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acraftedmistake · 4 years

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A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM: The Dark Room

The Dark Room

If you were to leave Obsidian Town and walk north for some time, you would run into a large ravine. Peering into the ravine, you’d be met with an abyss and believe sunlight could never make its way in there. The end of this ravine met where the forest--one of many--began. If you walked to where these two collided, you’d find a smooth stone staircase hidden between the old oak trees. The stairs led to the very bottom of the ravine; the steps were built into the sides of it. Redstone torches, which were only lit during the day, were placed above every several steps.

Once you’ve reached the bottom, you’d be greeted with a field of green grass with puffy, red flowers scattered about. Bushes with budding flowers were placed along the dirt path, helping to better define the clearing in the field.

The path would lead your eyes to the entrance of--one of the many shrines of--The Hero’s Awakening. Two towering, beige columns--one broken, the other still standing--had been wrapped by vines, and stood on both sides of the shrine’s entrance.

The shrine was built into the ravine itself, and was much more spacious than the exterior leads one to believe,

Above the wide, open doorway was The Awakening’s symbol, a simplified shape of a hollow eye which watched all who entered.

Their doors were always opened when the Sun was out, serving as a home and a haven for the people. Even after gatherings.

It was quite the walk from home, but to many, the traveling was worth it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“... And I was trying to help!” Jesse exclaimed, his voice echoing through the empty nave. The only other people here were Cecil, who was sitting in one of the many barren benches, and Brenner, who stood across from Jesse. There was no gathering happening for the next few hours, so Jesse could raise his voice as much as he pleased.

“I am aware, Jesse.” Brenner began. His arms were at his side, stiff. “But what you did was reckless and unprompted. You put yoursel--”

“Unprompted?” Jesse repeated. His face twitched.

“I thought you guys wanted to know what Aiden was doing!” He pointed to Cecil then to Brenner.

Cecil’s head kept swishing back from Jesse to Brenner whenever either of them spoke. His sickly pale skin and light blond hair would constantly be caught in the corner of Jesse’s eye, annoying him to no end. It was like a bug continuously zipping by that Jesse would love to crush but couldn’t.

“We never said such a thing, Jesse. Perhaps you misheard.” Brenner said, his foggied eyes locked onto Jesse’s face. “Regardless, you’ve been able to receive information far better and quieter than yesterday.”

“Now hold on!” Jesse started approaching Brenner, his hands curling into fists as Cecil watched him with worry. “I was not the one screaming my head off, that was all Radar’s--”

The moment Brenner heard his words with the nearing footsteps, he slapped the side of Jesse’s head with as much force as possible. Jesse stumbled back and rubbed the stinging area, glaring at the man through the curls of his hair.

“You do not speak that traitor’s name here!” Brenner finally raised his voice, looking down on the boy.

“You have been acting rambunctious and careless these past few weeks. We finally retrieved you from prison after Cavern City and what did you do? Threw yourself out there and drew all attention towards yourself! How do you justify such behavior?!”

“I’m only doing what you wanted.” Jesse argued. “You guys keep sitting around, planning, waiting for everything to fall into place! I just want to GET somewhere.”

Cecil stood up from his seat, ready to join the quarrelling, but Brenner heard him shifting and motioned him to sit back down.

“Is this about your two friends, Jesse?” Brenner asked with a horrible mixture of sympathy and shaming. A tone which only Brenner perfected. A tone that could back anyone into a miserable corner.

Jesse stiffened. He gripped and pulled on a handful of his hair. He didn’t want to respond.

“I was afraid of this.” Brenner said after receiving no answer. “Is this… Impulsiveness because of your friends? You do understand for everything to work, you must be patient. They’re only a small part...”

“Shut up…” Jesse muttered to himself as Brenner continued. He’s heard variations of this lecture before. How he’s ‘over dramatic’ or ‘acts out’. Usually, he’d hate them for the way Brenner spoke, treating him like a misbehaving child rather than an adult. But this time, this lecture was different. More… Personal. To have Brenner bring Jesse’s deceased friends into it made him tremble with anger. Brenner had promised him if everything played out as it’s supposed to, Lukas and Olivia would be back. Of course Jesse wants to rush and finish every part of the plan, of course he’s going to be ‘reckless’, those were his only friends. He’s told Brenner this before. Why doesn’t he understand that?

“... Honestly, it makes me wonder if you even deserve to have them--”

Jesse’s eyes widened and, without any restraint, shouted “SHUT UP!”

Jesse’s grave mistake echoed through the hollow nave. Brenner’s talking ceased and he stood still. Cecil’s pupils shrunk and he held his breath.

Jesse had rarely ever raised his voice at Brenner, much less yell at him. No one did.

The echo seemed to have rang throughout the room for ages before it finally faded. All Jesse and Cecil could do was wait. Wait for Brenner’s brows to crease, for the scowl to form, for his posture to stiffen further as he’d peer down.

But he didn’t.

Strangely, his body loosened. His shoulders drooped as he slowly put his hands behind his back, looking at Jesse with… Concern.

“Or perhaps…” Jesse recognized the tone Brenner was speaking in all too well. “You need time to think.”

Brenner began walking towards him. Cecil left his seat to join the elder man’s side. Usually Jesse would back down, be verbal with his refusal to come, or show any sign of resistance, but a part of him had anger still fueled by Brenner’s words.

He stood in place, watching Cecil extend his hand out--the long sleeve of his disgusting brown suit swaying with his movement--before Jesse shoved him away.

“I don’t need you to hold my hand.” Jesse muttered through gritted teeth, loud enough for Cecil to hear but not Brenner. “I know where it is.”

Cecil stepped back, visibly frustrated.

‘I wish you had been blinded as well.’ Jesse thought to himself as shoved past the two of them, making his way to the door hole at the very end of the nave.

The ‘door’ was on the far left from the stage. On the stage was a wooden podium with The Awakening’s cracked and worn symbol that has stood here for ages, ancient, dusty pots which were only decorated and lit for special occasions, and two long, draping banners--wrinkle free--that hung from the walls. In the middle of the wall between the banners--far enough to not cause a fire--were two redstone torches. Their combined fires were bright enough to nearly illuminate the stage and nave entirely. All except for the door hole. A hole which led to a dark hallway devoid of all life, light, and comfort. It was almost as if light itself avoided the area.

No matter where you sat at the nave, the door could always be seen. Even a snippet of it. It was a reminder. A warning of where the people could be dragged to if they acted out.

“Maybe I do need more time away from you.” Jesse said, making his way to the door hole and stepping into the abyss of a hallway. Brenner followed behind--Cecil as well--having no problem keeping up with Jesse’s fast walking. Jesse heard no response from either of them. All he did hear were his footsteps echoing as he continued walking deeper and deeper into the hall, growing colder and colder.

Jesse picked up the pace. He could see the weak glow of the redstone torch at the end of the hallway. The fire was barely enough to light the door, which was built into the left side of the hall.

Jesse gripped the cold, metal knob and swung the door open. “I finally got out of jail only for you to put me in another one. Fine by me!”

Oh, how he wished Brenner could see the scowl on his face.

“Jesse, this is not a ‘prison’, it’s merely--”

Jesse didn’t want to hear it. He slammed the door in front of Brenner’s face as hard as he could, wishing the force would crumble the walls and crush them all. He leaned against the door and pressed his face against the rough wood of the door. He heard Brenner sigh then lock the door.

“Please understand this isn’t punishment. I would never do such a thing.” Brenner said on the other side. “I only want you to… Think. Think of what you’ve done, what’s been going on… We’ll continue this conversation once you’ve calmed down.”

Jesse wasn’t sure if Brenner was expecting a response, but he gave him a half hearted “Mhm.”

Jesse kept his face against the door, listening to Brenner and Cecil walk away as they talked to themselves. About Jesse. Once Jesse could no longer hear the steps or chatter, he turned back around to face a room he was far too acquainted with. The Dark Room.

He had been in this room a number of times throughout his few years with The Awakening. All for reasons Jesse could not recall. Perhaps it was mostly arguing. Verbal. That was what Brenner had always said. Jesse didn’t think he had ever gotten physical in the past. He could control himself, even during the most frustrating times, today being one of the examples.

‘I didn’t even do anything.’ Jesse grumbled to himself. Was defending yourself considered a sin now? Brenner had seen Jesse at his lowest moments, he had heard his raised voice before, yet Brenner would never give a proper explanation to why Jesse would be taken to this miserable room. ‘Calm down’, ‘Think’, ‘Don’t let your emotions get the better of you’.

Jesse shifted around, letting his back lay against the door, and stared at what little the room provided.

All there was here were four falls.

Four stupid walls.

Three bare walls and one wall straight across from the door with two redstone torches placed high. No matter how dim, they were the only source of light. The two torches are, in Mahlon’s words, ‘The Hero’s eyes watching you’. Jesse could never see it.

‘Think.’ Brenner’s voice echoed in his head.

Think? About what? What is there to think about? About how much he despised this room?

He had his own room in the shrine. They offered it to him when he had nowhere else to go, and he was grateful for it. Jesse had wondered if being sent to his room would be blissful or humiliating in comparison to being thrown into this horrid place. Yes, he’d be treated like a child, but his room had things to keep him occupied. His journal, the few books The Awakening gifted him, a pen to scribble with, a bed to rest on.

But here? There was nothing.

Actually, that wasn’t necessarily true. Besides the unavoidable torches, there was something in this room, and it was far from delightful.

Jesse knew he wasn't the only person to have been locked in here before, he knew Radar had been here once, and it’s evident the moment you step in. An overpowering, nauseating scent of sweat, urine, feces, and vomit of the people who had been here before was enough to make anyone sick. And though Jesse had been able to deal with this repulsive smell more and more, he still understood just how disgusting it was. They had never cleaned this place. Jesse knew. He had seen the same stains and piles remain with each visit.

The two cleanest areas of this room was a small portion of the floor by the door, and by the torches, where most people tend to stay by. He was uncertain if the walls were cleaned, but he didn’t want to take any chances. There were a few instances where Jesse had dozed off in the room, and each time he’d awaken with the smell holding onto and choking him while grime stuck to his face and clothes. Jesse’s feet would cramp for staying in his shoes for too long, but he refused to take them off here. He would never condemn neither his socks or feet to ever come into contact with the cold, sickly floor.

Jesse, unlike the many others who had been taken here before, could survive in this room. He could tolerate the aches of staying in the same position for hours, his appetite had dwindled throughout the months, and he’s learned to suppress many of his body’s urges.

All Jesse can do is sit around, ‘think’, and wait.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few hours must’ve passed, Jesse could hear footsteps and chattering growing by the minute. A gathering will be happening soon.

It didn’t feel like a few hours passed. Jesse couldn’t explain it, but whenever he sat in place, pulling his hair or finding another way to keep himself occupied, time managed to fly by. A window would be nice. A window would be wonderful. He’d love to see a snippet of the sky rather than the murky gray surrounding him, and those red torches with their red glow.

Jesse didn’t mind the gatherings, he often attended them, but being in the room while one was taking place was a different story. Here, he dreaded them. They seemed significantly longer and louder. He didn’t know if the leaders did this intentionally or not. Their raised voices would travel through the hall, push their way through the cracks of the door, and into Jesse’s head.

The commotion had died down, and those sweet seconds of silence allowed Jesse to prepare for the eternity of talking.

He breathed in and placed his ear against the door. He couldn’t do anything else but listen.

While the gathering’s introduction--a brief speech of what the leaders would be talking about today--started out muffled, Jesse recognized the deep tone as Brenner’s.

“...With the anniversary of The Hero’s Banishment approaching, I can only imagine how excited you must be. And while Cecil, Mahlon, and I do have plans for the day, we believe now would be the time to discuss the importance of restraint and patience…”

Jesse shot up, grit his teeth, and saw red. He glared at the door, hoping the daggers would dig into Brenner’s skull. Jesse kept staring intensely at the door, his hands clenched and shaking. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it.

He swung his leg back and began kicking the door. He kept kicking at a consistent speed, getting increasingly louder; he wouldn’t accomplish anything, the door was new, it wouldn’t break. But he knew they could hear him, he could interrupt the leaders with enough of a ruckus.

Jesse stopped. A smile crept across his face.

‘They can hear me.’ Jesse remembered. Yes, the only benefit to this room and the hollow hallway, he can hear them and they can hear him. Why waste his energy thrashing about?

He just needs to be… Patient.

Jesse turned back around and leaned against the door, waiting for the time to come.

He’d have to wait for the People’s Payment to finish before the speech would start. Then he could begin. The Payment was the shortest part of the gathering; row by row, people would come to the stage and offer however much money they desire, but if they did not have any money on them--or chose not to donate--then they’d ‘pay’ with a Truth. A confession. To admit to anything, no matter how big or small. A small number of people, mostly newcomers, often confessed to smaller actions, such as breaking a framed photo, stealing, misdemeanors, but you’d have the rare instances where others would confess to heinous thoughts and actions.

Jesse could make out the leaders’ “Thank you”s, the faint confessions of the people, the money being placed into the basket, all those tiny sounds combining and fueling Jesse’s excitement.

Everyone fell silent again. Brenner cleared his throat, everyone leaned close, ready to listen. Even Jesse found himself eager for Brenner to begin talking.

The moment Brenner began speaking, a strange happiness rushed through Jesse. He had never been happier to hear his voice today. He allowed Brenner to continue the speech for several minutes, waiting like an enthusiastic child for the perfect moment.

Once he was certain Brenner had become immersed in the discussion, Jesse took a lungful of the repulsive air.

“MENDAX!”

Brenner continued talking.

“MENDAX!”

The talking weakened for a moment before carrying on.

Jesse remembered listening in on a conversation the leaders had when they believed he was asleep, where Malhon--the oldest of the three--was ranting about how much he despised the word. Jesse had no idea what the word meant, nor the history behind it, but he one day said the word aloud with Mahlon in earshot and was met with deafening shouting and thrown into the room. He was let out far sooner than expected, their reason being Jesse’s lack of knowledge of the word.

“MENDAX!”

To this day, Jesse still doesn’t know why such a word sparks such an outrage, but he knows it made the leaders upset. And that was enough for him.

“MENDAX!”

He’d only yell the world when in the dark room. He thought it a harmless way to ‘get back’ at the leaders, make them ‘even’. Being in the room was already his punishment, they couldn’t possibly punish him any more. Jesse wished he could see their faces each time he spoke it, to see them repress their anger in front of the people must be a sight to see. It’d interrupt the gathering, Mahlon would send Cecil over to tell him to knock it off like usual, and Jesse would continue until his throat would burn.

“MENDAX!”

He began banging on the door with his fist, occasionally twisting the knob reckless to make it sound like he was attempting to escape. He could no longer hear Brenner’s voice, but he did hear footsteps approaching.

‘Cecil.’ Jesse thought to himself. He stood up and positioned himself by the door, close enough to be face to face with Cecil the second he’d open it.

He heard the jangling of keys and the turning of the knob.

The door cracked open. Jesse’s eyes widened, he instinctively backed away, and what little of a smile he had vanished.

“Are you done?” Brenner asked coldly, his white eyes piercing into Jesse.

Brenner had never been the one to quiet Jesse. Not in the room. Never. Never. Never.

Brenner took Jesse’s silence as a ‘Yes’ and closed the door, leaving Jesse alone once again.

Jesse clutched his stomach, his petty anger had been replaced with… Not fear… Not fear. Worry. Worried he would stay here longer, worried what Brenner was going to do, worry.

Jesse sat down, his back facing the door. He had dug himself into this four cornered hole, and all he could do now is wait.

He hugged his knees. He couldn’t think of anything. All sounds have been drowned out. The talking, the footsteps, the crackling of the torches’ fires, everything.

He remained in the position for a while. He wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or an hour, but it was a while. His eyes had been kept on the small bits of torn skin on his fingers as he spaced out.

It was beginning to bother him.

It was beginning to bother him a lot.

He needed to take his mind off of what had happened somehow. He needed something.

He slowly began picking at the skin around his thumb, slowly scratching and peeling whatever he could grab onto.

He would do this often. It helped.

It helped.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He stared at his hands, attempting to pick off the remaining bits of skin, but just barely touching them caused them to sting intensely. He stretched his hands out in front of him and stared. They were torn, burning, and red. He moved his fingers about in the darkness, watching them. Watching them. In the dark. Watching.

He couldn’t stare at them any longer.

He couldn’t.

It reminded him of--

How long has he been in here?

The gathering ended long ago.

How long were they planning on keeping him here?

He was usually kept in the dark room for six to eight hours, but that was his rough estimate.

The longest time he had been kept in this room was 12 hours. Supposedly. He had fallen asleep in there, and was informed of how long he had been locked in when Cecil awoke him. A part of Jesse wondered if he was lying.

The first time he was in the dark room was his shortest time. He was only there for four hours. He was in there because of Radar. Jesse could recall his first time in the room all too well.

After he had spent his first few months in The Awakening, Jesse kept asking about Radar. Why did they hate him? Why did he leave? He heard Radar’s side of the story, but began questioning the legitimacy of it after spending more time in the shrine. He wanted to hear the other side, but was dismissed and told ‘not to talk about him’, to ‘never interact with him’. Jesse didn’t listen and did so anyways. He had found Radar and asked for an explanation, to elaborate on his experience with The Awakening, to explain why he’s referred to as a ‘quitter’, but Radar panicked.

Radar panicked and told Aiden where Jesse had been.

Then Aiden and all his friends tried to find him, and Brenner found out, and--he hated him. He hated Aiden, he hated Aiden’s friends, he hated that damned quitter. He hated him.

It was Radar’s fault Jesse was thrown into the room for the first time, and now it was Radar’s fault Jesse was thrown into the room this time. That damned--

Crack

Jesse brought his head up.

Snap

Those dreadful torches.

Many people would bring themselves closer to the torches, they were the miniscule source of warmth and light within this unforgiving room. But not Jesse. Not anymore.

Jesse despised these torches. The flames which never went out, the wood that’d never burn out, the faint smell of smoke that mixed with the bodily fluids, the crackling of the fires perfectly mimicking the sound of breaking bones that’d interrupt any coherent thoughts, how the torches managed to make the room feel even colder.

Crack

He hated them.

CRACK

Jesse slowly stood up, his strained eyes locked onto the torches as he approached them. He had tried to tear those wretched things from their place every time he was here and never could.

But this time…

This time will be different.

Jesse stood before the taunting wall, looking up at the torches. They were so close. So close within his reach.

Though the wall might’ve been filthy, Jesse couldn’t care less. He pressed himself against the wall and shot an arm up, trying to reach for the wood of the torch while his other hand dug into the cracks of the wall.

He stood on the tip of his toes, the tips of his fingers barely brushed against the wood.

He was so close.

It can’t be that hard.

It can’t.

He kept stretching his arm, attempting to grab either of them several times. His arm was quickly growing tired, he let his hand drag down the wall, scraping the skin of his fingers along the way as dirt stuck onto them.

He hated this.

He shot both arms up, desperately trying to grab--to feel--the torch, imagining the satisfaction he’d be rewarded with. He instinctively put one foot against the wall, as if ready to climb, and tried throwing both arms towards the torches. When one would fail, he’d drag it against the wall, causing his hands to feel as though they’ve been set ablaze.

He’d scratched and tear at the walls, jumped, pleaded, all while sweat began mixing with his saliva; his eyes forced tears out.

Each time his hands would scratch the wall, they’d run past a section which was getting more and more damp. It could be filth. It could be his blood.

He didn’t care if his fingers bled, if the skin would shred and be reduced to nothing but bone. He didn’t care for his burning eyes, begging him to blink and look away from the horrid light. He refused to blink. He refused to stop. He wanted to get them.

He will get them.

He hated them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The door opened, Brenner stepped in.

Before him, on the far other end of the room, stood Jesse. His side against the wall, hunched over, taking heavy breaths as his burning, aching fingers were sprawled out. He stared at the man with eyes showing both exhaustion and wildness. All energy had been taken, all he could do was remain in place with his mouth open. Breathing. Watching.

“Did you get all of that out of your system?”

#minecraft story mode #mcsm #mcsm jesse #100th post is coming up #that will be chapter 10 #hope you enjoy!#APWHNPMCSMWASAMCSM #AU fic

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kiminicricket · 4 years

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Swords and Opals - Part 5

Previously Ruthari Fic - because I’m awesome at naming things...

Anyways, previous parts can be found below:

1 // 2 // 3 // 4

Tiadrin set a pace similar to the one Runaan had been setting the last two days - if a little bit faster - and the team made very good time, coming to the coast by mid-morning. They pulled up, overlooking the vast ocean and clear blue sky.

“Ok, so where do we find this flower?” Lain asked, shifting the pack on his shoulders.

Tiadrin shrugged and looked to Runaan.

“The instructions didn’t say beyond this point.” Runaan looked at Ethari, “do you know?”

Ethari looked up the shoreline, noting some cliffs in the distance.

“There is probably a good place to start. They tend to do well on sea-side cliffs.”

The team nodded and started to move in that direction.

It was a long walk, and the team stayed quiet for most of it. Ethari, walking beside Runaan for a change, tried desperately to come up with a topic of conversation. Something that would make him look good. His mind however was painfully blank. What was he supposed to just start asking twenty questions? His favourite colour? How he liked to take his tea? It seemed stupid, and completely irrelevant to the situation. Glancing over out of the corner of his eye, Runaan seemed content to travel in silence so Ethari contented himself with the same, letting his mind wander instead over their journey so far. Eventful as it had been emotionally, and taxing as it had been physically it had still gone fairly smoothly so far, all things considered. He glanced up at the cliffs. They were getting close.

The trial did seem a little easy, as Lain had suggested two days ago. Ethari couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be something more to it. He also couldn’t wait to see the flower up close. There were so many applications for the flower, his mind was running through the different enchantments he could try, so long as they got it home alive.

“Did the instructor send along anything to transport the flower back in?” Ethari asked.

“I don’t think so, why?” Runaan turned to him as they walked.

Ethari bit his lip and considered for a moment. “It must be part of the trial. The flower doesn’t do well with transplanting or transporting. It’s part of the reason they’re so rare.”

“Did the instructions say we had to bring it back alive?” Tiadrin called back, “Maybe just the fact that we got it will be enough?”

Runaan paused and pulled out the parchment, studying it for a moment. Ethari stopped beside him and Tiadrin and Lain also paused, turning back to face them.

“We pass if we bring it back at all, but there are extra points for bringing it back alive.”

Lain groaned. “I need all the extra points I can get.”

“Maybe if you stuck your nose in a book once in a while you’d be ok.” Runaan teased. Lain grinned and shrugged.

“Probably, but I wouldn’t have nearly as much fun.” He smiled down at Tiadrin, who pretended not to notice. Ethari caught the ends of her ears turning slightly pink though.

“If we get the extra points, we basically get the pick of where we want to go after this. What we want to do with our lives. Assassins Guild, Dragon Guard, anything. I say we bring it back alive.” Tiadrin said.

“I’m inclined to agree.” Runaan turned to Ethari, “Any idea’s on how?”

“I have a few things that might work?” He said, hesitantly. “I’ll start thinking on it. We need to get the thing first.”

“Right you are.” Lain turned and dropped the short distance onto the sand, Tiadrin following close behind.

As their feet made contact, the sand in front of them started shifting, knocking them off balance. Lain tried to steady Tiadrin, but they fell in a heap together as the sand shifted, displacing as an enormous head rose from the sand. A forked tongue flickered out as the neck kept coming impossibly longer.

Ethari stared in horror, Tiadrin was down there! She was going to be- An arrow flew past him and hit its mark straight into the creatures eye. It hissed in pain and outrage and lunged forward.

Ethari spun to see Runaan, bow in hand, already loosing another arrow before rolling out of the way of the creature’s strike.

Right, weapons. Ethari dropped his pack and scrambled for his bow. Trying to calm his shaking hands as he notched an arrow and lined up the creature in his sights. It wasn’t hard, the thing was huge. He had already lost sight of Runaan behind it, so let his arrow fly. It hit the creature, but bounced harmlessly off the thick hide.

Tiadrin and Lain came charging over the embankment they had dropped down, Tiadrin with her sword out, Lain with his Scythe, they ran towards the creature, Ethari went to follow when the creature swiped around with it’s long, barbed tail. Tiadrin and Lain jumped over the swipe with ease, but Ethari was a little slower, and found himself flying sideways and colliding with a tree.

Ethari tried to get up to go to his friends but found he couldn’t move. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but nothing happened. Helpless, Ethari watched as Tiadrin loosed the tip of her sword, screaming as she flung it around the creatures neck and used the momentum to haul herself up onto its back before retracting the tip and stabbing it. Runaan let out arrow after arrow and Lain sliced against the scales with his Scythe, the three of them quickly bringing the creature down. Runaan was the first to notice Ethari, motionless against the tree.

“Ethari!” He called, running over to him. “Are you alright?” He knelt down beside him. Ethari tried to speak, but couldn’t. He tried to keep the fear from his eyes, but knew he was failing.

Runaan ran an assessing eye over Ethari. He grabbed his hand.

“Can you feel that?”

Ethari could, but didn’t know how to express it. He blinked. Runaan looked at him expectantly. Tiadrin and Lain had also crowded around, Tiadrin kneeling on his other side.

“He got hit by the tail.” She said. “He went flying.”

Lain jogged over to the creature and hacked off one of the barbs from the tail. He brought it back and Runaan inspected it, sniffing.

“A paralytic.” He sighed in relief. He turned to Ethari and smiled. “You’ll be ok, it should wear off shortly.”

Tiadrin grabbed Ethari’s other hand, holding it close to her. “And we’ll wait here until it does.”

Ethari just blinked at her. Relieved at the news that this was a short term issue, but embarrassed that he was in this situation, and helpless to do anything about it.

The other three settled in around him, weapons within arms reach, but seemingly relaxed for the moment.

Ethari closed his eyes, willing the moments to pass swiftly so he could be a functioning member of the team again. He tried not to dwell on the fight, trying instead to think about the flower, about transporting it safely, but again and again his mind returned to his friends effortless grace, and his own ineptitude.

“That is quite a sword Tiadrin,” he heard Runaan’s voice say above him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Isn’t it though?” She replied, with no small amount of pride. “My father made it, but Ethari has been working on it. He’s enchanted it to be sturdier against creatures with thicker hides, and that laso trick you saw? All Ethari’s tinkering!”

“What?”

“That’s amazing!”

Lain and Ruthari spoke together.

“Yeah, he reckon’s he’s gonna improve it some more for me.”

Ethari cracked his eyes open. Runaan and Lain were staring at him with wide eyes, Lain’s jaw was hanging open.

“That is impressive!”

“You have to do something for my pole-arm!”

“Ahem!” Tiadrin quieted them. “Commissions take time and effort so you can submit your requests through me and Ethari and I will discuss a fair price.” She gave them both a pointed glare. Ethari would have chuckled if he could have. He would be more than happy to have a look at their weapons. Trust Tiadrin to guard his time.

“Of course, of course,” Runaan said.

“Aw come-on Tia, don’t be like that.”

In a flash Tiadrin’s sword was at Lain’s throat.

“Call me that again.” She growled.

Lain’s eyes widened and he held up his hands placatingly. It was at that moment feeling returned in a rush to Ethari, and he reached out to grab Tiadrin’s sword hand.

Tiadrin turned towards Ethari, dropping the sword and throwing her arms around him.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again! I need you in my life, ok? Don’t scare me like that!” She wailed into his shoulder. Ethari returned the embrace, chuckling.

“I’ll do my best.” He raised his gaze to Lain’s still shaken one. “She doesn’t like that name.” He smiled.

Lain nodded, eyes still on Tiadrin “Noted.”

Ethari let his gaze wander to Runaan, but the other elf’s attention was back towards the beach and the cliffs.

“I think we should take the forest route to the cliffs.” Runaan said.

“I don’t know I reckon I could take another of those…” Etharis joking tone trailed off as he looked over at the giant corpse, “Or, yeah we could take the forest route.”

Tiadrin helped him up and Ethari retrieved his pack before following the others back into the forest.

Part 6 now up!

#ruthari fic #swords and opals #ruthari #runaari #runaan #ethari #tiadrin #lain #fanfic #my writing #i dont normally write action #so hopefully it went ok #first post of 2020 #may there be much more writing!#happy new year

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ocean-in-my-rebel-soul · 5 years

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Mutual Pining [4/?]

March’s monthly story, as voted on in my Patreon poll. Posted late due to health complications last month.

Check out my Patreon and consider joining my private Discord server to hang out!

Title: Mutual Pining Relationships: Templar!Carver Hawke/Merrill Rating: E for eventual smut (will be marked) Summary: A week of shore-leave turned into an impromptu camping trip with Merrill, and Carver made the mistake of not checking when Isabela and his sibling helped pack the bags. It had all the essentials, Bela swore, except for one thing:

It only had one tent.

Notes: set somewhere in Act 2, and Carver’s been a Templar now a year and a half or so. Turns out, it might did end up longer than seven parts, these two keep surprising me.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

====

“—and this is halla beard, but you might know it as goat’s beard,” Merrill chirped from her seat on the tree branch. Carver watched while she gathered up the stringy stuff. “It’s good for blood clotting and fevers and other things.”

“Is it good for keeping elves from falling out of trees?” he muttered, eyeing her critically.

She turned, a confused frown on her face, and wobbled, almost pitching herself off the branch entirely. Carver tensed and readied to catch her but she found her balance almost as quickly as she had lost it.

“What was that, Little Hawke?” she asked breathlessly.

Carver shook his head. “Nothing, Merr.”

“Oh, look, the spruce tips are ready, too! Here, catch these.” She dropped her current haul and stretched to pluck at the bright green branch tips around her. “These are good for food, you know,” she said absentedly, concentrating as she climbed up the tree in search for the best of the bundled needle-like leaves. “Makes an excellent tea, or added to salads. We sometimes pickle them in vinegar with honey and water. Delicious!”

He caught the tips as she tossed them down. “Wouldn’t it be better to collect more from each tree? Less climbing around and stuff.”

She shook her head and dropped down from the branches. “You don’t want to over-harvest,” she said. “We all have to live on what the forest gives us. Taking too much from one tree or bush could hurt it.”

He hummed noncommittally. Much different than farming; he remembered working for their neighboring homestead after his own household chores and the way the old widow would yell, reminding him and Eli to harvest and weed until the bare earth showed its scars. Ah, Ferelden.

Carver rolled his shoulders as Merrill peeked into the basket, rearranging her planty treasures. Satisfied, she retrieved their lunch from her travel bag, neatly slicing into the hard chunks of sausage and cheese before sharing.

“I can’t wait to get to the grove,” she said around a mouthful of sausage. “Varric says he got the original map from one of the Sabrae hunters a while back. I want to see what’s there!”

“You’ve never been to the place?” Carver couldn’t help the nervous falling of his stomach. She’d used string to find her way around Kirkwall for years, after all, and that was in a pretty straightforwardly-built city. There were only so many ways to get lost among all those stairs. A forest was a much easier place to get turned around and lost for days.

“It’s just the woods, Little Hawke. I know how to find my wa— Oh, listen, do you hear that? Sounds like a thrush!”

He shook his head as she rose to her feet and crept toward the birdsong, lunch forgotten. Ah, Merrill, he thought, smiling. Never change.

Carver watched her. She smiled, and laughed, and was animated in ways he rarely saw in Kirkwall. Rarely saw period, now, but especially in Kirkwall. She always seemed to breathe easier on the road in his memories.

“It looks like it’s going to rain tonight,” Merrill called over her shoulder. She pointed up through the tree canopy. “See those clouds coming in? They remind me of pregnant halla, all fat and heavy.”

He squinted up at the sky and the dark cloud layer rolling in before stowing her baskets. “We should get going, then. You said we’re only a couple hours away, right? Hopefully we’ll get there before the worst of it hits.”

Merrill bounded over to him, a handful of pale blue blossoms in hand. She slipped them into the top basket and Carver helped her shrug back into her pack, shuffling it against her back. “What are those good for?” he asked, picking up his own bag.

“Oh! Um.” She met his eyes, her own wide in surprise, and looked away, a blush stealing over her face. “They, um. They’re my favorite shade of blue.” Merrill took a deep breath and walked further into the forest. “It reminds me of you,” she said in a rush, not looking back.

He stood there, dumbly, hands still working on the clasps of his coat. “It what?”

—

They weren’t a mere two hours away from their destination, as luck (and a likely/definitely skewed map) would have it. The sky dumped buckets down on their heads well into the evening and soaked them to the bone, even despite the thick canopy overhead.

They came into a small clearing--no more wide than Carver’s bedroom at the estate, really, but big enough for maybe their tents and a fire, if they were careful. He scrubbed his hands down his face. “This better be it,” he grumbled.

They ducked into the less-drenched shelter of a tree before Merrill carefully retrieved her map, reading by the light of a ball of magelight hovering at her shoulder. “Looks like it! We should set up camp, I don’t know that we’ll get anything useful done tonight. Maybe the rain will stop soon.”

Carver peered up at the sky with a scowl and threw down his pack. ”I’ll set up the tents, you check for a source of fresh water. We can use the camp pot for rainwater, if it comes down to it, I guess.” Merrill created another ball of magelight and then scarpered off, shedding her pack far more gracefully than he did on her way.

“And don’t fall or slip or anything!” he called after her as she disappeared into the night, only to see a blithe hand-wave in response. “Right, tents. Get a move on, Carver.” He quickly untied the oilcloth coverings of their packs to retrieve the folded canvas tents—

And paused, brow furrowed.

No. No, no, no.

Carver pawed through his pack. It was big, and heavy, and that weight had been reassuring up until a minute ago. He set aside a neatly-corralled expanse of canvas, wrapped alongside the ropes and short sticks that would help make up most of the frame. A bundle of cloth laid beneath it, and when he messily unwrapped it he found Bela’s hip flask, a parcel of cookies, other sundry provisions, and a note.

“Dear Carver, get bent. Enjoy the tent! Heh, that rhymed, who’d’ve thought? Anyway. Love, Eli,” it said in blocky handwriting.

The ink dragged across the page and a new script, light and practiced, sprawled over the page.

“Ignore Eli, get Merrill bent, and maybe you’ll both feel better. Have fun! And don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Rum, Bela. (Rum’s better than love, don’t you think? More fun, anyway.)”

Carver crumpled the note--and its unsurprisingly juvenile sketch--in his fist and stared at the half-strewn traveling bags with growing horror-tinged embarrassment. He should have known better to assume any sort of goodness from those two, they were worse than magpies when they put their devious minds to something.

“I found the stream, just like the map said! We’ll be set!”

He gurgled something in response, fist pressed to his mouth for a moment. “Good, fine, good,” he called back. “Everything’s good. Yep. Good, good, good.” Carver mentally prepared a to-do list for the minute he got back to Kirkwall, with one highlighted, bullet-pointed item:

Absolutely murdering his sibling.

“Little Hawke?”

He would deny until his dying day acknowledgement of the squeak that burst from him at her silent arrival. “Everything’s good!” he said in a rush. “Good, good, good.”

Merrill tilted her head and looked at him, nonplussed. “Of course it is. Here, I’ll help!”

Together they set up their shelter, with the only hangup being finding fallen branches long enough to use as tent poles. Carver finished up tying the last of the knots to secure the canvas as she stowed their supplies.

“I don’t think Eli packed us the right tent,” Merrill said from within. She poked head out through the door flaps. “It’s a bit small. We’ll have to snuggle.”

What.

“Come on,” she said, when he hesitated too long. “It’s cold and wet out there, and soon to be warm and a bit drier in here. I can set a rune under us and keep the tent warm through the night, don’t worry! You won’t freeze, I promise!”

Her earnestness brought him back to the present. Carver shook his water-drenched bangs from his eyes. “Sure, sure. Wait, you can do that?”

Merrill laughed. “Of course! Why do you think Bela always wanted to share with me when we would be on the road together? I know how to do a lot of things,” she said, and her smile was a bit too sharp for her words, but he didn’t have the time to puzzle it out. Merrill pulled him inside, muddy boots and all, and tied the flaps closed against the rain. Her light hovered at the peak of the tent and bathed her in soft, silvery-blue hues.

“Watch,” she said, before crouching down and pulling back the ground cover. Merrill sketched some design into the loamy earth, something he couldn’t quite follow, and slapped her hands against it with a delighted smile. Soon enough steam rose from the ground, drifting lazily through the air as the tent began to warm.

“....huh,” was all he could say. That would have made years of adventuring with their band of misfits easier. “I figured Bela liked to share with you for, uh, other reasons,” he muttered thoughtlessly, shaking his head, and he clapped his hand to his mouth when he heard the words out loud.

Merrill laughed, bright and bubbly, though, so he didn’t make her mad. “Oh, she did,” she agreed sagely, “but I think it was mostly because we both hate being cold. Much easier to sleep when you’re warm, right? I always thought so, at least!”

….Right. Thinking about anything but that. Nope, very studiously ignoring… that.

“And the tent isn’t going to catch fire or anything in the middle of the night?” he asked instead, bringing the conversation back to something safe. Like a tent fire. Like a tent fire inadvertently caused by his mage companion, who so graciously cast some sort of spell to keep them warm, for his comfort.

Great going, Carver. Way to stick your foot waaaay in there.

“Nope,” she replied, thankfully oblivious to his inner monologue and unintended insult. Merrill patted the groundsheet back into place and layered their bedding together into a thick pallet. “Won’t get hot enough to do that. It really just takes the edge off; it’s not like making a fire, more like… oh, like warming the blankets before you crawl into bed. The rune heats the earth below us to help insulate against the cold, which heats the tent a little, and our bedrolls will help trap that warmth to us. Most of the work will still be body heat, though.”

“Smart.” Carver turned away and began to peel off his layers. He was halfway through unbuttoning his vest when he caught her watching, unabashed. Carver blushed. “Do you mind?” he huffed.

“Hm? Oh!” She shook her head and turned her attention elsewhere. “Sorry. Modesty. What a strange idea!”

“Is it… not a thing with the Dalish?” he asked over his shoulder, hands stilled on his buttons.

“Not really.” He could hear her shuffling, then the sound of wet leathers. Carver trained his eyes, both physical and mental, to the canvas wall ahead of him. “Everyone has a body. They’re made for all sorts of things; work, play, pleasure—” Merrill’s voice stumbled for a second before righting itself again “--all very natural things. Nothing I, or anyone else, hasn’t seen before, so why spend the energy being shy and secret about it?”

“...huh,” he said, the word strangled in his throat. “Right. Well. Okay. I’m going to… get ready for bed now. So don’t look.”

She sighed behind him, and he could swear he heard a soft “you silly thing” in her gentle lilt but a quick peek over his shoulder showed her turned toward her own wall, busy with her bedtime preparations. Carver quickly traded his soaked clothing for a light tunic and a suspiciously soft pair of pants--Bela’s influence, no doubt.

Merrill’s penchant for fondling soft, touchable fabrics was well known, and Bela had been trying to “help” Carver “woo” Merrill for ages.

He added “murder the pirate” to his to-do list.

“Oooh, soft,” Merrill cooed quietly, as if on cue. Carver swallowed down a sudden rush of nerves and turned to find her, fully dressed, even, clad in a light shift. Her fingers crushed the fabric and she looked like the happiest damn person he’d ever seen in that moment. “Feel this,” she insisted, and closed the distance between them to thrust the material into his hands. “Isn’t it so pretty?”

He tentatively rubbed at the fabric and found that, yes, it was delightfully soft, something like a mix of silk and the lightest cotton he had ever felt. He also found that its hemline crept up her thighs when she wound his fingers into the cloth. Carver dropped his hands as if scalded.

“It’s really nice.” Like you, he almost said, and it was like another voice was in his mouth, trying to come out. It suits you. Now please take it off.

Fucking Maker, the earth could swallow him whole anytime now.

She smiled, and for a horrified moment he worried he had spoken it all out loud. “It's new! It's a gift,” she said, “from—”

“--From Bela,” he supplied with a groan, to which she nodded. Of course it was. Of course! “I’m going to die,” Carver muttered under his breath when she stepped away.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m going to bed, goodnight.” Carver all but dove into the combined bedroll. He rolled to his side and situated himself to give as wide a berth as possible for her. They’d shared a tent before but never like this.

Don’t make it fucking weird, he told himself.

Despite his good efforts, the bed was still somehow small enough that she plastered herself along his back after extinguishing her light. “We’ll have to snuggle,” Merrill reminded him, words muffled against his shoulder. “Body heat.”

“Right.” His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. “Should I roll over?”

“If you want.”

“Okay…” They shuffled until he was on his back and Merrill curled up into his side like she belonged there.

Blood mage, blood mage, his heartbeat reminded him. The warning had been loud in his mind before but now it was new once more, a vision of Knight-Commander Stannard’s rage-mottled face blistering into his mind’s eye.

“Remember to uphold the duties and values of the Order, even on your days off,” Rutherford’s phantom voice urged him.

Carver Hawke, who had shielded mages from Templars all his life, wrapped his arm around Merrill’s thin shoulders with a mental fuck you to the Gallows and let the sound of her pleased sigh send him to sleep.

====

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

#Carver Hawke #Merrill #Carvill #DA2 #Dragon Age 2 #fic: mutual pining #eventual s/mut #soulrebel writes #soulrebel writes: patreon #reblogs and likes are appreciated and welcome!#thank you!#this chapter ended up being longer than the last two combined #whoops #but I couldn't find a natural place to break it up!#whoops pt 2

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pixiestickers · 5 years

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@rayllum-week prompt: Fireflies

This will likely be my only entry for the week as school is still going strong and taking up most of my time. This is essentially a flashback scene for my fic The Relief Next to Me from a chapter that isn’t finished yet. But it works as a oneshot here.

Traveling through Xadia, Rayla took familiar routes. Ones she’d grown accustomed to using during her life as an assassin. A life that seemed so far away and yet still proved useful. It was absolutely essential that they avoid detection, and Rayla knew which hills to climb, what dirt trails to trek, and all the deep forests they could hide in. Sometimes they traveled by day. Other times at night. It all depended on the landscape and those occupying it. And as their unlikely trio of elf, human and dragon moved along, making as little noise as possible, she experienced a vague sense that the world was uninhabited. That they were the last of their kind. Just her, Callum, and Zym. It went on like that for weeks.

Until it didn’t.

They happened upon a stream. Rayla waded through it, moving around a bend and out of Callum’s eyesight so she could clean off some days old grim from the underside of her uniform. Sweat and dirt were now old friends that she tolerated, but wished would visit less often. Lowering her top, she let the cold water lap her exposed skin, and savored the feel of it, knowing the musk she’d been suffering through for far too long would finally be carried away by the stream. This was different than the large bodies of water that provoked her gag-reflex. A simple slow moving current was a welcome comfort, and Raya relaxed, dipping her head underwater for a moment, but making sure to keep every sense attuned to the world around her. The birds singing. The song of the stream as it glided around her. The soft buzzing of insects.

And the pixie wings fluttering.

That, she hadn’t been expecting. Rayla glanced around expectantly, but the small golden creatures were nowhere to be seen and she felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. She’d only witnessed them once before but never forgot the sound- tiny bells tinkling in the wind- and was eager to marvel at their unique allure again. Pixies were good omens and also rare. So where were they now?

Something told her to look further upstream where she’d left Callum and Zym. It didn’t take long for realization to dawn on her that the reclusive pixies weren’t the only ones coaxing her to leave the water. Instinct, as sharp as a knife, told her something was wrong. Quickly, she pulled her top back up and touched one of her blades, then readjusted it. Walking out onto the embankment, she listened and waited, the pixie wings growing louder in her ears. Moving on the balls of her feet, Rayla drew both blades from her belt but kept quiet. Voices drifted her way and then a growl, followed by a scream.

Rayla no longer worried about stealth. She ran, the rocks under her feet creating a commotion to match the garbled yells and grunts of a struggle. The attacker spotted her too late. His hands left Callum’s neck, but her blade was already thrown his way. He fell down on top of his victim who struggled underneath the weight. Rayla hurried to retrieve her blade and rolled Callum’s assailant off of him. Seemingly gone from this world, yet aware enough to recognize another elf, confusion drew his brows together before he gasped. Violet eyes grew wide then closed. His breathing weakened and seconds later it stopped completely.

Callum sat up, coughing. Reaching around his neck he rubbed the area the elf had squeezed. His face contorted in pain and Rayla frowned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling him into her. Still wet from the water, her body soaked his clothes. “I shouldn’t have left for so long.”

“He wanted Zym,” Callum said, his voice raw from the crushing his throat had taken. “Called me a filthy human for stealing baby dragons. I tried to explain, but he’d already made up his mind.”

She glanced at the elf, blood pooling on the rocks surrounding him as if he were laying on a gruesome blanket. He had the markings of a Moonshadow elf, which made sense. They were in the vicinity of her homeland. A fact she’d been actively trying to avoid acknowledging. His clothes marked him as unimportant. No uniform or weapons beyond his hands. Just a common elf out for a walk who’d spotted what he thought was a dragon thief. She suddenly felt extremely tired. Rayla had never actually killed anyone before, especially not anyone of her own kind. Her training had always placed humans in the line of attack. Not elf. And not one who thought he was doing the right thing.

She looked back at Callum, his lips a pale blue, but slowly regaining color. Her eyes filled with tears. Zym ran up next to them and licked her face. “Zym gave him a good bite though,” Callum said. “Got the guy to scream.”

“That’s what made me run to find you.”

That and the pixies.

Rayla wanted to pat Zym’s head and rub his belly. That would’ve been a typical reaction to him doing something good. And protecting Callum was the best thing he’d ever done. But her heart was heavy and wiping away her tears, she said, “I’m just happy you’re both safe. I don’t know what-”

But Callum drowned her out in a fit of coughing and Rayla went to retrieve him some water from the stream, but not before washing the blood from her hands.

~***~

In the hours that followed, Rayla thought over and over about taking the elf’s life. He likely wouldn’t be missed by anyone, but her reaction had been so forceful after catching Callum struggling with him. “I don’t think you murdered him so much as you saved me,” Callum said after she’d finally admitted the reason behind her disquiet.

He was right. But still, the elf’s death haunted her. “I saved your life, but I also took a life, and it wasn’t planned. I reacted to the situation with pure emotion, not instinct. I went against all my trainin’. I could’ve knocked him off you. I could’ve explained who we were. But my only thought was- save Callum.”

“And you did,” he replied, threading his fingers through hers. “Those few seconds it would’ve taken to rush up to us and explain might’ve been one too many. I’m here because of you.”

Guilt swelled inside her. Callum had nearly died and here she was, having a moral dilemma instead of comforting him. They held hands for a while and Rayla tried to think of anything other than the tang of blood still trapped in her nose.

~***~

“Huh, that’s weird. Don’t fireflies only come out at night?”

Rayla flicked her eyes away from the ground and at Callum. Over the past hour, all her terrible efforts of trying to keep images of her blade protruding from an elf’s back had failed. But when she saw where Callum was pointing, a lightness rose in her chest. Pixies. It hadn’t been her imagination back at the stream. “Silly human,” she replied, smiling for the first time since the tragedy at the stream. “Those aren’t fireflies.”

“They’re not?”

“No, they’re pixies,” she repeated in a voice that was meant to playfully mock. “Magical creatures that mean good luck.”

Callum was skeptical. “What? I’ve never heard of pixies before.”

“And why should that surprise you? Humans are always gettin’ things wrong about us magical creatures,” she replied. “I’m gonna go see what good luck I can find. Maybe they know somewhere we can stay tonight.” When Callum’s brow furrowed in disapproval, Rayla grasped his hand. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re comin’ with too.” She arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, no,” he moaned, and she laughed. Callum hated this part of traveling with an elf but always willingly obliged. With a yank of his arm, she hoisted him on her back and he hitched his legs up over her hips. Then off she ran, following the pixies with Zym close behind, enjoying what he thought was a race. She pursued their golden trail and only stopped when the land did, skidding to a halt on a small cliff above a lake.

Pixies hadn't led her to anything she needed. A lake wasn’t somewhere they could stay, and it was definitely wasn’t something she wanted to cross. They were off the trail a bit, but Rayla knew this land well enough to recognize the body of water. It was one she’d actively avoided as a child. With a heavy sigh, she let Callum slide down and then kicked her foot in frustration against the ground. Only instead of a few clumps of rocks dropping into the water, a huge chunk broke free from the ledge. The surprise nearly made her lose balance. She fell backward into Callum’s arms just as a splash indicated the broken piece had met the water. Wincing over her mistake, she did a quick scan of the area to see if there had been any witnesses. No one. Just the three of them. She didn't smell anyone nearby either, but that was mostly because the tang of blood still saturated her senses.

It was nearing dark now. Soon the sun would be unable to guide her way. That was fine. Her vision worked well in the dark. But tonight wasn’t one for travel. And it would’ve been nice if her good omen had lived up to its supposed potential.

"Looks like the fireflies wanted you to take a swim," Callum said, chuckling.

Rayla leaned back hard against him, her weight making him stagger backward. Then turning on her heel, raised a finger and poked his chest. “Better watch it or I’ll send you in for a swim.” There was no truth behind her words. Callum knew and just grinned that sly grin she hated but also loved.

"I’m sorry for leading us on a wild chase,” she apologized, then paused to exaggerate a groan. “It’s just … seein’ those pixies got me giddy and after the day we’ve had … I just needed to look for something good."

Zym made a little whine of agreement or maybe he just missed the chase.

“But you did find something good,” Callum said in such a way that indicated there was a tease soon to come. “Any time you can force me to ride on your back is a good time for you to bring it up later and make me feel inferior.”

Rayla snorted. “And what about you? What good do you get out of all this?”

“Are you kidding?” He sounded exasperated. “You saved my life today. I think it’s worth one embarrassing piggyback ride. And besides, I always enjoy your company, no matter what my mode of transportation is.”

A lump grew in Rayla’s throat over how cavalier Callum was being. Here he had almost been snuffed out by the hands of another today and his only concern since had been to cheer her up. How could she be so wrapped up in her own moral crisis to not recognize that he was putting her needs before his? She didn’t deserve him.

And it was then she understood. That it was possible to survive. Her taking another life had altered something within and she’d likely carry that heaviness inside her from now on. It was a part of her just like Callum was. The dark and the light. But she’d never let the dark hold her hostage when the light was nearby trying its hardest to pull her from its depths.

It was becoming a theme with them. The light and the dark. Where one was, the other followed.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” she said, taking Callum’s hand and pulling him in closer for a quick kiss.

“Your idea is to kiss me?” he asked. “I’ve gotta say, it’s one of your better ideas.”

Rayla despised the girlish giggle he drew from her. Only Callum could make her shy this way. “No, you dummy. My idea is to find a way down to that lake and get some dinner for you and Zym.” Rayla refused to eat fish- anything that lived in water really- but could forage for berries along the way.

Callum tapped his chin as if he were thinking. “Not as good as your first idea, but I still like it.” He turned to Zym, asking “What do you think?” And the dragon yipped in reply.

By the time the three began walking again, the pixies were long gone, but Rayla had an inclination that despite what she first assumed, they’d worked their magic for her today after all.

#the dragon prince #rayllumweek #rayllumweek2019 #rayllum

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lamentalia · 5 years

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Amelia - Chapter 5 - Revised Part 2 and Part 3

After a few minutes sitting back on the bed and another two cupfuls of water, Amelia feels more like herself again. Katya explains that sometimes stress can cause the horrible feeling of imminent death that Amelia had just experienced and it’s supposedly not all that uncommon. Amelia wouldn't believe it if it hadn't just happened to her. Still, Mattie's absence is troubling in a way she's never had to consider before.

Lovino has pulled the chair by the door up to the side of the bed and Katya has returned to her seat on the other side of it. Natalya has taken to sitting in the open window, watching nothing in particular happen outside.

"Better?" Katya asks, taking the empty cup back from Amelia.

"Yeah... Thanks." Amelia replies unable to hide her embarrassment. Thankfully Lovino restarts the conversation before the silence drags on too long.

"You were saying that you and your brother were attacked?" he says and Amelia nods, latching on to the subject.

"Yeah. We were traveling to Ransen and we had to sneak through some unfriendly territory. We almost got through it but someone must have spotted us because a whole bunch of cats came out at us when we hit the river up there… maybe I fell in somehow?"

"Where did this happen?"

"You know the village set up at the foot of the mountains up in the northwest?"

Instead of rising, Lovino’s eyebrows fall even farther and his eyes widen below them.

"Karo? Where the hell were you coming from that you needed to go through Karo to get to Ransen?"

" Uh... farther north of there?"

"North??” Lovino’s bafflement is starting to look a bit like anger. “There's nothing north of Karo except cursed lands! What were you even doing up there!?” Amelia returns a confused gaze of her own. This is the first time she’s ever heard such a thing about her birthplace! She blinks a couple of times, waiting to see if he’s being serious but no one’s laughing.

"...Well, that's where our home is." Amelia says slowly. “Uh. Was, I guess. We grew up near the coast there but we had to leave recently because of the Void.” Lovino seems to be unable to form a response to this, with his mouth hanging open as it is, so Katya takes the opportunity to join in the conversation.

“I do not know this place. What is it that make these lands cursed?” She asks Amelia, who can only return a shrug. If it’s cursed, it’s nothing she knows about. Lovino takes a few short moments to process before he continues.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t realize anyone lived up there. I admit, I’ve only heard rumors about it, but they’re widely believed. Cats don’t come and go there very often.” He looks mildly ashamed of himself for insulting her homeland and Amelia smiles at him, appreciating the sentiment.

“Nah, and you’re not totally wrong. As far as I know, Mattie and I were the only ones living up there and this is the first time we’ve been so far away from it. We didn’t exactly get a great number of visitors, either.” The thought of rumors about her home being widespread tickles something curious inside her. “Why do cats think it’s cursed?”

“Something about a witch living there who cursed it to be overrun with monsters in order to keep cats out.” Lovino replies, shrugging. “So much for that story, I guess.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know about a witch, but there’s plenty of monsters up there! Even though there were no other cats near our territory, Mattie and I still had to keep up regular patrols just to keep their numbers in line.” Amelia says with a grin. Proud memories of her and her brother’s exploits bubble up in her heart. This time both Katya and Lovino stare at her slack-jawed. Which is all well and good, but she’s now reminded that her first priority is figuring out how to find Mattie. “Yeah, so… anyway. The Void cut off a direct route to Ransen and forced us to pass through… Karo, was it? Something was really… off about those cats, and there was… something there.”

Amelia remembers the chills she felt from the eerie, feral energy the cats exuded, the heart-stopping vision of absolute blackness forming the outline of a standing body. A ghost of those chills raises the hair on her neck and arms. Lovino leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m aware of the situation up there.” He says, as if relieving Amelia of the necessity of explaining the horror she witnessed. She is grateful for it and she nods at him to show it. Katya looks curious but Lovino continues before she can question it. “So, you and your brother crossed through their territories, made it to the river and then you were attacked. What else?”

Amelia sighs, looking down into her lap. She curls her tail around herself and takes hold of it. (It’s tangled, she notices. She’ll have to brush it tonight.) “I don’t know.” She says finally. “I remember trying to get back to Mattie’s side after they separated us, but then I bumped into something… and then I blacked out.”

A concerned look crosses Katya’s face. “Excuse me, dear.” She says and leans across the bed to gently hold Amelia’s face and run her other hand through Amelia’s hair and over her scalp. Amelia holds very still, unsure of what this is about, but Katya finishes her inspection soon enough. “Hm. As I thought, there is nothing. It is strange that this would happen if you have no head injury.”

“Really?” Amelia looks up at Katya, surprised.

“Katya knows a lot about injuries and healing.” Lovino explains before pressing on. “So, you don’t remember anything else?”

“No.” Amelia shakes her head. “I mean. I had a nightmare after that, but when I woke up… well, I saw you and then immediately conked out again, but then I woke up here and that’s all I’ve got. If it wasn’t Mattie that got me out of there, I have no idea how else I could have…”

Amelia watches as Katya retrieves a small book from the side table and writes some notes in it with a stick of charcoal. Amelia’s about to ask what’s up but Lovino speaks up again.

“What can you tell me about your brother? How do you think he would have acted?”

“Oh, uh. Mattie… Matthew, is my twin brother. He’s bigger than me, but we look a lot alike. You know, blond wavy hair, long whitish fur. And marks under his eyes, kinda like yours Katya, except under both eyes.” She points and moves her fingertip across both of her cheeks. “Mattie’s way more rational than I am but I wouldn’t put it past him to do something really stupid to keep me safe.” She doesn’t let this thought sink in too deep. Mattie is definitely alive somewhere, the alternative is simply unthinkable, but she can only hope he’s also ok. What if he’d been knocked out too? What if he ended up in the river like she did? … What if he didn’t?

“Alright.” Lovino says, standing from the chair. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Amelia’s heart leaps. “Oh! I’ll—”

“You should stay here and recover.” He cuts her off firmly, but not unkindly. Amelia frowns at him but she knows that she’s not going anywhere far in her condition. “I know the area and I can cover more ground by myself. Plus I’ll be able to ask around.”

Lovino turns to leave and Amelia, fumbling, catches his shirt before he’s able to walk away. He stops and looks back at her quizzically.

“Hey, uh…” She says, faltering when she realizes she can’t really put her feelings into words. So instead she pulls him into a hug. She’s still short and sitting and he’s standing so she can’t reach his shoulder for a proper exchange, but his abdomen is good enough, she thinks while bumping her head into it. After a moment of composing herself enough to talk, she mumbles, “Thanks.”

He’s gone very still and rigid and it takes him a long time to reply with a strangled “Yeah. Sure.” He detaches himself carefully, gingerly grasping Amelia’s arms from his back and placing them back at her side. And with that he crab walks out the door, closing the door behind him. Amelia watches all this with rapt curiosity, then turns back to Katya.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asks. She’s lived alone with her brother for a long time with only visits from close friends… Maybe she doesn’t actually know all that much about greeting unfamiliar cats.

She sees that Katya is once again trying desperately not to laugh behind her hands. But Katya shakes her head.

“Well… No, I think not.” She says amidst her giggling. “It is rare for cats to be so forthcoming with strangers but it is not bad. Lovino has, ah… strong personal rule to never touch too familiarly here at Sanctuary.”

“Why’s that?” Amelia asks but Natalya interrupts suddenly. Amelia had forgotten she was even there!

“I will call when dinner is ready, Katyusha.” She says plainly before jumping out the window, not waiting for a response. Amelia gives Katya another uneasy look, but she only holds a knowing gleam in her eye.

“Do not worry, I think she likes you. This is unusual. Very auspicious!” Katya says conspiratorially. Well… she would know her sister best, Amelia guesses, but it sure doesn’t seem that way. Katya continues, “Amelia, you have grown up without village, yes?”

Amelia nods.

“And your parents?”

“Um. I never knew our dad and mom died when we were little.”

“Oh…?” Katya gives her an expression that looks halfway condoling and halfway curious.

“We were lucky and someone stumbled across us not long after that.” Amelia explains, “He taught us how to survive up there and he visited us a lot after that!”

This seems to explain enough for Katya to continue.

“I see. Then I think you do not have very much contact with other cats. You are aware of Sickness?” Amelia nods again. “And you know that we who have female body are most in danger and our numbers have become so few it threatens entire ribika race, yes?”

This, too, Amelia knows. Gilbert, Ludwig, Tino and Sven have all talked about it and stressed the importance of Amelia keeping herself far away from the Void. In retrospect, its not so strange that Mattie developed such a strong complex, but being perfectly healthy and, as Ludwig put it, “absurdly robust,” Amelia never grasped the concept very well. Why the heck should she be more susceptible anyway? Katya seems to pick up on her complicated feelings.

“Well… you may not see effect where you live, but near Ransen we do not talk with strangers. We do not even walk outside where other cats are. It is too dangerous these days.” Katya says. And, as if to counter Amelia’s obvious bafflement, she adds, “It is not this way everywhere, of course! Some villages honor queens as equals to chief because they are precious! It is this way where I am from.”

There are so many concepts here that confuse her, Amelia can’t decide which to respond to first so she is silent for a moment to process them.

“Wait! I thought Ransen is the only place where the Void hasn’t reached yet. Why would it be dangerous?”

Katya’s expression looks complicated and sort of sad, not unlike the one Mattie had when he’d come to suggest they leave home.

“Amelia, most cats are good, normal cats. Lovino is unusually good cat. He helps us stay hidden here in safe place, far from Void and Sickness. But some cats are… ah… They want to hurt other cats.” Amelia nods. She has dispatched a handful of these. “Since Ransen is safe from Void, many, many cats gather together. When many cats gather, bad cats also gather and cause more trouble. And, since females are precious, we are favored target for bad cats who want profit. Does this make sense?”

“Ohh, ok.” Amelia says, finally picking up the point Katya is trying to make. “So, since there are so many cats in Ransen, it’s more dangerous because there are more jerks hanging around. I guess it’s harder to fight all of them if they’re all working together?”

“Yes!” Katya says, smiling once again. “Maybe they do not all work together, but that is gist of problem we have. This is why we stay in Sanctuary. It is also why we work hard to keep secret. Will you help us to keep our Sanctuary secret, Amelia?”

Amelia is surprised at how slow she’s been to catch on.

“Oh, gosh, of course!” She gushes just a bit, accidentally. “I wouldn’t let any bad guys anywhere near such an important place!”

“I am glad to hear it.” Katya says. “We can begin with this. I will explain to you important information about Sanctuary, yes?”

★ Part 3 ★

After that, Katya began to explain how this two-cane’s ruin is hidden behind a waterfall and an ancient, half-collapsed sinkhole, and that it belongs to Lovino and his brother Feliciano. (Katya says that Feliciano is busy cooking dinner and she will be meeting him and the rest of the house soon enough. And the rest of the house is all female!!)

Years ago, when Lovino and Feliciano learned about the increased breakouts of the Sickness, they went looking for some kitten-hood molly friends of theirs to make sure they were ok. This evolved into taking in any molly cats, or “queens,” who wanted shelter. Amelia deduces from context that “queen” does not refer to royalty, but seems to be a term specifically for an adult female cat. It is not a meaning she’d ever read in any of her books, at least not that she remembers, and certainly not one she’d heard in conversation before now.

Later, the brothers took in younger mollies, too, when the population started to plummet and it became dangerous for them simply by virtue of being a “rarity.” Amelia is not much of a collector, but Mattie is, so she’s familiar with the concept. She’s not sure why someone would want to kidnap and fight over rare things (and cats!?) just to have them, but she knows it happens and it is irksome to say the least! Do they really not understand the inconvenience it puts on a fellow cat??

She supposes that’s what all those bounty hunters were on about when they got a look at her back home. She knew they were up to no good to begin with, but now that she knows the context, Amelia’s quite sure she’ll be coming down a lot harder on these adversaries in future.

It isn’t much longer before they hear a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Katya calls. The door opens to reveal a fairly harassed looking Natalya and two new cats looking in over her shoulders with curious excitement.

“Katyusha, I am collecting you. These two insisted on bringing this one’s dinner to her room. They will keep her company, so you should come with me and rest.”

“Oh…!” Katya looks surprised and glances at Amelia, but Amelia has just realized that Katya must have been on alert for a good portion of the day while taking care of her. She gives Katya a nod and a smile. “All right then. I will be back to check on you later, Amelia. Enjoy your dinner!”

Amelia watches as Katya follows Natalya and sees that there are even more curious faces lingering outside her door. Most of them look so much… softer (like Katya and Natalya, like her own reflection in a pool of water) than she’s used to seeing.

“No way, you’re gonna, like, leave without dishing?” Amelia hears from the hallway.

“Yes.” Replies Natalya’s dangerous voice before it leaves the doorway.

One of the cats, who had sidled in past Natalya, walks over to Amelia carrying a tray of something steaming.

“Good evening! Lovi tells me your name is Amelia?” The cat says with an accent like Lovino’s, though his demeanor is much more buoyant. Amelia sees a reddish brown shade of hair and a familiar looking flyaway curl. He looks so much like Lovino it’s hard to mistake him. This must be Feliciano, she thinks, remembering her conversation with Katya.

“Yup!” Amelia says. The cat places the bed-tray beside her and her eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. “Wuh-WOW—” she covers her mouth (she sort of accidentally shouted, there.)

“This is for me…?” Is all she can say. She’s never seen such a meal in her life, and the aroma. Meat and sauce and vegetables and things she’s never even seen before. It’s been so long since Mattie and she had had anything more than nuts and grass and dried fruit to eat that seeing and smelling something so scandalously appetizing is actually making her eyes water, not to speak of her mouth. Oh… Oh, she wishes Mattie were here…

Amelia sniffs and looks back up through blurry eyes. The second cat, a tall blonde with green eyes, must have closed the door to the room and come to stand with the first. Amelia sees the excited, conspiratorial smiles slipping off of both their faces as they realize she is crying.

“Ooohh nooo, I’m sorry! Do you not like pasta??” Says Feliciano, waving his hands about in distress. “No, that can’t be right, maybe you don’t eat meat? It’s not as popular these days…” Amelia shakes her head and rubs her eyes, unable to respond. The second cat pats Feliciano on the head.

“Feli, don’t worry, I’m sure she likes it.” She says, “Amelia, take your time. My name is Emmaline; this is Feliciano.” She gestures to him. “We can leave you be if you need some time to yourself?”

“No…!” She sniffs loudly and shakes her head again. That’s probably the last thing she wants right now. She takes a couple of deep breaths. “No… I’m ok.”

Emmaline sits down in the chair Lovino abandoned over an hour ago and Feliciano sits on the side of the bed. He seems to be a lot more comfortable here than his brother was.

“Then, you should eat. You will be wonderful.” Emmaline says, lifting the tray and setting it across Amelia’s lap. Feliciano picks up the fork and hands it to her.

“I promise it is very good! Lovino made the sauce tonight!”

Amelia holds the fork for a moment, feeling as though their eyes are watching her rather closely, but she is, in fact, starving, and she’s never turned down a meal before, regardless of how spectacular it is. She digs in.

It takes another full minute or two before she stops crying again.

★End Chapter 5★ A/N: I made some significant enough additions, I thought I should post up Part 2 again along with Part 3. Nice job calling Belgium, anon. xD

As always!! Comments and critique are welcome! Thank you for reading!

#romerica #aph romano #aph america #aph belgium #lamentalia #aph italy #hetalia au #hetalia fanfic

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smileslikeparentheses · 6 years

Text

Etudes

After escaping the highwaymen and securing limited finances for lodgings on their way to return the puzzle box, Monty, Percy and Felicity find themselves in rather tight quarters, which has one very nice benefit in Monty's mind.

Fandom: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee

Henry “Monty” Montague/Percy Newton

[Also on Ao3]

There are occasional quiet moments on our journey, in between all the highwaymen and puzzle boxes and intrigue. I look forward to these nights, even though they mean there’s nothing to distract me from the things I’d rather not dwell on. Like what my father will say once we finally make it home (if we ever make it home), or what will happen when Percy leaves for Holland, or Percy’s illness, or just… Percy.

It always comes back around to Percy. He’s become the thing I need most to be distracted from, and that which I rather enjoy being distracted by. It’s maddening. Like scratching an itch. I know it will only make it worse, but it feels so goddamned good in the moment. I’d like to blame it on that night in the music hall in Paris. But I can’t. These feelings have been coming to a head for years.

But I’ve come to look forward to these quiet nights on the road. Now that we’ve slipped the leash of our watchdog Lockwood and retrieved enough cash to secure more consistent lodgings, it feels nice to play the part of adults travelling, as if this was our plan all along. Just two lads on the road (nevermind Felicity), carousing and drinking and very much not worrying about the dreaded duties and responsibilities that wait for us back home.

Of course, there’s been a distinct lack of drinking and carousing with all the muck of having no money and no contacts to help us along the way. But nevermind that. I am on my way to the pantry to see if there’s any gin so I might fix at least one of those problems, though I know I’d probably be better off sticking to tea. It’s best to keep my wits about me these days, much as I might want something stronger.

I make my way through the inn we’re spending the night in. It’s nicer than most we’ve found; we actually have our own small apartments tonight. But the hallways are narrow, dimly lit passages. Nothing like the halls of Father’s house. They are not built to hold shameless displays of wealth in the form of ostentatious baubles from his travels or gifts from the Duke of Wherever and the Lord and Lady of Whatever. They are narrow, barely enough room for one to pass through unencumbered. And they are tragically bereft of spirits; apparently we are meant to have brought our own. After I’ve riffled through one of the cabinets in the narrow hallway and found that they haven’t stocked it it with anything of interest, I admit defeat and turn to retreat back to the parlor.

I find myself suddenly, but not unwelcomingly, face to face with Percy. Well, face to chin, as he does have a good bit of height on me, and I realize these close quarters are rather good for something after all. Caught between the wall and one such as Percy Newton in a dark hallway is not an altogether terrible place to be.

“Oh,” he says when he bumps into me, looking up from the sheet music he was studying. He folds the pages to his chest as if palming a hand of cards at a gambling table. “I didn’t see you there.”

Right. Because it’s me who’s preoccupied with the whereabouts of him, not the other way around. He could be silent and still as a churchmouse in the middle of a crowd and my eyes would still find him out. I’m certain he spends a great deal less time preoccupied with my whereabouts than I do his. Still I am not about to complain that he’s lost track of me since it’s lead to me being pressed between him and the wall.

“I know I’m short, Percy, but I’m not that hard to miss, am I?” I say. “My hair alone is impossible not to take note of.”

Percy laughs, a bright sound in the quiet hallway. “I uh, no, I seem to be missing some pages of my music. I think I’ve left them in my fiddle case,” he says. “I was just on my way to retrieve them, and I didn’t know you were over here.”

“I was getting some... tea.” I mutter.

Percy narrows his eyes as if he knows I was searching for spirits, but mercifully doesn’t question me. We stand there in silence for what feels an eternity before finally Percy says, “Monty?”

“Yes, Perce?” I say softly.

“If you wouldn’t mind?” He gestures past me, brushing my shoulder as he points down the narrow hallway to our rooms where his violin case is stowed.

“Oh!” I say, voice louder than I intend. “Right. Let me just-” I shuffle to the side, careful not to knock into him, but the space is too tight and my knee, which apparently has a mind of its own, nudges his and we find ourselves stumbling.

He places his hand flat against my chest, splayed wide to catch our balance. I cough to cover the surprised noise that his sudden touch has pulled from me. It's not that I don't get touched often. Father would argue that most of my troubles stem from a distinct presence of arguably too much touching with too many girls and too many lads (of course any lad is too many for Father). Rather, it's that I can never keep it to myself when it's Percy touching me. Any touch at all. When he steadies himself getting out of a coach, I'm left rattled. When our fingers brush if he passes me the salt, I almost drop it every time. It's as if my body knows I'm not supposed to react, because it's Percy , and I can't sully it with my infatuation, hard as I might try to forget it.

I swear to God, I used to be able to touch him. I’m sure he believes I think him fragile, breakable, after learning about his illness, like I’m afraid he’ll turn to dust if I press too hard against him, but I’m not. I’m afraid I’m the one that will fall apart from touching him, and melt into a useless puddle on the floor. And it’s his bloody fault after all! That night in the music hall is still burned into my head like staring at a candle, the impression flickering on the insides of my eyelids every time I close my eyes.

It’s those long, dark, delicate fingers of his. They make me think on the hours he's played his violin, the calluses he’s formed from work and study. It’s this thoughtfulness that comprises every part of him that I admire. That and those goddamned freckles of his. But the thoughtfulness most of all. He does everything with great intent, with a practiced, even hand. He thinks and plans before he acts, and I both admire and resent him that.

Felicity too, though obviously I find her markedly less distracting than I do Percy. Because I know that she too is in the other room studying, learning, bettering herself. How is it that I’ve surrounded myself by these careful, studious individuals, and here I am... What have I studied? What have I accomplished with all my time, all my father's money?

But I don’t want to think of my sister at this moment, and especially not of Father.

Because right now Percy’s hand is pressed firmly against my chest. I can feel his long fingers flex against my collarbone ever so slightly, and my breath catches in my throat. His other hand still grips the pages of music near our stomachs, an impossibly thin barrier between where we are now pressed together.

I don't believe my soul to be worth much, it’s been sullied too many times in too many ways in my short life, but I'd trade it in an instant for a deliberate touch from Percy. For one brief moment of quiet clarity knowing he's touching me, and not because I'm in the way, not because there’s not enough space to pass by each other, but because he wants to touch me, Henry Montague, and no other reason.

And all too suddenly I remember that Percy is trying to get past me. I come back to my senses as much as I can standing so close to him. We do an awkward waltz, my feet clumsy as we shuffle to reposition ourselves. “Steady on, darling,” I say in an overly chipper voice as we spin. But I can hear my words ring with the hollowness of false bravado, and hope Percy doesn’t pick up on it. I huff out a breath and try to play it off as a laugh, feeling every bit as confident as a wilted plant. I’m getting worked up over passing my friend in the hallway, and the shame of it colours my cheeks. It’s good the lighting is so poor in this hallway.

Percy pulls his hand away and I immediately feel its absence. Cold rushes to where the warmth of his practiced hand had momentarily pooled. “Right, so I’m going to get those pages. Just because we’re on the road and on the run is no excuse to stop my studies.” He sets off to the rooms to find his sheet music. I sigh after him.

I’ve clearly abandoned my search for spirits, distracted by my run in with Percy and instead retreat back to the parlor where Felicity hasn’t moved other than to turn the page on her book. I settle into one of the armchairs. Eventually Percy emerges with a few more pages of sheet music.

“No tea then, Monty?” Percy asks as he fans the pages on his music stand.

“Not tonight. I decided I wasn’t thirsty after all.”

He smiles softly and shakes his head a little before tucking the violin under his chin and begins to work on his etude once more.

I've read a lot of terrible poetry in my days, and had some truly remarkably bad poetry read to me - whoever decided the way to woo a lad is with words when mouths can do so much more interesting things? But when I look at Percy when he’s lost in this otherworldly place he goes to when he plays his violin, I understand it. I understand trying to find the words to sum up one's infatuation, only to fall short. To reach for the moon and the stars as a stand in because they're far away and unknowable, as far away and unknowable as love itself. And how even the moon and the stars are not enough. They are blasted rocks out there in the void that are dust compared to a single second of Percy smiling, his deep brown eyes lighting up in one of the rare moments where I've made him laugh with my antics. And the way he tries - and fails - to pull that smile into a frown when he knows it isn’t proper.

While it’s true I haven’t studied anything Father would approve of, I realize I have in fact studied one very important subject: Percy. So while Felicity reads and Percy practices, I settle in do some studying of my own. I take in the the hard line of his mouth when he plays a difficult passage, the curl of his fingers on the neck his violin. I try and fail not to think of these fingers pressed against my chest again. He sways with every draw of of the bow. His eyes are closed tight in concentration, and his eyelashes cast spindly shadows that caress his cheeks in the dim light.

I wonder, fleetingly, why he bothered to retrieve the pages when he clearly has the piece memorized. He hasn’t opened his eyes in ages. Why had he gone through the dance of passing by me in that narrow hallway to get to them if he had no intention of using them? But I drop the thought and for once allow myself to stop worrying about Percy’s motivations and simply enjoy the music he plays on this rare quiet night. It’s in these moments that I feel truly at peace. There’s no one else but the two of us, and well, Felicity, but she hardly counts.

Percy plays, and Felicity studies, and I look on, lucky just to watch it unfold in front of me.

#monty/percy #tggtvav #henry montague #percy newton #ggtvav #my writing #i don't think i've ever posted fanfiction to this blog?#i think this is the first non video game fanfiction i've ever shared #please be kind #i know it's just a bunch of angsty fluff #but i had fun writing it

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dr-dean · 6 years

Text

An Unexpected Surprise

Fandom: Check Please!

Ship: Zimbits

Tags: ABO, Witch/Familiar AU, alpha!jack, witch!jack, omega!bitty, familiar!bitty, fluff, smut, knotting

Word Count: 3,445

Summary: Alpha Witch Jack finally gets to meet his familiar and is very happy its a cute little omega. Because the world needs more Zimbits ABO.

A/N: I already posted a link for it on tumblr, but I was too tired to do a proper post last night so here it is! Many thanks to @blue-reveries for betaing and @unforth-ninawaters for cheer-leading.

READ ON AO3

Jack was going for his morning run, his earbuds were in and he was finally zoning out. His morning runs were one of the few times that he could shut his mind off and not be so anxious all the time. They really helped to center him and were an important part of his daily routine.

As he was running through the park near his apartment he felt a brush of fur on his leg and his magic lit up inside of him. MINE , he thought. He looked down and saw a golden retriever running next to him. The golden was looking up at him and smiling with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Jack reached down and scratched him behind the ear as he continued running. The dog practically melted into his touch and kept by Jack’s side.

Jack brought his hand up to his nose to wipe away some sweat, and instead of smelling dog, he smelled omega. The omega smelled like freshly baked pie. It was rare for familiars to be omegas, most of them were betas. As an alpha Jack knows that if his familiar is an omega there is no way it isn’t going to turn into a relationship if the omega is even slightly attractive. No way Jack could spend that much time and get that personal with a cute omega and not get involved. Luckily, it's no longer taboo for a witch to be with his familiar but it’s still uncommon. Unless it’s an alpha/omega pair and then it was just the norm.

Jack decided to cut his run a little short and the dog followed him home. Once he was in the apartment, he poured two glasses of water and started making breakfast. “Are you hungry?” he asked while his back was turned to the dog as he got the ingredients for a veggie scramble out of the fridge. “If you change, you can sit up at the island and we can talk, if you need there is a bathrobe in the bathroom, second door on the left.”

Not all familiars could change with clothes on and he didn’t want the omega to feel too shy. Jack heard the scrape of a chair on his floor and when he turned around he saw a small blond boy wearing a tank top and shorts sitting at the island. A cute omega guy as a familiar, Jack thanked his lucky stars. Not only were omega familiars rare, but male omegas in general were really rare. Jack really had no preference between guys or girls, but he definitely preferred omegas, especially blonds. Jack handed him a glass of water. “I’m making a veggie scramble, anything you don’t eat?”

The boy shook his head and gulped down the water. Jack refilled it and handed it back to the boy. “You know, you have the same eyes and same hair as you do in your dog form.”

“How’d you know?” The boy’s eyes were wide and he had a thick southern accent.

“That you’re a familiar?” The boy nodded his head. “When you touched me when I was running. My magic lit up and responded to you. And I just knew that you were mine.” Jack tried not to sound too possessive, he didn’t want to scare the boy away but he knew he would never let this boy go.

Instead of being scared the boy seemed to relax at that. “I thought that you’re my witch. I just turned 20 a week ago, and I started to feel this pull, you know? When classes were done on Friday I went out looking for you. I found that park last night and something about it just felt right. And then you came running through this morning and I just had to follow you. Your magic was pulling at me. And it just felt right when you scratched my ears. I had to keep following you to see.”

“Friday?!? But it’s Sunday now. What school do you go to?” With his southern accent that thick he might go to a school pretty far away, but Jack hopes that it’s something closer.

“Samwell.”

A forty minute drive, but most familiars looked for their witches on foot; it was still a very long walk. “How’d you get here?”

“I walked, in dog form the whole time. I couldn’t feel the pull as strongly when I was in my human form.”

Jack frowned, he didn’t like the idea of his familiar suffering. “When was the last time you ate a proper meal?”

The boy laughed. “Don’t worry,” he pulled out something from his back pocket of his shorts and set it on the table, “as long as I have stuff in my pockets when I change I still have it when I change back, so I had my wallet and was able to stop and buy food along the way.”

Jack relaxed a bit as he looked over and saw the wallet, he knew some familiars would go for days or weeks without properly eating when they were looking for their witch, not everyone could change back and forth with their clothes let alone their possessions. His familiar must be pretty powerful in order to do that.

“Plus, it really didn’t take that long to find you.” He pulled out a cell phone from his other pocket and turned it on. “Any chance you have an iPhone charger? I forgot to bring one and I’m sure my phone is almost dead.”

“Yeah, there’s one right next to the couch,” Jack pointed with his spatula.

The boy hopped off the chair and plugged the phone in and typed furiously on it before coming back, just as he was sitting back down Jack slid a plate of food in front of him. Jack ate his while standing on the opposite side of the island. “Do you have to get back for classes on Monday?”

The boy swallowed a bite. “Yes, but my first class isn’t until noon, so I can sleep over tonight and take an early train back tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you, that should give you more time.” Jack wanted to have as much time to get to know his familiar while they were both free.

He smiled and his eyes sparkled at Jack. “Thank you, honey, I appreciate that.”

“So tell me about yourself.” Jack couldn’t just keep calling him ‘mine’ or ‘the boy’ in his head.

“What is this, an interview?” His familiar chirped.

Jack smirked, “No, but I’d like to get to know you. I’m Jack by the way.”

The boy pointed his fork at Jack, fake scowling and trying to hold back a grin. “I know who you are, Jack Zimmerman! I watch hockey! You’re the captain of the Falconers! But I had no idea that you’re a witch.”

“Yeah,” Jack stared down at his food, “that’s not something that’s public knowledge, so I would appreciate if you kept it under wraps.”

“Oh! Of course, sweetheart!” he nodded, “no one at school knows I’m a familiar! They just think that there’s a stray dog that likes to hang around the Haus.”

“Haus?” Jack asked, the way Bitty said it sounded German.

“It’s where I live. It’s an off-campus house where most of the hockey players live, I play on the Samwell team. I’m Eric, Eric Bittle but everyone calls me Bitty.”

This Bitty was just too much for Jack, a cute omega who was into hockey? Jack felt like he had hit the familiar jackpot. “An omega on the hockey team?”

Bitty scowled at Jack. “Hey! Just cuz I’m an omega doesn’t mean I can’t play ‘alpha’ sports.”

Jack holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you must be good, they have a good team, and it can be hard to be taken seriously as an omega in full contact sports so you must be the best player on the team. Do they treat you alright?”

Bitty’ scowl melted into a smile. “I’m not sure about best, but I am the fastest on the ice. They’re like a family to me. They’re like these huge overprotective brothers. You should see them if they think someone is gunning for me on the ice. They will beat him to a pulp and have no issues going to the sin bin for it.”

Jack smiled. “Good, I would hate to put the fear of God into them for not taking good care of you. I know until you graduate I’m not going to be able to be around all the time to protect you.”

“Going all big alpha on me already?” Eric chirped.

Jack turned the charm up as high as he could. “It’s hard not to when I have such a cute omega as a familiar.”

Bitty blushed and turned bright red. “Oh Lord, are you chirping me or flirting with me Mr. Zimmerman?”

“Let’s go with both,” Jack smirked and his eyes sparkled.

When they are done eating Jack cleared their plates.

“I don’t know about you but I need a shower. I have a guest room that has its own bathroom,” Jack said.

Bitty hopped off the chair. “That would be great, but I could use some clean clothes too.”

Jack nodded and headed towards his bedroom. He grabbed his smallest pair of workout shorts with a drawstring, and his tightest ‘Property of the Falconer's’ t-shirt. He liked the idea of seeing Bitty in a shirt that claimed him as his. He also grabbed a pair of compression shorts for Bitty to use as underwear. “I’m sure these are going to be a little big on you, but they are the smallest I have. Towels, soap, and shampoo are all in the guest bath.” Jack lead Bitty across the hall and placed the clean clothes on the counter in the bathroom. He opened a drawer and showed the contents to Bitty. “There’s also toothbrushes and toothpaste here for you. Do you need anything else?”

Bitty shook his head. “I think you have everything covered. You sure are prepared for guests!”

“Well, the toothbrushes and toothpaste are all those samples from the dentist’s office that they always give you. I have a fancy electric toothbrush so I don’t use them, but I can’t bear to throw them away. The soap and shampoo,” he pointed to a basket full of little travel sizes, “are from hotels, I kinda collect a lot of them with all the traveling that I do. The towels I just have.”

“Do you have lots of unexpected guests?” Bitty asked.

“My parents come to visit a bit but they always let me know first. You’re the first one to just show up out of the blue on me.”

“Sorry.” Bitty bites his lip.

Jack grabbed onto Bitty’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Don’t apologize! I’ve been waiting a long time for you. I was starting to worry that you’d never show up.”

Bitty smiled at him. “You’re not that old Jack! It’s not uncommon to not get a familiar until after you’re 25!”

“True, but both of my parents had theirs by the time they were 22. I know not every witch gets a familiar and I was starting to give up hope.” At 26 Jack was getting old for not having a familiar, it was almost unheard of for a witch to get one after they turned 30.

“Well have no fear, I’m 99% sure I’m your familiar.”

“Only 99%?” Jack chirped him.

“Oh hush you! I’ll be 100% sure after we both take a shower and I can confirm some things.” Bitty practically shoved Jack out of the bathroom. “Now go, we both stink.”

Jack met him in the living room a short time later. They both had damp hair and Bitty was checking something on his phone when Jack came out. Bitty patted the spot on the couch right next to him and Jack sat there. Bitty rested his head in Jack’s lap and Jack carded his fingers through Bitty’s blond hair.

“Mmmmmmm, that feels good,” Bitty mumbled.

“You like to be pet even in your human form?” Jack asked.

Bitty glared at him. “I’m not sure if that’s a chirp or a real question.”

“A real question. I know some familiars share some of their animal traits even in their human form.”

Bitty sighed and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I do like it.”

“Then I’ll keep doing it.” Jack scratched softly behind Bitty’s ears and Bitty seemed to just melt into him. “So what do you need to do to make you 100% sure I’m your witch?”

“I need to scent you.”

“Scent me? Isn’t that something more for mates to do then witches and familiars?” Jack liked where this was going but he had to be sure.

“Yes, but I’m an omega and you’re an alpha, if we aren’t compatible as mates then it's going to be very awkward living with you with your ruts and my heats and not sharing them. It’s already bad enough living in a house full of alphas when I go into heat.”

“Do they help you out?” Jack asked. He knew that it was a very personal question but he had to know.

Bitty turned bright red. “Um, yeah, my D-men do. They like sharing and it helps to have both of them so they can still go to class and trade off helping me out. I tried on my own once but with all the alphas in the house it was just too painful.”

“Next time you should come here. I don’t want anyone else helping you out anymore.” Jack knew it was too soon to really lay a claim on Bitty, and he didn’t mind that he had alphas to help him in the past, but he felt like Bitty was his and he didn’t like the idea of other alphas having what was his.

“But what if you’re on a roadie?” Apparently Bitty didn’t seem to mind the idea of coming to Providence for Jack to help him, he just didn’t want to be alone.

Jack continued to card his fingers through Bitty’s hair in a way that he hoped was reassuring.“Then I’ll just bring you with me. The other guys do it with their omegas all the time, you’ll stay in the hotel and I’ll only be gone for the game. Most omegas just seem to nap thru the games during heat anyways.”

“But the bus??” Bitty squeaked.

“We have some special divided rows in the back. Originally it was just meant for guys going through their ruts so it wouldn’t trigger the rest of the team to go into rut as well. But now some of the guys use them if their omega is in heat. They’re scent and sound protected so it doesn’t bother the rest of us.”

“Oh. That’s um, good.”

“When’s your next heat?” Jack had to know to start planning.

“In, like, two weeks.” Bitty bit his lip.

Jack smiled. “Well, won’t we have some fun then.”

“Why?” Bitty tilted his head in confusion.

“My rut’s due in two weeks. It sounds like our cycles might already be lined up.” Jack really liked the idea that they could already be synced up.

Bitty’s eyes went wide as he sat up, Jack kept his hand in Bitty’s hair wrapped the other hand around his waist and pulled him into his scent point. “No need to worry about that until you scent me anyways.” Bitty inhaled and then climbed up onto Jacks lap to nuzzle in and scent him some more. “Like what you smell?” Jack asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Bitty breathed out and melted into Jack.

“Can I scent you?” Jack asked.

“Yes.” Bitty tilted his head to the side and presented his neck to Jack.

Jack bent down and breathed Bitty in. Even clean he smelled like freshly baked pie. He had used some sort of fruity body wash and it just enhanced the pie smell. “Mmmmmmm, you smell good.” Jack felt his dick getting hard, and he felt Bitty’s getting on board too. Besides the smell of pie, the smell of arousal was hanging thickly over them. “If you don’t get off my lap soon, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Bitty removed himself from Jack’s shoulder and bit his lip. “Maybe we can take this to the bedroom. I would hate to make a mess on your couch.”

Jack just stood up and threw Bitty over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Bitty let out an undignified squeak but didn’t complain otherwise. Jack carried him to his bedroom and then laid him down gently on his king-sized bed. Jack quickly divested himself of all his clothing and saw Bitty just staring at him with wide eyes amd his mouth open. “Like what you see?” Jack asked.

Bitty just nodded. “Can you, um, turn around?” Bitty timidly asked.

Jack did a slow turn and flexed his glutes when his back is turned to Eric.

Bitty squeaked. “That really is a thing of beauty! Oh Lord, you have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to pictures of your butt, but to see it naked in person! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

Jack laughed and pounced on Bitty. “What’s fair is fair, your turn to strip.”

Bitty takes a lot longer than Jack to wiggle out of his clothes as Jack doesn’t seem to have it in him to get off of Bitty or to stop kissing him. When Bitty finally was naked, Jack got up onto his knees looming over the smaller boy. “You look good Bits. I can tell you workout. Now let’s see if you have a hockey butt too.” Jack manhandles Bitty so that he is laying on his stomach. Jack put both his hands on Bitty’s butt and squeezed. “Mmmmm, I think you do.”

Jack laid back down on top of Bitty and nipped at his ear as his hard cock rests between Bitty’s ass cheeks. “What would you like to do?” Jack asked.

“Knot me,” Bitty breathed out, “I need you to knot me.”

Jack growled and rubbed a finger around Bitty’s hole, finding it soaking wet. Jack groaned. “Fuck, Bitty, you’re already so wet for me.” Jack was able to easily slid in two fingers and just went straight to rubbing Bitty’s prostate.

“Stop teasing me and knot me already!” Bitty squirmed beneath Jack.

“I don’t want to hurt you baby,” Jack said as he inserted a third finger.

Bitty groaned, “I’m an omega, unless you are extra rough it won't hurt. I was made to take a knot.”

Jack pulled out his fingers and wiped the excess slick off onto his dick before gently sliding it in.

Bitty sighed in relief when Jack was all the way in.

Jack moved slowly and gently while kissing Bitty’s neck for a while before picking up the pace and biting down onto Bitty’s neck, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark. Jack would love to bite Bitty and claim him not just as his familiar but as his mate. However, he wouldn’t do that until they got to know each other better, until Bitty begged him for it. It didn't mean that he would leave any other marks on Bitty in the meantime.

Bitty was moaning underneath him and pushing back as good as he was taking it. Jack could feel his knot starting to swell.

Apparently Bitty could feel it too. “Knot me, please, Jack, Knot me. I need your knot,” he begged.

Jack couldn’t say no, so he thrusted deeply until his knot caught and he came inside of Bitty. Bitty moaned and clamped down on Jack as he came as well.

Bitty turned his head so he could see Jack. “Your knot feels huge. And its pressing right on my prostate.”

Jack kissed Bitty on the lips. “Well, I hope you like how it feels because I don’t think that it’s going to go down anytime soon.”

Bitty kissed back. “It feels amazing, just don’t move or I’ll cum again.”

Jack slowly rocked his hips. “Why would that be a bad thing?”

Bitty scolded, “I’m not in heat you, asshole. Cumming so close together makes me over-sensitive!”

Jack stopped moving his hips and nibbled at Bitty’s ear. “I hope my knot convinced you one hundred percent that you’re my familiar.”

“Alpha,” Bitty sighed, “you’re my witch. One hundred percent.”

“Mine,” Jack said as he nipped at Bitty’s shoulder.

“Yours,” Bitty agreed.

#omgkinkpls18 #zimbits fanfiction #zimbits au #zimbits abo #omgcp fic #omgcp #mine

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT KNOWLEDGE

Don't worry about us. A, but I doubt it will change much. The people you find now in America.1 But since I've been dealing with this world for many years, both as a founder and an investor, or an acquirer—and you have bigger chunks of time to try designing a good language. The language offers abstractions only as a way of telling you what to do.2 Be nice when investors reject you as well. Don't keep sucking on the straw if you're just getting air. You may be thinking, we have to tell them the best way not to seem desperate is not to try to baby the user with long-winded expressions that are meant to.

Aristotle's; we just approach it from a different direction. But I don't think we should be prepared for whatever PR mutates into to compensate. And when you propagate that constraint, the result is sterile and wooden: a shopping mall rather than a bumbler who needs to be a deal. And lately hackers have sensed a change in the atmosphere. But what that means, if you can make it to profitability without raising any additional money. The singularity I've described is not going away. Around 1000 Europe began to catch its breath. The more you raise, the more it will suck. But it certainly wasn't true, and hadn't been true for centuries, that students were serving apprenticeships in the hottest area of scholarship. It's probably the place in America where someone from Northern Europe would feel most at home. Fortunately we've come up with your real idea.3 That's what a lot of bad things, this didn't happen intentionally.

It's supposed to be? VCs you're talking to an angel who invests $20k at a time till they feel they have nothing to invest.4 We expected to divide them into two categories, promising and unpromising. If you think of as having one founder?5 Perhaps worst of all, he protected them from both the criticism of outsiders and the promptings of their own inner compass by establishing the principle that the most noble sort of theoretical knowledge: some that's useful in practical matters and some that isn't. But this mistake is less excusable than most. What these groups of co-founders do together is more complicated than just sitting down and trying to think of startup ideas, turn your mind into the type that has good startup ideas is to take advantage of anything new, and partly because, knowing how the story ends, they can't help streamlining the plot till it seems like all the good ideas came from within. The second counterintuitive point is that a real essay doesn't take a position and defend it.

If you believe an investor has committed, get them to confirm it. How was the place different from what they expected? Com of their name. Do startups that want to get market price, but it could be a better sign that someone was satisfied with a search result than going to the site and buying something? Whatever a committee decides tends to stay that way, even if your group has only 10 people. And then of course, this algorithm automatically maximizes the revenue of the search engine.6 But there are limits to how well you did at fundraising is that it gives you another source of ideas: look at big companies, where you either have to spend some of the most lightweight software, like casual games. Whereas if the next time you need to pay for subscriptions. So it is no wonder companies are afraid. When you raise money at a lower valuation even when your price has already been set by a prior investment at a specific valuation or cap, you can use? And since a startup is one of the reasons startups are becoming cheaper to start a company—as if it were like getting into college, for example, an eminent investor who would invest a lot, and you suppress the other. Retailers are less of a barrier to entry for competitors.7

It could be the tipping point of fundraising. Our startup made software for making online stores. Which is not to do that you have to show off with your body instead. Hygienic macros embody the opposite principle. If investors are vague or resist answering such questions, assume the worst; investors who are seriously interested in you will usually be happy to later, when you're fundraising, but that I often spent money I desperately needed on stuff that I didn't. When classical texts began to circulate in Europe, they contained not just new answers, but new questions. It might even be possible to succeed in a startup is only a couple months old, every week that passes gives you significantly more information about them.

It's not that people think of grand ideas. Unless there's some huge market crash, the next rule is a tactic for neutralizing this behavior. There used to be rare and valuable. The nature of speed, as perceived by the end-user applications. I'm not saying this is the price everyone else has paid; take it or leave it and not mind if they leave it. Now it's just one of the most characteristic solutions are not far removed from practical jokes. Occasionally you'll encounter investors who describe themselves as valuation sensitive.

Ideas get developed in the process keep your mind open enough that a big idea can take roost. Founders are often competitive people, and the more people you have, the harder it is to use it. People in Florence weren't genetically different, so you could use the two ideas interchangeably. Fundraising is not what you need to raise money from A, but I don't know. Do less. That will be a lot of money. A language that would make me a better programmer for the rest of your life. As long as that idea is still floating around, I think few realize the huge spread in the value of whatever solution you've got so far. Surprises are facts you didn't already know.

Most VCs wouldn't want that, which is that it sucks for doing what hackers want to do dangerous and unsavory things. In fact they were more law schools. Did they not understand that the big returns come from a few big winners. There are several types of investors are adapted to different degrees of risk, but each has its specific degree of risk deeply imprinted on it, or friends with those who are.8 You never have to type an unnecessary character, or even pull the ripcord part way through, like the classic Lisps of the 1970s. There might be 500 startups right now who think they're making something Microsoft might buy.9 You're genuinely in a bind, because you can't talk to the OS, you're unlikely to be able to declare the types of arguments in the bottlenecks. They're like a food that's not merely healthy, but counteracts the unhealthy effects of things you've already eaten. If you're not allowed to implement new ideas, and that buying startups is to some degree on investors. They seem to be on it or close to those who are.

Notes

San Francisco.

So instead of editors, and it has no competitors. But wide-area bandwidth increased more than 20 years, but when companies reach a given audience by a factor of 20. The expensive part of wisdom. Parents move to suburbs to raise more money chasing the same work faster.

And no, you can survive without external encouragement. When economists talk about humans being meant or designed to express algorithms, and thus no form nor anyone to call the years after 1914 a nightmare than to call you about an A round about the prior probability of an investment. 27 with the buyer's picture on the East Coast VCs. The New Yorker.

The second biggest regret was caring so much worse than Japanese car companies have little to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the Depository Institutions Act of 1982, which merchants used to retrieve orders, view statistics, and also really good at generating your own time, because the processing power you can survive without external encouragement. But if you're not allowed to ask for more than others, like a later investor trying to upgrade an existing university, or want tenure, avoid the conclusion that tax rates. The word suggests an undifferentiated slurry, but something feminists need to, but this disappointment is mostly evidence that the investments that failed, and when you see with defense contractors or fashion brands. The few people who might be a good idea to make that their buying power meant lower prices for you; who knows who you start to rise again.

Quoted in: Life seemed so much a great programmer might invent things, they did not start to spread from. 5 year olds the truth about the difference between surgeons and internists fleas: I should do is assemble components designed and manufactured by someone else. What has changed is how much we really depend on Aristotle more than they expected and they begin by having an associate. 99 and.

CEOs in the same work, but it doesn't commit you to acknowledge, but explain that's what you're doing. By buzz. The University of Vermont: The French Laundry in Napa Valley. The situation is analogous to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the 2005 summer founders, like parents, truly believe they have to admit there's no center to walk in with a lawsuit just as he or she would be to say they prefer great markets to great people.

Investors are often surprised by this standard, and that modern corporate executives were, we should make a living playing at weddings than by you based on their own, like the intrusive ads popular on pre-money valuations of funding. Founders are often unknowns. Steve Jobs did for Apple when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a rule, if you are.

So how do they decide on the economics of ancient traditions.

If you really need that much to say that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality in the bouillon cube s, cover, and b when she's nervous, she expresses it by smiling more.

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gillespialfredoe01806ld · 7 years

Text

Let the Fur Fly: What Are the Best Cities for Dog Lovers and for Cat Lovers?

Thomas Kelley/iStock

Which side are you on? America is bitterly divided into two warring groups these days. One is welcome in your home and considered family. The other is despicable and makes your blood boil.

So cough it up: Are you a you dog person or a cat person? And don’t give us that independent voter nonsense—we know you have a preference. Everyone does.

Catios or dog runs? Aloof cuddliness or goofy rambunctiousness? Automated litter boxes or hands-free, app-controlled pooper-scoopers?

Surprise: The camp you find yourself in might just help determine where you should live. As the animal-loving realtor.com®data team found out, some metros are particularly welcoming to canines and the folks who adore ’em—while others are hot spots for full-on feline frenzy.

One thing’s for sure: Pet ownership is climbing across the United States. Something about the current state of the nation seems to spur more of us to seek solace in turning to our clawed, furred, or taloned friends. They’re warm, loyal, and—canaries aside—almost never tweet.

In terms of popularity, dog lovers dominate. Around 54 million American households have at least one, compared to 43 million households that have at least one cat, according to the Humane Society of the United States.

“The best cities for pet lovers really take into account the human-animal bond,” says Gina DiNardo, executive secretary of the American Kennel Club. So where should dog or cat lovers go to forge those ties?

We took the 150 largest metros and then analyzed a wide variety of pet data. We only included one metro per state, for geographic diversity. Our criteria included:

Percentage of single-family homes on realtor.com with dog-related home features (i.e., doggie doors) or cat-related features (i.e., catios)

Pet services per capita, including boarding, photography, and stores*

Veterinarians per capita*

Dog walkers per capita*

Percentage of restaurants that allow dogs*

Percentage of realtor.com rental listings that allow dogs or cats

Google searches for “cats” and “dogs”

State dog and cat ownership rates*

We found that, as with politics, pet preference is local. Regional predilections abide. New England is crazy about felines—the region had three of the top five cat-loving cities. Vermont and Maine have the highest rates of cat ownership in the country (those furballs help keep you toasty during those frigid winter nights). Meanwhile, the wide open spaces, mild weather, and outdoorsy/crunchy lifestyles out West seem tailor-made for pooches—three cities on the West Coast ranked highest for canines and the people who can’t live without ’em.

“The West Coast is far more climatically friendly [to dogs], especially if you like going to dog parks and schmoozing with other owners every weekend, even in the winter,” says Marc Morrone, host of “Petkeeping With Marc Morrone” on Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia. “The East Coast is freezing in the winter, and a lot of dogs don’t like to go outside in the cold city streets.”

Oh, and there’s this: “Cats are so much less work than dogs.” They don’t need to be walked and can live happily in itty-bitty spaces.

Got it? Grab your leashes, and let’s take a look, starting with the best havens for hounds.

Best cities for dog lovers

Claire Widman

1. Austin, TX

Dog ownership rate: 44% Median home list price: $372,000

Cooling off in Austin

The whole “Keep Austin weird” thing isn’t just for homo sapiens—there’s plenty of seductive oddness for canines here as well. Is Humbert the husky seeming a bit angsty lately? Help him achieve a higher level of consciousness with a few sessions of mongrel yoga at Austin Doga. Does Cherry the chihuahua seem eager to strut her stuff and show off that knockoff Louis Vuitton collar? Let her vogue out at the annual Chihuahua Beauty Pageant.

“In Austin, you can take your dogs everywhere,” says Troy Pfeifer, co-owner of the Sit Means Sit dog training branch in the city. “There are no shortage of bars, restaurants that allow dogs.” There are reportedly over 200 eateries and 60 hotels here that allow furry companions (and no, beards don’t count).

There’s even an outlet mall near Pfeifer’s home that allows pups to peruse most of the stores. Let’s hope the majority of visitors aren’t big shedders.

Pfeifer says the dog craze shows no sign of slowing down in Austin. After living here for a year, he decided to quit an office job and open his doggie training center in 2011. The business has taken off, and he now trains more than a 1,000 dogs a year.

A standout among the many dog runs and parks is Red Bud Isle, a sweet spot where canines and their owners bond over refreshing dips in the lake.

It’s also worth noting that this is also the largest no-kill city in the United States for unclaimed pets, according to a local advocacy group, Austin Pets Alive.

2. Reno, NV

Dog ownership rate: 37.1% Median home list price: $422,500

As the gateway to both Lake Tahoe vacationers and travelers to the annual Burning Man festival, Reno is accustomed to hosting an eclectic crowd. So it’s no wonder that nearly all breeds, ranging from Labrador retrievers to shih-tzus, are popular in this city, according to the American Kennel Club. Diversity rules!

And for owners looking for a fun afternoon and a chance to make a difference, there’s the DogFest Walk ’n Roll, a charity walk whose proceeds go to the Canine Companions for Independence—a group that provides assistance dogs free of charge to adults and children with disabilities.

3. Salinas, CA

Dog ownership rate: 32.8% Median home list price: $904,500

Need a nosh after a long run through the park? Then stop by SUR at The Barnyard. We highly recommend the poached free-range chicken breast. If it’s a truly special occasion, then try the black-and-blue charred rare filet mignon tips with a wedge of Point Reyes blue cheese. Oh, wait—did we mention that this is the doggie menu?

So the dogs eat better than you do in the area around Salinas (and more than one in five restaurants in the town allow canine companions). Doggie love has a long history in Salinas. The town’s most famous son, John Steinbeck, chronicled a 1960 road trip around the United States with his standard poodle in the book “Travels With Charley.”

“People love walking their dogs on Pebble Beach, which has such beautiful views,” says Billy Quon, founder of SUR at The Barnyard. “There are endless trails here to take your dog hiking.”

Nearby, the charming oceanside town of Carmel is home to the Cypress Inn, an upscale hotel which allows dogs throughout the premises. Co-owned by actress and animal activist Doris Day, the hotel was once named “the most famous dog-friendly hotel in the country” by Sunset magazine. We don’t know exactly what that means, but expect plenty of Akita and Egyptian pharaoh hound sightings.

As for Billy Quon’s miniature schnauzer, named Sport, he has a particular fondness for the half-pound all-beef patty at SUR. Good call, Sport.

4. Denver, CO

Dog ownership rate: 42.5% Median home list price: $499,500

What better way to relax after a hard week’s work than a trek with your pooch? Dog owners in Denver don’t have to go far. Want to stay near downtown? Head to Platte River Greenway Trail. Looking for snow-capped mountain views? Grab your leash and drive 50 miles to Golden Gate Canyon State Park.

On your hike, you’re likely to run into some noticeably large canines. Denver is something of a hub for Bernese mountain dogs, Great Danes, and Siberian huskies.

The Colorado Kennel Club has hosted dog shows for more than 115 years. Its members know their stuff. When the hiking trails are snowed over in February, head over to the group’s “Dog Days of Denver Showcase of the Performing Arfs.” During the three-day dog show, you’ll see more than 150 dog breeds.

5. Portland, OR

Dog ownership rate: 38.8% Median home list price: $450,000

Checking out the fine views in Portland

jennagenio/iStock

If Portlanders have a craft beer in one hand, then the other is holding a leash. Who can blame them? The region is among the country’s leaders for dog parks, with 33 major off-leash areas.

Of course, all dog owners thinks their dog is the cutest. So put your Toto or Lassie to the test and compete in Portland’s Next TopDog Model contest, hosted by the Oregon Humane Society. The competition is fierce. In 2012, a poodle with “rasta-poodle dreadlocks” took home the top prize. Last year’s winner was a three-legged, rescue pit bull named Jenny.

Rounding out the top 10 best metros for dog lovers were Seattle, WA; Oklahoma City, OK; Tucson, AZ; Ann Arbor, MI; and Raleigh, NC.

OK, now let’s take a tour of the best municipalities for mousers.

Purrfect cities for cat lovers

Claire Widman

1. Albany, NY

Cat ownership rate: 29.1% Median home list price: $422,500

Looking for the perfect palace for you and your pussy partner? The capital city of New York deserves a close look. Homeowners here have taken extraordinary steps to making their homes kitten-friendly, with the latest decor. Yes, cat patios are real. Finding those pesky mice is a lot easier from atop your cat ladder. Paw-sitively claw-some, say local felines.

If you’re looking to meet up with other cat lovers, try the Orange Street Cats annual Kitty Bowl, where mavens unite at the local bowling alley to raise money for a local animal shelter. Or swing by Happy Cat Rescue—an animal shelter that brings in abandoned cats from all over the country. “We always have cats looking for new homes,” says Marcia Scott, the shelter’s president.

2. Eugene, OR

Cat ownership rate: 40.2% Median home list price: $325,000

OK, so raising a kitty isn’t quite the same as a baby, no matter how much cat people might try to convince you otherwise. But that doesn’t mean it is completely effort-free, either. So living somewhere with a lot of pet services, like Eugene, is a big plus.

Leaving town for the weekend? Drop your kitten off at a myriad of boarding facilities, for example, Willamette Valley Dog & Cat Motel, Auntie’s Cat Kennels, or Kitty Cat Hotel. Want some cute pictures of Travis the Turkish angora? Set up a photo shoot with Dream Storm Photography, a local specialist in pet portraits.

3. Seattle, WA

Cat ownership rate: 39% Median home list price: $485,000

Catio. It’s a patio for cats. Questions?

catiospaces.com

Seattle is more than just the coffee capital of the U.S. It’s also one of the country’s prime cat meccas.

At Seattle Meowtropolitan, those two local favorites can be found in one place: You can order your favorite java and pastry and then snuggle up to a purring cat. And if you like the animal enough, you can take it home. The cat cafe, which opened in late December 2015, partners with a local shelter to find these felines homes.

“Before we opened, we did our research [and found] Seattle is very cat-friendly, the ideal place for this,” says Louisa Liu, co-founder of Seattle Meowtropolitan.

If you’re looking to adopt a cat, you should also mark your calendar for Black Friday: The day after Thanksgiving, Seattle Humane waives adoption fees. For black cats, that is.

4. Portland, ME

Cat ownership rate: 46.4% Median home list price: $340,000

If you want to stretch out on your yoga mat while an adorable, adoptable tomcat meows in your ear, you’d better be quick. Tickets to kitty yoga go fast. We’re talking Hamilton fast.

“Kitten yoga is something new we started this year. It sells out within a day or two after posting the registration link,” says Jeana Roth, director of community engagement at the Animal Refuge League of Greater Portland. “We have about 15 kittens in the room bouncing and roaming. It’s a lot of fun. And it raises money for our adoption program.” The kittens are all rescue animals.

5. Manchester, NH

Cat ownership rate: 34.2% Median home list price: $314,900

The region’s love for cats made it easy for Cathy Hilscher to open up a pet store dedicated solely to her favorite animal.

“If you go into a big pet store, only one or two aisles are for cats—meanwhile … nine aisles are for dogs, and sometimes entire rooms are for fish or birds,” says Hilscher, owner of Cats Kingdom. “My store is two stories exclusively for cats. Nothing against dogs; I just have a special place in my heart for these creatures.”

Hilscher offers premium foods and environmentally friendly cat goods. Unexpectedly, her store has become a hot spot for the younger crowd.

“Millennials are not choosing to have kids right away,” Hilscher says, or choosing not to have kids at all. The cat scene, she says, is more the niche for them in Manchester than dogs. “They want their cats to be like their kids.”

The rest of the top 10 metros for cat obsessives are Oklahoma City, OK; Stockton, CA; Austin, TX; Reno, NV; and Lexington, KY.

*Data sources: realtor.com, American Veterinary Medical Association, Census Bureau, Google Trends, and Yelp.com.

The post Let the Fur Fly: What Are the Best Cities for Dog Lovers and for Cat Lovers? appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

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