeosang beams at you, and you shyly smile at him.

"You look rather dashing yourself, Yeosang." There's no lie; his brilliantly blonde hair is styled (for once) so it trails ever so slightly down the back of his neck, his outfit makes a start contrast to his usual attire, although he has opted to keep his signature white shirt, but over the top is fitted, beige jacket with embellishments of gold down the line of buttons, and leading down to his wrists.

"Do you like the butterflies?" He asks, a glint of pride behind the eyes. "I thought you would like them."

"Yes, Yeosang." You nod. "They're very pretty."

Suddenly, a hush falls over the room once more, and you guess that can only signify the arrival of a certain person.

The same doors you entered though swing open again, and Hongjoong himself confidently strolls in. He's wearing the tawny brown fur coat you saw before, fancy black trousers with gold patterning up the outside seams of the legs. His boots are ordinary, but they shine brilliantly, almost putting the jewels on his crown to shame.

It dawns on you then that you have actually never seen the king wear his crown, and you're astonished at how stunning it is. At the center is a huge blue gem, identical to the one sitting in the middle of the silver circlet on your own head. Each peak of the crown is embellished with glittering green sapphires, and between the tufts of his fluffy, mousy hair you can spot the sparkling rubies and garnets fitted around the base of the crown.

Hongjoong paces slowly, aware but unaffected by all eyes watching him in awe. He gets to the table, and stands on the other side of where you are seated, and he turns to face the crowded hall.

"Welcome!" he cries, motioning out in front of him. "Esteemed guests and distinguished friends, welcome to the annual Ateez ball."

The guests clap and cheer at their welcoming, Hongjoong patiently smiling as he waits for them to shut up. Sometimes he really hates his obligation to these dreaded social functions.

"It is with great sadness that the kingdom of Seventeen is not able to attend tonight," He says. "Commander Jeonghan sends his regards to all of you."

Hongjoong claps his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the hall and ringing in your ears.

"Nevertheless! Let us enjoy a night of feasting and festivities! Please, thoroughly enjoy yourselves." He finishes with a deep, sweeping bow, upon which the attendees go wild once more, taking up their goblets and gulping their mead down hungrily.

Hongjoong moves around the table, and takes his seat beside you with an exhausted sigh. All chairs, except for two which belong to Mingi and San who are busy entertaining the guests, are now occupied, and you can't help but wonder who the brown haired man next to Yunho is.

"Hongjoong?" You turn to your right and timidly ask the king your question.

"Jongho?" He questions. "He's the tailor who made your dress. He's a quiet lad, from somewhere up north I believe, but he's damn good at what he does."

Jongho's face perks up over hearing his name and he whips around to face you. Hongjoong signals for him to come over, and he does.

"Jongho! This is Iris, Iris, this is Jongho." The king introduces you, and you can't help but blush at the handsome smile the young man gives you.

"Pleasure to meet cha," He says. "You look even more beautiful in that dress that I ever could'a imagined. Hope yah like it?" You notice the difference in his accent, figuring that must be how they talk up in the north.

"It's gorgeous. Thank you."

"Oh hey, you're that kid from the inn!" Yeosang's voice behind you makes you jump, and you slowly realise that Yeosang is in fact correct.

"The inn with the bear!" You gasp. "Do you know if the bear is okay?"

Jongho chuckles. "The bear is fine. I actually recognise you two from the inn also, fancy meeting here, eh?"

You laugh along with him, one of the many worries settled in your mind as you finally learn about the bear that's been plagueing your dreams for so long.

"Well, I'm glad we are all well aquainted." Hongjoong smiles sarcastically, and Jongho takes that as his notice to return to his seat, bowing politely to you before he does so.

"So when do we start dancing and stuff?" You ask Hongjoong, your eyes following Seonghwa as he hurriedly gets up and scurries out of the hall. Your gaze falls back to the king as he shrugs.

"Probably within an hour or so," he answers. "Only people of high status are allowed to dance, so lords, ladies, princes and princesses from other kingdoms will take the center."

You nod, gulping nervously.

"I hope you've been practicing." Hongjoong says. "You'd better not embarrass me in front of my guests."

"What?" you yelp. "Why don't you go out there and dance if you're so bothered?"

"Because I'm the king." he smirks. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to, and I can make anyone do anything I want."

"You're evil." you snarl at him.

"You love me really." he grins. "Besides, I'm being awfully nice to you, am I not? Letting you live in my castle, giving you lavish clothes, allowing you to do whatever you please?"

"But why? All I do is cause trouble and get in the way."

Hongjoong stays silent for a moment, mulling over his answer before turning to face you once again.

"Truthfully, you remind me of my mother. She was very headstrong, very determined. She would never let my father order her around, not a day in her life would she obey the king's command." He stares into the joyful crowd, his eyes misting over ever so slightly as he remembers his late mother.

"I think she would have liked you very much." He continues. "She loved me dearly, but I think deep down she would have loved to have a daughter. My behaviour as of late, I know she would not have approved of it. My mother firmly believed I would be a good king, and so I strive everyday to make her proud. Your arrival reminded me of the promise I made to her before she passed."

"What promise was that?" You whisper.

"To treat everyone fairly, as she would have done. Regardless of age, race, or gender, my mother was a kindred spirit to every soul she met. Did you know that both Mingi and San were found abandoned outside the gates of the kingdom?"

You shake your head.

"My mother refused to have them sent to the orphanage, so she brought them here and they were raised alongside me."

"She sounds like an amazing woman, Hongjoong."

"She was." He smiles fondly. After a few moments, he shakes his head, rubbing his hands together. "My mother also loved to dance, and so with that, the ball shall properly commence!"

Hongjoong stands up, grabbing a glass goblet and a shiny silver spoon from the table and clinking them together to seize the attention of his guests. You watch as he commands the room like a true king, speaking confidently and without hesitation.

You look out at the sea of guests that hang onto his every word, and smile proudly.

Even if you haven't always seen eye to eye, he's a good man who just wants the best for his people, even you can recognise that.

Hongjoong raises his filled goblet towards the ceiling and grins cheerily at his spectators.

"To Ateez!" he toasts.

"To Ateez!" The crowd, including the table at which you are sat, mimic Hongjoong's cry and you sip eagerly at the alcohol in your cup.

When you place your goblet back on the table, you see Wooyoung stood in front of you, on the other side of the table.

You hadn't actually noticed just how handsome he was looking tonight, and now you had a perfect view.

He was wearing his signature, loose, white shirt, except the first two buttons were undone, giving everybody a direct peek at the top of his chest. He also wore a brilliant crimson waistcoat with bold, green plant stems stitched across the front. Beautiful emerald leaves accompanied the stems, with gorgeous, multicoloured flowers dotted here and there all over the front and back of the waistcoast. You even noticed dainty pink butterflies opening and closing their wings, sitting on the flowers of his outfit, butterflies that were completely identical to yours. Wooyoung's trousers were his usual black ones, but tighter than usual.

His jet black hair was soft and curly, parted in the middle and allowing him to stare at you fondly with his stunning amethyst eyes.

"Would you care to dance?" He asks politely, offering you his hand over the table.

Of course, you nod, and hurriedly rush past Yeosang and San who are sat at the table, to take Wooyoung's hand. He gently takes your hand in his, and raises your hand to his lips. He kisses the back of your hand delicately, and smiles at you with a sparkle in his eyes and a warmth in his heart.

"You look stunning tonight, Iris." He whispers to you, leading you towards the middle of the room where the other couples are preparing to dance.

"As do you, Wooyoung." You blush deeply.

The two of you are stood in the center of the hall, and it feels like you're the only two present. You place your arms around his neck, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, and try to contain the blushing when he puts his hands on your waist.

"Are you ready?" He teases. "Remember all your training?"

"Of course," You mumble back. "How could I possibly forget when I had such an amazingly gifted teacher?"

"Don't let San hear you say that," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "Or else his ego will shoot through the roof."

The music starts up again as you giggle quietly. You feel Wooyoung's hands tighten slightly on your waist and the nerves slowly begin to creep in once again.

But then Wooyoung's fingers are on your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

"Hey." He whispers. "No nerves here. We've got this."

And you grin from ear to ear, because he's right.

You manage to keep yourself standing, Wooyoung assisting you most the time by leading you with gentle spins and careful twirls. The two of you join the rest of the crowd in a group dance in which you temporarily switch partners. To your delight, you ended up with Mingi, who despite the vast height difference, was very pleasant to dance with. At one point, Mingi even picked you up and spun you so fast you thought the room was spinning around you.

"That was so fun!" you exclaim to Wooyoung when you return to your original partners.

"I'm glad you thought so." He replies, a hint of playful bitterness laced in his voice. "I much prefer dancing with you than San, his shoulders are much too sharp."

You nod in agreement, laughing joyfully and grinning as Wooyoung matches your gleeful expression. The dancing continues for a short while longer, most of the dancers filing out to eat and drink as the music becomes calmer and slower. But you and the elf carry on as if you were the only two in the room, whispering to each other as you gracefully move across the floor.

Hongjoong watches the two of you from his seat at the main table. He's sitting alone, Yeosang, Yunho and Jongho having collected themselves at the table of King Chan and his guests, talking animatedly.

Hongjoong watches as you and Wooyoung dance, observing with an amused twist of his mouth as Wooyoung dips you down, holding your waist, and gently places his lips on yours.

Hongjoong can't help but admire the bravery displayed by the elf.

He watches you smile into the kiss, and notices how Wooyoung's grip on your waist tightens. The king might even go as far to say he's impressed.

With an exhale, Hongjoong's gaze moves from you to the others, to San cracking jokes, to Mingi expertly playing his lute, and to the other three who seem to be getting along well. He's glad he went through with the ball, the stress of the prophecy getting to him more than he would have liked.

The king sits silently, pondering over the last few months, when Seonghwa, visibly distressed comes hurrying over.

"Hongjoong," he rasps. "We've recieved a message from Seventeen. They've recieved word that there's magic in the kingdom and they're sending soldiers to attack-"

"Ah." Hongjoong nods. "That's why Commander Jeonghan didn't show up. I see."

The king stays silent for a few moments, Seonghwa staring him with panic written over his entire face.

"Well, there's no reason why we can't talk this out. Tell them to send their commander and we can assure them there is zero magic in Ateez."

"But-"

"But what, Seonghwa? There is zero magic in the kingdom. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." The kingsguard nods hurriedly, and once again rushes out of the hall, no doubt to instruct the messengers.

Hongjoong sighs. He won't tell the others, not yet.

"Let them enjoy themselves." He mumbles to himself, watching Wooyoung twirl you around in his arms.

#wooyoung #san #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #mingi #jongho #yeosang #ateez au #medieval!ateez #ateez #ateez fic

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leatherbookmarking · 4 years

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hello! as you might have noticed i changed my icon. it’s a-yao now

celebratory headcanons/concepts™ from twitter (mostly xiyao/sanzun):

1. after the first occasion jgy gets to kiss him as much as he likes, poor lxc has to wear a face mask because he looks... concerning.

someone’s like oh, did you catch a cold? lxc (thinking about his boyfriend passionately committing to his "someone tried to eat my face" look): haha yes, one iced coffee too many ^__^

2. a concept: jgy, a person who absolutely intertwines his legs with lxc's when they're about to sleep, to the point that lxc isn't entirely sure which legs are his, only to disentangle himself away 15 minutes later because Hot

a-yao is Small and thus automatically a pre-sleep wiggler. one leg under the cover, the other on top of it. no, gotta change them. the cover is too hot, hot move. turn over. spread legs. bend leg. dangle one feet over the edge of the bed. hmm, walls are cold. leg on wall

lxc, hoarsely: a-yao. love of my life. my sun and stars. my little goldcrest. I am going to tie you to the bedpost in a non-recreational way

jgy, who has melted away after "love of my life": (gently wraps the vines of his person around the post of lan xichen's sexy torso)

3. sometimes (always) i think about modern jiggy being a dancer and sometimes (always) i imagine him moving something like mr taemin out there. like this kind of... fluid grace. he traces an arc in the air with his hand and it's like drawn with a protractor. every minuscule movement is planned. add his controlled expressions to this and you've got a What The Fuck How Is He Real

4. in a scenario where xiyao elope (no i will not shut up. ever), what do people think about the situation? gotta be "jgy, the EVIL FUCK, has kidnapped our beacon of light and goodness, zewu-jun!"

"but two men similar to them have been spotted in some places, and they appear friendly with each other... so..."

"witchcraft! jin guangyao has controlled zewu-jun's mind! who knows if he didn't turn him into a fierce corpse!"

the first person to find them fucking under a tree sure is in for a, let's say, surprise

5. thought of the day: meng yao deserved a big ass head piece. and silver in his hair. those little chains like jin ling had, that clink quietly when he moves his head. meng yao deserved to be as decked out as possible in gusu lan sect! and for people to look at him and see just how precious he is to sect leader lan!

lan-fujun... when he walks into the room, it's like a silver-white river nymph came to live among humans

(on the other hand: meng yao thinking about his mother. and about himself, as a child, dreaming of being accepted by his father, a powerful cultivator. they'd be free, and meng yao would become a great cultivator too, and give his mother the prettiest rooms, the best clothes, the most delicious food, anything she wants. she would never need anything, because she'd have everything. that's how it would be, and he, meng yao, will make sure of it!)

6. MODERN AU BUT BAXIA IS A POMERANIAN.

i was thinking black/tan because nie colors, BUT if she was white, it would add to the wonderful contrast... or sable. you know, because sabre... sable... not funny? sorry. look at the cute dog though

i'm not saying nmj is from the 'hey i am a big burly man with a tiny dog' school of hitting on people. BUT it is a fact that when he's having someone over for a fuck, he likes to see confusion and terror flash in their eyes as he tells them he wants to introduce them to the most important woman in his life just. i just think that would be neat (he likes to observe people before he invites them over. just to figure out if they would be that kind of person who has to be reminded why they're here. not that he's against baxia getting love! just,)

something something maybe he got her to learn to be more gentle because his early life left him a blunt and unapproachable. OR MAYBE it was a gift from huaisang? so he can have someone to take care of when he moves out? (nmj: oh, so you ARE moving out? nice! when? nhs: )

anyway they often converse. as in, nmj always kindly asks her not to nibble on things and in most cases, she obliges. but sometimes someone forgets to take their socks out of their shoes and they smell SO DELICIOUSLY, a lady has to have her pleasures, alright? "buy her chewing toys" oh? so she graces them with one scathing look and ignores them forever? this woman's most precious item is mingjue's old sock, with holes on both the toe and heel area. he's tied it in a knot. she usually carries it to her preferred places of Chewing but always remembers to bring it back to her bed for the night. one night jgy gets up to get a glass of water and sees nmj, with baxia on the countertop, two socks in front of her. "THIS one is good", nmj says patiently, pointing, "and THIS one is a no" she bites down on the latter

nie "i get nothing but disrespect from small dogs and people under 180cm" mingjue

if baxia doesn't like someone, he automatically Doesn't Trust Them. baxia has a very love/hate relationship with jgy. initially she was very waggy about him. then at some point she grew cold

is it a new cologne she doesn't like? he tries bringing her snacks. she nibbles at them for a minute then abandons them w/ no care. she walks away from him when he's using a cute voice and feigns deafness when he's speaking normally. there can only be ONE tiny thing in this house

(sometimes nmj Squints at jgy but jgy is Trying, and it's rather entertaining to see him on the floor, dog hair on his pants, ruthlessly ignored by 2kg of Fuck You. so)

(xichen, of course, has her unending adoration, although, of course, she loves mingjue the best)

...how does she treat huaisang? i'm thinking With Enthusiasm. he looks friendly! he makes fun noises when you surprise bark at him! truly a man worth playing with. she expresses that opinion by lovingly biting his toes. sometimes he accidentally walks into her. woe! woe!! Father, help!!! Violence! Hate!!

@xiyao-feels: I just have this image of like. Her being out with NHS and seeing another dark and starting to bark furiously and try to attack because she must! Defend! NHS!

(making her stop is a work in progress, nhs is very protectable) i had a dog that, due to Circumstances, wasn't socialized properly, so she'd bark at every dog she met. she was small but she DID scare some friendly big dogs away. "why is this tiny thing shouting :("

....sometimes when she yaps at jgy, jgy... yaps back, mockingly. and then it BEGINS (at some point nhs records it and posts on yt as "pomeranians having a shouting match") oh, no, it's fine! jgy understands. it was quite funny indeed. and the fact that for a month after that she gets into nhs' room to wake him up, or that his favourite t-shirts somehow are covered with dog hair? it's the draught, and the power of baxia's love :-)

xiyao-feels: He convinces NMJ that NHS really needs to learn more about how to handle a dog, and enrolls him in some training

"it's important that all household members get along :-)" he also blissfully records her doing her best to steal nhs' sock from his foot

nmj: see, that means she likes you!

nhs, sadly: no, da-ge. that means my toe hurts, and that i am one sock poorer

xiyao-feels: JGY starts deliberately vanishing NHS' socks when doing laundry, blames Baxia They're probably really fancy. I don't know what really fancy socks even look like but I bet NHS does

probably very smooth and pleasant to wear. nhs likes to live fancy, after all. well, baxia likes that too now!! whatcha gonna do!! at some point someone (xichen) notices the whole house is just four grown up men giving regular sacrifice to a tiny bitchy dog. incredible

at some point they introduce her to jc's gals. it looks like this

#thinky thots #xiyao #the untamed

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baeklooming-day · 4 years

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Birds And Foxes | 01

♤ Sehun series ⇒ 01 ⇒ ?

Link to masterlist

♤ Summary: You are a powerful demon, roaming the streets of human world and causing damage and mischief for your own amusement. When one night your evil illusions start a series of unfortunate deaths of those who were not supposed to die, an unamused death bird makes sure to step on at least one of your eleven tails to stop you.

♤ Genre: Folktale!AU, Mythology!AU, Kitsune!AU, Death Bird!AU

♤ Word Count: 3.3k

♤ A/N: Sehun is inspired by Paddy from Ghost Theater on Webtoon. ♡ The first one or two chapters might be more narrating but I promise that the story will get more interesting with time!

A beautiful, luxurious apartment.

Marble floors and walls, giant windows which made the rooms even more luminous than they already appeared to the eye, deep scarlet carpets laying on the cold floors everywhere adding even more luxury to the view as a whole, leaving the guest flabbergasted and amazed at the sight welcoming them.

Who wouldn’t want to visit a heavenly looking place like that, would you ask? Or, who wouldn’t want to live in a place like that, who wouldn’t want to own all the pleasures and joys which a similarly wealthy home would offer them?

Could you imagine meeting someone who would casually tell you that they knew a place exactly like that, a place with all the luxuries and nice things you could ever think of, a place which they could just give to you?

That someone would have probably the sweetest voice you have ever heard in your entire life, their aura mesmerizing like nothing else before, whilst their beauty making you want to look at them, only at them, agreeing to follow them anywhere they planned to take you.

You would be thinking that you knew the destination, you would never even suspect that something just slipped past your awareness, leading you always deeper and deeper into the well planned trap.

That was exactly what never stopped to amuse you.

You entered the luminous room, pulling a young boy behind you, your long fingers gently yet firmly clasped around his wrist.

You failed to hold back a mischievous smile.

Men, particularly young boys who were thirsty for new experiences were the easiest target to lure in.

Not that you have ever encountered someone who wasn’t an easy target for whatever kind of scheme you were in the mood for.

Humans and their weak minds weren’t a challenge for you, never were.

You slowly let go of the boy’s wrist, giving him a charming look.

He looked at you too, his pretty lips curling up into a smile.

He was handsome.

That’s why you chose him, even though in reality it didn’t have any meaning.

You observed how his smug smile grew always wider as his brown eyes traveled from your face to your body, the red dress fitting perfectly in all the right places.

He was too absorbed in looking at you, too hypnotized to notice the evil spark in your inhuman eye which quickly flickered only to disappear again.

You smiled delightfully.

Soon he wouldn’t be smiling like that anymore.

You took one step closer to him, without any warning running your long fingers through his soft brown hair in a seductive manner, only for him to instantaneously lose the consciousness, the last thing he saw being a pair of big and fluffy brown ears appearing on your head.

When he woke up, he wasn’t inside the beautiful and luxurious apartment you lead him to anymore.

The thing was, he never even actually was in that apartment.

He couldn’t be in a place which didn’t exist.

Instead, he found himself laying in what felt like the deepest part of the woods, the earth being wet from the rain and only old fallen leaves around him.

It was all an illusion.

He wasn’t sure how he ended up there or where exactly he was in that moment, but suddenly he heard a melodic, feminine laugh in the distance.

He looked over to the direction where the laugh came from, only to see a big brown fox disappearing between the trees.

You walked through the green woods, your only company being the soft bird singing in the distance and a comforting sound of gold coins bumping into each other in the little sack, every time as you happily threw it up just to catch it in your hand again.

Not that the so called money which humans valued often more than their own life was of a particular use to you.

Sure, you could use it whilst blending into a crowd in the downtown, pretending an innocent girl who came by just to buy some rice for dinner.

Sometimes, when you were feeling particularly generous and in a good mood, usually when you were really bored, you appeared in a little girl’s form and lived a day amongst the humans just as if you were one.

But most of the time, if you were in a mood for a whole bowl of steaming rice, you just stole it.

Sometimes it went unnoticed, sometimes someone completely unrelated to the situation was accused of stealing, in that case everyone making a scene in the middle of the market.

Sometimes though, to create even more mess, you „lent” someone’s body to make some damage in their name and, what followed, getting the nothing guilty human into serious trouble.

„Lent”, what in your own language meant as much as possessing.

You found it amusing.

It amused you, watching as the temporary disease of a fox possession messed with people, making it even more entertaining to see in your opinion given that different people were met with different effects of such.

The usual and most seen result would be just an inappropriate or noticeably odd behavior on the part of the possessed human, expressing oneself in a bad language, being violent, spitting or throwing money around as if one was a millionaire with no care in the world.

Sometimes they started to make some noises, as if an attempt to imitate a bark that of a fox.

The more extreme outcomes would be pain, hysteria, madness, taking off one’s clothes to run through the streets naked only to collapse in a random spot, feeling lost and dazed after the fox finally left.

That was some part of the schemes you liked to perform on the human folks, for you this world was merely a playground whilst the people served as toys.

But toys who knew how to cook, you thought as soon as you felt a knot forming in your stomach, followed by a loud grumble.

You looked at the little sack filled with some gold coins in your right hand, raising your left one to gently stroke the soft fur on your left pointy ear, thinking.

To pay, or to steal, that was the question of the day.

Before you entered the town you made sure to conceal your ears, as well as your tail, making yourself appear just as if you were a normal human girl.

You walked through the central market street of the town which you came to know so well, looking for a good place where you could find the particular tasty food your tummy was calling for always louder.

You didn’t have to walk for too long, a smell of delicious fried tofu reaching your nostrils almost right away after walking around the next corner, soon revealing an entrance to a small restaurant.

You opened the door with a thud, a quiet, but not too quiet thud, enough to make the people sitting inside aware of your presence.

You walked over to the bar, resting both of your elbows on the wooden surface, waiting for someone from the staff to take your order.

While you were waiting, you looked around the restaurant.

You couldn’t really recall visiting this place in a human form before, but you were almost sure you might have stolen a plate of freshly made fried tofu pockets stuffed with sushi rice, commonly known as inari zushi, from exactly that place one day in the near past.

The type of food foxes liked the most.

You impatiently tapped your long pointy fingernails on the wood, feeling the knot in your grumbling tummy becoming always tighter, as if calling out to you for a very much needed delivery of nutrients and energy.

In other words, food.

“Welcome, miss.” Said a man in a black apron, from the looks of it probably the head chef, after finally acknowledging your presence. “I apologize for the wait. What would you like to eat?”

Without a word, you just slid the sleek menu card in his direction, slowly tapping your fingernail on the name of the dish you wanted to get.

Tap, tap, tap, gently tapping concentrated the chef’s attention on the words in the menu.

Kitsune udon.

The soft noodles swimming in a steaming soup with a fried tofu topping was exactly what you needed right in that moment.

“Excuse me miss, I don’t really see what’s written here in this weak light. Could you read it loud?” The chef asked.

You stopped your tapping on the smooth paper, instead giving him a quick look with an unreadable expression.

You turned the menu card around without any hurry, so that you could have a more proper look at the neatly listed names of the dishes again.

“Kitsu... on...” You said.

Or more like, you attempted to say.

Illusions were one thing, but the skill of convincingly speaking in the human language was the noticeable weakness point of all foxes.

It was no difficulty being able to understand what they were saying, but for some reason their language seemed to be some weird kind of a tongue twister, leaving a fox merely with the ability to pronounce part only words, but never a whole word, not even mentioning the ability to pronounce a whole build sentence.

Being practical masters of illusions and excellent shapeshifters, even foxes could be exposed if one was familiar enough with their real nature.

You didn’t fail to notice the suspiciously alarmed look in the chef’s eyes, watching still as he slowly put the white towel which was laying loosely on his shoulder down on the wooden counter.

“Um, I apologize miss, it’s really loud in here, I couldn’t hear you well.” He said, his voice trying to stay steady. “Let me pull the curtains open to let some sunlight in.”

He quickly walked over to the nearest window, practically snatching the red curtains open without any hesitation.

Given the position you were in, and the position of the window through which the warm sunlight was now illuminating the room, you found yourself standing pretty much right in front of it.

The sudden brightness managed to disorient you for a brief moment, but not to that extent where you failed to acknowledge the equally sudden silence which fell upon the restaurant.

The light illuminated your entire figure, making you look absolutely divine.

There wouldn’t be any particular problem with it, if not the fact that the shadow your body was casting on the wall behind you didn’t look very human anymore.

You made sure to properly conceal your ears and tails before making an appearance in the town, but the natural light wasn’t lying.

Your shadow was showing a pair of big pointy ears on the top of your head, and eleven fluffy fox tails, looking as if they were softly floating in the air behind you.

You heard some well audible gasp in the background, followed by a muffled voice of the chef.

“It’s a fox.”

Another this time louder gasp, followed by some seats shifting and more voices.

“Oh my god.”

“I could tell that it was a dirty fox, look at my little dog! He’s been so uneasy ever since it entered the room!”

A dirty fox? It?

Instead of reacting, you were left there a little surprised at how careless the human folks became.

Since when were they speaking so disrespectfully to the superior beings?

In your eyes, they just willingly put a death sentence on themselves.

You would stay there frozen for a while longer, if not the voice of the chef which snapped you out of your trance and back to the reality around you.

“Bring the guard dogs.”

Dogs.

Dogs were probably the only thing of which foxes were actually scared.

Dogs could be fast enough to catch up on a running fox, trapping it behind the next corner to bite its head off.

No, no, no, you thought.

Was a bowl of noodles worth risking your own head for it?

Definitely not.

Before anyone could make any more move, the earth started trembling, the walls started shaking always more, dust falling down on everyone’s heads.

Earthquake.

Naturally, not a real one.

Another one of the fox’s illusions.

You figured that the chef could probably tell that the unexpected earthquake wasn’t real, but given the fact that there were also other people who never had the pleasure of meeting a fox demon, now panicking and crying, it was more than enough to let you escape without being harmed.

Once you were out of their sight, you let the illusion last for a little while longer, even if you were already far and safe from the incident scene.

You could let slide a whole bunch of things, except for disturbing you during your afternoon nap, and calling you a dirty fox.

It seemed like people forgot who you were, and you decided to remind them of it.

Starting from tonight.

It may be that lately your usual pranks weren’t that entertaining anymore, lost their previous power, or maybe you had simply been too nice these days.

Well, then it surely was one solid reason enough to make a visible change.

You waited patiently until the night falls, in the meantime roaming freely around the streets.

This time you made sure that you stayed invisible, not letting any human spot you.

Only from time to time, when you knew that someone sensed your presence, you gave the one a small warning in form of a high pitched bark, so sharp that it seemed to be piercing through the ears if you happened to be within its reach, or a brief sighting of your fluffy tail slowly disappearing behind a building.

It wasn’t much, but enough to give the chills and fill the air with an eerie aura, what didn’t go unnoticed by the folks, letting them know that something was happening, but not revealing what.

With the last light of the day, as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, you found yourself standing in the middle of a dark alley, your only company being one single dim light coming from an old lantern nearby.

The night was warm and peaceful, the sky tinted in one of the most beautiful dark shades of deep blue, no sight of any clouds, just the pale countenance of the moon and flickering stars gracing the firmament, as if little fireflies in the dark woods.

You extended your arm, catching a few droplets of rain on your bare milky skin.

A silence before the storm.

You straightened your ears, making them appear even longer and pointier than usual, as soon as you heard the first steps and clacking of shoes on the ground.

The first prey of the night.

You stepped back into the darkness of the alleyway, starting to imitate a little child’s cry to lure the unaware humans into the dark.

And of course as you anticipated, it worked just perfectly.

It were two girls, letting themselves immerse always deeper and deeper into the alleyway, trying to navigate where the child’s cry was coming from.

Unfortunately for them, little did they know that they were two chickens within the eyesight of a hungry fox.

As soon as they stepped forward and reached the old lantern, you dashed out of the shadows and mercilessly pinned them both to the cold and slippery wall by their throats.

You heard a quiet and mortified muffled scream of one of the girls, the word „fox” being the only thing that she managed to say.

You were right before them in your divine form of a big brown fox, all of your eleven tails floating behind your back, your whole being illuminating like some majestic light and filling their hearts with fear.

Your long nails started to dig into the skin of their necks, your inhuman eyes glowing in an evil way as your mouth formed a mischievous and creepy smile, the sharp fox teeth glistening like pearls.

It didn’t even take one minute when after you released them from your strong grip they started to run for their life ignoring everything else around them.

Your illusion made them see a fire, the town being consumed in angry flames which threatened to burn them alive if they didn’t run.

Meanwhile you created other illusions putting the entire town in a state of complete madness.

The two girls who thought they are escaping the fire, fell off a cliff and drowned in the ocean thinking they are running into a firefighter base.

Another pair of people, a man and a woman, thought that they were on their way home whilst in reality, your illusion led them to the middle of the dark woods where they suddenly became possessed by madness and led to one another’s death by hanging themselves on tree branches.

Other illusions made people think that they were spilling water to cancel the non existent fire, whilst in reality they were the ones soaking the room in an inflammable liquid only to die in the flames minutes later, taking a few other lives along with them.

The dark and mysterious night transformed into nothing other than one big illusion, unfortunate series of deadly accidents not seeming to find an end.

The town was a complete unimaginable mess, all kinds of freaky and disturbing sceneries being displayed under the pale, cold light of the moon and stars, them being the only witnesses of the widespread madness caused by a fox.

Meanwhile, when everyone else was running around and screaming, some buildings in flames, some folks just sitting outside on the ground letting the light warm rain soak them and sobbing uncontrollably, you were strolling through the messy streets, not bothered even a little.

You put your hands behind your back, interlocking your long fingers and closing your eyes, gently swinging to the left and to the right to the rhythm of the soft melody which you were humming.

The rain didn’t stop, the crystal clear droplets of water shining in the white moonlight once fallen on your exposed ears and tails, making the soft fur look as if it wasn’t real, but painted with delicate brush strokes on a flawless canvas.

You thought about disappearing into the woods to have a rest, away from this half destroyed town, when out of nowhere you heard a loud sound of some massive wings batting against the air.

Your furry ears instinctively went up, straightening, listening carefully and trying to figure out what made a similar sound.

You didn’t need to wait for too long, when you found yourself in a shadow of a big bird, black feathers falling all around you.

You stood there still, watching as the black bird landed on the street in the weak yellow light still illuminating the scenery from the few lanterns which survived tonight’s performance.

As soon as the bird landed, with a loud WHOOSH it transformed into a tall and slender man wearing a dark blue suit. His light hair seemed to be a resemblance of a pastel sunset above the mountains, whilst his cold eyes were now scanning the surroundings.

He reached his hands to his knees, dusting off whatever dirt which could be on the smooth material of his pants before, now supporting himself by placing both of his hands on his knees standing in a half bent position, finally meeting your gaze with a hint of visible disapproval.

“You know what-” He said. “I think that Inari should keep his pup on a tighter leash.”

“Well, if so” You answered. “Then maybe Hades should keep his bird in a safer cage.” You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling creepily. “You know. Foxes catch birds.”

The man took a step closer to you, enough for you to see his luminous face clearly, as well as the lopsided smile forming on his pale lips despite the still present disapproval in his eyes.

The wide, creepy fox smile seemed to be glued to your face now as you took in the appearance of the man before you.

“Hello, Sehun.”

A/N: This story is my baby, please leave your thoughts if you don’t want to be deceived by a fox 😰 remember to reblog if you liked this part!!

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Hey look I love your au and I was wondering if you could do Sammy x Susie or Sammy x Jack up to you and maybe see him get along with Wally and another guestion can you please make Sammy’s different personalities please thanks 😊

I'll be honest, this ask was the equivalent of mental whiplash and it made me blank out for half a day.

I'm assuming you were either requesting art or a written prompt, so I went with the latter due to currently being on a commissions only basis for art requests.

I took the liberty to assume this was for SillyTunes AU, where relationships are currently strained, so it's mostly just Sammy and Jack having a heart to heart about past-relationships and repressed feelings.

---

It's not that Sammy resented his father for giving him not the best of upbringings. He couldn't entirely hate the man who paid for his education and who told him to do good by himself if he ever wanted to be better than the city abercrombies that ran about thinking they were better than southern joes like them. He was grateful, even, that his father had tried to raise him clever instead of letting his mind rot like the other kids back in their home town (the ones that threw rocks at birds, blew up rats with smuggled fireworks, and who broke property to entertain themselves because their parents couldn't be bothered to teach them any better).

What he did resent was the ideals he'd rubbed off on him. The bigoted views, the generational shortcomings of the Lawrence men that had been passed down like tradition. Views that had gotten Sammy black eyes, split lips, and busted noses. Worse yet, he resented how confused they made him.

Samuel Lawrence Sr. had been the kind of man to sneer at people he thought unsavory. Called them by their skin color like they were disease riddled animals, things Sammy slipped up on even after promising to be better. But where his father simply glared and commented offhandedly what he thought of others who did not share his skin tone, nothing could compare to his hatred of homosexuals. If anything, Samuel Sr. took glee from spitting out the most soul crushing things he could muster to anyone who looked at the same sex "funny". He aimed to hurt the "freaks" that went against the Bible.

How ironic that his own son was a closeted bisexual.

"You know, if anything I thought you'd be focused on the whole 'holy shit I'm a talking sheep' thing, not your repressed feelings for Norman..."

Bless Jack Fain for being who he was. Sammy had gotten along well with the slightly older man from the moment they met. A rarity if you really knew Sammy. He wasn't a people person and often had to be encouraged by his little sister to play nice. But Jack? Jack just eases him into being more open, more honest. He was a safe person to be vulnerable around, and one he could entrust with his little secret.

Mostly because Jack had his own secret: The fact that he was a gay man married to his best friend, a lesbian who'd orchestrated quite the grifter act so that both of them could be married and happy. Sammy had never personally met the woman, but he was grateful she'd managed to make it safe for his friend to be able to be spiritually married with the man of his dreams.

"That's not even the issue right now and you know it..." He sighed, covering his face (muzzle) with his gloved hands as he lay in the hammock he'd claimed for himself. The furthest one in the corner of the 'communal room'.

"Well, there's also the awkwardness with Susie..." Jack carefully tuned his fiddle as he talked, not once needing to look at Sammy to read him like an open book. "Between one and the other, you're pretty strung up on this whole mess."

"Jack, Susie and I ended on really bad terms, and falling back into friendly banter and hugs is physically painful when we both remember what happened." He looked at the shorter and rounder cartoon sheep. Jack was looking at him now, frowning slightly.

"And Norman?" The other asked calmly.

"Hates me because I apparently killed him while I was all whacky from drinking Satan's blood in inky form." Sammy stated dryly. "Cultist shit aside, Norman's married and has kids... Or uh, was married. None of us know who's out there waiting for us..."

"Norman's married life is none of my business but I'm pretty sure he was on the same boat as you. I've seen him eat up both broads and blokes with his good eye like you eye up a chocolate cake..." Jack pointed out, raising his gloved hand when Sammy went to cut him off. "I'm not saying he'd cheat on his wife, I'm just saying the man isn't as straight as you think... Now on the subject of you killing him... Err... Yeah that's rough, but not your fault."

"Because I can walk over to him now and say 'hey sorry for ripping out your heart with an axe, I wasn't myself'?" Sammy huffed and curled up into a tight wooly ball. This was hopeless. Between pining over Susie and Norman, and feeling guilty over all the shit Joey Drew and his damn magical Ink had put them through?

He felt like a fuck-up. A very confused fuck up that couldn't even figure out who he wanted in his life. And, to make it worse, in came someone he really didn't want to talk with...

"Hey guys, whatcha up to?" 'Wally' walked in with a wolfish smile and a chipper tone in his voice.

"Hey Wally." Jack greeted him back, while Sammy ignored the imposter. He didn't trust this guy as far as he could throw him, and it still annoyed him that the others ignored his very valid concerns. He was miserable enough as is. "Just resting... Sammy wasn't feeling well."

"It's all them inkwells he's been draining. It don't hurt us no more but it can't be good for ya to booze it up like that." The cartoon wolf chuckled as he went to his own hammock to retrieve something. "My ma used to say visiting the gin mill when you was down was only gonna put ya in an evil mood."

"You don't have a ma..." Sammy grumbled under his breath, getting a sharp look from the wolf.

"What was that?"

"Baa. I said baa. Laugh it up twit..." He lied as he gave up on getting comfortable. Might as well get up and move on with his life. Do something productive while he was in a funk.

"Don't pay him mind Wally, you know Sammy's not the nicest when he's joed and yearning." Jack laughed, getting an annoyed glare from the taller cartoon sheep.

"Jack!"

"Yearning for what exactly?" 'Wally' blinked in confusion. "Another drink? A slice of that delicious all the way from the cafe? Uh... Miss Campbell?"

Sammy took off his bell and chucked it at the wolf. It bounced off his snout harmlessly before it vanished and reappeared around the music director's neck. Damned thing! The wolf grinned.

"Awww you're still dizzy with the dame! That's real cute Sammy!"

"I'm not having this discussion with you!"

"Half a discussion you mean." Jack snorted.

"Silence Judas!" Sammy stamped his foot (hoof) and snorted loudly, electing to ignore the visible cloudy puffs that exited his nostrils. Toon logic was mind-boggling and the particle effects a bit annoying with how much they made it easy to read his moods.

"If it's about how screwy things got, why don't ya sit down and talk about it? Miss Campbell is a sweet dame, she'll listen." Wally suggested. "Think she might need t'talk it out anyways... She's pretty down about it too ya know."

This caught Sammy by surprise.

"What do you mean?" He couldn't help ask out of curiosity.

"Heard her venting to Norman. Was none of my business but hard not to eavesdrop when them walls ain't up to code or whatever Thomas goes on about with regulations and stuff..." The wolf shrugged. "Anywhos, she felt bad that she blew up on you when Joey gave her the slip. She didn't know Drew literally only told you and left ya to tell her she was fired..."

"I... How does she know that...?"

"Norman. Turns out Joey used to ramble to himself in his office when he thought he was on his lonesome... He was gonna try warn ya both that Joey was being shifty, but by then t'was too late and the damage was done. He felt awful that he wasn't too fast, but then again he wasn't really s'pose to know that anyway. I wonder if Joey would'a known he was watching him if ya both didn't blow up at each other like ya did over the whole replacement thing..."

Norman had told Susie that Joey had screwed things up between them on purpose? The guy had avoided him since going through Thomas and Henry's version of the machine! Why would he go though the hassle?

"See? That counts for something Sam." Jack smiled. "If he hated you he wouldn't be defending your honor."

"Norman Polk, hating on Sammy Lawrence? You guys crack me up! Guy don't have no mean bone in his body... He's all bark and little to no bite unless you deserve a beating!" Wally laughed.

"None of us have bones anymore idiot... But..." Sammy sighed. "Thanks... For the advice. And the information."

"..." The wolf sat down. "Well I'll be. I must be dead, cuzz there ain't no way Sammy just thanked little old me."

The bell was thrown once more and Sammy stamped off as the fake Wally cackled. Jack merely shook his head and muttered something along the lines of young love.

"You're only five years older than me!"

"That's five years worth more experience than you Sam!"

"Fuck off Jack!"

#Eps Writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence #jack fain #wally franks #SillyTunes AU

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years

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AMIRIA MACNAIR is TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD and a MIXOLOGIST at THE HOPPING POT in CARKITT MARKET. She looks remarkably like MAYA HAWKE and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

If you asked Amiria about her early childhood or her father she’d be unable to give you any clear answers. Between what she thought had been real, what her mother had told her and what her older brother, WALDEN MACNAIR had said, Amiria no longer knew what the truth was. What she did know was that her father was never around and whilst she loved her mother dearly, Walden was more of a parent than both ALEXANDER and JOSELINE MACNAIR. Her family of three lived in a fairly large home located in a wizarding village in Dorset, not far from a Muggle town called Wimborne. Whilst there were often Muggles just down the road, Joseline had warned that they were a bad influence and Walden seemed to stay clear of them, so Amiria did too. She adored her older brother, following him everywhere he went and constantly asking to play. Despite Walden being four years older than her, he would never say no, constantly being a gentle giant. She loved him for that. As they got older and Amiria started to find herself, becoming more independent by the day, her stubborn and strong willed personality came out. Instead of following Walden she’d come up with an idea and ask him to accompany her. Looking back on it all, she’s sure Walden was just going along with it all to prevent any arguments. Amiria had a good childhood regardless of the odd dynamics their household had and would never wish to change it. Sometimes she would wonder what it would have been like if their father hadn’t left, but Amiria would shake the idea out of her mind, contempt with her reality.

When Walden left for Hogwarts Amiria found that she had the whole house to herself. Whilst she originally thought it would be exciting, it turned out to be rather lonely. Joseline would leave in the morning and stay out late only to return and ramble on about how great her own life was; how important it was for Amiria to make friends in high places. Unlike Walden, Amiria would simply roll her eyes to that idea. Who cared who she was friends with? All that mattered was that she actually cared for her friends and that they cared for her. In her mind it was always better to have a small group of friends who would stand up for you rather than a large circle who barely knew your name. She’d spend the next four years finding ways to entertain herself, be that sneaking out the house and into the Muggle library in the next town or playing around with a junior potions set that her mother had got for her. As the months passed, Amiria would find herself growing eager for her brother to come home each holiday, to spend time with him like they had when they were younger. But Walden seemed to change with each holiday. He was moodier, less energetic and it seemed as if the light inside him had been snuffed out. Amiria knew that her brother had changed. That he was doing as their mother had asked simply to keep her happy; those around him changing him for the worse. She promised herself she would never follow in his footsteps. That she would never change to suit those around her and instead be true to herself no matter what.

When she was sorted into Slytherin upon arriving at Hogwarts, Amiria instantly knew that making friends might be a challenge. Whilst she appreciated the complement of being labelled as determined and cunning, she did not appreciate being sorted into a house which everyone on the train described as evil. Although she was in the same house as her brother and it was lovely passing him in the common room, she had seen what his fellow Slytherin friends had done to him. Her first instinct was to cross all her classmates off her potential friends list, all except one. SEVERUS SNAPE was a curious boy and whilst he hung around the likes of REGULUS BLACK and JASPER AVERY, she couldn’t help but find herself sitting next to him in potions, a subject which they both adored. She didn’t push her boundaries with him nor did they speak but she hoped that there was a mutual understanding between them that they were friends as they worked on potion assignments together and made an efficient team. Determined to push herself out of her own comfort zone and try new things, she’d skip her own classes only to attend the same class but for the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff group. This is how she met BERTHA JORKINS whom she sat next to in the class and GILDEROY LOCKHART whom she had a healthy argument with before being asked to leave by the professor once noticing that she did not belong there. Amiria would continue to bounce between friendship groups, meeting new people yet refusing to conform to a single clique and whilst many gave her a side eye, she managed to make a few other friends including CARADOC DEARBORN and DEMETRIUS MCLAGGEN.

It was only when she found herself trying out for the quidditch team one year that she met GWENOG JONES and EDGAR BONES, both who were passionate about quidditch and willing to help her learn whilst simultaneously being lovely people. Amiria could not understand how Walden had ended up with such rotten apples as friends when Hogwarts was filled with amazing students. Whilst Amiria did not make the quidditch team, she was given kudos for trying and was continuously invited to parties by Gwenog or Edgar. She’d spend the days before stealing ingredients for the potion storeroom and brewing a mighty strong yet delicious moonshine. Her moonshine was a hit amongst those who were willing to drink at school parties and before long she had a list of orders. She began to spend her nights in the bathroom, brewing away and filling orders. All the hype that her moonshine business got her also attracted unwanted attention, especially from the likes of NARCISSA MALFOY who at first offered friendship but when Amiria turned her down, seemed to suddenly have it out for her. Suddenly Amiria had found her own rotten apples to avoid and the school seemed to light up with red flags, including her own brother. When she approached him asking why he bullied so many students, she could see the physical strain on his face before he answered brutally, in a way that would make their mother proud. Whilst she would always love Walden, it was at this point that she realised that they were on two different paths in life and that they would probably never see eye to eye again.

It was in her final years at Hogwarts where Amiria finally settled down and focused wholeheartedly on her school work. She felt satisfied with her Hogwarts experience as she had tried everything she had wanted to try and met a few amazing people whose company she truly enjoyed. Whilst she didn’t have a best friend or a ‘close circle’, she didn’t mind. She enjoyed her own company and felt like that was perfectly fine. Well, at least that’s how she felt until she laid eyes on PANDORA FORTESCUE. Amiria had no idea what love felt like but she thought that this might be it. Whilst she never acted on her feelings nor would she ever admit them to anyone, they were definitely strong and she continued to admire Pandora from a distance. Since then her heart has pined for someone she could share every moment with. To distract herself so threw herself into her potion textbooks and studied hard for her N.E.W.T.S. Whilst all her friends around her spoke about their potential careers or their auror training acceptances, she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life after school. She did not want to work behind a counter all day selling potions to mundane customers and hating her life. No, she wanted something more exciting where no day was the same as the last. Her mother suggested asking Walden for help and perhaps working in the experimental magic department at the Ministry but she refused. The last thing she wanted to do was give her mother the satisfaction of bending to her will or asking her brother for help. No, she wanted to do this on her own and find something that worked for her, something that made her happy.

After Hogwarts it wasn’t long until Amiria was couch surfing from one friends apartment to the next. She refused to stay at home with her purist mother whilst she found a place of her own. It was at this point that she saw an opening for a mixologist at the Hopping Pot and she applied for the position. The owner, GABRIELLE BRAITHWAITE was impressed by her own brand, hiring her and offering to buy her recipe. She gladly accepted and began work straight away. What started as a way for her to make money soon became a job that she adored. She’d meet new customers everyday whilst maintaining relationships with frequent drinkers. Her moonshine was now on the menu as a drink that anyone could order and Gabrielle had offered her a room in the Braithwaite flat upstairs. This is how she met ZYRELL BRAITHWAITE, whom she worked with in the bar and BETTY BRAITHWAITE, who worked at The Daily Prophet but would also spend the evenings helping her cousin and Amiria close up. Late one night Amiria was taking out the trash when she overheard a conversation down the back alley. The two men were speaking about a ‘Dark Lord’ and his secret army. Amiria instantly knew that her ears were never meant to hear the conversation and quickly hurried back inside before they noticed her. Normally a conversation like this would slip her mind, but she could have sworn on Merlin’s beard that one of the voices had been none other than Severus Snape. She needed to know more, who was this Dark Lord and what army? It seemed like it was time to pay one of her old friends a visit because whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality → Homosexual

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Slytherin)

Societies → TBD

Family → Alexander MacNair (father), Joseline Garrick (mother), Walden MacNair (brother)

Connections → Pandora Fortescue (object of affection), Zyrell Braithwaite (friend/colleague), Severus Snape (friend), Bertha Jorkins (friend), Gilderoy Lockhart (friend), Caradoc Dearborn (friend), Demetrius McLaggen (friend), Gwenog Jones (friend), Edgar Bones (friend), Betty Braithwaite (friend), Narcissa Black (adversary), Gabrielle Braithwaite (boss)

Future Information → N/A

AMIRIA MACNAIR IS A LEVEL 5 WITCH.

#amiria macnair #maya hawke #marauders rpg #marauders rp #harry potter rpg #witch #neutral #alleys #carkitt market #the hopping pot #taken #taken witch #taken neutral #taken lgbtqia+

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things2mustdo · 4 years

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Understanding shit tests is important. Real important. Not just for navigating your relationships with women, but also for understanding, defining and defending yourself.

Don’t believe me? Then why did God chronicle the world’s first shit-test in chapter 3 of Genesis, immediately after the trifling matter of the Creation of Heaven and Earth? Before any discussion about, say, the purpose of life, the nature of God or the path to freedom, God sits us down and says, “Okay men, this is how it is. Listen up.”

And yet here we are, eleventy bazillion years later having to relearn the lessons of this primordial story of man vs. woman. Be of good cheer though. The story is short and the lessons are vivid.

The first shit test

Let’s set the stage:

The serpent was the shrewdest of all the wild animals the Lord God had made. One day he asked the woman, “Did God really say you must not eat the fruit from any of the trees in the garden?”

“Of course we may eat fruit from the trees in the garden,” the woman replied. “It’s only the fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden that we are not allowed to eat. God said, ‘You must not eat it or even touch it; if you do, you will die.’”

“You won’t die!” the serpent replied to the woman. “God knows that your eyes will be opened as soon as you eat it, and you will be like God, knowing both good and evil.”

The woman was convinced. She saw that the tree was beautiful and its fruit looked delicious, and she wanted the wisdom it would give her. So she took some of the fruit and ate it. Then she gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it, too. At that moment their eyes were opened, and they suddenly felt shame at their nakedness. Genesis 3, NLT

So what is the shit test? Simply this: Should Adam take the fruit to please Eve and maintain his relationship with her? Or should he tell her, ‘Shut up. Walk away from the talking snake and go back to the tent. I want to be fruitful with you.’

Lesson #1

– this crap isn’t new

God’s response to Eve’s disobedient shit-test is rather enlightening:

“And you will desire to control your husband, but he will rule over you.”

In other words, this tension, this conflict between men and women that we deal with constantly goes back to the very beginning. First-wave feminists didn’t create it. Second or third-wave feminists didn’t create it either. All they’re doing is coming together collectively to do what they can’t do individually – control men.

Feminists will tell you that feminism is all about equality. ‘Equality’ is a lie. As it ever was, their desire as women is to rule over you. Period.

Now fast-forward a couple thousand – or million – years. Because women haven’t changed, the same admonition is given:

“…you wives must accept the authority of your husbands. For instance, Sarah obeyed her husband, Abraham, and called him her master. You are her daughters when you do what is right without fear of what your husbands might do.” 1 Peter 3

Now, women wouldn’t be told to submit to men if they weren’t capable of it. That would just be mean. But even well-meaning women quite naturally fear what their man would do with his authority if she actually did submit to him. Letting go, trusting another human being, is hard. Humans mostly suck. I get it. And feminism is always there to stir this fear and distrust.

Managing this age-old conflict requires us to acknowledge their fears and to manifest a solid, trustworthy – if playfully unpredictable – masculinity.

Lesson #2 – Be active not passive

Adam’s punishment is:

“Since you listened to your wife and ate from the tree whose fruit I commanded you not to eat, the ground is cursed because of you. All your life you will struggle to scratch a living from it.”

Did you catch that? The cause of Adam’s transgression was that he ‘listened to his wife’ and followed her into disobedience. Happy wife, happy life my ass!

He should have grabbed the nearest shovel and chopped the serpent’s head off before admonishing his wife for her covetousness – this despite their lavish habitation! Instead Adam passively sat there as the scene unfolded.

The lesson is simple. Be active. Be engaged. And actually care about your woman. Sure, many women will call you a bully and say you’re too controlling. That’s fine. If you’re in it for an actual relationship, next her. This one can deal with the ‘serpents of life’ on her own.

Lesson #3

–Women are gullible and covetous

Women have exquisite feminine virtues based on openness and receptivity that men rightly treasure when we can find it. Frankly, when we see it, it’s impossibly attractive and intoxicating. But there’s a flip side to feminine virtue.

When you’re open and receptive, you’re also more easily fooled.

And it was not Adam who was deceived by Satan. The woman was deceived, and sin was the result.

And when your nature is to attract and receive, you are also more prone to materialism and covetousness as you search for validation in all the wrong places.

She saw that the tree was beautiful….and she wanted…

This is one reason – there are others – that men should lead women in relationships. It’s not to lord over them abusively or for self-gain. It’s to provide women a safe space to express and share their feminine nature with us without being taken advantage of.

Conversely, when women call the shots in a relationships, it’s inherently exhausting and ultimately unsatisfying for both of you. Her covetousness and gullibility will combine to dominate the purpose of the union. She will see and want and be sold…. a bigger house… a bigger diamond…. a newer car… another expensive vacation… a fairy-tale wedding. You know the drill.

In the end, her covetousness and gullibility will become your own. And the things that control her will become your masters.

Lesson #4 – Lead your woman, or else..

Let’s game this out. There’s a period of time when Eve has taken the fruit but Adam hasn’t. At this point, Adam has two choices . He can follow Eve – submitting to her – or follow God. In the end of course, he submits to Eve.

But why did he chose Eve over God knowing it was wrong? Because he was afraid of losing his relationship with her which he treasured, a relationship marked by unquestioned trust and pure physical and emotional intimacy. Sounds good right?

In the end though – and this is the lesson for us – by selling out his own integrity and his call to leadership, he ended up losing the very relationship he sought to protect. In its place, he received a new relationship with Eve marked by distrust, conflict and competition.

Likewise, when we abdicate leadership, when we sell out our own integrity, we lose self-respect first, and then in turn, her respect. And then the relationship either ends, or worse, it lingers in blue-pill hell. There is simply no acceptable alternative to men leading relationships.

Conclusion

So there it is. Nothing new is under the sun. Women are the same as they’ve ever been. And the tension between us is as old as humanity – baked into the heart of every man and woman.

So what do we do? Well, what did Adam do? He picked himself up after that colossal shit-test failure to end all shit-test failures and took the red pill.

Then the man—Adam—named his wife Eve, because she would be the mother of all who live.

In other words, he takes his authority back and moves forward the best he can, perhaps having learned a little along the way. Oh, and he take Eve back to the tent. And she follows.

Read More: The 4 Important Shit Tests Rocky Balboa Passed To Win Adrian

Television and movie wives have been a staple in the fabric of American entertainment for as long as any of us can remember. From Carol Brady to Joanna Eberhart to Skyler White, these women have influenced western culture for decades. But as the years passed, masculine traits began to seep into their personas like a slow poison and before we knew it the on-screen traditional American Housewife was extinct. It wasn’t long before women in the U.S. predictably followed suit. A quick look at the steep decline over the last 60 years sheds light on this runaway train.

Leave It To Beaver

The 50s and 60s gave us June Cleaver, the gold standard of what a wife should be. Doting, nurturing, and supportive, Mrs. Cleaver was the picture of femininity and grace. Her loyalty and deference to her protective, capable husband was the blueprint for women to emulate if they wanted a chance at a happy and fulfilling life as a domesticated homemaker.

The Cosby Show

Clair Huxtable was the TV wife of the 80s but this is where we start to see a noticeable change. While it’s presumed that Cliff is the de facto head of household, it becomes rather clear that Mrs. Huxtable is the man of the house. When there was discourse in the family Cliff stepped in a precious few times while Claire was the judge, jury, and executioner much more often than not. The icing on the cake was that she, of all things, was a lawyer (and we all know how happy and fulfilled female attorneys are).

King Of Queens

The late 90s and early 2000s all but put the nail in the coffin of the traditional on screen housewife by force feeding Carrie Heffernan down our collective throats. The witty Mrs. Heffernan was a slick talking, fist pumping paralegal with a brash attitude and a short temper. She undoubtedly wore the pants in this relationship which was evident from the very beginning. Carrie’s only redeeming qualities were her perky tits and ample ass but weight gain quickly diminished her aesthetically pleasing figure. Surprise, surprise.

Last of a dying breed

One of the last great television/movie wives makes her first appearance in the 1976 motion picture, Rocky. This timid but cute pet shop employee that stole Rocky’s heart is none other than Adrian Pennino, who later became who we all know as Adrian Balboa. Most of us know the Rocky story but few acknowledge the true reasons she played such an important role in his life. One of those reasons was that she was a quality woman.

When Adrian met Rocky she was a shy, young, pretty girl with a submissive demeanor. Best of all, she hadn’t so much as gotten in line to ride the carousel. Yes, gentlemen, Adrian was a virgin. Now Rocky wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but even he recognized that women like her were becoming increasingly rare so he did what any man would do and took her off the market immediately.

Adrian enthusiastically took to her role as Rocky’s girl as would any woman in love. Aside from cooking the meat he famously tenderized with his fists, she studiously tended to his aches and pains from training, enthusiastically offered him post-training sex, and supported him when he doubted his ability to go the distance in his upcoming fight against the heavyweight champion of the world, Apollo Creed. All of this was before she became his wife. Adrian added real value to Rocky’s life because she followed his lead and seemed to be the genuine article as far as quality women go.

The other reason Adrian brought the best out of Rocky is one that is oft missed by the blue pill masses. As innocent and rare as the future Mrs. Balboa seemed to be, let’s not forget one important factor: she was a woman. And while every woman is unique in her own way, their operating systems are identical. That is, all women shit test! From the most chaste Madonnas to the sluttiest whores, all women are programmed to test your mettle as a man. The reason for this is simple: if a woman is going to invest 9 months of her life carrying a man’s seed, she’s going to make damn sure that he has strong, masculine genes that will be passed on to her offspring. As a result, her operating system kicks in and employs a series of tests to ensure that he is a worthy donor.

Now keep in mind that most of the time this is all done on a subconscious level. When a dominant alpha male gives her ‘gina tingles, she’s seldom thinking thoughts like ��This man is displaying masculine traits that I want passed on to my young. I must mate with him.” All she knows is that she wants to be fucked stupid and her hamster is in overdrive searching for reason to justify it. She is utterly incapable explaining her insatiable desire for all of her holes to be plundered by alpha cock but her OS is on auto pilot making sure she isn’t about to be impregnated by some spineless beta. Concepts like “shit test” and “cock carousel” hadn’t been given actual names until recently but you can bet your salty man juice makers that they were all too prominent back in the 70s.

That said here are the 4 most important shit tests of one Adrian Balboa.

Shit Test #1: His way of life

Adrian: “Why do you wanna fight?”

Rocky: “Because I can’t sing or dance!”

Right off the bat she tests his manhood by challenging his lifestyle early on during their first date. The answer Rocky gives her is brilliant because it sets the tone for the relationship. His response tells her in no uncertain terms “Well that’s a silly question, so I’ll give a silly answer.” He does what he wants and doesn’t feel the need to justify this to her or anyone else. Alpha move, Stallion. He passes her shit test with flying colors and is handsomely rewarded with her virginity. (see: Shit Test #2)

Shit Test #2: My brother is my keeper

So now Adrian has the tingles and finds herself in Rocky’s apartment. The slut shields are definitely up as she goes full throttle with some of the most impressive, rapid fire LMR (last-minute resistance) I’ve ever seen. We all know that LMR is just another shit test and so did the Italian Stallion. So he summons his inner Don Juan and systematically disarms every layer of her defenses.

Adrian: “ I wanna let my brother know where I am. I think he might be worried.”

Rocky: “I’ll call your brother.”

Rocky: “Yo Paulie!!!! Your sister’s with me!!! I’ll call ya later!!!”

Well played. Adrian knows damn well that Paulie was probably too drunk to care about much of anything. She’s standing by the door so she’s definitely hesitant about the situation she’s in but she’s still there. Her hamster is out of control waiting to be satiated. Rocky, who is completely relaxed on his couch, stays in the set.

Adrian: “I don’t belong here.”

Rocky: “It’s alright—you’re my guest.”

Adrian: “I’ve never been in a man’s apartment before.”

Rocky: “They’re all the same.” <gesturing>

This was handled beautifully with gentle, well placed sarcasm. Her snowflaking (yes, virgins snowflake too) doesn’t phase him in the least. She’s sitting with him at this point so her defenses are weakening. Being keenly aware of this, Rocky moves in for the kill:

Adrian: “I don’t think I’m comfortable. I should leave.”

Rocky: “But I’m willin’ to make the best of this uncomfortable situation”

Rocky: <softly> “Would you take off your glasses?”

Adrian: <dumbfounded> “What?”

Rocky: “The glasses….please.”

Adrian: <timidly> “T-Thank you.”

Rocky: “Do me another favor?”

Adrian: “What?”

Rocky: “Could ya take off that hat?”

Rocky: “I always knew you was pretty”

Adrian: “Don’t tease me…”

…and she was his for the taking. Masterful escalation by the champ. He had a clear understanding that Adrian’s introverted disposition combined with her lack of sexual experience meant he would have to gently and carefully escalate lest he scare his prey away.

The look in a woman’s eyes when LMR is destroyed

Throughout the exchange her body language quickly went from “no” to “yes”. Even when she made an “attempt” to leave she offered little resistance when Rocky intercepted her at the door. She wanted to be taken as all women do. As soon as she lost her hat and those horrific glasses, her deflowering was a foregone conclusion. Adrian never stood a chance.

Shit Test #3: Apollo is bad for your health

Fast forward 6 months. Rocky is basking in the afterglow of his new found celebrity after nearly pulling off the greatest upset in the history of boxing since Cassius Clay beat Sonny Liston in 1964. Things could not be better. He’s got a little extra coin from his share of the purse from the Creed fight, Adrian is now his wife and pregnant with his child, and he is Philadelphia’s new favorite son. Life is pretty damn good.

But it’s not long before the money runs dry and the Balboas fall on hard times. Rocky’s provider instinct kicks in and tells him to get back in the ring to support his growing family. And wouldn’t you know it, the perfect opportunity to drops into his lap when Apollo Creed challenges him to a rematch that would be worth millions. Slam dunk, right?

Wrong. The newly minted Mrs. Balboa forbids her husband to trade punches with the champion because she’s “worried about his long term health”. While this is very noble of her, this is simply another shit test. No woman in her right mind would prohibit her husband from accepting an opportunity to set the family for life financially. Sure, Adrian pouts and protests but her hamster secretly wants Rocky to defy her and maintain his alpha status to reassure her that the decision she made to willingly accept his seed was the correct one.

Her hamster gets its wish and true to form she throws a fit (another shit test). But like the true alpha he is, Rocky stays the course. Adrian eventually comes around (as women who belong to alphas always do) and watches her husband become the new heavyweight champion of the world, forever changing their lives.

Shit Test #4: You can’t win!

The last and final shit test administered by Mrs. Balboa was the most significant because Rocky is literally risking his life having agreed to fight his most deadly opponent, Ivan Drago. At 6’6” and 260 lbs, Drago was a lightening quick fighter with super human strength. That strength was on full display when he killed Apollo Creed in an exhibition bout.

Drago kills Creed

Balboa and Creed became best friends when they joined forces to help Rocky regain the heavyweight title he lost to another fierce opponent, Clubber Lang. When Apollo died in the ring at the hands of Drago, Rocky’s objective was clear: avenge his fallen comrade.

When Adrian learns of his decision, she hits him with everything she’s got to try to talk him out of it. She broke out the heavy artillery telling him this fight was suicide among other things. She even tells him “You can’t win!” Brutal. But Rocky Balboa is a true alpha and regardless of what the love of his life thought, said, or did, he knew he had to stick to his guns. Fresh out of options, she pulls a last second power move and tells Rocky she would not be going with him to Moscow to support him ringside. This, gentlemen, is a major league shit test. Even the most battle-hardened Super Alpha would be hard pressed to admit that he didn’t, at the very least, reconsider his decision. Remember, he’s been married this woman for years and truly loves her so it could not have been easy to get on that plane by himself. But like before, Rocky stays true to his task and starts his journey alone. And like before, Adrian rushes to his side and cheers him to victory.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaagSfBj2To

Conclusion

While it’s common knowledge amongst ROK readers that women aren’t as necessary as they once were for a man’s long term success and fulfillment, there’s no denying that a good woman has the potential to increase a man’s value as well as his quality of life. Don’t get me wrong, banging sluts is great fun—there are plenty to go around and the abundant supply isn’t dwindling any time soon. But when a man gets his hands on a decent woman who understands and abides by traditional sex roles, has no discernible signs of having ridden the carousel, and finds legitimate joy in pleasing him, it would be to his advantage to let her stick around for a while. Rocky understood this and acted accordingly.

Now Adrian could certainly be a handful as we’ve seen above. But make no mistake about the fact that she tipped the balance in her husband’s favor in the two most difficult fights of his life. Never forget that before Adrian showed Rocky her support for his rematch against Creed, Rocky wasn’t giving it all he had during his training. The fact that his new wife didn’t have his back visibly affected him. Ready or not he was getting in that ring because it was what he had to do as a man. But if he continued his half-assed training, Apollo would have most assuredly ended Balboa’s career, or worse. It wasn’t until Adrian told him she wanted him to win did he train with the conviction necessary to dethrone the champion. The same thing happened in Russia. Rocky started his journey alone but Adrian’s physical presence gave him the extra resolve to beat Drago.

Few titles in this world are more alpha than Heavy Weight Champion of the World. The money, fame, and status that comes along with this title is more than enough to satisfy the hypergamy of the vast majority of woman. But regardless of title, wealth, or social standing, women will always be women and the shit tests are coming. Count on it. Rocky loved his Adrian but his mission came before her and it showed. As a result, she grew more attracted to him with every shit test he passed. Even when he risked his life by fighting Ivan Drago, Adrian couldn’t help but be more drawn to him, win or lose (Roissy Maxim #200: Chicks dig guys willing to risk an early, gruesome death. Expendability is a DHV).

But what if Rocky tried to justify himself when Adrian questioned his way of life or gave up trying to close the deal when she threw up that epic LMR? And what if he backed out of the rematch against Creed or caved into her demands to throw in the towel against Drago? Chances are he would never have had the spectacular life he was afforded as a result of failing her shit tests. Sure, he may have been able to accomplish a few minor goals here and there but Adrian’s attraction and devotion to him would have been gravely compromised. On the other hand he may have had a great life had he never met her. Being a single, rich, champion prize fighter would have offered him unlimited access to the paradise of poon. As awesome as that life would be let’s not kid ourselves here fellas—nothing feels better than having a quality woman in your corner. But if you want a quality woman you have got to be alpha because all. women. are. like. that. Even the rarest of snowflakes like Adrian Balboa.

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daedriclorde · 4 years

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15, 22 and 28, can't wait to read it! 😋😘

My goodness. Once I finish this multi-chapter I’m working on, I need to just write one-offs like this. I haven’t written something this easily since the Heart’s Day Fluff I posted back in February.

Decided to take a slightly different direction with this so have some LITTLE BABY AERISIF! AH! She’s cute :)

So anyway I accidentally wrote 2k words here you go!

“Good Morning, my little wildflower.”

Aerisif peeled her eyes open. Her mother leaned over her, the sunlight gleaming on her raven hair.

“Happy 9th Birthday, my darling,” her mother cooed softly.

With a gasp, Aerisif sat up. “It’s my birthday!”

Her mother laughed. “It’s your birthday!” She reached out and hugged her daughter.

The door to Aerisif’s room creaked open. Her father tenuously entered, and the sight of him sent Aerisif into a burst of laughter. He stood in the doorway, his large build filling the frame. Three apples danced in the air, resting briefly in his hands as he juggled the fruit. Perched haphazardly on his head was a sweetroll with nine little candles in it. Aerisif squealed with delight as her father made his way over to her bed in this manner.

“Gardimor,” Aerisif’s mother chastised him, but her tone and the warm smile on her face betrayed her. “Be careful! You’ll burn the house down!”

“I am being careful,” he said with a wink. He struggled down onto one knee before his daughter’s bed. With soft grunts, he caught the apples, extended his arms out wide and shouted “Ta da!” to the amusement of his wife and daughter.

Gardimor gently took the plate from his head and offered it to Aerisif. “A sweetroll for my sweetroll?”

Aerisif grabbed the plate with joy.

“Make a wish!” Her parents encouraged her.

After a moment of serious contemplation, scrunching her face up in thought, Aerisif took a huge gasping breath and blew out the candles before her. Her parents let out a gentle cheer and her mother hurriedly pulled the candles from the sweetroll before the wax could reach the delicious pastry.

“Eat up, Aerisif, and hurry about your chores. We’re going to Markarth today!”

Aerisif let out a delighted sound, muffled by a mouthful of sweetroll.

Dressing quickly, Aerisif did as she was bidden. She completed her chores with haste. The chickens indignantly clucked at the manner in which their breakfast was thrown to them, but Aerisif couldn’t be bothered. She stomped toward their cow, her tiny brow furrowed in determination.

“Now listen here, Ulga. Today, you’re going to come with me without a fight. It’s my ninth birthday and we’re going to Markarth. Not you, though. You’re going to go over to the pasture. Without a fight. You got that?” Aerisif’s tiny voice was filled with fire.

Ulga blinked slowly with lazy eyes.

“Hmph.” Aerisif took the rope in both her hands and pulled. Ulga could not be bothered to move.

“Come on, move!” Aerisif yanked at the lead again.

Ulga moved a single hoof forward.

“Lets go, Pot Roast!” Aerisif moved and started to push the cow’s flanks.

Finally disturbed, Ulga lazily walked toward the indicated pasture.

“Yes! That way! Go! Faster!” Aerisif slapped the cow’s rump for good measure. If Ulga noticed, she gave no indication.

Animals fed, Aerisif raced back toward the house. Her parents were waiting for her in the wagon. Gardimor bent to pick up Aerisif to lift her up, when she violently shook her head.

“No! I can climb in myself! I am nine, after all!”

Gardimor straightened, surprised. Then he grinned. “Forgive me, Wildflower. I am, after all, not yet used to having a big, grown, nine year old!” His blue eyes twinkled.

Aerisif hoisted herself into the back of the wagon, struggling and gasping, but she made it. Once she stood in the back of the wagon, she smoothed out her skirt and hair, trying all her best to look as dignified as her mother.

The journey to Markarth was just over an hour by wagon. Her father, sitting up front and driving the horse, sang the songs he had learned from his parents, who had learned them from their parents, all the way back to the Nords that travelled with Ysgramor. Aerisif’s mother busied herself with some mending she had brought along. Aerisif stared at the sky, watching the clouds drift by and amusing herself by seeing fantastical shapes in them. She called out the animals she imagined, getting particularly excited at the vague shapes of a unicorn and a dragon.

They arrived to the city by mid morning. Aerisif’s cloud watching was forgotten as she gaped in awe at the stone gates. The magnificence of the towering stonework always captivated her.

Gardimor pulled the wagon off the road and stabled the horse. The trio walked up to the monolithic gates, open wide to accept travelers. Aerisif’s eyes grew wide as she stepped into the city.

It was not her first time into Markarth, but Aerisif was stunned every time she laid eyes on the city. It was the vastness of it, the looming, ancient towers of stone, the mysterious to be discovered in its nooks and crannies. She was captivated by it. Aerisif skipped toward the stream. She immediately jumped with both feet and landed with a splash in its shallows.

“Aerisif!” Her mother chided. “Your shoes!”

“Ah, her shoes will dry, Kjolti,” Her father placated. “Let the girl have her fun.”

The marketplace was buzzing with shoppers. Never one to miss an opportunity, Gardimor had brought with him a large basket of produce from the farm. He went about trading it to the vendors while Kjolti led Aerisif around the market, looking at each stall’s wares.

“Ooh, mother, look at the jewelry!” Aerisif ran toward the stall. She pressed her face as close to the glass as she dared. A Redguard man smiled down at her.

“Perhaps a lovely trinket for the lovely girl?” He gestured at his jewelry. “Fine Redguard craftmenship, all made by me and my kin!”

“Don’t touch the glass, Aerisif,” Her mother warned. “Your work is fine indeed, silversmith.”

“Mama, look! Isn’t that a sapphire?”

“Yes it is, Aerisif. Those are very rare.” She smiled apologetically at the silversmith.

“I’ve got a delicate silver chain that would be just right for a girl her age!” the smith offered. He picked up a thin necklace. It was plain, and it bore no pendant, but it gleamed in the light nonetheless.

“Oooh,” Aerisif admired the chain, and it was clear in her eyes that she wanted it, but she knew her parents couldn’t afford it.

“Made by my boy, there, my Endon,” the Redguard gestured to his son across the marketplace. “A fine apprentice, he is.”

“How much for it?” Gardimor walked up to his family.

“Only sixty septims!”

“Gardimor, don’t be silly. We can’t afford that. And Aerisif doesn’t need a silver necklace, she’s nine.”

“A divine age!” The silversmith offered with a grin, waving the necklace in the air.

“It’s my ninth birthday!” Aerisif declared.

The smith raised an eyebrow. “Is it now?” He turned to Gardimor. “I can give it to you for fifty.”

Gardimor considered it. “Could you do forty?”

The smith worked his jaw, pondering. “Forty-five is as low as I can go, else my wife will have my hide.”

“How about forty two and the rest of my produce? It’s fresh, picked from the farm this morning!”

The silversmith looked over into Gardimor’s basket. “A fine crop you have there. Yes, that’ll brighten my Adara’s day. Sold.” The two men traded coin and good, and Gardimor took the thin chain and knelt before Aerisif.

“It matches your eyes,” he said as he clasped the chain around his daughter’s tiny neck.

“Thank you, father,” she replied, her eyes glowing with pleasure.

The rest of the day was spent with Aerisif pulling at her mother’s hand as they explored the city. Aerisif demanded they have their lunch on one of the walkways high up in the city, where the view was most stunning.

When the market closed for the day and all the stalls locked up and pulled their carts aside, a troupe of entertainers took over. Aerisif and her parents joined the crowd gathered, eager to see what they had in store.

There were dancers who claimed to have traveled to Valenwood and Elsweyr, musicians who boasted of studying on the shores of Auridon.

“Rubbish,” Gardimor muttered under his breath. “Not with Tamriel in this state.”

Kjolti said nothing but nudged him and gave him a reproachful look.

The entertainers performed and the crowd was pleased, shouting their approval. There was an occasional flash of gold as a coin was tossed through the air.

“Alright, little wildflower, time to go home,” Gardimor began to scoop up Aerisif, who was tired but trying very hard not to show it.

“Aww, not yet, father!” Aerisif pleaded. “Just one performance more?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

Gardimor muttered something under his breath, then relented. “One more,” he warned. “Then we leave.”

Aerisif grinned and scooted closer to the front of the crowd.

A wisened old man took the performing area.

“I am Jos The Storyteller. Listen close, young ones, and listen well! This is the tale of our past, and our future.” He nodded to a drummer, who began to pound out a rhythm. The pulse was steady and vigorous. Many of the crowd began to stomp in time with it. The rhythm made Aerisif’s blood burn.

Satisfied with the drum, the old man began to call out, chanting:

“Dragonborn! Dragonborn! By his honor is sworn,

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout, when they hear triumph’s shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!”

Some of the other performers emerged, and began to shout and sing, joining the storyteller.

“Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago,

and the tale, boldly told, of the one!”

The storyteller’s voice changed, then, and become gravelly and restrained.

“Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man,

with a power to rival the sun!”

The pounding of the drum filled the air. It felt as if the whole of Markarth was watching this performance.

“And the Scrolls, have foretold, of black wings in the cold,

that when brothers wage war come unfurled!

Alduin! Bane of Kings! Ancient shadow unbound,

with a hunger to swallow the world!”

Aerisif looked around in surprise as many of the men in the crowd joined in the shouting, the performance now woven with shout and chant and song. Her jaw dropped as her father’s deep voice was among them.

“But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon’s lies,

will be silenced forever and then!

Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin’s maw,

Dragonborn! Dragonborn! By his honor is sworn,

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout, when they hear triumph’s shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!”

The drum beat ended with a triumphant cadence. Aerisif found she was breathing heavily, and that several others were as well. She looked up at her father. Gardimor stood tall with his chest puffed out and his hands in fists.

“Father, what’s going on? What’s the matter?”

The sound of his daughter’s voice broke him of his reverie. He knelt down in front of her. “Nothing, my wildflower. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Why does everyone want to fight? Why do I want to fight??” Alarm creeped into her voice.

Her mother chuckled softly and bent down as well. “It’s in your blood, dearest. That was the Legend of The Dragonborn, Aerisif. An ancient Nordic tale, very dear to Nord hearts.”

“That tale has been passed down for generations and generations. It is well loved with our people, which is why so many in the crowd knew the song.”

“Oh. So, we want to fight because we’re Nords?”

Her parents both erupted into laughter, stood, and took her hands. Aerisif pondered all this as her parents led her back to the wagon. She drifted to sleep in her mother’s arms, lulled by the rocking of the wagon. A black dragon flew and roared through her dreams.

#skyrim fanfic #OC: aerisif/kjolti #KMDA #prompt fill #tes v

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aneilert · 4 years

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Pride and Prejudice (2005 adaptation)

I know several men who like Jane Austen and, for that matter, several men who like romantic comedies (a genre of which she is definitely one of the ancestors). So I'm not going to offend anyone by insisting that this is purely a «girls' movie». But Pride & Prejudice is something of a phenomenon for a certain type of ladies (of which I know quite a few and amongst whom I can also be counted).

A good part of this status is probably due to Colin Firth; it wasn't just Bridget Jones who lost both common sense and eloquence after watching him perform British literature's most irresistible grumpy super-hunk in the BBC series a decade ago. And, of course, much is due to Elizabeth Bennet herself, perhaps the most charming and most beloved heroine in the same literature. We all identify somewhat with her; if nothing else, we wish we were (more) like her. And the problem of finding a life companion that you can both respect and laugh with is still relevant to smart, independent ladies of all ages, even though the fear of the workhouse is a much smaller part of the problem than it was two hundred years ago.

So: Joe Wright's adaptation of Pride & Prejudice. It is scary to go see a movie based on a favourite novel, and it becomes no less scary when you also have an exceptionally successful TV version of the same under the skin. Surely you can't convey the depth of the story in only two hours? Surely you can't have time for all the wonderful lines and subtle barbs, not to mention how to express all the mental anguish the two poor protagonists really have to suffer in silence for week after week? And surely Keira Knightley is too young? Too thin? And her hair is too disheveled? And who is this fellow who thinks he can play Colin Firth's role? And surely Mr. Bennet isn't Canadian?

But I need to rally almost surprisingly little goodwill to give the film a shot and let myself be captivated. We meet quite a different Lizzie than Jennifer Ehle gave us in the BBC series. Where Ehle was brilliantly ironic with self-control of steel, Knightley is more nervous, more afraid of the future, more temperamental and more erratic. More mercury in the blood; less self-possession. And she's younger, yes. Knightley is 20, as old as Lizzie herself, and she gives a convincing impression of an intelligence and sensitivity that is not yet fully under control or tempered with experience and security. When Matthew Macfadyen's Darcy arrives on the stage (also younger and more uncertain than Firth's character, more unfinished and with the emotions several millimeters closer to the skin), it is both natural and convincing that he should be swept off his feet to a degree he has never experienced before. This Darcy hides boyish shyness and a passionate personality underneath an appearance that is so uncompromising and scowling that it is almost not even correct, and that cracks several times throughout the film.

I do not see Elizabeth and Darcy here as the same people as Jane Austen describes. The ironic distance, the sardonic verbosity and the caricatures - and with this, also much of the humour - are largely gone, in favour of more visual realism (albeit within a romantic tradition, but still), more understanding, even of the stupid or evil the people, and thus more thin-skinned feelings. And it is, to a great extent, the humour and biting irony I love about the novel - the deliciously abominable Lady Catherine, the horrifyingly selfish and vulgar Mrs. Bennet, the self-effacing lickspittle Mr. Collins, and the utterly self-absorbed and remorselessly flighty youngest sister.

But when adapting a novel into a movie, firstly you have to concentrate on the few aspects of the novel you want to include in your film (and cut away the others), and secondly you have to be allowed to tell the story in your own way. If the movie had to tell exactly the same thing as the book, it would have been pretty much wasted, and that would have been a shame.

And seen as an independent work, as it has every right to be, I think the movie is really successful. Skilled actors who play well against each other, well-composed scenes in richly decorated houses and beautiful English scenery. Lizzie has a captivatingly charming personality and tremendous radiance, her sister Jane is just as dazzlingly beautiful and flawless as she should be, Charlotte Lucas is quietly desperate for a way out of a fate as an old maid, and the dynamics, both within the Bennet family and between them and the rest of the world, are credible and realistic. The familiar affection is obvious, as are the larger and smaller manifestations of selfishness and a certain smug condemnation of other people's choices and behaviours that few are completely free of. The rather callous and unavoidable truth is that these young women are economically destitute, and that they have to depend on being charming enough to make a reasonably good match to have any kind of future. The meat market that the «festive» balls really are, is thus far more cynical and illusory than the bar scene of our time, and this rather ugly truth is never too far from consciousness. Seen in this light, the requirement that one should be able to love AND respect one's spouse is an almost unattainable ideal, and you get more than a hint of sympathy for the many examples the film gives of people who have ceded just that requirement.

But this is not a serious and gloomy and social-realist film. First and foremost, it is a charming, witty, romantic escape to let you get carried away and be entertained. And you will be.

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #pride & prejudice #joe wright #this was written when the movie was just out

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caffeineivore · 5 years

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Commission #6, Belatedly

For @d3fiant, who prompted R/J from an old ficverse.

Holly isn’t in this business for the ill-gotten means, as it were, he’s sure of it.

Of course, it’s not her real name, but then again, none of the women that Jack has come across in the last two years since the beginning of his acquaintance and association with D use their real names. Men in their world still have an easier time of it-- most bystander witnesses would not remember the likes of Noel, for example, beyond hulking shoulders rippling with tattoos, or Konstantin beyond polished but nondescript businessman with watchful eyes and a three-piece suit. Holly, on the other hand, has a face which could grace the covers of glossy magazines and a voice to match the black satin of her hair. He’d been able to pick her out from across a crowded room the minute he’d met her.

He wonders if D has an affinity for herbology of some sort -- certainly, the aliases of his female associates are various types of flora-- all innocuous but deadly. Holly. Jessamine. Daphne. Belladonna. He’s not paid to wonder about it, or about Holly’s origins and habits and what makes her tick and what makes her smile, but a man convalescing from a gunshot wound is a man with nothing but time and his mind for company. Holly, certainly, does not bother to visit more than the bare minimum. Sensible girl.

She brings him his meals, though, three times a day. He is almost certain that wherever she’d brought him is not one of the usual safe houses-- his room locks from the outside and he is both too weak and too smart to attempt to explore outside the confines of the four walls. There is a shelf full of books for his entertainment as he recovers-- ranging from leather-bound classics to trashy paperback sci-fi novels to a good year’s worth of subscriptions to various magazines both pithy and frivolous-- Time. National Geographic. Better Homes and Gardens. Vogue. Us Weekly. The furniture is elegant and tasteful, running towards graceful antiques rather than the sleek and modern, but for all that, there’s no coziness to the room. The hermetically sealed window-- storm-paned glass-- looks out to a well-manicured expanse of yard featuring velvety lawns and neat beds of stately, formal flowers-- two banks of rose bushes, red and white, line up with the precision of soldiers, bordered by neat green hedges. The yard is completely bordered by tall, upright poplars, shielding it from view of prying eyes. It’s certainly too nicely-appointed of a property for the likes of the average safe house, which in Jack’s experience has always been as deliberately nondescript as possible down to the dun-coloured siding and the mid-sized minivan generally kept parked in the driveway.

A clock-- one of those graceful silver-and-glass affairs with Roman numerals marking the hours-- ticks away at the top of the bookshelf, and just as the hour of noon, a key turns in the lock, and Holly walks in with a tray. She is always punctual on these thrice-daily visits: breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Jack gives her his customary grin, which she does not return, and takes her in.

She’s wearing a cream-coloured silk blouse and a quiet knee-length skirt in dove-gray, with matching stilettos which are completely silenced by the plush of the carpet. No adornment aside from the ruby studs in her ears. Add in a leather handbag and perhaps a long coat in a neutral shade, and she’d blend in with any socialite out for lunch or shopping. He’d bet any money, though, that there’s a gun strapped to her leg under the skirt. She doesn’t know him any better than he knows her. And considering the last time he’d seen her wielding a Beretta 92 at a pursuing car’s tires, he’s well aware that she’s more than proficient with firearms.

“What’s for lunch, Jill?” His inquiry, as intended, earns him a thinly veiled glare. She doesn’t look like a ‘Jill’ either, but it’s fun to get a reaction out of her. She’s normally so controlled. She sets the tray down on the desk, in precisely the same spot as his breakfast tray from earlier had been.

“Grilled salmon and a whole wheat roll, with a spinach salad with blue cheese and cranberries on the side. Don’t call me Jill.” It’s always healthy, well-prepared food, and he thinks that it is perhaps the type of fare that she would eat. There’s a bottle of grapefruit juice to go along with his meal-- no wine, no beer. He has a mid-level craving for a greasy, juicy burger with everything but the kitchen sink piled into it and an icy, foamy lager, but he’d have to be somewhere other than this most well-appointed of prisons before he’d be able to indulge.

“You gonna join me for lunch for once, sweetheart? Just a quick meal between friends and associates. I won’t bite.”

“I have a lot of other commitments this afternoon, and you have a checkup.”

“Ah, yes. With the good doctor from the docks. You know, I do think she’s the only one of us who actually has no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. The only ‘good’ one, as it were. She didn’t even ask questions when you and Noel brought me in, did she? What a kind soul. What’s her name again?”

“Angelica. You seem to have a real problem remembering people’s names.” Holly doesn’t spare him a glance as she lays out a place setting-- complete with a snowy linen napkin and heavy silverware, arranged formally, and pours his grapefruit juice into a glass half-full of crushed ice. She definitely grew up in a household accustomed to formal meals, whatever she’s doing these days amusing herself by running recon or engaging in gunfights rather like some elegant version of a gun moll.

“I will try harder.” Jack tucks his tongue in his cheek and admires the way her legs look in that prim, narrow skirt. “So that’s a no on joining me for lunch, huh?”

“Noel will be over in an hour to take you to physical therapy. You need to fully recover from your wounds, and will be of very little use to D if that gunshot takes you out of the game.”

“It would be a damned shame, wouldn’t it?” Jack cuts into the tender pink flesh of the salmon with his knife and fork. “I suppose I’d have to live out the rest of my days in boring, civilian anonymity. Probably learn how to mow lawns and weed gardens. Your yard is very nice. Who takes care of it?”

“I have a gardener on staff, and contract a landscaping company that handles the heavy work.”

“So this is your home, then. I feel so honoured to be a guest.”

Perhaps she was not trying to tell him so much. Jack grins even as she scowls. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I know not to brag about our time together. Is it so wrong that since I am stuck here until I heal I try to get to know you better? I knew everything about everyone on my platoon, down to MacMillan’s allergies to cats and Patterson’s wife’s obsession with reality TV to Rosenberg’s fondness for gas station hostess cupcakes. We spent a lot of time together, often in close quarters, always with the same people. And besides, isn’t the point of being part of a team knowing and trusting your team members?”

“If you think that spouting off some corporate bullshit team-building synergy nonsense is going to persuade me, you are vastly mistaken. I’m not here to be your friend or your confidante. Just eat your lunch and get yourself ready to your physical therapy.” Holly, clearly at the end of her patience, tidies up the remnants of his last meal and drops his empty coffee cup onto the tray with an irritated clatter. “I have to deal with you when we are working together so as to not end up on the wrong side of a bullet. Outside of that, we’re not here to be buddy-buddy.”

She takes the tray and walks out of the room without a backward glance, and Jack listens to the sound of the lock turning in the door. He could, if he really wanted to, pick it with the tines of his dessert fork. Or smash through the window and rappel down the side of the house and take his chances. But it would be a pity on all levels-- at such an egregious breach of conduct, D would kill him, if Holly didn’t do so, first. And he’s almost certain if the day came that his life was forfeit to the syndicate, he’d deserve it, and never see it coming.

He finishes his meal-- it is expertly prepared and delicious, after all-- and goes over his mental notes about the beautiful, deadly enigma whose somewhat unwilling hospitality he is currently imposed upon. Holly looks to be perhaps in her late twenties, born into great wealth and privilege, and on their first meeting, had spoken flawless French like a native Parisian. But her English is definitely American, with traces of New England society in its haughtier moments. Her hands are elegant and manicured, but he’d seen her just as gracefully snap the neck of one of the goons who’d attempted to corner her in the deserted warehouse. She handles hand-to-hand with the cool, business-like attitude of someone viewing it as a necessary evil, competently and skillfully, but not with any particular relish. He can’t quite pinpoint where she’d been trained, but the style is distinctly Asian, with its graceful stances and lethal strikes and kicks. Every little tidbit of information he gleans brings with it more questions, more interest.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Jill.” Jack grins at nothing in particular and makes his way to the en-suite bathroom to wash up after his meal. There, too, no expense is spared-- the towels are plush, the fixtures pristine, and the soap and shampoo smell pleasantly of cloves and sandalwood. He is given a razor to shave every morning, but it’s always gone out of the bathroom by breakfast-- taken out with his dinner tray and the hamper of clothing. She trusts him enough, perhaps, to keep him in her home rather than a safe-house, but not enough to leave completely to his own devices. Perhaps she wonders about his background and motives like he does about hers.

Noel knocks on the door before unlocking it, right on time. The big guy is a lot less mysterious than Holly is-- Jack already knows the gist of his background. Former Irish mob, a bare-knuckle brawler with the big arms and shoulders to prove it. He’d seen Noel hot-wire a car on one occasion in all of seventy-five seconds, and also seen those big bruiser’s hands, skillful and gentle as a maiden aunt’s, fiddling with wires and microphones to bug an opponent’s office after they’d broken in. Noel doesn’t try to hide the Boston in his accent, or indeed the Galway when he’s particularly riled up. He’s been in D’s employ for two years longer than Jack has, and simply refers to the kingpin as “Boss man”. Quite efficiently, Noel wheels him down the hall, then into an actual elevator. He’s brought outside into a van bearing the name and logo of a dry cleaner’s and efficiently strapped in. Noel takes a circuitous route through town-- not that Jack can see anything from the back-- but at least deigns to play music during the drive. It’s unapologetic, kick-ass hard rock heavy on the guitar and drums, precisely the type of music that does not invite or facilitate conversation.

By the time the van’s doors are opened again, Jack is far, far away from the polished, glossy neighbourhood of Holly’s residence. Garbage-laden alleys and derelict buildings dot these tenements with urban blight, and the industrial building they’re parked in front of is pock-marked with graffiti and rust stains on the concrete walls. To get in, Noel has to swipe a keycard, then punch in a code. They wheel down a straight hallway bright with fluorescent lighting and Noel unlocks the next set of doors with two different keys. The clinic that Dr. Angelica runs, though, despite its singular location, is clean as a whistle, equipped with state-of-the-art technology. She meets them at the door, a petite, pretty woman with sad blue eyes and a wistful smile, and turns her attention to Jack.

“You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“A lot better than when I’d gotten shot, that’s for sure.” The bullet had hit him in the leg through the door of their escape vehicle, and Holly had taken control of the wheel from the passenger side even as he’d slammed on the brakes, nearly causing a spin-out. In the tense seconds that followed, though, she’d managed to fire off three shots through the open passenger side window, taking out their pursuer’s two front tires and the windshield. That car had rammed into a wall head-on, and she’d managed to keep him awake and alert for long enough for backup to arrive. He’d woken up, briefly, in this same clinic, groggy on meds, with Angelica patiently stitching him up. She’d taken the time to explain that he’d caught a bullet in the leg and was very fortunate that it had not nicked his femoral artery, but it would be awhile before he could be up and running again. He’d taken it as a matter of course-- really, if one were to think of it, he’d been fired at with a lot deadlier weapons back in the day with his platoon in war zones. A 9 millimeter in the leg from a gang member’s Glock could have been a land mine, or a hail of bullets from an AK-47. Then she’d put him under again, and he’d woken up in that room in Holly’s house some days later, disoriented but safe enough. A week and a half later, Holly still lets herself get annoyed with him whenever he teases her, and a small part of him finds that gratifying.

“I don’t have to explain how lucky you are, of course. With your background, I’m sure that you know. But with the right therapy and exercise, I don’t see why you wouldn’t make almost a full recovery in good time.” Angelica tells him after running some tests. “You are quite healthy otherwise, and you neither lost a lot of blood or received any extensive bone and tissue damage. A clean through-and-through, as we say. It certainly could have been a lot worse.”

“I could be floating facedown in the river, yeah,” Jack says drily. “How long are we talking, Doc?”

“For someone of your size and health, you can be up with crutches as soon as two weeks from now. If you maintain a healthy regimen of light but steady exercise on that leg, you should gain full mobility in another month after that.”

“Do you really think Holly will put up with me for that long?” Jack asks drolly. He isn’t quite sure how well the good Dr. Angelica knows Holly, but certainly the doctor knows enough of the syndicate’s business to not only ask no questions when he’d been brought in, but set up a whole secret clinic in the slums that runs as well as a trauma center in a major hospital. He’d heard of the Doc in the docks since he’d started, but until now, had never had occasion to meet her. “You know Holly, right? Black hair, red lipstick, very hot, keeps a Beretta on her at all times? She can’t stand me.”

Angelica’s lips twist into a faint smile. “If you say so. I know her of old. We roomed together freshman year at Yale. She’ll find a way to tolerate your company for as long as needed, I’m sure.”

Yet another tidbit of information about his elusive, fiery partner-of-sorts falls into his lap. It’s almost more exciting than the prospect of crutches in the next two weeks. Jack lets Angelica poke and prod some more, answers questions by rote, and counts down the hours until he can see her again.

#R/J #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon #fanfiction #fanfic #commission

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kolbisneat · 5 years

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MONTHLY MEDIA: July 2019

I’ve really stepped up my comics reading having fully embraced my local libraries. You can just borrow them whenever you want! Also saw lots of movies and watched a lot of the Bachelorette. It’s been a good summer.

……….FILM……….

Midsommer (2019) Oh wow. I’m not one for scary movies but this never felt like a scary movie. Sure it was definitely “horror” in the sense that so much of it is horrific, but it never relied on the typical “scary movie” tactics. For this, I am grateful.

Paddington 2 (2017) The perfect counterpoint and emotional reset after our matinee screening of Midsommer. This video does a better job of explaining why I love these movies, but if you haven’t got the time then know that the Paddington movies are a masterclass in efficient storytelling, visual comedy, and good natured entertainment for all ages. It’s not quite the same as Pixar sneaking in jokes that only adults will get, it’s more that it tells a universal story with familiar characters that land at any age. Just beautiful.

Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019) Okay so I get that illustrating a tie-in book for this movie means I likely can’t be objective, but I really dug the film. Solid themes that carried through to most of the characters and their arcs, as well as some of the most comic-book accurate visuals I could have hoped for. And I really dig the Parker/MJ dynamic here. Ugh it’s just all so good.

Alien (1979) I don’t need to tell you how well this holds up. Still as subversive and terrifying as it was 40 years ago. Still not sure what the alien was doing in the escape pod before Ripley shows up.

The Dead Don’t Die (2019) This was a weird one. Meta zombie movies already exist. Zombies as social commentary already exist. Zombie comedies already exist. I suppose I was just hoping for something...new? It was all of these things, but it didn’t seem to push any individual element into unexplored territory. The cast seemed like they were having a good time, but I don’t think it quite translated to the screen. I’d recommend Shaun of the Dead, Fido, or Zombieland instead.

……….TELEVISION……….

Instant Hotel (Episode 2.01 to 2.06) A 6-episode season of Australian reality tv judging Airbnbs? A cast that includes an 80 year old trying to look 20 and perfect couple who find each other hilarious? Sign me up. It’s available on (Canadian) Netflix but if you can find it, check it out.

Stranger Things (Episode 3.01 to 3.08) Without spoiling too much, I’ll say that this season was on par with the first, and felt better than the second. It’s not as moody and contained, but it really embraces what I take to be the spirit of 80s media. I feel like the early eps were setting up more of a zombie/body-snatchers plot but I don’t think the series likes to stray too far from the core of that first season. Super fun, wildly silly, and once I embraced the lighter tone it really delivered.

Queer Eye (Episode 4.01 to 4.08) This season really seemed to focus on philanthropic and independent businesses and I’m here for it. There was a Wayfair product placement towards the end which...felt out of place given the politics of the show, but dang if this series isn’t a light in the darkness!

Neon Genesis Evangelion (Episode 1.01 to 1.03) What a mood. It’s a slow burn but I’m really digging that the world feels established and that we’ve come into something well after all the big revelations happened. Now that the crazy has settled, we get to spend more time seeing how the crazy affects the day-to-day. Or what the day-to-day looks like in a new, wild world. Digging it.

The Bachelorette (Episode 15.08 to 15.13) Just wild. Watching that rollercoaster with Luke P was excellent television and terrible dating but that finale was *chef’s kiss* perfect.

……….READING……….

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett (Page 230 of 406) Fun so far! There’s far less of the angel/demon relationship than I expected, but that’s only because I’m going off of what the Amazon show has been promoting. I need to do more research into how they shared the writing because the humour and meandering chapters really feel like Pratchett. I’m keen to see where it all goes!

Mr. Splitfoot by Samantha Hunt (Abandoned) I read half the novel before deciding this one wasn’t for me and it’s not because it wasn’t well-written or an engaging story. I found this on a list of good reads for those who like Wonderland and Alice’s adventures, but I’d say the links between the two were...thin...at best. When you’re expecting fanciful worlds and exaggerated characters, but get far more human (and all too real) trauma then it’s a jarring experience. I read a synopsis of the last 100ish pages that I missed and admit that I think I would’ve been satisfied with the conclusion, but it’s a bummer that the first 60% of the book felt like a holding pattern to get to the good stuff.

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 5 by Ryoko Kui (Complete) Still one of my favourite fantasy comics. The characters are nuanced and are continuing to get developed, as is the setting and supporting cast! Every so often it’ll break format, but I appreciate that the gimmick (including a monster-based recipe in each chapter) isn’t getting in the way of good storytelling. I love everything about this and you should be reading it.

Superior Spider-Man Vol. 1 & 2 by Dan Slott, Ryan Stegman, Giuseppe Camuncoli, Humbero Ramos, and so many more (Complete) I wasn’t sure about this before picking it up but it’s a fascinating study of Spider-Man. It feels like an answer to all those that focus on plot holes and logic. Doc Ock has taken over Spider-Man’s body and he, as the epitome of troll, is just going through and “fixing” what Peter Parker gets wrong. It’s an interesting study in learning more about someone with opposing views. It even keeps Parker’s spirit around to dramatically and comedically respond to his life being taken over by a villain. It’s good! Not the first Spider-Book you should pick up, but worth reading if you want a spider-change.

Saga of the Swamp Thing Vol. 1 by Alan Moore, John Totleben, & Steve Bissette (Complete) After hearing good things about the TV series based on this character (still haven’t watched it) I figured I’d check this out. Knowing very little about the character going in, I loved every second of it! It’s a little bit horror, a little bit classic superheroics, and just a touch philosophical. Can’t recommend this enough.

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl Vol. 2: Squirrel You Know It's True by Ryan North, Erica Henderson, (Complete) I can’t (and won’t) stop praising this book. It’s fun, creative, and funny! Pitting Squirrel Girl against an evil Squirrel just makes sense and is a fun break from the classic Marvel villains. Hopefully we get back to more of the classics, as that’s what I enjoyed most about volume 1, but it’s good to see that the book doesn’t shy away from variety.

Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant by Tony Cliff (Complete) Such a great adventure comic! Set in the early 1800s, it’s like a Female Indiana Jones adventure with all the swashbuckling and plundering that you’d want out of a treasure hunter. Mature in its handling of a number of topics, but done in a light tone and without heavy violence. I think it was sorted as a young adult graphic novel in my library, and that feels fitting. Stellar art and charming characters.

The Undertaking of Lily Chen by Danica Novgorodoff (Complete) Very character driven and an interesting foundation for the story (set in northern China when tradition demanded men be married even after they’ve died). There are really inspiring moments with the watercolour artwork and while it didn’t always resonate with me, it really served the story.

……….GAMING……….

Maze of the Blue Medusa (Satyr Press) We very nearly had our first character death! Almost multiple! But they’re playing with level 9ish characters and with quick wits it’s proving difficult to defeat them. They’re still kinda wandering around this maze, but I think it’ll all start to come together soon!

And that’s it! As always, feel free to send me anything you recommend to see, read, hear, play, and so on.

Happy Wednesday!

#Monthly Media #Rambles #Kolbisneat #Andrew Kolb

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alloveroliver · 5 years

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Evil!Harr Part 1

harr anon: part 1 of some very evil!harr! its quite a doozy, so i had to split it, but harr/alice will come in the 2nd part (and guess who thoroughly enjoys the cradle gothic vibes…:D)

tw: Gore

The yawning nights never made the Magic Tower any more inviting. Loki climbs the steps with the same apprehension as always; after all, it was very hard to shake away the memories of the atrocities that had very nearly been inflicted upon him. If he listens carefully enough, he can almost hear the moans and cries of those who had been confined here, bodies prepared to undergo the gauntlets Amon Jabberwock would orchestrate.

And yet, he fears the cries he hears now may just be history repeating itself.

The marble staircase coils upward towards the private chambers of the new master, perched over an ornate writing desk like a haggard crow. Only this time, the robes have been changed from violet to black, fine silk for ragged six-string…gold eyes for red ones.

“Harr? When did you come back?”

Since the death of Amon, Harr had been swift to overthrow the Magic Tower and its brainwashed occupants. They had cowered under his superior magical abilities, the crystals holding now sway over the deflective spells and ancient incantations that forced them to their knees, burnt their hands and filled their veins with pestilence. Casting the robes of the Tower aside, Harr stood proud and furious above all, as if punch-drunk on the power he had suddenly acquired. The few that had been deemed worthy to live treated him like a god in the flesh, immediately obeyed his every whim, and allowed him to carry on with his games. For his magic was innate, beautifully so, and he was worth dying for.

Even if Loki had hated how the color of his eyes had changed.

“Loki? Ah, I’ve only been back a short time,” At the sound of his name, the elder sorcerer looks up from what appears to be numerous torn papers, detailing correspondence between members of the Red Army. Loki tries his hardest to overlook the splatters of blood and viscera on each page. He focuses on the smile he was so used to seeing, soft and reassuring, and hopes back for the days before all of this madness. “But I’m glad you’re here. I have something to show you.”

Papers flying, Loki crouches down on the other side of desk as Harr seems to reach down behind it, fiddling on with the straps on a battered leather sack. His hums a soft melody as he works, and the younger kindles faint memories in the back of his mind, when the same tune was hummed over a kitchen sink, a solo tune that soon drifted into a duet when he would come to help with dinner.

I’ve been reminiscing a lot, he thinks…and it’s with a twinge of sadness as he realizes the sorry state of affairs that have forced him to do so, if only for his own mental well-being.

But soon enough, Harr’s voice cuts into his reverie. “I’ve been thinking long and hard how to finally get through to the King of Hearts,” he hums, though there’s a distinct edge to his tone as the buckles come loose on the sack. “And I think I may have finally done it. My greatest achievement.”

The King of Hearts? “But Lancelot has always…refused your offers before.”

“Then perhaps my latest attempt has caused a…change of heart, if you will.”

No…

Harr reveals a glass tankard from the confines of his bag, sloshing around with a glossy red liquid that instantly forces the hairs on Loki’s neck to prickle. He can smell it before he sees it - spilled blood - and the sight is unfortunately not unique. He wants to vomit every time, but his throat is dry and tight, and he wants to run…but Harr is there, grinning, and Loki can only remain dumbfounded.

An adult human heart, beating wildly within a glass cage.

Loki’s slit pupils flare for a second. He looks ready to protest, jaw clenching and unclenching…but nothing leaves his lips. Perhaps he realizes what an objection means by now, and instead occupies himself by watching the disembodied organ throb in the jar. It mesmerizes him in a sickening way, how it squeezes and oozes in the red liquid, pulsing with gentle magical light.

The heart ripped from the Queen of Spades’ chest didn’t glow like this. Or the others. None of their hearts glowed at all.

Would my heart glow this way?, he thinks, only to quickly push that line of thought to the depths of his subconscious. His fingers tremble over the breastbone under his skin, where even now, he wonders if there is anything left at all.

Invisible hands pulling at the frantic muscle, ready to tear it clean from its shell…despite the heat of the room around them, Loki shivers in poorly-masked terror.

“Beautiful, no?” Harr resumes his gentle harmony, fingers curling over the remaining vessels upon the tables. “I knew Lance wouldn’t disappoint.”

Ten jars for ten men, each housing a beating heart. And Loki remembers them all too clearly. How each one faltered at the most crucial moment, letting Harr’s wicked fingers slide over their chests and drag the bleeding muscle from under the flesh, only to shove a jagged crystal into the cavity instead. They were living puppets, meat caskets for the Joker to toy with as he saw fit.

The Queen of Spades had been first, so eager to help his former friend that he hadn’t even seen it coming. But the horror on his face as Harr had stood over him, heart dripping his own blood onto the carpet, had been unforgettable. And with a single snap, the first puppet was made, jumping to his feet with vacant eyes and a luring call to draw the King into a secluded spot. Unversed in the intricacies of magic, the Black Army was swift to fall asunder.

Lancelot proved to be more difficult. He had visited Kyle that morning. Kyle had never thrown up blood before…Kyle’s eyes…had never looked so milky.

Knowing Amon’s ways, he had been privy to the darker side of magic, so when Zero had attempted to beckon him toward the training room alone, eyes vacant like those of a doll, he had already suspected foul play. But by then, he was exhausted from the years of futile conflict with the Black Army, as well as the weight of potentially retreading the footsteps of the very man who had held his father’s soul overhead. Falling to his knees with a soft smile upon his face, he had willingly surrendered his flesh to the Joker and his sickening cause.

And so, life would go on….or at least, it would seem to. Now at the helms of each side of Cradle, Harr had only to simply will his word into law. Who would go against him? Who was even left?

Loki cast a forlorn glance up the staircase towards the private quarters of his master…and the strange girl he kept caged up there.

“What do you plan to do with it, Harr?”

When the wizard turns back to his apprentice, his voice softens. “It doesn’t quite fit…does it?” he sighs. He runs his fingertips over Lancelot’s vessel, nails tapping an ancient rhythm over the glass. “Only further proof how we are not the same as the normal populace.”

Loki flinches at the use of ’we’. The dichotomy he had once fought against, being championed by his mentor, makes his gut twist uncomfortably. “Then what are you going to do?”

“There is always room for further study into the archaic world of magic,” comes the response, though there was a dangerous glint in Harr’s scarlet gaze. His mouth twists ever so slightly, the edge of a smile gracing his lips, though never enough to reach his eyes. “And I would find it most useful to expand my knowledge. The Tower may have gone far in their research…but there is always more.”

The younger wriggles a bit where he stands, pulling the hem of his jacket. “I don’t know if you should go any further, Harr. You know what…what the Tower did, do you really want to know that much?”

“You make a fair point, but this heart has such boundless energy…and I could always…consume the excess myself.”

The fear sinks deeper into Loki’s bones, his entire form only kept from shaking by every muscle locking stiff. He looks for any sign that the elder is joking, but his face is remarkably serious. “Harr…y-you can’t be serious-”

“But I very much am, Loki,” comes the cold reply, and the younger flinches at how his master’s lip curls into a sneer. Were his teeth always so sharp? “There is no need for Lancelot to entertain the masses with his magic, not when I have my rule implemented in Cradle. It would be a waste to let it simply sit here as a trophy.” And with unfamiliar malice, he suddenly grimaces. Loki’s blood freezes in his veins, and he can barely breathe “Besides, Loki Genetta, you have no right to pass judgment on me for eating the hearts of men.”

The glare was piercing. Cutting right through his soul, Loki’s legs give out beneath him. Blood-soaked memories flicker behind closed eyelids, servants in violet cloaks and a frightened madman cowering underneath his claws. It was frightening to imagine, that loss of control, the sheer desire to maim and consume…like some kind of beast. But the thrill of the hunt had pounded wild through his veins, deliciously stringing him along toward the lifeblood that he could scent in the air…feral, hot, hungry…

“You remember it, don’t you?” Harr senses the confusion in the younger’s body, how his eyes flit to the floor and his lips quivers. Moving ever closer, he wreathes himself around Loki, stroking his hair and crooning ever so sweetly into his ear. “Tell me how powerful you felt, Loki. Did it feel good to rip that man to shreds?” The contrast between face and voice was jarring, but Harr’s soothing tone still pulls tenderly upon the boy’s heartstrings. Somewhere, he hopes that his old friend is still there. “Tell me how good it felt when you cleaved that devil open. How good it felt to consume his essence.”

It was sickening to say…but Loki couldn’t deny it. The hedonistic rush of magical power as he had ripped through Amon Jabberwock with fang and claw, wild as a hellcat and with an appetite to match. Yanked by puppet strings and with Harr holding the sticks, he had lunged and clawed and bit and killed. It was sweet vengeance; surely, Harr had even told him so. Harr had promised he hadn’t been wrong, he had promised…

You were the one who told me to do it.

“It felt…amazing.”

“Then you know it’s only fair that I should also enjoy such pleasure. I gave you the opportunity, after all, and absolved your sins upon the deed’s completion.”

“So I was wrong to do it?”

“Oh, Loki…taking life is wrong, but it had to be done. Come to me.

The embrace is warm, familiar, and Loki cannot contain himself any longer. He sobs into Harr’s warm arms, clinging to the cloak that now reeks of earth and freshly-spilled blood. He lets himself be soothed, coddled, lied to under the pretense of sweet whispers of comfort. He knows there is something horribly wrong with the man he had once come to know as his carer, a friend in the darkest of times, but he is powerless to stop it. Because Harr was all he had left in this world, even though the corruption that had filled his soul was nothing like the kind, gentle human being who had swept him off the ground as a child and into a loving home.

Fingers come to rub gentle circles into the individual bumps along the younger’s spine, where the same corruption begins to take hold. Loki notices it every day, his body contorting into something more animal, more beastly by the day. First had been the teeth…then the claws…then the twisting of his spine, some days leaving him yowling like a creature on all fours. A punishment by the gods, perhaps? Or a sickness of the soul, brought by Harr as he takes the worst of the sins wrought by their terror?

All he knows is that he will follow Harr until the end, even when his body contorts and his voice leaves him, until he is nothing but a monster with a feline grin.

"Your place is here with me. Cradle is still cruel to the likes of you and me, for they don’t understand the gifts we come to bear,” A pregnant pause fills the air, only punctuated by the irregular thumps of distended hearts. Unbeknownst to the young man, Harr’s grin twists into something more sinister. “Your parents were not the only ones. And I only do my work so that no more children come to suffer as you did. I keep you and rid you of your sins, and you help me to achieve the paradise we deserve.”

When Loki looks up at him once more, tears track messy lines down his cheeks. His eyes are so lost, so full of fear and hope, clinging to whatever scrap of stability he can. Harr has Loki pinned under his claws, eager to please and fearing every detachment, lest he disappear…just like his parents had.

Twisted pleasure runs hot through Harr’s veins.

“You know how much I love you,” Harr only reaches forward to stroke his apprentice’s wild hair. He watches those mismatched eyes harden to flint, only to melt once more as his fingernails scratch into the young man’s scalp. The lies taste sweet on his tongue, almost as sweet as the look of adoration upon his charge’s face. “I don’t want the pain you felt to ever come back. I want to protect you. You know that, right?”

A soft sigh breaches those plump lips, and a barbed tongue rasps his palm in a gesture of submission.

“Do not disappoint me, Loki.”

“Not you. Never you, Harr.”

#THANK YOU HARR ANON FOR THE SUBMITTION!!!!#ikemen revolution #harr silver #evli!harr silver #loki genetta #this was so good!!!!#my eyes were wide the whole ride XD XD XD #i can't wait for part two!!!!#harr sounds so hot omggggg #im so ready for this ahhhhhhh #yes yes yes #thank you for the gore XD #submission

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