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Writing challange
Since I’ve reached 100 Trinity Blood fics at Sunsets, it’s Nuit Blanche, I’m meant to be writing pr0n and we’re into the countdown to International Narsus Month: drabble/ficlet/maybe even something longer requests are open. Prompts such as fandom, character, prop or location are welcome or name a genre, a point in the canonical storyline etc. Crossovers are fine too: I’ll see what I can do with them.
Fandoms I can probably write in at the current time being: Meine Liebe, Trinity Blood, The Matrix, Sherlock Holmes, Yugioh AU, Sunshine, Batman, The Hellbound Heart, Stargate, XXXholic, Greek myth, Saiyuki. There may be more that I’m missing from that list too so try me.
Not limited to one request per player since I’m in the mood to be writing.
Fandoms I can probably write in at the current time being: Meine Liebe, Trinity Blood, The Matrix, Sherlock Holmes, Yugioh AU, Sunshine, Batman, The Hellbound Heart, Stargate, XXXholic, Greek myth, Saiyuki. There may be more that I’m missing from that list too so try me.
Not limited to one request per player since I’m in the mood to be writing.
Re: 2) XXXholic – Yūko/Watanuki
okay, then I'm throwing prompts around. Feel free to pick one, two, all, or any... =)
- XXXholic - Yuko/Watanuki; many many years later...
- Batman - Alfred Pennyworth; "despite the looks, Master Bruce is terribly untidy"
- Greek Myth - Hermes, what beauty he saw in Aphrodite
- Trinity Blood - Kate/Leon; lust, pride or envy.
Yūko/Watanuki – many years later
---
Sometime he wonders if she’ll ever come back. It is a bad day when that thought crosses his mind. It makes him wonder if Maru and Moro don’t think she’s coming back either, if Dōmeki visits him out of pity, the girl with bouncing curls in his memory exist only in his imagination. When the thoughts gather and tumble and barrel into each other it is not a good day for Watanuki at all. Sometimes he even starts to wonder if he dreamed up the Dimension Witch too. Maybe none of it is real, maybe he’s a madman raving inside his own skull?
Usually those moods pass with a particularly well-cooked batch of sweets or a cup of warm, sweet. foreign tea. Sometimes Maru and Moro will cartwheel across the room in front of him and the sheer absurdity will make him laugh. Sometimes Dōmeki will stop by to bring him a poorly made homemade lunch or more likely to ask Watanuki to make something for him instead of his roughly filled bento.
It is a good day when Watanuki sweeps autumn leaves into a pile in the courtyard. He has made a large enough selection of lunch dishes that he could feed company were he to have any, there is even sake warming carefully in the kitchen. He has dusted inside and his favourite room, the room with the elegant couch upon which rest his memories has even been vacuumed. He can’t help himself from looking up, towards the gate as if waiting for someone.
Nobody arrives while he is sweeping but he goes inside to set an elaborate lunch out on the table anyway. The low table is laden with fine dishes, the sake is ready to be poured, a second cushion set down for a guest opposite him.
He has finally seated himself and has pressed his hands together before the meal, the traditional words on the tip of his tongue when a shadow falls across the table. Watanauki doesn’t look up “You’re late.” His voice is soft, without accusation.
Yūko smiles gently: “I’m home.”
---
That may not be entirely accurate to the end of the manga but from what I know if it that’s probably reasonably close to canon.
Re: Yūko/Watanuki – many years later
Greek Myth - Hermes, what beauty he saw in Aphrodite
“That must have been quite the impressive sandal.”
Aphrodite for her part is use to his thoughts breaking into speech enough not to ask what he’s talking about anymore.
“After all, one would think you could just get a new one.”
She smiles into her winecup.
“You are married to the Smith God after all.”
“Hephaestus doesn’t take too kindly to the idea of tooling leather.” Her sad moue isn’t even feigned.
“Really?”
“If I wanted steel shod boots he’d be delighted to help.”
“Oh.” Hermes flutters his fingers over his winecup transforming the contents into a warm spiced concoction. “Well… he does have a ‘thing’ about that I suppose.”
“He made a pair of bracers for Eris only last week.”
Hermes bites his lip.
Aphrodite doesn’t miss the gesture.
It’s hardly a secret that sometimes reality doesn’t translate into fiction or at least myth as mortals term it. Aphrodite did lose a sandal and Hermes did indeed find it, he even sat down beside the pool and watched her bathe. She teased him with invitations to join her and perhaps he may even have done but that doesn’t make such a good morality tale. Nor does the fact that the loveliest of goddesses is actually reasonably faithful. Nobody wants to believe that beautiful Aphrodite does anything other than revel in her charms.
“I don’t mind really.”
Hermes often wonders if Aphrodite ought to be patron of serenity instead of beauty.
Her smile is bright, without any trace of bitterness.
“Each to their own, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
They both drain their cups.
She is beauty, perfection but strangely enough not entirely sensual abandon into the mix. She is a superior sort of elegant beauty. An ever young, wise and witty elder matron. She is love too but in a sense of glory and golden light. She is a goddess often maligned and misinterpreted by those without wisdom enough to comprehend her. Her strength lies in her serenity, her wisdom, her beauty that mortal eyes cannot even begin to understand.
They embrace before she departs, holding each other close enough that mortals would view it as carnal. She smiles against his hair: he places his kiss against her throat.
She is everything a god should desire and yet all she cultivates is Hephaestus’ neglect. Her hand given in marriage to the cruel Smith to temper his furies: it’s hardly her fault that Hephaestus is a bastard.
Hermes shakes his head, despairing of the entire fiasco, as he enters his bedchamber, and stares down at the slumbering form of the Crippled God.
“Your wife was here.”
Hephaestus’ snores stop at least.
“And I am utterly aghast at your marital infidelity.” Though the fact that he’s busily stripping off his tunic by this point belies the statement.
“If I were her I would-“
The mechanical hand that pulls him down onto the bed disrupts his demagoguery, and then the fact that he is rolled onto his back, pinned down beneath Hephaestus’ scarred frame puts a stop to it entirely.
Trinity Blood - Kate/Leon; lust, pride or envy
“Well.” William’s tone could only be described as peevish.
“Leon has been very useful in handling this sort of affair before.” She ignored him, turning to face Caterina instead.
“Of course.” Caterina seemed oblivious of, though more likely ignored, William’s ire.
Once Caterina was gone, attending to other duties Kate turned to William again. She should at least attempt to sooth over the matter but he was already stalking from the room hurriedly, the chilling reflection of his expression in the windows reminding her far too much of security footage they’d recently recovered of Isaak von Kämpfer.
+++++
All of which hints at there being more to the story really.
Re: Trinity Blood - Kate/Leon; lust, pride or envy
..and I surely won't complain about being informed of other details if you'd ever feel like that .. :3
(anyway, that's the exact thing about Leon I fancy it would give Kate quite some hots for him: his 'pride in himself without artifice' :) )
Re: Trinity Blood - Kate/Leon; lust, pride or envy
Isaak leaned forwards resting his elbows on the table and propping his chin on his hands. He made no move to pick up the envelope and never even gave any indication of having noticed it at all much to William’s annoyance.
“Are you going to tell me that those esoteric powers of yours are so advanced that you don’t even have to look?”
Isaak’s laughter started William enough so that he found that he suddenly couldn’t quite manage to light his pipe. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”
A death’s head grin greeted his statement.
“I just… want a job done. Nothing more than that. I don’t see what’s so amusing about it.”
“Oh, ‘amusing’ would be an understatement.”
“Would it really.” He’d lit his pipe now and the tobacco seemed to calm him.
Isaak leaned back in his chair, casting a surreptitious glance about them.
William frowned at that. “Look, I just want this done. If you’re worried about payment-“
“Wouldn’t you rather handle this..” Issak tapped the envelope with a finger. “…yourself?”
“And how pray tell am I going to do that?”
Isaak leaned forwards again, conspiratorially. “We could provide you with certain… resources.”
“Go on.”
“My… organisation is quite adept at handling this sort of situation as you well know.”
“And you’d be prepared to lend me your resources? I didn’t think your people did that.”
“We don’t.”
William’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t give voice to the suspicion that was growing in his mind.
Isaak chuckled self-depreciatingly. “Yes. I’m asking you to join us.”
“Why?”
Isaak seemed nonplussed by the question. “Why ask or why now?”
“Both.”
“Ah, well, you’re very well placed to help further our purpose and you’ve never thought of approaching us before which would indicate-“
“I can still tell when you’re lying to me.”
Isaak sighed. “I haven’t had sex since Londinium.”
“What? Really? But what about that von Lohengrin boy?”
“Dietrich likes girls.”
William drew on his pipe thoughtfully for a moment before admitting: “So does Caterina.”
“Ah.”
“And to be honest she’s a little old for me these days.” He looked downcast for an instant before his expression cleared. “But I’m sure we can find you a short enough skirt.”
“And over the knee socks.”
“What is it with you and those socks?”
Isaak crossed his legs primly. “You’d better find me a pair, professor, or I’m going straight home after class.”
+++++
Sadly I couldn’t quite keep up the serious plotline, mostly because the thought process in my mind always results in William + Isaak = clandestine liaison (generally involving an anonymous hotel room).
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I must admit that, even though I'd never want it to happen for real, your whole 'William joining the order' that reasurfaces from time to time in many of your writings is always a fascinating perspective on his character. His bond to Isaak, his moral relativism and bordeline legality.. it takes just a little slip to fall in that direction and that's intriguing.
your commentary inspired me another request for this meme, if you want to...
- William/a random male student of his: sad in bed
I apologize about my english, it's terribly dumb this morning and I don't really know why... :/
William/a random male student of his: sad in bed
---
“Look, Professor, I-“
“It’s not alright.” But William didn’t roll back over to face his companion.
“It happens to everyone.”
“I bet it’s never happened to you.” Snapped peevishly.
“Well, no but-“
“Well then.”
“Look, I hear it’s quite normal with older guys.”
“Who are you calling old?!”
“Older, sir, I said older not old.”
This time William did at least lift his head from the pillow to glare at his companion.
“You’re about the same age as my dad.”
“Oh God…” He let his head fall back against the pillow and threw an arm up over his face.
The next week of course the university authorities got hold of the news and once again Professor Wordsworth was called into a very discreet little disciplinary meeting. By that point in his career at La Sapienza he’d been to a good few dozen of them. Every few weeks they found something else, some other rumour or accusation to throw at him. This week it was that he’d bedded three of the finest sons of Rome, four weeks ago he’d been accused of ruining novices who came to him for private Vatican classes, nine weeks before that it had been for being disorderly in a brothel, twelve weeks before it had been the accusation of his frequenting Methuselah prostitutes who were men dressed as women or women dressed as men. Not that anybody ever proved anything: it was just that rumours were persistent and that he never quite had a solid alibi. Even the last time he’d had the head librarian vouch for him it had come to light that she’d not been at her post at the time and had been engaged in a dalliance in her office with her lover. The novices when questioned wouldn’t speak an ill word of him which should have set him beyond reproach as they were soon to be fully ordained women of the cloth but they’d also quite blatantly flirted with him with a curious familiarity after their questioning so that put their testimony into disrepute. The Madam from the suburban brothel had held so many Vatican secrets that it wasn’t safe to question her and of the two Methuselah prostitutes they actually found one turned out to be the son of a very prominent Sicilian family and the other was a registered Vatican spy.
“These rumours are worrying.”
He’d sucked on the tip of his pipe. “I have no idea where they’re coming from.”
Caterina’s gaze was sharp.
“I…”
She’d clenched her fists, eyes dropping to the table. “This is despicable!”
“Caterina?”
“This can’t be my brother’s doing. Even he wouldn’t sink so low in an attempt to discredit me.”
It was of course an out. “Perhaps not your brother.”
Her mind immediately leapt to the possibility. “The Orden.”
“It would make a certain sort of sense.” He nodded sagely, all the while wondering if he could use that very same line of argument to one day persuade Isaak to sleep with him.
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Batman - Alfred Pennyworth; "despite the looks, Master Bruce is terribly untidy"
+++
“…despite the looks, Master Bruce is terribly untidy.” Alfred smiled as he said it taking away any censure from his words and sweeping the pile of newspapers off the most comfortable chair for Selena to sit down.
He continued to tidy up the area around the fireplace quickly and efficiently, letting her marvel at his skill in tucking away stacks of papers into draws and cabinet that hardly seemed large enough for the task. Then with a slight bow he departed to fetch her refreshments while she waited for Bruce to return.
Bruce Wayne intrigued her: he certainly wasn’t as shallow as he pretended. The playboy philanthropist who apparently read every crime report in the city if the newspapers had been anything to go by. He was a man with a secret and for a instant she wanted to know it until she reminded herself that it was Valentine’s Day and that she had her own secrets too.
When Alfred returned with the tray of canapés and fine wine she was delighted. Then he made a second departure only to return with chocolates and coffee should she prefer those instead. She laughed delightedly and kicking off her heels, curled up contentedly in the armchair teasingly remarking that Alfred was spoiling her. And as she said it the idea gave her pause.
“Does Bruce like in this sort of thing?” She sipped her wine and tried to make the question sound innocent.
“Master Bruce doesn’t indulge himself often but pralines have been known to be his vice.” Alfred’s smile was an expression of nostalgic indulgence.
“Not often? I keep reading all these reports in the papers…”
Alfred frowned somewhat. “The press, alas, are apt to report the most sensation, Miss Selena.”
“He doesn’t-” She stopped, chewing her lip thoughtfully. How to phrase it without sounding like she was probing for information?
“There isn’t anyone else, I can assure you.” Alfred presumed her worry was infidelity and certainly Master Bruce was faithful. The dalliances that kept him from home right now where hardly romantic.
“You said he was untidy.” She was grasping at straws most likely and perhaps the wine was stronger than she’d expected.
Untidy enough to leave his limbs worked over by scars and fresh injuries, to spill his emotions into the difficult business of fighting crime, to leave his ladyfriend waiting while he was off performing his self-imposed duty to Gotham. “Very much so.” Alfred forced himself to laugh in keeping with the conversation.
The crack in Alfred’s laughter reminded her of the late hour and criminal or otherwise she immediately felt guilty for keeping the loyal butler up long past what was probably his normal bedtime. “Alfred?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“If you don’t mind it I can sit up and wait for Bruce. You’ve left me enough to eat and once I’ve finished this wine I can start on the coffee.” She smiled warmly at him.
“As you wish, Miss Selena.” He bowed and departed.
Left alone in front of the fireplace she sank back against the cushions wondering what on earth it could be that kept Bruce from her tonight of all nights.
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