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middleearthpixie · 1 year

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Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room.

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice.

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups.

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him.

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh.

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations.

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop.

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it.

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand.

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else.

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee.

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so.

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left.

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes?

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there.

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.”

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood.

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him.

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold.

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare.

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples.

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had.

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.”

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well.

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own.

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms.

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.”

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage #Thorin x reader #Thorin x you #nonny asks #pixie answers

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thewertsearch · 4 months

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GA: Im The Keeper Of The Matriorb GA: It Is An Egg That Will Hatch A New Mother Grub […] GG: so you are like bugs, like bees or ants or such, but with horns […] GA: And You Are Like Erect Livestock GA: Without The Muscle Definition GA: Or The Hermaphroditic Physiology For That Matter […] GG: errr…….

What goes around comes around, Harley.

GA: I Had Imagined I Would Hatch The New Grub On A Planet In Your Universe GA: And When That Became Impossible I Quickly Lost Hope GA: I Assumed It Would Remain Locked In Its Card Forever GA: Which Could Only Be Opened When The Orb Was Meant To Be Used GA: But Then I Found Something Quite Unexpected When I Was Exploring This Lab GA: I Found A Key […] GA: It Means I Am Supposed To Use It Now

Most modi are CS jokes or one-off gags, but Kanaya's Chastity Modus is kind of special. It seems to be precognitive, and doesn't release captchalogued items until the Alpha Timeline decrees they should be 'used'. I wonder how it functions in doomed timelines?

It also makes me wonder just how far you can take the concept of a Fetch Modus. If they can foresee fated events, just what else could they do?

GA: To Hatch The Grub In The Heart Of This Meteor

My knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss this idea as completely unworkable - but now that I'm actually thinking about it, you could honestly do a lot worse.

The meteor is compact, high-tech, completely isolated from most forms of danger, and full of useful equipment. If you can get rid of Jack for good – and prevent your session from decaying, of course – then the Veil might be one of the safest places you could possibly raise a Mother Grub.

GA: There Is No Reason A Meteor Couldnt Act As The Center Of Our Races Resurrection

The more I think about this, the more I'm up for it.

I mean, come on. The remnants of an alien civilization, reborn from an asteroid belt in a liminal dimension, surrounded by infinite darkness? That's a concept that fucks severely.

GG: if you can hold out hope for rebuilding your race in the center of a meteor, then i think i can at least try to get a little cloning done with the time i have left GA: Yes Youre Right GA: I Cant Imagine How You Can Complete The Objective In The Time Given GA: But Weirder Things Have Happened I Think

Whatever Jade’s supposed to do here, she has to do it at least twenty times faster than Kanaya. She's one of the most competent trolls, and I doubt she wasted any time, so this is a pretty tall order.

Can Jade perhaps cut some corners? It's not like we really need a full-sized, multigalactic universe - a single small galaxy would be perfectly habitable.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3306 #s117

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baldursgat3 · 9 months

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im back and I'm bringing part 1 of enemies to lovers with me. this was originally gonna be another one shot but I hit 4k words before it could even really get started so this is chapter 1 I guess

originally I was writing this as Tav and then promptly realized it could not possibly be Tav so they're still pretty Tav-ish but I gave them a different name.

cw for brief mentions of non-consensual sex

It hadn't taken long for you and Sebastian to figure out the same man had lured both of you to your shared fate. The strongest bond you ever shared with him was your burning hatred of that beautiful man who had brought you to this horrid place. You would never forgive him. Never ever. For the rest of your immortal life you would burn with a rage and fury against the man who had condemned you to this unyielding nightmare. He had been so kind. His voice was so sweet and charming. He had captured your heart, you had trusted him completely. Maybe it was your own fault for leaving your heart so open, but you had fallen for him so quickly. You had only wanted to love him, and he destroyed you.

He spotted you instantly as you entered the tavern. How could he not? You were gorgeous. More importantly, you were alone. What was someone like you doing drinking by themselves on such a lovely evening?

It was so rare that he found such a decadent quarry. Half the people he brought back to Cazador weren't even interesting enough to remember their faces. Perhaps that was cruel but, after luring countless people to their deaths, he found it easier not to try to remember in the first place.

Still, Cazador was always so pleased when he could bring back such lovely prey. You were sure to fetch him some small reward. At the very least, he certainly wouldn't be punished for it.

With an easy, confident charm, he strode over to the table where you sat alone, watching the various patrons as they went about their business. “Is this seat taken?” His words were sweet as honey, already laying on the charm as he smiled at you.

You hadn't exactly been anticipating anyone interrupting your evening of lazy people watching but, admittedly, there were far worse people that could've been engaging with you. “Oh, uh...” Gods he was gorgeous. What was someone like him doing talking to someone like you? “No, no. Please.” You gestured towards the seat, encouraging him to join you.

He gave you a small, courteous nod as he took his seat across from you. “Tell me, what's a stunning little thing like you doing all alone in a dingy place like this, hm?” A smile danced across his lips as he leaned on the table.

Oh, he was flirting with you. That was odd. You weren't used to that, certainly not from a stranger. You drew your shoulders up a bit, your face turning red as you glanced away from him. “I, ah… I'm just trying to get out more. My friends say I spend too much time in my books so… I'm getting out.”

“And you're… just sitting alone at a tavern?” He couldn't help the little grin he tossed your way. You were precious.

“W- well… what else am I supposed to do? It worked didn't it? I'm here talking to you now?” Seems you weren't just a blushing mess. You had a bit of a bark on you.

His grin only widened, enjoying your attempt at banter. “You've got me there, darling. I don't believe I caught your name.”

You giggled softly, holding your hand out as you introduced yourself. “My name is Fey.”

He took your hand, bringing it to his lips to place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. You couldn't help the way your cheeks burned, you really had only been going in for a handshake. “A gorgeous name for such a gorgeous creature.”

He was far too good, this man was a grade A flirt. This was almost certainly his game. Wait at a tavern until he spots a pretty little thing to chat up and take home for the evening. You couldn't even really be upset about it, he was so gods damned good at what he did. It didn't matter that you were onto him, he already had his foot in the door with you.

Your face burned red as you turned back to the drink in your hand in an attempt to hide your shame. You were so not used to being flirted with and certainly not in public. More importantly, you could tell he knew that.

He was still holding your hand as he leaned in a bit closer. “There are far nicer places to spend an evening with such a decadent little treat.” He smiled warmly as he watched a blush creep onto your face. “Why don't we take this somewhere more private?”

Was that really all there was to this? Is this how people had one night stands? It was so wildly out of character for you to do something like this but, well, wasn't that why you'd come out in the first place? To step outside your comfort zone?

You tried to find a reason to say no - it's just that you felt like you should. But he was so gorgeous and charming. What was the worst that could happen?

So you just giggled and squeezed his hand with a nervous smile and a soft “Okay!”

~*~*~

You hadn't expected him to take you back to some kind of palace. It wasn't his, he said. He worked and lived there but said guests were perfectly welcome. Astarion had assured you there was nothing to worry about and you simply believed him. Why shouldn't you?

Things were so wonderful too. His charm only increased once he had you alone. Every word that escaped his lips sounded sugar sweet to your ears. It was like he knew exactly what to say to have you melting in his hands. You didn't even notice the distant look in his eyes, he masked it so well with his perfect touches and whispered praise.

Everything was so perfect. Already you could see the look on all of your friend’s faces when you told them what you'd gotten up to. Wouldn't they be proud? You were finally coming out of your shell, and in such a big way.

It scared the daylights out of you when you saw the door to the room swing open suddenly. Astarion had assured you no one would bother you. More importantly you could've sworn you'd seen him locking the door behind you.

Both of you seemed to notice a new presence in the room at the same time. You expected Astarion to start yelling at whoever it was or something. Instead, without a word, you saw the suave, charming demeanor drop from his face. It was replaced with a blank, almost empty look as he pulled away from you.

You watched him, confused, as you scrambled to wrap a blanket around your exposed body. Your gaze darted between Astarion and the new man that had walked into the room as your heart began to race in your chest. In an instant your mind was flooded with every real reason you should've said no to a strange man taking you into a large strange home.

No one knew where you were, no one knew what was happening. You didn't know what was happening.

“Well done, pet. Quite the decadent little treat, isn't she?” The man spoke. His voice could be best described, you felt, as slimy. He held himself with an air of importance as he sauntered towards you.

Astarion stood to the side, his eyes were downcast. He didn't even seem like the same person. His voice was quieter now. “Thank you, master.”

His words petrified you. For whatever reason, he had brought you here for this man, that much was clear. Your voice broke as you tried to speak despite the dread that bubbled up inside of you. “Wh- what's happening…? I- I think I'd like to go home now, actually…”

“Oh no, my dear.” The man spoke again, sending a bolt of panic down your spine. You clutched the blanket tighter to your chest as you watched him move closer to you.

He stood at the side of the bed, watching you with what you could almost describe as glee. Then he smiled and you saw them: sharp fangs that seemed to almost glint in the candlelight.

The pieces fell into place quickly as the blood drained from your face. You cast a glance back to Astarion - a desperate look, begging for his help. He didn't meet your gaze, his eyes focused squarely on the ground in front of him.

You felt the strange man grab your face, turning your head, forcing you to look him in the eye. His red eyes were almost… captivating. You felt yourself sinking into them, like you could just stare into them forever and ever.

“Follow.” He commanded. Your body replied and you didn't think anything of it until he pulled his gaze away from you. He held you by the wrist, tugging you out of the bed and your body followed obediently.

Though your body moved on its own, compelled by the stranger, you managed a brief glance back before the door slammed shut behind you. Astarion had finally lifted his head, only a bit. It only broke your heart more, what you saw on his face. No regret, no sadness. Only a blank, empty stare.

And then he was gone. Then everything was gone.

~*~*~

You didn't know how long you had been down there. Part of you felt perhaps you should at least be grateful you weren't one of the spawn being held in the large, dark chamber just beyond the heavy doors outside of your own cell. You weren't though.

No, you were part of such a special collection. There were six of you now. All held in one cell close to Cazador's private quarters. His little collection of prized dolls for his personal use.

Sebastian had been the first. By the time you had been tossed in beside him, he’d already been in there all alone for seven years. The two of you had bonded over your shared fear and sorrows. It could never go any further. Neither of you were capable of anything more than being a vague comforting presence to the other. And, eventually, more people joined you in your cell anyway.

You would never forgive him. Never ever. For the rest of your immortal life you would burn with a rage and fury against the man who had condemned you to this unyielding nightmare.

He had been so kind. His voice was so sweet and charming. He had captured your heart, you had trusted him completely. Maybe it was your own fault for leaving your heart so open, but you had fallen for him so quickly. You had only wanted to love him, and he destroyed you.

Everything was gone now. Every time someone new was tossed into your cell, always another victim of Astarion's, you were granted another look into how the world had changed without you. Your friends and family, all gone. Buildings you had once known had been torn down and rebuilt. Just from the descriptions, you felt as though you wouldn't even recognize half of your city if you could ever see it again.

It had been busy, lately. Cazador had been bustling about, preparing for this ritual or whatever. You'd heard whispers it would destroy all of the spawn. You didn't care. Besides, you'd heard your master’s voice angrily demanding people “find that wretched boy.”

Astarion had escaped. Somehow. Of course he had. The man who ruined your life would be the one to escape this misery, of course. You didn't know what you'd done to deserve such punishments from fate. Was it so necessary to kick you when you were down?

You had been curled up in a corner of the cell, unmoving, possibly for weeks at this point. There was no reason to waste the effort it took to move. You were hungry, starving, ravenous. You hadn't had a thing to eat in well over a century now and your body was weak. There was no reason to waste precious energy standing or thinking, so you curled in your corner and you stared at nothing until your eyes glassed over.

Sebastian’s voice pulled you out of it. The six of you had nothing left to talk about so you didn't bother. It had been quite some time since you heard any of their voices. “You… I know you.”

Slowly, you managed to pull yourself back into the present. There were several people standing in front of your cell. Strangers. A tiefling, a wizard, a githyanki, and… Him.

That white haired elf. That gorgeous man with his beautiful eyes and his silky sweet voice. He was speaking to the strangers and he looked almost… sad? You wanted to reach out and claw his throat open.

“I know these people…” He said, softly. “They were my… conquests.” His eyes met yours only for a brief moment. You felt an energy bubble up inside of you that you hadn't felt in so very long.

Still, you were starving and weak. It was all you could do to pull yourself up. You crept a bit closer as Sebastian shouted at Astarion. Your heart felt for him as he broke down.

You didn't have the energy nor the desire to add your own commentary. Nothing you could say would be any different than what Sebastian had said anyway.

The wizard spoke too, eventually promising to free all of the spawn. What a stupid idea. Not that you were going to complain. Weren't wizards supposed to be smart or something though? It didn't matter anyway, as soon as Cazador spotted Astarion it would probably be all over in a matter of minutes. You weren't exactly placing all your hopes and dreams on the man that ruined your life.

You heard him as they walked away though. He bickered with the wizard. It wasn't surprising when you heard him insist the spawn were too dangerous to leave alive. Of course he wanted to get rid of you. He was nothing if not a selfish, uncaring bastard. So why did his words make your heart ache so much. Why was he hurting you again, even now, after all this time?

The stupid little adventuring party traipsed their merry way through the heavy doors into the chamber beyond, leaving you all in silence again as the doors slammed shut. Good riddance. They wouldn't be walking back out, you were certain. Not that you'd even be around to find out. If they died, so would you. They were stupid enough to drag Astarion right back to the man who was going to destroy all of you. Why was your life always in the hands of anyone but yourself?

You and your cellmates chatted idly now, about the possibility that those idiots might actually succeed. About how it felt to see Astarion again. They all seemed… eager. They wanted to get out, to be free, to finally just eat something. You understood but you hadn't expected to be the odd man out.

Why would you bother leaving? There was nothing for you out there. Something to eat, sure. But what did that matter? You'd been starving for a century. At some point, it stopped bothering you. When all you can feel is your hunger gnawing endlessly at your bones for decades upon decades, you learn to ignore it.

Even if you escaped, you'd have to hunt. You'd have to kill something. Or someone. Likely whatever was closest. All of you were so weak though, you couldn't possibly stand a chance. You'd probably be killed before your first meal.

It sure was taking Cazador a long time to complete the ritual.

You leaned up against the wall, largely disinterested in the direction the conversation had drifted. Honestly, you thought they were all foolish for getting their hopes up. Not that you cared enough to say so. If they wanted to be happy, good for them. They deserved a spark of happiness.

Without any kind of pretense, the door to your cell suddenly dropped. It startled most of you, actually, you watched your companions all jump as the magic faded away with a hiss. No one moved for a moment, all of you just watching cautiously. Sebastian was the first to move, of course he was. He slowly stepped out of the cell, waiting for some kind of alarm to ring or for Cazador to swoop in and punish all of them for daring to think they could escape.

Yet there was nothing. Not even a whisper as the air hung heavily over the entire room. Even the children across the way didn’t speak. Slowly, everyone crept out of the cells, following Sebastian through the large doors into the chamber below. You didn’t follow. You only sat back down in your corner.

You had no intention of trying to force anyone to stay, but you were a little surprised that no one stayed with you. They actually didn’t even seem to notice you’d stayed behind. Not that it really mattered, you supposed. If your plan was to waste away forever down here, you didn’t exactly want a bunch of company.

They must’ve gone somewhere, they never came back through the hallway. None of the spawn did anyway. But the door did open again and you heard people quietly speaking to each other. Of course it was Astarion and his stupid friends. He wasn’t even the one to notice you, it was the tiefling that met your gaze.

“Hey! There’s one still in here, guys.” She grabbed the attention of the other three, as they turned and spotted you in the shadows.

“They’re taking all the spawn to the Underdark.” The wizard stepped closer, holding a hand out to you with a gentle smile. “Come on, you’ll catch up.”

“I’m not leaving.” Your voice was flat and seemed to confuse all of them. You stared at the hand that was offered to you. A small part of you felt like swatting it away, almost offended that he would assume you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. Still, you knew he didn’t mean anything by it. He was just trying to be helpful.

Astarion stepped forward now, more confused than any of them seemed to be. His hands were covered - absolutely covered in blood. He was here. And Cazador wasn’t. Of course he had been the one to kill the bastard. Of course Astarion got that luxury too. His voice made your skin crawl as he spoke to you for the first time in nearly two hundred years. “What do you mean you're not leaving? You're just going to sit in here and starve with the door wide open?”

“I've been starving for decades, what's your point?” There wasn't a reason for Cazador to bother feeding any of them. They didn't go out hunting for him, they only needed enough energy to sit and rot in a cell. And they wouldn't die without food so there was no point. Even the six of you, Cazador's special little toys, feeding you would've only made it easier for you to fight back.

Astarion scoffed - he scoffed at you. Your blood was already boiling and you were sure it was clear on your face just how angry you were. “So after all we did to free you, you're just going to sit here?”

“You say it as though it was a gift that you gave me personally” You scoffed right back. You didn't have the energy to move or stand up to fight him like you wished you could. He was so close, if only you had the strength to reach out and strangle him to death. “You let all of us go. So what if one stays behind? I'm not going to go terrorize the city once you leave, if that's what you're worried about.

“We don't know that. How am I supposed to trust you?” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at you. Your eyes were so much more tired as you stared at him right back. You were exhausted and angry. Nothing else mattered.

You set your jaw, staring him down, despite still sitting on the ground. “You don't fucking remember me at all, do you?”

“Of course I recognize you, I-”

“What's my name?”

“What?” You saw the look in his eyes when you asked the question. He didn't need to respond for you to know the truth, you could read it in his eyes.

Your own eyes narrowed as you glared at him. “What's. My. Fucking. Name.”

He cast a glance over towards his companions, almost helpless all of a sudden. His shoulders dropped as he finally looked back at you, an embarrassed, apologetic look in his eyes. “I… I don't remember… I'm sorry.”

A short, bitter laugh escaped your lips as you sat back against the wall, finally looking away from him. “Get away from me.” Your voice just sounded so resigned.

“You can't stay down here.” His eyes were gentler now, his voice a bit more tender. As though he actually was trying to seem like he cared. You didn't trust him further than you could throw him and, considering you couldn't even stand up right now, that wasn't far.

“I'll do whatever I damn well please. Haven't you done enough?”

“Look…” He cast another glance towards his friends who all looked like they'd rather do anything else but get in the middle of this conversation. “You say that now, but in ten years or twenty or a hundred, you'll get bored down here. And you won't have anywhere to go.”

“I'm not spending my days in the Underdark. I don't care. I'm not going to follow them. I don't have anywhere to go right now.”

“Then- then come with us!” He blurted out abruptly, not bothering to actually check with his companions.

You shot a look back to him like he was fucking stupid. Maybe he was. “Why in the hells would you want me to come with you? You ruined my life, I want to fucking kill you and you're inviting me to move in?” Maybe Cazador really had just broken his brain.

“The spawn is right.” You heard the githyanki speak up. “They're weak and useless now, and when they do grow stronger they'll only cause problems. There’s no reason for this. If they wish to rot, I say we let them.”

At least someone here was making some kind of sense. She seemed to be outnumbered though as the tiefling woman spoke up again. “You would be safer with us, you know. I know you hate him, and you've got every right to-”

“Excuse me?”

“But we can't change the past. You've got a life ahead of you now! Isn't that exciting? Even if it's not what you wanted, you can't just waste away in here.”

You didn't like the way her voice made your undead heart actually feel like it was beating for the first time in two centuries. You scowled at her for a moment, but it clearly took some effort on your part and you gave up quickly.

Your shoulders slumped and your face dropped as you gave up resisting. It was too difficult, honestly. You were still so exhausted, it was hard to come up with any kind of solid argument against her reasoning. Objectively, you knew it was foolish to waste away down here. And if you said no to this chance, your only other option was the Underdark.

“Fine.”

As soon as the word was out of your mouth, the tiefling woman grinned. She quickly scooped you up from the ground, carrying you bridal style in her arms. She was warm, she was so warm, she was so very very warm against your ice cold skin that had known nothing warm in centuries. It was all you could do not to burst into tears, but you wouldn't. Not in front of him.

The woman carried you out of the cell as you heard the wizard speak up again. “Excuse me! Do I not get a vote in this?”

“Sure, what's your vote?” She asked, not stopping.

They all began following, keeping pace behind her. “I mean, I was going to agree with you but that's not the point. What happened to making decisions as a team?”

“Oh, from you, Mr. I'm Smart Enough To Be The Leader?”

“I have apologized for that multiple times already, can we let it go?”

The two of them bantered so easily. Occasionally the other woman would speak up, offering the odd bit of dry wit and cynicism.

Astarion was uncharacteristically silent. You couldn't care less. If you'd had the strength, you would've pushed him off the stupid narrow bridges of the corridors.

It was hard to think things like that, though, when this very warm woman held you so tight. You had been sitting on the cold stone floor of Cazador's cell for nearly two hundred years. The only reprieve you ever had was when you were in his bed, and you honestly preferred the stone.

But she was warm. And kind. She seemed so genuine. After a while it became fairly obvious she was almost certainly inhumanly warm, but that didn't matter. You felt like you were melting and you wanted to let yourself.

Part of you didn't trust her though. After all, she was with Astarion. But it was hard to listen to that part over how kind her words felt. The way she seemed to care about you despite everything about you. How she managed to actually encourage you to feel… alive again.

#astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 #astarion x oc #my insurance fucked up my antidepressants so this is what i was able to complete in like a month #this and like three abandoned other projects #also can you tell im in love with karlach a little?#shes my wife i love her

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moonstrider9904 · 9 months

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Passacaille

Chapter Seven of Half-Moon Glow

Pairing: Crosshair x Female OC (Aurora Dawn)

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Summary: After Aurora and the Batch’s encounter with Sobeck and the 104th division on Christophsis, Aurora and Crosshair enjoy a night alone on Coruscant.

Tags/warnings: Explicit (18+, minors begone). Soft smut oral and vaginal sex, and overall just a dreamy, romantic date night chapter. Some PTSD. Hurt/comfort. Brief alcohol consumption.

A/N: My loves… I know I’ve said “I’m back” like four times this year. It has been over one year since I last updated this fic, and a huge reason for that is having moved out of my childhood home where writing just comes naturally. I am writing this as I have returned for Christmas, and being able to write a softer, light-hearted chapter in my current Crosshair fic seems so fitting that a part of me feels it has to be fate. Thank you to everyone who’s remained even while I’ve been away. This blog and writing are a form of a home I can always come back to. I really hope I still got it and that this chapter lives up to what my writing has been in the past.

Also, not me projecting my dream date in some far-fetched fantasy world lol

Word count: 5.3k

No new assignments had come in.

In the rare peace that came with nothingness—no missions, no wounds to clean, no running for her life—Aurora lay on her bed contemplating the dim gray ceiling above her in silence. She let the sounds of steps and chatter outside her room come and go like the thoughts forming in her mind, basking in the mix of relaxation and tension.

The longest she could go without thinking back to Christophsis was just under five minutes, as she confirmed by tearing her eyes from the ceiling to the clock at her bedside as a way to distract her from the memories. Aurora wanted more than anything else to simply not think of that anymore, and even focusing on Crosshair’s heroic rescue of her didn’t put balm over the wounds. She’d been held hostage while facing heartbreak and her own demise, hurt when she was the one supposed to do the healing.

She’d never felt weaker than she had at that moment.

Aurora sat up on her bed, knowing that lying down wasn’t doing her or her spiraling mind any favors. With a heavy sigh, she tried grounding herself; her hands clenched the bed’s comforter underneath her, the fabric fuzzy and soft against her cold fingertips, and when she let go of the fabric, it didn’t go back to its original state. Her gaze focused on a point between the line where the door met the floor, separating her bedroom from the hallway, and she took a deep breath in while closing her eyes.

It’s okay to still get memories. It’s okay to feel sad at what happened because it was a terrible thing to go through. From being taken hostage to getting a blast wound on her thigh, to believing she wouldn’t see the man she loved ever again, a man who at that point she was convinced she had broken up with for good regardless of whether they saw one another again, all of that had made up the cloud that still loomed in her mind. But I’m not on Christophsis anymore, I’m on Coruscant. I’m healing. I’m safe. I’m wearing part of Crosshair’s armor.

Aurora looked down at her forearm, covered by the gray and black piece of armor he’d given her, and the corner of her lip curved up.

He wants me here.

With her next exhale, Aurora felt tears pooling in her eyes, tears she didn’t bother holding back. After taking that moment to reflect, she felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders, and the hole in her chest seemed to lighten up as well. The point she was staring at seemed to materialize in front of her as she finally returned to the real world, to the safe walls of her temporary room at Coruscant, escaping the cell she was held at on Christophsis. When the tears stopped coming, Aurora wiped her cheek dry and stood up from the bed.

Perfectly timed, her wrist comm began to beep.

“Come in,” Aurora answered.

“You sound more like yourself,” Hunter said from the other end of the comm—he’d be the only one able to pick up on the most subtle signs Aurora could give in regards to her emotions. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I… I think?” She raised a brow, doubtful. “Your brother left me a message earlier to meet him.”

“Are you sure you want to go with him?” Hunter sounded like he was teasing. “You could always bail on him and I’ll make sure to annoy the shit outta him.”

Aurora chuckled. “No, I think he’s apologized enough.”

“So you’re not mad at him anymore?”

“Crosshair’s one of those men you’re always mad at,” Aurora replied.

Hunter laughed heartily on the other end of the comm. “Good answer.”

When Hunter quieted down, Aurora felt her features soften.

“I think…” she began. “I think he really does want me to be here.”

“For the record, we all want you here with us,” Hunter replied. “But you’re right.”

Aurora smiled into the comm. She was confident that Hunter knew his brothers better than anyone else did, and hearing that coming from him warmed her heart.

“So where are you meeting him?”

“He’s actually going to come here—”

“So it’s that kind of date,” Hunter interrupted her; she could hear the wink in his voice.

“To pick me up, and then we’re going out,” Aurora finished as she held in her laughter. “He hasn’t given me more details. You know him.”

“Oh, I see,” Hunter dragged the words out, teasing her.

“You know all about it, don’t you?” Aurora raised a brow.

Hunter chuckled. “Have fun.”

And then the line went silent. As she became aware of the smile that had formed on her lips, Aurora realized it had been a while since she’d had such a sweet comm call. Her attention was eventually drawn to the present moment when a golden ray of sun reflected off a distant building outside, making the warm light land on the walls of her room. The sun was going down, and it was about time she got out of her uniform and into something worthy of a night out.

The nights were getting colder on Coruscant, and with that in mind, Aurora picked out a long-sleeved A-line black dress; its skirt reached halfway down her thighs and flowed gracefully over her hips. The top had a round neckline that went deep enough for the start of her sternum tattoo to be visible, and she had adorned her neck and collar with a dainty chain with a moon pendant. Her legs were covered by black tights thick enough to keep her from freezing—the tights and the skirt fully concealed the fact that her thigh was wounded, but her brief limp while walking would still give her away—and she finished her outfit with a pair of dark brown boots with a small, manageable heel.

Aurora put her lavender hair in a messy bun, perfectly balancing elegance with softness. For her eyes, she coated her lashes with mascara just to give them a subtle lift and added some shadow to her crease for more depth, and her lips were tainted with a berry-wine colored lipstick that made a striking contrast with her blue skin and the golden marks along her cheekbones. And when she looked at herself in the mirror, not only did she feel pleased at how beautiful she looked, but it dawned on her that the last time she’d gotten that dolled-up was on Naboo.

An urge to change the past hit her suddenly. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to change the way things had happened. If she and Crosshair hadn’t fought during Naboo, maybe Christophsis wouldn’t have turned out so terrible.

Or perhaps you should stop burdening yourself with that, Aurora thought.

She took another moment to look at herself in the mirror hoping with all her heart that despite the events of the previous days, that night would be wonderful. With a sigh of resolve, Aurora walked away from the mirror and went to fold her uniform neatly over her bed. The pile of folded clothing was crowned by Crosshair’s forearm pad on top of it, a place where it would safely wait for her until duty called again. She then looked out the window to a dark sky with more city lights shining than stars.

Aurora sat on her bed and waited as she continued to stare at the city scenery, until at last a knock came at the door of her bedroom. Her chest fluttered, suddenly nervous at the first real date she’d have with a man who’d spent so long driving her crazy in more ways than one, and nevertheless, she felt heat rushing to her cheeks and her full lips becoming a smile. Aurora got up from the bed and went to open her door, and there stood the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, dressed in a black suit and holding a single pink peony out before his chest.

Crosshair’s brown eyes glided over her figure before they finally met hers, and in that gaze was a flood of emotions he’d never dream of speaking out loud.

“Hey,” was all he managed to say.

Aurora gave a soft chuckle. “Hi.”

The sly, snarky sniper found himself at a loss for words. For Aurora, it was her first real date with him. For Crosshair, it was his first real date, and he found himself in uncharted territory where he couldn’t rely on the scope of his rifle to get a better visual of.

“I…” his voice was husky. “I brought you this.”

Aurora looked at the peony and took it from him, her fingers delicately brushing his as she grabbed the flower. She held it up to her nose and took in its scent, and she met eyes with him on her exhale.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you, Crosshair.”

Her words allowed most of the tension to leave Crosshair, and he felt the muscles of his body relaxing as Aurora went to place the flower neatly on her nightstand. She then turned around and stared silently at Crosshair, her big eyes widening with expectation.

“What is it?” She asked him.

Crosshair smirked. “You look incredible.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Aurora replied. “Now where is this sharp-dressed sharpshooter taking me tonight?”

Crosshair chuckled and he held out his bent arm for her to link her arm in it. “This way.”

With a smile, Aurora turned off the lights of her room and walked up to him, taking his arm as he’d offered. As Crosshair began leading her out of the room, closing the door behind him, and into the hallway, he noticed the way she still had to limp between her steps.

His heart sank. Aurora felt his gaze hardening and looked up at him, her gaze soft and reassuring.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”

“Are you sure you can walk?” Crosshair asked.

“I’ll be fine as long as you don’t let go of me,” Aurora smiled.

She’d meant those words literally, but seeing the result of the blast wound on her thigh reignited feelings of regret and of fear within Crosshair. He stopped walking and looked at her, and he used his spare hand to gently lift up her chin and leaned down to kiss her lips.

“I won’t ever let you go again,” he whispered.

Aurora’s cheeks gained a purple tint as she smiled up at him, and she perked up to give him another soft peck before resting her weight on his stable figure again.

“Aurora, I meant what I said when I told you how sorry I was,” Crosshair said. “I fucked up harder than I ever have—”

She cupped his cheek, her eyes softening with the remnants of her sadness.

“Crosshair,” she spoke his name with unimaginable kindness. “If I was still angry with you, I wouldn’t be going on this date with you now. My leg will heal eventually, and as horrible as Christophsis was, it’s already happened.”

He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. “You and I both know war memories stick.”

“It’s a part of the way we live,” she answered. “And yes, memories of that day do flood me frequently, but I’d rather be here with you now than keep succumbing to them.”

“You make it sound easy,” he smirked.

“It’s easier with you here.”

Crosshair smiled at her response and rested his forehead on hers for a moment before he continued to lead her down the hall and into the elevator that would take them down. When they emerged, they were at the main level of headquarters, and Crosshair walked Aurora over to the transports. As they walked, Aurora began asking herself what Crosshair could have planned for her date, what Hunter could have been so excited about that he had to call and tease.

The first question regarding the date was answered when Aurora spotted Wrecker standing in front of a compact, four-passenger speeder, suited up and holding up a board that read Ms. Dawn.

“Wrecker?” Aurora giggled.

“I do not know of whom you speak,” Wrecker answered eloquently. “I am the driver taking my unknown clients to their destination.”

Aurora laughed as Crosshair gestured for her to step into the vehicle, helping her so that she wouldn’t feel any pain while she did, and then he got in after her.

“Does the plan stand, my good sir?” Driver Wrecker asked Crosshair.

“It does,” Crosshair replied, giving a subtle yet playful roll of his eyes.

“Off we go then,” Wrecker stepped in the pilot’s seat. “No making out in my speeder.”

Wrecker drove off with the couple on the rear seats, and as soon as the speeder got in movement, the city lights caught Aurora’s attention. She watched them as they glided past her gaze and enjoyed the breeze on her cheeks—despite being in the middle of the biggest city in the galaxy, the air felt fresh and even clean. She would barely blink, eyes wide with wonder, and as she stared at the scenery, Crosshair’s ever watchful eyes would only focus on her.

Looking at her that way, Crosshair couldn’t decide if Aurora looked more stunning or endearing.

Slowly, Crosshair reached out for her hand. Aurora looked away from the city landscape the moment she felt his skin come in contact with hers, and with a tender smile, she locked her fingers with his. They didn’t say anything, though Crosshair was about to tell her to turn back to watching the city lights, which he now knew she loved so much. Before any words left him, however, Aurora carefully scooted closer to him, her body pressing to his side, and she leaned on him as she continued to bask in the city’s nightlife.

The ride was shorter than Aurora had expected, and before long, the vehicle came to a stop. Wrecker remained in his chauffeur character and gallantly opened the door for her and Crosshair, only breaking his role to remind his youngest brother to “send food to his loyal driver before he took off”. Crosshair nudged his brother before walking off with Aurora by his side, and he led her into the building.

Aurora couldn’t help but feel out of place. Though they weren’t in the building yet, Aurora recognized the part of the city they were at, one of the most high-end zones of the Coruscant capital. Around them, people of all races dressed in luxurious clothing and adorned with heavy accessories went about their night, some alone, some in couples, some in groups—it made sense why she’d received prior instruction to use her best outfit that night. It was the opposite of being in a war zone or even in GAR headquarters. Heck, the war didn’t even exist in that place.

But a night away from the war and anything to do with it was all Aurora wanted.

They approached the building that towered before them, tall and covered in glass panes that made it appear star-studded in the middle of the city skyline. At the top of the entrance, the word Passacaille was written in large, golden letters beaming with warm light to make them stand out in the night setting.

They were about to enter one of the fanciest hotels on the planet, possibly in the galaxy.

“Cross…” Aurora said, breathless. “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly.

She let out a chuckle. “You didn’t have to go overboard—how can you even afford this? The restaurant, the speeder, what’s next? Are you going to take me to another planet?”

Crosshair chuckled. “We’re not leaving Coruscant’s atmosphere tonight. As for how I could afford this, call it a mix of my own Sabacc savings and a couple of returned favors.”

“I knew you were good at gambling, but… Returned favors?” Aurora raised a brow.

“Our squad takes on some unforeseen missions, some of them not entirely backed by the GAR,” Crosshair said. “Not exactly dirty work, but we’ve gotten enough members of the high-society and fellow clone squads out of a number of problems to earn their respect.”

The revelation paired with Crosshair in a full black suit and tie made Aurora’s blood flow to hidden corners. She snapped out of how much of a turn-on she found that to be when they reached past the building’s lobby and to the entrance of the restaurant, and Crosshair was greeted by the host to claim his reservation.

“This way, sir,” said the host, and he guided Crosshair and Aurora to a table near the center of the restaurant, placed right under an opulent chandelier that appeared, at least to the untrained eye, to be made of diamonds. Crosshair pulled out a chair for Aurora to sit, and then he took the seat in front of her. The host handed each one a menu and gave a faint bow before leaving them to it, and as hungry as Aurora was, she couldn’t help but gawk at the restaurant itself while listening to the soft piano music in the background and the faint chatter and clanking of dishes and glasses of the people around them.

Even the table where they were sitting was high-end. Made of a dark wood and covered by a dark red cloth, it was adorned at the center by a cylindrical container made of thin glass, filled with beads that looked like precious stones, with enough space inside it to hold two small candles. On top of each placemat, there was a cloth napkin folded into what Aurora felt resembled the peony Crosshair had given her earlier, and there was a set of more cutlery than Aurora could deduce use for.

She knew she’d use the wrong spoon for whatever she ate that night eventually.

“What do you think?” Crosshair broke the silence.

Aurora finally met his eyes again and couldn’t help but let out another breathless laugh. “This is wonderful, Crosshair…” Her chest heaved up and down before she forced herself to keep her feet on the ground. “I don’t want you thinking you always have to spend this much—”

“Enough of that,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Well, that I can do,” she smiled as she opened the menu and looked at everything the place had to offer. “Do you think they sell choccy blue milk here?”

Crosshair chuckled. “Come on, darling, that’s a joke Wrecker would make.”

“I had to,” she giggled.

Putting jokes aside, Aurora had to hold in a gasp at how delicious everything on the menu looked. It would be hard to only choose one thing, but by the time the waiter came around to take their order, she had decided on the plate of dumplings bathed in a five-cheese and herbs sauce. Crosshair went for a similar choice, except his plate had a spicy sauce. Once their order was taken, the waiter left them a bottle of white wine to enjoy in the meantime.

With their glasses full, Crosshair and Aurora clinked their glasses together and talked. Though they told stories of battles, it didn’t feel like they were talking about the war, and before Aurora even realized, her cheeks were sore from all the smiling. Soon, the subject morphed from wartime tales to Crosshair retelling his many Sabacc victores, which he eloquently disclosed as his foot rubbed Aurora’s calf under the table.

Soon, the plates were empty and the wine was gone. Crosshair paid for the dinner while Aurora watched him, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand with glistening eyes. Had she been less discreet, a dreamy sigh would have escaped her. She managed to hold it in, but not without its difficulties—the sight of Crosshair being a complete gentleman was all she didn’t know she needed.

After a lovely dinner, Crosshair got up from his chair and helped Aurora up from hers. He led her out of the restaurant and across the Passacaille’s lobby, and though Aurora was still mesmerized by the decor, her concentration broke when she realized Crosshair was not leading her to the exit.

“Where are we going?” Aurora asked. “Wrecker must be waiting for us by now.”

“Our chauffeur is long gone, darlin’,” Crosshair answered and made a gesture towards the elevators.

Aurora blushed. “Oh…”

“Is everything okay?” Crosshair asked.

“Yes!” Aurora blurted. “Oh, stars, yes, I just didn’t expect to be spending the night here as well.”

“Believe it,” Crosshair purred, pulling Aurora closer. “Come.”

They got into an empty elevator; Crosshair pressed the button for the penthouse and closed the door before anyone else could get in. As soon as the door closed and the elevator began moving up, Aurora pressed her body to Crosshair’s and wrapped her arms around his upper back. He kissed her without hesitation and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her gently so as to not hurt her. Time seemed to disappear as they sank into one another, hidden from the world and the war and from prying eyes. Their hardships were irrelevant if only for that moment. All that mattered was what they felt for one another, whether they spoke it aloud or not.

The couple felt the pull of gravity as the elevator came to a stop, and with a delicate ding! the doors opened to reveal a small, warmly lit hallway. Crosshair regained composure and walked Aurora out of the elevator and up to the single green door that was framed by glass panes, allowing for a tease of the penthouse behind it. He got the door open and Aurora couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her.

The walls were made of glass, and the edges were all lined with plants, from flowers to herbs, even succulents from different arid planets. Entwined in the plants were a series of warm fairy lights, adding a touch of coziness to the luxurious penthouse. On one of the corners there was a small fountain made of rock—water sprouted from the middle of a spherical black stone and fell onto a bowl of grayish marble, and the sound of spluttering water contrasted with the crackling of the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. There were two long couches made of black velvet in front of the fireplace, and behind them was an embroidered carpet made of black and silver threads. Beside the fountain was a nightstand, a large bed covered in a black fluffy comforter, and another nightstand, above which was a small lamp along with the controls to the rest of the lighting of the penthouse, including the artificial fireplace.

“I…” Aurora tried to recover her breath. “I feel like a princess.”

Crosshair gave a low chuckle as he closed and locked the door behind them. “So you like this place?”

“What a question,” Aurora smiled as she walked deeper into the room, examining every detail. She walked past the couches, brushing her fingers over the velvet, and felt a typhoon of emotions forming within her. As she took them all in, she turned to look at Crosshair again, who was already staring at her every move.

“What is it?” He asked her.

Aurora felt the blast wound on her hamstring begin to tingle. “Just a few days ago, I thought it would be over.”

“Hey,” Crosshair removed his coat and set it on the rack beside the door, walking towards her with his hands ready to take hers in them. “You’re here now, with me. In this place. You deserve no less than to feel at home in a room like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora took his hands, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, this is absolutely beautiful, Crosshair. More than I ever could have imagined. I don’t want to ruin it with my laments.”

“You aren’t ruining it,” he said, taking hold of her waist.

She looked at him with twinkling purple eyes and then gazed out the glass walls of the penthouse at the Coruscant skyline. Slowly, she unwrapped herself from Crosshair’s grip and walked over to the edge to better take in the sight, and Crosshair followed, positioning himself beside her.

“It’s like the war doesn’t exist here,” Aurora said. “And yet…”

“And yet, you and I just had the shittiest mission we can think of,” Crosshair completed for her.

Aurora gulped. “Yeah, that… that about sums it up.”

He turned to face her. “Aurora.”

She looked up at him, his features hardening the way they would when he would struggle to get words out.

“I…” he began. “I really thought I was going to lose you. I was willing to do anything to keep that from happening, but there were moments when…”

“I know,” Aurora said. “Believe me, I know.”

“I never want to feel that way again,” Crosshair admitted. “I had never been more afraid of anything in my life, and that scares me.”

“Cross…” Aurora sighed.

“Do you have any idea the hold you have on me?” He asked her.

“I can only imagine it’s the same as the one you have on me,” Aurora took his hands. “The war scares me too. Losing you scares me too. Losing you to anything, it’s unthinkable.”

Silence fell between them, and Crosshair cupped her warm cheek, tilting her face up to meet her gaze as he pulled her close.

“I wish we could stay here,” Aurora whispered. “I wish we didn’t have to go back in the morning.”

Crosshair acknowledged her words, but then he was the one to look at the city landscape.

“I want what you want,” Crosshair said. “But… don’t get me wrong, but war is my purpose.”

“It was your first one,” Aurora agreed. “But you could find another one.”

Crosshair met her gaze again, and her purple eyes gleamed with hope.

“Right?” She whispered.

His lips curved into a hint of a smile before he took his hands up to the back of her head, undoing the bun her lavender hair had been tied into. Once her hair fell in graceful waves down her shoulders, Crosshair found himself leaning down to kiss her. As she kissed him back, Aurora ran her hands up and down his back feeling the fabric of his black shirt. Crosshair began to lead her towards the bed, stumbling, refusing to break the kiss for longer than was necessary. When they reached the bed, he reached up her back and undid the button and zipper of her dress, and before undressing her, he swept her off her feet to place her gently on the bed—he relished in the soft whimper she made when he did that.

Crosshair climbed on the bed after undoing and removing his tie, as well as his shoes. He kissed her lips again as his right hand reached for the room’s controls, dimming the lights and making the glass walls opaque to conceal them from the world outside. Crosshair broke the kiss to remove the clothing on her, item by item. Her shoes, her tights, with more care than he ever thought he could muster as he gently revealed the bandage on her thigh, her dress. She was left in a black lace bra and panties, and basking in the sight of her, he removed his shirt.

Aurora couldn’t help but moan at the sight of him taking off his shirt and revealing his torso, marked by tattoos and battle scars. The light of the fireplace behind him seemed to make him glow, but the thought escaped Aurora when he leaned back down to kiss her again. Her breathing became heavier and a gentle moan left her as she entwined her fingers delicately through his silver hair.

Crosshair then made his way down to kiss her neck and her collarbone, obliviously bringing a fingertip to brush over the necklace she wore. He made his way farther down, and the lower he went, the more Aurora’s chest heaved. She felt his touch over her skin, shivers dancing wherever his fingers went. Sensations covered her belly, her hips, her inner thighs, and finally he was down between her legs wrapping his fingers around the black lace of her panties and pulling them down.

He didn’t beat around the bush. Aurora gasped and moaned the moment she felt his tongue over her clit, and she couldn’t help her eyes rolling back—he was just that good with her. As Crosshair kept eating her out, one of his hands snaked up Aurora’s body up to her belly, where her hand met his. She moaned deeper and deeper the more he flicked and sucked on her delicate skin, and she was so aroused that it took her no time to fall into bliss. Throwing her head back, Aurora squeezed Crosshair’s hand, her body squirming at wave after wave of pleasure, hearing Crosshair moan as her legs inevitably clenched towards him.

“Please,” Aurora whimpered. “I need you inside me now.”

Crosshair emerged from between her legs and crawled up to be at eye level with her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, mindful of the bandage around her thigh. “I trust you.”

Crosshair was already struggling to hold into more control, but as his dark gaze looked into Aurora’s blissful eyes, he couldn’t keep holding back. He removed his trousers and his boxers and positioned himself above her once more, looking deep into her eyes.

“If it starts to hurt, let me know,” he said.

Aurora nodded frantically, biting her lower lip.

“I need you to promise,” he added.

“I promise,” Aurora replied, pulling up to kiss his lips.

Crosshair eventually settled his weight down and kissed her with more fervor as he inserted himself into her walls, shuddering at how tight and warm she felt around him. Aurora moaned at the fullness inside her, with a hint of relief escaping her voice. Crosshair’s pace began slow, luscious, always careful not to add too much pressure onto her legs. He didn’t need to go any faster—they were already so lost in one another that they were already in heaven with each other. Aurora moaned into Crosshair’s kisses, holding him tighter with every thrust he gave.

Her moans became high-pitched whimpers, and Crosshair increased his pace ever so slightly, enough to send her over the edge. He delighted in the rich moaning that came from her, and he felt the way that she tightened around him as her silhouette squirmed beneath him. He grunted at the tightness, dangerously close to the edge himself, until one last tug of her hand at his silver curls ended him and he spilled thick, white ropes of cum inside her.

Moaning in unison, the two collapsed onto the bed under them and caught their breath, merely enjoying the presence of one another after some long awaited, much deserved loving. Crosshair moved up to meet her gaze, inquiring with his gaze if she had felt any pain, any discomfort.

Aurora smiled in response. “I told you, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Crosshair kissed her forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Never again.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, but with the strength he had, Crosshair picked her up again and carried her over to the couch in front of the fireplace on the other side of the room. He gathered the bed’s comforter and went to sit next to her, placing her body leaning on his before covering them both in the tick, fuzzy blanket, softly kissing her temple when they were finally settled.

“Thank you for tonight,” Aurora said.

Under the blanket, Crosshair’s hand found hers and interlaced fingers. “I’m glad you like it.”

They looked at each other and perked up for another brief kiss before settling on the couch and letting the fireplace lull them to slumber.

{Next chapter} {Back to series masterlist}

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true-blue-megamind · 2 years

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I have a question/theory. No one besides Roxanne and Megamind knows that Metro Men is actually still alive. For all everybody else knows Megamind still murdered their hero.

Of course, Megamind saved them from Titan, and made amends by returning everything he stole and fixing the destroyed city but it still was all directly or indirectly his fault.

This brings me to my next point. No one except Megamind, Roxanne, Minion, and Hal himself knows that Titan was ''created'' by our favorite blue alien.

Do you think people might be angry when they somehow find out the truth? Maybe some Metro Man fanboy or fangirl will want to avenge the fallen hero?

Or are we to assume that people are just stupid and shallow and are just happy to have a new hero? Because if that's the case it's kind of sad from Metro Man's perspective. People only liked him because of his powers and looks. What do you think?

MEGAMIND FAN THEORY THURSDAY: Do People Think Megamind is a Murderer?

It’s time again for another Megamind Fan Theory! Special thanks, once again, to our unnamed contributor! Apparently, Anonymous is my biggest fan! LOL!

And now, even though Metroman threatens to frame me next every time I say it: SPOILER WARNING!

If you’ve seen the movie Megamind—and I sincerely hope you have—you already know that one of the biggest ways the film subverts common superhero tropes is by having the Bad Guy apparently win. Of course, we all know that Metroman didn’t really die in the Death Ray blast, but the question is: do people in Metro City know it, too? After all, most or all of the citizenry thought they saw their former hero perish on a live stream. Do they, therefore, still believe their new Defender is guilty of murder? And if so, shouldn’t that affect the way they perceive him? There are entire reams of fan theories examining such questions. Let’s jump into a few of the most popular!

It’s Almost Certain Some People Know Metroman is Alive

The first fan theory centers on the simple fact that Megamind is not locked away in a high-security prison. His ability to take up the mantle of Defender and move about the city freely indicates that he very probably received a full pardon. That brings up the question of whether defeating one supervillain would truly be enough to counteract a first-degree murder charge and eighty-three live sentences. Most fans say no, leading to the supposition that there must have been some sort of trial and subsequent pardon. As a result, many believe that some high-ranking government officials and judges, at least, must be aware that Metroman remains very much alive.

They may not be the only ones. Another popular concept among fans is that Megamind’s reality, like the comics it lampoons, could boast a wide variety of heroes and villains. (It’s not a far fetched assumption; as mentioned in Where Did the Doom Syndicate Come From, we know that there are supposed to be other supervillains in Megamind’s world. It therefore seems probable that there would be other superheroes as well.) In fact, more than a few fans subscribe to the headcanon that a heroic organization exists, offering mutual support and help to caped protectors as needed. Over time, the Megamind fandom has invented several potential titles for this group. One of my personal favorites is the Defenders’ League—a name which plays on DC Comics’ Justice League and thus maintains the original film’s spirit of toying with existing superhero tropes. For the sake of simplicity, that is how I will refer to this association.

Why am I bringing it up? As you may have guessed, many fans theorize that at least some members of the Defenders’ League know their former compatriot didn’t really meet his end. However, there are differing opinions upon exactly how many of them are aware of this fact. Some suggest that Defenders, like their Justice League counterparts, are likely cognizant of a great number of each others’ secrets, up to and including their identities and hideouts. They argue that it therefore seems reasonable to assume most or all of the League would have been apprised of the Metroman situation. As possible evidence, supporters of this theory point to the fact that other heroes aren’t coming out of the proverbial woodwork to avenge their supposedly fallen comrade.

Nonetheless, others disagree. The second—and possibly more popular—supposition is that, while a few leaders within the Defenders’ League know the truth, others may be in the dark. Those who prefer this concept argue that Metroman’s abandonment of his duties would almost certainly have been frowned upon, adding that the former hero would likely have found himself either faced with some sort of disciplinary action or pressured into taking up the role of protector for a new city. After all, such powerful Defenders can hardly be common, and it seems extremely doubtful that Superhero is a job one could easily quit. Indeed, during discussions with other fans such as CrazyDreamer6, the possibility has arisen that other Defenders may initially neither like nor trust Megamind. It’s even been suggested that an especially antagonistic hero or two might attempt to sabotage the blue man’s efforts, believing their action to be either punishment for Metroman’s alleged fate or a means to uncovering Megamind as a presumed fraud.

Whatever the case may be, all of this still does not necessarily mean that the general public would be privy to Metroman’s continued existence. It’s highly unlikely that the Defenders’ League would make that fact widely known even if they were all privy to it. (Imagine the backlash and potential public relations nightmare that might ensue if people realized a Defender had simply walked off the job!) Furthermore, another Megamind fan theory suggests that, as a former supervillain, the blue man’s hearing may have been far more similar to a military tribunal than a civilian court case. This is important because it means the Megamind’s trial may have been far less public and far more secretive. Some argue that this indicates it’s unlikely most ordinary citizens would be aware that Metroman’s supposed murder was proved to be a farce. People would certainly be aware that he had been pardoned, but they might not know all of the reasons why.

Would Metroman Even Want His “Death” to Be Questioned?

This is where another Megamind fan theory comes into play. Some contend that, even if various officials did not choose to disclose it, citizens may have become aware that Metroman was alive because he himself may have told them. In several fictions, the former Defender is portrayed as coming forward, announcing his official retirement, and sometimes even helping his new blue replacement to learn the ropes. Such would definitely be the noble, honest thing to do—and aren’t those two traits superheroes are supposed to personify? Besides, many fans also point out that there appears to be an odd friendship between Megamind and his rival. There seems to have been a “time out” agreement, indicating that their battles may have been more like games and public shows. Additionally, Metroman calls the blue super-genius “Little Buddy.” That hardly seems like a sincerely antagonistic relationship. So it’s conceivable that the former Defender might have come forward to clear his replacement’s name.

Many fans, however, argue that such a thing may not have been possible for the same reasons that the majority of the Defenders’ League may not have been informed. It doesn’t seem particularly likely that people would react well to learning that their trusted and beloved local hero had left them in the hands of a know supervillain so that he go start a music career. Furthermore, it’s possible that the former Defender could have been harassed by rising villains eager to prove their worth as well city governments desperate for a hero of their own. Nonetheless, many suggest that Wayne Scott may have had excellent reasons for hanging up his cape. In the post Why Did Metroman Retire, we examined evidence that Metro City had become too dependent upon having a superpowered Defender around, leading to laxness in law enforcement and constant demands on the white-clad alien. (For example, one unused storyboard shows police refusing to assist in even a small way because they are “on break” as well as an old woman calling for Metroman’s help because she can’t open a jar.) As a result, the former hero may have become not only disenchanted with his role, but also stressed, exhausted, and mentally strained. Some have even proposed that he may have been nearing a breakdown, making his decision to quit a necessary one for his psychological health.

This leads to a supposition which answers one of our anonymous contributor’s questions. Many believe that, if most people still believe Metroman to be dead, it is because the former hero himself wants it that way. Far from being sorrowful about others’ reactions to his supposed demise, he may feel relieved. Imagine the guilt he might experience if people continued to mourn him or harmed Megamind because they believed he was guilty. Keep in mind that, as discussed in previous blog articles, we see the young Wayne Scott being essentially groomed to become a superhero during the school scene. (You can read more about that in the aforementioned post as well as The Warden.) Thus it seems likely that Metroman may not want his faked death to be disbelieved because he feels being supposedly dead is the only way to free himself from the role he was pushed into from childhood.

However, the choice may not have been up to him. There are some competing Megamind fan theories concerning whether or not the general public would believe Metroman was truly gone. Interestingly, both are based upon the character’s inspirations.

The first supposition points to the fact that Metroman is a clear parody of Superman. Clark Kent, as many of you likely know, hides his alternate identity by donning ordinary clothes and a pair of glasses. Some fans contend that, if Megamind’s reality functions similarly to the DC universe, then it’s unlikely Music Man would ever be recognized as being a former Defender. After all, if eyewear is enough to make Superman unrecognizable, then growing a beard would certainly do the trick. Others, however, dispute this, saying that while Clark Kent puts a great deal of effort into maintaining his persona as a quiet newspaper journalist, purposefully fading into the background as much as possible, Wayne Scott’s choice of career—rock star—puts him squarely in the public eye. Making himself the center of attention significantly increases his chances of being recognized.

The second fan theory draws on the other major influence of Metroman: Elvis Presley. As covered in Why Does Megamind Wear Black, the King of Rock and Roll inspired everything from Metroman’s look to the song he plays at his museum opening. Some have expanded upon this to suggest that people may have reacted similarly to the former hero’s supposed demise as they did to that of Elvis. For decades following Presley’s funeral, many of his fans insisted that he was not really dead and Elvis sightings popped up all over the place. Could Metroman’s dedicated aficionados have done the same, claiming to catch glimpses of their icon? If so, some of them were probably right. In short, it’s quite plausible that many citizens may not have believed Metroman was really deceased no matter what they had been told.

Psychology and Superheroes

What about those who actually do believe the former Defender to be gone? Given what we’ve discussed so far, it seems reasonable to suppose that there may be more than a few who fall into this category. If so, wouldn’t they be furious that Megamind could, apparently, commit murder on live TV and still not only get away with it but also be hailed as a hero? To answer that, let’s delve into a little psychology.

According to an article by Dr. Charlie Ebersole on Psychology Today, hero worship can be complicated and potentially problematic. When we look up to someone, we have a tendency to view them differently. “Heroes can be great,” Ebersole explains. “They can inspire us to be better versions of ourselves. However, they can also blind us to their faults.” Just as people were happy to overlook Metroman’s frankly braggartly behavior—just look at the museum opening scene near the beginning of the movie and you’ll see what I mean—they may be willing to forget about Megamind’s shaded past. Some might even make peace with the supposed blood on his hands if they looked up to him enough, and given that he literally saved the entire city from death and destruction, that’s not beyond the realm of possibility. To quote novelist Terry Pratchett, “You can be excused for just about anything if you are a hero because no one asks inconvenient questions.”

It doesn’t stop there, however, because Megamind isn’t only a hero, he’s also a celebrity. Another article, this one from Long Island Psychology, addresses how fame affects the way we perceive people. Society sometimes makes greater allowances for those who are well-known icons. For example, celebrities sometimes receive less severe punishments for infractions than an average citizen might. Of course, people can also judge those they admire very harshly, feeling a sense of betrayal any time that individual doesn’t live up to the nearly perfect standards they have created for them. However, if that same public feels they are getting enough out of their perceived parasocial relationship with a celebrity, they may entirely overlook any bad behavior. The article states that “even if their actions have run counter to their public persona or were illegal in some way, some celebrities are still able to overcome the backlash they may face.”

This really comes down to three things: the aforementioned parasocial relationship, charisma, and marketing. (Yes, I said marketing. We’ll get to that in just a moment.) Firstly, as I’ve said, Megamind saved Metro City, and it’s frankly doubtful whether most of its citizens know that Titan was the result of a misjudgment on the blue man’s part to begin with. (I think it’s also important to mention here that Megamind certainly didn’t want to create a dangerously superpowered man-child and seemed sincerely distraught when Titan turned evil. He truly thought the human was destined for heroism. You can read more about that in Why Did Megamind Choose Hal.) Regardless, the fact is that many citizens of Metro City owe the blue man their lives and presumably enjoy his continued protection. Thus it’s obvious that they are definitely getting a lot out of the parasocial relationship.

Secondly, it can’t be denied that Megamind is charismatic. He knows how to put on a good show and play to a crowd. (Just look at the scene where he finally becomes the new Defender if you want proof.) Furthermore, as seen throughout the movie, Megamind can be charming, funny, and kind. It’s hard not to like the alien genius, and that has likely helped him to win over the masses. The fact that he sincerely cares about the city and all its people, as evinced by the fact that he chose to overcome Titan rather than fleeing, probably helps as well. People often instinctively know when someone legitimately has their best interests at heart.

Finally, there is the marketing aspect to consider. That may sound a little odd, but hear me out. The aforementioned article states: “some celebrities are forgiven by the media, and the media’s reaction to the event shapes the future. If the celebrity is still placed in front of you on a daily basis and placed in a positive light, it becomes easier to forget about their past.” Essentially, it is possible to market a person, rebranding them in a more favorable light. This is important for two reasons. Firstly, as I said before, Megamind clearly cares about the people around him. That doubtlessly makes him a dedicated and earnest Defender, and people are likely to recognize that. Additionally, if they also see him performing acts of heroism in the media over and over again, that will have a natural effect on the way they perceive him.

Speaking of media, the second aspect of this is the simple fact that Megamind is clearly romantically involved with Roxanne Ritchi, and she happens to be a well-known television news journalist. She’s also one of the very few people whom we know for certain is aware that Megamind didn’t really murder Metroman. (In fact, according to the DVD commentary, he always went out of his way not to physically harm anyone even while he was a supervillain. The creators describe him engaging in no worse than theft and vandalism during his brief tenure as “Evil Overlord,” as well as staging his plots in unpopulated areas. Even his preferred setting on his De-Gun, Dehydrate, is nonlethal.) One popular fan theory suggests that, because Roxanne knows all of this and because she loves Megamind, she may have helped to sway public opinion in his favor. Furthermore, it’s plausible that, as a reporter, she may not have been able to pass up a juicy scoop like Metroman faking his own death. However, many fans believe that, if her lover and his former nemesis asked her to keep it quiet, she would. Either way, she would certainly have the skills and opportunities necessary to help Megamind “market” his new image. Of course, this doesn’t mean that it’s not possible some people would still dislike and distrust the Blue Defender, but it would certainly help him to be better accepted.

So, are there people in Metro City who still believe Megamind is guilty of murder? It’s possible, though that may depend on whether Metroman or government officials were willing to let the truth come out. Could such an assumption color the way he is viewed? It most certainly could. However, it’s also likely that even some of those who did believe in the blue man’s guilt may have gradually come to forgive him, especially since he was likely pardoned. Still, most agree that the answer is probably a combination of all of the above ideas, and suppose that the former villain may have to work through some complicated public relations issues in his early days as Defender. Perhaps the upcoming series, Megamind’s Guide to Defending Your City, will shed new light on that. Until then, we have plenty of fan theories to choose from! That ends this post! Thank you for reading this week’s Megamind Fan Theory Thursday!

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twilightmalachite · 1 year

Text

Hermitage - Sunday 2

Author: Nishioka Maiko (with Akira)

Characters: Mika, Shu

Translator: Mika Enstars

"The flower language for the acanthe is “art” and “mastership”. It’s a title suitable for an artist enamored by eternity, is it not?"

Season: Winter

Location: Starmony Dorms Common Room

Mika: Nnah~…

Shu: Don't sigh like that!

Just what was that? That “nna nna” there. Don’t make any stupid noises like that.

Mika: It’s just, Oshi-sa~n… I had a buncha plans fer when you finally got back, y’know~?

So it was just disappointin’ to see ya immediately go into work-mode.

Shu: Plans…? Like what?

Mika: Ermm, like how there’s a limited-time lunch currently at the cafe. It looks real delicious, so I was wanting t’go eat it with ya, Oshi-san.

After that, there’s this handicrafts store I think you’d like that opened on Saison Avenue~! And so I wanted to take ya there!

And after that—

Shu: Sigh, that’s enough… Have you forgotten about the reason I’ve returned to Japan in the first place?

Mika: I remember~… It was for our new song, right?

It’s just been a while since ya returned to Japan, so I thought it’d be okay to go sightseein’ a bit…

Shu: I’d rather not waste my precious time on things like that.

Instead of spending your time on such things, you should spend your time on improving the quality of our new song as much as possible.

Mika: I know that~… But isn’t jus’ a little bit okay?

Shu: Goodness gracious…

(Come to think of it… I haven’t given Kagehira his souvenir yet.)

(I had thought to give it to him after our meeting. However, it might be better to give it to him now to help ease his mood.)

(There’s not much else I can do, so I suppose I should fetch it from my room.)

Kagehira, wait here for a moment. I am going to pick up some of my luggage from my room.

Mika: Huh? Okay, sure thing?

Shu: Ahem. Kagehira, this is for you.

Mika: Wha?! Fer me?! What is it?

Shu: It’s a souvenir. I just so happened to come upon something nice, so I figured might as well.

Mika: Uwah! ♪ I’m so happy~! Thank ya kindly, Oshi-san! Can I open it?

Shu: Go ahead. Have this ease your mood so you can devote yourself to the new song.

Mika: Okay, gotcha. Lesse—

Ehh?! A bisque doll?! Is this really alright fer me to have?!

Shu: Yes, I just so happened to come upon it.

I believe you miss being able to talk to Mademoiselle, yes?

It's far from Mademoiselle, but it's far less lonely than having nothing.

Mika: Thank ya sooo much! I'll cherish it deeply~♪

Shu: So, do you feel better now? We've got to go back to work.

You are supposed to be in charge of the new song’s overview, while I am in charge of direction…

What is your progress? Do you have an overview prepared, Kagehira?

Mika: About that… I’ve gotten started on it. But I’ve been kinda strugglin’ with it…

Shu: Hm… What exactly are you having trouble with?

Mika: Umm… I’m thinkin’ about havin’ the MV tell a story…

But I haven’t been able to visualize anythin’ yet…

Nn~, how do I put it… Somethin’ like a beauty-obsessed artist who preserves their loved one as a work of art for eternity…?

The image I’m goin’ for bein’ solitude and the pursuit of eternal beauty.

Shu: I see. That’s an unexpectedly dark imagining. I had thought you would come up with something brighter.

Mika: Hmm~, maybe it’s no good… But y’know, sad themes are often prevalent in fairytales ,right? I was tryin’ to dp a gothic spin on somethin’ like a fairytale.

Shu: And there’s nothing “no good” about that. Eternity and solitude…

Well, every artist, to a greater or lesser extent, all possesses the inquisitive mind for beauty. And it fits Valkyrie’s image as well.

Mika: I’m relieved, then! The image is still too vague, though, I’m not sure how to proceed from here.

Shu: I see… I understand the situation now.

Well, it’s not bad for a first attempt. Let’s expand that image a big more, shall we?

Shu: Hmm… Well, that’s about it, isn’t it?

Mika: Yer amazin’ as always, Oshi-san…! I can’t believe we were able to settle so much in the span of just an hour. I can see the image so clearly now!

Shu: I had been doing absolutely everything by myself up until this. There’s a gap of experience here.

For the title—Yes… How about we call it “Acanthe”?

Mika: Akan… tou?[1] That’s a strange word. It reminds me of the Kansai dialect.

Shu: Kagehira… You need to broaden your knowledge further.

It’s a-kon-t. Acanthe. It is the name of a flower named acanthus in English.

Mika: Hmm? But why name the new song Acanthe? I feel like it’s completely unrelated, ain’t it?

Shu: The flower language for the acanthe is “art” and “mastership”. It’s a title suitable for an artist enamored by eternity, is it not?

Mika: I see, so it’s flower language! You really are amazin’, Oshi-san!

Shu: Rather than praising me, learn how to do this much, Kagehira.

Anyways, a lot has been decided on. Beginning tomorrow, let us immediately get started on practice, shall we?

← prev | story directory | next →

In the Kansai dialect, “dame” (no good, impossible, etc…) is pronounced “akan”. Mika says it a lot…

#hermitage #event #translation #shu itsuki #mika kagehira

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umbralsound-xiv · 4 months

Text

Confide.

He'd sent me a letter not all too long ago. He's a surprisingly flowery person, on paper. He's been training his aether, and... ...Well, needless to say i was intrigued about what he'd achieved, if anything.

The small rap of gloved knuckles on wood rings out through the apartment. Bexy, waiting patiently on the other side of the door, holds a basket in the crook of her arm, no doubt holding something pleasant within.

The door parted through sweet smoke, spice, wood, and leather clung tight to the air. Regardless of how wide the window swung, it did not seem to help the potent fragrance from escaping though the scar torn Elezen had little care or notice. “Oh, Bexy.” While his letter called for her, he seemed almost surprised though he opened it wide for her and leafed a hand as invitation.

Mattisaux Baschet: “Would you like anything to drink or some random bit of snack?” A stubbed cigar lie in its tray smoldering beside a few bottles, a variety of the same mind-numbing sort.

Bexy Amalaryssia steps in at the offer, giving a warm smile as Mattisaux pulled into view. "After a letter like that, you wouldn't think to expect me?" She questions in that usual playful tone of her own, raising the basket. "So kind of you to offer, though i've brought my own offerings. I wouldn't want to look like a poor guest, hm?"

...Judging by the assortment on the table, i'm assuming not well. He seems okay, though. No new scars that i can see since the last i saw him this way. ...Unless this is usually the company he keeps when he's alone, then....

Her smile lead him to do much of the same though in a far lesser magnitude. “You ought to know I am not the type of person to care. Though I am the type to not want to be a terrible host, not unless to my enemies, of course. You can place that anywhere over the table to free yourself.” As he mentioned it, he stepped over to clear a space for her basket, his arm merely sliding the bottle aside. “And I expected you, I have just grown lazy and forgotten the time.”

Taking a few measured paces to the table, the basket is settled in the cleared spot, a few steps backwards as she took in the general appearance of the room. "I care. And besides. Your words were…" She doesn't quite say what she thought, but the way she looked over him in that concerned sort of way spoke enough. "Are… You well?"

Mattisaux stepped away from the table and into the space behind the counter to fetch a lowball glass and some water to fill it. Only one. “I am fine,” he answered with a raised brow from afar before making his way back in the main area. “Was my letter so alarming? I suppose it might have been…”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Not that you're the unflowery sort when it really comes to it, but it was just… Unexpected." Slow steps take her to a seat, where she carefully sits. "It sounds like your trip was fruitful. How goes the training?"

Mattisaux Baschet: “It was a success for the most part…” His eyes narrowed as she moved, clear in suspicion though it did not stop him from planting himself on the couch. There, he made his lounge to lean back against the couch arm while one leg lifted over to rest on the cushion. The Warden’s gaze spilled through the window over him as the afternoon carried on.

Mattisaux Baschet: “I was able to cast fire plainly in the snow with a what looked like a treant as target practice. I have never seen one outside of those cursed woods before but, there it stood only a few yalms away.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "…But you managed it all the same?" Her gaze traces his frame for new scars; she'd seen him like this before, albiet only once. "And.. What of your grasp on ice? It seems you've been doing much thinking, besides. And contrary to the words you send me, i don't get tired of hearing such things."

Naught else was too askew on the surface of his frame but a few shallow scraps; overlapping gnashes with far too many memories were already healed and blended together. Hearing that she would never tire of what he had to say produced the smallest grin at a corner of his mouth though it died fast to make room for a stifled sorrow. “My grasp on ice remains the same… I do not think I will ever be able to cast it after all. Not now that I understand a few things more.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "We make the most of what we have. The powers given to us. I can cast ice, and only ice. Nothing more." She leans forwards to pull a bottle out of the basket; some dark coloured spirit with a label so elaborate no one could read it without squinting. "What do you understand now, that you did not before?"

Mattisaux’s drifted his gaze outside at the unremarkable scape of dry mountaintops. His mouth pressed before his answer came. “I can never forgive Her. I can never forgive myself. Ice is where affection and love lie, its foundation, and while I understand it, I can never shake my past and the hate I hold deep within my heart of hearts for our Fury.”

Defeated eyes cast down to his lap. “I should have known from the start but… I thought I could do something about how weak I am with magic.” Hesitation held fast to him before he continued. “I do not want to lose myself because of such a silly weakness.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Knowing a weakness is a strength in and of itself. You know how to better compensate. How to better guard. Even if it's not the progress you're looking for, it's progress none the less." Her icy gaze settles on him, calm and steady. "Even if you cannot forgive yourself now, perhaps you will, one sun. Or not. You are more than capable either way."

He did not respond right away, what was there to say? His own chilled regard glanced up at her for the quickest moment until he leaned on the main back of the seat. One heaved sigh later and his pout intensified. “I suppose I should say I appreciate your consoling words. You are right in some sense but not quite entirely.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Then… Do elaborate, should you wish to, hm? I'm listening." Her expression is a little softer, leaning back in the chair to sit a little more comfortably. She could have conjured a glass for what she wished to drink, but opted to hold off on that, for a moment.

...He's wallowing. Some impasse he came to during his travels. I know he doesn't take failure well; not a sore loser, exactly... But the frustration of it all must weigh heavy on him...

Mattisaux Baschet: “I mean to say that knowing my weakness helps me very little; knowing that an element eludes me means that I will be susceptible to worse. Umbral magic has always been a thorn in my side, I cannot count how many times I have been put to sleep or one time I remember being silenced though, of course, not for the purpose of my casting a spell.”

He shook his head and ran his free hand up through his hair, entirely absentminded of the one that had the glass he meant to offer. “You must remember how I succumbed to the worst and attacked you, of all people, under the weight of my crystal on my mind. Now, I simply -know- it might happen again.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "So it is not necessarily the inability to use umbral aether -- Not only, at least… It is for what might happen, should the worst take you again." Lips pulled to a line, her gloved fingertips slowly drum on the side of her knee. "…You don't want those close to you to be hurt. Least of all, by your hand. I know how highly you value loyalty, and to you… This would be a betrayal?"

Mattisaux Baschet: “Pray, do not mention those words; the last time still stings me… I might as well have betrayed myself.” His next thought reminded him of the glass enough to place it on the table, push it Bexy’s away, and grab a transparent bottle with just as clear liquid. A dark blue labeled across it and the instant he popped the corked, a sharp stench mixed with the cigar smoke.

Mattisaux Baschet: “I need to learn this or I can never trust myself again. It’s simple when I say it though I can’t comprehend going through the motion.” His speech flowed, suddenly not caring too much in sounding so practiced.

The glass is plucked up between her forefinger and thumb, the cork on the bottle she brought popped to fill just a measure in the bottom of the vessel. "I know it's likely of little comfort. But if you attack me again, and you are clearly not yourself, i won't hold it against you. I'll defend myself, of course. But… You're right. Looking for a solution is perhaps more pragmatic than simply waiting for it to happen again." A small sip of her drink, mulling over her words. "We start at the source. though, it's not down for me to tell you who you can and can't forgive, least of all yourself. Do you think there's even the faintest possibility you might be able to? What would it take, do you think?"

As Mattisaux was about to pour the vicious liquid down his gullet, her question halted him. “What would it take?” His face promptly wrinkled, appalled at the suggestion though he said nothing to it in the moment. Between his legs the liquor sat over the cushion in silence. “Nothing,” his voice faltered. “I haven’t a single clue what could be done to wash away years of a hatred born in injustice. In more blood that could fill a full house.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Then if there is no way through here… You find another." She glances over the rim of her glass, eyes settling to his. "You're not one to give up easily, if ever. Even if we don't… Quite know how to approach it, yet…"

His brow scrunched with a quizzed stare at her gaze, unable to reason for a moment. “You mean to say there might be something else…? But what than the obvious?”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "That… I don't know. My aether came to me in less natural ways. A gift, or a curse, it's hard to tell which some suns. But, just because something hasn't been done before doesn't mean it's not possible to do it." She eyes him with all the determination that she usually held in such moments. "You're not a quitter. Rest, take your time, think. But don't give up searching for an answer. Perhaps i'll even make some inquiries of my own."

I can always ask Q'kura while i have him, i suppose. Whether his word would be worth trusting or not on a different subject, i'm unsure. Mattisaux went about this perhaps the same way i would. But just because he found no answers, does not mean there's no answers to be found.

It was at her last idea did he finally drink the pungent thing casually. “Pray, do -not- tell that disgusting Shroud witch my problems. She toyed with me once and never realized that she sicced you on me the first time. And don't tell that other scalekin either; your company is filled to the brim with freaks, I swear. If you must confide in someone, be it your sister.”

Bexy Amalaryssia straightens at that, eyes narrowing. "It's because of Adelle i'm able to visit you this sun, and Neoma hasn't a bad bone in her body. -Do not- speak poorly of them. I had other things in mind, anyway." A brow lofts, then. "I know you spoke. An amicable conversation, she told me."

Mattisaux bore his eyes into Bexy, tightening them quiet in bitterness. That she knew something without his knowing straightened him as well with a few adjustments in his seat. “I will speak however I wish about them; you did not bind me to that. And whatever that scalekin told you, her words mean nothing, though I know you will refuse to listen for the sake of a false friendship.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I'd be dead without either of them." Bexy is quick to remark, taking a long drink of her glass. "---And i had meant Sayuri. Not Neoma." A small curl of her lip compliments her lofted brow. "I hadn't known you and Neoma spoke."

...Interesting. Curious that Neoma hadn't mentioned anything either, but suppose she just doesn't want me to worry, or hadn't thought it important to. I knew about the one meeting where she found trouble, but... Hm.

Immediately he kissed his teeth and took a long swig. It was apparent how annoyed he was, eyes lidded with a faint stream of groaning. “Then forget I said anything. What did your sister have to say?”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Mostly that you spoke, and it wasn't an unpleasant experience; even after your altercation with her husband." She takes another long drink. "Yes, i know about that, too."

Mattisaux Baschet: “Of course,” he sighed again though it was not particularly bothered that time around. “Your Sayuri actually took me by surprise. When I approached her she seemed utterly irritable about something though it faded before long. I think she might actually be a treasure for you.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "She -is-." Her words were defiant, giving a small nod. "…There are not words in the world to describe the bond i have with her. She understands me on a deeper level than most, for all we've been through together and our similar aether. Aside from tearing through swathes of people to get her back… I am now trying to fix her aether. I know how important it is to her…"

Mattisaux Baschet: “Even without explicitly knowing how important it is to her, I am aware that she has had her ice since as long as she can remember. Imagine yours vanishing or perhaps both your legs. She also told me why she was at Bronze Lake to begin with. You miss my point though I hardly want to bother in telling it.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Then tell me. I know well how much it means, and what it is to lose it. It happened to me, once."

Another belabored sigh loosened, rolling his lidded eyes to the window for a moment before taking another drink of the now half than half bottle. A warmth spread worse throughout him in the dry heat of the land.

Mattisaux Baschet: “I already told you I do not feel like it, dear. Ease yourself. It isn’t a bad thing. Now enough of that before we sour this moment too much. I wanted to say that I truly do appreciate that you came here to listen to my complaints, my whining of how terrible I think I have it. I am at a loss and I do not know who else to tell so freely.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Then, as ever, i am here to listen. Give advice and observations where necessary, even if i might not always be able to help." She falls quietly for a little, considering. "…You understand this piece of me too, now. It… Brings a strange sort of comfort."

Mattisaux Baschet: “Only until now? Dear, you have a bleeding heart no matter how frozen to the touch you might feel; it is as plain as the sun is blinding. You display it any chance you get and are ever quick to jump in front of a fire for others. Handling confessions ought to be the easiest thing you have done.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact lilt, stating what he sees as if known to all.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Sometimes." Bexy reminds. "…Sometimes words are worse. Wounds are just… Pain. Words can come with all kinds of apprehension and dread. I know which i'd prefer to endure, though will endure either for the sake of a select few."

Pain is simple. Straightforward when it is a mere affliction. Pain at least allows me to know i'm still living. It hurts, but there's a... Comfort to it, at all. The few times i've come close to death, i've barely felt anything at all, when the moment drew close...

Mattisaux Baschet: “Words hurt you so, more that you would favor pain?” The thought paused him and left his eyes running over her for a short while. “I think they are both terrible and are prone to getting people killed. I prefer neither though that is hardly realistic. And I thought you had open ears for everyone.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Almost everyone. It's when i stop listening that someone is truly lost to me; when i don't care for them to the point of indifference, neither friend nor enemy both. I can't think of anyone who currently sits in that category, mind."

Mattisaux Baschet: “I can think of a few myself though I list them as enemies or your company members.” His mouth curled enjoying what seemed like a joke before he finished his drink and slapped it back on the table. He shuffled to lay down and rest his head over the arm and peered ceruleum eyes over at Bexy, scrolling up and down. “But like I said, bleeding heart, especially from any who become a member, even to -me-.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "You speak of yourself with such… Disdain." Her painted lips curl into a frown, then. "I have my reasons. Even if i elaborated, i wouldn't expect you to understand. But yes, Mattisaux. Even to you. Besides… It was you who sought me out in my most difficult suns. When i was a shell of myself. Was it not?"

Mattisaux Baschet: “You neglect to mention the things I have done. Even if you can look the other way, I… cannot..” A long breath huffed from his nose while he paused. At first he reached for one of the many other drinks of his table, until he lost heart. “You wonder where this disdain comes from,” he scoffed.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "…I know. Or, at least i think i do. You told me, once." A sigh, then. Not quite pitiful, but one that a frown soon accompanied. "You spend so long looking at that bad that you forget to see the good. You could have left me to fend for myself so many times. Refused to raise a blade to help me. You have seen me lose myself in near-madness, and offered your support. The sun i told you of the time i had left, you held me as i wept. You're important enough that i sent you a letter after my supposed demise, and you cared enough to read it. Whatever people say about you-- Be it true or otherwise, does not change the fact that i do not think you are a bad person."

Mattisaux quieted; he struggled to think of what to say, not that there was much to comeback with. In a way, his next movements were awkward, looking away suddenly and clearing his throat. That was, until he suddenly spoke, grumbling all the while with his hand sifting through his hair again. “Gods, your soft heart. Do -not- say things like that when I’ve already drank so much…” Whatever he meant, he opted not to elaborate.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Only because you can't contend it. I don't care how much you've imbibed or not. Gods, Mattisaux, there are people who give a damn about you. You know this…" That icy gaze melts into something more sorrowful, then. Her eyes move to his, as her voice lowers. "…You know this, yes?"

I care. He's done terrible things, and so have i. Yet he values loyalty as much as i do. Sure, he may not be perfect in the execution of it, but i see the pain and how much it affects him when he falls short. He understands that little part of me that would quite happily pave a road with blood if it meant those dear to me had a safe place to walk. No judgement. Nothing. And that isn't... Something i can easily explain.

Meeting her eyes was, perhaps, the last thing he thought to do. Rather, he settled his gaze at his lap once more. However, her last question left him raising his voice to say, “Yes, I know that. I know,” shortly quieting after. “Any more from me and you will hear naught but a pitiful self-loathing. I will not subject you to that.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "You had best not, else i'll soon drown it out with far more flowery compliments than these." She warned; it was playful, but sincere. "…You ever need someone to talk to, i am but a letter or pearl call away. You know that, too."

Mattisaux Baschet: “Compliments, gods…” He shook his head and closed his eyes to everything, soon coming to a lean against the couch back again. “I do know. I doubt that I will however. My pride would never allow it; how I’ve confided in you already was a painful blow to it though my tongue has loosened considerably even now. Pray, leave before I regret more than I do as is.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "…As you wish. Just… Don't forget what i said." Her raising from her seat is a careful affair, straightening up once she'd found her footing. With a small frown, she looks over him, then.

His busy hand visored over his brow, covering most of his view and his face, while the other hand waved her away. “I won’t… You don’t have to worry.” He groaned but to himself and his jaw clenched before he added, “You have my thanks… again for coming over.”

That gratitude is met with the smallest of smiles. Moving for the door she only utters her departing words of, "Be well, Mattisaux." Before she slips through the door again, leaving him to his own devices.

...I hope my presence helped him in some way. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to, or listen, but... ...At least he knows i care. That aught to count for something, yes?

#Muse: [Bexy]#Chapter: [A Taste Of Their Own Medicine]#FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Textlog

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foxymoxynoona · 4 months

Note

I made the mistake of reading the new MM chapter before work today and I am completely distracted! How can I think of functions and optimisation when I need to know how that phone call is about to go down...

I wasn't in the fandom when the tattoo drama first happened so I am somewhat shocked by the lengths people are going to but also kinda not surprised.... I cannot imagine anyone in my circle ever reacting remotely close to that, so I suppose that's where the confusion is coming in.

I really hope they make it through this turbulent time without any additional terrible things happening, particularly regarding Sasha's privacy. I also hope JK will be rational and not take personally the blackmail coffee she has to go to AND that Seojoon won't get in her head. What they need right now is time alone somewhere safe, some cuddles and conversation with the translation app. What a mess.

It is really hard to feel bad for the tattoo salon people. In no way would they or anyone else deserve death threats, I feel like that is surely a given. That being said, they tried to hurt others, profit from them and invade their privacy when they must've known to some extent that they'd be causing them harm, especially given the multiple requests not to take photos. I am hoping it's a lesson for them for the future in what revenge can bring. Unbelievably thoughtless and reckless on their part.

In the meantime, I am really hoping for Sasha's safety, in the literal sense, but also mentally and in terms of her opportunities in SK. Also for JK's mental health in all of this and their resilience as a couple. At least we know from reality that the craziness over his tattoos does eventually die down, hopefully they can ride it out together.

Amazing update as usual, I am having such a hard time plugging back in my real life and not being fully mentally stuck in the fantasy world you beautifully crafted.

I'm so the same, I HATE having to focus no IRL work when I am all wrapped up in a story. It's hard enough doing regular stuff --my husband and kids will usually be like ok go write it out please and then come back to us. I wish I could just take a week off work every time I'm in a real juicy part of the story haha. I wish I could just sit down and write nonstop for you all, we could escape into fantasy land together haha

I wasn't in the fandom when he got his tattoos either, when I joined up he already had them but I still saw SOME of the shit people posted in vlive comments and stuff even months or years after so while I don't know for a fact, this story response didn't seem too far-fetched to me to roll with it haha. I also drew inspiration for how I did see fans react to Seven sex version, and when Jungkook said "fuck" in the cover of Savage Love, and the eyebrow piercing, and the lip piercings!! I'm not on Twitter so I really only see what comes to twitter or in the comments of a live but... I've seen enough to imagine a world that felt sadly realistic for this story 😵‍💫

#asks #my matryoshka

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hmspogueobx · 1 year

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Everything to me (Paul Lahote)

Chapter Eight: Questions

I'm helping Emily with some baking - well, I'm fetching her ingredients - while the boys are cleaning up from the lunch she made us. Just as Emily swats my hand away from the bowl of blueberries we all hear tires rolling up the driveway and smell the unfortunately familiar stinging smell of vampire mixed with Jacob's smell. Bella. I groan out very dramatically, earning chuckles from the boys. They all race out like children to greet her and Leah turns the corner.

"I already have a headache from the smell. Do a lap with me?" I ask her.

"Unless you want to watch me bitch slap her... Yeah." And as much as I'd pay to see that, I lead Leah out of the house, dodging my eyes from Emily's disapproving look.

"Maybe I should call Bella and hang up!" We catch the tail end of the ribbing the boys are giving Jacob on our way out.

"Maybe I should call Bella from a different number." I throw out in passing. Leah stops in her tracks and sends Bella a nasty glare.

"If you're here to torture Jacob some more, feel free to leave."

"Fun isn't she?" Jacob mumbles to Bella.

We get one more glance of Bella's confused face as we jump into our wolf forms and take off.

It's only a few days later when Jacob comes bounding into Sam and Emily's kitchen spewing nonsense about Bella and some intruder. Apparently we are now to post outside of her bedroom window. As much as I hate the idea, a part of me is glad that Charlie isn't in that house unprotected while strange vampires play home invader. It's only a matter of time before he becomes a casualty in Bella's living nightmare.

I feel even better about it when I discover I am to switch between pairing with Leah and Paul.

Tonight I'm with Paul. I'm so glad that it's in our wolf forms, so that I don't have to panic about what to wear. We're still claiming to be just friends. But the power of the imprint bond only continues to grow, and I can't seem to help but feel like he's a part of me. We haven't spent much time completely alone since that first night, so I don't feel so weird that I'm excited to sit outside a near strangers window all night.

I'm standing just outside the Swan house when I hear padding footsteps approaching.

I can see myself through Paul's mind as he sits down next to me.

"Hey" I greet him.

"Hi. I miss any action?" He asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Well so far the Seahawks won the game by a landslide. Charlie fell asleep on the couch and I made really awkward eye contact with Bella through the window." I fill him in.

"Wow. I can't believe you didn't wait for me to make awkward eye contact with Bella." He retorts and I let out a weird barking giggle. I huff and lay down in the grass, Paul following suit.

"Well, it looks like we've got all night to kill... What's your favorite color?" He asks me.

Smiling at his question I reply with a good side-eye.

"No no, you have to answer. We have like 9 hours to kill, and we're supposed to be getting to know each other!" He exclaims.

"Purple." I'm sure he can feel my smirk in the tone of my voice. "You?"

"White, with a little grey mixed in there." He replies while eyeing my fur, a playful look in his eye. "No actually it's red. My mom used to decorate the house in mostly red... It reminds me of her." That's the beauty about asking someone the simple question of their favorite color. It always leads to more intimate things.

"Tell me something else good about your parents." I request. I'd already heard the tale of the divorce. How his mom left because his dad was an asshole, but I liked the way he seemed to go back to his childhood when he thought of her in his old house.

"The three of us used to go to the beach a lot when I was little. I still love it there." I see in his mind images of his mom chasing him into the waves. Him and his dad playing soccer on the shore.

"Will you tell me about your parents?" He asks.

I hesitate. "Yeah. My dad used to be this really carefree, easy going guy. Didn't let anything get to him. But after my mom disappeared he got kind of trapped in his own mind. But he's always been so sweet to me... My mom was this really vibrant person. She drew everyone in. Everyone just wanted to make her happy. You'd just kind of find yourself going along with her so you could see her smile."

"She sounds a lot like you." Paul comments. You smile at him. "Do you miss Vancouver?"

A flash of ripping and snarling jolts through my head at the mention of Vancouver before I cut it off.

"You don't have to answer that if you're not ready." He says, feeling guilty for bringing me back there. I take a deep breath in through my snout.

"No, I think I want to tell you. Something happened. And it changed everything for me. It's a really painful memory. But I want you to know even the worst of me before you decide to stick with me."

"Hey. I want nothing more than for you to feel safe enough to share things with me. But I've already decided. I'm yours Lucy."

I want to kiss him so badly at that moment. But instead I open my mind to him and share the darkest moment of my life.

#paul lahote #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote fluff #paul #twilight #werewolves

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jorvikwildhorse · 2 years

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Thoughts on Horse Tales: Emerald Valley Ranch

Hey horse game blog. I played another horse game recently and had some Thoughts, so i decided to share just in case anyone else was still on the fence about picking this one up. I personally couldn’t find a lot of reviews on this game other than “Heyyy, this is coming out soon and it’s a horse game!!” so uhhhh here’s mine, i guess!

[I’m very certain this cute, tiny gazebo isn’t supposed to be here and is actually a bug]

Horse Tales: Emerald Valley Ranch is a game where you can tame, breed, and race horses. Alongside your horse companion you can explore an island and rebuild your disused estate into prime equestrian property.

Right off the bat, I would caution anyone looking to purchase Horse Tales for the Nintendo Switch. I don’t know what it’s like on other consoles, I’ve heard it is an overall more stable experience, pardon the pun. On the Switch, the game is poorly optimized. It chugs when loading into just about any area, pop-in is ever-present and in handheld mode it degenerates to a blurry, pixelated mess. The game is quite buggy, and I’m not sure if this is just on the Switch or if the other platforms suffer in this way. Entire quest-lines can be bugged with certain features like genetic testing for your horses being locked behind them waiting for developers to patch the game. Even though building and crafting are one of the core gameplay aspects, sometimes the game will straight up forget where you placed an entire structure or tree and you’ll have to expend the materials to rebuild them.

[Behold: an athlete]

Beyond the bugs and performance issues, the game itself is a bit half-baked. I understand this is a smaller game from a smaller studio and even sports a smaller price tag, but questionable design choices really dragged down my experience overall. Once you finish your main quests, there isn’t much to do other than collect material to build decorations or expand stable capacity on your estate, breed horses and run around the environment. In most other games, I am happy to do these activities (really, I am not very hard to please! Gamers hate how little it takes for horsefolk to be happy.), but that really is all there is to offer once you’ve completed the handful of story quests.

The explorable world is vast, but not sprawling. You’ll find many winding, yet restrictive and narrow paths to traverse, but you’ll be retreading that same ground often. There’s no fast travel beyond a reset to your centrally located estate, so if you need to go very far to talk to a character or collect some material for your next building then you could be in for a long trek. While I don’t mind meandering around these paths on a nice trail ride or even testing out the speed of a new horse, it can be frustrating that there’s never going to be such a thing as a ‘quick trip’ to fetch some wood or other material. You’ll always be making that long trip out of the valley that surrounds your estate no matter which shortcut you open up. There’s also no minimap or direct button for your map. It’s always: open menu, tab over, wait for the map to eventually load, and then plan out what route you’re going to take. You can only have one waymarker at a time and it does nothing for path-finding, it only shows you the distance remaining between you and your objective.

Towns are eerily depopulated no matter how big they are or how many houses they have in them. I’m pretty sure there are only like, 6 people that live on the island, giving it a weirdly abandoned vibe, which I’m very sure was unintentional. The design of the world is almost entirely horse-centric, which is fine! And good! considering the theming of the game. But sometimes you’ll come across a random parking lot in a forest surrounded by wilderness and think, who is this for? Who actually lives here and needs this? (It reminds me of the paved suburban streets of New Hillcrest in Star Stable Online. Like, who needs this in an almost entirely rural horse-based infrastructure? lol) The cast of interactive characters that reside on the peninsula are less characters than they are quest-givers, their dialogue is bland and almost entirely to inform you about certain game mechanics making for quite an isolating experience.

An unintuitive and stilted quest progression often leaves you in the dark about how to access useful features quickly. Basic features like washing your filthy, stinky horse (who will acquire grime every time you flub a jump, which for me was, uh, often) or building a house so your player character can stop living in a tent when your horses live in luxurious barns are often hidden down not-so obvious side-quests.

[This was one of the first horses I bred. No, I didn’t get to choose her name. No, for some reason the “press Y to rename horse” button doesn’t work. No, her genetics and coat coloration aren’t even displaying correctly, they belong to her dam. Yes, it is really funny that she hates stallions. Butch horse daddy.]

But I digress, the horses! That’s what this game is about! This is why we’re here. So far there is only one breed of horse that can be found in the base game, the Selle Français, with the Irish Cob being available as DLC. The animation of the horses’ gaits are fairly accurate and the animations that play when you pet and scratch your horse are super cute and endearing. I like that I could make little notes about each horse’s favorite snacks or places they liked to be scratched, but I could never fully enjoy looking them in the face as I found them quite hideous (lol). The games style is minimal and less focused on realism so less emphasis is placed on the conformation of the horses as bold coat coloration is, which I think is a shame, but I won’t fault them on it considering the scope of the game.

Breeding horses and playing with their genetic traits is a big draw of Horse Tales, and I did get a kick out of seeing a neat coat color crop up on my own homebred projects. I did think it was weird there was no horse raising or training aspect, however. Foals pop out as fully grown horses overnight and if you didn’t get the specific combinations of genes you were hoping for there’s really no incentive to bond with that horse anyway. There is a neat feature to train specific behavioral traits into your horse, but it serves only to make them hate water less, or be less afraid of the dark or heights. If your horse is born with sub-par stats there’s no way to train them to make them speedier or boost their endurance unless they were already born with a personality trait that makes them faster on certain terrain.

There are races for you to compete in, of course, but there’s no real intensive for you to breed your own horses with perfect stats when you can just capture wild horses with just as serviceable stats as you progress and explore more areas. Any wild horses with high endurance will win you races just fine and with the narrow pathways and tight corners of the racetracks (and compounded with the willful and shaky camera that fights you at every turn), super fast horses will just have you careening wildly into walls and jumps. Other than these races, there’s really no specific “jobs” you can breed for. It’s either cross country champion or, if your horse isn’t fast, pretty trail pony. I felt a bit cruel selling off my breedject horses that didn’t make the cut, but I really had no reason to keep them around, so it was off to market they went.

OVERALL, Despite what I’ve written sounding overwhelmingly negative, I did enjoy my time with this game! But between poor design choices and the copious amounts of bugs I found little reason to continue playing it. The game feels unfinished at worst and unpolished at best. If $40 is a lot of money for you, I wouldn’t pick it up just yet. That amount of money, while better than a full $60 AAA game price tag, has been a lot for me to swing in the past and I would be majorly disappointed to have used my hard-earned money on a game of this quality, even if it does have horses. I would wait until it goes down in price or if the devs fix it up and add anything worthwhile to it in future patches. If $40 isn’t a big deal to you and just desperately need a new horsey-game fix, then perhaps pick it up on a console that isn’t the Switch.

#Horse Tales: Emerald Valley Ranch #horse tales emerald valley ranch #horse tales #jwhtext #other horse games

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