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#I need to do a regular artwork without any fancy things
thetradeway · 2 years
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Session 15: 30 Jul 2022
No Giles again; we soldier on without him while sending ‘thumbs down’ gifs on the group chat.
We open the last door before the stairs - there is a library with a lectern in front of the fire, with a schmancy looking book sitting locked on it. All the shelves are packed with books, and there are rolling ladders all over the place. Pfenig wants to know if there are any books of an erotic nature; to bring back for Giles, naturally.
Hazel tries to pick the lock on the book - she successfully does so. Around her three things materialise - we roll Initiative! Luckily Hazel rolls a nat 20 - she might need it.
These things are Specters, Nuri knows with a good Arcana check. They can reduce our max HP if we don’t make a good CON save… This could be interesting! Good thing we’ve got a cleric!
Vervain uses Twilight Sanctuary to give everyone some measure of protection, and some temp HP. Nuri busts out a new trick - Green-Flame Blade. The spectres halve the fire damage, unfortunately. They do not halve the radiant damage from Vervain’s cantrip, but two of them make the save. Dammit. Pfenig tries necrotic damage, which they ignore. Well, balls. He does Shilldfkgjhsdghjhh.
Pfenig gets the last one; how-de-do-dis? “I whisk it like an egg.”
Well that’s that then.
The book describes family events of the noble family throughout history. Births, deaths, social events. Nuri thinks it’s boring, so Pfenig and Hazel take a look - they find some more interesting details.
This family have done deals with devils; there is tiefling blood in this family. Pfenig says that others might find this salacious, but he thinks it’s regular. He swishes his tail. Perhaps there’s blackmail involved here? Nuri takes the book into his Lamp of Holding, and leaves it there. We might find a way to use it.
There’s another door by the stairs, but Hazel is convinced there must be a secret switch in one of the books on the shelves; she goes around pulling at books and candlesticks, but nothing happens. We go to the last door, after some Healer’s Kit uses.
We open the last door, to see a portrait of the man of the house. This appears to be his office. There is a wresting mat, and some slightly homoerotic statues. Many of the ‘books’ are not books at all, but are boxes painted to look like books, with smutty artwork hidden inside. Hazel takes one for Giles.
We take a short tea making break.
Heading for the stairs we hear the clanging of metal on metal. Pfenig and Vervain, as the least squishy members, go first. There is a pile of bodies at the top, in a spreading pool of blood.
Behind the door at the top we can hear a woman screaming, and someone trying to boot it down. Nuri: “I smell crime.”
Around the corner are a group of Zhents fighting the house guard. Vervain sneaks up and whacks a Zhent in the back of the head. Initiative time!
Hazel begins with assassinating one - she can do that now. She kills him outright. (Vervain makes a note to be very nice to her.)
The fight continues between the Zhents and the guard for a while before the order comes back to us. Vervain sees a Zhent bash a guard in the head; he drops. Vervain looks to see if he might be saveable, but the DM mentions the phrase ‘bag of gravel’ when describing the state of the man’s head. Probably kinder to let that one go.
“With an ululating cry,” Pfenig leaps and swings with his Shillskghsglsd;fjgh. He can still use his necrotic thing, which is still up from the previous fight.
Nuri thinks; “No, that’s overkill…” He decides on Firebolt instead. “Make a wish, punk!”
Vervain heals one of the guard, and asks where the rest of the fighting is - the guards point us toward the door to the south, behind which we hear kicking. It’s an en suite. There is a man in there, wearing Zhent armour but fancy. This looks very much like the man who limped away from Trollskull Alley…
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It’s Urstal Floxin.
There is a cage on a stand in here with him - he dashes to it and throws it open. Pfenig, hopefully: “Perhaps nothing will happen and it will be great.”
But, no, three flying snakes emerge. One drops dead from disgust at Pfenig’s Symbiotic Entity spores.
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Vervain hits with Guiding Bolt, so Pfenig uses the Advantage to go for Floxin’s teeth; he hits, and does some necrotic damage as well.
We realise (not belatedly, for once) that we want this guy alive. Pfenig withdraws his staff from Floxin’s mouth. “Submit?” It is immediately clear that he will not.
On the floor is some sort of magic circle. Ah, fuck. Pfenig makes an Arcana check but fails it.
Nuri decides to give something a go. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you… Urstal Floxin… Covered in Bees!” He casts Infestation from a scroll. Floxin makes the save, sadly. Worth a shot.
Hazel hides and shoots, “non-lethally”. Urstal puts his head down and tries to barrel past Nuri, forcing a contested STR check - Nuri stops him, and Pfenig gets an Attack of Opportunity.
Vervain misses with their flail. And Spiritual Weapon. Oh dear.
Hazel brings him down with an arrow. The woman of the house screams at us to get out; the Watch are on their way.
So what do we do with him? Tie him to a chair, slap him about a bit, question him. We still need to find the mechanical man; Floxin was kicking a door in that bathroom, we go in and have a peek. Hazel throws Pfenig the keys.
He knocks on the door. We have subdued the criminal. The door emerges; it is the man of the house. Pfenig gives him a little curtsy, and explains that we’re the heroes. We were in the neighbourhood, being heroic, so we thought we’d drop by. You’re welcome? We’ll be leaving soon with the prisoner.
Does he know what Urstal was doing here? The man insists he’s never seen him before, but a quick nat 20 Insight from Hazel reveals that to be bullshit.
We ask about the nimblewright. The man asks if his wife is around; we point him toward the screaming. He hurries us into the bathroom, saying it wouldn’t be good if his wife overheard us. Nuri drags Urstal in behind us.
We’re here about the stone of Golor, yes? What is it we want to know?
Well, where is it? That, and the nimblewright.
He says he doesn’t know. His wife’s mechanical servant was here, but it’s gone. Nuri shows him the doohickey. The man says the nimblewright has fled, did so when the Zhents broke in. Pfenig opens up the nimblewright and pulls the trigger; nothing happens.
Well shit.
Where’s it gone? The man isn’t sure. Oh, this is all too much!
The gnome that got exploded was bringing the stone to us, having heard how we rescued Renaer. Does Floxin have it?
The stone is some sort creature that’s been turned to stone. It knows the location of half a million Dragons, somewhere in Waterdeep. Everyone is seeking this thing.
He’s been bankrolling the Zhents and their little search for the stone - including the plot to kidnap Renaer. THey’ve been harbouring Floxin here, he was supposed to be locating the stone. The wife gave the nimblewright a Necklace of Fireballs, and told it to go and help Floxin hunt the gnome.
Why was Floxin attacking the family? Well the first plan was to kidnap Renaer. Then they heard the gnome had it. The wife interfered, so Urstal attacked the family in revenge.
So Nim’s creation likely wasn’t the one who threw the Fireball. The wife saw the mechanical man on the roof, and befriended it; it thinks it’s her friend, and she thinks it’s her servant. So maybe it was, then.
The wife starts screaming again. Nuri: “Madam, you are hysterical, take a seat!”
So the stone and the nimblewright are both still missing…
We’ve searched Floxin and he doesn’t seem to have the stone. He has some gold, a healing potion, and his sword (with poison residue, but not actual poison). We remove those from his person.
Hazel feels a hand on her back and she is shoved out of the way - the screaming woman is staring down her nose at her.
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She tells us again to get out of her house, and is very rude about it. Pfenig waves his tail and sticks out his tongue. We leave and take our prisoner with us, and warn her not to tell anyone we were here. Nuri scorches her bedsheets as we leave.
As we leave - oh shit the magma mephit! We see the sun isn’t far off coming up. THere are three shades flitting around in the courtyard, and traces of magma all over the ground. The groundskeeper and his dogs are running around being chased by them. Whoops…
We take Floxin back to Trollskull Alley to tortur- uhhhhh, question him. Vervain has Zone of Truth, but not prepared. They can question him tomorrow, or we can do it the old fashioned way? Nuri has an idea - Skeemo might have some bits and bobs, Nuri can get some cash together and buy the ingredients and a recipe for a truth serum. That might take a few days, though… Pfenig could try Charm Person?
Hmm…
Should we just hand him to the Watch? That sounds like the best option, it feels like he’ll die before he tells us anything. We hand him over.
In the following days, the newspaper is full of stories about the incident at the manor. Several people - including some we recognise from the Portal - are arrested. Hazel is advised to lay low.
A flying snake arrives at the tavern with a note attached. If we can spare the time meet the writer at the city of the dead. We will be aid handsomely for our time. This person is a Zhent but we don’t know which kind. The flying snake suggests bad, but we know the writer is a Doom Raider.
We go to the statue. At the foot is a female dwarf with armour. Hazel makes an Insight check and fails. Nuri and Vervain can tell she’s come alone.
She assures us that the Doom Raiders are not involved with the villa incident. All the Zhents are being investigated; she needs to lay low. She will give us money just to meet her, and she will pay us more if we will let her stay at Trollskull Alley for a ten-day. and she will work for free.
We agree to let her stay. She has no people skills and is quite difficult to get on with. But we get 50pp out of it.
At the end of the ten-day she shakes us by the hand, and leaves. As she does, a female wizard arrives, and thrusts a note at Nuri. It has been sealed, but very obviously opened. Nuri looks at it. "You've read this?" he asks the wizard.
"Yes, it concerns me, of course I've read it." Oh, ok.
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The party agree to let Thessalie join them for a while. There are no rooms left at Trollskull Alley so she will stay at the Yawning Portal, and has agreed to help with the cooking at Trollskull in the evenings.
With that all done, we call it a night.
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fallens-art · 3 years
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I'm being so self indulgent right now ;-; I love Nox so much and also, art style switching in a sense, I'm trying out new coloring stuff lol
Extra;
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It's all just a daydream sadly LMAO I like drawing fancy/royalish outfits (Nox gets to be normal in the bottom sketchy <3)
Nox's design is from @bonelyheartsclub (such a good game/demo pls check it out)
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supeson · 3 years
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the living is wise
part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen , part fifteen, part sixteen, part seventeen
Living alone allots you certain privileges. Coming and going whenever you please, buying whatever food strikes your fancy at the moment. One of those privileges, you thought, was being able to sleep in on your one Saturday off in a month. The trilling of your cell phone tells you another story. You let it ring three times before you grip it tightly, squinting before bringing it up to your face. It’s Bruce. You let out a huff, but swipe to accept the call. 
“You have about a minute to buzz us in before three highly trained professionals break into your apartment,” He tells you. You can imagine him on the sidewalk looking up at your apartment, calculating all of the ways he could get in without using your front door.
“Just three?” You yawn into the phone. 
“Bruce Wayne would never be caught breaking into some shabby apartment building in the middle of Gotham. My kids on the other hand, I have no control over.”
You groan, but roll off of the bed and onto your feet. Bruce lets out a small laugh, and nods to Dick to open the door as he hears you shuffle around, then hit the buzzer next to your front door. “The elevator’s broken again, by the way. The super has been ‘trying’ to fix it for a week now.”
Tim lets out a moan of despair at seeing the out of order sign, but dutifully pivots to the stairs. Bruce hangs up with a smile, starting the trek up to your third floor apartment. 
                                                        *
Your apartment looks unchanged from the many other times he’s been there, aside from the box in the corner filled with cartridge cases and DVDs. Your cats are nowhere to be seen, and there's an open cereal box on the kitchen counter.
"I thought you said you have been packing," Bruce says, pulling off his gloves as he walks around. His kids are doing the same, exploring every nook and cranny (that they hadn't already seen on a computer monitor).
"I have. You can see the box in the corner, can't you? That's all packed up, babe." Bruce narrows his eyes. He doesn't appreciate the sarcastic tone of that babe. You roll your eyes. "Alright, I wasn't expecting you guys to be here at the ass crack of dawn to help me move. I thought you'd be here at like, two o'clock or something. I was gonna get up and start frantically shoving shit into boxes at noon."
“The early bird catches the worm,” Dick chimes from the kitchen, already pulling your dinner plates from a cabinet. You scrunch your nose at him. The other two Wayne kids take that as an invitation to start going through things as well, opening drawers and taking things off of shelves. They find the boxes you bought in the closet and set to work packing. 
“There are uh. Boxes in the closet for the figures you’ll come across. Please put them in the corresponding box. I’m gonna go to my room.” You go down the short hallway off of your kitchen and shut yourself in the room at the end of it. You kneel and look under your bed just to make sure, but sure enough, there are Tigger and Little Bit, huddled under your bed, eyes wide. “Yea, I know.”
You spend twenty minutes working up the energy to change into regular clothes, and by the time you’re pulling on some jeans, someone knocks. “Yea, you can have some of my snacks, but don’t touch the Cheez-Its, I’ve been saving those.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a Cheez-It,” Bruce speculates from the other side. 
“Oh fuck,” You mutter. You open the door for him, letting him sit on your bed as you continue to get dressed. He looks at you appraisingly while your shirt is off, and you roll your eyes. “Your kids are right outside and I know for a fact these walls are thin. I’ve gotten noise complaints.”
Bruce just smiles knowingly, then wrinkles his nose as he watches you pick up the dirty clothes off of the floor and dump them into a large box, then do the same with the clean clothes hanging up in your closet. “Shouldn’t those be separated and folded?”
“Have you ever done your own laundry, rich boy? No? Trust me, in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter. I was just gonna wash ‘em when I got to your house anyway. Who cares about wrinkles?” Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but you’re faster. “Yea yea Alfred does, I know. I’ll deal with him later.”
Bruce says nothing, just watching you quickly, albeit messily, pack the rest of your closet. He gets up to help you pack up your various knickknacks around the room, but stops when he sees you hesitate. He can tell what you’re thinking already. “I do want you at the Manor. We’ve already cleared out space for all of your things, believe it or not. Don’t throw away who you are to fit into my life. Please.”
“I just feel so...juvenile, compared to you. You have great artworks and books signed by the authors and expensive vases just hanging around. I have anime figures that are depreciating in value by the day and this old Yu-Gi-Oh! comforter my mom wouldn’t throw away, and now I won’t throw away. It just seems so...out of place for me there. Your house has been featured in maybe a dozen magazines! My apartment has only been featured in my 2AM snapchats to my friends.” You wrap your hand around a small plushie, seemingly testing its weight in your palm. You’re mentally testing its weight in memories. Is it dear enough to you to go with you into this next phase of your life?
He comes up behind you and places a hand on your arm. “My house is a façade. It’s perfectly tailored and manicured to look the way it does, to keep up my billionaire persona. None of those paintings or books or antiques hold any value to me. Most of them were bought at charity auctions or brought into the house by Alfred. These,” He gestures to the things hanging up on your walls and sitting on your shelves, “things mean something to you. They hold special meaning, or memories for you. Your stuff makes you happy, and that’s all it needs to do. It’ll fit into my home just fine, because it’s your home too now. Feel free to fill it with as much stuff as possible. God knows it might actually need some redecorating anyway.”
You’re about to open your mouth to respond when you hear scuffling coming from outside your door. You set your plushie down with a slight downward quirk to your lips and turn towards the door. Dick bursts in just as you hear “Bruce!” and ‘Father!” come from the living room. 
“Okay nothing is permanently broken, first of all, but do you think your landlord will still give you back your security deposit if the ceiling fan became a floor fan?”
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Demon Alya: Ladybug learns the truth
“Hold on a minute,” said Alya as she scrutinized the billiard-ball sized object on the bed in front of her. It glowed with several different shades of purple that swirled around each other just slightly faster than was comfortable to look at. “This is a very difficult case.”
Sitting next to her on the bed, Juleka stifled a giggle. “What’s your prognosis, Dr. Alya? Am I going to make it?”
Alya grinned at that. “Your soul looks mostly fine,” she said. Her tail flicked in pleasure; Alya liked it when her ‘cult’ — or, as she had learned to think of them, her friends — were doing well, and Juleka was one of the closest friends she had. Alya’s wings fluttered a little too, creating a slight breeze which blew a few strands of hair into Juleka’s face. Juleka blew them back with a mock-grimace while Alya chuckled and then continued. “No blemishes or spots that I can see. Just a little agitation. And as for what might cause that…” An idea came to her. “Are you planning on asking Rose out later?”
Juleka blushed, her skin reddening to the point where it almost matched Alya’s devilishly-red hue, and the colors in Juleka’s soul began swirling even faster. “Maybe,” she admitted. “I’ve been, um, trying to build up the courage for a week or so, but it’s hard.” Her hair drooped over her face, and this time she didn’t try to push it back. “She’s so amazing,” Juleka went on. “And I’m—“
“Also amazing,” Alya cut in. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re the best high priestess ever. I know that Rose likes girls who are kind, compassionate, wise, and have a strong moral code—and you’re four for four. Forget that prohibition against angels dating humans; if you ask her out, I’m certain she’ll say yes.”
Juleka smiled a little, but she said, “Everything you say makes sense, but I just have trouble making myself believe it. It’s hard to feel it, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Alya, thinking about one of her other friends. She’d been hanging out at Marinette’s house a couple hours ago, listening to the girl excitedly detail the pastries she was going to make for a charity bake sale, and she’d found herself wondering once again if she could risk revealing her true identity. It would be so easy to let her demonic veil fall and show Marinette her true form, and surely Marinette was kind enough and non-judgmental enough that she’d be able to see past the horns, wings, flickering tail…
But if she wasn’t, if Marinette panicked at learning that Alya was a literal demon from Hell, then the friendship would be over. And Alya couldn’t risk that. Even if Marinette didn’t do anything else (like call Ladybug to banish Alya back to Hell for the next few eons), Alya would be devastated to go through her time on Earth without being able to call on her best friend. And so Alya had once again decided the risk wasn’t worth it, no matter how much she yearned to be able to tell Marinette about her true self.
But even if she couldn’t solve her own problem, she was sure she could help her High Priestess. “Let me try,” said Alya as she cupped Juleka’s soul in her hands. “I think I can calm your soul enough that you can at least ask Rose without panicking halfway through.”
“Thanks,” said Juleka with gratitude in her voice. Alya could tell that she’d been worried about losing her nerve at the worst moment. 
Alya focused on Juleka’s soul, reaching out with her demonic senses until she could feel Juleka’s love-fueled agitation. Then she began to exert her will on it. “Yield to me,” she chanted in quiet Latin. “You who have entrusted me with your soul, yield and let me calm you…”
After a few minutes, the colors in Juleka’s soul slowed down a little, and Juleka took a breath. “I feel better,” she said as a smile crept across her face. “Seriously. Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Alya as she continued to focus on Juleka’s soul to make sure no traces of agitation could remain and screw things up for her later.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Juleka said. “You told me that demons usually use their soul-influencing powers to torment the people whose souls they take, as part of their torture. You know, like making them fanatically loyal and ready to sacrifice everything else for their demon, or driving them into fits of rage, or things like that. But you use your powers to make me and the other people in your cult feel better and be more functional. Do you have different powers than other demons? Could other demons act like you if they wanted?”
“They could; my powers aren’t unique to me,” said Alya as she inspected Juleka’s soul again and noted that it was now in perfect order. “After all, any of the things I’ve done for you guys could be used to hurt someone. Take right now: I just calmed you down, and that’s good, but another demon could calm the soul of a soldier to mellow him out so much he couldn’t be roused to defend his position, resulting in the bad guys overrunning it. Or look at yesterday. Aurore was still feeling a grudge against Mireille for beating her to get that TV job, and she asked me to help her get over it so she didn’t get angry whenever Mireille was on TV. I was able to use my influence over her to make her more forgiving and remove that blemish in her soul, and everything was fine. But another demon could do the same thing on a judge so that judge decided to ‘forgive’ criminals and release them, even knowing they were going to commit more crimes.”
Juleka inclined her head. “I see. But I guess most demons stick to the more obvious types of harmful influence? Making people angry, or greedy, or things like that?”
“Yeah,” said Alya. “The seven deadlies are classics for a reason. They usually work for tempting and damning people, and they don’t require a lot of knowledge—make a human really angry and he’ll usually commit a sin. So they’re useful for demons who aren’t interested in humans, the ones who just want to bag their quota of souls and go back to Hell.” She grimaced. “But those demons are idiots. And the idea of squishing all humans down to being a bunch of angry, greedy jerks is just… it’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. “I mean, I was taught otherwise and I even believed that at first when I showed up here, but that crumbled as soon as I met actual people.”
“Specifically, Marinette,” Juleka noted.
Alya blushed a little, but said, “Not just her. So many of the humans I’ve met are amazing, and I’d rather help you be the best humans you can be than turn you all into a bunch of psycho cultists. Yes, there’s humans who are already awful, and I’ve got no problem yanking their souls and doing all the traditional devil stuff to them. You guys heard what I did to that exorcist who tried to banish me, I’m sure. But corrupting someone like you, or Mylene, or Alix… taking away what makes you girls unique so you can become yet another generically-terrible person… that would just be wrong, no matter what my bosses say.” She paused. “If you girls are in my cult, if I’ve got your souls, I want to use that to help you. Not torment you.”
“Well, you’re a pretty amazing demon yourself,” Juleka said. “And we appreciate that.”
Alya beamed at that. “I do try,” she said in a faux-haughty voice. “And as long as my high priestess continues to supply me with regular deliveries of Dupain-Cheng pastries and anime to watch, I’m sure I shall continue.”
Juleka laughed, then stilled herself while Alya picked up her soul and gently pressed it against her chest. After a moment the soul slid in through Juleka’s shirt and body, and Juleka gasped slightly at the now-recognizable (but, somehow, never totally familiar) feeling of suddenly being more ‘herself.’ Once her soul was back inside her, she let out a happy breath and said, “I really do feel calmer now. Thank you so much, Alya. I think I can ask Rose out without panicking.”
“Well, if you need any help, you know who to call.” Alya hopped off the bed and stretched, her wings flaring out and her tail flicking backwards to poke Juleka’s nose. Juleka giggled and playfully flicked at it, and it recoiled for a moment only to dart in and begin tickling her under her chin. Juleka quickly dissolved into helpless laughter.
Alya glanced back and smirked for a moment before laughing herself, and it took a moment before either of the two girls could stop. Then Juleka managed to get up, a silly grin still on her face. “I’ll look over the souls,” she said as she motioned to the large shelf where Alya kept the now-considerable number of souls from her ‘cult.’ “See if anyone has any new blemishes or spots.”
“Just don’t mix them up,” Alya said. “I remember the last time my little sisters got in here and put them all out of order, and then when Mylene needed her soul back for the day so she could go to church, she accidentally got Chloe’s soul and spent the whole service calling the priest ‘ridiculous’ because he kept asking for donations to buy fancy artwork for the church but wouldn’t commit to using any of the funds for actual charitable causes.”
“I won’t,” said Juleka. She went over to the shelf and began looking at the souls. First was Chloe’s, which was yellow and orange and vaguely spiky (though the spikes were gradually shrinking as Alya and the others worked to bring the prickly girl out of her shell). Then came Alix’s, which was pink and almost vibrating with energy, to the point where it actually bounced if dropped or tossed against a wall. (Alya knew this because Alix had idly tried to dribble her soul one day, and it had bounced around the room until it bonked Alya in the head, at which point Alya had instituted a no-dribbling-souls policy). Next was Nino’s, a gentle blue ball in a comfy little doll bed and had tiny headphones playing Nino’s favorite music. And so on, down the line.
While Juleka looked over the souls, Alya gathered up a few dishes and went to put them in the kitchen. Technically, it was the job of her cult to do any chores that she needed done — and it was Juleka’s job to manage the cult and make sure that happened — but Alya didn’t feel comfortable making them do that. Besides, Marlena would get mad, and—demon powers or not—Alya knew better than to disobey her.
Alya entered the kitchen as she idly whistled a tune she’d heard on the radio. Her little sisters were over at Nino’s house, which meant that there should have been nobody in the house who didn’t know that she was a demon, which meant she didn’t need to bother with her veil. As such, she was in her full demonic appearance, with red skin, horns, wings, cloven feet, and a flickering tail as she rinsed off the dishes.
And then, when she turned around, she saw Ladybug staring at her.
For a few moments Alya didn’t believe it. Then her mind almost crashed as she realized what was going on — that one of the superheroes, someone who wielded the power of the kwami and was more than capable of banishing her to Hell for half an eternity, knew her true nature — and scrambled to find a way out of it. But none came to mind. Ladybug was staring at her, Alya Cesaire, in her demonic form. 
A half dozen potential options for escape flitted through Alya’s mind, but none survived a second of scrutiny. Ladybug was fast, strong, fiendishly clever, and she could summon magic objects which always somehow managed to be whatever she needed to catch her quarry. Then Alya thought if there were any possible ways to fight Ladybug and win — if she could throw Hellfire, or Whisper distractions, or draw on her cult — only to dismiss those ideas too. This was Ladybug. She couldn’t win a fight against her. And besides, even if she somehow did, that would leave Paris defenseless against Hawkmoth. It would leave her cult—her friends—without protection from that lunatic.
And so Alya didn’t run or fight. She just lowered her head and whispered, “Please don’t banish me…”
“I wasn’t going to banish you,” said Ladybug.
Alya blinked. “You weren’t?”
Ladybug shook her head. “If I was, I wouldn’t have waited for you to notice me,” she pointed out. “I’d have zapped you from a neighboring rooftop.” A slight smile appeared on her face. “You’ve fought alongside me for how long, Alya, and you think I’d give someone a free shot?”
Despite everything, Alya couldn’t help giggling. “No, you don’t usually subscribe to the ‘that akuma needs to have a fair chance of killing me or else it’s not honorable’ school of thought. You’re more about wanting to win.”
“Damn right,” said Ladybug, which made Alya smile a little more. Ladybug returned a smile of her own, though it quickly faded. “So no, I’m not here to banish you. But I do want to talk to you. I need to know what you’re doing in Paris. And if you’ve…” She took a breath. “If you’ve done anything that, as a hero, I would need to correct.”
Alya nodded, but then something occurred to her. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m, uh, who I am,” she said. “How long have you known?”
“About two weeks,” Ladybug said. “Do you remember how Mayor Bourgeois signed that law to bulldoze that forest preserve and put up a shopping mall?”
“Yeah,” Alya said. 
“I knew that a local girl named Mylene cared a lot about saving the park, and I was worried that she might get akumatized once Bourgeois crushed her hopes,” said Ladybug. “I went to her and found her just in time to see one of Hawkmoth’s butterflies touch that pin in her hair. Before she actually got akumatized, though, I could see her trying to fight it off. And I could… sense, I guess… something helping her. Something was trying to keep her calm and urge her to fight off Hawkmoth’s promises.
“Whatever was helping her, it was able to keep her from giving in for long enough that I was able to get to her, smash the pin, and purify the akuma.” Ladybug shrugged. “She thanked me and said she felt better, but I could tell she was still a little tense, and that whatever was helping her was still influencing her. So I tried to follow that magic, and it led me to your apartment, where I looked in through the window to see… well, to see you, looking like that, holding a lilttle rainbow-colored ball and chanting something at it.”
Alya frowned as she thought back. “Wait a minute,” she said after a moment. “Two weeks ago, right? I remember. I was home when I saw her soul begin flashing red and vibrating, like something was attacking it. So I tried to calm it down.” Then, despite everything, a tiny smile spread across her face. “You’re saying I stopped her from being akumatized?” she said. “I didn’t even realize that was happening, but… I’m glad I was able to help.”
Ladybug nodded. “You did. But Alya, I need to know why. I talked to my kwami afterwards and she said this isn’t normal for demons; they don’t usually stop destruction in the human world unless there’s some ulterior motive. But you did stop her. So: why?”
Alya hesitated. “I mean, Mylene’s one of mine, you know? She’s in my cult and she’s my friend. I have to look out for her. I don’t usually like messing with my cult’s souls without their permission, but if one of them’s about to self-destruct, I can’t just sit back and let that happen.”
“Why not?” pressed Ladybug. “Isn’t that why demons come to Earth? To lead humans astray, get them to sin, and ultimately take their souls to Hell?”
Alya’s mouth opened but no sound came out.
“Alya,” Ladybug repeated. “This is important. If there’s some weird demonic plot going on, then as the protector of Paris, I need to be aware of it so I can derail it.”
“I know, but… I don’t want you to think less of me,” said Alya softly. “You’re an amazing hero and a good friend.”
Ladybug smiled a little at that, then went to Alya’s side. “I don’t want to think less of you either,” she said. “And I promise you, whatever I think, it’s not going to be influenced by your species. So just be honest with me, Alya. Tell me everything.”
Alya paused, again torn. But she finally said, “Okay. I will.”
The two girls sat at the kitchen table and then Alya said, “When I first came to Earth, it was exactly like you said. My job was to collect souls and that’s all I cared about. I figured I’d just find people, tempt them, grab their souls, and move on. That’s what most demons do.”
“So what changed?” Ladybug asked.
Alya blushed a little. “You might think this is stupid, but I met someone. This girl in my class. Her name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”
Ladybug froze, though Alya didn’t understand why. She was pretty sure Ladybug knew Marinette; after all, Marinette had used the Mouse Miraculous once, which presumably meant Ladybug had given it to her. Then Ladybug shook her head. “What about Marinette?” she asked.
“She was so kind to me,” Alya said. “I was new to the human world, I didn’t have any friends or connections, but as soon as I got to school—that was my cover, I was a local student—she befriended me and helped me fit in. And… look, I know humans are nice to each other a lot, but in Hell, that never happens. Everyone’s always out for themselves. The only reason someone down there would help me is so I would owe them a debt or a favor. But Marinette was just so compassionate, so kind, and she genuinely didn’t care about being paid back.” Alya smiled a little dreamily. “She was amazing. And she made me want to… to be different.”
“Different how?” Ladybug asked, still seeming slightly stunned.
Alya shrugged. “She’s the kind of person who can… inspire people to live up to her example, I guess. At least, she inspired me that way. I loved her kindness, the way she so obviously cared for me and for others without worrying about herself, and I found that I wanted to be like that too. I wanted to keep feeling the way I felt when Marinette was kind to me, or when I was kind to her. And also, the idea of doing the standard demon thing, of using twisted magic to warp some innocent person into committing a heinous sin so I could seize their soul… it didn’t feel right anymore. It felt awful. Cruel. I couldn’t bear to be like that, not after having experienced real human kindness.” 
“So m—Marinette’s kindness helped convince a demon to stop tempting people?” Ladybug asked.
“Yeah,” said Alya with a little chuckle. “Seriously, if you haven’t met her, you should. I think you two would be amazing friends.” Then Alya paused. “But, um, it wasn’t just Marinette. I don’t want to sound like a stalker or something. I made other human friends too and they also helped me be better.”
Ladybug seemed to shake herself, as if breaking out of a stupor. “So you don’t take souls for your bosses?” she asked.
“I do,” Alya admitted. “But only people who have already committed serious sins. Criminals and the like, especially the ones the police haven’t caught yet. I get their souls so I can fulfill my quota and stay up here on Earth, and I don’t mess with them too much. Mostly I just influence them so they won’t work with Hawkmoth by making them too despondent to respond to his summons, or too paranoid to trust his promises, or other things like that.”
Ladybug blinked. “Wait, that’s you?” she asked. “So that’s why Hawkmoth never worked with felons and why he’s just picking random people who happen to get mad one day! I would have figured they’d be the most likely to join him! That makes a lot more sense than my prior theory.”
“What was your prior theory?” Alya asked.
“That Hawkmoth is an idiot,” Ladybug said.
Alya couldn’t help giggling at that. “Well, he did summon Mr. Pigeon dozens of times, so that wasn’t a bad theory,” she joked. “The man is not as smart as he thinks.”
“Nope,” Ladybug agreed. “Seriously, I mean, the guy has total control over the powers he gives people, and yet half of them are useless. What was Reflektra even supposed to do? Make us look ridiculous while we kicked his butt? How does that help him?”
Both girls laughed before Ladybug brought the conversation back around. “If you’re really just targeting people who have already committed serious crimes—and making sure they don’t commit more—then that’s one thing,” she said. “But I do know you’re collecting the souls of others as well, like Mylene. Why is that?”
“To make sure other demons don’t get them,” Alya said. “I’m not the only one here. And I can’t tell you who the other demons are—literally, I’m under a demonic geas that will set me on fire if I say their names to someone who doesn't already know them—but I can tell you they’re a lot worse than me. The other demons have no problem at all with warping innocent people into Hellbound monsters. But if I get the souls of my friends first, the other demons can’t lay their claws on them.”
“Hmm.” Ladybug gave Alya a long look. “I imagine you had to trick these friends into losing their souls at first.”
“Yes,” Alya admitted. “Some made deals—Mylene wanted me to resurrect her pet ferret, for instance--but others, like Alix, lost bets or fell into a minor temptation I set up. I didn’t love doing that, but if I hadn’t, they’d be in the clutches of a far worse demon.” She shuddered at the thought of what Lila would have done. 
“Now that they know the truth,” Ladybug went on, “If these friends wanted their souls back so they could leave your cult, would you let them?”
Alya hesitated. “It hasn’t come up,” she admitted. “They aren’t hurt by losing their souls, except that they can’t go into churches or do a couple other ‘holy’ things. And I don’t use my power over their souls to make them worse. I try to help them when they ask for help, instead.”
“Even so,” Ladybug went on. “If Mylene went to you tomorrow and said she wants out, what would you do?”
Alya was tempted to just lie and say that of course she’d return Mylene’s soul, but she had a feeling Ladybug would be able to sense that. So instead she tried to give the question as much thought as she could to come up with her honest response. “I’d be worried about her, and I’d try to convince her otherwise,” she said. “But if Mylene was adamant, I’d give her soul back. Some demons treat their cults like slaves or prisoners, but I can’t do that.”
“Because Marinette would disapprove?” Ladybug asked.
“Not just that,” Alya said. “Maybe for the first few days after I met her, but I’ve moved past that. My ‘cult’ are my friends and I wouldn’t keep them against their will.” She let out a breath. “But again, it hasn’t come up. Honestly, I think they like knowing that if something goes really wrong and they become upset or angry, there’s someone looking out for them who can calm or polish their souls. Especially Chloe. Her mother is… not great, and Chloe has panic attacks when she’s around. She was really happy when I said I could monitor her soul and try to soothe it when her mother came to visit.”
Ladybug carefully considered that. “You wouldn’t mind if I didn’t just take your word for it, right?” she asked. 
“I can give you a list of the people in the cult,” Alya said. “You can ask them for yourself. Plus my high priestess Juleka; I don’t keep her soul on my shelf, since she’s got both warlock and paladin powers to defend it with—long story—but she'd be happy to talk to you about what I'm like.”
“Thanks,” Ladybug said.
The two were silent for a moment, and then Alya asked, “So… what now?”
“Well, now I need to talk to your cultists,” Ladybug said. “But assuming they verify what you said… I don’t see anything here that I’d need to banish you for. As far as I can tell, you really are trying to be a good a friend, and you’re doing a good job of it too. As long as you don’t take any innocent souls, and you don’t do anything abusive to your friends in your 'cult,' I don’t need to get involved.”
Alya felt a wave of relief rush through her. “Thank the Devil,” she breathed. “I’m glad.”
Ladybug smiled. “Out of curiosity, is being banished that bad?” she asked. “My kwami said it’s not permanent and you could come back once the spell wore off.”
“That could take centuries,” Alya said. “All the humans I knew would be dead by then. I couldn’t bear to lose them, especially Marinette.”
“Maybe you could see her after she dies,” Ladybug noted. “Her soul has to go somewhere, right?”
“It won’t go to where I’m from,” said Alya at once. “Seriously, I peaked at her soul once when I was sleeping over at her house and…” She smiled wistfully. “It was so incredibly pure… the purest I’d seen. No, she’s Heaven-bound for sure, and I won’t be able to see her once she dies because I’m not allowed up there. So I just… I want to make as much of my time on Earth with her, and all my other friends, as I can.”
Once again, Ladybug didn’t seem to know how to respond for some reason. Alya, though, thought of something else she really needed to say. “Speaking of Marinette,” she said. “I… look, I loved having the chance to help you fight Hawkmoth as Rena Rouge. I’d give anything to be able to do that again. But if you can’t trust me because of… of this…” She gestured at her horns and tail. “If you need a replacement, I’d suggest you look at her. The girl’s heart is so pure I can’t imagine Hawkmoth ever corrupting her, and not only is she strong, but she’s incredibly clever. Trust me, she’d be a great hero.”
Ladybug’s cheeks colored slightly. “Thank—I mean, I’m sure she’d thank you if she’d heard that,” she said. “But like I said, unless I learn that something you told me wasn’t true, I don’t see any reason to take your powers away from you. I’m happy to have your help in the battle against Hawkmoth. In more ways than one, apparently.” She smiled. “In fact, once you give me the list of the people whose souls you have, if I learn that one of them is getting upset or is likely to get mad about something, I hope it’s okay if I text you and ask you to check on their souls.”
“Of course,” said Alya at once. “Anytime you need.”
Ladybug nodded. “You’re a good friend, Alya,” she said. Then she turned on her heel before pausing. “Ah, one more question. You said you took your friend’s souls to protect them. Why not Marinette’s? You don’t have her soul, right?”
“No, I don’t,” said Alya. “I thought about it, because I know there’s other demons who would love nothing more than to corrupt someone as pure as her. But I…” She hesitated. “If I took her soul, she’d know what I really am. And I can’t bear the thought of her rejecting my friendship over that. She’s… she means a lot to me.”
“I see,” said Ladybug. “Well, I won’t spill your secret, but I’d encourage you to tell her. I know her pretty well, and trust me: she might surprise you.”
Alya smiled, though inwardly she wasn’t sure if even Marinette could be that tolerant. Still, though, Ladybug’s word had a lot of weight. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said at last. “And I’ll also keep a close eye on Marinette. I might not have her soul, but if I see demons moving to attack her I’ll do everything I can to hold them off. And I’ve got my paladin/warlock high priestess to help, plus this angel I know. We should be able to keep her safe.”
“An angel?” Ladybug repeated. 
Alya grinned. “Yeah. I know demons and angels aren’t supposed to get along, but this one’s cool.”
“I don’t suppose Marinette influenced her too?” Ladybug said in a teasing voice.
“Marinette seems to influence everyone for the better,” Alya said. “Marinette will never know it, but yes, I think the angel is happy to know her too.”
“Why won’t Marinette know it?” Ladybug asked. “Are angels not allowed to reveal themselves?”
“It’s more that they only do so if they’re smiting an evildoer, or if they need to save a human from temptation,” Alya said. But Marinette’s so pure that she’s not really in any danger of that, so I don’t think she’ll be getting any angelic intervention unless she spontaneously gets tempted to rob a bank or something.” She giggled. “Which really isn’t like her.”
Ladybug laughed too, though she seemed slightly disappointed for some reason. “I need to get going,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Alya. Thanks again for all that you do.”
Alya waved as Ladybug launched herself back out the window. Then, feeling a bit overwhelmed, she went back to her room to tell Juleka everything.
——
The next day, Alya found herself invited to the Dupain-Cheng bakery. “Hey, girl!” said Alya as she walked inside. “What’s up?”
“Alya!” Marinette said. She ran over and exchanged hugs with her best friend. “I just came up with some new pastries and I wanted you to be the first to try them!”
“Anytime!” said Alya. “What’cha got?”
Marinette took a few pastries off the shelf. “This one here is a Mexican chocolate cake,” she said. “I remember you saying you liked the spicier pastries, so I made it with a little cayenne pepper. Please, try it!”
Alya bit into the cake and grinned as the fiery sweet flavor danced over her tongue. “This is really good,” she said. “Seriously. And—“
“Oh, there’s also this other one,” said Marinette suddenly. She took down a donut. “I wanted to get back to my roots a little,” she said. “But I also wanted to make something you’d like. So this is a cinnamon donut with green and red chilis, the sort you find in Hunan cuisine.” She handed it over. “What do you think?”
Alya tried the donut and gasped, because it was possibly the best thing she’d ever tasted. The sweetness matched the peppers perfectly. “This is amazing,” she said. “Damn, girl, you know how to bake. Although, I thought you said you guys weren’t working too hard on developing spicy pastries because your parents didn’t think they’d sell well?”
“I’m going to prove Maman wrong about that,” said Marinette firmly. “Because people who enjoy spicier deserts should be able to get treats they love, just like anyone else. I’ll make spicy treats that are so good they sell just as well as everything else we’ve got.” 
Alya blushed. Marinette really was one of the kindest people around, she thought.
“Besides,” Marinette went on, “even if these didn’t sell, it’d still be worth making some for you. After all, you’re my best friend.” She moved closer to Alya. “You’re an amazing person and a wonderful friend,” she went on. “I don’t think anything could drive us apart.” She gave Alya a quick hug. “Maybe I don’t tell you that enough, but it’s true.”
“Um.” Alya wondered if Ladybug had maybe hinted to Marinette about some of the conversation they had. “Right back at’cha,” she said. “I think you’re a great friend too.”
Marinette smiled.  
Alya hesitated, on the verge of asking Marinette to go somewhere private so she could remove her demon veil… but she still didn’t feel quite confident enough. Someday, she thought. But not just then. “If I”m so great,” she said, “maybe you could let me have a few more of these?”
“Have the whole tray!” Marinette chirped. “But one thing in response: the concentration of chilis is slightly different in each one, so I need you to rank them. That way I know which one is the best one!”
“You’ve got it!” Alya grinned and reached for another donut. She was truly blessed, she thought, to have a friend like Marinette.
——
Later that evening, Marinette was in her room with Tikki, trying to relax after a long day of helping her parents in the bakery.
“I’m just saying, Tikki,” Marinette said quietly, though her voice was light and she was clearly joking. Well, mostly joking. “It would just be one bank. I might get to see an angel, and then I could give the money right back!!”
“No, Marinette,” said Tikki in a stern voice.
“It could be a bank owned by bad people!” Marinette went on. “It—“
“No, Marinette,” Tikki repeated.
Marinette smiled softly. “I guess you’re right. But I hope I get to meet that angel anyways.” She blushed. “I can’t believe that I convinced a demon to be good.”
“You’re a very special person, Marinette,” said Tikki. 
Marinette grinned before settling back on her bed. The idea of having helped to make Alya the amazing, compassionate warrior for good that she was… well, it was stunning. It made her feel really good. 
Of course, as Alya had explained, there might be such a thing as being too good. “What if it wasn’t a bank, but it was just some jerk like XY?” Marinette asked. 
“Marinette!” Tikki complained before tossing a pillow at her. “No sinning just to meet an angel!”
Marinette giggled. “I know,” she said. “Still, it’s fun to dream.”
Across the neighborhood, Alya was also dreaming. “Someday,” she promised herself as she thought of telling Marinette the truth. “I promise.”
“Hey, Alya,” called Juleka from across the room. “We’re about to start the show. You want in?”
“Sure!” Alya said. She scurried to the couch and slid down between Juleka and Mylene. And then she settled back to watch the show with some of her best friends in the world.
-------
AW THAT WAS WONDERFUL
I loved that thank you!
Just imagining this is how the akuma charms are made, via Alya being a smart cookie and smart soul user. That was just so delightful
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tigerkirby215 · 3 years
Text
5e Irelia, the Blade Dancer build (League of Legends)
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(Artwork by Jessica “OwleyCat” Oyhenart. Made for Riot Games.)
FINE I’LL MAKE IRELIA GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!
Irelia is my least favorite champion in League. She’s not my most banned (Shaco) nor is she the champion I complain the most about, but she is absolutely the champion that I look at and constantly think “this character actively ruins the game for me.” I’ll admit that Irelia’s role in the Sentinels of Light story was pretty interesting but you’re still not going to make me like Irelia, Riot!
I’m not going to bore everyone with a long-winded rant about my hatred for this character and how what I thought was going to be a nerf actually made her S tier (joy to the fucking world I now actually have to ban her) but I will say this: there are no champions who I won’t make a genuine build for if I take the time to make a proper blog post about them... Except Talon, but that’s because Talon has one of the most boring kits in the entirety of League of Legends.
GOALS
Step. Two. Whirl. Lift! - What? Do you think that a champion with literally unlimited dashes is unfair?
Perfection of form - We’ll also need to weave our blades around us like a dress, slicing at foes and protecting yourself in one fluent motion.
Remember the Placidium! - When in doubt just use more blades.
RACE
Irelia’s a human... but making humans all the time is boring. Irelia has an innate magic and I’d consider being in-tune with Ionia’s spirit a connection to the Fey. So I decided to make her an elf for the sake of this build, more particularly an Aereni High Elf from Eberron for the innate Expertise.
A regular High Elf works too if your DM doesn’t allow Eberron races; the only thing that really changes with the Aereni High Elf is that you get Expertise in a skill. Valenar elves are also cool for the Double Scimitar.
You can also make Irelia a human but there aren’t many feats I want for her except maybe Mobile, but I felt like being an elf was more fun to grab other feats.
As an elf you have +2 to your Dexterity score, Keen Senses for proficiency in the Perception skill (gotta watch those wards!), and the Fey Ancestry of Ionia grants you advantage against charms and immunity to being put to sleep magically. Instead of sleeping you can spend time in a Trance meditating to regain strength. You only need 4 hours in a trance to rest, and are fully aware of your surroundings while doing so.
As an Aereni Elf you get Expertise in one skill of your choice: we’ll be taking Performance because... well you are a dancer. As a High Elf you learn one Cantrip from the Wizard list, and we’ll actually be taking Prestidigitation to aid in our performances. Oh and you’d normally be increasing your Intelligence by 1 but we’ll instead be increasing your Wisdom because... well it fits Irelia more. (No big loss if you increase Intelligence instead though.) And you can learn one language of your choice: pick whatever you think would inspire fear into the heart of Noxians!
ABILITY SCORES
15; CHARISMA - A dancer is meant to be beautiful first and foremost.
14; DEXTERITY - Of course dancing takes nimbleness. "When no one's around, I dance for myself."
13; WISDOM - This is where the +1 from our race is going! Keep in-tune with the natural world and Ionia’s spirit.
12; CONSTITUTION - You are still a top laner with just... way too much sustain. (Feel free to swap this with Wisdom for more HP but less roleplay.)
10; INTELLIGENCE - Nature is an intelligence skill and military tactics are good to learn, but we simply need everything else more.
8; STRENGTH - You swing your blades with the rhythm of the natural order. Which is to say Riot doesn’t like buff ladies.
BACKGROUND
A dancer is a type of Entertainer. You get proficiency in Acrobatics but since you already have expertise in Performance feel free to grab Nature to become more in-tune with the world around you. You also get proficiency with a Disguise Kit and an instrument of your choice: pick whatever you think suits you and make your own Ionian war hero!
You feature By Popular Demand makes you known as both a dancer and a war leader! You can perform in exchange for a place to rest for you and your allies, and people will remember your dance and treat you with respect.
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(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)
THE BUILD
LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1
What? Did you expect this to just be 20 levels of Swords Bard? Honestly Rogue serves as a better recreation of Irelia’s abilities, at least at early levels. That and I want proficiency in 4 skills, so take Insight, Persuasion, Intimidation, and Slight of Hand proficiency to lead and dance with grace. You also get Expertise in two of those skills: Acrobatics is a must but since we’ve already got proficiency in Performance you may as well grab Persuasion for good relations with Ionia’s people.
You also get Thieves’ Cant to speak in the way only other performers can understand, “performers” in this case being other Rogues. But of course the main skill you get is Sneak Attack, giving you an extra d6 of damage if you have advantage on your attack or an ally is near the enemy you’re attacking.
LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2
I always love when I get to recreate League of Legends dashes by just... letting you use the Dash action a lot. Second level Rogues can make Cunning Actions to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a Bonus Action. Keep it simple stupid and weave around your foes on the battlefield.
LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3
Third level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype, and to dance around the battlefield while slicing down foes the Swashbuckler is a great choice to keep your rhythm in check. Your Fancy Footwork will allow you to attack a foe before slipping away without provoking Opportunity Attacks while your Rakish Audacity will allow you to add your Charisma to your Initiative to always be the first on the front line.
Rakish Audacity also lets you Sneak Attack a foe who is alone on the battlefield as long as you don’t have disadvantage and they don’t have an ally within 5 feet, letting you hit them for an extra 2d6 with your blades.
Now may as well be a time to ask: Dual Wielding or single weapon? Since you’re not going to be getting a shield I’d say carrying two blades is worth it for the potential to deal more damage when needed. You can also use your Dual Wielding attack to activate Fancy Footwork more often to evade more enemies. Just be mindful of when Dashing or Dodging would be more useful.
LEVEL 4 - ROGUE 4
4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement and Dexterity controls most of what we do right now, so a +2 to DEX would be beneficial.
LEVEL 5 - ROGUE 5
Normally I wouldn’t go out of my way to grab level 5 in Rogue just for the sake of Uncanny Dodge, but here’s the thing: it’s literally Irelia’s Defiant Dance! Take less damage from an attack you saw coming before striking back with your 3d6 Sneak Attack.
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(Artwork by Michelle Hoefener. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 6 - BARD 1
Now it’s time for those 20 15 levels in Swords Bard! Multiclassing into Bard gives you proficiency with one musical instrument (pick your fancy) and one skill of your choice: I opted for Arcana because... well you’re fighting with magical floating blades. (Or at least you will be in due time.)
As a Bard you can inspire your allies as a Bonus Action thanks to Bardic Inspiration, letting them add a d6 to their Attack Rolls, Ability Checks, or Saving Throws. You have a maximum number of Inspiration die equal to your Charisma modifier, which come back after a Long Rest... for now.
But of course as a Bard you get Spellcasting! You learn two cantrips from the Bard list such as Message to communicate on the frontline, and Vicious Mockery which is sure what I fucking feel playing against an Irelia one-trick smurf account. You can also learn four leveled spells like Faerie Fire to mark your foes, Command to strike fear in the hearts of foes, Heroism to strike vigor in the hearts of allies, and Healing Word; because healing is always good to have.
LEVEL 7 - BARD 2
Second level Bards have dabbled in a little bit of everything: healing, damage, healing, mobility, healing, crowd control, oh and I think Irelia does need some more healing. Regardless Jack of All Trades will let you add half your proficiency bonus to any skill checks you aren’t already proficient in. (This also includes Initiative which is important to mention!)
If you use Tasha’s rules you can also grab Magical Inspiration to make your allies’ spells either heal more or do more damage thanks to your Inspiration. Oh and speaking of spells you can also grab Longstrider for more speed on the battlefield.
Oh and you get Song of Rest, the ability I always mock for scaling poorly. But it will help your allies recover after a hard battle!
LEVEL 8 - BARD 3
Irelia has many magical blades because she went to the College of Swords. Along with Bonus Proficiencies with Medium Armor and Scimitars (neither of which Rogues have for some reason) you can pick up a Fighting Style: I personally opted for Two-Weapon Fighting to get more attacks in but Dueling is also a perfectly fine.
Of course the main appeal of being a Blade Dancer is your Blade Flourish: When you attack on your turn you move 10 feet faster until the end of the turn, and if you hit you can use a Bardic Inspiration on a Blade Flourish:
Defensive Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to your damage and AC.
Slashing Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to your damage, and do that extra damage to any other creature of your choice (that you can see) within 5 feet of you.
Mobile Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to (guess what) the damage. You can also push the target up to 5 feet away from you, plus a number of feet equal to the number you roll on that die. Immediately afterwards you can use your reaction to move up to your walking speed to an unoccupied space within 5 feet of the target. It’s not quite a Dash, but it’s certainly a Bladesurge!
You can only use one Blade Flourish per turn though. Additionally you get Expertise in two skills like Insight and Nature, to know the spirit of both people and the world around you. And finally you can learn a second level spell like Hold Person for a stun before you do your full combo.
LEVEL 9 - BARD 4
4th level Bards can grab something a little better than Flash; the Fey Teleportation feat! Along with a +1 to your Charisma you learn Sylvan, but most importantly you can cast Misty Step once per Short or Long Rest to get out of a dangerous situation! It unfortunately doesn’t add the spell to your spell list (like Fey Touched from Tasha’s Cauldron) but being able to regain your mobility spell after a Short Rest is extremely useful!
Speaking of spells you learn one more Bard spell, and one more cantrip! For your cantrip take Mage Hand to grab blades from afar, and for your leveled spell take Calm Emotions. It perhaps isn’t the most practical and there are certainly better options, but it’s fitting.
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(Artwork made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 10 - BARD 5
5th level Bards get a Font of Inspiration, letting their Bardic Inspiration charges come back after a Short Rest. That’s nice because your Bardic Inspiration (and Blade Flourish die) also increases to a d8.
You can also grab a third level spell like Hypnotic Pattern, to stun an entire army with your blades.
LEVEL 11 - BARD 6
6th level Bards can finally turn their Vampiric Scepter into Blade of the Ruined King, giving them some Attack Speed for an Extra Attack. You can still only use one Blade Flourish per turn, but at least now you can attack twice with your action or up to three times if you make a Two-Weapon Fighting attack.
You can also grab another spell but there’s not much I want from third level, so instead I’ll talk about Countercharm, which is dumb and bad. You spend an action to give yourself and nearby allies advantage against Charms and Fears. Or you could fight through the fear and slay your foes... or cast Heroism or Calm Emotions.
LEVEL 12 - BARD 7
7th level Bards can learn 4th level spells like Dimension Door to teleport into lane or back to base, and Freedom of Movement for some Tenacity.
LEVEL 13 - BARD 8
8th level Bards get another Ability Score Improvement. We’ve been investing more in Bard so more Charisma would be nice for more Blade Flourishes and better spellcasting.
You can also learn another spell but again: don’t really want anything, so we’re going to wait for...
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(Artwork by Jana Schirmer. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 14 - BARD 9
9th level Bards get to pretend that Song of Rest is a useful ability that scales well, especially when multiclassing. I mean, at least it’s a d8 now!
You also get 5th level spells like Animate Objects. Hey: it only took us 14 levels to get your blades! You can also grab Rary's Telepathic Bond (ty Tasha’s) to keep to team chat with everyone.
LEVEL 15 - BARD 10
10th level Bards get Expertise in two more skills: take Arcana to further your connection to Ionia, and Slight of Hand for the specific hand movements to manipulate your blades. You also see your Bardic Inspiration increase to a d10, which also means your Blade Flourishes deal a d10 of damage!
Additionally you get Magical Secrets from any class so you can use your unique brand of blade magic. And by far the most blade-like spell you can grab (at this level) is Steel Wind Strike, to dash through multiple foes for a big burst of damage!
Additionally we will be grabbing Blade of the Ruined King (finally) with Spirit Shroud; yes it’s a bit of a low-level spell but it serves as a great damage boost to your melee attacks and also keeps enemies close for you to fight them. And finally you get one more cantrip: Mending will help you keep your outfit in check.
Also if you want you can replace Message with Prestidigitation now that you have Rary’s Telepathic Bond.
LEVEL 16 - BARD 11
11th level Bards get 6th level spells: you can lean into your lessons as a dancer and take Otto's Irresistible Dance to force your foes to keep up with the rhythm or die trying. "Okay, I'm warmed up."
LEVEL 17 - BARD 12
12th level Bards don’t get extra spells, but they do get another Ability Score Improvement: more Charisma means more Bardic Inspiration die (for more Blade Flourishes), better spells, and more initiative so capping that out would give you more bang for your buck overall.
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(Artwork by Art of Maki. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 18 - BARD 13
Hey remember when I said Song of Rest is a useful ability? Well it’s a d10 now!
At least you can learn Forcecage to take Noxians as prisoners of war to be properly judged... As long as they don’t have a filth bucket in their cell.
LEVEL 19 - BARD 14
14th level Swords Bards as masters of their blades, and can perform a Master’s Flourish using a d6 instead of one of their Bardic Inspiration.
You also get two more Magical Secrets, and hey we can finally grab your ult! Take Blade Barrier to cut the armies off with your Vanguard’s Edge. Alternatively if you need to go back to base take Word of Recall to recall back to your fountain. Which is to say: I had no other good spells to give you.
LEVEL 20 - BARD 15
15th level Bards see their Bardic Inspiration die (and their Blade Flourish die) increase to its maximum size of a d12! And you can cap off the build with an 8th level spell, but in all honesty there isn’t many spells I want from 8th level. So use that slot to upcast and take Hold Monster instead to finally be able to stun Wukong.
FINAL BUILD
PROS
Grace bends where strength breaks - You have a variety of ways to deal consistent damage between competency with swords, Blade Flourishes, and powerful spells.
I move to unsung melodies and unbeaten rhythms - +12 to initiative and the ability to move between enemies you attack freely means you’re guaranteed to be on the battlefield fast and able to put yourself in a position to fight with your allies.
Never stop learning; there's always a form you don't know - It was not my intention but turns out Bards and Rogues get a lot of skill proficiencies. +17 in Performance and Persuasion, +16 in Acrobatics and Slight of Hand, +14 in Insight, and +12 in Arcana and Nature. Not to mention Jack of All Trades helping you with all the skills you don’t have proficiency in.
CONS
Each form has a name known only to the wind - So your Dexterity isn’t maxed out, which means you’re a little lacking in both AC and hit chance. Honestly level 5 of Rogue isn’t that good, even if Uncanny Dodge works well as Defiant Dance. 4 / 16 would’ve been better for another ASI.
Stay ready, and there is no need to get ready - Most of your fun spells are accessed at a very high level, with your lower leveled spells dedicated more to utility. You’re a sword fighter first and foremost but seeing as your Charisma is maxed it would be good to use your high Charisma.
We are sharpest where we break! - Low DEX and no Shield (no Shield spell and two-weapon Fighting) means that your AC isn’t the most impressive. That along with 120 health means that a few bad hits can put you in the danger zone. Sure Uncanny Dodge gives you a reliable way to soak up damage but a good surprise hit will quickly put an end to you.
But you don’t need to worry about weaknesses when you’re probably smurfing anyways. Dash, dance, and decapitate foes in a graceful death of a thousand cuts. Keep your style and inspire the commonfolk to take up arms to protect their homeland. Just don’t get too out of line, or Riot might nerf your movement speed by 5.
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(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)
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@gingerreggg i honestly didn't think it would get this far (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)
Heads Up- Part 4 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)
▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪
"Jojo! Wake up!" Caesar yelled from a neighboring tabletop in Joseph's room.
"Alright, alright," he groaned, groggily. "You make such a great alarm clock," he laughed, as he rubbed his eyes and stretched out with a yawn.
It had been four days now since Caesar first came alive, and Joseph was surprised how quickly the living artwork had just sort of become part of everyday life. Somehow, even a talking lump of painted clay very quickly assimilated into his "normal"-- if anything could even be considered normal anymore in this situation.
Joseph stood up and began to plod lazily to the kitchen for breakfast, but was stopped by an angry shout.
"HEY! Are you forgetting something?" yelled Caesar from his bedside table.
"Ok, I'm sorry, clay boy!" Joseph grumbled crankily in response, stomping over to the table. Hell hath no fury than a sleepless artist without his morning coffee.
Caesar was quite heavy, being made of dense clay, and Joseph struggled to lower him down to the floor. As Caesar could only jump a few inches at a time, it had become a regular routine for Joseph to lift and lower him onto tables and platforms, as he was completely helpless when placed high off the floor.
"There, happy now?" Joseph groaned, as he lumbered off to the kitchen. Caesar bounced his way after him, cursing under his breath about Joseph's long striding legs that made it hard for the bust to keep up.
As Joseph poured and stirred his morning coffee, Caesar impatiently hopped about the kitchen floor. "Don't tell me you're gonna place me onto the table again."
Joseph smiled between sips. "Alright, you've been through a lot already. Perhaps it's my turn to go down to your level." Bending down, he set his cup gently on the floor, and sat down cross-legged on the wooden kitchen floor, leaning his back against the wall.
Creator and creation sat side-by-side having breakfast-- a surreal scene that was now a part of Joseph's every morning. As he took another sip, Joseph absent-mindedly offered Caesar some of his coffee.
"Want a taste? It's brewed." he asked.
"I am a clay bust," Caesar reminded him. "I don't drink."
"Oh yeah, sorry. Suit yourself then," Joseph said, taking another sip of the hot, fragrant liquid.
A thought crossed Joseph's curious mind. "Say, Caesar, what's it like being a bust? Do you feel any needs? Hungry, thirsty, bathroom, tiredness?"
Caesar pondered for a moment. "Hungry and thirsty? Certainly not. Though I do feel sleepy at times. And bathroom, forget about it." Joseph giggled.
"You're such a mysterious creature, Caesar," he said. "And that's coming from someone who made you."
Caesar sighed --somehow, as he didn't seem to breathe, yet could speak.
"I don't know how I work, or why," he said, somewhat exasperated, "and I'm not sure how I'm even alive in the first place. Yet I'm glad I am, somehow. I guess life as a bouncing head is better than no life at all."
Joseph gently stroked Caesar's nub of a shoulder.
There was a knock on the door. "Jojo! Caesar! It's me again!"
"Gimme a sec, Suzi!" Joseph called back, gulping the last of his coffee and placing it on the sink. He went over to the door, and was once again greeted with the usual cheerful smile.
"Oh great," Caesar groaned, bouncing his way over to the living room. "It's her again."
Suzi entered the house, but Joseph blocked her. "Wait. You swear nobody else knows about Caesar? Just us?"
"He's our little secret," she replied with a wink. With a sigh of relief Joseph allowed her to enter, locking the door behind her.
"Hello Caesar!" she greeted the bust, stooping down and playfully tapping his nose as a welcoming gesture, to his visible annoyance.
"Why are you here again?" demanded the bust. "Here to handle me again? Cause I don't like it."
"About that..." Joseph said uneasily.
"You see, Caesar, I've got classes to attend every week. I'm gonna have to head to university today to pass my assignments, and since I can't leave you alone...I've arranged for her to stay over today!"
"Great, you hired a babysitter," Caesar whined sarcastically. "I'd clap if I had hands."
"Don't worry, it'll be fun!" Suzi said, taking off her backpack and placing it on the floor. "Joseph told me he sees you're very bored, stuck in the house all day with nothing to do, so I figured I'd try doing some activities with you to pass the time."
------
With Joseph away for the afternoon, it was only Suzi and Caesar in the house. She'd brought some books, a few toy blocks, and colored pencils and paper, which she spread all over the living room floor.
"What can you do with those lips of yours?" Suzi asked Caesar.
"Pretty much everything," Caesar said. "I don't have any arms or hands, so I'm pretty much forced to do all the picking up and holding things with my mouth. Thank Joseph for sculpting these lovely, flexible lips," he huffed, somewhat amused.
Suzi smiled, picking up a sheet of paper. "You could perhaps work on your dexterity! I figured you should try practicing some fun activities to improve your skills!"
"Anything," Caesar moaned. "It's been very dull here."
Caesar's first activity was learning how to write and draw. Bending over as low as he could without falling on his face, he awkwardly picked up one of the pencils in his mouth. He hopped closer to the paper, which Suzi had propped up vertically against a clipboard, and slowly, cautiously brought the point closer to the paper.
"There you go", Suzi encouraged, sitting beside him. "And now...gently press the tip to the paper."
"Mrrph hrr shr ymm ehh?" Caesar mumbled incoherently with the pencil in his mouth.
Suzi laughed. "You can't talk when you're holding something, huh. Don't worry, you're doing great, just carefully hold the pencil."
With a great deal of effort Caesar tried to write his own name. It was a bit of a challenge trying to gauge how much pressure he had to apply to the pencil, as he couldn't figure out how hard to press the point.
*SNAP!* The pencil point snapped off as Caesar pressed too hard. Frustrated, Caesar spat out the broken pencil onto the floor.
"Damn it!" Caesar yelled, pressing his forehead against the paper in complete vexation.
"Ok, ok, don't be mad," Suzi reassured. "Here, have another pencil," she said, gently placing another, sharpened pencil in Caesar's mouth. "It won't hurt to try again."
------
"I'm hoooome!" Joseph called out from the door, as he entered the front door. It was already night time by the time he returned, with the evening sky graced by a bright quarter moon.
"Jojo! You're back!" Suzi said excitedly. "I've been waiting so long for you!"
"Why?" said Joseph, with a hint of concern. "How's Caesar?"
"Oh, he has a little surprise to show you," she replied, tugging urgently on his arm.
She led Joseph into the living room, where Caesar sat on the floor next to a piece of paper on a clipboard. On it were a few scribbles, almost like a toddler's drawings, and on the top, scrawled in illegible, wiggly handwriting --or rather, mouthwriting-- were the letters, C-A-E-S-A-R, with each letter a different color.
Joseph couldn't hold back a smile. It felt oddly flattering that his artwork...was creating his own artwork. An art-ception, perhaps.
"I love the colors," Joseph complimented.
"Only because my pencil broke with every letter," Caesar complained.
"He's been learning very quickly, I've been teaching him how to use his mouth to do things! He may just be a head, but he's come pretty far in figuring out how to get tasks done on his own," Suzi explained, almost like a kindergarten teacher meeting with a student's parent.
Caesar smiled at her. She may have been quite intimidating, even frightening, when she first met him, but he'd gradually warmed up to her as the day went on.
"Say, Caesar," grinned Joseph, reaching into a paper bag he had brought home. "I've got a surprise of my own for you!" He pulled out a small, fancy hat and a bowtie, which he proudly showed off to his clay creation. Caesar recoiled at the sight.
"What...the hell are those?" he groaned.
"Suzi said you were, uhm, naked, so I figured I ought to get you dressed up," Joseph smirked.
"I don't even have a body to expose!" Caesar tried to rationalize.
He grumbled irately as Joseph lifted him up onto the living room table, placing the hat gently onto his head, careful not to ruin the clay spikes of his hair. He then tied the bowtie around Caesar's neck, with a customized collar that covered up the bare portions of his flesh-colored bare torso.
"I look ridiculous, Jojo," Caesar groaned, as he looked at his own reflection in the mirror. But without hands, there was no way he could take off his new, fancy accessories, and was resigned to abide with his fashion choice.
"I think it looks handsome on you," Suzi assured with an awkward smile.
Caesar looked back at his reflection, decked out in whatever little clothing he could wear. And as silly as he felt, he couldn't help but also feel a bit grateful.
"Say, Suzi, what are you up to today?" Joseph quipped.
"I hadn't been doing much, really. I graduated a year ahead of you, so I'm pretty much vacant these days," she sighed.
"You don't suppose you could visit more?" Joseph requested. "I'm sure Caesar would appreciate the company."
"I live just a few blocks down the road!" Suzi replied, grinning brightly. "I wouldn't mind staying overnight every now and then!"
"Alright!" Joseph cheered, pumping his fists in joy. "Won't you like that, Cae? Getting to hang out with friends?"
"Friends," mumbled Caesar with a tip of his head, as a smile crept across his smooth, clay face.
"I would love that very much indeed."
------------
(Previous Chapter)
(Next Chapter)
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A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 8
<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->
Summary: Snapshots of life with a fussy brat over the three-year time jump. Including: a few holiday specials. 
3,949 words
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With the lease up on your apartment, Frederick invited you to move in with him. It seemed like the next logical step in your relationship, especially considering how frequently you slept there anyway—though he had to justify the choice by saying he “could not stand seeing you live in squalor.” The house was certainly big enough for two people (or several less-wealthy families).
It was nice living with him, because you lived very different lives. Rather than finding it stifling to be trapped in the same house, it was freeing that you could spend so much of the day apart—or weeks, as it often was, traveling for cases or book promotion tours—and yet always be connected by the home you would return to at the end of it all.
You were planets of the solar system orbiting the same sun. 
The stability of that was comforting. So much had changed—Will Graham left and cut ties with the FBI, Hannibal Lecter was imprisoned at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane where Alana Bloom now held Chilton’s old job, and you were considering following Will’s lead and pursuing new career options. It made you glad to have someone familiar to keep you company, and always be there when you needed him. 
For all the good, living with Frederick Chilton was not always easy. He was a shameless snob who did not believe in laundry chairs, and panicked when his state-of-the-art kitchen was filled with sugary cereals with cartoon characters on the box. There were many clashes of egos early on, some of which never fully disappeared. Now that his star was rising, he insisted you dress a certain way when you were to be seen in public together—particularly at any sort of publicity event or psychiatric conference, but anywhere really that he might be recognized. He was yours, and that meant you reflected upon him. He updated your entire wardrobe like you were starring in an episode of Queer Eye, and had your hair professionally styled.
You couldn’t even be annoyed at the controlling implications of it—you were never great at dressing professionally, and it was exciting to see yourself looking so sharp in the mirror. You could surrender that to him. He enjoyed sophisticated things, like the opera and restaurants where celebrities eat, and now you didn’t feel so out of place when you joined him.
“You actually look quite elegant,” he nodded in surprised approval at your new attire.
You stuck out your tongue.
“Do not tempt me with that,” he said with a feline wiggle of his shoulders. “We have engagements to get to, and I do not want to re-do my face.” He wrapped the hand not gripping a cane around your hip and kissed you, coaxing your naughty tongue into his mouth with a lustful growl.
Any time he was too fussy and judgmental to the point of being unkind, you were quite practiced at flicking him back down to earth. He rarely apologized, of course, but would look up and purse his lips in thought before admitting, “You may be right.”
He was a sassy bitch, but you knew that. It’s why you loved him.
You loved him.
You did. It was strange to realize how much you loved someone you used to hate, whose traits you would normally find incompatible with your own. He was a miserable little rich boy with a self-satisfied sneer, a flare for drama, and perpetually questionable ethics, yet you would do anything to keep him safe. You wanted to stay by his side forever.
And there was something to be said about his difficult personality when you were not on the receiving end of it. 
Being on his side was fun—his hand at your back as he verbally destroyed someone with a catty insinuation that left their eyes glowering with indignation. That used to be me, you thought. Now you were up on his throne with him, and the view was much better.
You wanted to stay through all the medications, physical therapy, and regular hospital visits to tweak his prosthetics and make sure his remaining organs were all still functioning properly. You wanted to stay even as you questioned how much of your affection for him was pity in disguise, as he had suggested the first time you slept with him in a fit of explosive passion—that you liked wounded birds.
If it was pity, and being pity meant you would have to leave, then you resolved to stuff your fingers in your ears and ignore it. No psychoanalysis would make you give him up. You wanted to keep orbiting the sun together.
  *****
Calliope music paraded through the air with aggressively cheerful pneumatic whistles that grabbed your eardrums and pulled them screaming into the 1920s. Shrieks, laughter, bells, and shouts rushed by.
Frederick Chilton stuck close beside you and mistrustfully held a greasy paper plate like it was a venomous snake.
It seemed only fair that in return for dressing up, you made him dress down and do normal-person things, like go to the county fair and eat deliciously greasy fried foods. It was like a cultural exchange program.
“Every moment I am not writing my next book is another moment the world goes without a groundbreaking revelation on the human psyche,” he had snipped when you first suggested the outing. He barely looked up from his computer, where he sat typing in a suave leather office chair.
“Oh come on, you owe me,” you persisted. “I am sick and tired of fancy museums and fancy restaurants and fancy psychiatric conventions. Next time we’re in a hotel, there should be Star Trek costumes involved!” He straightened like you’d shoved a rod up his spine, and you chuckled inwardly at his petty aversion to being seen at that type of convention. “Come on, it’s just the fair,” you rubbed his shoulders and he groaned with annoyance. “Nobody important will be there. You’ll be totally incognito. Be a commoner with me.”
“I suppose it is the least I can do,” he caved in at last, leaning his head back to rest on your chest, glancing up at you through his eyebrows. “Since it is so important to you, I shall partake of your proletariat festivities.”
“Don’t say proletariat when we’re at the fair, you bougie dork.”
He wore a plain black t-shirt, and his hair wasn’t quite as primly styled as usual, letting a few strands fly free. The less he stood out from the crowd, the less likely a professional acquaintance or fan would recognize him.
Even living with Chilton, it was rare to see him dressed so casually, and you had expected it to be disconcerting. Instead, you found yourself drooling. He was sexy in a suit, but so was everybody with the correct fit. The unstructured t-shirt hugged his broad chest and revealed those alarmingly muscular arms that were usually a secret hidden under sleeves.
It was odd seeing your private Chilton—reserved for nights and mornings—out in the world, and a reminder of how lucky you were.
He managed to look dapper even with powdered sugar on his shirt.
“Funnel cake?” he cringed, as if the word itself was in poor taste. “Are we certain this is food?”
“You are ridiculously hoity-toity.”
“I do enjoy the finer things in life,” he boasted in a smooth, self-congratulatory hum.
You were about to sass him when you realized his admiring eyes were fixed on you, and he wore an expectant smirk on his lips. Your scowl cracked open into a tender laugh, and you linked your arm with his, giving him a playful hip bump.
His eyes widened at you in mock horror. “You would attack a man with a cane?” He awaited your answer with that same peevish smirk, but you didn’t have anything clever on your tongue, so you pulled him into a kiss instead. He melted against your lips, having gotten what he wanted.
Frederick refused to go on any rides, citing safety concerns and his delicate viscera, but you perused a hundred breeds of chickens, pet the World’s Tallest Clydesdale, watched pigs racing, browsed local artwork, and sampled craft beers which he had to admit were pretty good. You paid far too much money to shoot water guns at a spinning target faster than other carnival-goers so you could win an oversize plush of a corgi, which turned out to be filled with disappointing foam stuffing.
After finally placing a piece of sugary fried dough in his mouth, his eyes closed, and when they opened again, he declared it “not terrible.” Then inhaled it and spent the rest of the fair surreptitiously looking for another funnel cake stand.
When you got home, he confessed, with his most stern and dignified demeanor, that he may have, perhaps had fun, juvenile as it was. Then he quietly suggested that he would make an excellent Spock.
  *****
“I am never going to be perfect enough for you, am I?” you cried after another petty argument over another petty thing like stacking the cups in the cupboard in precisely the correct order. “How do you live with me? It must drive you crazy.”
Months of feeling inadequate bubbled to the surface all at once. Everything he did was so controlled, so exact, you really did wonder why he would ever be with someone like you.
“No,” he frowned, and as he gently took your shoulders his heart was crumbling in his eyes. There was a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but this was not the lottery-winning occasion he would say the word itself. He didn’t need to. He would say it in other ways.
His warm lips pressed your forehead as he rubbed loving circles on your arms with his thumbs. “Do you know who was perfect? Hannibal. I would rather live with a hot mess than a cold-blooded monster. One of us should be warm, anyway,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “I must do better to remember the beauty of imperfection, because you are perfect to me.”
  *****
The front door opened well after the sun had disappeared and the stars had begun to come out. Frederick came home drained and exhausted from being on his feet all day trying to dominate professional rivals who were all, in turn, out to get him.
Conferences were invigorating, an exciting place to strut one’s superiority, make connections, and scope out the competition… until they were not, and they became whichever circle of Hell it is that makes one have to continually defend oneself to people for whom one will never be good enough.
You looked up from the book you were reading. You didn’t get up from the couch cushion’s gravitational embrace, but smiled with stars in your eyes, and called, “Frederick!”
Home.
He crawled onto the couch next to you, and laid his head in your lap. You set the book aside and ran your fingers through his hair, listening to the sweet, sleepy noises of pleasure the action evoked. Fantasies of this moment had kept him alive all day. You caressed his neck and the prickly stubble along the side of his jaw, and he turned his face into your palm and kissed it. He adored the way you touched him with your gentle, caring hands. Yawning, you reclined into the deep, plush cushions, and he shifted so you were both laying next to each other, content in each other’s embrace. He cuddled into your chest, face buried in your shirt.
“You smell like tacos.”
It was unclear how peevishly he intended the observation, so you simply replied, “I made tacos for dinner.”
“The cheap American kind that are nothing but ground beef, shredded cheese, and an insult to Mexican culture,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.
“Mm-hmm,” you said.
“They are not real food.”
“Do you want some?”
“God, yes.”
  *****
With physical therapy, Chilton was finally able to walk comfortably without assistance again.
Technically, he had been able to for a long time. The cane was a crutch—in the figurative, not the literal, sense. In the literal sense it was very much not a crutch, or even a cane. At best, it was an expensive, silver-topped walking stick. He clung to it like a security blanket, or as a prop to garner pity, or simply because it was a dramatic accessory. The threat of physical therapy simply convinced him to let go of the pretense.
Like the spiral staircases of his home, some things about Dr. Chilton were fussy and theatrical for no reason.
It was almost a shame, you thought. That thing was the epitome of his dapper style (he might as well put on tap shoes, a top hat, and put on the Ritz with Fred Astaire), and it brought to mind such kinky images.
It was not one of those lightweight BDSM canes, and therefore was far too heavy to do any spanking with, assuming you wanted to be able to sit down any time in the next month. However, you recalled with some excitement his tapping it on the inside of your heels to get you to spread your legs open, using the pommel to gently tip your chin up to him, or running it slowly along the inside of your thighs.
You would miss that cane.
You still argued sometimes—but not as often. You were accustomed to his haughtiness and felt less need to try and change it, and he knew you well enough to relax when the two of you were alone. He took your advice that life was not a competition... but only when it came to you, not to his career and public reputation.
He was still obsessed with proving his superiority to the world. Still obsessed with seeing Hannibal Lecter grow old and feeble inside a cell. Those edges were so integrally a part of him you could never smooth them out.
  *****
You were good for his book tour.
Though he never raised his voice or threw insults around, Chilton still had the journalist sitting in your living room on edge. She gripped the recording device harder, nails turning white. Flanked by imposing towers of leather-bound books, he stared her down like a shark, bragging about his psychiatric achievements and describing grizzly details of the Lecter case with a heartless detachment—he smirked when the more graphic parts made her squeamish.
Dr. Chilton was (contrary to his own opinion) not the best mind in the psychiatric field, but there was one thing he was the preeminent expert in, and that was leaving people with the impression that he was a callous douchebag who thought he was better than everyone else. Which was more or less accurate.
When you entered the room, his whole demeanor softened.
“Hey honey,” you poked your head in with a plate of cookies. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had that interview today. Should I come back later?”
“Nonsense, darling, come in.”
The haughty stare he’d been giving the journalist broke and turned to a warm gaze and a kind smile as he crossed the room to escort you in, his hand on the small of your back. You sat down on the sofa next to him, and set the plate of good-will-bribery cookies down on the coffee table between you and the journalist. She politely refused, at least until the recording was over, but instantly seemed more relaxed, loosing her death-vice on the recorder. You quietly leaned your head on Frederick’s shoulder and discreetly clasped his hand on the cushion between you through the rest of the interview, which he spent blushing and unable to maintain the coldness of his stare.
You brought out a side of him few were able to see. Whenever you made an appearance during his book promotions, the article published was always just a bit more favorable.
  *****
“Gotta go!” you called across the house, slinging a pack over your shoulders. Dawn was barely cresting the purple sky, and Frederick was barely awake. He didn’t even have his prosthetic maxilla in yet; he was only up to say goodbye. “I’m going to be in the field for ten hours straight today!” You thought about that for a moment, and groaned with anticipated exhaustion. 
“You have water?” 
“Yes, mom.”
“You cannot blame me for worrying,” he smiled with some pride at his gallant adventurer. You were wild in ways he would never understand, and it terrified as much as thrilled him. He smoothed a few wrinkles out of your shirt—a rugged garment for outdoor wear—and said you looked presentable enough for what you were doing. You kissed him, and wished him luck with the book signing he was attending that day. 
He wandered into the kitchen to search for breakfast, when an idea occurred to him.
“Take some of my meal-replacement bars,” he offered, opening the pantry. He had the organic superfood detox variety that he was able to digest. 
“I already did, thanks!”
He sighed with annoyance. “I noticed. It looks like an animal went through the packaging.”
“You love me,” you grinned cheekily in the doorway.
He prowled up to you, eyes narrow, trapping you against the door. He growled. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you and sucking a small bruise just under your collar. Yeah, he loved you. You purred, arching your back so you were pressed more firmly against him, and breathed in his scent. If only you didn’t have to leave.
“Come home safe.”
  *****
Halloween was your favorite holiday. Perhaps it was gauche for one involved in investigating real murders, and real dead people, but then, that might have been what made it so appealing—on Halloween, all the blood was corn syrup, the skeletons danced to 80’s rock, and the serial killers wore their identities on their sleeves and carried plastic weapons. It had been your favorite holiday as a kid, and it still was.
“No.”
“Please?” you begged, drawing out the E. “It would be so awesome!”
“No.”
“But—”
“I am a bestselling author. An esteemed expert in my field. I will not be subjected to such an undignified, childish display.”
“But you would have the best costume and nobody would know!”
He wasn’t sure how you talked him into it. It must have those adorable pleading eyes he could never resist, or the enticing appeal to his ego that it would be an extraordinary costume, certain to leave everyone guessing how the effect was done. Somehow, he was walking into a Halloween party as a zombie. Without his contact lens or prosthetic jaw.
He frowned. It was humiliating.
You were dressed as an apocalypse survivor with an infected bite, and were hamming it up, telling the other guests you were fine, totally fine, with a shaky panic-edged voice and a tremor in your limbs. You had done an impressive job on the makeup, too, giving your complexion a sallow haze and reddened eyes. The bite itself was a gory masterpiece constructed from latex and tissue paper, with dark veins spider-webbing up your arm.
He didn’t have to ham it up. He only needed to walk in the room and Shrek and Fiona, Pennywise the clown, and a sexy velociraptor all gasped in horror at his face. How was that meant to make him feel?
“So cool!” someone said before he could turn on his heel and walk out of there. Words like, “There isn’t a contest, is there? I should have put in more effort,” and “did you hire a movie SFX artist? No fair,” started to get tossed around—including toward costume elements that you had designed and had nothing to do with his natural grotesqueness. Then they offered him a drink and moved on to the next impressive costumes and regular party chatter.
You were right. Nobody knew it was real, and while it stung to be stared at and called grisly—you would later apologize profusely for being too gung-ho and not thinking through what would happen—he had never imaged being able to have a normal conversation in public with his real face exposed. There was something daringly vulnerable about it. He had never imagined not being ashamed, but at least in this niche context, his old injury made him the leading man of the evening.
By the end of the night he got so into it, he was chasing you around snarling for your brains, and getting a kick out of scaring trick-or-treaters.
  *****
He took you to Paris for Valentine’s day. Last time it was Italy, and you strangely suspected he was touring the shadow of Hannibal Lecter as much as he was trying to impress you. You had suspected, that is, until you asked, and he rather bluntly admitted to it. He hadn’t expected you not to notice by the time you got to Florence, although Venice had been purely about romance (he loved all those touristy gondola rides that he swore he hated and were just for your benefit).
Now that he finally had the chance to lavish his considerable means upon someone, he was throwing himself heart and soul into the holiday, and would not stop until he had spoiled you senseless. When he was single and accustomed to spending the day alone, he used to loathe February 14th—Valentine’s had seemed a cruel joke directed specifically at him. He couldn’t even spitefully ignore it by staying late at work, because the more perceptive inmates always took notice.
“You do not know hell,” he told you, “until a man convicted of raping his mother’s severed head taunts you about your lack of sex life.”
This year, he treated you to everything Paris had to offer: the Louvre, Notre Dame, an opera at Palais Garnier, a morning stroll through the gardens of Versailles, delicious bakeries, cafes, chocolate, and macrons. You insisted upon seeing the Catacombs, of course.
When you went to the Eiffel Tower and he showed up with roses and dinner reservations for sunset in its refined first-floor restaurant, your gut clenched. You were terrified he was going to propose. Of course he would make a grand gesture! You carefully inspected every champagne glass for hidden engagement rings, but found only bubbles. After dinner, when you ascended to the top of the tower to watch Paris light up at night, you knew that was when the proposal was coming.
But it didn’t. And you found yourself disappointed.
You had never talked about it, so there was no reason to assume it was something he wanted. It seemed far too soon to you, too, until it was snatched away and you realized that after three years together, you still couldn’t imagine wanting a life without him in it.
Arriving home at last, you breathed a sigh of relief into the still air. Paris was exciting and rich with history, but you were glad to be home in the peaceful familiarity of that snobbishly oversized house with its ridiculously spiraling staircases and its somewhat-less-fastidiously-pristine rooms, which now accommodated both of your things. All of the picture frames that once held impersonal stock photos displayed real snapshots of your lives together.
You weren’t even going to shower. You were so tired, you just wanted to rip all your clothes off and drop into bed. Frederick pulled his tie off. Hair frumpy from the long plane and taxi rides, his fingers worked to undo the top buttons of his shirt as he lumbered to the bath. He stopped at the door and turned back. You were taking a sip of water before leaving the cup on your nightstand.
“Marry me?” he said.
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shadow-sovereign · 4 years
Note
1. So, here is another idea: The relationship between South Korea and Japan are bad, so one of the politicans comes up with an idea: a hunter exchange programm between Korea and Japan. Some hunters from Korea stay with the Drawn Sword Guild and some hunters form Japan stay with one of their guilds. Each hunter has a "mentor" in the guild they are staying. Jin-Woo is among the hunters who go to Japan and his mentor is Goto Ryuji who is not happy playing babysitter for an E-Rank hunter.
2. But he has to play nice because of politics. So Jin-Woo is living with Ryuji. Ryuji’s first impression of the Korean is: "weak but kind of cute" and "looks like a puppy". Of course Jin-Woo still goes into Gates (with other D and E rank hunters) and one day the dual-dungeon-incident happens. They suspect that he experienced a double awakening, but their magical power detector says otherwise. Ryuji is still suspicious because Jin-Woo feels different to his senses.
3. As if something about him has changed so he watches him. And every day he feels stronger than before, and suddenly he grows muscles over night. He is like a puzzle Ryuji can not resist solving. They get closer every day. But Jin-Woo’s time in Japan runs out and he has to return to Korea.
This would be a very interesting dynamic. Ryuji as a general rule does not respect Hunters that are weak. He would not have a very high opinion of Jin-Woo at first. Even his reasons for being a Hunter would just be baffling to him.
Putting his life on the line to keep his mother on life support? It would be one thing if it was for life-saving treatment, to actually make his mother better. He could understand making that kind of sacrifice for a parent if it would actually save the person. But to make an indefinite sacrifice for a parent that’s always going to be in a coma?
I see Ryuji as maybe being a dutiful son, but not being particularly close to them. Maybe they were the kind of parents who worked a lot and thought the way to make your kid happy was through material goods. He always had food, nice clothes, and plenty of gifts on his birthday and holidays. Did it really matter if they weren’t always home on time for dinner?
This has led to Ryuji to being distant in general and very self-sufficient. He doesn’t feel comfortable opening up to others or forming attachments to them. That distance from humanity led to feeling superiority to humanity. He convinced himself that he doesn’t need others, so he must be better than them.
Watching Jin-Woo constantly getting hurt for someone else’s sake doesn’t really change his mind, either. Maybe he’ll even try to talk Jin-Woo out of it, as an odd form of pity. He can at least respect how persist Jin-Woo is at working towards his goals, even if he thinks said goals are pointless.
The conversation doesn’t really go over well. E-rank Jin-Woo is kind of timid, but he’s absolutely livid at this self-absorbed rich asshole telling him to let his mother die….because it doesn’t benefit him?? Maybe he goes on a rant about all that his mother has done for him growing up and not wanting her to die is reason enough for his sacrifice.
It could possibly lead to them discussing different philosophies later, assuming I can figure out how to write that. At the very least, I want them to have a discussion about the inherent value of human lives and how people don’t have to be “useful”. It’ll at least make Ryuji introspective, but I don’t think he’s going to have a big change of heart right away. He’ll eventually learn how to care about people, but he’s always going to be a bit selfish.
Now, winding back to the start – how does Jin-Woo get selected for the exchange program? He’s the weakest Hunter there is. ‘Wouldn’t it look bad on Korea for me to get sent over?’, he asks. But the fact that he keeps working as a Hunter despite his weakness is exactly why they chose him.
Unlike Ryuji, other people are quite moved by his story. About how he risks his life every time he steps through a gate to pay his mother’s hospital bills. How he raised his sister after their mother fell into a coma, their father presumed killed in a gate. And how he’s raising money to put her through university.
In addition to what they normally pay him to go through Gates, they give him extra for every day he’s in Japan, plus they pay for his travel expenses. Plane ticket and a decent budget for food. With him staying with Ryuji, he at least doesn’t have to pay for housing in Japan, which is useful since he still has to pay the bills for his sister in Korea.
It’s difficult for him to be separated from her for so long. Perhaps the exchange program could be about a year long. In the beginning, Jin-Woo video calls her every day, but that gradually shifts into 2-3 times a week as they get used to the separation.
Ryuji’s not happy about having someone in his space, but he’s playing along with this situation for political reasons. He understands that public opinion is its own type of power, especially when it’ll determine who’s willing to do business with you.
When he gets Jin-Woo home, he lays out some basic ground rules. Like, no eating outside of the kitchen/dining area. He owns his own apartment on the top floor of some tall building. He doesn’t want his carpets getting stained or food spilled on his couches. But he doesn’t have expensive vases and statues laying around, waiting to give Jin-Woo a heart attack with one wrong move. (He does have some fancy artwork, but you’re a lot less likely to knock that off the wall than an expensive vase off a shelf.)
Basically, Ryuji is reasonable in the house rules he sets. He doesn’t try to intimidate Jin-Woo, but he’s not particularly friendly either. In the beginning, he’ll probably ignore Jin-Woo for the most part. But he keeps getting reports of how Jin-Woo was injured in this raid and that raid (healed before he gets back to Ryuji’s apartment. He’s going on raids with Ryuji’s guild and Ryuji always insists on a healer with every raid, low ranked or not. The healer fees are less expensive than the insurance payouts.)
Eventually, Ryuji gets curious about the way Jin-Woo thinks. How he can keep going on dangerous raids to pay for the hospital bills of a mother who’s never going to wake up. That’s when they start having more regular conversations, trying to understand the other’s point of view.
They’re not quite friends by the time Jin-Woo encounters the Double Dungeon, but they’re close enough that Ryuji visits him in the hospital. Maybe Ryuji realizes that he would be at least briefly upset if the kid died, which is more than he can say for most people.
He notices pretty quickly when Jin-Woo starts changing. Not only is he suddenly doing exercise every day, but he’s gaining muscles and height. The muscles could be hidden by clothes, but he’s not going to miss that the kid he’s been living with for months is suddenly taller.
They start spending more time together as Ryuji tries to figure out what’s going on. Jin-Woo deflects some of the questions, but doesn’t outright tell Ryuji it’s none of his business. Maybe Jin-Woo likes that he’s got more of Ryuji’s attention now. (Though if Ryuji had completely ignored him when he was weaker, he’d be ignoring Ryuji now. He won’t get closer to someone who’s only interested in him now that he’s stronger.)
As Jin-Woo becomes stronger, he becomes more confident as well. He’s more bold in how he states his opinion, no more stuttering or nervous fidgeting. The change makes a remarkable difference. Add that to his changing body and Ryuji realizes he’s starting to become attracted to Jin-Woo. (The real question is whether Jin-Woo will notice on his own. I headcanon him as not having much experience with romance before the Double Dungeon incident. He was too busy going on raids and taking care of his sister.)
Perhaps he and Ryuji spar a few times before Jin-Woo has to go back to Korea? Ryuji obviously notices that Jin-Woo is stronger every time, wondering how this is possible and when Jin-Woo’s growth will stop. He’s both relieved and disappointed that he didn’t get to see Jin-Woo reach his own strength before he had to return home, almost looking forward to sparring with him as an equal.
I’m not sure about the timeline of everything. Perhaps Jin-Woo is in Japan for another two months after the Double Dungeon incident. He doesn’t go on raids during that time, focusing on getting stronger. He’s trying to avoid having his increased strength be noticed until he reaches S-rank.
Ryuji would probably help cover for him, saying that Jin-Woo is recovering from the trauma or something. He doesn’t have anything to gain by selling Jin-Woo out, especially not compared to having an S-rank Hunter as an ally.
So, Jin-Woo goes back to Korea, perhaps in time to save Yoo Jin-Ho’s life? The timeline’s probably going to be slightly off from canon to make everything work, but I’m not sure the Novel ever explained how fast things were happening anyway.
I think I’ll stop here. When I get around to writing this, then I’ll do more brainstorming. (Thank you for this suggestion, by the way. It probably wouldn’t have occurred to me to have E-rank Jin-Woo interacting with Ryuji at all without this idea. But this Hunter Exchange program means that Ryuji will have no choice but to pay attention to him, when he would have otherwise ignored such a low level Hunter.)
And a reminder to my followers, feel free to send in any of your fic ideas! I’d love to see them. ^_^
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fanfic-corner · 3 years
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Under 10,000 Words
16/12/20 - I can never figure out what my favourite length of fic is, but I think it depends on my mood. Sometimes I want a huge, 200,000 word journey, and sometimes I just want a quick drabble. Anyway, here are some fics which are all between 2,000 and 10,000 words, organised by the word count.
Sleep Deprivation by Honey_Honey on AO3. (2,313 words).
Tags: Cute, First Kiss.
My Rating: 4 stars.
Description: The one where killing monsters leaves Dean without a week of sleep, and Cas has to deal with the consequences.
Notes: This was so fluffy and cute and I can totally imagine Dean overthinking everything while Sam just finds the whole situation hilarious.
That One Time Sam Winchester Googled Something Weird and It Had Pretty Awesome Results by quitepossiblyjanuary on AO3. (2,587 words).
Tags: Romantic Fluff, First Kiss, Stars, Humor, Courtship, Short & Sweet.
My Rating: 4 stars.
Description: In which Sam Googles something and his curiosity doesn’t kill the cat. Or him. Or anyone. It’s a pretty awesome feeling.
Notes: This was so adorable! Gabe was so sweet, and his mind reading skills made me laugh.
What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).
Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.
Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.
The Tea is Decaf by mnwood on AO3. (3,673 words).
Tags: POV Castiel, Fluff, Sign Language, Castiel in the Bunker, Canon Compliant, Sharing Clothes, Asexual Castiel, Gentle Dean, Non-Explicit Sex, Domestic, Established Relationship.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: Based on this text post from thebloggerbloggerfun: “Listen, imagine Eileen sneaking out of Sam’s room at night to go to the bathroom or something and steps out into the hallway in one of Sam’s shirts only to see Cas trying to quietly leave Dean’s room while wearing one of Dean’s shirts and they both just stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before trying to muffle quiet laughter and now they have a late night club where they talk about life and gossip about the Winchesters in sign language"And this anon I received: "what if Eileen and Cas discover there are some things Sam and Dean both do in bed because Dean jokingly gave Sam pointers when they were younger and Sam took the advice”.
Notes: This has to be one of my favourite fics of all time, even though the first time I read it I hadn’t even met Eileen yet! I’m still so pissed off that she wasn’t in the finale (unless we’re counting Blurry Wife?).
surely heaven wants for you by cenotaphy on AO3. (3,782 words). 
Tags: Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Heaven, Coda, Post-Finale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, Outdoor Sex.
My Rating: 4 stars.
Description: Cas doesn't come to him. Dean can't really argue with that, given the circumstances. In all the history of balls in courts, he thinks there might never have been a ball as thoroughly in a court as this one is in his. He drives for what feels like a long time but might just be a single sunny afternoon, or maybe years (time's funny here, Bobby had said), just enjoying the music, the shifting landscape outside his window, the hum and creak of the engine. Finally the forest opens up and the road narrows down in a way that he's fairly certain wouldn't typically happen on any kind of earthly interstate, and he glides the car to a halt at the edge of a lake.
Notes: This was so beautiful and such a interesting exploration of Dean’s feelings!
a quick salt and burn by xylodemon on AO3. (4,609 words).
Tags: Episode Related, Cemeteries, Case Fic.
My Rating: 4 stars.
Description: "Fuck," Dean mutters, wincing as pain throbs in his shoulder and neck. After the ghost chucked him into the hedge, he hit the ground like ton of bricks and clipped an exposed tree root so old it was practically petrified. "So much for a quick salt and burn."
Notes: This is adorable and hilarious, so a double win.
Funny Bone by PallasPerilous on AO3. (4,933 words).
Tags: Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Alternate Universe - No Angels, Canon Divergence, Mild Gore.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.
Notes: This has to have been one of the funniest fics I have ever read, but oh boy did I feel bad for poor Cas.
Grace by july_19th_club on AO3. (5,164 words).
Tags: Fix-It, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Resurrection, Reciprocated Confession.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: A man dies. What happens next will shock you. [script]
Notes: This was written beautifully, and now I really want to see this filmed! So much better than the ending we got.
(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).
Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.
Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(
La Vie A Plus by K_K_TiBal on AO3. (6,260 words)
Tags: Punk Castiel, Asexual Castiel, College/Uni AU, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, College Student Dean, College Student Castiel, Pining, First Kiss, Misunderstandings, Art Student Castiel, Love Confessions, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Tattooed Castiel.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: Dean Winchester is hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with his best friend and roommate, Castiel. Castiel - with his blue hair, and his tattoos, and his artwork, and his perfect everything. Dean never stood a chance, really. It only sucks because, as far as Dean can tell, Castiel is definitely not interested. But love, much like art, has a way of being unpredictable. Even if you think you know where you’re going with it.
Notes: The angst is strong in this one! Again, I feel like many aces have had this conversation or that fear that people (allos, especially) may not want to be with them.
Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).
Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.
My Rating: 4 stars.
Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.
Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet.
I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).
Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.
My Rating: 4 stars.
Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.
Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.
Nothing Equals the Splendor by RurouniHime on AO3. (7,865 words).
Tags: Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Declarations of Love, Canon Compliant, Minor Injuries.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: Maybe it’s the cynic in him. The hunter, always under the surface of any quietude he ever found. Or maybe it’s just that he has always had trouble with blind faith. But after a while (a blink? A decade? A century?), Dean raises his eyebrows, looks around, and says—
“Uh. No.”
It’s so close. Just so slightly imperfect. And maybe, he analyzes, maybe that’s the final knell of this bell called contentment. Dean’s experience with happiness has always been that last rise in the road, right before it turns. Right before fate comes barreling around the corner head on. He turns in his spot on the bridge, and suddenly Sam is like a cellophane film through which he can see the light streaming, and the taste of cheap beer on his tongue is much, much older a memory than it should be.
“Oh, you’re good,” he says, and means it.
Notes: What a great idea, and written so well! I always thought the show could have done so much more with djinns, but never mind.
In the House of the Rising Bun by imissmaeberry on AO3. (9,046 words).
Tags: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baker Dean, Barista Sam, College Campus, Poet Castiel, Mutual Pining, Daddy Issues, Background Sam/Jess, Past Balthazar/Castiel.
My Rating: 5 stars.
Description: Dean Winchester only has three rules concerning the cafe he and his brother Sam own, “House of the Rising Bun”.
1. Any and all opportunities to make a pun will be taken. 2. Free regular coffee with your student ID (If you want some of that fancy nonsense you gotta pay, sorry kids). 3. Anyone and everyone is always welcome.
Between Dean running the shop full-time and Sam helping out whenever he isn’t in class, there really isn’t a whole lot of time for romance for either of them. But that all changes when they gain a new regular - some writer from London - who may or may not have the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen.
Notes: First of all, the puns were amazing and I am willing to fight people on that. Secondly, that was so sweet and funny I am afraid I might have to disappear under mysterious circumstances and open my own cafe…
I hope you enjoy these! I haven’t read any new fics for this list and even then there were way too many to put on one list, so expect a sequel at some point in the future!
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themegalosaurus · 6 years
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Summergen Recs 2018
I love to do a long list of Summergen recs so here they are for this year! Reveals are due any day now so hurry to read them while they are still Mysterious and Anonymous. And do check out the full collection at the Summergen website, there were lots of other really good entries (plus my entry, haha) but my list was getting unmanageably long so I had to be very exacting in my choice! Also, please pay attention to the warnings on each fic when you click through, some of them are fairly dark...
ART Summer School  Sam didn't realize his summer breaks weren't like other kids' summers -- not at first. But the older he gets, the more he realizes how different his family is from other kids he meets. - Just a lovely atmospheric vision of a moment in Sam and Dean's adolescence.
[untitled] Jack grew up as the younger brother of Sam and Dean--just a regular kid with profound powers trying to hide from his hunter family that he's the son of Lucifer. - A really clever interpretation of the prompt that raises more questions than it answers!
FIC Black Coffee in Bed, 2900 words, PG-13 Breakdown in Nebraska, and the mornings after. - Beautifully, sparely written insight (via a service-station psychic) into Sam's mindset during that bleak, dark moment mid-season 13.
Chick Lit References, 3200 words, R “This is just typical,” Dean says angrily. “Cas puts us in a yurt, and you won’t let me leave because you think we need this to ‘fix us,’ but here’s the thing, Sam, next time you’re mad at me, maybe you should try this thing called talking instead of going straight to chick lit references that will soar over my head.” - The premise for this feels like it should be cracky, almost - Sam and Dean take some 'me-time' to recover from Michael - but it's much more subtle and emotionally complex than that.
death unhinged its jaw, 4500 words, PG-13 death unhinged its jaw and swallowed them whole, only to spit them back out again after. - I don't want to give away the central conceit of this one and it's not the first I've read to toy with the idea, but it executes it perfectly; dark and understated and (if you think too hard about it) really awfully, hopelessly grim.
Fledgling, 7700 words, PG-13 When four-year-old Emma arrives the Bunker, Sam wonders exactly what it is that Cas brought him — what he made without his soul. - I feel like a lot of fics told with this kidfic premise or in this kind of ethereal tone wouldn't work for me but this one really swings it, somehow. I think partly there's an undercurrent of humour that punctures what in the wrong hands would be - for me - too grandiose. Instead, it's an unexpectedly sweet, magical little story.
Misplaced, 1900 words, PG-13 "Dean facilitated a divine family reunion and God’s sister gifted him John Winchester. The world is upside-down—but they’ve rescued Sam, and doesn’t the world somehow (always) hinge on him?” For the prompt: Season 12 Au where John was brought back to life instead of Mary. - This one Pulls No Punches. It's brutal and is all the better for it!
Mongrels, 4000 words, PG-13 'One time in the first grade, Sam's art teacher had assigned self-portraits--a picture meant to show the world who you really were. In his self-portrait, Sam had given himself approximately 37 heads, and Dean had been sent to the principal's office for shouting "oh FUCK" when he saw it.' Just New Mexico things. S9 post-Gadreel H/C casefic. - Compelling, hallucinogenic, clever casefic told through Dean's eyes during that twisty period of emotional estrangement
Open Sky, 3200 words, PG-13 Magda lives, and ends up spending some time at the bunker. - Lovely fic with Sam and Magda in a sort of Sam-Jack style relationship. Sam does some helping, confronts some truths, MAGDA LIVES, we all know how bitter I am about this ahahahaha
Riptide, 10,000 words, PG-13 Sam just wants to be a normal college student and normal college students go on spring break. Of course, that’s when bodies begin washing up on the beach. - I love me a Stanford casefic and this one is particularly well done. It has a great monster and it gives Sam a really believable set of friends and relationships to work with and around as he tries to solve the problem without letting anyone in on his secret. Really enjoyable.
Saints Preserve Us, 9,600 words, PG-13 - Dean has convinced Sam that Mark of Cain or not, he’s still perfectly capable of a straightforward salt and burn. Hint: he may have exaggerated slightly. Meanwhile, the Fates are locked in a bureaucratic battle with Heaven over the supply of basic utilities and are just generally dysfunctional. These things are not unrelated. - Quirky, well-written casefic with a touch of the Neil Gaimans. (That's a good thing!)
Sicko, 2900 words, PG-13 Now fully human, Jack navigates the realities of both past and present. - I'm a sucker for Jack and Sam fics and this is another really fantastic one with Jack figuring out some pretty heavy stuff now that he is human. Sam in this story is absolutely lovely and Jack is heartbreaking in just the same way as he is sometimes in the show. Really worth reading.
Sleeping with the Fishes, 4400 words, PG-13 Dean won’t rest until Sam sleeps. - This one (with bonus lovely artwork) doesn't try to do anything too fancy but it's a well-written snapshot of every hurt!Sam aficionado's favourite slice of canon (yes I do mean haggard sleepless Hallucifer-Sam) with a Sam and Dean whose voices are absolutely spot-on. 
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This, 5600 words, PG-13 Sam's looking at a large white envelope, with the word Stanford printed on the top. - I don't want to spoil too much of this one - Sam has to tell the family about his Stanford offer. Let's leave it there. 
These are the days of miracle and wonder (this is the long distance call), 10,000 words, PG-13 Sam Winchester's life has been touched by many things - love, loss, fear, hope, pain, and always, in the background, witchcraft. - Probably my favourite fic of the whole of Summergen this year. Sam as a witch. Lovely shifting POV and it builds to such a fantastic climax. Plus some A+ cameos.
Wintering, 1000 words, G Dean is hurt on his first hunt and lets Sam take care of him. - Poignant little outsider POV fic that offers a perfect glimpse of a particular moment.
Wreckage, 4800 words, PG-13 It’s a slow procession out the front door of the Bunker that first week until it’s just the two of them left. Jack wants to comfort Sam after Michael takes off with Dean but doesn’t know how, and Sam is obsessed with how to get his brother back, no matter what the cost. - I already recced this because it's the fic I prompted, but it's beautifully told and very touching. Well worth a read.
178 notes · View notes
chuckling-chemist · 6 years
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Happy Freedom Festival, Main Edition (2/2)
((<==back))
((Well this got......a bit long for myself. So yeah. Anyway, here’s the second half, that took longer to finish than I expected because Life Ensues. Also now it’s obvious I just really fucking wanted to make up an Independence Day festival because fuck you that’s why))
It took them longer than he’d ever like to admit to get ready. First off was the matter of Dontoc having to dig through his clothing to find something he deemed appropriate, and finding that pretty much none of his clothing would look appropriately “lowblood-esque”. In theory, he could certainly go with just a dress shirt, vest and slacks, but he felt naked outside without it, sweltering heat be damned. And with all his suits being tailor-made by Aisral, each one was temperature controlled so the only issue he would have to worry about is aesthetic.
The minute Pallia was ready, she even tried to expedite matters. Dontoc allowed her in his room immediately - already switched into appropriate pants, and any theoretical assistance to his dilemma outweighed any other possible consequences. She sat on his sleeping pad, giving constant reassurances that it would be fine and anyone who might generally say something will probably keep it minimal due to his caste. Highbloods were one thing. Seadwellers were another entirely.
Eventually, he ended up forgoing the vest and switching out the bowtie for a regular tie. He didn’t look much dressed down, but to him, he at least dropped down a few castes if it weren’t for the distinct southern-coastal, impossible to hide in any fashion, fins. Or the violet eyes. Certainly the violet accents on his jacket didn’t help matters either. But the attempt was made (however poorly it was in his increasingly aware mind), and the attempt took at least a solid five minutes of nothing but digging through a closet of neatly pressed suits, so he wasn’t going to get any more content than he currently was.
The coffee they ended up leaving in the kitchen. “Mayola drank it,” Pallia said.
“Are you sure? She did seem rather disinterested once you said it was only for us,” he said. He paused, then shook his head. “Then again...I suppose the inability to predict Mayola does make this a challenge to counter-argue.”
Pallia smirked. “Oh no, Mayola’s incredibly easy to predict. You’re just not used to her. And I can tell you she drank that coffee.” She hopped off his sleeping pad, her sandals making loud clacks on the tile floor. “Ready?”
He looked down at himself, fully dressed with a black suit and tie, then over at herself, in a thin-strapped white summer dress, hair still down around her shoulders. “Well, I still feel overdressed,” he admitted, “however I do not think we can rectify the situation more than we have.”
Pallia beamed. “Let’sssss go then!!”
In another timeline, she probably would have grabbed his hand and dragged him out of their hive. Instead, she rushed out his room and down the stairs, leaving him to hurriedly follow shortly behind. She didn’t slow down until she was outside, at which point she waited just outside the double glass doors of her hive, bouncing on her feet.
“Excited?” he asked dryly as she locked the doors behind him.
“Oh no, I’m just like this all the time,” she said. The two started on down the empty paved road out towards Sandyhorn, the only one from her position that actually led out of to the city. Were there passerby, they might have made a bit of an odd pairing - a tall, yet twig-like seadweller dressed to the nine and a tealblood a solid foot smaller than him in weather-appropriate clothing - but there were few hives down this road, and fewer trolls who ventured down the road.
(Really, if he had to think about it, the only ones he knew regularly traveled down here were the residents of the hive, Mayola, Volcor, Zanchi and Vodnik. Glacin and Valeba didn’t live close by, and Careen seemed to dislike the few times she came down to pick him up, going out of her way to complain each time. Dontoc had just gotten to the point he agreed to meet her somewhere else.)
Dontoc laughed. “You know, if I did not know you any better, that would have been a believable statement.”
“And the fact you know it’s not a believable statement means you’ve spent way too much time around me,” she said.
“Is that not what happens when you live with someone?”
“Point taken.”
He smiled. “I would not worry too much about such a thing.” He paused right as a warm breeze hit him square in the face. It was hot. Even with the automatic cooling system Aisral built inside his suit, the heat hung in the air like a weighted blanket - not moving, just omnipresent. “Instead we should be worrying about this heat. Are you sure you will be okay in it? I know the highblood immediate on-call transit system is still in Sandyhorn. You may not be a highblood, but I can call them.”
Pallia’s eyes went wide for a brief second before retreating, replaced instead with her vigorously shaking her head. “Are you hot?” she asked worriedly.
“Ah...no...but…”
“Then we’ll be fine. Sssorry, but I don’t even think thosse run tonight. You don’t have to worry about me. Done this walk hundreds of times in worse heat.” She gave him a soft, playful nudge. “Unless you’re worried about getting another sunburn?”
Dontoc let out an undignified snort. “Hardly. I just…” he sighed. “You are hardly wrong. I worry about you. Not because you are a tealblood, or a landdweller, or anything else. I just do.”
“Anxiety?”
“Something along those lines, yes.”
“Well.” She stopped briefly, putting her hand on his arm. “I’ve got like three other trolls doing that. You’ve got enough on your plate. So if that helps…”
“It does,” he said. It was true, somewhat. His general anxiety certainly did play a constant part in his worry of everyone around him- not just her specifically - and her explicitly giving a valid reason as to why he can stay calm quieted said anxiety. Anything outside of that was completely outside of her realm of help, but there was no need to bring that up.
“Good,” she said. With an awkward chuckle, she added, “I didn’t actually think it would.”
They walked for a while longer, all the way downtown, nearby the park. A long walk, certainly, but not a bad one by any means. In part helped by the company, that much he was certain, but nevertheless anything to make the walk better was welcome.
They didn’t even need to get downtown to begin seeing the festivities. The minute the paved road turned to the broken-down cobblestone of Sandyhorn’s exterior streets, he was greeted by streamers in reds, yellows and greens coupled with the faintest hint of unfamiliar loud music playing in the distance. Strings of lights wound around the pre-existing street lamps, lighting up the roads in all the lower colors of the hemospectrum. The official artwork and murals of Careen or the current Empress, Her Imperious Beguiler, remained relatively untouched. However, next to them were scrawled pictures of other trolls. A few of them he recognized from pictures in books, but most of them looked completely unfamiliar to him.
“How decorated,” he marveled. “It was not this fancy at the other festival.”
“We’re not even in the main portion,” she said. “Wait until you see that.”
She led him through the twisting alleyways of the city, deftly maneuvering paths he didn’t even know existed. Delicious aromas of breakfast hung in the air from all the trolls cooking, and those with small bird lusii chirped at the strangers coming through. The decorations were minimal here, but any troll that had a window pointing out to these areas had a flag, or strips of fabric, or anything hanging out of open windows in their blood color.
The alleys managed to pop themselves straight into downtown with little trouble at all. The smell of greasy breakfast foods sizzling on grills in brightly colored food trucks greeted them instantly. Pop-up tents and overhangs made rainbows on the streets for vendors to sell whatever they wanted. The music was louder now, and he could even make out words overtop the sound of fiddles and harmonicas that played on a makeshift stage. It brought out couples of all castes (though all landdwelling) to listen, some even going out of their way to dance however they knew how. In the distance, he could just make out a few easy-to-set-up games and rides, but their unfortunate association with carnivals might have dissuaded them from setting them up.
“Oh,” he breathed, careful to keep his voice loud enough so she could hear. “It’s…wow.”
“Glad you like it,” she said. “Because we need to get actual food before it gets any busier.” She started her way toward a food truck donned in dark red with vibrant green windows, Dontoc keeping pace up next to her.
“It...it is going to get busier?”
“Well yeah.” She looked at him and frowned. “Is that going to be a problem? I’ll be here the whole time, but I know Valeba won’t and --”
“Pallia, if it becomes a problem, you will be the first to know,” he said gently. He looked around. It made sense that it was going to only get busier. While there was a crowd, the crowd around them was still sporadic enough that aside from clumps of people around the vendors and music, large gaps between others indicated the crowd wasn’t too bad yet. “Why do you ask?”
“Well I...I kinda wanna stay for the fireworks and those aren’t going to be until later tonight,” she said. “If that’s okay.”
“It is more than okay. It sounds absolutely fantastic. Honestly dear, I am flattered you even thought to ask to go with me,” he said.
He could’ve sworn there was a light tint of teal on her cheeks, but she turned away before he could confirm or deny it in any fashion, putting all of her focus instead on ordering food. They settled on two cups of coffee and two giant plates of waffles covered in a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream dyed to look red and yellow. Breakfast in the absolute loosest sense of the word, but he didn’t care. He was hungry, and with the near sweltering temperature, ice cream looked more delicious than usual.
The two sat down at a picnic table further away from the majority of the crowd to eat, not that it took either of them especially long. The ice cream tasted perfect for the weather, even managing to make drinking hot coffee at this time of day seem like a smarter decision. That was ignoring just how well cooked the waffle itself was: crispy at the edges, but warm and impossibly soft in the middle. At some point he’d have to figure out what exactly made their food so much better than anything he’s ever had in Sindaria, but right now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to just savor the food.
The band playing music ended their song, followed by claps from all around. The singer, a bronzeblood with short horns that curled outwards and a buzzcut, stepped forward up towards a standing microphone.
“Good morning Sandyhorn!” he called out. “Are y’all having a good time?”
Most of the crowd in close proximity let out loud cheers. Some even threw in a few loud whistles or more animalistic-noises that vaguely matched some of the lusii in the area. The bronzeblood beamed, and Dontoc could clearly see the numerous gaps in his teeth.
“Yeah! Great! Then let’s get this event really going with some great local music!” He backed away from the microphone, over towards an electric guitar on a stand. The drummer in the back clicked off a beat and the band swung into a frenzy, immediately playing a high tempo song. The fiddle soared above the rest of the song, quickly becoming the focus of the whole song.
Then, finally, the other instruments quieted down so you could hear the singer, singing angrily about his matesprit being culled by drones and the havoc it’s caused him. He actually felt bad that the song was so uptempo and catchy he would want to dance to if he actually knew how to dance properly, which is to say, could do much at all aside from basic ballroom dancing he taught himself to look proper at Careen’s parties. The food on his plate kept him relatively grounded to the table too, of course.
Not that it mattered. Listeners and dancers crowded around the stage. Those who didn’t have partners bobbed up and down, fists in the air. Some trolls previously over at a vendor even went over to join in. He glanced over at Pallia, little more than scraps on the paper plate, who swayed slightly in her seat as she mouthed out the words.
“Know the song?” he asked.
She nodded vigorously. “They perform it every sweep since they came. It’s an old favorite.”
About midway through the song, the instruments dropped off, leaving nothing but the fiddle playing a vaguely familiar tune that Dontoc swore was some folk song he’s heard played on the streets before. Listeners clapped in time as the melody sped up and swelled. Dancers twirled around each other in a flurry of burgundy skirts. It drew him in, making him want to just abandon their spot and learn how to move like they did…to spin and twirl and dance like water on the shore...
With a final cymbal hit, everything abruptly ended. The song, the dancers, everything. Pallia looked between their now-empty plates and cups and gathered them up. Dontoc was about to insist on throwing everything away, but by the time he shook himself out of his stupor completely, she had already returned.
“So? Wanna check out the shops?”
“You do not even have to ask me, dear,” he said. “Although I cannot imagine it would not take very long to get through all of them. Sandyhorn is large but ah, well, it is not Sindaria.”
With a sharp laugh, Pallia rolled her eyes. “We’ll ssssee about that.”
He quickly learned how wrong he was. The popups went on for far longer than was initially visible, and they sold anything and everything sellable. Tealbloods in business suits handed out business cards rubber banded to water balls as they quietly tried to encourage him to find something requiring financial compensation. Rust and bronzebloods had showcases of homemade jewelry and clothing homespun from the natural fibers around them. Winemakers and beer brewers offered free samples of their product, some others even offering it for sale. Pallia tried a few, only going for the ones labeled from sweet fruits. Occasionally she’d offer a sample to him, asking if he wanted any for the hive. A few he was mildly interested in, but only a couple stood out. One, an expensive strawberry wine that when he watched it light up her eyes, he purchased it the minute she wasn’t paying attention. A present for the holiday, he told himself. Nothing more.
At the end of the wine popups, a strong arm abruptly pulled him aside, spinning him so he faced her. She was a yellowblood, shorter than him with horns that seemed to match the yellow diamond carefully embroidered into her floor length dress. Her filled in eyes indicated her age, and the lack of bifurcation indicated her usefulness to society. Long, poker straight hair pooled around her waist. It did nothing to hide the plastic, fake extra points on her ears to make her look like she stepped out of a Eastern Alternian Fantasy Animation.
“Hello,” she said smoothly. “I am she called the Great Silkfoot. And you look like you could do for some of my wines.”
Dontoc stared at her blankly. “I...I ah….”
She gave him a sly smile, eyes flitting between him and the crowd beyond them. “Oh please, there is no reason to act embarrassed around me, milord. I’m merely a pleasant peasant woman selling tonics to the mm….tension between you and your friend.” His fins twitched violently at the way she said tension. And friend. There was no friend the way she said it. His face was probably hot, but it was hard to feel when such a warm body was this close to himself.
“I...look, I...I assure you Ms., uh, Silkfoot…” Dontoc trailed off, swallowing harshly and steadying his breath before continuing. His hands shook quietly, but he did his best to fight off the rising panic attack at the sudden touching, “there is no tension between us. And we are friends. Not...well, friends or however you said it.”
“Hm. Then perhaps Silkfoot could offer a more personal fix for your tension?” She ran a hand up his arm and he shuddered involuntarily. “You really are just so tense, and I could most certainly fix just so very easily.”
“My...my tension would not be assisted by you,” he muttered darkly.
“Nonsense!” She said brightly. “I know what a good violetblood lord needs and what they need is --”
“Gadung!” Pallia’s voice rang through the air. In an instant, Gadung released Dontoc, scowling quite noticeably at Pallia. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“Why, selling my product. What does it look like?” she asked. The honeyed tone from earlier was dead and replaced with a far sharper, more venomous one.
“It lookss like ssomething I will gladly report to your FLARP queen,” Pallia hissed. “I know through Mayola you don’t get to play the trapdoor spider outside the game.”
“Oh please. Silkfoot isn't playing her character,’ she scoffed, pushing her hair over her shoulder dramatically. Gadung’s hand went down to the bottle holding the covered bottle of wine, tracing the knuckles. Dontoc tensed up, but she didn't seem to notice. “I'm merely selling my high quality wine as a permanent fix to real Alternian issues.”
“You're fondling the matesprit of the Heiress,” she said flatly.
“I am--!” She stopped, side-eyeing him. “Wait...but you look far too straight-laced to impress my queen.”
“The heiresssss,” Pallia said. “The big one.”
The hand on his jerked away as if it were on fire. However, her smile returned. “Well. This adds quite the dynamic,” she said smoothly.
Pallia sighed. “The only thing it adds is a valid reason for you to let us go,” she said. “And if you keep this up, I will stop purchasing from your queen.”
Gadung scowled again, showing off the barest hint of jagged teeth. “Fine. Good evening, tealblood.” She winked at Dontoc. “And milord.”
Pallia rolled her eyes again as she briskly walked off. Dontoc hurried behind her.
“She seemed...interesting,” Dontoc said. “If a bit touchy for me.”
“She’s a trapdoor spider.”
Dontoc raised his eyebrows. “How informative. Soon you may be speaking in nothing but grunts.”
“They're trolls in Darkwood that get others plastered and pail them. Gadung...is notorious. I only put up with her because she's a good brewer.” Pallia groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “And for her to jump on you of all trolls! The obvious anxious one. It's just sleazy, really. I should've lied and told her I was your matesprit, but Careen’s holds weight.”
He swallowed harshly, throat dry, and shook his head.“Such would not have been necessary. You diffused the situation perfectly fine without,” he said, fins fluttering softly. “But I do thank you. I doubt I would have gotten out of there alone.”
“You're a friend and she's a self-important troll sleeping her way to the top,” she said. “Don't worry about it.”
They left it at that. Pallia was careful to stay close to him for the rest of their time together, even as trolls kept their distance. They avoided the games and rides section altogether, on Dontoc's request. Not that it took Pallia much convincing: she hardly seemed like she wanted to go that way anyway, and was more than happy to lead the two of them away. She promised it was almost time anyway for the best part anyway.
With a mischievous grin, she led him away from the largest part of the slowly-thinning crowd, all the way towards the far-end of the park, where the path stopped and the shrubbery turned wild. A few trolls - all lowbloods, he noticed, they were the only two past yellow - hung around, taking seats in the grass. Pallia did the same, finding a spot for them just past a few trees.
“Have you ever seen fireworks?” she asked curiously as she sat down on her knees.
Dontoc followed suit, shoulders just touching for the briefest second before he shuffled away. “I lived underwater or in isolation for so long, things exploding in the sky for amusement would not be a common commodity,” he said.
“Huh. I figured Careen liked the extravagance,” she said. “Guess not.”
“But I will get to see them now,” he said warmly. “Whenever they start.”
In the distance, he heard a loud boom, pulling the conversation away. Dontoc looked up to the sky just in time to see it light up in bright white sparkles, crackling as they fell to the ground. Smoke hung in its wake, a light gray against the star-filled sky.
“Was that…”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “Pretty cool right?”
He nodded wordlessly, enraptured. Another one shot towards upwards, whistling as it skyrocketed upwards and bloomed like a flower, making a big circle of bright yellow outlining dark red. As soon as the first one faded, two more booms sent off vibrant circles of green and blue adjacent to the space where the first two fell.
Then another, this one making smoke swirls in the sky, exploded in a shower of hazy jade and fell in lines of jade. He glanced over at Pallia, face illuminated by the firework, and she smiled.
“Happy Freedom Festival,” she said. Then, so softly he could barely hear it, she muttered, “Thanks for coming.”
He smiled back, turning away at the sound of the next firework exploding to hopefully hide the creeping blush. It probably failed, but for once in his life, Dontoc didn't care. Not when the night went like this. “Happy Freedom Festival, dear.”  He didn’t speak again until the next firework exploded, letting his thank you for everything die in the noise. 
((Like what I write? Buy me a coffee!))
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ireviewuread · 2 years
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Spin Art Studio in Singapore | Spin Paint House Review
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There’s nothing better than decorating your home with artwork done by yourself. That final touch of customisation is what everyone needs to spice up their home. However, if you are artistically challenged, that may not be an option for you until now.
With spin art, you do not need to be Picasso to produce a captivating piece of art, all you have to do is relax and have some fun.
Spin Art
Spin art is not a "new thing" which incorporates science with art. In fact, spin art has a long history that goes way back to the 1960s. This form of art is popular among contemporary artists such as Damien Hirst, Swarez and Callen Schaub.
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Spin Paint House
At Spin Paint House, you are not only able to practise this form of art freely but you are able to bring your family and friends to express themselves too. This space provides everything you need to create your very own pendulum art without worrying about how to clean up the mess afterwards. 
On top of that, the ergonomic tables and adjustable rotations per minute gives you total control of the entire process. 
Spin Paint House
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Spin Paint House Packages
Spin Paint House offers various packages:
Standard Package – for one person
2 Pax Package
3 Pax Package
4 Pax Package
5 Pax Package
Adult + Child Package
2 Children Package
Every package is different but all packages include at least a booth, a canvas, a few bottles of regular paints and special paints, and tools of your choice. Aside from the Standard Package, Adult + Child Package and the 2 Children Package, all packages are 1.5 hours long.
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Each booth will be shared by two occupants and the amount of paint you’ll get is dependent on which package you booked. There is no limit on the number of tools you can use, you could even take them while you’re in the middle of painting your creation.
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For me, I went with the 2 Pax Package since I invited my friend to enjoy the session with me. The 2 Pax Package consist of two canvases (40x56cm), eight 150ml regular paint, two special paints and a variety of tools for you to choose from. We have 1.5 hours to explore our creativity and we will be sharing a booth.
We also upgraded one of the canvases to an 18’’ circular canvas and added a few bottles of special paints. Besides the circular canvas, you can also choose from a square or a heart canvas for your upgrade.
Aside from the packages stated, you could also have your parties, corporate team building activities and even event launch there.
Aprons & Feet Protectors
Aprons will also be provided so that you can protect yourself from the attack of the paint. Despite that, it is still recommended for you to come in clothes you don’t mind getting paint on as paint can travel far especially if you’re spinning it at high speed.
If you have fancy shoes or just hate getting your feet dirty, you can ask for the feet protector covers. Since my friend and I do not mind getting paint on our feet, we didn’t ask for the covers.
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Lockers
As for your belongings, you can keep them in the lockers by the lift. Lockers of different sizes are available and if your items are still too big for the lockers, you can store them behind the reception desk.
Spin Paint House Experience
The experience starts with a staff demonstrating to us how to utilise the tools and paints. I enjoy the live demonstration for it shows us how to properly utilise the table. The short introduction also allows our queries to be solved immediately.
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After the demonstration, we were brought to the supplies area where we took a basket each to put our selected tools and paints. There were a wide variety of colours available for you to choose from; which includes metallic, neon and glittery choices.
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Child-safe Tempera Paint 
The paint used is high quality, child-safe tempera paint from the land of long white clouds, also known as New Zealand. This paint is non-toxic, environmentally friendly and does not have any unpleasant odours. It is also formulated to the international safety standards.
The paint is also gluten-free and does not contain dairy, egg, gluten, soy or peanut products, by-products or derivatives.
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Additionally, the paint is body-safe and can be washed off easily. Despite that, it is still recommended for you to soak your clothing immediately once you reach home for there’s a possibility of the paint staining your clothes.
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For my artwork, I decided to go with a pastel palette so I stuck with blue, purple, pink and white whereas, my friend, decided to go for a rainbow colour palette. We also chose a few special paints to brighten up our designs.
As for the tools, we went with the rollers, brushes, squeeze bottles, wooden trays and even a masking tape. We took a few disposable cups and ice cream sticks as well to aid in mixing the colours before pouring them onto the canvas. I like how they even offered different sized cups and brushes too.
There was a television screen replaying the tutorial at the supplies area for those who missed certain parts of the demonstration previously.
While we were choosing our tools and paints, the other staff have already clamped down our selected canvases at our assigned booths.
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Booth
Every booth has an ergonomic table with a crank for you to manually control the rotations per minute. There is also a stool in the booth if you would like to take a break.
Next to the table, there’s a small spinning station for children to unleash their creativity safely.
The booths have an adjustable phone stand with a ring light so that you can easily record the process of your ever-changing artwork.
After we are done setting up, it is time for us to unleash our potential on our canvases. I started by painting the whole background blue before randomly squeezing white paint on the canvas while it rotates rapidly.
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Besides the manual crank, there’s also a handbrake at the bottom of the table. This brake allows us to stop the wheel from rotating gently. The concept of controlling the canvas’s rotations with your energy grew on me as I enjoy dominating every aspect of my life, including my art pieces.
Additionally, a speedy rotation can result in a more splattered artwork than you originally imagine. To portray the different styles, you should try out different speeds and even different methods of pouring your paints.
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Besides free pouring my paint straight from the bottle, I also used the swinging trapezes to create a splash on my art pieces. For my first bold attempt, I went heads in with the wooden tray.
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Wooden Tray Pour
From my experience, pouring lots of paint into the wooden tray and aiming it directly onto the canvas at a low angle works best. If you want to see more of the marbling you’ve done in the wooden tray, you can reduce the speed of the turntable or stop it altogether.
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I tried using this method twice: once while the turntable was rotating at high speed, another time while the turntable was spinning at a low speed.
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Although I used the same tools both times, the speed of the turntable affected the art pieces tremendously. Between you and me, I like the colours of the second wooden tray pour better.
Pendulum Effect
After the dramatic pours, the impulsive side of me decided to use the brush to create a spiral. However, that caused all of the colours to blend in with each other.
Thus, I tried to pull my canvas out of the state of confusion by utilising another spin art method – the pendulum effect.
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By attaching a paint bottle with an open notch onto the swinging trapezes allows us to display the pendulum effect in our artwork. This effect creates beautiful curves which resemble the ones drawn with a geometry compass.
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While creating our art pieces, I noticed how spacious the booth was. My friend and I were able to freely put our chosen materials and change our positions without any obstructions. The booth also gave us a sense of freedom, allowing us to follow our instincts without fear of embarrassing ourselves in front of strangers.
Additionally, pop music floated through the vast studio tickling our left feet. In case you’re wondering, dancing is permitted in the studio as long as it's not on the tables. If you have a song you want to vibe to while painting, you could make a song request as well.
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About 50 minutes into the creation, I finally stop channeling my inner Picasso and ended off with a few drops of yellow shimmer.
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My Friend’s Experience at Spin Paint House
That was when my friend’s inner Swarez blossomed. The moment her canvas was secured onto the table, she started sectioning it with masking tape and filling it with different colours. 
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With a clear plan in mind, she utilised the swinging trapezes and created the pendulum effect on her art piece.
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She then proceeded to layer the paint onto the canvas before spinning it. This allows her to have more control over the look of the canvas.
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Despite the perfect execution and plan, the next few minutes determined the fate of the artwork as a wild idea popped into our minds – utilising the black paint. The moment the black paint kissed the canvas, we knew this is going to be a very colourful painting. 40 minutes passed and another beautiful artwork was born.
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Spin Paint House Review
Overall, the enjoyable session was a great escape for us to strengthen our friendship and spend some time together.
Through this process, I learnt that sometimes you have to let things be and go with the flow. 90 minutes ago, my canvas was as blue as the sky; 50 minutes later, it turned into a lilac bush – an unexpected but wonderful experience for us.
My friend also felt the same way as her unplanned canvas turned out so much better than what she had imagined.
We washed up in the adjoining toilet before snapping some photos at the end of the session. The staff was very helpful and polite throughout the session, making us feel at ease. They also briefed us on the next steps as they put our artwork in a drying rack.
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After collecting our art pieces, we noticed the metallic portion and glitters shined brightly under the light. This gives the pieces a different look at every angle.
Collection
Collection of the artwork could be done after 3 days but within 14 days from the date of painting. There is no need for one to do a booking beforehand. All you have to do is come down within their opening hours and quote your name and date you’ve attended the session.
In case you forget what to do, an email of how to collect will be sent to you after the session.
For those who do not have the time to head down to the studio again, delivery could be arranged for a small fee.
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Spin Paint House
61 Kaki Bukit Place #04-00 Singapore 416233
Opening Hours 
Wednesday to Friday: 3 to 9pm Saturday: 10am to 9pm Sunday: 10am to 8pm Monday and Tuesday: Closed
How to get to Spin Paint House?
If you’re coming from Kaki Bukit MRT station, walk towards Techlink. 
Turn right at Kaki Bukit Rd 3
Turn left when you see the ‘PRINTAID’ brown building. 
Enter the brown building
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You can see various murals on the walls as well.
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Once you’re at the building, enter the lift and head to the fourth floor.
Throw Paint on Your Canvases at Splat Paint House
If watching spin art is not your thing, try their sister studio, Splat Paint House. At Splat Paint House, you can hang your canvas on the wall and splat paint at it with a water gun. If shooting paint on the wall is not your thing, put the canvas on the table and splat on it.
This studio is perfect for the younger kids and those who don’t mind getting a little messy. Just like Spin Paint House, Splat Paint House uses non-toxic paint that is body-safe and child-safe. You can learn more about Splat Paint House here.
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sindrafalcone · 7 years
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The Mom Ch. 12
Fandom: BIGBANG/ Choi Seung Hyun
Synopsis: First Birthday
Warnings: Fluff… as per usual.
Author’s Note: Well, here we are. We’ve reached the end of The Mom as a regular series. *sigh* Don’t worry though! I’ll still be writing occasional bits & pieces set in the “Nannyverse”. I could never stay away from it for too long <3
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This story contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events are true. This is from an American standpoint, so some of the situations may not happen the same way they might in Korea. I make no money from the writing of this fictional work.
Masterlist
You could hear the sounds of your phone notification going off from your bedside table. The first three came in rapid succession. Then there was a few minutes pause before it started up again. Four this time. Then another pause, followed by two more.
With a groan, you gave up on getting any more sleep and rolled over to grab your phone. Swiping to unlock it, you were greeted by what you had suspected for causing the noise all along. A slew of Instagram notifications... all of them from Seung Hyun. Unsurprisingly, only two pictures remained. Apparently, your husband had gone on one of his infamous uploading and immediately deleting sprees. You assumed these two were the last ones. In one selca, he and the twins were both smiling at the camera & in the other they were kissing his cheeks while he had one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen. Accompanying each picture was a sweet caption about today being the twins Doljanchi, or first birthday party.
“Oh, you're awake.” you heard him say from the doorway.
“Yeah... thanks to your Instagram spam.” you laughed, rolling over to face him.
He walked into the room, each hand holding one of the twins as they toddled into the bedroom.
“I couldn't help it!” he whined. “I went to get them up and ready for breakfast and they were just being so cute!”
“Yes.” you agreed helping Seung Min up onto the bed. “It was adorable.”
You settled in to feed your son. Both children were still clinging to one feed per day. Luckily for you, Seung Ja liked hers in the evening and Seung Min in the morning. You knew it wouldn't be long before they would finally be done though, and the thought made you a little sad.
“I'll take Thing 1 downstairs and get her some breakfast.” Seung Hyun told you, leaning over to drop a quick kiss to your forehead before picking up his daughter. You smiled as Sung Ja giggled when he swung her easily up into his arms.
“Okay. We'll be down soon.”
In the time it took you to feed Seung Min, your phone had gone off an additional five times. All of them pictures of Sung Ja happily eating her breakfast of cereal and fruit.
With a shake of your head and a smile, you wondered how long it would take before Seung Hyun deleted them all.
“You... you decorated for the party in Mondrian?” Seung Hyun exclaimed as he came to an abrupt stop, stunned by what he saw.
Everywhere he looked, the colors of red, yellow, blue and black hung from anything and everything that could possibly support it. Streamers, paper lanterns, lights and balloons of varying shapes and sizes... all adorned a backdrop of pure white. It was like walking into a life size series of Mondrian artworks.
It was so surreal and at the same time touching in a way.
“Seung Hyun-a, because of you the twins have grown up adoring art, you know that.” you reminded him, kissing him sweetly on the cheek. “Would you have preferred they had a Bigbang birthday party instead?”
Your husband visibly grimaced with the very thought of his own children having that theme for their first birthday party. Images of the fancy banquet hall awash in nothing but yellow and black with crowns made him internally shudder. Not that he was opposed to the idea if they wanted to choose it later... just not for their Doljanchi.
“Hell no.” he growled. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”
“I thought you might agree.” you grinned.
Looking to his left, Seung Hyun froze, his frown suddenly reappearing with a vengeance. “Really?” he asked in disbelief, a little annoyed. “A piñata?”
“I'm pretty sure that was Yeon Jun's idea.” you thoughtfully replied, looking up at the giant, multicolored star. “He said it was so the children at the party could have something fun to do.”
Seung Hyun harrumphed with the revelation. “You do realize that you’re supposed to beat the crap out of a piñata with a stick in order to get the candy inside, right?”
“Yes…and?”
Staring at the confusion etched on your beautiful face, he couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. “I'm pretty sure that your brothers are going to be the biggest children at the party then.”
“Like you're not going to try it for yourself?” you teased him with a chuckle, knowing how child-like he could be at times. “You should take plenty of pictures then. Blackmail for later.”
The twins both began to squeal loudly with delight at the sight of all the decorations, the multicolored balloons, the streamers and lights, the large piñata dangling from a beam in the ceiling.
Seung Hyun couldn’t contain the smirk of pride or the sudden flood of warmth that inundated his heart knowing how much his children shared his passion for art. It brought about a sense of pure elation that was beyond imagination or description.
“Appa!” Sung Ja continued to cry excitedly, her bright brown eyes wide in absolute wonder as she tried to take it all in, pointing and yelling her father’s name over and over.
You chuckled at your daughter's reaction to the decorations, setting Seung Min down on the floor so he could explore it all. “I think they like the party already.” you said, amused by him.
Seung Hyun did the same & the twins toddled around the room, pointing and jabbering endlessly to everyone and no one. Suddenly Youngbae and Daesung appeared, kneeling down to pick up the twins, who greeted their uncles enthusiastically. They walked with the children around the room to the various decorations as well as the large table already filled with presents. Seung Min swiftly leaned forward in an effort to reach his presents, almost toppling out of Youngbae's arms in a desperate need to get to them.
“Whoa there, Thing 2.” Youngbae laughed, pulling him more firmly into his arms. “I hope the others arrive soon. Seung Min's getting anxious to open his presents.”
“I know what you mean.” Daesung laughed as he tried to contain a squirming Sung Ja.
“Who is ready to party?” Seungri suddenly hollered as he entered the festively decorated banquet hall, a life-sized stuffed panda in his arms.
“I think I’ve just been dropped into a new level of hell.” Seung Hyun groaned, his frustration escalating as he rubbed his face with his hands.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” Jiyong yelled. “Uncle Ji is here! It’s time to get this party started right!”
A half hour later and you felt like the party was beginning to fall apart. Both the photographer and the caterer had been late in setting up, causing you to freak out.
“Hey.” Seung Hyun softly said, his finger beneath your chin forcing you to look at him. “It’ll be alright, gongju-nim.”
“Everything just seems like such a mess.” you whispered as you fought back tears, your bottom lip trembling as you looked into his piercing brown eyes full of love and concern.
“It’s perfect.” he reassured you, leaning in and kissing you softly. “And so are you.”
You returned his kiss, a tear slipping free. He quickly captured it with his lips as he gently rubbed your back in an attempt to comfort you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” you murmured.
“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.” Seung Hyun teased as he kissed you again.
“Ok you two...” Seungri loudly said. “Get a room!”
Your husband growled under his breath, useful methods for throwing an annoying friend out of a party flitting through his mind as you took his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers with his. “Just ignore him.” you gently instructed him. “It’ll be over soon and then you can have me all to yourself tonight.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait that long.” he admitted. “Someone please just shoot me now.” Seung Hyun pleaded with a groan as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.
Wiping your eyes, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, wrapping your arm securely around his. “No way.” you whispered in his ear. “There’s no way that I’m living without you, Seung Hyun. I did not give up my nanny job just to have you leave me.”
“Don’t worry, princess.” he said with a sigh, looking up just in time to see a caterer finally enter pushing a cart loaded with trays of food.
The woman did a double take at the sight of the gigantic panda that Seungri had his arm around as if it were a real person. The caterer rolled her eyes and shook her head in obvious disbelief before resuming her journey to the buffet table.
Several more people arrived at that moment, their birthday presents in hand, your boss being one of them. “Nice doll, Seungri.” Dong Wook said with an incredulous shake of his head.
“Hey, I had this specially made.” your brother spouted in indignation. “Nothing but the absolute best for my favorite godchildren.”
“They're your only godchildren, maknae.” Jiyong said with an irritated sigh as he bounced Sung Ja on his hip.
The sudden feel of familiar fingers caressing your cheek tore you from your thoughts. Looking over, you found your handsome husband now kneeling down before you, a tender smile on his face. “Having a rough day?” he softly asked.
“Just a lot going on.” you admitted as you leaned into his hand.
His smile turned into a worried frown. “Do you want to go outside for a little bit & get some fresh air?” he offered. “I can come get you when the twins are ready to open their presents.”
“No…no, I’m fine.” you reassured him, tilting your head to kiss the palm of his hand still on your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Seung Hyun suddenly got a very mischievous look on his face, his smile returning. “Want me to kidnap you and take you home?”
“Definitely not.” you insisted, doing your best to keep an annoyed look on your face but it was next to impossible with how absolutely adorable he looked at that moment. He was so playful, so happy…so free from the countless burdens that had weighed down his heart for so very long.
“Do you know how sexy you look right now?” he murmured, something husky in his voice causing your eyebrow to quirk in amusement.
“Alright you two.” your mother in law said as she approached with her plate in hand, settling into a chair next to you. “You’ve already given me two more grandchildren. Let’s wait for number three until after we finish the Doljanchi, shall we?”
“I think that is my cue to leave.” Seung Hyun said as he got to his feet, noting the blush that rose to his wife’s cheeks. “I’ll go get you something to eat, ________-ah.”
Seung Hyun's mother watched with you as he walked away. Your heart felt full of a love that was only written about in fairy tales and movies, and hers filled with growing respect and admiration for you that she never would have expected a few years ago.
The older woman watched her son as he paused to check on Seung Min who was currently sitting on Youngbae's lap eating his lunch. It was obvious how much her grandson loved his uncle, but it was even more obvious how much he absolutely idolized his father.
“I can hardly believe that is the same man you married.” she thoughtfully commented. “He's changed so much.”
“It’s the same man that I saw brief glimpses of hidden beneath years of heartbreaking pain and countless fears.” you replied. “I just get to see him much more frequently now.”
“He’s a very good man, angel.” she told you. “He did well. It’s quite apparent how deeply he loves you.”
“I don’t think I could possibly love him more.” you wistfully agreed with a smile.
After the meal, it was finally time for the Doljabi. You had felt a little strange about dressing in traditional Korean clothes, but after reassurances from both your husband and mother in law that you looked beautiful, you'd just decided to go with it. So after eating, your small family of four went into an adjoining room to change clothes for the ceremony.
When you came back into the banquet hall holding Sung Ja, there were so many camera flashes that you felt temporarily blinded. This section of the party was the only one that the press would have access to, and they were taking full advantage of it. You politely dealt with it until both children began to get impatient, then Seung Hyun moved forward towards the place where the Doljabi itself would take place.
Spread out on the floor was a large rectangle of white satin, with an assortment of things for the twins to choose from. There were the traditional items, of course... string, rice, money and things like that. But you'd put a personal twist on the ceremony as well. Each of your brothers had chosen something to place with the rest of the things. There was a small piggy bank from Seungri and a toy drum from Daesung. Youngbae had added a bible and Jiyong a microphone. Lastly, there was a paint palette to represent Seung Hyun's passion for art and a toy camera for your photography.
You carefully set your daughter down on the floor & Seung Hyun did the same for your son. Both of you watched, nervously holding hands as you waited for the twins to choose an object to predict their future.
The twins crawled cautiously over to the toys, looking over them carefully while babbling to each other in a language only they could understand. After only a few moments, you watched as Sung Ja leaned over her brother to get what she wanted... the microphone. Jiyong could barely contain his excitement, & you heard his whispered, “Yes!” even as Seung Hyun groaned at the thought of his precious little girl becoming an idol like him.
Seung Min, as usual, took a little longer to decide which thing he wanted to pick up. As his sister played with the microphone, singing nonsense into the wrong end, he stared quietly at his choices. Finally he leaned forward, his chubby little fingers coming to rest on the palette. He turned around with it in his hands, proudly displaying the toy for his father's approval.
Looking over you could see the tears of happiness trailing down Seung Hyun's cheeks as he watched his son.
You watched as the twins opened the last of their presents, a toy convertible large enough for them to sit in and peddle around. The gift had elicited the loudest and longest squeal of delight from the one year olds who couldn’t stop touching it and patting it with their hands, completely in awe over it.
You didn’t think that their smile could get any bigger than it was at that moment. “Can you two give Uncle Ji a hug and a kiss for the birthday gift he gave you?” you asked the twins, laughing as they all but ran over to him to hug him.
“I think Jiyong should be banned for a month for spoiling them.” Seung Hyun grunted, his eyes betraying his chiding tone.
“That is what godfathers are supposed to do.” Jiyong proudly proclaimed in mock indignation. “Spoil them rotten and then unleash them on their parents to deal with.”
“You’re exactly right.” Daesung agreed with a nod.
“You weren’t much better, Daesung.” your husband pointed out. “A whole toy medical kit?”
“Just showing them some options for their future.” he said with a proud grin.
“Hey, nobody said anything about my gift.” Seungri pouted.
“I’m sure your gift will keep them up all night with nightmares.” Youngbae told him with a smirk.
“That’s not true!” Seungri maintained. “It’s a great gift.”
“Yes, it is, goofball.” you placated the younger man, patting his knee. “I’m sure Sung Ja especially adores it.”
Seungri grinned smugly, pleased with the attention he was finally receiving. “Anything for my little brat.”
“Who is ready for birthday cake?” Seung Hyun's mother announced as she returned pushing a cart with a huge, tiered cake, complete with decorations keeping in the Mondrian theme.
Both of your children's faces lit up at the sight of the cake, instantly abandoning the new car for the sweet treat that their grandmother had just brought out.
“Halmeoni.” Seung Min babbled, reaching up his hands towards her and the cake. “Cake!"
She laughed as she looked down at the little boy. “This one is for everyone else, Seung Min.” she informed him. “I have a very special cake set aside especially for you.”
The little boys eyes got wide as Hye Yoon and Yeon Jun came out with two smaller cakes, both of them similar to the big one, but only one layer.
“Appa!” he excitedly cried at the sight of his cake.
Picking him up, Seung Hyun sat him down on his lap as you did the same with Sung Ja. Your sister in law set the cake down on a table in front of him & Yeon Jun put his cousins cake down in front of you. Before they could light the single candle on top the cakes, the photographer was already snapping pictures, much to your exasperation, as both of the twins hands immediately went for the cake.
Small fingers dug eagerly into the colorful designs representing one of their father's favorite artists, revealing chocolate cake hidden beneath the thick cover of icing. Seung Min quickly put his fingers into his mouth, sucking the sweet frosting off.
“Well that lasted a whole two seconds.” Seung Hyun frowned as his son turned around and patted his father’s face with his sticky hands. “Great. Thanks, Thing 2.”
You couldn’t hide your amusement at seeing your children and now your husband covered in cake and frosting as Seung Min continued to eat his cake with his fingers, sharing it with his father. You could barely contain your tears of happiness as you watched Seung Hyun trying to avoid being attacked by any more cake and failing miserably.
You could only imagine how the twins second birthday was going to turn out.
Seung Hyun was just returning from cleaning himself up in the restroom when he found his friends all standing in a cluster in the center of the room. As he approached, he saw them pointing and whispering excitedly, laughing about something. Suddenly, he felt a burning desire to find out what it was all about.
“Are you going to tell him?” Dong Wook asked with a laugh.
“I'm not telling him.” Daesung snorted. “I fixed the mess last time. It's someone else's turn.”
“Maybe we shouldn't say anything?” Jiyong offered. “See how long it takes him to figure it out.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Seung Hyun asked, checking under his fingernails yet again to see if he'd missed any bits of cake.
“Oh... um, hi hyung!” Seungri said a little too loudly, causing Youngbae to smack him on the arm.
The group of men all stared at their friend guiltily and he knew they were up to something.
“What's going on... spill!” Seung Hyun said impatiently.
“We don't have to spill.” Dong Wook said with a smirk.
“See for yourself.” Jiyong smiled widely, pointing over to a table in the far corner of the room.
Your husband turned in that direction, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. You were sitting at the table, enjoying dessert with your niece and nephew, laughing at something Yeon Jun had just said. Then Seung Hyun watched as you used your spoon to dig into the bowl in front of you... lifting a huge spoonful of vanilla ice cream to your mouth and taking a bite.
“Oh, shit...” Seung Hyun whispered, causing the men around him to erupt in laughter.
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naturecoaster · 4 years
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Discovering The White Heron Tea & Gifts
Walking up Grand Avenue, I am always entranced by the historic buildings in downtown New Port Richey. Across the street from the Richey Theater in the center of the block is one of my favorite places, The White Heron Tea Room and Gifts. The White Heron Tea Room is quite popular, with seatings for high tea at noon, 2 pm, and 4 pm Tuesday through Saturday by reservation. Yes, reservations are required. If you want to enjoy a quick respite without a reservation, the Tea Parlour is available for your enjoyment. Traditional tea is served in a relaxed atmosphere like no other, with a spa/resort feel replicating the refined elegance of some of the world’s most beautiful tea rooms while adding the perfect amount of Florida to make it great. Doing things Right is one of Kelly’s Passions Kelly (Maki) Hackman was born and raised in the New Port Richey area.  She attended Richey Elementary, Bayonet Point Middle School, and Ridgewood High School and has always considered the downtown New Port Richey area as a place of pride and community. The only Certified Tea Specialist through the World Tea Academy in the Tampa Bay area began her journey with a passion for the historic downtown in New Port Richey.
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Two regular visitors to the Tea Parlour at The White Heron. Sisters who enjoy a good pot of tea in a lovely atmosphere. Image by Diane Bedard “The dream of owning a business in historic downtown New Port Richey is one that I have had for so many years that I can't even remember how long it has been...  It seems so surreal and exciting to me to be able to bring my passion to life for everyone to enjoy,” Kelly shares with me. In January of 2016, Kelly and her husband, Bryan, opened The White Heron Tea and Gifts at 6228 Grand Boulevard, smack in the center of Downtown New Port Richey, Florida. They purchased Karen’s Gifts, a full-service gift shop with a loyal following, from Karen Leggault who was ready to retire after twenty-plus years.
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The White Heron Tea Room and Gifts carries current lines, often with a Florida theme, locally made products, and custom chocolates (they're so delicious). Image courtesy of The White Heron. “The shop was full of traditional “collectibles” and we have changed the inventory to more current lines, locally made products, and custom chocolates,” Kelly shares when telling NatureCoaster about developing The White Heron Tea and Gifts, “We began with four tables for tea, testing and refining our concept to what best fit the customer’s desires.” The only problem was that Kelly was not what one would consider an avid tea drinker.
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Kelly became a certified Tea Sommelier through World Tea Academy. Kelly Becomes a Tea Specialist and Sommelier "I didn't quite enjoy the taste of tea before I went to my first tearoom, Kelly says.  "At my first tearoom experience, I discovered that tea is flavorful, and its myriad of properties can make each type of tea unique.  I had only prepackaged tea before, and there really is a difference between tea in bags and loose-leaf tea - and I loved the tearoom atmosphere." Because Kelly did not have a history with tea, she went on an educational quest and The White Heron’s guests reap the delicious results! Understanding tea and proper tea etiquette are very important to Kelly.  Wanting to offer her patrons knowledge and understanding of the tea she serves, she recently completed courses and is a Certified Tea Specialist through the World Tea Academy, as well as a Tea Sommelier.  Kelly is one of only three Certified Tea Specialists through the World Tea Academy in Florida. She is the only one in the Tampa Bay area.
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Cream Tea is a less formal tea tradition, where guests enjoy a pot of their favorite tea with scones, Devonshire cream, and preserves. At The White Heron Tea Room, a Tea Parlour is available to stop in for a refreshing break without reservations. Image courtesy of The White Heron. Enjoying Cream Tea at The White Heron Cream tea is a less formal tea, where one enjoys a pot of their favorite tea with scones and the proper accoutrements. My first visit to The White Heron Tea Room and Gifts was to their wonderful Tea Parlour to enjoy a couple of scones and a pot of warm, cinnamon-infused tea. The Tea Parlour is a less formal room, where reservations are not required and frequent visitors are common. I noticed that the scones were not as crusty as the ones I am used to and asked my server why. “These are traditional Scottish scones. They are softer and have a lighter texture than many others served in the U.S.,” Dawne McDonald explained. “We have our own recipes and we make our Devonshire Cream in-house also.”
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Dawne McDonald provides wonderful hospitality in the Tea Parlour. Image by Diane Bedard I chose a blueberry white chocolate variety of scone and paired it with the Devonshire cream. It was delicious. My tea mate enjoyed the “plain” scones, featuring a delightful vanilla taste, with strawberry preserves and a pot of rooibos tea. Rooibos tea has no caffeine, which may have been a good idea for me because after I drank my pot and a half of cinnamon “leaded” tea, I was pretty jazzed up. The High Tea Experience The High Tea experience was a true delight. Reservations are required for High Tea, which is served at noon, 2 pm and 4 pm daily from Tuesday through Sunday at The White Heron. Dawne was again our server. She is quite knowledgeable and personable and has been working at The White Heron Tea Room for more than three years.
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High Tea is a traditional three-tiered meal of small sandwiches, scones, and pastries or fancy desserts served with a pot of hot tea in a warm, intimate environment. Image courtesy of The White Heron. High Tea is a traditional three-tiered serving of small sandwiches, pastries and scones, perhaps with truffles or other fancy desserts to complete the experience. At The White Heron, guests choose their favorite tea to go with the fine finger fare, and conversation is a welcome part of the ambiance. Their chicken salad was my favorite, served on fresh bread cut into a generous portion that was still appropriate for a tea platter. Each sandwich had a great flavor and was fresh and tasty. We had choices of scones, from the house plain with a hint of vanilla to cherry or blueberry with white chocolate. Another offering was a cinnamon scone, but I was too full to try it.
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Kelly and I enjoying High Tea for two at The White Heron Tea Room. Image by Dawne McDonald. Our petite pastries on this visit were petit fours, with their delicate presence and chocolate or vanilla coating. It was a fine finish to a great luncheon tea. The Tearoom is fabulous, with light teal painted walls, white furniture, teal and silver themed artwork and some beautiful white tulle gently shaping the ceiling, creating an envelope of relaxation that encouraged our conversation and generated a feeling of being somewhere special – away from the hustle and bustle of our hurried twenty-first-century lives.
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The beautiful tea room is decorated in light silver and teal, with matching decor, tulle and exquisite porthole windows of a historic building to create a wonderful ambiance. Image by Diane Bedard. Each of us ordered a pot of our favorite tea from the extensive tea menu and the pots were covered in lovely cozies. The teacups were delicate china, which seems to enhance the taste of the tea, and we shared our different choices, although Dawne was quick to offer second pots of any variety we cared to try. Driftwood Tea Company “Every two months or so, new tea flavors are introduced to go with the seasons and keep things fresh,” Kelly told me. The tea that is served at The White Heron is supplied by her Driftwood Tea Company. The Driftwood Tea Company sells the teas online as well as allowing Kelly to experiment with new flavors.
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Pom Pom Apple is a favorite iced tea from the Driftwood Tea Company. Image courtesy of The White Heron Tea and Gifts. In 2019, Kelly created the Luscious Loquat Green Tea, which was awarded a Silver Medal in the 2019 Global Tea Championships (in the category of Flavored Green Tea). It is available in 2-ounce and 4-ounce packages, as well is 15 pack tea sachets, as are all of the flavors available at The White Heron Tea Room and Gifts.
Visiting The White Heron Tea and Gifts in Downtown New Port Richey
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The White Heron Tea and Gifts is well-decorated inside and out, changing with the seasons and holidays, making it easy to return and see what is fresh and new. Image by Diane Bedard. The menu of teas and food changes at The White Heron Tea and Gifts regularly, as does the adorable gift inventory. If you have a special request, it needs to be brought up when the reservation is made for tea. There isn’t a huge staff here or a large kitchen to make changes. Groups are welcome, but again, a reservation is necessary for tea and I would recommend if you are bringing a group for cream tea that you give the store a heads up. Their phone number is 727-203-3504.
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Tea Tastings, special events, princess teas are all part of the fun of The White Heron Tea and Gifts. Here Kelly Maki Hackman, owner, is seen pouring tea for guests at a tasting. Image courtesy of The White Heron. Special events, such as Tea Tastings, Princess Teas, and Holiday Teas are held often. The best place to keep up with the events is their Facebook Page. If you want to learn more about tea and keep up with what The White Heron Tea Room is up to, please subscribe to their newsletter, either online for the e-version, or in the store for the printed version. Gather some friends, make a reservation and get down to The White Heron Tea and Gifts, located at 6228 Grand Boulevard in downtown New Port Richey. You will be glad you did. Read the full article
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