#time stone green being with strange during the good phases
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Six Phases 006 Pt 6
Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.
A/N: I couldn't find a picture to match Baekhyun's appearance—so I chose one that fits his mood instead 2.0 😅 ♡
[ contains: angst ] Two’s a couple, Three’s a crowd 💔
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1) P(2) | Part 6 P(1) P(2) —– P(3) P(4) —– P(5) P(6) ✓ ||| ♬♩♪♩ FINALE P(1) P(2)
•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •
My heels click rhythmically on the sidewalk, in perfect sync with the song I’m humming. I’ve taken a liking to listening to new music lately instead of sticking to the same old artists that I’ve heard a thousand times. Trying to expand my horizons and replace sob-inducing ballads with uplifting trap beats.
It’s going okay so far: moving on. Learning how to navigate the world while riding solo. It’s not like I haven’t done it before—sleepless nights aren’t new. Lack of appetite isn’t either. A breakup will never be the end of the world, no matter how excruciating it is. So why should I let it hold me back and define me?
Birds chirp merrily in the trees, bringing a smile to my face, especially when I catch sight of a little hummingbird enjoying nectar from a patch of flowers. If there’s one thing I can say that has helped me during this time, it’s nature. Simply looking out at the world from my apartment window and taking long walks around the more remote parts of this city have calmed my soul more than I can express with words.
I’m watching the squirrels scurry around on the other side of the street while waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I sigh, so much for a moment of tranquility.
I pull my phone out of my tiny jean pocket, furrowing my brows at the caller ID. Jongin…? That’s strange, has he ever called me before? I rack my brain for answers. Nope, this is the first time he is calling me. Flashbacks of our distant friendship since that one summer fight I had with a certain someone flashes through my mind... I press my phone to my ear before I can overthink it any longer. "Hello?"
"Riley." Jongin’s smooth voice filters over the line.
"Hi," I mumble, continuing down the street, noticing a beautiful blue and green butterfly flying by with a smile. The pitter patter of a water fountain in the distance has me falling back into my 'Zen’ mode. "What’s up? How are you?"
"I need a favor." He drops; straight to the point. Sending me right into a panic.
My phone nearly falls to the ground. "...You didn’t break a leg or something-"
"No, no," He immediately responds, recognizing the high pitch of hysteria in my voice. "It’s nothing bad."
Thank fuck, the last thing I need right now is bad news. It may be the end of March, but I’m not really feeling this 'Spring’ season. My mood shifts faster than the strong wind. The only stress I try to have nowadays are always work related because if I stop and think about my personal life for a moment I am fucked.
I take a deep breath, leaning my back against a light pole before replying to him. "Okay."
"There’s a dance competition in June," He slowly explains, "and I need a partner."
"Oh..." I blink a few times, straightening back up. "Huh… I’m sorry, I’m not really good at choosing candidates. I’m not a professional-"
"I mean you." He interjects, background music drifting over the line. "I want you to be my partner."
I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment, looking at it in disbelief, "I'm sorry—What?"
"I have a routine already," His voice takes on a warmer tone, pure persuasion dripping from his honeyed words. "With your name all over it."
"...Eh??" I look off to the side, trying in vain to find something—anything to distract me from the tingles zapping down my spine at the sound of his voice. God… what the fuck? "Don’t you have like a million other people who specialize in-"
"I made the choreography for you."
My heart hammers in my chest. "And why the heck would you do that?" I demand, tightening my grip on the phone. Something out of the corner of my eye suddenly captures my attention, dragging my eyes over to it instantly. The sight that greets me has my throat going dry, gulping as my hands shake.
It’s Baekhyun—and he isn’t alone.
He’s accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman, the same height as him in her flat sandals. Her black hair reaches the middle of her back, contrasting against her light blue overalls and swaying softly in the cool wind. They lean against a brick wall next to a cute coffee shop with matching coffee cups in their hands.
Jongin’s words fade into background noise while I watch them. My vision blurs when she laughs, resting her hand on his arm. The way she easily initiates physical contact with him speaks volumes; this isn’t their first meeting. It’s been 2 months since January, and yet...
My heart constricts painfully in my chest, I suck in a deep breath. Lightheadedness hits me full force, I quickly cling onto the pole when my body sways off balance. Shit… I must have been holding my breath.
"Riley?" Jongin’s muffled voice drifts from my distant phone. Thankfully it fell onto the parking meteor next to me and not on the ground. "Riley!"
Burning a hole into the back of Baekhyun’s silver-haired head, I bring the phone back to my ear. "I’ll do it," I mumble lowly.
"I’m sorry?"
Staring at Baekhyun and his new friend, I make my decision. "I’ll be your partner."
•••
Okay… Maybe I was too hasty in agreeing to this whole dance competition thing. I should have waited to make a decision when I was in a better state of mind.
It’s been a good four weeks since I agreed to be Jongin’s partner—four weeks of pure hell.
If I had known what kind of dance moves were incorporated in this routine I never ever would have agreed. The choreography appears simple and subtle enough on the surface, especially thanks to Jongin’s gifted skills, but that’s the problem. It’s not simple; it’s a fucking ankle breaker. It’s pure well-organized insanity and I don’t know how much more of it that I can take.
"From the top," Jongin’s voice echoes in the dance studio. He presses a remote to start the song over again. I try to stay focused, ignoring the looming figures of the other hostile dancers in the room. Why they all gathered here to watch us practice today, I have no idea, but it isn’t helping me at all.
The bass booming from the stereo speakers vibrates the wood under my feet. Sweat permeates the air. Their predator-like stares break me down from the inside out. The memory of Baekhyun with that woman pops into my mind...
"5, 6, 7-"
Shit!
Gasps echo around the room when it happens: I collapse onto the floor, clutching onto my throbbing ankle.
"Riley?!" Something about the alarm in Jongin’s voice makes me wince, curling in on myself as everyone’s whispers float into the air.
"Oh my god, is she serious...?"
"See what I mean! She has two left feet. Why is he wasting his time on her?"
"Dumbass can’t even do a single number, let alone a simple choreography. The way he chose that over me…"
I try my best to reel in my emotions, to keep the hurt from being seen on my face, but there’s only so much I can bear—there’s only so much I can take.
Tears pelt down my face while their loud gasps and delighted giggles fill the air. I make a move to climb to my feet, ready to bolt out of here and never step foot in this place again when a gentle hand on my shoulder stops me.
"Riley." It’s Jongin, crouching down to meet my eye. "Are you okay?"
I can only shake my head, losing my breath as their taunting voices swirl around my head like a whirlpool, consuming me whole.
"Riley, stay with me." Jongin rests both his hands on my shoulders, directing my eyes to his whenever I look away. "Talk to me. What’s wrong?"
"I-I," I choke, covering my face in my hands before I sob pathetically on the hardwood floor. The throbbing of my backside and ankle only makes it worse.
"Ri-"
"Look at her! Pathetic at it’s finest."
Jongin stiffens, I don’t even need to see him to know that he’s gone rigid. His hand slips off my shoulder as I watch his silhouette rise from the spaces between my fingers, standing to his full height.
"Mind sharing with the class what you just said, Kim Nora?" He looks at the woman in the middle of the 5 dancers leaning against the far wall, his jaw clenching.
"I-"
"If you have something to say, say it."
"I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years. Years, Jongin!" She snaps, her shrill voice bouncing off of the walls. "I’m on time for every rehearsal. I practice until I bleed. Why does this no-name slut get to come in here and take it from me when she can’t even stand on her own two feet?!"
"Kim Nora." The way he says her name has everyone on edge. My back prickles in fear and secondhand embarrassment. He’s not even directing that stone cold tone at me and I’m hella uncomfortable sitting here.
"Who’s dance studio is this, Nora?"
"Yours-" She looks away, not brave enough to meet his eyes anymore. "-M-Mr. Kim..."
Jongin hums, holding his hands behind his back while pacing up and down the floor. "Who’s name is on the sign out front, everyone?"
"Yours, Mr. Kim." They chime in sync with meek voices. A look of regret painted on every single one of their faces.
"Mine." He concludes, satisfied before turning his dark eyes back onto Nora. "Let me explain something to you, Nora."
Her eyes stay focused on the floor.
"This is my practice, my building." He stops pacing, stretching his arms out to showcase the room. "You are under my roof." He looks dead at her, eyes colder than ice. "You are here because I let you. Do you understand that?"
"Y-yes, sir, but I-"
"Next time," He cuts her off, "You decide to be immature. Next time, you decide that your knowledge is anything close to my expertise." He steps closer, and I’ve never seen a person standing 3 feet away have such an impact on an individual. "Next time, you decide to mock one of my friends." He lowers his voice, and I can feel the heavy promise coming off him in waves. "You are gone. Do you understand me?"
Nora babbles something unintelligible, tears brimming her eyeliner caked eyes.
"Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes!" She sucks in a breath, snot clogging her nose as she directs her eyes back to the floor. "Yes, sir."
"Good." He steps away, turning on his heel before rushing back over to me. "Riley," His voice is softer now, much like the Jongin who helped rescue me from my birthday party 2 years ago.
"Hey..." I hush, lowering my hands to my lap.
"Are you okay?" He hands me a clean towel, his brows furrowed in worry. "How’s your ankle?"
"I-It’s fine."
He raises a brow, reaching out a hand to me. "May I?"
"Yeah." I sigh, noticing the familiar look of concern on his face.
Jongin takes my ankle into his hands, handling it carefully and pressing a few places. "Does it hurt?" His frown deepens when I wince. "And here?"
"Yeah," I nod, my face pinched up in pain.
"From 1 to 10," He continues, looking me dead in the eyes, "How much pain are you in?"
My lips part to answer, but I pause, biting the bullet and wiggling my ankle around to see how bad it actually is. "F-four out of ten." I grit out, still so sensitive that tears sting my eyes again.
"It’s sprained." He concludes, gently lowering it back to the floor.
"W-what does that mean?" I ask fearfully. Whatever it means, it doesn’t sound good with the contest 6 weeks away. Shit, why am I such a fuck up? What if I can’t perform let alone learn the choreography in time? I’m such a failure, I-
"It’s not bad," He reassures, resting a comforting hand on my arm. "A few days off of it and you should be good as new."
"R-really?"
Jongin nods, smiling softly. "Nothing a few days off can’t fix."
"Oh, thank you," I whisper in relief, wrapping my arms around his neck to mask the tears that escape my eyes. "Thank you, thank you."
"No," Jongin shakes his head, hugging me warmly, whispering just as quietly in my ear. "Thank you."
•••
After that day, none of the dancers have bothered me, let alone showed up to any more dance practices. Jongin made sure of that. No one fucked around with him either after the way he resolved the issue. An angry Jongin is a scary Jongin; that much I know now.
Sighing softly, I look up at the fluffy clouds overhead, trying to salvage the calm that washes over me in wake of April’s flourishing weather. The flowers are more alive than ever. Small animals and other critters run around for food on the ground. The world around me is the picture-perfect example of nature at its finest—so why is there an uneasy feeling weighing on my chest?
Work is going well and the book we had spent months and months preparing was released last week. I’m on my way to the nearest bookstore to grab a copy for myself. To check that no grammar related errors got past my keen eyes or because I genuinely enjoy the novel, who knows. I want to see the final product for myself and check out other releases. It’s about time I pick up another book besides the one I stayed up countless nights making sure everything was finalized.
A cute bell chimes when I step through the door, hit with the aroma of fresh coffee. Every time I go to a bookstore or library, it’s like I am stepping into another world. The shelves filled to the brim with hundreds, maybe thousands of literature, all at the touch of your fingertips.
From ebooks to the dusty classics, I love them all. I may not read everything; I might be one of the pickiest readers out there, but I appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that go into every completed book. Good or bad, the author has big balls for trying and putting their name out there. I have mad respect for that.
Venturing further into the shop, my eyes catch the Fantasy section with ease. I make my way over, already seeing a colorful display set out for the newest releases. The sight of the book I’m looking for brings a smile to my face. It feels different to see it in a store instead of reading the rough drafts in the comfort of my bed. Damn the graphic designers put their foot in the cover; it captures the personalities of the main characters perfectly. I couldn’t be more proud.
My smile widens the closer I get to the display, realizing that there is only one copy left of the book. Deserved; everyone from the author to the marketing team have done their best to make this book a big seller. Thankfully the universe left one just for me.
Just as my fingertips touch the edge of the paperback cover, someone else’s hand brushes against mine.
"Oh! Sorry-"
"Ah, I’m so sor-"
My heart plummets and my head snaps up to look at them at once. Puppy brown eyes that I could identify out of countless others and a million stars stare wide-eyed right back into mine.
Fuck.
"Riley?" He breathes, his handsome face painted in disbelief.
I can only wheeze, my chest throbbing as if my heart will explode.
Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck—
Before he can say another word, before I can crumble in front of his questioning orbs, I turn on my heel and sprint out of there like a bat out of hell.
I’ve been doing better, I’m slowly healing from it all, but the moment I see his face—his sweet, tired, kicked-puppy face, I fold quicker than an umbrella in an incoming hurricane. It hurts worse than the force of an 18-wheeler. My whole world full of its fragile edges and duct tape unravels under the weight.
Normally, I wouldn’t do this.
…
Okay scratch that—I used to do this. All the damn time, but with the way our lives have changed and that one conversation we had back in March 2 years ago I… I haven’t been able to bring myself to talk to him. I’ve made it my mission to avoid Sehun.
I know what he will say the minute I tell him what’s up: I told you so—the bane of my existence. That one phrase alone is enough to keep me from confessing so many things. I rather suffer in silence than hear that sentence, but… This is different.
No matter how much it pains me and paints me in shame, I need to tell my best friend what's been going on. After everything he has done for me since our childhood... I owe him that much. So here I am now.
I chew on my bottom lip and knock firmly on his apartment door, waiting for someone to answer with bated breath.
It opens a few minutes later, revealing his unmistakable tall form as he dries his hair. Sehun does a double take. "Shorty?" He breathes in disbelief, pausing in ruffling his messy black locks.
I laugh a little, warmth sparking in my aching heart from the nickname. "Yeah," I breathe, managing a wobbly smile, already feeling tears prickle my eyes. "That's me."
We stare at each other for a long moment, nothing but the distant swish of driving cars and the muffled conversations happening beyond the open balcony on his floor fills the silence. Ah… My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. I shouldn’t have come here. He’s probably busy enough as it is-
As if reading my mind, Sehun’s gaze softens. He throws the towel around his neck before opening his arms. "Come here."
I bury myself in his chest without hesitation, soaking the fabric of his black t-shirt with my tears. "I’m sorry," I croak, holding back sobs.
"Hey, hey," a low, soothing voice chimes in, resting a hand on my arm. "What happened?"
"I don’t know," Sehun mumbles, rubbing my back as I shake in his arms. "But whoever did it will be missing an arm."
"N-No need, Hun," I sniffle with a shaky sigh, pulling away from his embrace. A chill covers my skin with goosebumps the moment I step away. It’s been like this all week; feeling hot to the touch, yet shaking like a leaf at the same time. I have no idea what is going on, and at this point… I don’t want to know. I can say that for a lot of things.
Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I turn around, smiling apologetically at the brown-haired man standing in the doorway. "I’m sorry for popping up out of the blue, Lu."
"Nonsense," Luhan shakes his head, his curly hair partially covering his worry-filled eyes. He takes my hand between his, "Come in, I’ll make us some tea."
"Okay," I whisper, shuffling into their apartment. I take the tissue box he offers me, following him into the spacious living room. He goes into the kitchen while I sit down on their couch, my breath hitching from the emotions budding in my chest.
Sehun closes the door, noisily walking on the wooden floor in his flip flops. He sits down next to me, questioning me with his unwavering stare, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eye. I… I don’t know where to begin; I can’t even find the words. The squeal of the teapot in the other room fills the tense silence between us.
"Alright," He sighs, propping his foot up on the coffee table and resting his arm on his knee before giving me a hard look. "What did Byun do?"
I choke, snapping my eyes to his, "How do you know?"
"You never visit," He points out in the driest of tones. "And when you do, you always call first."
I can only lower my head, pulling my knees to my chest.
"You don’t usually cry after seeing my face either. I mean," He continues, nudging me with his elbow. "Am I ugly or something?"
I snort. "Shut up." Shaking my head, I sigh deeply. "I just… A lot has happened." Risking a peek at him, my shoulders relax at the worried furrow of his brows and the care in his sharp brown eyes.
He nods, smiling the softest that I’ve seen in a long time. "I got time."
I smile a little, my chest bursting in gratefulness for having a friend like him in my life. No matter what happens or what I get into, I can always count on Sehun to be there.
…
If only I didn’t have so much baggage to bring to his door.
"I…" Come on; I ball my hands into the fabric of my shirt. Say it.
Sehun keeps his eyes on me and I struggle more to get the words out, my chest starting to heave. Should I be here? Should I be doing this? What will he say? What if this just makes everything worse—
No.
Sehun is my best friend. We have shared so many memories together, the good and the bad. I was the first person he came out to. He was there when my father walked out of my life. I cheered him on as he climbed the ranks of his weight training team. He helped me catch fireflies in my backyard when all I could rely on was my poor eyesight.
It’s always been him and I against this cruel world. One man—one boy, won’t change that overnight.
"I broke up with Baekhyun."
"What?!" Sehun leaps off of the couch. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah..." I drag out, looking him up and down in confusion. Panic hits me in the gut. "W-Why? What’s wrong-"
"Dude!" He exclaims, tangling his hands in his hair, the most comically distressed expression on his normally 'bitch’ face. "I thought he broke up with you."
The thought of what would have happened if Baekhyun had been the one to dump me makes my heart hurt so much I feel the color drain from my face.
"H-Hey," Sehun immediately takes notice, waving his hands around. "Not on the couch, anywhere but the couch-"
Luhan suddenly appears behind him with a tray of drinks, lovingly smacking the back of his head. "Here," He soothes, ignoring Sehun’s pelulant whines while setting down the tray on the coffee table and offering a mug to me.
"Thank you, Lu." I breathe, smiling when the scent of lemon and ginger hits my nose.
Luhan takes the seat on the other side of me, resting a comforting hand on my knee. "We’re here." He nods, sharing a look with Sehun before focusing back on me with the gentlest of eyes. "Whenever you are ready."
Gulping, I curl my fingers around my mug, the warmth of the tea and their soft eyes giving me the strength to open up.
I am finally able to put everything into words… I just hope we all make it out unscathed.
Closing my eyes, I start from the very beginning, updating them on what has happened since the year we started dating. The summer fight I never told Sehun about, Baekhyun’s ex Haneul following me around. The French lady at the photoshoot, the model behind the scenes. Our fight that reached the public. What went down at the Byun’s house… And finally… how I ran, and never looked back.
Sehun’s facial expressions shift from one extreme to the next throughout my confession. At one point I have to look away from him, stuttering the more I see the disappointment in his eyes. By the end of it, I’m mumbling to the lukewarm mug between my palms rather than them.
My words trail off into silence, nothing but the ticking of Luhan’s treasured grandfather clock making a sound. I’ve grown to hate this the most: the empty space that leaves room for my thoughts to sneak up on me again.
"You were hiding all of this..." Sehun speaks up, betrayal joining the disappointment in his eyes. "All this time."
A lump forms in my throat, "I-"
"You kept this to yourself for years." He grits out, his voice growing sadder by the minute. "Years, Riley."
"I’m sorry," I sob, curling up into a ball, choking on my tears. "I’m s-so sorry."
"Why?" He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I-I didn’t wanna bother you," I babble, gasping so much for air I choke even more. "You’re busy with work and your own love life, who am I to bother you with my problems?" Tears blur my vision and stain my glasses, rolling uncomfortably down the bridge of my nose. "Isn’t that what growing up is about?" I whisper, staring lifelessly down at my untouched tea. "Learning how to depend on yourself?"
"Riley, I don’t care if you’re fucking 80." Sehun barks, scaring me until he opens his arms, forgiveness swirling in his softened brown eyes. "You can come to me for anything."
"O-Okay," I mumble, hiding in his chest.
"Do you hear me?"
"Yes."
"I don’t care if you shave your relaxed hair, adopt a cat, or the world is on fire." He proclaims sternly. "No matter what, you can always come to me."
The comforting smell of fresh laundry on his clothes has my shoulders relaxing, my sobs quieting down to small hiccups. "Okay."
"Good. Now take these sweaters back."
His words take a few moments to register in my sluggish mind. "Huh?" I blink, lifting my head off of him, sitting up fully and immediately recognizing the bundle of clothes in Luhan’s hands. "No," I shake my head, ignoring how dizzy I suddenly feel. "Sehun, those are yours-"
"And I want you to have them."
"I-" My heart constricts in conflict, "But-"
"But nothing. You act like I don’t know that your ass gets cold." He mutters grumpily, crossing his arms. "Keep them, alright?" Being the observant guy that he is, he picks up on my weary glance at Luhan. "Lu chipped in some of his too."
"Mine are comfier," His boyfriend jokes, smiling cheekily.
"Yah."
"You know it’s the truth."
"Only because you—yah! Why are you crying now?!"
"I just…" I sniffle, laughing softly. "I love you guys."
Luhan’s smile brightens while I whine over Sehun messing up my hair. "We love you more."
•••
May passes by in the blink of an eye, mature plants welcoming the upcoming summer heat. I love and hate this for two reasons. One, it’s a certain someone-who-shall-not-be-named birth month. Two, the dance competition is two weeks away. Two weeks. It is literally May 20th and I am sweating my hair out over it.
Why did I agree to this forsaken competition again? Oh right—I decided that a two-step routine is the equivalent of a love triangle. Nice going, Riley.
I sigh, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. Two weeks until the competition means that my schedule is more packed. Yeah Park’s Publishing may be on an "easy going" break from publishing books right now, but I’m not getting a breather.
Nope, the moment I jokingly told Jongin how I didn’t know what to do with all my free time, he brought up daily dance practice—no, he down right demanded it. And when I started to complain:
"What? It’s not like you have anything else better to do."
I’ve been seething over that for a week.
Huffing at the memory, I plop my bag not-so-subtly on a chair before looking at Jongin on the other side of the room.
"Glaring at me won’t help you perfect the choreo faster-"
"Suck my dick."
"Oh, baby," He grins, raising a brow. "I would if I could." He saunters his way over to me, his beautiful bronze skin already glowing in a thin sheen of sweat when he leans down to face me, "but I don’t mind either way."
I push him away with a hard roll of my eyes, "Let’s get this over with."
"Feisty," He humors. "Someone is feeling better today."
"Better enough to kick your ass," I mutter, tying up my hair in a messy bun.
"Let’s rehearse the second verse," He takes a swing of his water bottle, a serious expression on his features. "Then we’ll talk."
"Bring it on," I lift my chin, playing tough despite the nervousness washing over me.
He nods, grabbing the stereo remote and getting into position. "Show me what you got."
We go over the steps one last time before we begin. The first half of the choreo goes smoothly… and then I stumble the moment the second chorus hits.
"Let’s take a break."
"No," I shake my head, resting my hands on my knees.
"Riley."
"One more time." I pant, trying to catch my breath. "I swear I got it, just-"
"We’ve been at it for 30 minutes."
"But-"
"Break. Now."
I flop to the floor in a tired heap, groaning loudly to annoy him. I’m grateful he called for a break though, my flat feet are crying for mercy like no one’s business. Maybe I should—"Ah," I sigh in relief.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking off my shoes," I mumble, throwing him a look over my shoulder, not liking his attitude. "My feet are dying over here."
Jongin raises a brow, leaning against the mirror on the other side of the room. "Your parents didn’t see a pediatrician about that?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
"Born and raised in America," I chirp. "The land of the free, Mother fucka."
Both his brows shoot up. "Are you feverous?"
"No," I mumble, fiddling with a loose string on my shirt. "It’s really hot out."
"Have you been sleeping?" His eyes narrow at my lack of response. "Riley?"
"Oh would you look at that, the ceiling tiles have a noticeable gap between them-"
"Sit down."
"I’m fine." I sigh, reluctantly dragging myself over to the only chair in the room.
"You won’t be if you keep this up." He points out, more than a little peeved. "Have you been drinking enough?"
"I-"
He thrusts his water bottle in front of me. "Drink this."
"But you drank from it!"
"I’ll give you mouth to mouth too if you don’t sit your ass down."
I blink, giving him a long, wide-eyed stare. "Why so serious?" The fed up expression on his face is enough of an answer. "Okay—okay! Fine." Inspecting the bottle for anything floating around on the bottom, I tilt my head back to pour some water in my mouth, mumbling with stuffed cheeks, "There, happy?"
Jongin just sighs, turning on a rotating fan. "Stay here. I don’t want you moving until you finish that bottle."
"Sir yes sir," I mutter, giving a little salute. Grinning when he glares sternly at me. He sighs before going back to the other side of the room.
Watching him practice his solo parts in the mirror, I leisurely sip from the bottle, noticing how his shirt sticks to his fit body. Jongin is tall, a bit broad, and lean. He has a dancer’s body and muscle in all the right places—I can’t imagine his diet. I shiver at the thought of it, checking my forehead. I’m not picky about fitness; I’m a bit on the curvy side myself. I rather have something to sink my fingers into. Speaking of which...
"Hey, Jongin?" I call him tentatively, continuing when he hums. "Why… Why did you make a choreo with me in mind?"
He doesn’t respond for a minute, and I wonder if he will until he goes over to retrieve something from his bag. "I always wanted to dance with you," He admits, throwing a towel around his neck. "To know what it was like to view your beauty up close." He bends his knee, bracing his foot against the wall as my eyes widen. "The way you move, twirl around, and glide across the floor. The blissed out expression on your face… You are at home on the dancefloor, and it shows." He looks up at me then. "You shine brighter than a million stars."
I forget how to breathe for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and a racing heart.
"I’ve never been envious of Baekhyun but..." His sultry eyes meet mine again. "When it comes to you, it’s hard to fight my jealousy."
My lips part a few times, endless questions dying on the tip of my tongue. Realizing I’m gaping like a fish out of water, I settle for looking down with a hot blush.
Jongin chuckles, tossing his towel onto his bag. "Come on," He pushes off of the wall, walking over to me and taking me by the hand. "Let’s finish up for today."
"I can stand up on my own, you know?" I grumble. "...Thank you."
He just smiles before we take our positions in the middle of the room.
We take it from the top again, soaring through the routine without a hiccup. I put all my energy into not missing a step, dancing beside and around him with ease—
"Stop."
"What?" I blink, turning around to him. "What’s wrong now?"
"That."
"What?" I repeat, my eyes narrowing.
"That." He emphasises, gesturing to me. "You’re too tense. You need to relax."
"How do you expect me to relax, Jongin?" I mumble heatedly, hurt swelling inside of my chest. "I broke up with the love of my life. I had a shitty week. I can barely do the second verse of the choreo without breaking my ankles-"
"You can’t relax," He speaks up, suddenly standing in front of me. Staring into my eyes with his determined ones. "Because you don’t want to."
"I-"
"You fear what will happen if you do." He continues, holding me captive with his piercing gaze. "You fear the unknown."
"D-Don’t I have the right to...?" I hush, feeling my heart race the longer I look into his observant brown eyes. A part of me hates it; being read like an open book. My vulnerabilities and weak points on display without me wanting them to be. But this is Jongin.
He stares deep into my eyes, his minty breath washing over my cheeks. "Not on my watch."
There’s nothing to fear.
He selects a song for the stereo to play, and the moment a certain afrobeat instrumental plays through its speakers, I feel the urge to move my body deep in my soul.
"Let go," He encourages, turning around to meet my eyes in the reflection of the mirror.
Woman
Let me be your woman
Woman, woman, woman
I can be your woman
Woman, woman, woman
I’m intimidated by my reflection in the mirror. The sight of me with messy hair, dewy skin, baggy clothes, and my bare feet makes me feel like the wildest looking woman in the world… until I see the sadness and fear visible in my own eyes.
Let me be your woman
Woman, woman, woman
I can be your woman
Woman, woman, woman
Slowly, I move my hips to the beat, getting a feel for it while watching myself in the mirror. My awkward posture makes me tsk, shifting into a more flattering and stable position.
What you need?
She give tenfold, come here, papa, plant your seed
She can grow it from her womb, a family
Provide lovin' overlooked and unappreciated, you see (Yeah)
The lyrics… A sense of empowerment washes over me in waves, motivating the swirl of my hips and the smile forming on my lips. The melody of the song begins to seep into my very bones, warming me up from the inside out.
You can reciprocate
I got delicious taste, you need a woman's touch in your place
Just protect her and keep her safe
Baby, worship my hips and waist
So feminine with grace
I touch your soul when you hear me say, "Boy"
Let me be your woman
Winding my waist feels like the most natural thing in the world, circling my wrists while bringing my hands back down to my sides. I can see Jongin’s proud smile from the corner of my eye.
My movements get more energetic as the chorus plays again, the repetitive lyrics flowing like the blood in my veins, felt deep in my very being. Hitting me on a level that very few things ever could.
I glide across the floor when the second verse begins, letting my hair loose and throwing my weight around. The soreness of my waist only makes me shimmer harder, fighting against the aches trying to hold me back—against the chains locked in my mind.
Princess or queen, tomboy or king (Yeah)
You've heard a lot, you've never seen (Nah)
Mother Earth, Mother Mary rise to the top
Divine feminine, I'm feminine (Why?)
Throwing my hands up, I smile as Jongin starts complimenting my movements, playing a smooth rhythmic cat and mouse game with him all over the dance studio. My bare feet on the wooden floor propels me forward, making me feel more connected with the Earth around me, with the woman I want to be.
I’ve caught up to him by the time the song ends, breathing heavily with giddiness pumping in my veins. For the first time in months, maybe even years, I feel like me again—I’ve found myself again.
A hand tucking hair behind my ear has my eyes snapping up to Jongin’s, the adoring expression in his chestnut brown eyes making me feel small and appreciated at the same time. He cradles my face in the palm of his hand, rubbing his thumb over the apple of my cheek. Tingles erupt on my skin; my heart swells with something I haven’t felt in a long time when he starts to lean in.
"You were out fucking Jongin."
I flinch away, pressing my back to the wall, my heart in my throat. "I-I," I look away, hot embarrassment painting my face red. "I don’t want to make you a rebound." A thought occurs to me at that moment: how much taller and stronger Jongin is than me. The consequence of my actions. The vacant practice room. Fearing the worst, I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes shut.
Nothing happens for a while, the silence dragging on for so long that I start to grow lightheaded, cursing myself for agreeing to all of this in the first place.
Are you happy?
I pause, thinking hard for a moment. Despite the rain cloud constantly hanging over my head, I am doing something that I love. Regardless of me looking like pure shit, Jongin sees a light in me. And against all the fucking odds, I… I feel liberated. I feel free.
With that, I open my eyes, staring fearlessly at the man in front of me.
To my surprise, Jongin smiles. "I don’t want to overstep my boundaries," He mumbles, resting his forehead on mine.
A smile breaks out on my face, putting my secret dimples on full display.
It’s finally D Day—the dance competition is just about to begin, and I can’t for the life of me find my bracelet.
"Do you really need that?" Jongin carefully ruffles his styled hair, squinting with one eye over at me.
"It’s for luck," I justify, searching both our bags.
"You depend on a silly little bracelet to give you luck?"
"My grandma made it for me," I snap, my blood pressure skyrocketing.
"Okay, okay—you," He gently takes me by the shoulders, directing me to his chair. "Sit. I’ll find it."
Finding that all-too-familiar 'no nonsense’ expression on his face, I sigh, carefully covering my eyes with my hand. Both of us got our makeup done for today. He’s got on a golden glimmer of eyeshadow to bring out the sultry brown of his eyes, and I’m rocking a burgundy shade that makes my eyes have their own sensual glare in the mirror.
Tucking my hair-sprayed hair behind my ear, I wince at the thought of washing it out later, but the end result is worth it. My brown hair is bone-straight, complementing Jongin’s lavender-gray, middle-parted hair. Not gonna lie, he’s a total eye-candy right now in that red jacket and mesh shirt, and his stage presence is to die for. His oozing confidence just pumps me up even more.
Watching him pull out my bracelet from some hidden department that I have never seen before in my life and come over to strap it onto my wrist with the gentlest touch has newfound hope blossoming in my heart. We came to perform and we came to perform well.
As if hearing my thoughts, Jongin looks up at me at that moment, nodding firmly.
I nod right back, smiling softly. Win or lose, we are going to give it our all.
We make our way out of the dressing room, listening for our cue from the staff member next to the gap leading out onto the stage. They give directions to someone in their headset before giving us the signal.
I can hear the crowd as we step onto the stage, vibrating the floor under us and my whole being with their excited cheers. Nerves aren't pumping furiously through my veins. No, pure adrenaline guides me forward, and the reassuring smile Jongin sends my way makes me at ease all the more.
When the lights dim and the music starts, my hands are already in my hair, my hips popping to the beat.
Just let it flow as it is for me.
As it moves, show me.
I slide down into a crouch, spreading my knees before rolling my neck to the beat. Quickly standing back up, I slowly run my hands through my hair, swaying my hips side to side. I stop moving to let the crowd focus on Jongin, watching him with a smile.
The party has been getting boring.
Jongin starts doing his own thing while I beckon him closer with a body roll, strutting to him on the other side of the stage. I strike a different pose along to the beat, rubbing my hands over my body and rolling my hips.
Don’t hide it anymore for me
Sliding my hand down my chest, we lock eyes before the chorus hits.
The reason that hides your heart
Do you feel it triggering me a bit?
Here comes the fun part; we sync up our dance moves. Shooting each other little smiles while staying on beat. My long hair sways in the wind; the feeling of being free—free to be me striking me with a sense of comfort in this moment. Jongin catches my eye as if he feels it as well, his killer smirk morphing into a heartwarming smile.
Baby don’t play with me
I slow down to sway my hips to the beat while Jongin slides behind me, pressing his firm chest to my back. The ripples of his abs brush against me through the fabric of his mesh-shirt, warming my sun-kissed skin under the light heat of the partially cloudy sky. His hand tucks under my chin when I face him for the next lyric, "You’re my VIP."
(She talkin’ about)
We sync up again for the next part of the choreography, making me giggle in delight, beaming over the fact that I might have cried a hundred times practicing this choreo but I can finally say that I can dance it without breaking my ankles. And the proud smile on Jongin’s face adds onto that fact.
He points out to the crowd and we change positions as the pre chorus starts again. Jongin acts like the cool, smooth man that he is while I roll my way back to him, matching his moves before blowing a kiss to the crowd when the chorus kicks back in again.
Top down ya
It could be you and me, it could be you and me
I place my hand on Jongin’s shoulder, strutting around him while he shrugs off his jacket. Preparing for the bridge that we changed last minute. Now it’s his time to shine.
Now let me give you what you want tonight
You told me
I take a step back, focusing on complimenting his movements while he has his moment to woo the crowd. Those charming smirks and attractive smiles can steal the heart of anyone, especially the cheering people standing in the front row. There’s a lot of things I’ve learned recently about Jongin, and his unmistakable stage presence is one of them.
The chorus comes back one final time and we go all out. Dancing until our feet ache and the wind picks up around us. The sweet smell of tteokbokki and summer breeze in the air brings another smile to my face. Jongin gets down on the floor while I kneel on one knee to straddle his lap, looking into his eyes with his finger tucked under my chin as the last lyrics of the song fades away.
There’s a long moment of silence, and then the crowd erupts into cheers. Applauding so loud it overwhelms my sensitive ears. Jongin and I step forward to take one last bow, smiling at each other before making our way off stage… but a certain, persistent stare has my eyes flickering back to the crowd. The glimmer of silver hair in the front row is all I allow myself to see before hurrying to leave.
"That was," I start, gasping for breath by the time we reach the dressing room. "Fucking amazing!"
Jongin smiles, glancing over at me, "You liked it, huh?"
"Dude—I fucking lived for it!"
He laughs and it’s super cute, especially with his wide smile.
"That was so cool," I sigh, flopping down onto the couch.
Jongin raises a brow, a smile still on his plump lips. "Would you do it again?-"
"Hell no!" I squeak. "Well… Not unless it’s with you." His eyes dance under the painfully bright lights. "Stop smirking, I take it back."
"Don’t worry." He chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans back against the vanity table. "You’ll be the first one I call next time too."
We’re called back up onto the stage before I can reply, but the smile I beam his way speaks volumes. However, nerves are plaguing my mind this time around. There’s no mistaking the silver hair that I saw in the crowd.
Just as I thought, when we are standing next to the other contestants, there he is. Front and center. I close my eyes with a deep sigh. What the fuck, man? Why are you everywhere?! Can I catch a break from him please? Please?!
Tension builds in my body, but then something cracks.
You know what—
I clench my fists. Fuck him. It doesn’t matter if he’s here or not; he’s no longer a part of my life. Why should I care?
My eyes don’t stray far from the judge and Jongin, even with the constant itch of Baekhyun’s stare. Take a picture, it’ll last longer, asshole.
The minutes seem to drag on as the judge gives his big speech, listing the criterias and rubric for calculating the winner. A whole lot of gibberish that I have no interest in listening to; I hope Jongin is paying attention. The knowing look he gives me when we briefly make eye contact confirms it. Yep, I smile sheepishly. Sorry.
That damn ticklish sensation on my skin still hasn’t moved while the couple in 3rd place steps forward to receive their reward. I swear to the heavens, Byun Baekhyun—
Snapping my neck around, I glare right at him despite my heart dropping at the sight.
He stands in the front row, sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the crowd in his black hoodie and dark jeans. The only thing that makes him pop is his ever-silver hair… and the bouquet of flowers in his hand.
My heart races. Are those—
"And the winner is: Jongin and Riley!"
The crowd roars in excitement, everyone standing up to applaud us as the judge hands Jongin the trophy and a helper places a ribbon around my shoulders. I can’t help but beam at Jongin, both of us smiling wide enough for our mouths to hurt later, but I don’t worry about that now. This is our moment. I throw my arms around him, laughing loudly when he sets down the trophy to spin me around in the air.
"We did it!" I wrap my arm carefully around his neck, pumping my fist in the air.
Jongin sets me back down, keeping his arms loosely around my waist. "You," He plants a kiss on the top of my head, "did it."
I can’t erase the smile on my face or the glee in my heart even if I tried. My eyes glance back out at the crowd while he goes around congratulating the other contestants, immediately locking onto those soul-sucking, puppy brown eyes. Half a year later and his eyes never fail to make me feel nothing and everything all at once. But I won’t let that define me: I’m not Baekhyun’s woman anymore.
Spectators in the crowd around him are buzzing with energy, dancing to the outro music they are playing overhead while he continues to stand stock-still, his brown eyes focused on me.
My mind drifts for a second, imagining what it would have been like to be standing up on this stage with him, winning the competition with him by my side. I acknowledge it, let my mind have its little reminiscing moment—and then nip it right in the bud.
I don’t want to live a life of 'What ifs?’ anymore—I want to experience those 'Why nots?’ instead.
I sense Jongin before he steps closer, his chest brushing against the back of my arm. "Are you ready to go?" He asks, his lips grazing my ear.
I continue to lock eyes with Baekhyun, laughing inwardly at the unreadable expression on his face and the lack of a sparkle in his eyes. And when that tall raven from months ago runs to pull him into a hug, my gaze doesn’t waver from his in the slightest. "Yes." I turn my back on him and rest my hand on Jongin’s bicep with a swirl of my hips, peeking at him from under my eyelashes.
He smiles down at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. We link our arms together while walking backstage and out of the stadium.
•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1) P(2) | Part 6 P(1) P(2) —– P(3) P(4) —– P(5) P(6) ✓ ||| ♬♩♪♩ FINALE P(1) P(2)
A/N: Team Jongin or Team Baekhyun? After that dance practice scene, my heart is stuck somewhere in between 💔
Hiya! Long time no see (^-^)
I don't have much to say ahh (>.<) my brain is fried. The emotions in this chapter came from a week of sleepless nights and a marathon of Doja Cat's Planet Her <3 I still got 10 scenes to finish up before Six Phases will be completed. This isn't the end! Just the best cliffhanger I could do with a 100+ page doc (thanks to my nearsightedness. font-size 16 is a lifesaver)
I might suddenly drop the Finale out of nowhere :'D everything depends on Riley~
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story!! 🥺🥰🌸💗 Writing this baby (haha) is my favorite thing to do and to share it with all of you means the world to me <333 Alright, I'll stop being mushy. Have a great weekend, lovelies! See you as soon as the Finale is done~
Happy two years of Un Village & city lights!!
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Thank you endless Baekhyunee for inspiring me. I wouldn't be here without you ❤️
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Secret Agent Bard (Welcome to the Underground!)
Hello everyone! E here with a new chapter of the underground! Woo! I hope you are all doing good and staying safe.
So I actually have more to say today! That's a trip. I’ll have an author’s note under the line.
So that's it for now. Stay safe, take care of you and your loved ones, stay out of trouble, wash your hands, wear your mask, get vaccinated if you can and push to release the vaccine world wide cuz we're all in this together. Have a great week and thanks for reading. I appreciate it and feel free to tell your friends, reblog, drop likes and feedback i love it all. Bye for now and enjoy!
If you want an easier place to read the story cuz tumblr sucks sometimes here’s a link to the chapter https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79541746
The First Chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967
and since you made it this far here’s a link to all my stories!
https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42
Byeeeeee!
Author’s note: Today’s work will be a little different as there will be singing. The chapter with the bard is gonna have singing? Go figure haha So if you see a sentence in Italics, that means someone is singing. Bold and italics represents various people singing as a group. The song in question is called twiddles. There's different versions of it but the one I chose is from the misbehavin maidens. Great group but all their work ranges from innuendos to straight up not safe for work so listen at your peril. I have now completed my responsible adult duties haha. here’s a link to the chosen song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS1-_fKF5ug
Summary: Oliver has quite the task ahead of him as the group splits to achieve their goals. Leading Sel and Flora, the young bard will have to think quick on his feet to ensure this mission is a success. Luckily he's an old hand at this. Ironically the one person who could distract him may make a surprise appearance tonight.
-----
Oliver stood quietly, arms crossed and his mind thoughtful as the group prepared to go their separate ways. While ideally nothing would go wrong, that was a childish belief: Every person and robotic being here knew safety was not guaranteed in their line of work.
Even the old man knew the risks.
Oliver hated doing nothing. He thrived when he was busy, focused on whatever task required his attention whether it be being a better bard or upholding the Choir’s values. Too many ghosts and regrets lingered on the edges of his mind and he found the best solution was to simply keep occupied.
But that was his coping mechanism, not everyone else. He knew better than to rush his team: The party would last at least another few hours and beside the goal of getting Sel to the third floor, there was nothing else to do. No information to gather, nothing to review. Let them have their moment, it was good for morale.
Terri and Flora were sickeningly adorable: Hands clasped tightly with Terri tearfully asking her girlfriend to not poison everyone. Flora gave a halfhearted promise while as they shared a tender kiss. Terri noticed her less than enthused tone but refused to press the matter further.
Tyrell stood awkwardly to the side, his face twisted in a strange mixture of sick and excited. He fidgeted with something in his pocket, seeking comfort from whatever lay within. Given the shape of the bulge and size, Oliver guessed it was a knife.
Sel stood nearby, motionless in the shadows of the alley. They hadn’t moved in some time though he suspected the automaton was simply waiting for the next phase of the plan.
“Alright” Oliver spoke up, his voice firm yet gentle “Times up. You have your assignments?”
Uneven murmuring responded.
“Let’s go.”
Oliver, Sel and Flora went down one end of the alley, Terri and Tyrell disappearing in the opposite direction.
-----
It didn’t take long for the trio to find the main streets of the Merchant Ward and make their way towards the Brambleoak banking office. The crowds weren’t as thick as they had been during the day but Oliver knew everyone out and about did so with a purpose.
“Bard.” Flora asked without warning, breaking the awkward silence “Question.”
“Answer.” Oliver cheekily replied.
Flora glared.
Oliver coughed “Yes?”
“You are a First Chair Soprano correct?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Yet you are so young. How did you manage that? I thought First Chair ranks were only reserved for experienced or particularly skilled members. You don’t seem to be very magically powerful.”
Oliver paused for a moment, trying to best answer the question.
In a way Flora was correct in her assessment: He wasn’t particularly powerful as a spellcasting bard. Unlike Flora who clearly committed herself fully to nature and thus druidic magic, Oliver had only recently thrown himself into the magical arts.
Unless you were a wizard who studied the secrets of the universe with a very intimate and well versed knowledge of magic, most spellcasters drew their power from sources of existence: Clerics from their gods, Druids from nature, Warlocks from something beyond mortal existence yet not quite a deity, sorcerers because a family member fucked around with pure incomprehensible concepts. Magic was the fabric of the universe and the more you threw yourself into a source of power, the more the source threw itself into you, guiding your hand and your spells.
Of course each, wizards exempt, were limited in their spellcasting options. Clerics were powerful holy/unholy practitioners but couldn’t command plant life to save their lives. Druids were in tune with nature and the weather and all the lovely flora and fauna but ask them to superimpose an image onto something and they’d give you a dumbfounded look. Warlocks kinda just do whatever their sugar patrons felt like lending.
Magic bards drew their power from the arts: Drawing, singing, poetry, even witty and funny satire. Bards were in tune with life, with existence. Art could heal, could hurt, could make you feel happy and sad. It could make you feel like a whole new person or perhaps take you to a time and place you’d forgotten. Bards sung the song of life and Oliver was no exception.
However, Oliver still wasn’t sure what he could do exactly. His magical muscle was average on a good day and he could only cast a few spells before needing a good night’s rest. The basic healing spells and comprehension language he cast earlier today had taken a good chunk of his energy but he relied more on his wit than raw magical strength. He discovered creative and useful ways to cast his spells like amplifying dissonance noises to distract and disorient foes or temporarily place another person’s image over himself. Magic was as much about creativity as it was skill, pushing the limits of what you can do with your particular brand of spells.
“I’m clever.” Oliver answered honestly “The whole magic of the arts is new to me but I’ve been in the Choir for a long time now. I used to be Tenor like Sel here but more fast talking than breaking and entering. I guess they carried over my old position into my new one.”
Flora nodded, satisfied “That answers much. How long have you been a bard?”
“Few years now.” Oliver checked the street sign to ensure they were on the right path “The magic part is going on 3 years.”
“I see.” Flora scratched her chin “I’ve been a druid my whole life so it is a strange concept to be so new to the spellcasting arts yet hold such a high rank.”
Oliver gave a casual shrug “Not sure what you want me to say. We’re here by the way.”
The bank looked as unkempt as Oliver had remembered: Faded, peeling green paint with gaudy gray stone pillars. Two guards in green uniforms stood in front of the massive reddish brown doors that led into the bank.
“Lea’s mercenaries.” Sel pointed out “They are not letting anyone in.”
“Correction.” Oliver brushed off nonexistent dirt from his washed-out outfit “They’re not letting nobodies in. Luckily tonight we’re somebodies. Follow my lead.”
Oliver let out a tense breathe before strolling forward, his mannerism cocky yet unsteady. He reached the top of the steps when two sharp looking blades reached out to stop him.
“Halt” The elvish woman spoke with a hint of irritation “You lost?”
“Not at all!” Oliver beamed with a smile that was too wide to be natural “I’m here for the party. There is a party inside no?”
“No” The human man spat out.
Oliver gave a forgetful grin “Oh? I could’ve sworn Brambleoak was having some sort of charity event tonight. I’d show you my invite but I think I misplaced it.”
The elvish woman sneered “Right. How convenient for you having lost your special one of a kind invite.”
“Pfft.” Oliver scoffed “Special one of a kind invite? Reiner hands them out like candy. Probably find one in a gutter nearby.”
The guards shared an unspoken understanding with one another.
“Well.” The human began “Let’s pretend that is true.”
“It is but go on.”
The human’s eyes narrowed “Why should we let you in? You dress rather poorly for someone claiming to be in Reiner’s usual circles.”
Oliver let out an exaggerated gasp as he puffed out his chest “Do you know who I am?”
“Umm no.”
Oliver growled unhappily, his fist clenched tightly within his pocket “I am rich! I AM POWERFUL! AND I DEMAND ACCESS!”
As quick as lightning, Oliver flung a handful of gold coins towards the pair. The two reeled back in surprised as the money clanked onto the smooth marble floor. A moment hardly passed before the guards were shoving the loose coins into their tunic pockets like hungry dogs. They straightened up, eyes alive with greed.
“Of course sir” The elvish woman bowed her head in apologize “Deeply sorry for that.”
“Please go ahead.”
Oliver gave a self satisfied nod before moving past the pair only to stop as he heard the sounds of swords scraping each other. He turned backwards to see the guards barring access to Flora and Sel.
Flora looked back and forth between the guards, her eyes calculating and cold. Sel stood still but clearly at the ready for any sort of trouble.
“They’re with me.”
The Elvish woman shook her head “We said we’d let you in. These two? Definitely not Reiner’s usual prey.”
“They aren’t” Oliver admitted “But I need them.”
The human turned to him, suspicion in his eyes “Why?”
“She…” Oliver pointed lazily towards Flora “Is my street doctor.”
“Street doctor? As in….?”
Oliver gave a cheery wink “The fun kind.” And for give measure, he added a weak shiver to his act “Ugggggh I feel cold, are you cold? It’s cold.”
Before anyone could say anything, Oliver began shaking. He rubbed his hands for ‘warmth’ while swaying back and forth.
“Uh oh.” Flora spoke dully, pushing past the guards and holding Oliver steady “He’s crashing. I need to give him his umm medicine.”
“Medicine?” Oliver repeated, his voice soft yet manic “Yes medicine. I need it. I NEED IT!”
Folks began to turn their way, the guards shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention they were receiving.
“And this one?” The Elvish woman gestured to Sel.
Oliver began to rock back and forth, his voice a harsh whisper. “Guard. Guard. Guard guard guard guard.”
The human threw up his hands in defeat “Bah! Get him in there and fixed! Any trouble and I’ll personally come over to beat your asses.”
“Thank you sir.” Flora murmured through gritted teeth. She guided Oliver and Sel through the doors and into the party within.
Flora sighed as Sel cracked the tension out of their fingers. Oliver straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow.
True to his expectations, the bank had been altered to be suitable for a charity event: Torches lined the walls, casting the building into a bright light. The desks normally found on the floor were gone as to allow a more spacious setting. Oliver counted a handful of guards scattered about, wandering about for any sign of trouble. All except for the lone guard beyond the empty elevated platform who stood in front of the stairway to the upper floors.
“What now?” Flora asked
“Split up. Sel stay close to the door, Flora and I will figure out a distraction.”
“Sounds good.”
And without another word, Oliver was swallowed whole into the crowd.
-----
It had taken an hour for Oliver to figure out what kind of distraction he would need.
The patrols themselves hadn’t been very difficult to plan for: They would move randomly about, keeping an eye on the party and each other. He counted about 6 of them total and each one of them was easily starstruck. At the sign of any disagreement, they would swarm in groups of three and quickly threaten any troublemakers into compliance. However, upon meeting anyone with even the smallest bit of fame, they would subtly motion to each other and make their way as one to the person in question, hoping for a glance or the chance for an autograph.
So the floor guards were no problem but the one standing watch over the door was much more difficult. Evidently Lea was smart enough to give the most important job to the most responsible of his idiots. The stairway guard or Stairy as Oliver labeled him, would not budge at the sign of any trouble. Loud arguments, agitated party goers, a waiter being tripped (sorry it was for science buddy). None of these would pull him from his post. Celebrities wouldn’t either. Any time his buddies motioned to a famous person, he would shrug his shoulders and stay put.
Oliver was beginning to wonder if Flora needed to poison Stairy until he noticed something about half way into his observations: Stairy was a music lover. Specifically a cute girl music lover.
His gaze would wander every time he caught sight of a pretty girl who happened to be too close to him. Oliver wasn’t sure at first so he decided to test his theory. With his pocket change lessened, Oliver noticed how often a girl would catch Stairy’s eye. His attention didn’t shift when they fell in front of him, obviously in distress, or walked slower allowing him to enjoy the view longer but Oliver caught him smiling and tapping his foot when the odd girl would sing. He even staggered away from his door a few steps at a time before catching himself and returning to his post.
So the best distraction would be a girl who could sing and have some level of fame attached to her name.
Oddly specific and Oliver hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to mange that. He was attempting to solve this puzzle when something caught his ear.
“Get off me you mulched dirt licker!”
That rather unique set of cursing could only mean one thing: Flora.
Oliver turned to where he last spotted her and found the young druid being hassled by a tall man in an elegant uniform.
Oliver noticed the guards were looking about, not yet spotting the commutation but aware something was going on. He needed to act first if he wanted to stop Flora deciding to kill everyone in the room.
The bard quickly slipped into the crowd, darting and weaving between any and everyone he could. He saw Flora slip a small vial into her hand as the man towered over her.
“I jus wanna dance.” the man’s words slurred out of his mouth “A pretty thing like yo shou wanna dance”
Flora’s eyes narrowed angrily “For the last time you dried poop stain, LEAVE ME ALONE!”
Flora pulled back her hand, prepared to throw the mysterious vial at the drunk’s face.
“Whoa!” Oliver cried out, tightly grasping onto Flora’s wrist “What seems to be the problem?”
“Nothing I can’t solve on my own.” Flora coldly glanced towards the drunken man.
“One sec.”
Oliver eyed the man carefully, absorbing every little detail he could.
He could see the muscles strain against the fabric of his light green tunic so this man worked in something physically laborious. The sheathed sword on his belt weight seemed to throw him off balance with every step. His gaze was unsteady and Oliver could see his pupils dilating wildly.
So this man was physically fit, armed with a sword in a charity event for the rich people and wearing light green tunic while currently drunk.
“You should leave her alone” Oliver said, sarcasm dipping from each word “You are so not her type.”
“So?” The man hiccupped “What’s the big deal?”
“So she’s got a girlfriend you idiot.” Oliver gestured with his hand “Besides you should go before your boss Lea gets here. I’m betting he won’t be happy one of his undercover mercs is currently drunk on the job. Of course I could always tell your captain what’s going on. That’s him over there right?”
Oliver gestured to the closest guard making his way towards the trio. He didn’t look any different than any guards but Oliver noticed his green was a shade darker than the rest. Lea probably used different hues to signify rank in his mercenaries.
The drunk’s face paled as he fidgeted nervously. He rose his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the two “Sorry.”
“Any trouble?” The captain approached, his hand tightly held around the hilt of his blade.
Oliver beaned cheerfully, trying his best to pull attention away from the fuming Flora “Not at all my good sir. This man simply mistook us for someone else, correct?”
The drunk nodded slowly “My bad. Forgive my intrusion.”
The captain gave a cold smirk “Apologizes. Mikey?”
The drunk flinched “Yes sir?”
“A word in private. Now.”
Oliver let out a sigh of relief as the captain dragged Mikey away..
“You should’ve let me poison them.” Flora muttered darkly.
Oliver scratched the back of his neck tiredly “Night’s still young. Still might get your chance if I can’t figure a way past Stairy.”
Flora tilted her head quizzically “Stairy?”
“The asshole at the base of the stairs.” Oliver answered absentmindedly as he spotted a familiar streak of platinum blonde hair among the crowd of strangers “And I just figured it out. Can I trust you not to poison everyone here?”
“You have an hour. I get bored easily” Flora swirled the sickly purple liquid in the vial threateningly.
“You and me both.” Oliver patted her shoulder before chasing down his perfect distraction.
-----
Oliver’s heart began to thunder loudly in his ears, a nervous and uncontrollable energy overtaking his resolve. The mission was important but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see Maria today.
Maria Thoreau was the daughter of a powerful, influential family. The Thoreau’s were more concerned with their standing in high society than any virtuous endeavors and thus each one of their children was trained from birth to excel in their chosen field. Maria’s older brothers were an aspiring politician and merchant respectively.
Maria’s path was to be a well famous singer and patron of the arts. She wanted nothing more than to sing for the people. Unfortunately, her father only saw a chance to further the family’s good name and tied his desire for power with her passion and dream. It was bittersweet really but nothing much could be done about it.
Yet.
Maria knew Oliver as a musical rival who thwarted her group’s attempts at winning local competitions which in turned derailed her father’s plans. So needless to say she was less than thrilled when she caught him making his way over.
“Ollie” she forced a smile while her hazel eyes narrowed, peeved “I’m surprised to see they let you into this exclusive event.”
Oliver gave a cocky shrug “Well your beauty caught my attention and I couldn’t resist trying to figure out a way in.”
Maria’s cheeks burned a pinkish hue.
Maria was the same age as Oliver with short, tastefully cut dark brown hair. A single streak of platinum blonde hair hung off the side of her face, giving her such a cute look. Her clothes were practical tonight since she wasn’t performing: A simple white blouse with a long flowing dark blue skirt that went all the way down to her feet. Her shoes were sensible dark blue flats designed for comfort over style.
Maria coughed into her hand, willing her blush away.
“So.” She cleared her throat “Is this your sad attempt to throw me off my game? You won’t win the next competition. We’ll be dealing with professional judges this time.”
Oliver’s eyes widen in false surprise “There’s a competition here? Fancy that. I hadn’t been made aware of that but since we’re both in town, why not have a round two?”
“Oliver….”
“I mean” Oliver went on, pretending not have heard “You are a much better singer solo than with those harpies you’re forced to keep around.”
Maria glanced to the side timidly “Don’t be absurd, the Melodic Maidens are a perfect, well oiled machine.”
Oliver scoffed dismissively “I suppose they’re nearby, listening in. Hardly leave you alone, don’t they?”
Maria opened her mouth to respond when a shrilly voice cut in.
“What do you know you two bit hack? How much did you bribe the judges last time?!”
Oliver gave a strained smile as the rest of the ladies forced their way into view.
“Lilly, Filly, Sally. You suck.”
The triplets snarled in unison, openly glaring at the bard.
Lilly, Filly and Sally were Maria’s chains: They were as much there to further her career as they were to report back to daddy to ensure the errant daughter stayed on course.
As triplets, they all shared the same features: Three pairs of dull green eyes and long messy black hair. Even their clothing were the same with each wearing a strapless dress that showed way too much skin and skirts that were way too short. The only reason Oliver could tell them apart was due to their preferred colors: Lilly in a shade of pink that was bright for her skin tone, Filly with a pale ugly yellow and Sally in seas of dark red.
The trio surrounded Maria, their arms embracing her in an uncomfortable hug. Maria bit her lip, trying to hide her uneasy.
“Still wearing that tacky outfit huh Ollie?” Lilly eyed his faded clothing distastefully.
Sally let out an unfriendly laugh “Ollie always looks like trash. Not even prize money could buy an ounce of class.”
“Actually” Oliver brushed his shoulder dismissively “Class is cheap. No amount of money could buy an ounce of character. You can blow hot air at me all you want but nothing in this world could ever change the fact that the three of you are bitches.”
The trio clicked their tongues disappointingly, their normally plain faces twisted into unflattering visages of rage while they screamed as one.
“HOW DARE YOU INSULT US?!”
“YOU ARE SUCH A POOR TACTLESS MAN!”
“YOU FUCKER!”
Oliver casually waved his hand “All bark and no bite. I’m supposed believe you’ve gotten any better in two months? Last time I checked I won the last competition.”
“OH YEAH?!” The triplets yelled, furious.
Maria threw a suspicious glance Oliver’s way “Girls, I don’t think…”
“Come on Maria, we don’t want to have to tell daddy you backed down from a challenge.”
A shiver ran down her spine, the fight draining out of her face. Oliver felt a tinge of guilt but said nothing as the girls took their positions.
Maria paused for a moment, her breathing slow and calm. The murmur of the crowds grew louder and louder upon the recognition that the ladies nearby were the Melodic Maidens.
Maria pivoted on her heels, a bright warm smile gracing her lips. Oliver could feel his heart skip a beat at the sound of her soft, airy voice beginning to sing
“Oh you hear a lot of stories about the sailors and their sport” Maria gave a playful wink his way. His cheeks burned brightly at her playful banter.
“About how every sailor has a girl in every port”
Maria twirled, her steps mischievous and alluring as her dark blue dress chased after her. She gracefully held two fingers aloft for everything to see, her smirk cocky and assured.
“but if you added two and two you’d figure out right quick”
Maria backed up as the triplets step forward to join her, the group made whole and ready for the chorus.
“It’s just because the girls all have a lad on every ship”
Maria turned to throw a sultry look towards her rival bard but instead of finding a dumbstruck Oliver, she found a smiling one. His gaze was gentle and loving as if he was seeing utterly beautiful. A small smile was tugging at his cheeks. Maria could feel her heart thunder in her ears as, without warning, Oliver gave a thumbs up and mouthed an appreciative “Thanks” before ducking into the growing crowd.
“And it’s twiddley idle idle idle, twiddley idle aye.”
What was once a spattering of folks formed into a massive gathering. Most of the party goers and guards had come over to catch the free show the girls inadvertently given and thus all focus shifted onto them. What was an attempt to show up Oliver ended up being a very unnecessary showcase.
“It’s often times a man will leave you broken with dismay”
Boy was Maria feeling that dismay right now.
-----
Oliver’s plan worked: Stairy hadn’t been to resist the siren call of a beautiful woman and her singing. Luckily the harpies hadn’t ruined it with their imperfect pitches. Stairy hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Sel slipped in behind and began working at the door. It took a moment but one blink later and the automaton vanished out of sight.
Oliver let out a sigh when a hand gripped his shoulder tightly.
“Hello sir.” A guff, low voice in a less than friendly voice “Might I have a word? You’ve been acting rather strange all party long.”
Well fuck.
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Never alone - Chapter Seven - Soulmate AU
AO3
Previous - Here - Next
Master List
Hi guys! Here is chapter 7. I hope this time it will show up in the tag search because chapter 6 didn’t and a lot of you probably missed it. I’ve noticed that several chapters from authors I follow didn’t show up in the tags either so it wasn’t just me... I don’t know what’s wrong with tumblr but I hope they fix it because we’re probably missing some updates...
Anyway, here is chapter 7 for you guys :)
When Damian came back to the manor, he changed and took a shower as quickly as possible in the hope to catch Tim when he would come back from patrol. He also fed Titus and Alfred the cat on his way to the Batcave, giving both of them a light scratch.
“You’re back earlier than usual.” mused a voice that he recognized as Tim’s.
Damian looked up at his brother, standing up from where he was crouching petting his pets.
He didn’t expect his brother’s shocked look.
“Oh. Your eye. Is that your soulbond?”
The youngest Wayne raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, you didn’t know?”
Tim shook his head.
“No, you didn’t tell us and I assume you’ve been wearing contacts ever since the change.”
Damian nodded, silent.
“It suits you.”
The green-eyed teen just looked at his brother, silent.
Timothy rolled his eyes.
“Can’t you just take a compliment? I can be nice to my brother too, you know.”
Damian chose to ignore that.
“And why didn’t you tell me that Marinette would be shadowing you during her internship? She thinks it’s very strange that the co-CEO would go out of his way for a high school student to shadow him.”
Tim smirked, picking up Alfred the cat.
“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t want you to embarrass myself.”
Tim laughed.
“No chance for now. She only knows you as Robin for now. She won’t associate me with you.”
Damian frowned.
“I won’t just be Robin forever.”
“I know. Stop worrying like a teen in his rebellious phase ashamed of his parents. I’m just going to show her the roots of business management.”
“It’s still weird for the co-CEO to do that. That kind of job goes to regular employees. Did you volunteer because she’s Ladybug?” he asked as he crossed his arms.
“I did. Ever since Bruce knew that Ladybug would be on the trip, he wanted to keep an eye on her. To be sure that she wasn’t overwhelmed by all her responsibilities, because according to her files, she had a lot of them. Ladybug and Chat Noir are just teens. Granted, we were too when we started being vigilantes too, but Bruce was with us, we weren’t left unsupervised. He’s worried that it’s too much for them.”
He smirked at his little brother.
“And the fact that she’s your soulmate is a bonus too.”
Damian ignored the jab, intent on having all his questions answered.
“What about the Agreste boy, then? Is he shadowing you too?”
“No, he’s with the PR team along with Miss. Césaire.”
“I would have thought that he would be shadowing someone in business management, what with his father’s company…”
“I would have thought that too, but the boy is also the image of the brand and constantly in the press. His father probably wants him to learn how to deal with the press and how to dispel rumors.”
It made sense, the model would probably learn business management later on, directly from his father.
Tim chuckled.
“Is that all? Or did you want to corner me for something else too?” he asked as he put the half-asleep cat down.
“Tch. Just don’t ruin things for me with Marinette.”
The older boy laughed, tapping the younger boy’s back.
“I’ll only have nice words for you. Well, as nice as it can be, you are quite a difficult one.”
He barely avoided Damian’s punch.
Marinette was nervous. So nervous that she had to take deep breaths to not panic.
Today was their first day of internship. For a whole week, they would work at Wayne Enterprises alongside an employee in their chose field.
Alya and Adrien would work with the Public Relationship branch. The reporter has been so excited about it. As a reporter, she would have to deal with PR teams in the future, and the knowledge would be good for her.
As for Adrien, well… It was no secret that it was his father’s wish that he shadowed them. The young Agreste has confided to his three friends that he had no idea what he wanted to do in the future. What he was sure, however, was that he didn’t want to continue being a model and he didn’t want to have anything to do with his father’s company.
With his lack of aspiration for the future, he was, just this once, happy to let his father choose which branch to intern in for him.
Nino, along with, surprisingly, Lila, would be shadowing the legal team of the company. While he still couldn’t choose between being a DJ or a movie maker, he wanted to be able to handle any legal issues if someone tried to claim his work as their own for example.
Copyrights were no joke after all.
As for why Lila wanted to do her internship in this branch, well… She didn’t know and she honestly wouldn’t go out of her way to know. The farthest away she was from Lila, the better.
Marinette was happy to have this opportunity to learn about business management. She wanted to start her own line of clothes later in life, but if she wanted to keep working for Jagged and doing graphic design for him, there were some things she had to do. Like, making all the paperwork to create her own business and thus, be an étudiante auto-entrepreneur. A student independent worker.
She hoped that her internship would help her do that, even if it was different in the USA than in France.
She was happy for this opportunity, but what made her nervous was that her internship was with the co-CEO, Timothy Drake-Wayne.
She didn’t understand how something like this could happen. An average French student like her didn’t what it took to work with a co-CEO. Especially not the CEO of an important company like Bruce Wayne’s.
She didn’t know, nor when, but Marinette was sure that she would ridicule herself one way or another.
Then, they would fire her, and she would be banned from the USA forever.
The whole class would mock her and she would become a pariah in Paris too and she would lose all her friends and her family!
“Aaaaaaaah!”
The scream that came out of her mouth was unintentional but it did its job in surprising everyone on the bus.
“Wow, girl. What was that for?”
Alya looked at her with an amused smile, used to the designer’s antics by now. She knew that the French-Chinese girl would panic eventually, the weight of “I will be shadowing the fucking CEO” too much for her.
Honestly, the reporter was surprised that she didn’t panic earlier. Sometimes, she wondered how Marinette was able to stay on her feet with all her responsibilities, and yet, would panic for the smallest of things.
That girl was a walking paradox.
“This is going to be a disaster, Alya! One way or another I’m going to ruin this internship, and then-”
“Okay, let me stop you right now. You’ve worked for Jagged Stone, and he still goes to you for graphic design. Have a little more confidence! You’re not going to ruin anything. Plus, you’re not here to work but to learn. You can’t fail anything in learning.”
The Ladyblogger put a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“Everything is going to be alright. But if you don’t move right now, we’re going to be late.”
Marinette didn’t even notice that they were already there and that the others were currently getting off the bus.
She took a deep breath, trying her best in believing in her best friend’s words.
Everything would be alright.
Upon entering the Wayne Tower, they were welcomed by Bruce Wayne and his secretaries. They took an hour or so in touring the building, Mr. Wayne giving pieces of information about the history behind his business.
After that, they led them into a conference room where several employees were already sitting.
As they all took a seat, Mr. Wayne made his way on the small stage, giving everyone in the room a professional smile.
“I would like to thank the Collège Françoise Dupont for applying to our career program. It’s a pleasure for us, Wayne Enterprises, to help young minds like yours to find their goals and aspirations for the future. I hope you will enjoy your time with us.”
He paused as the class applauded.
“Thank you. Now, I would like us all to applaud Miss Dupain-Cheng and Miss Césaire for their incredible essay that won their class this trip.”
Once again everyone applauded. The two girls were slightly embarrassed at all this attention.
“Now, let’s not wait any further. All the employees that you will be shadowing are already here. When I call your name, please come up to the stage to be introduced to your mentor. Then, you will be free to go and start the day. Adrien Agreste!”
All too soon it was Marinette’s turn to be called. She was introduced to Timothy Drake-Wayne who didn’t seem that much older than them. He was obviously in his early twenties and probably should be a university student if he were anyone else.
As they left the room, Tim smiled at the short girl.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I hope you will enjoy this week with us.”
The Eurasian girl felt a little uneasy. Tim smiled at her like he already knew her and it unnerved her a little.
“It’s very nice to meet you too, sir! Please, call me Marinette.”
The man smiled at her.
“Alright, as long as you don’t call me sir anymore, please. I’m only twenty-one.”
“Alright then… May I ask you a question?”
“Of course, ask away.”
“I was really surprised when I was told that I would be shadowing you. I was wondering why.”
Tim smiled softly, trying to appease the nervous girl.
“When you asked to shadow someone in the business management branch, you said that one day you wanted to have your own line of clothes and that in the meantime, you already had clients for graphic design and had to open a business as an independent worker for your work to be legal. While your office is your home, it’s still considered a business. Since you will be managing a business at such a young age, we thought it would be better to have someone as young as me to show you the ropes, you know?”
Marinette nodded. It made sense. She didn’t want someone to tell her that she was too young to own a business. Even if being an independent worker didn’t really feel like owning a business, there was still a lot of paperwork to do and she had to deal with all the taxes.
The small girl gave him a bright smile.
“Alright, then! I’m ready!”
Marinette, Tim observed, was a very bright child with a thirst to learn. She took notes of everything he said and asked questions every time she could think of one.
He told her how his grandparents built this business and what changes his adoptive father made.
Then they talked about her plans for the future in details and the co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises was surprised how thorough she was.
He couldn’t help but think that she would be a good match for his little brother.
He spent the whole morning talking business with her and teasing his little brother in texts. He knew that Damian and Bruce planned to have lunch together today. He thought how funny it would be if the demon spawn were to cross path with his soulmate without his Robin costume. The boy would do his best to avoid her.
Speaking of lunch…
“Oh, shit. Is it the time? I’m sorry Marinette, I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, it’s okay! I didn’t see the time pass either.”
Tim smiled.
“Do you want to keep talking and eat lunch here? I was thinking about ordering Chinese food, what do you think?”
The French girl beamed.
“I would love to!”
“Do you want something in particular?”
“Anything is fine, thank you!”
Dialing a number on his phone, he quickly ordered for the both of them.
He saw Marinette taking her wallet out.
“Now, put that away, it’s on me.” he smiled.
That would be the first time he paid lunch for his future sister in law and he was very happy to do so.
“But-”
“I insist.”
“Thank you very much!”
She was such a polite girl, he mused.
The food arrived quickly and they started a business plan together for a fictive company as a way to learn.
He noticed that the door opened and saw his father and little brother with lunch bags in hand.
He smirked as Damian froze and left as quickly as he came, his father mouthing an apology and following his son.
He forgot that he was supposed to have lunch with his father too.
He couldn’t help his laugh at his brother’s reaction though. His face screamed Nope.
“Is something the matter?” asked Marinette.
He stopped laughing, getting back to business.
“No, sorry. You were saying?”
Tag list:
@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @mikantsume @dast218 @amayakans @zestyzealot @lunarwolfspn
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I’ll Be Good (Favored Ones, Part 6.)
Series description: Many things were surely fucked up in the year 2038, but no-one ever told anyone how all of it went down. What happened before a group of people left for Seattle to handle personal matters? Why did one girl refuse to leave all of it be? And why there were so many dead in the end?
Part Summary: Ever since the last bonfire, things seemed to be changing left and right so quickly you couldn’t process it. But one thing was for sure - there was something changing in your relationship with your mentor.
A/N: There are some clues about the bonfire scene, but you don’t get your small claws on it, at least... Not yet. Let’s keep it a mystery for now. Shall we?
Word count: 5 K
Tagging: @nemodoren @xxgoldenhour @missdictatorme @peakymarvels @davnwillcome @pickleriiick @jodiereedus22 @gladiosamicitias @tamkashi @eternallyvenus @avengerssstuff @fangirl-inthe-us
Series master list: H E R E
Joel Miller’s playlist for the bonfire occasions: H E R E
Late summer and early fall of 2037:
It took you a few more days to pick up enough courage and to go for a bow shooting lesson. It was the damned bonfire that you couldn't get out of your head. The feelings were brewing inside of you while you were confused to say the less. Who was even Joel Miller? You couldn't tell anymore.
There were times when Joel could confuse the living hell out of you. Like when he came to see you to your garage. Or that one evening. One thing, you knew for sure. Something had opened up inside of you. Suddenly, you felt opened up to imagine Joel not as a mentor, not as Ellie's father, yet you could see that he is a man. And a pretty handsome one for that matter. Every time he met you in Jackson, he gave you a small smile - once, he stopped by and asked about giving you a guitar lesson. Being surprised, you nodded.
Joel even gave you the tapes by A-Ha he promised he would lend you that night, so you listened to them at home. And these guys were talented as hell. It was a true joy to listen to their songs.
For the first time, you weren't excited about the lesson itself. Like, sure, you still wanted to learn how to shoot from a bow, but your mind was focusing solely on the realization you'll be there together for hours, alone, in each other's company. The idea of being alone with the man, maybe finding more about him, be allowed to talk to him without worries, that was awesome.
It was so strange, realizing something like that in the first place. For the first time, you've decided to have an afternoon lesson, so you had enough time to visit Eve. Ellie wanted to go there with you, but there were some things you didn't want Ellie to hear. You brought your lunch and all the necessary stuff with you, even the bow and the quiver, and a small flower of wild poppies into the dinosaur vase. When you arranged the flowers to look good, you sat down with the box on your knees, looking at the tombstone.
"I told you I'll be back pretty soon. It was just three days and holy hell, you wouldn't believe how much stuff went down, I swear." - You chuckled, looking at her name. Just like the first time you talked to her, this was helping you out a lot. It was somehow calming you down, having at least the feeling that Eve is there with you, listening to each word. - "The bonfire a few days back was... Great. I'm still kinda all over the place because all of it, and Jesus, you'd laugh so much if you'd be here now. I don't know yet, but I have the feeling that boy trouble is on its way. For the first time and for real this time." - A sigh came out of your lips as you played around with the veggies in your pasta salad.
"I can tell you'd be surprised... Maybe just halfway surprised it's about old Miller, huh? What can I tell you? I didn't know I have it in me. You'd probably tell me some of your lessons and tell me to listen to my heart, I know, I know. Why don't you answer me?" - You mumbled to the tombstone. It was childish to expect any kind of answer from the piece of stone, yet your heart didn't desire anything more than that.
"Oh, you're speechless, old-timer, I see. I'll try to sort it out. Maybe it's just a phase? It won't last too long for sure. I've probably just drunk too much... At least you're not on my mind that much lately. That's a good thing, right?" - With another sigh, you finished your lunch and packed the box into your backpack, remaining yourself to wash it later. - "Time I was on my way again. I'm probably late anyway. If anything happens, I come to tell you, don't worry." - You chuckled at the tombstone, climbing on your feet.
Then, you kissed the tips of your fingers, running them along with her name with a sad smile. Joel didn't like it when you came late to your sessions, yet you were already ridiculously late probably. As if that wasn't enough, just as you passed around the cafeteria, Ellie caught up with you with all of her things packed.
"What are you doing?" - You looked at her when she was trying to act unsuspiciously. There was this one small thing that happened at the bonfire - when you were sitting next to the old man, signing a song you didn't know at all, Dina was looking at you two. Suddenly, she turned her face at Ellie, saying a sentence Ellie remember by heart: They would be a nice couple.
Dina was drunk at the point, yet it made Ellie freak out. You and her old man in a romantic relationship? No way in hell. Yet as the days passed, the thought came up in her head more and more often. She wasn't all over the place, but it made her furrow.
"I'm coming with you. To look after you and to be your emotional support." - The green-eyed girl answered, making you stop to look her in the face with visible confusion. You loved Ellie - you did. But this was your chance to talk to Joel without being afraid someone hears you. And the reason she came up with was just dumb. Which the girl realized as soon as you scoffed happily.
"I'll be just fine with Joel. He had to put up with my ass for a month and a half already. I bet one more afternoon won't kill him." - The answer made Ellie sure she lost this battle due to bad arguments. Next time she would want to inspect the overall situation, it can't be a last-minute plan, but some well-thought reasons you won't be able to say a word against.
Dina was drunk, Ellie reminded herself inside her head. She probably has misunderstood the situation. She probably badly read the whole thing. Yet for a reason, you made Ellie worried she might be your number one for too long. Which resolved in her hugging you as her life mattered on it at the moment. Overwhelmed, you hugged her back, closing your eyes at that contact.
"I love you, baby." - She mumbled and clung onto you even tighter than before. Without a doubt, you nodded, closing your eyes for a moment. What on Earth was this for? Ellie suddenly seemed to be so gentle and vulnerable. It almost made you tell her to come along - Joel would be overwhelmed by joy, yet you didn't want to see the girl acting up. - "And I do love you back. Anything on Earth won't change that, sweet pie."
With that, you let her go, stepping a bit away. - "I need to get going. He'll be pissed if I leave him there for too long. See you later!" - You cried out happily, already walking backward in the direction of the gate.
As you suspected, he was already sitting there with an empty expression, watching the ground in front of him. Yet as soon as he saw you in the distance, he stood up, watching you coming closer with his thumb behind his belt. As you tried to catch your breath, your hands were already moving in a swift motion, telling him you want to say something.
"I'm so sorry. Eve was so damn talkative today and then Ellie wanted to talk too... I'm so sorry for making you wait." - Came out of you when you finally were able to at least somehow talk. - "How late am I?"
The man looked at his broken watch with a furrow, giving you a rather serious look after that. - "You're way past I don't give a damn. I told you I won't pressure you for a while now... But don't take advantage of that, yea?" - He answered, having you scoff playfully at the answer. He was impossible sometimes. Right after that exchange, he turned his face at you, having an honest smile there. - "We'll be droppin' our backpacks on the cabin, I have somethin' to show you. Special plans."
That made you excited. Joel never wanted to show you anything besides where the prize you were going for with your bow was. Maybe something moved in him at the bonfire too? Could that be? Well, it made you grin as you thought about it during the way to his sanctuary.
You've talked throughout the whole journey. You spoke about serious and not-so-serious stuff, laughing sometimes. And just as Joel told you, you both stopped at the cabin to put your stuff there.
To your surprise, his rocking chair was finally finished - naturally, you as the kind would you were, eagerly tried it to tell him if it's good. It sure as hell could be felt that Joel was a carpenter back in the day, as he told you before. To be honest, you never sat in anything more comfortable. With a hum, you closed your eyes, rocking yourself.
"This is enough for me, Texas. You can go do your stuff, you'll find me here once you're done, yeah?" - You waved your palm at him when you heard his steps stopping in front of you. Gently, you opened your eyes just to see Joel leaning towards into the terrace's railing, one of his thumbs was under his belt as usual, and he had a boyish grin on his face.
"You wish, youngblood. Get up your lazy ass and come, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity you don't wanna miss." - Joel scoffed, locking the door to the cabin, motioning his head in the direction of the woods. With a dramatic sigh, you got up and followed him.
"What is it? Did you find gold?" - You tried your guess, having the man shook his head. - "Oh, I know. The fountain of eternal youth. No? Hmm... I see! You've found some super-lab, am I right? No? Then what is it?" - There was a hundred other guesses you had inside your head, the boldest one including taking at least one article of clothing off.
"Patience," - "Is a virtue. I know, I know. I'm just fucking curious." - A giggle left your lips. It could be felt that you feel safe and contained, which was healing your soul, to be honest.
To your surprise, you stopped at an empty meadow inside the woods, about half an hour away from the cabin. Joel dragged you behind the tall grass, creating a small window for both of you to watch something. What did he mean by that? What were you supposed to see?
For the first hour, you've been excitedly watching your surroundings, but as you got bored, you started to chit chat with the man more and more - after an hour and a half of just sitting there, you sighed and laid down, looking at the darkening sky.
"Ugh, how long you plan on just sitting here?" - You mumbled tiredly, already feeling the air getting cold. You should've at least taken the sweatshirt from your bag - or he could tell you to take it.
"Have some patience and faith, will you? It can be gone already, but I don't think so since I checked on it yesterday." - Joel sighed, mumbling back to you. Your eyes rolled on their own - yet just as you wanted to mock Joel, a hind came out of the woods, looking around. Swiftly, you got yourself on your heels, trying to see the animal better.
It took you a moment to see what was the animal searching for. Just when it lowered its head to the smaller animal hidden in the bushes, your palm caught Joel's as you leaned in to see the scenery better. You didn't even realize you've done that. The man wasn't watching the hind and its cub, he first took in the sight of your nails gently sinking deeper into his skin as your lips opened in pure wonder.
It was such an innocent gesture made in the wave of spontaneous curiosity and wonder you've felt, but even that told Joel just enough. For example, you were trying to share this moment with him. You trusted him enough to catch his hand. It made the man relax a bit when he leaned with a smile to your shoulder.
You both had to stay as quiet as possible so you wouldn't scare the animal away. - "It's a small whitetail dear. I always thought they're only in Alabama, but I bumped into the hind a few days back. Seems like we made it on time." - Joel explained, having you turning your face at him. It shocked you a bit since you almost bumped your nose to his with how close he was. You've been staring at him for a moment, thinking about how good it feels. Yes, you thought about leaning in for the damn kiss, but you decided against it in the end.
The moment was already special as it was. With a startled look, you realized that you're holding his hand in yours. It was warm, a bit rough, but dry. Only your fingers were wet from the sweat. With a sorry look, you held it a bit tighter before letting it go. Yet he still was as close to you as before, just in case you'd like to tell him something.
The night was turning into night and even though it was getting colder and colder, you still sat there, watching the small deer trying to walk for the very first time. After a while, stars and the moon could be seen shining on the meadow below. Joel would tell you that you should go already, yet he couldn't bring himself to ruin such a moment for you. It could be felt you're believing in the small animal - whenever it fell, you bit your lower lip and furrowed, and when it looks like it's about to finally walk, you leaned in with childish excitement.
"I've never thought I'll see something like that." - A whisper came out of you when you were picking up the stuff from the cabin. - "It was one of the best moments of my life. Thank you." - You smiled, walking the known way to Jackson. Joel caught up after a while, having a smile on his lips as well.
"What you be doin' today?" - Joel asked when you saw the Jackson gates in the distance. You were so freaking late. But it seemed that Tommy was informed about your late arrival, so the patrol waved at you, as usual, letting you in. At the moment, your eyes widened.
"Jesus, I promised Ellie to hang out later today. I didn't know this will take too long. Wouldn't you mind..?" - You mumbled frantically, having a sad expression on your face. Joel already showed you he ain't the worst companion to walk you home and you were hoping that he'll walk you even that day, but this was changing the whole thing. What you've been even sorry for?
"Course not, youngblood. I was just curious, that's all. Tell her... I say hi. Would you do that for me?" - The man asked nervously when you walked backward away from him. At his request, you nodded, having a small smile on your lips before you went to pick your food up and to Ellie's place.
The first knock was ignored by her completely. You sighed, massaging your eyes. Was she even at home? Or was there some sneaking out planned later that you didn't know about? To see if she was there, you looked in through the window. Her TV was on, which was a good signal. So, you knocked again.
"Come on. Don't be pissed - I didn't know it will take this long today." - You told her through the door, leaning your forehead into the wood. Not a sound could be heard from the inside. Great. She was pissed. What on Earth were you supposed to do with a pissed girl?
Carefully, you opened up the door, kinda waiting for Ellie to be waiting for you with a pan in her hands, demanding answers. But when the house was silent and you closed the door again, you saw her snuggled up inside her and sleeping.
The following process was quick and practically noiseless - you ate the dinner quicky, brushed your teeth, took care of your hair, and put the pajama on before joining your best friend.
"Who's that?" - The girl mumbled from her sleep, not even bothering to raise her head from the pillow or to open her eyes.
"It's me. I promised you to stop by... But the lesson took way longer than I thought it will, babe." - You answered in a whisper, having the girl smiling sleepily in your direction. - "Don't worry about me. We'll talk in the morning." - A promise was made before you laid down to sleep as well. As usual, it didn't take Ellie too long before she snuggled up to your side.
It wasn't weird for her or you to do that. Ellie was usually seeking some safety in the still of the night - she did so because she often felt like the third week, so she wanted to at least comfort herself when she was sleeping. And you had no problem with it. It was the usual scenario after you fell asleep during the sleepovers. Mostly, you watched movies and since she was the first to doze off, you knew she'll snuggle after a while.
But you had some serious hard time falling asleep. Your brain was projecting you the whole evening, again and again, making you sure that there was something about the man. After some time, just before you fell asleep, you were glad that is was him with whom you could watch such a thing happening.
The next lessons were nice. Sometimes he helped you with the bow, even having competitions with you and winning all of them, other times he brought the guitar. When you were brave enough, you tried to learn something too, but most of the time, you listened to the man playing.
But even though you could be considered a musical anti-talent, you leaned one or two basic songs with Joel as your tutor. Let alone you breaking another string - this time it was on the guitar. You could be impossible sometimes too.
The fall was approaching quickly, maybe a lot quicker than you were realizing. The leaves started to fall and dressed in colorful coats, the air got thicker and colder, the nights were starting earlier - having you wearing boots and sweatshirts to the lessons.
Yet, in Joel's eyes, you were finally skilled enough to hunt. He let you start with the rabbits before getting into the bigger animals, having endless patience with you. Though the method of right and wrong, you learned how to make a small noise as possible, sneaking like a freaking ninja by the half of September.
"Get the elbow higher." - A sharp whisper hit your ears, but you didn't move an inch. You had the situation under control, having the rabbit just where you wanted it. Taking in the last breath, you steadied yourself and sent the arrow flying.
And to your surprised, it not only missed the target by at least one foot, but it also made the animal run away. All you could see on Joel's face was that I told you so attitude showing off. - "Will you ever learn to listen? I told you that your elbow was too low."
"I had it. It must be the air clearly, it's getting thicker. And the mist I'm front of my nose ain't helping either." - You mumbled and walked for your arrow. It was still usable, so you put it into your quiver.
"So now she's usin' air as an excuse, 'kay." - The old man chuckled mockingly, having you rolling your eyes. - "It's gettin' late. We'll do best if we head back for now. Come on, kiddo."
"Yes, sir. Where do you want to go next time? I heard there's this good place just an hour from here, we can have a competition who’s the better one." - You asked with a big smile. Something inside told you that what Joel was about to say was a thing you won't be happy about - the man quickly glanced at you, furrowing a bit at your words. For a long time, you walked in silence, both of you thinking about your stuff. Until the cabin appeared in the middle of the small meadow, you were both silent.
"You didn't answer my question." - A silent remark left your lips when you both were taking your backpacks on to walk back home. Joel stood in front of you for a while, his thumb behind his belt once again and he nodded at the statement of yours.
"About that... I don't think you need my help anymore. You're good on your own already, trust me, Jesse won't believe how good you are when you show the boy. Also, the weathers gettin' bad, so the circumstances aren't perfect either." - The man answered you finally, making the small smile disappear from your face. You walked closer to him, not quite grasping what was happening.
The sessions were over? That was what Joel was trying to say? Sure, you stopped coming there because of learning the skill a long time ago - you already figured the bow out. It wasn't exactly perfect, but you weren't to worst at it either. The lessons in the woods became more of a fun time with a friend, where you could get lost in the feeling of calmness. You were walking through the woods, side by side, sometimes being quiet the whole time, sometimes you discovered an interesting spot, sometimes you were just joking around.
And he didn't want that anymore. For a reason, it felt like a punch in your stomach. The blood slowly froze in your veins as you tried to figure the man's thoughts out. A tight feeling built around your chest. Sure, you liked the man, but there was no way in hell you'd act on your attraction to him. Did he finally notice the smirks and naughty looks coming from you pretty frequently? Or could he see behind your jokes? Did he found someone else to spend his afternoons with?
"So, I don't have to come next time is what you're trying to say?" - You spoke out loud finally, standing just a foot away from the man. You could feel the warmth coming out of his body, your ears heard the way he was breathing. It was insane.
"All I'm tryin’ to say is that you don't need me anymore. Sure, we can have some hunt from time to time, I would be glad if we would, but spendin' whole afternoons here? Come on. You sure have more things to do, don't you?" - Joel tried to make the whole situation lighter with a chuckle, looking at your confused face.
For you, it was one of those now or never situations. Nobody would know about this unless Joel would tell them. And you knew this man would take everything you'd try to do to the grave rather than humiliating you in front of everyone. You could just try to kiss him, right? No-one would hear about it. So you nodded at your confused thoughts, having the man watching you with confusion. It didn't feel right to leave the place until you'd do it at least once.
Shakily, you took in a deep breath before your fingers wrapped around his light jacket, pulling him closer than before. You made sure his lips met yours in the half before you closed your eyes and kissed him with pure passion. Joel didn't know what to do at all. He would never expect something so unplanned from a girl he knew for a fairly long time. The man honestly thought he get to know you well throughout the months you spent together, but obviously, this wasn't the case at all.
Would he kiss you back if you'd stay there a little longer? Would he put his hands somewhere on you if you'd wait just for one more second? Was he surprised - and was it a pleasant surprise? Those questions were left unanswered, because just as spontaneously as you started the kiss, you pulled away from Joel, having the man standing there with his eyes widened as he looked at you in a different light than before.
What the fuck had you done? Sure, in theory, this situation sounded nice, but also, in your mind was his direction way different than a surprised staring. You could hear your fastened heartbeat inside your head as you backed off from him, shaking your head with tears on confusion in your eyes. Your fucking cheeks were on fire, both your palms were shaking as you covered your mouth with them.
"Fuck... I mean... Fuck. I'm sorry, Joel." - You whispered before disappearing into the woods. You hadn't enough courage to look him in the eyes anymore - you saw him standing there for a long time after you left. That night, you ran directly to Ellie's house, knowing he won't be looking for your there. In case he would be even searching for you. First, she was working on one of her newest paintings, turning happily upon hearing you - just to see you stand there, looking like a piece of trash, crying heavily.
"Did something happened? Did that old jackass do something to you? I swear to God," - "I... It's... Eve." - You got out, figuring the lie on the spot. Ellie sighed softly, coming closer to hug you tightly. You knew your jacket will be covered in the rest of the paint from her shirt, but you were just glad to have the girl in your arms.
Meeting Joel on the meetings or in the dining room was humiliating. Every time you realized he's in the same room as you are, you felt flustered - all you could do usually was to watch the tips of your boots while biting your lip nervously - like a five-ear-old kid caught stealing. Sometimes, when you weren't looking, the man was watching you when everyone else spent hours talking about the patrol routes.
He wished to know what was the whole damn situation about in the first place. In his mind, the sudden kiss didn't make any sense at all. First, your unreadable reaction, then the kiss, after that you stormed out and now you pretended he doesn't exist? What did he do to deserve such a cold-hearted treatment? As far as Joel could tell, he was the innocent one in all of this.
Ever since the weird moment in front of the cabin, he saw you in a different light than before. Sure, you were still his daughter's best friend, you still were a serious lot younger than he was at the point - but you seemed to be opened about something... Joel didn't know what you were opened about, but there were some options. Yet as soon as you'd try to tell them, no matter how much he'd seem to be interested, he had to turn you down cold-heartedly.
To be honest with himself, he was interested. Ever since the bonfire, there was some kind of a small spark bothering Joel about you. He could feel it coming every time you were near - every time you scooped a bit closer on your hunting sessions, every time you greeted him in the downtown, it was there, not leaving until you left again. But what good would it bring? Starting something, no matter what could ruin many relationships, cause fires, and arguments. That was why it would be better for the man to turn you down rather than trying things out.
One night, he heard a knocking on his door. Joel almost missed it since he was in his small carpentering workshop, working on a new figure while listening to some folk songs. With a sigh, he closed the door and went to open it up. His back was drowned in a cold sweat as soon as he saw you standing behind the door with a helpless expression, hugging yourself. To his surprise, you both remained silent for a second even when he opened up the door, standing just two feet away from you. You nodded inside the house, biting your lips nervously.
"Will you let me in? We have a few things to talk about and... I don't want the whole neighborhood to hear." - A whisper left your lips. Joel groaned at defeat, carefully stepping aside to let you walk in. He checked if the only neighbor who he had hadn't seen you coming in before closing the door again. There were things to talk about indeed, yet Joel was hoping that as soon as the situation will be cleared up, you'll leave just as you came in a few seconds ago.
#the last of us#the last of us part two#the last of us imagine#the last of us part 2#joel miller#joel miller the last of us#joel miller x reader#joel miller imagine#ellie williams#ellie williams the last of us#ellie the last of us#jesse the last of us#maria miller#maria the last of us#tommy miller#tommy miller the last of us
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The Saga Begins (And She Doesn’t Stop)
Chapters: 44/?
Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up
Warnings: None
Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday)
Characters: Loki (Marvel),
Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Is Really Starting To Lean Into Those Fantasies, You Really Want To Attend An Avengers Party, No Ulterior Motives, None at all, Phil 2 Will Not Start Singing Anytime Soon I Promise,
Summary: You gain a new teacher, Loki gains a new anxiety.
Loki held your hand in one of his, the other on the small of your back, steadying you as you walked slowly across the room. Standing no longer made you as dizzy, but if you moved to fast, your head still spun, and Loki was not willing to let you fall again.
He hadn't really wanted to allow you out of your chair yet, but you had heard that Thor was throwing a bash for his friends, and there was no way you were being consigned to your room, or stuck in a chair, while there was an entire Avengers party going on.
You definitely didn't want any of them seeing you like this. You still checked in once a week, and each one you talked to-Captain America, Falcon, a young lady with an accent you couldn't place and who didn't bother to introduce herself, even Doctor Banner once-they all held your situation in negative regard. There were plenty of questions about your treatment and your captor. Nobody had a gentle word for Loki. The kindest had been Banner who had told you Loki was a 'bag of cats', but had bid you luck in 'finding the kitten'.
You couldn't let them know an Asgardian had injured you. Who knew how they might take it?
So you walked until you simply couldn't anymore, and Loki had led you back to your chair, showering you with gentle praises for your strength and perseverance.
Today he had magicked you into more modest clothing, the kind you had started considering 'normal'. A deep, blue-green dress, hemmed with ribbon woven with black and yellow chevrons. Tan apron overdress, embroidered with horned snakes and the phases of the moon. Warm, soft felt trousers underneath, comfortable padded slippers. The domed brooches on your shoulder straps were fancy today, with curling dragon patterns, and strings of gold and pearl beads to hang your little trinkets from.
You'd found out from Saldis during one of your baths, that the clothes you wore were Asgardian versions of attire once found on Earth. The clothiers who worked in the palace had only very old book illustrations to go off of, and did not know that humans didn't wear these things anymore; Asgardian fashion moved and changed far slower than Earth fashion did. They'd been trying to make you clothes that would help you feel comfortable, as a guest of the king.
That was actually pretty thoughtful of them, you thought. And you'd told Saldis that the humans out in the believer's camp wore dresses like this, or at least some of them did. It was a process known as reconstruction, where modern humans tried to bring parts of the ways of humans from generations past into their own lives. Some did it in little ways, like learning an ancient language, and reading texts those people left behind, if any. Some did it in big ways, like trying to live entirely like they did. Others participated in reenactment, where they lived, dressed, and acted as people from times past, but only for a little while every week or month, then went back to their regular jobs and homes.
“So it's not all that unusual for me to wear clothes like that, I guess, since the last humans who interacted with Asgardians in any numbers were all wearing them. And the people out in the camp are probably trying to get in touch with the thoughts and feelings of those people.”
“Can you tell me about them?” Saldis had asked you. “I never get close enough to the gates to see them, and obviously, they aren't allowed in.”
“Well, I was only out there for a short time, but they aren't all that different from me.” You said. “They come from different countries, and they feel a connection to the Aesir. Some of them worship them, some of them came to study, I'm pretty sure. Some probably came just to be a part of all this.”
“All this?”
You gestured around you. “A whole new alien species, now permanently residing on Earth. We're a really isolated species, you know? We didn't know for sure there were other people out there until, like seven years ago. And we haven't shared the planet with another intelligent species for tens of thousands of years at least, and that was just another species of human.”
“There were more than one kind of human?” Saldis exclaimed excitedly, prompting you to explain the human family tree to the best of your ability. She left vowing to find more books on the subject.
When you had been dressed and finished with your exercises, Loki wheeled you out into the palace complex, Andsvarr following close behind.
“Since we cannot practice magic or self-defense today, I will be leaving you in the library with a new teacher.” He informed you. “She has a 'Seidkona Express' curriculum laid out for you, or so she tells me.”
Once in the library, he took you to a smaller room that held even more library. The books here looked especially old and important. Some were made of metal, their covers crusted in gems and pearls, some were scrolls inside climate controlled cases, and some were no more than clay or stone tablets. There were even a few staves of weathered wood, carved all over with foreign symbols.
Obviously, you would be keeping your hands and feet inside your ride the whole time. There was no way you were allowed to touch anything in here. Some of these things might be older than the entire human race.
What a thing to realize: that there might have been some people writing epics, even before yours had figured out how to bash two rocks together.
There were a handful of ladies in the Special Library, all beautiful, dressed and coiffed very similarly to the unfinished murals of the Queen. They were all very friendly with Loki, and somewhat less reverent than most of the other palace workers.
You couldn't help but to side-eye him a little. Loki didn't seem like a philanderer, but that didn't mean that he had no history, and it definitely didn't mean that he didn't get around at least a little.
To think that one of these ladies-or more!-could be a former flame...or even potentially a current one...It made you feel strangely bitter. You held it back from showing though, after all, it wasn't like it was any of these ladies' fault that you'd gotten spoiled by being the sole recipient of all of his attention for all these months.
At least, you thought you were. But there were times when the two of you were apart, and who knew what he was up to then?
It was none of your business.
“Oh, you've finally brought her!” One of them exclaimed in perfect American English, startling you. She didn't even speak with the vague accent Loki and the King used when speaking; it was like hearing one of your old neighbors. She even had the very slight Midwestern drawl you were used to.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, dear! Loki has kept you away for way too long, especially for a new Seidkona trainee! My, it's been ages since we had one. My name is Saga, and I am going to be teaching you about the history of Asgardian law for the next little while.”
“Saga is an Aesir.” Loki explained. “All of them are, actually. These ladies all used to be my mother's handmaidens, and are an elite force of stored knowledge. They will be able to teach you all of the things-”
“-That he hasn't got the patience for.” Saga finished. Loki pursed his lips in slight annoyance.
“She also will not hesitate to sass anyone who crosses her path.”
“I like her already.” You proclaimed.
“Of course you do.” He grumbled, but patted you softly on the shoulder before leaving you there.
“Now,” Saga began. “I have several translated manuscripts of law declarations made by our kings. Let's read and discuss the history and reasons behind them, starting with Allfather Buri's Declaration of Sovereignty Over Nornheim...”
*****
Loki arranged foodstuffs on a platter: dark bread, a pot of jam, cold sliced lamb, and a cup of skyr. You would be in lessons for several hours at least and, knowing Saga, potentially quite a bit longer than that. You would need something to eat, and it would be a good excuse to check in on you.
And to make sure Saga was teaching you to be as subversive as a good Seidkona should be.
Buridag would be coming soon enough, and he could not wait to pin the cloak of office to your shoulders. A powerful message would be sent that day, many centuries of tradition would be broken. But it needed to happen, and if something needed to be broken, he was the ideal candidate. Things would change, even if he had to shove them through with a battering ram.
And you, so important, so central to it all...and he didn't think you really understood how vital you were. You still had a shy streak, a deep down belief in the bedrock of your being that you were somehow not worthy of what was happening to you...Well. Loki understood that feeling implicitly, but he did not know how to alleviate it in you. Loki had been through every possible stage of life and death, but relating to the feelings of others was still sometimes difficult for him.
He felt as though he could not court you properly, though, until you had removed that self doubt, and accepted your worth. If there was anything he could do to help, he would, without hesitation.
He also felt that it was becoming important for him to get to the bottom of the strange, quasi-real dreams you were sharing. It seemed to him that they were becoming more frequent. It seemed also, that something that should be within his grasp was being purposefully kept out of it, which was frustrating. There were many clues before him, and he either was not seeing them, or he was not connecting them.
He knew he was close, dancing right on the edge, which frustrated him all the more.
“My prince.” An errand runner approached him, breaking his train of thought. “There is a Midgardian man at the north gate who says he has come from Reykjavik. He says he is with Íslandspóstur, and that he has a package for your Seidkona. Well, he did not call her that, but that is who he meant, my prince.”
“Is that so?” Loki asked suspiciously. “She is not available. I shall see to it. Andsvarr, please take this tray to the library. I shall be away for a short time.”
He dismissed the errand runner and stalked through the half finished streets all the way to the north gate. The person waiting there was certainly dressed as a postman, in his red and black, although that was not a difficult uniform to procure. He waited anxiously, being heckled by a group of nearby protesters. When he noticed that it was Loki coming to greet him, his anxiety seemed to skyrocket; he couldn't wait to be rid of the package-a large, light, very taped up box, signed by Tara Miller, your irritating friend.
Loki took the package and let the postman escape with haste. They would have checked it for dangerous things, such as explosives or venomous animals, but he was going to check it again, in the safety of his chambers.
He took a different route back, stumbling across a road crew whose work had ground to a halt.
“Is there a problem here?” He asked, as the supervisor rushed up to him with relief washing over his face.
“Your Highness! Perhaps you can put to rest a disagreement we are having, if it does not waste too much of your time.”
“There is little of more importance to a city than it's roads.” Loki said. “Tell me of your problem.”
“It's this bloody great stone.” The supervisor pointed to a large boulder, jutting out of the dirt. “Those Midgardian fellows are very odd about their rocks and hills; they refuse to muck about with them, and they don't even break them or build over them. They advise us not to either, but this one is right in the middle of the road.
Now, I know we're not Midgardian,” He continued. “But I want to stay on their good side, since they're trying to help us out. So we're having a bit of a debate as to whether we should just smash the thing and incorporate the rubble into the road, and leave the Midgardians none the wiser, or if we should respect their superstitions and try to move the thing whole, out of the city, or into some courtyard somewhere.”
“I see. I suppose there is nothing wrong with not wanting to offend our allies. If you can move it, do so.”
“Thank you your Highness.” The supervisor said, turning back to his crew. “You heard him! No more debating now, we dig it out and move it!”
The workers approached the stone with shovels and levers, Loki leaving them to their job. Funny, the things that seemed to require a Royal Opinion.
Far down the road, almost out of earshot, Loki heard the crack of breaking stone, and rolled his eyes. At least they had tried.
*****
Loki set the large box down on the sheepskin rug, in front of the fireplace. Knife in hand, ready to throw the entire thing into the flames if he had to, he slit the heavy wrapping of tape, and peered inside.
Loki was not inclined to feel guilt over going through someone's mail, especially not where your safety was concerned. Just because it was signed by your friend, did not mean that it really came from her.
There was a bright green, stuffed...creature, that did not resemble any earthly creature he knew of, which he checked for hidden dangers. It proved to be free of needles or poisons, or secret compartments, so he set it on the 'safe' side. There were several packets of snacks, which he set on the 'unsafe' side, to be sent to Bjarkhild for checking. There were several books, which he checked for hidden razors or pins, and of course, more poison. A tiny USB labeled “Music”. A knitted throw blanket. A few of what must have been your favorite articles of clothing and jewelry, all of it ratty and cheap.
Within another box was a very carefully wrapped leaf, large and variegated, its thick stem enclosed withing a vial of water. New roots were already growing. It was labeled “Phil 2: Electric Boogaloo”, a reference he did not understand, though he did remember you speaking of a cherished houseplant you had named Phil. This must be its offspring, a way to circumvent the extreme difficulty of shipping an entire live plant of the size you had indicated.
Beneath it all was a collection of papers, mostly keepsakes from the places you had visited with Tara, as well as a diploma from some place known as a 'High School'. Odd. You had told him that you had not been able to receive higher education, yet here was proof that you had not just attended, but graduated from a High School. Maybe there was a school that was even higher than that. A Greater or Grand School, perhaps.
Beneath that, were the calendars. THE Calendars. Tara had sent you all three, including the newest one. Loki hadn't even known it was available yet. There were still months to go before the Midgardian year ended.
Ugh. The calendars. How humiliating. He flipped the new one open, finding his picture on the month of November. How they had joked and teased each other, so friendly even though they were debasing themselves for money.
They had wanted him to put oil on his skin! He'd refused of course. If they wanted to glisten like sweaty, filthy, slime farmers, that was their prerogative; if he absolutely had to show skin like a trollop, then he wasn't going to do it like a common one.
They had eventually relented...then they had stuffed him into prisoner's clothes, opened them to the waist, tousled his hair, and handcuffed him to the prison bars! Everyone had had something scathing to say, some sly, insulting jest at his expense, their jeers bouncing off the walls.
After the photographers had gotten their shot, he'd snapped the cuffs with barely any effort, and had to be persuaded by his brother not to wreck the place.
He doubted he would be invited back for next year. He doubted he would want to go. But just imagine if there was a demand for it? A clamoring for pictures of Loki, outstripping even the desire for photos of the Noble Captain? The Playboy Philanthropist? Even his illustrious brother?
Did human women in fact, like a 'bad boy'?
Probably not.
Did you?
Definitely not, given the scoldings you had rained down on him.
But maybe...maybe if you came across him, in this particular situation; chained, unbuttoned, ostensibly helpless...what would you do? Would you help him out? Or would you 'help him out'?
He picked up one of the older calendars, idly flipping through as he floated on the thought of your sweet hands on his skin, right up until he noticed that for the months where Captain America was the feature, you had marked out all the days with hearts instead of crosses.
His heart sank in his chest, the reverie entirely broken.
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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card!
(Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)
It's fine if I'm used to it.
Confession: I love Ichihoshi.
I'm the first to point out flaws in Inazuma and, well, Orion is clearly not exempt from that. I know Ichihoshi's redemption arc isn't the best, that it has wasted potential (especially with Mitsuru being heckin' ded), I know. And even then? I'd protecc Hikaru. He falls into almost all of my favorite character credentials: hardworking, good-meaning, pretty intelligent, cool motif, (most likely has whump stuff attached to them in canon...). Oops.
About this oneshot, it's abstract on purpose because, well, you've most likely read the tags. It's almost a cryptic character study because, man, I want to write more about this stardust boy. Most likely won't be this abstract next time.
It's also much softer than the previous one because I felt softer and sweeter this time, enjoy the calm before the storm, before the storm before the calm. I've taken a lot of liberties with the actual nightmares Ichihoshi is shown to have in the anime, but hey, fanfiction is also for that, right?
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Wishing Upon a Shooting Star in the Twilight Sky
Summary: Hikaru, the eyes who slither in the dark, and an ever-changing corridor. Nothing out of the ordinary.
(or: yet another feverish nightmare in the mind of a boy who used not to have people to rely on)
Fandom: Inazuma Eleven: Orion no Kokuin (spoilers for up to episodes 13-16)
Relationship: Ichihoshi & Inazuma Japan
Wordcount: 2K words
Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo
AO3 version available here.
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A pair of eyes welcomes him as soon as his lids open, shining in the dark, viciously staring at him wit the intensity of a thousand stares. He remembers the story of the poisons of poisons and wonders if those aren’t the eyes of the eyes, those who can see through walls and peek behind the curtains of the mind, those who ignore the skull entirely.
He’s too used to them to be scared of them anymore, so he gets up and running for the day, dressing up as the red irises still dissect his anatomy from where they stand, shrouded in the darkness of the corners of the bedroom.
It always feels cold, his skin shivering, hair dressed on his arms and legs before he puts on a jacket and decide to ignore the chills. The eyes don’t leave their prey, the shine of a fang piercing through the shadows like a claw tearing through a curtain, but that’s to be expected. There’s still a hinge of fear in the back of his mind, the non-null risk that he could get eaten alive, but he shouldn’t let that phase him. He’s not a prey worth the effort anyway.
He exits the unfamiliar room, ready for the day, leaving the creature in the shadows as the day finally shines upon this country again, sunlight bathing the corridors through the windows. It’s soothing, somewhat.
The faces around him ignore his presence entirely. Far away, his brother, his beloved older brother, glaring at him, surrounded by people whose language he suddenly doesn’t understand anymore, whose alphabet reads like drawings on old stone walls. He’s lost and getting scared, the place changing constantly, and he’ll never get used to how the colours and noises keep transforming each time he tries to focus on one sound or object.
His forehead hurts from how many things his brain analyses at once, trying to give sense to the nonsensical maze of sensations swirling around him. He feels smothered, wrapped by a snake that doesn’t exist, head like a nebula who cannot settle for one star and instead decides to confuse him even further. He’s in the eye of a tornado, watching its curves surrounding him with nothing but confusion and a headache.
He manages to peek through the wind curtains, handing his hand outside as to try and catch his brother’s attention, yelling but never hearing his own voice doing so. His brother’s name is missing from his boggled memories, those trying to claw at his wounded throat during this moment of vulnerability, so he calls out in vague manners, words running away from his mind. And yet, despite the dread, despite the panic and despite the horror, it feels like a déjà vu.
He’s been here before, he realizes, as he notices the patterns the walls’ changing forms adopt. They switch in cycles, colours succeeding each other in disharmony, unsynchronized among themselves to create a nauseating vertigo, whose dazzling lights blinded his eyes used to the darkness, rendering him dizzy. And, even then, he can still notice the cycles and how they function, using what’s left available of his brain to clear his way out of the mess.
His brother glares at him from the outside, defying him with a smirk to get out of the tornado. Closing his eyes as not to enforce his migraine, he steps blindly forward, hands trembling and eager to find a wall to find some new failsafe support. His fingertips don’t quite touch anything of note, brushing against the temperature-shifting air he breathes. He continues on anyway, now aware this is a place he knows, a corridor that makes sense if he stops seeing it.
He needs to exit this place, this is all that comes to his mind. The creature will soon get used to the dizzying sparks of the outside. The storm will let down only once he’ll have found a room of calm and serenity. He’s used to it, he knows where he should be heading: the dark blue door, the one decorated with starry-like white dots that reminds him of the night sky. He remembers it so clearly.
He trips on a misplaced carpet and scratches both knees and palms in his attempt at stopping his falls. It stings, but he’s used to such small pains, and he continues walking as the wooden floor under his feet starts catching on fire behind his back. It smells like ash and smoke, going into his nose and down his trachea, making him cough as he tries to still breathe. His sense of smell is neutralized, with his earing and touch all he has left to guide himself. It’s fine, he’ll manage: sensory deprivation isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.
Around him resonate double, echoing laughter. He doesn’t recognize the voices enough to tell who they belong to, yet they’re familiar: they sound like former friends who turned his back on him once upon a time, people he’s wanted to forget the faces and names of, who’ve only stared at him with vengeful eyes since then. Some sound more common than the rest, others are more recent and he can swear he hears accents in some of the whispers thrown his ways. It’s fine, he’ll manage: being told he’s useless and getting threatened for being ineffective isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.
He falls again, but this time, his eyes open. Before him is the bloodied hand of his brother and blue irises staring right into his, daggers planting themselves in his flesh as wooden shards search for a way to pierce through his legs’ skin. It hurts, he thinks he may have sprained his wrists and ankles in his fall. The hand is unwelcoming, the smoke invades his vision, makes his eyes tear up and blurry, water running down his cheeks. He still takes the offer nonetheless and tries rising to his feet, only to fall back down as he gets thrown backwards.
His brother sneers, words unintelligible, but hurtful anyway; and, in a moment of solace, he witnesses his own past self get engulfed by the snake who slithers in the dark of his bedroom, until the fangs throw themselves at him and he stops feeling anything.
It’s fine because he’s used to the acid inside this deadly jaw, it’s fine because he’ll wake up in a sweat, just like he does every time. It’s a loop he’s not found the hole to yet, but this time, he finds back the hope spot before he can—
Not unlike every other night before, Hikaru wakes up in a bolt, drenched in sweat, light hurting his eyes from how suddenly they’ve snapped open. His vision is blurry at first, but then clarifies, and he notices something strange right from the get-go: he isn’t alone.
Hanging right over his is the face of Endou, looking right at him. By sweeping across the room with his glance, he recognizes other faces: Nosaka, Hiura, Mikado, Asuto, Nishikage in the distance. It’s not his bedroom either: it looks like they’re near the pitch instead, if he can trust his sole vision of the ceiling and vague patch of green on his left.
“Ichihoshi, can you hear me?” Endou asks, looking somewhat concerned.
He tries smiling as an answer (that’s kind of a weird reflex to have), but chooses to also add a weak “yes” to his reply.
“Thank goodness!” Asuto sounds relieved. “We were so scared when you just collapsed like that!”
Ah, he’s forgotten to wonder how he even ended in this situation. On the other hand, is there really a point in asking himself questions he can’t find a reply to? His head is a mess.
He feels something cold and wet being put on his forehead. He tries to put a hand on it to identify that, but his wrist won’t move, and he wonders if he’s not sprained it. Of course, it’s not possible: that was in his dream. He’s wide awake now, as he can tell from the lack of eyes trying to peek into his mind’s stained secrets.
“Take some rest,” Endou continues speaking, this expression not leaving his face.
“W-wait… What happened…?” He manages to ask.
Endou’s face gets pushed aside by Nosaka’s, whose eyebrows are frowning and usual smirk has made a hundred-eighty. He looks less than pleased.
“Like Asuto just said, you suddenly collapsed during our usual training regimen. Technically, you merely fell asleep, so we were relieved until you started thrashing in your sleep.”
“Ah, yeah,” Asuto chimes in, “that was scary! Are you sure you’re okay?”
Good question.
“I guess…?”
“I wouldn’t say so,” Nosaka comments, arms crossed.
“You have a fever,” Mikado ends the sentence.
That makes sense, he supposes… It’s just weird that he has no recollection of ever getting this fever in the first place, even if it doesn’t sound too out-of-place for a thing like this to cause his memory to
“I’ll fetch Sekiya,” she adds before leaving.
Despite the tension and the concern, these stares are comfortable, and he surprises himself to catch his eyelids closing on their own again. While this isn’t foreign, it’s been years since he’s felt this way. Strange and yet soothing, his brain doesn’t know what to make of it.
“You’re sure you’re fine?” Asuto asks, insistent. “You really looked in pain when you were asleep!”
Hikaru sits up, now that his body finally responds, making sure the cloth doesn’t fall off from his forehead. He still feels hands in his back, most likely Endou’s.
“It’s fine… I’m used to it.”
“Used to it?!”
Both Asuto and Endou look horrified. Well, he should have seen it coming that others wouldn’t find it that usual, but it’s not worth this sudden appal.
“That makes it even less okay!” The former yells, drilling a hole through his already thumbing skull.
“I agree with Asuto,” Endou adds. “You should have talked to us about these. These absolutely can’t be good!”
“I know, but really, I’ll be fine…” He doesn’t like all the fuss, especially when he considers what he’s once done to them. “They’ve gotten better with time too.”
“For how long have they lasted?” Nosaka then asks again, not letting himself display the same kind of horror as their other teammates.
“I don’t really remember… I think they started when I joined Orion, but I forgot when exactly. They come in and out…”
Everyone still looks appalled.
“What are those about?” Endou eventually speaks out.
“I don’t really know… They’re about my times at Orion, I’m sure of that, but they’re usually so abstract that it’s hard to tell. I think that’s why there’s always eyes glaring at me whenever I have those nightmares…”
He giggles at himself, “today was just worse than usual. It’s calmed down considerably since joining the team and… that’s why I’m convinced they’ll go away, eventually.”
“You’re still overexerted,” Nosaka comments, not without reason. “Even if we’re fighting Orion, you shouldn’t do that again. Having you collapse during a match would be a disaster.”
“I’m with Nosaka,” Endou adds. “You need rest, or else you won’t be able to do anything on the field!”
“B-but… If I’m not playing, are you going to…” Abandon him? No, he can’t say that out loud, not after what he’s done… Instead, he goes silent. He just can’t say that.
“Don’t worry for us, we have your back!” Asuto sounds as confident and happy as ever, even if he can tell his teammate is worried.
He laughs again, softly, to himself. “Thank you…”
To his numbed surprise, Hikaru falls back asleep almost immediately, energy dragged down the well of the thoughts and wrapped in warmth again. Passing out like this in full daylight is but a weird experience he isn’t used to, but that’s fine: change needs to happen and, for once, he isn’t scared about losing something if he goes unconscious for a couple hours.
May the nightmares stop, now that he feels safe and sound.
#inazuma eleven#inazuma eleven orion no kokuin#ichihoshi hikaru#endou mamoru#nosaka yuuma#mikado anna#inamori asuto#nightmares#fever dream#fever#hurt comfort#emotional hurt comfort#bad things happen bingo#bthb 2
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@humanschallenge day 7 ‘beach’
After the first attempt, Niska wanted to send them away. Hide them on the coast somewhere, just ’til she could be sure the cell had been eliminated. Mattie was torn: she wouldn’t worry any less in a strange place, she said, she’d just be away from the people she loved, and that wouldn’t be better.
The second time an intruder broke into the house, Mattie had packed all their belongings before dawn, pausing only to brain the would-be abductor with the crowbar she’d stowed under the bed, ostensibly to placate Niska.
“You win,” she’d said, when Niska had answered on the second ring. “We’ll go.”
To her credit, Niska hadn’t wasted a second on smugness or condescension. She was outside the house within minutes, prepared for the longest drive of Mattie’s life.
Almost three months ago, now. Mattie, living under a false name when any is asked of her, sports a far shorter haircut, several shades darker, and dresses Amelia in green and blue when they go out as an extra blind. The sea air blows colder than she’s used to, so scarves and hats are useful for more than just hiding her face. She’d even bought a new pram: a more robust model with wheels that can cope with sand. What’s the point, Mattie thinks, of being brought up by the sea if you never see the beach?
When Niska arrives for what she terms “a checkup”, Mattie is amused by how quickly she takes to the idea of a walk on the sea front. It’s hardly a tourist trap this time of year, but it’s a bright, crisp day, so there are a handful of people already scattered down the beach when they set out.
“So,” says Mattie, levity coming more easily in familiar company, “Am I supposed to call you ‘Marshall’ now?”
Niska blinks at her. “No. Why would you do that?”
“Well, on TV, when you get put in witness protection…” Mattie trails off. “Never mind. How is the treasure hunt going?”
This time Niska leaps straight for the correct interpretation. “We have names. Some have been dealt with, but their views are spreading. I can’t tell you it’s safe to come home yet.”
Mattie nods, jiggling the handle of the pram a little to make Amelia smile. “That’s okay. I wasn’t really expecting it to be.”
“I’m sorry,” says Niska, with unexpected sincerity.
“Are you kidding me?” Mattie looks across at her. “Niska, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t create this situation.”
“Didn’t I?” It’s weird, so weird, to hear Niska in this kind of quandary. “If it wasn’t for me she’d never have been born, let alone born a symbol of the revolution.”
“You had nothing but good intentions,” Mattie insists. “People are poison, that’s all. That’s on them. Not you.” She sighs. “And not even V, much as I’d like to blame her.”
If she’s honest, she hasn’t always felt this easy about it - has spent her fair share of nights cursing Niska’s name, staring through the gap between the curtains and wondering who was out there, wishing harm on her infant daughter. But she’d refused to let isolation make her bitter, had instead used the empty hours to make peace with the whole situation. This was her life now. More importantly, it was Amelia’s life. Mattie had seen first hand how a mother’s unhappiness could inform a child’s view of the world, and holding Niska accountable for what people had done with her vision of utopia was never going to make Amelia feel any safer.
So she lives, and forgives, and chooses to see only what Niska had meant.
“We could have used V’s help for this,” Niska murmurs.
“Yeah.” Mattie presses her lips together, a sad kind of smile. “It was her choice. She didn’t have to give an ultimatum. She could have just left.”
“I know.” Even now, there’s grief there, remorse. Mattie wouldn’t wish what Niska had gone through on her worst enemies - or wouldn’t have, at least, before those enemies started threatening her child.
Up ahead of them, two children and a woman are playing in the sand, though their raincoats and gloves might fit better with building a snowman than a sandcastle. With a start, Mattie recognises Sophie’s silhouette, then Astrid’s. The boy kneeling in front of the too-perfect structure must be Sam, taller now in the new phase unit they’re calling his ‘growth spurt’.
“Niska…” Mattie starts.
“It’s safe,” comes the answer. “Just strangers on a beach.”
They veer off course, headed for the castle. Sophie spots them first, and barrels into Mattie like she’s six again, squeezing her tight before going to give her niece a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“Strangers,” Mattie giggles. “All right.”
Astrid gives Niska a peck on the cheek when they meet, and Mattie savours the sight of Niska visibly melting into her touch. She doesn’t let herself think much about love, these days, apart from in a maternal sense, but Niska and Astrid are a special case.
Sam shakes Mattie’s hand. She chooses to see it as funny rather than sad. “Good to see you, Sammy,” she says. “Are you keeping Dad in line?”
He smiles then. “I’m doing my best.”
“Good. Keep it up.”
“Sophie,” Niska says, after few minutes of catching up. “Did you have something to show your sister?”
Sophie stands up from where she’s been bending over the pram - bending further than Mattie would have imagined, actually, because her baby sister really isn’t so tiny any more. “Oh, yeah,” she says, with the air of someone who’s learnt a script. “Further along, by the cove. Come on, Mats.”
Mattie follows bemusedly as Sophie pushes Amelia’s pram toward the rockier ground. Once they round the cliff, she spots Max, and is already speeding up to tackle-hug him when she realises that the slender, short haired synth with him is Mia. She’s crying before she reaches them, and wisely they stay close enough that she doesn’t have to choose who to collapse into first.
“It worked,” she gasps out, standing back to look at Mia properly. “When did—how long have you been back?”
“This is day five,” Mia says, peering out from under a thick, Niska-style fringe. She taps a bag slung over her shoulder, and Mattie notes how exactly it hangs in front of her charging port. “I have to carry power wherever I go, and my memory isn’t quite perfect. There are gaps.”
“But you’re here,” Mattie says, enchanted. She grins. “I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten the time I threatened you with a pellet gun…”
Mia returns the wry smile. “How could I ever forget such a special moment between us?”
This is clearly news to Max, who looks at them like they’re both mad. Amelia is obviously tired of them too, because she holds up both hands and coos, as if reminding them of her (far more interesting) presence. Max picks her up and agrees heartily - Sophie snaps a photo as the two of them stick out their tongues.
After a while, Mia asserts her claim on the baby (“she’s my granddaughter, Max, and you’ve seen her before!”) and Max takes Mattie aside after the handover. They drift a little further down.
“Did Niska organise all this?” Mattie asks in wonder. “Planting you all along the beach? It seems so…sentimental.”
“She feels responsible for you being in hiding,” Max says.
“I get that, but it’s all a bit fairytale, coming from Niska.”
“You’ve enjoyed it, then?”
“Of course,” Mattie all but splutters. “Why wouldn’t I…”
She catches the look in his eye, processes it the only way she possibly can. “Ah. So he is here.”
“Up the cliff path,” Max admits. After a pause, he adds, “You don’t have to meet him, if you don’t want to.”
She sucks in a breath. “It’s not that. I do want to. But he can’t stay, can he? The two of us, wherever we are, we put her in danger as long as we’re together.”
After the first attempt, Niska wanted to send them away. All three of them. Hide them on the coast somewhere, where they could be safe as a family. But the conversation that followed had gotten heated, pressure throwing accusations neither would have dreamed of hurling otherwise. Leo had gone to Max’s to cool off. Mattie and Amelia were followed home by someone who’d evidently heard, and understood, the altercation.
Niska had allowed Mattie one phone call to explain things to Leo, during the longest drive of her life. Since then, they hadn’t dared to contact one another, afraid of who’d be listening.
“You know that isn’t true,” Max says softly. “If you’re careful, it can be the same as before. Leo’s been hiding, too – and neither of you are happy apart.” He pauses, looks sideways at her. “Or maybe I’m wrong?”
“You know you’re not wrong,” she says, unable to sound quite as irritated as she’d like him to think.
They’re nearing the foot of the cliff path, now - rough, stone steps hewn out of the rock. Max looks askance at her as they draw level. Mattie nods. “Go back to the others. I’ll be fine.”
She can already make out a figure in the distance, wrapped up against the high wind. He’s looking out to sea, and although she’s still too far away to recognise the look on his face, she’s fairly sure she knows what it will be. She always does.
Mattie takes a deep breath, and starts the climb.
#bring back read mores tumblr you coward#c4 humans#leotilda#mattie hawkins#turbo baby#niska elster#humans challenge 2019
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I Lost My Grace - Chapter 2
Summary : When an angel becomes human, there’s a lot to learn and discover. For him, but for you too.
Pairing : Future Castiel x Reader ?
Word count : 2,140
Warnings : None.
[Note 1 : Okay, first of all, this is my first fanfic that I post on tumblr so pleaaase be indulgent. Also, I apologize if there are spelling mistakes or agreement errors or whatever else. I’m a french woman and I don’t have a perfect level in english, but I would love to improve it. So, if there is any mistake, just let me know and I’ll correct it :)
Note 2 : I wanted to try something in this chapter about the way of writing (check the italic and bold type text (some sentences are from the original script by the way, not mine)). The scene is very clear in my mind but I don’t know if I transcribed it well. I hope you’ll understand what I wanted to do. In any case, don’t hesitate to tell me if it’s comprehensible or not.
Note 3 : Okay, I stop the “blabla” now and let you read the chapter ! :) I hope you’ll enjoy it. I’ll try to post the next as soon as I can ! Oh and don’t hesitate to send a feedback ! I would be glad to know what you’re thinking about the chapter. I wish you a nice reading ❤ ]
Cas is human.
You couldn't realize it. Castiel, angel of the Lord, who had saved Dean from Hell and Sam from madness, who had fought by your side against demons, leviathans and even angels, was now human.
His face suddenly popped in your mind. Those eyes. Once again, you could see so many things in them.
Distress. Pain. Emptiness. Your own old demons.
You hated the fact that Castiel had to feel all these terrible feelings. He didn't deserve all this suffering and most of all he hadn't been prepared for that. You didn't know how he would react but you were sure about one thing : it wouldn't be good. You knew too well these feelings and their consequences. You had experienced them before and they hadn't been a good phase of your life. Not at all. You just hoped that Castiel would not live what you did.
At the thought, you instantly felt your eyes getting wet and you bit your bottom lip, trying to control yourself. Not now (Y/N).
You focused on your breathe, letting in and out the air in your lungs very slowly and finally managed to get back your composure.
That's better. You thought to yourself. I have to be strong. For him. He will need the three of us to overcome this situation.
You paused a moment, starting to remember all the hard times he went through. Lilith, the apocalypse, the civil war in heaven, the purgatory... He had survived to everything.
He is brave and strong and good. Being human will not change anything of that. He will survive to this too. And I'll be there for him, like I'm here for Sam and Dean. I'll pay attention to every single of his needs. I will do everything I can to help him and he will be ok. Everything will be o-
The sound of footsteps approaching suddenly cut your thoughts and you blinked a couple of times, knowing that it would help you to come back to reality. Then you looked down at your hands to see that without even realizing it, you had finished the batter's preparation.
"So, what are you cooking for us, little head chef ?" Dean asked while he rubbed his hand against the top of your head, causing your bun to get messy. You faked to grumble in frustration, hiding your smile from Dean. You didn't want him to know that you loved when he did that. That it conforted you and made you feel really part of their family, like a little sister.
You felt Sam coming closer to you and watching over your left shoulder. "Flour, eggs, milk..." He started to enumerate, noticing all the ingredients that were placed on the countertop. "Oh wait, I think I know." He started to say proudly. "Is that-"
"Salty pancakes !" You said joyfully, knowing well that the boys loved that recipe.
"Oh God bless you ! And pancakes too !" Dean exclaimed, raising his fist toward the sky after having kissed it.
"You. Are. The best." Sam stated with a big grin.
You chuckled at their reactions.
"I thought that it would be a good..." Your voice lowered. "first meal for Cas." You ended your sentence in a whisper, the words hurting your throat and the memories hurting your heart.
"Of course it is, (Y/N)."
You raised your head to look at Sam who was smiling at you. You perfectly knew this smile, this look, this face. He knew. And he knew you knew he knew. He always guessed your feelings. It was like this with Sam. He had this "super" empathy that made you feel naked but safe at the same time. And more you tried to hide your emotions, better he understood what was happening in your head. It was destabilizing at first but you were now used to be an open book to him. He wasn't your friend for nothing after all.
"So." Sam said, changing the subject on purpose. "Do you need help ?"
You faked to think about the proposition before answering. "Actually yes. Dean, can you take care of bacon's and egg's cooking ?" You asked him.
"Sir, yes sir !" He said abruptly, saluting you military way what made you smile.
"And Sam, what about making some salad with it ?" You suggested, exchanging a knowing look with him.
"Oh no !" Dean suddenly spoke before Sam could say anything. "Please, don't tell me that this meal will contain some green healthy things." The eldest brother said, looking desperate.
"Haha, I think it will !" Sam replied, winking at you.
"Compromises Dean. Compromises." You said with a laugh.
You perfectly knew that all of this was just an act. Smiling, joking like nothing had happened earlier. In fact, it had always been your way to escape the reality and its hard times. Sometimes the three of you simply needed to relax and think about anything else that the daily crap. And today you really needed that. Castiel really needed that.
You felt your heart clenching at the thought
"How is he going ?" You asked to Dean with sad eyes.
"I..." Dean sighed. "I don't know, it's hard to tell." He went to the fridge and opened it, searching for the bacon's box. "I explained him how to use the shower, how to regulate the water temperature, how much use shampoo etc. I think we'll have to do that with everything now." He suddenly straightened up, his head only poking out above the door fridge. "And before you too are saying anything, I tell you : I won't be the one who will explain how to flush the toilet !" He said, laughing a little while returning to his task.
A sad smile crossed your face, knowing that behind the joke, Dean was really concerned about his friend. Humor was his best defense against any emotional stuff.
"Ah got it !" He suddenly exclaimed, finally finding the box. "Anyway. I think it won't be easy. When I left him, he seemed still in shock. I never saw him like that before."
"Yeah. Me neither." You replied quietly.
You saw Dean contorting himself as he was going deeper in the fridge. He muttered something inaudible - where you just heard the words "Damn it !" and "this shit" - then he finally get out of it with a bag in his hands, a disgusted expression on his face.
"Ew..." He said while putting the salad in Sam's hands.
You shook your head and smiled at his funny behavior while Sam rolled his eyes.
"You're really a lost cause, ya know." Sam said what made you giggle.
The three of you were going to focus on your respective task when you realized that something were missing for doing yours.
"Oh Sam, wait ! Just before you start, can you grab me the frying pan please ?" You didn't wait more of 4 seconds until he was handing it to you.
"Thank you." You said to him as you grasped the pot. But instead of letting go of the pan like he would have to, Sam had a tight hold on it. Slightly destabilizing by the unexpected force, you looked at him to discover that he was totally still, his gaze locked on something unmaterial in front of him.
"Sam ? You're okay ?" You asked, suddenly worried.
Dean moved in front of his brother. "Sammy ! Hey !" He said, starting to shake his left shoulder with one hand.
"Yes, Sam is fine." Sam finally answered with a neutral tone while putting the pan on the countertop.
There was one second of silence during time seemed suspended, before Sam's eyes moved again and fixed on you and Dean. His face wasn't reflected any emotion, it was just like a stone. Hard, cold and empty. That's when you understood what was going on. Ezekiel.
"Ezekiel." Dean repeated your thought out loud. "You know that we discussed about this, don't ever do it like tha-"
"Castiel cannot stay here." Ezekiel proclaimed, cutting Dean off.
The statement made you freeze. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively held your breathe, your body's reactions following the state of shock of your brain.
In the corner of your eyes, you saw Dean shaking his head then frowning. "Wait what ?" He said, not believing what he just heard, just like you.
"Castiel cannot stay here." The angel repeated patiently. "He will bring the angels down on all of us."
Your eyes fixed upon the angel again and all your suspicion about him came back to the point.
"No, no, he's got the Enochian tattoo. He's warded."
You never trusted him. You just couldn't.
"He was warded when some angels found him, and tried to kill him."
There was something in him that was bothering you.You didn't know what exactly.
"Yes, I know that, but this is Cas, okay, who vouched for you when I didn't know you from Jack. The bunker is safe."
Of course, Dean have had his own doubts when you first met Ezekiel. You two agreed about one thing : there was no coincidence. You couldn't believe that just when you needed it, an angel just presented himself right away with a solution, without any ulterior motive. It was way too good to be true.
"Bartholomew is massing a force. We cannot stand an incursion. Castiel is in danger, and if he is here, I am in danger."
But the strange situation wasn't really what setted you thinking. It was more a feeling. A terrible bad feeling that was eating you away since the first day.
"Wait, you're in danger? From who, the angels?"
You couldn't explain it but you were deeply convinced that there was something wrong with the angel.
"If he stays, I am afraid I will have no choice but to leave."
You couldn't explain it but you always felt that something were...
"Oh, no, you can't do that. Sam's not well enough. If you leave his body..."
... fake.
"I know. I am sorry."
The last words suddenly cut your thoughts and brought you back to reality. You felt your checks starting to burn red, anger flewing through your veins. Sorry ? He was sorry ?
“Okay, that's enough." You interrupted them. "Listen to me carefully, Zeke !” You said with a revolted face when your mouth prononced his name. “I don't know what's on your mind and what you're planning but let me tell you that." You made a pause to let some air filling your empty lungs. "YES, we need you to heal Sam and bring him back in one piece. YES, you are our last hope for this. But NO, this act doesn’t give you the right to order that Castiel has to leave. HE is our friend. Don’t forget that YOU are still alive only because we need you to keep SAM alive ! I could simply kill you right now !" You finally said, raising your blade from under your top and placing it on Sam's throat.
You detected a slight flinch coming from Ezekiel but he didn't let anything appear on his face. And as your gazes were silently fighting, you could feel your own eyes slowly getting wet due to the outpouring of emotions.
"Wow wow, (Y/N). Hey, calm down okay ?" Dean spoke to you quietly while grabbing carefully your hand to push it away from his brother's body.
"I am calm. I just want to be sure that this stupid and selfish angel understands well my thought." You replied, still holding the gaze of the angel.
You felt Dean's hand slowly pulling yours, forcing you to step back.
"Threatening me will not change anything (Y/N)." Ezekiel said, looking at you emotionless. He then turned toward the older brother and stated once again. "If Castiel stays, I will leave."
The ultimatum let Dean voiceless. You could read so easily his pain on his features as he didn't know what to do. Castiel, his best friend. Sam, his brother.
"Know what ? I'm done with it !" You intervened just as he was opening his mouth to speak. "We won't choose between the two of them. If Cas has to go, then I'll go with him ! I will not let him all alone, especially now. This is the time when he most needs us." You paused, looking at both of them. "I guess that everybody will agree with this." You concluded in a low voice.
You then turned toward the countertop to finish cooking the pancakes, not wanting to talk to the angel anymore.
"I suggest Sam should look after Cas to see if he's okay." Dean said to Ezekiel and you heard footsteps moving away from the kitchen.
Tag list : @thehoneybeecastielfollows
#fanfiction#fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic#spn#supernatural#castiel x reader#i lost my grace#chapter 2#first fanfic
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A Hogwarts Vision
Summary: A chimera-golem made in a magical lab
House: Ravenclaw
Species: Chimera/golem
Wand: Apple, 14 inches, phoenix feather
Broom: Custom job, grown from a bristle from Loki's scepter/wand/broom
Patronus: Chameleon
Specialties: Everything except Muggle Studies
Sorting:
Obviously, the one who lifted Thor's hammer with no effort must be a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff right?
Jaws dropped and Groot shat some acorns when Vision was sorted into Ravenclaw. But his love for all life stems from his innocent curiosity about it, all of his strongest traits are intellectual, and he is literally the Mind Stone. Where else could he be sorted?
Creation:
After a certain legilimens brain-fricked all the Avengers and triggered each of their PTSD, Tony Stark and Bruce BannerBruce got drunk in the lab, and Tony pressured Bruce into helping him create a living gargoyle that would protect the world. A few hours later, neither would even be able to remember everything they'd dumped into the cauldron, but the result was definitely a very bad F-up. Out came Ultron, the most insufferably corny "villain" the Avengers ever faced.
Ultron then began to make his own new life-form, that he planned to replace humanity after wiping them out, but his own plan didn't work out either.
Tony and Bruce wound up finishing Ultron's project, and gave birth to a chimera/golem/gargoyle named Vision. Vision therefore has three fathers (Tony, Bruce, and Ultron), two of whom are also his grandfather and one of whom is also his brother, as well as two mothers (Wanda Maxmioff, and Helen Cho, who was forced to help Ultron build Vision), one of whom is also his grandmother as well as his girlfriend.
Fortunately, Vision is the type of straight-A nerd who's so perfect that his classmates tend to just forget he exists. For this, he and Wanda are extremely grateful, as it is literally the only thing saving them from a storm of incest accusations and jokes.
Sadly, his time with Wanda ends up being short. But Ravenclaw wisdom helps them both appreciate what they were able to have.
The list of items that contributed to Vision's creation is extensive. But a few highlights are:
The Mind Stone
Scale of a Vibranium Chrometooth Dragon giving him an impenetrable scaled hide
Unicorn Horn giving him his magical and moral purity
Jackalope Antler contributing to his cleverness and shape-shifting abilities
Ectoplasm allowing him to phase through walls like a ghost
Phoenix Tail Feather allowing for magical regeneration
Sphinx Claw contributing also to his intelligence
One Full Boggart (found in the closet; “What do you do with a Boggart once you catch it, Tony?” “Eh….put it in the cauldron!”) Also contributing to Vision's shape-shifting, as well as his introspective personality
One Facial Hair from Tony Stark granting him all of Tony's knowledge and memories
One Green Wolf Hair from Bruce Banner’s Tail giving him all of Bruce's knowledge and memories
Jarvis’s Shed Snake Skin (the only remains after Jarvis died) Granting him all of Jarvis's knowledge and memories, as well as his actor voice and demeanor
One Talon from an enchanted Gargoyle-Golem (Ultron) contributing to Vision's android-like traits (as golems and gargoyles are the closest wizarding equivalent to artificial life forms)
Wand:
"Applewood wands are not made in great numbers. They are powerful and best suited to an owner of high aims and ideals, as this wood mixes poorly with Dark magic." ~ Pottermore
The phoenix feather goes with Vision being born out of "ashes" so to speak, his incredible power, regenerative abilities, and self-sacrificing nature.
Patronus:
Chameleons do much more than just bend with their background. They continue to grow their entire lives, shedding skin as they get too big for it, just as Vision is constantly “evolving.” Skin color changes can indicate emotion, particularly stress; Vision loses his human appearance when gravely injured. They can also move their eyes independently, looking in opposite directions at once; fitting for someone named “Vision.”
Ironically, they can not regenerated lost limbs like some other lizards can. Vision of course can do this… mostof the time.
Education:
Vision is that straight-A star student who quietly excels at everything from the back of the classroom, always stunning everyone when he speaks up, because they forgot he was there. He is a prefect and Head Boy of Ravenclaw House. During ordinary school days he tends to wear his modest Ravenclaw uniform and sweater-vest, saving his fancier robes for Order of the Avengers meetings and illegal Quidditch matches.
He excels at literally every subject except for Muggle studies. Though always impeccably polite and mild-mannered, social skills are not Vision's strong point, as he tends to phase through walls without knocking, and jokes fly over his head. Many pureblood students have a hard time understanding concepts discussed in Muggle Studies, but Vision takes it to new levels. He is frequently interrupting the professors with questions like, "Why don't the Muggles just use electricity to give their brooms and photographs motion?" and "Did the radio create the I-Pod with good intentions, or was it planning to wipe out the Muggles and replace them with its own race?" Some of his classmates are beginning to miss Thor.
Relationships:
Until the Infinity Stone in his head became relevant, everyone frequently tended to forget that Vision existed, despite his incredible powers. Any time the Order of the Avengers debated which "team" had the moral high ground, or what "incredible powers" might aid them in their current missions, they all seemed to forget the purple god floating amongst them. Vision, often interested in observing how much these mortals could figure out on their own, and always modest, never brought up his own abilities unless asked, even in the most dire situations. (Ravenclaws, you see, are not necessarily "smart" in every facet of life.)
Vision is a prefect and Head Boy of Ravenclaw House, where things are only marginally better. There, his fellow nerds are proud to have their very own grape-Data or Dr. Manhattan. But even among them, Vision struggles to maintain order and respect among their short attention spans. Peter Parker and his fellow first years swoon over the main four Avengers, often having heated debates over who the strongest Avenger is, completely forgetting the purple chimera in the Ravenclaw sweater on the sofa behind them.
Despite being Tony and Bruce's high school love child, Vision does not have a close relationship with his dads. Vision's Ravenclaw dad, Bruce Banner, is occupied by his lycanthropy and frequent detentions with the eccentric new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and tends to neglect his creation. Tony is likewise distracted, and in a whole other House anyway.
The only person in or out of Ravenclaw Tower to consistently remember that Viz exists is his girlfriend Wanda. A legilimens and the Mind Stone do seem like the epitome of a Ravenclaw couple. It's no small wonder that Vision eventually forgot his selfless nature, and begged Wanda to just run away with him, abandoning their education and obligations to their respective "teams."
His self-sacrificing nature and pragmatism swiftly returned however, when he and Wanda learned about Thanos and his plan with the Infinity Stones.
Notes: I do not have anything against Vision, but he is a character I have always struggled to come up with something to say anything about. Still, I am grateful to have another genius to add to Ravenclaw to balance things out, with Tony, Strange and Rocket all being Slytherins.
"Black Panther" characters, again, are anticipated but slow-coming, because of the detail I want to give to their pictures.
#vision#paul bettany#marvel#mcu#ravenclaw#hogwarts#potterverse#au#harry potter#crossover#robe#broom#wand#chimera#golem#gargoyle#fantasy#magic#wizard#sorting hat#house#mind stone#infinity stone#avengers#high school#teenage#android#robot#wanda maximoff#scarlet witch
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STRANGE TRAILS - Chapter 3 - Logsense
Cooper paused at room 321. He glared at the peculiar number, a boyish enthusiasm still flickering in his limbs and especially fingertips. The corners of his mouth remained turned up, and it seemed impossible for them to frown. He stepped closer to the door. He couldn't wait to tell her all about the Bookhouse Boys.
Yes, the town's secret organization was a secret; however, the peculiar thing with men is that the woman closest to them was their confidant. Be it mother, partner, or sister - they shared everything with her, and for agent Cooper, that role was still fulfilled by Victoria.
And yet, as he was about to knock on the door, the beaming smile washed away from his face. He couldn't get himself to wake her, however gladly she would have listened to his stories, not after seeing her so tired. Not after what happened between them.
While Cooper further investigated the case late into the night, Vicky was catching up on sleep. That is, if you call tossing around in bed from nightmares, sleeping.
She was never a good sleeper. Oftentimes, she went out for a cigarette in the middle of the night to stare at the current shape of the moon from Dale's balcony. She was familiar with all its phases: gibbous, waning, waxing… Of course, it was the most interesting to observe in its full glory, but Victoria found it much more soothing when all was covered in the heavy cloak of darkness. Especially when Cooper rolled out of bed to embrace her from behind, only to fall back asleep on her shoulder moments later.
…as the midnight of a moonless night…
She was used to nightmares, too, so much in fact, that she simply referred to them as dreams by this point. Rotting flesh pulsating alive again, beating hearts being opened with a scalpel, bodies moving with eery naturality as they were carved with medical devices like ancient stones and as you got to a certain organ, they spoke:
'Nurse, there's a twitching in my left thigh…'
She was called a nurse many times during her residency and the people on the surgery tables were rarely any different or more alive than the DBs she was investigating in her recent years. Both were flesh, still infused with the illusion of the self, but regardless… Flesh.
Maybe it was this connection that made her more aware of the fine line that separated life and death.
This time it was the blonde girl, Laura Palmer, speaking to her, while Albert kept drilling her head into a strainer.
'Birdzzzzz… birdzzzz…' She repeated, syncing up with the instrument's buzzing, like a broken record, until her brain leaked from the holes like playdoh. Her eyes, her striking blue eyes remained locked on Vicky.
Laura's thoughts evaporated from her cells. The cloud of memories engulfed the three of them as faint whispers, growing louder and louder, circling around the girl like a tornado, the wind picking up the drill from Albert's hand, carrying it away with Toto, yet the tool kept buzzing on and on and…
Vicky woke to the beeping of her alarm. She silenced it and her eyes darted wide open. She wasted no time, rushed to the small table by the window, and took the folder of evidence on it. A sudden blackness came over her. She threw the opened folder back to the table to grab the side of the furniture for stability. She saw nothing even though she was forcing her eyes to stay open.
'Breathe deep,' she thought to herself while taking a long inhale.
The feeling was not unfamiliar to her. It was a frequent occurrence during her ambulance shifts whenever they had to storm out to a case.
As she regained her consciousness, she fumbled around for a specific photograph she was inspecting right before falling asleep: the strange scars on Laura Palmer's shoulders. When she found it she immediately dialed:
'Albert!' She exclaimed when she heard the phone being picked up. 'It's bird pecks on her shoulders.'
'On the Palmer girl?' Her supervisor asked without missing a beat. The woman could hear a similar shuffling at the end of the other line, and after a short pause, Albert agreed. 'You're right. I'll have McCoy run it through the database. Did your date with Coop go well?'
'Yeah,' She replied absent-mindedly, failing to pick up on the mocking tone of the man's voice. 'When does the equipment arrive here?'
'Should be about an hour,' Came the reply. 'Good job, Vicky.'
~Invitation to love~
'Don't fight it, Chet. You know as well as I there's still something between us. There always will be.'
High heeled, knee-length cowboy boots thumped into the sheriff's department. They weren't new, and the leather did crease in certain areas, but it was nevertheless weathering the wide-ranged usage.
Vicky pushed the glass door open, and her outfit immediately earned her a complimenting whistle from the janitor, and a nod from an officer she couldn't recall. She turned to Lucy.
'Hey Lucy,' She smiled at the receptionist, curiously peeking in to see the TV broadcasting the newest soap opera. Victoria stopped to watch the situation unfold - she got hooked on the entangled relationship drama last night, when she was flicking through the channels at the Great Northern. She cleared her throat and turned back to Lucy. 'I believe Sheriff Truman told you that I'll need a lab at the station. Which is the unlucky room I will evade?'
Lucy let out the breath she was holding in; probably from the fear that she might be humiliated by yet another scientist, but she was relieved to find that Miss Davis had manners. In fact, it was the first time she wasn't talked down to.
'I was hoping we would have breakfast together,' The agent noted when he stepped into the impromptu laboratory hours later. There was a slight, but unmissable resentfulness in his usually pleasant tonation, and Victoria couldn't help but chuckle. She walked past him to file away a folder.
'You gotta rise earlier, Dale.'
His eyes wandered to the hem of her skirt dancing around just above her knees, showing a bit of her thighs. He knew this slight 'indecency' was more so due to her young age and her own perception of herself. She complained at some point that a longer skirt would make her look smaller and stockier - which wasn't true, but it never occurred to Cooper to oppose. He felt the urge to move his hands, so he buried them in his pockets.
'How's the evaluation going?'
'Calmly,' The woman noted in a surprised tone as she returned to her seat. 'We got back the match from the database for the ropes. The twine on the upper arm is pretty common, Finley's Fine Twine.'
'What about the ones on her wrist?'
'No match yet,' She shook her head. 'But the scars on her shoulders, they are bird bites.'
'Bird bites?' His eyebrows grew closer.
'Yeah… I had a dream, and… Anyway, it turned out to be correct. They are still running it through the database, but the results should be here soon,'
Her slip of tongue made Cooper's heart flutter. He knew how methodical she was, and could recall many of their conversations about the topic - how dreams and unorthodox methods can further the investigation -, and Vicky often remained on the questioning side. Yet now, it seemed as though she finally understood what he was trying to tell her for so many years.
'The reconstruction of the plastic object found in her stomach is in progress,' She followed, not allowing silence to settle between them. 'The computer gave me a run for my money when I tried to assemble it,' Vicky eased her own tension with a smirk, then took an emerald green notebook into her hands. 'What about you, where the case is going?'
'I've met Dr Jacoby last night, visiting Laura Palmer's grave,' The agent leaned against the edge of the desk, while she scribbled down his observations. She realigned the desk lamp to illuminate the pages.
'Do you consider him a suspect?'
'Well, his name does start with a J…' Coop contemplated. 'He is suspicious, but he doesn't strike me as the type for it. I had him in for questioning this morning, in fact, he just left,' He straightened his tie.
'Laura was his patient, if I recall. Did you try to get something out of him about their sessions?'
'He was unwilling.'
'Of course,' She scoffed.
'But he knew about Laura taking cocaine. His psychological assessment deemed it as a good sign.'
The pen in Victoria's hand stopped abruptly, and she raised her eyebrow at her colleague:
'He thought a seventeen-year-old sniffing cocaine for her mental health issues is a good thing?'
'He apparently had that opinion I'm afraid,' The man sighed.
'I'm so glad there are people like this in the world we can trust with our deepest issues,' She noted sarcastically, taking a sip of her coffee. 'What else? How'd that secret meeting with the boys go?'
'You know about the organization?' His jaw dropped and leaned ahead.
'Now I do,' She replied with a mischievous grin. 'To be fair, it is a close-knit community in a secluded area. There's bound to be a secret society of some sort, protecting the values of the community from outside attacks. And I heard you leaving the hotel not long after we said goodnight.'
'You'd be a wonderful detective,' Dale smiled with proud amazement. His conclusion earned a light blush from his colleague, but she was quick to brush it off.
'So, do I get a run-down on it or am I too much of a girl?'
'They had Bernard Renault in for questioning; he's the younger brother of Jacques Renault. They are smuggling cocaine over the Canadian border, but he was unwilling to cooperate. Still, he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed.'
'What else about Doctor Jacoby? Did he say anything else?'
'He saw a red Corvette the night Laura Palmer died. Harry said it must be Leo Johnson's.'
'If we confiscate it can I take it for a test drive?' Vicky crossed her legs as she sunk comfortably into her chair.
'Doesn't it contradict the rule of not disturbing the crime scene?' The agent retorted, but she was quick to remind him:
'I still have your greasy thumb filed under evidence for the Tallak case. Don't play with me.'
'Did you speak to Albert today?' He enquired.
'In the morning, but not since. Why?'
'He wants Sheriff Truman fired,' Coop explained. 'He handed in an OOJ and an AFO to Gordon.'
'Ah, Dale, I don't wanna be part of this...' Vicky pulled her mouth to the side.
'Coop,' Sheriff Truman stepped into the room. 'Hawk found the one-armed man.'
'Be right there, Harry,' The agent raised his palm then turned back to the woman. 'Please. For me.'
'Oh, alright… I'll talk to Albert,' She promised and Cooper's face lit up before the two men darted out.
Victoria sighed as she returned to her work, but not before laying out a detailed list of things in her head: a list of things the agent better do to make things even.
She knew she'd never hand that list in.
After a while, the lines blended together, regardless of how many times she blinked. She instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes lying just across the table, only to find it empty.
'Typical,' She muttered to herself, brushing a strand of hair from her face, then checked the time. It was already past one.
Vicky grabbed her wallet and her coat. On her way out, she stopped in front of the reception boot.
'Lucy, wanna come along for lunch?'
'I can't,' The receptionist whined. 'Sheriff Truman is out and I can't leave when they're not around.'
'Oh… Anything from the Double R, then?'
'A tuna sandwich would be nice.'
'A tuna sandwich to be delivered. Gonna grab lunch together some other time.'
'Tuna sandwich…' Vicky smiled to herself as she got into her car. Immediately, she shivered and drew her coat closer together. She was quick to start the car, hoping it would warm up during that short ride.
While driving, she was reminiscing over a childhood friend of hers - Anne Marie and Lucy showed an uncanny resemblance, not in their features, but in their character. Anne Marie had dark hair and eyes, and hated tuna with all her might, but she was an avid fan of love stories. They frequently snitched their mothers' erotica novels only to stay up way into the night, reading each paragraph with crimson cheeks and excitement. Anne Marie was maturing physically at a much quicker rate, and she was only twelve when she was...
Vicky stepped into the break at the red light she almost passed by.
Love did not turn out to be anywhere near that glorified image they formed in the attic of the vacation house. It was not filled with the thrilling mystery that sent butterflies to their stomachs. It didn't take their breath with passion and soft words. It didn't warm their limbs with the softness of the July sun or shock them like the freshness of the spring they jumped into from the heat. It wasn't ultimate. It wasn't lasting. It wasn't happy.
It wasn't real.
Victoria arrived at the Double R and rushed in to wash the dreadful taste out of her mouth. A nice cup of joe should do the trick.
She thumped down into the barstool with such a force it let out a creek. Norma was quick with a strong brew and her red lips widened into the blissful smile of a mother.
'Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Tough night?'
'Nah, night was fine. Must be this damned weather.' Vicky sighed. 'How are you, Norma?'
The woman tensed visibly at the question and there was no sign of the previous smile on her face. She caressed the coffee pot in her hand.
'My husband's due a hearing… About his parole.'
'Oh,' The forensic scientist added. 'And you, um, expecting him home?'
'Of course,' Norma replied dryly, but the very next second she followed as if the little innuendo didn't happen. She was a professional in her own right. 'What can I get you, Miss Davis?'
'Damn I didn't even think about it… It will be a tuna sandwich on the go and... Let's make that two, please.'
'Two tuna sandwiches,' The woman nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
The more she drank from her coffee the more she contemplated about lips. The lips of a certain individual to be exact. Wondering about the words those lips formed yesterday. Seeing them as closely as years before… Wondering about whether they still taste the same…
'My log has something to say to you,' The sentence was embroidered with loud chewing.
Vicky glanced up. She was confronted with a pair of big, strong glasses and a pouted lip. A log rested gently cradled in the arms of the woman next to her. She didn't even give Victoria any time to reply or oppose.
'There are bruises that stay on the skin forever. Others remain on the soul. Innocence is taken from those who rob others of it,' The lady chanted, then resumed to chewing whatever she had in her mouth.
'Margaret!' Norma scolded the woman. 'Don't scare Miss Davis with that nonsense!'
To which the woman only spat the pine resin on the counter, and forcefully darted out.
As Victoria was driving back to the police station, the sun peaked out twice - maybe even three times - from the clouds. Two tuna sandwiches on the passenger seat: one whole and one barely touched. After the initial hunger, her stomach dropped again as she replayed the words of the old lady.
Was she going mad? What did the woman with the log know? It wasn't the absurdity of the riddle that upset her.
What did upset her was that it made way too much sense.
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Ranger Week: Tracking Guide
image credit: Todd Ulrich
In Dungeons & Dragons, rangers are expert trackers. Here are some ways that rangers go about finding those tracks, or “spoor,” as its called in the hunting world. Below that are ideas for tracks left by some Favored Enemies of the ranger!
Common Signs of Tracks (1d12)
You can roll randomly to see what the ranger found for their survival check or choose from the list below.
Bent Grass: Grass will bend in direction the prey was headed.
Disturbed Dew: When creatures move through grass fresh with dew, the grass will be darker where it has traveled. The dewdrops will be shaken and spread out, making the grass dark with wetness rather than glistening with dew.
Disturbed Webs: Broken spider webs are signs something passed through. The further along the resident spider is on repairing their web, the longer it has been.
Upturned Rocks: The wet, dirty dark side of a rock will be revealed. The darker and wetter, the closer the mark. If the dirt on the rock is dry, it has been several hours.
Dirty Rocks: Mud or dirt scraped on rock edges from boots, hooves, or paws. Again, the wetter it is, the closer the prey.
Upturned Leaves: Leaves never grow upside down because they would capture no sunlight. Leaves turned over are signs that something brushed past them recently. Green leaves on the ground indicate something may have passed through quickly.
Blood: If the prey is injured it is hard to hide a blood trail. It could be on a leaf, a stone, or mixed into the mud.
Scuffed Bark or Trodden Plants: Smooshed plants or snapped twigs are easy indicators of tracks. Bark on trees could have been scraped by a hand or shoulder, or even deliberately scratched by a beast. The drier the plants/bark, the longer it has been since the mark passed through.
Trash: Discarded food, items, or other manmade garbage. Unless someone is being very careful, it’s easy to forget something or leave something behind. Probably more common when tracking large groups of humanoids as single travelers would be more careful.
Game: If there are animal tracks mixed with humanoid tracks, it has been at least before the last nightfall since they passed through. Animals are more active during the night.
Excrement: People have to go sometime. Flies can tip you off to a... sample. The drier it is, the older.
Squashed Insects: Most creatures don’t realize what they trample underfoot. There might be zero tracks but a single squashed ant means something came through.
Footprint Facts
Often found near muddy, wet areas. If dry, it has been a long time. If wet, could be sooner.
Stride Length: Long strides mean fast movement. Women or burdened humanoids tend to take shorter strides.
Dragged feet could indicate injury.
When people walk in single file to hide their numbers, it creates deeper and less distinct tracks pounded into the earth.
Lines of Force: Each print spreads out the dirt as the foot hits the soil. More and longer spread-lines indicate fast travel.
Soil Scatter: Dirt is picked up with each step. It shows the direction of travel if the print is less readable. Usually in front of track in the direction of travel.
Risings: When the ground around the track is raised a bit. Risings at the front or back indicate sudden stopping or acceleration.
Supernatural Tracks
Humanoids like goblins, gnolls, or lizardfolk can be tracked by the above means, but what about non-humanoids or supernatural creatures? Here are some unique ways to track your more unusual favored enemies!
Aberrations: Warping of matter and even reality in some cases, sickening residues, chaotic tracks, feelings of unease or being watched. Get creative depending on what sort of aberration is being tracked.
Celestials: Objects radiate dim light from leftover radiant energy, sand or dirt turned to glass from their presence, gems, silver, or gold appearing closer to the surface, supernatural occurrences or omens, sudden growth of plants or cleansing of dirt/soot/waste.
Dragons: Claw marks, signs of breath weapon, “regional effects” of specific dragons (see the Monster Manual), tracks converge on lair, pillaged towns bereft of treasure, animal blood but no body (snatched midair), excrement containing strange chemicals related to their breath weapon.
Elementals: Displaced elements (water on ground, earth piled strangely, blazes with unknown origin, wind displacing foliage and dust in the wrong direction or in spiraling patterns). Elementals that are amorphous are otherwise very difficult to track in their normal environment. Other elementals are easier as they will leave regular tracks as well.
Fey: Small circles of stones/mushrooms/plants/leaves, glitter or opalescent residue underneath leaves, no tracks if able to fly, enchanted ordinary objects, flowers blooming outside their normal cycles (good fey), withered plants (evil fey), lost travelers, supernaturally enhanced flora/fauna.
Fiends: Sulfur residue, careless tracks (demons), carefully hidden tracks (devils), mutilated but uneaten carcasses, layers of ash on rocks and foliage, claw marks, strange symbols carved or magically placed and hidden.
Giants: Large swathes of destruction. Even sneaking giants have a hard time hiding their tracks of broken plants and sunken earth. From a great distance, you could probably see felled trees or clearings where there were none. Smashed clearings or roughly dug caverns could be signs of a giant’s campsite.
Monstrosities: Depends on the monstrosity. For instance, if it’s a blink dog, displacer beast, or phase spider it might leave ectoplasm or some other type of residue when it uses its abilities and the tracks might stop short every once in a while.
Oozes: Globs of dry or wet ooze, sluglike paths of slime (even up walls), dissolved matter, foul stench, lack of other animals.
Plants: Dried patches where the plant creature has fed, uprooted plants, leaves or sprigs fallen from the creature, layers of pollen on nearby rocks, trees, or leaves.
Undead: Bits of flesh, bite marks on dead animals, half-eaten animals, clumsy footprints, ectoplasm, drag marks.
Covering tracks (1d12)
Creatures may try to cover their tracks if they are cunning and don’t want to be followed. For especially difficult tracking checks or to counter someone who is following your party, use these techniques to potentially throw off would-be hunters for hours, even days. Here are some ways to do it. You can roll randomly to determine how the ranger’s clever prey is trying to evade their tracker.
Change your shoes at intervals.
Walk with animals to cover your tracks.
Move in the rain or move during the afternoon when dew and mud has dried.
When crossing water, adjust your course laterally; don’t just trudge right across. Leave the water far away from where you entered.
Walk over rocky terrain.
Move erratically or in a zig-zag pattern.
Use different modes of travel (swimming, climbing, flying)
In a group, scatter formation and regroup to confuse the tracks.
Brush out your tracks.
Place traps to hinder trackers.
Use pepper or foul smells to throw off scent-based hunters.
Leave false or misleading tracks using the knowledge above.
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Between Us and the Sun
The outer planets don’t have phases. The moon has phases, and Venus and Mercury have phases because they sometimes come between us and the sun. To us, they are sometimes made partially of shadows. But the outer planets are too far away. They could care less about us, let alone what lies between us and their sun. They don’t want our perspective of them. They’re immune to our labeling of phases and our view of shadows. It’s worked out for them so far.
That’s the thought that put me to sleep. I’d never thought of the planets much, but for some reason - maybe it was sleeping outside or the edibles we’d stacked on our s’mores - that night the planets were my new obsession. I closed my eyes on the stars, so many more than I’d ever seen in the city, and rolled onto some sharp twigs and let myself feel them for all they were worth through my sleeping bag. Ezra was already snoring, his fingers intertwined with Nicola’s, asleep beside him. Her beanie had slipped halfway off her bald head. I was tempted to pull it back on, but she’d been having insomnia lately and it would’ve been cruel to wake her. Chemo fatigued most people, but it’d just made Nicola nocturnal.
I woke up before the others, those twigs finding new spots on me to prod me in during my restless sleep until I had to give it up. My breath shone like the morning dew I had to shake off with my sleeping bag. Fog rose from the lake, or maybe it was steam, or maybe those two were the same thing, but, either way, I was pulling off my quarter zip and fleece pants and walking down to the water’s edge, naked but for a pair of spandex, the only thing that would dry afterward. I felt a twinge of guilt for disturbing the glassy surface of the water, but, damn, was it warm. Was it warm or was I cold? It didn’t seem to matter as I walked in up to my breasts, goosebumps adding to the imperfections of my skin, crawling across the surgical scars on my neck. I paused to consider the contrast of the temperature above and below the meniscus, the difference in the kind of soft the air was and the kind of soft the water was. As an experiment, I leaned forward and dipped one frozen nipple into the lake. It softened. The lake was warm.
You’d think all the good stories come out of freezing, stormy water that wrecks ships and destroys island nations, but there are stories about calm water too. They just always involve the water getting disturbed in some way. Like, in Greek mythology, there was this guy called Tantalus who was an amazing cook, and the gods made him cook them a feast. Tantalus wanted to put all he could into the meal, so much so that he sacrificed his own son and made him the main course. The gods hated human sacrifice, which you’d think Tantalus would’ve known, and once they realized what they’d been served, they damned Tantalus never to be able to eat or drink again. Tantalus was forced to stand in a pool of fresh, clear water under a tree hanging with ripe fruit, but whenever he reached up or down to eat or drink, the fruit would shrivel and rot or the water would recede from his outstretched hand. Water is an agent of vengeance.
Another myth was about a god called Alpheus who fell in love with Artemis, the goddess of nighttime or something, and to hide from Alpheus, Artemis ran into a river and covered her face with mud so that he wouldn’t be able to distinguish her from the nymphs and dryads. Then Alpheus was turned into a river himself for being a creep and was used by Hercules to clean horseshit out of some stables. Water is a place of refuge (and nature’s poop scoop).
Lifting my knees to my chest, and slipped down under the water. It was murky, but not in a way that made it too dark, and I dug below the rocky bottom to where the sand began and pulled a handful up with me to the surface. I rubbed it into my face, just like Artemis, scrubbing away the oil that had accumulated overnight on my cheeks, my forehead, behind my ears. For how warm the water was, the sand was cool, and it felt as though it drew all the heat from my head.
I blinked open one eye and looked back to our campsite. Elio had woken up and he was standing over at the edge of our clearing, facing the woods, peeing. His nest of curly hair was all flopped over to one side and his scrawny back hunched forward. He finished and turned around. We blinked at each other for a few moments, and Elio raised a hand. I waved back, toward myself - join me. He pulled off his sweater and t-shirt, leaving just his boxers, and dubiously picked his way around the still-sleeping couple down to the water. He waded in slowly as I had, but once the water reached his knees, he dove under. I dipped my face in to wash off the scrub and opened my eyes underwater, watching him swim toward me until he had his hands on my hips and was kissing my waist.
We sat together around the breakfast campfire. Ezra and Nicola looked suspicious through their sleepy eyes but I didn’t address it. Better to let them make their own assumptions. I fried eggs in a little stone pan over the tiny flame while Elio sliced the tops off strawberries with his hunting knife. Ezra unscrewed his water bottle for Nicola while she counted out her pills and swallowed them one by one. Ezra had the types of hands that boys can have, the kind with impossibly long fingers that seem as though they could wrap around an entire basketball or reach across four octaves on a piano and the tiny orange pill canisters were lost in them like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. While the eggs fried, I lay back and rested my head on my rolled-up pants.
Above us, pine needles danced in the morning wind and considered raining down on us, only to send flecks of sap in their place. The sky was gray, nothing but clouds, but the sun was all the brighter for it, diffracting across its entire domain, looking like the mouth of a tunnel that was already behind us.
Nicola scooted toward my side of the fire and rolled down next to me while Ezra took over my egg duty. She laid her head on my chest, facing me, the tip of her nose tickling my chin. I felt her warm breath on my neck, the breath that always seemed to smell like nothing at all. Sterile, like the hospital rooms she’d been in and out of for the past five years warding off a particularly stubborn strain of leukemia. I’d joked before that her breath was due to her never breathing fresh air anymore, and I’m sure she must have only invited me camping to make me watch her take deep breaths. I felt her blow on my neck, then laugh at herself. She reached up and slapped her hand to my forehead, let it slide down my face, pulling my lower lip down my chin. I licked her fingers and she snatched back her hand, wiping it on my sleeve. She rolled her head to face down to my feet. Nicola didn’t like to look up. I think she was afraid of the sky.
It rained during our hike. Like an idiot, I wore a fleece jacket and my fleece pants, and by the time we were halfway up the mountain breaking for lunch, I was soaked through. The others had spare clothing and were all smart enough to wear windbreakers, so I assembled a new outfit and wrapped a tarp from my pack around my shoulders as a sort of rain-resistant cape. Elio picked me up by the waist, Dirty Dancing style, and ran a few paces while I kept my arms stretched out, the Superwoman of the Rockies.
We paused on an overlook, the lake visible a mile or so away from our vantage point. It was sunny over there, the cloudline breaking just over the beach. A strange sort of promised land in the direction whence we’d come. The stretch of damn forest and rock that separated us from that sunny oasis felt impassable, a horizontal expedition equivalent to trying to reach outer space, only with more obstacles standing in the way.
I tossed a rock experimentally off the cliff. It was lost in the fog and made no sound over the din of the rain drumming on the earth. Ezra came up behind me and handed me another rock the size of his fist. I lobbed that one, and we both tracked it with outstretched hands until it was lost in the trees. Ezra swore he heard a thud. I swore I heard my shoulder pop out as I’d thrown that one, but he didn’t believe me, either.
At the summit, the rain stopped. Or maybe we were above the clouds, but that seemed unlikely, given how easily even Nicola could breathe. The air hung with that post-storm tension, unsure whether it could relax, exhale. We padded across a composite of pine needles and dirt and pebbles all glued together with sap in a cross-stitch of browns and greens, absorbing the sound of our footsteps and leaving no tracks. I wondered if animals could still smell we’d been there, whether the damp ground trapped or masked our scent.
Would Nicola be detected at all? Riding on Elio’s back? I’d been hunched over for the past few miles, staring at her dangling ankles to keep on course, watching them swing limply, parentheses around Elio’s scrawny legs doing best not to drag his feet. Ezra led our pack, walking stick in hand, a fallen branch he’d picked up at the base of the mountain. Ezra was easily the strongest of all of us, but was still getting used to balancing on the new leg, a gift from his sarcoma in exchange for the original leg, and he leaned heavily on the stick on his right side. It looked as if he was rowing a gondola. I told him that and he reached back to whack me with the stick.
Four kids (or, I guess, young adults), all who’d been closer to dying than to living lately, unsupervised in the middle of nature with absolutely no means to get help should it be needed, allowed to go off for a week and tempt their odds. Test nature. We were all climbing for a different reason. Ezra to prove he could do it, Nicola to find some sort of absolute silence to forget her world of beeping monitors and whirring generators, Elio because I’d asked him to, and I to shorten the distance between me and the sun. It wasn’t as romantic as it probably could’ve been, but we’d never had great luck with how things could be.
My own story had begun and ended within the course of nine months. I never really counted myself among the others, I hadn’t suffered for it, really. Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I’d felt the swelling in my neck and had a few months of treatments before the doctors went in and pulled out what hurt. Now, I just had gnarly scars that I planned to adorn with tattoos after college and an annual checkup.
It was weird being the lucky type of cancer patient. Everyone gives you sympathy and you have to go through most of the same stuff as the other kids with cancer, but it’s like getting a sample. I did intravenous treatments for three months. I stayed in the hospital for a total of about four weeks. I attended a depressing support group twice. My condition never got bad enough that I went to church or made right with my enemies. There were a few bad nights and one or two real scares when the cancer began to spread, but it was never anything that couldn’t be fixed within the next two or three rounds of treatment. I got to miss a bunch of school and was made prom queen, so, all in all, it wasn’t so bad. The shitty thing is saying all of that; like, “yeah, I had cancer, not too bad, actually.” I was the asshole in the World War 1 camp who’s tummy was a little upset while everyone else around him was dying of dysentery. I was the princess in the castle complaining about a dry pastry at the ball while the peasants tried to outlive the plague. Try and complain that your suffering wasn’t bad enough. To anyone who hasn’t suffered, you’re still someone to be pitied. To anyone who has, you’re worse than you think you are.
I met Elio during those intravenous treatments. What a classic, sick kid love story. I think our medicine bags touched while we complained about the slow internet not letting our Twitter feeds load. Elio was in for non-Hodgkin lymphoma, which means he won the “whose odds are worse” game we’ve all played a hundred times. He was in intensive chemo for a year, though now he’d been in remission for two. He got two checkups a year, and he was pre-med on track to graduate a year early.
The other two were from that support group Elio and I went to those two times. We hated them. Ezra and Nicola were so into it, they were spreading their positivity and making people weep with hope and they lead the prayer at the end and, wow, did Elio and I want to just punch them in their self-righteous faces. Unfortunately, outside of group, Ezra and Nicola were just as hilarious and cynical as the two of us, even if they were a sickeningly cute couple. I’d dared Elio to ask them to do a lunch date with us, assuming they’d say no because they had to go build a house for homeless kittens or something, but they said yes, so the four of us got hotdogs and Diet Cokes and bitched about bad hospital staff for an afternoon.
Nicola was the only one of us who still lived in the hospital. Nicola was also the only one of us with odds less than 40% and the only one of us who’d gotten a Wish from the Make A Wish Foundation. She called it having a “time of departure,” meaning that at some point about three months ago some doctor who thought he knew everything said she had six months to live, which is a fucked up thing to say to somebody. She used her Wish on a cash donation to the hospital which had done hardly anything to extend her life, in exchange for four vacation days hiking with her friends. Enter Elio, Ezra, and Shannon. The hospital trusted Ezra, as did Nicola’s parents, and they collectively tolerated Elio and me, so here we were, with tracker bracelets around our wrists like a band of delinquents and a way-over-the-top mess of camping supplies, chasing sunsets and existential meaning.
Lunch on the summit was a bougie affair. We had peanut butter sandwiches, potato chips, baby carrots, and miniature cheesecakes. Nicola chased the meal with her second round of pills, and I watched my feet while she did this, that feeling of guilt spreading in my stomach. Nicola then pulled a book out of her backpack and held it up.
“Anyone mind spending an hour or two hanging out? Rest up for the way back?”
We agreed. I grabbed a Coke from Ezra’s pack and strung up my hammock between two trees, then hopped in for a nap. A nap, however, I did not have, thanks to Ezra, who climbed into my hammock with me and began pontificating, in a way that only a man with half a metal leg can.
“Shannon, I am not an old man, I am not a young man, I’m am not evenly wholly a man at all.” He indicated his leg. “I do not pretend to be an expert in many things. I have never been to New York City or written a novel. I have not experienced great loss, though that one is coming. And until today, I had never even climbed a mountain. But, that is why we are still here, is it not? We still have too much to do, too many people to meet, and too many stories to tell.”
“Very good,” I told him. “The timing needs a little work.”
He pressed on as if I’d said nothing. “Take the four of us. We are the band of misfits to star in any teen movie for which they need us. We have it all: charm, wit, tragic backstories - one of us even has a pending time of death. Tell me that’s not a compelling group of protagonists.”
“Is there a point coming?”
“Is there ever? I’m just observing. Be an observer, Shan. Don’t think so hard about everything, alright? You’re stressing the rest of us out.”
“I am not.”
“You’re stressing me out.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“Well, add it to the list.” Ezra hopped out of my hammock and crossed the clearing to join Nicola. When he approached, Nicola began reading out loud so he could hear. She did that a lot, like she was trying to create a firm impression of what her voice sounded like while she could. I wondered if I would have the foresight to do things like that, were it me. Probably not. I just listened.
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Spider-Man Far From Home Review
This is my review for the MCU's newest movie Spider-Man: Far From Home. I must inform you readers that this review does in fact contain spoilers for Avengers Endgame. Since the movie is set after Endgame and it's been a few months now since it's release I believe that your reading this after seeing Avengers 4. But if you haven't please don't read any further.
Spider-Man Far From Home takes place eight months after the titanic fallout from the events of Avengers Endgame after Professor Hulk used the Nano gauntlet to bring back the trillions of people and creatures that Thanos killed during the events of Infinity War. Soon during the epic final battle against The Mad Titan...Iron Man aka Tony Stark made the ultimate sacrifice to stop Thanos for good and with a snap of his fingers(and in a clear sense of irony) destroyed Thanos and all of the soldiers and servants who were loyal to him. But at a great cost. The incredible power of the Infinity Stones severely wounded him and he slowly died from his wounds surrounded by his friends and family. After witnessing the death of his friend, Mentor and father figure to him Peter Parker aka Spider-Man has been driven to become the great hero and Avenger that Tony believe he would become but at the same time must deal with his feelings for MJ, picking up the pieces of his own personal life after being dead for 5 years from the snap and have time to mourn the loss of the man who made him an Avenger.
Far From Home is centred around Peter and his class mates taking a trip to europe for a vacation. While on this trip Peter plans to have fun with his friends and tell MJ the girl he likes how he feels about her. Along the way we are shown how the world has been affected by The Snap and how it's picking up the pieces. But in the end the world will never again be the same. But his trip is immediately interrupted when monsters made up of fire and water known as the elementals have attacked the continent. Their attacks have also been followed by the illusive and powerful man of mystery....Mysterio. This plot really has a great blend of teen romance, mystery and superhero action the likes of which we haven't seen since the first Sam Raimi Spider-Man movie in 2002. It does exactly what a sequel should do and be better than the original as Far From Home is a lot more bigger and ambitious than Homecoming. It also has the best visuals in a Marvel movie since Doctor Strange. This movie is a fish out of water comedy that is full of heart, humour and fun that was all executed very well and it both builds up the next stage of the MCU brilliantly and ends phase 3 with a bang.
Tom Holland returns as the iconic web swinging hero Spider-Man. He was born to play Spider-Man as he has the slim spider like look and the personality to play this badass smart ass superhero that's also an awkward and nerdy teen. He has really developed as a character after the tragic death of his mentor Tony Stark and has been driven to become a better hero and he Avenger Tony always believed he would become. He feels more dead serious at times and more focused on being a hero in order to honour Iron Man and to earn what Hulk and Tony gave to him and the rest of the earth. Throughout the movie Peter dons over 4 different Spidey suits. Some we recognise like his iconic red and blue Stark suit and the nano tech Iron Spider armour as well some new suits such as the new black stealth suit and the upgraded red and black suit that looks very similar to the suit from the very first Spider-Man issue. Tom Holland once again pulls off a spectacular performance as the lovable web head that I personally have loved since I was a kid and is definitely the best spider-Man actor ever.
Zendaya stars as MJ one of the class mates and the girl that Peter has a crush on. Mary Jane Watson has always been known as the kind hearted red headed girl that Peter Parker had been friends with since childhood and as they reached their teen years they began a relationship and eventually fell in love. Soon becoming one of the most famous couples in comic books and in some versions got married and had a daughter who eventually became Spider-Woman. However this movie takes a completely different turn and makes her a completely different character than her comic book counter part. She is sarcastic, quirky and rude but also has a soft part for Peter. This is a completely crazy depiction of the character that has really sparked debate as some people think this is completely disrespectful to the source material while others think that it's an interesting a bold move to evolve and show more diversity in the MCU. So wether you love or hate this casting choice Zendaya still provides a great and professional performance as the strong young woman that doesn't take crap from anyone.
Jacob Batalon returns as Ned Peter's best friend. He once again steals the show as the nerdy, funny and loyal partner in crime for peter who helps him fight bad guys as his “Guy at a laptop” and eye in the sky. This is probably the first original Spider-Man character to be first introduced in the movies and not in the comics and so far has become a hilarious side character some of us may know in our own lives.
The film's main antagonists that we have seen in the trailers are shown to be The Elementals. Creatures that are made up of the elements Earth, Water, Air and Fire. But as all comic fans know is that the real villain is the Illusionist Mysterio. If that sounds like a spoiler trust me it's not Mysterio is one of Spider-Man's oldest enemies and has been for decades...you should all know this by now. Mysterio is one Spider-Man's oldest villains......He is the master illusionist who uses mystery and trickery to trick people into believing he's he has mystical powers. While Jake Gyllenhaal may not have been entirely the best choice for this character he still does a pretty good job in portraying this mysterious and mentally unstable character. The costume however is incredibly accurate to the comics with his green suit, purple cape and of course his dome helmet that earned him the nickname “fish bowl head”. While he may be a decent villain for this movie in the end.....He's a total joke who's too goofy to be taken seriously even in the fictional comic book world....I guess some things never change.
One thing the movie does so well like the previous MCU movies is actually add in moments that were pulled straight from the comics even some from the issues in came out in the 1960's. Which I thought was very clever as that was the decade that Mysterio was first introduced and shows respect to the early days of the Spider-Man franchise. But of course there are also some easter eggs here and there that only true comic book fans will notice.
Final Verdict: Spider-Man Far From Home is a whole lot more entertaining and ambitious than Homecoming. It is the perfect blend of Superhero action and teen romance that really develops the main characters and builds up chemistry between Peter and MJ. But best of all it ends The MCU Phase 3 with a bang and makes us wonder what's next for the MCU now that Iron Man, Captain America and Hulk are gone.
Final Score 8.9/10
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My Save Year (ch. 1)
Summary: Depressed and rejected by his family, Arthur longs for a new beginning during his first year of University. There he meets Alfred, an optimistic bright-eyed oaf with a sunny smile. An unlikely romance develops between them, one that was already doomed from the beginning. (USUK, multichapter)
Loneliness. Bitterness. Confusion. These were all emotions I've learned to ignore. I refused to validate them, for if I did, there would be no saving me from the hatred of others, there would be no grand escape to a better life. I wouldn't get the chance to make something out of myself.
I was done hating who I was as a person. I was done listening to people lie about how much they cared about me. I was done placing my trust in others.
Truth be, as soon as you become a problem, a burden, if you will, people lose interest in you. They leave you in light of their own selfish desires. Being "there" for someone is the grandest lie of all. You people all leave the moment any effort is required. You make promises you can't keep, all for the sake of looking like a good person when you're not.
It's an ugly reality, but I've learned to not to have expectations anymore. Expectations implied disappointment, and I couldn't be disappointed if I didn't have any hope in the first place.
Am I being depressing? Unequivocally. But am I wrong? Not in the slightest.
I gave this life many, many chances, and they've only proved me right by failing me in my time of need.
I grew up knowing I was gay from a very young age. When I came out at fourteen, I was told that I was going through a phase, that I was confused and didn't know what I wanted. I let these ignorant bastards tell me how I felt because I wanted to be accepted. I preferred living in the shadows, but the g-word may as well have been plastered to my forehead ever since.
Mum didn't like that I was gay, but she tried to accept me anyway; emphasis on tried. Dad, however, was the worst of them all. He refused to acknowledge me at home, and made my life a living hell. It was all smiles and perpetual faking until I was out of sight; only then came the profanity. Slurs were heard on a regular basis, and my brothers were no exception to that rule, all save for one.
Alistair, the eldest of my brothers, was the only one who had no problem with me being gay. As far as he was concerned, the only disappointment was him having to protect my innocence from any dodgy, potential suitors. Idiot. He was still 100% convinced that I was a bottom, erm, not that I had any experience in that area…
I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, as you'll soon find. I pushed more people away than I could keep.
Regardless, this year was my get away. It was the year where I escaped from isolation, saved myself from my depression. I would learn to live again, going unhindered by my chronic fear of rejection. But, for that to happen, I needed to move on.
It was clear Mum and Dad wanted me gone, so I respected their wishes and left them for good.
I had worked hard in my last year of high school, earning myself a scholarship at a prestigious University. Hetalia University was part of an international chain of schools all over the globe, branching out across several continents and their respective countries.
The campus I was accepted into just so happened to be located right outside of Sussex, England. It was a specialized writing school, where some of the best-known authors had graduated from. I was determined to make a name for myself, despite all the difficult, back-breaking work these next four years would require from me.
Unfortunately, unlike my tuition, my living expenses weren't paid for. I had managed to find a job at the campus's library, so at least I had that. Any place where there was infrequent interaction with other people was my God save. It was easier to exist in a private silence than one where you were constantly being judged and ogled at as if you were a strange specimen. Better yet, a strange specimen that was the odd one out and couldn't stand on their own two feet, let alone think on their own terms.
I was glad to finally be free from the scrutiny of others. Going to this University was a fresh start, a chance to live under the radar without ever going detected by others.
I didn't come here to make friends. I wanted to improve as a writer, to rid myself of the stress I had internalized by writing about how I truly felt.
I didn't want to open myself up to another person. The less people knew about me, the better. I neither wanted to be liked nor disliked. I just wanted to exist, to breeze by, to be one of those faceless students whose name you couldn't remember. I couldn't be lonely if I didn't attach myself to others… if I didn't long for company – I thought I didn't need it.
But, as the Universe had a knack for making things go the opposite of how I wanted them to, my student life quickly became a whirlwind of unwanted – not to mention unexpected – emotions and attachments.
I never thought I would make a friend here. Two friends actually, if you count my pestiferous amphibian of a roommate.
What I didn't realize at the time was the thing I needed most was in fact a true companion. Writing was a distraction; it would never truly alleviate the weight of your depression, nor would it save you from the bottomless pit of your own thoughts and fears.
All it took was one smile, one bright, stupid, and sunny smile to change a bad day into a good one. That bloody yank came into my life out of nowhere, shining brighter than I could have ever imagined with his sappy optimism. He was my beacon of hope, my best friend, my every-
His friendship meant more than I would ever dare to admit.
I may not have realized this until later, but this year, this year was my save year.
I had been saved from myself by another kind, selfless soul.
It's just unfortunate I wasn't able to reciprocate the favor.
Not until it was too late.
…
Move in day on campus was a lot less hectic than I thought it would be. Then again, there were maybe 1500 students total at the University, as it was a private campus. Those students whom I did pass almost never seemed to be speaking the same language. Funny how even in my own country, I'm still the odd one out.
The campus was a mixture of old and new architectural designs, filled with the dreary, rich aura of history in spite of the paradoxical naïve and bright-minded moods of newcomers like myself.
The newer buildings were constructed around several thousand-year old Anglo-Saxon castles. Some of these older buildings would indeed be used for hosting classes, just as the library, round-tower church and dining hall at the center of the small University town were also vacated for academic and student use.
There was still a week before classes started, so most students were using their free time to lounge about on the lawns, enjoying the sun's rays if it was gracious enough to poke its head out of the clouds. Many of these foreigners would soon learn that rain was a most common occurrence in England. Although, I couldn't complain. Rainy weather tended to bring out the best muses in writers. No one knew why, it just did.
Despite the excitement in the air, a sagging feeling in my stomach made me feel uneasy. This campus was ripe with ghosts. I felt their despair and regrets as if they were my own.
Alistair must have noticed this too. The ability to see ghosts ran deep in the Kirkland family; almost every child had this affinity. "The air is really thick here, isna it?" he asked me, furrowing his thick red brows in unease.
I nodded my head. We had stopped in front of my dorm, which was one of the newer buildings on campus. It wasn't anything special, just an ugly rectangular brick building that reminded me of a factory had there not been several windows on its side.
"The campus is rumoured to be haunted," I answered him, feeling uneasy when Alistair's green eyes raked up and down my figure, concern evident on his face.
"You don't say?" Alistair murmured before awkwardly clearing his throat. I really wish he wouldn't tread so lightly with me. Yes, I was depressed, but that didn't mean I was fragile. I almost missed the times he used to tease and rough me up when we were younger. Almost.
"Well, that's it," Alistair concluded, setting my suitcase on the cobble-stone path beneath our feet. "Only ye would bring two suitcases to last ye a whole year. And one of them is full o' books. Yer sure are an oddball, Artie. Are ye sure ye don't need anything else?"
"No, no, I'll be quite all right. I'm not being odd, but practical. This is all I need," I muttered morosely, looking anywhere but at him. Alistair was much taller than me and had a habit of making me feel like a child. This moment couldn't have gotten anymore awkward.
It was unspoken, but Alistair and I both knew I didn't want to bring anything that reminded me of the home I had left behind.
"Would ye like me to help bring yer things?" Alistair spoke lightly, thankfully changing the subject.
I forced a smirk on my face, my chest heavy. "I know you call me scrawny, but really now Alistair, could you get any more patronizing? I'm sure I'll be able to carry two suitcases on my own," I huffed indignantly.
Alistair looked conflicted. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to hug me. In the end, he settled for ruffling my hair, much to my annoyance. "And here I thought I could sneak some extra teasing in with yer roommate. Oh well, I'll be visiting ye soon enough, and ye can count on me bringing photo albums from when ye were a wee little lad. Ye were so cute, I don't know what happened. It's like I'm looking at a grumpy old man instead of my 'adult' little brother."
"You think you're so hilarious," I scowled, ducking out of his grasp. "Do that and I'll set fire to everything you love. You have no right to act like my parent when you're still a child yourself. Must I remind you that I found you this morning dressed in nothing but a lampshade and a washcloth? It's a miracle you were sober enough to drive me here today."
Alistair laughed, his voice deep and gravelly as always. "Ye better not act so pissy with others like ye do with me. It's like ye want to be alone. And yer welcome, ye ungrateful willy. If I didna care about ye so much, I woulda gotten rid of ye too. But I just can't. There's something strangely endearing about ye. Maybe it's those thick eyebrows of yours."
"I would say thanks, but your cheap insults cancel out any gratitude I feel towards you." I raised a brow at Alistair in challenge. "Did it ever cross your thick skull that I prefer being alone?"
Alistair sighed, his shoulders deflating. This was a well-worn out argument of ours. "Artie, you gotta try, ye hear? I at least want ye to make one friend here. I'll be calling every now an' then to check up on ye, unlike some people," he stated bitterly. "I expect more of ye this time 'round. Enjoy yerself a little."
"Just because I'm not a social butterfly like you, doesn't mean I can't have an enjoyable University experience," I crossly retorted.
Alistair wasn't done speaking about our parents just yet.
"Whatever ye say," Alistair raised his hands in surrender. "I just want the best for ye. Mum and Dad may not look like it, but they still do care about ye. I've been tryin' to talk to them, but ye ken how narrow-minded they are. They'll come around, eventually. Yer their son for Christ sake. For now, just focus on yer studies. With yer work ethic, I know you'll do great, Artie. I'll be rootin' for ye, I hope you know tha'."
"Oh sod off, you old sap," I snapped, albeit not maliciously. I didn't know how to react to Alistair being so kind to me. It was a cheap defensive mechanism of mine to lash out with anger when confronted with something I wasn't familiar with.
"But," I faltered. "I do appreciate everything you've done for me. Thank you, Alistair, truly. It's nice to know that at least one person is here to support me."
"O' course," Alistair smiled, a genuine one that very rarely graced his face. He wasn't a very serious person to begin with. "Yer my little brother. You may be a grumpy bastard, but I still love ye. And, Artie?"
"Yes?"
"You ken my door is always open. I may be livin' inna different country now, but that doesna change anythin' between us. Once you're finished with yer year, yer more than welcome to come stay with me. It's not right for a lad yer age to be livin' on his own. If yer willing to drop that insufferable pride of yours, I'd be more than happy to help ye out."
I felt my face flush a little, unused to such kindness. Alistair would be moving away for work in Scotland, his birth place, in a couple of weeks. Before coming here, I had lived with him in his apartment, him almost being thirty years old and all. This was the one time where he was actually acting like the adult he was.
"I'd greatly appreciate that," I looked Alistair in the eye, blinking harshly. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
Alistair waved his hand at me dismissively, contradicting the lump he swallowed down in his throat. "Ah, enough o' this sentimental crap. I'm not sober enough to deal with this. Just have fun, be careful, eat properly, call me every week, and ye'll be fine. Oh, and get a haircut, ye stubborn mutt. I canna even see yer eyes."
I rolled said eyes. "Goodbye, Alistair. I'll skype with you every week, if you like. Although, no promises on the having fun clause or the hair cut. Thanks again, for everything…"
For being a true brother to me…
"Cheeky little bastard," Alistair mumbled to himself.
We said our goodbyes again, which was no less awkward than the first few times.
With that done and said, I turned my back on him, and walked into the dorm, realizing for the first time that I was on my own. It wasn't a good feeling nor was it bad. I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't Arthur Kirkland, I was a nobody who had to start from scratch.
It was invigorating, that's for sure.
I didn't have to worry about what others thought about me, especially if everything went according to plan. No one was to know anything about me. That way, I couldn't be judged.
I found my shared dorm room on the tenth floor, room 1066. It would be an understatement to say I was appalled by the strong waft of roses that entered my nostrils upon entering the room.
The dorm room was small, consisting of a cozy living room with one leather couch, a rather small tele on a rickety wooden nightstand, a rug that looked like it had seen better days, and a small kitchen not meant for much more than heating up leftovers or doing dishes. There was a dining hall for a reason, after all.
I've also been told I wasn't the greatest of cooks; I have yet to figure out why – scones were supposed to be a bit hard to chew, weren't they? It was good for the teeth, or was it bad? I had no bloody idea.
The bedrooms and the one bathroom were located in a skinny hallway to the left of the front entrance of the room. Thankfully, Francis – my roommate - and I had agreed beforehand that I would be getting the room with the largest window. The French international allegedly liked his beauty sleep.
We had only kept in contact through text over the summer, but even then, Francis was still grating on the nerves. From what I could tell, he was arrogant and full of himself.
I couldn't have been anymore right about him as I set my two suitcases down in the front room, spotting Francis lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand, wearing nothing but a blue bath robe. There was soft music playing in the background – something French and definitely not English. The living room window was left open, allowing a breeze to sweep through the room, rustling the residence papers he had lying on the coffee table. Next to the papers, there was a half-full ash-tray, which would explain the lingering scent of smoke in the air – oh did I have something to say about that.
Francis looked exactly the same as he did in the picture the residence coordinator had sent me. Same wavy blond hair, azure eyes, and permanent, obnoxious smug lilt of a smirk. He was tall and thin, his arms draped over the couch as if he owned it and the entire place, like a pompous, domesticated cat who had selfishly claimed their owner's territory as their own.
I stifled my irritation and did my best to give a proper introduction, looking anywhere but Francis's hairy legs, chest, and slipper-covered feet. It was two in the bloody afternoon. Who the hell had the spare time to act so casual? Was I rooming with a Frenchman or a 40-year-old suburban stay-at-home mother? Who knows.
I cleared my throat, standing awkwardly in the front door. "Hello. I'm guessing you must be Francis Bonnefoy?" I asked, reaching into my pocket to pull out the photo I had of him.
Francis gasped, setting down his nearly empty wine glass. He stood up from the couch so abruptly that I almost got whiplash just by looking at him. Before I knew it, the Frenchman was standing before me, unfortunately a few inches taller than I was, pale eyebrows rising in contemplation.
"Oui, I am! Mon dieu!" he exclaimed, his voice fairly accented, but still understandable nonetheless. "Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, oui? Bonjour, bonjour~! And here I thought pictures didn't do a person justice. Tell me, how is it that you grow out your eyebrows that thick? Do you use a cream? Ointment? Coconut oil? You must tell me! I've been growing out my hair for a few months now, and I'm looking for any tips I can get!"
My first impression of Francis was that he was flamboyant, seeing as how he moved his hands a lot when he spoke. My second impression was that he was an annoying git who had no sense of personal space, whatsoever. Both impressions were woefully accurate.
I reluctantly shook hands with Francis, having to wrench away my hand from him after he held it for an uncomfortable amount of time. Bloody pervert. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I don't do anything to my eyebrows. They're naturally thick like this. Although, I'm not sure if you're insulting or complimenting me about them…"
"Oh, that's too bad," Francis simpered.
I wrinkled my nose; Francis was wearing a very strong perfume. It was already giving me a headache. It looked like I had a long, long year ahead of me. Remind me again why our personalities were deemed compatible by the residence coordinators?
"Haven't you heard of personal space?" I grumbled, backing away from the ogling Frenchman, whose face was way too close to mine. "Good God, would it kill you to tone it down on the perfume? I can practically taste it. And what kind of nutjob wears a bathrobe mid-afternoon?"
"What's that?" Francis asked, grinning from ear to ear. "If we are to live together, then we must get used to being in each other's faces, non? And excuse you, I'll have you know that my perfume attracts all ze ladies and men. As for my robe? Casse toi. Anyone who wears a sweater vest has no right to criticize my sense of fashion. I am merely being comfy. I've seen Mormons with a better sense of fashion than you."
I turned around, shutting the front door. I then grabbed my two suitcases, intending to go to my room and unpack, alone. "Right, well, as nice as it is to get to know you by insulting each other's tastes, I really ought to settle in. I need to acquaint myself with where all my classes are."
"Allow me!" Francis purred, grabbing a suitcase from me, despite my protests. "When we're done helping you settle in, I can give you a tour. I've already been here for a week. It was so lonely, mon cher. Hardly anyone came until two days ago. I thought I was going to die from the boredom."
"You talk too much," I sighed, wrenching my suitcase back from him. "And I don't need your help or your company."
"Is that really such a bad thing?" Francis pouted, motioning for me to hand him the suitcase again. The mongrel didn't know when to give up. "Stubbornness is not an attractive trait, you know," he lectured. "All people need the occasional company. It's simply not healthy to be by yourself for long periods of time. Voila! I'm doing you a favour by being your first friend here!"
"I said no!" I snapped. "I don't need your help. And you are most certainly not my friend."
"Not yet, I'm not~"
"Look," I inhaled sharply. "Let me get something straight. I am not here to make friends with anyone, let alone you. I don't play well with others, so it's best if we just stay out of each other's way. I'm sure you're a great person under all that flamboyance and effeminate charm of yours, but I'll repeat myself again, since you seem to be hard of hearing and English is likely not your first language: I am not here to get cozy. I am here for my education, and that's it."
Francis whistled, speechless for once.
Taking advantage of this, I pulled out a folded sheet of paper from my jeans with my free hand. "Here," I scowled, handing him the paper.
"This is a set of rules I've come up with. You're not to go in my room or touch my things. There will be agreed times on when and who gets to use the bathroom. I don't tolerate uncleanliness, so we will also have to come up with a chore schedule. There will be no more smoking in this room; I will report you to residence if you continue to do so, roommates or not, I owe you no loyalty or favors. Drink as much as you want, just don't expect me to bail you out if you do something stupid and get arrested. And absolutely no parties are to be thrown here; I'd rather not be kicked out this early in the year, or at all, in fact. I ask that you please respect my boundaries. Living together entails respect. Respect me, and I'll respect you. If you do all this, then I'm sure we will get along with each other just fine."
The residual smirk on Francis's face wavered. "Arthur, you are one strange man. But, I'm not unkind enough to not respect your wishes. I am a clean person myself, and I will smoke outside from now on, no probleme. I will also fill out these…uh…forms and come up with an appropriate schedule. It's a shame we can't become friends, though. I have a feeling it'll take a while for you to warm up to me, but there's nothing I can do about that, I suppose. I'll leave you to unpack then."
Francis patted my shoulder before turning and heading back into the living room.
I grit my teeth. "We're not becoming friends. I thought I already established that."
Francis looked up at me from the couch, evidently getting used to my anger. He seemed completely unfazed by it now. "We French have a way of getting what we want. Do not underestimate us. You're not misleading me, Mr. Kirkland, far from it. Behind every angry person, there is someone hurting inside. You care more than you let off. I've always liked myself a good mystery, it inspires my creativity as a writer. Somewhere deep inside that hedgehog exterior of yours, there is a nice person. I'll dedicate the rest of my year towards finding it if I have to."
I scoffed. "Wise words coming from a man in a bathrobe."
Bloody Frenchman and his big mouth. His croaking voice reminded me of a frog. Hmmm. Not bad. Not a bad insult at all…
"Non, it is coming from someone with experience."
I had no good retort to that. "Fine, think what you want. Just know you'll regret saying that. I always disappoint…"
Francis gave me a pitiful look.
I left him feeling disappointed with myself, go figure. If only he knew who I truly was as a person; he'd be asking for a new roommate in no time.
That, I was sure of.
…
After my snapping at him, I didn't hear from Francis again. I must have really perturbed him, seeing as how he had slipped the sheet with the bathroom and chore schedule under my bedroom door. Oh well, despite saying otherwise, it appeared that Francis had realized it was better to keep his distance from me. Kudos to him…
My dorm room was nothing special, harbouring a single twin bed, a meagre dresser, a window that overlooked a courtyard, and a foldable desk embedded in the wall. It was small, but cozy; I didn't have a need for that much of a space anyway. I felt in control in this room, nothing about it was overwhelming or all-encompassing.
BANG!
I was busy unpacking my clothes on my bed, when a large bang resonated across the building, sounding as if it were coming from the hallway outside.
"Francis?" I called out hesitantly. Blast. I didn't like the guy, but that didn't mean I hated him.
"Francis are you all right? What was that noise?"
I walked into the living room, finding that Francis wasn't there. He wasn't in his bedroom – the door was open – or the bathroom either – I didn't really want to look too extensively in there, for obvious reasons. He must have gone elsewhere.
BANG!
I jumped when another bang, this one much louder in volume, shook the walls.
Cussing under my breath, I left my dorm, standing in the hallway outside with my mouth held agape.
Two desperate, fearful voices down the hall bickered back and forth.
"Toni, I'm telling you! We need to get the fuck out of here! That's it, I'm calling room service."
"But, Gil! Getting assigned to a new room is going to cost us!" a second voice pouted with a whine. "Other than… 'this'…there's nothing wrong with the flat. They're not going to believe us that it's… it's…"
BANG!
"HAUNTED! Ay, Dios mio!"
I walked across the hallway, knocking on the front door of where the frantic voices were coming from. It had been left wide open, but I still considered myself to have manners.
I cleared my throat. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"
The two other boys in the room – my floormates – latched their fearful gazes on me. One was tanned, lanky, with messy brown hair and light green eyes. The other, was buff, extremely pale, and had the most peculiar red eyes I had ever seen. Both were dressed in beach wear, despite the University's campus being in the middle of nowhere. My guess was that they were taking part in Fresher's week.
BANG!
I looked to my right, spotting a wooden wardrobe at the edge of their small living room. The doors were clasped shut with a red bandanna, but by the way it was shaking, it looked like someone was trying to get out of it from the inside.
The pale one was the first to answer me. "We moved here last week, and every night, the wardrobe opens and shakes on its own. We've heard stories about the ghosts here, so we figured if we could stop the creaking, the spirit would eventually give up and move on. Now it just seems mad, so not awesome," he muttered, his voice thick with a German accent. "And just who are you exactly?"
"Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure," I lied, about the latter part, that is. I hated getting involved in other people's business, but I already knew what was going on here.
I stepped into the room, shaking hands with the pale one.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt," the pale one firmly clasped my hand. "And that guy over there is Antonio. Are you Fran's roommate? I think he mentioned something about having an English roommate."
Antonio was preoccupied with kissing the pendant of his cross necklace, murmuring prayers in what sounded to be Spanish.
"That I am," I admitted. "Unfortunately. And what is this nonsense about ghosts? They don't exist."
Gilbert scoffed in disbelief. "Are you not seeing that wardrobe move on its own right now?"
"I'm sure there's another explanation for that. A wild animal? Or perhaps the bolts are becoming loose and it's about to give way?" I proposed.
"Yo, what are you doing?!" Gilbert blurted, pale brows rising when I walked towards the wardrobe. "You're going to get yourself killed by that thing!"
Antonio shook his head back and forth, eyes wide like a small child. "Uh-oh, Franny isn't going to like us killing his roommate. I'll pray for you, amigo." And the Spaniard did just that, mentioning something about how my eyebrows were enough of a punishment to live with, unbeknownst to me.
"Quite the contrary," I smirked, untying the bandanna from the wardrobe. "I'll prove to you that nothing's in there. There's always a rational explanation for things like this."
I opened the wardrobe, glaring unamusedly into the empty space. "See? Nothing."
The bandanna dropped to the ground.
I stepped aside to let Gilbert and Antonio have a look inside. The shaking had stopped entirely.
"Vhat?" Gilbert spluttered in confusion.
"Yay! We're not going to die young now!" Antonio merrily exclaimed. "He must have scared it off!"
I ignored Antonio's latter comment.
"Best bet is to just get rid of the thing. I was right about the bolting, it looks like it'll cave any day now," I told them, dusting off my hands on my pants. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I best be off then. I still have much to unpack. See you around…" I hummed, waving over my shoulder.
Stunned, Gilbert and Antonio muttered their goodbyes.
"…Never," I mumbled to myself, walking back into the hallway outside.
I furrowed my brows angrily, knowing that a certain something was following me. I refused to turn around and face it until I was in my own flat, out of the eavesdropping range of other, potentially nosy floormates.
I closed the door after me. That didn't stop the something from floating right through it as if it were child's play. Quite literally, the ghost was a child.
I spun around, narrowing my eyes at the ghost I had found vacating Gilbert and Antonio's wardrobe. She looked to be about ten years old; scrawny, sharp-elbowed, missing several teeth, and had several scrapes up and down her arms. She had piercing green eyes, almost like mine oddly enough, blonde hair, which was tied in two high pigtails, and was dressed in a long-outdated green sundress. From the looks of it, she looked to be born in either the 1920s or 30s.
"You can see me," the girl accused, her voice shrill and angry. "How come you pretended that you couldn't?! Are you trying to make fun of me? Is that it?"
I sighed, walking over to sit on the couch. I had dealt with enough today, thank you very much. "No love," I murmured softly. "I can't let other people know because then they'd think I'm crazy. What's your name? Or, what do you prefer to go by?"
The girl floated to hover above the coffee table, crossly sticking up her chin at me. "You may call me Alice," she huffed.
"Well, Alice, you can call me Arthur. Pleased to meet you."
"I know that, you dummy! I heard you speaking to those other two twits."
"Come now," I tutted. "Is that the way your mother taught you how to address strangers?"
"N-no! Mummy always told me to be polite. B-But, I d-don't know where Mummy is anymore..." the ghost trailed off, a downcast expression on her face.
"I can help you find your Mummy, but have to promise to be completely honest with me."
The ghost looked up, eyes wide, revealing the vulnerability of a child who had been lost for who knows how many decades. "How do I know I can trust you?" she wavered, flicking in and out of sight.
"I've helped many spirits pass on to the other side. There's something keeping you here on Earth, Alice. Is there something bothering you? Something you never got to do when you were alive?"
"Well…there was one thing…"
"Take your time, love. I know this must be hard for you to recall."
There was something about children that made them invisible to my usual irritation. I had a lot of patience with them. I treated them in a manner in which I had never been treated as a child; I was kind and I listened to what they had to say. At the very least they deserved that.
My patience must have given Alice the confidence she needed to open up to me. She was finally breaking her silence, conversing with someone who could listen and respond to her unfortunate predicament.
"My friend Davie and I were having a picnic. Daddy used to be the Dean here. He didn't like Davie because he was an orphan. But I really liked Davie, so I always snuck food from the dining hall to take to him. We had to meet in secret because Daddy didn't approve of me meeting with him, unchaperoned.
"I never really cared for dresses. But Mummy did. She knew about my friendship with Davie, but she never told anyone. One day, we were having a picnic, and Davie wanted me to swim in the creek with him…he never told me he couldn't swim. The water was too deep for us, and I drowned trying to save him…"
Alice paused. I inhaled sharply, not daring to say a word.
"Mummy died because Daddy hit her too hard. He blamed her for my death. But, I never got to see Mummy when she died. She didn't become a ghost like me…and neither did little Davie. I'm the only one left of them. I'm sorry if I made you mad earlier. I just don't k-know what to do. Scaring people is the only thing that makes me feel…real."
"You don't have to justify yourself, Alice," I said warmly, my throat constricting. "I understand everything now."
The mother and Davie must have passed on, but Alice's spirit was still bound by past regrets.
"I guess I'm just angry about what happened to little Davie," Alice whispered. "He never got a proper funeral, whereas I did. It's not fair."
"Tell you what," I shuddered with a sigh. Dealing with ghosts never got any less emotional after the first few times. Alice's story was a grim reminder of how unfair and tragic life could be sometimes. "I'll throw a proper funeral for Davie for you. Was it James creek that you two…passed in? That's only a five-minute walk from here."
Alice's expression became hopeful again. "Yes. That's the place. Would you really do that for me?"
"Of course. If it gives you peace, I'd be more than happy to. You've been here for long enough, love. It's about time you reunited with your Mummy and Davie again. Wouldn't you like for that to happen?"
"Yes, but how do I do that?" Alice sniffled. "I've tried f-for so long…"
"You just have to trust me, Alice. If you can trust that I'll carry through with your wish to give Davie a proper funeral, then your spirit will be able to move on."
Alice's form began to fade, a good sign indeed. "Promise?"
I lifted a pinkie finger to the air, albeit the gesture only being symbolic. "Promise."
"Thank you, Arthur," Alice's eyes watered. "I'll never forget you. You were so kind to me. I don't know what I did to deserve such kindness. You're everything Mummy wanted me to be."
I chuckled. "I'm not all that I appear to be, but thank you for such a sweet sentiment. Now move along, dear. You can sense your soul being pulled elsewhere, can't you? Don't fight it. And don't worry, I'm sure your Mummy would be proud of you too. It takes someone with a big heart to wait this long for someone else. I admire that, truly."
"Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you again."
"Goodbye, Alice. God speed, and may your soul rest in peace."
I heard the faint murmur of final thank-you's before Alice disappeared for good.
I slumped down in my seat.
It was some time before I removed my hands from my face. Oh bloody, hell, I had been crying, hadn't I? How embarrassing.
Irritated, I grabbed a Kleenex from the coffee table and dabbed at my eyes and cheeks.
Francis leaned against the kitchen table, the creak of which caused me to look up. "Alas, you're not as bitter and mean as I had initially thought, mon petit hedgehog," he mused.
I furiously rubbed at my eyes. "Since when did you get here…wait? What the bollocks?! You can see ghosts too?!"
Francis sadly nodded his head. "Oui, it runs in my family. It must run in yours too, non? My family is very perceptive at picking up on les emotions aussi. Some of us are born matchmakers, like myself. We see the good in people, and match them to fill the void in our own lonely hearts. But, enough about that. Are you all right, Arthur? I only heard about half of that conversation, and that was more than enough to break my heart in two."
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I snapped before lowering my voice. "Just. Fine."
"If you say so."
"Stop bloody patronizing me!"
"Fine, fine," Francis raised his hands in surrender.
"Don't get cheeky with me either," I growled to no one in particular, hardly audible.
"Call me crazy," Francis purred, walking to sit on the couch next to me. "as I am one to believe in fate, but we must have been brought together for a reason, non? I believe our similarities call for a truce."
I didn't like the suggestive look on Francis's face. Anything he did inevitably became sexual, the perv. "I know I said this already, but do you ever stop flapping your tongue, frog? There's nothing redemptive about you. Not even that 'glorious' hair of yours can salvage how obnoxious you are."
Francis laughed. "Ohonhonhon, that's a new insult I've never heard before. Arthur Kirkland, you are an absolute menace to be around."
I glared at him through eyes that were not puffy.
"A good menace," Francis corrected himself, not that it really helped with anything. I still couldn't stand him.
"Arthur?"
"Wot?" I growled, my gaze latched on the ground.
"Do you think we could start over? Perhaps become friends? I haven't even known you for that long, and yet, I've never seen someone look so troubled…so lonely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pitying you. It's just…if you ever need someone to talk to or even just to keep you company, I can be there for you. We'll be spending most of our year together, after all."
"One, I'm not lonely or troubled, I'm just naturally bitter like this," I snorted. "But, if you're so intent on getting to know me, I'll say this. I like my privacy. I anger easily, and can be selfish at times. I've made a horrible first impression on you, and I have no idea why you're bothering speaking to me now. But, if you're willing to look past all that, then maybe we can become friends, maybe."
I don't know what I was thinking, saying all of this. Maybe I was still vulnerable emotionally. Or maybe it was because I had found someone similar to me, no matter how grating. Perhaps Alistair was right. One 'friend' couldn't hurt.
I held out my hand for Francis to shake, daring to look him in the eyes again. The genuine affection in them made me blush due to the unfamiliarity of receiving such generous treatment, especially because of how awfully I had spoken to him earlier.
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to make your acquaintance."
That cheeky little bugger.
…
I wasn't having your typical post-secondary Friday afternoon. Unlike most, I was spending it in the comforting silence of the school's grandiose library. It was held in an old castle, smelling of old books, wood and dust; a stale scent that inevitably made you think the place was old. It was five stories tall, harbouring enough books to satisfy hundreds of lifetimes of reading. There were several stainless glass windows, reflecting the light of the meek, cloudy weather outside. The building was dim, just like how I preferred it to be – sunlight wasn't exactly my thing.
Yes, yes, we've already agreed that I'm a miserable, depressing person. Ahem, moving on.
This was my sanctum, a safe place if you will. I could already see myself spending most of my time here, outside of my front desk/ clerk position. As of now, I was being trained for such a position by a polite, young lad from Canada.
What was his name again?
Oh yes, right, Matthew. Matthew. Matthew.
I couldn't forget that.
Matthew was showing me the different parts of the library, rolling around a cart full of books as he did so. Normally, I would protest to using technology in a place of standard print, as there was an iPad embedded in the cart, but with five floors of space to deal with, the gadget did come in handy for locating books and their respective sections. There was also the computer at the front desk, but I was willing to overlook that too. It was more out of necessity than excess to possess it.
Matthew spoke very softly, so I had to crane my neck just to hear him properly. "Not many people come here to borrow books, since most of our archives and subscriptions have already been made available online. I reckon the most work you'll be doing here is reorganizing the sections if the main librarian decides to become spontaneous," he chuckled softly.
"All the more easier of a job for us then," I smirked.
Matthew smiled softly at this, his strange violet eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a few inches taller than me in stature, lanky, and had pale, curly blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Despite wearing a bright red shirt, he seemed to blend in the shadows, nearly invisible to the naked eye. I blame his timid nature for not making him more noticeable.
"Say," I began, surprising myself by opting to start another conversation. Although, Matthew was a pleasant enough fellow to converse with. We were on our way back to the main floor, huddled in a rickety elevator that felt like it would collapse at any given moment.
"You look quite young to be a first year," I remarked. I was nineteen myself, having just finished my junior college studies a year later than planned. Let's just say there were a lot of family disruptions and personal problems that had caused such a setback.
"That's because I am," Matthew replied simply. "I just turned sixteen in July. I'm two years ahead in my studies. In Canada, we go up to grade twelve before being sent off to College or University. Maman, ah, ahem, my Mom and Grandma are alumina at this school. They didn't expect any less from me. I wanted to take a year off, but I'm a horrible pushover and try to please everyone. And, well, here I am now. I used to spend my summers working here anyway when we visited family, so it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the campus. Things could be worse," he shrugged, sighing.
"That's still not fair," I replied. Matthew was just a boy then. I felt a strange, paternal instinct kick around in the pit of my stomach just by looking at him. "You should have a say in how you go about your education. It's your life, Matthew. Are you not scared being the youngest one here, all on your own? I apologize if I'm being blunt, but I know how brutal people can be sometimes."
More like all the time.
"No worries," Matthew placed a hand on my shoulder. Damn him for being so tall. "I appreciate your concern, Arthur. But, I don't think I have to worry about any of that. I don't mind finishing my degree early, and it's not like I'm relevant enough for people to pick on. There's actually a rumour going around campus that there's a violet-eyed ghost haunting the library. Want to know who that ghost is? Yours truly," he mused, looking proud of himself as he pointed a backwards thumb at his chest.
We both chuckled a little at his expense.
The elevator dinged, and I helped Matthew roll the cart onto the main floor. "Although I haven't heard that specific rumour, I have heard that the library is the most haunted part of campus. Is that true?" I asked.
I already knew it was true, as I could feel the ghosts' presence, but I wanted to get more information on the subject.
I stopped the cart before the front desk, while Matthew skirted around to open the gate. After placing the cart in its respective place, Matthew leaned over the front counter, allowing his elbows to support most of his weight. He grimly nodded his head in response to my question.
"Unfortunately, that rumour is true," Matthew said sadly, eyes downcast. "Several students over the years have taken their lives by jumping off the roof," he paused to point up at the fifth and final floor of the library. "We don't have any accurate estimates, but some say it's close to between 15-30 students. And that's not even counting the first two centuries that this school was up and running."
My expression became grim as I continued to listen to him.
"The stress becomes too much for these people. The elite atmosphere here doesn't help either. So many people push themselves until they become mad and can't think properly anymore. They don't see any options of escape. No one wants to feel like they're a failure," Matthew said morosely, perking up slightly as he finished his tangent.
"Luckily, we haven't had any incidents like that for decades. It's a shame, because nothing is done until something horrible happens. At least now, we have programs to help with that. I know this is random and perhaps a bit invasive of me to suggest, but if you ever feel stressed and need to talk about it, there are plenty of resources available here to help with that."
Matthew handed me a red print card with a list of services scrawled on it. The first one that popped out to me was puppy stress therapy, how odd.
I accepted the card from Matthew, smiling faintly in gratitude as I slipped it into my wallet. "Thanks, lad. It sounds like you're speaking from experience?"
Matthew pursed his lips. "Yes, I volunteer in student services. Someone has to start the conversation. The curriculum expects so much of the students here. This issue is also something very important to my family. A distant relative of mine committed suicide, and my Grandma has been adamant on speaking about it ever since. There's just such a heavy stigma surrounding it."
"I'm so sorry," I stammered, realizing I had pried too deep. "I think it's wonderful that you're dedicating your free time to such a noble cause. You're a sweet kid, Matthew. If only everyone else was as selfless as you, the world would be a much better place."
"Thank you," Matthew said earnestly. "Well, I still have some new books to enter into stock. It was nice talking to you, Arthur. I highly recommend walking around and familiarizing yourself with the place again. It took me at least a month not to get lost every five minutes."
"Anytime. Yes, I already planned on doing that. If I don't come down in forty minutes, feel free to send up a search squad for me," I joked lightly, knowing it wouldn't alleviate the heavy mood that had fallen between us.
"Will do," Matthew laughed, winking at me from behind his spectacles. "See you around."
I said my goodbyes, realizing I had just made another friend. Alistair would probably be throwing a party right now if he found out. The people here were just so kind and understanding. It threw me off, but in a good way. Perhaps there was hope for me, after all.
(This school was turning me into a bloody sap, that's what. First the frog, and now Matthew? What's next, befriending a buffoon with a poor sense of grammar?...I'll shut up now.)
After familiarizing myself with the library's floor spaces, I then went back to the fourth floor, where the school's archives were kept. Up until about three decades ago, the campus used to host an orphanage as part of its charity work.
I was flipping through the pages of an old catalogue, finding Davie's name after some time searching. He didn't have a last name. A young boy with slicked back hair and sad eyes looked into the camera, his face dusty and smudged, still visible under the grey monochrome of colours. I only knew it was him because there was an additional photo of him and Alice having a picnic with an adult woman, presumably Alice's mother. At least in the second photo, Davie was smiling. He had died in 1927, at the unfortunate age of seven.
I looked over my shoulder, and once affirming that no one was there to see me do this, I carefully ripped out the latter photo and pocketed it. I would be needing it once I had found the time to give Davie his funeral.
"Easy does it, old chap," I whispered. "Alice never forgot about you."
I was about to head downstairs when for some inexplicable reason, I felt the urge to explore the fifth floor, where the roof was.
I soon found myself standing before the entrance of the roof, dumbly looking at the suicide posters that were plastered against the stone wall. Matthew really hadn't been kidding about the scope of these deaths. Ahem, not that he had any reason to kid about such a dark and unfortunate topic.
My feet moved of their own accord as I opened the steel door, revealing a see-through glass tunnel with various shrubbery growing on the sides. The roof top was grand in space, the air cloudy and misty from the previous rainfall.
I stepped out of the tunnel, breathing in the clean air.
Regardless, something didn't feel right.
I walked towards the edge of the roof, palming the rough stone with both hands and looking below at the students scuttling below, like ants with a sense of purpose. I became nauseous suddenly, feeling my eyes cloud over. The spirits and emotions lurking here were beginning to overwhelm me. The ground appeared closer than what it actually was.
An invisible force was pushing me.
Do it. Do it. Do it.
NO. DON'T DO IT!
I shook my head, closing my eyes. These weren't my thoughts. These were the thoughts of past doubts and regrets.
It took me a while before I finally gained control. The heavy atmosphere of the roof was suffocating, but it was manageable to deal with now that I knew what to expect. There weren't just 15-30 spirits here. There was plenty more, so much so that I was unable to count them all.
Even so, there was something fairly recent about this area that had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. If there was a spirit in need of passing on, then I was determined to find them, no matter how difficult it was to discern them from the rest of the memories residing here. It wasn't right to let them suffer in perpetual confusion; they belonged elsewhere.
I let go of the edge of the roof, turning around, only to jump back like a cat who had been spooked when I spotted a student sitting on one of the metal benches lying about.
"Jesus, Roosevelt Christ!" I swore, clutching at my chest. "Where in the bloody hell did you come from?!"
The other student on the roof appeared to be just as frightened as I was. He was in mid-bite of eating his PB & J sandwich, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. A note pad with several pens on top was resting next to his lap.
For a brief moment, I thought the student was Matthew. An additional two seconds of looking at him, however, changed that opinion. He had wheat-blond hair that was slicked back, save for one stray cowlick sticking up from the rest of his head, blue eyes hidden by wired spectacles, and was much bigger and muscular in build than Matthew was, albeit being just as tall.
Most strange about him was the clothes he wore – an old brown leather bomber jacket, denim jeans that were folded at the bottom and black pointed loafers. He was a hipster if I ever saw one.
I stared at the boy on the bench, waiting for him to answer me. He didn't but rather just stared at me like a deer in the headlights, holding up his sandwich in disbelief and briefly looking over his shoulders to affirm that there was no one behind him.
"Hello?!" I snapped. "Usually people speak when they're spoken to."
The boy coughed out his sandwich, hacking for air as he placed it back into a food container. When he regained his breath, red-faced, he waved his hands back forth in exasperation. There were still several crumbs on his mouth. "Dude! I've been here the whole time! Holy crap, you really know how to scare a guy, don't ya? So not cool, yo!"
A brief moment of silence enveloped between us. The boy couldn't stop staring at me incredulously, testing me, analyzing me. Actually, now that I think of it, he was likely just ogling at my eyebrows, the little twat. Or should I say yank? He had a very strong American accent.
I rolled my eyes. "What in God's name are you doing up here alone?"
The boy crossed his arms, pouting childishly. "I could ask you the same question, dude," he said through puckered lips. "But, if you must know. I use this place for writing inspiration. Usually, no one comes up here, and I go uninterrupted, ahem."
The boy's expression became flat. I could take a hint, but his implied rudeness would have to take a rain check for now. There was still some things I wanted to know.
I furrowed my brows. Did the yank not see the suicide posters lying around? This was perhaps the worst, most depressing place to draw inspiration from. At least I didn't have to be concerned about him, regardless of how strange and poor his grammar was.
"I work at the library," I defended, taking a step closer to him.
The boy abruptly stood up from the bench, scrambling backwards and nearly tripping over his feet as he moronically waved his hands at me to stop. "Woah there, dude!" he shouted, causing my ears to ring from how loud his voice was.
"This is a no-people zone. I can't have you coming close and messing up my mojo, ya hear? Stay back! I'm not kidding! I need to be in the mood to write. I can't have you ruining it! Haven't you ever h-heard of personal space?!"
I held up my hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I won't come any closer, no matter how ridiculous the reason."
There were those pouted lips again. "Hey! You're being rude, dude."
"And another thing," I furrowed my brows in confusion. "What are you wearing?"
"Huh?" the boy spluttered bluntly, following my gaze to look down at his bomber jacket. "Oh this? This was my Pop's and, uh, my Gramps before that."
"Yes, but why are you wearing it?" I asked him patiently.
"Dude, I hardly know you. What's with all the questions? Are you sure you don't secretly work for the CIA? I'm innocent, I s-swear!"
"What? No, I'm just curious. It isn't every day I come across such an odd figure," I mused. It was unbelievable how easy it was to make this boy flustered. I'll admit, I was having some mild fun with this interrogation.
"I'm writing a story about WW2," the boy huffed. "I need to feel the part if I'm to write it. And you're the one to talk. I've seen bathroom rugs more attractive than that sweater vest of yours."
"Oi!" I snapped. "You don't see me making fun of your outfit."
"No, but you did give me a strange look."
"How could I not?! It's not everyday you find someone who takes their writing to this extreme. I'm intrigued, that's all."
"Well, Mr. Intrigued, the name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."
I was beginning to like this boy less and less by the minute.
"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."
Alfred trudged back to the bench, opening his journal to a page with messily scrawled jot-notes on it. "Great! Now that we're introduced, I'll ask you kindly to stop speaking. I've got a lot of ideas running through my head, dude of Arthur, sir sass-a-lot. I can't let them slip away."
"Honestly, you are such a bizarre person. I don't under-"
"Shhh! Can't you see that a dude's trying to write?"
"Is dude the only word you know?" I spluttered.
"Just trying to keep up with the times, dude. Maybe you should try it," Alfred muttered, not even bothering to look up at me. "Now, scram. Or at least stop talking for like five minutes. No wonder America wanted its independence. You Brits never stop talking with your overcomplicated laws, and fancy 'posh' language."
Alfred said 'posh' in a horrible impression of a British accent. I was not amused.
"Fine," I growled. "I'll leave you be. I was beginning to lose a few brain cells anyway. It boggles my mind how you can call yourself a writer when you speak with such poor grammar. You're a living oxymoron."
Alfred must have been in his so-called mojo, because he didn't look up to usher his retort.
Instead, I busied myself with looking around the rooftop, trying to sense anything that seemed at odds. What a futile task that was. Everything was wrong with this place. There was so much going on that it was hard to pinpoint the one thing that was setting me off.
After looking at the asphalt below, unable to come up with a viable reason for the weird aura of this place, I turned on my heels and left the edge of the roof.
Alfred had his tongue poking out of his mouth as he scribbled away in his notebook. When he saw that I was leaving, he cocked up his head to look at me. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, setting down his notebook on the bench. "You look like something's bothering you."
"I thought we weren't speaking," I responded dryly, snorting.
"Erm, I'm done writing, if it's any consolation," Alfred admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sad about something, Arthur? Worried? If so, I completely understand what you're feeling. I'm starting my first year too, just turned 18. Mom enrolled me a year early in school. Um, ah, sorry, hahaha, I have a bad habit of rambling when I'm nervous. I guess it's just nice to have someone to speak to, now that I think of it. I don't have no friends here."
"And you're assuming I don't either?" I asked him crossly.
"N-no!" Alfred blurted out, causing me to smirk. "It's just, everyone should have a friend. You look like you could use one. That grumpy expression on your face makes you look ten years older than you actually are. I almost mistook you for an accountant. You might want to fix that about yourself, it's real scary."
"Do I seriously look that lonely and miserable?"
Alfred's expression became sheepish again.
"Oh, bollocks," I sighed. "Besides, how can we become 'friends' if I can't even go near you?"
I don't know why, but I felt like I could trust Alfred. There was something that was just so…pure about him. I couldn't describe it. He just seemed relatable. This roof top was his safe space, and he was trusting me with it.
Alfred bowed his head. "Sorry, dude. I like my personal space. But that doesn't mean we can't chat. I'm always open to talk to people, that is when I'm not writing of course."
"Hmmph," I breathed. "Well then, Mr. Jones, let's chat. Why is it do you come up here to write?"
I sat on the bench across from him, respecting his wishes not to get too close. I crossed my legs and turned my torso to face him. He truly did have the most brilliant, cerulean blue eyes I had ever seen. They carried so much light and hope in them, despite how shy and flustered Alfred was acting. I could tell he was uncomfortable with speaking to strangers. Kudos to him for putting himself out there. If he hadn't initiated this second conversation, I would have likely retreated back into the library without another word.
"Um…" Alfred stalled, awkwardly swallowing. "It's nice and quiet up here. It helps me think clearer."
"Fair enough," I nodded my head. "I myself prefer a quiet place too. Although, my first choice most certainly wouldn't be a supposedly haunted library roof top. I'll repeat myself again, Alfred. You're a bizarre character. I don't think I've met anyone like you."
"D-dude," Alfred's face paled. "Don't speak about the spirits so loudly," he whispered, wide-eyed as he gestured around the roof. "They don't like it when you talk about them. It makes them angry. If you leave them be, they won't bother ya."
"You're not scared of ghosts, are you?" I mused.
"N-no!"
Translation: the yank was indeed scared of ghosts.
"Don't be silly, Alfred," I chuckled.
"I'm not! I'm being serious!" Alfred fumed, pouting those childish lips again, cheeks puffing out comically. "Why are you up here anyway?"
"Curiosity, I suppose," I answered him. "I wanted to test the rumours about these alleged spirits." I dropped my voice to a whisper, sarcastically making air-quotes with my fingers. "But thus far, all I've found is a yank with poor grammar, a half-eaten PB & J sandwich that has seen better years, and the stale smell of hamburgers. Seriously, why is that?"
Alfred avoided looking at me. Apparently, the lacquer of his shoes was more interesting. "Who knows," he grumbled, clearly guilty. "Hey, Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"You're a funny guy. I think I like you."
"That better not be a crack at my eyebrows," I warned.
"What? No! But oh man, how did I not notice those before?!"
Alfred smiled for the first time, revealing a straight row of perfect white teeth. His entire face changed. It suited him. It was hard not to smile when he looked this happy and sunny, reminding me of a large, clumsy puppy as he slapped a hand against his thigh.
If the joke hadn't been at my expense, I would have likely laughed too. His joy was nearly contagious. So much so, that I felt a weird lump at the back of my throat. Someone actually liked me. Me. Who would have thought?
"God, you're such a child," I scoffed, stubbornly refusing to laugh.
Alfred held up his hands in surrender. "Okay…ahahhaha. I'm done. Pft! I'm done. Really though, they're not that bad. Besides, you have pretty eyes to make up for them."
I felt my face heat. "Bloody bastard. Trying to compliment me as if it'll fix anything."
"No! I mean it, seriously!" Alfred protested. "You're a cool dude. It's funny talking to you, even if you did get in the way of my writing."
"Oh, let it go will you?"
"Why do you always have to be so grumpy?" Alfred whined. "Can't we get along with each other?"
"Easier said than done when you're constantly insulting me," I huffed, standing up from the bench.
"Hey! Where are you going?!"
"I told you I work at the library, didn't I? I'm still familiarizing myself with the place. Not everyone can lounge around all day, doing nothing."
"Writing ain't doing nothing."
"Whatever," I groaned. "I have to go now. It was er, nice 'chatting' with you." I would have held out my hands to shake with Alfred, but he didn't seem to be very keen on the idea. He was even weirder than I was.
"Perhaps, I'll see you in class?" I asked. "I'm a first year too."
"Nah, I'm in a special program with about five other students or so. You're not in it, are ya?"
"No." – I didn't even know the school had a specialized program, seeing as how few the students were in number. I'd have to look into it; the less people to deal with the better.
"In that case, perhaps I'll see you here again?" I raised a brow at Alfred in question. As usual, he was switching from looking me in the eye to not looking at me at all. He was fidgety and shy, but had a lot of energy to blow off. He was just full of contradictions – a complete and utter mess if you ask me.
"Dude, no! I already called dibs on this place! It's where I've been writing, for uh, the past week! You're not going to hog it, are ya?"
"No, but this does seem like a good place to have lunch," I lied, revelling in the disgruntled expression on Alfred's face.
I languidly waved at Alfred over my shoulder. "Bye now."
"Bye," Alfred grumbled through, yes, you guessed it, pouted lips.
Now, back to that previous lie of mine.
There was something wrong going on in this roof top. Whether it was a spirit in trouble, a haunting, or anything of the like, I was determined to find out what exactly was causing me to feel so eerie and dreadfully hopeless.
And no grammarless yank was about to stop me from doing that.
To be continued...
Word Count: 11, 407
19 Pages
#hetalia#aph#USUK#aph USUK#aph America#aph England#aph France#Alfred f jones#Arthur Kirkland#Francis Bonnefoy#fanfiction#romance#angst
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Stranger Places Than This, Chapter 5
It’s finally done!
AO3 links. You know the drill:
From the beginning
This chapter
Stranger Places. . .
The temple was a pile of rubble, bodies trapped in positions of pain and terror, still burning even after three days. Only his desire not to show weakness prevented Fenris from losing the meager contents of his stomach. He had seen horrors before, and they played in his mind now.
A slave being drained of every drop of blood to provide power for his master.
The bodies of Fog Warriors littering the floor of Seheron’s jungle.
Undead rising from Sundermount, wielding swords with hands no longer protected by flesh.
A bright red beam and the sounds of screaming as the Chantry was destroyed.
This was worse than all of them. The air smelled of burning flesh, and the ground was littered with huge chunks of stone. Every step left a print in the ash that lay over everything in a thick layer. Fenris frowned in distaste. He was finally grateful for the boots Hawke had forced upon him.
“This is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you.” Cassandra’s voice was quiet, reverent, as if speaking too harshly would disturb the bodies around them.
Fenris forced himself to look away from the scene before him and follow the others toward the center of the temple. The Breach loomed, seeming to devour the sky as they watched. How was he to fix that monstrosity? It was far above his reach.
He turned from the sight to find Leliana and a small number of soldiers entering the temple behind them. Wordlessly, they moved to take up positions around the area. This had clearly been planned. Cassandra turned to him, jaw tense.
“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”
Fenris gave a sharp nod. “Just tell me what to do.” He could feel Hawke trembling beside him. When he glanced at her, she made a valiant effort to look confident and reassuring. Were he less familiar with her moods and expressions, she may have even convinced him.
“This rift was the first. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.” Solas said, indicating the rip in the Veil in front of them. Fenris narrowed his eyes at the mage. Here was yet another theory that required the risking of his life. Well, there was nothing for it. It must be done.
They moved toward the rift, and a deep voice boomed out of seemingly nowhere. It filled the entire space, as though resounding from walls that no longer stood.
“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”
Cassandra looked around frantically, as if expecting a figure to emerge from any direction. “What are we hearing?”
“At a guess, the person who created the Breach,” Solas said. At first glance, Fenris thought he was far too calm, but a closer look showed hands that twisted on his staff grip. He was as nervous as the rest of them.
Hawke frowned up at the hole in the sky. “Well, he sounds hideous.”
She would make jokes at a time like this. Fenris chuckled despite the worry that had been growing in him since they entered the temple. There was a chance he would not walk away from this.
He did not wish to die, but one glance at Marian restored his resolve. If he failed, she would perish, along with the rest of Thedas. She had certainly risked her life for her friends and her city. He could do no less for his world.
Fenris’ ears pricked up suddenly. What was that sou—no. It couldn’t be. Not here. He looked around at the others. They hadn’t noticed yet, which confirmed his suspicions. The sickly song was all too familiar.
“Walk carefully. There is red lyrium ahead.” Although he did not prefer to be the bearer of ill news, they needed to know.
“What? Why would it be here?” Hawke’s words were casual, but her voice was tight. She was afraid. With good reason. Red lyrium had brought them nothing but suffering.
“I hear its song. I do not read its mind.” He was aware that he was being rude, but the song was so grating. It gave him a headache after mere moments. He could feel it calling out to his markings and shrank down into himself, staying as far away as possible as they walked past it.
“How could you read the mind of something that is not alive?”
Varric shook his head sadly. “Seeker. Point. Missing it.”
They hadn’t even completely come past the mysterious lyrium when the voice boomed out again.
“Hold the sacrifice still.”
“Someone, help me!”
Cassandra blinked up at the sky. “That was Divine Justinia’s voice.”
Another, familiar voice rang out from the sky. “What’s going on here?” Everyone turned to look at Hawke. Varric was the only one who didn’t look surprised.
“Release her.” That was... himself? But he didn’t remember any of this.
“Most Holy called out to you. But...” Cassandra was staring at both him and Hawke with a sort of awe. He had no answers for her. Nor, it seemed, did Hawke. Sensing that they knew nothing, the Seeker continued on, leading them down to the heart of the temple.
* * *
Hawke pulled her staff off her back and dropped into a battle stance. Maker’s beard. Why didn’t they ever fight anything normal? Fenris had a hand extended toward the rift. He staggered back as it snapped open, and a massive pride demon stepped out. Shit.
Everyone leapt into action at once. Hawke hit the demon with a Fist of the Maker before anyone could even get close to it, then began pelting it with fire attacks. It stumbled, just for a moment, and Fenris closed in with a cry. Cassandra followed, and they started attacking the demon’s legs, barely avoiding each other, while Varric sent bolt after bolt directly into its face. The archers on the walls dared not shoot with fighters in so close.
The demon quickly recovered from Hawke’s initial attack and lashed out with a whip of pure electricity. Solas barely got a barrier up to protect the warriors before it came down. They both cried out and stumbled. Cassandra shook herself and jumped back into the fight, none the worse for wear, and Fenris...
Fenris was gone. Hawke was so startled she paused in her barrage of attacks. Where was he? It wasn’t uncommon for her to lose sight of him during battle, but never so suddenly. She searched the ground frantically, afraid he had fallen somehow.
A wavering beam of green light snapped her out of her search. Taking advantage of the demon’s momentary distraction, he had phased around it and was attempting to disrupt its connection to the Fade. That was. . . brilliant.
“Hey, Hawke! You gonna help us fight this demon or stare at the elf all day?”
“Sorry, Varric!” Hawke, embarrassed at her lapse, focused her attention back on the demon. The demon who was now turning toward Fenris. Her eyes narrowed as she sent attack after furious attack at the hulking thing. It never even flinched in its march toward her lover. Fine. Desperate times. . .
“Solas! Barrier! Cassandra!”
“When?”
“Now!” Hawke hurled a fireball at the demon. Solas’ barrier sprang up a fraction of a second before the flames reached Cassandra. She turned and blinked at Hawke, seemingly a little shell-shocked.
That got its attention. The demon had turned from Fenris, whose efforts had apparently been interrupted, as he was now fending off a pair of shades. Unfortunately, it had now refocused its attentions on her.
“Umm...” Hawke watched the massive figure approach for a long moment, then took off running. The pride demon followed her, paying no heed to the others attacking its flank. She could tell it was weakening, but it didn’t slow or turn away. She kept running and it kept following, making wide circles around the temple.
“Is this your idea of helping?” Varric yelled as she ran by.
“Nope!” No time for more words. She was getting short of breath. This sprint would have to end soon, hopefully without her being crushed.
Just as Hawke tripped on a rock and stumbled, she heard a loud crack, and the demon fell to its knees. Fenris had managed to disrupt the rift. She stood and caught her breath for a moment as Cassandra stepped back to allow the archers a clean shot. They sent two volleys of arrows toward the creature before it stirred.
The demon staggered back to its feet, but they were ready for it. Acting with a silent coordination they hadn’t managed up to this point, the team seemed to know what to do and when.
Solas directed a strong burst of ice magic at the thing, slowing it down. Varric shot an exploding arrow at its chest as both warriors charged and hacked at the backs of its knees. Hawke stood back, gathering all her remaining mana.
This would either kill the demon or her. Hawke figured her odds were about even. Solas, either feeling her building power or simply expecting insanity by this point, used what magic he had left to put another barrier around the warriors.
“Move!” she yelled. Fenris and Cassandra turned to look at each other, then took off in different directions, away from the demon. Hawke released a burst of telekinetic energy, centered in the middle of the pride demon. With a roar and the sizzle of electricity, it exploded.
Thank the Maker it wasn’t a living thing. The demon’s remains vaporized and filtered back to the rift. Hawke sank gratefully to the ground and watched as Fenris reached his hand up to, hopefully, close the Breach. She was shaking, and not just from exhaustion. She hadn’t forgotten Solas’ warning.
* * *
That infernal woman would be the death of them all. Fenris didn’t even have time to ensure she was alright. He had to close the rift.
Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face the gaping hole into the Fade. He lifted his hand and found he had begun to expect the strange beam that instantly connected him to the rift. It tugged him, like a cord pulling at his soul. He felt he might be dragged into the Fade at any moment.
This seemed to be taking longer than the others. Surely he had been standing there for hours. As time wore on, the outside world grew more and more fuzzy. He finally felt the end to the connection and snapped his hand back, pulling the rift closed with him.
The last thing he heard was Hawke yelling his name.
* * *
The next thing he felt was an ache in his back. He groaned and sat up, blinking at the light assaulting his eyes.
“Oh, thank the Maker you’re awake!” Hawke threw her arms around him.
Fenris grunted as the air was suddenly pushed from his lungs. He reached up to pat her arm in affirmation, then gently extracted himself from her grip.
“Sorry.” She backed up, giving him space to breathe. He had turned toward her and opened his mouth to speak when the door opened suddenly. An elven woman walked in, carrying a small wooden box.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake!” the elf cried, cowering from him.
“It is perfectly alright. I only just – “. Fenris was cut off by the woman falling to her knees in the entryway.
“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” She stood but continued speaking, not giving him a chance to respond. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’!”
“It is fine. I will speak with her myself.” Fenris turned and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“At once, she said. At once.” The elf ran out the door before either of them could calm her.
“What was that about? Why was she so nervous?”
Hawke beamed at him. “You’re a hero. Most people would get a little... skittish around the man who saved the entire world.”
“I’m... a what?”
“A hero. You closed the Breach, sort of. It’s not growing anymore. You saved our lives.” At this, her smile turned fond. “Thank you. I know it sucked.” She looked away shyly.
He chuckled and put a hand on her chin, steering her face back toward his. “I would knock myself unconscious closing a thousand rifts if it meant you were safe.”
She laughed aloud, but did not move her face away. “That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.” She closed the gap between them, giving him a soft, too-short kiss before standing.
“We’d best go see what the Seeker wants.”
Fenris grabbed her around her waist and pulled, dragging her down on top of him as she laughed. “Perhaps she could wait a little longer.”
Hawke pushed herself back up so she was leaning over him. She was beautiful. Her tunic hung loosely from her body, offering him an excellent view of her body. A lock of hair fell in her face, and he took one arm from her waist to brush it aside.
He smiled. How grateful he was not to have lost this—to have lost her. She leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to his lips. Then she stood and backed away a couple steps, even as he tried to pull her back to himself.
She laughed again. “I’m not taking the chance that she won’t come bursting through the door. Besides, you just woke up. I want to make sure you’re completely recovered before doing anything... strenuous.”
Fenris rolled his eyes, but smiled. She always worried. “How thoughtful of you. Am I to assume you show this much concern for all your patients?”
“No.” She laughed. “You’re special. Now come on.” Marian grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
He willingly followed her as she kept hold of his hand, leading him out the door of the small hut where he had awakened. Outside was a throng of people, all of whom murmured to each other as they walked through. Fenris clung a little tighter to Hawke, but stood tall. He would not cower.
The entire trek to the Chantry was the same. People stared at them—at him—in awe. This was far more attention than he wished. He would rather they return to their tasks and ignore him. It was uncomfortable, all this gawking. The last time he had been stared at so openly, there had been a collar about his neck, and his master had been standing nearby, gloating.
Hawke abruptly stopped in front of him, cutting off his rumination as he collided with her, smacking his nose squarely on the back of her head. He stepped back, rubbing his nose with a sour expression.
They had, for some unknown reason, halted at the bottom of a set of stairs near the tent they had shared their first night in Haven. Hawke spun to face him, eyes wide with either excitement or fear. He could never tell which. “Shhh—” She placed a hand over his mouth.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Hawke looked at him sharply, rebuking him. She repeated her command, and Fenris nodded to placate her. She released him and pointed up the stairs, beaming. He bounced up on his tiptoes to see the cause of what he knew now was clearly excitement.
Was that—Knight-Captain Cullen? Yes, it was. He was standing in front of the Chantry, as if on guard. What was he doing here? Fenris turned back to Hawke, bewildered, to see her gathering her magic. His eyes widened. This would not go well. He almost turned and went back to the little house. He did not wish to be a part of this.
With a grin, Hawke sent a wave of force magic just over Cullen’s head. It was not strong enough to hurt anything, but did ruffle his hair terribly. The Knight-Captain immediately reached up to fix it, looking about frantically for the source of the commotion.
Fenris stood stock still, staring wide-eyed at the offended party, namely Cullen’s hair. Hawke, however, was rolling on the ground laughing.
“You should have seen your face!” She crowed, tears streaming.
Cullen rolled his eyes and sighed. He had clearly not forgotten Hawke and her antics. After ensuring that nothing else was amiss, the soldier made his way over to them.
“I see your mood has improved, Hawke.”
Fenris glanced at his lover. Had she been in a foul mood? How long had he been unconscious this time?
Cullen turned to Fenris and nodded to him. He had learned long ago of the elf’s aversion to handshakes. Fenris appreciated his consideration. “It is good to see you are well. Hawke has been almost sullen these past few days.”
At this, Hawke scoffed. “I resent that. I have been perfectly sullen.”
Fenris was at a loss. A few days? How much of his recent past had he missed? Fasta vass. He felt Hawke’s gaze on him. He turned to her, and her expression changed from one of exasperation (probably that he had not laughed at her joke) to concern. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed, saying nothing.
He squeezed back, reassuring her that he was alright. It was a silent language they had learned while on the run. The first squeeze was the question; the second was an answer. They were so well-practiced at it the Knight-Captain didn’t even notice.
Seeing that no one else would mention it, Fenris finally voiced his confusion. “Why is the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall standing guard over the Chantry of a Fereldan village?”
“Er. . . yes. About that. . .” Cullen cleared his throat nervously. “I am no longer a Templar. I left the order to serve the Inquisition.”
Fenris frowned. That raised more questions than it answered. “What is the Inquisition?”
“Oh!” Hawke practically jumped into the air beside him. “That’s right. You don’t know yet.”
“Know what?”
“It’s why we have to go to the Chantry. They’ll explain when we get there.” Hawke dragged him off in the direction of the village’s largest building before he could even start to ask who ‘they’ were. Strangely, Cullen followed them. This day continued to get more bizzare.
#dragon age#stranger places#still so much game dialogue#sorry about that#this is my favorite chapter so far#first fight scene#kinda proud
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A Passionate Lie
The young boy stood at the edge of the field, gazing at the maze of tents before him. Rain fell from heavy clouds and formed puddles across the muddied ground. Summer thunderstorms were common in this area, but rarely did they linger as long as this.
Among the tents, dark figures scurried about. Commands shouted between claps of thunder instructed the workers as they toiled to prepare for the coming attractions. The circus had come to town.
Eugene had always fantasized about the circus. It was a place where the out of place belonged, and he was nothing if not out of place in the rural farming town he once called home. “Good kids don’t have horns,” the other children would say. “Good kids don’t grow tails. Only bad kids do.” The adults weren’t much better. “Bastard Eugene,” they would call him. “Devil runt.”
Not that he minded being a bastard. He had seen the way some of the other children’s fathers treated them and was very much content with only having a mother. Whenever the others would throw stones or call him names, Eugene could always run to her waiting arms. Every year on his birthday she would cook him roast chicken and bake him his favorite apple pie and remind him that there was nothing in the world she loved as much as him.
It was for her sake that he ran away.
Of all the kids that bullied him, Cameron was the worst. Most of the time the others would only tease Eugene or throw small rocks if they happened to see him. Cameron would seek him out.
“Hey devil runt,” Cameron called out as he approached one day. Lately he and the other kids had picked up that term from their parents. “You know what my da’ says?”
Eugene didn’t respond. That was usually for the best, either he’d get bored and leave or get angry, throw a punch or two, get bored and leave.
“Oy! I’m talking to you, runt.” Cameron kicked Eugene’s shin. Against his better judgment, Eugene looked up. “That’s better. Anyways, you know what my da’ says?”
Eugene shook his head.
“Says your mum’s a devil’s whore.” A wicked grin spread across Cameron’s face. “Says reason why you’re a freak is cuz your mum rutted with demons.”
Eugene stiffened. He was used to being the subject of insult and ridicule but this was something new.
Sensing he had struck a nerve, Cameron kept pressing. “It’s no wonder she never talks about where she came from. Showing up to town pregnant and giving birth to something what looks like you. I wouldn’t want people to know about it either.”
“Take it back,” Eugene muttered.
“What was that?”
Eugene balled his hands into fists. “Take it back.”
Cameron let out a grating laugh. “Or what? You gonna hit me? Don’t make me laugh, runt. Hey, do you reckon the demon’s ruined her? Ya know, down there? I bet any man in town would run screaming when they see the burn scars all around her-“ He cut off as Eugene’s fist connected with his jaw. Barely phased, he turned back to look at the devil child as a wicked grin spread across his face. “You shouldn’t ‘ave done that, runt.”
Stepping forward, Cameron grabbed Eugene by the horns and twisted him to the ground. Eugene tried to fight back but a quick kick to the gut left him out of breath, curling into a ball in a vain attempt to protect himself.
“That’s your problem, devil runt.” Cameron knelt down and began dragging Eugene by one horn towards a nearby puddle. “You don’t know your place in the world.” Grasping the back of Eugene’s head with a single hand, he forced the devil child’s face down into the water. “That’s why the gods put people like me in your life. To remind you.”
Eugene thrashed as he struggled against Cameron’s strong grip. Unable to breathe, he gasped and choked on the water rushing to fill his mouth and lungs. The bully’s words faded to a dull buzz as the world began to fade to black. A single thought echoed through Eugene’s mind. I am going to die. Like a spark, the thought ignited a surge of others. I’ll never see my mom again. Why did it have to rain last night? Am I really going to drown? And above all of these was a desire, burning and intense. It coursed through his mind and down through his body until every fiber of his being was aflame with it. From the darkness, his desire spoke to him in a voice that was his own but not his own.
I want…
What do you want?
I want to make him pay.
How will you make him pay?
I don’t know…
Would you like to know?
Yes.
All around the pair of struggling boys, doors and windows crashed open. Startled, Cameron released his hold on Eugene and stumbled back. Coughing, Eugene rose to his feet. His left eye glowed with a sickening green light while his right had turned pitch black, leaking some kind of shadowy substance.
Cameron cursed as he strode forward, rolling up his sleeves. “You really are a damned Devil.” Shouts rose in the distance.
Before his adversary could reach him, Eugene raised a hand and felt his desire speak words through his mouth, at once strange and familiar. A small piece of his mind knew he had never heard these words before in his life, but he felt their meaning in the core of his soul. Leaping from the tips of his fingers, a spectral hand of smoke and shadow leapt forth and wrapped its fingers around Cameron’s neck.
Gasping, Cameron dropped to the ground and clawed at his throat, the skin around and beneath the shadow hand fading to grey and cracking at its touch. “Stop…” His voice came out in a rattle. “Please…” It was a six seconds that seemed an eternity.
“By the gods, get away from him!” A strong pair of arms shoved Eugene to the side as Cameron’s father, Haral, ran and knelt at Cameron’s side. The spectral hand had vanished and with it the burning desire that had given it birth. In its absence, Eugene was struck by the realization of what he had done.
Scooping up the now unconscious Cameron, Haral turned a fierce glare upon the devil child. “What in the nine hells did you do to my boy, you filthy devil spawn? We never should have allowed you to stay in our village. You or your devil’s whore of a mother.”
“I… I didn’t mean to…” Eugene stammered out. “He was hurting me and I just wanted him to stop. I-“
“I won’t hear any of your lies, fiend! We’ll just see what the village council has to say about this!” With his son in his arms, Cameron’s father fled in the direction of the church and the village physician.
Eugene no longer feared the bullies. Instead he feared himself. Tears welling in his eyes, he picked himself up off the ground and made his way home.
---
“It wasn’t your fault.” Lenore sat in her favorite rocking chair, cradling Eugene. “You were only defending yourself, you did nothing wrong.”
“But I didn’t want to hurt him! I just wanted him to stop.” Eugene had always found his greatest comfort in the arms of his mother. Kind, gentle and beautiful. Hair as black as raven wings and eyes as blue as the sky. She always knew exactly what to say to soothe his nerves and make him at peace.
She laughed softly. “Then why did you hit him?”
Eugene’s face flushed from ash-grey to red. “He was talking about you. Said mean things. I wanted him to take it back.” He buried his face in her arm in a vain attempt to hide his embarrassment.
“My, how chivalrous!” Lenore said, hints of laughter entwined with the words. “Tell me, were the things he said true?”
“… No.”
Lenore nodded. “And did you know they weren’t true?”
Eugene poked his gaze back out. “Yeah.”
“Then why does it matter what he said?”
Sitting straight, Eugene gave his mother a quizzical look. “Well he was being rude. Saying hurtful things.”
Lenore leaned over and cupped Eugene’s face in her hands, matching his eyes to hers. “Let me tell you a little secret my mother once taught me. Lies only have power when believed. Once you stop believing in a lie, all that’s left is words. And words never hurt anyone. Not really.”
Eugene dropped his gaze. “My words hurt someone today.”
Silence hung over the room like a weight. After a few moments, Lenore spoke. “Words on their own are just words. When words are combined with passion they become stronger. Even stronger than passion is power. Not everybody has power within them but those that do can use their words to do many great things. Sometimes terrible, but always great.” She brought Eugene’s eyes back to hers. “Power is not bad. It’s not good either. At the end of the day it’s only a tool. What makes it good or bad is how you use it, understand?”
Eugene nodded solemnly.
“Good. Now come on, supper will be getting cold if we don’t hurry.” Taking his hand in hers, Lenore led her son into the kitchen. “Sometimes I don’t know who you take after more, me or your father.”
Eugene perked up a bit. “Why won’t you tell me about him?”
Lenore shook her head. “I promised I’d tell you when you’re older.”
“I am older!”
“Not old enough.”
Sighing, Eugene resigned himself back to thoughts of food over fatherhood. His mood quickly improved when he found out they were having roast chicken. It was his favorite.
---
Later that night, Eugene awoke to voices coming from downstairs. As quietly as he could manage, he crept from his room and over to the stairwell.
“My son may never speak again and you stand there defending the monster who assaulted him?” Eugene recognized the gruff voice as Haral, Cameron’s father who had come to his son’s aid during the… incident. Moving silently down the stairs, he found a spot where he could watch the conversation unfold without being seen. He had always been good at hiding in the dark.
“That monster is my son,” Lenore replied. There was a danger to her voice, an edge Eugene had never heard before. “What you tell yourselves in confidence is your business but I will not have you slander him in my own home.”
“Fine. Your son,” Haral laced with word with every drop of disgust he could muster, “has shown the ability to call forth forces both dark and unnatural. He used whatever damn devil magic he possesses to practically tear my boy’s throat out!”
“Actually,” Father Coren, the local priest, spoke up, “the physicians assure me that he should recover just fine. All he needs is rest and a few weeks, perhaps a month of silence to allow his voice to heal. He may have a bit of a rasp but the damage is hardly permanent.”
“Thank you, Father,” Lenore cut in before Haral could continue. “I am glad he’ll be alright.”
Haral’s voice grew louder. “It doesn’t matter if the damage is permanent, what matters is what he did and more importantly how he did it!” He turned to the priest, pleading. “Surely a man of the cloth such as yourself can understand the danger that child puts all of us in.”
Fother Coren sighed, nodding his head. “I’m afraid he’s not wrong, Lenore. Eugene has displayed a capacity for violence matched with an affinity for the unholy. He is only a child now but I can’t imagine the kind of threat he could grow into.”
“He was defending himself!” Lenore cried. “You’re son tried to drown him for Hieronius’ sake.”
The priest winced at the god’s mention. “I would advise you not to invoke the gods in this matter, Lenore. They may not be listening.”
“And besides,” Haral interjected, “the way my son tells it, your little bastard is the one that swung first.”
Lenore’s voice dropped to a calm fury. “That was in defense of me. After your boy called me a, what was the phrase you taught him? Devil’s whore? Come now, Haral. I know you’d expect your son to do the same if somebody said anything bad about that slobbering cow you call a wife.”
Haral lunged forward, drawing back a hand to strike Lenore. It was the priest stepping between them which stayed his hand.
“Really, Haral?” Lenore scoffed, chin outstretched. “You going to strike woman in front of a priest? Hardly the worst decision you’ll have made in your life. However, I suppose next to going to bed with cattle anything would have a hard time measuring up.”
“Keep talking, devil’s whore,” Haral growled. “I refuse to be judged by a wench who lies with demons.”
Lenore let out a laugh, cold and cruel. Far different from the laugh she saved for Eugene. “Is it demons or is it devils? There is a difference, you know. Not that I expect you to be able to tell.”
“That is enough, Lenore,” Father Coren cut in. “I’ve done my best to do right by you and your son. I believed your coming to this town was a test of our kindness, sent by the gods and I have done everything I can to see to it that you and yours were well taken care of.” He took a deep sigh and lowered his gaze. “But this is not a warning, nor is it a negotiation. This is a notice.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve already spoken with the mayor and the village council,” the priest continued. “We are all in agreement that your offspring poses too much of a threat to the people of this town.”
Clenching her hands into fists, Lenore loomed over Father Coren. “So exile then?”
Haral snorted. “And make it some other town’s problem? We could hardly be considered a people of the gods if we simply pushed all our problems onto others.”
Lenore silenced him with a glare before returning her attention to the priest. “If you’re here to condemn my son to death, you could at least do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye.”
Father Coren straightened but found himself unable to meet Lenore’s gaze. Fumbling in the pocket of his robes, he withdrew two items. A dagger and a vial. “The most I can offer is the opportunity to do it yourself. A knife in his sleep or a few drops of poison in his food. Either way, quick and painless. He needn’t suffer.” Placing them on the table, he shrank back to cower behind Haral.
“Whether you do it or not, we’ll be back at sunset tomorrow to see to it that he is properly disposed of.” Haral grinned wickedly and Eugene saw where Cameron had inherited his cruelty. “After all, got to burn the body. It’s the only way to be sure.” Laughing, Haral turned and walked through the door and into the night.
Father Coren hesitated momentarily at the threshold. “Lenore… I’m sorry.” Bowing, the priest made his exit.
Silence hung in the air as Lenore remained standing where she was, Eugene looking on from the staircase. After a time, she reached out to the instruments of death offered to her while her son watched in awe as streaks of black shot from her hand, turning the dagger and vial to dust.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Lenore turned and looked up towards the stairwell where Eugene was hiding.
Eugene jumped, not accustomed to being noticed in the dark. “How did you know I was there?”
Lenore snorted. “Oh please, you’re my son. It’s a mother’s job to know where her son is at all times.”
Feet heavy with guilt, Eugene made his way down the steps to his mother’s side, eyes fixed on the piles of dust where the dagger and vial had been. “Why do they hate me?”
“Because they think you’re evil.”
“But I’m not evil, that’s a lie!”
Lenore sighed and wrapped her arms around Eugene. “It is a lie, but one that is spoken with passion and believed by many. That makes it stronger. People will believe whatever lie they want, either because they wish it to be true or they fear it to be true. And when that belief combines with passion it becomes very hard for them to recognize truth.”
Eugene paused a long while, not sure how to voice the greater concern on his mind. “Mum… am I going to die?”
“Eventually, perhaps.” Lenore put a sly smile on her face. “But not tomorrow, and certainly not by their whim.” She knelt down to look her son in the eyes. “I will never let anyone hurt you, do you understand?”
Thoughts and possibilities rumbling around in his head, Eugene nodded.
“Good. Now back off to bed with you. It is way past your bed time.”
---
Eugene could not sleep that night. Different scenarios of what could happen kept playing around and around in his head. Images of angry mobs bursting through the door, ripping him away from his mother to be burned at the stake. Worse yet her mother fighting the mob and being injured or killed herself.
What if they burn her too? he thought. What if she dies because of me?
Unable to bear that possibility, he quietly got up and packed a bag with clothes and basic supplies. He had often gone camping in the nearby woods, he knew what he might need. Remembering to grab what little pocket money he had saved, Eugene struck out into the world.
He had recalled the other children talking about a circus making its way to a neighboring town. Following the road signs for a couple days and avoiding the occasional search party had lead him to this moment. Rain falling upon his hat, watching as men labored to build a wonderland out of an empty field. Carefully avoiding any puddles (the memory of nearly drowning still fresh in his mind), Eugene began to make his way into the traveling city of tents.
The workmen paid him little heed. With the thick blanket of cloud cover and the pouring rain it was a wonder any of them noticed him at all. A few called out to him but none pursued. Just another child looking to see what the hubbub was about.
As the rain began to soak through his hat and coat, Eugene began searching for a place he could hide and take shelter. It would be nearly impossible to find the head of the circus in this weather. Best to wait until the skies cleared.
Making his way away from where most of the construction was occurring, Eugene found a tent smaller than the others which appeared to be unoccupied. He quickly slipped inside, removing his hat and coat to ring out the rain water.
“A visitor? So soon?”
Eugene whirled around, scanning the tent. He had always been able to see things in the dark where others could not and he had sworn this tent was empty.
“I didn’t think the circus was open yet. And such dreadful weather for it too…” A sudden light brought Eugene’s hand to his eyes to shield them from the brightness. As his eyes adjusted he began to make out a woman, dressed in purple robes and seated behind a table. Upon the table sat a pair of lit candles and a clear sphere of either glass or crystal.
“Wh-who are you? How did you get in here? Where did you come from?” Eugene stammered out questions one after another.
“I’m The Fortune Teller, this is my tent and someplace you’ve never heard of.” The Fortune Teller eyed him with a critical look. “For such a young thing you sure have very poor manners. You come into my tent uninvited and start demanding questions of me? I should ask the same things of you! Well then?”
Eugene’s face flushed red in the candlelight. “I… I’m Eugene. I walked through the front and I’m from Westbrook.”
“Well at least we have one thing in common,” The Fortune Teller muttered. “Neither of us has ever heard of where the other is from. A new question then. Why have you come here, little devil?”
A part of Eugene flinched at the word “devil,” but there was something she about the way she said it that gave him pause. There was no cruelty in it. If anything it sounded inviting.
Rather than choose any of the lies he had prepared over the journey, Eugene found himself telling the truth. “I ran away from home.”
The Fortune Teller shook her head. “That’s how you got here, not why you came.”
“I… I want somewhere I can belong, somewhere that will take me as I am.”
“And you think this is such a place?”
In the flickering candlelight, Eugene realized he could not tell how old the woman was. In one moment she seemed an old crone, in the next a kindly housewife and later still a young maiden. Clearing his throat, he continued.
“The other kids in the village always talk about the circus, like how you can find things there that you don’t belong anywhere else. Magical and mysterious things.”
The Fortune Teller smiled. “Things like you?”
Eugene felt his face flush again.
“I’m afraid if you take a wander through the world you will find you are not so unique,” The Fortune Teller began. “Tieflings aren’t exactly common but they are far from a rarity. At least in the cities.”
“Tiefling?” Eugene asked, head cocked in curiosity.
“It’s what you are, child. Did your parents never teach you even that little?”
He shook his head. “My mum is human, never knew my father. Mum always said she’d tell me about him when I was older.”
The Fortune Teller shook her head. “I swear, parents these days. At least your mother sounds nice, if a bit skimpy with the important life lessons.”
Eugene nodded. “Oh yes! She’s the best mum in the whole world! She cooks me roast chicken and apple pies, sings me to sleep when I’m scared, and always knows just what to say when I’m feeling down!”
“Sounds like you belong with her, why even bother running away?”
The look on Eugene’s face quickly soured. “It’s the rest of village that thinks I don’t belong. Just because I have horns and a tail.”
Nodding her head, The Fortune Teller began tapping on the table in thought. “True, people fear things that are different from them. One of their many faults.”
“They told my mum they were going to kill me.”
The Fortune Teller raised an eyebrow. “For having horns and a tail?”
Eugene shook his head. “I… did something of the other kids. He was hurting me and I wanted to make him stop. I felt this thing inside of me, like I wanted to hurt him back more than anything. It was dark and it was angry and I felt it move me. I…” He paused in his recounting of the incident as he felt the desire stir within him again. The candlelight flickered and grew dim as if the flames were dying down. Summoning all his effort he squashed the desire down and the candles returned to their normal glow. “What’s happening to me?”
“I was wrong about you.”
“What?”
The Fortune Teller had sat forward in her chair, her full attention devoted to the child before her. “I said you weren’t so unique, but it appears I was mistaken. First impressions are rarely the whole picture, I should know that better than most.”
“So you know what I am?” Eugene asked.
“I know what you are, what you were and what you could be.” The Fortune Teller waved a hand and the fire leapt from the candles and somehow into the crystal ball where shapes began to take form. “There is a darkness inside you, that much is certain. However, darkness is not bad in and of itself.”
“It’s a tool!” Eugene chimed in. “What makes it good or bad is how I use it!”
Nodding, The Fortune Teller continued. “Precisely. Never forget that there are many things which are beautiful that can only be found in the dark. After all, the stars only come out at night.” The fire within the sphere took the shape of a tall man with horns and a tail, standing proud and valiant against an unseen force. “You have a great power within you and an even greater destiny ahead.” Abruptly the fire went out, reappearing at the tops of the candles. “The only thing standing in your way is you.”
“But what about the lies?”
The Fortune Teller paused. “Lies?”
Eugene nodded. “The lies people tell about me. That I’m devil spawned or that I’m something evil. My mum told me that lies have no power unless they are believed and that if I don’t believe them then I shouldn’t let them hurt me. But what if other people believe the lies?”
“Simple,” The Fortune Teller laughed, “you tell a better lie.”
“A better lie?”
“Look around you, little devil. You’re in a circus! This entire place is built on lies but do you know why people still come? Why they believe everything they see here?”
Eugene shook his head.
“Passion.”
Something clicked in Eugene’s head. “A lie spoken with passion becomes stronger. The more people that believe in the lie, the more convincing it becomes. People will believe anything they want if they wish it were true or if they fear it to be true.”
The Fortune Teller clapped her hands. “See? You get it! And when the lie is told with passion…”
“… It becomes harder for the people to see the truth,” Eugene finished.
“More wisdom from your mother?”
Eugene smiled softly. “Yeah…”
“She sounds like a smart woman.” The Fortune Teller went on. “At the end of the day, lies are just another tool. What’s important is how you use them.”
“So… can I join the circus?” Eugene asked, tail swaying lightly from side to side.
“Not my call, kid. I don’t think the ringmaster will have any issue with you hanging around for a while, at least until we reach the next big city.” The Fortune Teller shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you might learn something along the way.”
“Oh thank you! Thank you very much!” Eugene dropped to his knees and bowed his head to the ground.
“Don’t go thanking me yet, kid. Like I said, it’s not my call.” Stepping around the table The Fortune Teller placed a hand on Eugene’s shoulder. “And don’t you ever forget this: This circus is too small for you. You are destined for bigger and better things.”
Eugene got to his feet and nodded.
“And knock it off with all the nodding, your head is liable to fall right off if you keep that up.”
He started to nod again but caught himself. “Right.”
“Now go on,” The Fortune Teller motioned for him to leave. “Weather should be just about cleared up by now. Get on out there and see if you can find the ringmaster. It’s his decision whether or not you can journey with us.”
Pulling open the tent flap, Eugene spotted rays of sunlight peeking through the cloud cover. Expressing his thanks one last time, he fled the tent and went to seek the man in charge.
---
The ringmaster agreed to take him on a while. He’d worked with many tieflings in the past and found their general reputation to be highly overblown. Oddly enough he insisted that his circus contained no such fortune teller and hadn’t for a number of years.
Eugene stayed with the circus for some time, learning the art of lies and practicing his own abilities until he felt he had them fully under his control. When he felt he had learned all he could, he left.
Eight years after running away from home, Nostramatu Everdark stepped through the gates of a new and unfamiliar city.
#d&d#my writing#d&d character#tiefling#shadow sorcerer#goolock#character backstory#original character
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