#he thinks its a tad bit impractical | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 164

Chapter Summary -Tom and Danielle begin to plan their wedding, the only issue is, they are struggling at even deciding the location.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Tom sighed as he looked at the coffee mug in front of him. “So, trouble in paradise?” He looked up at Ben, who sat beside him with his own cup of tea in his hand.

“No, we just were getting bothered by arrangements so we said we’d take an hour or two away from everything to just take a step back before an actual argument took place.”

“Good plan. So, what was the issue?”

“Location.”

“Yeah, Sophie and I spent a while talking about it. I mean, you know how it is with the Isle of Wight, it’s a fucking island, so there was the transport costs, and it’s a holiday resort and it’s expensive to live in, so that doesn’t help but it means something to Sophie’s family and is far easier to police than London, so we went with it in the end. Where are the different options?”

“I want Oxford, it’s where I grew up, maybe even Suffolk, just not London, too open.”

“And Danielle wants?”

“Ireland.”

“Oh, there’s not much room for compromise when there are two different countries involved,” Ben commented.

“It’s impractical. Most everybody that will be at the wedding will have to travel there for it from here, only a few of her family would not have to, and even at that, some of her family are in the States so they will have to travel also, how is that fair?”

“What’s her reasoning for it?”

“What?”

“Why is she pushing for Ireland?” Ben queried.

“I am not even sure.”

“Why, did she just say the country in general, or is it that she is talking about some random area outside of where she is from.”

“No, I think she is talking about Connemara. It just makes so little sense.”

“Well, not exactly. Kuala Lumpur would make little sense, her hometown in her home country at least makes sense.” Ben pointed out. “She did say that for her cousin’s wedding, that the tradition is to have it in the bride’s hometown, has that something to do with it?”

“I don’t know,” Tom recalled the conversation at the awards ceremony with Sophie and Ben a few months previous.

“Well, how about you ask her. If this cannot even get past location, how are you supposed to go any further? This is sort of an integral part of it all.”

“It just all seems so much stress and bother.”

“Most of it is and you wonder what’s the bloody point to it also, but that is all part and parcel of it. At the end of the day, it is worth it if you are both happy and I know, for all of the madness that this entails, you do actually want to marry Danielle.”

Tom nodded. He wanted that, he did not want the madness that it would entail and if he and Danielle could not agree on even something as simple as location, then he worried for it all. “I need to talk to her.”

“Yes.” Ben encouraged.

Tom took out his phone and dialled Danielle’s number.

“Hello? Tom?”

It was clear her phone was not to her ear and that he was on loudspeaker. “Yes, I thought….are you not at home?”

“No, I am in the car, pulled in, obviously. I needed to do some stuff. I thought we were going to take an hour or so to settle?”

“I know, I just...Elle, can I ask, why is it so important to you that it is in Ireland. I just want to know.”

“I...we said we’d talk later.”

“Elle?”

“I just thought it would be nicer, my grandparents got married there, my dad was christened in that church, then he and Mam got married there, I was christened there. According to the parish records, the Hughes’s have been there since pre-famine times. They have my great great grandfather’s signature in the records at that church and I know it’s small and dated, but it’s thirteenth century and I just...I think that’s nicer. I know it’s a different country and I know it’s a pain in the ass area to get to in another country but it matters to me.” There was no response to her statement. “Tom?”

“I’m here...I never realised.”

“We’ll talk later. I just need to get this done, I will talk to you soon, bye.”

“Bye.” The phone line went dead and Tom looked at his phone for a minute before looking at Ben, who was looking at him expectantly. “So…” He knew that with him being right next to him, Ben heard all of what Danielle had said.

“Seems a logical reason to want it there, if I’m honest. It matters to her. Now you need to ready your reason for having it here.”

“I don’t really have one, other than convenience.” He confessed before going silent for a moment. “Convenience does not trump tradition and historical sentiment, does it?”

“How long has it been since that famine, a hundred and fifty or so years, and Danielle can trace her family using that exact church in that time, that’s noteworthy, and it clearly means a lot to...wait, that’s another thing.”

“What?” Tom asked, worried at the look on Ben’s face. “What’s another thing?”

“Danielle’s a Catholic.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You’re not a Catholic.”

“No.”

“How does that work? Can you get married in a Catholic church if you’re not?”

“I have no idea.” In truth, Tom had not even thought of such issues. Neither he nor Danielle were in any way religious and their different faiths had never been much of a discussion as a result, but he had to wonder how it would work. “I need to check that.”

“You do.” Ben urged.

Tom parked his car into the drive and got out, going to the boot to take out the few bits of shopping he had gotten on his way back from Bens. He stood looking at Danielle’s car for a moment, knowing that something was peculiar about it but uncertain what the difference was. It was only when he realised the tyres were darker than before did he realise that she had gotten them changed. He huffed slightly in amusement, he had gone rushing to a friend to talk while Danielle did something practical and sensible.

Bringing in the shopping, he noted the quiet in the house. Both dogs greeted him as he placed the groceries on the counter before putting them away. After a few minutes, he wondered where Danielle was as her car keys and keys to the house were in their usual spots, meaning she was somewhere within it and with the boiler not making noise, it was obvious that she was not in the shower. He walked up the stairs and heard the telltale whirring of her fax machine. He knocked on their office door, which was slightly ajar and waited. A moment later, Danielle opened it and gave him a small smile. “Hey.”

“You got your tyres done?”

“Yeah, they were bothering me recently, getting a tad thin so I said I would grab four more.”

“How much?”

“Six, I got them from a place on the edge of the city, for cheaper than here, one place quoted me a thousand.”

“Jesus.” He looked at the machine. “Fun?”

“I wish, the paperwork for the Paramount job.”

“When’s that?”

“Two weeks in November. I will have to go to Croatia for it.”

“That’s fun.”

“Is it? What is Croatia even like at that time of year? I also need to do a week in Budapest. The joys of being the European Coordinator.”

“You love it really.”

“I love the paycheck and the doors it will open for me.”

“Brutal honesty.”

“So, what did you get up to?” Danielle asked curiously, not wanting to focus too much on work.

“I spoke with Ben.”

“And how is he?”

“Good. He was asking for you.”

“Bless him.” She smiled as she looked for a paperclip to keep certain pages together.

“He actually mentioned something to me that I never even thought of.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The fact we’re not the same religion.” Danielle paused and looked at him. “And how that will affect us.”

“Well, we’re not exactly utterly devout to our two branches of Christianity.”

Tom nodded in agreement. “But say we do this in that church you were talking about, how does that work, how can we get married there if I am not a Catholic?”

“Well, we could always convert you but that failing, they are not overly bothered.”

“Really?”

“You know, for all the wrongs that the Catholic Church has and there are plenty, it is not as backward as you all think over here. I mean, I have seen Protestant schools that demand a letter from the local reverend proving kids go to service at least every second week, Roger in work asked to use the fax there to send on his paperwork when getting his daughter into their local school. In Ireland, the schools may have a Catholic priest on a school board, but if you don’t even get Christened, you are fine to get into the school usually. The church isn’t as it was, it will marry Catholics and Protestants, as long as you fulfil what is required of you in their eyes.”

“Me?”

“No, plural ‘you’. It’s just they go through the ceremony and you have to do a stupid course on the meaning of marriage and all that other bollix no one pays heed to. It’s a ‘tick the box’ exercise really.”

“You clearly hold it all in such high regard.” Tom joked.

“Oh, yeah, clearly.” Danielle scoffed in return. “It’s a tad hypocritical of a man that will never be allowed marry giving marriage advice. I don’t think its something they can give practical experience of. I know what it will take to be married to you, patience, understanding,” She leant in close to him. “And nice underwear.” She added in a whisper, causing Tom to chuckle and lick his teeth.

“You’re not wrong.” He pulled her to him. “I was thinking.”

“Oh dear, those words usually lead to something terrifying. What, dear Thomas, were you thinking?”

Tom scoffed at her referencing his full name. “I wanted Britain for convenience, but all things considered, I think Ireland is the better place for the wedding.” She said nothing in return. “It matters so much to you, I can see now why and as long as at the end of it, I get to call you my wife, I don’t care if we have to travel for it. I only care about us being married.”

Danielle bit her lips together and inhaled deeply. “I…I don’t want this to cause arguments. I don’t want something fancy, I don’t need twelve thousand pound dresses and chandeliers, but that...that is something I would love, so much. It’s such a big part of our family tradition, so much so that my Mam forewent the usual tradition of her parish for Dad’s. All of my family, all of our records are there and it means a lot to me. I...thank you.”

“Just promise me if I give in to this request, you won’t turn into Bridezilla.”

Danielle snorted at his comment, knowing him to be joking. “I promise I’ll try not to. But if someone does not RSVP on the right date, or wears pink…” She laughed playfully.

“Oh dear, she’s started.” Tom laughed in response.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 164 #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston #wolfpawn

11 notes · View notes

theslythertrash · 5 years

Photo

So whenever I see superheroes I always freak out over small impractical costume things but I have never been angrier at show’s costumes than at bnha and this has been on my chest for several months now and it’s midnight and I’m half asleep so it’s the perfect time to write an essay about it on Tumblr.

Here are my ranking for the bnha costumes for all of 1-A:

I’m fully prepared to be slammed for this. (Also I’m supposed to be an artist so if I ever find some free time I’ll actually draw my babies some proper costumes.)

Midoriya’s is 9.5/10. It has an aesthetic, good color scheme and it compliments his quirk with iron soles and leg/arm enforcements. Has a nice belt, a mask for gas (hopefully) and facial protection. The only stupid thing is his bunny ears mask but it looks good when it’s down like a hood. My only correction would be to make his mask an actual hood.

Bakugo is 8/10 Kacchan also has an aesthetic. His mask is a little ridiculous but I’m fond of it. He also has practical shoes and stuff. HIS GAUNTLET IS SO STUPID. HAS THE MANGA ARTIST EVER WORN LARGE BRACELETS? DOES HE KNOW HOW ANNOYING THEY ARE? YOU CANT WRITE. OR SCRATCH YOUR HAND. OR REACH INTO TIGHT SPACES. I know they’re for storing sweat but sweat is a liquid and if people can invent Aizawa’s magic scarf they can invent smaller gauntlets. Jesus. But his winter costume makes them smaller I think (idk I don’t read the manga but I’ve seen fanart) so 8/10.

Uraraka is 5/10 Uraraka has a cool aesthetic. I enjoy the space theme and colors. A helmet is good since she’s flying around (though I don’t understand why it doesn’t cover her entire head? Protect the back of your head! Also her mouth- that should help against gas and things but I also know she vomits a lot so it’s probably better without one).

However, she’s sexualized too. Even outside of it being skin tight, she has a camel toe? Literally no one mentions it ever and it drives me crazyyyy. Look at her- why does she have that line there? Why? And why is her belt so bulky. How is she supposed to squeeze into tight spaces? AND ONCE AGAIN UNNECESSARY LARGE BRACELETS OH MY GOD. The manga explains her bulky heels and bracelets are to help with nausea but I refuse to believe they can’t invent smaller ones. And also boots without heels. Who is gonna run over debris on heels? 5/10

Iida is 7/10 He is too bulky. Why are they all so bulky. He looks like when he walks down the street he clanks as he walks. Way to be stealthy dude, smh.

Todoroki is fine I guess. Little boring but it’s passable. I wish it had more stuff for his quirk. Like maybe thermal fabric so he can cool down faster? Idk. 7.5/10

Tsuyu is a much bigger improvement over Uraraka. She’s got big ass bracelets again but they look like soft fabric so it’s probably easy to ignore. Her outfit has a wet suit aesthetic so that’s practical. Her goggles look a little bulky again but they are practical. WHY IS SHE IN HEELS. 8/10

Mineta looks like he has a diaper kink and it’s not even there to help his quirk. -10/10

Kirishima. Baby. Put on a shirt. Also what the fuck are those gears. Why are you wearing bulky shit that’s unrelated to your quirk? How are you gonna lie down comfortably when you have large ass rings on your shoulders. Why are you wearing a muzzle thing? How is that related to your quirk? If your gonna put something on your face wear something to protect your mouth from dust and gas. His bottom half is fine ig. I’ve got mixed feels on his cape/skirt thing but at least it’s an aesthetic. 6/10

Don’t get me started on Yaoyorozu. God Almighty. Even outside of the perversion, why does she have a whole ass bookshelf on her butt instead of an iPad for easy access? And not only is it AN ENTIRE BOOKSHELF, its HORIZONTAL. Why do you have a horizontal ass shelf when it can be vertical at the very least? She needs tech with Siri so she can ask what chemicals are in stuff into an earpiece. And also some pants. And a bra. -10/10

Idk what Tokoyami is doing. Being edgy I guess. 6/10 it’s fine.

Kaminari is fine I guess? He’s got the same problem as Tokoyami and Todoroki where it’s just an outfit and doesn’t actually help his quirk in any way. He could include metal bits on his gloves so punches have an extra shock to them. Or maybe a rubber helmet or something to protect his brain from his own shocks...would that work? I’m not a scientist. Maybe carry around extra shock-resistant fabric in a belt or something so he can protect bystanders before releasing a full attack. I REALLY like his added equipment for long-range attacks and I think he could go further with the idea- maybe add cords in the style of bows and arrows? Basically very boring but fine ig. 7.5/10 (solely adding the .5 for his new equipment)

Aoyama looks like he has the same bulky and loud problem as Iida but it’s toned down and I’m low key very amused by it so it’s fine. 9/10 for my flamboyant boy.

Jirou looks like she is going to the mall. She has no aesthetic and looks super boring. I like that her outfit actually helps her quirk with her speaker boots but she should carry around some weapons too. And wear a padded suit for hits. Actually they all should have padding. Goggles and mask would be helpful too. It’s fine I guess. Boring. 6.5/10

Okay, I’ve seen a lot of people complain that Ashido’s is really ugly. I’m actually amused by it so I don’t mind too much. The fur is ridiculous and the colors are loud but they are as loud as her personality so at least it has an aesthetic. I’m more bothered that it’s impractical. It doesn’t help with her quirk. She should have gauntlets similar to Kacchan’s so she can store acid (don’t make them bulky though, please). Padding too. Her shoes can have an extra retractable surface for gliding on acid. It would also probably be helpful to carry around a similar blanket to the hypothetical one Kaminari would have so she can shield civilians from her acid. It’s fine ig. At least she’s not sexualized. 7/10

Shoji looks like he has multiple nipples. At least it’s kinda practical tho. 6/10

Ojiro looks like he was on his way from karate class when a cat died on his shoulder. Once again he’s boring and doesn’t have anything interesting to compliment his quirk. He’s a good fighter so maybe he can also carry around a staff or nunchucks or something. He should pad his tail so the hits are extra hard. Boring but passable if he removes the stupid fur. It looks like it’ll tickle his cheek when he runs.7/10

I actually really like Sero’s. It fits his aesthetics and is practical. His helmet and shoulders could be a tad less bulky but whatever. It would be cool if he had like suction cups on his shoes or something to make it easier to stick to walls but I imagine that would be hard to walk in so it’s fine. 8.5/10

Tooru is naked. She has no costume. She’s 15- that’s so gross. Also she’s probably constantly cold and extremely vulnerable. I can’t imagine all the scraps she gets just from running around. And her sensitive parts are exposed to disease- she’s going to get a yeast infection. And not to be gross on main or whatever but what does she do when she’s on her period? ALSO, how can she feel comfortable running around without a bra? If Mirio can have a costume made of his hair so can Tooru. 0/10

Sato looks like a banana. Very boring with no aesthetic but at least he has pockets to carry sugar in so that’s practical. Some padding would be nice. 6/10 boring

Why the fuck is Koda in shorts. He’s gonna get scraps on his knees. What is that ugly ass symbol on his chest? At least he’s practical with his mask to hide when he’s talking to animals. Personally, I think it’s ugly but at least it’s useful 6/10

Woo I'm done. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk/ midnight essay. Winners: Deku, Kacchan, Sero, maybe Tsuyu. Maybe Aoyama. Absolute losers: Mineta, Momo, Tooru, Uraraka. Everyone else is varying levels of average

Also, I know I said I would only do 1-A but I have a special little place of hate in my heart for Aizawa’s costume so here’s my rant on him too:

JESUS CHRIST MAN CUT YOUR FUCKING HAIR YOU DINGUS. I know you're trying to have a hoboTM aesthetic and you have stubble and blah blah blah- I get it. We got it. (I lowkey think you’re hot) you wanna have dramatic hair. Noted. But you're entire personality is about being practical and not wanting attention. That’s why you disliked All Might. Set an example for your kids PLEASE. Why are you even bothering with goggles to hide when you blink WHEN YOUR HAIR IS A BIGGER TELL. I PROMISE I’M MORE LIKELY TO NOTICE YOUR HAIR DROP THAN YOUR EYES BLINKING YOU DUMB DUMB IDIOT.

Either cut it, put it in a bun (best option imo) or get a hood.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #costume #redesign #ugly impractical clothing #rant #rant over

24 notes · View notes

hapalopus · 6 years

Note

Hey, you know a lot about cows and animal welfare, right? Well, I've got a question. I just read an article (Danish) at DR about Anima & Arla, and that Anima wants to know how Arla treats their animals. That includes wanting to film the separation between a cow and her calf & their reaction for a few days. Idk. Something about the way Anima paints it (as quite 'demonic') makes me angry at Anima, but I don't know enough about anything to know why. Do you have time to read the article & clarify?:)

Arla actually responded already! But as far as I’ve seen it’s only been published in an agricultural newspaper so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯The dialogue down in the article is ridiculous [Here’s a link]. I’m gonna make a longer response, though, since Arla’s response mainly focuses on Anima’s juvenile tactics (which, yeah, no, I honestly don’t think Arla is someone to speak here, considering their childish [anti-mylk campaign] earlier this year). It’s basically a kindergarten slap-fight between milk producers and animal rights activists.

Anima is a Danish animal rights group, to those who don’t know. On the level of extremity they’re somewhere between HSUS and PETA, but their ultimate end goal is the same - global veganism. On one hand most of what they say can be easily refuted if you’re in the know, but on the other, the majority of people aren’t in the know. They’re frustrating to deal with they banned me from their facebook page after i questioned a video they made about coyote trapping. But enough rambling, [here’s the article]. It’s in Danish, so apologies to anyone else reading this, I’ll do my best to translate the important parts and add the original quotes at the bottom of the page. Also, I’ve been working on a project about hip dysplasia all day, so if my citations suddenly look kinda professional, that’s why, lol.

Anima’s chief of communication, Thorbjørn Schiønning, starts off by saying that “Nowadays we have a milk production that is extremely industrial, where the animals are pushed to the limit to milk every last drop from the cow.”[1]

It’s not a wrong statement, it’s just very emotionally charged and thus a bit misleading. Milk production is very industrial because it’s an industry and cows are (by breeding, not by mistreatment) being pushed to their biological limit in how much milk they can produce. Schiønning doesn’t explain why this is a bad thing, though, and I assume that he expects the scary words (”industrial” “pushed to the limit” “every last drop”) to be enough to get people hooked. Knowing the general public, I’m afraid that assumption is right.

He continues: “When a cow is born, it’s separated from it’s mother after just 12 hours and put in isolation where it’s fed milk replacer. It’s done simply to get as much milk as possible out to the consumers, so they can produce as much milk for as cheap as possible.”[2]

What he’s saying here is just a repeat of the usual anti-animal-ag misinformation. To start off, a newborn is a calf. A cow is a grown female who has calved at least once. Semantics, but it’s a pet peeve.

Unfortunately, the thing about having to wait 12 hours before separation is true in Denmark. According to our law, conventional calves must stay with their dams for 12 hours and organic calves 24 hours (something Schiønning left out, presumably because the public assumes that more time together equals better welfare). Contrary to popular belief, studies have shown that the longer you wait before separation, the more stressful it is for both cow and calf and that the quicker the separation, the less stress both parties experience[3].

The reasons why cows and calves are separated in the first place is that, for starters, dairy cows are really bad mothers that will very often ignore the calf, accidentally step on it, or (rarely) outright attack it[4]. They just have very lacking maternal instincts. Putting calves in isolation likely isn’t the optimal solution, but it’s the best method we’ve developed to limit disease, ensure survival[5] and make sure they get enough colustrum within their first few hours.

Colostrum (’råmælk’) is the milk a cow produces the first few milkings after calving, which is full of antibodies. The calf’s ability to absorb antibodies stops after roughly 24 hours and it can’t produce its own until it’s about 3-4 weeks old, so this is a vital process. Even on farms that house calves and cows together and let the calves suckle, it’s highly recommended that the calf is bottle-fed about 3-4 liters of colostrum (depending on the breed’s size).

Which leads me to the next point that, no, calves are generally not fed milk replacer. While it is slightly cheaper than milk (because milk replacement producers track the market religiously to make sure their replacer is just a tad cheaper), it’s also impractical. Milk replacer often has a higher content of dangerous microbes, and because it’s not pasteurized, there’s a higher risk of it being contaminated. In Denmark Calves are most often fed pasteurized colostrum or whole milk (’sødmælk’)[6]. Even so, I fail to see how feeding a clean and well-balanced milk replacer is supposed to be a bad thing.

Calves are not separated so the farmer can get more milk out of the cow, as I explained above. In fact, cows produce up to 20% more milk when they’re kept with their calves because the frequent suckling stimulates milk production [7]. So since farmers are just feeding them milk from their own cows anyways, they actually have a monetary incentive to keep the two together. It’s purely for health and survival that they’re separated.

There’s one more thing I want to address. “Anima wants to be allowed to see how a worn out milking cow gets sent to slaughter 20 years before it’s natural death.”[8] It’s very difficult to find any scientific reports of the natural lifespan of cattle. Most animal rights sources cite 20-25 years, but most animal welfare sources cite 10-15, so it depends on which site of this debate you want to believe. Diary cows in Denmark are usually sent to the slaughterhouse when they’re around 5 years old because their fertility drops and they become more susceptible to disease right around this time[9].

1. Original quote: ”Vi har en mælkeproduktion i dag, som er ekstremt industriel, hvor man presser dyrene til det allerhårdeste for at malke den sidste dråbe fra koen.”

2. Original quote: “Når en ko bliver født, bliver den skilt ad fra sin mor allerede efter tolv timer og bliver sat i isolation, hvor den så får mælkeerstatning. Det gør man simpelthen for at få så meget mælk ud til forbrugerne som muligt, så man kan producere så meget mælk så billigt som muligt.”

3. Hopster, Hans; O’Connell, Janet M.; Blokhuis, Harry J. (1995) Acute effects of cow-calf separation on heart rate, plasma cortisol and behaviour in multiparous dairy cows. Applied Animal Behaviour Science. 44 (1995). Pages 1-8. Available online: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/016815919500581C

4. von Keyserlingk, Marina A. G.; Weary, Daniel M. (2007) Maternal behavior in cattle. Hormones and Behavior. 52 (2007). Pages 106–113. Available online: https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/b769/09afb82991b8322808e289a73662058c4af1.pdf

5. Gulliksen, S.M.; Lie, K. I.; Løken, T.; Osterås, O.(2009) Calf mortality in Norwegian dairy herds.Journal of Dairy Science. 92 (2009). Pages 2782-2795. Available online: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19448012

6. https://landbrugsavisen.dk/kv%C3%A6g/afsl%C3%B8ring-kun-m%C3%A6lkeerstatninger-har-topkvalitet

7. Krohn, C. C. (2001) Effects of different suckling systems on milk production, udder health, reproduction, calf growth and some behavioural aspects in high producing dairy cows — a review. Applied Animal Behaviour Science. 72 (2001). Pages 271-280.

8. Original quote: “Anima ønsker også at få lov til at filme, hvordan en udtjent malkeko sendes til slagtning tyve år før dens naturlige død.”

9. https://professionel.maelken.dk/dyrevelfaerd/koeernes-levetid#hvor-laenge-lever-en-dansk-malkeko-i-gennemsnit

#animal welfare

25 notes · View notes

inked-foundry · 6 years

Text

Not finished but I’m still super proud of myself that I managed to write 1600 words today! I don’t know how!

Just a short excerpt from a bit on Apollo and Danae dragging Minerva into an agreement she isn’t exactly happy to accept.

Minerva turned the envelope over in her hands, running her thumb across the royal seal of the phoenix, dusted with gold and violet paint. She’d never expected to earn an invitation to the palace. But of course, she’d have to keep it on her if she had any hopes of getting in. It may have been lunch they were asking her to attend, but she was still a known crime boss.

It was an enigma at all that she would be the presence of royalty.

They’d request she wear the beast she owned. She supposed they’d have to take her boots and slacks, as scuffed and patched as they were, strung up by suspenders. She covered it all up with her father’s old jacket.

As she was pulling it on (the outerwear nearly taut across her broad shoulders), there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she muttered, rolling down the sleeves. Her tattoos were a pride, but perhaps not something to flaunt today.

The door squeaked open on its hinges. Minerva knew from the voice alone it was Adonis in the threshold. “I think you ought to need a sort of escort on your way to the palace?” He mused. Minerva cast a glance over her shoulder to catch him playing with an end of his hair, dyed silver. “I might be impressive enough.”

“Stop playing pretty boy, bub.” Minerva snorted. She fixed her collar and smoothed down her short tuft of hair as final touches. Brushing him aside as she walked through the door, she noted, “If you really want to be helpful that damn bad, sit at my desk and let any grunts that bother coming in know that I’m out.”

Adonis pouted, hanging onto Minerva’s arm as he left. “C’mon, can’t you just entertain me for this once?”

“Buddy, there’s no way in hell I’m entertaining you,” Minerva huffed. She fought herself free with a simple nudge, brushing off her sleeve, like he’d left some sort of grime on it. “Shut up and find someone else to fawn over. Now get your ass in that desk or leave, or some poor soul is going to be on the wrong end of my knuckles.”

With a bristle and an annoyed noise, Adonis shuffled into her office, dusting off his vest as he went along. His legs seemed to long for his body as he dropped himself into the upholstered leather seat, a foot dangling over the arm.

“Don’t get cocky,” Minerva muttered.

And she left for the streets.

* * *

There was a member of the royal guard at opposite corners of the room. Both of them had some fancy pins decking their pristine white jackets, but Minerva couldn’t help but smirk at how pompous and presumptuous the nobles could be. Neither of them had fantastic figures beneath the layers. Her brawn could snap them like carrots when it came down to it.

At least she could say she had the experience to prove it.

Then across the circular table from her were Lord Apollo Crane and her Highness, Princess Danae. Sitting before them, it was as if a political cartoonist had designed them to be as physically different as possible.

Danae was a stout thing with a mane of dark hair, sapphire and emerald eyes keen and infinitely judging. Her floor-sweeping dress seemed like a joke. It was doubtlessly impractical and unimpressive to Minerva alongside her tiara and dainty little gloves. It was cute to see the heiress try to intimidate her, though.

Apollo, meanwhile, was an immense man, to the point that he hardly fit in his chair. He was certainly more casual, gold hair lazily pulled back and bronze eyes warm, if worried. His stubble was growing a bit out of control, admittedly. His outfit wasn’t much more formal than Minerva’s, lacking any flourishes between his sweater vest and tie.

She’d met authorities who had played like this before, one acting kinder and the other being more brutal. Except Danae was a mere child. There wasn’t much to worry about.

She just had to get the upper hand.

At least the spread of food on the table made things a tad less formal. Some of it was fancier things Minerva had never even considered in the Gutters. Just to be safe, she helped herself to a lobster.

“Thank you for joining us here today, Miss Arc,” Apollo began. He folded his hands together on the table, carefully watching Minerva’s every move. He seemed particularly tense when she picked up a knife. “We do apologize for such short notice.”

“I know the formalities, bub,” Minerva noted. She cut off a piece of lobster meat and ate it at her leisure, making the nobles wait for her to swallow before continuing, “Let’s get past this and to what’s more important, alright?”

The corners of Danae’s mouth twitched. “May I remind you that you are no longer within your own territory, Miss Arc? We could arrest you in contempt of nobility at the very least, and on several thousand charges for both direct and indirect crimes, including—”

“And what can you do about that, princess?” Minerva raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have any actual power, do you?”

Danae kept her face calm, but her eyes filled with a sort of rage that you only saw from Hylos when he was plotting war for the gods. She turned to Apollo stiffly. “Apollo, can you please assist me here?”

“There are royal guards in the room if you need to be restrained, but I am quite sure you are not as intense as the rumors say,” Apollo offered, ever content. But by the look of anguish on Danae’s face, it wasn’t as harsh as a response as she was hoping for.

“Apollo,” Danae mused.

Apollo’s face first showed signs of sterness as he briefly turned to the princess, chiding, “Let’s be civil.” He lowered his voice and leaned over, but years of back-room eavesdropping let Minerva hear him mutter, “I can take care of this. Please take this as practice for future diplomacy.”

He reached over and plucked a deviled egg from a platter, offering it to Danae. She just sank deeper into her chair and sulked. Apollo shrugged and popped it into his own mouth.

“I didn’t know court members doubled as babysitters,” Minerva mused. She cut off another piece of lobster and filled her mouth before either of the nobles could demand an apology.

“Civility, please, Miss Arc,” Apollo was on the verge of begging. Good.

“Then that’s just boring, bub.” Minerva finally let herself smirk. They couldn’t touch her. All their threats were idle attempts to get her into submission. It was cute, almost. But if they needed her enough to call her here, they couldn’t just arrest her. “So enlighten me. Why did you decide to bother me today?”

Apollo drew in a deep breath. “We have a request to make.”

Minerva pushed her plate out of the way and leaned in, elbows on the table. “How many tallions are we talking?”

“We won’t be paying you anything,” Danae added with a bit of smugness. At least she had enough arrogance to be a decent figurehead—Minerva could give her that. “It’s more a favor for the crown, with the return benefit that we don’t send in the guard and halt your little operation in its stride.”

The gears in Minerva’s head came to a halt. What the hell was going on?

“There’s quite a bit going on in the palace at the moment, and we won’t bore you with the details, as you so bluntly put it,” Apollo sighed. He sat straighter, and though he was a behemoth to begin with, Minerva finally began to realize just how tall he was. “As much as it would be best for everyone involved to shut down the crime you organize, it… provides a few sparks of business here and there. Money is money, I’m afraid, wherever it comes from. And we will admit that you give some chance for those in the Gutters to rise to a great socioeconomic status.”

“Are you just here to butter me up?” Minerva snorted. “If so, do continue.”

“The gist of it is, Miss Arc, we cannot force you to stop your organization without causing an entire subsect of the city’s economy from toppling.” Danae mimicked Apollo’s straightening of the spine, hardly looking any bigger. “We ask that you momentarily halt operations until the palace gets itself in order.”

Halt operations.

She had people that needed money. These people only had one way to make money to bring home, some having younger siblings to support or simply needed to keep themselves afloat. These people had loans to pay off and couldn’t afford to be late. Apollo and Danae were going to crush far more than an small source of business. Asking her to stop was putting people’s lives on the line.

“Excuse me, bub?” Minerva immediately reached into the center of the table and ripped a crab’s leg off the shell, waving it in the air. She burst out of her seat and asked, “You see this?” She snapped it in half, then halved the half. Tossing it haphazardly across the table, she spat at Apollo, “This is going to be your gods-damned arm unless you stop joking!”

The guards immediately reached for their swords.

Apollo held up a hand to hold them back as he rose out of his seat. “Please compose yourself, Miss Arc.”

“It’s not something I can just stop, asshole,” Minerva explained.

#my writing #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #fiction #stories #story #Minerva #Apollo #Danae #my characters

9 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 6 years

Text

Heist

New AU? New AU.

Some world building: Fusion of magic and technology. Mages exist, but this is set in a sort of hybrid of future tech and magic. Not modern or ancient, but futuristic with magic!

Darevas and Felasel belong to @selenelavellan

Cirimeni belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Falon’din and the other Evanuris mentioned belong to @feynites

Minor Falon’din warning.

The Evanuris Museum Exposition. A beautiful building dedicated to the stolen wealth of the most powerful elven family in all of Thedas. Tall and white with energy running through it as the T1-AN Core makes its world debut as a reliable, and limitless, energy source. The Core sits in the main atrium of the building, though it needs no sun to power itself, Miriel knows that it casts a beautiful glow through the halls when it mingles with sunlight. It is as much an art installation as a power source.

As fascinating as the Core is, it is not her target tonight. Oh no, that would be too predictable, and impractical given her supplies. The Core is massive, weighing over five tons, and filled with so much energy that improper handling could not only kill her, but level everything in a ten mile radius. Miriel is a thief, not a murderer.

Miriel’s target, or rather targets, are smaller but just as worthy. Everyone will be expecting a move on the Core tonight, which makes other targets that much more appealing. After all, they don’t need the Core itself - just the blueprints on how it works. But that is late game, right now is just a game.

“We’re in position,” a feminine robotic voice hums in Miriel’s earpiece disguised as an elaborate ear cuff. Miriel smiles in acknowledgement, knowing that Cirimeni’s got eyes all over the building and can very well see her.

Normally she likes to be in the shadows, slinking in and out before anyone sees her. Tonight is a different story, though. There are too many guards to be able to successfully cat burgle anything. So Miriel is taking a page out of the old heist manual and going in as the distraction. Cirimeni and Fenris had debated vehemently with her about this, but it’s the best option.

She just happens to be his type.

Or at least close enough that the approximators she’s wearing can make her seem irresistible to the heir to the Evanuris wealth. Her contacts are blue, masking her golden eyes, and her face approximator softens some of the angles in her face, making her appear more doll like. Approximators cover her left arm and leg like hose, hiding the dark vine tattoos that swirl over almost the entirety of her left side. While she doesn’t think he cares about tattoos, they’re too distinctive and could give her away.

Miriel’s dressed herself in a low cut, high slit black halter dress that makes her golden skin practically glow. Her long honey blond hair is left long and down, enticing some idiot to grab it. Or perhaps a specific idiot.

“Invitation,” the guard asks at the front glass doors. Miriel smiles and produces the holographic invitation from her small purse.

“Aeva du Roche,” she purrs in a flawless Orlesian elven accent, “curator at the Jader High Museum.” The guard gives her a look and looks down at the holograph. He runs a hand over it, the electricity reacting to the slim finger piece he’s wearing on his ring finger. A band at the base of the piece clicks then turns a bright green.

“You’re cleared. Enjoy the party.” He steps aside, gesturing to the door. She half expects him to open it before she realizes that the door itself is a hologram. Eluvian tech? Fancy indeed.

She smiles at the guard, taking her invitation back before stepping through the door. The energy tickles the approximators, giving her tiny shocks along her arms, face, and leg. She shows no signs of discomfort, accustomed to the small shocks her little devices give her.

The inside of the building is more opulent and grand than the outside with immense custom made glittering chandeliers that glow blue with energy, glistening marble floors, and a roof made entirely out of glass. The ceilings are tall enough to make a giant feel small and she wonders if June took that thought into consideration when building - making sure everyone felt small when compared to the might and power of the Evanuris family.

Mythal must be delighted.

Miriel doesn’t mind feeling small, not like many of these ass kissing socialites who are only here to garner favor. Small things are rarely noticed and that is ultimately her goal - not to be noticed. Except for tonight, of course, she is banking on being noticed.

The front room is flanked by pillars that support the glass ceiling and those pillars create smaller alcoves where groups of people have gathered in meeting. Miriel walks down the center of the room toward the atrium, smiling at any passerby. The front room is for gossips, and while she normally is a fan, tonight is a mission.

The great double door are so large they cannot be opened by a person but instead either be opened by sensors or by runes. They are kept open tonight, however, allowing free exploration of the rooms. She steps through the threshold and into the atrium, and while she knows what to expect with the Core, she cannot help but gasp in awe of it. It’s...radiant, pulsating with energy within its titanium steel display case. She steps closer to it, unable to ignore how it beats like a heart -

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Someone says next to her. She turns quickly to see a tall man, a handsome tall elven man next to her. His dark hair is slicked back from his face, highlighting his bright blue eyes. This is Darevas Evanuris, son to Dirthamen Evanuris and nephew to Falon’Din, the heir. Not her mark but...enticing enough to engage in conversation certainly. He’s rumored to not be much older than she is, recently graduating with his MBA. She wonders where his twin is, the two are rarely seen apart.

Miriel lets her eyes drag over him for a second, appraising his build and his clothes, and that watch, before looking him in the eye. She smiles, “It is. A true marvel of engineering.”

Like most men, he is pleased at her roaming eye and seems to puff up just a bit for her, “I’m equally as impressed by how beautiful they made it. It’s nice to see the future is efficient and beautiful.”

“Oh yes,” she says, “It would be dreadful to have such a marvel be hideous. Especially to throw a party around it.” She is perhaps a tad too cheeky but Darevas chuckles.

“I am Darevas, by the way,” he says, offering his hand. She takes his hand, shaking it, turning it over gently to expose his golden watch.

“Aeva du Roche, a pleasure. And is this a Jacobson? Those are quite rare now, with modern technology.” She lets his hand go and he blushes slightly.

“Ah, yes. It was a gift for my recent graduation.”

“Oh? Congratulations are in order then. I would offer you a toast, but I am afraid we have no drinks.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Darevas looks around, spies one of the servers and beckons him over. He takes two glasses off the tray and offers one to Miriel with a charming smile. She accepts the champagne and clinks her glass to his.

“Congratulations, may your future be as bright as this marvel.” She sips from her glass, maintaining his eye contact.

“Thank you. And might I ask what is your occupation, Lady Aeva? Everyone here knows my family and business, it puts me at a disadvantage.”

Oh he is a charming one, isn’t he? She glances around the room, not seeing her mark. The night is still young and she has some time, she supposes. Getting in good with this little lordling may not be such a bad thing.

“I would not say that, your father has done quite a good job at concealing you from the public,” but not good enough to keep Miriel from digging, “I know little about you.”

“Ah, then might we play the game, then?”

“The Game? You speak to an Orlesian, darling, The Game manes something quite specific to us.” She teases and he chuckles.

“Ah yes, The Game. I merely mean the game that people who have just met each other play, where one asks a question and the other answers and asks a question in turn.”

“Oh, that game. Are you sure you are up to playing?” She teases, walking around him. He follows her a bit like a puppy. She can feel his eyes roaming over her body and for once she is not repulsed by the action. Men ogle her, they want her, and she is happy to put on a show as long as they adhere to all museum rules - look but no touching.

“I did suggest it,” he says.

“Very well. I shall begin. What is your degree in?”

“Business, specifically looking into ethics.” Now that is a surprise. Ethics from an Evanuris? Perhaps he learned about them to only better aid his family is breaking them. The family has had no issue in violating any code of ethics before. Killing people, embezzlement, theft of Dalish land and artifacts. She would not be surprised if the Core is stolen technology from the dwarves.

“I did not realize the family had an interest in business ethics,” she says off-handedly, looking at a rather dull human made bust of an old king.

“Ah, but perhaps it is not about my family and about me.” What a novel concept to have one of the Evanuris to want to step away some from the family’s interests. So novel a concept that it must be a lie.

As handsome as he is, Miriel must remember who he is, who his family is.

“Perhaps, and isn’t all higher education an ode to oneself?” she says, turning into a hallway that runs adjacent to the atrium. It is filled with more busts of famous historical figures that she doesn’t care to know.

“And you protest such things?” He asks and she chuckles.

“Hardly. Who is to say I have not written a symphony to myself with all my education?” She hasn’t, but she is playing someone who likely has.

“Have you?” He asks.

“I have. Bachelor’s, Master’s, a PhD. I am my biggest fan,” she plays.

“Dr. du Roche, then.”

“Yes,” she turns to him and leans up by his ear, “but you, darling, call me Aeva.” The air charges with slight magic and it reminds her of his lineage. The Evanuris are known to be mages and he is no different, it seems. Magic curls around them, prickling along the lines of her approximators.

“Very well, Aeva,” his voice is low and sends an involuntary shiver down her back. She needs to keep her purpose in mind, needs to not become caught up in whatever this is. Her loneliness is only outmatched by her outrage and determination.

My people will be free once again. And those blueprints are the key to said freedom.

“Do be a dear,” she says, “and show me this incredible building. I long to see what treasures your family has acquired.” Stolen more like. Darevas is a dear, though, offering his arm before he whisks her off around the museum. He is a good host, telling her about the pieces. She spots at least a dozen fake items and more that she knows to be stolen or at least acquired in illegal means. She’s seen them on the black market - she has even pawned a few of these at the beginning of her thieving career. To keep up her ruse, she tells him a few things about a couple of the pieces she knows.

By the time they return to the atrium she thinks that surely her mark has arrived. But she cannot see him and the band is cueing up a song.

“May I have this dance?” Darevas asks. She shouldn’t, it’s a bad idea, yet she finds herself taking his offered hand.

“I do so love to dance,” she says and lets him guide her across the floor. He is a marvelous dancer, leading her perfectly through the dance. It is a simpler formal dance to appeal to the widest cast of people here, but the way Darevas dances makes it feel more incredible than its actual simple steps.

The song ends and she finds she wants to keep dancing. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thinks, to stay and -

“Falon’din has entered the building,” Cirimeni says and she inwardly curses. Miriel smiles up at Darevas and draws a delicate nail down his cheek.

“You are a darling.” She extricates herself from his arms, dragging her hands down so that her fingers coil delicately over his watch. She unclasps it all the while maintaining his gaze. He is rapt with her and it almost makes her feel bad.

Almost. She steps away, disappearing into the crowd, slipping his watch into her purse. He won’t miss it. His family is made of money and if he throws a fit, she’s sure Mamae and Papae will buy him another.

Now she must set her trap for one of the worst members of the family. A rapist and a killer, Falon’din is kept along as a sort of embarrassing pet to Mythal. She makes sure the law doesn’t look at Falon’din overlong and in turn, Falon’din victimizes people throughout the land.

Miriel slinks into the shadows and up to the third floor, mapping her route. June Evanuris’s office is located at the back of the museum, overlooking both the atrium and the gardens. It is a spacious and gorgeous office but it is also sealed - only someone with Evanuris level clearance can enter. As much as a disappointment Falon’din is, he is an Evanuris. She pulls out a small appliance from her purse and places it on the door. It beeps to life and does a scan of the room beyond the glass. A hologram projects in front of the device, giving Miriel the ability to survey the room without setting off any alarms. She manipulates the hologram, looking at every nook and cranny. The blueprints are likely in a safe, on a password encrypted drive.

Aha! There, on the left wall there is a false panel. If she pops it open, it will reveal its secrets. All she needs is to get the drive, the others can solve the rest.

Next, she puts another device on the handle and activates it. This program alters the DNA scan to verify the person pulling the door is verified to enter. She has a strand of Sylaise’s hair but alas, the scanner requires a living person. The bug she’s using to override the scan isn’t even exactly overriding the scan, but rather programing it to ignore some of the DNA so that a relative to the verified person can enter.

Ah, gotta love black market tech. Unfortunately, Darevas is not close enough in relation to Sylaise for it to work with him. Miriel needs either a brother, a sister, a mother, or a father. Andruil is not at this gathering and Dirthamen is rumored to be unwavering faithful. She isn’t going anywhere close to Mythal or Elgar’nan. Sylaise herself is plastered next to June all night and will not be lured away.

That leaves Miriel with Falon’din.

Satisfied with her plan, Miriel peels off the reader and puts it back in her purse. She heads down to the atrium once more.

“Where is he?” she whispers.

“In the eastern wing of the atrium by the fountain, sulking.” He won’t be sulking for long. Miriel touches up her lipstick and fluffs her hair. Time to get this show started.

It should terrify her, what she is planning to do, but instead she feels a sick sort of glee. Nothing makes her happier than robbing assholes. The music in the hall rises as she descends the stairs.

There he is, leaning against a pillar, scowling at the fountain, arms folded over his chest like a petulant child. The only other person she loathes more is Mythal, but she is at least not trying to lure and seduce Mythal.

Miriel steps slightly out of the shadows and poses a little, tilting her head back, exposing her neck. Falon’din’s gaze flickers up, back down, then up again, settling on her.

Got him.

She shifts her weight and bats her eyelashes. Intent blazes in his eyes and stalks forward. She grins, crooking her finger at him before bolting up the stairs.

Have to be faster. She bolts up the two flights of stairs, flashing smiles back at her pursuer. His age has slowed him but he is still dangerous, she knows. At the top of the stairs, she turns and beckons him more.

“I found the perfect place,” she croons, backing up to June’s office.

He’s breathing heavily but still moving towards her.

“I can’t get it open,” she pouts, “maybe you’ll get it open?” She bites her lip, hoping he doesn’t just forego the room completely. Her luck is with her, however and he grasps the handle. There is a noticeable whirr then click and the door eases open.

“Oh you are amazing,” she purrs, slinking past him inside. Close the doo-

He follows her inside, grasps her hair and pulls.

“Ah!” She cries as he yanks her head back to look at him.

“You’re a tease, aren’t you?” He slants his mouth over hers and she has to resist gagging. The plan, she has to remember the plan. And fortunately, she planned for this occurance.

The fingers on her left hand press into her palm, typing in a code into a the approximator. Electricity seizes her arm and she shoves her hand up to Falon’din’s face.

He screams as the electricity courses into his body and the buzzer saps his magic but he is bigger than she anticipated and it’s not enough to down him like she had originally hoped.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” He shouts charging her. His hand comes around her throat as he throws her against the glass, making it crack. She cries out in pain before the hair is slowly squeezed from her. Her eyes go wide as she realizes she has made a horrible mistake.

He tears her dress down, exposing her.

Can’t breathe - ! But she can remember. Miriel gives a small hop, lifting her feet to launch a kick into his knees. He buckles, surprised enough that his grip loosens. She reaches up and pulls on his fingers, twisting them until break. He shrieks in pain but she doesn’t let up. She grabs his hair and knees him the face.

Go down, go down. But the bastard is tough and he is beginning to cast.

Shit! She leaps over to the desk and grabs a heavy vase. She clubs him over the head with it, then knicks him for good measure before noticing -

Oh no.

His head...is at a sickening angle. Blank eyes stare at nothing and she realizes he’s dead.

She killed him. The Falon’din Evanuris. She, Miriel of clan Bellenan of ill repute and questionable methods, killed Falon’din Evanuris.

She….she’s never killed anyone before.

“We’re coming! Get the blueprints!” Cirimeni shouts in her ear. Right, the...the reason she’s here. Swallowing back the urge to vomit, Miriel stumbles first to the computer. Might as well steal all the files. She plugs in the drive that will pull all the files then limps over to the wall. She presses the panel and a screen appears. Right, the safe. She raises her left hand with the approximator and presses it against the screen.

“Override it,” she says.

“On it,” Lasvala says. The current in her arm is horrendously uncomfortable as it always is, the prosthetic is still wired into her nervous system even if it is designed to be the ultimate subterfuge weapon. “Got it.”

The screen disappears and the panel slides down to reveal a small case. She grabs it just as the door opens and light blasts in from the party.

“Aeva!” Darvas shouts then looks down to see his quite dead uncle. Shit!

Horror crosses over his face and another person appears next to him, “You fought him off…what do you have?” The other person asks and she has no time to explain herself. They’ll kill her, she’s most wanted now. Goodbye Miriel the Thief, hello Miriel the Murderer.

Asshole had it coming, though.

She grabs the drive from the computer then turns, running to the window. She tosses a ball of electricity at the glass and it shatters just as she clears the threshold.

“AEVA!” Darevas shouts.

Overhead is the telltale whirr of the Bird - a weird cross between car, helicopter, and plane. Miriel grabs the lowered cable with her left hand and it takes off, pulling her up as it sails over the gardens.

Her last view of the museum is of Darevas at the broken window, stunned and horrified. She shouldn’t care, really shouldn’t, he’s one of them. It doesn’t matter that he’s into ethics and a divine dancer or that he could potentially be different. Because he’s not different.

The Evanuris are users and abusers.

And she killed one tonight.

The hatch opens up and she crawls into the Bird.

“Took you long enough,” Cirimeni says through her Artificial-Voice Modulator Torque - Y edition, or AMITY for short. “Did you get it?”

“I killed him,” Miriel murmurs, “but yeah, I got it. Plus all their files.”

“Yes! Shit, Miri, you were so cool! Something outta the movies,” Lasvala says as they help her into a seat.

“Maibrit will be happy,” Cirimeni says as she flies the Bird higher into the sky to avoid detection.

“Yeah.” Miriel leans against the seat and tries to calm down. She did it, she got the blueprint.

And became a killer.

#my writing #heist au #miriel #darevas #mirevas #eventually?#cirimeni #lasvala #falon'din #i woke up inspired and this happened #any day where i can beat up or kill fd is a good day #Falon'Din's Type Fights Back

19 notes · View notes

relenaforpresident · 6 years

Text

Cherry Lips (Cocktail Friday)

As usual, I’m a little late to the party (err, it’s technically Saturday in my corner of the world, only just) but don’t worry... there are still plenty of treats ;)

A late entry to @gwcocktailfriday inspired by the stupendous @noirangetrois whose brunch fic gave me life earlier today! Check it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951260/chapters/36728361

My cocktail of choice (for this Friyay eve, at least) is the old fashioned. I hope you enjoy ;)

Relena slowly opened the door to her town house, barely able to keep her hands from shaking.

Her bodyguard lingered close behind, scanning the neighborhood and watching her six, as usual. And for all the times she’d found his presence unnerving -- even a bit suffocating, if she were being honest -- tonight his hovering was a welcome comfort.

Her hands were trembling so much, she nearly dropped her keys, and that was just the first point of entry. The ordinary-looking outside door, painted a deceptively cheery shade of red, opened up to a metal monstrosity with its own keypad. Relena punched in her access code to a series of whirs and beeps, and only then did the entrance to her fortress open with a soft, rather anticlimactic pop.

Relena all but stumbled into the foyer, clamoring to peel off her blazer-- an impractical wardrobe choice in the August heat, but it was part of her daily workday uniform. She cast it off like it was on fire, draping it over the edge of the bannister before dumping her tote bag on the floor below it, not really caring where her things ended up. It was a departure from her usual a place for everything/everything in its place mentality, but then she was feeling a bit discombobulated, to say the least. Finally, she stepped out of her heels, although she half-tripped in the process. She grasped for the bannister, but found herself righted as a steadying hand cupped her elbow.

She turned her head up to meet evergreen eyes.

“Thank you,” she sighed, ready to sink into oblivion for the next several hours. Hoping he would let her.

He gave her a nod but was otherwise silent as he loosed her elbow, and Relena turned away and padded toward the nearby sitting room. There she plopped unceremoniously onto her couch, although it was hardly the plopping sort of couch; Relena was rarely home long enough to justify owning the type of furniture suitable for lounging. And so she’d furnished the sitting room with a terribly expensive leather chesterfield, much prettier to look at than actually sit on. Relena stretched out on it anyway, grateful that she’d at least purchased a few throw pillows that, while mostly decorative, were comfortable enough.

She leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, waiting for the stress of the day to roll off her shoulders. Even with her eyes closed, she knew Trowa had come to stand right next to her. Sometimes she swore she could sense his presence from miles away…

He was probably waiting for her to say something, ever the silent guardian. Much like another former Gundam pilot who used to watch over her… but that had been a long time ago. It was hard to believe how many years had passed between them, already.

He surprised her by speaking first, for a change. “How about something to drink?”

Relena peered up at the steady, patient face that so rarely betrayed any emotion, as he’d been trained. “Sure.”

“Tea?”

She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “After today… I could do with something a little stronger...” She watched as Trowa’s lips curved slightly upward.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. Without another word, he turned his heel and strode into the kitchen. Thanks to the rooms’ open layout, Relena could watch him from the couch as he raided the liquor cabinet.

“What’ll it be?” he called over his shoulder. “Vodka… brandy… whiskey?”

“Whiskey,” Relena chimed in. “Definitely whiskey.” She snuggled back into the couch and closed her eyes once more, hoping a good, strong drink would calm the racing of her heart and quiet the pounding in her head. Even in the safety of her home -- doubly safe from the state-of-the-art security system and the former Gundam pilot inside it -- she could still hear the crackling of gunfire in her ears.

“Hmm…” Relena focused her attention instead on the sound of Trowa’s calming baritone, and the clink of bottles as he rummaged through the cabinet. These were much more domestic, happy sounds, that was for sure. “There’s a nice bourbon…” he told her.

“Ooh…” Relena voiced her approval from the couch. “We could do some old fashioneds...”

“Sounds perfect.”

For the first time in hours, she allowed herself to smile. But then she secretly loved it when Trowa would whip up a homemade cocktail for her…

Okay. Not so secretly.

They’d developed a pleasant little routine over the past few years, whenever Trowa was in town to work her detail. He was only a part-time Preventer, though, still balancing security work with his circus performances. Relena had to admit that she found it amusing, how he could juggle two starkly different careers-- and quite literally, at that. And though at times she found his security measures a tad intrusive, she realized it was just the Preventer way. After all, her erstwhile ex-Gundam-pilot-turned-bodyguard Heero Yuy had been no different.

Now, Relena relished moments like these, when the work day and its many obligations were over and done with, and she was finally able to let her hair down. She knew she’d taken Trowa aback at first, when he’d first glimpsed this hidden side of her, but she figured he had to be used to it by now. If anything, he seemed to find her taste for hard liquor quite amusing, or so the little smirk he wore when he was mixing her drinks seemed to suggest.

She’d asked him once where he’d learn to make drinks like that, but he’d only given her that coy little smile of his. Relena had a feeling it was far from the only secret Trowa Barton was keeping...

The object of her meandering thoughts returned to the living room then, two glass tumblers in hand, filled nearly to the rim with amber liquid and garnished with an orange rind and cherry each.

Relena sat up and couldn’t help but grin at Trowa as he bent to hand her a glass.

“You don’t mess around, Barton,” she said gleefully before taking a slow, reverent sip. The flavors danced on her tongue, the sourness of the bitters balanced perfectly by the muddled sugar. And the bourbon itself had a delightfully spicy bite to it, with a subtle hint of caramel and vanilla. The taste conjured up crisp autumn strolls through crunchy, colorful leaves, and winter nights snuggled up by the fireplace.

“This is heavenly,” she pronounced, lifting her glass. Trowa clinked his against hers, and took a seat beside her.

“Cheers,” he said without a trace of humor, his features a mask, as usual. “To… surviving.”

Relena shook her head morosely. “Well, now you had to go and ruin it.”

Trowa frowned. “How so?”

She sighed deeply and set her glass on the coffee table in front of them before sitting back and folding her hands in her lap, studying her nails more closely than she needed to.

“I was trying to forget about… earlier.”

“Ah.” Trowa mimicked her movements, placing his glass next to hers. Relena looked up and met his eyes, which seemed to be searching hers. “Sorry about that,” he added, somewhat wryly. Probably thinking she sounded ridiculous…

“No, it’s okay… You have nothing to be sorry about.” Relena offered him a smile, but she could tell it was weak. She felt weak; that was why. She hardly had the energy to sit up anymore, let alone pick up her glass for another sip, but it was too delicious to ignore. Relena leaned forward and reached for her tumbler, raising it to her own personal barkeep once again.

“You did save my life, after all,” she said with a labored sigh.

Trowa was still frowning, looking at her askance. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t mean it like that…” Relena knit her brows together as she composed her thoughts. “Of course, I’m grateful to you, and the other Preventers for putting your lives on the line for me.” She sighed again, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just… I wish you didn’t have to.”

Relena’s mind whirred with the events of earlier that day, when she’d been giving a speech at the dedication of a new monument to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of the end of the Eve Wars, which was coming up that winter. She was at the podium, right in the middle of speaking, when gunshots rang out, sending the crowd that was gathered around into hysterics. Before Relena could even register what was happening, two strong arms were pushing her to the ground, and a tall, muscular form was shielding her from any harm.

Trowa.

Relena lowered her gaze back to the liquid in her glass. It danced temptingly up at her, flickering in the waning light of the evening, and she raised it to her lips once more. After another long sip, she lowered the glass to see Trowa watching her closely.

“Well, for starters, you don’t have to thank me for doing my job,” Trowa said, scooting a little closer to her on the couch. Relena resisted the urge to back up slightly, remaining where she was. Even as their knees connected, and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her veins.

“And, anyway,” he added, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort as he leaned forward, “it could have been much worse.” His gaze was hard and serious. “We got lucky today.”

“We always get lucky,” Relena murmured, bringing the glass back up to her lips. And then she nearly choked on her drink, realizing too late how that sounded. But if Trowa noticed her accidental innuendo, he didn’t let on as he, too, picked up his drink. Relena watched as he took a practiced sip, then replaced his glass on the table.

He turned back toward her with a sheen in his eyes.

“I don’t know about you…” he started, his expression nonchalant. “But... it’s been a while since I’ve gotten ‘lucky.’”

Relena slapped her free hand to her mouth to keep her drink from spraying everywhere as she gasped involuntarily. “Trowa!” she sputtered after she’d managed to swallow.

“Sorry.” But he looked anything but; his eyes were twinkling at her like a pair of Christmas trees, all strung up with lights. There was something wistful about his expression, too. Or maybe Relena was just imagining it.

Damn, this drink is strong… And yet, before she knew it, she’d polished off the remaining contents of her glass.

And Trowa just sat there smirking at her. “Care for another?”

“Oh, I don’t know… one is dangerous enough.”

Trowa arched a brow. “Since when has that ever stopped you?

Relena narrowed her eyes at him. “I can practically feel you judging me.”

“Not at all.” He reached over to collect their empty glasses before rising to his feet. “I’m gratified to know you like my drinks.”

“All right, then tell you what.” Relena straightened in her seat, tucking her feet up underneath her. “I’ll have one more, if you tell me how you learned to make them.”

“That’s classified,” Trowa said automatically. He gave her a knowing smile before returning to the kitchen island, where he’d left the cocktail ingredients.

“Typical Preventer nonsense,” Relena complained after him. “I doubt the story’s even as exciting as you’re making it out to be…”

She watched as Trowa placed a sugar cube to a mixing glass, then added the bitters and a splash of water before muddling the ingredients together with a long metal spoon for several seconds.

“I may have picked up a thing or two in my travels,” he answered coyly. Then he opened up the bottle of bourbon and added a decent amount to the mixing glass before stirring everything together again. That task done, he plunked a few ice cubes into both of their empty glasses, then grabbed a metal strainer and the mixing glass and poured the liquid through the strainer, dividing it evenly among the tumblers.

“Did you work undercover as a bartender?” Relena guessed, admiring his handiwork from her spot on the couch.

Trowa chuckled as he picked up an orange peel and rubbed it along the rim of one glass before dropping it into the liquid. “Maybe.” By the time he’d finished doing the same to the other glass, topping each drink with a cocktail cherry, Relena was practically salivating. She cleared her throat as demurely as possible, working to maintain her composure.

“I ought to stop hiring you for security, and have you tend bar at my dinner parties from now on,” she teased.

Trowa shrugged and quipped, “Suits me. Whatever pays the bills.” He picked both glasses up off the counter and carried them carefully back to the living room.

And that remark had Relena’s mind scrambling to decipher what he meant by that, exactly, as he sat back down beside her and handed her her glass. Why, that could mean any number of things… And maybe it was the effect of the alcohol, but at the moment, Relena’s mind was entrenched firmly in the gutter.

She arched a single brow at him as she sipped her second -- and equally delicious -- cocktail.

“And what other sorts of things have you done for money? Hmm?”

Trowa didn’t answer her at first, his lips preoccupied with his own drink. But his eyes sparked at her over his glass.

“Things you’d probably rather not know about,” came his cryptic response after he’d finished his sip.

Relena gaped at him. “Oh, now you have to tell me. Something.” Trowa shook his head once, but Relena pressed on. “No fair,” she whined, going as far as to place her free hand on his kneecap. “You can’t keep holding out on me like this...”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Are we?” His eyes danced with mirth, but his caustic words annoyed her, nevertheless.

“Yes!” Relena cried, newly infuriated. She yanked her hand away from Trowa’s knee, shooting him her sternest glare. “What do you think this is?” She gestured vaguely at the space between them.

“Cocktail hour.” Trowa raised his glass back to his lips. He paused before taking another sip. “And technically, I’m still on the clock. So this is... wholly unprofessional.”

Relena rolled her eyes. “Like that’s ever stopped you,” she retorted, enjoying teasing him, for a change.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trowa said evenly. “I strive to maintain decorum on the job at all times…”

“Oh, so you make drinks for all your clients, then?” Relena said coolly, her glass poised at her lips.

Trowa’s eyes glittered at her. “Only the pretty ones.”

“Ha! I knew it.” Relena set her glass down with renewed vigor. “Admit it; you have done some uncouth things for money.”

“Uncouth?” Trowa echoed, a smile playing on his lips. “I think you mean ‘inappropriate.’”

“Uh-uh. I meant what I said.” Relena wagged a finger at him. “You just don’t want to tell me…”

“Tell you what, now?”

Relena rolled her eyes again. “You’re toying with me, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“To be fair...” Trowa leaned forward in his seat, bringing their knees together once again. “You’re the one insinuating I’m some sort of gigolo.”

Relena’s eyes bulged. “I am not.”

Trowa gestured toward her with his glass. “Sure you are.”

“Okay, well, to be fair,” Relena mimicked Trowa’s words and his position, as she leaned forward as well. “You are always bragging about your ‘entertaining skills.’ And bartending happens to be one of them?” Her nose crinkled. “Like… why?”

Clearly the alcohol was starting to take effect, as Relena realized she was quickly losing her grasp of her private school vocabulary. She wondered if Trowa noticed how colloquial she sounded all of a sudden.

Trowa startled her by laughing heartily. “You have… quite the imagination.”

“Oh, come on. It’s hardly a big leap to take.”

The look he gave her stopped her in her tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Relena’s heart thumped wildly as he stared straight into her eyes, but she forged ahead nevertheless. “Well, you know… Your nomadic lifestyle, for one thing. You’re always on the road, taking various… ‘jobs.’” She couldn’t resist making quotes with her fingers, despite the look he was giving her. “And I know for a fact that you participate in random hookups rather than relationships--”

“Who told you that?” Trowa cut in, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, you know.” Relena waved a hand. “I’ve heard things.”

“From who?”

Relena fixed him with a coy smile of her own. “That’s classified.”

Trowa frowned at her for a moment before speaking again, abandoning his drink altogether. “For the record, it’s rather difficult to meet someone when you’re traveling all the time. As I’m sure you can appreciate.” Relena nodded, biting her lower lip. Now she was feeling just a little bit bad for calling him out the way she did. “No, this lifestyle doesn’t really lend itself to settling down, or whatever,” he added, then shrugged carelessly. “But, still. That doesn’t make me a whore.”

Relena gaped at him for what felt like a full minute before bursting out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered between laughs, her shoulders shaking. She thought she heard Trowa scoff as he reached for his drink.

“I’m glad you find my plight so amusing,” he said. “And here I thought you were propositioning me.”

Relena immediately ceased her laughter. She could feel her face burning, and turned it away from Trowa and his assessing stare. “I… no I wasn’t.”

“Right.” She chanced a look up and, sure enough, Trowa was still gazing steadily at her. His eyes had this unnerving way of piercing her right to the soul. “So you’ve never thought about it.”

Relena was glad she was no longer sipping on her drink, or she was sure it would have ended up all over Trowa’s lap. “I mean…” Of course she’d thought about it… idly, the way one would wonder about kissing any of their attractive male acquaintances. Not that she’d thought about doing anything besides kissing Trowa…

But, then, she had to wonder…

“Have you?” She asked the question before she gave herself enough time to fully consider it. And she was also grateful, in the moment, that she had bangs covering her forehead, so that Trowa couldn’t see the blush that was shooting straight up to her hairline…

“No,” Trowa said calmly, and her heart faltered. “I haven’t thought about asking you to pay me for sex.”

Relena’s eyes jerked wide. “Hey--”

Trowa’s lips quirked. “But, then, if we did it now… I would be getting paid still, right?”

Relena huffed and spun away from him, folding her arms across her chest. “That’s not funny…” She was tempted to glance back at Trowa to see his reaction when she heard him sigh.

“Fine, you’re right. Forgive me. Like I said… it’s been a while.”

Relena watched him reach for his drink out of the corner of her eye. “Now that I don’t believe for a minute.”

“Really? Because you seem to believe plenty of other things about me…”

His words caught her attention, and Relena couldn’t help but turn back toward him. She realized, much to her annoyance, that she was drawn to him like a magnet. She saw he wore a slightly wounded expression, and everything within her wanted to soothe him and make it go away. He had protected her earlier, as he always had. Maybe now was her chance to do the only thing she felt she could, for former soldiers like him. Perhaps she’d make a lousy shield, but she could certainly offer him comfort.

Relena found herself inching closer to Trowa, until her legs were brushing his. She realized that he could have been manipulating her emotions, that maybe this was his plan all along, but in her inebriated state, she didn’t care. So, he wanted her attentions, like any man in his position probably would.

Well, maybe she wanted him, too.

Surprising herself, Relena continued to move until she was practically in Trowa’s lap. His head jerked up then, his eyes widening as she leaned toward him, and plucked his glass right out of his hand. She managed to reach behind her and set it down on the coffee table, but didn’t bother checking to see whether she’d spilled any of the liquid in the process. But, then, she didn’t really care. Even expensive things could be replaced. Like how hearts could be broken -- thoroughly destroyed, even -- then miraculously brought back to life.

Relena could feel the pieces of her own shattered heart mending as Trowa looked up at her with a wondrous expression. “What… are you doing?”

She laughed and tilted her her face toward his, until their noses were nearly touching. “What’s it look like, Barton?”

His more visible eye widened, but he didn’t answer her. Relena reached up to brush back his bangs so that she could look into both his eyes, because his reaction was so priceless, she just had to see.

But clearly Trowa wasn’t about to let her get the best of him.

“Well…” He answered her question with a smile, as he cupped her face in both of his hands. Relena sucked in a breath. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her so tenderly... Her heart fluttered, her pulse racing, as she anticipated being closer to Trowa than she’d ever been, and what it meant for them.

His lips twitched as he brought them tantalizingly close to hers, the scent of whiskey and cherries lingering as his breath tickled her skin.

“Looks like I’m fucked.”

Relena barely had time to gasp as Trowa hooked the back of her head, crushing her lips to his.

#gundam wing #gw #gundam wing fanfic #gundam wing fanfiction #gw cocktail friday #cocktail friday #taylor swift lyrics #fanfic author #fanfic writer #3 x R #trowa x relena #trowa barton #relena peacecraft #relena darlian #trowa and relena #fanfiction

30 notes · View notes

cozymochi · 6 years

Note

So this may have been asked before but does Yantan have any special moves?

Actually you’re the first person to ask ever lol TOO BAD IT’S A TAD LONG 😭😭

OK! SO LIKE… I did think about this. I’ve sat on this for a while. I’VE WANTED TO TALK ABOUT THIS FOR THE LONGEST SO THANK U FOR GIVING ME THAT OPPURTUNITY. It’s rather absurd but bear with me as i kinda prattle on this concept. Also the attack doesn’t have a name (yet).

Yantan knows what Yamcha knows (for the most part), as for her own “special moves” she has one particular ki-based attack she made up. A very bastardized modification of Yamcha’s spirit ball because when she was younger he didn’t want to teach her the actual spirit ball. …yet. It was kind of advanced and complicated for her at the time so he didn’t wanna teach her when she wasn’t ready. Out of pettiness and without his knowledge she wanted to try it anyway. (Spoilers: she couldn’t get the hang of its destructive nature. It was too much for her back then) .

Then at some point after a weird leap in logic and imitation it became, ok if HE can make up his own attack then so can she!! AAHHH!! What she ended up doing was something more arguably more unstable than the regular spirit ball. Instead of this medium dense ball of ki from ones hand, it eventually became like 7 smaller, even denser balls of ki from her head.

I don’t think I’m skilled enough yet to convey how it looks properly, so here’s a bunch of demonstrative scribbles between my janky explanations lol

During early experimentation it was incredibly taxing to conjure those things at all. She’d practically be paralyzed from stress and since she didn’t quite master focus yet to control such unstable ki, they’d just…. hover above her head and explode shortly after being conjured up. EVENTUALLY through a looot of trial and error she learns how to at least control one of them at a time. Unfortunately she still had to sacrifice movement, aaand those things would still explode if she didn’t get rid of them quick enough. (She’s addressed it’s impracticality but damn what determination does to a person)

BY THE TIME SHE’S OLDER THOUGH she more or less has a better understanding of her attack. When she’s idle those ki orbs pretty much orbit around her and she’s able to move. (Also no more explosions). BUT!

She can either control one at a time and retain her mobility but with lesser accuracy. (Cuz she has to also divide focus on keeping the other 6 idle)

OR! Control all seven at once with better accuracy but sacrifice general mobility. (they always move in a snake-like line for this)

She’s still learning how to refine it to be more effective buuuut YEAH. EITHER WAY their density does make it reasonably powerful, if a bit destructive without proper concentration. AND THAT DOES IT FOR ANY “SPECIAL MOVE” lol. At least for now. Thank u for your time! 💙😭💙

#cozy ask #omegajosh #lmao it’s really dumb but it’s certainly a thing #here’s this super flawed thing #I SHOULD’CE TOSSED THIS UNDER A READ MORE #Also p.s this ENTIRE attack is just one huge nod to her own origin #if the number wasnt obvious enough let alone the ‘snake like’ way all 7 move when controlled at once #there’s also like a third allusion too but hngh i need to double check my own train of thought #p.s.s she DOES learn the normal spirit ball at some point and uses knowledge from that to help her with her own [unnamed] attack #yantan

51 notes · View notes

springbudeyes · 7 years

Text

Mayhaven Botan Takes a Vessel

Mandor your Andor, reporting. Disclaimer: This may all have been a ruse. I’m not claiming that the real Botan of Mayhaven has appeared to me. I am, however, informing the community of what’s happened so that others might investigate the matter for themselves. It happened last night—February 19th. Someone (I won’t disclose the username, mostly because I don’t fully remember it) logged onto the Mayhaven server asking about some pricey purchases—namely, Beacons. I didn’t think much of it. I visited the dark tower the player was building. An obsidian monolith in the middle of a meadow, it contained four unlit beacons at its center. I left – again – thinking nothing of it. Awhile later, I was failing badly at first-tier parkour when the fellow chatted me up like – and I paraphrase (as with almost everything quoted hereon out) – “Hey, I’m about to destroy the solar system. Botan’s possessing my body and has forced me to build a large machine. All he needs is a button. If you bring me a button, I’ll be able to finish it. Would you like that?”

Context: Mayhaven’s Botan has been trapped in Ianite’s Quintessence bubble for quite a while now. His only means of (temporary) escape, apparently, is through the bodies of those who are or have been loyal to him, such as his disciples. Apparently, this player was one such vessel.

The player – being half himself and half Botan, I assumed – explained that the doomsday machine was virtually impossible to find and even harder to break. Hm... Difficult, indeed. I asked if the earlier obsidian tower might have anything to do with it. Indeed, that was the very structure, and the player had tried to warn me, but Botan had made the message unclear. Unfortunately, my /back history had expired; I had no way of finding the machine again, bar sheer dumb luck, and time wasn’t on my side; Botan warned that the machine would fire on the next full moon. Needless to say, I wasn’t sold. Parkour alone was proving enough of an impossibility as it was. Anyway, I called into question why Botan didn’t simply possess the player to go make a damned button. That seemed to go over well. Botan’s puppet proceeded to the redstone shop. Oh dear. I followed. And there he was, running himself into the doorframe, one half of his mind keeping him out, the other trying to shove him in. I watched the two sides of the poor guy war against each other (a bit comically). Then, I had a magical idea. “I’ll sell out all the buttons! With my ten million Mayhaven dollars, I can certainly buy them all.” I approached the clerk. The man didn’t even sell buttons. It told Botan. He didn’t believe it. He, too, approached the clerk, and upon seeing the inventory, flew into a seizure. He flailed around the shop, ran out into the street, and began trying to mow down the city guards with his bow and sword. Fortunately, they were protected by the gods’ magic. Eventually, Botan found his way to the prayer houses. My gut clenched a little when he entered Ianite’s sacred space, and then Sage’s. Both were important to me. Botan had done his homework. He didn’t try anything. He did, however, shriek a bit at the statue of Sage—something about being abandoned by her. The host became exhausted. I invited him to the fountain for a drink of water. Right then and there, he shifted. Botan’s dark, twisted face – which I had just recently noticed leering from beneath a diamond helmet – slipped away, revealing the pale, badly scarred face of a kind-looking man. This was the player’s true self. He couldn’t remember anything he had said to me, but he remarked that his hands were sore, as though he had been building tirelessly. I begged him to remember the location of the machine. He said he was normally good at delving into minds for information, but that in this case, he was, ironically powerless. He said he’d sleep on it. Then, he invited me to his home. We climbed a winding staircase past an elaborate treehouse. The stairs led to a cliffside dwelling with rooms bridged by scaffolds. Weary, the player fell a few times. He grumbled a complaint about the impractical stairs, to which I echoed, “At least it isn’t that damn parkour.” When we finally got to his bedroom, he collapsed onto his bed, entering a quick sleep. While he snored away, I reflected on a conversation we’d had moments before he passed out. I’d asked him if it was possible to remove Botan from his body by killing him. Of course not; he would respawn with the demon still inside. In that case, might it be possible to banish Botan along with the player? You know, “ban” them? The player considered it possible. So did I. But at the moment, we had no help, being the only two people online. I wished for a longer /back history. I also wished for the Nvidia sword the sky people had swung around in Ruxomar. Then, I realized that the player, in his sleep, had turned into a sheep. In a state of denial, I paced back and forth across the room. I pinched myself a few times, then hit the sleeping sheep with an ax. The player retook his human form, hit me back, and climbed back into bed as if nothing had happened. “Are you dreaming?” I asked, knowing that it was possible for a shape-shifter to unconsciously morph. The player responded, “No, but you are.” Thoroughly spooked, I waited some more. I set a home, went to organize something in my house, and returned to the player’s cliff home to find that he had transformed again, this time into a chicken. I considered whacking the chicken with my ax, but thought better of it and went to the shop to buy some seeds. By the time I returned with the seeds, the chicken was gone. I tried to coax the creature, but it seemed to want to lead me somewhere. I followed the chicken through the long halls carved into the cliffs. It rifled through chests, doing small errands, it seemed. Was this Botan’s work? Or was the player tapping into something? After a surreal few minutes, the player whispered, “Oh. Am I still a chicken?” Yes, I said. The player seemed ashamed, turning back to human form. Well, then! We found ourselves in a room full of machines. “Oh, right,” the player remarked. “All I need is /craft.” “What for?” I asked. The player was holding a wooden button. My finger floated over the handle of my ax. Just then, the player vanished. It was going down. “Dang!” said Botan. “I missed noon.” I breathed a sigh of relief. (And so did Chimalus.) Apparently, noon was another key time at which the machine could operate. I needed to find a way to Botan, but I was stranded. My only path was through the player. Hoping that he still had some control, I sent a teleport request. He tried to accept, but ended up typing something along the lines of, “/tpaccestp”. Botan was tripping him up. I sent another request, this time with an encouragement. “Just pretend it’s a word unscramble. Get those thousand Mayhaven dollars. It’s more than Botan’s gotten in his life.” The player loosed an unearthly shriek. I was getting through. “I just want to admire your machine,” I said. “You can admire my ax while it splits you in half.” My whole body clenched as I prepared to be teleported. Moments later, I arrived the same obsidian structure I had seen in the field. Botan – having wrapped the player once more in his dark, twisted skin – was at the base of the monolith, applying the wooden button to a console. But the beacons didn’t light. I still had time. Botan said he was waiting for the next sunrise; I took his word for it. I tried breaking the glass at the top of the spire. A magic barrier protected it. Past that thin layer, the tower’s interior was hollow; I could see the four beacons clustered at the base, surrounded by various machines. If I could just break that glass... “Trust me to build here,” I said. “You wish.” So it wasn’t that easy. Botan buzzed around the monolith, fine-tuning. I repeated the phrase, “Trust me,” throughout the afternoon. “What’s this machine going to do?” I asked. He said the machine was going to absorb the power of the sun and use it to destroy the entire solar system. In retrospect, it was a little bit like that new Star Wars movie I didn’t particularly like. Night came. “I’m bad at pvp,” I insisted. “Chimalus uses a trackpad.” There was more silence. “Trust me.” He wasn’t giving. I shot an arrow. He was protected from that, too. He stared back at me. I almost flinched. We continued the same song and dance until sunrise. That was when the beacons burst to life. Two beams red, two beams black pierced the sky. The entire solar system, huh? Just Mayhaven – heck, just one life – would’ve been worth me fighting tooth and nail against this Botan. Imposter or not, he was my enemy; at the very least, he was training for when I fought the real thing. Why was I shaking? Why was Chimalus shaking? If we couldn’t stand our ground against this fool in a mask, what chance would we have against the real, extra-dimensional monster? Suddenly, an arrow thudded into my helmet. I was shoved off the spire. I landed on my feet, barely injured; my armor and acrobatics were exceptional. Botan was positioning himself for another shot. I hid behind a tree. He returned his attention to the machine. When my flight was restored, I flew back up and fired. This time, it worked. Botan was knocked to the ground. I took a position in a valley while he got his bearings on a hilltop. He saw me. I fired, knocking him back. He brandished his ax and charged, but my arrows of slowness took effect, holding him at bay. Repeated shots pummeled him until he thought better of his approach and pulled out his own bow. He shot back, but I was the better archer (surprisingly). I ran out of arrows of slowness. He lifted his ax again. We met in melee. Our axes blazed, pounding against armor. The exchange went on for half a minute. Then, Botan withdrew. “Neither of us has taken damage.” So it was. Our golden apples had done their work. Perhaps our weapons were a tad too dull as well. And just like that, Botan said, “I have to go.” The player logged off. I flew back to the spire. The protective field was gone. I broke the glass, destroyed the beacons and surrounding machinery, and lastly, plucked the button from the exterior console. I left a note of apology in a chest containing all the griefed machine parts—all except one. Then, I went to my home village and placed my newly named wooden button – “Botan” – on the roof of my village breeder. Hopefully, that doesn’t come back to bite me. If anyone from Mayhaven wants to know the name of the player, I don’t know the full thing, but I remember part of it, as well as the player’s rank. Thanks for reading.

#mianite #mayhaven #botan #world historian #prince andor

7 notes · View notes

catsafarithewriter · 7 years

Text

Secret Santa: What Happens in the Cat Kingdom...

So, not so secret since Shelby is the one who got me going down this route, but, uh, Merry Christmas @tcrmommabear, and here is your Christmas present, which involves the Lost Ladies, the Bureau, and the ensuing chaos. (A bit of light-hearted humour for once!)

Haru hadn’t been sure what to expect upon meeting Baron’s sister.

Of course she figured that, being made alongside Baron, she would likely share a little of his... dramatic tendencies.

She didn’t disappoint.

Baroness Louise von Gikkingen was a tall, white-furred feline dressed in a long dusty-pink double-breasted jacket that swept all the way down to the hem of her green dress, compete with a matching cravat and parasol. Neat white gloves bore resemblance to Baron’s, and discreet lace lined both her dress and parasol. All in all, the whole attire was wholly impractical for anyone who dubbed themselves adventurers.

A little like Baron’s suit.

She didn’t come alone either; she was accompanied by a long-furred cat with white-and-tortoiseshell markings, not much taller but with more strength to her build. This was Persephone. Persephone was wearing a slightly more practical, but no less stylish, coat that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s coat. The tricorne hat and twin swords didn’t help matters much.

Louise was also not expected for another week.

Baron’s sister grinned at them, a grin that said the owner knew exactly what she was doing. “Baron. It’s been far too long. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, so I’ve heard.”

“As have you, it seems,” Baron replied. “How many of the stories are true?”

“All of them,” Louise promised, “except the boring ones.”

The twin Creations paused, considering the other, and then Louise swept Baron into a hug that looked like it could break bones. “Stop being so proper and hug your sister, dammit.”

“It’s good to see you too, Louise,” Baron managed. “May I introduce the Cat Bureau—?”

Louise released him. “But of course,” she said, bowing in a manner that was notably similar to Baron’s style. “Introduce away.”

Baron reclaimed what dignity he retained by returning to the kettle to distribute tea. He motioned to each Bureau member as he spoke. “Louise, this is Toto—“

“A pleasure.”

“—another Creation who helped me establish the Cat Bureau, and this is Muta—“

“Heya.”

“—who has been with the Bureau for nearly fifteen years now, and this is Haru—“

“Hi.”

“—a former client who has recently become part of the Bureau and,” there was only the slightest pause before he finished with, “a good friend,” but there was a knowing grin already on Louise’s face.

Louise bowed again, but this time in a movement that seemed far more natural, and motioned to her plus one with, “Baron, Bureau... Baron’s girlfriend—“

“Oh, I’m not—“ “We’re not—“ Haru and Baron protested.

“—may I present,” Louise continued, “the great and magnanimous once-Cat Queen and my ex-girlfriend, Persephone.”

The cat in the pirate coat rolled her eyes. “I wish you’d stop introducing me like that.” She looked to the Bureau with an apologetic smile. “I’m her wife. Of seventeen years, may I add,” she said pointedly to Louise.

“You’re Lune’s mother?” Haru asked.

Persephone perked up. “You know my son?”

“I... may have saved his life. And his wife’s. And almost been married off to both him and his father. And now be godmother to his kittens.” Haru smiled weakly. “Um, hi.”

“No way.” Louise turned to Baron. “You’re dating the hero of the Cat Kingdom??”

“Louise, we’re not—“

“I’m a hero?” Haru interrupted.

“Sure you are. Come on; you saved both the current Cat monarchs and caused the then-Cat King to abdicate? You’re a legend!”

Baron coughed tactfully at this point. “Of course, I suppose the stories also tell of a dashing cat who also helped...?”

“Oh, of course.” Louise turned to Muta. “Is it true you threatened to eat the entire castle?”

Haru watched as Baron took an aggressively large sip of tea, fascinated. She had never seen Baron so riled, and with so few words to boot.

“So, you’re the human who saved my Lune?” Persephone joined Haru, leaning against the sofa arm. “I suppose a thank you is in order then.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” Haru said quickly. Her mind jumped to the last time a cat had been in her debt. “Really. No need. At all.”

Persephone looked at her strangely, and Haru realised she was being Odd. Then the ex-Queen laughed — and it was a loud, abrupt laugh — and said, “Fair enough.”

“Is Louise usually so...”

“Not to quite this degree,” Persephone replied. She watched the Creations’ interactions with obvious amusement. “I think it’s a bit of sibling rivalry.”

“But Baron would never stoop so low—“

“I’ll have you know, I saved a princess from an unwanted marriage!” Baron’s tea was slammed down on the table, killing off whatever Haru had been about to say.”

Words failed Haru. “When...?”

“That’s you, Chicky,” Muta whispered. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, sure,” Louise replied airily. “I mean, kudos to you. You saved an almost-princess from an unwanted marriage. I just eloped with the Queen.”

“I can’t help feeling that you’re being a little sarcastic.”

“Me? Sarcastic? Never.”

“You know,” Haru said, “I always imagined that Baron’s sister would be as...”

“Emotionally constipated?” Muta offered.

“I was going to say as reserved as Baron, but that works too.”

In the time that Louise had been visiting, she had regaled then with countless stories, and Haru — given Baron’s own track record for the dramatic — would have believed them. All except for the wedding stories. She had told six conflicting versions so far of her and Persephone’s wedding, and each one getting progressively more outlandish.

“Accidental. As it turns out, you should probably research a world’s nuptial customs before visiting.”

“Online wedding. So, not a great service, but the reception was amazing.”

“We posed as pets for a year and our owners married us.”

“We disguised ourselves in the Cat Kingdom and got Natori to officiate it.”

“We never actually married; we just call each other wife.”

Haru rejoined Persephone, who was watching the precedings on the sidelines with a far too knowing look. “How many stories does she have?” Haru asked.

“Well, let’s simply say that if we wait for her to run out, we’ll be here for a while.” The cat took a long sip from her cup. “I hope your homeboy has a lot of tea stocked up.”

“Enough to sink a battleship,” Haru said. “So... what’s the real story? How did the wedding go?”

“Oh, there’s no story.”

Haru considered Louise’s behaviour so far, coupled with the fact that she was created alongside Baron. “I… find that hard to believe.”

“No. I mean there’s literally no story.” Persephone finished her tea and eyed the remaining sludge at the bottom of her cup. Then she grinned at Haru. “We don’t remember.”

“I... what?”

Louise snapped her head up, ending whatever remark she had been about to fire back at Baron. “Sephie...”

“Louise, they have to know sometime.”

“Yes. Next century. Let’s book it in the calendar and forget about it until then.”

“Louise...”

“Is that the time? Let’s go, Sephie; I think we have a party to crash in the Reptile Kingdom somewhere...”

Persephone gently grabbed Louise’s arm as the white cat started for the door, and steered her back to the group, strong-arming the parasol out of her grip and returning it to the coat-rack. “Louise, I think your family might want to know why they weren’t invited to the wedding, don’t you?”

Louise sagged and then sank down into the sofa, dramatically graceful even in defeat. “Fine. We don’t remember because we were blindingly, fantastically drunk that day. Happy?”

The Bureau exchanged glances, but Haru was the one to eventually raise a hand. “I have a few questions...”

Persephone leant down and kissed Louise’s head. “I’ll explain.”

“Fine.” Louise pulled her down to the sofa. “But sit while you’re talking.”

“Why? Are you missing me already?”

“Of course. But also together we look smoking hot and who are we to deny everyone that?”

Persephone laughed, throwing her head back and then leaning against Louise. “As you wish.” She looked to the waiting Bureau with a smirk as slanted as her pirate hat. “So, I believe the Human World has a place called Las Vegas...”

“Oh.” Suddenly Haru could see where this was going. “And the Cat Kingdom…?”

“Has Catmas.”

“Catmas? Like… cat-Christmas?”

“No, Chicky,” Muta said. “It’s literally called cat-mess ‘cause all the cats are in a mess the next day.”

Haru made a face at Muta. “I’m really struggling to tell whether you’re having me on because that’s just the way you talk but also it sounds like something the Cat Kingdom would actually do.”

“Oh, it’s legit,” Persephone said. “Plus, the Cat Kingdom has always been fond of its puns. So: Catmas. A festive held around the same time as your Christmas, involving much celebration and eating and catnip wine.”

“So much catnip wine,” Muta added, a tad wistfully.

“You always gave the impression you couldn’t stand the Cat Kingdom,” Baron remarked.

“Make decent catnip wine, and then we’ll talk.”

“Regardless, on Catmas, it’s not uncommon for couples to marry, provided they have the wedding rings and... not much else,” Persephone said. “You don’t even need an official cat to, well, officiate it. You just grab the nearest cat, sign the paperwork, and bamm. Married. We... wouldn’t have been the first couple to marry while under the influence of catnip wine.”

“What a night to have forgotten,” Louise sighed.

“So, simply put, that’s what happened. Like I said, there’s not a story.”

There was a pause as their audience digested this, and then Haru said, “Okay, so I might not know much about cat weddings, however close I got to one myself, but surely, if there are records, then there might be records of who officiated the wedding too? Perhaps they might be able to tell you how it happened?”

“She has a point,” Toto said. “I doubt anycat would forget marrying off their Queen.”

“Unless they were stinkin’ drunk too.”

Haru batted Muta. “That’s not helpful. Baron? What do you think?”

“I think that the current Cat King and Queen might just allow us to peruse their records if we ask nicely.”

After the Cat Kingdom adventure, Haru had assumed she would never meet Natori again.However, it turned out that only the ex-Cat King’s advisor had any idea how to navigate the old archives or the impractical dating system of the Kingdom.

“And why exactly do you wish to check the marriage records?” the old cat asked. Haru wasn’t sure Natori was ever enthusiastic about much, but he seemed particularly tired to be called out of retirement for something as trite as marriage records. Even the reappearance of the long-lost once-Cat Queen only caused a raised eyebrow. It seemed Natori was really doing his best to live a quiet life after everything.

“It’s for a case of utmost importance,” Baron said, and if there was a crack in his voice at the outrageous lie, Haru didn’t catch it. “We’re looking for a wedding that took place on Catmas, seventeen years ago.”

Natori made a face and started down the aisle of records. “You’ll have a job picking one out from the masses then. Seventeen years ago... that would have been the Year of the Lake Thief.”

Muta guffawed. “Guess what I was doing that Catmas.”

Natori spared a withering look to Muta and then pulled a heavy tome off a shelf. “Which names is it?”

Baron smoothly retrieved the book from the old advisor. “We’ll take it from here. Thank you, Natori.”

“Just don’t go making a mess. This room has a very strict system.”

“Yeah. Of nonsense,” Muta muttered. He grinned pointedly when he earned a final glare, and then dropped the smile when Natori left.

“Was the lake incident really on Catmas?” Haru asked quietly while the others flipped through the records.

Muta snorted. “Lots of things seem like a good idea on Catmas. Can’t remember much of that night. Unfortunately, a lot of other cats did.”

“And thus, Renaldo Moon, the legendary cat criminal, was born.”

“Hey, here it is!” Everyone crowded round Louise as she singled out a line. “On the Catmas of the Year of the Lake Thief, Her Majesty, the Great Cat Queen Persephone, the Just--”

“I didn’t write that title,” Persephone muttered. She leant over Louise’s shoulder and continued with, “--wedded Baroness Louise von Gikkingen--”

“--the Dauntless,” Louise added.

“How about the Reckless?” Baron offered.

“Try the Rude. I’m trying to read this. Wedded Baroness Louise von Gikkingen, which was officiated by... Renaldo Moon.”

There was a long, long silence. All eyes turned to Muta, who had paused, mid-bite of a fishcake he’d stolen from the Bureau before leaving. “Huh,” he eventually said, and swallowed his mouthful. “I really was busy that Catmas.”

Baron pinched the bridge of his nose and, very slowly and painfully calmly, said, “Muta. Why didn’t you ever tell me that you married my sister to the long-lost Cat Queen?”

“There was a lot of catnip wine drunk that year and I honestly don’t remember much of it.” He smirked. “Sounds like I had a blast though.”

“So, the good news?” Haru said. “We have the cat in question already here. The bad news: He remembers precisely zero about it too.”

Persephone flipped the book shut and returned it to its shelf. “Well, it was always a long shot, but at least we tried, Louise. Louise?” She turned to see her wife staring morosely at the wall of records. “Hey, Lou?”

Louise ignored Persephone and instead side-eyed Baron. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Baron.”

“What look?”

“The ‘my sister has just done something stupid’ look. At least I had the guts to propose, even if it is on a drunken Catmas night.”

“And what does that mean, Louise?”

“Oh, I don’t know; how about you ask your lovely lady client who you are obviously smitten with?”

Persephone froze, mid-way in trying to stop the ensuing argument, and at that point, backed away. “Nope. You’re on your own now, darling.”

“Louise,” Baron said, very very calmly, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drag Haru into this--”

“No, no,” Haru said. “Haru doesn’t mind being dragged into this. She has a point there.”

“Haru, please--”

“If you’re going to call out Louise for her choices, I think she’s allowed to fire back a few points about your love life.”

“Haru--”

“You jumped off a flipping building the first time I confessed how I felt.”

“That... I’m not... I wasn’t trying to... call out Louise’s choices. I was simply...”

“Judging,” Louise finished.

Baron sighed and then smiled at his twin. “Louise, after all the years we’ve known one another, do you think I’m going to judge you at all for getting drunk--”

“So very, very drunk,” Louise supplied.

“--and marrying the cat you fell in love with?”

“I think you’re a little surprised.”

“Granted. Yes, I am surprised. And yet, not as surprised as I thought I’d be. You have got a track record of jumping before you look--”

“Hark who’s talking,” Haru murmured.

“--but since when have you cared what the rest of the world thought?” he finished.

“It’s not that. It’s simply that...” and here Louise hesitated. She glanced away and met Persephone’s eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to think it was a rash, spur-of-the-moment, drunken decision. I mean, yes, I was drunk, but I had the rings, I was going to propose - I had it all worked out, it wasn’t meant to go like that--”

Persephone laughed, that same laugh that rang round the room, and brought Louise into an embrace. “You idiot,” she sighed softly. “Do you think I would ever have stuck around for so long if this wasn’t love? Adventures and fun aside, it’s being together that matters most. That’s the biggest adventure of all.” She paused, and then added, “But I do really like our regular adventures too.”

Louise laughed back, albeit a little weaker. “Duly noted.”

“So, is everythin’ sorted?” Muta finished the last crumbs of the fishcake. “We all good? Cause I couldn’t help noticing a buffet when we came in...”

“I think we’re good.”

“Does your sister always cause so much chaos whenever she visits?” Haru asked. She waved off the couple from the Bureau doorway. It had only been a few hours, but she already felt knackered.

Baron watched them leave with a feline grin that looked uncannily reminiscent of Louise’s mischievous smile. “Always.”

“Oh, okay.” Louise and Persephone vanished through the portal, and Haru looked to Baron. “Also, your sister is right. We need to talk about us.”

#the cat returns #tcr ficlets #cat writes #tcr secret santa 2017 #for shelby #the lost ladies #louisexpersephone #also warning like very long post #like nearly 3K #sorrynotsorry #accept my lost ladies ficlet #i love them too much is that a crime?

28 notes · View notes

toonstarterz · 7 years

Text

Having a lot of free time on my commute to boot camp has made me crazy enough to write an Ikarishipping fanfic. That ain’t a complaint by the way.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12660134/1/Empathetic

Rating: T

Pairing: Paul/Dawn

Summary: Gym Battles? Easy. Winning the Pokémon League? Child's play. Becoming Dawn's stupid boyfriend? Paul's greatest challenge.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, TPCi, or any of its properties. Bless you, Satoshi Tajiri.

~ Empathetic ~

Contrary to what people may think, Paul is not some stone-faced, unfeeling bastard. He has emotions just like everyone else. Serious. Bitter. Exasperated. That last one’s been happening a lot lately, and the cause of it comes from everywhere. His chimchar failing to meet expectations, the trainers in the corner that won’t shut up about Brandon of the Battle Pyramid, that blue-haired friend of Ash whose name alludes him that tries to get him to show a smidgen of compassion.

Paul is exasperated.

Paul’s hates useless small talk. He always answers people with only the minimum amount of words necessary–or a cold scowl if he can help it. But that girl–Dawn, right?–is tailing behind him after he exits the Pokémon Center and it doesn’t seem like she’ll leave him alone unless he talks to her.

He mentally groans. If he has to say something, he may as well be honest.

And so he talks. He talks about his dislike for Ash, his distaste for how similar the boy is to his brother Reggie, and how inane ideas like ‘trust’ and ‘guts’ annoy him to no end.

He expects Dawn to start spouting nonsense about how right Ash is, and how wrong he is. What he doesn’t expect Dawn to say is how people can have vastly different styles despite having similar beliefs, and how those contrary styles don’t necessarily make any one person wrong.

At least, that’s what she meant to be say. Her actual answer is much more simple-minded.

But the important part is that Dawn didn’t reject him like so many others, and when your training style goes against the majority rule, that’s oddly comforting.

Paul is thankful.

He runs into her again about a year later by chance. Yes, chance. He refuses to call it ‘fate’. He just so happened to be in the area following his win at the Lumiose Gym when he bumps into Dawn right in the middle of the north plaza. It’s probably his biggest surprise of the day, second only to the gym leader he’d just beaten that was also a talking robot. They exchange awkward pleasantries, and Dawn invites him over for lunch at Restaurant Le Nah. And it’s only because Paul has no excuse, and that he’s actually quite hungry that he agrees.

He plows through the double battle with just his weavile, and helps himself to an order of soup and breadsticks while Dawn enjoys her salad. She offers to foot the bill.

It’s only later that night that Paul realizes that, by pure definition, he went on a date with Dawn.

Paul is not displeased.

Paul is not fond of pokémon contests. They’re far too showy and impractical for his sake. But while he has no interest in contests, he can respect that pokémon coordinators need a mastery of skills are that are far beyond Paul’s level of understanding.

When he sees Dawn on the broadcast trounce the competition with a combination of discharge and ice beam to create a cage of electrically-charged ice, he is quite honestly impressed.

Next time they run into each other, he asks her to teach it to him.

So they set up a date, er, meeting the next day at a local park where they have a few practice battles and in no time, Weavile and Electivire have mastered the technique completely, albeit in a style more suited for battling. As a thank you, Paul offers to buy her a meal.

As they eat in silence, A girl with giant pink ringlets saunters up to them and starts giving them the third degree.

“This guy your boyfriend?” she asks, loud enough for the other patrons to hear.

“No, Ursula,” Dawn says, barely hiding the annoyance behind a smile. “This is Paul, one of Ash’s rivals from a few years back.”

Paul makes some sort of grunting noise that simultaneously says, “yes” and “back off” to this Ursula girl. She takes the hint and exits the restaurant with a satisfied smirk.

Paul is irritated.

Less than two months have passed, and word around the coordinator circle is that the esteemed Dawn is now dating some edgelord trainer named Paul.

Paul reads the excerpt in Coordinator Monthly, clicking his tongue in distaste.

If there’s anything Paul truly hated about being a pokémon trainer, it’s the publicity. Warding off reporters, kids badgering him for battling advice, that goddamned fanclub that arose when that photo of him in an undershirt leaked online. It’s why Paul travels alone, away from all the scrutiny so he can keep all his focus on training. But all of his attempts to keep a low profile were apparently all for naught.

Zoey is the first to confront him. He cooly brushes her off, simply stating that it’s mindless gossip and completely untrue. She leaves him alone after that, but not before giving him an eye that said “you try anything funny, and I’ll break your legs”.

Barry comes soon after that, demanding at the top of his lungs for an explanation lest he fine Paul for betraying him. Paul doesn’t know what he means by that, and frankly, he doesn’t care. He gives him the same answer he gave Zoey, word for word, and Barry eventually believes him.

At some point, Kenny steps up, and Paul saves the poor guy a lot of trouble by outright denying everything before he can even get a word in.

Paul is tired.

Paul excels at a lot of things. Training, battling, pissing people off, the list goes on. But the one thing he never got the hang of is being a socially functional human being.

So when Dawn invites him over to a banquet for coordinators as her plus-one, Paul is disinterested, as if trying to find some benefit to going that will help him be a stronger trainer.

“Why?” he asks far too directly, “Just ask someone else.”

“Everyone else is busy with other plans,” Dawn explains, a bit miffed. “And you’re my only friend left in the whole region!”

Paul stiffens, his mind stuck on the word ‘friend’. When was the last time anyone ever referred to him like that? Kindergarten?

“People will get the wrong idea,” he tells her gruffly. “And I’d rather not give them another reason to think that we’re dating.”

“Since when have you ever cared about what people think of you?” she counters.

Touché. Still, he’d like to keep the pests at bay, especially now that they’ve finally started to leave him and his nonexistent love life alone. But as far as he can tell, all the coordinators at the banquet will be people he’s already explained himself to, so the possibly of another rumor spreading should be exponentially lower.

“Fine.”

Paul is naive.

After a long day of training for the Pokémon League, Paul checks into the local Pokémon Center. Nurse Joy sympathetically tells him that they’re overbooked and that he’ll need to share a room with someone in order to stay. Not surprising, he surmises. The League challengers are always monopolizing the Center during this time. He’d much rather get his own room, but he can deal with bunking with some random trainer for the night.

As the nurse hands him the room key, it’s only then that he notices Dawn further down the reception desk, a room key in her hand marked with a number the same as his own.

That night, he glances from his book as Dawn exits the shower, clad in a white rope, and her glistening, blue hair hanging over her bare shoulders.

Paul is frustrated.

Paul is a man of routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, train, eat lunch, train, eat dinner, read a book, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. If something were to incorporate itself into his precious time, it would have to be something of great importance.

How Dawn managed to sneak her way in there, he’ll never know.

Today, Paul is listening with one ear as Dawn laments on making the semifinals of the Unova Grand Festival. She hasn’t made it this far since Sinnoh all those years ago, and understandably, she’s nervous out of her mind.

He notices Dawn’s fidgeting hand, so he places his own ice-cold palm on top of it in an attempt to calm her down. “You’ll be fine,” he says offhandedly, not even looking up from his phone.

Dawn eyes bug out, and she goes red in the face, as though Paul has violated her in some way. When she realizes that this was Paul’s weird way of showing affection, she smiles softly, and places her other hand on top of the pile.

“Thanks Paul,” she says with a sigh of relief, “You’re a good friend.”

Paul is ignorant.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

It doesn’t show on his face, but Paul feels like he was just blown back fifty feet by a hyper beam. He swerves his body to stare at Dawn as if she’s grown a second head. He scrutinizes her, looking for some trace of teasing on her expression, some hint of humor in her body language, any sort of indication that she’s only pulling his leg.

There is none.

“Why?” he asks, with all the careful seriousness he uses in battle. “I don’t date people.”

“I know, but…” Dawn bites her tongue, trying not to sound foolish. “I really like you, you know? I mean, you’re smart and determined and not as heartless as everyone says you are.”

Paul thinks she’s rationalizing. That she must be blinded by some great desire for romance that she’s ignoring all the very obvious reasons why he would not be a good boyfriend in any respect. At least, that’s what he thinks at first. He knows from first-hand experience that while Dawn can be naive, she’s not frivolous, nor is she the type to lead people on. In that case, she must honestly have some romantic interest in him, as absurd as that may sound.

And if he’s being completely and utterly and totally honest...he’s rather fond of her himself.

Just a tad.

“Fine,” he says curtly. “I’ll go out with you.”

A jubilent smile stretches across Dawn’s face, and she immediately starts listing off places to go on their first “official” date, while her boyfriend of three seconds grumbles in agreement.

Paul is content.

Paul nibbles down just below Dawn’s collarbone, eliciting a faint moan from the coordinator. He gently pushes themselves onto the bed, and slowly moves his tongue down Dawn’s figure while she straddles his waist.

At this moment, Piplup steps into the room and squawks in horror. In the shadow of darkness, all he can see is a big, scary man forcing himself onto his beloved trainer.

Piplup launches forward with a drill peck, and Paul screams loud enough to wake up the entire Pokémon Center.

While her boyfriend gets checked for rectal damage, Dawn takes Piplup into the hospital lobby to have a magnificently awkward talk about human relationships.

Paul is humiliated.

Paul isn’t sure how to feel at the moment. One the one hand, he’s just accomplished a huge part of his dream that many trainers could only hope for. On the other hand, he feels weak in the knees, as if all the attention on him is physically beating him down into the ground. Or maybe that’s just the solid gold trophy in his grasp.

“Congratulations, Paul,” Cynthia says to him with a tender smile. “May you carry the title of Sinnoh League Champion with honor.”

“Thank you.” Despite of himself, Paul smiles. As of now, nothing could ruin his relatively good mood.

At least until the press conference.

With the reporters and cameramen bombarding him like a machine gun, Paul resists the urge to curse them out and instead puts on a face of what he hopes is dignity.

“Mr. Champion, what’s the secret to your immense strength?”

“How do you respond to the allegations that you’ve abused your pokémon with illegal stimulants?”

“Is it true that you are dating Top Coordinator Dawn?”

“No comment,” Paul spits. “Next question.”

The next onslaught of paparazzi is even more ravenous, and after an hour of fending off the vullabys, Paul retreats to his hotel room. Dawn is there with a cup of tea and a comfy bed.

Paul is drained.

Paul hardly doubts himself. Oh sure, ninety-nine percent of things annoy him to no end, but barely anything makes him self-conscious. He’s so used to people chastising him for his harsh training methods that such things now slide off like butter. Years of being called a douche, a stick-in-the-mud, and an asshole has given Paul a lot of thick skin.

But when a young trainer actually called him a ‘nice guy’, Paul visibly bristles.

Worst yet, his former rival Ash Ketchum is there when it happened. As a precocious little boy dashes off in excitement after receiving the Sinnoh Champion’s autograph, Ash is giving Paul the most aggravating yet genuine shit-eating grin the latter has ever seen.

“A ‘nice guy’, huh?” Ash lightly teases. “I always knew you had a heart.”

Paul glares back at him as if to mentally punch him in the face. It isn’t the first time someone has accused him of getting ‘soft’, and it’s a trend that’s been bugging him for over a year now. They always say that it’s in the little things, such as the hint of warmness in his fierce eyes, or how he now compliments his pokémon about five percent more often than usual. And every damn time, they always say it began when he started dating Dawn. Paul cringes at the possibility of losing his edge to romance.

“No need to worry,” he tells the young man with the pikachu on his shoulder. “That’s just the image I have to put on as Champion. Absolutely nothing’s changed about me.”

Paul glances aside, having made his point. He hopes that Ash, is his infamous ability to take everything at face-value, will drop the subject after that. But when he sees the guy stifling a laugh, a surge of rage rushes over Paul’s body.

“What?” he barks.

Ash crosses his arms, knowingly. “You just said ‘No need to worry!’ You’re talking like her now!”

It takes all of three seconds for the the color to drain from Paul’s face. He races forward in shame, trying to hide his mortified expression from Ash’s exuberance. No amount of humiliating defeats could rival the terror that comes with adopting your girlfriend’s catchphrase. He stops in the middle of a clearing, his mind racing as Ash catches up to him.

At what point had Dawn brainwashed with all these flowery emotions? Paul considers smashing his head with a rock to self-induce amnesia and revert back to his old, happily unhappy self. But then he remembers there’s too much to lose.

Like it or not, Dawn had been good to him–like a spoonful of bitter medicine that tastes awful at first, but makes you feel better in the long run. Whenever he was doing more than his daily ten hours of training, Dawn would remind him to eat dinner. Whenever he forgot his ‘please and thank you’s, Dawn would punch him in the arm. Whenever the stress of being Champion was too much and he sentenced himself to solitary confinement, Dawn would drag him out so they could watch Cleavon Schpielbunk movies over ice cream sundaes.

Indeed, every ounce of logic was screaming that Dawn was ruining him. But in his shriveled up, raisin-like heart, he knows that Dawn is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And that feeling he gets when Paul realizes that he, the man who worked through blood, sweat, and tears to get to the top, couldn’t handle the fun-loving nature of his own wonderfully imperfect girlfriend can only be summed up in the most prominent word in his dictionary.

Paul is pathetic.

#pokemon #pokeani #dawn #paul #ikarishipping #fanfiction #zoey #barry #kenny #ash ketchum #cynthia #piplup #ursula

215 notes · View notes

sweetwatersound-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Broken Snowglobe: A Christmas in Riverdale (Part 1)

Hey guys! So I’m going to try posting this story first on Tumblr...it’s meant to be fairly short but if it goes for longer I’ll use AO3.

What I’m intending to do here is snippets of Christmas in Riverdale. This first part is seen through Betty’s eyes. It takes place right after events of Season 2′s premiere.

THE BROKEN SNOWGLOBE

Some places are ghost towns in December. Quiet as a whisper, with buildings sandwiched between layers of packed snow, while wisps of ice swirl from the sky like chips in a white kaleidoscope. This scene of desolate beauty haunts with its untold story of a Christmas buried and resting.

Other places know a different story. These cities awaken to the holidays as if a special jolt has been added to the coffee. With vibrant electric lights winking along to the seasonal street music, the holidays burn their brightest here.

But what Betty had always loved about Christmas in Riverdale fell in between these two cards. From the town sign, greeting tourists and delivery trucks alike frosted in white glitter, to the crystal teeth lining the underbelly of Sweetwater River’s bridge, Christmas held the last surviving magic of Betty’s childhood.

Remarkably, this year Pop Tate still had a tree cut to a perfect fit for inside his Chocolate Shoppe. His diner’s hot cocoa recipe remained a consistency of chocolate milk and marshmallow foam, and he’d switched the cable lighting from standard fluorescent halos to vibrant reds and greens.

Sitting alone in her booth, Betty sighed, taking it all in. Someday soon, she’d no longer be witnessing the season on a middle platform. Riverdale in its Thomas Kinkade splendor would be replaced with what Elizabeth Cooper saw. Elizabeth Cooper saw her neighborhood, years ago a contender on Christmas Light Fight! barely flickering in the bottom half of December. She saw volunteers from St. Lucy’s Parish collecting food, clothes, and toys for donation drives, only to lose a third of their inventory after their cars were broken into. It was like watching an alchemical process in reverse: the tiny stars floating under the street lamps became frozen rain drops.

A merry set of bells chimed at the entrance to announce Veronica Lodge’s arrival. Nostalgia blurred Betty’s senses - her best friend was wearing the same black cape as the one she’d worn on the night the girls had first met. A friendship between them had seemed unlikely at that time, with Veronica turning Archie Andrews’s head in a way that Betty never could. And now, here she was, shedding snow clumps while making a beeline towards Betty, tsking loudly, “Am I late for it, or did just no one show up?”

Betty frowned, suddenly wondering if a memory of herself mailing invitations for anything was lost in the wind. Rolling her eyes, Veronica slid into the seat across from her. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since moving to this snowglobe of despair, it’s that Betty Cooper never turns up at Pop’s without an idea of how to make it all better.”

“Make it…Riverdale better, you mean? As in, a place that isn’t throwing Jughead in with the snakes?” After Forsythe Pendleton Jones II went to jail for charges related to being mixed up with the worst of people, his son Forsythe III – more endearingly known as Betty’s boyfriend Jughead – had been circling closer and nearer to the notorious Serpent gang for help.

Even though Betty had already gotten Jughead his Christmas gift, she felt this pull, this driving need to do even more for him. Yet here she was at Pop’s, drinking hot cocoa as Veronica reminded her what her normal goals would be. Nothing made Betty sadder than hearing what she should be doing from someone else.

“Mm, Jughead,” agreed Veronica, adding, “Meanwhile, I’m conscience-wrestling over a father who hasn’t realized yet that he’s still playing real-life Monopoly when everyone else has stepped off the board.”

Betty’s family had never much been into high-stakes competitive board games. Being headed by a pair of journalists, they’d usually played charades, or word games, like Scrabble. Although, there had been one Friday night several winters back – Hal Cooper had brought out a standard deck of cards and dealt a Texas Hold Em game, the winner making the call on where they’d host Christmas that year. He’d coached Betty a bit before, so she’d had an edge over her older sister Polly. However, Alice Cooper had surprised them all by gambling to obtain her hand of queens and keep them home for the holidays that year. And now, in spite of being able to see more cracks through the window these days than actual window, Betty found the image of Hiram Lodge jumping around his desk bellowing in her mother’s voice, “Bow to your Yuletide Goddess!” slightly uplifting.

“You’d better not be laughing at me,” warned Veronica, sounding only a tad menacing. Betty threw her hands halfway in the air, surrendering. “The point is that my friend, Betty Cooper, never accepts crap the way it is just because it is.”

“Maybe Elizabeth Cooper does, though,” muttered Betty, fishing the last marshmallow out of her drink.

Even if she didn’t wholly understand Betty’s third-person reference, Veronica’s raven head tilting in her direction indicated rapt attentiveness. “Well, maybe Elizabeth Cooper wouldn’t mind doing some last-minute holiday shopping with me. Pretty please with a shiny red Christmas bauble on top?”

Betty couldn’t stop a smile from curling her lips, so she decided, “Alright. But we’re going traditional, V. Stores, not phones.”

An exaggeration of scandal and horror befell Veronica “Too Posh to Even Own a Purse Dog” Lodge, evaporating moments later with the wink of a rich coffee-brown eye. “Girl, why do you think I found you here to begin with? As fun as the other way would have been, I do Amazon better solo.”

Rising out of the booth, Betty zipped her rose-white snowboarding jacket to her chin – the large public thermometer pinned outside Pop’s entrance had read 32 degrees Fahrenheit when she’d first come in, and had likely dropped since. She eyed Veronica’s glistening cape as the other girl flipped its damp hood over her head. As dear as this cloak was to her, the more Elizabeth part of Betty saw the potential trouble its impracticality could present them on their shopping trip.

“Veronica? How would you feel about making a pit stop at Zumiez?”

“Who-miez?”

Now it was Betty’s turn to roll her eyes. “C’mon,” she said, wrapping an arm around her friend, “I need to get something for you anyhow.”

#riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale christmas #bughead #varchie #beronica

7 notes · View notes

treebananas · 7 years

Text

Tale As Old As Time

Whoo y'all this fic took a lot out of me, but it is definitely one of my favorites that I've ever written.

Disclaimer: I do not own Maggie Steifvaters characters nor do I own any of the beauty and the beast plot. I've used lyrics from the songs, lines from the script, and a description for the beast, but they are not mine, they are the beauty and the beast production teams.

Summary: beauty and the beast au where Adam is belle, Ronan is the beast, blue is Maurice, and tad is gaston. Pynch week day 2: musical au Adam/Belle POV

Word count: 5507

Adam Parrish and Blue Sargent lived together in a small village in the town of Henrietta, Virginia. The two are the closest thing to family that they have. Blue had family, but left to pursue her own life. They worked together perfectly because they had a mutual interest in making things. Blue made clothes while Adam made inventions. The provincial village disliked the two of them and called them funny. Adam guessed they were. The village people and Adam and Blue had different views on living in general. They didn't like how Blue spoke her mind and wasn't as clean cut as the rest of the women. Blue wasn't a slave to her husband and she loved being single. Adam on the other hand needed to be more demanding in the people's eye. He has to be with Blue in a romantic relationship because living together without any relationship was sinful. Adam and Blue liked their situation because it suited them. Adam would never complain about the hateful town. It was heaven compared to his old life. The village people couldn't see that. They were uptight and rigid and their opinions couldn't be swayed, but the rent was cheap.

Adam started another long day by going into the crowded marketplace for the morning chores, but Adam had an early morning and Blue was working on a design for a fashion fair. The marketplace wasn't as bad this morning as it usually was. He could deal with the whispers and gossip that floods the streets as long as he could get his hands on his favorite book, Alice in Wonderland. Something about the book gives him the sense of childhood he had ruined for him.

Adam returned back to the cottage in about two hours with clean clothes, food for two days, and his favorite book.

He called out, “Blue, I'm home!”

He heard a returning, “I'm in the workshop. I need your help.” and ran to the room.

The workshop was the biggest and most important room in the house besides the room that Blue and Adam share for a bedroom. It's as colorful on Blues side as it is gray and monochrome on Adams side. It's full of the most useful invention and stylish clothing; it's also filled with impractical shit and hideous choices of colors. Blue and Adam worked side by side in this space creating the most marvelous goods. They would trade comments, test products, and listen to music through one of Adam's inventions as they worked.

Adam moved over to Blue’s colorful work table to see what she was working on. Blue was using one of Adams most effective inventions. It was a machine that did the sewing for Blue, so all she had to do was put fabric in and she could manipulate it to her desire.

“This ducking machine stopped working.” She barked.

Adam sorted and put the white thread in the right place and turned the wheel slightly. The foot moved briskly up and down placing the stitches in the right place.

She mumbled, “thank you,” and got back to work.

The clothing piece was turning out stunning; the colors were meshing together perfectly and made the piece tell a story.

Adam was brought out of his reverie by a knock on the front door. He jumped back and went to see who would interacts with ‘the crazies.’ At the door was Tad Carruthers, the town's most handsome bachelor, who had his eyes on Adam since Adam came into this village. Adam rolled his eyes secretly, but he let Tad in. Adam stood in the doorway, so Tad couldn't walk into the cottage.

He mustered the biggest, most fake smile and said, “Tad, what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Isn't it though.” Tad boasted. “Such a pleasure.”

Adam held back the scowl making its way onto his face and instead insisted, “It's always nice to have some conversation, but if it's not important, I have to get back to my inventions-”

“What are your thoughts on marriage?” Tad blurted.

Adam knew where this was going, but his eyes still bulged, “Marriage?”

“Yes, a handsome guy like yourself must have had thoughts about it. You are always thinking.”

“I can't say I've thought too much. All I have to say about it is that it will be at the right time and with the right person.”

“You're young, I'm young. What's a more perfect time?”

“Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

So you are as dense as the village people say you are. Yes, Adam, I'm asking you to marry me.”

“Tad, I..I just don't deserve you.”

“The only other person that deserves me is me. You're a close second.”

“I'm sorry, I just can't.” Adam said, pushing Tad out the door.

When Adam told Blue this, she cried laughing.

“Could you imagine? He asked me to marry him. Me! The husband of that boorish, brainless…”

“Mister Carruthers!” Adam picked up a piece of some fabric laying around and draped it over his head. “Can't you just see it?!”

“Mister Carruthers!” He picked up a piece of scrap metal and pretend-shot it like a bow, “His other half!”

“No, Blue! Not me ! I guarantee it! I want much more than this bigoted life!”

He sighed, “I just want a different life than the village people, including Tad have planned.”

Blue exhaled and nodded, “Once I go to this fair, I'll be picked up by a fashion company and we can finally move to a better place with no snobs or fucking Tads. We can just..be.”

@ @ @

Blue left the next morning with her designs and a cart made of entirely Adams creation. It had everything Blue needed.

“It's just a few days,” Blue said as they hugged. “I'll be back before you know it.”

That was five days ago. Needless to say, Adam was worried. Sometimes Blue would stay a couple extra days if she liked the town or city, but they had an agreement to not stay five or more days. Adam decided to get out of the house and distract his mind from his anxious thoughts.

In the distance, he heard a horse whinnying. His eyes caught Gwenllian, Blue and Adams horse. Blue took Gwen to her fair and had Gwen pull the cart. Gwen wasn't connected to the cart or the harness appeared to be broken. She was waking up the entire village with how loud she was.

“Woah, girl calm down.” Adam tried to comfort, “Is Blue alright?”

At the sound of Blues name, Gwen cried out. Fear crept upon Adam.

Quickly, he said, “Alright, take me to her.”

He mounted Gwen and she took off galloping. She brought him last the village walls and into the deep forests that surround the town. She ran Blue normal path out of the woods until she turned a smaller, unknown path which took them deeper into the woods. Adam swore he could hear wolves howling in the distance. Through the woods, was a clearing. A huge, gray building was peering through the leaves. As they approached the building, Adam saw the turrets and grand steps. Not a regular building. Around the clearing all the trees and shrubbery was brittle and dry. Any architect would gape at the angles and smooth edges; Adam could draw it everyday and still find some new part of the exterior. Adams has dropped as Gwen continued to the castle.

“Wait here.” Adam told Gwen as he walked up to the unnerving castle steps.

He walked through the large door and called out, “Blue!”

He heard whispering around the main floor. Then, he heard coughing coming from a wing of the castle.

“Blue!” He screamed as he grabbed a neat candelabra and raced to the noise.

When he finally saw Blue, he saw the jail cell and threw himself down to meet her face.

She looked at him with a confused look on her face, “Adam?”

“Blue, I'm here. I'll get you out.”

“No, Adam. You have to get out of here and go home; forget about me. Quick, before he sees you!”

“Who sees me?”

A gruff voice called out, “What are you doing here?!”

A growl came from Adam's front left where he suspected the thing was lurking.”

“Let my friend go!” Adam demanded.

“Then who would pay her crimes?” The creature growled, “unless you would want to take her place.”

Silence came as Adam thought. “Come into the light.” He instructed.

Thee thing scoffed, but did as it was told. When the creature was illuminated, Adam saw the most hideous mix of a lion, buffalo, gorilla, boar, wolf, and beat. Adam flinched back, closing his eyes and reopening.

Adam mustered up his courage and clearly said. “Yes.”

Beside him, Blue cried, “Adam, no!”

“It is done.” The beast told, as he threw Adam in the cell and grabbed Blue.

“Don't hurt her!” He exclaimed, but it was no use.

He looked around at the cell walls and bars. This is where he would live forever. In his mind, Adam knew he should be rethinking his decisions, but he couldn't find one regret. Adam just hoped that there was a least a tiny bit of humanity in the talking creature that he would give Adam food. Unfortunately, it was fruitless to hope. These four walls were Adams future.

@ @ @

Adam woke up to sounds of creaky doors. This wasn't a dream. Adam thought to himself. He followed the sounds he heard and saw an open door, but no human to open it.

“Down here!”

Adam looked down to see the candelabra he picked up last night and a clock. He jumped back and screamed. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“What the fuck?” He muttered.

“Name’s Henry, this is Noah. We're here to show you to your room.”

“Ronan's not gonna like this.”

“How is this possible?”

“A heartbroken warlock.”

“We can't tell you more.”

“My room?”

“Did you really think we weren't going to give you a room?”

“No?”

“Ronan might not like it, but we’ll just sick Gansey on him.”

Henry and Noah showed him to the east wing of the castle. They told him it was Adam’s bedroom. His bedroom was a beautiful room that could fit five of Blue and Adams workshops. The decor was simple, a desk, wardrobe, and huge bed. It was a room fit for a duke.

“While you're here.” Noah spoke. “Know that some objects are cursed people, the wardrobe including.” And with that they left.

Curious to what Noah was saying, Adam sauntered over to the wardrobe. It was fancy and delicate plastered with the mint green theme of the room. Hesitantly, Adam knocked on its wooden doors. It sprung to life. One half seemed to shine like a sunshine. The other side stayed prim and proper.

A teenage boys voice filtered through one of the doors, “A human? Finally, it's been getting lonely.”

A silky smooth voice like the beasts carried through the other half, “Really? I'm having trouble believing that you're lonely when we share a wardrobe and have for gen years.”

“Shut up, Declan.”

“Matthew where are you're manners?”

“Up my wooden ass.”

“Matthew!”

“It's so nice to see something that has actual skin.”

Adam cleared his throat, “Well, that Beast is holding me prisoner forever, so you'll see me a lot.”

“I swear to g-d when I'm human again. I'll be the first to punch him.”

“Declan! Get in line.”

Adam cleared his throat again, “I have to ask, why are y'all cursed?”

“We can't tell you. Only Ronan can.”

“I'm Declan, the oldest brother and heir to the throne. My other half is Matthew, the youngest child and literal sun. Ronan, as you call the Beast, is the middle child.”

“Trust me, Ronan is just easily angered. He’all calm down.”

As in cue, loud banging shook Adams room. The beasts loud voice followed, “Get the fuck downstairs for dinner.”

Adam called out a response, “I'm not hungry.”

A moment of silence, then a sign, “will you come down for dinner?”

“No”

“I...would...love if you could...come down for dinner...please.”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine, then go hungry for all I care. If he doesn't eat with me, he doesn't eat at all.”

@ @ @

Moments later silent tears still ran down Adams face. Part of him wished to run after the beast and beg for forgiveness and maybe that way, the beast might take mercy and let her go. He knew he couldn't think about life back home with Blue, but his mind wandered. How was Blue? Was she thinking of him? Did she miss him as much as he miss her? He also thought to what Blue would do in his situation. The answer was quite clear. He had to find something good in this tragic place even if his home, his heart was too far away. He would also have to build walls around himself. He could do this for Blue as long as she was home and free.

A knock at his door startled him. In strolled a teapot and teacup on a cart.

The teapot spoke with a politicians voice, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Adam smiled, “That would be lovely.”

The teapot poured itself into the teacup. Adam lifted the teacup to his face and took a sip. The tea warmed all the way to his heart and chest. On its way down, Adam heard an inhumane noise erupt out of the teacup. He looked closely and saw a face adorned on the teacup.

“That was such a brace thing you did for your friend.” The teapot admitted. “We all think so.”

“I like you! I'm Opal!” The teacup screeched.

The teapot and Adam laughed. “I'm Gansey.”

“And I'm Adam.”

“Say Adam how would you like some dinner?”

“But what about ‘if he doesn't eat with me, she doesn't eat at all.’”

Ganseys look said it all. The three headed downstairs awaiting the dinner.

@. @. @.

Adam walked down the grand stairs with Gansey and Opal by his side. They led him into a ginormous dining room where the chair pulled out and tucked Adam in by itself. On the table was Henry and Noah.

Henry spoke, “Ah Adam! What an honor it is for you to join us this evening. Now watch as the dining room proudly presents your dinner! Please dig in. Be our guest!”

Dinner was a long affair. Music filtered out of the piano in the corner and Henry and Noah did a dance routine that was wonderfully choreographed. Every so often, Noah would remind them to quiet down, so Rona didn't hear. The occupants made an amazing meal with a mysterious gray stuff that melted in Adams mouth. The food made Adam sleepy and full. Adam mentioned to Gansey that he wanted a tour of the castle before bed. Noah called off dinner immediately and went to join the group for the tour. Henry put on his best tour guide voice and showed Adam the library and lower parts of the castle.

When the reached a certain room, Gansey took over and asked, “Say Adam, what do you know about Welsh Kings?”

@. @. @.

At some point during the tour, the objects made intense eye contact, but did not mention the huge staircase leading up to the wing. Adam asked about the bathrooms and when he saw the objects turn, he ran.

The wing was dark gloomy. It was covered in cobwebs, ripped clothing, and claw marks. There were pictures along the walls, but only one Adam could make out what the picture depicted. It was a man and women with three children all in royal outfits and huge smiles. The man and two oldest children had black slicked back hair and features that could cut glass. The women and youngest child had unruly, but flowing blonde curls and soft faces. The whole family shared striking, clear blue eyes that matched the beasts eyes. Over the middle childs face were long, deep, slash marks.

Adam moved to the center of the room where the moonlight hit a pedestal that held a mirror and glass case. In the mirror, Adam saw his face clear as day. He saw something move, but nothing was there. In the glass case was a raven with the feathers falling off. At the bottom were several of the black feathers. He saw that the raven did not have many feathers left.

The Beast appeared suddenly and screamed at Adam, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU COULD OF DONE?! YOU COULD OF DAMNED US ALL!! LEAVE, GET OUT!!”

The beast lunged at Adam, then observed the glass case. Adam screamed and ran. He high failed out of the west wing and bolted down the stairs to the door ignoring the screams from Gansey, Henry, and Noah.

He ran out of the haunted castle and rode Gwen into the thick woods. He was surrounded by trees and the pitch blackness of night. He didn't get very far when he stopped and heard the howling of the wolves. Their growls came from every direction and he knew he was screwed. He grabbed a stick as a weapon just as the first wolf attacked. He fought them as best he could, but he was outnumbered. He heard a deeper, more threatening growl and his first thought was shit more of them, but Adam was wrong. It was not more wolves, for it was the Beast coming to Adams rescue. There was the Beast, there was Ronan coming to protect Adam. Adam tried to help, but Ronan's growl at him told him to stay away. He took on several at once, throwing them away as if they were nothing. He finished 15 with ease, but the next wolf got a cheap shot at Ronan. He yelled out before finishing the rest of the wolves. Adam and him stared at each other over the piles of unconscious wolves. Adam was about to say something before Ronan's eyes became half lidded and he collapsed. Adam glanced at Gwen, then back at Ronan. He looked so vulnerable laying there in the cold snow. His wound was bleeding and he would die if Adam left him without help.

He crouched by Ronan's side and whispered, “I need your help. I need you to stand.”

Ronan shakingly obeyed and together they got Ronan on Gwen's back.

Together they would make it back to the castle.

@. @. @.

“Ow!”

“Stop fucking moving!”

“You're hurting me!”

“Well, I'm sorry, tough guy, but suck it up. And stop moving!”

Ronan pouts but hands his arm back to Adam. Adam looks at him, but applies water to his cuts anyways.

Ronan hisses and snatches his arm away, “This never would've happened if you hadn't run away.”

“I never would have run away if you hadn't of frightened me.” Adam said back.

“Well, you shouldn't have been in the west wing.”

“Well, you should learn to control your temper.”

Ronan humpfed and turned over, showing Adam has wounded back. Adam got more water to clean them, but decided against it. He rings out the water and stands.

“I think we should all get some rest. See you tomorrow.”

Adam is almost out the door before he hears Ronan calling him.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Adam smiles, nods, and walks back to his room.

@. @. @.

Days turned to months and Adam was still a prisoner at the castle. The days at the castle weren't as bad as to be expected. Ever since the wolf attack, Ronan hadn't been as hostile towards Adam. He could keep a conversation with Adam and they spent most meals together. Ronan was acting slightly more human like everyday. He would sit on chairs like a person and he and Adam made a compromise to sip from the bowl instead of attacking it or eating with a spoon. Adam would sometimes bring books from the library and read them during dinner.

Adam was delighted when he found Alice in Wonderland in the shelves. He brought it to the table and when Gansey came over to talk to Ronan, he pulled it out. He started reading from the beginning.

Ronan saw what Adam was reading and dropped his cup on the ground. Gansey ran to get someone to clean up the spill.

Adam asked, “Have you read this book before?”

“Alice was beginning to get very tired from sitting by the bank with her sister, and having nothing to do: once or twice she peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations on it…” Ronan recited.

Adams mouth gaped open. “You know it by heart?”

Ronan nodded, “It was my father's favorite. I used to go into your room and read it to Matthew and Declan because they couldn't read it anymore.”

And that was it.

One night, Adam came downstairs in some garments Matthew and Declan forced him in to find Ronan waiting at the bottom of the steps talking to Henry, Noah, and Gansey, but stopped at Adams arrival.

Henry whispered something to Ronan which he replied, “it's red?”

Henry and Noah groaned and Henry whispered something else in his ear. Ronan's eyes widened before nodding.

Ronan stepped closer to Adam, “Parrish you look...um...good. Nice red suit.”

Adam laughed, “Thank you, Lynch.”

The two lad shared more personal details together such as last names, but why the castle was cursed, Adam did not know.

Ronan cleared his throat, “Come on, Parrish, there's something I wanted to show you.”

They walked for fifteen minutes down an area of the castle Adam hadn't seen before which was surprising because exploring the castle had been Adam's new found hobby. The hallways looked like the rest of the hallways did, gray and slightly creepy. They turned into a room and Adam let out a gasp. It was an engineering workshop that put Adam and Blue workshop to shame. In the far corner, were engineering books and on the other wall were so many tools that Adam hadn't even heard of some of them.

“My father used to hire inventors to make sure the castle had the latest technology. No one ever uses it anymore, so it's yours.” Ronan broke the silence.

“Mine?” Ronan nodded, “you rarely talk about your parents. Are they some object I've never met before?”

Ronan's face dropped. “No...they died before the curse happened.”

Adam pulled out some of the chairs from the workshops tables, “Im so sorry. I never asked you, how did the curse happen?”

Ronan sat down and his shoulders dropped, “it was my fault. After my parents died, I was depressed. I shaved my hair, obtained some new scars on my wrists, fought with Declan. I was a mess. The only people who could me from not ending my life were Gansey, Matthew, Noah, and Henry, but I started talking to a commoner from another kingdom. His name was Joseph Kavinsky. We would meet up street race, drink, and would sometimes fuck. I thought it was no strings attached, but he didn't. He-he fell in love with me and I told him I didn't love him and that he was just a coping mechanism. I never knew he was a warlock. He told me he would place a curse on my castle and all who lived inside it, so I would be as heartbroken as I made him. If I find who loves me and actually loves me, then the curse would be broken. If I don't find someone who by the time the last feather falls from the raven, then everyone I love turns to antiques and I remain a beast.”

Adam was left breathless, “So that's why you got so mad at me when I was in the west wing. Ronan...I'm so sorry.”

Ronan clicked his tongue. “Nothing for you to be sorry over. It's not your fault.”

“It's not your fault either.”

“Parrish.”

“I mean unrequited love sucks, but that's no reason to curse an entire castle.”

Ronan smiled a real and genuine smile unlike his usually smirks that Adam had gotten used to. A moment passed between them where they just stared at each other smiling.

“Wanna make use of the ballroom tonight?” Ronan asked.

“Like dancing?” Adam questioned.

“You can say no.”

Adam thought for a moment. “Id like that.”

@. @. @.

The castle was filled with a sweet presence that came with a ballroom dance. Everyone was excited for the twos dance.

Matthew and Declan dressed Adam in the most amazing silk suit. Blue would have appreciated the yellow color. He felt confident in the form-fitting garment.

He felt flutters when he walked down the steps leading to the first floor. His breath stopped as he saw Ronan on the opposite set of stairs. Ronan's outfit fit him snug and he looked lost until his eyes met Adams. They walked down the steps maintaining eye contact. Ronan outstretched his arm and met Adams.

Music led them to the royal bedroom where Gansey, Noah, and Henry were waiting for them.

Ronan drew Adam into his arms as Gansey started singing. His voice was a little shaky from misuse, but accompanied the dance perfectly.

Ronan certainly knew how to dance from his royal days, but was surprised to learn Adam knew how to dance as well. They moved together in perfect rhythm.

There were stepped on feet and apologetic glances, but overall the night went perfect. The two moved to the balcony to get some air as Henry and his lover Jiang took to the floor and danced the night away.

Ronan let out a breath, “I haven't danced like that in years.”

Adam laughed. “Me either. When Blue and I first moved in together, she thought it was outrageous that I never learned to dance, so she taught me.”

“Do you miss her, Blue?” Ronan asked.

“More than anything. She was my first friend before all this happened.”

Ronan was silent for a moment before continuing, “There is a way to see her.”

“There is?”

“Yeah.” Ronan pulled out the plain mirror and handed it to Adam.

“Show me Blue.”

The mirrors glass shimmered away to show Blue being shoved into a black carriage, the villagers surrounding her with fire, Tad at front.

“Oh my g-d!” Adam shrieked. “Blue in trouble.”

Ronan took a deep breath in, “then you should go to her.”

“I should?”

“She needs help.”

“But what about…”

“You're not a prisoner here, Adam. You haven't been in a long time.”

“But…”

“But nothing. Go.”

Adam reached to give the mirror back. “No. Take it with you so you'll always have a way to look back and remember me.”

Tears welled up in Adams eyes, “I could never forget you.” He leaned forward and kissed Ronan on the cheek, “I'm coming Blue, don't worry.”

@. @. @.

Adam heard Tads booming voice as soon as Adam entered the village. He seemed to be ruling the people up with his harsh words and thunderous voice. The people were following him blindly.

“Tad!” Adam screamed.

Tad let out a giddy smile at Adam arrival. It quickly turned mischievous in a split second, “Adam! It's so good to see you. I'm so sorry to hear about Blue.”

Adam furrowed his brows, “what about Blue?”

Tad put on a mask of remorse. “Blue went off the rails. You weren't here, so I took care of it. She'll be staying in a nice room at Monsieur Blacks asylum.”

“Blue isn't crazy; she's one of the most sane person I know.” Adam scoffed.

Tad whimpered in pity for Adam; the crowd followed. “But she is. She kept raving on and on about a beast.”

“But there is a beast.”

Tad sighed, “not you too.”

“And I can prove it.” Adam held up the mirror. “Show me the beast.”

Ronan's image flickered on the glass. When Adam showed Ronan, the village people gasped in fear.

“Is he dangerous?” One village person shrieked.

Adam replied almost immediately, “No he's very sensitive and gentle once you get to know him.”

Tad looked scandalized. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you have feelings for him.”

“You don't know me well enough to say that truthfully.” Adam retorted.

Tad sneered, “I may not, but I know monsters like that.” He turned to the crowd. “He’ll make off with your children, he’ll come after them in the night. I say we kill the beast.”

The crowd screamed approval while Adam screamed no.

Tad raised his hands up. “It's time to follow me.”

The village people grabbed torches and anything they could use as weapons. Some said prayers before they all took off towards the dark castle.

As soon as the last village was out of sight, Adam ran towards Blue who they forgotten about in the chaos. He threw his arms around her.

“Blue, I have to go warn Ronan.”

“Not without me you won't.”

@. @. @.

They arrived in the middle of the battle, objects vs people. Blue told him that she was going to help the castle and that he should go find the beast. He ran to the west wing as fast as he could in his yellow suit, dodging thrown plates, shovels, and miscellaneous objects. Adams heart was vibrating. What if he was too late?

He made it in time to see Tad leaning over Ronan, dagger in hand. Whatever he was saying to Ronan seemed to be the most painful thing Ronan ever heard. He looked like he was surrendering to Tads knife.

“Ronan!” Adam yelled.

Ronan opened his eyes. “Adam?”

Tad smiled murderously. “Adam! Just in time to see your lovely beast die.”

Ronan and Adam reached for each other as Tad plunged his knife into Ronan's chest.

“No!” Adam sobbed.

Tad took a step to the edge of the balcony to shadow over Ronan. Adam ran, knees buckling, and pulled Ronan's head into his lap.

Tad laughed, throwing his head back, “this is your fault Adam. If you had just married me, your precious Ronan would still be alive. Isn't it just a shame when things don't go exactly as planned?”

Tad laughed and laughed. He was laughing so much he didn't realize his feet went over the edge. Tad roared as he fell his death.

The two, finally left in privacy, stared at each other, tears running down Adams face. Ronan moved his paw to brush away the tears.

“You came back.” Ronan breathed.

“I wished I never left you.” Adam confessed.

“Maybe it's better this way.”

“Stop talking. Conserve your energy.”

“At least I got to see you one last time. Adam I…”

“Ronan? Ronan?”

Adam sobbed into Ronan matted fur.

“Ronan! Don't leave me! You're my home! I...I Love you!”

The castle grew eerily silent. Adam didn't see the last feather fall from the raven from his place in Ronan's chest.

He did see when a bright light washed over Ronan's body. It grew so bright that Adam had to look away. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a man dressed in a loose white dress shirt back tattoos and muscles visible. The man stared at his arms and sobbed with relief. He turned around and Adam could see his entire body. Adam lost his breath. He was by far the most gorgeous man Adam had ever seen, but where had he come from and where was Ronan?

He stepped closer to Adam and Adams stomach dropped. “Adam, look into my eyes.”

Adam did and was met with the most clear water blue. They were so bright, the punched a hole right through Adams guy just like…

“Ronan?” Adam gasped.

Ronan nodded and smiled so bright Adam had to smile back. Adam placed his hands on Ronan's snatched cheeks and looked into his eyes in awe. Tears sprang into his eyes for the third time that night, but this time Ronan cried with him.

Ronan moved closer to Adam, “May I?”

Adam laughed, but nodded.

They came at each other fast until their lips touched each other's. The kiss was chaste and gentle as if they were afraid to break one another. Adam could feel Ronan's tears mixing with his own. When they separated, their foreheads stayed glued shut and they nuzzled noses. They laughed again and hugged almost as a promise to never let go.

@. @. @.

They eventually made it downstairs to be greeted by Blue and villagers now remembering their beloved prince. Ronan and Adam were ambushed by human Gansey, Henry, Noah, and Jiang who pulled them into tight hugs. Opal announced her presence by letting out a inhumane noise and keeping into Ronan's arms. She was followed by Matthew who tackled Ronan's middle and Declan who ruffled Ronan's nonexistent hair. Adam pretended not to notice the looks Gansey and Blue were exchanging before going in to kiss his beautiful, human boyfriend.

52 notes · View notes