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randomprose · 3 years ago

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MoShang Week 2021 Day 01: celebrity au / sugar / rivals

When all is said and done—that is, after Shang Qinghua had accepted his victory and fielded the press of any question of the stunt Mobei Jun pulled—Shang Qinghua goes back to the Endless Abyss Sugar Masters kitchen studio.

He sits in front of the xianxia sugar sculpture monstrosity Mobei Jun made to tell Shang Qinghua and basically the whole world of his feelings and couldn’t help but snort a laugh at the life sized cultivator Mobei Jun sculpted out of pastille in Shang Qinghua’s likeness.

It’s…big. When Shang Qinghua called it a monstrosity, he wasn’t even exaggerating. It’s bigger than even Mobei Jun with its base, an intricate background, and a truly impressive pose of him riding a sword. Shang Qinghua truly believes Mobei Jun would’ve won had he not been technically disqualified.

The theme was ‘famous historical people’ and while Shang Qinghua has surely made a name for himself in the culinary industry, he isn’t exactly in the same line as Athena or Leonardo Da Vinci.

It’s just…fucking massive (has he already said that? Because it is) and just really, really intricate. Wow. Shang Qinghua can’t take his eyes off it. It took a truly herculean effort earlier for him to snap out of how amazed he is. This could probably sell way more than the average expensive sugar sculpture. He doesn’t even know if anyone will have the heart to melt this shit for consumption. Hell, it shouldn’t be. This piece should be preserved and put in a food art museum or something.

Is that egotistical of him? To want this sugar sculpture of himself preserved for all eternity? Well, it doesn’t matter! Embarrassing at it is, it really is such a work of art. Mobei Jun should’ve won the whole damn thing and he would’ve too! If the stupid man hadn’t—if he wasn’t so—why did he—

Mobei Jun really likes him this much?

Shang Qinghua doesn’t even know where to begin to process things. For the longest time, he always thought of Mobei Jun as a cocky upstart hellbent on running him out of the industry. Up until this competition and having been forced to work together at the start, Shang Qinghua has never thought of Mobei Jun other than as a rival no matter how one-sided it may be. And now suddenly he finds out it’s not only one-sided but he’s apparently Mobei Jun’s muse and the whole reason he got into patisserie and confectionaries? That he wasn’t out to ruin Shang Qinghua’s career but just actually wants to work with him? And date him?? Apparently???

How does he even respond to that? Does anyone know? Because Shang Qinghua sure as hell doesn’t!

And it’s not even that he finds the idea of dating Mobei Jun unthinkable. They’re friends! Sort of! He thinks! Well, they’re friends now that’s for sure. Before the producers decided that ‘hey, you know what will be great? If we pit the members of the final team against each other like the fucking Hunger Games!’ they were teammates and they were one of the strongest teams to beat. They’re very popular with the audiences too. And no matter how Shang Qinghua had tried his best to not like Mobei Jun at the start, you just don’t go clearing through one of the toughest most cut throat culinary competition in the country as a team without developing some sort of friendship along the way.

When Shang Qinghua finally got over himself and got to know the guy, he found that he’s actually…nice. Great, even! Mobei Jun is funny in that quiet sort of way and has the driest sense of humor Shang Qinghua has ever known of someone. Once, Shen Jiu was grilling them about their spun sugar technique and Mobei Jun mumbled something vaguely offensive and rude that made Shang Qinghua laugh and had Shen Jiu nearly flaying him alive on national TV.

And Mobei Jun apparently likes him way more than how a friend should but it’s...not bad? He’s not uncomfortable or creeped out or anything. It’s just…surprising! Yeah. Shang Qinghua is self-aware enough that people who look like Mobei Jun don’t usually go for people who look like, well, him.

Still, the question remains.

Does Shang Qinghua feel the same for Mobei Jun? And if he does, will he really be opposed to dating him?

The doors to the studio open and who should come in but Mobei Jun himself. He’s a little early than Shang Qinghua expected. He’s not done thinking things over! But he looks at Mobei Jun changed out of his chef’s attire and into a casual loose fitted shirt over dark jeans and combat boots, perfectly at ease at himself despite the earlier stunt he pulled while the person said stunt was directed at is already way in over his head overthinking things.

Mobei Jun stops just by the side of his confession piece looking expectant and Shang Qinghua sighs.

Ah. Who is he kidding? Mobei Jun is exactly, exactly, his type it’s insane. His ideal man in every sense of the word and he kind of hates himself for it.

“You idiot,” Shang Qinghua exhales leaning forward on his knees where he’s perched on the steel table of their former work station. He lets out a short almost hysterical laugh as he runs his hands through his face then his hair in exasperation. “Why did you have to throw in the towel? Don’t even try to reason. That’s what you fucking did. You couldn’t just follow the theme and then ask for my number right after? What the fuck.”

Mobei Jun has the audacity to not look affected at being called out. He just blinks at Shang Qinghua who’s clearly having some kind of Crisis. He thinks it’s cute.

“Do you feel like your victory has no meaning?

“What? No.” Shang Qinghua sits up and sees Mobei Jun has come closer. “I don’t believe in shit like that. A win is a win no matter the circumstances. I won and you lost. Hah!”

“Hmm,” Mobei Jun hums, leaning on the edge of the table beside Shang Qinghua with his phone held out. “So, can I get your number now?”

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes but takes Mobei Jun’s phone anyway. “See, this is what you should’ve done instead of being all cheesy and confessing on national television.”

“Well, you know,” Mobei Jun shrugs. “Grand gestures and all that.”

Shang Qinghua spies the slight tilt of his lips as he hands him his phone back and, God, this man makes him want to expire right on the spot.

“Well, you looked like a straight-up fool,” he says instead by way of deflection but he really can’t do anything with the stubborn smile spreading on his face.

Mobei Jun doesn’t rise up to the taunt. He just holds up his phone and snaps a quick picture of Shang Qinghua, making him blink after the flash went off.

“Wha—”

“No, see, you look like a straight-up fool,” he says showing him the picture he took where Shang Qinghua looks, for all intents and purposes, a deer caught in a headlight. It’s quite literally unflattering.

“I wasn’t ready! No!” Shang Qinghua attempts to snatch Mobei Jun’s phone but he quickly turns the other way. Shang Qinghua tries to reach for it still while draped across his back. “Don’t you dare put that as my contact photo. Argh!”

“Nah,” Mobei Jun says easily avoiding all of Shang Qinghua’s attempts and already setting the picture as his contact photo. “I like this one. Very candid.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Mm. Pick you up later at seven?”

Shang Qinghua huffs as Mobei Jun returns to leaning against the table. He does not get off of him and just remains slumped on Mobei Jun’s side, chin propped on his shoulder. If Mobei Jun leans down just a little he could easily just plant one on Shang Qinghua.

“Eight and you’re paying for everything. Then afterward, we’ll take another photo, a nicer one, and that will be my contact photo. I’ll take one of you too I guess.”

Mobei Jun hums low and warm sounding content. “Alright,” he says before leaning in to kiss Shang Qinghua sweetly on the nose.

Shang Qinghua scrunches his face at that before leaning forward to give Mobei Jun a proper kiss. He feels Mobei Jun smile against his lips and couldn’t help smiling in return.

[ao3 | twt and other moshang week prompts | buy me a ko-fi // more fics]

#moshangweek2021 #moshangweek #moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun #writing #svsss meme #svsss fanfic #scumbag system #scumbag villain self saving system

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sweetescapeartist · 4 years ago

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MY DBS MANGA CHAPTER 70 REVIEW

We learn in the last chapter that the Cerealian Dragon's name is Toronbo when Granolah speaks Namekian. Toronbo grants Granolah's wish but can't make Granolah stronger than the gods.

Here's the confusion I have... Goku is a mortal beyond GoDs so making Granolah the strongest mortal is making him stronger than gods. If you wanna say Beerus has been training and is now stronger than Goku, there's still a problem. It was said that Goku and Vegeta were stronger than some GoDs right before the ToP (but that might be anime only, so maybe it doesn't apply here). So Granolah is stronger than GoDs no matter what. If the gods that Toronbo is speaking of are the Angels, then that means Granolah is Ultra Instinct level of power since Goku is the lowest in Angel tier. But whatever. Bottom line is Granolah is temporarily stronger than Goku who may or may not be stronger than Beerus.

Granolah gets his wish granted and the cost is shortening his life... cool. Not much to say except let's see how its executed.

(I recently read that in DBXV2, during the Infinite History Saga, Videl is enchanted with Towa's Dark Magic spell by Dabura shaving off her life but granting her greater power. So granting power at the cost of lifespan has been done in DB before. Not in canon but in the games.)

Also, Granolah's life being shortened to 3 yrs got me thinking... Currently it's almost AGE 781 in the DBS manga timeline. Goku leaves to train Uub in AGE 784. We got 3 yrs left. The original manga shows Bulma said she hadn't seen Goku in 5 yrs. How I see DBS is that it is an alternate timeline that just happens to have a similar outcome to the EoZ.

So... why is Vegeta learing from Beerus again if Beerus isn't that strong now? Is Vegeta being like Krillin and continuing his learning from a master weaker than him, but gaining wisdom & knowledge? I-is Vegeta becoming Krillin 2.0?! (More like dollar-store Krillin)

I do think beerus got stronger tho. He seems very confident that Vegeta can get stronger from learning from him. Beerus probably saw Goku get UI then decide to train aftet the ToP

Anyways, Beerus is teaching us about hakai/destruction energy. Its erasing something from existence, not just destroying it (we already knew that). But, Vegeta quickly figures out how to do it anyways. By destroying a tiny pebble...

A tangent again but I personally think Piccolo is capable of easily learning Hakai energy. Think about it. Piccolo can create clothing out of nothing, why could he not do the reverse?

Goku is uninterested in what Beerus & Vegeta are doing. I dont know about you, but it sounds like Goku thinks that he's above Beerus in strength. Beerus & Vegeta aren't considered a challenge to him in any way. Goku sees UI as more important & better than anything Beerus has to teach, and Goku is right. Plus Goku learned Hakai on his own while Vegeta needs Beerus to teach him. It's a waste of Goku's time to learn it again.

(God Comics is funny. I imagine Toribot writes them)

Goku says "Let's see which one of us can be the strongest in the universe!" Really, Goku...? At present time, Goku is the strongest mortal in the universe already. He should know that. Then Vegeta for some reason thinks he will become the strongest in the universe. The last time manga Vegeta was the strongest mortal in the universe was... never. He's always behind Goku or whatever new opponent arises. This scene is meant to be comedic that they're arguing over who will be the greatest but it's not funny to me. And yet Vegeta fans still hold on for hope.

But why is Goku concerned about being the strongest between him & Vegeta? Goku is far above Vegeta. They're not rivals at this point. Also, Goku was the strongest in the universe until just a few moments ago. Goku should be saying "I knew bein' the strongest wouldn't last for too long. Roshi did tell me there will always be somebody stronger out there. Hehe! This is gettin' me excited! I can't wait to meet 'em!" (This would alsp parallel Monaito giving Granolah the same advice Goku already knows.)

Also, I guess Broly isn't that strong after all. Bye Broly, you served your purpose. And to think that Goku had said that he thinks Broly is stronger than Beerus...

Oh yeah. So Vegeta destroys a pebble. Impressive? Goku kinda gives a compliment or he is practically saying "Good job Vegeta! You're doing great following in my footsteps!" Seriously, this would be so much better and cooler if this seperate paths of training began right after the Universe 6 vs Universe 7 tournament. That would be the perfect spot to have them train under Beerus & Whis. [Vegeta using Hakai against Merged Zamasu, Goku able to fight Merged Zamasu temporarily because he is getting better at letting his body move on its own, Toppo & Vegeta using Hakai against each other as Goku & Jiren use power above GoDs. That would work so much better.]

Then Vegeta says he's gonna destroy bigger things soon... is that supposed to be more impressive? Its not. But this it to build up Vegeta even though there is nothing amazing about anything he is doing at the moment. Maybe later tho.

So Cerealians can't grow beards. Also I guess Granolah's race don't age? His hair grew when his lifespan was shortened but he has no wrinkles. It seems that they age more gracefully than Saiyans. If he has some wrinkles he would have looked cooler imo. Or those lines under the eyes at the very least. If the wish shortened his life & made his hair grow, it should have also showed that he aged. (Here's an edit I made of "Grampa Granolah." You're welcome)

And remember Vegeta destroying a pebble? Granolah can suddenly destroy big rocks! Cool right?! No? Its not cool? Showing Granolah destroy a much larger object right afterwards kinda belittles Vegeta's accomplishment.

Oatmil is surprised by a boulder exploding. This means one of 2 things. Oatmil is stupid & never saw an Granolah explode a boulder. Or it's implying that the boulder exploding is some technique Oatmil doesn't know of. Idk how he can tell its any different from just blowing up a rock with ki. I think it's supposed to be destruction energy. If it is then, ok. If getting his wish was so easy, then why can't he suddenly learn destruction as well?

Yay! Monaito! (This really should be a Namekian focused arc)

Granolah reminds me of Zamasu with his attitude a bit. Monaito tells him somebody stronger will definetly appear. Granolah has become like Vegeta and is over confident, so he is destined to get humbled. And think about this. Goku can probably train a bit and surpass Granolah within a week.

Granolah can now sense ki. Meaning he can have the destruction technique or UI, because why not?

Monaito blames himself for Granolah's actions. Its not your fault Monaito! You did nothing wrong! Dont be so hard on yourself.

Whis being a creep and peeping on people lol.

Granolah's hair growing was pointless because he cuts it off soon after. Nothing changed visually. This kinda reminds me of how Moro lost his arm. Goku gave him a senzu, Moro grew it back, & then Moro broke his arm when attacking Goku. Then Moro tore his arm off & reattached his old one. There was no need for Moro to grow his arm back then tear it off. Similarly, there is no need for Granolah to have grown long hair then cut it off.

Maki still brings a smile to my face. She & Gas stand out the most out of the Heeters. Maki's personality is kinda like Zangya combined with a teasing Bulma. Gas reminds me of a Krillin/Piccolo fusion with dreadlocks. I also ship Maki x Gas cause they're short and look cute together. (please don't be siblings so I can draw them together🤞)

Granolah fights Oil & Maki. I'm not impressed. They seem like they could be defeated by Chaoitzu (he's stronger than Raditz and probably Nappa now too). Granolah's movements could be seen as UI. If it is or isn't UI, it doesn't matter. Showing off that kind of power is like Goku using Ultra Instinct during a rematch with Nam or King Chappa. Its not effective storytelling. There had to be a better way of showing Granolah's new strength than making him fight opponents that give him zero challenge.

The art is good as usual and the panel flow is nice. Toyotaro is improving at creating the illusion of motion. The environment being used in the fight was smart and a good visual. Toyo still uses a ton of panels almost every page tho. But he's still a better artist than I am.

Granolah appears to have used Hakai again. Not the explosive variant but the sand variant (yes I think there are 2 ways of using Hakai).

The "Sand Variant" that Beerus & Goku (& maybe Granolah) have used.

The "Explosive Variant" Beerus & Vegeta (& maybe Granolah) have used.

Maki thinks the "Hakai" is magic so that's interesting. I would say I'd like for the next enemy to be a magic user but, we know how Moro turned out... 😓

Maki has "ki claws" & I like the idea but it would be better if she had used it against an enemy she can defeat. It doesn't make her look useful in this fight. Gas seems confident when he is about to fight Granolah, but Elec stops him. Gas would've gotten beaten but it make ya wonder what Gas can do.

Granolah appears to be a person that is easily manipulated and persuaded. He even gave information they weren't even asking for. He'll probably be easily convinced and manipulated by Freeza/the Hedters or quickly have a truce with Goku.

The Heeters plan to go to Planet Cereal to get the Dragon Balls. As I suspected, the Cerealian Dragon Balls were created so that it would be easy for wishes to be granted. Gathering 2 Dragon Balls on a nearby planet instead of gathering 7 on New Namek or Earth. Plus these new Dragon Balls ensures no interaction between Earthlings & Granolah/the Heeters. A perfect way to write Gohan & company out of the story... *sigh* 😔😒

We learn Cerealians live for 2 centuries. How's that compare to other races in Universe 7? Freeza & King Cold apparently can live more than 200 yrs, But that may be because they are mutants. Namekians can live for like 500 yrs & its possible for them to reincarnate themselves too. So in a way, Namekians can live forever. Saiyans stay youthful & live to be in their 80's, but rapidly age when they reach their 60's or 70's. Average Earthlings appear live to be in their 80's or 90's but some are over 100 yrs old (Dr. Briefs, Panchy, & Ox King are in their 90's in GT) and others can increase their lifespan through elixers or the Paradise Herb. Just some thoughts of mine.

Maki says "If he ices Freeza..." Ha, an ice pun. Elec wants to defeat Freeza so he can control his army. Its revealed they wanna kill Granolah & that they worked with Freeza to destroy his planet & race. Well... that more than likely means they're gonna die by Granolah's hand or Freeza's. This info is also an attempt to make the reader more sympathetic for Granolah. Granolah is too bland (pun intended) so I don't feel any more sympathy than I already had for him. Elec plans to make Goku & Vegeta fight Granolah since Granolah hates Saiyans. Smart but we all kinda expected it. Not bad writing tho.

The final panel talks about fate bringing the 3 (Goku, Vegeta, & Granolah) together. Sounds like a repeat of the Broly movie.

We've had 4 chapters in this arc & not 1 panel of Freeza... If Freeza doesnt appear & do something in the next chapter then I will be disappointed in the writing. Showing Freeza here and there would give tension and build up until we get the encounter with him. We also have no idea who Oatmil is. Is he an A.I. or a person? Not that big of a deal yet, but I would like to find out soon. Either show Freeza or tell us more about Oatmil next chapter pleaae

This chapter was like oatmeal (the food not the character) without butter, brown sugar, milk, & honey or raisins. Not bad, but not very good either.

So here's my thoughts on the things that could or could not happen in this arc.

Goku vs Granolah. I don't care for the fight because the power is at a point that it doesnt make sense for enemies to get to without cheating somehow. The fight will look cool but I have no interest in it.

Vegeta vs Granolah will have Vegeta being stomped as always and Vegeta fans will make excuses & complain how it's not fair. A lot of Vegeta fans often make fun of Yamcha & Krillin for getting beat up even though those 2 bravely fight opponents leagues stronger than they are. Vegeta has gotten stomped by opponents more times than Krillin & Yamcha combined but the fans gotta deflect somehow. I don't care to hear or see the complaining again.

The interaction and dialogue between Granolah & Vegeta is going to be more interesting than their fight. But I worry because Toyo isn't the best at writing dialogue.

I have no reason to care about power growth, certain interactions, or Goku & Vegeta's training.

What I am curious about/want to see?

Monaito's well being. I want him to reunite with other Namekians. But I think he's been set up to die.

Lore about the dragon gods & Namekian lore we probably wont get.

I want Piccolo, Krillin, Gohan, & others will be involved. Piccolo because of the Namekian & wosh granting dragon lore. Gohan because his interaction with Granolah eould be interesting since Gohan is half Saiyan & views himself as an Earthling. Krillin & other Earthlings because they can bring tensions where characters like Goku & Vegeta can't. Those 2 are too strong for there to be any real tension. However Earthlings aren't all powerful so them using wits to survive is more exciting. But I doubt any of their involvement.

How long a Cerealian year is? Is it shorter than a Namekian year? How much time will pass for the Cerealian Dragon Balls to be active? How much stronger than Granolah will Goku get? Hopefully the answers aren't lazy...

Will Beerus finally fight somebody? There are 6 mortals that are near or above his power (Goku, Granolah, Vegeta, Broly, Freeza, Gohan).

Who's the villian of the next arc & what explanation is going to be given for them having power on the level of Angels? Angel tier fights don't sound interesting to me anymore. After those kinds of battles, Goku will have no challengers left.

Will Goku disappear to train or something so the story can TRY to match up with the EoZ?

Will Goten, Trunks, & Marron hit their growth spurts within 3 yrs?

Will we get spin-off manga about other characters? PLEASE!? 🙏

Also DBS moved too quickly when it comes to power. Now we're at the point that Goku & Vegeta need to stop being involved in fights for there to be any actual threat or tension. The Buu saga took place in AGE 774. After training for 4 years of peace, Goku thought SS3 & fusion was his limits as a Saiyan and he was right. Well, kinda... Goku was introduced to god ki near the end of AGE 778. Then in AGE 781, Goku masters Ultra Instinct... He mastered an Angel technique in 2 year or 2.5 yrs. That was waaaay too fast. As a result the storytelling & writing are suffering from this rushed progress. Now we're gonna have an Angel tier opponent? According to the pattern of DBS, Goku's gonna end up surpassing the Angels within 2 or 3 yrs after learning god ki. Thats not impressive for Goku, that's terrible writing. And no, Goku getting this strong so fast is not a benefit to Saiyans either. It just shows us that without god ki, Saiyans ain't all that powerful unless they're the legendary Saiyan like Broly. Saiyans didn't even have a concept of training until Goku was trained by Earthlings. Gohan, Freeza, 17, & I'm pretty sure Piccolo as well have all surpassed SS3 without the help of god ki. God ki makes Saiyans look like they have limits. With god ki, the writing is broken....

I got off topic again... Anyways that's the end of my review.

#dbs manga review #dbs manga #dragon ball #db #dragon ball super #dbs #edited out the 10 yrs of peace because the original manga never says that

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lifeofkaze · 4 years ago

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An Art of Balance #21

Orion Amari x MC

Warning: use of alcohol, underage drinking

A/N: Fabulous Judith belongs to @judediangelo75, KC is the creation of my favourite @kc-needs-coffee and Ira belongs to the queen of OCs @slytherindisaster

Word Count: ~ 3.000

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Chapter 21: Seizing the Chance

Even behind the closed flaps of the changing room tent, the roar of the crowd was deafening as McNully fired the students gathered on the stands up for the match. Orion had seen the masses of making their way down to the pitch from high up above as the teams had warmed themselves up for what was to come.

It was almost time for the game to begin and Orion gathered his team around the blackboard with their key manoeuvres for their moment of vivification.

“My friends, the time to prove to ourselves of what we are capable of in the face of adversities has almost come. But before I will enlighten you with the wisdom I want you take with you into the air, one of ours has something to unburden her mind from.” He stepped aside and Skye, who had been tugging at the hem of her Quidditch robe while he had been speaking, stood up and took his place.

She took a deep breath before she tried to bury her hands in her pockets as she would often do with her signature jacket; when she realised her robe had none, she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I’ll make this short,” she said brusquely. “I know I didn’t act the way a teammate is supposed to and I want to apologise. I’m not the only one with stuff on my mind, I see that now. It was wrong to let it out on you guys. Said some things that were not my place to say,” she glanced at Lizzie, who would have had every right to be mad at her, but she just smiled encouragingly, “and I hope that you accept my apology.”

She turned to Orion and rubbed her neck with her gloved hand. “Orion, you are a smashing captain and you’ll know what to do to make us win today. And if anyone is as stupid as I and disrespects you again,” her eyes flickered to Everett and her nostrils flared with indignation, “I’m going to shove a Beater’s bat right up their- “,

“Thank you for your heartfelt words, Skye, I think you made your point,” Orion cut her off hurriedly. Skye glared at Everett one last time before she sat down next to Judith, who muttered “As long as you don’t take mine, go ahead,” under her breath, making Skye grin.

Orion took his place in front of the semicircle of his teammates once again.

“There is little time left before we have to depart, so I, too, will make this shorter than usual. Every one of us knows what is at stake today. I don’t need to set your minds because I can see the fire burning in every single one of you. But beware, my friends, a single flame is not enough to build a fire; I ask you to join our flames together and make our fire blaze brighter than ever before. Let us show Slytherin that our House is not to be messed with.” He gripped the handle of his broomstick tighter as he looked at every single one of his teammates. “Let our fires burn as one, for we are one team!”

“One team!”

The team had taken Orion’s vivification speech to heart. Despite all of the problems they had had to deal with beforehand, the Hufflepuff team finally managed what had always been their greatest strength; they moved as one conscient being, every position complementing the others perfectly.

It hadn’t taken them long to carve out a comfortable lead; the tactic Orion had chosen was working splendidly. He had decided to take Skye’s concern into consideration and had assigned each Beater a specific task. Everett was perfectly suited to bang the Bludgers into the Slytherin Chasers with his brutish strength. As soon as they formed anything resembling a formation, he was determined to scatter them.

Judith, on the other hand, had an eye for the flight paths of the Bludgers and was a lot more experienced, so she was set to clear the path for their own Chasers to score.

And score they did; the Slytherin Keeper was known to be the strongest asset of their team. But fortunately for them, he didn’t seem to be in the best of forms today. More than one shot, that he usually would have deflected, found its way past him, the enchanted rings lighting up along with the roar of the crowd.

“And Amari scores with a spectacular off-hand throw!” Murphy shouted from the commentary box, “The score now stands at 100 to 40 for Hufflepuff! If the Slytherin defence doesn’t get these Chasers under control very soon, our chances at a new record score for this season lie at an impressive 68.9 %.”

McNully was right; the rut of their best player had unsettled the Slytherin performance gravely and Orion and his teammates were ruthlessly using their opponents’ disorder to their advantage.

Orion himself had scored quite a few times already. But Lizzie and Skye were a force to be reckoned with today; they were tearing around the pitch on their Comets and every Bludger sent after them was immediately deflected by Judith, who seemed to have her eyes everywhere.

It was unbelievable how well she and Everett were working together despite their differences. Everett had just beaten an attacking Bludger in Judith’s direction, who diverted its flight path into the forming formation of the Slytherin Chasers.

McNully completely lost it as he commented on the events unfolding in front of him. “What an incredible display of teamwork! The Hufflepuff Beaters show off their newest attack: Everett sends his Bludger over to Harris with force; Harris deflects with a well measured swing of her bat! The Bludger changes direction and oooh- “ he winced audibly as the crowd erupted in cheers, “that must have hurt! The Bludger’s change of direction was 82.5 % unpredictable and hits home as it scatters the wavering arrowhead formation of the Slytherin team! A tactical masterpiece if I might say so!”

Orion suppressed a laugh; as if McNully hadn’t made sure Judith and Everett had his new manoeuvre understood to a tee before letting them test it out in a real match situation.

One of the attacked Chaser had dropped the Quaffle and Orion raced towards it, snatching it out of the air only moments before the Slytherin Chaser reached for it again. They nearly collided mid-air, but Orion managed to lean sideways at the last moment; half hanging sideways of his broom, the other player zoomed over him without contact.

He swung himself back into an upright position and gripped the Quaffle tighter as he whipped his broom around on his way to Slytherin goalposts once more. But this time, the Keeper had guessed the ring Orion was going for and managed to block the Quaffle. He sent it back into the game with a well-practised kick of his foot.

It was too far away for him to reach in time, but he saw Lizzie react immediately. As the Quaffle flew over her head just inches out of her reach, she pushed herself off her broomstick and hopped onto the handle without giving it a second thought. Standing up, she was able to interject the pass and claim the Quaffle for herself.

Still balancing on her broom, she ducked under the Bludgers sent in her direction and started surfing back towards the goalposts at ridiculous speed. The Keeper looked surprised at her attack, but steadied himself as she approached.

Lizzie knew exactly what she was doing, though; crouching down low, she shifted her weight just enough for her Comet to change direction at the last moment. She held her stance as she performed a barrel roll, using the momentum to shoot the Quaffle through one of the rings.

With complete trust in her footing, he heard her cheer as she surfed past the screaming Hufflepuff stands. With a grin, Orion remembered how many times she’d fallen when he had taught her his favourite move all those years ago; unbelievable how far the tenacious girl with no idea about Quidditch had come.

“Jameson scores for Hufflepuff, raising the score to 110 to 40! And what a show she’s giving us!” Murphy jubilated as Lizzie zoomed past the commentary box.

“According to my facts, we haven’t seen Jameson score that way for seven House matches in a row. This marvellous feat of flying even sends the master of this technique into daydreams it seems,” McNully’s voice was vibrating with badly contained laughter before it grew serious again, “but they could quickly turn into a nightmare as a Bludger is headed on its way to see whether Amari can hold onto his broomstick quite as well as Jameson.”

Orion snapped out of his musings and had just enough time to dodge the Bludger that zoomed past his head. Judith followed it immediately to get hold of it; however, the Slytherin Chaser she directed it against still had the time to pass his Quaffle onto his teammate.

Before he could set after it, Lizzie shot past him, her hair trailing behind her in the wind. She turned around for a split second, her eyes meeting his.

“Focus, Captain!” he heard her snap at him before she concentrated on bumping into her opponent to relieve him of his charge.

Right she was; Orion cleared his mind as he set after her, catching the Quaffle she passed him with one hand. They had a game to win.

It only got worse for Slytherin as the match progressed. Although they did manage to score a few goals against Hufflepuff eventually, with every goal they received in turn, the confusion grew between them. They had been off track before, but trailing so far behind a team they had deemed an easy win had their own players turn against themselves.

Their youngest Chaser, a brutish boy named Marcus Flint, was on the verge of picking a fight with his Beater for allowing a Bludger to hit him, when all eyes on the pitch suddenly turned on Lucy and the Slytherin Seeker, who were in a head to head race for a tiny golden spec glittering in the sunlight below the Gryffindor stands.

“This match could find a preliminary end as the Seekers of both teams appear to have spotted the Golden Snitch!” Murphy exclaimed. The Slytherin Seeker was slightly in advance and if she were to reach the Snitch first, all their scoring would have been for nothing; Hufflepuff had a comfortable lead, but it wasn’t enough to cushion a boost of 150 points.

The stadium had fallen completely silent as everyone’s eyes were glued to the two girls racing for the Snitch. The Seeker in the emerald robes already had her hand outstretched, when all of a sudden a Bludger from Everett hit the handle of her broomstick, knocking her clean off. Luckily, they weren’t high enough to do her much damage as she fell to the soft lawn underneath her.

Lucy didn’t miss a beat as her opponent fell; she was lying almost flat on her broom to get all the speed out of it that she could. When her fingers were only inches away from the Snitch, she pushed herself against the footrests of her broom to give herself the reach she needed.

Orion couldn’t see properly what she was doing but was spared further guessing when Lucy’s scream of triumph carried through the air and the whole stadium went into a frenzy as she presented the gleaming Snitch in her raised fist.

“O’Connell gives it her all and succeeds! The match is over!” Murphy’s voice almost cracked as he shouted over the noise of the crowd. “Hufflepuff gains 150 points and wins with a crushing score of 310 to 70. Dear spectators, if you allow me a calculation on the top of my head, I’d say we have a new contender for the Quidditch Cup!”

To nobody’s surprise, Murphy’s calculation had been completely right. They had been able to score so many points against Slytherin that Hufflepuff was back in the game for the Cup. As Gryffindor had been able to rack up a spectacular victory against Ravenclaw in one of the shortest matches Lizzie had ever seen, their last game of the season would simultaneously be the final showdown for the priced trophy.

When the team had entered their Common Room after properly celebrating among themselves first, they had been greeted by thundering applause and chants. Contrary to the last post-match party, everyone was pumped and the atmosphere exhilarated. Tulip and a few other Ravenclaws had decided to join their celebration as well; it wasn’t particularly difficult to gain entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room after all. She and Tonks had wasted no time and had poured some Firewhiskey into the gigantic, self-refilling bowl of punch in the middle of the room.

Lizzie had already drunk more than her fair share of it. They had celebrated with a round of butterbeers in the Changing Room directly after returning from the pitch and by now, her head felt fuzzy and her cheeks were flushed from both the heated air in the room and the Firewhiskey warming her from the inside. She was glad the alcohol numbed the countless bruises and cuts littering her body; it was no secret Slytherin knew how to play rough and the frustration at the course of the match hadn’t improved their physical gameplay.

Ira, one of the other Hufflepuff girls in Lizzie’s year, had lectured Lizzie, about her carelessness when she had patched her up, like she always did. She had a natural gift for Herbology and healing and often took care of the minor injuries all of them brought back from the pitch. Her abilities and Penny’s secretly brewed Wiggenweld Potions had more than once spared Lizzie a trip to the Hospital Wing.

Lizzie and Penny were standing near the refreshment table with Skye and a few other Hufflepuffs. All the attention was fixed on Skye, who was recounting the highlights of the match under full usage of her body; just like Lizzie, the combination of adrenaline and alcohol had gone straight to her head.

She was just now replaying the way Lizzie had scored her goal whilst broom surfing, mimicking McNully’s commenting style as she re-enacted the scene. Feeling embarrassed at the praise, Lizzie dropped her eyes.

“You’re exaggerating, Parkin,” she mumbled.

“Only a little,” Skye shrugged, before resuming the show for her onlookers.

“She’s right,” Penny agreed, “you were amazing today, Liz. Rowan and I were screaming our heads off when you scored that goal.”

Lizzie blushed. “Where is Rowan anyway?” She hadn’t seen her friend since lunch.

“She’s got prefect duty tonight,” Penny answered. “She left before you guys came back.”

To say she wasn’t a little bit glad that Rowan wasn’t here would have been a lie. For whatever reason, Rowan had been in a particularly good mood ever since yesterday evening. And while it was good to see her so happy, Lizzie wasn’t in the mood for her ramblings right now; especially if they revolved around Orion, like they so often did these days.

She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and was really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol; she felt lightheaded and wondered if it was a good idea to get as wasted as she already was. Lizzie knew she was prone to rambling about things better left unsaid when she was drunk and she had amassed quite a collection of things that had better stay a secret. It took a lot of concentration from her side to not lose track of what version of the truth she had told to whom and her hazy mind didn’t make things easier.

But Rowan not being in the Common Room tonight meant she could relax just a little bit more and Penny was right; she had performed really well today and earned herself a bit of laid-back fun with her friends.

Her eyes scanned the crowd for Orion without really thinking about it. The last time she’d seen him, he had been with Murphy and KC, who had been amongst the Ravenclaws that had arrived with Tulip. A smile tugged at Lizzie’s lips as she saw the red haired Beater sitting on Murphy’s lap, engaged in a little bit more than a heated discussion.

As the door leading out of the Common Room opened, the movement caught Lizzie’s eye. She could just make out the familiar figure of Orion before he vanished in the darkness of the tunnel that connected Hufflepuff House to the rest of the castle.

Penny had seen him leaving as well. “Seems like Orion needs a break from the adoring masses.”

Lizzie only hummed in response, her eyes still fixed to the now closed door.

“Maybe he’d like some company,” Penny suggested with a smirk.

Lizzie tore her eyes from the exit and turned to her. “What do you mean?”

Penny only raised her eyebrows in response.

Lizzie gripped her cup tighter. “I’m not sure that’d be a good idea.”

Gently prying her cup out of her hands, Penny nudged her in the direction of the door. “Just go.”

She stared at the encouraging expression on Penny’s face. It was a bad idea; she should really stay here where she couldn’t do anything stupid.

With an inward curse, she grabbed her drink back from Penny’s hands and downed the remains of it in one go. She shuddered from the strong taste as she put the empty cup down on the table.

Such a bad idea.

Before she could change her mind, Lizzie pushed herself away from the table and through the crowd, slipping quietly through the round door.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #quidditch #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #aob #art of balance #the quidditch squad #sorry to all slytherins I love you

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fortisfiliae · 5 years ago

Text

Promised Part 2 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, sickness, bullying

Word count: 1.7k

Part 2 - Back in Hogwarts

Being back at Hogwarts felt strange. Usually, you loved being back there, how the old stone walls made you feel warm, even if they were so cold. You loved to see your friends again and tell them everything you had done during summer holidays.

But this time, after leaving your sick little sister behind and after practically selling your soul to the devil, you felt as if everyone knew already. Every time someone looked at you, it felt like they were judging you.

How could she do this? How could she agree to marry someone she didn’t love? She probably did it for the money. Or for his reputation. Both perhaps.

No one had really said anything yet and you weren’t sure if people had always looked at you like that, or if you just interpreted something into it, but you were quite sure they knew.

Girls from fifth grade had always greeted you and had looked up to you, trying to impress you and wanting to be noticed. Now they didn’t look you in the eyes, even though you could feel them staring at you from behind. They would group up in the hallways and whisper to each other after you had passed them.

Camille Kegley was the only person you trusted enough to talk to. She had been your best friend since the first year of Hogwarts and was the most loyal person you knew. A true Hufflepuff. So you had told her every little detail. How your sister got cursed, when the Gaunts visited, what they offered and what they asked for in return. She was shocked, but she understood.

“I would have done the same thing for my brother,” she said. “I’m so sorry all of this happened though. If I can do anything to help you out, just let me know.”

“Thank you. Really. The only thing I want right now is for everyone to stop looking at me like I murdered someone.”

“You think they know already?”

“‘I’m not sure,” you sighed. “Seems like it.”

“Have you told anybody?”

“Just you. And please. Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Elsie to be the girl who’s been cursed when she starts school next year. I won’t be here to help her.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. But how would anyone know it then, by now?”

“I have a feeling the Gaunts want as many people to know as possible. To make it harder for me to back out.”

“You think Tom-”

“No,” you said and shook your head. “It seemed he was even more against it than I was. His grandfather. I think it’s him who’s eager for everyone to know.”

“Wanker,” Camille said.

“Tosser,” you added.

“Merlin’s saggy left bollock,” Camille went one better and you both laughed. “And what about Tom?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, looks like you’re going to marry him. Do you like him? In any way?”

“I… Don’t know. I don’t really know him. He seems to really take after his grandfather.”

“Saggy bollock,” Camille whispered.

“I guess I’ll try to get to know him. I mean we’ll have to get along someday.”

“Good idea. You should do that.”

“He’s so distant. Cold. I don’t know how to approach him really.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know how to talk to boys,” she snickered. “Maybe he’s quite nice.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe not. Tom acted like nothing had happened for the first week of school. He must have mastered the arts of ignoring someone because you felt as if he didn’t even know who you were. He didn’t greet you in the hallway, hell, he didn’t even glance at you in class. Nothing.

How was this supposed to work if he didn’t try at all? He left you clueless.

The only person who talked normally to you, besides Camille, was Benjamin Hilt. A Gryffindor boy from year six. He was annoying, to say the least. Maybe he just tried to be nice, but it seemed he wanted to know a lot about Tom and you. And, to be fair, you didn’t even know much about Tom and you.

Ben acted like Hogwarts’ very own private investigator, trying to elicit as much information as possible from you. He had you wondering if he was working for the Daily Prophet.

How did the engagement happen? Weren’t you still too young? Did your parents agree immediately? Was it possible that you didn’t do it willingly? Was it forced?

“Merlin, Ben!” you shouted. “Stop asking all those questions. What are you trying to get out of this?”

“I don’t know,” he said and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just so strange, you know. I’ve never seen you two together. Seems off.”

“Well, mind your own business then. Freak,” you said and rushed out of the great hall.

Even though Tom avoided you magnificently, his friends, or rather his followers, seemed very much interested in you. And not in a positive way. They looked you up and down in class, followed you in the hallways and you could only guess what they were mumbling to each other. Certainly not compliments.

Avery and Lestrange were the worst of them. They were on you all the time. You tried to act as if you didn’t notice, but it got more concerning each day. Every time you looked over your shoulder, those two were standing close. And they smiled so spitefully, you could tell how much they enjoyed freaking you out. Bastards.

You had made it a habit not to walk the corridors alone. Camille was with you most of the time and if she couldn’t be there, you followed random groups of people until you found one of your friends.

This technique, as humiliating as it was, worked well. Until that one day, when Professor Binns asked you to stay for a moment, after your History Of Magic lesson. Not only did he ask you the most boring things, but made you more nervous each second, when your classmates’ voices faded until you couldn’t hear a single sound from the hallway.

Your heart was beating in your throat when you left the classroom. Of course. Avery and Lestrange had waited for you. With their stupid grins on their faces. They didn’t even act as if they were there for something else.

You pondered where to go. The great hall was always busy and also quite near, so you turned right. They were following you. You heard their footsteps behind you and they were coming closer.

Whenever you went a little faster, the two of them did too. You thought about running away but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

Eventually, they caught up. Avery walked to your left, Lestrange to your right until they had you cornered.

“What do you want?” you asked and tried your best to control your voice.

“Just wanted to say hello,” Avery said.

“Hello,” you said and tried to push through them, but they didn’t let you.

“No,” Lestrange smirked. “We’re not done yet.”

“Did Riddle send you?” you asked. “To scare me?”

“Why would he do that? To his future wife.”

“You tell me.”

“We’re here to clear some things up,” Avery said. “That you might not know.”

“And what’s that?” you asked.

“You see, we don’t know how you did it. How your family pulled that trick to make Tom agree to marry you. It can only mean that you’re plotting something. And -”

“Wait, he didn’t tell you?” you asked.

“We know enough, okay?” Avery hissed. “Tom has a great future ahead of him. And I swear, if you get in the way, you’re going to regret it.”

“I’m not -”

“Shut up,” Lestrange interrupted you with his wand close to your face. “I don’t know what you’re after. Money, fame, whatever it is. You might want to think about it again and I’ll have you know it’s not worth it.”

“I don’t care for any of that.”

“Come on, what other reason could you have to pull off something like that?”

There was no way you were telling them about Elsie. Every student would know by next year and she was far too sensitive to handle that.

“None of your business,” you answered.

“That just proves you’re not trustworthy,” Avery said.

“Because I’m not telling you two my reasons?” you almost laughed. “Give me a break. Why didn’t you ask Tom? Your friend. Or should I say your leader?”

They both blushed and you could tell they were embarrassed. Even if everyone knew how much power Riddle had over his friends, they apparently didn’t like to be reminded of it.

“Listen here, you little -” Avery stopped talking when a hand touched his shoulder and pulled him and Lestrange away from you.

Tom stood there, looking at them rigidly. “What are you doing?”

“We’re… Just…”

“Talking to her. Trying to get to know her better,” Avery mumbled.

Tom looked at you for a second, then back at his friends. “Doesn’t seem like you were having a nice chat.”

“Oh it was very nice,” Avery said. “Making friends.”

“Was it a nice chat?” Tom asked you.

You were still so tense from them threatening you and hadn’t expected Tom to talk to you directly after days of silence, so you just stammered: “I… They -”

“Shut up you,” Lestrange took a step in your direction until Tom pressed his wand against Lestrange’s chest.

“Don’t,” Tom said through gritted teeth.

“I wasn’t -”

“I don’t care Tiernan. Let’s go.”

Without another word, the three boys walked away towards the Slytherin common room. You were still glued to the spot when Tom turned around and glanced at you quickly.

Please consider leaving a comment and tell me what you think so far :) They motivate me so much to keep writing!

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 years ago

Text

Eyestealer - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama (mostly gen, hints of other relationships later)

Summary: Hashirama really doesn't approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother's bright red eyes. He's sure it doesn't mean anything good for anyone.

He's right.

A/N: I feel like I've at least mentioned this to @blackberreh-art, @kitsunesongs, @writhingbeneathyou and maybe @perelka-l

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"What's wrong with him?" Butsama demands, fierce and threatening, his eyes glinting in a way that made Hashirama desperately want to cower away behind his mother.

But he's a big brother now, so he can't: it's his job to protect baby Tobirama, who doesn't know enough to fear their father when he's in a mood like this, and who doesn't even have the coordination to crawl away properly even if he did. He's only just barely managed some determined scooting forward on his belly so far, and even then Hashirama may have been helping a little.

Besides, Hashirama's nearly four; he's already started training to learn to fight and he'll be ready to go out to battle in another year or two, facing the Uchiha clan - red-eyed monsters that he's been told will happily kill kids like him and even baby Tobirama, the very thought of which makes Hashirama's heart break - and surely they'll be much scarier than Senju Butsuma.

...surely.

Hashirama's always been a touch doubtful that anyone would be scarier than his father, and he suspects he doesn't mean it in the way all the adults think he means it, as hero worship and adulation.

No, Butsuma is scary not for his extensive fighting abilities, which Hashirama is duly impressed by, but for the way Hashirama's brave and powerful mother, who fears no one outside the clan compound walls, goes quiet and meek in his presence lest he raise a hand to her (or Hashirama) again. And Hashirama doesn't like that type of scariness one bit.

He doesn't much like the way Butsuma is pointing scornfully at Tobirama, currently sleeping tucked into Hashirama's shoulder, either.

"The medics say he's healthy," Hashirama's mother murmurs quietly. Too quietly; she’s such a happy person when her husband isn’t around. "Thriving-"

"I meant the fact that he looks like a drowned rat," Butsuma snaps, his chakra blazing with the bad-hurt feeling Hashirama has been told is called killing intent. "Skin like an Uchiha, hair like a Hatake...did I get the father right, you bitch, or should I keep guessing? You wrote to me at the front lines and told me I had a second son, not - this!"

"The child is yours," Hashirama's mother says, then cries out when Butsuma strikes her.

Hashirama flinches and clutches Tobirama tight enough that he wakes up, surprised and gurgling a tentative whine, little baby fists reaching out blindly.

"Lie to me again, whore, and I'll snap the brat's neck and get started on making the next one before his body's even cooled," Hashirama's father says, and Hashirama tenses, preparing to flee.

He doesn't understand why his father's so angry, but he knows enough about snapping bones - necks - to understand the meaning of the threat. He won't be able to stop his father himself, he knows that, but he's fast and he's small and there's a hole in the back wall that he could wiggle through with Tobirama if he had to, and once he's among other Senju his father usually at least pretends to keep his temper under control, which will slow him down. Out through the wall, into the compound - maybe into the forest if the rest of the clan doesn't oppose Butsuma's plan - the rest he can figure out later, but he won't let his brother get hurt if he can help it, he won’t, he's the big brother, it's his job to protect Tobirama, his mother said so -

"He's yours, I swear it!" she cries, her hands thrown up to ward off another blow. "There's no one else, and never has been!"

"Do you think I'm blind? You're as dark as me, skin and hair both, and your parents and grandparents the same -"

"Hashirama, sweet one, show your father your brother's eyes," his mother says, not taking her eyes off her husband (you keep your eyes on the enemy at all times or else you die, Hashirama's fighting instructor said, but when a wife would start to consider her husband, her clan head, an enemy, Hashirama doesn't know).

Hashirama would rather run, but he also doesn't want to leave his mother behind, so he obeys, turning Tobirama around and tilting his head up with a finger under his chin.

"Red eyes," Butsuma says, lips twisting to a sneer even more disgusted than before. "Sharingan red. Uchiha, then. Don't tell me you're pleading rape of all things -"

"He's an albino," she says. "White hair, white skin, red eyes - like the Nara's sacred deer. It just happens sometimes, an act of nature; that's all. The child is yours; I swear it on my life - on Hashirama's life."

Hashirama doesn’t really think his life is hers to swear on and all things considered he'd really rather she didn't, but if it makes Butsuma less angry, less likely to hurt them, fine.

"A rat like that, mine?" Butsuma scoffs, though the terrible killing intent is fading away. "Wonderful. You would have me be the father of a sickly, deformed runt, then, instead? Worthless!"

"It's true that albinos are sickly, my lord; eyes weak to light and skin liable to burn too easily, but that is not all that he is. All the medics say he's doing very well – they say he’s very healthy - they even say that the signs point to his having a powerful chakra -"

Butsuma snorts, crossing his arms. "It’s impossible to tell anything about chakra at all before the age of two at the earliest. Soothsayers are always predicting great power, and they’re rarely saying more than what the parents want to hear. He could have none at all!”

"Or he could turn out like Hashirama," she counters. Hashirama is unusually strong for his age, though he would very much like to be left out of this conversation. He focuses on hushing Tobirama, who appears to be considering crying, and on edging backwards towards his chosen escape route. "Another credit to the strength of your blood -"

Butsuma barks a laugh. "Don’t be ridiculous. A pathetic thing like that? There wouldn't even be any point in testing him for the Mokuton."

The Mokuton. Right.

Hashirama's shoulders ease a little in relief: the Mokuton means that his father can't kill little Tobirama even if he wants to. It's against clan law for any Senju child (and Hashirama's mother is Senju, too, from one of the more distaff branches, so there’s no question of it, even if her own mother was a Nara) to be killed before they get tested for the potential of one day having the clan's fabled but long absent bloodline ability when they ultimately come of age.

Hashirama doesn't even know what the Mokuton is - he doesn't like studying, far preferring to sneak out to the woods to make friends with the trees that sometimes like to whisper back to him - but for the first time he hopes he has it, because if he does then the clan will have no choice but to spare Tobirama even if only for the possibility that he might have it too.

"My lord -"

"Oh, stop whimpering, it doesn't suit you," he says. "I won't kill the puling brat, not yet. Bastard or not, albino or not, if he makes it to fighting age he'll at least be useful as cannon fodder, if nothing else."

"Thank you, my lord," Hashirama's mother says, bowing her head. “We thank you for your mercy.”

Hashirama’s not so sure Butsuma’s words are as merciful as all that. Doesn’t cannon fodder usually mean dead?

"You're not suckling it another day longer, though,” Butsuma continues. “I'm due back on the front lines soon, and I want to get you started on another one before I go - a proper spare, this time."

"Of course, my lord. Hashirama, take your brother to your room."

Hashirama is only too happy to go, though he lingers a moment longer, afraid for his mother even as she smiles (not the usual one, warm and happy, but the one she wears around guests she doesn’t trust) and nods at him to go.

Eventually his father notices that he's still there, though, and Hashirama flees before his glare.

"I hate it when he's mad," he complains to Tobirama, who was starting to sniffle despite having been very good about not crying so far - Hashirama's noticed that flaring his chakra in and out works very well to distract him, even though all the grownups say that chakra sensing doesn't develop until around the age Hashirama is now but what do they know they're clearly stupid, and he'd employed the technique to keep him quiet in the face of their father's danger. "When I grow up, I'm never going to get mad. I'm always going to be happy! Or sad, I guess; sometimes you have to be sad. But nothing else!"

Tobirama quiets down again when they get back to Hashirama's room and cuddle up with Spot the spotted cat, once Hashirama's favorite stuffed toy and now bestowed with great honor to Tobirama (though sometimes, on days like tonight, Hashirama still wants to hold onto him as well, a practice he justifies to himself as teaching Tobirama about sharing).

Once the familiar sounds start up from his parents' room - grunting, mostly, and the slap of flesh on flesh - Hashirama thinks it's over, that they're safe, that his father will forget about his second son (and, if Hashirama is unusually lucky, maybe be even his first as well) in favor of clan politics.

He’s wrong.

He wakes in the middle of the night, frozen by the knowledge that he and Tobirama are not alone in the room.

His father stands above him, dark as a shadow and just as indistinct.

"Red eyes," he murmurs. "Sharingan red. I wonder."

He does nothing else, just stands there for an endless few minutes more before departing, but Hashirama stays awake for a long time after, a frozen feeling in his belly and a certainty that something terrible was going to happen, though he wasn't sure what, fixed firmly in his mind.

He wasn't able to shake that feeling, not in the three weeks his father stayed at home, nor in the few months of peace they have after he leaves and before he visits again, or even the brief reprieves they have after that. Instead he made a point of being around Tobirama as much as possible, diligently practicing his vow of not getting mad (it’s hard, especially when Tobirama breaks something of his, though he perseveres by reminding himself that it’s inevitable for babies to have such accidents) and just as diligently training his fighting and running skills with a fervor he’s never had before.

He knows that he needs to get strong and fast enough to save his baby brother from the terrible thing that was coming for him.

Hashirama's mother thinks it’s cute at first, then concerning, but Hashirama persists, even taking Tobirama out with him to the forest to talk to the trees, which he'd never shared with anyone else before. He insists on sleeping in the same bedroom as his brother, and only agrees not to take him to his training if his mother promises three times over that she'd watch Tobirama carefully.

But all his precautions, all his vigilance, are still not enough to save Tobirama from their father.

"Where is he?" Hashirama screams, red in the face, having a tantrum like he hasn't had in years - arms flailing to every side, legs kicking, hands clenched into fists. "Where did he take him?"

"Baby - baby, sweet one, please, calm down -"

"I don't want to be calm!" he howls. He promised himself he wouldn't get mad anymore, doesn't want to be like his father, but for Tobirama he'll break any vow. Vows don’t matter, if only Tobirama is safe. "I want Tobirama! Where did the bastard take him?"

"Hashirama! You can't say such things about your father - your clan head - and who taught you that filthy language anyway?"

Butsuma himself had, saying it with a sneer any time he saw Tobirama, and Hashirama still isn't sure what it means but is pleased that his suspicions that it's some sort of insult have been confirmed.

Butsuma deserves all the insults under the sun, but Hashirama promises he'll never say another one ever again if only he brings back Tobirama unharmed.

He says as much to his mother, who looks suddenly older and more tired.

"Your father's trying to help," she says, but her words ring hollow in a way that suggests she doesn't believe what she's saying. "He took him away to try something....Hashirama, you know how I told you that there was a good chance that Tobirama would grow up to be blind?"

Hashirama nods, reluctantly calming enough to listen. She'd explained that the white color of Tobirama's skin and the redness of his eyes meant he was different from the other babies, much more delicate: that Hashirama needed to be vigilant about spreading the special goop the medics made just for Tobirama over his skin before taking him out into the sunlight, that they should try to stay in the shade of the trees, and, yes, even that Tobirama might not be able to see things like Hashirama does and that maybe, when he was older, he would end up not seeing things at all.

"Well, if what your father has planned works, Tobirama will see even better than you. So it's a good thing!"

"If it's a good thing, why have you been crying?" Hashirama asks accusingly. He doesn’t trust their father, who hates Tobirama, to have good things in mind for him. "Why is there only one medic involved, and why does he look so scared?"

"There's only one because this is a secret, sweet one, a secret your father is keeping even from the rest of the clan. Even you, baby, you don't get to know what exactly it is; that's why you don't get to be in there with him to keep him calm, even if that would make it easier. And -" she hesitates. "And the medic and I are only scared that it won't work right, that’s all."

"And what happens if it doesn't work right?" Hashirama demands.

His mother's silence is his only answer.

Hashirama goes back to screaming. When his throat goes hoarse - hoarse and tickly in the way that he's learned to associate with the way his cuts quickly scab over and disappear without leaving any scar - he stops, going quiet but not calm. Determined.

It breaks his heart to even think it, but he knows now that he can't trust his mother with Tobirama's safety: he left Tobirama in her care while he attended his lessons, trusted her, and she betrayed him. She gave him to Butsuma, who Hashirama is certain was hurting him even now. Maybe even killing him, and all the while Hashirama can do nothing but sit here, helpless to do anything to stop him.

Helpless.

Powerless.

He hates it.

His mother, seeing his tears and shouts come to a stop, tries to gather Hashirama into her arms, offering comfort, but he pushes her away.

He doesn’t need comfort. He needs power.

"Teach me a jutsu," he demands.

"What, now?" she asks, surprised. "You don't have to resume training until later -"

"Sensei says you were a front-liner before you married and you're in charge of the defense reserve now, which means you must know some. Teach me!"

"But -"

"Something mean," he says. "Mean and awful. Something that hurts."

"Hashirama -"

"I need to get stronger to take care of Tobirama," he says. He won't admit the possibility that his brother is dead, that he's failed in the first job he's ever been entrusted quite so badly. He can't even think that lest the Shinigami hear him and take adavantage. No, Tobirama has to live. He has to live, even if only so that Hashirama can make up for letting him down like this, can seek his forgiveness for not protecting him properly. "No one else will do it, so it had to be me."

His mother flinches like he's stabbed her. She looks at him, her eyes searching for something, but Hashirama focuses his gaze on her nose and mouth and forehead, the way he was taught to do when fighting Uchiha.

Fighting the enemy.

Her shoulders bow forward as if under some terrible weight and Hashirama wants to apologize for being so cold, wants to burst into tears and throw himself forward into her arms, but the thought of Tobirama - alone with their father, just a baby and even more helpless than Hashirama - makes him hold fast.

"Okay," she whispers. "I'll teach you."

Hashirama is what his sensei calls a natural - he's got loads of extra chakra, lots more than other kids his age, and he finds learning the right signs and chakra movements easy. So by the time his father comes back, he's already got the jutsu his mother taught him - Scorpion Sting, she calls it, and it's very nasty indeed - pretty much down and ready to go, no matter what the consequences that will fall on his head, if his father even thinks of saying anything other than that Tobirama is fine and ready to come home.

"We think it took," he says instead. "There's still a high chance of rejection until the implants settle, but things look good. The medic confirms that we won't know how much of it he actually got until he's older, though."

Hashirama doesn't know what that means, but a glance at his mother shows her relief and that means Tobirama is alive.

He doesn't yet believe that he's okay, not until he sees him with his own eyes (and does a check for genjutsu meant to hide injuries) and held him in his arms, but - alive.

"I want to see him!" he demands.

That's the sort if talk that would usually get him walloped, with a lecture about respecting his elders, but his father's in a good mood for once so he just shrugs and gestures airily at the door behind him. "Watch him for a while, will you, Hashirama?" he says, his eyes on his wife. "Your mother and I still need to work on getting you a little brother."

A real little brother, Butsuma means, because for some stupid reason he thinks Tobirama doesn't count. But Hashirama doesn't care about anything other than Tobirama right now, not even about how sick his mother was when her last pregnancy failed after only a few months or how the medics advised her against trying for another so soon.

Not that Butsuma cares what the medics say when it's contrary to what he wants.

Hashirama rushes into the other room, where the medic is holding a roll of bandages in one hand and struggling to get a crying Tobirama to calm down enough to apply them.

Hashirama ignores the medic entirely, leaping up to the blood-stained metal table and pulling Tobirama into his arms, flaring his chakra the way he knows Tobirama likes best.

Tobirama quiets immediately, screams turning into distracted whimpers, and reaches out for Hashirama's hair with his chubby little fists.

He likes Hashirama’s hair: it's his favorite toy to grab with his fingers or stick in his mouth to suck on whenever he can reach it, above even Spot, which is why Hashirama tries to keep it as long as possible. Butsuma usually chops off Hashirama's hair whenever he sees it getting what he considers to be too long for a boy his age, leaving it in a frankly awful bowl cut, but his dignity is a worthwhile sacrifice for Tobirama's gummy gap-toothed little smile.

"At last," the medic sighs. "Hold him still, will you? I want to bandage up his eyes for a little, give him the chance to rest and for his body to adjust."

Hashirama nods, remembering his mother's explanation of how sensitive Tobirama's red eyes were; he wouldn't be surprised if Tobirama's remaining whimpers are because of the bright light in the room. Darkness isn't a bad idea at all.

But even as he holds Tobirama's head still - Tobirama submits to it with ill grace and grumbles, but from the medic's expression it's still far more compliance than they'd been able to get without Hashirama’s help - Hashirama looks at Tobirama's face and frowns.

"Hey," he says. "Are his eyes supposed to have those swirly black dots in them?"

They look almost like the stylized pictures he's seen of the Uchiha, with the dojutsu unique to their bloodline: shining blood-red eyes that he's always been warned never to look into lest they kill him with their super-powered genjutsu.

"Forget about those," the medic advises, wrapping the bandage swiftly and efficiently so that Hashirama's brief glimpse is quickly covered. "Say, you're a bright boy, aren't you? Would you like to learn some iryo ninjutsu? I normally wouldn't, at your age, but you have so much chakra - and as his brother, you're probably compatible -"

"Healing?" Hashirama asks, interested. "What type of healing?"

"It strengthens the body's own resources," the medic explains. "So if your brother gets sick, you can use your own chakra to help him heal faster. I can even teach you a version to lower the possibility of host rejection - that is, something you can use to make his eyes get better quicker. Wouldn’t you like to help with that?"

"Yes! Teach me!" Hashirama exclaims.

All thoughts of the swirling black tomoe are forgotten.

#senju hashirama #senju tobirama #senju butsuma #my fic #eyestealer

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court-0f-dreamers · 7 years ago

Text

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze. Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

*** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

*** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord.

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

*** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here.

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

*** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis.

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

*** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye.

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high.

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded.

“Why?”, he demanded back.

“None of your business.” she retorted.

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore.

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do.

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.”

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice.

“Yes.”

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know.

But he thought about it the whole way home.

*** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian.

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.

#thank you krissy (rhysand-vs-rowan) for compiling all of Azriel's lines - it made me decide to use his first words!#acotar:restrung #acotar: restrung #acotar restrung #chapter 3 #my writing #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #rhysand #feyre #feysand #azriel #cassian #nesta #nessian

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nerdwaifuu · 6 years ago

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Welp, here’s chapter two of that Dareth story that I posted last night. I really need to come up with a title for this story, I have no ideas :P

Anyhoo, enjoy the chapter

Previous Chapter:

Next Chapter:

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Monday finally rolled around, and it was time for his first class. Changing into the black gi that his mother picked up the day before, a nervous feeling was overwhelming Dareth. He’s going to meet so many new people around his age, but he will probably make a fool of himself. He may fall on his face, mess everything up, get made fun of... you name it. A sick feeling was in his stomach as he started worrying.

What if someone from his school goes to that dojo? He could become a laughing stock if he does something regrettably stupid. That thought made him want to throw up.

« Sweetheart you rea- you don’t look so good... » his mother trailed off when entering his room. Looking into the mirror, Dareth could see what she meant. He was growing a little pale, and his expression made it look like he was in pain. Despite the sick feeling in his stomach, he thought he was fine.

« You want to stay home? » He looked at his mother, debating. He wanted to go. He wanted to see the sensei in action and he wanted to fulfill his old urge to learn martial arts. At the same time, the risk of screwing up was too high...

« No, I’m fine. » Dareth responded with a forced smile. « You sure? You were in the bathroom for an awful long time after dinner... and you look like you’re about to faint... » Dareth shook his head and repeated what he alrighty told her. His mother nodded and led him outside to the nearest bus stop. Dareth’s father took the car today to work, so his mother and him were stuck taking the bus today. By bus, they reached the dojo and rushed in before class started. Dareth snuck on into the main room with the other students. Fortunately but unfortunately at the same time, Dareth knew none of them. That changed while waiting for class to begin, which the students spent that time either warming up early or socializing. However, Dareth hid in the corner, watching. He wanted to walk up to anyone, but his gut was telling him to stay hidden and not set the stage for embarrassment. He stood there, letting anyone come to him instead of him going to them. Fortunately, one boy approached him and held out his hand.

« Heyo my dude. You’re new I’m guessin’. I’m Evan. » Dareth grabbed the boy’s hand and shook it. He could feel all the sweat his body produced, anxious about what was to come. « I’m Dareth... » Evan’s face lit up, not what Dareth was expecting. « Woah! Nice impression! I haven’t been able to do an Elvis impression ever since I did it jokingly last year! » a smile appeared on Dareth’s face. He already liked this guy.

« Thank you, thank you very much. » Both boys began to chuckle.

« So, do you always talk like that? If you do, how? » Dareth nodded, still chuckling.

« Yeah, I kinda just started talking like this as a joke and it stuck. I just liked the voice. »

« Oh, nice! » Evan smiled. After that, the two dove right into a deep conversation. Dareth learned that Evan is the same age as him and will attend the same high school. Also, Evan was into the same music and has mostly the same dreams that Dareth used to have. The biggest dream Evan had was to start a band to perform across all of Ninjago.

Unfortunately, the chat came to the end when class began. Sensei Ton, along with a younger assistant instructor, entered. The younger assistant began a full warmup. Jam packed with sit-ups, push-ups, jogging, and stretching. It was Dareth’s worse nightmare. He realized he was way out of shape, and how lame his gym class’s warm up was last year. However, he wasn’t going to let the fact that he was way behind the other students get to him. He tried to go as low as he can go for the push-ups and squats. He tried to do as many sit-ups as all the other students. He tried to reach as far as he physically could without hurting himself during stretching. The key word being tried. In the end, it wasn’t good enough for Dareth. He had to keep on reminding himself that this is his first class... he wasn’t going to be as good as the others, he can only do his best.

After the warm up, the class began drills to work on punches, kicks, and a couple other techniques as time passed. The class then ended with a sparring session for those who wanted to spar. For those who didn’t spar, they worked with Sensei Ton with punches and kicks on the punching bags or with him while he had two focus mitts, one on each hand. Not knowing anything about sparring, and not wanting to embarrass himself, Dareth avoided the sparring and worked on punches and kicks. Evan decided to follow, using this time to socialize and offered help if Dareth wanted any. In this time, Dareth had the chance to learn the belt system for this dojo. The belt that Dareth started at was the white belt, which he will get at the end of the class. Evan had a yellow belt, the second belt in the dojo’s belt system.

“Huh, interesting. Do you think I could get a yellow belt?” Dareth asked, attempting a lousy round house kick, hitting the bag lightly with his toes. This made Evan cringe slightly.

“Probably... though you might hurt your toes in the process if you continue kicking like that. Luckily you did that lightly...” Evan then tutored Dareth on how to do that kick step by step. Slowly, Dareth caught on what he was doing wrong.

“Ah, okay. I get it. I need to practice that when I get home. Thanks.” Both smiled as Sensei Ton told everyone to line up in belt rank order, the higher ranks go up front, the lower rank go toward the back. Dareth went to the absolute end. At that point, it was pretty straight foward. Sensei Ton was handed a white belt, Dareth was called up to be given the belt, then after bowing, Dareth returned to his spot. Once that was over, the class bowed out and it was over. All the students exited the dojo and made their way to their parent or guardian. While Dareth was searching for his mother, Evan decided to follow him instead of looking for his parents.

“My parents just drop me off, they never watch. They’re too busy.”

“That sucks. So you just wait here for them?” Evan nodded. Dareth then really wanted to suggest to Evan that maybe he can just come with him and his mom, but knew that wouldn’t work. With a sigh, Dareth just continued searching until he found his mother chatting with the the younger assistant. Before approaching them, Dareth made sure to ask Evan about the assistant.

“Oh, that’s Mr. Anderson. I think he is Sensei’s son, despite the different last names. He might be adopted, or married and he decided to be the one to change his last name. No one knows.” While Evan informed Dareth about him, he inspected him. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a man bun, his thin head always shook up and down as the person talking to him talks, and he was quite fit. Some traits that was similar to Sensei Ton was the same skin color and the thin lips, which was always in some sort of smile.

Once Evan was done explaining, the two boys walked over to Dareth’s mother. Once close enough, they tuned into his mother’s conversation with Mr. Anderson. She was apparently talking about her son, making Dareth regret even listening in. It was all so embarrassing. To stop this, he waited until his mother was at a stopping point and tugged on her sleeve like a small child.

“Oh there you are sweetie! Ready to go?” With a sigh, Dareth nodded. He really hated when she called him sweetie in public. However, Evan didn’t laugh at the little nickname. He instead started socializing with Dareth’s mother, stretching out the time that Dareth had to wait to go home. But while waiting, Mr. Anderson started talking to him.

“Hello, you’re Dareth, correct?” Dareth nodded.

“Okay cool. You did a great job today. I suggest practicing at home though. It’s great exercise, especially during the summer when everyone basically sits around.” With a small chuckle, Dareth nodded to show he understood. “Yes sir” he told Anderson. With a bigger smile, Anderson held up his left hand for a high five. Without any hesitation, Dareth high fived him. After that, Evan and Dareth’s mother was done talking, so it was time to go.

“Bye, see you on Wednesday!” Dareth, Evan, and Mr. Anderson all told each other. Once Dareth and his mother exited the dojo, they immediately laid eyes on the family car. In the front seat sat Dareth’s father.

“Huh, I guess he skipped the bar tonight...” Dareth heard his mother say under her breath, but decided not to comment on it. They silently entered the car, resulting in Dareth sitting in the backseat. Sitting silently in the back, Dareth spent the entire car ride as tension silently built in the car. He wanted someone to say something. He wanted his dad to ask how was the class, his mom to say he did a great job, and both his parents to chat happily. But if a word was spoken, Dareth feared that an argument will break out. His parents usually sit quietly in the car, then start a war in the house when their son is supposed to be asleep. Each word stuck in his mind, keeping him up at night. He was just waiting for his father to disappear into the night and never come back.

Staring out the window, Dareth watched the many businesses of the city pass by, each bringing him closer to home. He hoped that tonight his parents would try not to battle and he could try to could get a good nights rest. The keyword being try.

#ninjago #ninjago fanfic #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago dareth

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shsl-shipper-gamer-fangirl · 8 years ago

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For @skiretehfox's Maximus AU which is one of my favorite iterations of Max (and it's how I found your blog!) I fell in love with her at first sight and this is me singing praise and thanks for creating her and the whole AU. I hope I didn't write her ooc and if I did, please correct me. Anyways, here's the fic, enjoy!

Maximus Victory

Maximus was never one to be bothered to make an effort. In fact, she's given up trying altogether. She's learned at an early age that effort is futile but it's not because of the ratio of attempts to failures, rather the opposite. Everything was just so easy to achieve and so predictable. The world was dictated by patterns and to accomplish a goal was to simply follow the set path with predetermined rules. Perhaps that's why the only semblance to excitement there was in life for her was when she's bending the said rules or when there were hardly any restrictions in the first place. Either works and since she gets bored easily, she doubles in both.

She majors both in Law and in the Arts, Photography in particular, at the same time. There's a reason why she specializes in both of these areas. Manipulating the laws of legality was interesting enough to work as a brain-teaser for her on good days. Manipulating the laws of photography to get that perfect shot can be entertaining and fulfilling at times. And then there's the hidden third Major in Time, manipulating the laws of space and time just because she can.

No, she didn't fucking stutter. She has time powers, deal with it.

It's a rather dull story if you asked Maximus and although it was surprising at the time, that excitement obviously didn't last for the rest of her life. Actually, that got her the time powers in the first place: the end of her life, or at least it was supposed to be. Coming from a prestigious family has its own downsides aside from the boring parties filled with pretentious adults pretending to give a shit. For Maximus, she got kidnapped at the age of ten. The criminals weren't even professionals and ended up accidentally shooting her. She would have died too or maybe she did die but her rewind just overwrote that history. Needless to say, someone other than her ended up with a bullet on that day.

Rewinding time? What-the-fuck-ever. She doesn't give a shit.

Having time powers got old real fast. It was nothing that extraordinary for her as mastering any other skill. Within weeks she learned how to prevent the nosebleeds and within months, she could rewind for more minutes than she'll ever need to. She's confident that she knows how it works and mastered all of its tricks so much in fact that whatever thrill she felt on the first time had long since died along with the timeline where she's supposed to be dead. The supernatural aspect of it has been normalized and has now become routine. In short, she got bored. She started to think that whatever this was just might be the most exciting experience she'll ever get.

Her boring days carried on until she turned eleven and she attended a charity event in Seattle with her parents. She absolutely loathed these social gathering of hypocrites and if she had a choice, she wouldn't be here at all. Unfortunately being a kid meant less free will on her part but at the very least she was allowed freedom to separate and roam on her own. The exhibit wasn't even that interesting but it will have to do rather than the annoying adults that filled it. As she easily weaved through the groups of people she would have nothing to do with, she eavesdropped on voices that only spoke of bullshit.

Until she heard a voice that seemed to carry an IQ that was higher than the room's average.

"What an insult." The voice belonged to a girl with long blond hair and a scowl that matched her disgust. She's standing by one of the art booths and muttering to herself far too loudly and condescending. "No one's actually here to donate for the arts. Everyone's too busy kissing ass with people instead of actually admiring the displayed masterpieces." She glared at the room in general with great disapproval that Maximus couldn't help but approve.

"Masterpieces?" She smoothly took a spot beside her with an amused smirk. "Point me at one when you see them."

The girl turned to her, most likely surprised that someone would comment on her not so inner monologue. Her cheeks were tinged red with embarrassment but she quickly masked it under the guise of anger. She's certainly a proud one. "Well of course I didn't mean all of these!" She gestured to the entirety of the room and then crossed her arms. "There's no such thing as a gallery filled with only the best works. More than half are usually dull stud shots just trying to catch a ride on the greatness of the actual good ones."

Well she's not wrong although Maximus wouldn't want to inflate her ego by admitting that. At least this girl knew what she was talking about and she had the backbone to speak them out. Her eyes shone with the slightest of interests. "Huh, is that what you think so?" She tested her, intimidating.

"That's what I know so." The girl confidently replied and with a raised chin, she beckoned her, "And? What do you think?"

Maximus blinked. That's new. So there truly existed a person who wouldn't shrink from her. This girl could hold her own ground and who was Maximus to deny her conversation? "Hmm..." She hummed shortly and then pointed to one photo in particular. "Well this guy's trying too hard to go for Avedon-esque."

It was unexpected but the girl's face lit up at the mention of the photographer. It was so bright and instantaneous that Maximus could have sworn that a flash literally went off. "You know Richard Avedon? He's my hero!" She started excitedly and even jumped a bit when she fully turned towards her. When she realized that she had forgotten the proper but also boring TPO, she quickly composed herself. She held herself back but the embers in her eyes continued to glow warmly. "I mean... ahem, yes it is rather distasteful at how poor his attempt is. It's an absolute disgrace. I can't believe this crap is even here."

So this girl apparently also knew how photography worked and Maximus is impressed because that's already more than most of the guests' actual knowledge of the art. "And how would your attempt be?"

"Obviously better than this amateur." She scoffed and there was something with the way she said it, the power in her voice, that told her that she wasn't just all talk. "See, the technique is just..." And then she proceeded to expound on how to pull off an Avedon photoshoot.

And although Maximus was not one to socialize, she thought that she didn't mind spending time with this girl.

"Maximus Caulfield." She finally said after their fourth conversation. There was a small but noticeable proud grin on her face. This girl had earned the right to her name and frankly, she enjoyed her company. "It's a fucking relief to know that there's someone here who isn't a retard."

The girl just nodded in agreement. "Likewise. You aren't just air yourself." Despite her proud attitude, there was a clear underlying tone of approval in her voice. "If you don't already know, I'm Maribeth Chase. I suppose you can call me Mary for short."

"Mary, huh?" She rolled the name across her tongue experimentally. Something about the name just didn't sit right with her and she wracked her brain as to why. In the end, she couldn't figure out the reason but she did figure out a new nickname. "Nah, I think I'll just call you Vic."

"Vic?" She repeated and with obvious confusion written on her face. "Why Vic?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. It just feels right."

"Well I'm not the only one going home with a stupid nickname, Maxine." She eyed her levelly.

"It's Max, never Maxine." Maximus shot back and then smirked. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Vic."

They got along more than just fine, so much in fact that their parents already arranged for them to get married in the future.

Not like that made any difference since Maximus wasn't planning on spending the rest of her life with anyone else. She already spent her first eleven years with boring complacency and she'd be damned if that lasted any longer. So they meet again at another gala the next month and then after, they scheduled a meeting without the crowd of overaged morons. Maximus found Vic interesting enough that she dropped from her current school and transferred to hers. Vic couldn't believe what she did at first but she may have half screamed half squealed when her parents confirmed the fact. Maximus later found out about it and teased the hell out of her cute blushing face.

By the time that Vic got her pixie cut, they were already dating. The confession wasn't as much romantic as it was spontaneous.

"Date me." Maximus just suddenly dropped out of nowhere during an ordinary drive to the coffee shop.

The confession was just so unexpected that it almost passed by Vic's head. Almost. In a few seconds, her brain stopped and so did the car as her foot slammed on the brakes. Her head turned and faced her, gaping. "What did you just say?"

"Eyes on the road, partner." Maximus teased. "Did you know that most car accidents happen because the driver is looking elsewhere?"

"Oh, don't you pull that shit on me." Vic snarled and Maximus smiled wider because even Vic's angry face was cute. She didn't share her same amusement though. She glared harder. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Sorry, did I stutter?" Maximus leaned in close, so close that their noses were almost touching and their breaths were warm and mixing, and oh god it was intoxicating for Vic. In a seductively low voice, Maximus whispered, "I said fuck me."

A delectable shiver ran through Vic's spine and Maximus' teeth showed. There's also the obvious coloring of her cheeks but Vic was adamant on powering through this. "Maybe I'll think about it when you say what you actually first said."

"So that's a yes on fuck?" Maximus grinned devilishly.

Vic's blush burned to a darker shade as she stammered, "F-Fuck, Max! Just say those goddamned words already!" And in a softer, more shy voice she whispered, "I just... I just want to hear them and know this is real." And that's Maximus's signal to quit messing around.

She schooled her face into one of seriousness as she gazed deeply. No more fucking around. "Date me, Vic." Before Vic could answer, Maximus' lips were already on hers. And when she pulled back, she faintly heard the reverent whisper of a "yes" that she pulled from Vic's lips. Maximus licked her lips with pride. "We're gonna fucking rule the world together."

As much as Maximus would have loved to skip to the part where they rule the world, Vic thought it was imperative for them to continue their education and this was non-negotiable. So fast forward to now where they're in college. At least they share an apartment so she thinks it's not all that boring. Maximus still doesn't give a shit about things but Vic does and she makes it a point that Max knows.

"Max, get your lazy ass up already or you'll miss your defense." Vic scolded her for the nth time this past ten minutes. "Don't make me throw water at you because you know I will if you don't get up in the next thirty seconds."

"And ruin the bed? Where ever will we sleep then?" Maximus gasped playfully.

"Obviously I'll be taking the sofa and you'll be sleeping on the cold hard ground. Twenty seconds." Vic tapped her foot irritably by the bedside.

"Hey, don't talk about our floor like that." Maximus pouted. "Besides, it's more comfortable than you think. The coolness is perfect for the summer weather."

"It's officially winter in two weeks. And no, you're not getting any extra blankets to touch our impeccable floor." Vic pushed. "Ten seconds."

"Vic, it's eight in the morning. My defense is at nine. There's no need to rush. Besides, the prof is just as tardy as I am anyways." Maximus reasoned but Vic was having none of that.

"Five seconds, Max." She announced tersely and raised a glass of water threateningly.

Maximus immediately shot up at the last second, reached for the glass and downed the whole drink. "There. Now where's my morning kiss?" She smiled lopsidedly.

"That hardly bears merit for a reward." Vic scoffed as she took the glass and set it aside on the bedside drawer.

Without warning, Maximus leaned forward and pecked her on the lips. "I'm taking it anyways." She grinned toothily.

Vic's already used to Maximus' impulsive displays of affection but she never did learn how to tame her blushes. "You're insufferable." She muttered but not with a small smile.

"That's so sweet of you to say, thank you." Maximus replied with a chuckle that ended shortly when she growled lowly, "So where's my morning makeout session?"

Vic blinked. Her eyes quickly flitted to the clock and then back to her girlfriend, debating. She bit her lower lip in thought as Maximus licked hers in anticipation. Until finally, Vic let out a sigh and leaned forward. "Fuck it. Ten minutes tops."

Maximus just grinned in victory. "Negotiable, right?"

And sure, life was still boring as hell most of the time and Maximus could still never be bothered to make an effort. But it's moments like these that make her consider otherwise. Maximus couldn't care less about anything but Vic worries about everything. Life has been less boring with Vic around and Maximus will do everything within her power to keep this life. Whenever she thinks of Vic, she thinks that maybe she'd like to at least try. Effort has never been her thing but maybe that's just because she didn't have a reason worth it before— before Vic. It's different now and maybe she's changed as well even if only just by a bit.

Maximus puts in a little more effort nowadays and even more so when Vic rewards her.

#lis prompt #maximus caulfield #maximum victory #chasefield #lis #life is strange #max caulfield #victoria chase #whenever i get into a new AU #i like to worldbuild first #so that the next time i write for it #can be full on fluff without distractions #i actually had a different theme/ending in mind #but as i built this it didn't quite fit #maybe i'll just use it in the next one #if there will be a next one #even i don't know what i'll do next

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figmentforms · 8 years ago

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Fig Chatter!

It has been way, way to long since I got into my inbox. Thanks for your patience and after a couple quick announcements, I’ll get to as many as I can!

-Shuto Con- I will have my art booth at Shuto Con again this year! (March 17th - 19th, 2017) I’ve been assigned space #54 in the artist alley! I’ll have lots of art prints, bookmarks, art books, some original sketches, and i should have more prints of AToTR v1 from the printer by then as well.

-Health- Thanks so much to all of you that wrote and wished me well after I mentioned I was having health troubles. It meant a lot and I really appreciated it. Here’s how that’s going: After a quick exam about a week ago, the neurologist SAID I’M PROBABLY OK!!! :D I had some blood tests and an MRI yesterday, so after the results are in on those, I can know for certain!

(For those wondering, my eyes suddenly did a “David Bowie impression” and then kept doing it randomly for the past few months, along with other concerning stuff like numb spots on my legs and random hand weakness. I will be sure to mention how this turns out in a later update! lol, for now I’m just super glad to have the neurologist’s assurance that I’m probably not about to drop dead!)

And now for the questions!

I love this idea. I hadn’t thought of it going in that direction, but now I’m totally gonna daydream about it!

I had previously thought that Ghirahim would be the one to go out on a quest to find the young reincarnation of Ganondorf and help him grow up strong and powerful. He would help Ganondorf recall who he is and how to better harness the energy from his piece of the triforce. Maybe even help teach him combat again. (Even cooler if they were techniques that Ganondorf invented himself, but had forgotten between lives.) The bond between these two is so beautiful. TwT

OMG i would LOVE that! Just be aware that tumblr has been taking down all nsfw Ganondorf images (maybe other loz stuff too, but i only notice the Ganondorf ones). They may take down your picture just as they took down mine. I would recommend treading on the more sfw side if you want it to stay up! (and I very much would want it to) XD

Sadly I have no idea who he is! Link’s face is based off of some nice lookin’ fella i saw dressed up as Link at GenCon a few years ago. I didn’t even think to take a photo and I regret it all the time.

A lot of people mentioned that they were disappointed! (and honestly I am too) but with tumblr taking down all nsfw content (and even deleting an entire nsfw art blog that a friend of mine had), it made me back off from it. T-T I’m sorry, everyone!

Oh that would be super sweet. Right now I’m thinking she may meet a descendant of Princess Ruto at some royal ball and get hit upside the brain with a sudden terrible crush on her. (Then comes awkward Rinku, inwardly screaming “OMG WHAT DO I DO. I LIKE THIS GIRL. DOES SHE LIKE ME BACK??? HOW CAN I EVEN TELL??? IS MY BREATH OK??? DID I SERIOUSLY PUT MY SHIRT ON BACKWARDS THIS MORNING??? AUGHHH” the entire day that the zora princess is around. )

I’m 29! :D And I’ll be 30 on February 13th! Dun-Dun-Dunnnnnnnn.

omg how did I NOT THINK TO DO THAT!!!!?!?!

*tries to hold back my giggles of SHAME*

but really, Ganondorf broke the previous bed just by sitting on it, so there’s a plausible excuse of innocence there.

(But then again, this is a married couple that likes each other and are both happy and willing participants in this ‘sexy times’ activity so i’m not quite sure why i feel so embarrassed at the idea that they broke the bed during their enthusiastic ‘activities’. So you know what? YES. YES THEY BROKE THE BED DURING THE FRICKFRACK. HUZZAH!) XD

Oh dear, heck yeah Impa is queasy. Probably one of the most difficult evenings they’ve had to deal with in quite some time. It’s bad enough to hear that kinda thing through the wall in general, but under THESE circumstances, that’s gotta be really painful. After all, they still think that Ganondorf could kill Zelda on a whim at any moment.

PFFFTTT XD LOL

Ghirahim, “I swear to GOD if ONE MORE PERSON comments on how good i look in this stupid Link illusion, I’M BURNING DOWN ALL OF HYRULE.” *cries on the inside*

Yep! In loz canon Vaati is actually a cute little creature called a minish! He just uses magic to look different! https://zeldawiki.org/Minish

Probably! But if so it will be much much later in the comic.

OMG YES.

XD Oh yeah. She’s going to have a difficult time, that’s for sure at least. But I think the most interesting thing will be the reactions of the rest of the family as these troubles go on.

I think so, but that would also be much later in the story. Would be amazing to draw though.

Well, this is really a matter of taste. I usually go with a word like “wolf” over “wolfos” because it sounds better in my head. It makes what you’re creating a little easier to enjoy for people who may not be as familiar with the game lore as well. Best of luck on your fic! :D

My mortal enemy has been doing quite well since my attempts to capture and re-locate him failed miserably a few summers ago...

SO WELL in fact that last summer I saw 4 baby gophers out there with him... as he taught them his wicked ways of lawn destruction RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. So even though I will out live KHAAAAAAN, his evil assault against my poor yard will live on through his descendants. (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

XD COULD happen! (omg, I really enjoy people guessing what’s gonna happen next. If anyone wants to put out their ideas, I always love to hear them. It’s like looking in a parallel universe of the story!)

XD LOL! Not to worry. I understand the feeling! But hey! If you ever feel like going for it anyway, you can just do what I do with my shameful romance novels and wrap the cover in scrap-booking paper! As far as anyone around me knows, I could be readin’ a bible.

#Fig Chatter #Zelgan mention #Shuto Con #general chatter #Atotr chatter

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sweet-christabel · 8 years ago

Text

A Trusted Friend In Science

FF.net: (x) AO3: (x)

Chapter Twenty - Unknown year. Near Misses.

After figuring out which testing track Chell was on and reattaching Wheatley to the management rail, Doug once again found himself running ahead with the intention of depositing supplies in some of his now-exposed hiding places. He'd been against it at first, or rather the cube had, not comfortable with the broken-down state the facility was in. Not only was it harder to avoid GLaDOS's cameras with the crumbled walls, but travelling between chambers had gotten more dangerous due to the aged structures. Still, he'd persevered, his unwillingness to abandon Chell overpowering his apprehension.

Wheatley had yet to find a blind spot in which to contact her, but Doug had caught glimpses of him travelling the rail alongside the tests, keeping an eye on them both. He'd seen Chell once, entering chamber two just as he was leaving it. Although she was bearing up well, her expression betrayed her anxiety. There was a raw edge of sorrow to her demeanour too, which he attributed to grief for her father.

"It might help if she knew you were alive," the cube spoke up as he added a full tin of beans to the row of empty cans in one of his dens.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly, mindful of the gaping hole in the wall that led to test chamber three. "Write 'hi Chell, I'm alive lol' on a wall?"

The cube snorted at his heavy sarcasm. "It would get the job done."

"No," he said firmly. "She's seen my graffiti. She probably thinks that whoever wrote all this stuff is crazy. And she'd be right." He glanced up at the murals he'd painted in the room, images that made very little logical sense. During a long-ago period of restlessness, he'd managed to get his favourite song to loop on the radio, and had incorporated the lyrics into his work. The song had seemed to speak directly to him, which had been depressing, but at the same time he'd found its melody soothing.

"You need to get over thinking she'd judge you," the cube told him sternly. "She knows better than that, and you know she does. Let her know you're alive. She needs something to help her keep going. Tenacity alone won't always cut it."

Doug sighed, crouching to avoid being seen by the security camera in the test chamber, and sneaked over to the opposite side of the room. He switched the radio on, letting the music calm him, its familiar words once again questioning whether he'd given up. As before, he felt determined to prove them wrong.

“I can’t just…” he began, trailing off almost at once. “I already told Wheatley not to mention me to her, so doing this just seems…”

“She won’t know everything,” the cube countered. “Just that you’re alive.”

The cube had a point, as it often did when he let his fear control him. He wanted nothing more than to stay there and simply wait for Chell to arrive. He knew that wouldn’t be long, as she was only one chamber behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to face her, knowing that he’d been the one to place her life in danger. Although he was afraid, however, the thought of leaving her no clue as to his survival made him feel almost panicky.

Before he could change his mind, he drew a pen from his pocket and scurried over to the can of beans he’d left for her, bringing it back over to the ‘safe’ side of the den. Hand trembling just a little, he pressed the pen nib to the stark white label and wrote ‘Don’t give up’.

“That’s it?” the cube squawked.

He shot it a look over his shoulder. “It’s enough.”

“But how will she know who…”

“If she hears that song,” he interrupted, “she’ll know.”

The sound of GLaDOS’s voice emanating from the speaker outside the door startled him. He dropped the can and the pen next to the radio, hurrying over to the broken wall panels on the far side of the room. Carefully, mindful of the murky, bottomless drop below, he scrambled out of the den and climbed up the girders and mechanical arms on the outside of the chamber until he was safely perched on top of it. It was slow going, what with the constant ache in his leg and the extra weight of the portal gun, tucked in securely next to the cube, but he made it unseen.

“Now what?” the cube asked.

“On to the next one,” Doug replied softly.

Ever since GLaDOS had dropped her unceremoniously into the incinerator room, Chell had been wracking her brain for an escape plan. So far, she hadn't had much luck, settling back into testing compliantly to keep the A.I. appeased until she thought of something. Although there were still places where she could have gotten out of the test chambers, the sheer drop down put her off trying to leave that way. Despite the boots she was wearing, the fall looked like a death sentence.

GLaDOS wasn't allowing her a moment's peace, constantly prodding and berating her about the fact that Chell had shut her down, resorting to cheap shots about her 'horrible' personality and her adoption. It seemed that the powerful supercomputer had conveniently forgotten that she had been the one to attack first. Chell let the comments wash over her, not allowing them to rattle her. She had bigger concerns than GLaDOS's petty opinions.

A hole in the wall caught her attention as she entered test chamber three, and she darted over to it, wondering if it was an exit. It wasn't, but it was interesting nonetheless. Dropping down into the once-hidden room, she glanced around, taking in the empty bean cans, the outlandish murals on the walls and, most of all, the radio that was playing something other than the irritating Samba tune she'd heard before.

Wait, she thought suddenly, I know this song.

Doug had driven her crazy with it once, playing it on a loop on his car stereo when they'd taken a lunch break outside and retreated to the car to avoid the rain.

Her stomach gave a lurch, and she rationally tried to figure out if it was possible for the radio to have been playing during the entire, unknown amount of time she'd been in suspension. It was unlikely, even with Aperture’s longevity track record. She crouched down to investigate it, checking for wet paint or fingerprints. The toe of her boot sent a tin rolling. Letting go of the portal device, she reached out and stopped it, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise as she realised it was unopened.

She set the device on the ground and picked up the tin, wondering if it had been forgotten about or left deliberately. It was as she was turning it over in her hands that she saw the message, the handwriting shaky but still familiar.

Chell exhaled noisily, closing her eyes briefly. A quick search of the immediate area yielded a pen, the same kind of cheap ball-point that was once found in every office.

Why would he have left that behind? she wondered inwardly. Is it just that he left in a hurry, or does he expect me to use it?

When she looked back at the writing, she saw that her thumb had smudged the end of the D and her heart did a little flip.

Still drying, she thought elatedly. He left because...I entered the chamber. He is alive.

She closed her eyes again, grinning stupidly in relief, then took another cursory glance at the paintings. There was nowhere on them that would show her writing clearly. She would take a leaf out of Doug's book and use the cans. Lunging across the room, she snatched one up and pondered what to write. There was so much she wanted to say. In the end, though, she settled for ‘Please don’t run. Let's escape.' Chances were he wouldn't return, but she resolved to repeat the message at every opportunity.

He’s running ahead of me. So I need to catch up.

Chell wasn’t stupid. She realised that he wasn’t medicated, and she didn’t know how it had affected him. The dioramas on the walls were not the work of an entirely stable mind, and yet he was leaving her supplies that she needed. He’d obviously kept up with his art therapy, which suggested he’d also continued the calming techniques that his regular therapist had taught him. There was a chance that he’d maintained some semblance of his old life. Feeling a little selfish, she clung to that hope. She wasn’t sure how she’d get through to him otherwise.

Spurred on by fresh motivation, she solved the test quickly and progressed to the next chamber, the one after that, and the one after that. She found a few more of Doug’s refuges, some with water and food in, but no new signs that he’d been there recently enough to catch.

GLaDOS had responded to her new determined speed by complaining that she was solving the tests faster than they could be built. Chell knew that that was not strictly true, since what GLaDOS was doing was making the tests usable again rather than building new ones, but she was well acquainted with how her robotic adversary stretched the truth. With more to occupy her mind, she was finding it even easier to ignore GLaDOS’s taunting. The A.I. did not react to Chell’s lack of interest, which was mildly irritating but not wholly unexpected. They were both pros at trying to get a rise out of each other.

In chamber nine, Chell made a slightly startling discovery, catching sight of Wheatley hiding in a blind spot near the ceiling. Since she could only see and hear him when she stepped on an aerial faith plate that shot her up in the air, his explanation for not being deactivated was more garbled than usual, as he did not stop his flow of speech whenever she dropped out of earshot. By the time that GLaDOS lowered the ceiling and cut him off from view, all that Chell had surmised was that the core was attributing his survival to a bird.

Whatever happened to him must have damaged his circuits a little, she theorised.

As she solved the test, she pondered the matter further, stringing two and two together and deciding that Doug was probably involved somehow. She simply couldn't see any other way that Wheatley would have gotten himself fixed and back on the management rail if not with human help. It certainly wasn't a bird.

As she stepped into the elevator, she sighed in frustration. Everything would be so much simpler if she could only talk. She could just ask Wheatley, rather than having to rely on guesswork. Cautiously, she attempted a quiet, "Hello?" She heard her soft rush of breath, but nothing else.

"Godammit," she hissed, partly in disappointment, partly to see if she could whisper. She could, after a fashion, but it sounded difficult to decipher, even to her ears.

Biting down her distress and anger, she picked up her steady mantra that had seen her through her first set of tests: Carry on, carry on, carry on.

Having collected more rain water in the large containers he'd rediscovered in his hiding places, Doug was busy distributing it into smaller bottles that would be easier to carry around. With the cube and the portal gun, he was fairly weighed down already, but the water was necessary. Using a mixture of portals and his old climbing routes, he'd found his way into an old den in the ceiling of chamber twelve. He was far enough ahead that he could take a moment to rest. His leg still throbbed, but it was feeling stronger, and food and water had put a little colour in his pale face.

Setting down his heavy bag, Doug lowered himself to the floor, his back against a mural he'd forgotten he'd painted. It was nice to sit down for a while. He felt as if he'd been running for days, although in reality it was probably only a few hours. Chell was most likely suffering too, her only respite in the elevators between tests.

"Ah! There you are!"

Doug jumped violently as the cheerful voice shattered his peace. His eyes flew open and he spotted Wheatley peering in the gap to his left, between the ceiling and the wall.

"Been looking for you for ages! I've got an idea, right. I'm going to orchestrate a situation so I can have a word with our lady down there, and I need your help for that, cos, uh, you actually have hands."

Blinking as he registered the core's hurried speech, Doug scrambled wearily to his feet, fighting hard to focus on Wheatley as shadowed figures dogged his peripheral vision.

"You're okay," the cube said quietly, injecting some calm into his mentality. "You're in control, not them."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked Wheatley, pushing the hallucinations aside as best he could.

Wheatley fixed him with an eager, blue stare. "Well, I thought she should know that we're working to get her out of there, you know, so that she's ready to escape when the time comes. But I can't do that with Her watching everything. But don't panic, it's okay, right, cos I found a way to slow up the door mechanism. So, uh, if you'll just...follow me. We can use the door to this chamber below."

"Is Chell far behind?"

"No. I just caught sight of her in the test before this one."

Doug nodded and used the cube as a step up to reach the top of the wall where the core waited.

"Wait here," he told it. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"Be careful," it said sagely.

Turning back to Wheatley, Doug glanced at the potential route to the door. "Hmm," he muttered. "Portal device isn't going to help me here."

It was going to be a steep climb above the yawning gap into nothingness. Just looking at it made his stomach flip.

"Although..."

Hopping back down, he picked up the gun and shot a portal into the room’s single compatible surface: a few panels in the ceiling.

"Might make for an easier return trip."

He moved the cube out of its bag, dropping the portal device safely inside. Then he swung the strap across his shoulder and returned to the wall.

"You still have to get down there," the cube pointed out.

"I don't suppose you know how secure you are on the rail, do you?" he asked, glancing at Wheatley with a raised eyebrow.

The core narrowed his optic suspiciously. "Why?"

Doug opened his mouth to reply, but was swiftly cut off by Wheatley's cynical tones.

"Oh wait, wait, wait, I know what you're about. What is it with you humans, eh? You...you...you look at me and all you see is a means to an end. I mean, do I look like a bloody zip line to you?"

Doug glanced at him, trying to keep his expression neutral. With his bottom handle looking so invitingly handy and the management rail gently sloping towards the chamber entrance, the core did rather look like the key to progressing.

"Um," Doug began diplomatically, "well, not exactly..."

"Don't bother," Wheatley snapped, sounding exasperated. "Don't even bother. I can see it in your face, mate, and I'm...I'm disappointed, truth be told."

Doug sighed, holding up a hand. "Now, look-"

"Oh!" the core interrupted. "I just thought of something else that's disappointing. What if our combined weight is too much for this rail, eh? What if we both plummet to our horrible, grisly deaths? Cos you know what, that would be really bloody disappointing."

"It's a short journey," Doug shot back, his voice firm. "I think we'll be okay. I promise you, I don't weigh much. Not after three years without a square meal."

"You want to risk your life, that's up to you," Wheatley argued waspishly. "I don't see why you should drag me into it as well. Good old dispensable Wheatley, what does it matter if he falls into a deadly pit of death? Well I'll tell you why that matters, it matters because....uh....because....well, it just does, okay? Honestly, you humans, you think just because you created us, you're the boss of everything, well you're not. Okay? One day, I might be the boss and, uh, and then...well, I haven't thought that far ahead, to be honest, but something important will definitely happen."

"Meanwhile," Doug cut in, "Chell will have walked right past us and we'll have lost our opportunity."

The sphere halted, optic shifting as he considered. "Ah," he said. "You may have a point there." He glanced down at the drop beneath him, then hurriedly looked away. "Oh god, I really, really don't advise that."

"Look, just don't look down and move as fast as you can," Doug recommended. "We'll be there before you even register that we're going."

Wheatley made a short collection of sounds, imitating a sigh and a few fearful grumbles. "All right, all right. Let's get it over with, for god's sake. And if we die, it will be entirely on your head."

"Fine," Doug muttered, perching himself on the edge and reaching for Wheatley's lower handle. The murky depths of the pit stretched out shadowy tendrils, threatening to grab him and pull him into the darkness.

Oh god, I can't do this.

"You can," the cube called to him. "Don't look. It isn't real, Doug. It isn't real."

"Ready?" he asked Wheatley, thankfully managing to disguise the tremble in his voice.

"No," the core said obstinately. "Just remember to tuck your legs up, we'll be going through a fairly small gap at the end."

"Okay."

Tightening his grip, Doug took a deep breath and let himself slide off the edge. His body swung out into emptiness, the portal device clunking gently against his back. His stomach was immediately invaded by a small army of butterflies, his heart dropping into his shoes.

Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?

Following his suggestion rather more literally than he had expected, Wheatley shot off at top speed down the rail, causing Doug to fight the air resistance as he tried to keep his legs up.

Holy crap!

Keeping a death grip on the handle, staring adamantly straight ahead, Doug clenched his teeth as he battled his fear. But then they were slowing, drifting through a square hole in the wall, turning several corners, then finally emerging in a dimly-lit corridor. Doug let go immediately, landing on solid floor only to lose his balance and stumble against the wall. He was shaking, breathing hard. Wheatley stopped, spinning to face him. It was difficult to tell which one of them had been more terrified. Although it soon became apparent that only one of them was suffering after effects.

"Well," the core said cheerfully. "That wasn't too bad, actually. Reckon we could do that again."

"No," Doug panted, shaking his head as he crouched down, "I am never doing that again."

"It was your bloody idea," Wheatley huffed.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it didn't scare the hell out of me."

Wheatley shook his optic from side to side, mumbling a tetchy, "Humans." Then he paused, tilting to one side as if he was listening to something. "The lift's on its way," he reported. "Come over here, we'll shut down the door."

Still on wobbly legs, Doug straightened up and complied. Wheatley halted beside a panel he'd obviously opened, displaying the mechanism for the door.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Look up in the gap that the missing ceiling tile left," Wheatley instructed.

Doug did so, hopping up onto a nearby desk. He found the nest almost at once, bringing it down into the light with a sceptical expression. There were three eggs inside it.

"A bird's nest?" he said in disbelief.

"Yep," Wheatley beamed proudly. "Chuck 'em in."

Frowning, Doug stared at him. "You want me to...throw eggs in the door mechanism?"

"Yes, it's brilliant. Trust me."

Shrugging, he threw the whole thing into the workings behind the panel. It sparked, emitting a pathetic groaning noise. Then they heard GLaDOS’s words of complaint as she told Chell to stay put.

“Cheers!” Wheatley said brightly, zipping away down the rail, turning into the observation room through the only other open door in the corridor.

Doug followed, keeping out of sight, pulling the portal device out of the bag and hugging it to his chest. He would need it soon. He just wanted to find out exactly what Wheatley was saying.

“I found some bird eggs up here,” the core was explaining. “Just dropped ‘em into the door mechanism. Shut it right down!”

Just as Doug was thanking the heavens that Wheatley had remembered to keep him out of things, there came a whisper of wings, and he just had time to see a dark, feathered shape flit through the open door.

“I – aaggh!” yelled Wheatley in apparent shock. “Bird! Bird! Bird! Bird!”

Doug froze in bewildered surprise, a guilty smile lingering on his face as he listened to the personality sphere sliding back and forth on his rail to get away from the creature. After a beat, he heard him return.

“Okay. That’s probably the bird, innit, that laid the eggs? Livid!”

Doug shook his head, still smiling, and wondered how Chell was reacting.

“Okay, look, the point is we’re going to break out of here, all right? Very soon, I promise, I promise,” the core reassured her. “I just have to figure out how. To...break us out of here. Here she comes!”

Not wanting to stick around, Doug fired a portal in the wall further down the corridor and dropped through the one he’d placed in the den’s ceiling. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as the connection closed a fraction of a second after he’d passed through. He didn’t have time to fathom why, however, as his awkward landing caused a large panel to fall out of the floor.

Eyes wide as he struggled to regain his balance, Doug watched the tile tumble down past a hard-light bridge and land with a quiet splash in the pool of toxic goo below.

“Shit!” he hissed vehemently. There was a place at the very back of his mind that was grateful for whatever GLaDOS was saying over the room’s speakers that would drown out his panicked word.

He shifted his weight sideways, letting himself fall and roll out of harm’s way. There was no time to take a breather, however. He knew that there was a chance that Chell had caught a glimpse of his lab coat. Even if she hadn’t, she was likely to explore the hiding place at any moment.

Doug hurried over to the cube, quickly repacking his bag. Taking care to avoid the gap in the floor, he passed it, scrambling across the air conditioning ducts and disappearing into the shadows beyond. Behind him, he heard the pop of a portal opening in the ceiling, followed by the sound of Chell’s boots.

“Focus,” cautioned the cube.

I am focused, he argued silently. Come on. We need to catch up with Wheatley.

“Good job with the bird eggs back there,” Wheatley said, as soon as Doug had pinned him down between test chambers.

“Hello to you too,” Doug murmured under his breath.

Wheatley barrelled on, unperturbed. “I’ve been thinking about our escape, right. I’ve got an idea. Ahh, you’re gonna love this, honestly, it’s tremendous. So, I was thinking about how our original plan was just to go up in the lift, okay, and I thought to myself ‘why change it?’ I mean, it’s still the best plan we’ve got going for us so far.”

Doug frowned in disagreement, but Wheatley continued before he could voice his thoughts.

“No, I hear you say, She is still holding us back. And right now, you’d be right. But what if she wasn’t? Um, holding us back, that is.”

“Uh…well, obviously that would be great,” the scientist spoke up, “but she’s not as easy to take down as you might think. I couldn’t do it. That’s why I needed Chell.”

“His plan is to do exactly what we were already trying to do?” the cube put in scathingly.

“Shh,” Doug pacified.

Wheatley peered at him, optic narrowed. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you. Never mind. What was your idea?”

“It’s simple, really. Genius. We don’t kill her, we replace her. Y’know, do a core transfer and put me in her place. I can summon the lift, we all leave. Easy.”

Doug arched an eyebrow, considering the idea. It wasn’t as ridiculous or far-fetched as he’d expected Wheatley’s plans to be. In fact, it might even be the easiest way out.

“She won’t be eligible for a core transfer unless her central core is corrupt,” he said, already recalling the route to a usable console.

“Yeah, but you can do that, can’t you?” Wheatley asked, tilting a little.

“I can, if I can get to the right office.” Turning back to the sphere, he added, “Have you figured out when you can break Chell out of the testing track?”

“Not quite, but I’ve got a plan for that too. Leave it with me, mate. Working on it.” He bobbed in a confident kind of nod.

“Be careful. She’s always watching.”

But it seemed that where GLaDOS was concerned, Wheatley was as paranoid as he was.

“If GLaDOS finds you or suspects what we’re up to, she’ll fight back,” Doug told him gravely.

Wheatley looked at the floor, an air of nervousness overtaking him. “How?”

“In my experience,” he shrugged, “turrets or neurotoxin. Those are her favourites.”

“Weellll,” Wheatley said, drawing the word out, “I reckon Chell and I could stop by turret control and the neurotoxin generator on our way to the main chamber. You know, shut everything down so that she can’t use them against us. That would give you plenty of time to get to the console thingy and work a little bit of corruption magic. Err….science. Swap that in. Meant science. Of course!”

Doug shot him a quick smile. “Now that is a truly excellent plan.”

The core beamed at him, lifting his lower handle in a vague imitation of a smile.

“I’m going to keep tracking Chell until you break her out,” Doug went on. “Then I’ll make my way to the office.”

“Okay. I’d better go. I’ve got a meeting with the nanobot crew.”

“You’ve got a what?” Doug called after him, but the sphere was already moving along the rail.

“Hmph,” said the cube, with feeling.

“He needs to work on his greetings and leave-takings,” he commented dryly.

“At least he’s not welcoming you with ‘You’re looking good today’ anymore,” the cube pointed out.

Doug rubbed his tired, gritty eyes. “It was never true anyway.”

“Oh, stop.”

“What?”

“Anyone would think you were Quasimodo the way you go on,” the cube scolded. “Let’s get moving. Chell must be in chamber fourteen at least by now.”

Smiling to himself a little, Doug did as it suggested and took off running.

No illustration this week. I just didn’t have time.

#A trusted friend in science #Doug Rattmann #Chell #wheatley #mild swearing

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travellerr2017-blog · 7 years ago

Text

About a month ago it was decided to go away on a road trip up to Byron Bay and Fraser Island; unfortunately, this didn’t happen but due to already asking for a week or so off it made sense to take advantage of that and go visit those who needed to be seen. So instead of the road trip, 6 days were spent in Melbourne and 4/5 days were spent up in Newcastle (Salamander Bay/Port Stephens).

Leaving Sydney on the 6th of July the plane landed in Melbourne around 7 pm. The sky bus was caught to go to the Southern Cross ($19 for a one way) where Damo a friend of mine picked me up. Picking up his housemates we headed to a pub to grab some food and play pool for a little while before the two of us snuck off back to his place. The following day after a long debate as to where to go, a train journey and a 5-minute walk later Brighton beach boxes were in our view.

The weather that day was cool but brisk, so as we walked down the beach the wind gently brushed over us causing all sorts of trouble with everyone’s hair. Walking towards the boxes to take photos you come across those types of people who think that they are models on a photo shoot and spend ages taking just one snap. It’s rather irritating, to be honest. But saying that the boxes are honestly not as exciting nor as good as people make them out to be. Half of them need some TLC whilst some looks as if they’re about to just crumble into pieces. Yet they sell for millions? How and why? They don’t even get used, maybe a couple of the nicer ones do. Eventually getting the snaps that were wanted we carried on with our walk to St Kilda’s stopping only to put my trainers back on and buy some ice-cream; it’s never too cold for ice cream. Once arriving at St Kilda a photo of Luna Park was taken then it was time to go home; first time ever on a tram!

The next day a trip into Melbourne was in order to go to Flinders Street (well Hosier Lane) to photograph the street art. My god, it’s incredible! The detail, imagination, colour etc was mind blowing. It is impressive knowing that people just go out and paint/spray paint whatever comes to mind. Every step was a different style, different pattern, technique. Literally walking down these lanes was pretty damn awesome. We must’ve spent about two hours there just going back and forward taking photos, embracing it all, standing in awe at the impressiveness of the art work. Once we’d walked the whole way round, a quick visit to the state library was needed. ‘Once a bookie, always a bookie’. Looking down at the library from the top is rather tantalizing. For a bookie, there’s this thrill of excitement you get from walking into a book store or library; so much imagination, history, knowledge just laying within arm’s reach. If a choice had been given my day would’ve been spent in that library running my fingers over every single book and cranny. Books would’ve been read and history would’ve been taught. But by the end of this day, the weekend with Damo had come to an end for in the morning a new adventure awaited with Chris and Monica.

Sunday morning came and it was time to catch the train down to Lara. Chris was waiting at the station for me in his BMW; taking me back to the house to drops off my bags and pick up the girls and Monica before heading to the grandparents to drop the girls off for the day. The grandparents have this beautiful German Shephard called Yogi, who is massive!! 20 minutes later after cuddling yogi to death, we hopped into the car and we’re on our way down the Great Ocean Road.

As we’re cruising along around these bendy roads the houses and views were just phenomenal. Stopping at the sign for the Great Ocean Road we waited and watched as these stupid people were standing in the middle of the road to ‘get that shot’, like how idiotic is that? People are so stupid sometimes it’s unreal; they had to run onto the path to get out of the way of oncoming cars. Eventually, we got the shot that we wanted, hopped back into the car and on our way we went. Coming to a village we stopped for lunch where on looking kookaburras sat on the ledges trying to steal chips whilst people weren’t looking. Rather amusing to watch. So again it was time to hit the road.

Looking out of the window a rainbow was spotted, not just one but two! At first, it looked like one then further down it was two and then the second one vanished leaving only one. At this point, it had started to rain and the clouds started to come down and cover the horizon making taking a photo of the rainbow nearly impossible. About half an hour and a quick rain shower later we ended up at the Twelve Apostles. There isn’t actually twelve anymore, more like 8 are left standing and even then they are falling away. In maybe 20 years or so the Twelve Apostles will no longer exist. If you get the chance go now whilst they are still standing. Even here to get a photo you had to wrestle all the other tourists and it was raining! Took us by surprise as to how many people were there considering the rain. But again the views were just astonishing. Trying to think up or find words to describe something that you’re not quite how to describe is kind of hard to do, and usually the same word gets used more than once. The Twelve Apostles are so worth seeing, even if you don’t find it that incredible, the colours; the waves the atmosphere makes it all worthwhile. The whole day was spent driving around the Great Ocean Road, Chris stopping every now and then to show me the views, so on the way home, you can imagine how tired we all got, starting to fall asleep in the car we pull up outside a noodle bar. Delicious! Picked the girls up went home and ate this delicious pot of chicken noodles; perfect dinner to a perfect day out.

The following few days were uneventful, we took the girls to the park and mostly just played with them home. Playing hide and seek, making trails out of all of their toys, watching films, playing with dolls, organising Sophia’s teddies on her bed and mostly spending every now and then out in the garden with their kelpie dogs Millie and Mack. The day for me to leave came around far too quickly, but without a shadow of a doubt, they will see me again soon. Monica dropped me off at the train station, once arriving at the Southern Cross the sky bus took me back to the airport where my next adventure would begin.

Landing in Newcastle around 6 pm Christo picked me up, running out to help me put my stuff in the car as it was pouring it down! The car journey turned into me crying. A phone call from back home brought me some more bad news which wasn’t expected at all. The week before this phone call, a phone call was made to let me know that my granddad had passed away. Getting bad news from back home when you’re out exploring in a foreign land isn’t really what anyone wants to hear, and getting the second bad news a week later was a shock. This get away came at the perfect time but also at a very bad time. It still hasn’t set in even weeks down the line that my granddad is no longer with us, what makes it worse for me is that he was back home in England whereas I am in Australia. But back to my adventures, he wouldn’t want me to be upset over it, he’d want me to carry on doing exactly what it is that I’m doing. So this bad news hit me whilst in the car on the way to Christo’s and Tracyann’s, but getting to the house a beer was placed in my hands and pizza was eaten whilst watching the origins game. Sadly New South Wales lost badly, like it was so hard to watch how badly they played that last game. There are three matches for the state of origin game. New South Wales against Queensland, the first one NSW won the second QLD so the final game was the decided as to which state won and it was QLD. The following day was stay at home look after the kids whilst the parents worked so myself and their current au pair Shara took the kids and their dog Wally to the park for a little bit before going home and popping out to the beach!! And then the next couple of days literally were just spent on a different beach. It was beautiful. Shara and I walked around Nelson Bay for a bit, went into some shops (there are some really nice ones but expensive) looking for a birthday present for Tracyann. Time goes by rather quickly so Sunday came and a 3-hour journey was taken to get back to Niagara Park. It had been an amazing yet upsetting week or so away.

A little get away About a month ago it was decided to go away on a road trip up to Byron Bay and Fraser Island; unfortunately, this didn’t happen but due to already asking for a week or so off it made sense to take advantage of that and go visit those who needed to be seen.

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beatmagazine · 8 years ago

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Elf Lyons - Typically Different

With her new show Pelican out on the road to brighten up the otherwise gloomy months of January, February and March, and a new-new show kicking off straight after that, Elf Lyons isn’t one for hanging ‘round.

After high-tailing it from Bristol Uni to London in 2012, Elf has spent the past four years building a reputation for her fresh, playful, brilliantly scripted and often plain weird live shows. She’s picked up a string of 5 star reviews and a growing crowd of fans along the way.

Elf took a late night quiet moment to talk to us about Pelican, writing and why eating sausages in the morning is weird.

photo by Andy Hollingworth

Hi, Elf. How are you?

Great. At the time of writing this it is 1am, I’ve just eaten a bar of Green & Blacks Mint chocolate in the bath, and I’ve got a new lava lamp.

Describe a typical day in the Life of Elf.

Typically, each day is typically very different to the one before - but usually each one is very sexy, full of fun, including ten parts coffee, one ‘Oh Fuck Moment’, at least five costume changes, twenty cuddles and human interactions, Magic FM on full and one moment of wobbly cellulite nudity. Either accidental or on purpose.

This last week alone I did a new magic comedy striptease in French, a tax return, my drag night The Matron Presents, some awful gym activities involving squats - causing me to walk like Clint Eastwood with an erection, attended a ball for the Inspired4Life charity, taught a comedy workshop for teenagers, re-edited Pelican, rewrote a short script and came fourth in a film pub quiz. So overall, busy.

You've done a load of shows at The Etcetera Theatre, regularly compère at Camden Comedy Club and host an LGBT comedy night at Her Upstairs; you're a bit of a Camden legend. Which has been your favourite role so far and why?

I couldn’t pick a favourite role - they all congeal together to make this huge big bulbous colourful globule of memories which encapsulates my whole weird experience of Camden.

There is a growing idea that Camden is past it, that it's relevancy and culture died with indie and Amy Winehouse. Do you think that's fair? Does Camden have more to offer than tat for tourists and unaffordable rent, particularly for young people?

Camden is about the alternative, trying new things out and taking a risk. Sure it is a tourist attraction, and there are many other developing areas of London with their own cool creative hubs which are blossoming - Peckham, Brixton, Shoreditch to name a few. But like so many other bits of London, you just need to look past the high street and you’ll see that there is a thriving creative community that isn’t difficult to get involved in. There are music gigs, poetry gigs, queer gigs, political stand up gigs, lots of new theatre and community projects going on.

To make one person, like Amy Winehouse, the emblem of the culture of a town undercuts the other creative aspects of the area. Comedy in particular has always been vibrant - since I first started doing comedy and still now. Yes - Camden is so much more expensive, but still hosts some of the only affordable central performance spaces for artists to showcase their work. If it wasn’t for festivals like the Camden Fringe it would be far harder for artists to get their work seen.

It may not be perfect but is it part of the patchwork quilt of London’s creative scene.

Now that you're back home, what was the highlight of your time at L'Ecole Philipe Gaulier?

Gaulier was all my favourite coming of age films in one. Like Dirty Dancing except based in a tiny little cramped run down part of Paris, with only one bar and 50 of the weirdest people you’ve ever met. And Patrick Swayze was replaced by a love-hate frenchman who resembled a bowling ball. Rumplestiltskin - if he had discovered crocs, fine millinery and whisky. It was fantastic!

One highlight was meeting my comedy soul mate Ryan Lane.

Ryan and I learnt the Parent Trap handshake on our first week together of Le Jeu and that birthed a relationship akin to step-siblings. We write well together and since our success in creating characters we have teamed up and are developing our play Hilda & The Spectrum - which we are previewing around the UK from March and then the Edinburgh Festival.

The great thing about Gaulier was that it helped birth so many surreal and stupid ideas that I would have felt too ridiculous to consider developing back in London. It taught me to be free and to feel less reserved about looking an idiot. You learn that as long as you are performing with complete joy - nothing matters but that moment - no matter how stupid it is.

London or Paris?

Tough. London has the dress sense and the quirks, the better coffee (I will fight any french barista on this point) and unlike Paris we are allowed to sit on the grass in our parks. But, Paris has the attitude and there is nothing more beautiful than Bautes Chaumont. Their queer scene is great and there’s something just fantastic about the way Parisians host things. There is a real artistry to it.

Also - the bread... my god... the bread.

Croissant and coffee or full English?

Croissant and coffee. Always. I think eating sausages in the morning is really weird.

Being Barberella photo by Will Hazell

What does your writing process involve and where do you look for inspiration?

I pick a subject, anything: from the underground / politics / porn legislation / Barbie etc - research it, play with it, learn about it, then meet someone and talk to them about it, get drunk, argue about it, then after I’ve ruminated on it enough I’ll then improvise around it on stage and see what comes.

I like to give myself challenges - for example: the new show is a one woman production of Swan Lake. I don’t know ballet - so I am going to have to learn. Challenge No 1. Challenge No 2? I want to do the whole thing in french. Because, why not? Problem is I can’t speak french. So I am learning french.

Crucially I read tons (every day in the morning) and that really helps - with language, words, ideas and reference. I recommend reading as much as you can. Everything and anything.

What advice do you have for young, female writers who struggle with confidence and believing in their creative output?

Once you have decided to book yourself a gig / open spot / venue / whatever it is, you need to actually get your act together and showcase to people what is going on in that wonderful head of yours. Accept that you are going to be crap for a while and at random points doing what you want to do. You’ll be great one day, on top of the world, and the next day you will be awful. THAT IS NORMAL. Embrace it and laugh it off.

There is nothing more dignified than trying an idea, it not working and you going “Okay. That sucked. What’s next?”. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You need to be rubbish in order to be good - so lose any pride you have about being bad, lose your ego, get on stage and get ghastly. AND DROP THOSE FRIENDS WHO MAKE YOU FEEL BAD FOR TRYING IDEAS AND TAKING RISKS. If your friends make you feel ashamed, don’t invite them to your gig.

Going on stage and trying out an idea is the equivalent of showing your working out for a difficult equation on a maths paper - people appreciate seeing your process, not just your end result. SO TAKE RISKS AND PLAY WITH DIFFERENT WAYS OF DOING THINGS.

Remember - each time you do whatever it is you want to do, in front of a crowd - it will get easier. You’ll become familiar with how your body reacts to nerves and to audiences and you’ll be able to plan your gigs accordingly - based on how you know you work in order to get ‘in the zone’.

And read lots. Read and read and read. And watch as much live work as you can.

Your blog post on polyamory genuinely made us laugh out loud. Firstly: art gallery or Nando's?

Art Gallery. Always.

Secondly: have you ever actually had sex in Nando's?

No comment.

You're a queer woman in a very male-heavy field. Have you experienced any difficulties because of it?

I am lucky that I gig with wonderful people on a lovely circuit and have been blessed with not facing any horridness. I know many other people who haven’t been as lucky.

When you aren't blogging naked or writing hit comedy shows, what are you watching on Netflix?

Recently watched the DIVINE documentary which was fantastic and any film with Diane Keaton in it, as she is a goddess. And Drag Race.

And how excited are you for Stranger Things season 2 on a scale of 1-11, or are you more of an OA girl?

I’ve never seen OA and I’m excited about ST on about a level 5. Give me Daredevil and Jessica Jones any day.

How do you prepare for your live shows?

Rene Bazinet taught us some Feldenkrais techniques at Gaulier and since then I’ve become obsessed. It makes my body feel like a calm loose piece of cotton.

You wear some interesting things on stage. What's been your favourite outfit so far?

Hayley Cherkas has designed my last two costumes for Pelican and Being Barbarella and I love them both so much. She’s a fantastic young designer. She sees exactly what I see in my head and translates it to paper and to fabric, in such a beautiful way. Her technique and designs are masterful. She has a great eye. Through her choice of materials, silhouette and cut she balances the surreal with the elegant in a way that makes me feel glamorous whilst still capable to move and play the fool on stage. I like that bizarre balance. She makes me feel like a High Fashion Malvolio.

Writing or performing?

Can’t choose. It’s like picking a puppy over a kitten.

After the Pelican mini-tour, what have you got on for 2017?

Hilda & The Spectrum with Ryan Lane at The Old Joint Stock Theatre in Birmingham in March, alongside previews of my new show (like at The Old Joint Stock Birmingham amongst others) from March. Perhaps back to Gaulier. The Matron Presents is back on the penultimate Wednesday every month at Her Upstairs from March, and finally I also have some writing and filming projects under way...

Favourite Simone de Beauvoir quote?

“The body is not a thing, it is a situation: it is our grasp on the world and our sketch of our project”

= I remind myself of this when I start hating on my curves and my bits.

“To be oneself, simply oneself, is so amazing and utterly unique an experience that it’s hard to convince oneself so singular a thing happens to everybody”

= I think about this when people watching on the underground.

And finally, do you really want to kill your mother?

What do you take me for?

Elf Lyon’s Pelican is on tour around the UK throughout February and into March 2017. Firestation tickets are here, or full details on Elf’s website.

Interview by Louisa Austin

#elf lyons #comedy #gig #interview #comedian #tour #uk

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