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writefinch · 4 years

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Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

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patrickstargang · 4 years

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Forgotten Past, Hidden Future (Legend of Korra fic)

Chapter 1: Looking In The Wrong Places

Chapter 2: Lucky To Have You

Chapter 3: A Lot To Learn

Chapter 4: Kya’s Story

Chapter 5: A Tale of Miazu

Chapter 6: The Avatar’s Love

Final Chapter: The Mural

spoilers for Rise of Kyoshi in this chapter

“When I was a young girl, I worked as a servant for an estate up in what used to be Yokoya Port. Before then, I was just an orphan living on the streets. I had crossed paths with a bender who taught the Avatar before me, an Air Nomad named Kelsang. He took me in and cared for me while I was growing up. He didn’t know I was the Avatar then, but he still looked after me and I grew to see him as my father. When I was old enough, he helped me to find work and a place to stay. That place was the Avatar mansion.

“At the time, many thought that a boy named Yun was the Earth Avatar. Most of this was due to the Earth Kingdom’s somewhat archaic system for finding the Avatar, which led to desperate decision making. After I showed dedication in my work, I became a personal servant of Yun. I got to know him well and we became good friends. There were even times where I thought we would be more than that.

“I also met someone else. Someone who would be incredibly important in my life. A girl named Rangi. She came from the Fire Nation and was the Avatar’s bodyguard. She always said that she was ‘honor-bound to follow and protect the Avatar.’”

It was a brand new sight to see Kyoshi chuckle, Korra couldn’t believe it but she didn’t let it distract her.

“She was great at barking out orders, always bossing me around the mansion. But I could always sense a facade behind it all. Like the cold shoulder, she would give me now and then meant something else. But I grew to be close with the two. It seemed odd, being a mostly novice bender and having two friends who were masters of their craft. Sometimes it felt alienating. More than that, it was hard to come to terms with the fact that I had feelings for both of them. Being at a young age my mind was going in a million different directions.”

This reminded Korra of her own relationships, and the million different directions her mind went back when she was younger, going from Mako to Asami. “I definitely know what that feels like.”

“But, things started to change. The position of Avatar was being put into question as people began to slowly realize that Yun wasn’t the Avatar. Some thought I knew... that I was hiding this secret away. Rangi resented me at first, she thought it was some kind of sick joke. But it wasn’t, I’d never try to hurt her or Yun like that.”

There was a long pause after that last sentence, a long painful pause. There was a great deal of regret hanging on to those final words.

“That wasn’t the end. Someone I thought I could trust betrayed me, killed not just the only person I saw as a father but Yun as well. Or so I thought. But at that point, I felt alone. I was being hunted by one of the most powerful people in the Earth Kingdom. It felt like going back to the streets, I felt truly alone. But it didn’t last long. Rangi was there to help get out of Yokoya Port and find safety. She was by my side all the way through. At first, I just thought she was doing this because she knew I was the Avatar.

“Back when I was still a maid, there was a group of kids who would always try to pick on me. Some of them said that I was still just a poor girl just like them, which to an extent was true. But there were other things that they said about me, much more hurtful things. I’m not sure how they knew what those words meant, or if their parents told them, but every once in a while I would catch an insult from them. And Rangi, she would always scare them away. They knew they could pick on me, but they didn’t dare pick on Rangi. But she tried convincing me to stand up for myself, she was so adamant about it. It was hard for me to understand, mostly because it felt like she was mocking me. But later, I figured it out.

“While we were staying in a new city to get away from trouble, Rangi got into a fight that almost ended in her death. I felt completely helpless to stop it but she made it out before any permanent damage was done. I confronted her about the fight, I was so confused why someone would put themselves through all that suffering so recklessly. And that's when it hit me. She wanted me to know what it felt like, to see someone you love take a hit and not stand up for themselves. To just accept that suffering. She said that pained her to watch, to see me put myself through that suffering. Whether it was being picked on by some local kids or letting personal vendettas eat away at my humanity, she had enough of it. She told me that she cared about me, not as the Avatar but who I really was. She said that I deserved happiness.”

The grin on Kyoshi’s face from before returned, but it morphed into a truly affectionate smile.

“She said that she wanted to make me feel loved.

“I knew what I had to do after that. I opened myself up to her, let her know I truly felt. Ever since then, I knew that she truly meant what she said. Later on, she would become my firebending teacher. She was tough as nails but she always knew how to keep me motivated. Though I wasn’t a fan of all the horse stance practice.

“But something happened, a kidnapping took place. She was taken and a good friend was killed. I felt like I was back right where I started. But with some help, she returned and the man who killed Kelsang and Yun was gone for good. But something happened to Rangi, something that.... damaged her honor.”

Korra could tell the severity behind that statement. She wasn’t completely knowledgeable about Fire Nation culture but she knew that an attack on someone’s honor was a bigger deal than it sounded.

“Not only that, but her mother had gone fatally ill and she needed to take her to the Northern Water Tribe for proper healing. So at that point, we both had to go our separate ways for some time. I spent those days in the Southern Air Temple learning to airbend while I was on the opposite side of the world from where Rangi was. It felt like such a long time, even though it was only a few months.”

Korra recognized something familiar in what she said. She remembered Asami saying that the time she was away healing from the mercury poison felt like the longest two years of her life. She felt a knot in her stomach, realizing that despite their difference of eras that they shared many struggles outside of being the Avatar. There was a feeling of mutual sympathy.

“But eventually we found our way back to each other. From then on, we were practically inseparable. We were always out there for each other, even during the craziest missions. There was always a fear that something would happen, that this might be the last time I would ever see her. I had lost so many friends, so many people I cared about. I couldn’t bear to lose her but I had to grapple with the reality of it. But she always stayed, every step of the way.

“After we brought some semblance of momentary world peace, we decided to celebrate by finally getting married. We both wanted to do it in the Earth Kingdom, we spent so much of our lives there and it meant so much more to us. But because of the prejudice of the time, we did it in secret with only a few friends down in Maizu. Despite the secrecy, it was one of the happiest moments of my life. I still had that creeping suspicion in the back of my mind that this would all fall apart without a moment's warning, but it never did.

“That being said, we did eventually move to the Fire Nation. I didn’t want to keep my love in hiding for the rest of our lives and the Fire Nation was more accepting of us in that regard. We still got funny glances from others, but it wasn’t likely they weren’t going to say anything to the Avatar and her elite firebending bodyguard.

“After settling in the Fire Nation for some time, we both agreed that we wanted a child. We went to a local orphanage, it felt like writing the wrongs of when my parents left me as a kid. It was strangely cathartic, even healing. We found a girl named Koko. It didn’t take long before we knew she was the one. She had a lot of the same intensity that I saw in Rangi, it felt like I was seeing it again for the first time. We had our struggles raising her, as we both had our own responsibilities trying to help the world. But also, I feel we raised a really brilliant woman, and I couldn’t have done it without Rangi’s support, not just for me but for Koko.

Korra seemed fixated on this, she has considered a future with her and Asami but having a kid?! She thought it was out of the question, but this conversation gave her hope for a scenario she only considered just now. If Kyoshi could make it work hundreds of years ago, maybe she can too.

“But time went on. Everyone started getting older. Before I knew it my daughter was grown up and Rangi was reaching her final years. Having to see her go was painful, it really was, but at the same time I was content. For the longest time, we were having to suffer to help each other. Trying to help save the world. Always putting ourselves in constant danger. We went through so much, our only wish was to just grow old together. And we did. I always thought that Rangi would die in battle or be taken from me too soon. It was the greatest relief to know that she lived a good, long life and went peacefully among her friends and family.

“But I still remained.”

The coldness in her voice came back, it was as palpable as ever.

“The world was beginning to shift back into chaos and I still had to do my duty as the Avatar. To me, its what she would have wanted. In that time I took down Chin the Conqueror, created Kyoshi Island with Koko’s help and established peace in the Four Nations, for the time being.”

There was a question that was on Korra’s mind, but she didn’t know if she should touch on the subject. It felt wrong but part of her needed to know. “Did you ever find someone else?”

Kyoshi seemed confused by the vagueness of the question.

“I mean....did you ever remarry?”

Kyoshi slowly shook her head. “I couldn’t. I still felt so loyal to Rangi, even after all those years. But also because I knew that I would see her again.”

Now Korra was the one who was confused, but she continued to listen regardless.

“I kept growing older, seeing all my loved ones come and go with the ages was taxing but I still had that sense of duty that I had to uphold. Then, at the ripe old age of two hundred and thirty, I decided it was time for someone else to take over. Rangi wanted me to be honorable as an Avatar, but more than anything she didn’t want me to give up my own happiness for the sake of being the Avatar. Those last few years I started to remember that. I started hanging on to some of my biggest regrets, knowing it was pointless to do so. That was when I knew it was time for a new Avatar.

“I spent my last few days in Maizu. It felt therapeutic, with all the regret that I was holding onto, to see people that I was able to truly help. I saw how much it's changed since its inception, how happy everyone has been. It felt like a symbol to the spirit of these people, to see the village still standing even after hundreds of years. After a celebration was made by the villagers, I quietly passed on, leading Roku to fill my place as Avatar. And now, many many years later, two Avatars later…..here you are, Avatar Korra.”

It was hard to hide it any longer. Korra was overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down her face. She felt great sorrow for Kyoshi, having to live on without the love of her life, but still finding the courage to continue on. It felt unbearable. She also felt something else, a feeling of smallness in the face of the long legacy of the Avatar. Kyoshi’s journey defined a generation while Korra was still trying to make sense of her own. But most of all, she was confused. Confused at why Kyoshi was smiling.

The blue energy acting out the scene slowly faded away into the darkness. Korra had a burning question, a question that felt even more inappropriate than the last. But she needed to ask. “Why,” she spoke softly through sobs. “Why did you hold on to Rangi, even after all those years. Why did you say that you would see her again?! I-It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

Her confusion had given back to her sadness. It was hard for her to comprehend that level of unconditional love, a love that lasted through the eras. It was hard to see through the tears, but Korra could hear Kyoshi chuckling.

“Korra, Avatars aren’t the only ones that reside in the Spirit World.”

Before Korra could comprehend the statement, the blue aura appeared again. Taking shape, it seemed to resemble a person, somewhat shorter than Kyoshi. Then it began to fill in the details, a woman with black hair, probably in her 30s, and Fire Nation armor standing by Kyoshi’s side. It was Rangi. Korra, with watery eyes, stared in absolute amazement, beginning to smile again.

Rangi bowed slightly in her presence. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you Avatar Korra.”

Korra, trying to hold herself together, bowed back. “It's a pleasure to meet you too.”

Korra stayed in that position for longer than she needed. Once she rose back up, she was still overcome with emotion but was still smiling. “Thank you….. for everything.”

“Korra, always remember what I said to you. You're still young but you’ve done so much already.” Kyoshi let her words simmer in the moment. “Already you’ve done a great service to the world, take the time that you have to let yourself be happy. You’ve spent so much of it becoming a good Avatar, now's the time to appreciate those that truly love you.”

Kyoshi gave a cheeky smirk. “But I think you’ve already got part of that taken care of with your girlfriend.” Rangi rolled her eyes at Kyoshi.

Korra blushed profusely. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

Kyoshi stared at Korra ominously. “I see everything.” She paused for dramatic effect before Rangi gave her an elbow to the side. “I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding!”

Seeing these little interactions, the mannerisms between the two were healing to Korra. Knowing that even after years of separation and many more years of being back together, they still had playful banter with one another. It was obvious that they still loved each other. It didn’t help her already tear-filled attempt at staying collected.

“But do take her words seriously,” said Rangi. “You won’t always know when your time with the ones you love might come to an end. Take advantage of the time you have now. I may not know this girl, but I can tell from that look in your eyes that she truly loves you.”

The certainty in her tone was shocking but comforting at the same time.

“That's special, not everyone can find a love that special. Never take it for granted Korra.”

Korra rubbed her eyes, continuing to smile in admiration. She felt relieved, not just about her search coming to end, but for everything. It was starting to dawn on her that maybe she has found happiness, maybe she hasn’t fully accepted it yet. After everything, after the world continuously falling into chaos, after what was her lowest point, she really was finding true happiness. And they could tell, just from a look on her face.

“Thank you both,” Korra said over light sniffles. “I’ll never forget this, I promise.”

“We know,” Kyoshi interjected. She gave Korra one last approving face, a true sign of admiration. “Until we meet again…….”

Both Kyoshi and Rangi bowed before they dissipated into the blue aura, which itself vanished. Korra bowed back to the empty ethereal plains. The white lights around the dark began to burn brighter, becoming an all-consuming pure white. The sound of chimes started to ring in Korra’s ears.

--------------------------------------------

Korra’s eyes sprung open. She was still pouring with tears, but her breathing was slow. She glanced to see Asami and Kya, still by her side. They also opened their eyes when they heard her breathing change. Asami noticed the tears coming down her face, she looked at Korra with concern. She put a hand to her cheek just like she did at the dining hall, with the same amount of tenderness. Korra realized that this might be the first Asami has seen her cry.

“Korra,” Asami spoke softly.

“I did it, I finally did it.” Korra’s smile was massive, an affectionate look back at Asami which she also gave to Kya. She didn’t try to hide the tears, she just let them flow out like a river.

Asami returned the smile and hugged Korra. They both held on tight to one another with Kya joining in. Feeling the love around her at that present moment, it felt good, like a genuine release for what seemed like the first time in a while.

Korra chuckled, “I haven’t cried this much in months.”

They all chuckled with her, as Korra felt the collective warmth of being with those she loved. She didn’t want to ever let go of this feeling. As they all sat there together, Asami leaned into her ear and whispered...

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you.”

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sagebaileyspeaks · 4 years

Text

The Shadow of Kyoshi is here...now imagine my disappointment when I looked to the jacket and read, “The conclusion to...” when here I was thinking this would be a three part series. [SPOILERS AHEAD]

That aside, The Shadow of Kyoshi is an astounding follow up to The Rise of Kyoshi and it makes me want more from F.C. Yee. We know so little about the past Avatars outside of Roku but this brief series makes me want to explore more about the lives and legacies of the Avatars that came before. And to be clear, I don’t mean a prequel that reconceptualizes Avatar: The Last Airbender or Legend of Korra, or a type of “before story” that tells the absolute origins of every Avatar ever. Just continued brief snippets into the challenges that each individual Avatar had to face because The Shadow of Kyoshi, almost makes me like Korra. It doesn’t quite get there but in the very least I can say that “maybe Korra wasn’t the worst Avatar ever.”

Which isn’t to say that Kyoshi is, but this novel really highlights the many mistakes of the newly found Avatar. In The Last Airbender, we only ever saw Roku and Kyoshi at the height of their respective Avatarness and while Roku royally fucked up by letting Sozin live (and choosing to make his home on a VOLCANO) for the most part he seemed calm, cool and collected as though he had an innate wisdom as the Avatar that allowed him to know better for the world. And from what we saw of Kyoshi this also seemed to be the case, she was assured in her position and what she had to do for the world...but that ain’t it here.

Kyoshi, my poor volatile baby, just makes mistake after mistake. She is brass, impulsive, insanely powerful and still not afraid to smite a bitch. It just AMAZES me that in some capacity Aang could come out of this. Fan girling aside, when we get to the heart of the story, Kyoshi has to deal with becoming the Avatar, she has the power and skill but lacks the knowledge required to function diplomatically as this massive authoritative figure to the Four Nations.

We start the novel with her taking down more petty criminals, which makes sense from Kyoshi’s point of view but not on the larger scale of things. Realistically, Kyoshi cannot confine herself to the underbelly of the Earth Kingdom and luckily, her girlfriend, Rangi, has all the honor of the Fire Nation to lead her way. And I emphasize honor, because we all thought this was a Zuko specific trait but it is not children. Unlike the other three, the Fire Nation is incredibly dedicated to customs/traditions and instilling honor through following these things.

And honestly, it’s that of worldbuilding that makes me love this novel and it’s predecessor. The Legend of Korra tells us virtually nothing about the individual nations, focusing instead on the colony turned city so to return to those roots and use Kyoshi’s rise as the Avatar as a lense to gain better understanding of the “order” of the world is fantastic...but it’s not perfect.

If there is one thing about this novel that you could argue is weak, it’s Yun. I understand why he is there, Kyoshi is holding very tight to her past/origins and it actively prevents her from becoming the Avatar she needs to be, HOWEVER in my opinion - you can have Kyoshi coming to the aid of the Fire Lord and establishing order in the Nation or you can have Yun come back from the spirit world and have him be an obstacle to Kyoshi accepting what it means to be the Avatar. It’s not terrible by any means, but it felt like two pieces of a puzzle that could fit together even though they weren’t to be. It doesn’t ruin the reading experience by any means, but it felt like too very big stories fighting for Kyoshi’s attention.

I give The Shadow of Kyoshi by highest recommendation and ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ stars out of five.

#the shadow of kyoshi #book review #pocbooklr #booklr #Avatar Kyoshi #kyoshi #the shadow of kyoshi spoilers #avatar the last airbender #atla

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

The Thing About Darktown

Just gonna post my Secret Santa fic for @jarinodragonage over here, too, now that she’s seen it. ;D

---

“Stop rubbing, you’ll make it worse!”

“It itches!”

“Better that than festering and falling off- Hawke!” Aveline growled in exasperation as the younger woman flinched away, half-done bandages fluttering. “You know, this wouldn’t even be an issue if you’d brought Anders.”

Leigh snorted wryly, rubbing the injury in question with a fervor that hastened the unraveling of the bandages. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“Why not?” Aveline narrowed her eyes and moved after her, cornering Leigh against a boulder and getting a better grip on her arm to redo the patching up that was all but undone now. “Most people would consider it wise to bring a healer if you have one at your disposal. Especially given you usually include him on your... adventures.”

Leigh grinned, hearing the ‘mis’ Aveline clearly wanted to slap in front of the last word. “You’re not enjoying girls’ night out?” she said drolly, waving to where Isabela and Merrill were examining what remained of their foes. “I’m just happy the bad guys are dead and we aren’t.” She grimaced as Aveline pulled the bandages just a little tighter. “Aveline! Are you trying to fix my arm or amputate it?!”

“The former,” Aveline said sternly. “But if the bandages slide, you may wind up needing the latter. There.” She tied off the bandages, tucked the trailing ends under so it wouldn’t snag, and let go of Leigh’s arm. “That should hold you until you can get it seen to, at least.”

“My hero,” Leigh said with a cheeky wink and darted over to help Isabela rifle the corpses for anything good.

“Not leaking any more?” Isabela asked playfully, shifting so Leigh could crouch next to her.

Leigh snorted. “Not for now, at least.” She tested her range of motion and wiggled her fingers. “Kinda stiff, throbs a little, but I can make it back to Kirkwall without drawing down wolves on us in addition to... whatever these gentlemen were supposed to be.” She rolled the body at her feet on its stomach with her good hand and started checking the pouches around the back of the belt. Nothing more valuable than a small collection of pretty pebbles.

“Good to hear,” Isabela laughed. “I’d rather not have anything to do with wolves if we can help it.”

“Oh, but they’re so pretty t’ watch when they hunt,” Merrill piped up, then wrinkled her nose as she processed the context of the remark. “Though they’d be huntin’ us, I suppose, wouldn’t they? Best to avoid that.”

“My thoughts exactly, kitten,” Isabela said with a wink. It only took a few more minutes of searching for her and Leigh to be satisfied they’d found everything of any value. There wasn’t much; this lot were clearly poor and desperate. (Of course, they’d have to be, to attack such a clearly dangerous group as the four of them.) Pretty baubles, a few coppers, and some rusty weapons were the extent of “treasure” they carried. If the poor bastards hadn’t attacked them first, Leigh would have felt bad about killing them. Under the circumstances, however, sympathy was a little hard to come by. She rubbed at the bandages again and pretended she didn’t hear Aveline sigh.

---

To Leigh’s vast relief, they were not hassled by wolves or anything else on their way back to Kirkwall, despite the setting sun and lengthening shadows. Her arm was starting to really ache, and she wasn’t sure how much help she’d be in a fight. Still, she waved off the others’ concern when they reached the city, insisted they go their own ways. “I think I can make it to Anders’ clinic by myself,” she said glibly when Aveline offered to come with her. She turned a grin toward Isabela and Merrill. “Save me a seat when you get to the Hanged Man? I’ll be over when I’m done.”

“You got it, sweet thing,” Isabela laughed, then looped her arm through Merrill’s as they headed for the tavern.

Aveline hesitated a moment longer; until Leigh made a shooing motion toward the Viscount’s Keep. “Go on, Avs, I know walking Darktown is more exciting than all the paperwork sitting on your desk, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Aveline shook her head and huffed (yet) another sigh. “Just... be careful, Hawke.”

“The very model of,” Leigh promised with a glib wave. “See you around, guard captain.”

Sh waited until she was well out of sight from all of them before rubbing hard at the bandages again, directly over the stinging gash across her bicep. It itched, worse than well, pretty much anything she could remember.

“Good thing it’s not too far to the clinic,” she muttered, balling her hand into a fist as the wound started to throb more pointedly, keeping time with her heartbeat. “Sooner I take care of this, the better.”

Leigh knew the safest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. She also knew the fastest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. This injury was enough of an annoyance that today she went for speed over safety. She could handle herself, after all, and was very clearly armed. She doubted anyone would fuck with her in the first place, and she’d deal with them if they did.

Still, she kept her eyes open and on her surroundings as she walked, tried not to let her thoughts wander.

It’s a good thing those were just common bandits, still wormed its way through her brain. Skilled as they all were, she was less accustomed to fighting alongside Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill. They’d lacked the synergy she had gotten used to. There were times it was as if she and Fenris read each others’ minds in a fight, they knew Varric’s rhythm and could avoid being skewered by the bolts meant for their enemies, and Aveline had been correct--it was very useful having a healer along.

She missed a step and almost tumbled. Right. No wandering thoughts, Leigh reprimanded herself as she caught her balance. She’d drawn some attention from a knot of hard-faced individuals with her near-fall, but fortunately her cloak hung over the evidence she was wounded. Still, no reason to linger.

Leigh curled her hand around the hilt of a dagger when one of the loungers kept staring her direction a little too long, but the sense of eyes on her faded when she rounded the next corner, so she relaxed her grip. She kept her pace brisk, and the wariness had faded somewhat by the time she passed the [waste] chute that marked halfway. While she didn’t rub the still-itching wound again, she did press her hand over it and bite her lip. The pressure felt good. She’d have to mention that to Anders, see if it meant anything bad he should know about before healing her up.

It was after the next corner everything went to shit. She rounded it too tightly, and her injured arm rammed against the edge precisely where the two walls met. Leigh let out an instinctual yelp at the burst of pain that flared through her arm and set stars dancing behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth to clamp down on it, but the damage was done.

“Need a hand, lovely?” The speaker, a rangy elf with a shaved head and facial tattoos, leaned against the wall and flashed an indolent grin.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Leigh shot back with a decent tinge of snark. “Just tad clumsy.”

“Sure? Darktown’s no place to be wanderin’ alone.” The contrast of the deep red tattoos curving up his cheekbones made the glint in his eyes seem all the more dangerous. And as he spoke, two other figures--another elven man and a human woman--sidled up with a faux-casual air that had goosebumps prickling Leigh’s arms.

“That’s why I’m trying to get it over with, Red-- Can I call you Red?” she said with a cheeriness she didn’t really feel, sizing them up as she spoke. Red had picked his spot well; even leaning against the wall he was close enough to grab her unless she was very fast. The other elf would be in the way if she went for her original path, and the woman now stood just enough to the side she could back up either of her friends handily.

“Oh, a funny one,” Red chuckled, not deigning to comment on her assigning him a nickname. “Y’know, it might go faster--definitely safer--if you hand Cob there” --a nod toward his fellow elf--”all your coin.”

“It might, huh?” Her arm twinged, and Leigh shifted the odds a few points in their favor. Good thing I tend to beat the odds... “If I had any on me, I’d be sure to share it with such a beleaguered innocent as... Cob.” She arched her brows toward the elf. His scraggly blond hair and jaundiced complexion actually did bear passing resemblance to a corncob. “Sadly, I think I left my coinpurse in my other cloak.”

“Bullshit,” the woman snarled, hand drifting to the short-bladed sword. “Who the fuck travels without any money?”

“Me, the fuck,” Leigh returned brightly, shifting just a little. If she got very lucky and timed it just right, she could probably slip away. “But if you don’t believe me, you can look for yourself.”

Her good hand yanked the clasp of her cloak and pulled it free to toss toward Red and the woman as Leigh lunged low and outside past Cob.

He snagged her elbow and tried to hold her back, but she tore free, stumbled a few steps before catching her balance.

Just in time to trip over the booted foot that appeared in front of her ankles. Leigh cursed under her breath and lurched semi-sideways as she was forced to balance again. Her instincts proved good; a pitted blade swung uncomfortably close to her shoulder. She freed one of her daggers with her good hand and spun to parry the next blow. She was just barely fast enough to redirect it into the moldering wall. Her other fist was already swinging after it, and she connected with the female thug’s cheekbone and sent her reeling into Cob. Pain flared in Leigh’s knuckles and up her arm, but at least she’d gained some breathing room--

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled. She jerked sideways and there was a frustrated growl as Red’s swing went wide.

“Amber, Cob, get it together and help me gut this bitch!” he barked as he lunged forward in another swipe at Leigh’s midriff. Apparently he’d meant it literally.

The two of them grumbled as they recovered, glaring at her and circling to pen her in.

Leigh fought back a grimace and ran through her options. What few she had.

She feinted left, then went straight, ramming a shoulder into Cob’s chest and her dagger cutting a shallow scarlet line across Amber’s arm. They pivoted after her quickly, but at least she wasn’t pinned against a wall any more.

Red lunged forward, and even as she parried his dagger, he punched the bandaged portion of her arm. Hard.

Leigh spat a curse and slammed her elbow into his jaw. Her dagger slashed across his cheek as she followed through, and she kicked the inside of his knee for good measure.

Three on one meant no respite, however, and even as she spun away from Red, Amber closed in. Leigh ducked under the blow aimed at her head, but wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the other woman’s buckler. The edge of the small shield caught her in the jaw with a crack.

Leigh ran her tongue over the new cut, tasted copper, and lunged. For Red, not Amber.

None of them were expecting that, and Red’s reflexes were just a little too slow as a result. He didn’t get his blades up in time to parry and Leigh’s dagger sank in the hollow of his collarbone.

He gave an airless gasp, then a wet cough, and dropped.

Crimson flew in an arc from Leigh’s dagger as it came free and she spun to face the other two. Amber and Cob charged her from opposite directions and she backpedaled, angling to the right and pivoting she she could gouge the back of Cob’s thigh as he passed her.

She didn’t cut deep enough to hit anything vital, but he still toppled with a curse. He lashed out and the pommel of his dagger slammed into the side of her knee.

Combined with Leigh’s momentum, it took her down and sent her rolling into the wall. She banged her head hard enough to see stars, and when they cleared, Amber was standing over her, grip tight on her sword and a sneer curling her lips

She raised the blade even as Leigh scrambled mentally for an out. “You could’ve avoided this if you’d just done as you were tol-”

The gloating words cut off, her shoulders jerking forward as the front six inches of a greatsword emerged from her chest.

“She’s never been good at that,” Fenris said dryly as he pulled his sword free, gaze shifting from the slain thug to Leigh, concern and amusement mingled in his eyes. “despite ample evidence it is not always a bad thing.”

“What can I say, I’m a rebel,” Leigh returned glibly, pushing herself up to a sitting position and leaning her head back against the wall. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Fenris, but where the fuck did you come from?”

He chuckled and let his sword hang loosely in one hand as he offered her the other. “The Hanged Man. I was meeting Donnic for drinks, but Isabela mentioned you’d been injured-”

“And you wanted to check on me?” Leigh teased, grinning playfully as she took his hand. “I’m touched.”

Fenris snorted and hauled her up, so fast it almost felt like flying. “I figured you would head for the clinic,” he corrected. He maintained a steadying grip on her forearm when she wobbled. “I wanted to ensure your safe arrival, knowing what Darktown is like.” He punctuated the words with a glare at Cob.

“My hero,” Leigh said, with a little more sincerity than when she’d tossed the same words at Aveline. “Normally I’d protest I’m a big girl and can handle myself, but today I think I’ll go with ‘thanks for the rescue’.”

Fenris nodded, then tipped his head toward Cob, who now sat glaring up at them with a hand pressed to the back of his thigh. “And what of him?”

Leigh shrugged, not liking the soreness already settling in her muscles. I really need to see Anders. “Eh, just leave him be.”

“What?!” Cob barked. “You kill my friends, cripple me, and you’re just going to leave?!”

“Hey, you lot attacked me, asshole,” Leigh fired back, grasping Fenris’ arm to hold him back when his markings flickered and he tensed. “After I tried to avoid a fight. You’re lucky I’m not askin’ him to finish you off. My cloak’s somewhere around here; you can have that to patch yourself up. But I need to be on my way. After all, it’s not safe to linger in Darktown.”

She went to make a dramatic exit, and her knee almost gave out. Fenris caught her, pulled her back upright, and only paused to sheath his sword before draping her arm around his shoulders for support.

“Thanks,” Leigh whispered, limping heavily as they walked away.

“You are most welcome,” Fenris replied, in that soft, low murmur that sent warmth curling all the way to her toes. “Let’s get you to Anders.”

---

The rest of the walk was uneventful, which Leigh credited to the protective air radiating from Fenris. Anders was, thankfully, not busy when they arrived and immediately turned his attention to fussing over her. He and Fenris exchanged the occasional sniping remark, as the latter insisted on ‘hovering’ nearby, no doubt concerned about the fresh blood seeping through Leigh’s bandages.

The battering from her alley scuffle was easily healed--and she did mention Cob to Anders, just in case he’d feel inclined to help the man. But Anders frowned when he unwrapped the bandages around her arm. “Hawke, this is from today?”

“Just a couple hours ago,” Leigh nodded. “We were already on our way back to the city, and I headed here soon as we made it. Why-” She turned to look and grimaced at the angry red edges to the wound. “Oh.”

“It’s good you came straight here,” Anders said, then glanced at Fenris. “Well, nearly. There must’ve been something on the blade, deliberately or not.” He murmured a quiet spell, fingers tracing through the air before he laid his hand over the wound.

The spell rolled through her with a cleansing prickle that gave her goosebumps for a minute before fading. But the near-insufferable itching was gone. Anders’ hand flexed again, and healing magic chased the cleansing spell to knit flesh back together.

Leigh’s slumped with relief. “Thanks, handsome,” she winked as she gave that shoulder an experimental roll. “Much better.” All better, there wasn’t even a scar.

“Always happy to help,” Anders said with a tired smile. “Your knee might still be sore,” he cautioned as she started to stand. “You might want to take it easy for a day or two.”

“I will accompany you,” Fenris offered, soon as she’d made it to her feet. “To be safe, of course.”

“Of course,” Leigh chuckled. Her knee seemed alright, but she’d never pass up his company. She thanked Anders again, then she and Fenris headed out.

“Hawke, it’s this way,” Fenris commented when she walked past the turn that would lead back to Hightown.

“I’m going to the Hanged Man, not home,” Leigh said with a smile and a shrug. “Promised I’d join ‘Bela and Merrill. And I can take it easy there just as well as at home.” Better; at the Hanged Man she’d be around people. Friends.

His shoulders tensed, and she could almost see his overprotective instincts winding up, before he relaxed and nodded. “I shall accompany you there, then, instead.”

Leigh snickered. “That worried about me tumbling in a ditch somewhere, are you?”

“There are plenty to choose from in this city,” Fenris deadpanned. “Or perhaps I wish to offer back up in case anyone is fool enough to attack you.”

“Oh, thank you. Whatever the reason, I’ll happily take your company.”

She hadn’t really meant to say it, no matter how glib her tone,and he clearly didn’t know how to reply, so they walked in almost-awkward silence for a minute.

“So, how many poor sods did you inadvertently terrorize on your way down through Darktown?” Leigh finally asked, playfully nudging his shoulder, before the silence became too much.

“I... do not know,” Fenris admitted. He glanced at her. “I was too preoccupied to notice.”

Oh. She bit her lip and cleared her throat. “Bet you get turned into a phantom in children’s stories now,” she teased, struggling to make the words light-hearted. “You know, the ghost who’ll snatch them away if they get out of bed in the middle of the night.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” he said dryly, and Leigh couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“It would fit, though,” she said, flashing a mischievous grin. “You glow, you... pass through things--or people, at least.. Practically writes itself. I should tell Varric.”

Fenris groaned, but there was something half-hearted about it, and she caught the smile he tried to hide. “I’m certain he has better things to do.”

“Better, maybe. But not more fun.”

Their easy pace during the conversation had carried them to within a stone’s throw of the tavern, and Leigh paused, turning to rest a hand on Fenris’ arm. “All joking aside, I am truly grateful you came swooping to my rescue.”

Fenris caught her gaze and held it as he took a breath, then slowly exhaled. “Anytime, Leigh.”

He leaned ever so slightly into her touch, then stepped away and headed inside the Hanged Man. Leigh’s hand curled into a loose fist, and she closed her eyes to take a deep breath before trailing after him.

Isabela and Merrill greeted her cheerfully, and Leigh was all too happy to let their company and the general tavern cacophony distract her from... anything else.

(She caught a glimpse of silver-white hair across the bustling space and hastily focused back on Isabela’s challenge to a hand of Wicked Grace.)

Anyone else.

#queens fic #fenhawke #leigh hawke/fenris #da2 #jarino dragonage

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firesign23 · 5 years

Text

Prompt from ao3 that I’m bringing over her for completion’s sake. From the Brienne/Addam marry for the sake of Jaime’s child AU

First time they spar together?

Under a cut for length and angst

Move, move, parry, shift, move, Brienne, I, strike. Back foot, pivot, when did you last have your moonblood, strike. After the war, we’ll--strike, strike, strike. Her eyes burnt in exhaustion and unwept tears as she thrashed the training dummy without thought, all elegance gone as she pushed it all away, narrowed her world to her body and her sword, unable to completely forget that neither was entirely her own any longer.

“I’m sure it’s quite dead by now,” drawled an amused voice, some hint of the Westerlands scratching at her already raw heart. She spun around, spotting a red-haired man leaning on the wall at the edge of the training yard. Handsome, she thought, unable to muster any feeling for the observation. She has known handsomer, has learnt to not be quite so habitually defensive in the face of beauty. “You’re Lady Brienne, are you not?”

“Ser Brienne,” she spat.

The man smiled disarmingly and bowed. “But of course, Ser. I can’t say news of my cousin’s knighting you was much of a surprise. He spoke very highly of your skills.”

Jaime. She can’t-- She can’t crave him like this, the mere mention of him setting longing off deep in her gut.

“You have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid,” she said. “You know who I am, but I can’t recall your name.”

The man pushed off the wall, moving towards her; Brienne had bedded a lion, surrounded herself with wolves. He was neither. A hawk, perhaps, intent on prey, but as he stopped before her he gave a smile that was… distinctly human.

“Ser Addam Marbrand,” he said. “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, though I’ve heard much of you.”

The rangy man before her bore little resemblance to the mischievous child of Jaime’s tales, save for a glint in his pale blue eyes, but she was inclined to trust him all the same. Or not distrust him, at least, which in King’s Landing was unusual enough.

“What do you want?”

If Tyrion had sent him, she’d send the little bastard down the nearest flight of stairs. He’d had the audacity to apologise to Brienne when she’d arrived south, when all he’d had to do was do nothing.

Ser Addam laughed, a surprisingly mirthful sound. She would not have thought him the type. “A spar against the commander of the Kingsguard, perhaps? I’ve been terribly unchallenged of late.”

“Perhaps you ought to have fought the dead at Winterfell then, Ser Addam. I assure you there was no lack of challenge there.”

It was an insult , but also a question.

“Ahh, yes,” he said. “Jaime left King’s Landing in all haste, I did not know he was gone or why for over a fortnight. He was always impulsive, but I never understood why he went north.”

“He gave his word,” Brienne said, replacing Oathkeeper in her scabbard and grabbing two tourney swords from a nearby rack. She tossed one to Addam, who caught it easily. “On three.”

They fought, slowly at first as they evaluated the other’s skills; he was graceful and quick, and had clearly learnt the basics from the same swordsman as Jaime had. It was--it was not so similar as to be fighting a ghost, but for a moment he felt closer than he had since the night she last saw him. The last time she would ever see him. Her attention wavered, just long enough for Addam to disarm her.

He dropped his own sword instantly. “Are you well?”

Brienne shook her head. “Well done, Ser Addam. Perhaps we will do this again, but not now. I have--”

“He rang the bells.”

It was a blurted confession, one that made her already roiling stomach contract and her mouth water.

“Pardon?”

“Jaime. He rang the bells for surrender. Given… given what resulted, it has been decided this will not be recorded, but… I believed you of all people had the right to know.”

“Why should I have the right?” Brienne asked; her limbs were oddly numb as she contemplated the new information, wanted to rage and cry that for a second time he had tried to save the city and none would know.

“You will bear his child, will you not?”

Her knees wobbled at that; she thrust the tourney sword into the dirt and leaned against it.

“Secrets travel fast in King’s Landing,” she said, as levelly as she could. “I only confirmed it this morning.”

Addam shrugged. “You kept touching your stomach, even as we were fighting. I have sisters, it’s a tell I know well. I came to speak with you, to try and understand what had made him break free--”

“Promises,” Brienne repeated.

“Love,” Addam countered. “I came for answers, but when I suspected you were... “ he nodded towards her stomach; realising her hand was laid across it, she dropped her touch away. “I thought you ought to know the truth. Very few people knew the Jaime I did, but by all accounts you were one of them. That is all we have now.” He gave an ironic smile. “Well, that and the babe, for you. Jaime would have been--”

“I know. We talked of it. After the war was done.” The memories come too fast to push away, and her voice cracked as she admitted, “I thought he would be alive to see it.”

“I am sorry, truly, for your loss, ser,” Addam said. “May I escort you to your quarters?”

She wanted to tell him no, uncertain whether she could mask her pain that far, but just as much she wanted to tell him yes, to cling to whatever scraps of insight he could give, to be hoarded jealously against the slow erosion of time. She would forget, she knew, piece by piece until the Jaime in her mind was nothing more than a poor reproduction. She nodded, a tiny movement of her head that took all of her willpower.

Addam took the tourney swords and offered her his arm as if she were a lady to be escorted, and when she looked at it in disdain he gave a rolling shrug of his shoulders.

“Even a commander is allowed weaknesses, when nobody is looking.”

She smiled and did not take his arm, but the gesture was well meant. They walked towards her rooms, saying very little aside from small stories of Jaime. She can’t face the rest, not yet, but the tale of the stolen pie makes her laugh, and Addam nods seriously when she explains how first they met.

“Do you think he was happy, to be with her in the end?”

They are turning the final corner to her quarters. She hadn’t meant to ask, was not entirely certain she wanted to know the answer. But Addam, perhaps, understood it at least, and the words burst from her lips when she least expected them. Addam considered for a moment, and she wondered if he would lie and how--a “He only loved you” was clearly untrue, but she knew that he had not left out of desire to.

“No,” Addam finally said, quiet and contemplative. “They were many things, over the years, but I don’t think happy was ever one of them.”

He had been happy in Winterfell. Happy with her. She had hoped for that for him, at least, in the days she had waited for news of his death. They reached her door, and Brienne stopped and turned to face Addam.

“Thank you,” she said. “For your honesty.”

Addam nodded. “If you need… if you need someone who knew him, good and bad, to talk to, or-- A shared grief is easier to bear than a solitary one. My door is always open to you, Ser Brienne. Jaime said, once, that I would like you a great deal.”

Brienne laughed despite the weight in her chest. “That does not particularly sound like Jaime.”

Addam shrugged in admission. “I believe his words were more along the line of ‘Addam, the woman is stubborn as all seven hells and a pain in my ass, but you ought to see her with a sword.’ I drew my own conclusions.”

They shared a small smile of understanding at that, and Addam bowed low.

“Keep well, commander. Until our next meeting.”

Brienne inclined her head. “And you, ser,” she said, hesitating only a moment before adding, “Until our next meeting.”

#my fanfic #procrastination prompting

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gold-from-straw · 5 years

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Backstage of the Universe

Erik left Charles half crushed by a stadium - Charles wasn't exactly expecting to see him again after that. He certainly wasn't expecting him to sneak into his bedroom only a few weeks later, trailing seven not-quite-mutant, not-quite-human children and a young man in a coma. Against Hank and Raven's wishes, he takes the lot of them in, but he's damned if Erik's just going to walk out again and leave him with a group of traumatised children. Anyway, Bart in particular seems to have become attached to him.

But Blackwing seems to have been more than just another shadowy government research facility torturing small children. Because when Charles and Erik try to stop the children from carrying out the Universe's instructions, the Universe might just start to think they're better off with Mr Priest...

The Cherik-Dirk Gently Crossover you never knew you wanted, featuring post-DoFP Cherik, hurt/comfort, lots of PTSD from everyone, and sweet baby Blackwing children (timelines? What timelines?)

Read on AO3 if you prefer!

Charles opened feverish eyes to a vague, domed shape hovering over him. He squinted, blinked, and considered the likelihood that he’d had a relapse and was dreaming again.

“Charles,” said the dome, and, well, that sounded real enough. Even so…

“Are you a dream or a nightmare?” he asked, his voice hoarse with disuse.

“Probably a nightmare to you,” said Erik, and moved out of Charles’ field of vision. He could hear his cloak rustling, hear soft murmuring. He strained his neck, trying to see through the drugged haze and the artificial dusk of the darkened room. He could just make out Erik taking that hateful helmet off, looking down at Charles dispassionately.

“Back on the serum again, are we, Charles? I should have known you’d retreat into your shell once more.”

Charles glared at him, well aware he looked about as intimidating as a wet lettuce. Probably as attractive as one as well. “What do you want, Erik?” he ground out.

Erik was silent so long that Charles thought he’d scared him off. “I need your help,” he said at last, his voice strained, like it physically pained him to ask.

Charles struggled to prop himself up, wincing at the pain. “You - ah!”

Erik rushed forward to support him, his brow crinkled. “I thought you were on the serum, what is—“

It all happened so quickly. One moment Erik was bent over him, so close that Charles could see the curls sticking to his temples with old sweat, hovering over his prone form like his every wet dream since the sixties, and the next moment he was gone in a streak of blue scales and fur.

“Raven!” he cried, struggling around, he didn’t even know why, what could he do? “Raven, Hank, stop, he—“

There was a blur of motion from the curtains, and suddenly everything went very still.

“Bart,” said Erik, breathing hard and holding his ribs. “Bart, don’t.”

The small child sitting astride Raven’s chest pressed the massive hunting knife further against Raven’s throat. Raven held her hands up by her head and held perfectly still.

Hank, on the other hand, was wrapped in a pink fluffy duvet, struggling against the folds of material, his teeth bared in a snarl. Charles stared from one to the other in this surreal tryptich, and thought that there was no possible way he couldn’t be having a fever dream.

“Bart,” said Erik again, sitting up and keeping his hands outstretched. Charles couldn’t work out why he wasn’t simply taking the knife away, or blunting it, anything. “Do you really want to kill her?”

“Not really,” said the little red-haired girl, her voice strangely gravelly. “The universe in’t telling me to kill her. But Mr Priest told me I had’ta make exceptions sometimes, and she tried to hurt you.”

She leaned further on the knife and Charles cried out in wordless distress, his hand reaching out to her. She turned, distracted. “Hey, are you Mr Erik’s friend?”

“Please,” Charles begged. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“‘M’kay,” she shrugged, and stood up. “But if she tries to hurt Mr Erik again I’ll probably kill her.” She stood up and went to Erik, helping him to his feet and then holding onto his hand.

Charles slumped back into the bed, boneless with relief, and almost immediately regretted it as pain shot up from his pelvis.

“He’s hurt,” said another little voice from behind the curtains. Charles tried to control his breathing, turning to the shifting material in a futile effort to distract himself. A flurry of shhh followed the declaration. “What? He is,” said the voice again.

“Erik,” said Charles, daring to shift to find a more comfortable position. “I think you’re going to need to explain.”

But Erik was coming closer, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “What’s the matter, Charles?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my bedroom’s been invaded by--”

“No, you’re… why aren’t you getting up?”

Hank made furious muffled noises from inside the duvet burrito while Raven struggled to free him. Bart giggled. “Mona’s caught him.”

“Mona,” called Erik, still not taking his eyes off Charles. “Would you please release Charles’ friend?”

As Charles watched, the duvet turned into yet another little girl, a moppet with a black bob who skittered away from Hank and ran straight up to Charles’ bed, crawling in beside him and peering at him. “You’re hurt,” she said. “Your friend’s furry. I like to cuddle him. Would you like to cuddle me? I can be a teddy for you.”

Charles blinked at her, and she turned into a teddy. Charles picked it up - picked her up. It was impossible, but…

“Is that Mr Snuffles?” Raven asked, coming closer, keeping her distance from Bart.

“It… it can’t be. Kurt burnt him,” Charles said, stroking the threadbare head, the bald patch where he used to stroke his thumb over Mr Snuffles’ paw every night to soothe himself to sleep. He blinked fiercely and looked up at the others. “What is going on, Erik?”

Erik took a deep breath. “I found them. They were in an institution I… put an end to, they called themselves Blackwing.” He cleared his throat and turned his face away for a moment, gritting his teeth. “I thought they were mutants, but they’re not… they’re something different. My powers won’t work on them. Either way, I couldn’t leave them there, Charles, not…” He swallowed. “Not to be tested on. Not like that.”

Charles rested the teddy on his chest as Erik looked down at Bart. “How many?” he asked softly.

“You can’t be serious, Professor,” said Hank. “You can’t possibly be willing to help this asshole after--”

“Please, Hank, not in front of the children.”

“Hank’s right, Charles,” Raven said. “You can’t trust him. It could be a trap.”

“And I can’t turn away small children who need our help. Children who’ve been tortured, by the sounds of it, regardless of whether Erik brings them or we find them ourselves. This was always the plan, you know that. Finding young people to help - making a sanctuary for mutant children to find themselves. And these children… well, they might not be mutants, but they need us.”

“Yes, we all want to help the kids,” Hank said. “But you can’t be dealing with stress like this, not yet. Not until the serum’s had a chance to work.”

“Will someone tell me why Charles is back on the serum at all?” Erik snapped. “I thought we established--”

“You didn’t establish shit,” Raven snarled. “You tried to kill me, and you dropped a fucking stadium on my brother. Do you know how long it takes to realise that your pelvis is shattered if you’re a paraplegic with no sensation below your waist? Huh? Long enough for serious infections to set in, that’s how.”

She shoved past Erik and started checking Charles’ IV, carefully repositioning him so he wasn’t lying crooked again. Charles turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to see Erik’s pity, or his disgust. He wasn’t sure what would be worse. He realised he was stroking the teddy, the soft fur soothing him, and forced his fingers to lie still.

“In the end we realised the only way to heal the Professor was to put him back on the serum. He’s been on it for just over a week now - it’s cleared up the infection and set his bones,” said Hank, sounding exhausted. Charles closed his eyes as guilt washed through him. “Even so, he’s had a pretty rough couple of months - we’ve been able to heal his bones and chase off the infection, but he can feel the pain of it, and he can’t use his powers.”

“And when the serum wears off?” Erik asked, his voice strained.

“His telepathy will come back, and the sensation in his lower body will go again.” Hank put his hand on Charles’ shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Erik,” said Charles tightly. “I’m not abandoning mutantkind again for any longer than I have to. We’ll be ready to wean me off the serum in a couple of days.”

“That’s not what I--”

“I can eat your pain, mister,” said a little boy, his face mere inches from Charles’ pillow. Charles yelped and jumped backwards, then moaned as the pain sliced through his body.

“How many kids did you fucking bring, Erik?” Raven snapped, squeezing Charles’ hand and stroking his hair back off his face as he blinked back reflexive tears.

“Vogel didn’t mean it,” said a deeper voice, and Charles turned his head to see three young teenagers standing around the little boy. All of them looked skinny and rangy, like stray dogs who’d caught too many cruel kicks.

“Technically he did mean it,” said one of the boys, a black kid with limbs too big for his poor emaciated body. “But we won’t, we promise, don’t punish him, Mister?”

“I wouldn’t,” Charles said, his heart bleeding for these mistreated children.

“Are there any more?” Hank growled at Erik.

Erik cleared his throat. “Come on out, Svlad.”

#Lyn's Writing #Backstage of the Universe #cherik #Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency #x-men: days of future past #hurt/comfort #kid fic #blackwing

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gale-heart · 5 years

Text

May 30

Thareldis Stormglade is a gruff, rangy, hawk-nosed crab of a man with a biting wit and the perpetual resting face of someone forever displeased by a poor joke. He is also enthusiastic in lampooning our mother with his own tales of her bitchery, which is good enough for now.

I almost fled before it even began, book—scared to walk right into a trap with someone who could be another Eseria or another Beurghes. If not that, then at the very least I’d be deemed not worth this man’s time and discarded again. It still itched at the back of my thoughts after I’d forced myself to approach and initiate introductions, and buzzed all the more insistently with each heavy silence between our first, cordial attempts at idle chatter. Blood we may be, but honestly, what are you even supposed to say to someone millennia older or younger than you whom you just found out weeks ago even existed? The lull had reached its most awkward stretch yet, and I was midway through constructing some feeble excuse to slink away when he spoke suddenly, as if unable to restrain himself further.

“You know she came after me with a knife, once? All over an argument about my beard—beards, of all the stupid things! Who even gets so worked up over facial hair that they try to stab a person?”

I could only gape for a moment, as one: what a thing to just drop into a conversation! And, two: it said a depressingly great deal that that actually made sense for someone like Mother to try. The only fitting response I could think of was to stumble through a retelling of how she’d scarred my lip—suddenly it was like a dam had burst, and the next hour or so passed in a wash of mutual griping over Mother and the things she’d done to us. (I’m ashamed to say I may have teared up a couple times, but he either understood why and didn’t bring attention to it to be polite or just didn’t care to criticize.) Maybe it’s not the sunniest way to break the ice, but damn it, at least it finally bridged the chasm between us and got us talking. It’s apparent we both were long overdue to lance our respective wounds in that regard.

So...I have a brother now. For real this time. I’m not sure where we’re going to go from here. If I were even a few years younger there might be talk of me moving up to Nighthaven to live with him permanently as my guardian, but it seems a bit silly now that I’m old enough to have had a job already. It’ll be a while before we can meet again, as he has to go back to chasing Azerite rifts in a few days. He did state outright that he wanted to talk again in the future, so that’s something, isn’t it? Elune willing, we have time to figure things out.

#character logs #journal #ic #Thareldis #Ilyssae

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avrelia · 5 years

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Several F.C. Yee interviews about The Rise of Kyoshi

https://thenerdsofcolor.org/2019/07/15/from-fan-to-avatar-writer-f-c-yee-on-developing-the-story-of-avatar-kyoshi/

Contributing to the Avatar-verse was equally an honor and a terrifying experience. Whatever I wrote was going to stick around in lore, so if I did a poor job, it would haunt me personally as a fan. I’ve dealt with this anxiety by trying to make sure what I wrote came from my love for this universe, since that’s a resource that’ll never run out.

(… )

To a certain extent I tried to work backward from what we know and deduce what a previous era of the Avatar world might have been like. As long as the characters and settings could plausibly evolve into what we do eventually see glimpses of, I was able to run with a lot of different story threads.

(… )

https://www.polygon.com/2019/7/24/20703880/the-rise-of-kyoshi-avatar-the-last-airbender-fc-yee-interview

(… )

The relationship with Rangi was just really fun to write in general, because it’s fun to write to the interactions between, you know, bossy hotheads versus kind of more passive, cooler characters and see how they just feed off each other. So it was a delight to write.

(… )

https://www.broadwayworld.com/bwwbooks/article/BWW-Interview-FC-Lee-author-of-THE-RISE-OF-KYOSHI-brings-new-life-to-the-world-of-AVATAR-THE-LAST-AIRBENDER-20190728

Kyoshi not being a great Earthbender and the manner in which she isn't was conceived as a way to make someone who is astonishingly capable as an adult more vulnerable in her youth.

(… )

Book Two is going to see Kyoshi thrust from the lowest rungs of society into the highest, where she'll have to deal with political challenges and situations she can't simply overpower. She'll face the question of what shebelieves it means to be the Avatar. And the cliffhanger from Book One will definitely be addressed.

#the rise of kyoshi #f c yee #my posts

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justaramblingromantic · 6 years

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when she was little - part i

Characters/Pairing: Sarugaki Hiyori and Hirako Shinji/ShiYori

Type: Canon, Post!Series, Say Please!verse, Lily and Thistle!verse, ShiYori Week 2018,

Word Count: 2897

A/N #01: First of seven parts. I will post an update daily just for this arc, in honor of ShiYori Week 2018. I’m already days behind and I don’t think I will be able to meet all the prompts, but I will still do what I can. :)

Wow. I’m still so amazed by the existence of a ShiYori week! Back in the golden days of this fandom grandma, we just yelled ship gibberish into the void and maybe every turn of the century, some casual ShiYori shipper would take pity and touch base for a while. This…This must be what they call progress!! You go, you, ShiYori Week Organizer!

FYI, this chapter corresponds to the Prompt for Day 1: Reversed.

A/N #02: Back to this arc – I’ve always wanted to explore a de-aged Hiyori so I finally got around to writing it. Baby!Hiyori is so cute I can’t even. I hope you guys have your fluff caps on.

Random note: I’m always endlessly amused that the ‘hiyo’ (ひよ) in Hiyori’s (ひよ里) name is also used in ‘hiyoko’ (ひよこ) – meaning ‘little chick,’ haha.

Though she be but little, she is fierce!

- William Shakespeare

When Hiyori was late for lunch, which almost always never happened, Shinji should have already guessed that something was not right.

His petite lover never missed a free meal as a general rule of thumb, which was how he was able to (often) lure her back to Seireitei to seek him just like he had this time. She still did not like Soul Society all that much, but with enough incentive (as well as the promise of his charming escort and company) she could usually be convinced to set aside her prejudice temporarily and learn to enjoy her time with him in this realm that they both originally belonged. He hoped that he would eventually be able to wear down her resistance and reluctance to come back permanently to Soul Society – he did not expect her to return into service as a Shinigami of the Gotei 13 (that would be too much to ask from her and would earn him nothing but her fury), but it would at least be nice to have her nearby all the same.

He had promised to treat her today – yakiniku, her favorite – and in light of that, it hadn’t taken much persuasion on his part to get her to clear her ‘busy’ schedule to lunch with him. She had grudgingly agreed to turn up at noon when he spoke to her through the phone last evening, but it had already been a couple of hours past that appointed time, and she still had not showed at his office in the Gobantai. Shinji had been quite busy with his paperwork and therefore he had only been mildly exasperated by her unpunctuality; two hours had to be some kind of record even for her.

His Lieutenant had approached him a while ago, and Momo had rather concernedly enquired if her Taichou would like her to bring back some takeout for his sake instead. The dark-haired female was very conscientious of her duties and would often fret when she felt that her Captain was neglecting his personal wellbeing, though she stopped when he explained that he was waiting for a certain snaggletooth monkey brat. His Fukutaichou had smiled then with understanding, content with the knowledge that her Taichou wasn’t starving himself under her watch, and work in the office resumed for the next hour or so.

By then, Shinji had already finished all the bureaucratic tasks that he had set out to do for the day, and Hiyori still had not showed up at his office. The fine-haired Vizard Captain was no longer just disgruntled with his significant other, he was also starting to become a mite concerned. It really wasn’t like Hiyori to be late at all, in fact, she was usually excessively on time for appointments, often even going so far as to arrive early (and then she would go around beating up those who came after her for being tardy). Shinji was starting to wonder if something had really happened – though if it turned out that the brat was indeed simply, just unbelievably, incorrigibly late, then he would be really unamused.

It was then, that there was a quiet knock on the door of the Gobantai office, and both Taichou and Fukutaichou looked up from their desks to see the composed figure of Kurotsuchi Nemu standing at the entrance. The artificial soul sketched a solemn, polite bow to her fellow Lieutenant and the latter’s Captain before asking for permission to speak.

“Go ahead,” Shinji responded, intrigued by this unusual visit. The Fifth Division and the Twelfth Division typically did not have many dealings with one another, so he was curious to see what the latter Squad wanted from his.

“Good afternoon, Hirako Taichou,” the young woman greeted in a calm, modulated tone. “The Twelfth Division seeks your assistance in light of a particularly unexpected situation that we are currently doing our best to correct. We require your cooperation in the meanwhile as we’re not equipped to deal with the subject, and our Third Seat has mentioned that you may be able to offer invaluable assistance in resolving this accident.”

Shinji was visibly baffled. “Subject? Accident?” he echoed, his brow furrowing ever so slightly in bewilderment. “…This isn’t another one of yer Taichou’s ploys ‘ta get a Vizard Shinigami on his table again, is it? What, or, as I suspect, who are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Kurotsuchi Fukutaichou?”

In response, the Juunibantai Shinigami moved aside slightly and made a small gesture with her hand, revealing the presence of the Third Seat of her Squad who had just shifted into sight.

“No, Hirako Taichou. This is not a ploy.” the other Lieutenant replied quite truthfully and courteously. “I shall allow Akon-san to explain the situation in detail.”

Shinji had not seen the horned scientist of the Twelfth ever since that last time they had that conversation about Hiyori, and as Shinji’s dark golden gaze shifted over to younger male, mouth already open to ask what was going on, he immediately caught sight of the tiny bundle that the clearly discomforted man was gingerly holding in his arms.

The little thing that Akon was carrying with painstaking care shifted and moved slightly, and Shinji’s eyes widened imperceptibly in surprise.

It was a child.

A very young, tiny one at that – not exactly a baby and probably just slightly more grown up than a toddler, but what had stunned the Captain so much was not the presence of the child, but rather, her all too familiar appearance.

Soft, fluffy, shoulder length blonde hair. Cute, cherubic features. Small rosebud mouth. Huge ochre eyes. The unmistakable smatter of freckles dusted over babyish cheeks. The young one did not look a day older than four or five, and in reaction to that sight, he had damn near shot up from his seat instantaneously, the earlier bemused, laidback look in his eyes disappearing abruptly, agitation visibly thrumming through his previously calm spiritual pressure as he grimly eyed Akon.

“What exactly is this?” he demanded immediately, his tone becoming sharp and clipped, an apparent undercurrent of growing ire in his abruptly shifted demeanor and speech. “What have ya done?”

There weren’t a lot of things that would immediately rile the lean, rangy blonde, but what he was looking at right now came pretty damn close. ‘What the hell are ya tryin’ ‘ta pull?”

Poor Akon visibly blanched at the deadly serious, borderline angry expression on the Captain’s face, suddenly reminded of the fact that this usually laidback male was also quite powerful in his own right. The black haired man nearly took a step back before he caught himself and shook his head quickly. “Hirako Taichou, believe me when I say that this is anything but intentional. …There has been an…unfortunate mishap.”

And it had been an awfully unfortunate mishap, indeed.

It turned out that Hiyori had somehow decided to make a small detour to her old Division when she had arrived in Seireitei ahead of lunchtime, and thanks to an unfortunate series of events (aided and abetted by her bottomless pit of a stomach), the waifish blonde had ended up eating something that she shouldn’t have – i.e. an entire plate of delicious looking (but highly experimental) cupcakes that had just been freshly created by the R&D department of the Juunibantai, mistaken by the pigtailed female as part of the refreshments that her ex-colleague Akon was serving her – and the result was now one age-diminished female Vizard, both her physical and mental forms returned to that of a young, impressionable child, with no memories of her adult life whatsoever, and currently more fascinated by her surroundings than in understanding whatever had happened to her.

Shinji was flabbergasted as he listened to the explanations of the two Juunibantai Shinigami, and then he had quickly gotten pissed off on the behalf of his hapless lover.

“How come yer squad’s always leavin’ this sorta highly ambiguous and dubious things lyin’ ‘round?!!” the Gobantai Taichou had demanded with significant displeasure even though he had already been repeatedly assured that this…affliction that had come over her could be corrected and that they were working on the cure to counter the reverse aging effects, though that would technically rectify itself eventually, given time – a few centuries of it. Shinji had not been amused. At the same time, since Hiyori had ended up ingesting several servings of the spiked cupcakes all by her petite lonesome, it had actually been a surprise in itself that she hadn’t accidentally overdosed on them and eaten herself right out of existence – Shinji was hardly impressed when that possibility had been mentioned to him by the clinically composed Kurotsuchi Fukutaichou, and he had been very close to storming over to the Twelfth Division himself to strangle her ‘father’ with his bare hands whilst demanding that he fix this, right now.

For the first time ever, Momo got to experience her usually calm and laidback superior blow his top, and the blonde would honestly be growling and snapping much, much, more, if not for the tiny little girl child who was still ensconced in Akon’s arms.

The same tiny little girl child who also happened to be his lover, and was now staring warily at him like he was a raving madman – which he had been pretty much behaving like for the past half an hour or so.

The young girl had one arm slung around her temporary caregiver’s neck even as she was being securely held on the side, and her large eyes took in everything with unbound curiosity. She instinctively pulled herself closer to her current guardian when their gazes crossed, and Shinji frowned inwardly at her unexpectedly timid reaction. In response, Akon awkwardly petted the child on her back and held her snugly, and even though Hiyori was only a five/six year old in physical form, Shinji was still immediately irked by the fact that she was being cossetted and comforted by somebody else. She was very young and vulnerable right now, and that only made his already existing protective instincts towards her increase even more – a lot more.

“I assumed since she’s your…partner,” Akon spoke up rather carefully then. “-that you’d at least be informed about this situation. I feel partly responsible, so I’d like to help out too since uh, little Hiyori may be too much of a handful for you to handle by yourself, Hirako Taichou.”

Perhaps the kid truly meant well with his offer, but Shinji felt his eyes narrow slightly at the less than well-meaning way in which he had structured his words. Why, that punk- He still obviously hadn’t given up on his little crush on Hiyori yet.

“I ‘preciate yer offer, but that ain’t necessary,” Shinji replied in turn, his earlier irritated and upset demeanor fading quickly as he regained his cool composure. “She’s never gonna be ‘too much’ for me ‘ta handle, so ya can just pass her over right now – I’ll take care of her just fine on my own.” The blonde walked over to the Twelfth Division Third Seat and reached out towards the little golden haired girl still ensconced in the latter’s arms, and child that she was, young Hiyori put up no resistance as the now significantly older blonde placed his hand on her small shoulder.

No, the one who failed to budge was Akon, and this time, Shinji’s eyelid twitched as he looked at the latter’s equally dogged features. The blonde gritted his teeth slightly and ‘smiled’ at the Third Seat. “Ya should really let go now, Akon-san,” the Vizard Captain commented rather pointedly, but much to his chagrin, the black haired man maintained his grip on the precious cargo.

“I think I’d still like to offer my assistance,” Akon insisted with determined firmness even as he subtly attempted to maneuver Hiyori back closer to him. “Like I said, I feel partly responsible, so I want to do my part to help as well.”

Shinji placed his other hand on Hiyori’s other shoulder and lightly tugged her to him once more. “And like I said, yer assistance’s not needed here,” the Gobantai Taichou retorted in return. “If ya really wanna help, then go straight back ‘ta yer Division and do yer best ‘ta figure out how ‘ta undo this mess. Now, give her ‘ta me.”

Akon rocked backwards slightly in an attempt to loosen the other man’s hold on his charge. “I’m pretty sure that I can be of service here as well,” he insisted with an equal modicum of stubborn politeness, though Shinji wasn’t about to be shaken loose so easily. “Besides, it’s obvious that Hiyori likes being near me – she has been clinging to me the whole time.”

Shinji’s eyelid twitched again, and his pull became stronger. “Don’t make it sound so unnecessarily suggestive. Yer startin’ ‘ta get on my nerves, Third Seat!”

In reply, Akon pulled back. “I apologize, Hirako Taichou, for that’s not my intention,” he replied in a passive fashion, though that turned out to be more passive aggressive than anything else, for he continued. “But you can safely entrust Hiyori to me; I’ll take good care of her and make sure that she is well tended to-”

It sounded suspiciously as though the younger man was asking him for her hand in marriage. Unsurprisingly, Shinji started to look more than a bit brassed off then.

“Oi. Ya do not get ‘ta say this sort of things ‘ta me!!”

Meanwhile, the two Fukutaichou of the Fifth and the Twelfth stood to the side and watched the ensuing altercation with varying degrees of chagrin and clinical fascination. After all, it was a rather unusual sight - two grown men, both powerful in their own right and usually insouciant and pretty difficult to stir up, were resorting to downright childish levels of rivalry as they argued rather fiercely for the possession of a little girl.

Momo glanced timidly at her fellow Lieutenant, who was still intently watching the rather comical scene of the two men currently involved in a tug of war over a child. “Ah…I had no idea that Akon-san felt so…passionately over Hiyori-san.”

Nemu inclined her head slightly in agreement. “Neither did I. It’s interesting.”

Momo did not quite know what to make out of this whole escalating situation (this was not going to end well, she was sure), and she was about insert herself between her Captain and the Twelfth Division Third Seat when the issue suddenly resolved itself.

Tired and wary of the two men fighting over her, Hiyori flinched away from the blonde man and quickly cuddled towards her default guardian, wrapping her arms firmly around the latter’s neck and hiding her face in his shoulder.

Shinji paused, surprised by her action, but she had clearly chosen, and it was Akon’s win.

“Hiyori’s more familiar with me now,” the black-haired scientist remarked then, though to his credit, if he was quietly gloating over his victory, then he was hiding it very well. “Let me take care of her for now-”

“Hiyori.” Shinji spoke then, and there was a quiet, compelling tone in the way he said her name, completely different from which he had bickered with Akon earlier, and it was enough to prompt the young girl to lift her head and peek at him with curiosity in her large ochre eyes, automatically drawn to him even though she did not understand a thing. The child silently watched the beautiful looking, golden-haired man talking to her.

“S’this what ya really want, brat?” Shinji asked, before simply stretching his arms out towards her once again, this time not touching her yet, but close enough that she should be able to make contact with him should she wish it. “If not, then come back ‘ta me.”

She continued to stare at him for what seemed like the longest time, as if mesmerized by the quiet intensity in his eyes, trying to figure something out in her mind. Then, at last, still without a word, the little blonde started to loosen her arms from around her black-haired guardian’s neck and simply reached towards Shinji to be carried, going so far as to lean her torso slightly towards him as well so that he could take her easier. Her act of blind trust made her lover really happy, though he was careful not to show it. Slipping his hands under Hiyori’s skinny arms, he lifted her easily from Akon’s grasp (the latter finally, reluctantly letting her loose then) and rather awkward fitted her to his own lanky form. It was a good thing that she was already old enough to somehow cling to him on her own, for Shinji was very quickly learning just how challenging it was to carry a child by propping her against the side of his distinctly non-womanly and non-curvaceous hip.

The man was still rather awkwardly trying to figure out where to appropriately place his hands on her small body (she was so much tinier now than she had ever been, and he still had problems getting over that fact), when the child boldly reached up, caught his face by placing her little hands on the two sides of his cheeks, and made him look at her.

Then, she asked the question that had been plaguing her since she had been brought into this office.

“Are ya my family?”

::tsuzuku::

#bleach #Sarugaki Hiyori #Hirako Shinji #shiyoriweek2018 #Shiyori #ShiYori: Say Please AU #my fics

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mysterylover123 · 3 years

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Mysterylover watches Bleach episode 307 "Gin Wins the Anime"

1. So Aizen is still chasing my girl Tatsuki, presumably because she's the secret Badass who was meant to defeat him all along (I can dream) and we rejoin Gin and Rangi.

2. Aaand back to Ichigo still fighting his sexy white haired sword buddy. Damn show pick something to focus on will you?! Does Bleach have ADHD or something?

3. Gin has rejoined Aizen in the Tatsuki chase and thinks "he sure is mean". Nah, really gin? The mass-murdering psychopath who kills anyone who gets in his way? Naaaah.

4. Is Gin having one of those "Are we the baddies?" moments? anyway. back to Tatsuki and co, as Tatsuki boonds a bit with...I'm gonna call them NotKensuke and Toji.

5. I kinda love how blase Tatsuki is about the supervillain who's out to kill them. Like "yeah yeah, a really dangerous bad guy is trying to kill us. Whatevs, just another Tuesday". Chizu is really confused by this, and it looks like Tatsuki's GONNA HAVE A FLASHBACK!!!

6. Dammit Aizen Tatsuki was about to have a flashback stop interrupting her character development! Also Tatsuki's sidekick throwing a bottle at Aizen is like Rachel Dare hitting Kronos with a plastic hairbrush levels of lol.

7. Ooh but he pulled the Roy Mustang vs Lust thing on him though! Trapping him in an explosion. Which of course does nothing. But still! Not bad Tatsuki's sidekicks! Mr. Not Satan also tries again.

8. And a guy with an afro who I think we've met before but I'm not sure (he's got the soul reaper clothes) pops up. OK. I wonder why Aizen's wasting his time chasing around Tatsuki's crew? Isn't he supposed to be like, killing everyone to gain ultimate power or something?

9. Oh hi Gin. Gin says he killed rangi. Dammit Gin if you really did kill her I'll...Anyway Aizen says "wait isn't she your ship?" And Gin is like "dude I don't have ships I'm evil". That won't stop the fangirls, Gin. Of which Aizen is apparently one now.

10. Gin is like "what're you gonna do with em" and Aizen's like "string em up". Gin then says he'll do it instead. Um ok so - WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTT THE WWHHHH JUST HAPPENED?!

11. Did GIN JUST FREAKING BETRAY AIZEN!?! Twist and a half I did not see that coming. And apparently Gin's been trying to figure out how to beat him for decades. HOLY CRAP.

12. OH. MY. GOD. Gin. WHAT. I did not see this coming AT ALL. THOUGH YOU KNOW WHO DID APPARENTLY?!? AIZEN. Why would you bring a guy who wants to kill you with you Aizen? How the hell was THIS all according to Keikaku?

13. And yeah apparently Gin has a real plan for how to do it! Holy crap Gin if y ou get us out of this plot limbo I will swear my fealty to you for now and always!

14. Gin actually gives the order for his chip in Aizen's chest to blow the guy up. HOLY CRAP and it looks like this was NOT according to Aizen's Keikaku for once.

15. So why the hell did Gin just do that anyway? He's having a flashback so presumably he'll explain.

16. We see bb Gin meet Aizen, who is already drunk with power (Glasses Aizen returns!) But sadly no explanation of why Gin just killed the guy. (Or just tried to, because even with a hole in his toros I'm betting Aizen's still not dead.

17. And yeah GIN HAS THAT GLOWY MCGUFFIN THING OMG. Did GIN JUST PULL A KLINGON PROMOTION AND BECOME OUR NOW BIG BAD?!

18. So Gin is panting in an alleyway. Gonna fill us in on your motivations here? No apparently Aizen is throwing a "I'm not dead yet" tantrum and blowing himself up like a bomb.

19. Poor Team Tatsuki is like "HOLY CRAP GIANT EXPLOSION". Gin did you expect this to happen? You look kinda confused.

20. So now Aizen's a butterfly. Uh what? Gin was...did you expect that? Um. Butterfly Aizen - yes, apparently it was indeed All According to Keikaku again.

21. So apparently this is some kinda Elder Wand Deal where the MAcGuffin belongs to whoever it wants.

22. OH Gin's flashback now has Rangi in it! For like a second. Dammit Gin what is the deal with you two?! GIN OPENS HIS EYES OMG. They're pretty and blue ?! Wowsa. And then Aizen - KILLS HIM?! AND TO BE CONTINUED ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!

23. Wow just one episode and I'm already this long. I guess I'll have to wait for next time HOLY CRAP.

#bleach #mysterylover watches beach #gin ichimaru #aizen sousuke #tatsuki arisawa #rangiku matsumoto #gin you were holding out on us #hiding eyes that pretty this whole time #oh and also the whole betraying aizen thing #lol i'm such a fangirl #yes yes gin's betrayed aizen its shocking but LOOK AT HOW #PWETTY HIS EYES ARE #only time i've ever done a single episode here #just so much plot twist in one #so is gin doing this for rangi?#i guess that's why people ship them

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beckytailweaver · 7 years

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Coco thoughts lately

This is (mostly) in response to @anotherweepingwoman and This Post but also some other things in general I’ve been reading (and you will probably recognize it if you’ve read the same things). It’s separate here because I didn’t want to hijack other people or Great Wall of Text so badly again. XD I’ve tried to be coherent but this will likely drift around a lot! It’s a lot of thoughts all muddled into one space.

(Disclaimer: I only got to see Coco in theater once. For the rest I must resort to vid clips that may or may not decide to load on my slow internet, until I can buy the disc. It's a good exercise in my memory skills.)

Héctor is a liar, but oftentimes he's apologizing for his lies. When I go into my headcanon-framework for his background, these fibs that come out may be old habit from an orphaned childhood. If he was raised, say, in an orphanage by strict caretakers, it would have been to his advantage to know how to put on a good-little-boy face and say whatever was needed to divert attention or stay out of trouble. If he was more of a rangy little street rat type, then white lies would have been a stock part of his survival kit. I think this habit of evading the truth would have worn down a bit once he had a stable home with Imelda (and she would insist on teaching their daughter honesty), but after decades of desperation in the bottom of the afterlife he's definitely back to street rat mode.

Ernesto lies too, and we've seen where that went. I don't think Héctor has ever lied in such a way that was meant to harm anyone. Little fibs to his advantage, a disguise here or a sparkly promise there; never damaging gossip or deliberately hurtful untruths or a promise that could get someone killed. But he is a liar, and anyone who's known him long would know that. (This might also explain why Imelda seems so eager to believe he'd run off and never come home, whether or not Ernesto told her anything. Héctor is slippery and she knows it, but she'd dared to hope he would not be dishonest to her.)

Héctor acts his age, largely, I think because you are sort of frozen the moment you die: You get a skeletal representation of your body at the moment of death, with some decorative additions to give you individuality and mark who you are. Skeletal children don't grow, the old are forever elderly. While the visual/physical form of the body is bones, there has to be some kind of force to animate them, to process what goes on around them. Invisibly, I think, a sort of ghostly/energy echo of the body remains, and part of that is the echo of a brain (how else could they think and remember things?) which for Héctor is an imprint of a 21-year-old brain with its not-quite-complete neurological maturity. While he can learn and gain experiences, the structure of that brain is still going to process things in a 21-year-old way. Experience can shape his thinking and grant him wisdom, but at his root he's still young in personality. (Young people can be tired, cynical, and hopeless too.)

Héctor is a father, but he has never been a parent to a child older than 3-4. (Young parents grow with their first kids and learn things!) "Rubbing shoulders" with Miguel may just be the only way he knows how to interact with young boys older than his daughter was. He does seem to be comfortable around kids and isn't flustered by dealing with them, which makes me think he was around a lot of them growing up (orphanage?) or ended up being That Kid in their small town who is all the children's favorite bro. He is the fun, gentle sort of person that children flock to, so it's likely he would sing and play with the neighborhood kids even up into his marriage. He seems pretty active and playful himself (when not desperate or on the clock, but you still see flashes of it), despite the crippling of being Forgotten.

Miguel wasn't mimicking Héctor to mock him, but because he wanted to walk "like a skeleton" and his nearest, dearest example happened to have the Forgotten condition of loose bones and an awkward limp. Miguel will imitate his new cool big bro! But in this case, Héctor is so used to being mercilessly ridiculed for everything that he takes it poorly on reflex, without realizing (perhaps not until he stops and thinks about it later) that Miguel meant nothing bad by it. The shove in response isn't really that severe for the horseplay that young boys can get up to. (It wasn't a punch or a slap or a kick or a grab, which angry men are certainly capable of.) But it is reactive in a somewhat immature way, same as his snappish responses to the musicians later on.

He let out that grouchy "how come he didn't invite you?" comeback to Miguel in the rehearsal area, but Miguel wasn't hurt or upset by it. Kid didn't even blink. (It was a pretty legitimate question from Miguel, even!) But I think the subconscious drift into familial familiarity made it more like the kind of snark Miguel gets at home all the time and he doesn't even pause. It's Rivera snark, it just happens, nobody's really injured by it, on to the next subject. They may use it to cover up their soft spots, and they all know how to take it as well as dish it out. Miguel had the proper Rivera response as well: Let it go. He didn't keep digging in or teasing on this. He might react with disbelief to some of Héctor's statements about knowing a famous guy like De la Cruz, but that's because he's already recognized Héctor as a consummate embellisher and knows better than to believe every word from his mouth. He never uses the lack of party invitation as a weapon or even brings it up again.

Héctor's poor actions as an "adult and disciplinarian" after Poco Loco can be attributed to, yes, his mental youth, and also I think to those edges of desperation that crop up many, many times all night long. That desperation, knowing that tonight is probably his last, is a poor help to an already-impulsive young man's mind. It makes his Ready-Fire-Aim even worse. It short circuits a century's worth of wisdom and (after)life experience in favor of urgent, sometimes thoughtless rushing. Yes, he is very deeply concerned with himself and his photo right now; he can't help it. He's dying and he's desperate and he needs to do this now, and however much he likes Miguel this dumb kid is on a clock too and doesn't even know what's important here! Despite that he's usually a nice guy I definitely don't think Héctor is a total pushover in personality. That whole night prior to the cenote we're probably looking at the shortest his fuse has ever been. And he still manages to be in general kind and supportive to Miguel (who has been alternately delighting him and giving him hell all evening).

I have a somewhat different headcanon about Héctor watching Miguel's slow fading to bone over the course of the night. I think Miguel did discuss his time limit with Héctor during or just before the face painting early on, but initially Héctor is understandably more concerned with his own deadline. As he comes to know Miguel better, he cares more. But he also may forget now and then, in his own urgent situation, until a look over the kid's shoulder reminds him that two hourglasses are trickling down, not one. And he does care, potentially a great deal: "Your life literally depends on you winning!" He didn't even mention the photo until after, when the family thing came up.

Genuine Héctor...definitely makes numerous appearances through the night. Most of his performance-art is for guards and gatekeepers, wheedling to people he needs to get past who might cut him some slack. Héctor being all super extra nice to Miguel during the face paint and explanation is definitely performance. He does a lot of performance with the Shantytown Crew, putting on a happy-go-lucky face. His Frida impersonations are absolutely performance, quite deliberately so!

However, Genuine Héctor comes out surprisingly fast around Miguel. The kid worms his way into a position of camaraderie pretty darn quick. Perhaps this is due to Héctor's loneliness making him open to someone who could be a real friend, or maybe it's genetic similarity gently drawing them to trust more easily. Most of the Genuine Héctor moments are in Miguel's proximity, possibly not only because the kid is the other leading character of the film; a lot of his genuine moments aren't just in proximity to Miguel, but in response to him.

Genuine Héctor generally doesn't come with the overbearing grins, theatrical body actions, or higher, wheedly tone of voice. Genuine Héctor is in the casual questions, exasperated eye-rolls, short-tempered grumps, dramatic sighs, epic grouchface, snappy comebacks, freely teasing, warm encouragement, playful dance teaching, melancholy stillness, angry desperation, grieving rage, tearful hopelessness, clear relief. Those moments when Héctor is not keenly watching the people around him as targets he needs to con. (There's a difference in his gaze; keep your eye on it!)

Not all of his performance is negative or self-serving, either; sometimes it's just because a nervous kid needs a pick-me-up and Héctor can put on a smile for that.

Face painting scene—lots of performance, but some real warmth. Walking with Miguel, the shove—no performance, pure grumpy. Talking to Ceci—plenty of performance for deference, Ceci is a gatekeeper. Rehearsal studio—mostly genuine; no point in faking the musicians, they treat him like crap no matter what he does. Going down to Shantytown—performance, especially off the ledge! With Chicharron—started as performance, became genuine real fast. Trolley to the plaza—performance to get around truthtelling, but also to act encouraging. Waiting for a turn onstage—no performance until okayokayokay and he goes into another encouraging spiel.

Some of Héctor's best genuine moments are on the Poco Loco stage. Sure, he's performing, but that's genuine Héctor, not a performance. Not during the song. He's not watching the audience—he's watching Miguel. And then he's playing with him. There's no con in that music. That was all Héctor and Miguel having fun with each other.

Afterward, the argument...no performance. None. It's all very real exasperation and anger fueled by the same old desperation. The argument hurts both of them because it tastes like betrayal. ("I told you I needed to cross tonight!" "Well I told you it has to be De la Cruz!") They both pulled lies on each other (taste of your own medicine!) and ran face-first into a mirror. Shortsighted demands and lack of explanation, and the whole thing goes down the drain.

As a kind person, we never see Héctor use force to get across the bridge. He did not grab or physically coerce Miguel in any way to take his picture there; he used only words. Even when things came to a head and he was angrily trying to drag the kid back to his family, it was half-hearted at best (and no more than we've seen anyone in the Rivera family do with recalcitrant children) and Miguel slipped out of his grip in a heartbeat. (Maybe he's getting too weak to hold on; maybe Miguel is too heavy for him to drag without lifting.) I'd bet money that Héctor has never threatened physical injury or actively harmed anyone in his pursuit of crossing; that he's never used a weapon or taken anyone hostage to try to force his way across. I doubt such things would even occur to him! His entanglements with the crossing guards have all likely been evasions and brief tangles where he's trying to disengage. I'd wager that night that Ernesto is the first person he's actually attacked with intent to harm in a very, very long time—if ever.

One of the saddest things is how Héctor has been denied musical joy for so long. "Stupid musical fantasy" is mainly because his turned out to be. He's also lost perspective on this: To a child, these things are huge. Like, music is everything. Miguel has his family, but they're...in a way, background, they've always been there, and in his mind always will be. He doesn't want to leave them for music, he wants to find a way back to them with music on his own terms. Family should support you, but Riveras have made music into an all or nothing deal. (What would they have done, if the LoD journey hadn’t happened, if truth hadn't come out and Miguel refused to give up music? Would they have disowned him or otherwise banished him?)

Héctor likely had little or no family before the one he made for himself, and going back to them would not have meant giving up music altogether. I think at the point of their argument, Héctor failed to realize (or had not been informed of) the position Miguel is in. Héctor was giving up a fond dream of musical fame to go back to his small town family and find a local job he could do while continuing to play music for recreation and additional income. It's really not the same as Miguel going back to (or being forced by curse conditions) an existence centered around a shoemaking family defined by its enforced silencing of music. In that sense, Héctor was giving up fame and money (Ernesto's priorities), not music; Miguel would be losing music entirely, for the fame and money afforded by the Rivera shoe reputation.

It puts a different spin on their respective stories to think of it that way. They both love their families and giving them up permanently isn't even part of the equation. The real culprits/sacrifices here are wealth/reputation and music. And before we get into "But Héctor left his family!" let's just pause: Héctor did not abandon his family, he went on a business trip! He fully intended to return, and the fact that he didn't—sooner or later—is entirely due to Ernesto's choices. It's incredibly sad that Ernesto decided to kill him, and equally as sad that Imelda was so eager/willing to believe that he would abandon them. Poor guy just can't catch a break at any point in his life (or afterlife).

As a somewhat related postscript: I think it's a bit funny that people like to bring this up, since "Go for your dreams!" is a big motif in modern (especially American) society. We're pretty much expected to leave our families behind to achieve what we want. Big education, big job, big house, the spouse we desire, the city we want to live in, the generation gap we can't abide...basically the whole point (so far as I was told) is to grow up, move out, leave the old folks behind (call a few times a year, and visit on some holidays), and achieve our dreams no matter what.

What Héctor was doing—going on a business trip for a job or potential job—is absolutely nothing unusual to what goes on every day: People with spouses and children temporarily leave them to go on business trips, they go on military tour, they go on band/performance tours, they commute or move to another city for half the year for work...and this is considered normal. Not ideal, but pretty normal. (Even when Héctor was alive, people would at times have to go far away to make money to send to their families.) Maybe it wasn't favored in Héctor's time either, but I find it rather ironic that people give him hell over it now!

#rambled on way too long with this #so there's a cut to save your dash #random coco thoughts because #And maybe just a LITTLE social commentary #I apologize for that #And I'll get back to writing fic now #well mostly #I hope #coco spoilers #coco headcanon #coco analysis

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thecreaturecodex · 7 years

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Fey Boons and Banes, pt 2

Scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Edwin Landseer. Accessed at Wikipedia here

[How could I resist this reference?]

Fey Boons and Banes The following uses the “Fey Boons and Banes” rules from Pathfinder Adventure Path 119: Prisoners of the Blight. These are abilities that fey creatures can bestow upon those they favor or curses they can inflict on those that anger them. A boon or bane acts as a spell-like ability with a casting time of 1 minute, a range of touch, a spell level equal to ½ the fey’s HD (maximum 9th level) and a caster level equal to the fey’s HD. An unwilling target can resist a fey boon or bane with a Will save: the DC is given below for an average specimen.

Kuchisake-onna (5th level spell, CL 11, DC 19) The slit-mouthed woman will only give her boon to mortals that share her love of sowing terror and disfiguring violence. She may use her boon and bane against the same creature simultaneously, claiming the negative consequences as a “side effect” of her magic or holding promises to cure or mitigate the curse over the heads of her pawns.

Boon: You may choose to deal bonus damage equal to your Strength or Dexterity modifier on damage rolls made with piercing and slashing weapons. If you already use your Dexterity modifier, as a swashbuckler or with the Slashing Grace feat, you may add both your Strength and Dexterity modifiers to damage if you so choose. This boon lasts for one week.

Bane: Every time you take damage from a piercing or slashing weapon, you take 1d4 points of bleed. Bleed taken from this bane does not stack with itself, but does stack with any bleed damage that the attack may have otherwise caused. This bane is permanent.

Phouka (8th level spell, CL 19, DC 26) A phouka does not hand out its blessings easily—only those that put up with a phouka’s jokes and tricks in good humor and respond in kind can hope to achieve its boon. The phouka’s bane, however, is all too common. Phoukas are as likely to use this bane against a hapless bystander as they are a true enemy.

Boon: You can change your appearance as you wish as a standard action. When you use this ability, you may adjust your height, weight, hair color, eye color, skin color, race, sex or any other cosmetic change you desire. This ability cannot alter your statistics, but you do gain a +8 bonus on Disguise checks. This boon lasts for one day per caster level of the phouka (19 days for the typical specimen). When this duration elapses, whatever form you are in becomes your permanent appearance.

Bane: Your head becomes that of a wild beast, and your personality becomes oafish and crude to match. You take a -4 penalty to your Intelligence and Charisma scores, but gain a bite attack that deals damage as normal for a creature of your size (1d6 for a Medium creature). This bane is permanent.

Samodiva (9th level spell, CL 20, DC 26) The cruel and capricious samodivas think nothing of sating their desires using mortals and then abandoning them, and may use their boon and bane against the same target in quick succession, granting them the heights of bliss and the depths of despair with their magic. A favorite joke is to not tell the target of the boon how long it lasts and watch them plummet to their deaths. They are especially fond of using their bane against lovers that displease them, so that the last thing the poor wretch ever sees is the samodiva’s face.

Boon: You gain the ability to transform into a bird at will, as if using beast shape IV. When you are in bird form, you gain the benefits of a good hope spell. You may transform back as a standard action. If this boon expires while you are flying, you fall immediately to the ground, taking damage as normal. This boon lasts for one day.

Bane: You are blinded and under the effects of a crushing despair spell. Remove blindness/deafness will not remove this blindness, but spells and effects that remove curses will. This bane is permanent.

Shellycoat (1st level spell, CL 3, DC 12) Shellycoats are pugnacious and mischievous creatures that hand out their boons liberally. If the targets of their pranks act as a good sport they may receive a boon, or a shellycoat may give its boon as an apology if it accidentally ends up injuring its dupe. Shelleycoats rarely keep their attention on a single target long enough to inflict a bane, but will use it to defend the marshes they call home.

Boon: You may use a shellycoat’s magic as your own. You gain dancing lights, hideous laughter, minor illusion and ventriloquism as spell-like abilities using your HD as your caster level. You can use each of these spell like abilities three times. If not used in one week’s time, the boon expires.

Bane: You are followed by the phantom clatter of shells and stones. You take a -8 penalty to all Wisdom-based checks, and must succeed a concentration check (DC 15 plus spell level) to cast any spell. This bane lasts for one week.

Tigbalan (7th level, CL 13, DC 20) Tigbalans are highly social among themselves, and rarely allow mortals to intrude upon their enclaves. The best way to mollify a tigbalan is with gifts, particularly those of fine tobacco. A tigbalan’s gift is useful, but likely to result in mockery and confusion, which suits the mercurial trickster just fine. The bane of a tigbalan is likely to be inflicted as a parting insult against one who seeks to best the tigbalan, either in a battle of wits or physical strength.

Boon: Your arms grow down to your knees and your hands grow strong and rangy. You gain Lunge as a bonus feat. If you already had the Lunge feat, you may use it without a penalty on your Armor Class. In addition, you gain a climb speed equal to your land speed. You gain a +8 bonus on all Climb checks and can take 10 on Climb checks when rushed or threatened. This boon lasts for one day per caster level (13 days for the typical tigbalan)

Bane: A cloud of smoke fills your nose, eyes and mouth. You are sickened, and treat all creatures as if they had concealment. The scent of smoke follows you, granting you a -4 penalty on Stealth checks, and creatures with the scent ability can detect and pinpoint you at twice the normal distance. This bane lasts for one year.

#fey #fairy #fairy tale #boons and banes #pathfinder rpg

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fawneverwould · 7 years

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PHYSICAL !!

1. Describe the character’s height and build. Is she heavyset, thin, short, rangy? I’d say average. She’s 5′5. 2. How old is she? Sixteen. 3. Describe her posture. Does she carry herself well or does she slouch? She carries herself pretty well. 4. How is her health? Is she fit or out of shape? Any illnesses or conditions? Any physical disabilities? She’s in decent shape, no disabilities. 5. How does she move? Is she clumsy, graceful, tense, fluid? Pretty graceful and softly. 6. How attractive is this character physically? How does she perceive herself in the mirror? She’s very pretty, I think. She thinks of herself as average. 7. Describe her complexion. Dark, light, clear, scarred? Light and clear. 8. Describe her hair: color, texture, style. Wavy. It falls a little past her waist, an orange-brown color. She considers herself a redhead even though her hair is more naturally brown. (Shh, don’t tell anyone.) It looks like this or this but a bit longer. 9. What color are her eyes? Amber. 10. Does the character have any other noteworthy features? A light dusting of freckles. 11. What are her chief tension centers? Her neck. 12. What is the character’s wardrobe like? Casual, dressy, utilitarian? Bright colors, pastels, neutrals? Is it varied, or does she have six of the same suit? She dresses in a lot of warm colors. Pretty casual. She likes sweaters, boots, leggings, jeans best -- but in California she obviously doesn’t get to rock those much.***** 13. Do her clothes fit well? Does she seem comfortable in them? She likes slightly oversized shirts sometimes. But for the most part, yes. 14. Does she dress the same on the job as she does in her free time? If not, what are the differences? She has to wear her high school uniform but she wears what she wants to volunteer in or on a usual basis. 15. You knew it was coming: Boxers, briefs or commando? Briefs. Sometimes boxers.

SPEECH !!

1. What does this character’s voice sound like? High-pitched, deep, hoarse? A tiny bit raspy. Sweet but mature. Soft. I mostly hear Debby Ryan* with a bit of Fawn* in my mind. 2. How does she normally speak? Loud, soft, fast, evenly? Does she talk easily, or does she hesitate? Soft, evenly, easy. She gets to rambling excitedly sometimes and talks faster or louder. 3. Does the character have a distinct accent or dialect? Any individual quirks of pronunciation? Any, like, you know, verbal tics? None that I can think of. 4. What languages does she speak, and with how much fluency? English fluently. 5. Does she switch languages or dialects in certain situations? Nah. 6. Is she a good impromptu speaker, or does she have to think about her words? She is okay at impromptu. 7. Is she eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change? I’d say closer to eloquent. Less so when she’s feeling hyper/eager.

MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL !!

1. How intelligent is this character? Is she book-smart or street-smart? Fairly intelligent. A mixture of both. 2. Does she think on her feet, or does she need time to deliberate? She thinks on her feet. It gets her in trouble. 3. Describe the character’s thought process. Is she more logical, or more intuitive? Idealistic or practical? Intuitive but she can come up with some good ideas. It depends on the situation. 4. What kind of education has the character had? She’s a junior so that’s it as of now. 5. What are her areas of expertise? What, if anything, is she interested in learning more about? Anything that comes to animals. Especially pets or woodland creatures. She’s thinking about looking into veterinary practice. 6. Is she an introvert or an extrovert? Extrovert. 7. Describe the character’s temperament. Is she even-tempered or does she have mood swings? Cheerful or melancholy? Laid-back or driven? She is fairly even-tempered and usually happy. If she learns of an injustice, that’s a different story. Cheerful and driven. But also laid-back at the same time...? 8. How does she respond to new people or situations? Is she suspicious, relaxed, timid, enthusiastic? Enthusiastic. 10. Which is her default: fight or flight? She doesn’t back down. 11. Describe the character’s sense of humor. Does she appreciate jokes? Puns? Gallows humor? Bathroom humor? Pranks? Pranks, for sure, but she isn’t picky about what makes her laugh. She loves jokes. 12. Does the character have any diagnosable mental disorders? If yes, how does she deal with them? She doesn’t have any. 13. What moments in this character’s life have defined her as a person? I’m not sure that any specific moments have changed who she is. She’s always been a passionate, nurturing, rebellious person. 14. What does she fear? Not being able to make a difference. 15. What are her hopes or aspirations? To make a difference, and own as many pets as possible. 16. What is something she doesn’t want anyone to find out about her? Fawn is a pretty open book. She isn’t keeping any secrets.

RELATIONSHIPS !!

1. Describe this character’s relationship with her parents. Fawn has always had a good relationship with her parents. She’s been daddy’s little girl from day one, as a child she was almost always in his arms. She is a lot like her mother. Both of them love, support and accept her the way that parents should and they are proud of her for being someone that takes a stand. They are what she misses the most about home, other than her fur babies. She doesn’t blame them for sending her away, their hands were tied, she just hopes they know she loves them the same. 2. Does the character have any siblings? What is/was their relationship like? No, and she’s happy with her life how it is -- she’s the center of her parents’ worlds this way. But it might’ve been cool to have a brother or sister to torment with pranks and braid her hair for her. 3. Are there other blood relatives to whom she is close? Are there ones she can’t stand? She doesn’t see her mom’s family much. She has a lot of uncles, aunts and cousins on her dad’s side. They come around for holidays so just a few times throughout the year, but she loves all of them. 4. Are there other, unrelated people whom she considers part of her family? What are her relationships with them? The Pixie Hollow girls are her sisters. 5. Who is the character’s best friend? How did they meet? Tink, Vidia, Iridessa, (probably Rosetta) and Silvermist, obviously. Also Oliver is a pure bean that she adores. She met them all at Walt. 6. Does she have other close friends? Does ‘every animal she meets’ count? 7. Does she make friends easily, or does she have trouble getting along with people? She makes friends easily. 8. Which does she consider more important: family or friends? Both. 9. Is the character single, married, divorced, widowed? Has she been married more than once? She is single. The only boyfriend/husband she had was in elementary school when the kids paired off. 10. Is she currently in a romantic relationship with someone other than a spouse? She is not. 11. Who was her first crush? Who is her latest? She’s not crushing on anyone as of late, and I don’t think she’s had very many lasting crushes in her life. She might see a boy holding a puppy and think “wow he’s cute” but then she gets distracted by the puppy and forgets he’s there. 12. What does she look for in a romantic partner? An animal lover. It is very important that the person she’s with cares about having pets and lots of them. If not, it is not going to work. Sorry. Other than that she only wants to have feelings for the person and for them to be reciprocated. 13. Does the character have children? Grandchildren? If yes, how does she relate to them? If no, does she want any? She doesn’t, but she’d love to be a mom one day! 14. Does she have any rivals or enemies? Not anyone right now. 15. What is the character’s sexual orientation? Where does she fall on the Kinsey scale? She is most likely heterosexual. A zero or a one. She would never be against being with someone solely because of gender but she’s only ever been attracted to/crushed on males. 16. How does she feel about sex? How important is it to her? She isn’t ready for sex right now. She’s only sixteen and she has no love interest. It isn’t something she thinks about all that much. She will worry about it when she’s in a relationship -- a long term relationship -- and she feels safe and comfortable with someone and wants to take that next step. 17. What are her turn-ons? Turn-offs? Weird bedroom habits? Heck if she knows.

BELIEFS !!

1. Do you know your character’s astrological (zodiac of choice) sign? How well does she fit type? She’s an October baby, born on the third, so she’s a Libra. I think there are other signs that would fit her better. 2. Is this character religious, spiritual, both, or neither? How important are these elements in her life? She’s Christian. She used to go to church on Sundays and the occasional Wednesday back at home, but she was shushed a lot for talking during service and for awhile known as the girl that chased a rat throughout the pews. It’s important to her to believe there is a God and an afterlife but if she’s being honest, she’s never read the bible and she has no immediate plans to. 3. Does this character have a personal code of morals or ethics? If so, how did that begin? What would it take to compromise it? Help those that cannot help themself. Be kind. Live your own life. I don’t think anything could change those. 4. How does she regard beliefs that differ from hers? Is she tolerant, intolerant, curious, indifferent? As long as those beliefs aren’t hurting people, she’s tolerant and curious. 5. What prejudices does she hold? Are they irrational or does she have a good reason for them? She’s prejudice against people that do not like any kind of animal. How can someone not like animals?

DAILY LIFE !!

1. What is the character’s financial situation? Is she rich, poor, comfortable, in debt? Average. Her family gets by. 2. What is her social status? Has this changed over time, and if so, how has the change affected her? She’s not necessarily popular but she is friendly and outgoing. She has never had to worry about where to eat lunch or who to walk with in the halls, here or at her old school. 3. Where does she live? House, apartment, trailer? Is her home her castle or just a place to crash? What condition is it in? Does she share it with others? Her dorm, and she has decorated it in warm colors with photos of pets and family and she has those little lights strung around her bed and it’s all organized and cozy and cute. She loves it. I love it. The dorm of my dreams. 4. Besides the basic necessities, what does she spend her money on? Helping animals in need. 5. What does she do for a living? Is she good at it? Does she enjoy it, or would she rather be doing something else? She’s a student right now. She’s good at some classes, others not so much, but she does more than enough to get by. When she isn’t doodling cat faces all over her test pages. 6. What are her interests or hobbies? How does she spend her free time? She likes to volunteer at animal shelters. She enjoys reading and decorating, doodling. But for the most part if she’s got free time on her hands, she’s going to be outside climbing trees and talking to birds. 7. What are her eating habits? Does she skip meals, eat out, drink alcohol, avoid certain foods? I think she has average eating habits. She probably eats healthier than most teenagers, opting for fruit over candy bars on a normal basis and snacking on veggie straws over chips. She doesn’t drink alcohol. Most of her meals she either makes herself because they are simple or orders from town.

ASSOCIATIONS !!

1. Color? Orange. 2. Smell? Puppy breath. 3. Time of day? She’s a morning girl. 4. Season? Spring. But she’s partial to Fall too. 5. Book? Because Of Winn-Dixie. 6. Music? Alternative rock, indie pop, she isn’t picky. 7. Place? She’s a Georgia girl at heart. 8. Substance? Lemonade. 9. Plant? Sunflowers. 10. Animal? All of them.

EVERY * LEADS TO A PICTURE !!

#watask #it's about dang time i complete this #tasks.

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