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constantvariations · 1 year

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V9C4

Finally here after several hours of a dnd session zero, so this whiplash is going to be interesting

Post Ep: not as infuriating as the last episode but still missteps at pretty much every turn. At the very least we can say there’s been character “progression”

God Ruby’s voice is so damn bad I thought it was a literal child calling for a cat. Why does she sound more mature at 15 than 17?

Did we really need a close up of the cat piecing itself back together? We already know it can do wacky things with its ugly gradient body, so why the emphasis here? I doubt it’s foreshadowing for a permanent bisection

“Nothing we’ve tried has gotten us any further.” Ruby. Darling. Babe. You’ve tried walking to the tree. Nothing else. It’s not the cat’s fault you can’t think of something else besides Scooby Doo hijinks with the looping sections

What the hell is Yang now? She hasn’t been fun or quippy since Beacon but now (and that one spot in V8) she’s suddenly Joss Whedon with a dash of Hulk rage? And I can’t recall Weiss ever having these kinds of facial expressions. Judgmental commentary, sure, but this feels like she’s 3 seconds away from saying something into the camera like this is the Office

“Just because [the cat] doesn’t want to go back to the tree doesn’t mean we can’t lure them there.” That’s... a curious choice of words. Why “lure?” You lure someone into a trap or an ambush, not ask someone to be a guide. Why wouldn’t Blake use the obvious direction of “we can make a deal with the cat because they’re curious and want information we have.” You can’t really call someone a hero when their instinct is deception of a potential ally who’s already saved their asses for no real reason

Are they going to be losing the cat the whole damn episode? Is that going to be the running gag? I fucking hope not. Ruby’s voice is absolutely obnoxious this episode

She’s talking to the cat like he’s a literal toddler. And it’s acting like a toddler with an ipad. Someone put me down like Old Yeller please

Which of these idiots thought lampshading was a good idea? Like, congrats! You recognize the flaws in the story you wrote! How are you going to fix them 10 years too late? You can’t wink, wink, nudge your way out of shitty writing that you so desperately defended and clung to despite all the people giving actual constructive criticism

Why are all of them so tired of the questions? Surely, each of them have something they’d be ecstatic to talk about at length? Ruby with the progression of weapon development, Weiss with her plans to improve the SDC, Blake with other stories she’s read or how the White Fang came and fell, Yang with stories about Ruby when she was younger. There’s so many possibilities when you have a genuinely curious audience, yet they went the lazy route of “har, har, no one cares about anything” again

Was that bridge made of legos?

Okay, this is the second time the roles of acres have been mentioned. Exactly what does that mean? Do these roles serve a central purpose? The tree seems to be at the center of Wonderland, so are the acres serving the tree in some way? Is harmony throughout the different factions pivotal in keeping Wonderland in wonder instead of despair? What could this possibly mean for any themes or character arcs? It doesn’t seem like the areas thus far have resonated with any of the team, and they left behind Penny’s halo sword, the only thing that’s been even somewhat emotionally compelling, so I’m struggling to understand why Wonderland is set up like this

Love how literally nobody asks the obvious question of “are you okay?” All we get is Yang’s “Rubes?” (has she ever called Ruby that before? I can’t recall) and Blake’s logical deflection and Weiss whining yet again. You’d think for a season that cut away from the bloated cast to focus on the main characters they would, I don’t know, focus on the main character

This is the least Little has talked the entire season. Please keep the cat around more so this shithead will shut the fuck up. Also, Little deadass pointed to where the cat went and y’all don’t immediately follow? Are you trying to get lost?

Okay. Not gonna lie. The caterpillar’s design is dope as shit. The triple eyes in that gorgeous green. The pointy mouth that moves like a skeleton’s jaw. The two-toned wings. The antennae and little spikes. The collar and vest. That ~voice~ Fucking A+ The only thing I’m side-eyeing is the accessories. Hopefully I’m wrong - I’ll be the first to admit I’m not well versed in Indigenous cultures - but the coloring is very reminiscent of turquoise which was an incredibly significant mineral to Southwestern Native American tribes, most commonly associated with Navajo, and Caterpillar’s jewelry designs reflect this as well. My quick google search for this specific design mostly ends up being “hippie aesthetic” which does take inspiration from Indigenous aesthetics, so I can’t really say for certain which one crwby looked at for the design. Given the Medicine Man trope and the herbal smoking in the OP, I’m not holding out much hope

“Growgurt” sounds so damn gross please never say it again

They are really hammering this “who/what are you” thing directly into your eardrums aint they? I’m not entirely sure how this answer affects a recipe, but go off I guess Also, note how Caterpillar gets just the bit exasperated and Yang’s immediately in a fighting stance. The others are afraid, for some cocksmith of a reason - all homeboy did was grumble, what y’all scared of? Did y’all suddenly develop RSD? - but this bitch at half a foot is ready to throw down

Caterpillar is speaking philosophy 101 and these idiots are acting like he’s speaking ancient greek. I hope he poisons the lot of them

“This is how a king winds up a prince.” Does that imply that the prince was genuinely the king that played Alyx but he’s somehow reverted back to a toddler? That raises way too many questions I have no care to even ponder

This far in and we have no idea who or what Caterpillar was to Alyx. Not even a whispered expo-dump, which would be stupid easy given that most of them are tiny. Yet Blake, upon seeing the smoking, is like “we gotta dip” which so par for the course in every episode thus far. This better not be crwby’s attempt at an anti-drug message or I swear I’m gonna toss a fridge into space

Oh christ on toast the Beacon outfits don’t deserve this slander

“You could just be human or just a cat.” Once again, weird phrasing. Like, yeah, it’s clarified that it’s about trying to bring peace between humans and faunus, but why wouldn’t you phrase it in a way that sticks closer to that sentiment rather than acting like she has the Yamato and can carve out what she doesn’t like? What would it even mean to Blake to “just be a cat?” Would that mean living in Menagerie forever with no worries about humans? Would she turn into an actual cat? She just has fucking cat ears man, this is so overblown

Wow, these “I know who I am” speeches suck ass. They’re so vague and InSpIrAtIoNaL I’m wondering if this is supposed to be a mature cartoon or a reading of those posters they put up in school halls of cats in trees with the quote “hang in there!”

“I’m the granddaughter of a hero” bitch who? Who is this mysterious hero? If someone doesn’t know or watch the Remnant expo-dump series, they don’t know who you’re talking about Weiss! You can’t bring up something in the main story if the context is shoved in a spinoff! Also, “daughter of a villain.” Babe, your father was a clown at best and a business major at worst. Villain is not a title he deserves “I will not be defined by my name because I will be the one to define it.” Uhhhhh exactly where in this redefinition is compensation for the lives stolen by your family company? Have you thought of that, Miss Heiress? When your name has that big of an impact, I don’t think you get to be the sole decider. Also, you have siblings who might want a say in it too

Still pissed that the whole “Missing Summer” arc was shoved onto Ruby, who was what? 2? 3 years old when she left? Ruby talks to her gravestone, sure, but as for memories or stories, she hasn’t had a single one. This entire thing falls flat because there was 0 buildup

“You’re supposed to be helping others find their way, but you’ve lost your own.” WHAT WHAT WHAT THE FUCK. Jesus on a toaster strudel can you not villainize every single person who slightly questions uwu precious Ruby? He literally helped the other 3 cement themselves, why doesn’t that count? Sure, it was against their will and all, but these girls clearly need some goddamn help if they can’t answer a basic question like “what is a huntress?”

There are so many questions about those last 20 seconds that I don’t even know what to do with them. Let’s just sum it up with “what the fuck”

#rwde #i know who nicholas schnee is i just dont care #this one didnt actively piss me off but it did make me look up a bunch of stuff related to native culture so i wouldnt be reaching #its hard to trust the online stuff tho since so many folks wanna pretend to be native so they can sell bullshit #if anyone has any trustworthy sites please let me know! ive been meaning to learn more about the cultures #i want to be able to write indigenous characters without falling into the harmful tropes or misinformation #still not sure if im reaching on the caterpillar or not but given rts history... :/#we already had a racist romani stereotype this season #we could make a bingo board of all the racist shit these idiots pull lol #gotta say tho i do like the multi colored leaves. those are really pretty and not oversaturated #the cat keeps getting uglier the longer i look #if the caterpillar is gone do they still need to find the growth yogurt?#guess ill find out next monday lol

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daiseukiis · 3 years

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: ̗̀➛ 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐒

𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙤 ; 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤

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─꒱ in which we peak into how life is as the in-law of the fushiguro family after marrying megumi。

─꒱ feat. fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji & fushiguro tsumiki

─꒱ warnings ; profanity, chaotic hot shit

─꒱ notes ; OMG SHOULD I MAKE A SPECIAL WHERE YOU GUYS SEND IN ASKS ABOUT HOW THE NEIGHBOURS REACT TO THE FUSHIGUROS EYVBIJX HAHAHA

─꒱ episode one | 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐒 | episode three

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꒰꒰ you love your father-in-law, like you really do love toji, but that worm of his needs to be in a fucking cage.

a loud scream comes from the top of your lungs early in the morning, eyelashes blinking to shoo the drowsiness away after it's been awakened by the warm sun rays that lay atop your eyelids. as much as you love waking up in the morning in bed with your husband, you don't get that luxury sometimes.

"y/n?!" hearing the loud footsteps of your husband rushing towards with another scream from your sister-in-law, the both of them slam the door wide open. "what happened?!" toji is the last to appear to the scene, his expression more on the sight of confusion compared to the worried and panicked facials on megumi and tsumiki's face. "what the fuck?"

"get this fucking worm off me!"

꒰꒰ if that worm wasn't adopted by toji it would've been on fucking sight. that shit uglier then sukuna's stock of human girls for his bitch soup.

꒰꒰ after you told megumi what toji had told you when you were left alone with him ( the sex question ), you are no longer allowed to be alone at home with him. megumi made sure that the dogs are around.

꒰꒰ you found out the hard way that toji has some lameass dad jokes.

you and tsumiki decided to order sushi for dinner due to the fact the both of you were too lazy to cook, seeing how you and megumi came back tired from a mission and toji from one as well, you all felt bad having tsumiki cook all on her own so you bought food instead.

"i'd avoid sushi if i were you, it seems fishy." toji says just as you all prepared the table to eat. you and megumi freeze on the spot, the trio of you all turning your heads towards toji who sports a serious face. megumi groans, "don't ever do that again."

"i thought it was pretty good." tsumiki lets out a small giggle, you smiling that toji was now comfortable to even make jokes after everything. megumi turns to counter his sister's opnion, through you all swore you heard a stifled chuckle come from toji.

'he's laughing at his own jokes!'

꒰꒰ the effort is appreciated though.

꒰꒰ sometimes you and tsumiki buy too many stuff at the groceries, you call megumi to summon nue and get his shikigami to carry it for you two.

꒰꒰ toji offered ( jokingly ) to let you guys use his worm as a storage while you went shopping for groceries once, let's just say he got smacked in the face with a pan.

꒰꒰ it's his fault for joking while you were cooking.

꒰꒰ you were used to waking up three in the morning for anything and seeing your husband and father-in-law tying some burglar or assassin up, but no way were the rest of the family used to you doing the work.

"y/n?" megumi comes walking down the stairs with his father, turning on the lights in the dark hour to gain a shred of shine. the two males see in full picture that you had just finished punching someone in the face, the other hand holding them up by the collar as it physically shows that whoever this guy dressed in black had just failed in whatever mission he had in mind.

"who's that?" toji raises a brow, more so on the fact that he is impressed you beat up the intruder without a single sound in the dead of night. the look of displeasure shows you were in no mood, wanting nothing more than what you had walked downstairs for before this piece of shit decided to ruin your night. you throw the man in black on to the floor, scowling.

"all i wanted was a glass of fucking water, not an assassin who can't even use the front door."

꒰꒰ when you and tsumiki make food in the kitchen, expect a knife to go flying at least once.

꒰꒰ you don't know if you should be thankful to have tsumiki as your sister or not, she's unintentionally scary and she's not even trying.

꒰꒰ somehow you always end up walking into an argument between megumi and toji ( usually after leaving the kitchen to get a snack ) but you instantly walk out because the last time you didn't, shit was ugly.

"hey... can we all just calm down?" tsumiki is in between toji and megumi who are constantly throwing insults and such at each other, whatever argument they were having she tries to settle it down without anyone getting injured.

"i can't when this pathetic excuse of a father can't grow the fuck up!" megumi bellows, glaring at the older man who lets out a tsk and a frown. "watch what you're saying, i'll hand down an ass whoopin' on ya."

'this seems interesting.' you sip on your boba after walking out from the kitchen, the bowl of popcorn just beside you as you ate and speculated. it was normal for the father-son duo to have their fights, usually it was fun to watch because it ended up as good entertainment for you. so in result: you have no intention in stopping them.

"no, guys, seriously..." tsumiki pleads, her hands slightly apart to try and force space between them. though her efforts were thrown out the window when in complete sync did they yell right back at tsumiki. "just mind your own business!"

'they punched her!' the boba fell from your hands and the popcorn flew, much like how tsumiki started to fall back towards the couch. it took less than a millisecond for the two to realize what the did, and they knew they were fucked.

꒰꒰ sometimes you still have nightmares about it.

꒰꒰ there are times that toji would be coming home with a woman tailing behind him, and it's somehow always when megumi and tsumiki are out.

"tadamasu." toji greets as he walks in, talking his footwear off and leaving it in front of the door. you pop your head out from the living room into the hallway of the entrance as you greet him on his return, "hokairi."

"who's the bitch?" you notice a woman who had too much make up to show her curstyass in front of you, a click of your tongue echoes through the two meter distance between you and her as you cross your arms. "who's the slut?"

"youー!" her face twists in fury, heels about to click and clack each step to get to you but is instantly stopped by the sound of toji's deep voice. "get out." the girl looks baffled by his words, face contouring into a smile full on uneasiness. "but tojiー"

"i said get out." his voice is much more prominent and demanding, sending chills down her spine as she steps back in caution. you stand here watching as the woman still refused to leave your home, in seconds did toji grab hold of her wrist and threw her out of the house ( much to the woman's displeasure ). you grin from ear to ear, running out to see her limping her way back to her rented car right beside toji. you call her out, the glare she sends your way is priceless as you stand beside your father-in-law with all the glory in the world.

"by the way, i'm his amazing daughter-in-law! and we have decided that a clown lookin' ass like you doesn't deserve the right to fuck a fushiguro!" you wink.

"yeah, yeah. get back inside, y/n. megumi 'n tsumiki 'ill be back home, don't want them nagging that our y/n got into some cat fight again." you hear toji from inside the house, walking away from your figure. you pout your cheeks out, "it's not a cat fight, it's my bad bitch moves!"

"i'll lock you out."

"this is my house!"

꒰꒰ you stopped questioning megumi and toji's cooking skills because the last time you and tsumiki let them cook dinner, they didn't just burn the eggs they were making but also trashed half the kitchen.

꒰꒰ they made an oil fire that time, and no one knows how but toji was able to get the zenin clan to pay for repairs???

꒰꒰ and apparently for the past five months the zenin clan have been paying for repairs and they didn't even know toji was using their money, well until naobito found out and busted your front door on a weekend.

"toji!" you heard the current head of the zenin's clan voice boom through your house, you also watched the white front door fly through the hallway right before your eyes after you have just watered your little cactuses. in seconds you hear the lazy voice of your father-in-law, emerging from the kitchen with a confused tsumiki. "what do you want."

"how dare you use the zenin clan's money on your mistakes!" naobito starts striding towards toji in anger, your eyes glancing over at your now open door to see naoya waving to you. you lift your waterer up in acknowledgment of his existence before snapping at naobito.

"how about your mistake?" you watch naobito grip on to the collar of toji's shirt, the look of fury engraved on his old face as he glares your way. "what?" he says, dropping toji as he complains about

"you broke my fucking door, you wrinkly ass, dusty, decaying ancient artifact. we just installed that three days ago! the zenin clan better keep paying."

꒰꒰ that door never seems to get a break

꒰꒰ the real reason why you and megumi never moved out of the house is because when you two tried, tsumiki and toji invited themselves into your house and said they were living there.

꒰꒰ your father-in-law makes hundreds of millions of yen, you'd think he'd live on his own but instead he lives with his kids.

sponsors ; @haru-senji @churochuu @inumakiful @to-move-on-means-to-grow @hq128 @erensslut @hoeevern @iwaesumi @cherryonigiri @captaincyberqueen @strawbebbies-ky @your-consulting-fangirl @tsumuluv @aesthotiana @thevoidwriting @optimestick

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !

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somerpmemes · 3 years

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Disenchantment S3 Starters

Change as needed

“Who can resist a creepy mom hug?”

“She’s not an ugly, evil bitch. But she is sluttier than I imagined.”

“When I last saw you, you were a lot more dead.”

“Is your life so awful you have to keep wrecking mine?”

“You were a model of regal barbarism.”

“Something’s going on.”

“Like any two numbers, this don’t add up.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty bastard.”

“I’m no decision-maker, I’m an action-taker.”

“Oh, I wanted to gloat directly over our victim’s corpse.”

“Hand me a murder stick.”

“For a dying man, he’s making a lot of noise.”

“World domination can wait.”

“I’m allergic to pandering.”

“Trust me, I’m not playing mind games with you.”

“Just promise you’ll think about giving me another chance.”

“Hallelujah, amen, and ka-ching.”

“You realize you’re all I have.”

“I know you’re lying but I hope one day you’ll mean that.”

“Is it still true love if your wallet is missing?”

“I just figured out this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, this ruins so many fantasies.. but opens up so many new ones.”

“Actually, pretending to care about your feelings was exhausting.”

“___, do what you do best. Take your mommy issues out on somebody else.”

“This is the sinister plot that just keeps giving.”

“Souls are meant for damnation, not soup.”

“Fooling foolish fools is so satisfying.”

“Oh, that’s delightfully craven.”

“Okay I get it, I have a hot mom.”

“It’s not even good cake.”

“Aww, he spelt it ‘yer’.”

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘skedaddle’.”

“I always wanted to get lost in a labyrinth. It's like a puzzle you solve with your feet.”

“If someone else is plotting without us, I will be really miffed.”

“Aren’t boots supposed to bend at the knees?”

“They’re just being really hurtful.”

“I’ll never fall for one of your tricks again.”

“I won’t say that doesn’t hurt.”

“And now, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we’re getting away with it.”

“Ugh, I swear these tight, sexy clothes were designed to cut off cognitive thinking.”

“Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

“Who you are is a nobody and what you are ain’t nothing.”

“Stop being so agreeable!”

“I dreamed of this moment for so long, but I’m more worried than validated.”

“He looks so different with his head sliced off.”

“You have the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know how this could get any more degrading.”

“Don’t ever walk barefoot around here. And never eat at the strip clubs.”

“But often the craziest thoughts are the most true, you nutloaf!”

“This is a classy affair, more cleavage.”

“This means so much to whoever I am.”

“I’ve got a nice thing going. I don’t wanna mess it up by opening up my big mouth.”

“I would love to have you as one of my exes but I think it’s best if you think of me as your slutty grandma.”

“The faster you run the more beer you get.”

“Sorry, I’m a little damp and cranky.”

“I’m addicted to stealing wallets now.”

“A veritable sandwich of danger.”

“Neither of us are cats.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna knife you in your throat.”

“Now swim for it before the crabs swarm over you.”

“Wow! You can really taste the rage.”

“So it’s agreed, we don’t get caught.”

“Man, after-work drinks taste so much better than instead-of-work drinks.”

“If I were afraid I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know a lot of psychos.”

“Pretend like we planned on meeting here so no one yells at me for cutting in line.”

“It’s as educational as it is moisturizing.”

“Ha! That’s what you get for believing in love!”

“You were always good at sticking to things.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but whatever you do, do not trust him.”

“If I can’t trust you, how can I trust you to tell me who to trust?”

“What are you offering here?”

“This is big, I really need some time to drink about this.”

“Who is interrupting my insomnia!?”

“You act angry on the outside but deep down you’re lonely and inadequate.”

“I look like a macho flowerpot.”

“Like, I’ve hear of fashion disasters but you, sir, are a genocide.”

“Now to blend invisibly into the crowd.”

“I’m your knight in rusty armor.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, shut up ___.”

“Oh my god, I’m insulting myself.”

“We’re all ashamed of some flaw we can’t change.”

“Nature is full of green.”

“I bring good old-fashioned psychological torture to the party, okay? Just like your grandmother made.”

“Wow! This malnutrition is really slimming.”

“Oh my god, enough with the romantic fantasies.”

“That hot trash is with me.”

“I will never find that boot again.”

“Love is risky. That's what makes it so great, it pays off!”

“All I have is nightmares now.”

“How do you want to die? Slowly or extra slowly?”

“We’re one step away from happily ever after.”

“___, who have you pissed off this time?”

“Everything is either trying to kill me or kiss me.”

“From what I’ve heard, I’m both obnoxious and amazing.”

“Chalk one up for ignorance!”

“Here, drink this coffee. It’s been boiling for hours.”

“I’ve got so much love and nobody to give it to.”

“Apparently I’m not film friendly… or friendly.”

“Tell me what drugs you’re on so I know what to do when you pass out.”

“I got a lot of experience with relationships coming to a grinding halt.”

“Wait sorry, what were we talking about? Oh, wait, yeah, your pathetic love life.”

“Stop looking at me like that! I’m so vulnerable and you’re so mean.”

“Why’d you come back for me?”

“I left because I didn’t want to get hurt again and I came back because... I’ll never learn.”

“I’m not gonna ask where you pulled that from.”

“___, I tried to get help but nobody wanted to.”

“I would say it’s good to be back but I can’t shake the fact that life is meaningless and I’m gonna die alone.”

“I’ve got a lot to do now. Like go to my room and cry in the fetal position.”

“Don’t say “wink, wink”. Just wink.”

“You can bother me again when I grow a new heart.”

“Wallowing is underrated. People no longer expect things from you and you get to stop showering.”

“Sweetie, you’re young and beautiful and sandy.”

“Someday the right man or woman or creature will mate with you. Then you must eat them.”

“Oh my god, I want to shower again. That means I’ve regained the will to live!”

“Love the homicidal impulse but no.”

“But I only like gratification when it’s instant!”

“Oh, this ain’t good.”

“Oh god, they’re getting uglier.”

“Hey ___, who do you think I should punch first?”

“Sorry, I tend not to notice things that aren’t me.”

“I’m crestfallen and I can’t get up.”

“Don’t you know you can’t trust anyone but yourself?”

“I’m not kneeling, I’m dying.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna die soon.”

“You know, you have an impressive number of enemies for a girl your age.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. That is my job.”

“Well those are mixed messages.”

“My needs outweigh your scorn.”

“It’ll either cure him or kill him.”

“You do not wanna go in there unless you’re a fan of, like, dying.”

“Any operating instructions or ominous warnings?”

“You’re afraid to let people in and you hide behind sarcasm.”

“___, work on your issues.”

“So, this isn’t gonna get more normal anytime soon, is it?”

“You don’t have to die at home but you can’t die here.”

“I’ve had a lot of people leave me in my life but I’ve never ever ever not had you before.”

“I always thought you’d be dead in a ditch by now.”

“Why is it, ___, that every time you’re braiding my hair you tell me I’m going to die?”

“Braids hurt my brain.”

“Oh, you’re so going to die.”

“The key to getting dumped is not knowing how to take a hint.”

“Stop tempting fate.”

“I have resting sinister face.”

“I don’t know who to disobey.”

“Haven’t you ever seen an enchanted broom before?”

“Wow. Brutal honesty, that’s true friendship.”

“She blindsided me. While I was looking right at her!”

“I don’t know why you always bring the good half out in me, ___.”

#disenchantment #rp #rp meme #rp starters #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #ask meme

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lairofsentinel · 4 years

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Talking about the smidgens we saw of Gale, the wizard of Waterdeep.

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access Spoilers]

Updated, AGAIN, because the hell of new aspects we saw when some bugs were sorted out. Warning: all this analysis was done for game versions 4.1.83 and 4.1.84

Well, I had to rewrite all this because the explorations of dialogue options and the bugs being, somehow, solved, allowed me to see small details from Gale that stand out or end up being more than curious to me. I'll list his main features to make things short (hopefully), and useful for... eventual fics:

Gale is a char who approves any good treatment to animals (and creatures in general). He has a cat, a Library, and writes poetry sometimes.

He doesn't like gratuitous murdering which is implied in the anecdote he told us about how he stopped a massacre in a Waterdeep city inn just by buying a round to everyone. It is also implied in his approval in most situations; even in the one with the ogres having sex.

He gives you disapproval most of the time if you use violence and intimidation as your first approach in solving a situation. He prefers eloquence, diplomacy, and negotiation. However, he is flexible enough to approve a performance-intimidation in front of goblins to avoid bloodshed. Point (2) is primary. So... he truly is a pragmatic char. It's not white and black: “never use intimidation/lie” or that kind of over-simplistic view.

He likes logical and reasonable conversations. An action that earned his disapproval can be undone if the main char (MC) talks to him and explains their reasons. You can disagree with him without having approval penalties most of the time. You can question many situations and, as long as it remains a mental exercise, there are no penalties. That surprised me a lot. Most characters disapprove you if you wonder about a potential situation, but Gale no. He is the scholar, he will allow a safe space to think around things without being too judgemental. We will see if this attitude lasts in the full game. No wonder some players see in him “the Teacher” archetype. Quite so.

He was an Arch wizard while being Mystra's Chosen One, and fell from grace when she put him aside. What is hard for me to grasp is if he remained Chosen One and therefore able to cast silver-fire during that intermediate period when he stopped having Mystra's whispers and his folly with the netherese taint. We know that in that moment Mystra removed herself from his life completely. But before, she has only stopped whispering and sleeping with him. So far I understand, being her Chosen One doesn't imply sleeping with her, most of the time.

He was a teacher (not surprising, since his over-explanation vices and details such as the pronunciation of “Trashj” make us suspect it), and had some students that he could not keep longer since their ineptitudes irked him.

Unlike the stereotypical “scholar” type, he knows how to cook, since he has been doing stews for the party in the camp. He also loves baths. A bit siding with the stereotypical “scholar” type, but a nice change for a “standard adventurer” type, in which most of the time it is implied that they are stinky with “animalistic” scents and uglier descriptors. No, Gale likes his lavender-scented baths. Good.

He is an over-thinker strategist. And also a char who takes responsibility for his own mistakes to the point that, when he dies for the first time, a programmed image is activated to help anyone to revive him. Despite the fact that he is dead and can give a shit about that, he is still responsible of the catastrophe that may happen if that weird magic orb stuck in his chest erupts.

He is also forcing me to check the dictionary like no other game has done in a while... the fucker uses uncommon words a lot of the time. Smidges? really? Gale is a hard char for a non native English speaker.

We can assume that during his teenage time, he was a pretty prideful peacock to the point to be blind at the reality (well, yeah, he romanced a goddess; if that doesn't give you a hell of a ego boost...) He remembers his young self's pride with a thick level of regret. He is now a mature scholar that, for a change, does not patronise you or thinks of himself better than anyone. Sure, he over-explains a lot, but that's something that most scholars/teachers do when they are worried that, maybe, they won't be understood.

He is confident in his years of study (for that reason he is a capable wizard despite having lost Mystra's favours), but he acknowledges his limits. Which is a nice change to see in the “scholar” archetype, the typical know-it-all. He knows a lot, he knows that he knows (it would be ridiculous to hide his knowledge), but he is human, and like he says: “humans are fallible”. However, it’s more than obvious that he has a big ego for everything he does, which makes sense since he follows a motto in his life: “try to excel at everything”. High accomplished scholar lifestyle, indeed.

If you don't share the Weave with him, he will state that nights are lonesome. It seems he truly is looking for some connection with a keen fellow mind. Probably it's this loneliness which triggers his urge to see Mystra's face during the night. We also know he, in general, lives in constant fear due to the Netherese taint in his chest. So, very lonely, and very scared.

I don't know if this is his poet side unable to be switched-off or it's another implication of how he sees sexual encounters: he never says sex (at least in my many runs, he never did it). He always gets around the word: love-making, art of the body, intimacy. For a scholar who is so prone to use the technical word for everything, and has already stated he is not coy at all, the use of these metaphors make me wonder if it's because he always conceives sex as something more than mere physical pleasure. For him, it seems to come with a more emotional connection (which makes sense if we think he will only sleep with those who connected to him through the Weave). Another small detail that may confirm this is when he asks the MC if the “other night” was wonderful. If MC claims it was “fun”, Gale shows a certain degree of uneasiness by that word choice, making us infer that he certainly doesn’t see sex as “fun” but as something else, deeper.

His tadpole dreams are about Mystra (rather obvious). His most desperate desire is forgiveness. Mystra's forgiveness.

Mystra was his first love. The affair did not last long. And since soon after her abandonment he looked for the Primal Weave book and was infested by it; one could assume he has been focused on solving his problem for the rest of his life than putting some energy in romance, especially if we think about (13). It's hard to say with certainty (especially with banters like these), but since he is a char that you can only sleep with if you share a mind-connection through the Weave, it seems less plausible that he could encourage into casual relationships during all this period of his life looking for a solution to the Netherese orb. If he got previous relationships, they may have been meaningful, but clearly not enough to win over the goddess’ and his urges to see her, lol.

He did not mind Mystra having many other lovers besides him. It seems to be the same with the MC, since he will insist in sleeping with them even after the party and even after the MC slept with someone else (however, that only occurs if the romantic connection through the Weave happened.) This fact combined with (13) and (15) make me wonder if he certainly wants to be with the MC too badly, even in an open relationship. We need to see the rest of his romance to be sure.

Since he looks for forgiveness so desperately, he is a char who will forgive most mistakes made by the MC if they acknowledge them.

He is a char who knows how grey and complex situations can be. This is inferred by the way he speaks of the tiefling girl who tried to steal the idol in the Grove: “She is not innocent, but that doesn't mean she is guilty.” (of course there is a lot of self projection there). This is also implied in his (surprising) approval of raising Mayrina's husband and giving her the control wand to search for a solution in Neverwinter. That shows that he can accept the fuckest weirdest situations, recognising that “sometimes we can’t choose situations but we can try to do our best, not always having the best results”. Also self-projection.

He appreciates his privacy to the point to leave the MC if the abuse of the tadpole power continues. However, and honouring (4), you can abuse of these powers and convince him with reasons: if you don't lie to him and explain that you have a responsibility with the group to know what happens with his secret, he will understand, and despite disapproving the MC actions, will remain without major troubles.

Certainly, as long as you give him reasons and logical concepts, he can almost understand everything with no disapproval or at least little one.

Consent and negotiation are vital to him, apparently. However, this aspect reaches a flaw. He was too angry with Nettie when she almost killed the MC, and he made a short speech about how nobody has the right to decide your options for you. Yet, in his romance scene, we see that he deliberately hid his true relationship with Mystra and his bomb-condition in order to sleep with the MC. In fact, during the party, if the MC tells him that doubts if he is the one they want, Gale will drop a curious argument: “That’s because you’ve yet to find out what your’re missing” (implying that he himself is what you need), followed by his most curious “Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside”. That coming from a scholar is rotten, lol. He tries every convincing argument to sleep with the MC (if they shared the moment of the Weave, of course)

This happens in every variation of the path: whether the MC sleeps with him in the party, or afterwards, Gale will always wait for sharing a night with the MC before speaking the truth. It's hard to read this aspect since, he is a char who, apparently, needs a mind-connection with his partner for intimacy (see (12) and (13)); so this terrible strategy is like his way of trying to guarantee that the MC will not abandon him. I guess there is something along those line, specially if we keep in mind the book he explained: a book which is not only about the art of the body and the night and sex, but of other things such as conversation, exploration, and acceptance of oneself and the other. He is expecting with this night to reach the MC to a certain degree of intimacy in which, despite the raw truth, the acceptance will prevail. Remembering (16), he truly wants to sleep with the MC, baaaadly. And somehow everything feels like he wants to push things in a subtle way to a certain degree of commitment. Following the concept in (12), I think he has been alone for too long, and desperately needs someone in his lonesome nights and in helping him to deal with his burden. Finding someone who connected to him through the Weave (such a personal experience for him as it is) made him a bit desperate or eager. We know his emotion for the MC may have grown over those days since the connection with the Weave. In two occasions he or the MC can ask if both of them think about that moment. Gale says yes with such enthusiasm, that it may imply...that maybe, he has been thinking about that more times than he truly wants to tell the MC. The Weave moment had such a strong effect on Gale that, if the MC spent the night with another companion and rejects Gale’s proposition later, he will trail off a sentence that implies he was convinced that the MC and he were heading into something serious and deep.

Of course, once he sleeps with the MC, he confesses the truth right afterwards, accepting--without approval penalties--the harshest responses that the MC can give. He clearly knows that such manoeuvre was truly disloyal, especially contrasting it with all his speech of consent and rights to know about the true situation one is in. In the next morning, he acknowledges it was a rotten thing to do and apologies. But this shows that his principles can be bend and even be broken when it comes to emotions. I'm still a bit wary of his emotional stability, what can I say.

Mystra is more than an ex-lover for him, it’s magic. And Magic is everything for him, even more than life. I wonder if, given the opportunity, Mystra forgives him and asks him to return to her side, would he accept it without second thoughts leaving the romanced MC? It's true he also acknowledges that all that fascination he had with the goddess was a product of his youth; he knows he was a plaything in her hands. But I don't see he got over with it. He still idealises her, as such a good poet does. Idealisation, especially when a Goddess is involved, is a terrible thing to fight against for the next partner. No matter what speech of loyalties and consent he states during the whole game, the MC knows that magic and Mystra are Gale's Achilles’ heel, and factors in which they can’t predict his behaviour.

We also know that, because his bomb-condition, he tries to take all the opportunities to enjoy the little things of life that make him human.

Gale is a straightforward and honest (mostly, let's say) char. But we can see that he prefers to be honest in most situations, except in his Achille’s heel. Even when he wanted to hide all the stuff about the bomb in his chest, he did it by explicitly warning us that he was hiding something he did not want to talk about. Which is an honest approach considering the hardcore burden he carries and the immediate rejection it can mean if the truth unfolds too quickly among strangers.

When it comes to concepts, Gale has the symbol of the storm attached to him. So far, we see he talks comparing things with storms or storm elements: his lack of knowledge to explain why they are not Mind Flayers yet: the silence before the storm; the fear that rushes into his body when the Weave orb asks him for magic to consume: the thunder of a storm reverberating in his soul, the day it will erupt: the lightning striking, the consumption of magic: water running through a sore throat, Life itself: a tempest. When he asked the player if they were a wizard, he explains that he needs an Arch wizard and compares them with a Tempest. If we see the main image of Baldur's gate 3, it's clear that his main element is electricity/storm... so... full witch-bolt-guy here.

[updated later] The Weave moment is important to romance Gale. Leaving the moment in ambiguity will give the MC another opportunity to make their intentions clear during the scene of the Loss. However, remaining vague will lock Gale into a friendship path. What happens during this scene may suggest that the ambiguity in the Weave was enough to keep Gale thinking about the romantic possibility, but he will not engage into it by his own, which confirms (15). Unless the opportunity presents itself clearly before him, he will not pursue the MC. Further details [here].

Last moment detail: Gale says “I cherish you” when he explains he will await death alone if the Netherese orb goes out of control. I was not sure if that meant something more or less than love or like (I can’t not overlook the subtle meaning of the words coming from Gale’s mouth, he is a poet and his word choices matter). Checking the dictionary I found that “cherish” (in a relationship) is defined as to hold or to treat as dear, to feel love for and to care for someone deeply and tenderly. This man went straight into a commitment relationship without thinking it twice, and without (I believe) the MC knowing it either xD.

Let's see how these characteristics shift or develop deeper once the full game is out there. Now we have to wait a lot :(

To see videos where all this stuff is inferred or explicitly said, you can check [here]

More videos added later [here] and [here]

More content of bg3 in general [here]

#baldurs gate 3 #gale #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate

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askkrenko · 4 years

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Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Meowth Line

THAT’S RIGHT!

DESIGN:

Meowth’s basic design is very reminiscent of the classic “Lucky Cat,” but wearing its coin as a headdress rather than holding it. Also, Meowth is slimmer, lankier, and more active. It’s a simple design, but it looks good, even if it’s obviously ‘generic cat.’

Alolan Meowth takes that design and makes it extra sassy, which is great. Meowth always had personality, but Alolan Meowth just has more of it. It’s still the lucky money cat, but now it knows it’s cool. Alolan Meowth is behind the gym smoking cigarettes. And your mom told you not to hang out with him but you’re going to anyway.

Look at that guy. He’s not rich because he’s lucky. He’s rich because he’s shoplifting non-stop.

And then there’s Galarian Meowth.

Galarian Meowth will fuck you up. It’s still clearly a Meowth, but it’s feral rather than pampered, hard and tough, with an excess of fur, and rather than having a gold coin, its coin is hard iron. It’s not there for luxury, it’s there to make weapons and armor out of. Galarian Meowth is one of my favorite regional forms, though it does beg the question of when a regional form should start counting as a different Pokemon altogether. Meowth evolves into Persian in Kanto and Alola, and I gotta say... I don’t like Persian. It’s just a cat. It does cat things. It’s boring, it’s uninteresting, and while the forehead gem is something, it doesn’t really feel like a natural evolution of Meowth’s coin as it would if it were more distinctly gem-like instead of just being round. Giving the gem a proper cut could’ve gone a long way here, and yes, that detail would have been hard to show in the first game, but just making it diamond-shape instead of round would’ve screamed “What once was gold is now a ruby.” Losing the coloration on its feet and tail is a problem, too. It just looks so bland compared to Meowth. Also, going from a biped to a quadruped seems kind of like a downgrade.

Alolan Persian is... worse. Sorry, I have nothing good to say about it design-wise. It just looks like an uglier, stupider version of Persian. The color shift is fine, but it now has a fat face and that’s it. Also it’s more of a jerk somehow. Meowth to Persian is one of the worst evolution downgrades in Pokemon. I could respect Persian as its own Pokemon, but it’s hard to respect it as “evolved form of Money Cat.”

On the other hand... Perrserker is the greatest thing ever. It looks like a stronger, tougher form of Galarian Meowth, with its Iron headpiece turning into a full helmet, and its claws combining into something sword-like. It is an angry, viking, dwarf cat, and it just looks like what Galarian Meowth should turn into. Everything about its design builds off Meowth, except it trades some of its goofiness and scrappiness for looking like it’s seriously ready to go to war.

The final Meowth form is Gigantimax Meowth which... is funny. Look, it’s not a good design, it’s not a reasonable design, and Meowth shouldn’t even really have a Gigantimax Form, but longcat is long, and that’s hilarious, so I’m just going to give it a pass. EVOLUTIONS: You know what I love seeing? All three Meowth forms evolve at level 28. That’s it. It’s great. No muss no fuss. Now, there is room for a third form in there, but we’ll get to whether it needs it later. A baby version of Meowth was designed for gen 1 and slated for gen 2, but it was cut both times, which is good because Meowth is early game enough that there’s no need for a pokemon that’s just Meowth but weaker. G-Max Meowth exists, and it’s honestly the best example of a gimmick G-Max. While a lot of weak G-Max pokemon just have no use, G-Max Meowth’s special move, G-Max Gold Rush, just spits out coins, up to 99,999 each battle. I gotta say, I’ve used G-Max Meowth, not for competetive battles, but to fill up my pockets with dosh late game.

TYPING: Kantonian Persian is a Normal type, whcih means Immunity to Ghost, Weakness to Fighting, and not strong against anything while being resisted by both Rock and Steel. It’s just not a strong type, and it’s mostly good for bulky, defensive Pokemon that get a lot more out of only having one weakness than they lose from not having any type coverage. Persian is not that Pokemon. Alolan Persian is Dark type, which is generally better. Three weaknesses, two resistances, and an immunity, though it’s only super effective against two types and resisted by three. It’s fine overall, but nothing special. Perrserker is a Steel type. Steel is the best type in the game, bar none. Ten resistances and one immunity just makes any Steel Pokemon with stats that matter hard to kill. And it’s coverage isn’t that bad, super effective on three types and resisted by four. STATS: Persian and Alolan Persian have 5 sub-par stats and good speed. The thing is, speed 115 may be a lot, but when you’re attacking at 70 (Kantonian) or special attacking at 75 (Alolan), going first isn’t enough to win the day. Perrserker, on the other hand, eschews speed in favor of having 110 attack and significantly higher Defense than Persian. While its stat total is the same 440, having high defense and Steel Type means it can take hits far better, and its high attack stat means getting hit by Perrserker actually hurts. ABILITIES: Kantonian Persian has limber (immunity to paralysis) and Unnerve (opponent can’t eat berries) but it’s strongest ability is Technician. Technician increases the base power of moves of 60 power or less by 50%, meaning Bite is suddenly better than Crunch and Theif’s suddenly an actual attack and... uhh... ... umm... This ability would be a lot better if Persian had more attacks at 60 power. Well, it buffs Fake out from 40 to 60 at least, and free damage is free damage. Alolan Persian also gets Technician, but isn’t any better with it. It’s hidden ability, Rattled, increases its speed if it’s hit by a Bug, Ghost, or Dark move or if an opponent uses Intimidate on it, which is... mediocre. Weak to Ghost and with poor defenses, that’ll likely just kill it, though it does resist Dark... But its speed is already high enough that an ability that sometimes raises its speed isn’t going very far.

Its final ability, Fur Coat, gives it actual competence. Fur Coat doubles its defense. That’s it. Going from base 60 defense to base 120 defense is huge, even before factoring in defense from IVs, EVs, etcetera. This is the only ability worth having on Alolan Persian. Comparatively, the other two abilities are nothing. And this isn’t even the Hidden Ability. Perrserker has three abilities, two of which are very similar. Its first ability, Battle Armor, protects it from Critical Hits. It’s not fancy, and it is decent, but the other two options are simply better. Tough Claws increases the power of all of Perrserker’s attacks that make contact by 30%, which is frankly a lot of them, while Steely Spirit increases the power of its Steel Type moves by 50%. Obviously, it’s only going to have one Steel attack in a normal build, and as this is Iron Head, it will gain the boost from Tough Claws as well... So here it’s more of a meta question which you want: The strongest STAB attack possibly with an effective base 120 Iron Head, or more power spread out on your other moves.

MOVES: Kantonian Persian has slightly higher Attack than Special Attack, but not by much, so the fact that it learns Nasty Plot means there’s incentive to build it as a Special Attacker. Alolan Persian always wants to be a Special Attacker.

Even with Technician, Persian’s attack lineup just isn’t great. It can use Fake Out for free STAB damage, which is nice, but after that, a physical build is relying on Body Slam for its STAB damage, which isn’t exactly the best, though the chance to paralyze is nice. Then for coverage, Bite and Play Rough are options, as is Gunk Shot, but there’s really nothing special going on here. U-Turn allows a hit with the switch, but it’s still only a 70 power hit. Persian did have some better attacks, like Double-Edge and Return, in previous generations, but those are currently missing from its lineup. All in all, Persian’s moveset doesn’t really do anything physically. For Special Attacking, Persian can learn Nasty Plot. The only Special move it gets via level-up is Power Gem, which is pretty poor unless you really need the coverage. On Kantonian Persian, Hyper Voice is your STAB Special, while Alolan uses Dark Pulse. For special attacks, Shadow Ball and Thunderbolt add some nice coverage, and Technician can turn Icy Wind into an actual attack. Persian can also learn Foul Play, which is a solid, if sometimes unreliable, Dark Attack that doesn’t require investment in the Attack stat. Alolan Persian can get Parting Shot, which reduces the enemy’s Attack and Special Attack before switching out. With its speed, this will often mean weakening an attack before your other Pokemon takes it. Honestly, I think most of what I’d want to do with a Persian would just be to annoy the opponent and get in some free damage. Fake Out, Foul Play, U-Turn or Parting Shot, and Body Slam or Dark Pulse in case staying in seems reasonable. With Persian’s Speed, Fake Out and U-Turn/Parting Shot will often just be two free hits every time you have to switch Pokemon. Perrserker, on the other hand, is a physical attacker with physical attacks. Iron Head is its obvious Steel attack. U-Turn is U-Turn, I don’t think I need to keep justifying ‘get a hit in when switching’ except here it’s ‘with an actual attack stat and maybe an ability to do +30% damage.’ Close Combat offers some great coverage and a lot of raw power, and Seed Bomb, Gunk Shot, and Play Rough are all great attacks, too.

And if you’re feeling cocky, Perrserker can get Swords Dance. On the other hand, if you’re feeling worried, Amnesia plugs Perrserker’s low Special Defense to let it tank longer.

Generally, I think Iron Head, U-Turn, Close Combat, and whatever other move you need for coverage on your team is the way you want to go.

And if it’s 2v2, hey, Perrserker gets Fake Out, too. OVERALL: Kantonian Persian is a very weak Pokemon, with abilities that don’t help it and a move pool that isn’t really built for anything. Alolan Persian is a lot better, primarily thanks to Fur Coat, but also by having Parting Shot with high speed, allowing it to repeatedly mess with enemies. But they’re also both really stupid pokemon that are just ‘lawl I’m a cat’ and don’t have anything interesting in their designs even though the Meowths are so cool. Perrserker’s all around solid and exactly where it needs to be. Its already high attack is bolstered by a +Attack pair of abilities, its high Defense stat is bolstered by Steel type, so it can hold its own without trying anything tricky just as long as nobody sets it on fire. Or knows Earth Power. It does not fare well against Earth Power.

#Krenko's Pokemon Guide #Meowth #Persian #Perrserker

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tobeathief · 4 years

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Prophecies and Spiky Cats Chapter 3: Also available to read on Ao3, fanfiction.net and wattpad

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Two weeks had passed since Sabetha had decided to leave Karthain, to leave Locke and Jean, at the strong encouragement of Patience. The ship's crew had taken to calling her the demon tamer, due to the fact she would scarcely be seen on deck without Locke, the little cat she had adopted, around her neck.

He refused to go near anyone else and would hiss and scratch at them if they so much as looked at him the wrong way, a fact Sabetha felt very amused by. The cat kept any would-be handsy sailors well out of her path, and for that, she was very very thankful.

They were just south-east of the Sea of Brass when a storm picked up around the ship, whipping the deck into chaos. These past weeks had been a leisurely cruise, idyllic weather every day, that with the quickness that this storm came in, it could only be God's given.

The ship was quickly turned into chaos and Sabetha didn't know what to do. For the first time in her life, she was in a situation she didn't have any skills in. She didn't know how to hoist the mainsails or man the wheel.

Her hair was whipping in her face, drenched by the cold rain and seawater, as she noticed the lifeboats clattering cautiously in the wind. Thunder rumbled all around her and mixed with the shouts and screams of the crew.

Locke was wrapped frightened around her neck, hiding in her hair. His claws digging into the sensitive skin there, Sabetha tried not to grimace. One of the sailors rushed past her, knocking her to her knees on the wet deck as a bolt of lightning split the sky and hit one of the ropes of the lifeboats, breaking it effortlessly. The lifeboat began to sway with the force, and dangling by one rope, started swinging dangerously close to the crew's oblivious heads.

Sabetha scrambled to her feet, Locke still firmly fixed on her neck and raced for the snapped rope. She leaned over the railing grasping for it as the ship swayed and creaked beneath her feet. After a few perilous tries, Sabetha succeeded, pulling the rope down just in time for the lifeboat to swing up and narrowly miss decapitating Solus Volantyne. He clutched his chest in shock as in his worried state trying to keep the crew in order, he hadn't seen it swinging for him.

"I owe you my life Verena," he remarked as Sabetha struggled with the rope.

"Don't thank me yet."

Volantyne then continued to shout orders at his terrified crew, and Sabetha was left to wrestle the rope herself. The rope creaked and strained, burning her hands as it tried to pull out of her grasp. Sabetha bit her lip with the strain, and Locke yowled in fear.

Another big wave crashed onto the ship, drenching Sabetha and Locke to the bone. The cat let out another yowl. In the shock, the rope began to pull again, finally slipping out of Sabetha's grasp. "NO!" she shouted, reaching over the railing again. Another wave crashed on the deck and washed Sabetha over with it.

She hit the water with a painful splash. The ice-cold water biting her as she struggled to stay afloat. Locke was miraculously still attached to her, stiff and shivering, tension down his long body. Sabetha tried to shout up, but the commotion was too load, the storm too violent. Nobody could hear her. So she continued to kick uselessly at the water. A few metres away something else fell into the water, causing another splash to coat the pair. The lifeboat Sabetha had been wrestling with.

Sabetha tried not to think too much as she felt something rub up against her leg and paddled for the empty boat. Reaching the side, she grasped ungracefully for the rim. The hardwood pinched her palms as she struggled to pull her weight up into the boat. After a few useless pulls, she finally did it, and woman and cat splattered into the hull.

Locke was shaking and was no doubt as scared and wet as she was. He was wide-eyed and his fur was sticking in all directions. Both hacked up seawater immediately, the feeling of it burning Sabetha's throat, and then collapsed in a heap.

When she had caught her breath, Sabetha again tried to shout and signal the crew on the ship. She cautiously stood up on shaky feet and waved her arms about, pleading for anyone to notice her, but no one did. And they were drifting further and further away. Locke yowled an even uglier sound and hide beneath one of the benches as they watched another bolt of lightning hit the Volantyne's Resolve, setting fire to one of the mainsails.

"Shit. Shit!" Sabetha cursed, shouting again with all the air in her lungs. She continued shouting until her voice was coarse, and the Volantyne's Resolve was too far out into the horizon. She collapsed back into the hull and coughed again. This time blood spattered onto her and wiping her mouth decided it was in her best interest to ignore that.

Locke looked at her nervously from his hiding place and she just sighed, before everything went dark.

Sabetha woke up to burning hot sunshine, and with Locke nervously licking and nipping at her face. She brushed him off and he let out an excited and relieved meow in response. Her neck and shoulders killed from where Locke had been digging his claws in for so long, and her whole body ached. She could barely move.

The calm ocean was a mockery to what it had been the night before, and no ship could be seen as far as Sabetha could see off into the horizon. They were well and truly lost at sea.

It served her right. She should have stayed with Locke and Jean, discarded Patience's words. At least then she might have been able to die with her family. She had run to protect a future she will no doubt not get. She would have been a useless mother anyway. She's too stubborn and aggressive to ever hope to be the calm and caring mother she hoped to be.

Patience had tricked her. And she fell headfirst for it. Locke yowled and started to bite at her hand. He was no doubt still frightened and hungry. She was too. But this was how they were to die. Miles from home, from the man she loved. In an empty boat with a grumpy cat. If she was to die first, the cat would no doubt eat her. By the time anyone came across her corpse, it will be half-rotted and mauled. Completely unrecognisable.

Locke will no doubt think she had abandoned him forever, found a wealthy man and lived a wild life. He'll no doubt die alone and cold and bitter. Cursing her name in his last dying breath.

Jean would hate her. That she knew. Hate her for the pain she will have caused his particular friend who he is devoted too so tenderly. A devotion that caused ice to form in her heart.

That second night was one of the worst. One she spent the whole time awake. Locke had propped himself up on the edge of the boat and tried to drink the seawater, but she battered him down telling him how dangerous it was.

In the early glow of the morning, Sabetha spent a few hours trying to grab a curious fish to eat. Eventually, she succeeded, but it was barely longer than her finger. She fed it to Locke. He needed it more than her.

As the third night crawled in, cold wrapped itself around the boat. Locke snuggled into her for any remaining warmth, and they laid curled up shivering.

By the fourth morning, and the blistering heat, Sabetha drank the seawater.

The fifth morning, Sabetha woke to shouting and banging. Locke was freaking out, yowling with all his little lungs could muster. Sabetha sat up groggily to be face to face with a pirate and she yelped.

"I'd be damned Captain. The redhead is alive!" Sabetha tried to shuffle back only to notice she was stuck in her little lifeboat surrounded by pirates. Sabetha threw up once again, seawater coating her shivering form. The last thing she saw was a striking woman, with black skin and braided hair, rings pierced the arch of her ear and her eyes burrowed into Sabetha's soul, and then everything went blank.

Sabetha awoke in a cabin. Not as lavish as her one of the Volantyne's resolve, but smart and cosy enough. She could feel a little hand stroking her head and for a minute she thought it might be the little cat. To her surprise when she opened her eyes, two pairs of striking young eyes stared down at her, Sabetha sat up with a start.

"Ok, give her space now you two." The children backed off immediately and sat legs crossed about a metre away patiently. "I hope you don't mind, they were worried about you and I've been trying to teach them about medicine." Sabetha shook her head. The owner of the voice was the woman she has seen before she had passed out, but Sabetha had been sure she was the Captain, why would she be nursing her? "Now drink this." Before Sabetha could argue, a cold sour liquid was forced down her throat. It was probably one of the worse things she had ever drunk, and she gagged. "Ah ah ah," the woman warned, "don't go throwing that up in my lovely cabin, I won't be able to get the smell out for weeks, and it's good for you, you need the nutrients.

"How long have I been out?" Sabetha said, the sound coming out a raspy whisper.

"A few days. You have woken up a few times like this, I've shoved this tonic down your throat, and you've fallen back asleep. Something I suggest you do again."

"What about the cat I was with, he's mostly black and he's got a little dot of white on his neck."

"The cat is safe too. Already running the mice on board wild."

Sabetha smiled in relief and let herself slip back into sleep.

It had been a week since she had initially woken up on the ship when Sabetha had enough strength to take a walk up onto the deck. As she pushed open the door, she was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sky and swayed unsteadily on her feet.

"Oh, steady their redhead, don't want you falling overboard when we've just fixed ya up." It was the pirate she saw when she first awoke. She stood about an inch shorter than Sabetha and had light brown skin with cropped dark hair. Her eyes were the beautiful green of seawater, and her face was slightly flushed with the sun.

"Thank you," Sabetha said, rather breathlessly gripping onto the arm she held out for her.

"The names Asha, I'm the second mate on the Poison Orchid, nice to meet you," Sabetha smiled. It was welcoming to have a friendly face and Sabetha was put at ease.

"I'm Sabetha." Before she could stop herself, her true name slipped out of her throat, she cursed herself for being so clumsy and hoped it wouldn't come back to haunt her.

"Sabetha…" Asha let the name roll on her tongue a few times, "unusual."

"Uh, thanks," Sabetha replied, still squinting in the brightness of the sun.

"Want to take a turn around the deck with me and then go and eat something?"

"I've already had my tonic today."

"I don't mean that corpse shit, I mean some proper food. We haven't long stopped off at shore, so we've got stocks of it, and it's more than just ships crackers!"

Sabetha smiled again, "That sounds great." Asha linked her arms through hers and took her for a walk around the ship. Asha muttered on about all the different parts and where not to go, as well as the latest crew gossip. Sabetha smiled a real smile for the first time in a while. It had been a very long time since she had had a friend like this.

Memories of her times with Nazca at the last mistake, sat on the roof drinking brandy filled her mind. They would both talk over each other in an excited rumble Sabetha was surprised they ever understood each other. Nazca would talk about her brothers, and her dream to be Capa one day and laugh about all of the men who would hit on her to try and win her father's favour. Nazca had only told Sabetha as far as she knew that she was only interested in women. She kept it a secret from her father and brothers and though they loved her very much, she knew it would go down like a sinking ship. If she was to be Capa, she needed to have children to pass on the legacy. Something Nazca had no interest in doing.

Nazca often told her about her dalliances with women. They were frequent, and rarely with the same person. Sabetha often thought that Nazca might have a sex life to rival that of the Sanza's. She'd even slept with both of the Berangia sisters. To think they caused her father's death filled Sabetha's stomach with disgust. To think they were flirting with Nazca while plotting her father's death. They deserved the death they got at the wrong end of Jean's hatchets.

"Are you ok? You've gone all glassy-eyed?" Asha said, breaking a roll of bread in half and offering one half to Sabetha. She took it and didn't hesitate in taking a bite. Her first real bite of food in weeks. The bread was slightly bland, but Sabetha ate it as if it was the last thing she would ever eat, and then helped herself to another full roll.

Asha didn't comment, just offered her olives and little fish, which Sabetha graciously accepted. "I'm good, just really hungry apparently," Sabetha smiled between mouthfuls. Asha nodded and then walked her back to her cabin.

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meereens · 4 years

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a dream of spring rarepairs week - day 2: children

A little foster brother might be just what Tommen needs to wean him away from Margaery and her hens. In time they might grow as close as Robert and his boyhood friend Ned Stark.

On Tommen’s ninth nameday, Mother stuffs him into a spring green Essosi doublet with a gold thread lion in the center. The lion is supposed to have two rubies for eyes, but one must have fallen out somewhere along the way—look, Mother, he’s winking—and Mother goes out into the hall to sternly talk at some maid until he hears a muffled sob. Her cheeks are splotched with red when she returns, red as lost rubies, and Tommen casts his gaze downward. His poor one-eyed lion is less frightening. Mother holds his shoulder like a plump mouse in a claw.

“Thieves in Maegor’s Holdfast,” she seethes, digging in her nails. “Were Maegor still master here, those little sneaks would have their eyes put out and their innards broiled for their treachery.”

“What did you say to her?”

“To whom?”

“The...our servant?”

“Servant no longer,” Mother tells him as her hands move to his laces. “Dorcas! Fetch us something green or gold, with gems sewn in. We cannot have the king playing the pauper on his special day.”

The large woman standing behind a screen for his privacy silently shuffles over to his wardrobe while Mother rips him out of his clothes. The lion splits open, loosening the garment, and he holds up his arms so she can wiggle it over his head.

“You must especially look your best to meet Lady Merryweather’s present.”

That excites Tommen. Meeting means something to make friends with, something to have and to hold like a—

“Is it a kitten?” There can never be too many kittens in the Red Keep.

“No, but you will play together.”

Tommen pouts at that. It will probably be a cuddly rabbit or a little puppy that will grow into a fearsome hound, animals that are lovable enough but cannot capture his heart in the same vein as cats. Margaery understands, he thinks. The doublet Dorcas comes back with is gold, with slashed sleeves, pearl buttons, and garnets lining the neck and shoulders in a crescent shape. His lion had more character, this he knows, but Mother seems at least more pleased than she was before, so he wears it down to the tourney held for his day.

And what a tourney. Joff’s—his heart does a sad little flip whenever he’s reminded of Joff—was pure fun since they put an enemy straw man out for him to batter, but it was a shame they chose to hold it behind castle walls instead of outside by the bubbling of the river and the chirps of baby birds in trees. His is along the Blackwater, as it should be, and all the Tyrells come out to greet him first in varying shades of green. Margaery’s gown is the palest mint, her hair worn loose with a circlet of cloth buttercups on top. Buttercup would be a good name for a cat. She smiles and takes his arm, but as they are about to ascend to their seats, Mother says, “Lady Merryweather, don’t we have a guest for the royal box?”

All eyes turn to Mother’s friend, standing near the back of the rapidly growing group. An olive-skinned boy smaller than him peers out from behind her skirts.

“Russell, go on and introduce yourself to His Grace.”

The boy rushes forward, punches off the ground, then flips before landing neatly at Tommen’s feet. He is too stunned to respond, much less clap for him. Mother does, prompting a few ladies to follow in her example. Russell kneels, and he notices how bushy his hair is, thick black tufts that stick out at every possible angle. He looks to Margaery for what to say, but her face is set in the same soft smile.

“From this day on, Russell will be the Crown’s fosterling,” Mother announces in a regal voice. This time, everybody claps.

Russell’s nameday is today, and he keeps on reminding Tommen that he has to tumble for him the way he did for his ninth.

“I was six and I had more skill in my pinky toe than you do now,” he boasts, puffing up his chest like a proud bird about to shit over a parapet. He taught him that expression, foul mouth included. He always wants to teach him things, from how to tumble to how to lie without bursting into tears to how to start a fight in Flea Bottom and come out scratchless. Half of what Russell claims he’s done when they’re not training sounds like something out of a fable; Lann the Clever’s natural son born thousands of years too late.

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll box you on the nose,” he teases.

“Not fair—it’s too big a target.”

His nose can charitably be called a lightly beaten potato; Tommen was shocked to discover nobody broke it. Grinning, he pulls his companion by the arm and leads him through winding stone corridors, their feet pounding at such a pace that Ser Loras has to run along to play his role as Kingsguard. Russell’s luck struck again when it came time to choose a mentor, since Mother wouldn’t allow the Knight of Flowers to serve as his. “But Ser Loras is my favorite,” he said when she revealed Ser Addam Marbrand would be his knight instead. “Favorites change,” she said.

My favorites never will. He almost misses the Queen’s Ballroom, backing up into Russell as they skid to a halt.

“Are you holding a ball for me?” he launches into asking. “No—a feast?”

It must be hard for him, not knowing. Even worse, being the only one who doesn’t know. He is the first to whisper did you hear when they break their fast together, followed by an enticing rumor he hopes is not true or a tale so outrageously wild he hopes it is.

“No,” Tommen says as Ser Loras opens the doors. “We’re holding court.”

Inside, thick woolen carpets have been placed on the floor, and tapestries of contented animals lounging in meadows and forests cover the walls. There are three large chairs side-by-side, like he asked for, and Margaery sits in the rightmost with a cream kitten on her lap.

The kittens. Everywhere, the kittens. Clawing at loose threads in the wool, or curled up to nap, kittens litter the ground like snow in Winterfell. Each of Margaery’s ladies holds one, waiting dutifully in a line facing the thrones, while servants scoop up more balls of fluff with cradling hands. Grown cats prowl the ballroom as well, though there are fewer in their ranks. A velvet-capped bard strums a jolly tune as two striped ones twine about his ankles. The overall effect is the closest thing to paradise Tommen can imagine; Russell’s mouth is agape.

“You...you didn’t.”

“I did!”

Margaery claps twice. “Presenting the Court of Cats!”

“You know I don’t like them,” Russell groans, but follows him through the horde regardless.

“You will.”

His friend has never had an appreciation for cats, holding his pets at a distance when Tommen brings them in to play or pretending they make him sniffle and sneeze. When pressed, he gives a flimsy excuse like I don’t understand them.

That ends here today. Once Russell finds a cat to fall in love with, his doubts will melt away like rain. He knows they will; it is even surer than his father’s kingly blood running through his heart.

“If this is the Court of Cats, does that make you the king of cats?”

He giggles as he takes the left chair. “Perhaps, though you’re the guest of honor. Sit!”

Megga Tyrell presents first, hoisting a white kitten with a black face up for all to see.

“Darling,” says Margaery.

“Adorable,” says Tommen.

“Looks like it dipped itself in soot,” mutters Russell.

The king and queen exchange a look. “On to the next, then.”

And so it goes. Every time a kitten is presented, even if the Mother’s most perfectly crafted creation, Russell manages to find fault with it. Some are mewling too much, or might as well be mute. Some have too much softness to their limbs, or are too scrawny. Some have tasseled ears that look silly, or their ears are too plain. Once he dismisses an exquisite silver kitten with pale green eyes because it reminds him of another cat that stole a piece of bread. Margaery’s ladies wilt one by one, letting their offerings back onto the floor to search for new ones that will undoubtedly get rejected also. The Court of Cats seems more and more pointless when—

“Shoo! Get out! This isn’t your place, you mangy beast!”

One of the servants is trying to drive a dirty yellow cat away from the others. She kicks it with her foot, but it dives back between her heels, almost causing her to trip.

“What’s going on there?” Russell calls out.

The woman swoops down and catches the cat, who struggles madly from between her brawny arms.

“Apologies, m’lord, this one must’ve snuck in. I’ll throw it out right away.”

“No, bring it here. I want to see.”

Tommen eyes the proceedings with new interest. The intruder is uglier than the bad cat that used to visit his window at night, sporting a crooked, scowling jaw and missing its left eye.

“He’s a pirate cat,” Russell declares. “He lost his eye at sea.”

“It sounds like you like him,” he says.

“I don’t like him—I respect him.”

“That is a good start, is it not?” asks Margaery.

The cat seems to think not, as he starts yowling at the top of his lungs.

“His name is Buttercup,” Russell says, and the king of cats cannot contain his glee.

He is almost sixteen. Almost a man grown, and feeling half a boy. Lady Olenna pulled him aside in the garden the other day to insinuate about performing husbandly duties, which he knows he has to get around to doing sooner or later. But why not later rather than sooner? Margaery is three-and-twenty, in the bloom of her childbearing years, still fecund if they wait until he is eighteen or nineteen or twenty, and he is the king.

He has to remind himself he is the king. At the small council earlier, murmurings arose that the Queen of Meereen was planning to make her way across the narrow sea and reclaim what she believed to be her birthright. Russell’s father, his Hand for the past few years, fumbled around the issue before admitting they were woefully unprepared should dragonfire chance to rain down upon King’s Landing.

That has been my week—fire and bloodlines.

He cannot imagine any two things less appealing to think about. Ser Pounce, Boots, and Lady Whiskers trail him into the royal apartments, sticking their tails up at Ser Boros as they glide past. His bedchamber is a welcome sight, made more so by Russell tickling a surly Buttercup on the bed.

“From rags to the royal bedchamber,” he says when he catches sight of him. “This cat has the life bards dream of.”

“And what of your life?” Tommen asks as he sits by them. Buttercup hisses and slides off to lurk beneath.

“My life? I am the king’s dearest friend, of course! I whisper poison in your ear and thus I am well contented.”

“You do not.”

They stare at one another, until Russell goes cross-eyed and sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth. Laughter bubbles from Tommen’s throat, spreading to the corners of his eyes and falling down as tears. When it dies down, he feels a sudden emptiness.

“I am glad our mothers made us friends.”

Russell snorts. “Our mothers didn’t make us do anything, no more than you made me adopt my Buttercup.”

“It seems like everybody is making me do things. My mother, the small council, even Margaery, sometimes. I am—I wish we could go be pirates.”

He feels the impact of arms being thrown around him immediately after he says it, the hug as instantly comfortable as it is crushing. “My poor king of cats,” Russell whispers. “They mean to take you away from me.”

I am king, Tommen thinks. But that does not mean he is free.

#tommen baratheon #asoiafrare #russell merryweather #asoiaf #tommen x russell #day two children #does that even have a tag lol #this is rough but it's time to submit so buckle in #can we stan characters who don't appear onpage?#mayhaps

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shipping-receiving · 5 years

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Fictober 2019 Day 7: “No, and that’s final.”

Rating: T | Word Count: 2219 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern Setting

(read on AO3)

//////

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please, Jaime.”

“No, Brienne.”

“I promise I’ll do that thing you like, as often as you want.”

“You like it too, and you already do it as often as I want.”

“It’s still honest work!”

“And the answer is still no. In any case, I no longer trust any of your promises.”

“Why not?”

“You said we were just coming here to volunteer for the day. It’ll be a good distraction, Jaime, from everything that’s going on, you said. You promised we weren’t going to leave this shelter with a cat. All. Lies.”

“Those things were true when I said them!” Brienne snuggles the cat in her arms. “But this one has been stuck here for so long, Jaime. Look at it. It looks so sad.”

Jaime does look at it, and it does not look sad. It looks extremely grumpy and fed up with this whole situation. It might even be trying to escape from Brienne, though it’s no match for her strength. Do cats even come in that colour? Or shape? Or size? It looks like an average-sized cat in Brienne’s arms. And Brienne is not average-sized.

“Maybe it’s been here for so long because it barely even looks like a cat. People probably thought it was a mistake.”

Brienne glares at him. “Jaime! Don’t be mean!”

“It’s not as if it can understand what I’m saying!”

“The first time we met, you said I barely looked like a woman. And look where we are now.”

Oh no, she did not just— “You do not get to pull that card just so you can adopt a cat. I have more than redeemed myself for that comment.”

This must be one of the strangest arguments he’s ever had with Brienne. And that’s counting the ones they had before they were even friends, let alone… boyfriend-and-girlfriend? Lovers? Partners? Life partners? They had never really talked about labels. At first, they had hated each other. And then they didn’t. And then they were spending more and more time together, besides that one month—never mind, he doesn’t want to think about that. And then it was kind of like they were dating, maybe? And then she was barely sleeping in her own bed, at her own apartment. One day, he asked her to move in with him. She thought about it for the next month, then broke her lease. And after all of that, there’s been all the… the everything-that’s-going-on.

Jaime would never regret asking her to move in with him in the first place, but now she wants this ‘cat’ to move in with them too, and that had never been on the table. Brienne likes cats, he knows, but he thought it was at the level of petting stray cats on the street, and feeding them a treat if she happens to have some on her. She never said anything about owning one until now, and the one she falls in love with is this. This… ‘cat’. It is not only a very strange ‘cat’, it is also a very furry ‘cat’, and he doesn’t want its fur all over his very expensive furniture.

In addition to that crucial point, Lannisters don’t have pets. They just… don’t. He wonders what his father would think of all of this, if his father were still alive. Tyrion, he knows, wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. “Even if I could believe you enjoying the company of a non-human life form, Jaime, that looks nothing like a cat,” his brother would say, upon seeing the beast. Cersei would—

Well, best not to think about his sister. She’s part of the reason Brienne dragged him to the shelter in the first place. A good distraction, Jaime scoffs in his own head. I am the victim of a con.

“Come on, Jaime,” Brienne pleads again, and widens her blue eyes at him in exactly the way she knows he can’t resist. “I swear, I’ll do all the work. Feed him—” oh, it’s a ‘him’ now, not just an ‘it’— “change his litter, take him to the vet, everything. I’ll carry a lint roller on me at all times. I’ll carry two lint rollers. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“No, Brienne, and that’s final.”

It was not final.

Jaime found, once again, that he could never be entirely immune to Brienne’s inexplicable charms. He doesn’t even know if charms is the right word for it. She just manages to make him feel so heartless and—he thinks the right word might be dishonourable, even in this day and age—when he doesn’t go along with what she wants. What she wants, in fairness, is usually something honourable, like giving a ‘cat’ a good home.

In his defence, she did do the whole… eye thing. When they had first met, she walked around like she wanted to fold her body into herself. Now she’s learned to maximise her best assets. She has an eye thing, and it is immensely persuasive.

Jaime did, however, manage to wrangle naming privileges from Brienne. And so Jaime dubbed the beast ‘Bear’, much to her chagrin, even though she had to concede that Bear does look more like a miniature grizzly than his own species. Jaime did also offer the alternative name of “Cat”, on the condition that they include the quotation marks on any paperwork, and do the stipulated air quotes every time they refer to the animal by name. Brienne refused immediately. You can’t give him a name with punctuation, Jaime, she groaned. Alright then. Bear it is, he responded, triumphantly.

Bear is curled up in Jaime’s lap right now, purring away. Gods, it’s really much uglier in daylight. It’s been three months and he still thinks so. But the damn thing loves him. Oh, Bear shows Brienne some cursory devotion when he needs to. He’ll rub against her calf, ask her for the food and treats he knows she’ll give him. But if Bear has to choose between both of their laps, he always chooses Jaime’s. Jaime is even starting to think that Bear only tries to scratch his very expensive furniture because he knows Jaime will pick him up immediately. And then Bear holds on to Jaime for dear life, and refuses to let go. If Jaime manages to get him off, he goes right for the couch, claws at the ready, until Jaime grabs him again, and gets swindled into another cuddle. What was all that crap about cats being antisocial? He’s got himself one manipulative, overly-affectionate brute.

Nonetheless, Jaime has to be grateful to Bear for one thing: ever since they got him, it’s gone some way to mend the rift between him and his niece and nephew—his children. It was a rift that had formed after they had discovered, in the process of Cersei’s divorce from Robert, that Jaime was their biological father (how they managed to keep that out of the papers was some kind of miracle).

Of course, Bear had no impact on his relationship with their eldest. Joffrey is a lost cause, off wreaking havoc at some university to which Cersei must have donated a generous amount, given that the boy has neither the brains nor the discipline to get accepted legitimately. Jaime doesn’t want to be a father to Joffrey, quite frankly. He is the worst parts of Cersei and Robert combined, even if his blood is all Lannister.

But Jaime does care about his relationship with Myrcella and Tommen, which had been tender, if distant, before the paternity tests, and had taken an understandable turn for the worse after. And that was made considerably more painful by the fact that since the divorce, Cersei—whether out of instability, or nonchalance, or just being Cersei—has taken to leaving Myrcella and Tommen with him for extended periods. Days at a time, even, and going off to do Gods-knows-what. Thankfully, Jaime has an extra bedroom and a comfortable pull-out couch in his home office, which is a room he barely uses anyway. Plus, his apartment isn’t too far from either of their schools.

And Brienne has been a saint about it all, of course. Even though Cersei often couldn’t decide which was more vexing to her—Brienne’s presence in Jaime’s life, or Myrcella and Tommen’s presence in her own.

Still, the first few times the children had stayed with their uncle-turned-father were… trying. At least, it had been that way with Myrcella, who seemed to fluctuate between sullen and irate, all her negativity directed at him, at her mother, at Robert, at the world in general, and even on rare occasions at Brienne. Tommen just seemed unsure as to what to do, and took to following his sister’s example, in terms of the sullenness, if not the irateness.

In the era of Bear, though, things seem to be looking up. Tommen was beyond excited when he found out that Jaime finally has the cat that Cersei would never let Tommen have. Jaime’s neph—his son—began opening up to him in a way that he thought would never happen. Myrcella, too, is starting to warm up to Jaime, swayed as she is by Bear and how much the ‘cat’ loves him. It seems that Bear, like Brienne, has his own inexplicable charms.

“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” he had asked Brienne one night, nodding towards Bear. The ‘cat’ was nestled at their feet, on Jaime’s ludicrously expensive duvet cover, instead of in his own ludicrously expensive heated cat bed. “Bear, and the kids.”

“Maybe I did,” she had said, with a small smile. “Tommen told me how much he wanted one when we saw one of the strays out on the street. I thought it was worth trying, to help with the kids. But I didn’t want you to get disappointed if it failed, so I didn’t tell you. I’m glad it turned out better than I expected.”

“You’re better than I deserve, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t be with you if you were less than I deserve, as I always remind you when you say such things.”

“I know, I know. Speaking of the kids, I… I’ve been thinking.” Jaime had been thinking about it for weeks, actually, but he had felt too nervous to broach the subject with Brienne till then. “About… custody. I haven’t spoken to a lawyer yet, so I’m not really sure what my options are. But they’re here so often, these days. And… I don’t think things are going very well back home, with Cersei.”

“No. I don’t think so.” Myrcella had told Brienne some things, Jaime knew, though Brienne had promised his daughter to keep them secret for now.

“Will you mind, if they’re here even more often? Or… permanently? I—I know you didn’t sign up for all of this. My past, and… everything.”

“I signed up for you, didn’t I?” was her reply. “I knew enough, before we even started dating.” In fact, when she had first found out—or rather, first confirmed the rumours that had swirled around the Lannisters for years—she hadn’t spoken to him for a whole month. He had thought he had lost her friendship forever, young and shaky as it was back then. “People have their histories,” she continued, as if Jaime’s history isn’t infinitely more fucked up than most. “You’ve had to deal with a fair share of mine.”

Jaime had kissed her, then.

As he runs his fingers through Bear’s fur, he thinks about how he’s had to deal with Brienne’s histories, all her traumas. They still manifest, in small ways, every day. But what he’s done for her, it seems like nothing compared to what’s he’s asking her to do. She didn’t think she was going to be living with anyone other than him when she moved in, first of all, and now there’s a child and a teenager in their apartment more than half the time. And she’s had to become a sort of—guardian to the kids, alongside him. He doesn’t really know what else to call her, or himself, since Robert is still their father on paper. Of course the man hasn’t been around lately, not that he was a particularly present father for the two younger children when he and Cersei were still married, between his businesses and his mistresses.

But if Jaime does become their father, legally—he’s not looking forward to discussing this with Cersei—what would Brienne be, then? He supposes she’d be their stepmother, perhaps, if she agrees when he finally asks her to marry him. He expects she will take weeks, maybe months, to give him an answer. She knows what she’d be signing up for, marrying Jaime. That’s a decision that will take time.

Anyway, they’ll work it out eventually. They always do, him and Brienne. In the meantime, he will sit here with this ‘cat’ that looks nothing like a cat, a ‘cat’ who couldn’t care less about Jaime’s history. Even if his feline brain could comprehend any of it, Jaime has the sneaking suspicion that Bear might love him regardless of it all.

Once, Jaime thought he had done far too many terrible things in his life to warrant such a love. A love, regardless. But—that was a long time ago.

That was before Brienne.

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #HOW DID THIS HAPPEN #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CUTE FIC ABOUT CAT ADOPTION

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annesoftheisland · 4 years

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The Green Gables folk went home after Christmas, Marilla under solemn covenant to return for a month in the spring. More snow came before New Year's, and the harbor froze over, but the gulf still was free, beyond the white, imprisoned fields. The last day of the old year was one of those bright, cold, dazzling winter days, which bombard us with their brilliancy, and command our admiration but never our love. The sky was sharp and blue; the snow diamonds sparkled insistently; the stark trees were bare and shameless, with a kind of brazen beauty; the hills shot assaulting lances of crystal. Even the shadows were sharp and stiff and clear-cut, as no proper shadows should be. Everything that was handsome seemed ten times handsomer and less attractive in the glaring splendor; and everything that was ugly seemed ten times uglier, and everything was either handsome or ugly. There was no soft blending, or kind obscurity, or elusive mistiness in that searching glitter. The only things that held their own individuality were the firs--for the fir is the tree of mystery and shadow, and yields never to the encroachments of crude radiance. But finally the day began to realise that she was growing old. Then a certain pensiveness fell over her beauty which dimmed yet intensified it; sharp angles, glittering points, melted away into curves and enticing gleams. The white harbor put on soft grays and pinks; the far-away hills turned amethyst. "The old year is going away beautifully," said Anne. She and Leslie and Gilbert were on their way to the Four Winds Point, having plotted with Captain Jim to watch the New Year in at the light. The sun had set and in the southwestern sky hung Venus, glorious and golden, having drawn as near to her earth-sister as is possible for her. For the first time Anne and Gilbert saw the shadow cast by that brilliant star of evening, that faint, mysterious shadow, never seen save when there is white snow to reveal it, and then only with averted vision, vanishing when you gaze at it directly. "It's like the spirit of a shadow, isn't it?" whispered Anne. "You can see it so plainly haunting your side when you look ahead; but when you turn and look at it--it's gone." "I have heard that you can see the shadow of Venus only once in a lifetime, and that within a year of seeing it your life's most wonderful gift will come to you," said Leslie. But she spoke rather hardly; perhaps she thought that even the shadow of Venus could bring her no gift of life. Anne smiled in the soft twilight; she felt quite sure what the mystic shadow promised her. They found Marshall Elliott at the lighthouse. At first Anne felt inclined to resent the intrusion of this long-haired, long-bearded eccentric into the familiar little circle. But Marshall Elliott soon proved his legitimate claim to membership in the household of Joseph. He was a witty, intelligent, well-read man, rivalling Captain Jim himself in the knack of telling a good story. They were all glad when he agreed to watch the old year out with them. Captain Jim's small nephew Joe had come down to spend New Year's with his great-uncle, and had fallen asleep on the sofa with the First Mate curled up in a huge golden ball at his feet. "Ain't he a dear little man?" said Captain Jim gloatingly. "I do love to watch a little child asleep, Mistress Blythe. It's the most beautiful sight in the world, I reckon. Joe does love to get down here for a night, because I have him sleep with me. At home he has to sleep with the other two boys, and he doesn't like it. "Why can't I sleep with father, Uncle Jim?" says he. `Everybody in the Bible slept with their fathers.' As for the questions he asks, the minister himself couldn't answer them. They fair swamp me. `Uncle Jim, if I wasn't me who'd I be?' and, `Uncle Jim, what would happen if God died?' He fired them two off at me tonight, afore he went to sleep. As for his imagination, it sails away from everything. He makes up the most remarkable yarns--and then his mother shuts him up in the closet for telling stories . And he sits down and makes up another one, and has it ready to relate to her when she lets him out. He had one for me when he come down tonight. `Uncle Jim,' says he, solemn as a tombstone, `I had a 'venture in the Glen today.' `Yes, what was it?' says I, expecting something quite startling, but nowise prepared for what I really got. `I met a wolf in the street,' says he, `a 'normous wolf with a big, red mouf and awful long teeth, Uncle Jim.' `I didn't know there was any wolves up at the Glen,' says I. `Oh, he comed there from far, far away,' says Joe, `and I fought he was going to eat me up, Uncle Jim.' `Were you scared?' says I. `No, 'cause I had a big gun,' says Joe, `and I shot the wolf dead, Uncle Jim,--solid dead--and then he went up to heaven and bit God,' says he. Well, I was fair staggered, Mistress Blythe." The hours bloomed into mirth around the driftwood fire. Captain Jim told tales, and Marshall Elliott sang old Scotch ballads in a fine tenor voice; finally Captain Jim took down his old brown fiddle from the wall and began to play. He had a tolerable knack of fiddling, which all appreciated save the First Mate, who sprang from the sofa as if he had been shot, emitted a shriek of protest, and fled wildly up the stairs. "Can't cultivate an ear for music in that cat nohow," said Captain Jim. "He won't stay long enough to learn to like it. When we got the organ up at the Glen church old Elder Richards bounced up from his seat the minute the organist began to play and scuttled down the aisle and out of the church at the rate of no-man's-business. It reminded me so strong of the First Mate tearing loose as soon as I begin to fiddle that I come nearer to laughing out loud in church than I ever did before or since." There was something so infectious in the rollicking tunes which Captain Jim played that very soon Marshall Elliott's feet began to twitch. He had been a noted dancer in his youth. Presently he started up and held out his hands to Leslie. Instantly she responded. Round and round the firelit room they circled with a rhythmic grace that was wonderful. Leslie danced like one inspired; the wild, sweet abandon of the music seemed to have entered into and possessed her. Anne watched her in fascinated admiration. She had never seen her like this. All the innate richness and color and charm of her nature seemed to have broken loose and overflowed in crimson cheek and glowing eye and grace of motion. Even the aspect of Marshall Elliott, with his long beard and hair, could not spoil the picture. On the contrary, it seemed to enhance it. Marshall Elliott looked like a Viking of elder days, dancing with one of the blue-eyed, golden-haired daughters of the Northland. "The purtiest dancing I ever saw, and I've seen some in my time," declared Captain Jim, when at last the bow fell from his tired hand. Leslie dropped into her chair, laughing, breathless. "I love dancing," she said apart to Anne. "I haven't danced since I was sixteen--but I love it. The music seems to run through my veins like quicksilver and I forget everything--everything--except the delight of keeping time to it. There isn't any floor beneath me, or walls about me, or roof over me--I'm floating amid the stars." Captain Jim hung his fiddle up in its place, beside a large frame enclosing several banknotes. "Is there anybody else of your acquaintance who can afford to hang his walls with banknotes for pictures?" he asked. "There's twenty ten-dollar notes there, not worth the glass over them. They're old Bank of P. E. Island notes. Had them by me when the bank failed, and I had 'em framed and hung up, partly as a reminder not to put your trust in banks, and partly to give me a real luxurious, millionairy feeling. Hullo, Matey, don't be scared. You can come back now. The music and revelry is over for tonight. The old year has just another hour to stay with us. I've seen seventy-six New Years come in over that gulf yonder, Mistress Blythe." "You'll see a hundred," said Marshall Elliott. Captain Jim shook his head. "No; and I don't want to--at least, I think I don't. Death grows friendlier as we grow older. Not that one of us really wants to die though, Marshall. Tennyson spoke truth when he said that. There's old Mrs. Wallace up at the Glen. She's had heaps of trouble all her life, poor soul, and she's lost almost everyone she cared about. She's always saying that she'll be glad when her time comes, and she doesn't want to sojourn any longer in this vale of tears. But when she takes a sick spell there's a fuss! Doctors from town, and a trained nurse, and enough medicine to kill a dog. Life may be a vale of tears, all right, but there are some folks who enjoy weeping, I reckon." They spent the old year's last hour quietly around the fire. A few minutes before twelve Captain Jim rose and opened the door. "We must let the New Year in," he said. Outside was a fine blue night. A sparkling ribbon of moonlight garlanded the gulf. Inside the bar the harbor shone like a pavement of pearl. They stood before the door and waited--Captain Jim with his ripe, full experience, Marshall Elliott in his vigorous but empty middle life, Gilbert and Anne with their precious memories and exquisite hopes, Leslie with her record of starved years and her hopeless future. The clock on the little shelf above the fireplace struck twelve. "Welcome, New Year," said Captain Jim, bowing low as the last stroke died away. "I wish you all the best year of your lives, mates. I reckon that whatever the New Year brings us will be the best the Great Captain has for us--and somehow or other we'll all make port in a good harbor."

Chapter 16, New Year's Eve at the Light, Anne’s House of Dreams

#anne of green gables #aogg #anne's house of dreams #HAPPY NEW YEAR #:)

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sailorfate · 5 years

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Beware of the Nemphians (Horror Story)

My sister Justice is an animal science major and her 2 best friends were assisting her with her research on animal behavior. When they went to Olympic National Park to investigate why the animals around the area are migrating away from the park so quickly, they soon find the answer. This is all the information I was able to acquire from her journal.

“Hm. Do I want to wear my hair in a low pony, 2 buns, 2 buns at the top with the rest out, 1 bun, or maybe-“

“Oh my God, Justice. If you don’t decide already. You’re not even going anywhere today. Don’t you have to decide what you’re going to do your research on by tomorrow anyway?” Shayla rudely said as she laid on my bed scrolling through Instagram.

As I wet my hair with my spray bottle, applied gel to the front and brushed my hair into a low pony, I turned around from my mirror to face Shay and responded with, “Actually, I plan on taking selfies.”

Now that I think about it, I do need to get started on this research. It’s not really mandatory, but it sure would look good on my resume. Shay and Damion (my other best friend), wanted to tag along to gain experience, too.

“Okay, you’re right. I do need to think about where to go for this research. Now, I was thinking about going to Death Valley to see how the different wild life there interact with one another.”

“Well, for one, we live in D.C., and that’s too far, and secondly, it’s where Charles Manson was arrested. NO MA’AM. I don’t need none of those evil energies around me. NEXT.” Shay dramatically said as she made a shooing away gesture with both hands.

“Um, maybe I heard it wrong, but I thought he died.”

“He did. But I don’t want his spirit following me back to my dorm. NO MA’AM.”

“Oh, here you go with this supernatural bull. Please, not today, Shay. No more conspiracy theories, okay?” I responded getting a bit annoyed. I hate when people start talking like they have top secret information on things they never seen first hand. I love Shay to death, but sometimes I wonder what she do on her free time.

“Okay. Okay. Geez. No more. I promise. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Shay responded in a teasing tone.

“I’m not scared, you nincompoop. Why would I be scared of something that doesn’t exist? Anyway, I think I’m going to research why so many animals are migrating away so quickly from Olympic National Park. Some researchers say they’ve never seen anything like it.”

Shay stoop up and started pacing. She didn’t say a thing. I normally expect some insane response from her, but I’m honestly shoc-

Before I could finish my thought, the spirit of delusional inevitably possessed Shay’s tongue and she blurted out, “Ugh! Sorry! I can’t hold it any longer. Now I heard that-“

Oh dear God. I knew it was coming.

“Uh uh! Stop right there!” I said stopping her mid sentence.

“But-“

“Nope! Keep it in the forums! You don’t have to come, you know.”

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m leaving your gullible ass alone. Plus, I can tidy up my journalism skills.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? Damion was coming to be the camera man. You know, to “tidy up” his videography skills.” Dammit, self. Stop smiling like a school girl.

Shay started to smile like the Grinch and said, “Oooooh you sneaky little devil.”

“Yeah, I think it’s time for you to go. See you later, girl.” I said as I gently pushed her back toward the door.

“What did I sa-“

Before she could finish the question, I slammed the door in her face.

“You damn scaredy cat! He’s not going to wait forever you know!!” she yelled outside my door.

“Yeah. Yeah. Tell it to the “boogeyman” under your bed. See you tomorrow, big mouth”. I yelled back as I walked toward my cluttered desk. God, my life is a mess. When did I get this messy? Guess I’ll straighten up a bit.

After I organized the clutter, I texted Damion to tell him about the plan.

It was finally October 12th, 2018. I decided to blow dry my hair and just wear it in a pony so it won’t get in the way. I put on a basic olive green top, a blue jean jacket and jeans that’s the same color, and an old pair of white tennis shoes. After I packed my brown satchel with a small magnifying glass, a tape recorder, binoculars, pens and pencils, a travel sized water bottle, and a notebook, I went to the Starbucks around the corner to meet with Shay and Damion.

“Damn, how did y’all get here that fast?! AND y’all ordered without me?” I said in a slightly higher pitched tone.

Shay looked at me up and down and then looked back at her phone and responded with, “Look here, black NANCY DREW....you were supposed to be here 35 minutes ago.”

“Well, let’s not get technical.” I wittingly said.

After looking at their outfits, I seen that Shay had on her Howard Uni sweat shirt, blue jeans, and red vans. Damion had on a Howard Uni burgundy snap back, his black Howard Uni tee, a burgundy bomber jacket, black jeans, old pair of white Nike’s, and his Canon Vixia camera around his neck that I got him for Christmas last year. It’s not my fault I’m the only one with fashion sense in this group that don’t just wear school merch.

“Are y’all done yet? Cus I’m tryna get my detective on. I’m kind of excited!” Damion said while getting up to stretch.

Shay and I just shook our heads and headed toward the door.

“What? Y’all know I don’t have a life outside of football.” He said as he followed us. “And anime.” He quietly continued, as if people were listening.

After we hopped in my 2016 Jeep Wrangler, we were on our way to Olympic National Park.

We finally arrived and as soon as we got out of the car, we immediately smelled something that wasn’t quite right. It was the scent of death. That’s the only way I could put it. The smell of rotten flesh. I scoped the area with my binoculars to get an idea as to what can explain this god awful smell. Not an animal in sight. Only thing visible were the few stars and the full moon that illuminated the sky, and the branches of the 100ft maple tree. As I looked a little further, I noticed a black, tarry like substance that I haven’t seen before. Everything in me told me to turn back, but the science side of me told me to investigate.

As I started walking toward the track that the substance left behind, I heard Shay yell, “Justice, have you lost your damn mind?!”

I turned around and responded with, “What are you talking about!? I came here to see what’s been happening with these animals and this substance just might give me a clue.”

“Justice, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Shay. I mean, you don’t know if it’s airborne or what.” Damion said with a worried look on his face.

I shifted my gaze back and forth to Damion and Shay and told them, “Look, you guys. I understand if you don’t want to help, but I’m going. So, give me the camera and the extra notebook.”

As I began walking their direction to collect the items, Shay sighed and said, “No. No. We’ll help.”

“Oui? Shay, when did you start speaking French, because I’m sure you didn’t just say “we”. You know, the word that means more than one person is involved.”

“Damion!” Shay said as she hit him on his arm.

“What? I was just playing. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. But I’ll go. Just for 10 minutes, and I’m dragging both of y’all out.”

“You guys really don’t have to. I’ll go and be quic-“

“Girl, shut the hell up before I change my mind!” Shay exclaimed as she started walking ahead.

“Yeah, what she said”. Damion said as he began walking toward me. “And Shay. I need to tell you something after we get back. It’s been on my mind for a while.” He continued as he walked ahead of me.

Tell me something? What does that mean? Could it be that-. No, Justice. Get a hold of yourself. Worry about that later. Now, you need to focus on the agenda at hand.

“Damn! Can y’all slow asses move any slower?! COME ON!” Shay impatiently yelled out.

When Damion and I got to her, the three of us continued down the trail. “Damion, are you recording?” I asked as I turned around to kneel down to get a closer look at the substance.

“Yeah. I got you. Is your head getting bigger, or is it just the camera adding 15 pounds?” Damion said while he bust into laughter.

“This is not the time for jokes. What the hell is this?” I said in disgust as I poked it with my pencil. It was the black, tarry substance again. It’s not uncommon to find weird kind of colors in a place like this, but the texture of it is what got me perplexed. I pulled out my magnifying glass and noticed that it was something moving inside. Like tiny particles that I shouldn’t be able to detect with the naked eye. I’ve never seen anything like it. What the hell is going on?

“Shay, can you write this down? I’m a bit busy at the moment.” Silence. Pure silence. She normally would say something snarky, but it was just...silence. I rose up from my kneeled position and turned around. “Shay?!” I yelled as I noticed that she wasn’t there. Damion turned around and started yelling her name too. “Did you even see her walk anywhere?!” I asked as I began to panic. “No. No, I didn’t hear a thing!”

As we both continued to shout her name, I reached into my bag for my binoculars.

“I’m getting worried, Justice. It isn’t like her to wander off at a place like this alone.” Damion said as he paced back and forth. “I know! I know! I’m going to see if I can see her with these!” I frantically responded. As I was scoping the area, all I seen was the regular terrain. Trees, moss, and more trees. Then I looked up a bit further to my right in the direction where the full moon was, and saw something up in the tree. I immediately fell to my knees.

“Justice! What’s wrong? What happened?!” What did you see?!” I know Damion was talking, but it was as if the world around me simultaneously stopped at the same time, and the only thing I could see was my best friend, Shay, getting her head decapitated and her skin being ripped clean off her body by a demon-alien like creature. It looked kind of like that thing from Jeepers Creepers, but uglier without wings. About 7 feet tall. Its gnarled fingers were at least 20 inches and they were all the same size. The finger nails were razor sharp, narrow and were about 10 inches. The only thing I could hear was my accelerated heartbeat that sounded like it would combust any minute.

I tried to put the binoculars down, but I couldnt move a muscle. I used every fiber of my being to make any sort of movement. Couldn’t even move my tongue to speak. My breathing is getting shallower by the minute. It’s as if that thing is controlling me somehow. Or maybe it’s my body’s natural response to danger. There was another demon like alien behind the one that just mutilated my best friend. I’m not sure how I just thought that so nonchalantly. Is this what they call ‘shock’? The second creature spotted me and smiled while putting its finger against its lips in a shushing gesture. It then mouthed some words and touched its throat with the other hand. Within a blink of an eye, they both disappeared into some type of portal with Shay’s remains. In that moment I was able to get up on my feet.

“JUSTICE!! JUSTICE! JUSTICE!!” Damion shouted as I rose to my feet. “I’ve been shouting your name and shaking you for the past 3 or so minutes!!”

3 minutes. It’s been 3 minutes.

As I turned around to face him, I emotionlessly said, “She’s dead. It killed her. She’s gone.” When I started to walk pass him, I heard him say, “What Justice?! I can’t hear you! Why are you mouthing words?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Mouthing words? What is he talking about? I turned around and yelled at him, “SHE’S DEAD. SHE’S GONE. THE CREATURE KILLED HER! I KNOW IT SOUNDS CRAZY, BUT WE HAVE TO GO!!”

“Justice, what are you saying?!?! Stop playing around, and use your voice! We still have to find Shay!” Damion responded with seriousness in his voice.

Use my voice? Wait. That thing! I-I-It did something to my voice somehow! I know it did. God, I sound like one of the crazies off the internet, but I know what I saw! I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not cra-

“Justice!” Damion exclaimed, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I immediately pulled out my notebook and wrote “She’s dead!! Shay!! This thing skinned her! And took her head!” I know it was damn near un-readable with the way I was shaking as I was writing, but I had to try. I showed it to Damion and he responded in confusion with, “What the hell are you talking about?! Why are you saying these things? How do you know she’s dead?”

As I was about to write my response, Damion eyes nearly bulged out his sockets, and he pushed me out the way as he seen the creature appear out of nowhere behind me. The 7 foot beast smiled from ear to ear and flashed its razor sharp teeth. It was at least a hundred. No. Hundreds. The thing then began to break out into a malicious laugh. It’s as if that abomination wanted that to happen. Within a blink of an eye, it took Damion into the portal.

“DAMION!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMIOOOOON!!!!!! YOU UGLY BASTARD. BRING HIM BACK!!!!!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!!!!!!!!!!” As I yelled his name like a raging banshee over and over, I seen a portal open about 10 ft from me, and one of the creatures came out with Damion.

“Damion! You’re aliv-“

“JUSTICE RUN! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, AND DONT TURN BACK NO MATTER WHAT!!!!” Damion screamed as he coughed up blood.

“BUT-“

“JUST GO!”

As I reluctantly turned my back and began running, I heard Damion yell at the top of his lungs, “JUSTICE, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I LOVE YO-

My body wanted to run, but my heart told me to stop when I heard those words, and when I did, the only sound I was able to hear was my best friend, the man that I always loved, head fall onto the ground and the sound of his skin being ripped off.

I assume the sound of my voice fully came back when the 2 creatures went into the portal with Damion’s remains because the screams that I let out were so ear-piercing, that the few animals who were still in the area somewhere hiding started to run from fear. The only thing I was able to say was, “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault” in a trance like state. I said that until I tired myself and the last thing I remember is me passing out.

That was the last thing my sister, Justice, wrote in her journal. Her unconscious body was found by a couple of joggers who were passing by and they immediately took her to the hospital. For the past day, she would randomly wake up and yell, “THEY KILLED THEM. THEY’RE GONE. THE CREATURES. THE ALIENS!” After being interrogated by police, they determined that she needed mental evaluation the more she talked about creatures, aliens, portals, and decapitated, skinless bodies. They searched the area, but wasn’t able to even find a trace of blood.

During my sister’s week stay at the mental hospital, she begged me to read the journal the last day I saw her. I knew she was working on something because every time I came to visit her, it was as if her fingers were moving at lightning speed. That’s all she would do. Write. I always told her to stop making up things like this if she ever wanted to get out of this hospital. But for some reason, on the last day I saw her, I decided to take the journal.

Later on that day, out of curiosity, I read a few pages and ended up reading the whole thing. I didn’t know what to think of it. It was all lies, right? The next day, I checked my mailbox and saw an envelope with no name on it. As soon as I read it, something in me told me to drive as fast as I can to the hospital.

When I arrived, one of the nurses told me they went to check on her, and they found her hanging lifeless like she’s been dead for days, even though they just seen her 30 minutes ago. The stench alone was enough to wake a mummy. The nurse told me she clutched the crucifix around her neck, and walked a little further in to grab the paper on the floor that was near the bed. It read:

“They’ll take your love

They’ll cause you pain

They’ll make sure that you’ll never sleep again

You’ll go insane

You’ll lose your mind

The ‘what if’s’ will keep you up at night

It doesn’t matter if youre not alone

They will still catch you and no one will know

No one will believe you

No one will care

All they will do is lock you up in here

You don’t know when you’ll be next

Or when a friend will end up dead

You just won’t know until.

But all you really need to know

Is that they’re real “

I let out a blood curdling scream and was escorted out from scaring the patients. I looked back at the mysterious letter that I received in my mailbox that read:

“This is all I know: They’re an ancient demon-alien hybrid that come from a planet 50 light years away called Nemphus. They’re a species known as Nemphians. It’s a certain ritual they have to do every 100 years to please their god, Zeranus. The ritual requires a full moon, blood from a hell hound being smeared around the area (the black substance), a group of 3, the head and skin of 2 human victims, and the battered, damaged soul of the other person (witness) in the group who were close to the victims. The witness always end up killing theirself due to the psychological torment and the isolation they endure from people not believing them. Once the witness kill their self, the Nemphian who killed the ones they loved, takes their soul, which rapidly age their corpse.

Having everything in the right place at the right time is tricky, so they keep track of full moons and look out for a group of 3 by themselves in an area outside. Preferably with a lot of trees. They track potential human victims through a form of mini portals called ‘The Looker’ that’s invisible to the naked eye.

Nemphian abilities: They can open portals from one place to another, ranging in size. Super strength. Can do certain spells and summonings. Can manipulate sound. “

The letter also had ancient copies of text and cases of missing people that goes back every 100 years. I then connected the dots and immediately knew what my sister meant. The journal. The poem. Now this mysterious letter. So, my sister was telling the truth. What is going on? All of this can’t be a coincidence. I think I’m actually starting to believe this stuff. If only I knew who sent the letter.

#mine #horror #horror story #halloween #scary #scary story #scary stories #fiction #reddit

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amerope · 4 years

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Strange Things Have Happened Here: The Move

The Move

The movers just got done with putting our belongings in this “new” house. While I don’t think it’s too bad of a place to live, this house has an eerie feel to it, like it has some kind of shady history. Well, I say house, but seeing as how it’s split into three different living quarters, it’s better to compare it to an apartment complex, otherwise it would be a mansion.

My name is Adrien Agreste, and I just moved here from Paris. My father, Gabriel Agreste, is a famous clothing designer back there, but his doctor told him to relocate from the city to improve his health from stress. That is the main reason we’re here now. My father’s assistant, Natalie, and my personal bodyguard are also here with us during our stay.

I know I need to unpack, but I just want to walk around the place to see what it’s like. I’ll be living here from now on so I might as well become familiar with it. Besides, I’ve been cooped up in the car for too long. With that, I grab my black hoodie and umbrella on my way out the door.

It’s not raining at the moment but that doesn’t guarantee that it won’t. The dark gray clouds completely hide the afternoon sun, dulling the autumn reds and browns in the trees and shrubbery. I wander up a dirt path leading away from the bare garden, wondering where it will take me. A twig snaps to my right, making me stop in my tracks.

“Hello?” I ask. “Is someone there?”

No answer. It’s probably just a squirrel or something like that so I continue on my way. An unearthly yowl shrieks out of nowhere, making me cry out. On the side of the path there’s a mangy black cat staring at me, its acid green eyes boring into me.

“Don’t scare me like that,” I say, a little annoyed.

It keeps staring at me. The longer I look at it, the uglier it gets. Its fur is so short that it barely covers the skin, its tail is bent at an awkward angle, and there are visible scars on its chest and face.

Now it’s getting uncomfortable. “What?”

The cat starts walking away from the path into the woods before facing me again. Does it want me to follow it? It’s still sitting there so I assume so. Whatever; it’s not I’ve got anything better to do. Once I start moving towards it, the cat starts walking again. I hope this isn’t a mistake.

We don’t make it very far before I hear something. The closest I can describe it is like a dog whimpering. Is someone hurt? I quicken my pace. They could be in trouble. Past one of the shrubs I finally see where the noise came from. A girl with dark medium length hair is huddled behind one of the bushes. She looks about my age, wearing a red leather jacket with black undertones, jeans, and sneakers. The cat approaches her and starts rubbing its head against her side. She then lifts her head, revealing bluebell eyes as she begins stroking the cat. It was hers then; makes sense. This is awkward. I know why the cat brought me here but what am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to deal with this kind of thing. Before I can make my escape however, she spots me, no doubt wondering why I’m here.

“Um,” I stammer, trying to figure out what to say. “Are you okay?”

The girl wipes her eyes dry before answering me. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t think anyone came this way.”

“Uh, no no,” I blurt out. “It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” she assures me. “It’s silly anyway. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I just moved here,” I explain, closing the distance, “so I thought I’d look around.”

“Really?” she asks, her face brightening. “From where?”

“Paris.”

That seems to take her by surprise. “Wait, seriously?! Why come here, then?”

I chuckle nervously. It’s not her fault, it’s just weird to talk about. “It wasn’t really my idea,” I explain, “but I guess it’s better than being cooped up in a large house all the time.”

“I guess so.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Marinette.”

“Adrien,” I say, shaking her hand.

“Wait,” Marinette says, narrowing her eyes at me before gasping. “You’re the model in those clothing designer photos, right? I thought you looked familiar.”

Ugh, this is so embarrassing. Why did that have to come up now?

“Yeah,” I admit. She’ll probably find out anyway, so there’s no point denying it. “My father insisted on it. Said he couldn’t rely on anyone else.”

Marinette shrugs. “Makes sense, since he’s the designer.”

“Right.” I look over at the animal that brought me here. “So, who’s this?”

“Oh,” she says, following my gaze. “This is Plagg. He’s not mine, he just wanders around as he likes.”

“Oh-kay,” I say slowly. It makes sense, given his appearance.

Marinette stands up. “I better get going. My parents will wonder where I am.”

“Wait.”

She looks at me expectantly.

I did not think this through. “Uh,” I get out, “can I … see you again?”

She smiles. “Yeah. I’d like that. Where do you live?”

“Down the hill,” I say, pointing in the direction I came from, “at the Papillon.”

Her smile falls. “You live there?”

“Yes,” I reply, wary at her reaction.

She frowns. “That’s strange.”

I blink. “What is?”

“Well, my grandma owns the place and lives in one of the dorms,” she explains, “and, well, she doesn’t ever rent to anyone with kids.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but she’s very adamant about it. I guess your dad had to bribe her or something.”

That does sound like him; never listens to anyone and won’t take no for an answer. Typical Father.

“Marinette!” someone cries in the distance.

She jumps. “I really need to go. Nice to meet you!” she yells, running deeper into the woods.

“Likewise,” I sigh. Just when I find a potential friend, she up and disappears.

I shake my head before heading back the way I came. My father might have noticed that I’m missing. Better not keep him waiting.

Reaching a slight decline, I trip over a rock before rolling down it back onto the path. Great, now I’m covered in mud. Father will definitely be happy with that … not. Just as I’m about to get up and pick up my umbrella, I feel something creak under me. What the? I slap my palm against the ground. Along with the mud, there’s something hard underneath that moved beneath my hand. I work quickly to scrape the mud off the ground. It’s wood, like some sort of plank. I look through one of the gaps. Nothing. Now curious, I drop a nearby pebble down said hole. For a good thirty seconds nothing happens. Suddenly I hear a distant splash. It’s a well. I’m on top of a well! I scuttle off it as fast as I can, my heart in my throat. I almost died. That thought haunts me as the rain begins to fall.

#halloween2019 #miraculousxcoralineau #coraline #coraline movie #coraline au #strangethingshavehappenedhere #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #adrien agreste #marinette dupen chang #adrienette

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myvelouri · 4 years

Text

I'm thinking a lot.

We are losing another car and everything in my life is going down badly.

I'm really thinking of being a waiter at a gay bar. I feel like I'm sorta attractive and a lot of my gay friends really think I am. My thinking is I'd get decent tip money. I can't really get a job at a straight bar like that because it's always girls, and of course I am not gonna get tips from straight guys

It sounds like a good idea. I've never done that before. A bar or restaurant. Never. A club, nothing.

It'll be exciting, I'll maybe work a few days at the bar and keep my retail job for some closing shifts, get off and go drink myself those nights with friends and write music for my band

I'm just really upset that my body is so ugly and deformed. Just bad genetics and lose skin from being fat. I'd have totally been a stripper at a gay club. For money. I was told by a manager today to be a stripper. She was for real too. She thinks I'm good enough for that? Damn too bad she hasn't seen my uggo body naked. I have gal friends that are strippers too. I wish I had just a normal body man. Damn

I'm less attractive than I used to be. My cat used to be beautiful but recently she got really fat and is no longer cute. Something about her looks so awful and it's hard to pin point exactly what. I thought to myself, yeah, same, me too... I too was very cute but am now uglier. It sucks.

I still want so many things. I know I can't have the things that are permanently unchangeable. Makes me suicidal.

Currently I'm moving all my pics, downloads and screenshots folders to my laptop to make space in my phone. I realized how much of those files are like my own life's mood board. Has my ideas and concepts and aesthetics I love. Shit there's like, porn there too. It's just a lot of stuff.

Can't really use my phone at the moment.

But yeah, see, I'd do porn too but my body isn't good enough. What a life.

#personal

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lalunaunita · 5 years

Text

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 4

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy

Rating: Teen

Summary: Batman talks to Catwoman, but the mystery only deepens. He and the Commissioner interview another of the thief's victims.

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 4

Gotham City still vibrated with energy at the witching hour, especially on a Friday night. The Batmobile cruised lesser-used streets in the dark parts of town. Pedestrians and revelers were everywhere, despite Batman’s attempts to avoid them. He set the Batmobile to autopilot and switched his monitor over to his drones—the latest appropriation of Wayne Industries tech to be added to his arsenal.

The drones scoped out wide areas of Catwoman’s usual stomping grounds, hovering high over the city and zooming in on rooftops and out-of-the-way places. He eliminated several sections of the city, unable to find her anywhere. Batman sighed. It would be his luck if she decided to stay in for the night.

A shadow flowed across one rooftop, disappearing behind a pigeon coop.

Gotcha, thought Batman.

He parked the Batmobile in a dark alley and cut the engine. In moments, he was accelerating up toward an ugly old stone gargoyle, its shoulders wrapped in his grappling hook line. He pushed off of a cornice with both feet and used his momentum to flip up and over, landing silently on the roof.

No sound betrayed Catwoman’s surprise at seeing him, but he felt it emanating from the dark corner behind the pigeon coop.

“Catwoman. I’m just here to talk,” Batman said, gloved hands held out in front of him. He used the rough tone he affected to hide Bruce Wayne’s memorable bass.

“Talk? Seriously? Since when do we exchange pleasantries, Batman?” Catwoman took a few cautious steps around the side of the coop, one clawed finger trailing the chicken wire enclosing it.

“Since that time you helped me stop the Joker,” replied Batman.

He could hardly see her. She was dressed all in black with her signature cat-eared cowl covering everything but the pale oval of her face, topped with the goggles she wore to hide her identity. Then she finally stepped away from the shadow of the coop, and muted moonlight shone off of her slim leather catsuit. Her sinews and curves were all of a whole. Her muscles were tense, ready to strike or spring away. Batman couldn’t blame her.

“Well, I couldn’t let him kill people, could I? He’s a homicidal maniac. I have friends, family. It was nothing to do with you,” Catwoman said, tilting her head imperiously.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “I think we have another situation involving common interests, so to speak. Crimes involving cats are happening in our city. What do you know about it?”

“Is some little psycho killing cats? It’d be better if you hadn’t told me,” hissed Catwoman.

She gripped the whip coiled at her side. Batman put up a hand again to reassure her, even as he slowly reached for a batarang in his belt.

“No. Cats are being stolen. Primarily expensive cats, but also cats from all around the city. You can see how it looks.”

Catwoman’s posture went defensive as she faced him squarely and crossed her arms. “I can see how it looks? Batman, I steal dead things. Inert things. Things that don’t require care and feeding. Things that make me lots of money.”

“So you’re saying you haven’t been stealing any actual cats? Not a one?”

“Not one,” she replied, dropping a hand to her hip. “But I’ll keep an eye out for you, alright? I don’t like competition.”

A rare half-smile drew up one side of Batman’s face. “I suppose that’s the best I can ask for. Don’t steal anything tonight, alright? I don’t feel like chasing you down again.”

Catwoman snorted. “I’ll consider it. See you around, Batman.”

With that, she stepped to the edge of the roof and launched herself into a graceful dive. Batman’s stomach went with her for a moment, but then he saw her whip snap out and coil around a streetlight. She swung away into the night.

So that’s what it looks like, he thought as he left in the other direction. In the morning, he’d contact Commissioner Gordon and let him know he’d confirmed their lead suspect.

Catwoman cursed to herself as she dropped to the ground behind a dumpster, certain that she’d lost Batman. There was no way to know whether she’d fooled Gotham’s number one detective. She was sure he had a tell, but she’d yet to discover it. Until that time, she suppressed her own reactions as best she could when they had one of their rare meetings.

It had been difficult managing the charity ball on top of her already packed agenda. She’d almost decided not to don the catsuit tonight. As Selina Kyle, she was doing everything in her power to provide for the neglected cats of Gotham. As Catwoman, she was taking direct action.

Hopefully, leaving early from her own charity ball hadn’t been too noticeable. There were bigger fish to fry this evening, and she couldn’t afford to worry about her image right now. Not with lives at stake. She’d received a tip about a pet store with a stock of kittens that barely received enough food and water to live. Her anger spurred her on.

Catwoman unscrewed the bottom of her whip handle, revealing a hidden compartment with a key fob. She pressed a button on the fob and was rewarded with a quick flash of lights and a twip-twip noise that echoed around the dingy alley. She grinned maliciously to herself. The old gray van with ridiculous cat ears on the roof was over the top, but Catwoman had no faith in Gotham PD’s ability to track even the most ostentatious criminal vehicle. Look at all the ludicrous clown cars the Joker had driven over the years—no cops had ever managed to track back to the place he stashed them. She’d already given Batman the slip, so there was no one to follow her.

Catwoman got behind the wheel and twisted her key in the ignition. The engine’s low purr matched her chuckle of delight. This was going to be fun.

She maneuvered the gray van through quiet streets until she came to a run-down commercial area of town. She pulled up to the curb in front of a store called Feline Boutique. Feeling brazen, Catwoman knelt and popped the pathetic lock on the front door in a matter of moments. A bell tinkled as she crossed the threshold of the dark pet store. She made a beeline for the back room, pushing aside a heavy curtain to peer in.

There was no one around. The place was dark and still—except for a few tiny mews from one corner of the room. Catwoman tapped a button on her goggles and illuminated a small area with a narrow flashlight beam.

“Sweeties, I’m here to take you home. Just be patient for me a little longer, okay?” She crooned in a soothing voice as she came to a stack of cages.

The meowing intensified as she pulled two kittens from the first cage and loaded them into a soft-sided duffel slung over her shoulder. The kittens struggled to climb over each other, but fell back with adorable clumsiness. Catwoman’s flashlight raced over the interior of the cage as she turned her head. There was no water in their dishes and just a crumb or two of kibble left. Catwoman’s anger burned hot. She quickly opened the second cage and, reminding herself to be gentle, took out two more kittens. She removed every kitten from the room and zipped the duffel mostly closed to keep them from tumbling out. The bag shook a little as the kittens rolled about inside—there were a lot of them.

Catwoman turned to leave but stopped, noticing a pen and notebook on a desk by the door. She bent and jotted a quick sentence. Ripping the page loose, she folded her note and tucked it into the uppermost cage, where it couldn’t be seen from ground level.

She made tracks then, certain she was pushing the limit of her time window. With the kittens secure in the back of the van, Catwoman buckled in and drove away. She heard sirens as she turned the corner, but saw no lights. She’d made it.

“Another day, another ticked off cat owner,” Commissioner Gordon muttered to Batman as he pushed aside the heavy curtain and motioned the vigilante to precede him.

Batman entered the back room of the Feline Boutique, ducking his head to keep his cowl ears from tangling in the curtain. The dirty storage area of the pet store was made uglier by the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights that illuminated it. Batman looked at the empty kitten cages in one corner, all the doors hanging half open.

“Where is he?” Batman asked, turning to the Commissioner.

“Who—oh, the owner? I… convinced him to take a walk around the block. Not a very nice man. I’m hoping a few moments away will calm him down, but it’s doubtful. I wanted a few minutes to process without him shouting in my ear.” The Commissioner’s lips wrinkled under his moustache.

“Mmm,” hummed Batman as he pulled his trusty flashlight from his utility belt and snapped on the beam.

He started with the bottom row of cages, noting their dirty interiors and the absence of water. The cages didn’t get any better the higher he went.

“I talked to Catwoman last night,” he mentioned casually as Commissioner Gordon turned a keen eye over the rest of the space.

“Is she the culprit?” the Commissioner asked bluntly.

“She says she didn’t do it,” Batman replied, “but she did.”

“What, you have proof? I can call the station right now!”

Batman shook his head, then stretched up high to get a view of the top cages in the stack.

“Hold that thought, Commissioner.”

Batman fished around in the top cage and pulled out a square of paper, folded once. He flipped it open.

“I told you I hadn’t stolen one,” the note read in a neat, feminine print.

“Your proof, Jim,” Batman said, passing the note to Commissioner Gordon with two fingers.

“How did you know?” the Commissioner asked, taking the note. He reached for the walkie-talkie at his belt.

“Catwoman tries to hide it, but she’s got the same body language tells anyone else does when they lie. It doesn’t amount to evidence, of course, but it’s generally wise to know when someone is lying to you.”

The sound of heavy stomping feet interrupted them and a tall man with slicked-back black hair burst into the room.

“Where are my cats?” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Commissioner Gordon’s chest.

The pencil the Commissioner held snapped in half as he leaned back, startled.

“Mr. Ricks, as I already explained, we’ll try our best to find your cats,” he replied.

“You need to do better than that! I’m out of business without my cats. The store’s called Feline Boutique - without the felines, I’ve got nothing! I can’t wait on you. I’ll be better off looking for them myself.” Vitriol and spittle flew from the man’s mouth in equal measure.

Batman took half a step forward, but the Commissioner fixed him with a steel glint that he then turned on Mr. Ricks.

“You’re welcome to try. I recognize that this is your livelihood, Mr. Ricks, but you are the third angry cat owner I’ve dealt with in two days. You can trust that this is my top priority. Now, if I find that you have interfered in the investigation in any way, or harassed any of my officers, I’ll pursue obstruction of justice charges against you. Let me do my work.” The Commissioner didn’t raise his voice, but a cold fury burned in his eyes that made Mr. Ricks back away.

Mr. Ricks visibly swallowed. “Alright then, Commissioner. Uh, thank you for your time. Uh-”

“Where’s the back door?” Batman interrupted.

“Over there.” Mr. Ricks pointed with a weak hand.

“Jim, I want you to take a look at something,” Batman murmured.

The pair of them stepped around Mr. Ricks, who still stood there dumbfounded.

“Have a good day, Mr. Ricks,” the Commissioner said as the exit closed behind them.

In the alley behind Feline Boutique, he let out an exasperated sigh. He scratched behind his ear with the broken pencil and pocketed his notebook.

“I don’t understand it, Batman. The cats in that shop weren’t valuable. Why would Catwoman steal them?” The Commissioner asked.

He followed Batman’s line of sight as the caped crusader pointed a gloved hand down the alley.

“What do you see back here?” Batman asked.

“Trash. Garbage cans. Dirt,” the Commissioner replied.

“But no cats,” noted Batman. “Usually Gotham’s alleys are full of stray cats scavenging food. I didn’t notice the decrease in animals until a few nights ago, but I believe it’s been going on for a long time.

“This isn’t about money, Jim. Catwoman’s angry about these cats. Angry enough to steal—and who knows? Maybe even angry enough to kill. I’ve got to stop her.”

“What will you do?” the Commissioner asked.

Batman tapped his chin. “I have a plan, but it’s better if we wait until tonight. I’ll contact you once I have everything I need. For now, please make sure all the evidence is logged in. Catwoman has famously slipped beyond Gotham PD’s reach in the past. It’s time to put a stop to it.”

#llu writes #the purrfect crime #batman #catwoman #batman fanfiction

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carmenlire · 5 years

Text

Color Me Blue Final Chapter

read chapter one

read chapter two

read chapter three

read chapter four

read chapter five

read on ao3

Standing, Alec shrugs into his coat. It’s in the single digits and as he pulls his gloves on, Alec’s gaze snags on the picture on the corner of his desk.

He reaches out, only one glove on, and brings it up to him, studying it.

What a difference a year makes.

In the frame is a picture of him with Magnus. It’d been taken just a couple of months ago when they’d gone on vacation to the Dominican Republic. It’s a selfie Magnus had taken and he’d surprised Alec, turning at the last minute to kiss his cheek as he hit the shutter button.

It’s one of Alec’s favorite photos of the two of them and whenever Alec is stressed or work seems impossible, he can come back to his office and spend a few minutes calming down as he looks at his boyfriend.

With a sigh, Alec sets the picture back down and finally puts his other glove on. He debates for a minute but ultimately shakes his head, leaving his briefcase next to his desk.

He refuses to take his work home with him. This upcoming week is just for Magnus and Alec won’t ruin it preoccupied with patient files and the latest paper he needs to submit to the New England Journal of Medicine.

Shutting the lights off, Alec is just locking up when he hears a voice behind him.

“What’s this,” Catarina asks, shocked. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving at a reasonable hour.”

Turning to face her, Alec just pockets his keys and grins. “It’s 4:59 on Christmas Eve. I promised Magnus I would be home by 5:30.”

“Whoever thought we’d see the day,” Cat marvels. “Dr. Lightwood not only leaving for vacation but cutting out early. I’m impressed.”

“It’s only a minute,” Alec says, rolling his eyes.

Catarina laughs before her face turns serious. “I’m happy for you, Alec. It’s nice to see that you’re not chained to the hospital anymore. I was starting to lose hope,” she ends dryly.

“Well, it helps that I’m not in the ER anymore. I’m able to keep much better hours since I accepted the lead pediatric consultant position.”

“Yeah,” Cat sighs. “You got away from the daily insanity of the Emergency Room.” She considers him. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Sometimes,” Alec admits. “But not as much as I thought I would. I love working with kids more and Magnus is happy that I’m not working thirty hour shifts anymore.”

He shrugs. “It’s a win-win.”

Laughing, Cat shoos him out of the corridor. “Well, don’t let me keep you from Magnus. I hope you have a great week away from here.”

“I will,” Alec says with a firm nod and turns on his heel to leave.

The commute home isn’t bad at all. He'd moved into Magnus’s loft and it was close to the bakery and the hospital. Fifteen minutes later, he’s putting his key in the door, swinging it open to see a sight that’s more home than the building around them.

Magnus is in the living room. He has a record on, something smooth and slow, and he’s pouring a glass of wine, hips swaying lazily to the beat.

Taking a drink, he looks up as Alec toes off his shoes and starts unbundling from the cold outside.

“Alexander,” he exclaims. He looks down at his watch. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least.”

“I told you that I would be home by 5:30 and it’s--” he takes a quick glance at the wall clock behind Magnus. “5:22.”

Waving that away, Magnus reaches for another glass, pouring a generous amount of Merlot. With both glasses in hand, he starts walking toward Alec.

“Sometimes you get distracted from work. Especially since you have the next ten days off,” he says, equal amounts of surprise and delight in his tone. “I thought you would work until the janitors told you to leave tonight.”

Accepting the glass Magnus holds out to him, Alec says, “It’s Christmas Eve. There was no way I was gonna miss it. Not when I have you to come home to,” he says softly, smile gracing his mouth.

Magnus’s own lips turn up as he reaches out with his free hand, smoothing down the lapel of Alec’s suit jacket. “Aren’t you the charmer tonight,” he murmurs. “Are you after something, Dr. Lightwood,” Magnus asks, teasing lilt in his tone.

Laughing, Alec wraps his hand around Magnus’s waist, bringing him closer. “And if I am,” he asks with a raised brow.

Curling a hand in Alec’s hair, Magnus replies, “Then you should know I’m pretty much a sure thing for you. Though compliments will get you everywhere, darling.”

Magnus grins before leaning into Alec further and lays a kiss on him that’s warm and familiar but irresistible all the same.

When Magnus pulls back a few minutes later, he opens his eyes to see that Alec’s are still closed. His boyfriend looks warm and happy and it’s Magnus’s favorite look on him.

He’s really just a giant puppy, Magnus thinks, and gives him one last peck on the lips before taking a step back and pulling Alec with him to the couch.

Alec goes willingly and as they settle on one end, Magnus relaxes into him as Alec throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer.

The loft is decorated for Christmas and has been since the day after Thanksgiving. Christmas was their favorite holiday and they’d made a special effort for their first one together.

The tree is trimmed, looking bright and chaotic, and there are string lights around the balcony railing. There’s a dozen festive touches around the apartment and Magnus couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun decorating.

The two of them spend awhile on the couch, talking about their days and anything else that comes to mind in between stretches of quiet that’s as content as it is affirming.

Magnus never gets used to it. He can’t believe that he just met Alec a year ago. It seems both like so much longer and a blink of an eye. Alec comes over to the bakery a few times a week and Magnus has surprised him a time or two at the hospital. Even the shitty cafeteria food wasn’t as bad as long as he could spend an hour with his boyfriend.

Well. Magnus smiles to himself as he turns his head up, kissing Alec’s jaw. He hasn’t said anything-- of course not-- but Magnus thinks of the little black box he’d stumbled across when cleaning their bedroom a few days ago and it takes everything he has not throw his arms around Alec and never let go.

He'd known his answer the moment he realized what he'd found.

He doesn’t want to ruin Alec’s fun, though, so Magnus just listens as Alec talks about the patient he’d had this morning, a boy who’d broken his leg while sled riding. He makes appropriate noises to show that he’s listening but all the while, he’s thinking of the past year and how much his life had changed.

Looking back, he was definitely in a rut. He’d had his bakery and his friends but there had been something missing. Then Alec had walked through his door one December afternoon and everything had turned just a little brighter.

Magnus still feels like that a year later and distantly he hopes that he never loses that sense of wonder when he thinks of the man beside him.

It takes Magnus a minute but he realizes that Alec’s stopped talking. He zones back in only to see Alec looking at him with a bemused expression.

“What’s going on?”

Clearing his throat, Magnus takes a sip of wine before smiling up at Alec. “Nothing, darling. I was just thinking about my opening next month.”

Humming, Alec kisses the top of his head. “Are you all ready for it?”

“I am,” Magnus confirms. “You know me though, always running through contingency plans.”

"Brooklyn won't know what hit it," Alec says easily. "You picked the perfect spot for the second location of Bane's Bakery."

"Thank you, darling. I'm excited to get to work and finally open in a few weeks."

Alec makes a noise of agreement while taking a drink from his own glass. Magnus silently breathes out a sigh of relief that he’d averted that potential disaster and the two of them continue with their evening.

The lights are low-- all the better for their Christmas tree to glow merrily-- and the fire’s died down a little when Alec abruptly stands, reaching a hand out for Magnus to take.

Resting his hand in Alec’s outstretched one, Magnus doesn’t move from the couch quite yet. He raises a brow in silent question.

Grinning, Alec tugs on his arm a little. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he says gravely. “You know what that means.”

Magnus thinks for a minute before giving Alec an incredulous glance. “Darling, I don’t know how to break this to you but we don’t have to go to bed early so Santa doesn’t pass our apartment--”

Magnus breaks off as Alec laughs bounces off the walls.

“We have to make cookies for him, don’t we?’

Alec’s looking at him with guileless eyes and Magnus sighs a little to himself as he gets up, though he he can’t resist his boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

Magnus wonders whether the cookies will be burnt or not done enough and decides that he doesn’t care. Alec might be an unmitigated disaster in the kitchen but the next few hours promise to be fun, if nothing else.

Magnus is disgusted later in the evening when the sugar cookies manage to be both burnt at the edges and gooey in the middle, the decorations making the cookies look even uglier, if that was even possible.

But Alec seems content enough and Magnus loves him, so he lets him have his delusions as Alec eats a cookie like they’re the best things he’s ever tasted.

Magnus doesn’t have the courage to ask if Alec prefers his own sugar cookies or the bakery’s.

They order late night takeout and eat it in the living room, glasses of wine at their elbows and a fire roaring in front of them.

Magnus wakes up Christmas morning with Alec wrapped around him like a particularly stubborn octopus and relaxes into their bed, his heart fit to bursting.

He wonders if a heart is supposed to be this happy, this overwhelmingly content. They go over to Maryse’s for Christmas brunch and spend the afternoon at home.

Later that night, Magnus is surprised as Alec abruptly stands from the couch and takes his hand, leading him out of the living room. He pauses in the middle of the hallway and looks up pointedly.

Magnus looks up, too, and almost laughs at the newly hung mistletoe before he looks back at Alec and his heart goes to his throat. He starts grinning even as the first tear spills down his cheek.

Because Alec’s in front of him on one knee, little black box open to reveal a stunning ring.

#i hope you guys liked this story!!!#it was fun to change it from a one shot to an actual fic #color me blue #malec fic #malec christmas #malec christmas fic #my writing

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