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bard-llama · 3 years

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Black King, White Knight (New Fic Universe)

I have a new ship and it’s all @useless-empty-brain‘s fault! This started out as an Iorveth/Roche fic, but now it’s turned into an Isengrim series featuring Isengrim/Eldain.

Warnings: The first fic has some really, really dubious consent stuff going on. If that bothers you, please don’t continue, ‘cause it’s... pretty sketch. In a porny and feelingsy way.

First fic: title is gonna be something about tarnished iron, i think

Okay, so I thought this was just going to be the one fic, but apparently not. So the first fic’s focus is on Iorveth/Roche, buuuut Isengrim shows up and actually rescues them from a swarm of drowners. But then Isengrim turns to Roche and Iorveth, thinking fast, claims Roche as his prisoner - which Isengrim interprets as “pet”, because otherwise, why hasn’t he been killed or sold yet? Then Isengrim offers to help train Iorveth’s pet.

They go to an abandoned cabin (where rorveth were actually headed to maybe bone for the first time), but it’s all turned sideways. Especially when Isengrim pulls up a chair and asks Iorveth to fuck his pet in front of him so that Isengrim could help with any needed disciplining. (Remember the dubcon part? yeah, that’s this part)

After Roches comes untouched, crying on Iorveth’s cock, Isengrim goes out to get firewood or something and when he returns, he overhears Iorveth sounding wretched as he apologizes to Roche. Then the worst part: Iorveth says he’s scared of Isengrim and that’s why he couldn’t stand up and object.

Understandably, Isengrim is heartbroken. He’d come by wanting to see his old friend (and old lover) and even with the best of intentions, he still managed to hurt Iorveth. What kind of monster is so scary that they maim without meaning to?

He apologizes to Iorveth, for what it’s worth, and leaves them to their own devices. Except that leaves us with an Isengrim who is firmly castigating himself and knows that if even Iorveth, his former friend and lover (and previous 2nd in command, I think) fears him, then he must truly be unloveable.

Second fic: title is something about the shine of bright iron through layers of tarnish

While Isengrim is depressed, there’s still a war going on and the Scoia’tael are still fighting. And some of them are fighting a little too brutally for the others tastes, so they send Isengrim, as a Scoia’tael veteran and revered leader, to talk some sense into the crazy fucker in Moulderwood aka Eldain, the one time merchant and musician, now a hardened Scoia’tael commander.

Not sure what exactly their meeting is like, but as time goes on, Isengrim finds himself impressed with this dude who may actually be crueler than he is, but for practical reasons that Isengrim can understand and endorse. Additionally, Eldain isn’t the slightest bit scared of him, instead teasing him in front of the men and poking fun at him and looking entirely delighted when Isengrim pokes fun back (but like, in a refined way).

Somehow this leads to them getting together or maybe just the hint of it? Idk we could do full porn and accidental feelings now, OR we could wait until after the pain to actually get together.

Third fic: okay idk what the title for this one should be. Something about the way polished metal is stronger or shines brighter or something

I mentioned the pain, yeah? Yeah, this is the pain. THRONEBREAKER SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Right so, I have not actually finished Thronebreaker but what happens (AGAIN, HUGE SPOILER WARNING) is that Meve can either respect Eldain’s wishes and show him mercy and bury him after his death. Or she can be just as merciless as he was and leave his body to be fed upon by vultures and shit.

Now of course, we can’t just have it end that way, not in this house. So OBVIOUSLY everyone lives. But first everyone needs to find out that everyone is, indeed, alive.

By which I mean - actually, huh, maybe this part should be Eldain’s POV? could be interesting. But anyway, Isengrim spirals ‘cause like, the one dude that never feared him is now rumored to be dead and Isengrim can’t admit that his heart hurts, but his chest aches and he just - he finds that he needs to see the body. He needs to KNOW that Eldain is actually gone.

Except there is no body. Idk exactly how Isengrim finds Eldain, but Eldain is in pretty bad shape. Fortunately, Isengrim expected that and packed appropriate medical supplies.

This all leads to them shacking up somewhere as Isengrim learns that his bloody hands can also be used to heal and Eldain gets to recover from losing his whole command with someone who understands and through it all, Eldain’s physical body heals. This, of course, leads to getting together PROPER LIKE now, with actual communication and shit.

Fourth fic: oh man, idk. Something about striking tempered steel or some shit, idk

This fic is the comic relief fic lol. Basically, I have a great need for the awkward as fuck reunion of Iorveth and Roche with Isengrim - who now has Eldain along for the ride as well. And Eldain does NOT like Roche, and Roche does NOT like Isengrim and Iorveth and Isengrim are still pretty awkward and Iorveth and Eldain are in that weird space of ‘you’re his former lover and I’m his current one’ and idk, maybe work out some tension through a music off, because why not?

Fifth fic: okay, actually, this one might be a standalone, not sure. idk on the title, but it would be a pwp

So Roche has been the only commander in the north to really prove to be a thorn in the Scoia’tael’s side. So when the Scoia’tael manage to capture Vernon Roche? Well, a little payback is only fair, right?

Cue cnc gangbang?

Yeah, idk anything else about this one, it’s just porn.

So yeah, that’s my new fic universe. If I’m lucky, I’ll actually finish the first part sometime this century 😔

But, in the meantime, if you haven’t considered Isengrim/Eldain before, you absolutely have to go check out @useless-empty-brain’s fics:

Five Cheesy Pick Up Lines That Didn’t Work (And One That Did)

Summary: For a Reason of State, Eldain finds himself following Iorveth to an old Blue Stripes safe house in Farcorners to assist in a plot to assassinate the King of Redania. He expected to actually work on the said assassination plot, not watch Iorveth and Roche flirt terribly with each other. What's a poor elf to do in that situation but drink with the only other sane person in the house. And if that person is Isengrim Faoiltiarna so what? So what if the Iron Wolf is also terrible at flirting? So what if his cheesy pickup lines are sweeter than they are cheesy? So. What?

Not To Control The Wind

Summary: When he received the missive from Dol Blathanna, Isengrim wasn't sure what to expect, but watching the small council dissolve into snarled threats wasn’t what he would have guessed would happen. When it becomes obvious that they'll all grow old and die before anything can be agreed upon, Isengrim takes it upon himself to offer a 'helping hand' in controlling Eldain's mouth. It escalates from there.

Lay Me Down on a Bed of Roses

Summary: "You made flowers bloom in my lungs and although they are beautiful, I can't breathe." - Anonymous

#rorveth #isendain #iorveth x roche #isengrim x iorveth #isengrim x eldain #the witcher #dubcon #thronebreaker #fic planning #fic rec #fic recs #fuck i've used both as a tag #that's gonna be a problem at some point

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thathawaiianchick · 4 years

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my wolfstar fic recc

29 of my favs, plus 2 comics :)

sorted from shortest to longest, series at the bottom

i like long fics, i like raising Harry AUs, i like Lay Low at Lupin’s fics, i like marauder era “we’re 70′s trash fics”, i like angst, but i also love “everybody lives”, kind of a mix of everything but seriously a lot of raising Harry AUs because it fills a need i guess

some super popular, some relative unknowns i think

all fics that characterize wolfstar for me :)

JKR has disappointed me supremely, but fan works will hold my love forever

part 2 because i forgot some

STANDALONES

1. A Day Like Any Other by dustmouth

(a comic, not really a fic, just hosted on AO3)

The one where Sirius keeps receiving unwanted mail, Remus drinks a lot of tea, Peter's out on a hot date, and James is offering unwanted make overs.

(Or the answer to the question of exactly how many cursed letters can you flush down the loo).

2. To Keep a Star by dustmouth

(a comic, not really a fic, just hosted on AO3)

Daily life in the Intergalactic Postal Service. Or the one where Sirius is a postal star and Remus lives on a spaceship.

3. in your bedroom, during the war by lupinely

There’s the bed, there’s the room, and there’s Remus. This, at least, Sirius knows for sure. (4Kish)

4. Home We’ll Go by appalachian_fireflies

"I can't, I don't know how," Remus stuttered as Molly dropped the infant into his arms, who immediately ceased crying and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Nonsense," Molly said. "Be a dear and keep him from falling while I feed Ginny."

"Ba!" Ron giggled, and slapped Remus in the face.

Molly is the emergency contact for the Order when those listed can no longer be reached. Remus' life finds a different path. (10K)

5. A Store of Happiness by coyotesuspect

Harry spends the summer after his third year living with Sirius and Professor Lupin. (10K)

6. In The Bed by bigblackdog

Left to his own devices the summer after the prank, Sirius crafts an unusual gift to mend his relationship with Remus. (11K)

7. Vigil Strange I Kept by whitmans_kiss

Remus' lycanthropy has caused his body to seriously deteriorate over the years due to the constant stress of the transformations, and by his fifty-sixth birthday, it's certain that he won't live to finish out the year. However, a cure has recently been discovered - but what if the cure is just as bad as the disease? (11K)

8. Elucidation Practice by montparnasse

Christmas, 1978. Remus, wrestling with the mighty problems of gift-giving on a budget, contemplates life, love, London in winter, and falling off the edge of the world with Sirius Black. (21K)

9. On a Windswept Cliff by starfishstar

On the cliff top where the fearsome Lord Black once stalked, an outcast man meets a big black dog, and things are not as they seem.

Or: The Remus/Sirius gothic romance AU. (21K)

10. Lethe and Mnemosyne by montparnasse

Winter '79. Looking to get out from under the black-hole overhang of wartime, Sirius and Remus take off to play house on the Cornish moors. It goes downhill from there. (26K)

11. Purity by FelisA

Sirius resurrection fic. (27K) 12. Common Woodbrown by imochan

Look well into thyself; there is a source of strength which will always spring up if thou wilt always look there. In 1985, Remus Lupin realizes that Sirius Black is innocent. Now, he just has to prove it. (36K)

13. Wilde and Whimsy by chasing bluefish, obsob

In a world where Dumbledore defeated Voldemort during the first war, the wizarding community is picking up the pieces and getting back to their lives. Remus Lupin becomes a person of interest in a murder at the bookshop where he works and Sirius Black and James Potter, aurors, are sent to investigate. As they navigate the crime itself, Remus and Sirius realize that there is something to their instant chemistry. But they need to keep their newfound attraction under wraps while trying to find the killer and stop them from claiming more victims. (36K)

14. Paper Wings by Krislaughs

(not hosted on ao3)

What if Sirius Black sent a final message from Azkaban? Enter the home of the last Marauder in the days following Voldemort’s downfall. Lost and alone, Remus asks a question of the void, a question whose answer will send him around the world. Meeting puppies, Kneazles, dementors, and nomads, Remus learns more about himself and his friends than he ever thought possible. Learn the secrets of the Marauder’s map and the world’s best chocolate, how various Death Eaters occupied themselves after the fall of their lord, and why you should never leave Remembralls lying around.

15. Uncreated Night by earlybloomingparentheses

Remus can drift through whole worlds in his own mind. Sirius lives in his body, electric, ablaze. In 1979 and 1996 and 1978 and 1981 and in many other years and many different places, they search for the bridges between them and the spaces they can share. Time after time, they fight their way back together, head and heart, mind and body.

And in 1998, Remus stands before the veil, wondering if he should finally stop thinking, and just act. (41.5K)

16. Lemon Chiffon Yellow by Spklvr

An unplanned night between Remus and Tonks ends up changing their lives forever. (42K)

17. The Weather Inside by earlybloomingparentheses

Sirius rides a flying motorbike, and snogs strangers in pubs, and strikes moody poses Remus finds irritatingly attractive. But for Remus, who drinks milky tea and wears flannel pyjamas, there's a chasm cracked right down the fault line between wanting and doing.

How he wants, though. How he wants. (43K)

18. the dogfather by hollimichele

“I’m not a reverse werewolf either,” says the man. “I’m your godfather.” (47K)

19. Domestic Creatures by veeagainst

Growing up is hard to do -- but the journey is better if you take someone with you. (53K)

20. Leave the Children Behind by montparnasse

Bravery, sometimes, is the ending just as much as the beginning. Remus, Sirius, and a series of choices.

Or, a love story—backwards and forwards. (54K)

21. A Series of Sketches Done in Black Ink by mustntgetmy

Non-magic AU. Sirius had always imagined the aftermath of falling in love would mean lightness, and an escape from all the horrors of his childhood. But the past never leaves, and even love can't stop bad memories from resurfacing.

An almost year in the life of Sirius and Remus's first year as a couple replete with art and tangled sheets, and containing the following: filled sketchbook pages from people lost and people found, terrible biscuits from an excellent therapist, mismatched music records, expensive hot chocolate, a lost brother, photographs (some invasive and some invoking terrible memories), a reckoning with the past, a promise of the future, and yet another ridiculously over the top Halloween party. (57K)

22. Alt Ed by NachoDiablo

“Remus? Who the bloody hell is Remus?” James is scrambling to straighten his chair as McGonagall glares at him from the head table.

Mary smiles innocently. “Oh, just a new friend that Lily met over the holidays. He’s homeschooled, just moved into her neighborhood it seems. She says he’s very clever. And I hear he’s quite fit, as well.”

AU where Remus and Lily become friends outside of Hogwarts, setting James and Sirius on a quest to learn more about this mysterious newcomer. (61K)

23. Indiana Lupin and the Search for the Conqueror by nekarose

Remus Lupin is an undercover archaeologist for the British Museum and is sent to Greenland to investigate a Roman shipwreck. In Greenland he meets Sirius Black, makes a real discovery and soon enough the two of them are racing through the world in search of the remains of the Library of Alexandria with Remus’ arch-enemy right at their heels. (66K)

24. Le Mot Vagabond by ironicallyinternational

(It all starts with Peter Pettigrew dying twice.

First, Peter kills Wormtail (discreetly), and then Sirius kills him (less discreetly).

Losing a friend is never easy, even amidst the ravages of war, but losing the last of your childhood alongside him is far worse.)

War is a complicated, messy thing. The Marauders have their fucked up shit to deal with, but they also have each other, and that counts for a lot. (151K)

SERIES:

25. The Hole in the Ground by sostrata

(5 works) A series of fics about Sirius and Remus raising Harry in their home, The Hole in the Ground. (18k)

26. Holding Out by bigblackbog

(works 2)

On Halloween, 1981 Sirius and Remus abscond with Harry despite their recently rocky relationship. (36K)

27. Maddest House by busaikko

(6 works)

old as hell. Another wolfstar raising Harry fic (55K)

28. Lycanthropic Studies by Eiiri

(3 works)

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus recognizes something familiar in Draco Malfoy and offers him sanctuary. With nowhere else to turn--his parents in prison, his home a crime scene--Draco reluctantly accepts and becomes a tolerated, if not welcome, member of his schoolyard rivals' and wartime adversaries' family of choice. As pages of the lunar calendar turn and the summer wears on,Draco and the others begin to see each other in a different light. (139K)

29. Stealing Harryverse by copperbadge

(works 12)

On a dark night long ago, Sirius Black took a wrong turn and never found Peter Pettigrew. Instead of Azkaban, Sirius settled down in Little Whinging to keep an eye on his godson, and hired Remus Lupin to run his bookshop for him. Then one day when Harry was eight, Sirius found out how the Dursleys treated him, and stole him away.

Stealing Harry is an alternate universe version of Harry Potter's life before his time at Hogwarts. It is the story of Harry's family: Sirius and Remus, Ted and Andromeda, Nymphadora, Neville Longbottom, and even Severus Snape, all banded together against a newly powerful Peter Pettigrew who is still searching for a way to resurrect Voldemort.

Laocoon's Children follows Harry through his time at Hogwarts as he develops a very different group of friends: Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Padma Patil, and Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, strange companions for a Harry who was sorted into Slytherin -- the house of his beloved Professor Snape.

This universe ends in Harry's third year, and is partially incomplete. As it is not likely to be finished, the last story in the series is a group of notes I made on where the story would have gone and how it would have ended. (443.3K)

30. All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89

(4 works)

LONG fic charting the marauders' time at Hogwarts (and beyond) from Remus' PoV - diversion from canon in that Remus's father died and he was raised in a children's home, and is a bit rough around the edges. Otherwise canon-compliant. 1971 - 1995 (557K)

31. Crow Rides A Pale Horse by tb_ll57

(4 works)

The note pinned to his collar read 'Harry J Potter - please accept'. The Dursleys had left him with nothing else but a pillow sack with half a sleeve of McVities biscuits, a mealy apple, and ten pounds. (618K)

#hp #harry potter #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #killing sirius was not punk rock jk rowling #nor was killing off remus #this is the barest reason to want to kick jkr #reference for myself #i dont have all of these bookmarked on ao3 even if they're some of my favs #raising harry #fic rec #this only took me an hour to make i can't believe i've been procrastinating this #lolol yes i can #i can believe

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theillustrationconference · 5 years

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Forgetting How to Draw the Rest of the World: An Interview with Hellen Jo, ICON11′s Programming Chair

Hellen Jo is an illustrator and cartoonist living in Los Angeles, California. Her work, which includes watercolor paintings, comics, zines, and casual apparel, consists primarily of sullen and intimidating Asian American teenaged girls frightening the locals and disrespecting authority.

What's your favorite memory from past ICON conferences?

Before her ICON10 talk, Ako Castuera wordlessly walked on stage, performed a silent Okinawan karate form, then kicked over Josh Cochran's stage props with a bold yell. I felt chills of power, pride, and glowing respect and I get chills just thinking about it!!!

Tell me about your practice!

I make a mix of comics, zines, and paintings for gallery shows. I do the tiniest bit of freelance illustration and I sustain myself via mailorder of graphic clothing that I design and prints of my work. I spend a lot of time drawing on computer paper and Post-Its, a smaller amount of time panicking over Arches watercolor paper, and about 10% of my time kicking and screaming at an old Wacom tablet attached to a nonfunctioning Cintiq where I color digitally. I draw angry teen girls exclusively, to the point of forgetting how to draw the rest of the world, and I sketch them from photo reference, real-life sightings, and memory. I'm currently working on a short coming-of-age comic, drawn on cheapo printer paper with 2B pencils, Post-Its, and correction tape.

What is your studio/office space like?

My home office is essentially a child's bedroom covered in trinkets, posters, stickers, knick-knacks, a bookshelf full of zines, graphic novels, ghost story paperbacks, CDs and cassette tapes, and drawing/shipping supplies/printed shirts stuffed everywhere in between. I have a deep need to be surrounded by my precious junk assortment. In that pile are two large desks, laid out side by side against one wall; one desk is the electronic prison, where my Mac, Cintiq, second computer screen, laser printer, giclee printer, and large-bed scanner are located. The other desk houses my adjustable drawing surface, my heavy-duty guillotine paper cutter (for trimming zines), and a miniature Korean shaman shrine I built for my last gallery show, FOLK MEDIC. The room is my sanctuary, but it can be distracting, so I am also subletting a bare concrete bunker of a studio 15 minutes away, where I am working on my comic pages.

What's your hometown and where do you currently live?

I was born in the South, in Mississippi, and my family moved around a lot in my early childhood, but I mainly grew up in San Jose, California and I consider myself a Bay Area native. I currently live in Los Angeles, California.

Who are some of your favorite emerging creatives?

I really adore the work of Michelle Kwon, a young animator and cartoonist in New York. She is currently drawing and publishing online the coming-of-age comic, “To Die.”

#hellen jo #icon11 #michelle kwon #zines #Ako Castuera

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ladypepperofdavenshire · 6 years

Photo

Haddock was enjoying a quiet evening in the sea-green sitting room that had recently been aired out when there was a knock at the double doors. He sighed and lowered his book.

“Yes?”

The door opened a crack, and Evans poked his feathery-haired grey head in.

“A Miss Marlowe to see you, Sir,” he announced.

Haddock was on his feet in an instant.

“What?”

“The Lady says she needs to speak with you. Most urgent news regarding—I say! Don’t shove! The Master didn’t permit you to enter—”

Miss Marlowe pushed her way into the room, her face flushed from the cool outdoors and anger. She was holding a light jacket in her arms, and her dress was muddied at the hem. Evans was getting ready to extricate the lady from the room when Haddock held up his hand.

“It’s all right, Evans. Miss Marlowe and I just needed to go over a few things for clarification. I’ll call you when you’re needed.”

Evans was giving Miss Marlowe the politest stink eye he could permit.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, and glided out of the room, shutting the doors behind him. Miss Marlowe cast her eyes at the door so ensure that they were truly alone, then directed her steely gaze back towards Haddock.

“I—"

“You did receive a letter saying that your services weren’t required for today, didn’t you?” Haddock asked. Miss Marlowe fished the letter out of a pocket in her dress and waved it in the air.

“You mean this? I didn’t come here to see Mrs. Haddock—I came here to see you to talk about this idiotic duel—”

“We already talked about it,” Haddock cut in. “I still stand with what I said last. I’m going through with it. Now please, Miss Marlowe, go home and try to face reality.”

Mr. Haddock walked past Isolde to open the doors. Isolde bristled, ready to light into the insolent man. She took a calming breath and replaced her scowl with a smile. Stick to your design.

“I don’t know if you realized it, Mr. Haddock—being cooped up in your stuffy manor all day—but it’s nearly dark out and I wouldn’t feel safe walking home with You Know Who out and about.”

Mr. Haddock’s back stiffened. He swung around to face her.

“I’ll have Weston take you back in a carriage then,” he said. Isolde sighed and shook her head.

“I’m afraid that won’t do any good. There’s been a horrible storm brewing all day. A tree already fell down in the main road and has yet to be cleared. No carriages can make it through without taking a very long bypass.”

Mr. Haddock gave her a look that suggested she went and chopped down the tree herself.

“I…suppose you could stay here for the night.”

Isolde beamed at the grumpy man and grabbed his hands.

“Oh, you’re too gracious, Mr. Haddock!”

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Haddock said, pulling his hands back and crossing his arms.

“Now we’ll have time to talk about this silly duel of yours and the many reasons why you shouldn’t go through with it,” Isolde said, jabbing her finger at him. Mr. Haddock rolled his eyes.

“Please. You’re just wasting your breath, Miss Marlowe. I already told you—I’ve made up my mind.”

“You men and your pride!”

“As I recall, he insulted you too! Or did you forget that?”

“I remember it perfectly,” Isolde replied evenly. “I have to put up with busybodies muddying my name, sermons on chastity and the sins of loose women from a reverend who says I deserve this treatment, and my own mother crying about how she failed to raise a respectable daughter. Meanwhile, you simply hole yourself up in this prison of yours and wait out the storm because no one would dare say anything vile to your face! You’re the rich recluse who descends from his castle with generous gifts of money at the holidays to pacify the people and make sure they respect your name! If you go through with this, it will only make people think that everything Sir Drexel has been saying is true!”

Isolde’s heart was racing. She was breathing heavily. Mr. Haddock was staring at her.

“I didn’t realize—didn’t think—"

One of the doors opened and Evans’s head made another appearance.

“Is everything all right, Master Haddock? I heard raised voices.”

Mr. Haddock was still staring at Isolde. Let that sink in. Evans looked from one to the other.

“Sir…?”

Mr. Haddock blinked and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Ah, it’s all right. Everything’s fine, Evans. Have Mrs. Evans prepare a room for Miss Marlowe. She’ll be spending the night.”

Evans looked genuinely confused.

“Sir?”

“Evans.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And take Miss Marlowe to the dining room. I’m sure she’s hungry after her travels,” Mr. Haddock said, turning his back on them as he walked over to the mantelpiece where he had left his book. Evans drew up to Isolde and gestured to the door.

“This way, Miss Marlowe.”

“I want to finish this conversation, Mr. Haddock. Now,” Isolde said, remaining immovable.

Mr. Haddock looked to the grandfather clock calmly ticking away in the corner of the room.

“Tomorrow. It’s getting late and I need to rest.”

“It’s only four thirty!” Isolde exclaimed, throwing her arms wide.

“It’s late for me.”

“If you think you can avoid the inevitable by sending me to bed and running off in the morning—”

“Miss Marlowe,” Evans broke in, “you need to eat dinner.”

He placed a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

“Why are you avoiding this?” Isolde demanded. Mr. Haddock was resting his head in his hand, looking as if he was suffering from a migraine.

“Evans,” Mr. Haddock grunted. The saturnine butler suddenly became animated.

“Come along, Miss Marlowe.”

Isolde tried to prevent Evans from dragging her away by shuffling to the side, but he instead got behind her and began shoving her towards the door.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

“The Master needs to be left alone—”

Evans barely made it to the door with Isolde planting her heels into the wood floor when Mr. Haddock gave a cry and dropped to his knees. Isolde moved to rush to his side but Evans held her back, causing her to stumble. She looked at him in wild consternation.

“What are you doing?! I’m trying to help him!”

“It’s best if you stay here,” Evans said grimly, acquiescing to Isolde’s wish to stay in the room. Mr. Haddock gave another cry. Isolde watched in horror while Evans held her in check by the arm as Mr. Haddock clutched his sides, his forehead pressed to the floorboards, shaking uncontrollably. And transformed right before her eyes. Hair sprouted on exposed skin, clothing seams split, a tail grew out from the spine, his face lengthened into a canid snout: an ordinary brown wolf stood in front of the fireplace moments later. He looked up at her with eyes that held far more intelligence than a commonplace wolf should have. She cocked her head.

“Mr. Haddock…?”

------

I threw in an Easter Egg in panel 1 (it's Haddock's deddy). I couldn't figure out how to settle on just one picture for this scene, so I defaulted to a comic page. I feel like my spontaneous comic page sketches turn out to be more imaginative than when I spend lots of time working on a format. ^^; Evans is important. VERY important. He's like the Alfred Pennyworth of this story. Next week: you finally get to see what Haddock looks in wolfy form!

I also made a blogspot site for this story.

#ladypepperofdavenshire #haddock #malcolm haddock #isolde #isolde marlowe #evans #regency #werewolf #fantasy #original characters #haddock and isolde

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dantediscoversfic · 7 years

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Chapter 11: Las dos Fridas

I wanted to meet Ari’s parents. But I soon realized I’d probably have to invite myself over since Ari had yet to suggest we go over to his house after one of our swimming lessons. It made sense, since my house was so much closer to the pool. It took him about 15 minutes to walk from his house and mine was half a block away. But still, I was curious to meet his family and see where he lived.

I wanted to see the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes every morning. What was his room like? What books did he have? What photos and posters were on the walls? What color was his toothbrush? Did his room smell like him? Did he look more like his mom or his dad? I knew his mom was a teacher and his dad was a mailman and that he had two older sisters, but that’s about all I knew about his family. And I wanted to know everything there was to know about Aristotle Mendoza and how he became the boy I couldn’t wait to see every day at the pool.

So one day after a swimming lesson, I told him I wanted to come over to his house and asked if that was ok. He didn’t look at me like I was a lunatic but he wasn’t exactly jumping up and down at the idea either.

“When?” he asked.

“I dunno. Later today?”

“Why?”

“I want to see where you come from.”

“I come from El Paso.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve met my dad and seen my house and my room, so it’s only a fair trade.”

He smiled at that and I knew I’d won him over. “Ok,” he said. “But my dad doesn’t get off work 'til 4:00pm. So if you want to meet him you should come over around then.”

“Ok. Deal.”

We walked to my house and said good-bye. It was nice to say good-bye knowing I’d see him again in just a few hours.

I told my dad I was going over to Ari’s house later that day to meet his parents and maybe stay for dinner. He suggested I bring them a gift. That’s the type of thing I never would have thought of and I’m glad my dad did because I wanted Ari’s parents to like me.

“What sort of gift?” I asked. “Like flowers? Or chocolates?”

“Flowers would be nice for his mother, and chocolate is universally accepted as one of the best presents a person can offer, but let’s see if there’s something a bit more personal you could bring them.”

“Personal?”

“Something that comes a little more from the heart.”

“Like what?”

“Something aligned with their interests, perhaps.”

“Well, all I really know is that his mom teaches and his dad’s a mailman.”

“And they’re Mexican, yes?”

“Yeah, well, the same way that you and Mom and I are Mexican, I guess.”

“I mean, Ari’s grandparents were born in Mexico?”

“Yeah.”

“How about you bring them the book Mexican Painters? Do they like art?”

“I’m not sure. Ari’s never said. The only art we’ve really talked about yet is comic book art.”

“Bring that book over to them. I think they’ll like it.”

“Ok, thanks, Dad.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek and went into the living room to take the book from its normal spot on our coffee table. I paged through it. I liked how thick and creamy the paper was. I liked how it smelled, too, if that makes any sense. Different types of books have different smells.

I looked for a long time at painting by Frida Kahlo called Las dos Fridas. It's a double self-portrait and a pretty badass painting. There are two of her sitting side by side with their hands clasped in the middle; behind them a stormy sky swirls ominously. The Frida on the right’s heart is outside of her body and connected by a long red vein to the Frida on the left. You can see straight through to her bones and muscles inside the empty cavity where her heart should be. She’s holding a pair of scissors in her lap and her white skirt is blood-stained. I read about how the painting was made the same year she divorced Diego Rivera, also a painter. The Frida on the right is holding a tiny painting of him.

If I were going to make a painting called The Two Dante's, I wondered what I would paint myself doing, holding or wearing. My heart has never been broken like Frida’s was when she painted this. But I think I understood the sadness even though I’d luckily never felt anything quite like it. I thought about why I used to want people to call me Dan and not Dante. I thought about not quite fitting in here at school or with my cousins in LA and Mexico. I thought about the Dante I kept a secret and the Dante I was around everyone else, including my parents and Ari.

I picked up the book. It was heavy. I liked that. It made the gift feel significant and I wanted it to be.

I went back to my dad’s office. “Should I wrap it? The book, I mean?”

My dad smiled. “I think you can bring it as is.”

“Ok, cool.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Don’t be. They’ll love you.”

“Thanks, Dad."

I took a shower and even borrowed a little bit of my dad’s cologne. I spent a few hours reading and drawing (I sketched out some ideas for The Two Dante's but didn’t quite like any of them) and then it was time to go over to Ari’s. I walked over instead of skateboarding because I had the art book with me and I wanted to keep looking at it during the walk over. I wondered what it was like to paint a huge mural like one of Diego Rivera’s; how long did it take, did he have helpers or did he paint the whole thing himself? Maybe my parents would take Ari and I to Mexico City sometime to see them in real life? I wondered if my mom and dad would let me paint a mural on the wall of my room someday. I liked the idea of an underwater scene with a colorful coral reef and sunlight filtering in through turquoise ripples and waves.

Ari’s house was ranch style, with stones and cacti in the yard instead of grass. He was lucky, no lawn mowing duty like me.

I knocked on the door and Ari let me in.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey. We have a strict ‘No shirt, No shoes, No service’ policy here, so keep those suckers on,” he said and pointed to my shoes. I knew he was joking. He loved teasing me about my thing about not liking to keep my shoes on. I didn’t mind the teasing.

“Ok, I’ll keep them on just this once. Because I like you.”

His parents were both in the kitchen and he led me to them. His mom was cooking and his dad was reading the paper.

“I’m Dante Quintana,” I announced.

“He taught me how to swim,” Ari said. I thought maybe he was a little embarrassed about this, but I wasn’t sure why. “You said don’t drown—so I found someone to help me keep my promise.”

I realized this was possibly the first they’d heard of me. I tried to not let this new knowledge hurt my feelings.

I shook his dad’s hand and gave him the art book. “I brought you a gift.”

Ari’s dad wiped his hands on a napkin before opening the book up, even though they weren’t dirty to begin with. His mom peered over his shoulder at the book as he leafed through it. Both were smiling, which made me feel good. I liked their kitchen. It smelled like onions and garlic simmering in butter, which made my mouth water. I looked at Ari’s parents’ faces, trying to discern which features Ari had inherited from each of them. He had his mother’s full lips and well defined cheekbones but other than that I thought he took after his dad. They both hunched their shoulders the same way.

Ari’s dad looked up from the book and said, “Dante, this is really very generous, but I don’t think I can accept it.”

His parents looked at each other. My mind started racing. Maybe it was too fancy a gift? Would chocolates have been better after all? I could tell he liked the book, though, and I wanted him to keep it. “It’s about Mexican art. So you have to take it. My parents didn’t want me to come over here empty-handed. So you have to take it.” I wasn’t sure if guilt-tripping them into accepting my gift was the best route but I had to try, didn’t I?

Ari’s mom took the book and looked it over. “It’s a beautiful book. Thank you, Dante.”

“You should thank my dad. It was his idea.”

Ari’s dad smiled and said, “Thank your father for me, will you, Dante?”

Ari touched my shoulder. He looked…disconcerted. For the second time in less than five minutes, I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. “Let’s go to my room.”

I thought Ari’s room would be crammed and over-run with clothes, books and comics like my room usually was. But it was entirely opposite of that. Sparse. Empty. Almost like what I imagined a prison cell would be like. But not sad or scary like a prison cell. Just blank like that.

“There’s nothing in your room,” I said.

“There’s a bed, a clock radio, a rocking chair, a bookcase, some books. That’s not nothing.”

“Nothing on the walls.”

“I took down my posters.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t like them.”

“You’re like a monk.”

(That seemed like a better way of describing his room than a prison cell).

“Yeah, Aristotle the monk.”

I pictured Ari in a long brown robe, sort of like Friar Tuck in Robin Hood. I guess I didn't know what modern day monks would wear. Monk fashion probably had no need to evolve since the 1300s.

“Don’t you have hobbies?”

“Sure. Staring at the blank walls.”

“Maybe you’ll be a priest.”

He sat down on his bed. “You have to believe in God to be a priest.”

“You don’t believe in God? Not even a little?”

“Maybe a little. But not a lot.”

This was new information to me. We hadn’t really had a chance to talk about God or spirituality yet. Coming here was making me realize that Ari was much more of an enigma than I had realized.

“So you’re an agnostic?”

“Sure. A Catholic agnostic.”

That was such a typically Ari thing to say that I started laughing out of pure relief.

“I didn’t say it to be funny,” he said with a kind of pout that made me smile even more.

“I know. But it is funny.”

“Do you think it’s bad—to doubt?”

I sat down on the bed next to him. It creaked a little and sagged under our combined weight so that we both sort of slid a little toward the center. “No. I think it’s smart.”

“I don’t think I’m so smart. Not like you, Dante.”

I hated the look he got in his eye right then, his warm brown eyes clouded over by self-doubt and self-deprecation. Ari was good at hiding that side of him. I’d seen it the very first day I saw him fend off those bike kids, how easy it was for him to put up a tough front. Now, in his empty room, with just the sunlight slanting in, casting half of his face in light and the other in shadow, it was like I could see both sides of him clearly: The Two Ari's.

“You are smart, Ari. Very smart. And anyway, being smart isn’t everything. People just make fun of you. My dad says it’s alright if people make fun of you. You know what he said to me? He said, ‘Dante, you’re an intellectual. That’s who you are. Don’t be ashamed of that.’”

We looked at each other. He jerked his head forward in the way he always did and the fringe of his hair covered over his eyes. Not for the first time I wished I could run my hands through his hair and sweep his bangs off to the side for him.

“Ari, I’m trying not to be ashamed.”

We were both quiet. He picked a little fuzz off his blanket. It was an afghan, hand-knit. I wondered if someone in his family had knit it for him. I had a white afghan my abuela had made for me as a baby blanket. I kept it in my memory box with my favorite stuffed animals and other mementos my mom knew I'd want to have when I was a grown up.

“So, when do I get to see pictures of baby Ari?” I asked.

He snorted. “Dream on. Not gonna happen.”

“What? There are pictures of me all over my house. I show you mine, you show me yours. Fair is fair, right?”

“I burned all the baby albums before you got here.”

“Liar.”

“Ok, you’re right. I buried them instead. Here, let me just get out the treasure map.”

#ari and dante fic #aaddtsotu

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manycoloureddays · 7 years

Note

Paint Me Dean/Seamus

He had never really had a clear plan for his life afterschool. Before he had found out about the whole magic, wizard, Hogwarts thing,Dean had thought he might like to play football for West Ham, or pilot anaeroplane, or make comics. Then, before he’d had time to adjust to all the newpossibilities magic brought him, he wasn’t sure he would live to see the end ofsecondary school, let alone live long enough to make actual plans.

But then, almost as abruptly as his life had been turned onits head the first time, the war was over, and life returned to something thatmight be considered normal. Now he’s faced with two worlds full ofpossibilities, and he doesn’t feel like he fits properly into either.

It doesn’t help that most of his friends are busy changingthe world. Again. Being surrounded by dedicated, driven people, he feels evenmore adrift. Neville is championing educational reform, studying magical andMuggle teaching practices and trying to bring that reform to Hogwarts.Lavender, in the months since being discharged from St Mungo’s, had beguncampaigning for equal rights and protections for werewolves, working with Beastand Being advocacy groups to change cultural perceptions. Last he heardHermione and Lee had decided to team up to bring integrity to journalism inmagical Britain. Harry has been using his considerable clout to help all oftheir projects, and fight for a few of his own, including trying to make surethe Department of Magical Law Enforcement can never again get away with sendinginnocent people to prison. And no matter what Ron said, helping George bringlaughter back to Diagon Alley was essential to the post war effort.

He hadn’t felt too dejected. He was barely eighteen, hisfriends were light years ahead of most people their age, and he had beenenjoying setting up his new flat, getting to know his new life, with his bestfriend. And then Seamus got a call from his mother’s father’s cousin’s boy whoneeded an extra hand rebuilding houses in wizarding villages that had fallen duringthe war - to Death Eater destruction, or giants, or both.

He has been working for going on three weeks, coming homeeach night covered in plaster, or sawdust, or paint, full of stories about hisday, and Dean is happy for him. He loves that the smile is back on his friend’sface, he just wishes he had something to add to the dinner conversation,something to prove he has lived and breathed another day. Something other than“I found the tea leaves we like cheaper than I’ve ever seen them and it was sadlythe most exciting thing that happened all day,” or “Old Miss Driscol fromdownstairs keeps dropping her nephew and his lovely boyfriend into conversationin an effort to let me know how okay she is with us living here and now all Ican think about is how much I wish she had the right end of the stick.” Ofcourse, he doesn’t say that out loud, but he definitely thinks it.

He probably should have given Seamus more credit.

“Honey, I’m home,” he yells out. The smell of curry followshim down the hall and into Dean’s bedroom. “And I bought take out.” His eyesdart around the room, taking in the piles of books on the floor and bed. “Areyou rearranging your shelves again?”

He doesn’t let Dean respond, just rolls his eyes and motionsfor Dean to follow him to the kitchen.

“So, I know you’ve been at a bit of a loose end,” Seamusstarts, head in the fridge. He pulls out two beers, hands them to Dean, andthen disappears into the cupboard where they keep the plates. “And I was tryingto figure out how to help you.”

He emerges from the cupboard, ears red and not meetingDean’s eyes. Dean doesn’t know what to say, because it’s clear Seamus has morehe wants to add and he doesn’t want to spook him. They’ve been doing that a lotin the last few years, tiptoeing around each other.

Seamus finishes plating up the food, and they wander intothe lounge room. It’s a typical evening for them, eating dinner and watchingTV, until halfway through his dinner Seamus puts his plate down and grabs a bagfrom corner.

“Anyway, I got this for you. It’s been ages since you pickedup a sketchbook, and I thought-“ he trails off.

Dean hasn’t cried in months, but tears are definitelywelling in his eyes. His throat is thick. He can’t stop running his hands overthe cover, over the paper, thick and perfect. He blinks rapidly.

“Seamus-”

“I know, I know, it’s not going to fix everything. But Ithought it could be a start.” Seamus has his rambling face on. There is alwaysa danger that he will use thirty words to say something that should, by rights,take four.

“Shut up.” Dean carefully puts the sketchbook down on thefloor, before leaning closer, raising his hand to cup Seamus’ cheek. “Is thisokay?”

“Okay?” Seamus’ eyebrows shoot up, but he’s smiling. Smilingwide and happy and he’s looking Dean in the eyes again, so Dean relaxes too.“This is the best possible outcome, and also maybe just the best thing ever.”

“You’re such a sap.”

Seamus just keeps smiling. Even when Dean kisses him, hekeeps smiling, until they are both just laughing, foreheads touching, nosespressed together. That tight feeling in Dean’s chest, that he thought couldonly grow and wind tighter, disappears completely.

“So, are you going to let me draw you?” Dean asks, later,when their plates are in the sink, and the football match is over. Seamus kickshim. It doesn’t hurt, of course, because his legs are currently thrown overDean’s own. He looks over and catches Seamus’ blush, his lip caught between histeeth.

“I mean, if you want. I’m sure you can come up with betterlooking models.”

“Hey, I like your face!” He pokes Seamus’ foot with the tipof his pencil. Seamus responds by climbing into his lap and jabbing his sides, distracting him with kisses. If their wrestling ends up slightly differently than it normallydoes, well that’s just a bonus. And if most of the pages in his sketchbook endup filled with sketches of Seamus, then that’s nobody’s business but his.

#broromini #dean thomas #seamus finnigan #dean x seamus #hp #madeleine writes

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