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casp1an-sea · 8 months ago

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Lieutenant Colonel Tagdh Dowd

(Pronounced Ty-G It’s an Irish name I’m so sorry)

Birth Year: 5BBY

Age: 39 (In TFA, Hux is 34 and scary >:( )

Species: Arkanisian

This is a made up species. They are natives to the planet Arkanis. They outwardly appear mostly human aside from small gills, very vibrant eyes, males having sharp teeth, and visible body markings under specific lightings. They can withstand colder temperatures than humans and can hold their breath for longer, but are highly susceptible to heat. Their bodies have adapted to live in cold, wet, climates, and be able to swim in strong waters. They also have a few differences to their internal anatom.

(it is my head canon that Hux’s mother is an Arkanisian making him half alien though he appears human and may not even be aware himself)

Gender: non-conforming, but refers to himself as male, He/They

Sexuality: Aro spec, Pansexual pref for men

Height: 6’2” sorry Hux

Occupation: Lieutenant Colonel aboard the Finalizer, First Order Navy

(sense no Lieutenant Colonels are shown in the movies his uniform is the Lieutenant uniform style but the Colonel’s colors)

not sure where to put this, but he has an Irish accent

(more info under the art)

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Personality: Tagdh is a very serious no nonsense person when At Work. The only thing not regulation about this man is his haircut. He really just wants to do his job. He’s blunt quick to the point is always focusing on doing his job to the fullest of his ability. He comes across as very emotionless or deadpan as he doesn’t feel that it’s needed in his job. he has a great mind for politics and strategy and is very logical but he keeps all of these beliefs to himself because he doesn’t really feel the need to share opinions with people. On shore leave he allows himself to relax. He still is fairly reserved but does allow some sarcasm and snarkyness that you would not see him using on the bridge. If you work with him, he does not consider you a friend while he’s working he considers you a coworker. He constantly must have a very strict divide between his work and pleasure and his work always takes priority. If you happen to hang out with him outside of work, then a friendship could possibly develop as long as it’s not during work hours, but he is very adverse to forming actual friendships as he doesn’t view that as his top priority. he’s not necessarily for the order completely, but he was raised in the Arkanis imperial Academy, and was radicalized by his negative experiences with the new Republic so views the first order as a better fit. However, he really does not like it when personal feelings get into the workplace and is very sick and tired of Kylo and Hux’s banter he really just doesn’t understand it. He also does not feel that the force is a viable qualification for someone getting a job or place of power and holds resentment towards force users for being able to obtain positions without doing any work for it, and believes that the majority of them are terrible leaders because they do not understand what it is like without power and can use the force as a crutch, which makes them weak and ignorant.

Appearance: Tagdh has long light brown hair with blonde streaks. He typically has his hair, partially slipped back and tied into a bun. But he will take it down when he’s in his quarters as wearing his hair up all day can give him headaches. He has a scar on the left side of his chin. His body type is kind of stocky with visible muscles, though he doesn’t appear particularly buff. He has various hidden tattoos and piercings around his body, including a tattoo of the first order logo on his neck. He has a beauty mark under the right corner of his lip and freckles. he also has golden eyes that glow in certain lighting along with stripes that cover his whole body that also are only visible in certain lightings. he has gills on the sides of his neck that allow him to temporarily breathe under water if need be, and as a male of his species, he has sharp teeth. But you wouldn’t really notice that he is not human at first glance so typically he pretends to be human. You’ll typically see him in his first order uniform, which, as I mentioned before is the style of the lieutenants uniform, but the teal color of the colonels uniform. When not in uniform, he’s typically in the regulation tank top and boxers. He hardly ever wears civilian clothing, but he refuses to wear his uniform on shore leave, he must have a strict divide between work and pleasure. His preferred style of civilian clothing is very casual, layered browns and greens. Something he would have worn as an Arkanis civilian if he hadn’t went to the Academy. He has a mean case of resting bitch face.

Weapons: SE-44C blaster Pistol

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Backstory: Tagdh’s father Fionn was born in a local Arkanis village. He and his older brother Jal ran away from home as young teenagers because they heard of the imperial Academy on their planet and wanted a chance to train so they could one day leave and see outer galaxy. Jal graduated and entered the imperial Navy, where he eventually became a commander before he met his demise after being rapidly promoted and sent to the front lines. a plan orchestrated by Vader so that the Empire could take custody of their adopted force sensitive child Ven. After joining the Academy Fionn did not remain close with his brother and became very disillusioned by the imperialism. he eventually was sent into the imperial Navy, but he was discharged a year later due to injury and returned to Arkanis. Since he was determined to do something for the Empire, he became a trainer at the academy where he trained young imperial cadets.

During his time back on Arkanis he married another local Arkanisian woman named Aoibhinn. they essentially got married to get married. There was no love involved, but it was completely mutual. When Tadgh was born, he was immediately placed into the imperial Academy system. he never really knew his mother as his father didn’t really want her around the military stuff And one of the imperials living on Arkanis, Brendol Hux, had grown reputation for forcing himself onto local girls, after he got his kitchen servent pregnant, so most of the local woman did not go near the Academy. Because of this, and because his father explained that it was a loveless marriage Tadgh did not see any need to grow any form of attachment or familial bond to either of his parents. he saw his father only as his trainer. And his father‘s training was ruthless.

Tagdh did grow up with Hux as a child. But he knew the boy to be violent and unstable so tended to avoid him. But on a few occasions, he had caught Hux having a mental breakdown or alone in the med wing so would just sit with him. Occasionally put his hand on his back when he cried. As adults neither of them speak of these instances.

Tagdh was 10 years old when the New Republic sieged Arkanis. Both him and his father were captured. He believes his mother was amongst the local casualties, but does not know for sure. His father was sentenced to life in prison after he refused to denounce the empire, and was charged for the cruel ways in which he trained his cadets and his actions during his one year in active duty. Tagdh was brought to a new Republic reintegration institution (like from Mando S3) where he regularly felt belittled and mistreated and he resented the therapist that he was forced to go to. he watched firsthand how a fledgling new republic was struggling to take care of the disenfranchised worlds in the galaxy, including his home world, and being In the institution only radicalized him further.

when he was 14 he was extracted from the institution by imperial sympathizers and brought to the unknown regions, where he continued his military training under the fledgling first order reuniting with Hux, and getting more firsthand interaction with Brendol and his training tactics which only made him dislike the man more. He always found him stupid and annoying, and likewise felt the same about his buddies like Pryde and Brooks. Even at a young age, he was always analyzing things from a logical and political standpoint. He viewed Brendol’s generation to be too old and keep too much problematic rhetoric from the past Empire.

eventually, he rose up in the ranks and became Lieutenant Colonel. Ignoring his childhood and viewing him strictly as his commanding officer, he saw Hux as a good and strong leader, and believed him to be the best fit for leading the order out of the options that they had. Because of this he was very loyal to him because to Tadgh Hux becoming supreme leader was the most logical favorable outcome and was always his end goal. He never liked snoke but he didn’t care that much as long as Hux was calling the shots.

Tadgh and Kylo actually have hung out outside of work and have a tentative friend-ish ship. However Tadgh’s view of Kylo’s military persona is entirely different. And he makes that very clear that his opinions of Kylo outside of work do not affect his opinions of him while working. When it comes to the first order, he is not loyal to Kylo at all. He thinks he is a complete disaster and a terrible leader. He will sometimes bring this up in snarky comments on those rare occasions when they’re hanging out outside of work. He also doesn’t really see Kylo as a threat and believes Hux has more power over Kylo than he seems to think.

He is close with Mitaka as they work a lot side-by-side, so they do hang out outside of work. But Tagdh really does not like using the word friend this also applies to Kylo. He has an immense respect for Captain Phasma, and fears her in a good way, so stays out of her way. And of course he loves Millicent. He’ll sometimes leave treats or water for her by his quarters door if Hux lets her wander.

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@sluttycaseyjones

@dragonflies-draw-flame

@silly-little-goober-core

@irrationalgame

@armiestice

@edith-is-a-cat

@elenauaurs

@fizzydreamz

@kira-mortham

#star wars #star wars oc #first order #armitage hux #general hux #brendol hux #kylo ren #captain phasma #dopheld mitaka #enric pryde #snoke #millicent the cat #alien oc #cas’s ocs

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the1975attheirverybest · 2 years ago

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i was watching 1975 interviews with a friend and we were both like he is so autistic like when he stims on stage or just generally, gets super into a topic and has very set opinions on a topic (like he is very set on the whole rockstar cliche thing among various other topics which comes across at the like set moral standpoint or whatever its actually phrased as on the criteria), complains about not liking certain smells, is very blunt despite it being 'rude', is disliked by most people at first (that one study about nts clocking if you're autistic and thinking you're wierd), how he can be a bit monotone (it really comes through in the GQ interview), how his accent isnt fully northern despite being a full northerner like he has a tiny bit of the posh vibe that i have which comes from the autism, not having a super like clear cut view of gender (which yeah could just be how he was brought up but there are also a lot of studies about how autistic people are more likely to be gender non conforming because gender is a social construct), people with adhd have a high change of also having autism and vice versa, or his (now gone) attachment to that coach bag (a lot of tests ask about having a comfort item or a thing that you have to have or you feel wierd without it and he has literally been on stage with it like surely you dont need it while performing), also the coke fixation like i admire how committed he is and same with the malbec like i have taken to fixating on fruit twist fanta but most places dont have it

bonus trait of the dinosaur arms thing like even in the photos of him with taylor hes doing it (could also just be gay and limp wrist)

obviously not actually diagnosing him but its nice to be like he does the thing that i do which is autistic that fun and cool and also being friends with other autistic people and coming to the realisation of oh we are both autistic its become a lot easier to recognise trait in other people - 🐸

Ohhh woooooowww you know what? You just blew my mind with the gender-non-conforming statistic I feel like that just a) furthers my belief that gender is just a socio-political construct and b) helped me better understand autistic people’s relationship to social norm (this might be out of context but I have a cousin who is autistic and her dad is always forcing “femininity” on her so it’s a whole thing for our family etc etc).

And yeah I def see those traits in Matty though I’d never thought of them to be indicators of anything other than maybe ADHD and his chaotic nature lmaoooo. But you’re so right. I think in addition to smells he might have mentioned some texture aversion at one point but I can’t remember. What a fascinating fella. Love him even more if that’s even possible now.

#🐸anon

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 5 years ago

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A Tail for Two

Summary: You often seek solace in the form of the most unusual of company. So one day after you find out your father pawned you off to marry some rich man’s son, you release your woes to one of your closest friends. Thinking you had no way out, you never expected your life to take a complete 180.

Warnings: Very mild and brief mention of n.udity, otherwise this is some adventure and fluff.

Word Count: 6k exactly

A/N: Second prize for my giveaway for @nuvoleincielo! I apologize for this one taking so long - I had trouble figuring out what to do plot wise for this. I also didn’t want to surpass 5k words, but it happened anyway and I’m pleased with how this turned out. Enjoy!

Damp sand sifted with your footsteps, a trail soon washed away from the gentle lapping waves of Flat Iron Lake. A steel toned mist settled heavy amongst the surface, giving no leeway to dry land. The bleak atmosphere obscured the sinking sun. It was early evening, and soon you’d be engulfed in total darkness.

Yet you didn’t care. The tears flowing from your eyes didn’t allow much for sight anyway. Running aimlessly across the shore, you didn’t stop until your lungs burned for air, struggling to breathe properly from the exertion and crying combined. Slowing down to a walk, you breathed in the humid air and finding no physical relief.

You cast your gaze at your surroundings for the first time, though spotting hardly anything in this dense fog. The shore stretched before you, reaching into the endless depths of the lake. The calm waters lapped around the soles of your boots, dampening the leather.

Water always calmed you in the darkest of times. Staring into the murky depths instilled a sense of serenity, an escape from this cruel world, even temporarily. Swallowing the painful lump in your throat, you bent down to sit on the sand. It was cold, except you couldn’t care less. It felt soothing.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you allowed your vision to focus on the turbid waters in front of you. Fish darted beneath the surface, occasionally jumping up to catch a bug. Oh how it must be so simple to live like a fish, not having to conform to society and just relying on basic instinct.

Even without much light, their scales held a certain iridescence to them. On a sunny day they glittered like freshly polished jewels, inviting you in for a swim amongst them.

A flash of movement caught your eye, a glance of color amongst the opaque green, brown and silver. A much larger object swimming amongst the smaller schools of fish. You heard the water surface break, and something splashed. You squinted your eyes to see a figure amongst the dim. Who was swimming in this weather, while the air was this chilly?

The figure drew closer to you, and your muscles tensed. You weren’t sure what to expect, until a familiar face appeared through the thick curtain of mist. A face you hadn’t seen in a while.

“A-Arthur?”

The being known as Arthur rose halfway from the surface, exposing his drenched, naked torso. Strings of lake weed adorned his neck and upper arms, some strung with clam shells. Beneath the water lurked a shimmering presence, the lazy treading of his beautiful thick tail.

Sailors often told the cautionary tale of these creatures, though many people put it off as hogwash and silly dreams. Once as a young girl you dreamed about mythical creatures, and what it would be like to meet them. You supposed that wish would never come true.

Arthur was a merman you met some years ago, after an argument with your father had driven you to seek solace in this very lake. You’d come across a lonely dock that you sat upon, letting your tears fall into the waters below. Somehow your crying had been heard across the lake, attracting the most unusual of company.

From countless tales, you knew merfolk would generally avoid humans, unless they were seeking blood. However Arthur was a different sort, his curiosity plain as he spoke with you. Somehow it was easy to converse with this stranger, openly admitting your woes. He couldn’t offer a solution, though you found yourself comfortable to unload to someone who wouldn’t judge.

You hadn’t expected to call that same merman your friend. After that night you ventured out again in hopes to see him and to convince yourself it wasn’t a vivid dream. At first unsuccessful, he appeared just as you gave in, and thus kindling your friendship with him. Often sneaking out at night to call upon his company, away from the eyes of the curious.

Though as these past few years went by, you’d see him less and less. At no fault of either of yours, he had his life to live and so did yours. He didn’t tell you much about his life beneath the waves, other than he traveled frequently. Though his accent was heavy, indicating he must’ve settled somewhere ages ago.

Now the merman before you smiled in recognition. “It’s been quite a while,” He mused.

You nodded in response. “Yes, over a year since we last spoke,” You responded, though your voice thick from crying. You sniffed in attempts to sound clearer.

“Seems something’s troublin’ you again,” he rumbled, swimming even closer. “I heard you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Taking a shuddering breath, you spoke again. “My father… he’s trying to force me to marry this man. I didn’t want any part of it.”

Arthur frowned at this news. “Why is that?”

“Some stupid debt he has to settle,” you explained while shaking your head in disgust. “He drank his savings away and took a loan from a rich businessman. Well when it came time to pay, he had nothing to give, except me.”

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed in concern, the frown deepening. “That don’t seem right, what kinda father would give up his daughter over a debt?”

“Mine,” you grumbled, glaring down at the sandy ground. “We had an argument, a bad one. I couldn’t change his mind.”

The merman let out a sigh, shaking his own head. “Not even my people do that, no one would be happy.”

“Unfortunately it’s common up here on the surface,” you continued, toeing at a shell half-buried in the sand. “Women aren’t respected.”

“So I’ve seen,” Arthur mused. “Humans are a strange breed, pawnin’ off their young over money, yet they call us monsters.”

A bitter smile crossed your lips. “Well, your kind also eat sailors, or so I’ve heard,” as you spoke, a darkness crossed his eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

A smile of his own appeared on his face, though rueful. “S’okay, I can’t blame you. Those stories are as old as time.”

You’ve since learned that tales like that were more hogwash. Sure, Arthur did imply that perhaps other mer-tribes would hunt down humans, but far and few in between if normal hunts were unsuccessful. Merfolk would prefer to stay away from humans, as their curiosity would cause more harm than good in sparking hunts of their own to bring one or more back for money and show.

Though out of the multiple times you’ve met Arthur, by some miracle you were able to avoid the company of others. Usually you two were in your own little world until other obligations called either one of you back home. Sometimes you wished you could join him, hoping one day your legs would mesh into a beautiful tail and you’d swim after him, letting him bring you to his home far beneath the surface.

Dreams would remain dreams. Hell, if God himself would grant you the impossible, you’d leave with him right then and there.

“Couldn’t you run away?” Arthur asked, breaking your train of thought.

You blinked in surprise, wondering if he somehow could read your mind. If that were the case, would he have heard your thoughts from times previous? Your face flushed at the mere consideration, and you were glad it was slowly getting darker. “I couldn’t survive on my own,” you finally answered. “Mama always told me it weren’t proper for a lady to be outside.”

This seemed to confuse Arthur, as he cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. “That don’t seem right at all, how are you s’posed to learn anything?”

“I learn how to be a wife. To cook and clean, how to make my future husband happy,” you sighed heavily. “Guess I’ll be good for one thing.”

“Don’t talk like that, maybe there’s hope for you,” Arthur said quietly.

You shook your head slowly, your vision blurred once again with a fresh bout of tears. They fell freely, soaking into the already dampened earth. “Unless someone could whisk me away, there’s no hope.”

---

That night, you succumbed to a restless slumber. Your subconscious seemed to be on a loop, playing the same tumultuous argument between you and your father. The warped face of your future husband loomed from the depths of your mind, standing before you with a smirk. Then, you there next to him, staring at yourself in a mirror. A wedding dress bound to your figure, nervous hands clutching a wilting bouquet while your spouse held an iron grip on your waist.

The waking world served no enlightenment. A few days have passed by with no offer of escape. One mid-morning, your father sent you out into town for groceries (and alcohol), a chore he’d usually do himself if he wasn’t already waist deep in inebriation.

Iron-clad hooves tapped against the worn cobblestone street of Blackwater. Dark clouds overcast the sky, and the smell of rain hung heavy in the air, deterring most other citizens. You were nearly alone in the street, aside from the occasional wagon passing you by. You weren’t in a hurry regardless of the impending storm, your mind too wrapped up in your own thoughts to shift focus on nature.

Within the next week, you were to be wed. You’d met your future husband only a handful of times prior to the agreement – he was a few years older than you, outwardly handsome though seemed to have an affinity for gambling. Coming from wealth, money was merely a secondary thought for him. He’d flirt with you, flash a charming smile and run his clean fingers against his neat hair, slicked back with pomade.

Any other eligible woman would be keen to marry such a charming man. Those who congratulated you were ignorant of the true reason, and you didn’t have the heart to remedy that. You supposed the truth would show itself sooner or later, especially since your father’s poor financial decisions were somewhat of a known issue.

Drawing closer to the general store, you slid from the saddle just as the first few drops of rain began to fall. They felt unseasonably cold, which only indicated a miserable ride home. You sighed and hitched the horse before hurrying onto the sidewalk and pushing open the glass door of the general store. You were greeted by the smell of coffee beans and dried goods, shortly followed by a verbal welcome of the shopkeeper. You nodded to him in response and turned your attention to the shelves.

Out of the corner of your eye, another patron partially caught your attention. He was on the opposite end of the shop, back facing you as he perused the shelves. He was tall and broad-framed, with long sandy hair flowing like water to just above shoulder height.

Something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps you’ve come across him before in town? It wasn’t smart to dwell however, and you didn’t want to get caught staring. You instead turned your attention back to the tiers of canned fruit.

After a few minutes of picking through the shelves, you paid for a crate worth of goods and stepped out just in time for the drizzle to turn into a steady rain. You peered over at your horse, the old stallion shaking his head as if to rid of the droplets falling into his ears. You approached him, placing the crate on the ground to transfer everything to the saddle bags.

Behind you, the door opened again. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the man from earlier. He was too out of view to see him clearly, and it would be too impolite to look over.

Within a few minutes the groceries were tucked into the saddlebags, thankfully transferred over without becoming too wet. You wiped away a layer of precipitation from the saddle and mounted, casually throwing a glance the man’s way. He was leaning up against the building, his head turned away from you. He had no coat nor hat on, nothing to shield him from the ever hastening downpour. You shook your head and steered your horse the opposite way down the street.

Later that day, the rain failed to lighten which confined you indoors for a few hours. However, it was nearly time for the animals to be fed their dinner. Wrapping yourself in a thick shawl, you stepped outside of your back door and hurried toward the run down barn on the far end of the yard. The horse nickered in response from his small pasture, knowing exactly your destination. Chickens pecking restlessly at the ground ruffled their feathers and scattered away from your footsteps, only to follow you just a few feet behind.

Stepping through the threshold, the surrounding dampness increased the musty, stale hay and bird dropping aroma trapped in the old wooden walls. Your nose wrinkled as you approached an opened bale of hay, first grabbing a few flakes and making your way back to the pasture. Stepping into the shallow mud and focusing over to the horse, you noticed his back was turned – his attention on a person petting his neck.

It wasn’t a strange sight to see, as you lived right next to the road and the ever so friendly old stallion would attract children and urban tourists for some affection and treats. You didn’t mind; they weren’t hurting him and he was happy regardless.

You could only partly see the visitor, and with a prick of surprise you recognized him, somewhat. You sidestepped for a better view, thus confirming your suspicion. It was the man from the store. Your movement caught his attention and his head turned toward you.

Wait…

You frowned and furrowed your brow. This man seemed too familiar. A face you’d only associate with certain times, surrounded by murky water.

No, that wasn’t possible.

A small smile formed on the man’s lips, a very familiar smile you’d seen countless times when greeted by a friend.

Truly this couldn’t be reality.

“Arthur?”

The smile widened and he gave a small, single nod. “Hey, Y/N.”

Your body seemed to be rooted in its place. Aside from your slacked jaw of shock, your muscles seemed to be frozen. How could the merman you’d come to know stand in front of you, on dry land? You must be dreaming, perhaps you fell off your horse and hit your head somehow –

“You alright?” he asked, breaking through your mental attempts to make any sense of this.

A million words flitted through your mind though none were able to pass your lips. Finally after ten seconds of silence, your mouth moved to utter a singular, “How?”

Arthur gripped the fence and hopped over with such ease it almost seemed like he floated, crossing the pasture to come closer to you. Your breath hitched, watching him move so fluidly as if he walked his entire life. This simply didn’t make a lick of sense. He stopped just before you, mere feet from your placement. Your eyes refused to leave him, wide and unblinking despite the rain softly splattering your cheeks.

“I’ll tell ya later,” he dropped his voice to a murmur. “Right now, I want you to get ready.”

“Ready?” you repeated, your throat choking on the word. “Ready for what?”

“What we talked ‘bout the other day,” he reminded you.

You blinked in confusion, your mind still attempting to process the sight before you. With a short moment you recounted the conversation, explaining to him about your arranged marriage, how you can’t run away, and how you wished –

Oh.

“Arthur, you can’t just show up and take me away!” you hissed under your breath.

Confusion settled on his handsome face. “Why not? You said you wished for someone to do just that.”

“I wasn’t being serious!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air and turning around, running your palm across your damp face. It was a wishful thought, yes, though you’d come to terms with this marriage knowing you had no other options. Perhaps you were dreaming after all, your subconscious mind attempting to reach for your deeper desires to further harp your emotions.

“Wasn’t you, though?” Arthur said quietly. A gentle hand reached to rest on your shoulder, a small action that caused you to flinch. “I saw how miserable you are, you couldn’t have jus’ changed your mind in the span of a few days.”

You pursed your lips, head tilting to give him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t change my mind, I just accepted my fate.” You sighed.

A frown crossed his lips. “Why?”

“What else have I got?” you said with a shrug. “I’ve told you before, I don’t have the skills to live outside of…this,” you raised your arm and gestured to the small house before you. “I could never – ”

“Why do ya think I’m here?” he interrupted. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

His words halted your next response. Turning to face him again, you narrowed your eyes at him, a frown of your own forming. “And where would we go? Are you gonna take me to the lake? I don’t have a fin, you know.”

His shoulders shuddered with a deep chuckle. He shook his head and grinned lopsidedly in amusement. “I know, Y/N. We ain’t goin’ to the lake, I’ll tell ya that much.”

This only further befuddled you, and more questions arose in suspicion. “So where the fuck – and why do you have – ”

“I ask you to trust me here,” he spoke again, his voice soft and even. “If you come with me, I’ll answer any question you have.”

You simply stared at him, a small part of your brain still attempting to make any sense of this. You have to wake up if this was a true dream, mentally willing yourself to open your eyes. “I must be asleep,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head.

“You ain’t.”

Your eyes met his, seeing his ever so patient gaze. What other explanation would you have other than a trick of your own mind? Maybe you’d fallen off your horse and hit your head on the ground. Holding your hands out in front of you, your fingers flexed and curled. Everything seemed the same.

His own hands appeared in your field of view, taking yours rather gently. Wet from the rain but warm and calloused, your skin tingled where he touched. It wasn’t the first time you’d had physical contact with him, though you were used to the sheen of lake water covering his skin accompanied with a texture that reminded you of the surface of a fish. Even though he was damp, his skin was dry. “I know it’s strange, Y/N. I ain’t lyin’ to ya here, I will take you elsewhere if you really want. And I know you want that,” he stated plainly. “But if that ain’t true, then I will go back to the lake.”

You’d fallen silent then. The logical process would be to turn away, to tell him that he was wasting his time and go back to his home. However, the tiny part of your brain you’d tried to suppress throughout this ordeal was screaming. Clawing its way from the mental rocks of which it was buried beneath. Yearning for that chance to live as your own woman.

And possibly living with Arthur?

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, shutting your eyes as drops of water fell from your lashes. He promised he’d tell you the questions burning in the back of your throat as long as you’d come with him, and what reason did you have to not trust him? He wasn’t a stranger, had always been nice to you, never gave you any indication you’d be in danger while in his presence.

It still however was a huge risk. What if your father or fiancé came after you? What if either of you ran into danger? What if you would be turned into a mermaid in some way?

“Listen,” you nearly jumped when his voice sounded closer, opening your eyes to see he leaned in. “I don’t got much time out here, I’ll be back by midnight. You can give me your answer then.”

Before you could say anything, he hopped over the fence once again, leaving you gaping after him.

---

As the cloudy day transitioned into night, you relentlessly mulled over what you’d just witnessed. Arthur the merman walking and speaking to you, offering a way out. After multiple pinches and other obscure ways to convince yourself it was a dream, turns out this was very much reality. Afterward, you weighed your options over and over. You weren’t the first to be forced into marriage and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Concurrently, you wouldn’t be the first to flee from an unpleasant lifestyle. Marriage would mean financial security and a fixed, mundane duty. Running away would unlock a door to a world full of secrets and adventure, though can be proven dangerous.

You could be safe for potentially the rest of your life, yet bound by societal laws and left to be only dreaming of what your life could have been.

Your father’s lumbering sounded from the floor below, accompanied by a sharp bang every once in a while. Since your mother died, he was never seen without an amber bottle in his hand. He was simply a mere shell of what he used to be, no longer the man you grew up with. Perhaps this arrangement was his way of caring, assuring you’d never come across any trouble.

But you were tired of bargaining with yourself, trying to make sense of this decision other than the most obvious. He was a stranger to you now, as he has been for years. Should you continue to subject yourself to his wishes, to be miserable until the day you die?

No, not anymore.

When the sounds downstairs finally quietly, you began to pack your essentials. You kept an eye on the time, grabbing a few days’ worth of clothing and a few coveted trinkets: some jewelry and a photo of your mother, along with whichever else you could fit into the old leather sack. When you’d finished, the time was 11:30.

Arthur showed up on the stroke of midnight exactly. You’d spotted him in your backyard again, keeping to the shadows of the barn. You snuck downstairs as quietly as you could, giving a sidelong glance to your father, who was passed out at the kitchen table with an empty bottle dangling from his hand. Silently, you bid him a goodbye as a bittersweet wave overcame you, blinking away a hint of tears. Maybe you will see him again someday, if he were to ever sober up.

Passing through the back door and closing it as carefully as you could, your heart pounded loudly. Arthur’s dark figure became clearer as your eyesight adjusted, along with an unfamiliar horse on the opposite side of the fence. You met him halfway. He eyed the sack slung over your shoulder, and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Seems like you’ve made your decision,” he stated.

Nodding enthusiastically, you replied, “Yes. It took me a while to figure it out, but yes. I’ll go with you, I’m trusting you.”

Arthur nodded quietly, his eyes leaving you to sweep across the landscape before turning his attention back to you. “I found a place we can stay for a while over in New Austin, ‘less you got somewhere else in mind.”

This piqued your interest. You weren’t too far from the state border, although it would take a substantial amount of time to reach it. There was no way Arthur had gone there within the time slot he allotted, unless he’d been on the surface previously.

More and more questions grew in the back of your mind, though you had to staunch your curiosity. You couldn’t dawdle for long, in case some night owls nearby grew curious of your conversation. “Then let’s go,” you finally said, glancing at the horse you assumed was Arthur’s ride. However you paused, turning your attention toward the stallion resting in the pasture.

Arthur followed your gaze. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You looked at him again. “Is it alright if we take him with us? I don’t wanna leave him behind.”

Without hesitation, Arthur nodded. “Sure, you won’t hear me complainin’.”

---

The clear full moon cast a silver hue along the tan landscape of Great Plains, illuminating the paths perfectly. The two horses loped quietly along the rolling hills. Arthur assured there was no rush, and so you had to quell your anxious excitement.

However, this didn’t stop the questions. As soon as you’d exited the outskirts of Blackwater, the first question was, “How are you here on land?”

He explained that merfolk had the ability to grow legs, though not many of them truly took advantage of it due to the fear of humans. It’d been at least a century since any notion of them stepping onto dry land, with Arthur being the exception, only he kept it a secret.

“So…how often do you come onto land?” you asked next.

“Been on n’ off since I was a boy,” he answered. “Truth is, my mother used to do the same. Loved humans, came to shore often. She met my father that way, he was human.”

This news surprised you. Who knew that merfolk and humans could have children together? And if that was possible, how many others out there were like Arthur?

“I spent a lot o’ time on land, lot o’ time in the water. Learned how to live as both, but my father was killed when I was young, so I took to the waters, until my mother passed.”

“I’m…so sorry,” you said automatically, your heart falling to your stomach.

To your surprise, Arthur chuckled. A small, humorless laugh. “Never understood why humans say that, they ain’t the cause of a particular tragedy, so why apologize?”

You couldn’t really answer that question yourself. It was ingrained into your mind that you never had any further consideration. It was an odd thing to say, really. You shook your head as if to clear those thoughts, wanting to focus on him again. “Where do you prefer living?”

You could see his broad shoulders shrug. “Can’t really say, I enjoy both since I can live jus’ fine on both. Don’t take too much to adapt since I’m already familiar.”

“So…what does that mean for me?”

He turned his head toward you.

“Are you going to live on land with me for the rest of your life, or are you gonna leave at some point?” you reiterated.

Arthur slowed up his horse, falling in step with yours. “I’ll be around for as long as ya want me,” he answered seriously. “But I couldn’t leave knowin’ you had no options.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings. Arthur had been your friend for years, perhaps your only true friend. He left the waters for you, with no second consideration for himself. A small smile tugged at your lips.

---

Within a few hours you’d reached your destination: a small shack on the edge of the San Luis River with a dock. At the bottom of a cliff and surrounded by scrubby brush, it was enough to deter any unwanted company. Even though the shack was fully furnished, Arthur mentioned it had been abandoned for a little while now. He would swim here with the intention of cleaning it up for you, assuming you’d go along with his idea. It was cozy; one small bed in the corner and a furnace on the opposite end. Only fit for one person. Arthur insisted he was just fine sleeping in the water when you mentioned there was no room for both of you.

The first few days were a strange adjustment. You’d never been on your own, at least like this. You were used to preparing hot meals for yourself and your father with purchased goods. Arthur provided the food, bringing in fish or venison for either of you to cook. He didn’t wander too far from you in concern to leave you vulnerable, and you weren’t keen to wander out into the wilderness. Some nights you definitely heard the howl of a wolf or the snarl of a cougar in the distance.

After the first week passed, you were almost accommodated to this new life. Arthur offered to teach you how to hunt and fish, both in and out of the water. He was already swimming around one morning whilst waiting as you approached the glistening surface from the docks, his beautiful tail gleaming in the rising sun.

But what surprise you had when he made it to shore completely, naked as a newborn baby. You hadn’t seen him transform officially yet, and he seemed to lack modesty when he asked you why you were suddenly flustered in his presence. He was certainly nice to look at, even though you had to quickly shoo him inside to get dressed, for your own sake.

Within a month, Arthur turned you into a wilderness expert. Soon hunting for the dinner table, learning to track and cover, you were no longer nervous to step past those surrounding shrubs. You kept busy by picking herbs and catching game to sell to passing merchants, though avoiding coming too close to West Elizabeth.

One evening, you’d come home from hunting to find Arthur sitting on the end of the dock. Only half-dressed, lacking a shirt. His damp hair indicated he’d been in the water recently. You curiously approached him, wondering if something was on his mind.

At the creak of the boards, he turned and smiled at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, taking a seat next to him. “What’re you up to?”

“Ah, just thinkin’,” he responded, casting his gaze across the river as the last of the sun’s rays shone across the surface.

You tilted your head. “Of?”

“Lot o’ things, these past few weeks,” he said lowly.

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” he slowly turned his head to look at you. “You were sayin’ that you didn’t know how to live like this, now you do.”

You nodded in agreement. Many times he’s expressed how proud he was for you to learn a new skill, and you were proud of yourself to adapt so quickly. “Thanks to you, Arthur. If I’d attempted this on my own, I’d probably be dead within a week, or somehow found and dragged back home.”

“It won’t come to that anyway, least from how far you’ve progressed,” Arthur pointed out.

Smiling at him, you said, “I’ll be forever grateful for taking me away.”

He half-smiled at you. “I’m grateful you agreed,” he replied, his eyes suddenly falling to the structure beneath you. “I jus’ hope that…” he murmured so quietly you had to strain to hear.

“What?”

He sighed deeply. “It’s silly, but I hope you still want me ‘round. You’re more than capable of livin’ on your own now, you don’t need me.”

You blinked in surprise from his confession. “Why wouldn’t I, Arthur? You’re my friend, you’ve done so much for me already. Why would I just toss you away like that?”

“You don’t need me,” he repeated. “You can go on n’ do whatever you want with your life now, ain’t fair to stay here n’ –“

“Arthur,” you interrupted so sharply he stared at you. “I…I don’t need you, I but I want you here. You gave me this opportunity, and now I’m choosing to do this. Do you know how much you mean to me?”

He didn’t answer, only giving you a look of faint surprise. You stared back evenly, your words still fresh. You and Arthur had gotten so close since arriving here, having opened up in new ways toward one another.

Perhaps even closer than friends.

Those lingering glances, those quick moments of affection, a light touch here and there. The weight of his words when he bid you farewell for the day. Little moments that would make your heart soar. A new emotion arising within you every time you woke up to see him.

What you said next flowed from your mouth without hesitation. “I…I think I love you, Arthur.”

It surprised you how easy you admitted it. His blue eyes widened in his own shock, his lips parting as if to say something. Instead his mouth sat slack, eliciting no sound. You waited for a reaction, a change, a word, something.

A full moment passed and nothing, your heart dropped. Have you misinterpreted his signals? Maybe they meant something else to the other half of his world. Either way, you started to feel foolish. You took a shuddering breath and looked away, beginning to move. “I’m sorry, I’ll just – ”

A calloused hand grasped yours at an instant. An automatic flinch suddenly swept away when Arthur’s other hand cupped your chin, a firm yet tender hold to keep you in place. You turned your head back to him, observing the soft smile on his lips, and the gentle hooded gaze he gave you.

You relaxed in his touch, allowing your body to shift closer to him. The hand that held yours wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer and meeting no resistance. He leaned toward you, placing his lips upon yours.

Kissing him seemed natural. Your previous suitor was forceful and hard against you, but Arthur, as large and solid as he was, melded to you. Your hands reached for him, tangling in his damp hair, wrapping around his thick neck. He moaned slightly against your mouth, a low sound rumbling within his chest. Finally, he pulled away from you, the smile still remaining.

Fire licked at your cheeks, your mind in a haze as your smile mirrored his. You almost couldn’t believe it happened. No singular phrase passed your tongue as you mentally scrambled for your next words. “I…” you finally uttered, unsure how to continue.

He chuckled, smoothing his thumb across the ridge of your upper lip. “I think I love you too, sweetheart.”

Your smile only widened, the heat brushing against your face only increasing. This was a first for you, a rush of excitement and a whirlwind of emotion overtaking you. “Well, what now?” you bashfully asked.

Arthur glanced out at the water with a look of contemplation. Only a short moment passed before he stood up, and held his hand out. “Wanna go for a swim?”

You blinked, not expecting this response. But you took his hand anyway, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Now, here?”

“Only us out here, ‘sides, I wanna show ya how beautiful it is from my eyes…” he said, quickly shedding his pants. With nothing else on, he dove into the water with a graceful arc. Even in the dying light you watched as the skin of his legs slowly began to shimmer and mesh together into his tail beneath the disturbed waters. He surfaced just seconds later, peering up at you expectantly. “It’s nice n’ warm in here, you’ll like it.”

You were hesitant and admittedly a little nervous as you hadn’t swam in years. “Um, I don’t have a swimsuit…” you weakly pointed out.

“Neither do I,” the paper thin edges of his fin appeared, splashing playfully. “That don’t matter.”

You opened your mouth to argue, except you knew he was right. No one was around to see you, and you would be submerged if some random boat decided to pass by. Besides, you were itching to see how Arthur viewed the world, or at least his world. “Alright, you convinced me.”

It wasn’t too long before you too were bare, though Arthur was kind enough to not stare. Peering down at your reflection, you took a deep breath and plunged in.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #merman!Arthur #merfolk AU

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allbeendonebefore · 4 years ago

Note

8, 16 and 29?

8. do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

if you know where I'm from and don't know the answer to this I'm shocked. There is only one nationality I can ever be mistaken for as a white person with a GA accent, lol.

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

Where do I start lol my hatred of Canadian stereotypes goes back to my youth and while I've repotted that hatred so it's rooted in better soil and made cuttings so it's stemming from different things, it's from that same original plant, or something.

One stereotype that I both hate the most and also "agree" with is the politeness stereotype. Internationally we are praised for our politeness because non-Canadians (or at least those from non-Commonwealth countries) don't understand that we have weaponised our politeness, it's not just about backhanded complements. It's something that was institutionalised for immigrants and war children coming to Canada in the early 20th century (canadians are clean, foreigners are dirty; canadians are polite, foreigners are rude etc.) and that institution stretches even farther back as the systematic genocidal practices of residential schools. That politeness and inability to say what we mean prevents whomever we want to from whatever we want, to exclude them from certain privileges or roles, and to force them to strip their own cultures to conform etc etc.

I don't think politeness and courtesy are inherently evil and certainly it's the root of Canadian humour, but I do think we need to be far more aware of how we use politeness to exclude or belittle or even harm people. We should be using it as a sign of respect and to welcome people instead, aka. more or less what the stereotype says we're supposed to (without cowardly deference). If we have to use politeness as a weapon, it should be against people in power and not out of it.

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

You name it and my region has a beef with it. The beef is often also about beef because there's this perception that the rest of the world is at war with agriculture and oil and gas which is really all we've got going for us [carefully slides the beauty of the land and ten thousand years of human occupation under the selenium carpet]. We even have beefs with each other and it often feels like its the capital against the rest of the province with our largest city ping-ponging between wanting to be seen as rural and wanting to be seen as urban depending on who's asking.

We are the cool and aloof side of the municipal rivalry because we know we're not a New York or a Paris or a Chicago or even a Denver so let us do our own thing and polish our 5 stanley cups etc etc. :)

#hapo replies #hapo rambles #about hapo

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xwingsandlaserswords · 5 years ago

Text

Stories from a Secret Garden

Collab with @jinkouuart for @codywanweek day 6, fairytale! Be sure to check out her amazing companion piece!

Cross posted on AO3

Rey will be the first to admit that Finn and Poe's kids are great. They're smart, funny, and respectful. They don't fight and they know how to clean up after themselves. Her friends are great dads; that's evident every time she babysits.

The one problem is bedtime.

The minute she remotely mentions the b-word, all hell breaks loose. Damrus starts begging for one more round in his game. Shara hides in the cupboard. Leia tries to negotiate. Even Annihea, who is too young to understand a word anyone says, starts wailing. The babysitter is supposed to love bedtime; Rey can't help but detest it.

Tonight is no different. Damrus sulked as he brushed his teeth. Leia hugged her teddy and demanded a thirty minute delay. She had to drag Shara out of her hiding place. Even Beebee seemed upset with her. Beebee is never upset with anyone.

"My final offer is twenty more minutes," Leia stated, holding out her hand.

"Or," Jannah, her co-babysitter for the evening, said, "you can get in bed now and Auntie Rey will tell you a bedtime story."

It was like those four words flipped a switch. The kids perked up and hurried to their bedrooms. Rey looked at Jannah, stunned. "Why did you say that?!" She whispered, "I can't tell stories for the life of me!"

Jannah shrugged and continued to rock and feed Annihea. "It always works when I have to watch them."

Rey put her hands on her hips. "You, my love, are an excellent storyteller. I, on the other hand-"

"Will be fine," Jannah interrupted, "if you can't think of one, use a story from your life. They're only going to be awake for half of it; no need to panic if you aren't the next Emily Dickinson."

Rey still frowned. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because this baby is almost asleep and there's no way I'm risking waking her up." Jannah moved the bottle to the table and shooed Rey off to the bedroom.

The brunette flipped her girlfriend off before calling the kids to Damrus's bedroom. The three sat in the eldest's bed and eagerly waited for their aunt to begin.

Rey sat across from them and smiled awkwardly. "What story do you want to hear?"

"Princes!"

"Knights"

"Dancing!"

Shara and Leia shouted their ideas one after the other. Damrus simply shrugged. "I like flowers," he mumbled.

An idea came to Rey's head quickly. "Okay, here goes.

"A long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away…"

♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡

It really doesn't surprise Cody to learn the prince is missing.

Everyone was frantically preparing for that night's dance. Soon, dignitaries were arriving from all over to meet the king to be. In a few short months, Prince Anakin would formally take his late father's place as monarch of their young country. Cody wasn't concerned: he'd seen the young man grow into a fearless and noble ruler. He didn't have the most conventional way of doing things, but Cody had to admit his methods were effective.

Most agreed that Anakin would settle down and conform to tradition once he was married. Cody thought that was ludicrous; marriage wouldn't change Anakin's foundation. Regardless, a dance was being held with the secondary hope of finding a spouse for the future king. The young man must have hated the idea as much as Cody if he'd been missing since dusk.

Good luck finding him, Rex, Cody thought to himself. At least my prince isn't missing.

He walked the cobblestone path to a small, secluded place in the Queen's Garden. The sun wouldn't be up for another hour, but the humidity was already uncomfortable. He hated being outside in his formal wear. The armour encasing his legs and right arm made him sweat. The straps on his shoulders made certain movements difficult. The white uniform underneath was thick and stiff. His sword was positioned in an unfamiliar way. Cody understood that it protected and looked better than his usual outfit, but the dance wasn’t for hours! Did he have to wear it now?

He would only endure this discomfort for one person. That person was currently sitting on a bench and rereading the same book for the fifth time. Cody would never understand why- he already knew all the words by heart.

Cody was sent to retrieve him for some final inspection, but he couldn't help but take a moment to admire the prince's beauty. The long cape was swept into his lap, creating a pillow for his book. The golden shoulder plates and buttons glistened under the lamp light. The tailor must have modified the suit recently; Cody didn’t recall ever seeing the golden accents on his right leg and left sleeve. He also couldn’t help his slight jealousy: the prince’s outfit looked much more comfortable than his own.

"If you stand there any longer the birds will mistake you as stone", the prince said, interrupting Cody's thoughts.

He smiled slightly. "I was allowing you to finish."

"Hm, yes," Obi-Wan turned the page of his book, "and I am oblivious to the fact Anakin is currently with the Queen of Naboo."

"Ah, well…" Cody cleared his throat. "The Duke has requested your presence in the ballroom. He would like your opinion on some things."

Obi-Wan met his gaze, amusement twinkling in his blue eyes. "It is a shame I cannot be found, then."

"Yes, Sir, it is."

They shared a smile before Obi-Wan stood. He put his book in the bench's hidden compartment. How the prince managed to find these hidden places, Cody would never find out.

He looked back at the Knight and smiled. "Would you care to escort me around the garden before I must see the Duke?"

Cody offered his arm. "It would be an honor, Your Highness."

Obi-Wan took his arm and they began their stroll. It was easy to get lost while surrounded by the beauteous flowers. The path diverged into three different sections: one leading to the castle, one to the stable and the last to the gates. Cody didn't need direction before heading down the path to the gates.

"The roses are breathtaking this year," Obi-Wan said, breaking their silence.

Instead of speaking his thoughts, Cody nodded. "Hevy has been working with Ninety-Nine to ensure the garden is ready for the summer. My suspicion is that he wants to show up the Alderanian gardeners."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I will never understand their competition."

"It's a thing between brothers. Cutup did well for King Bail's wedding; Hevy wants to do better for the prince's coronation." Cody replied with a shrug.

Obi-Wan put a hand on his own and stopped in the centre of the path. "Do you think he's ready?"

"Oh, I'm sure Hevy is. Ninety-Nine is a great teacher."

Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. "I have no doubt in that. I meant do you think Anakin is ready? He's still so…"

"Headstrong?"

" Young. At his age all I had to do was smile and nod. He is going to be running a country."

"You did a little more than smile and nod, Your Highness."

Cody recalled the prince’s marriage with the late Queen of Mandalore. Prince Obi-Wan had just turned seventeen. He proclaimed the union would unite their two countries for years to come. Cody, a teen himself, couldn’t help but feel bad for the elder. For years, it appeared the prince was stuck in a marriage of convenience.

Later, he learned this was only partially the case. Yes, the marriage was arranged, but Obi-Wan had quickly fallen in love with the Queen. Years later, the couple had a son. Soon after the prince’s birth, King Qui-Gon passed away. Obi-Wan was forced to return to his home country to take over Anakin’s teachings and the role of acting monarch. For Mandalore to maintain its political position, it was agreed the best course of action was to dissolve Prince Obi-Wan and Queen Satine’s union. This was all before the prince had turned twenty-five.

So, no, Obi-Wan did not just "smile and nod" when he was the age of the young prince.

Obi-Wan continued, "I had years of learning under Father before I was expected to lead, not to mention what I’d learned from Satine. Anakin-"

"Anakin has known his duty since he was born," Cody interrupted. "He has watched and learned as you acted in the role he was born to take. You fail to give him enough credit, Your Highness. Anakin will be a fearless and noble ruler, just as you taught him."

It was no secret Obi-Wan was treated unjustly by the former king. As the child of a non-traditional union, Obi-Wan held no place in line for the throne. Qui-Gon still educated him, but all his attention turned to Anakin when he was born. The younger son was the first born to the King and Queen. The throne was his right, not Obi-Wan’s.

When Qui-Gon passed away, it was agreed that Obi-Wan would temporarily act as monarch. He was to educate his younger brother so one day, when he turned twenty-three, he may take the throne. Several protested this arrangement, arguing that a bastard should have no such power. By the time anyone cared to listen, Obi-Wan's reign was coming to an end. Now their attention is on the king-to-be and his courtship status.

"I know you do not want to be king," Cody said softly. "But even the moonlight doesn't hide your worry. What is bothering you?"

"Many things keep me up at night, my dear. You'll have to be more specific." Cody simply tilted his head and waited until the prince sighed. "I know he is ready, but I still feel Anakin is too young for such responsibility. I fear that his and the Queen from Naboo's courtship will be denied. I worry that my son resents me for leaving when I had no choice. I fear…" He looked to the ground for a moment. "I fear that once Anakin ascends to the throne, he will no longer need me."

Cody gently tilted the prince's head to meet his gaze. "There is no doubt in my mind that he will always need you. You are his brother, his mentor, his beloved friend. He may not need an advisor anymore, but he will always need you."

Obi-Wan put a hand over the knight's own. "What would I do without you?"

"Not have a knight to cover your sorry arse."

Obi-Wan shook his head. He waited a moment more before speaking again. "I've been thinking of moving upstate."

Cody recoiled slightly in surprise. "Oh?"

"Yes, once Anakin is crowned and married to Padmé. Nowhere too far: just somewhere to get away from the politics and so-called royal life."

"Really?" Cody tried not to let his hope build.

"Yes. I may invite Krokie to stay. It depends how he'd get along with my fiancé, however."

"Fiancé?" This is the first time he'd heard the word out of the other's mouth.

"After the coronation I will have no ties to the throne. I will be able to marry whomever I want." Obi-wan smiled cheekily. "Perhaps you've met him; he is in the guard, after all."

"There are thousands of men in the guard. You must be more specific."

"Well, this knight is loyal. He is always two steps behind me. Regardless of my rankings and status, he has never feared to speak his mind." Obi-Wan took a step closer. "He is also quite charming. Handsome too, if I say so myself, especially in his formal wear."

Cody grimaced. He'd almost forgotten about the uncomfortable garments. "He'd only wear them for you, Sir."

"Soon he may never have to dawn them again."

"I love you," Cody admitted, tired of the banter that kept them apart.

Obi-Wan kissed his cheek and pulled him close. "And I you, cyare."

Soon, dignitaries would be arriving, Rex would arrive with the upset prince, and someone would pull Obi-Wan away for one reason or another. Cody tried to forget about that; right now it was just him, his beloved, and the stars.

♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡

Rey broke out of her story-telling trance and smiled. "The end!" She said gleefully.

All three children were fast asleep. Rey looked to the door frame and frowned when Jannah laughed. "How long have they been out?" She asked.

Jannah shrugged. "Leia fell as soon as you said the first sentence, Shara followed after Cody found the prince and Damrus was out not too long ago." Rey sighed before getting up and gathering Shara in her arms. Jannah came in and followed suit with Leia. "You did well," she continued, "I quite enjoyed your story."

"Oh, that wasn't a story," Rey called as she exited the room. "That was simply the beginnings of my grandfather and his husband."

… Well, maybe she had taken some creative liberties, but Jannah didn't need to know that.

#codywan #codywanweek2020 #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #universe: fairytale #my fics #background finnpoe #background rey x jannah #prince obi-wan #knight cody

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 years ago

Text

Non-Sequential [Ch. 15]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 2,825

Chapter 14

Natasha had been watching Steve closely. She took note of every facial expression, every jaw clench, every sigh, every brow furrow. He wasn’t being himself. But Nat didn’t really believe he should be being himself. He wasn’t Captain America anymore. He was a criminal.

They were somewhere in South Africa now. Just outside of Johannesburg. There was a peak in crime. The team didn’t have the same access to information in the intelligence community. So theses days, they basically just followed the news. And it took them where help was needed most.

Wanda and Sam had gone out to get food for all of them, leaving Nat a little time alone with their captain.

Steve was just in basketball shorts and a white T-shirt. He had conformed to modern clothing trends of men more than ever, now that he was on the run and trying to be someone else.

He stared out into the night and leaned against the railing of the top floor balcony. Forests and hills were the only thing to see.

“You OK?” Nat asked him carefully.

Steve just nodded without even glancing toward her.

“You know, you could’ve stayed with her. I know you think we need you… but I could’ve taken care of us.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m the reason all of you are in this mess. What kind of man would I be if I stayed there with her, in some fantasy, pretending like I wasn’t a criminal?”

“But…” Nat swallowed, not sure if she dared say what she wanted. “You left her all alone there, Steve.”

She watched Steve for some sort of reaction – any reaction, really.

For the first time since they all went on the run, Steve broke.

His eyes filled with tears. His bottom lip shook.

“She needed me, Natasha. Y/N needed me and I was out, becoming a felon. I abandoned her.” The tears streamed down his face.

Nat knew how hard Steve tried to stay strong for them. To see him finally break down just proved how much he was hurting.

“What happened to her is not your fault, Steve. Even if you were with her, there was nothing you could have done to keep her from traveling. Whether you were at her side or not, she still would’ve come back back to the present beaten and bruised.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shot back. “She wouldn’t have woken up in a hospital all alone.”

Nat narrowed her eyes. “But that’s exactly what you did to her in Wakanda.”

Steve knew she had a point. He stared into Nat’s gaze. “I’d already let her down.”

Nat sighed and looked out at the landscape. “Steve, I’m only saying this because I care about you. But you need to stop being such a fucking idiot.”

Without giving him a chance to reply, she got up and made her way back inside.

Steve lay in bed staring at the ceiling that night. Well, it wasn’t even really a bed. It was more of a cot.

He lied to Natasha. He had seen Y/N before he left. She hadn’t been awake. But seeing her in such a state was all it took for Steve to run.

There was one thing everyone knew for certain after all this time. Y/N was drawn to places in his past because of their relationship in the future. Because he loved her. Because she loved him.

This was all Steve’s fault. Y/N went to dangerous places because of him. She almost lost her life multiple times because of him.

Maybe if he stayed away, maybe if he just left her alone…then her powers would stop dragging her in the past to him.

Steve sat at her bed-side in Wakanda and cried.

Over half of her skin was tainted blue, purple, or green – some degree of bruising. Her lips were split. One of her eyes were swollen. Countless ribs were broken. She looked skinnier, weaker. How long had she been stuck in the past to receive such pain?

“She will recover,” Shuri said quietly.

How long had she been standing in the doorway?

Steve whipped around, annoyed with himself for not sensing her presence right away. He wiped away his tears, but showed now indication that he was embarrassed by them.

He cleared his throat and stood, facing the princess. “She almost died.”

“Yes.” Shuri didn’t even bother trying to disagree. They both knew what he said was true. “It is good that you brought her here. We will have her healthy soon.”

Steve gave a bow of his head, “Thank you.”

Shuri noticed the duffle-bag he had left near Y/N’s bed and that he was wearing his jacket. “You are not staying?”

Steve put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground. “I told T’Challa that I couldn’t.”

“Yes, I know. But I thought once you saw her, you would not be able to stay true to your word,” she admitted.

Steve said nothing.

“It seems you trust us very much,” Shuri spoke with a sly smirk.

He raised an eyebrow, not sure what she meant.

“You have now left us the two most important people in your life, trusting us to take care of them.”

Steve looked over his shoulder at Y/N then. “They’re both where they are because of me.”

“You are much too hard on yourself, Captain.”

He ignored her comment and bent down to pick up his duffle-bag. “Thank you again, Shuri…for everything.”

With a final dip of his head, he walked past her and took his leave. ————————-

Y/N blinked, the sounds of shrieking roused her from her sleep.

But she wasn’t lying down. She was standing. And she wasn’t standing in her bedroom.

In fact, she had no idea where she was. Her heart started racing. She frantically looked around at her surroundings and didn’t recognize a single thing.

Then she looked down to see that a knife was being gripped in her right hand.

Had she hurt someone? Why the hell was she carrying the knife Steve gave her?

She’d been sleeping with it on her nightstand. Steve must’ve given specific instructions to T’Challa’s team, because she awoke in Wakanda with the majority of her own belongings. They must’ve gone to her apartment and grabbed what Steve told them to.

Y/N was hyperventilating now. She stared at the blade and received some relief to see that there appeared to be no blood on it.

“You OK?” A voice said quietly behind her. There was no Wakandan accent to his english.

Y/N whipped around and her eyes widened. No. It couldn’t be. She was imagining things.

The Winter Soldier stood just 15 feet or so away from her.

Without even realizing it, Y/N held up the knife and stiffly started walking backwards.

He immediately held up his hands in surrender and took a few steps away. It was obvious he was trying to make himself smaller and less threatening, but that was rather hard and a little ridiculous.

Then Y/N seemed to snap out of her initial shock and allowed herself to actually take him in. His eyes weren’t cold and lifeless like when she’d seen him in his Winter Soldier form. There was color to his skin and a new energy in his blue eyes. Even when he was the Winter Soldier, he had never ever hurt her. In fact, he had only helped her. But with his long hair and scruffy beard, he didn’t look like the Bucky of the past that had kissed her.

Bucky seemed to see that she was processing all of this.

“Just in case you actually want to stab me with that knife…” He began with a surprisingly casual tone. "Your grip is all wrong. You’ll end up stabbing your own finger before ever hurting me – if you don’t drop it first.”

She looked at him with utter confusion. But her chest was still heaving from the distress and heavy breathing.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Bucky added.

Y/N still stared at him. Her mind was struggling to process the man that was before her. He looked like the Winter Soldier who had witnessed her torture, but he sounded like the man she once considered a friend.

Bucky then took a hesitant step forward. “Y/N,” he muttered gently. “It’s just me.”

“How – What are you doing here?” She finally stumbled through the question.

“T’Challa and Steve brought me here. They cured – Well, they got rid of everything Hydra put into my head.”

Y/N finally lowered the knife to her side. “You’ve been here this whole time?”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Since everything went down in Romania.”

She just nodded and looked around. For some reason, it was hard to meet his gaze now.

“Umm…Where am I?” It was so meek, making it clear that she was ashamed to have to ask someone.

“The Banquet Hall,” Bucky shrugged.

“What time is it?”

“Uhh… about 4AM.”

Y/N didn’t seem relieved by any of the information. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I was…uhh…using the pool and I saw you sleepwalking.”

She looked down at the knife then and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. Her bottom lip shook as she asked, “Did I try to hurt anyone?”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “No, of course not.”

The knife dropped to the floor with a light clatter.

Y/N covered her face with her hands and started crying.

Bucky wanted to rush to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he knew exactly what she was feeling, that she wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t.

“There’s something wrong w-with me,” Y/N sobbed.

He risked another step toward her, but still kept his distance.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he told her softly.

But she just shook her head in disagreement and continued crying.

There wasn’t much Bucky felt like he could do. His priority was to make sure he didn’t scare her. And Y/N had made it very clear that she didn’t trust him right now.

“Do you…want me to show you back to your room?” Bucky finally asked her carefully.

Y/N finally managed to get a hold of her crying and slowly put an end to it. She wiped at her cheeks roughly, embarrassed now for having a meltdown.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Bucky grimaced at her response. He was all too familiar with the feeling. But evading sleep wouldn’t work forever.

“OK,” he replied casually. “Would you like to take a walk? I know my way around pretty well now. So no need to worry about getting lost.”

Y/N shifted her weight, clearly trying to gage how much she wanted to trust him.

“We don’t have to talk about it. We can just walk,” Bucky added quickly.

After a few moments, Y/N reluctantly nodded.

He gave her a hopeful, yet small, smirk at her final agreement. Then he turned his back and took a step forward, but stopped when he thought of something.

“Actually, can I show you something? It’s a bit of a walk.”

Y/N shrugged and nodded. Where the hell else did she have to go? What else did she have to do?

Bucky stayed true to his promise, not asking her any questions and not even forcing her to listen to him talk.

She kept her distance from him, with three or four feet between them and with her always a step or two behind him.

He didn’t take offense to it. The silence allowed Bucky to take in all the bruises across her skin that were still healing. He also noted the way she limped. It probably wasn’t good for her injuries to be sleepwalking. Who knew what damage she could do without even realizing it?

“Why are you up?” Y/N finally said after 20 minutes of them silently walking beside each other.

“What?” He blurted out, not sure if she had actually spoken or he was imagining things.

She turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. “You said you were swimming in the pool.”

“Oh,” Bucky sighed. “Well…you’re not the only person that’s scared of sleeping.”

Y/N just nodded slowly and then crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly.

“You cold?” He asked her with soft concern, just a millisecond away from giving her his jacket.

But Y/N quickly shook her head and lied that she was fine.

He nodded in return. Somehow he understood that even offering his jacket was too much for her. It was an invasion of her space and it felt like too intimate of an act for someone she clearly did not feel comfortable with.

Silence settled between them once again.

“Here we are,” Bucky told her and pointed straight ahead.

There was a couple of small huts and a fenced in area with some animals.

“Where are we?” Y/N asked with confusion.

“This is where I live,” Bucky answered.

Without giving her any other cue, he started walking forward. Y/N quickly caught up with him. When she heard the sound of bleats, she looked to Bucky. He was already smiling.

The enclosure was filled with half a dozen goats, who were now all at the entrance, excited to have their master return.

“Hey guys,” Bucky cooed in greeting as he opened up the fence. Y/N stood frozen in place as she watched.

“Come on. I promise they won’t hurt you,” he reassured her.

Ever so slowly, Y/N walked to the opening.

Two of the goats were either babies or micro sized, but they were the first to gallop up to her while making the cutest sounds.

“Why hello there,” Y/N whispered as she bent down so they had easier access.

One of them immediately started biting on the end of her shirt.

“No, no, no, Frankenstein,” Bucky warned lightly as he picked up the grey and black spotted micro goat. “We talked about this. No chewing on people’s clothes.” Then he hugged the goat to his chest.

The goat just baa-ed back at Bucky.

“Frankenstein?” Y/N asked while trying not to smile or laugh.

“Yeah, her name is Frankenstein,” Bucky replied without shame. Then he pointed to the other little goat that was all white, “And that’s Snow White.” He pointed to the bigger goat that was white with black spots, “That’s King Kong.” Then the chestnut goat, “Clark Gable.” Then the all gray one, “Glinda.” Then he finally pointed to the black one that was the only one not fighting for either of their attention, “And that’s Fred.”

Y/N fully laughed now. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why are you laughing?” Bucky asked with a smile.

“You gave all of them those names and this one just gets ‘Fred’?” Y/N asked through giggles. “Well, that’s the only thing he liked!” He retorted with exasperation.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, right Fred?” Bucky called to the goat.

It instantly responded back. But somehow, his bleat actually sounded like he was saying ‘Fred.’ Y/N quickly understood how this name was chosen and fell into a fit of giggles.

Bucky have never felt more relief than when he heard that sound come from her.

“Here, Snow White is good at cuddling,” he told her before thrusting the white micro goat in her grasp.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N awkwardly shifted the goat in her arms so she had a better hold on it.

Then she jumped when there was a loud moo near them. She turned to see a giant cow slowly walking their way.

“Oh, that’s Betsy.” Bucky added nonchalantly.

Y/N titled her head. “Any other animals you wanna tell me about?”

“Just Humphrey.”

“Humphrey?”

“Yeah, he’s a horse.” Bucky whistled.

10 seconds later, a horse came trotting over. It immediately nuzzled Bucky’s face.

“He was a gift from Okoye. She tried to convince me to take a rhino instead, but that was a little…much for me to wrap my mind around.”

Y/N gaped at him. “A rhino?”

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes Wakanda can be…strange,” Y/N admitted with a light laugh.

Bucky nodded in agreement. “It’s a little earlier than what they’re used to, but do you wanna feed them?”

Y/N smirked at him, “Sure.”

A few minutes later, Bucky leaned against the fence as he watched Y/N feed all the animals. She talked softly to them as she did so, bringing a shy smile to Bucky’s lips.

And for a fleeting moment, both of them forgot about the darkness they were trying to escape. The same darkness that brought them together in the first place.

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

Chapter 16

Sorry this took longer than usual. I was super busy this week and literally didn’t have time to write.

Let me know your thoughts!

#non-sequential series #non-sequential chapter 15 #non-sequential #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #marvel reader insert #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes and steve rogers

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mobius-prime · 5 years ago

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228. Sonic the Hedgehog #160

Birthday Bash! (Part One): Giving and Receiving

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Welcome to the beginning of Ian Flynn's reign, everyone! As many of you will know, Ian is a fan favorite amongst readers of the comics, and for good reason. Objectively, I'd say he has a much better sense than any previous writer of how to construct dynamic and interesting stories, as well as a great head for writing dialogue. Every character has their own unique voice when speaking, and as someone who takes a particular interest in dialogue in her own writing, it's something I admire a lot, especially given how stilted and unnaturally formal a lot of dialogue by Karl and especially Kenders often sounded, regardless of who was speaking. That said, I think that it took a good year or so for him to fully come into his own as head writer for the series, so some earlier issues are a bit strange and not up to par with a lot of his later work. Some of this, to be fair, is due to him essentially playing clean-up for this first year, untangling a lot of the bizarre leftover plot threads that Karl and Kenders left behind, and generally trying to make the world of the comics conform a little better to that of the games. All that aside, anyone reading the comics will likely notice an immediate and apparent improvement in the overall quality of the work starting with this issue. This is helped along, in addition, by none other than the very talented artist Tracy Yardley! who always (well, almost always) introduces himself in the story credits with an exclamation mark. It's kind of his calling card. Tracy took a while to really improve his art as well, so while his earliest issues sometimes have some strange proportions and poses, later on his style became easily one of the most visually attractive and recognizable ones in the series, simplifying a lot of the inconsistencies that many character designs had as well as doing away with the strange pseudo-human proportions that some artists tended to favor, particularly with the female characters. All this said, I will say that Ian isn't going to be immune to my criticism, as while I do recognize his skill as a writer and the good things he brought to the table, there are definitely some problems I have with the way he handled certain things. We'll cross those bridges when we come to them, however, so for now, let's dive into the new world he's creating and see how he does!

Elias and Sonic are walking on the outskirts of Knothole as Elias explains why his father approved the Metal Sonic troopers from last issue. We don't even really get to hear the explanation, but to be fair, we hardly need one, as the idea was so insane to begin with that the only true explanation is that Kenders needed a plot device. Sonic tries to make Elias promise that "you royals" won't hit him with any more weird surprises, and Elias says they only have one more, leading him to a building next to where the Great Oak Slide into the village ends.

I mean, canonically he's supposed to be turning seventeen here, even though realistically he should be turning eighteen, because remember, for him to have turned sixteen in StH#68, had the Robians be deroboticized in early June in StH#123, and still have managed to spend close to a year in space before turning seventeen, literally everything in between the two aforementioned issues would have had to take place in the span of a few weeks - yes, that's counting the month-and-a-half time span that Sonic was confined to Knothole, as well as major events like Eggman's return and the entire Green Knuckles saga. You can see why this huge discrepancy still bothers me, right? Hmph. Anyway, no sooner has the party begun than an explosion destroys the door, and two new players enter the scene - Bean the Dynamite and Bark the Polar Bear from Sonic the Fighters! Nack's been part of the comic for long enough now, so it's cool to see these two make their first appearance. Bark is totally silent - as far as I remember, he never says a single word during the entirety of the comic - but Bean, in the absence of an obvious personality to draw from in the game, has subsequently been given the personality trait of "criminally insane" in the comics.. He's erratic, he talks to himself, he cracks jokes where jokes really shouldn't be cracked, and most importantly of all, he loves his goddamn bombs. Bean starts chucking said bombs left and right at the various Freedom Fighters in the base, while Sonic tangles with Bark. He seems to think these guys are only after him due to something Evil Sonic did in his place, something which he has by now apparently finally explained to all the women of Knothole, and manages to break away from Bark to stop Bean's bombing spree by pinning him to a wall and asking about Evil Sonic. However, Bean happily insists there's been no mistake and he wasn't even aware of Sonic having an evil twin, nor does he particularly care. Oh, speaking of Evil Sonic…

Huh, it seems that Evil Sonic has actually explained his true identity to Rouge in between their previous failed attempt and now. I'm surprised she hasn't outright abandoned him by now due to Rouge not exactly being evil-aligned to begin with, but I guess the pull of the shiny is just too strong for her to resist. And as it turns out, Bean suffers from a similar insatiable need! Fiona pulls out a ring of keys and shakes them around, completely distracting Bean from his current activity of bashing Sonic's head in, and throws them out the hole he made in the wall, prompting him to immediately abandon everything to chase after them. Fiona then advances on Bark, who by now has gotten himself cornered by every Freedom Fighter in the room, and convinces him to stand down as he's outnumbered. Outside, Bean plays with the keys and talks to them, seemingly convinced that they're a beautiful woman with an "adorable accent" who wants his number, when a suspiciously-Shadow-shaped shadow converges on him, prompting him to try to invite him into smashing Sonic as well. Good luck there, buddy, I don't think Shadow usually runs with crazy…

Geez, Sally, cut Fiona some slack. Not everyone had a squeaky-clean record - hell, just look at Shadow! Back in the Chaos Chamber, Rouge and Evil Sonic begin to battle Locke, who tosses Evil Sonic to the side as he perceives Rouge to be the bigger threat. However, that turns out to be a bit of a bad idea, as with Rouge tied up in the fight, Evil Sonic takes his chance to go after the Master Emerald without her, obviously recognizing it as more than just a shiny trinket.

Back in Knothole, Shadow explains that he's only here to thank Sonic for saving Hope, as he knows he wouldn't have been able to do it on his own, and reminds him that as soon as he leaves this building they're back to being enemies, as Shadow's still aligned with Eggman for now. Sonic, to his credit, seems to recognize that Shadow is only allied with Eggman because he doesn't yet know better, and cheerfully invites him to come back here whenever he cuts out on that deal in the future. It's at this point that everyone realizes Bean has quietly snuck into the brain trust's comms room to casually let Eggman know that he and Bark failed to take Sonic down, and when Fiona ushers him back out of the room, Eggman is only too happy to let Sonic know personally that he wishes him a happy birthday and he's sending him a new, more metallic present. Within seconds a thud outside alerts them to the arrival of this present, and everyone rushes out to see a strange figure emerging from an egg pod - a figure which resolves itself into the combined forms of Crocbot and Octobot, now merged into the singular entity of… Croctobot! (Don't worry, Ian knows just how silly this is and even acknowledges it next issue.) But what of Evil Sonic and Rouge? How is their fight faring against Locke after the former got knocked aside? Well, Evil Sonic takes his chance to dramatically emerge from behind the emerald as the other two get ready to continue their fight…

Plot twist! How many people actually didn't know by now that Evil Sonic and Scourge were the same person? I'm guessing there had to be at least a few of you. You can actually already see Ian's new plans being put into action - it's very telling of his intentions when the very first issue he ever pens immediately makes a point of distinguishing a rather tired and boring character into a new and improved version of himself, with a unique name and new, visually distinct look. Apparently Kenders, who if you recall is the original creator of Evil Sonic, never liked this and continued to insist on referring to him as Evil Sonic, but screw that, Scourge is a much more interesting character and this was a change that sorely needed to be made.

Sonic Rush (Part One of Two)

Writer/Pencils: Tania Del Rio Colors: Ben Hunzeker

So unfortunately, Sonic Adventure 2 isn't the only case in the preboot of a partial adaption of a game being included without any actual ending. Sonic Rush, the game, introduces Blaze, a cat from an alternate dimension that is controlled by the Sol Emeralds rather than the Chaos Emeralds, and most of the plot revolves around the Sol Emeralds ending up in Sonic's dimension and her trying to recollect them to bring back to her own world. However, things are a bit different in the comics universe. In this story, Blaze comes to Sonic's dimension because, apparently, she's been having nonstop dreams about him, dreams which show her visions of Eggman threatening the Sol Emeralds and Sonic helping her protect them. She's frustrated that she would have to rely on anyone else to help her protect the emeralds at all, believing them to be her sole responsibility, but nonetheless she's tracked Sonic to Knothole. However, while deliberating her next move, a squad of swatbots - yes, ordinary ones, it's been a while since we've seen them rather than shadow-bots - happen upon her and decide that they should take her in for interrogation.

Yeah, I guess Blaze doesn't understand the dangers present in this universe yet, does she? An hour or so later, Rotor sends for Sonic, informing him that they caught the aftermath of Blaze's capture on their video surveillance. Neither of them know who she is, but they decide she can't be from their village, since she left several disabled swatbots behind, while most people in Knothole are noncombatants and those that aren't are accounted for elsewhere. Sonic rushes out to find their trail and tracks them to a nearby facility set up amidst the trees, and while he begins fighting his way in, the scientific robots in the building go about studying their new specimen.

Sorry, but why the hell would Eggman be looking to add some random Mobian to his team? He only likes robots anyway, and tends to either betray or enslave every living being that comes to him. Blaze suddenly awakens and becomes furious - not that she's been captured, mind you, but that they took off her coat while studying her. She must be really goddamn attached to her coat, because she starts absolutely trashing the place, exploding into flames and screaming so loudly that Sonic becomes genuinely worried about her wellbeing, rushing to where he last heard her. The door of the lab she's in is completely blasted off its hinges by the force of Blaze's explosions, but thankfully after this she seems to have found her coat, because the blasts subside and she appears in the doorway wearing it once again, staring down at an utterly shocked Sonic with a look of fiery fury (the literal flames coating her entire body probably help with the "fiery" bit). Uh… good luck dealing with that, buddy boy!

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #writer: ian flynn #writer: tania del rio #pencils: tracy yardley #pencils: tania del rio #colors: jason jensen #colors: ben hunzeker

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pendragyn · 5 years ago

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First Line Tag

I was tagged by @gaslightgallows

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

Tagging: @raevenlywrites @froglesbianwriting @mperialscribe @teaflint @writingamongthecoloredroses @moniquill @napoleonscat and I know I am forgetting people, please join in on the fun and tag me if you do!

So.. Er, haven’t read much of anything but my own stuff on AO3, trying to get back into writing because everything sucks rn. It’s Good Omens with a dash of Discworld all the way down, below the cut.

In The Garden; pre-fall, pre-canon fic of them in the Garden of Eden.

BEFORE THE BEGINNING...

…Was darkness. That’s what happens when the sun isn’t up, and as it was almost the middle of the night —the first night, leading into the first day in the Garden of Eden— darkness was only to be expected.

The Great Plan was being set in motion. The countdown to start the countdown to the end of the world had begun. Things were getting down to the wire and the Heavens were in a tizzy to make sure everything went off without a hitch during the official launch.

Down in the Garden of Eden, all was peaceful. This was also to be expected. The only living beings in the entire Garden were two corporeal but unconscious angels reposing among the roots of the Tree. They’d been held in stasis since their incorporation a number of days earlier and weren’t due to wake until things were officially under way. Ostensibly this was to allow them to acclimate to corporeality, but in reality it was to keep them out of everyone’s metaphorical hair.

Of course, even the best laid plans never do go quite as planned, do they?

There was no Heavenly fanfare heralding the occasion, no Celestial sign except the eternal march of the stars across the sky, nothing at all to indicate that something was being set into motion as midnight of the day in question rolled around.

But down in their resting spots, the angels awoke.

Serpents And Ladders; what happens after the end of In The Garden.

After the fall of the Garden, for the first time that any could remember, change came rapidly to Heaven in the form of the instant adoption of corporeal forms amongst most of the archangels, much to the bafflement of some of the oldest Celestials who were gently prodded to a quiet retirement out among the stars. Heaven itself shifted to accommodate their altered forms, which forced the rest of the Celestials and the Elementals who did most of the day to day operations to adopt similar seemings.

Of course, Aziraphale and Crawly knew why it caught on, not that anyone ever thought to ask them. The reasoning was simple enough, if multi-faceted. Firstly, corporeality is a surprisingly potent antidote to knurd[1], with built in buffers against the harshness of reality. Really no surprise that it was popular.

Secondly, Celestial beings come in a great many shapes and sizes and types and having them all conform to one generally accepted shape was much more convenient, especially when it came to paperwork. (No one knew where paperwork had come from, since paper was technically not a thing yet, but there you go. It’s ineffable.)

Thirdly, with the increasing tensions between certain factions within the Host, having your firmament safely ensconced inside of flesh and bone made it that much harder to be spied on, making secrets that much easier to keep, especially once they discovered how to hide their wings.

And last but not least, though it took Aziraphale and Crawly a long while to fully comprehend the ramifications of it, it was because the humans began to believe, in great enough numbers, that that was how Heaven and the Host looked.

1. Being knurd is to be unintoxicated to such an extent that all comfort stories are stripped away from the mind. This makes you see the world in a way 'nobody ever should', in all its harsh reality.

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls (It Tolls For They); the church in ‘41 and what happens, and doesn’t happen, after. (total tearjerker)

Crowley ran, ran and ran, heart pounding, almost blind with panic, hissing with pain as their foot hit the edge of consecrated ground, but it didn’t matter, because they were in time and like a snake shedding their skin the panic slipped away as they yanked open the door and hot-footed their way into the church under the confused eyes of a trio of nazis and an angel moments away from a fate worse than death.

A church, for fuck’s sake? Can’t the angel see it’s a setup? A trap? Dealing with nazis on holy ground, giving them holy books, even if it’s supposed to be a double-cross, a double double-cross. “Sorry, consecrated ground. Ugh, like being on the beach in bare feet.” Crowley fervently kept that thought in mind, because in reality, it was far far worse than that. Crowley was very good at imagining not being on fire, and that belief was all that was keeping them from falling to ash inside that church.

Aziraphale continued to stare at Crowley in shock, for a moment wondering if they were actually hallucinating the way humans could during moments of high stress. Because consecrated ground discorporates demons, and yet. And yet, Crowley was somehow really here. Why the he heaven is Crowley here? “What are you doing here?” Aziraphale hissed, the nazis and the gun momentarily forgotten.

“Stopping you from getting in trouble,” Crowley hissed back, dancing from foot to foot just an arm’s length away from Aziraphale. Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, if you panic you’re both done for.

Stacking The Deck;

Harriet wanted to be asleep. She’d just had a baby a few hours earlier, and all she really wanted was sleep. They had given her something for the pain, but it didn’t stop her having to use the restroom, which was NOT FUN right now, and it took a while for things to settle back down and she just. wanted. sleep.

What she got, was voices.

A few she recognized, distant and muzzy, as the nuns who’d helped deliver the baby. There was also the one not-nun who’d shuffled in during the chaos, wrinkly as an old apple with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, who had actually delivered the baby before quickly shuffling back out again. The nuns had treated her with deep respect, whispering to each other about ‘a touch of the Old Adam’ she carried about her.

There was now a lot more raucous laughter coming from down the hallway, and some singing of what were definitely not religious hymns. Mingled in were the voices of men, which some deep part of her brain realized were from her supposed security detail, who’d abandoned her the minute the live feed with her husband had ended.

But under those voices was another voice, one that she’d learned to listen to when it whispered a little too loudly to ignore. And it was telling her to check on the baby, to check on Warlock. Right Now.

With a muffled groan Harriet slid her legs over the side of the bed and eased herself to her feet. With the dimmed lights and muddled by whatever they had given her, it took her a moment to realize that the bassinet wasn’t there. No Warlock. And no guards. And no nuns.

The coolness of the linoleum felt good against the bottoms of her feet and she shuffled dreamily out of the room into the empty hallway, too well medicated to feel panic, but the little voice was getting louder. And it was talking with an odd accent, which was weird. And it was calling her by her full name now, which was even more unusual. Find your baby, Harriet Sibyl Dowling. Find him now or lose him forever.

Nature vs Nurture; raising the antichrist

After the handshake, Crowley left in a hurry to set some of their plans into motion, with promises of talking soon and a casual ciao tossed over their shoulder before slipping out of the shop and roaring off down the road. What Aziraphale didn’t see was the demon pulled over a few blocks later, pressing their forehead against the steering wheel of the Bentley and letting out a shuddering sigh of relief that the angel had finally, finally, agreed to help them save the world. And wondered, briefly, if God hadn’t been right to kick Crowley out, because how much of a right proper bastard did you have to be to knowingly ask your best friend to do the most dangerous thing they could ever possibly do?

Aziraphale’s first course of action was to make sure the shop door was locked before retreating into the back room to think, away from the demon’s so very temping influence. It didn’t take the angel long to convince themself that it had to be the right thing to do, because otherwise it wouldn’t be hell starting the war, but heaven, and surely heaven didn’t want a war. Once that was settled, Aziraphale began to really set their mind to finding the solutions to the multitude of problems their scheme would surely entail. The second course of action was to retrieve the ancient tome of magic they kept safely secured in a secret room on the second floor of the shop and settling it reverently on to the desk to start their research.

Setting Things To Rights; Adam Young gets a visit from Agnes Nutter after the world doesn’t end.

“Come back. Please.”

Adam stared down at his best friends in the whole universe, sure his heart was breaking as they turned and ran away. He knew then he’d messed up bad, maybe beyond fixing. He tried to call them back, to beg even, but no sound would come and he closed his eyes against the sting of tears. Come back! Please! he wanted to say, pressing his hands to his tear-dampened face. I’m sorry!

You don’t need them. You can have new friends. Better friends. All you have to do is show us the way.

A low growl and a familiar waft of doggy breath as a wet tongue lapped at his cheek had Adam opening his eyes, and he hugged Dog tightly in relief. “Oh Dog! I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered hoarsely, smiling when Dog licked him again. “I am sorry, you know that, don’t you?”

Dog whined and licked him again in answer.

“Thanks boy.” Adam let out a much heavier sigh and rubbed at his eyes when tears threatened again. The dream had been so real, too real, more memory than dream, and frightening in ways he didn’t want to think about. It hurt, knowing he’d hurt his friends so bad they’d stopped being his friends. And even though they’d forgiven him in the end, would they ever really trust him again? Especially when he could still do what he’d done? Would he trust someone who had done that to him?

In the silence there were two faint but distinct knocks that Adam heard clear as a bell. Dog’s ears perked up and Adam blinked and they both looked around the room for a source of the noise. There wasn’t much light but it was more than enough to show that nothing was out of place.

Still, Adam found himself saying, “Who’s there?”

A faint glimmering form stepped through the door. It was an old woman, dressed in really old clothes. “I have waited a long while for this meeting, Adam Young.” She bowed at him, a faint smile on her lips. “I be Agnes Nutter, witch. And ghost.”

Ineffable Bastards; the one I’m stuck on. :/

Groaning brakes pulled Crowley from their thoughts and they led Aziraphale off the bus, waiting until it had pulled away to turn towards their building. There was a sharp twinge in their stomach when they looked to the empty spot where the Bentley was usually parked. They felt another twinge when they looked at Aziraphale, who was staring up at the building with a distant blankness of expression that Crowley understood all too well. “C’mon, angel, I think we could both use a drink.”

No sound came at first, but Aziraphale managed to croak out, “Yes,” after a moment. They felt strangely distant from their feelings in the odd silence and they trailed behind the demon into the flat, which was both nothing like and exactly like what Aziraphale would expect from Crowley. The art got a few blinks but there was no energy to consider what they might mean after the day week decade they’d had.

Unlike the bare concrete walls in the other rooms, the kitchen was slick with creamy white marble and terrazzo tiles, ebony cabinets that gleamed and stainless steel appliances that had never been used or even plugged in, though they were well stocked with food and drink. Crowley grabbed a bottle at random and a couple of glasses, bringing them over to the chrome and glass table with a small collection of colorful orchids in the center. “Salute.”

The angel lifted their glass to toast before downing the drink and holding it out for a refill. Crowley obliged and they sat in silence for a while before Aziraphale asked, “Now what?”

“Eh, now I fall down and sleep for a while and you…” Crowley pulled off their glasses and gave the angel a long look. “You don’t really sleep do you? You should try it, great for getting away from your thoughts.”

“Rarely. Doesn’t seem to work that way for me, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale sighed and shook their head. “I just keep thinking about Agnes’ prophecy. Face the fire.” They shuddered a little. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Rubbing at their tired eyes, and the sting of unsheddable tears, Crowley nodded. “You’re in big trouble, angel.”

“You know full well we’re both, as they say, in for it,” Aziraphale corrected, smiling a little when Crowley gave them a look. “I’ve toed the line for a long time, but you, my dear, have danced around it to the point that I’m not sure they even know where they drew the line to begin with. If Heaven is going to ‘fire’ me, what’s Hell going to do to you?” Saying it aloud had tears burning in their eyes and they wiped at them hastily.

Wilde Card; my take on why Aziraphale had a set of Oscar Wilde’s works.

“Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

Crowley tried to find a subtle way to ask, but curiosity had been eating at them to the point of distraction since the former angel had let slip that humans could have preternatural ancestry. “When you said, you’d never… with a human.”

Aziraphale gave them a confused look that melted into amused understanding when they realized Crowley was blushing. “My dear, are you asking me about my experiences?”

“Uh… Just, I seem to recall you mentioning a lot of gentleman’s clubs...” Crowley let their head drop back against the couch and covered their face when Aziraphale chuckled. “Ugh, angel!”

“I won’t judge you, you know,” Aziraphale murmured, smiling tenderly when Crowley looked at them. “If you, uh, found human companionship-”

“No! Ugh, no, it’d be like… no, I can’t help but think of them as children,” Crowley admitted. “Even Nanny Ogg, which tells you something about me I suppose,” they said, making Aziraphale laugh.

“I am in complete agreement with that sentiment,” said Aziraphale. “And it wasn’t just gentleman's clubs I frequented, there were quite a few for women if you knew where to look and who to talk to. You do know a lot more went on in the clubs than just sexual intercourse, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I should’ve known better, just, uh...” Crowley reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand. “There must have been quite a few poor smitten fools vying for your attention.”

Apple Of My Eye; complete fluff I wrote because of a pic I saw on tumblr

Crowley looked up from their mobile, barely able to contain their grin. “Hey, angel-”

“No.” Aziraphale didn’t even have to look up from the book they were reading to know the former demon was up to no good.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Crowley protested, still grinning at seeing the amusement crinkling around the reformed angel's eyes.

Aziraphale looked over at them with a feigned put-upon sigh. One look at Crowley’s grin had them asking, “Oh somebody, do I even want to know?”

If anything, that only made Crowley’s grin grow. “So I’m thinking maybe it’s time I branch out, try some different styles of shades. Whaddya think?”

Aziraphale spluttered into startled laughter when Crowley turned the mobile around, revealing a pair of spectacles where the rose tinted lenses had been shaped into breasts. “Why in the world-”

“Ain’t humans grand?” Crowley said, grinning down at the picture before sliding a sly look at Aziraphale and raising a hand, fingers poised to snap. “I could just…”

“You would too, wouldn’t you,” Aziraphale said with a shake of their head, pretending to go back to reading but watching Crowley sidelong. “Well I would rather you didn’t but I can’t stop you from going around looking, looking like a right proper tit if you want to,” they said with feigned primness, barely hiding their smile when Crowley laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to make a spectacle of yourself.”

“Alright angel, alright, you’ve convinced me. Wouldn’t want to put you off being seen with me.” It was a joke, mostly, and Crowley was still grinning as they said it, but inwardly that age old doubt still lingered.

Aziraphale knew it was there of course, having many of the same insidious worries about their new togetherness, and gave them a fond smile. “I assure you my dear, that having adored you in spite of that dreadful hairstyle you had in Paris, I would barely blink to see you in a pair of breastacles.”

Crowley blushed at the mention of adoration, sneered at mention of the hair and burst into raucous laughter at the name. “Only you’d think up a proper sounding name for it. Breastacles. Brilliant.” They darted in and grinningly kissed them. “And here I thought you’d appreciate me seeing the world through rose-titted glasses. But, as you wish.”

Aziraphale laughed and beamed at the phrase, taking their hand and lacing their fingers together. “Thank you, dearest. For everything. And especially for sparing everyone that.”

#Good Omens #good omens fanfic #snippet #first line tag #tag game #Pendragyn writes #long post #readmore #ao3 #Ineffable Bastards

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inqorporeal · 6 years ago

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Okay, I'm gonna do a separate post since I don't want to hijack @dad-plo-koon‘s post.

Here's my theory about why Mandalore is the way it is in TCW. Even better, the canon isn't saying I'm wrong.

Cut for length:

HOkay. SO.

719 years before the rise of the Empire: The Mandalorian Excision.

Mandalore is doing well -- great, actually, they've never been more productive and they've just opened a few new beskar mines. The settlements on the moon -- Concordia -- and on Concord Dawn (not to be confused with Concordia) have proven to be self-sufficient. Things are looking up!

Except not quite. Mandalore's nearest neighbor is Kalevala. They're absolutely terrified of Mandalore going on the warpath again; Kalevala's likely sent spies to investigate Mandalore's status. What they find is deeply concerning.

Kalevala goes to the Republic -- specifically the Jedi -- for assistance. If Mandalore starts conquering again, Kalevala thinks it'll be the first target on the list. They’re probably not wrong, either. The Jedi and the Mando'ade do not have a fantastic history between them; the Jedi's response is to nip Mandalorian growth in the bud.

The Republic invades Mandalorian space. Technically illegally, but history is written by the victors.

Parts of Concord Dawn and other Mandalorian-held worlds suffer catastrophic bombardment during the fighting, but Mandalore is hit the hardest: half the planet is literally glassed before the end. What's left when the surface cools is a scintillating crystal desert on the southern half of Mandalore, the sand utterly useless for industrial applications without extensive processing. Even the untouched northern half of the planet suffers ecologically as the seas boil off. The planet spends months wracked by deadly weather systems caused by the complete disruption of the existing balance.

The Republic then blockades the sector and occupies it, installing their own government to manage things. The Mando’ade are forced to conceal all outward connections to the Resol’nare: no armour, no weapons, no overt training.

Beskar being as resilient as it is, the southern mines have been sealed at ground level, but below the surface are relatively intact. The Mando’ade try to rebuild, but it's a tough process when you have no outside trade coming in and a hostile power literally controlling what you can and cannot do with your own planet. It’s also physically dangerous -- inhaling glass dust can lead to silicosis and other diseases, as well as any of the compounds in the dust which might be carcinogenic. A huge portion of the southern continent had been used for industry, after all. And with half the planet's lush farmland slagged, they can't locally support the work.

Maybe it started as altruism; maybe it was always the plan.

Kalevala offers assistance in rebuilding. The Republic lets them, because hey, Kalevala was the one that lit this off in the first place. Maybe they feel a little regret? The glass-dust sand is bad for everything -- machines, droids, and people alike -- so they start with force fields and then transparisteel domes that also regulate their internal climate. Kalevala starts by building on top of the southern beskar mine access points and drilling through the melted bedrock, so the material to rebuild can be collected without risking going out on the desert. They bring in extra help from Kalevala. It takes a couple decades to get the dome cities to the point where they can operate without direct assistance from offworld.

The Republic offers no direct assistance during the Reconstruction, but it’s pretty clear who they’re favoring. When they finally back out of Mandalorian space, it’s a Kalevalan regent they leave in charge.

By this point, the Kalevalans who arrived to assist in the reconstruction have settled. Families have been started. The domes are designed for comfort, and with the beskar mines now functioning as commercial sources, there's a financial boom that promises to have the population living well.

Somehow, those proceeds never make it to the northern half of Mandalore. Some of the survivors warned against cooperating with the Kalevalans, and others kept reminding the people set on restoring the south that the Mando'ade don't need a planet in order to have a home: they can have the Resol'nare again, for which these outsiders have no understanding nor respect.

The largest dome in the south, Sundari, schisms from Keldabe. The northerners have a Mand'alor -- or choose a new one, if the previous perished in the Excision (there’s no information either way) -- but they don't understand what it was like to suffer in the desert trying to rebuild -- maybe there was a disagreement during the process on how things should be done. Sundari picks its own Mand'alor -- one of the Kalevalans who had gained a good reputation during the Reconstruction, someone who at least appreciates the local culture.

They set up a local government that's similar to what they're accustomed to on Kalevala -- and why shouldn't they? Their advisors are Kalevalan, and it's not like the southern population is going to resist the policies of a Mand'alor they elected.

Diplomatic discussions open up with Kalevala. See, they didn't just provide assistance out of the goodness of their hearts: they expected repayment. Through a combination of politics and trade deals, Mandalore becomes subject to Kalevala; to take the sting off, it's declared an extension of Kalevalan territory -- rather than a colony, which would have much lower political standing -- and declared a duchy so the planet has self-determination. The southern Mand'alor gains the title of Duke/Duchess. They're still elected, but somehow the role never strays far from the hands of Kalevalan political elites.

Again: maybe this was the plan all along, or maybe it was a bunch of rich people being opportunistic. The end result is the same.

Here’s the thing about the Resol’nare: one of the tenets is answering to the Mand’alor. If you don’t follow the Mand’alor, you’re considered dar’manda -- no longer Mandalorian. If there’s more than one group with their own Mand’alor, things get... sticky.

Tensions are high between south and north -- the New Mandalorians and the True Mandalorians. It's not really surprising the True Mandalorians would be upset: who are these outsiders to come in here, claim our titles, and then sell our world? In an effort to boost the New Mandalorian population, Kalevala offers opportunities to its citizens to help their Mandalorian territories, and to show the Mando'ade that there's a better way to live than constant warfare.

If this looks like a classic example of colonization, that's because it is.

Attempts by the New Mandalorians to subtly colonize the north have only limited success -- they can't prove it was sabotage, but they suspect. The Mando'ade who do go south for whatever reason -- extending friendship, joining family, seeking work, accepting offers from the New Mandalorians, whatever -- find that their appearance sets them apart. The New Mandalorians are nice about it, but enough social pressure happens that those Mando’ade who can't afford to leave feel stifled. Dark hair is bleached to fit in, accents are adopted, Mando'a is only spoken at home and isn't taught in the schools. Mando’ade who aren’t human -- and there are many -- have a particularly difficult time among the New Mandalorians. The Resol'nare is still kept, but only in the privacy of the home.

AND THEN.

A few hundred years down the line, Mand’alor Jaster Mereel of the True Mandalorians attempts to enact some (overdue and widely demanded) cultural reform. Resistant splinter groups form, most notably Death Watch under the command of Tor Viszla, sparking off the Mandalorian Civil War. Viszla kills Mereel during a battle on Korda Six, leaving Mereel’s adopted son, Jango Fett, to pick up the reins. Death Watch arranges for an ambush on Galidraan that pits True Mandalorians against a detachment of Jedi and ends with Fett being sold into slavery for several years.

With the True Mandalorians scattered, Death Watch turns their attention on the New Mandalorians, who had remained neutral throughout the conflict.

The Duke is assassinated. His teenage daughter, barely old enough to accept the title the New Mandalorians offer her, goes into hiding from Death Watch’s assassins for a year with her Jedi protectors. Traumatized and blaming anything that could be considered a warlike nature, she completely abolishes part of the Resol'nare. No armour, no weapons, no training at all. Those who protest are offered a shuttle to Concordia or Concord Dawn -- not sending them back north to bolster the decimated ranks of the True Mandalorians. She would clear the True Mandalorians off the north entirely if she could, but achieving that would require the type of violence she abhors.

Dipping into the meta for a moment: any visual designs are a deliberate choice by the creators. Even in other cultures in TCW where there’s a level of uniformity, there are defined genetic differences in hair colour (not going to get into how everyone’s clothes always use the same palette, because that’s done for a different reason). Satine’s blond hair is noticeably a more natural shade; the bright yellow or “brassy” colour seen on a lot of civilians is the result of a bleach job that hasn’t removed all the natural tint, either by choice or by accident. This is a deliberate artistic choice and the creators are trying to tell the audience something about the culture. There’s no reason for that to be the case unless there’s social pressure behind it to maintain a certain appearance. Particularly since -- one would assume -- Death Watch still maintains the acceptance of non-human species into their ranks, conformity of appearance both expresses the New Mandalorians’ passive resistance to their enemy and internal support for their culture.

It’s worth noting that the Excision itself was a plot device introduced to the IP in 2010 specifically as backstory for the show.

Mandalore’s implied recent history is one of colonization and cultural genocide, and you can fight me over it.

#star wars #mandalore #i have opinions about this

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oldanddilis · 5 years ago

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Expletives, suppression of passion

I am convinced expletives have been given a bad name by people who dislike passionate displays of love, truth and emotion. Whoever linked them up with sexual innuendos must have been jealous, cowardly, frustrated, narcissists. In English a bar can mean many things, a rod, a drinking area, to prohibit something, a standard of measure. Expletive comes from the word explicit, words which make things explicit, they are a natural part of any language. The word @€ing for example can mean really/exceptionally etc it has nothing to do with a sexual act, when used as an adjective or adverb it emphasises the quality. "That was a great party" becomes an exceptionally good party when one says "€&@# that was a great party" or "that was a €&@#ing great party" there is no malice or vulgarity these are terms which express a level of passion. We all sense the passion, there's no malice so why have these natural powerful words which express passion been outlawed? My reckoning is that these innocent words initially began being demonised in courtrooms, when a Judge who was maybe a paedophile or a scob was faced with someone passionately innocent using such words the Judges were so frustrated that when they could find no crime committed but wanted to persecute that person they made it a crime to display passion by using expletives. Similarly in education when socially frustrated people in power were challenged by passionate displays of excitement and wonder it is likely that in their jealousy they sought to put that person down by saying they were vulgar using language as their reasoning. In fact it can be a very intelligent use of language to use expletives it often expresses in an instant what a thousand carefully crafted words can't, raw passion. They also can be and are used to great effect by people with limited access to education. For example while there exists a certain snobbery that whoever knows the most words (or understands mathematics) must be more intelligent than the average, this usually reflects the level of access to education rather than intelligence, a highly intelligent but perhaps less educated person might express qualities better with a much more limited range of words. For example someone well educated with a high volume of words in their vocabulary bank might say that pie was exquisitely, delicious and satisfying to the appetite another person not educated might say wow that pie was €&@#ing lovely, we instantly (well I do) sense the raw passion and I for one am going to try the €&@#ing lovely pie rather than the exquisitely delicious one that is satisfying to the appetite... why? The €&@#ing lovely pie obviously has something of a bit more kick in it. Expletives can be overused like many words, for example "right" "" you know" "like" "buddy" "ya hear" these can become a slight annoyance when someone uses them in almost every sentence but they don't get demonized and we usually don't notice them until they are pointed out (perhaps by someone trying to exert social control over (bully) the said person). My guess is they were originally despised by the colonial aristocracy of all nations who were probably so bound by rules of etiquette it drove them nuts seeing people with less material power so happy and able to express themselves, historically the ruling classes controlled the education and in order to gain access to education people had to conform to the rules and show less passion. It seems that this snobbery and discrimination still persists to an extent in academia. While everyone likes to think they are "cool and hip" there still is that unstated disdain. The word b@€&@# similarly does NOT mean a child born outside an institutional marriage. It means a despicable, selfish, evil person. We all know this so why is the meaning still associated with children who it cannot truly describe (because they are still limited by their circumstance much more than most adults) when it is in fact a term describing certain adults who are old enough to know better? My guess is this was used by certain people in power in religions to intimidate and bully people who fell in love and had children but didn't attend church or pay money to their coffers. What a despicable way to bully loving families by picking on their children. These religious people were/are the real b€&@#&s. As for the word cant, it is a fantastic word and nothing to do with a beautiful part of the female anatomy. My guess is it comes from the word can't, to describe those people who will say "no" to just about everything, no you can't do that or this, no that can't be done, I reckon they became known as a can't or cants but the accent changed over time to become a c@nt. We all know this yet some people, who probably are c@nts, say it is a bad word "you can't say that word it's a bad word!" "Yes I can, it's not a bad word, you just don't like it because you are a c@nt." No it is a fantastic funny word because it is so passionate and clear with such efficiency, the offence only happens in the c@nt's mind perhaps they are just a socially conditioned person a can't, now known as a c@nt. Things have come a long way but there is still more distance to go to get rid of the snobbery and discrimination, I reckon if we got rid of this politically correct oppression of genuine emotion and stopped the snobbery it would be another step towards equality across all divisions. I find women traditionally use less expletives reflective of the greater oppression of true emotion. We all know when someone is being nasty using these words offensively but there is no need to demonise the words. The words are not offensive they can't be they are just harmless sounds. It is in the mind of the critic where there is an offence committed or in the speaker if their intent is nasty. To express honest emotion is in reality something that should be encouraged rather than suppressed. Everyone knows it is in the mind of the critic where the offense is, if someone playfully says "€&@# you!" There is a certain innate intelligence that understands it is fun, similarly when it is used in a nasty way we similarly recognise the intent. That calls for a certain level of intelligence and awareness. Expletives whatever way you look at them are intelligent linguistic tools. One thing I don't like is them being used aggressively on children because it displays a level of intimidation which children don't deserve, aren't always eauipped to deal either and can be quite debilitating subconsciously. I know myself in order to survive violent teachers, predatory bullying religious clergy, unjust courtrooms etc I had to learn to silence my voice, curb my freedom, my happiness and obey the rules, restrict my passion or get even more beatings and persecution. The restriction of these words is actually against international law. The Universal declaration of human rights states everyone has the right to use their natural languages without discrimination yet we all know the reality, they are used as an excuse to discriminate, for example law enforcers very often persecute people for using them (while using them themselves.) To end on a historical fun note while studying religions I learned that the feet are symbols used as expressions of extreme distaste or offense in the middle east. In the Christian Gospels it is written that Jesus told his disciples to shake the dust off their feet when leaving a place where they are not made welcome to show how unwelcome these people will be in the kingdom of heaven, the modern equivalent is to give the middle finger as many people do when they are left out on the street, refused entry to a party or otherwise discriminated against.

This divide and conquer tactic has also been used to divide generations and disempower/discriminate against parents who freely use expletives and raise their children to express themselves similarly. I of course had to curb my passion in this post in case some can't complained to tumblr and used it as an excuse to hold back science. If anyone does a note to tumblr folks, because I solved the double slit experiment and unlocked the Theory of Everything my account here is likely to get you more new account sign ups in a week than you have maybe had in years and there's nothing in the post that we don't see in kids comics.

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askshivanulegacy · 5 years ago

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All for blakk

O M G :’D

I’m not even putting this behind a cut SCREW YOUR DASHBOARD :P

A: Aptitude1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

Hiding. <_<

2. what activities have they participated in?

HACKING, to include some questionably legal manipulation of the Intel mainframes for the purposes of playing a competitive game.

Swoop racing (actually just a dream, he hasn’t raced anything YET, but he’s working on building a racer)

Model building, he has a complete set of working model ships and vehicles

Built his own mouse bot

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

All of his skills he’s worked very hard to develop and become proficient at. He started out at a disadvantage, not being able to concentrate in class and having difficulty remembering things. He worked very hard to overcome this.

4. what things are they bad at?

Anything involving emotions. :’D

5. what is their most impressive talent?

Knife fighting. Also dancing, he’s capable of some very impressive dance moves.

B: Basics1. what is their hair color?

Black

2. what is their eye color?

Dark blue

3. how tall are they?

5 ft, 4 in / 162.5 cm

4. how old are they?

Depends, but he starts SWTOR at 17 years old.

5. how much do they weigh?

Somewhat under an ideal healthy weight for his height and age.

C: Comfort1. how do they sit in a chair?

Properly. Although, left to himself on something comfy, he likes to pull up his legs and snuggle under a blanket.

2. in what position do they sleep?

Usually curled up on one side.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

Before meeting certain people, it’s holed up in his room either working on his models or studying tech manuals. After meeting certain people, it’s snuggled on a sofa with something sweet and hot to drink, wearing thick sweater and socks, and either watching the fireplace or a movie (with a fire in the fireplace).

4. what is their major comfort food? why?

Some kind of hot, creamy soup. Certain people made something like this for him on cold days or to help him feel better.

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

A feeeew people: Seran-vin ( @askcarminelegacy), Ziminder ( @kaosstar), Ahuska ( @dingoat), possibly a couple others. ♥

D: Decoration1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?

Blakk’s DK stronghold is typically done in cool colors with sleek, industrial lines and clean, minimalistic styles, although he does favor green, so that’s probably here and there. Left to his own devices though (and maybe some interior decoration hints), his ideal house would probably be decorated warmly, with a more natural, welcoming style of furniture.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room?

Blakk would not have a child. XD

3. how do they decorate their own room?

Same as above, except littered with pieces of tech and various flying vehicle models.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?

The best in Imperial fashion - clean, sharp lines, asymmetrical styling, appropriate use of contrasting colors and accents, usually a darker color spectrum (unless white or silver). No flowers.

Accessories include knives everywhere, a stealth unit, comms, Intel-tech grappling hook. Less practical accessories include possible hat, white or black gloves (or dark green if he’s wearing green), earring (just one, asymmetry FTW), or choker.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

No. Except when disguised as a woman, then of course whatever is tasteful and stylish and matching his clothes. Possibly sparkles and/or tattoos in interesting places if left up to Watcher Two. ;)

E: External Personality1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality?

Yes, very much.

2. do they do things that conform to the norm?

To the classic “Imperial norm,” yes.

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

Tasteful trends in fashion. Other trends, generally not; Blakk is something of a lone wolf and finds it hard to group along with others.

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads?

Not in the least.

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it out on their own?

Blakk unintentionally does not portray his full personality.

F: Fun1. what do they do for fun?

See A for activities. Also, reading technical manuals.

2. what is their ideal party?

Not having one.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

Proooobably a certain Alderaanian noble or a certain Bothan. Or even a certain thief. <_<

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

Blakk certainly thinks he can. 8) Imperial rules, anyway, no one mentioned anything about Republic rules <_<

5. do they go out a lot?

Nope.

G: Gorgeous1. what is their most attractive external feature?

His eyes.

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

Probably his shy kindness or awkwardness.

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

Generally, he’s very loyal to his friends and honestly thinks the world of them.

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

Blakk likes his appearance; he’s not shy at all about being seen and being fashionable. He hates the rest of himself. XD

5. what parts of others do they envy?

The ability of people to make friends or speak or hang out or have fun so easily.

H: Heat1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

Hot! The hotter the better.

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Summer!

3. do they like the snow?

No! Except the indoor part with cozy clothes and hot drinks and cuddling.

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

Nothing Blakk particularly identifies with the summer.

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

Avoiding everything about the winter.

I: In-the-closet1. what is their sexuality?

A very in-the-closet Bi.

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?

Not consciously.

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

Nope.

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?

What family? 8)

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

Still waiting, in denial 5ever, even after having a couple boyfriend AUs. :’D

J: Joy1. what makes them happy?

Sharing time with the people they care about.

2. who makes them happy?

Certain special individuals. ♥

3. are there any songs that bring them joy?

Probably, especially when certain people sing them. <_<

4. are they happy often?

No.

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

Someone telling him, “I love you.” It’s never happened. <_<

K: Kill1. have they ever thought about suicide?

Yes.

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

”Thought” implies something deeper than a daily occurance. XD

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who?

Blakk already does, but he has no one specific in mind.

4. who would miss them if they died?

Blakk thinks no one would. <_< But in reality there are a lot of people, both those he’s met outside of Intel, and certain select people inside of Intel.

5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

DERRICK @kaosstar <_<

L: Lemons1. what is their favorite fruit?

He doesn’t know enough to have one. Raspberry might be a good contender.

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

Still doesn’t know enough to have one, but possibly lemons. XD

3. are there any foods they hate?

FLOWERS.

4. do they have any food intolerances?

Possibly. Blakk just needs to be careful he doesn’t overdo it with foods he’s not used to (his regular diet is exclusively nutrient bars).

5. what is their favorite food?

Nutrient bars.

M: Maternal1. would they want a daughter or a son?

No.

2. how many children do they want?

Zero.

3. would they be a good parent?

Blakk would be a terrible parent. He’s not in a position or a mindset to care for a child, he might never be in one.

4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?

Nothing.

5. would they adopt?

Nope.

N: Never Have I Ever1. what would they never do?

Blakk would never want to hurt the people he cares about ... but it’s happened anyway.

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

Race a swoop.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Probably not.

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

That one time he was swindled into going undercover at a strip club.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

Defect from Imperial Intelligence.

O: Optimism1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Very pessimistic.

2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

No.

3. are they good at giving advice?

Terrible at giving advice, but that doesn’t stop him. :’D

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

A good handful of people, haha.

5. were they always optimistic?

Blakk was ... once, in a part of his life he no longer remembers.

P: Personality1. what is their best personality trait?

Kindness.

2. what is their worst personality trait?

Negativity.

3. what of their personality do others love?

Probably the kindness and stubbornness.

4. what of their personality do others envy?

... Possibly his loyalty?

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

Blakk hates his lack of confidence and his introvertedness. There’s not much he actually hates about other people’s personalities, except cruelty.

Q: Questions1. do they ask for help?

Never, if he can help it.

2. do they ask questions in class?

Rarely.

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

Not usually, although there’s not much that would make Blakk uncomfortable in a classroom setting.

4. do they ask weird questions?

No.

5. are they curious?

Reasonably curious, moreso about things of a technical nature.

R: Rules1. do they follow rules?

Imperial rules, yes.

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent?

Neither.

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?

People have tried, in Republic space. 8)

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

Does blowing up hundreds of thousands of people across several planets count?

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

Mandalorian rules. <_<

S: Streets - already answered!

T: Truth

1. are they honest?

Generally, but there are a lot of things Blakk lies like a rug about.

2. can they tell if someone is lying?

Usually; it’s part of his Intelligence training.

3. is it obvious when they’re lying?

No, unless it’s about his own feelings. 8)

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

Oh yes. Or half-truths, or not confessing his feelings before it’s too late.

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

No, but certain people have discovered truths Blakk would rather have been left alone. <_<

U: Underdog1. have they been bullied?

Yes, even beat up a few times at Intelligence.

2. have they bullied anyone?

No.

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully?

Yes.

4. have they ever been doubted?

Blakk has never told anyone. He thinks “allowing” himself to be beat up is a severe weakness, and he’s pretty demoralized that no one noticed or stepped in.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

When it comes to fighting, probably yes. He’s extremely agile, tenacious, and downright vicious.

V: Vomit1. do they vomit often?

No? This is a very bizarre set of questions. Clearly someone had no ideas when it comes to ‘V’.

2. do they get lots of stomach aches?

Possibly, when eating too much unfamiliar food.

3. are they good at comforting someone ill?

Not very good, but Blakk will sit with them and provide company.

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

Warmth and physical contact.

5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

Not exactly a very relevant question. XD

W: Water - already answered!

X: Xylophone

1. what is their favorite genre of music?

Generally something smooth and instrumental, like Classical.

2. do they have a favorite song?

Probably a few, or anything sung by a certain Alderaanian. <_<

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

Just one favorite singer. So far. <_<

4. can they sing well?

Blakk can actually sing reasonably well, he’s a tenor.

5. can they rap?

If his life depended on it? Probably. :’D

Y: You1. how old were you when you created them?

Uhhh I do a terrible job of tracking what I did when. Just about the time I started SWTOR, I created Blakk.

2. what inspired you to create them?

Blakk is the what-if Imperial universe version of my Jedi Knight Zakku’an. The “what-if” brainstorming determined how his personality changed, and his appearance is the result of what I liked when changing Zak’s appearance with the character creator. XD

3. were they different when they were first created?

As Zak, he was very different. More optimistic, friendly, and light-hearted.

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

Yes!

5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

Everything, especially how he has a chronic, “dig himself into deeper and deeper holes” problem. XD

Z: Zebra1. what’s their favorite animal?

He hates animals. Wolves. <_<

2. do they like animals?

Not generally. Although one day he will end up with a varactyl named Featherhead, an akk dog he will be Force-bonded to, and a pack of miniature blurrgs named after his friends. 8)

3. cats or dogs?

Neither? Both?

4. what’s their dream pet?

Since he’s never wanted a pet, he doesn’t have one.

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

Not at this very moment, but see #2.

@kaosstar I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY XDDD

#kaosstar #I'm not even 100% sure this was the right set of asks #but I am 85% sure so that's ok 8)#ty for the ask!!!#I think ahahahaha #Omega Blakk #asks #answers #no regrets #stretching your dash for days

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songbird-musing · 6 years ago

Text

Virtuoso: Chapter Three - Verses

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy’s brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician’s Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras’ “vibe,” whatever that means.

There's wooing, and revelry, and all sorts of things that don't quite suit Enjolras' sensibilities.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Verses

“So, are you conducting at any upcoming concerts?” Grantaire asked, lit only by a flickering outdoor lamp.

“Not anything official... I’m performing a cello solo and some ensemble stuff at the showcase next week, though,” their faces were blistered by the heat from the tea.

“Wait... What is your main instrument?” Grantaire filled his lungs with smoke, “Can you play the whole orchestra?” he joked.

“Pretty much,” Enjolras scuffed his toes against the floor, “Pushy parents...” he paused, “I’m grateful, though. I don’t know where I’d be without music.”

“Do you not think you’d have found it anyway?” Grantaire asked, eyes closed, lips parted.

“What? Music?” Enjolras tucked his hands under his jacket to warm them. “Who knows? I’d probably have ended up as a lawyer, or a banker or something.”

“What... like ninety percent of the Saint-Michel graduates?” he slumped his head to the side and traced a bird through the sky with a half-amused tilt to his mouth. “Anyway, I don’t believe that for a second. You’d have found it... it’s who you are.”

Enjolras watched him closely, mouth suddenly dry.

“Do you want...?” Grantaire asked, tilting the cigarette towards him.

“Oh no... I don’t smoke.”

“Tobacco?”

“Anything,” Enjolras answered, lungs recoiling at the scent.

“Man of strong morals,” he said, yawning slightly. “I’m afraid I have none.” He kicked the end of his cigarette into an overflowing pile. “Let’s finish this masterpiece.”

A laugh bubbled in Enjolras’ chest and burst through, clattering loudly in the patch of cobblestones.

“Grantaire,” he asked, and the boy turned around with a look in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected Enjolras to even know his name. “Why are you even at Saint-Michel’s?” He stood, hands still warming beneath his arms. “Surely there’s a contemporary school of music you could study at?”

“Um,” said Grantaire, turning slightly red. Enjolras couldn’t tell whether he was blushing, or if it were just the sunset bouncing off his cheeks. “I’m performing at the showcase next week, so maybe, if you stick around, you’ll see why.”

They stepped back inside, the air gracefully far warmer.

“What does that mean?” Enjolras asked, itching for Grantaire’s answer. “Do you play like the oboe or something?”

“You’ll see...” Grantaire lifted a corner of his mouth and Enjolras inexplicably had to drop his gaze, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. “Can’t give away all my mystery at once,” he leaned in, “My mystery is all I have going for me.”

“Very mysterious,” said Enjolras in a small voice, laugh curling the edge of his breath. His senses snapped from the moment as a shrill ringing screeched from Grantaire’s phone.

“Oh,” the sound poured from his lips like carelessly spilled water, his eyes glazed. “I didn’t realise it was so late.” He threw his phone roughly onto the bed and stretched his limbs out.

“Plans for the evening?” Enjolras asked, hovering by the keyboard, fingers longing for the keys.

“I forgot all about it...” Grantaire cursed, grabbing a fresh shirt from his wardrobe, patterned with an unexpectedly intricate Victorian design in forest green. “I could call it off...” but the words eked from him, as if cancelling his plans was not on his mind at all.

“No, of course not... Um... I’ll just...” Enjolras cleared his throat, making for his scarf. “Nice shirt.”

“It’s my wooing shirt,” Grantaire laughed, mirth smeared in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re going on a date?” Enjolras said with a smile, shouldering his coat.

Grantaire laughed again, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “A date...” he made quick work of the buttons on the shirt he was wearing. “Sure... let’s call it that.”

With a swift movement, he slithered from the material of his top and threw it onto a lump of clothing. Enjolras caught a glimpse of his russet shoulders, marked with delicate black ink and masses of freckles before he turned to the door, cheeks heating.

“I’ll head off then,” he said, blinking a little too rapidly.

“One sec,” Grantaire said, “Catch!”

Enjolras was forced to confront the image of a half-shirted Grantaire and apologised fervently, missing the memory stick soaring towards him and hearing it clatter by his feet.

“Sorry for what? I have no shame regarding the human form...” he quirked an eyebrow.

“You sound like Jehan.”

“Jehan sounds like me...They used to do life modelling for me.”

“Huh?” Enjolras gaped.

“Yeah, I have the pictures somewhere. They’re very artful... Do you want to see?”

“I feel like I would have to ask Jehan first...”

“You’re such a sweet boy,” Grantaire said in a deeply southern accent. “Didn’t you see Jehan in that exhibition where they stood naked in a forest or something?”

“Oh...” Enjolras recalled it well, “The Adam and Eve thing. It was certainly an interesting take on religious gender non-conformity...” He tilted his head, “I think they still get death threats sometimes.”

Grantaire threw his head back in a laugh, and Enjolras wished he could throw such a glorious laugh around with Grantaire’s ease.

“Hang on, I’ll show you out.” He bumped open the door with his hip, towering a myriad of plates and empty cups in his hands.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Enjolras said, voice shatteringly polite, “Seriously, Grantaire, I’m so grateful.”

Grantaire grazed his shoulder up into a shrug and brushed Enjolras’ comment away with finesse. “Ép,” he said, slamming the dirty dishes onto the table before her. She peered up from a clunky Mac, headphones nestled in her hair. She gazed at him briefly before her eyebrows slanted downwards.

“What’s with the wooing shirt?” she asked, dragging the headphones from her ears.

“Are you going to be here all night?” he asked, grabbing an apple and sinking his teeth into it.

“Yeah...?” she said after a pause, “Ugh, don’t make me leave,” she complained, “I’m literally in the middle of producing right now.”

“No, its fine,” Grantaire’s eyes were burning hazel under the setting sun, “I’ll be back in a few hours. Just tell Claque if I find any more of his masks, or creepy merchandise in my room again, he’s banned from ever coming here again. I’ve had enough. He’s doing it on purpose now, I swear...” Grantaire looked to Enjolras with a dark shade in his gaze, “I found an ornamental dagger in my pillowcase last night,” he said in way of explanation. “It’s getting beyond weird now.”

“He does it to show affection,” Éponine said, “Like a cat.”

“That’s even worse!” Grantaire said, “Like at least ten billion times worse! Tell him there is more to life than aesthetic.”

“Try to tell that to anyone in the band, my dear,” Éponine laughed. “Well, have fun guys!”

Enjolras blinked.

“Éponine!” Grantaire hissed, shaking his head frenetically. “The shirt’s not for him.”

The moment stretched out and Éponine let out a giggle, collapsing her head onto her forearms. “Oops!” she snorted, “I totally thought you were gonna...”

“Why would I make us go all the way back to his house?” Grantaire said, smirk playing on his face, “I’m a good host, Ép. You would be kicked out.”

“This is weird...” Enjolras interjected, feeling a little flushed.

“You’re right. This is weird, and it’s all your fault,” Grantaire said, pulling a face at Éponine. “Right, I better get ready.”

With a spin, Grantaire reached their front door and presented it to Enjolras with a bow. “It has been a pleasure to work with you, Enjolras. When’s the lesson we have to perform in?”

“Monday at nine,” Enjolras said, “With Valjean.”

Grantaire groaned. “Very devious of you to tell me that at the very end... Monday at nine! Okay, okay, fine. I’ll see you then. Maybe I’ll catch you before to practise.” Grantaire’s eyes were drifting away, “Seriously, though, we should hang sometime. Courf seems really cool.”

“Oh, yeah,” Enjolras said, “He really is.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Grantaire joked. Enjolras eyed the pattern of his shirt.

“No, he is! Anyway, I don’t want to keep you... Enjoy your... thing.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, giving another laugh, but peering through narrowed eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” Enjolras started, “Oh sorry... just have Beethoven on my mind.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, “Well... Good luck with that?” he leant forwards and briefly embraced Enjolras, kissing the air beside his cheeks casually. “See you later. Safe travels!”

Enjolras travelled back on the metro with a strange, roiling sensation shifting in his stomach. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the haunting melodies of Shostakovich ensnare his senses for the ride.

~*~

“House meeting!” shouted Combeferre, who perhaps called house meetings far more than necessary.

“What’s wrong now?” asked Courf with a playful groan, “Did I eat your last avocado again?”

“The issue to discuss is a certain Courfeyrac’s attendance in this household,” said Combeferre, opening his journal and scratching down a title. He flicked to another page and nodded, “You’ve been absent five out of the past seven nights...”

Courfeyrac lounged back on the sofa, letting his mass of dark curls flop over his eyes, “Sorry, dad.”

“I feel like you shouldn’t be paying full rent,” Combeferre said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But... there is a way to rectify your missteps.”

“You can tell he’s going to be the most intense teacher in five years time,” Courfeyrac said with an eye roll to Enjolras.

“No backchat,” Enjolras quipped, quietly letting his fingers drift over the strings of his harp.

The three of them laughed in tangent.

“Seriously though, you have to give an opinion on my dissertation,” Combeferre said, throwing a chunky booklet into his friend’s hands.

“No!” Courfeyrac elongated, letting the vowel ring out through the flat. “Why am I subjected to such cruel punishment for taking advantage of my youth?”

“Love you so much!” Combeferre said, giving Enjolras a roguish wink. “We’ve sorted him out,” he said in a mock whisper, ignoring Courfeyrac’s dramatic complaints. “What’s wrong, Enj?”

“Hm?” Enjolras leant his forehead against the gilded edge of his harp.

“You’re playing Tchaikovsky again.”

“What does that mean?” Enjolras sighed, stilling his fingers.

“Darling,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “The last time you looked this mopey was when I said I didn’t like Bach that much.”

Enjolras instantly frowned. “You should be expelled from Saint-Michel’s, you heathen.”

“Stop deflecting,” Combeferre interjected, “Do I have to call the second house meeting of the night?”

“Do you guys think I’m not living in the student life as much as I could be?”

“Absolutely,” Courf said.

“One thousand percent,” Combeferre added, “But since when have you wanted to act like a student?”

“Has that nasty boy Grantaire been corrupting you?” Courfeyrac asked, “I’ll be having words with him.”

“I think you might have a chance with him,” Enjolras tilted his head, watching the flare of interest in Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“Nah,” he said after a moment, “It would break Jehan and I’s agreement. No sharing.”

Enjolras licked his cracked lips and his eyebrows folded. “Jehan and Grantaire...? They were a thing?”

Courfeyrac laughed lazily. “You know Jehan... Free love... There’s literally no-one in that circle that Jehan hasn’t slept with... Well, apart from Gueulemer... he’s painfully straight. We’re both trying to see who can crack him.”

“You’re awful, Courf,” Combeferre said, “Leave the poor heterosexual alone.”

“Are you going out tomorrow night, Courf?” Enjolras asked, the words tasting brassy on his tongue.

“Dunno,” he turned his wide-eyed gaze to Combeferre, “Can I go out tomorrow, dad, please?”

Combeferre grimaced. “Stop calling me dad.”

“Daddy says yes,” Courf said with an exaggerated wink.

“House meeting!” Combeferre shouted, mirth in his eyes, “The issue on the table: never do that again.” He shut his notebook and stalked away.

“Well, I’ll come with you.”

“Ooh, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac said, scandalised, “On a school night as well! You little rebel!”

~*~

After university the next day, Enjolras contemplated himself in the mirror, red shirt as stark as blood against his skin. He buttoned it to the top, but unfastened the button closest to his neck. He imagined calling it his ‘wooing shirt’ to literally anybody and almost turned as scarlet as the material. With a glimpse at his alarm, he noticed the lateness of the hour and snapped at Courfeyrac to hurry up.

“Me?” Courfeyrac gaped, “I’ve been ready for the past four hours,” he exaggerated, still shirtless and barefoot. “I’m not the one raunchily exposing a slither of neck and blushing at myself.”

“That’s not-” Enjolras blushed, “That wasn’t what I was doing!”

“Gosh! I’ve heard that Enjolras is a floozy, you know?” Courf called to no one in particular, “I once caught a glimpse of his ankles!”

“His ankles?!” Combeferre called from a distant room, sounding aghast.

“You both are the worst,” Enjolras said, still flushed. Courfeyrac grinned and ruffled a hand through Enjolras’ mass of blonde curls.

“Come on, you harlot,” he tiptoed to smack an affectionate kiss to Enjolras’ cheek, “We have some revelry to revel in.”

By Courfeyrac’s standards, revelry was measured in how blisteringly high one could become.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” he drawled, after they had arrived at the party, passing a joint to Jehan, arm crossing over Enjolras’ chest as he did so. “I just think that if the moon was real then it wouldn’t be such a symbol of mystery... I’m just saying... who looks at the moon and isn’t a little bit creeped out?”

“You get creeped out by the moon?” Joly asked, head resting on Musichetta’s lap.

“Like...” said Courf, eyes drifting shut, “Like just a tiny bit...” a small cough rattled in his throat, “I just don’t trust it.”

“I think the moon is lovely,” Jehan said. Joly peered up and shared an eye-roll with Enjolras. Joly was the first violinist in the Saint-Michel orchestra, and had dealt with the whole bunch of orchestral stoners more than Enjolras had had the will to.

“You think everything is lovely, Jehan,” Enjolras said. Jehan looked at him with starry, brown eyes and slumped against the column of his neck.

Then, amidst the smoke haze of the room, time seemed to unfold far quicker than it usually did, and Jehan had led Enjolras to their room, to show him the life paintings Grantaire had mentioned.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, head a little fuzzy, “Very artful... he said they were.” The pictures captured Jehan as they looked in the current moment, lazy-eyed and oozing contentedness. “They’re incredible, Jehan.”

“Tell Grantaire... he was the one who did the hard work.”

Enjolras was not sure what came over him, but he ducked his head and felt the edge of Jehan’s lip between his own. He felt a hand leap to the back of his head, and the warm curl of fingers lace themselves through his hair. Jehan’s lips feel like a revolution – Enjolras had never kissed someone so well versed in the art of kissing. The lips on his neck made him gasp for air. He contemplated how long it had been since the skin of his neck had been worshipped so... too long. A year ago with the pretentious cellist that was too attractive for words, (Enjolras had called it off when the sex had been the only part that didn’t bore him half to death.)

“Jehan,” he mouthed, feeling mind-spinningly blissful. His hand dropped to Jehan’s waist, feeling for a seam of material. His fingers searched blindly, tracing the edge of Jehan’s hips, increasingly frantic. Enjolras broke away with a tut and stared at Jehan’s attire.

“It’s a romper,” Jehan said in explanation. Then, as Enjolras moved his hands to the zip on Jehan’s back, they said, “What are you doing, Enjolras?” Enjolras pressed his lips to Jehan’s collarbone, who laughed breathily and batted his head away. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m looking for my wilder side,” Enjolras said, eyes dark.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Jehan said lightly, “I thought this was just a friendly make-out session.”

“You sleep with everyone,” Enjolras said, drawing back and resenting the whine that had infiltrated into his tone. In lieu of offense, Jehan merely snorted with a grin.

“Look, I’m down for casual flings aplenty, but you, my friend, are not.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“No,” Jehan shrugged, “You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“That makes no sense,” Enjolras frowned, “Your pseudo-deep doesn’t work on me.”

“Come on, Enj,” Jehan said, patting Enjolras good-naturedly on the chest, “If you actually wanted a hook-up, you wouldn’t have come to the one person you thought would never turn you down... I’m sorry, but I am just not dealing with the emotional nonsense you are sure to bring.”

“What?” he gaped, mouth dropping open.

“You’re a drama queen, Enjolras – you can’t even deny it...” they smiled, “Let’s not do this.” Jehan tucked the sketches back into place and stretched out their arms. “Wow,” they said with a hazy blink, “I am too high right now.”

“You always are,” muttered Enjolras.

“Don’t get grumpy with me, darling,” Jehan said, “I still love you.”

Enjolras flushed a little, still not as open with his words as Jehan could be. “Yeah, and I love you as well. Besides, I’m not grumpy with you, I’m grumpy with myself.”

“Enjolras,” Jehan tutted, “Don’t mope... I can shower you with positive affirmations, if you’d like... You’re the loveliest boy I’ve ever met, anyone would be blessed to have you, and you’re as beautiful as the sun itself... I am at once blinded by you yet cannot take my eyes from you... happy now?”

Enjolras couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his mouth. Jehan laughed and pressed a friendly kiss to his lips.

“Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” Enjolras said, covering his face.

“About what?” Jehan said, smile lazy, “I’m so high, I’ve forgotten already.”

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plounce · 6 years ago

Note

god ik its a wm au but I would Love to hear more about beauyasha in this au.. also like what has yasha been up to on earth? how does she interact with beau and caleb before molly arrives? 💜🕊

>:)))! i can absolutely do so!!

so in the first two or so seasons before all the heaven/apocalypse stuff, beau and caleb met yasha in an episode. she never SAID she was a valkyrie but that’s what they assumed she was, since she had a lot of viking stuff on her and the accent and she sort of implied that. it’s what made sense at the time, especially because they had no signs that angels are a real thing.

then molly happens, and then when yasha shows back up again they recognize each other and WHAT! YASHA’S AN ANGEL ACTUALLY?? crazy.

basically what happened is that at around 200 bce or so, yasha fell in love. i’m gonna say that zuala was another angel in her garrison, and angels aren’t supposed to fall in love. they’re supposed to be conforming divine warriors who don’t have all the flaws (or strengths, or texture, or spark) that humans do.

zuala was painted as the main culprit in this transgression. rather than making her Fall (les mis voice) as lucifer fell (because by that point they didn’t want to add any more True demons to hell’s side) for punishment, they decide to just obliterate her a la the hellfire in the last scene of the good omens tv show. it isn’t pretty. yasha is made to watch. she screams, and it makes the sun flare.

the rest of the angels are going to have their memories wiped of her - including yasha - but she learns of this in time and breaks through the floor of heaven and plummets to earth. molly helps her escape, but manages to avoid getting caught doing so.

molly was in the same garrison as them, and his memory of zuala was wiped with the rest of them. he remembers yasha, remembers being fond of her, remembers that she left heaven voluntarily and that he helped her, but there’s so many blank spots. they have him move garrisons to the tomb-takers after that, who are very elite and militant, and he becomes a demon-killing expert. it’s meant to drown out all that. and it kind of works; molly remembers more of yasha when he sees her again on earth.

yasha falls and falls and her angel blade slips from her hand as she dematerializes. it plummets and falls deep into some wilderness. a glint streaking down from the shooting star in the sky that night.

what happens next is the thing that happened with anna - yasha has no vessel lined up and she wasn’t given permission to leave, and is swiftly getting her grace cut off by heaven, and her being is transformed into a human baby. she is born, and grows up in a little scandinavian village a little bit strange. her parents tell her how there was a huge shooting star the night she was born, how they think it’s a good omen form the gods, and she has a sense that she’s different - special. she’s strong and naturally gifted with the club and the axe and especially the sword - anything they put in her hands.

when she’s old enough, she’s chosen to go on their clan’s raids. she excels at getting the resources her village needs from the southern peoples. she’s a terror, and everyone knows that she’s blessed from above.

then one year, she gets separated from the raiding party and is making her way through the forest trying to make it back to the coast so she can find their boat. and out of the corner of her eye she sees a strange glint, and something in her pulls her to go to it. it’s a strange sword embedded in the rock, and she puts her hand on it, and pulls –

and memories and power flood into her. memories of zuala, of creation, of molly, of heaven’s gleaming pathways, of zuala, of the first things that crawled on land, of zuala, of the face of god, of zuala, zuala, zuala. smiling, flying, fighting, touching, burning. she screams. her howl echoes through the woods.

her people have been waiting for her back at the boat, because they can’t leave their best warrior behind. when she strides out of the woods, she’s different. she walks different, and has this power radiating from her. she climbs on the boat, tells them to go. she’s almost glowing a little bit. they row away, and yasha spends the entire journey staring up at the sky, out at the horizon.

after that day she’s different. even quieter. everyone assumes she had a holy experience that day, and she doesn’t disagree, because, well. after that day she’s keenly aware of the norse gods’ presences, and doesn’t age. when she realizes that everyone is moving forward towards death without her (humans seem so small now - she loves her human parents, she does, but remembering what the sun looked like in its infancy changes a viking), she leaves, and goes to asgard, and pledges herself to the ranks of valkyries. she’s not nearly as strong as she once was, but she’s strong enough to fit in with her new people, so she finds herself a place there among the aesir.

(side note im keeping my distance from how this world interacts with non-abrahamic religions - thats SO not my business - just know theyve got their own power and their own places that aren’t like. Beneath that of abrahamic god. because iirc spn was terrible about that) (also i say abrahamic bc iirc islam has a lot of angels and demonology in its culture but thats all im gonna say bc again: i am not a theology major, and this au is much more about the surface fun of it all rather than making any statements or assertions about ACTUAL religions (past or present) obviously) (also i’m never gonna mention jesus or the antichrist or whatever)

the angel blade is tied to her grace. her grace still exists up in heaven, locked away in the archives, so the blade still has its source. it also contains her love for zuala and molly and - and all that she loved before she was torn apart - and that fuels it, connects it to her. gives her access to its power. she’s mostly just sort of supernaturally stronger and can take more of a beating than a normal human, and on certain days/times of year she can fly short distances. days that were holy to her. she carves norse runes on her blade, because it’s hers now. she can’t age or die of old age, but she still does have human needs - food, water, sleep. she’s tough, but if she’s unlucky then she can be killed. luckily, she’s very good at fighting.

her wings… they’re not like they once were. being with the valkyries makes humans see them like other valkyries’, but the aesir can see them for what they are - decayed, fragile, skeletal things, with what remaining feathers there are barely hanging on. like her feathers in cr proper.

after ragnarok, when the surviving aesir meet in the fields of asgard, yasha thanks them for their hospitality, and returns to midgard. she wanders for a while, mostly by herself. she helps when she sees people who need her help, but mostly she just keeps herself alive and moving. quiet, contemplative. loving god’s creation even though heaven hurt her deeply. she spends years not speaking to anyone. what happened to the aesir was traumatizing to her, and she’s secure enough that she doesn’t need what they gave her when she was “younger.”

at some point she makes her way to north america. she wanders, builds cabins, and when she stumbles upon the opportunity she watches over what she once watched over. she’s aware of Hunters but is uninterested in them - they’re not hunting for food and while they help widows and the grieving that’s not their Business. not her business.

flash forward to early season 2. we know beau and caleb by this point and the basic premise of the show and the world. on a hunt in montana beau and caleb take shelter in a cabin during a snowstorm, and in the middle of the night the door opens. beau is taking watch and shoves a gun up in the intruder’s face - but it’s just yasha, holding a deer carcass and looking distinctly unimpressed. “you’re in my house.”

beau stutters an apology, caught entirely off guard by the 6′5″ mountain of a woman, and yasha shoulders past her to the table to stoke the fire and clean her kill. it’s her dinner for next month, yasha gruffly explains when beau asks what she’s doing. don’t like supermarkets.

caleb wakes up to beau helping yasha cut away the entrails. he is very frightened and confused, but when beau gives the all-clear he calms down a little. not entirely, because he knows this woman is beau’s type, and they’re still on a hunt.

they explain what they’re up to to yasha, who nods. says she’s noticed things have been strange. and beau helped her, so. she’ll help them. she’s also bored, and has a good feeling about these two.

so she helps out with the hunt, and throughout the episode beau clumsily flirts with her and yasha never turns her down but also never Flirts back. there’s a tension that’s mostly powered by beau but isn’t shut down by yasha (yasha thinks beau’s sweet and attractive, and she’s taken some human lovers over the last two millennia, but is still devoted to the memory of zuala. the audience doesn’t know that thought). she and caleb connect on a We Are Both Quiet Introverts level, like they do in actual cr (reminiscent of the shaving scene after bowlgate).

it isn’t until the end that caleb and beau think she’s anything but a mountain lady. then she pulls out a HUGE GLOWING SWORD carved with RUNES and THERE’S SOMETHING BEHIND HER THAT LOOKS LIKE WINGS? and then she nods, says goodbye, and walks away into the woods before caleb and beau can pepper her with questions about what the fuck just happened.

they run after her, but can’t find her or the cabin again. in the car ride back to civilization, caleb theorizes that she might be a valkyrie, and beau’s like yeah that sounds appropriately sexy.

yasha is a fan favorite. she had a whole focus episode and she was so mysterious and cool! the audience clamors for her to be brought back, and are sad when she doesn’t show up for the rest of season 2. beau and caleb mention her a couple times, so it’s made plain that she isn’t TOTALLY a one-off, but… hm!

beaujester shippers already existed by this point (jester was in season 1 and again in season 2), and beauyasha gains some popularity. beau having attractions to both of them is present in the show, but she isn’t dating either of them. there’s significance to both of them - they’re both people beau thinks of when she thinks of having Somebody.

a lot of fic about yasha is written between seasons 2 and 4, theorizing about her life as a valkyrie and what her and beau meeting up would be like… which is all then jossed when angels happen in season 4.

caleb gets taken to hell at the end of season 3 because of ikithon and for beau. during his last couple days on earth, he begs beau to find jester. or hell, yasha. don’t be alone, please. live and be happy. go get - go get powerlifted by one or both of them. i heard you sleeptalk enough about that. and beau tells him to shut up, don’t talk like that, i’ll - i’ll find a way to bring you back. and then you can see me get gay married or whatever it is you want me to do. because i’m gonna get you out of there. and caleb smiles, and his eyes say we both know you won’t.

there’s a whole genre of fic about jester or yasha (or both) comforting beau and settling into hunting/domesticity with her or helping her rescue caleb after caleb gets dragged away btw. idk why im making up fake fic about this au but you know what. i deserve this.

yasha is sort of put out of mind in the heaven excitement of season 4 and the arrival of molly as a third companion, turning their duo into a trio half the time. the apocalypse stuff isn’t quite happening yet btw (this is where i start diverging from the seasonal structure of spn), it’s just angels being real and caleb and beau being mysteriously important to them.

there is one point where during the beginning of an episode about halfway through the season where they’re regaling molly with a story of one of their hunts - beau is trying to embarrass caleb with a time he got enthralled by a siren, and caleb bats back with well, at least i didn’t let a giant woman with a dead deer push my gun aside so she could skin the thing with no enchantments on me at all. and beau’s like AW CMON DUDE DONT BRING YASH INTO THIS.

then there’s a shot where their bickering dialogue continues but the camera is focused on molly, who tilts his head a little, considering, then takes a sip of his orange juice (he hates coffee - too bitter! if he’s going to consume something to keep up the idea that he’s human, it’ll be something that tastes good!). then it cuts to the car.

it’s intentionally ambiguous if that’s about caleb getting seduced by a siren, beau being embarrassed, or whatever - it’s just an odd little moment. which is significant when they’re up north again, four episodes later, in a little restaurant off the highway, and they’ve just finished their meal and talk about the season plotline is happening when the door SLAMS open, and booted feet stomp across the dirty tile, strong legs in worn jeans, a huge backpack - beau’s eyes widen - and there’s yasha, striding directly to their table with a look of utmost focus and determination.

beau goes to stand, caleb’s brow furrows - yasha, what are you doing here - what’s going on - when, before they can act, molly stands up, causing the table to rock and their cups to slosh over. yashael! he exclaims, his face split in incredulous delight. you’re alive! you survived! you’re okay - it’s been millennia! what are you doing here?! oh, i don’t care, get over here. and he goes to her, and she hugs him, and beau and caleb are standing there, slack-jawed, as stony stoic yasha cracks a wide smile and hugs molly and lifts him off the ground.

did… did mollymauk just say ‘yashael?’ caleb says, stunned. molly is cradling yasha’s face in his hands, and her cheeks are round with joy. beau’s imagination could never have given her this smile, and she’s jealous a little bit, but also in awe, but mostly also trying to process the two puzzle pieces that just locked themselves together that she thought were totally separate from each other.

(relevant posts to their reunion: art, text, text)

from then on yasha is part of their group, at least for that season. there’s a lot of caleb and beau commiserating over their attraction to two LITERAL ANGELS - especially when the truth of yasha’s fall is revealed. beau is torn up inside about all of it - an ANGEL, for the first part, and her dead angel lover (how could beau ever compete with an ANGEL) and, oh christ, molly’s odd humoring of her crush on yasha is cast in a new light now.

and then jester comes back and… well, now beau’s torn between two hot girls who are both important in the grand scheme of things! yipes!

it takes a long time and there’s probably also some romantic drama in that triangle etc, but beauyaster is endgame. because i have a huge fucking brain.

#chirps #wmspn au #HOPEFULLY THAT READMORE WORKS ON MOBILE BC THIS ONE'S A LONG ONE!#long post #robcr #qll #thank you for the ask!!#autisticbillpotts

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ranjxtul · 6 years ago

Text

Cats

(CR one shot set in an AU of Exandria where the M9′s settled down and kinda chilling, starting around episode 21. The obvious ships being Beaujes and CalebxMolly. TW for abandonment, and descriptions of violence)

Returning from that fateful double date months ago, Beauregard, Jester, Mollymauk, and Caleb did not expect to come across the little kenku girl who’d taken such a prominent role in their lives. The couples had gone on what for them was a routine double date. Jester and Beau had planned the date this time though. From there, the two had each picked half of the activity. Beau decided where to eat, and Jester had picked out a show for them.

All in all, the night had gone off without any large hitches, and despite her reticence, Beau had enjoyed the play Jester picked for them to see. Molly and Caleb seemed to have enjoyed themselves too.

Chattering to themselves about the performance, as they walked, the group made its way down the streets of one of the more residential areas in town. Suddenly, Molly stopped short, pulling Caleb with him to a stop. The wizard simply raised a brow in question at the tiefling for an explanation. The women,too stopped and Jester tilted her head toward Molly, “Why’re we stopped?” She asked.

Molly glanced over at the other three now stopped and peering at him, “Listen.” Jester gave a short nod, attempting to pick up on whatever it was her friend had detected. As she let herself settle into perceiving her natural surroundings, the faint sound of a, chirp, she thought maybe floated through the air.

Beau shared a glance with Caleb after she watched Jester’s body go still and her brows furrow a bit. The human pair then strained to hear whatever their respective partners heard. Faintly, Caleb heard it first, a desperate chirp of some sort of bird, then Beau picked up on the sound.

“What is that?” Beau finally asked. “It’s almost midnight, and I wouldn’t expect many birds to be flying about at this time, especially ones with a chirp of that high of a pitch.”

“I don’t know, but I think we should try and find out what it is,” Jester began. “It sounds sad,” she pointed out, turning toward her girlfriend.

“It could be dangerous, or mimicking something else,” Caleb countered as he merited their options in his head.

“If it was, we could probably deal with it somehow,” Jester shrugged in the wizard’s direction.

“If we did go after it, we’d have to be quiet. We still don’t know its location,” Molly offered.

“Regardless…” Caleb trailed off in thought. His brow furrowed for a moment before he spoke up again. “It could be a Kenku? They’re basically bird people,” he said, glancing at the others.

“If that’s the case we should try to help it. It sounded desperate,” Jester insisted. “What do you think Beau?” she asked looking at the monk.

“I dunno, it’s worth a go if it’s a person you think,” she shifted on her feet, eyes darting between her friends.

“So, are we going?” Molly asked raising a brow, awaiting a definitive answer.

“I suppose so,” Caleb nodded.

“Yeah,” Beau affirmed, and Jester simply nodded, her eyes alight at the prospect of discovering what the sound was and where it was.

“Well then, Caleb, do you know any spells that could help us track it, or are we just going to have to rely on our ears?” Molly asked.

“Not that I know right now,” the brunette shrugged apologetically.

“All good. We can just follow the chirps,” he shrugged back.

“I think you and Jess probably heard it best,” Beau nodded. “You guys should probably take the lead.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jester nodded, giving her girlfriend’s hand a squeeze before she let go to move beside Molly. “Let’s go,” she spoke once more, this time a bit quieter as she started to tug the other tiefling in the apparent direction. He willingly let Jester pull, seemingly agreeing with where she was headed as she pulled him, and effectively the group, down a side street.

The quartet traipsed down the street, alert for the chirping sound, which gained volume as they went. A few metres down, Jester and Mollymauk stopped in front of a small, relatively nice looking home. Indeed, the chirping was overwhelmingly audible from this vantage point.

“We should knock first,” Jester decided aloud, looking back toward her friends for support. Caleb and Molly offered nods and Beau a small thumbs up. Turning back toward the door, Jester rapted on it several times. The chirp abruptly cut off. Then, ever so slowly, the door swung open a crack.

At eye level, Jester was met with a general blackness. She turned back to Molly, who was the most proximal of the group with a raised brow. His face mirrored hers almost exactly, and he opened his mouth to speak before the same sound as before sounded from below. Jester’s eyes snapped back toward the door, but this time downward. There, through the slit of the door stood a figure extremely short in stature. Half a beak, and a yellow eye stared up at the blue tiefling. Combined with street lamps and her darkvision Jester could clearly make out feathers.

With a smile, she spoke softly, “It’s okay. We’re good people, you can open the door.” The small creature shuffled, but didn’t make a move to open the door further. “We heard you all the way down the street, and you sounded upset. We wanted to know if you were safe.” Slowly then, the door swung open a bit more.

At full, the creature couldn’t have been more than three feet tall. Caleb craned his neck up, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to perceive the birdlike thing in the doorway. “Beau,” he said quietly, leaning over to the monk, “I believe that is indeed a kenku.” The monk narrowed her eyes in an effort to better see, following suit of Caleb. The thing huddled in the doorway, and moving closer could cause it to move back and shut the door. She supposed she could suffice with what she was able to see for then.

When the door swung open a bit more, Jester gave an encouraging smile and she knelt down to get on a better level with the creature, “I’m Jester,” she introduced herself, looking back at the rest of the group, prompting them to do the same.

“I’m Molly,” the purple tiefling spoke up.

“Caleb.”

“I’m Beau.”

“What’s your name?” Jester asked turning back to the creature.

The bird gave a soft but disgruntled cooing sound, shaking its head. “It’s okay, I promise,” she tried again.”

Slowly, Caleb made his way toward Jester and the bird. He paused ever so often to check that his advances weren’t received with any sort of panic. Once he was a few feet behind Jester he knelt also, “Can you speak?” He asked.

The bird nodded, “Repeat,” it said in a deep accented voice that shouldn’t have belonged to a bird of its size.

Jester glanced back at Caleb and the rest of the group, biting her lip in quick contemplation before her eyes widened in a revelation. She turned back to the bird, “Can you write?” It nodded. She pulled out a small notebook from her purse, “It’s not my normal sketchbook, sorry you don’t have a lot of room. I didn’t expect to need it on a date,” she shrugged handing the small book and a pencil to the creature.

“Can you write your name?” Molly asked from where he stood. With a nod and then a quick scrawl, she held up a messily written: Kiri.

“Kiri,” Jester nodded with an encouraging smile, “How old are you?” she asked. Kiri held up four talons. “Four! That’s wonderful, are you a boy or a girl bird?”

Then, in a voice clearly Jester’s, Kiri said, “Girl bird.” Behind Jester and Kiri, the other three watched with a certain intrigue. Jester’s interaction with Kiri was so light hearted and easy. The little bird’s feathers, which had been fluffed in defence down began to lie flat, the more Jester talked. Beau thought it was sweet, really. The blue tielfing’s kind heart shone through so brightly in that moment.

Caleb stood slowly, as Jester spoke, retreating back toward Molly. “Is four old for a kenku?” the blood hunter asked in an almost whisper as Caleb found his way beside him again.

The wizard shrugged, “Don’t know.” He stepped forward a bit then and knelt again, “Kiri, how old are your parents?” He asked, his usual soft tone carrying an imperative delicacy. The small bird shrugged, a cooing sound leaving her beak. “I’m not sure she’s very old then,” he noted in Jester and then Molly and Beau’s direction as he stood back up.

“Where are your parents?” Molly asked from behind the kneeling pair. With a quick glance at the purple tiefling, she looked back down at Jester’s small notebook and set to scrawling again. A moment later, she held the notebook out to Jester.

“‘They left me here,’” Jester read, her face turning to a small frown. It could mean nothing, but the sounds coming from the house before they’d arrived hadn’t been exactly comforting. “How long have you been alone?” she asked.

Kiri held her arms out for the notebook, which Jester quickly gave back. The little bird girl wrote for another minute or so before showing it back to Jester. As she read, her eyes widened in shock at first, then it turned to sadness and indignation. She turned back toward the other three, “She’s been alone for a month that she can keep up with. Her parents just left her without warning and took her siblings with them.”

Beau’s mouth hardened into an angry line, the audacity it took for something like that to happen, for a parent to abandon one of their children, especially at Kiri’s age. A certain sympathy stirred in gut as observed her girlfriend and the small bird.

Jester stood up and turned to face the others, “We should take her with us. Her parents pretty much abandoned her, and she’s four, which Caleb said doesn’t seem to be very old.” Caleb nodded in conformation.

“Not that I’m against the idea, because it’s honestly a great idea. Her parents sound like literal trash, but where would she stay?” Beau questioned.

“She could stay with us!” Jester suggested immediately. “We have an extra room, and she’d see both of us pretty frequently.”

Beau regarded Jester for a moment, mulling the possibility over in her mind. Leaving Kiri here was certainly out of the question. It was also unlikely any of their other friends would take to the idea of having a literal child around their houses. Hell, Beau wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She was unsure of how to carry herself around Kiri, but Jester had proved herself to be brilliant at it. “Sure,” she relented after several moments of silence.

Jester let out a soft squeal of delight and leaned over to kiss Beau on the cheek, “Thank you!”

Caleb and Molly shared a look. “This could end disastrously, or absolutely wonderfully,” Molly commented under his breath, in a tone quiet enough so that just Caleb heard. Then, he looked at Kiri, “Welcome to the Mighty Nein!”

Kiri, who’d been less than inconspicuously listening in, perked up at this sentiment, her yellow eyes alight. She repeated, “Welcome to the Mighty Nein!” in Molly’s tonation.

With a giggle, Jester turned back to her, and Kiri, having already taken an immediate liking to the Cleric, held her arms up as if asking to be carried. Jester happily obliged, lifting the bird girl into her arms. It took a minute of adjusting, but soon enough Kiri was comfortable in Jester’s arms and Jester was comfortable enough carrying Kiri.

“Caleb, you should show her Frumpkin and let her pet him,” Beau raised a brow.

Jester turned toward them, having heard the idea, “That’s a perfect idea, Beau! Do it Caleb!”

With a snap of his fingers, the orange cat appeared in his arms, and he moved a bit closer to Kiri with Frumpkin. The Kenku’s eyes widened, watching the cat. The fact that he’d appeared out of nowhere made her turn away and into Jester when he neared first. Slowly, once nothing came, she turned her head back to observe Frumpkin, purring in Caleb’s arms.

She cautiously put a hand out to pat his head. The orange cat leaned into her touch, and she let out a chirp of excitement. “There you go,” Caleb encouraged under his breath as Kiri continued to pet Frumpkin.

“You can hold him?” Caleb offered. Then, he glanced at Jester, “Are you good if she wants to hold Frumpkin while we walk back?” Jester nodded.

Kiri, in Caleb’s voice, requested, “Hold him!” Gently, Caleb relinquished his grip on Frumpkin and let him find a comfortable spot with Kiri and Jester.

“Hate to break this up guys, but we should probably head back before our friends start worrying,” Molly said, clearing his throat.

“Oh yeah, you’re right, we should go,” Jester nodded. And, with that, the four started on their way back home, but with a small Kenku in tow, who eventually fell asleep before they made it back.

Kiri was a hit so to speak. When she met the rest of the Mighty Nein, they all found her adorably charming in some way or another. Nott and Beau did suggest that she try alcohol though.

As for the living situation, on the first night, Kiri had wormed her way into bed with Beau and Jester after a PG retelling of Tusk Love from Jester. From thereon out, it varied whether or not Kiri was in her bed or the couple’s bed. At first, that irritated Beau a bit, some nights she would have wanted Jester to hold her uninhibited by Kenku wedged in between them, but the more time she spent with Kiri the more fond she grew of the bird-child, and at some point she didn’t mind at all when she ended up wedged in their bed.

Nott had made the comment that Beau and Jester were basically Kiri’s mums now, and the Monk wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. First off, she wasn’t sure she’d imagined kids even if in the form of an adopted bird girl, and even if she felt more comfortable around Kiri and had grown to love her, that didn’t make her a good mother figure.

Jester, on the other hand, only proved to be even better at taking care of Kiri than Beau had projected. Jester had set her up for playdates with other kids, had all the good ideas, and just seemed to know how to act and what to say. Sure, it was something Beau admired about her girlfriend, but it made her painfully aware of her uncurbed bluntness, and awkward demeanor, only rivaled by Caleb’s.

Nonetheless, life carried on, and Kiri became an integral part of Beau and Jester’s lives, and more specifically the Mighty Nein’s. That’s just it though life carried on, and it took just as much as it gave.

No one had been expecting it, and it hit hard. The news of Mollymauk’s death was like a stone to the face to everyone. They couldn’t have done anything either. It was a home break in, his and Caleb’s home, resulting in a fight. Caleb had been injured, and he was out of it. The odds numerically weren’t good either. It was five versus two.

In the end, Molly injured himself to give him and Caleb a push forward in the fight. That injury knocked him unconscious, and one of the particularly cruel criminals, whom they later learned was named Lorenzo, had taken the opportunity to twist his weapon in Mollymauk’s chest.

Help and authorities arrived minutes after, but it was too late, the lavender tiefling’s red eyes stared vacantly up at the ceiling. His chest remained still, and the chill of death set in. Most hauntingly, his blood seeped into the floor, where even after Caleb and the other’s incessant cleaning, there still sat a stain.

No matter the justice, no matter the consequences the attackers faced, it couldn’t atone for what the Mighty Nein lost. Caleb retreated even further into himself; even Nott had trouble reaching him in his depression. Jester mourned her friend quietly, but anyone could tell she missed his witt and his presence. Beau, despite the constant snark offs between her and Molly, missed him deeply too. Where an ass-ish comment should have been, there was silence. She still had some of the mushrooms they’d tripped on, and she couldn’t bring herself to use them. Yasha grieved in her own way, but undeniably she felt the loss of her close friend.

Kiri seemed to feel it too. Her childlike curiosity and wonder became subdued in this time period. She also did her best to gauge situations now, even if she wasn’t the best at it, and she made sure to show as much love as she could for Beau and Jester. It would have taken a totally incapacitated person in order to be oblivious to how they felt about the whole situation.

In the days after, Jester’s laugh was hollow. Beau’s quips and flirty comments were aimless and wandering. They did brighten up ever so slightly at Kiri though. The bird seemed to be able to pick up on particular waves of sadness, and sometimes she’d get up on her hind talons and wrap her arms around Beau or Jester’s waist. Caleb also found minute comfort in Kiri. Her joy at petting and holding Frumpkin usually managed to bring a smile to his face.

That’s when Beau got her idea. Kiri seemed so genuinely happy when she played with a cat. Caleb would be happy to help her with it all, this could lift their spirits, and Beau could get a chance to bond with Kiri. It was then solidified in her mind: she was going to get Kiri a cat.

“Why did you ask me to meet you? And why so secretive?” Caleb questioned as he and Beau sat in a pub.

“Well, I need your help with something, and I want to keep it a surprise.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I want to get a cat for Kiri,” Beau blurted out before she could preface that statement with any of the logic she’d prepared such as: ‘we all know how much she loves Frumpkin’ or ‘Kiri seems to be really happy with Frumpkin and I’ve been thinking about something.’

“She and Frumpkin get along so well and it makes her so happy, and I just, kinda, I don’t know, wanna do something like this for her? Kid deserves it?” Beau attempted to recover, becoming less and less sure as she continued, unsure of how her words might be coming across in her now quasi-rushed phrasing.

Caleb blinked a few times, processing Beau’s quick speech before opening his mouth to formulate a response, “That’s not a bad idea, Beauregard,” he paused taking in the monk before him who was fidgeting with her fingers as she looked at him, her eyes gleaming with a certain veiled hope.

“Would you help me with that?” she asked before he could properly continue. “Like help me find a cat for her. Because I know Frumpkin’s your familiar so that’s slightly different because I just want her to have a normal cat, but you do know the most about cats, so you’re the man for the job.”

A small smile formed on the wizard’s face, “I would be happy to help you. Have you run this idea by Jester yet?”

“No. But, she loves Kiri and Frumpkin, so I think when it’s done I can convince her. Besides, it’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission,” Beau shrugged, her own face mirroring Caleb’s with a small smile, but hers contained a certain almost mischeif and excitement about having Caleb onboard with her scheme.

“Fair enough, I suppose… but if it comes to it, though I doubt it will, I was not involved. I do not want to get dragged into any arguments.” Despite the serious intonation of his words, Beau could detect a hint of mirth.

In about the process of a month, Caleb and Beau met up and went about deciding different things about Kiri’s cat, and then eventually meeting different cats up for adoption, attempting to find the sweetest one they could find. She wanted to get this right.

It was difficult to keep the excitement off of her face when she returned home, and it was difficult to keep coming up with excuses as to why she had to sneak off to meet Caleb. “How was the thing with Caleb?” Jester asked as Beau slipped in their room after a late night meeting at the coffee shop to decide between two cats.

“Good, he had some weird spell he wanted to test on my fighting abilities, made me jump really high,” she shrugged flopping onto the bed beside Jester and automatically burrowing into her side.

Jester, as if it were an involuntary reaction, pulled Beau closer, her tail curling around one of Beau’s ankles lightly. “Sounds like Caleb, but can’t you already do that?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah, but this spell let me do this without using a ki, like, I was going really high,” Beau quickly recovered with a short laugh.

“Sounds fun,” Jester nodded. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Beau, because she did and there was no way Caleb and Beau were having an affair, but she hadn’t heard of a spell like that before. Maybe Caleb had made it. Fortunately, Jester’s questions were answered not a week later when Beau asked her to make sure she and Kiri were home by noon.

At noon, Beau made her way into the house, Caleb trailing behind her. “Jessie! Kiri! I have a surprise!” she called almost giddily as she and Caleb made their way in. In the Wizard’s arms sat a small black and white patched cat with bright green eyes.

Seconds later, the tiefling and kenku made their way into living room, and the first thing both perceived happened to be the cat sitting in Caleb’s arms, “Cat!” Kiri chirped in Fjord’s voice, probably from the time she’d heard him say ‘Come get your damn cat.’

Jester tilted her head questioningly, “Beau?”

The monk glanced at her girlfriend, a small grin still on her face before she shifted her focus to Kiri, “Kiri, I know how much you love Frumpkin, so I thought,” she paused to take the cat from Caleb, “I could get you a cat of your own. And Caleb helped me.” She approached the little bird girl whose eyes were now wide. Immediately, Kiri held her arms out in a request to hold the cat and Beau gently passed him over.

She and Caleb had worked to find the cuddliest, sweetest cat they could meet. They’d hoped it would bridge the gap between Frumpkin’s attitude being partially so good natured due to his being a familiar and cat nature. It seemed that their endeavors were paying off as the little green cat curled up in Kiri’s arms after a brief moment of getting readjusted.

She glanced up at Jester after watching Kiri stroke his head for a moment to see the Cleric grinning, “Beauuu,” she said finally looking over and taking to grab her girlfriend’s arm. “It’s so cuteee. Is this where you and Caleb have been off to, and why your stories got all wonky toward the end?”

“Yeah,” Beau admitted. “And hey, they weren’t that bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”

“I wanted to keep it a surprise, and I also wanted to do it. What if you’d said no?”

“Well, I don’t know if I would’ve but I can’t now, look at how happy Kiri is!” Jester exclaimed.

By now, the kenku had taken a seat in the living room with the cat still in her arms, a smile clearly on her face. Caleb sat lightly on a sofa arm, “Do you know what you would like to name him?”

Without hesitation, Kiri said, “Mollymauk,” in the tiefling himself’s voice. The room went silent. Jester and Beau stared for a moment, the newly named cat making the only sound with his purring. Caleb bit down on the edge of his lip as he considered, a rush of mixed emotions, sadness, bereavement, gratitude, and bittersweetness, clouded the forefront of his mind, but only for a moment. “That’s a lovely name. He would be honoured,” he finally spoke.

Kiri nodded with what seemed to be a moment of understanding beyond her years. “Thank you,” she responded, in Jester’s voice.

Caleb offered a small smile toward Kiri and then looked to Beau and Jester who’d made their way over by then, “I’ll leave you all be.”

“Thank you, Caleb, for everything,” Beau called as Caleb ducked out.

“Of course, Beauregard.”

Jester sat down on one side of Kiri and Beau on the other. “Mollymauk huh?” Jester asked, her voice a touch quieter than normal weighed down with a hint of grief.

Kiri gave a nod and repeated, “Mollymauk,” in his voice again.

“That’s a good name, kiddo,” Beau commented.

Later that night, after the excitement of Kiri’s new pet had died down Beau and Jester lay in bed. In the monk’s eyes, the day couldn’t have gone any better. Kiri loved her new cat, Jester had received it well, and most of all, the name which Kiri chose. Molly was one of her friends, and many had shied away from saying his name. The wound was still fresh, roughly a month and a half old, it was fresh, but healing. The name was a nice remembrance.

“What you did for Kiri today was sweet, you know that Beau?” Jester piped up from behind Beau.

“I just wanted to give her a nice surprise,” she shrugged it off.

“Yeah, but this was really well thought out and just proves that you love Kiri,” she teased with a giggle.

“I do, and you knew that, but I just wanted to show it,” she chuckled quietly.

“I knoww, and for the record, you do show it, every day, trust me.”

“Glad to know it. Night, Jessie, love you,” Beau said ending the conversation. This left her with quite a bit to ruminate on. Maybe she wasn’t as bad at showing her affections to Kiri as she thought, or that could be Jester’s bias. Regardless, the thought alit a small flame of pride in her heart. She was doing better and maybe she wasn’t so out of place with Kiri and Jester’s dynamic.

“Night Beau. I love you too.” With that, Jester pulled herself closer to Beau and tangled one of her legs over Beau’s, which the Monk gladly sunk into.

#critical role #jester lavorre #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #kiri

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ginnyzero · 6 years ago

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A Reason Why I’m Indie

Traditional publishing isn’t for everybody. And I’ve seen attitudes that if you don’t conform to word counts and genre conventions and all the rules, then you’re never going to get anywhere in publishing/as a traditionally published author. So, I guess you should suck it up and do it. Then, I’m proudly never going to get anywhere.

Before we go any further, I want to make a disclaimer. Agents do hard jobs. They became agents (most of them) because they love books and reading and want to see authors succeed. They don’t get PAID unless an author succeeds. They are as invested in an author’s book as much as the author is. Or, at least, the good ones are. (Yes, there are a few bad apples that you must be aware of.)

BUT

Agents can’t sell your book if there is no one in their contacts/on their list that will buy it for reasons.

And these reasons may not have anything to do with your writing quality, your world building, your storytelling or your creativity. These reasons have everything to do with the publishing world and the little arbitrary writing rules that they impose on well, everything. I’m squeezing my hands together so hard right now my knuckles are turning white because these rules make me angry.

It takes a lot to make me angry. I get frustrated sometimes fairly easily. But angry?

Well, bullshit makes me angry.

I have spent time going through the querying process. I have helped and watched my best friend, writing bff, collaborator and editor go through her querying process. And I have comforted and I have encouraged and I was there for her last night when she figured out that her book was being rejected not because of writing quality and or bad story or because she had unicorns.

Instead, it was being rejected because someone in the last four years decided that the themes of the types of stories she tells belong and only belong to a certain age group category younger than what she writes. And if she wants to write the type of stories she wants to write, the type of stories that she loves and she needed at the YA age level, she would have to change essentially everything about her story that she adores to get it traditionally published.

Or self-publish.

And as we know, self-publishing closes a lot of doors.

All because, she isn’t writing the “correct” theme for the “correct” age group.

And this pisses me off. (My friend is devastated because the book series she’s lovingly crafted and all her other ideas now won’t supposedly work for traditional publishing all without her knowing because someone instituted new rules. She's been in limbo for months over this.)

Because these things aren’t written down anywhere. And if they are, they’re in weird little articles that aren’t being taught in schools because probably the teachers themselves don’t know them. Or, they were things decided in the last half a decade and no one decided to you know, spread the word in such a way that authors querying would hear it.

Or maybe, just maybe, restricting themes to a genre or an age level is such extreme limiting and inappropriate bullshit it needs to be burned in a fire.

-Takes a deep breathe- See. Angry.

There are certain themes and certain plot structures/character constructions that defined or launched each genre. Romance being the most heavily structured in the traditional publishing world (and a lot of indies following the same rules/structure.)

Science Fiction (as we know it) was born out of the Cold War and the space race and the feeling of alienation and how is having world destroying weapons going to guide us as a species. It was a lot of “humans versus alien invaders” ID4 type of storytelling. Shelley’s Frankenstein started it. And there were different views of it in the beginning, Asimov delved into the perils of robotics and space flight. Herbert talked about ecological scifi. Heinlein tended to go political and then time traveling sexual hijinks. Star Trek was Horatio Hornblower IN SPACE.

Fantasy, especially high and epic fantasy, was born of the retelling of old legends, myths and religions and the triumph of the goodness of mankind in the hero's journey. Star Wars and stories like it (Andre Norton, Anne McCaffery’s Pern) merged the two into science fantasy (my favorite.) Urban fantasy became Sherlock Holmes solves/fights crime with vampires, werewolves and the rest of the fantasy kitchen sink.

Just some examples here.

Much of the science fiction I’ve seen on the shelves still follows the formulas of Asimov and Heinlein and Orson Scott Card. The lone soldier against the terrible aliens must fight to save humanity. (In some instances, these are still the top authors hogging all the shelf space, add Herbert and Bova and Brian Sanderson the successor of Robert Jordan and LE Modesitt. And…….. yeah.)

And it’s boring. It’s tiresome. It’s time for a change. Our culture is changing and the media on our shelves isn’t. Tumblr is full of posts about how Earth is Space Australia and aliens that are simultaneously fascinated and accepting of the oddities of humans because their culture isn’t like that! We adopt strange little vacuum robots as easily as we bond to small furry creatures that OMG OMG it could KILL US. (And some not so furry creatures.) We have different types of friends. We do stupid shit for the fun of it. It’s funny. It’s heartwarming. It’s different.

People don’t want angry patriarchal werewolves anymore. They want more than dwarves that just love mining and speak in bad Scottish accents. (Best one I saw was Australian accents actually.) Readers are tired of gratuitous rape. They’re tired of abusive and bad relationships being portrayed as good. Toxic masculinity is getting old as is misogyny. Princesses no longer want to be rescued by dragons, they want to be protected by dragons from being forced into marriages they don’t want. Why must readers go through a sewer when they open a book to escape?

No. Not a lot of these new ideas have conflict or plot. But that’s not really up to the idea thinkers on Tumblr, that’s up to us the writers to see what the idea makers are looking for and come up with plots to fit those settings (if we like those ideas/settings.)

I doubt you’ll find it on bookshelves.

Fantasy has fallen into the grim dark crap sack worlds looking for the next GRRM. Storytelling that hasn’t advanced past trying to emulate Tolkien. Authors that emulate Lackey and McCaffery in the style of romantic fantasy being passed over for grim dark fantasy with assassins and the hot “urban fantasy.”

And understandably, Urban Fantasy is pretty new. LKH and Jim Butcher and other writers like Kim Harrison, Seanan Mcguire and Patty Briggs have been instrumental in making urban fantasy a ‘big deal.’ And I’ve read a lot of urban fantasy and finally I had to give up. I couldn’t take it anymore. Because it was all the same thing in different trappings. And I’m down for the same thing in different trappings to an extent. I really am. I’d just hope that at some point we can have more than Urban Fantasy mysteries. But no one is selling them on traditional shelves because publishers decided that Urban Fantasy people SOLVE CRIME is what the genre is.

This kills innovation coming to publishing houses. We see it in movies as well as books, new ideas, good ideas, are being passed over for the rehash of something from 20 to 30 years ago. (Think closer to 60 for some scifi, more for fantasy.) Because publishers have "genre rules" and are risk adverse because 'what if it doesn't sell?'

There are writers out there that are willing to turn themselves into pretzels to make their story fit a certain word count, a certain genre theme or follow these arbitrary rules to “get their foot in the door” and then they are told and believe that “once they are established” they can “break/bend the rules.”

It’s a lie. It’s a tasty lie. It’s so good of a lie you want to believe it. You want to delude yourself that “if I pretend I’m a man, get my book under 80,000 words, follow the exact conventions of my genre, that one day I’ll get big enough to break all of the rules and innovate my genre.”

That’s when you’ve sold your soul to the devil. You’ve stripped yourself of all your self-respect in order to chase that dream of the “traditional publishing deal.”

Indie is pushing back at traditional in good ways and in bad ways. Traditional with either adapt or continue its pushing back and rigidly holding onto the genre structures it has to its own downfall. The readers will decide on what they want to see/read. That, as an indie author is no longer my problem and completely out of my control.

My problem remains with the fact that traditional publishing houses, and agents aren’t being open and honest about their expectations for these genres that they’re pushing onto shelves. Get together. Form a consensus. Get that information out to authors by putting it on agent websites/blogs. Don’t expect newbies to just know it.

We’ve had enough dream crushing. Being rejected is difficult enough. There are enough gates to go through and hoops to jump. Don’t make lack of information that “everybody knows” yet another one. It's about doing the right thing. Anyone can write a fiction book. Anyone. There is no degree necessary. So, do the right thing, the moral thing and be clear about expectations for what you represent and the "rules" of the genre on your website where querying authors can find it.

(There is going to be writer blaming going on here. Writers/Authors aren't at fault. They can't know this if they aren't told it. You can't just "know things" out of thin air. If there is an expectation, then state the expectation clearly and where it's easily found. As agents, as publishers, putting the information out there that will get you the material you want to read and can sell to publishing houses to make it to stores is on you, not the writer. /soapbox)

Now, if you’re a lucky sod and not like me and does write in the box and naturally writes inside the box. Then, you know what, I’m happy for you. Honestly, my life as an author would be so much easier if I could write “X the werewolf solves crime and saves the world.”

I can’t. It’s not in me.

My job as a writer is to put out the best story that I believe in as a person. A story that is true to me, my feelings, my life journey and what I want to see on shelves/would want to read. If that story has too many genres mixed up, doesn’t follow genre conventions, is too long, isn’t the right “theme” or focuses on the wrong thing for the wrong age group, then, fine, it’s probably never going to be traditionally published. I can deal with that.

I’ll self-publish. I’ll continue to self-publish. I’ll be indie despite the reputation that comes with being indie. I’ll do the work to get my books out there to the world and appreciate the few readers I have and support my indie friends even if it's just with a "you can do it. Hang in there. I'm rooting for all of you." Because, it's all I can do and can control.

I still reserve the right to be mad. Cause that's my friend.

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