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sunbedo · 1 year ago

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Some of my favorite band kid antics from this past year cause im feeling nostalgic

One of my fellow trumpets in jazz band, a freshman, wrote some really dumb (affectionate) lyrics to one of our jazz pieces that didnt have any. It was basically just the title of the song repeated a few times with some related lyrics, to the tune of the trumpet part. He emailed it to the creator of the song for shits and grins, but the creator said he liked it and approved!

Some of our designated funnymen hid Kung Fu Panda mcdonalds toys around our band director's office

One of said designated funnymen, a Junior tuba, got obsessed, along with his friends (well, friends is kind of an understatement, they were more like a group of the trope of 'its not gay if i kiss the homies goodnight', aka just gay tender enough to make you wonder. but it was still pretty funny), with playing chess, both online and irl, for the last few months of school. He proceeded to sit our band director down after school before our Prism concert and beat him atleast five times

The first day of the Prism concert, after school while we were waiting till it started at six, one of our mellows (the freshman who made the jazz lyrics btw) and one of our senior euphoniums (the senior class had already had their last day by this point) had what they called an "alfredo off". Each of them brought in alfredo pasta they had made and had our band director judge which one was best. The senior had made like, two pounds of it that she brought in big aluminum tins so everyone had some. she put like a pound of cheese in it and it was so buttery and good.....

Unfortunately the mellow jazz lyric freshman was disqualified, as his mom's recipe included jar alfredo mix which was apparently not counted as homemade 😞

I lost my voice a good few times from shouting chants very loudly at football games and pep rallies

The second day of waiting after school for the Prism concert saw one of our trombones (I say, as if there was more than one trombone during marching season this year (our band was very small) lmao) in my year bringing in a gallon of milk to mix with nesquik syrup, because apparently our band director had never had chocolate milk before. Apparently one of the trombone guy's friends had won a nesquik-themed gift basket in a raffle of some kind, but the friend didnt want it and gave it to him. It had like little metal spoons with the rabbit on them and everything. And, yes, they drank it while also playing chess

One of the skits for Prism was a 'Viking trio' where two of our horn freshman (including the jazz lyrics alfredo one, yes) did a duel complete with plastic swords and viking helmets and fake beards, using their french horns as shields, while our band captain/horn and high brass section leader sang some sort of opera (her voice is absolutely beautiful btw).

During one of the many rehearsals done the evenings before the actual concert, they were doing the viking skit but the two dueling weren't really paying attention to where they were on stage, and jazz lyric alfredo guy ended up backing up very quickly.... into one of the walls at the side of the stage. It was all good, the back of his head just hurt for a little bit, but we had alot of fun joking around about it and whenever he messed up on stage/behind the wings he would be like "its not my fault dude, ive got brain damage!"

Speaking of that, the Viking trio... trio got a large amount of the band speaking in southern accents around the end of the year. All of our french horns, including them, in concert band played trumpet in jazz band.... meaning i had to stand next to them. They had been joking around and getting on eachother jokingly the whole year (to the point that our band director had to tell them to pay attention several times.... sigh), and at this point the two freshman (including lyric alfredo guy) had a bit where they were a couple and spoke in southern accents (one of those kinda 'bromance'.... things.... at the band awards night at the end of the year they won "most dynamic duo" and stared lovingly into each other's' eyes while the picture was taken), mostly calling eachother "sweetpea" and "honeybun"

So eventually, the southern accent thing rubbed off on our band captain the one who sung opera in the viking trio. It's important to note that our jazz band setup had the trumpets in back against the wall behind the trombones, and at the other side of the line of us (we had six trumpets including me, i was at the other side of the line near the corner of the wall with the other person from the horn section, as we both played the 4th part and would often share a stand) was the drum set. One day, the band captain/horn/jazz trumpet/jazz vocalist grabbed one of the spare drum sticks that had fallen on the ground... and started calling it a 'bone'. This lead to several times where when the other two of the trio wouldn't shut up in jazz band she would threaten to... bone them. and then they would start referring to her as. (sigh) the boner... as she would. bone them. i wish i was making this up.

This very funny feuding bit (i will admit that i cracked up laughing on several occasions) lasted for a while. and eventually it just started rubbing off on quite a few people, including me (bringing me back to my southern roots, as i claimed.... keep in mind we live in florida). I look back on it fondly, even though it was hard to listen/focus on what our band director was saying from the very back of the setup while they were also laughing and talking for most of the time.... 🙃. But like I said, it was all in good fun

In addition the funnyman junior tuba who got his group of 'sweetpeas'... by which i mean friends... into chess, also fell victim to the southern accents and feuded several times with the other horn freshman from the viking trio over the jazz lyric alfredo freshman.... it was like the world weirdest non-romantic polycule

In jazz band the tuba guy played trombone.... by which i mean he had only recently started playing it in order to be in jazz band. There were several times over the course of the year where he would flat out refuse to play a certain part in some of the songs because they were out of his range... our band director didn't get too mad because that was just how the guy is... like, "oh, classic [tuba guy's name]!" Our band director still made him play the parts he could (and some of the parts he couldn't yet, with some pushing).

He campaigned several times for an opportunity to play 'jazz tuba', to the point where he specifically remembered, from like the very beginning of the year, that one of the times he asked for it our director offhandedly said something "I'll let you do for one song this year but that's it". He reminded our director of this before our big end-of-the-year jazz festival performance, and though he was very sceptical and didn't remember saying it at all (several of us remembered and backed up the tuba guy's claim, even though it was definitely something that was said just to make him shut up about it), our director did let him play tuba in one of our pieces during the festival and prism.

That being said, he sat right in front of me in jazz band, and during class he would turn around and push my stand down. I cannot describe the amount of rage he inspires in me, and I threatened him several times over the course of the year (all in good fun, but it was. super. annoying.). Unfortunately nothing fazes him ever, but he did eventually stop later in the year (once our band captain noticed when she wasn't threatening to 'bone' other members of her section)

One of my absolute favorite moments: during jazz band, I had asked our band director which version of Pokemon Scarlet/Violet he was getting (since he already talked about preordering it), and he was talking about the version specific pokemon, yadda yadda yadda, and then I yelled out that I would get scarlet cause the professor lady is hot, and everyone burst out laughing

One of the trumpet freshman in concert band started slipping pencils into our director's pocket. and then saying "check your pockets" to him during class. Though he only did it a handful of times, it was enough to make our director paranoid when he randomly said it during class

Not necessarily band related, but another one of our trumpet freshman showed me that, somehow, around the very strict district website blocking, that he and his friends had pirated 6 of the main series fnaf games. Apparently they used the big bulkier computers in the game and sim room and just emailed it to their school laptops. Just sharing bc i am very impressed and proud

#cherry chortles #band kids #marching band #concert band #jazz band #its v fun being in band. and painful (marching season) and stressful (also marching season but specifically having to play pieces by memory #i was appointed head librarian this year!!! woohoo!!#sure maybe its literally the most important job in the band because we literally all rely on music.#and sure maybe there is so fucking much to do in the library because so much is unorganized from this past year #and the solo & ensemble music hasn't been combed over for what pieces qualifie to be performed and judged for. literal years #but i can do it!!! 😤😤💯👊#long post #i guess lol #cherrys band shenanigans

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thepresentwriter · 10 months ago

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[Day 5/100 days of reading challenge]

📚Presence: Bringing your Boldest Self to Your Biggest Challenges - Amy Cuddy

At the beginning the author shares a normal situation from her life. It starts with her visiting a coffee shop where a waitress approaches her and thanks her for her Ted talk that helped her on her journey to success in medical school. The author goes on to talk about her past experiences that ultimately led to her giving a TED talk. Me myself felt the excitement, motivation, and inspiration upon discovering this book and relates it to a personal victory I had five years ago when I struggled with my career path but found my confidence through a conference meeting at my new company.

I found the TED talk I mentions while searching for inspirational English language content. Although my initial goal was to improve my English accent, i was captivated by the speaker's story and the impact it had on my own confidence and public speaking abilities. After delivering a successful speech in front of many people, i received positive feedback and compliments on my newfound confidence.

The book also delves into the author's history and the severe accident she experienced as a 19-year-old university student. The accident resulted in brain damage and a 30-point drop in her IQ. Despite these challenges, she demonstrates a remarkable resilience and determination to understand herself and pursue her passions in neuroscience and psychology. She shares her journey through medical school, including the pressure she faced during an elevator pitch and the emotional and psychological struggles that followed a poor performance. Through her experiences and an example of a French philosopher who was in a similar situation, she learns the importance of living in the present and not dwelling on past mistakes or worrying about the future.

In the following chapters, the author explores the concept of presence and how it can help improve confidence. She emphasizes the idea of doing our best in the present moment and not getting caught up in the uncontrollable aspects of the past or future. The book is expected to provide scientific evidence and practical strategies, including the "fake it till you make it" approach, to help readers develop and maintain genuine confidence.

so that's all for today I'm happy that I made it and good night. Love you.♥️♥️🌙🌹

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notknickers · 1 year ago

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i think i might have unlocked my first crackship... könig x nikola orsinov

hear me out, before judging...

synopsis: breekon and hope were tasked with capturing the archivist and bring him to the great yarmouth house of wax for skin harvesting. somehow, they show up with a masked mountain of muscles, instead of johnathan sims.

tags/warnings: crackfic, crackship, tma/mwii crossover, nikola orsinov/könig, top!nikola/bottom!könig, agalmatophilia, kidnapping, clothed!nikola/naked!könig, noncon, handjob, fondling, forced orgasm, forced exhibitionism/voyeurism, anal fingering/fisting, crying

audiences: strictly adult

word count: 2278

a/n: baby’s first crackfic. contains cringe. embrace it or leave.

(in case it wasn’t clear, könig is sexually assaulted in this one. i had something more light-hearted in mind, but this is perfectly within the wheelhouse of what nikola would do. how do I know it? they already did it in canon to the archivist, or such is the consensus amongst listeners. also, putting my favourite blorbos in… situations… is my favourite pastime. go read my fic with my d&d ocs in it, if ye doubt me words: I have mercy for no one.)

tagging: @eyerotyourbrain @kathy-ifnt

even with that unsettling grin painted on their face, it is not difficult to tell how furious nikola orsinov is. not for their minions, at least, who can easily tell that the breezy tone with which they address the two deliverymen should not distract from the actual words.

an honest case of mistaken identity, one of the heads of the entity had the gall to say in that overwrought, unbearably fake accent! there might as well be smoke pouring out of the mannequin’s head barely-hinted ears.

«ֆǟɮօȶǟɢɛ!», they fume, unconvinced of their own accusation, yet too much in the throes of their whimsical farce to let it go.

several threats fly out of their mouth, out of sync with the movements of their mechanical chin, like a poorly animated cartoon. it is unclear how many will be carried through and not because nikola doesn’t have it in them to deliver exemplary punishments. it is simply that their hollow head is so full of ideas their non-existent brain keeps firing at the poor wood-and-plastic construct and breakneck speed, that keeping up with all of them and managing to make them a reality is a challenge of its own.

and now that the unknowing looms so close… it’s even harder to collect all of their thoughts and keep them coherent.

nevertheless, everyone is sure nikola has given the inseparable duo a lot to think about, and in the only way the sadistic clown knows how. for now, they are exiled for a while from the worst wax museum great britain has to offer, leaving them to their deliveries until they are invited back.

which, of course, is to say, until the day they show up again and are once more reprimanded by a very forgetful – yet no less incensed and shouty – nikola, who will no doubt bemoan their absence at such a crucial moment for their kind.

best use that time to mind what packages they have left in their van, to make sure everything proceeds smoothly… or they might as well not come back at all.

their leaving gives nikola time to finally study their unexpected catch.

the... creature – a human… man… nikola is fairly sure, but will probably consult the anatomy students about it – was difficult to contain when breekon and hope carried him in and he broke free of them… he cost nikola a few of their puppets until they personally intervened.

a thought crosses nikola's mind. could this stranger be a kin soul? with his mask, concealing his identity and the covering clothing leading to think his skin must be immaculate from sun damage and other blemishes...

perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, after all. the unknowing is nigh, and this one has skin for days.

if they make meticulous use of it, niokla might even get a pretty dress out of what is left of him, something nice to wear while dancing the world anew. alas, parsimony is not one of the virtues nikola is known for. (in fact, it is accurate to say they aren’t known for any virtues at all.)

the cruel ringmaster unnaturally bends at the waist, like they had no spine – a fact that is starting to dawn on könig himself – their grotesque face mere centimetres away from the colonel’s.

they regard each other, the murder in könig's eyes reflecting nikola's amused painted dots of pupils, as he strains against the disembodied hands that restrain him, their texture like poorly moulded plastic that kept all its scratchy imperfections.

he growls at the mannequin, when nikola tries to take a gander under his hood.

«ԋσɯ ԋҽ Ⴆαɾƙʂ, ƚԋҽ ʂυႦԃυҽԃ ʂƙιɳ ɾҽƈҽρƚαƈʅҽ!», nikola lets out a high-pitched, discordant sound that would have had könig’s ears bleed, had it not been mercifully short. the mockery of laughter, he concludes wordlessly.

«ɦօաɛʋɛʀ! ɦօա ɨʍքօʟɨȶɛ օʄ ʍɛ, ȶօ ֆɦօա ռօ ʀɛֆքɛƈȶ ʄօʀ ǟ ʍǟռ’ֆ ֆɛƈʀɛȶֆ! ʟɨӄɛ ȶɦǟȶ ǟաʄʊʟ e͓̽y͓̽e͓̽ ǟʟ��ǟʏֆ ȶʀʏɨռɢ ȶօ k͓̽n͓̽o͓̽w͓̽ ʊֆ!», the pout, whilst invisible on their face, surely audible in their voice.

they do not try again, wondering if the ruined flesh of his lower face they managed to glimpse suggests a run in with the desolation. they will have to don megan's clothes and ask jude, as soon as they have a chance to do so…

but with this new conquest in their lacquered acrylic nails, they are in hardly any hurry to find out. if this one belonged to the desolation, dear jude and her ilk should have done a better job not letting him escape their fiery grasp.

at the moment, they focus their attention on the human's clothing: a soldier?

nikola’s varnish eyebrows move for the first time, at least, as far as könig can tell. they take on the perfectly symmetric shape of a very sharp arc. a frown. a very emphatic one.

nikola was not yet created when the slaughter meddled in von kempelen’s attempt at channelling the stranger into this world, yet they know all about it and in a fit of pique, they use their claws to tear through könig’s uniform, as if effacing the symbol of his potential allegiance could erase the past, until he sits bound, in revealing tatters and vulnerable, his chest, thighs and arms marked by shallow scratches.

more scars and burnt tissue surround the consequences of nikola’s ire, littering the rest of him.

the lotion will have to come out all the same to see if he can be moisturised and smoothened to nikola's likings and a sinister, blank grin thickens on the mannequin’s expressionless countenance.

a little doll hand does their bidding unprompted, rolling at the wrist joint on the floor tiles as the cupped fingers cage the bottle of moisturiser.

könig thrashes about, but the disembodied hands that fetter him only dig in his body more, unmovable in their intent.

«σԋ! αɳ ҽαɠҽɾ σɳҽ!», nikola exclaims in genuine elation, increasingly convinced that this man’s presence might really be a propitious omen for the upcoming ritual.

the ringmaster snatches the bottle up from the floor, the little doll hand clinging to it for dear life until it drops, scuffling on the tiles and spidering away on shaky fingers, while nikola barely notices, intent as they are in savouring what’s to come.

the unscrewed stopper tumbles down, bouncing for a few tiles like a rock skipping on a pond’s surface, then drawing a tightly curving trajectory, the sound of it careening from its side to its back still echoing as the first coat of cream moistens könig’s left shoulder.

nikola does not outwardly react to the colonel wincing at their touch, but they can sense this meal is about to turn into a feast.

hands like sandpaper stroke könig’s skin, finding every nook and cranny on his body and paying particular attention to the debris of past scars and burns and any other relief the puppet mistakenly takes for another blemish.

the insistence on some spots more than others is not lost on könig, and when another wooden finger brushes one of his nipples for one time too many in a row, he is left to wonder whether the grotesque, impossible figure holding him captive might know more of what they are doing than they pretend.

an excited squeal vibrates out of the ringmaster as the red, fleshy nub pebbles under their pads.

«ҽʋҽɾყσɳҽ! ʂσɱҽƚԋιɳɠ ιʂ ԋαρρҽɳιɳɠ!»

a hideous sound clacks through the high-ceiling halls as countless necks and joints snap towards könig at their master’s command. eyeless slits, googly eyes and faces covered in misshapen, melted wax, even things that are not faces at all, stare vacuously at him in unsettling unison.

könig never felt more exposed in his life than he does now, under the severe gazes of objects and constructs that should have no business being capable to see him, let alone move and obey orders.

nikola’s fingertips walking down the rounded steps of könig’s abdominal stair have the soldier tense up, barely relaxing when they deviate towards the powerful quadricep of his right thigh, slathering the remains of his torn uniform in more lotion as they spread it on his muscles, leaving few tatters to pathetically stick to könig’s body without protecting it in the least.

not from sight. not from contact.

his jaws grind so tightly at each unpredictable touch, that könig is sure he is chipping away at the enamel of his teeth. yet, every attempts at breaking free and fighting back is countered before he has time to enact it fully, leaving him to endure the mannequin’s whims.

he flinches when more unknown hands caress him from behind, not knowing who they belong to, yet feeling deep inside that if he could turn around and see them, he would find no owner to them.

the process drags on, far longer than necessary, as more empty lotion bottles pile at his slippery feet and calves, but the ringmaster seems nowhere near being done. könig dreads what will happen next, as the constant stroking and kneading of his whole body is bringing with itself predictable effects he was hoping wouldn’t manifest.

his hope is vain, however, as often is the case for such a fleeting feeling before it is crushed by reality. his body betrays könig when it last should, as he senses his cock begin to throb to hardness. unfortunately for him, the mannequin notices and they are swift to let all know, in turn.

«օɦ?! աɦǟȶ… աɨʟʟ ʏօʊ ʟօօӄ ǟȶ ȶɦǟȶ! ֆօ ʄʊʟʟ օʄ ֆʊʀքʀɨֆɛֆ!!!», nikola huffs out excitedly as they stare könig between his thighs.

a moment later, their firm, unnatural hands are taking hold of könig’s length as it swells in their palm under an eyeless brow raised high in wonder. a set of their fingers snap and some of the many hands tasked with immobilising könig roughly grab his mighty thighs and spread them wide, lifting them enough under the knees to give every wax statue, skin-thief and automaton a view of his sex and the blond fuzz contouring his sack, leading below, down to the ring of fluff around his puckered entrance.

helpless. spread wide. defenceless.

nikola’s hands wrap around his girth in appraisal, with conviction and curiosity manifesting in their firm, confident grip. könig’s eyes shut in denial as further words of bewilderment concerning the changes of his body spill out unendingly from the mannequin’s screwed-on mouth.

he can hear them question him about it. the least he can do to save his deeply wounded pride is ignore them, even when the vile anthropomorphic puppet takes his refusal as a chance to double their inquiries, instead of resigning to silence.

neither does their interest in könig’s heavy and very receptive organ wane, as their haphazard kneading turns to focussed stroking with both of their hands. soon, more ofthose creatures join at their request, vying with each other for a spot on his cock and, failing that, settling for every inch of skin around it.

slick yet harsh disembodied hands cup and pinch his balls, stroke and slap his guiche and fingers probe in between his cheeks, finding warm, furrowed flesh to part agape and mindlessly invade, without even really knowing what they are doing, in all likelihood.

the position he is forced into cuts the breath in his chest and könig endures the torment which, under different circumstances, he would have relished tenfold. dizzy and overwhelmed, it takes the colonel a while to realise that the ragged breaths turning to shameful little gasps are coming from him, traitorous body striking once again.

when he does, his eyes flood wet and tears hotter than the boiling core of the earth melt down his flushed cheeks, scorching a trail on his skin as much as shame burns in his chest. they bring no relief, shimmering dully under k↕nig’s hood and drenching the mask underneath in hard-to-ignore, wet reminder.

his choked sobs escape the feeble cage of his trembling lips as a despised heat wrenches his gut. the friction on his cock, rhythmic and relentless, the pressure to his inner walls from fingers insinuated down to the wrist joint, stabbing and scissoring his insides through his opening worked to a gape and kneading the strip of flesh below his sack are nothing short of torture.

part of him wishes the slick lotion weren’t working so well against him. perhaps pain and discomfort would have been preferable to this last, unbearable betrayal, as his hips unchain from his iron control and jolt repeatedly into and around the floating hands that carry out the tremendous violation, one könig loathed even when he tried to accept its inevitability.

nikola’s ecstatic expression is all he sees through eyelids kept ajar, as white showers the cobalt and golden cuffs of their jacket’s sleeves in copious, unstoppable waves, eliciting a triumphant yet incredulous peal from sealed, drawn-on lips.

they take a moment to examine the unexpected but welcome discharge. musing over the fact they did not know humans made their own lotion, as they pensively stare at the emptied bottles they threw on the floor.

«ēຖ໐นງh f໐r t໐໓คฯ, ๖นt ຖ໐t f໐r t໐๓໐rr໐ຟ!», nikola announces cheerfully, eager to discover what else human bodies can do.

they begin to retreat, the misshapen acolytes following suit at another snap of their clacking fingers. könig is left alone, save for his animated restraints.

damp with sweat, sticky with moisturising balm and drained of sense, energy and dignity, könig slacks on the chair in the dark, chest still pumping air in and out of him quickly and cock twitching to softness as his aching hole leaks cream on his seat.

this will be a tough one to get out of.

the tma/mwii crossover nobody asked for.

thanks for reading. hope you enjoyed: let me know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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littlejowo · 1 year ago

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I remember in middle school, during a unit where we were learning the basics of slavery and segregation, we watched some movies (namely Roots) and read some books (I forget all the titles by now). I remember feeling like the lessons themselves were good and that it was good we were learning about these things.

What was NOT good was that the teacher we had at the time INSISTED that we read the books out loud. Normally this would be fine, but he would assign ROLES, like in a play. And he ALWAYS would punish white kids who refused to use the N slur spoken in those books (and would laugh when a white kid said it anyway). It was so bad that the few black students we had in my class stopped coming at all (which the teacher HATED, since he gave all of them the slave character roles. "Now who will read those parts out loud?" Figure it out, asshole). On top of this, he would sometimes refer to black students using the names of characters/people from the books and movies (he loved calling the boys "Toby" or "Kunta Kinte"), once brought a real whip to school to pass around the class, would often (mis)use AAVE, and several other inappropriate and racist behaviors.

Eventually enough kids reported him for racist misconduct that he faced some consequences, but he was back a few weeks later, as he'd made up a sob story about getting brain damage at a Halloween party that made him racist???? It was bizarre as hell and he spent the rest of the school year doing fake accents from various countries until we reported him for THAT, too. He always found some excuse to mock cultures that were not his own.

TLDR the books and teaching materials aren't the problem, it's the conduct with which they're utilized

I recently read an article where four teachers in Washington tried to get "To Kill a Mockingbird" banned because the racism in the book made their students uncomfortable, completely failing to realize that it's the point.

There's media that exists to make you uncomfortable, but people act as if it's a bad thing instead of exploring and understanding why the author is making them feel this way.

yeah I will also say that like, at least in my experience the curriculum doesn’t really teach that lesson that well. and it kind of does end up being, for example, white kids saying the N word and making their black peers uncomfortable. Which maybe that wasn’t the point and banning doesn’t solve that but it is something to consider.

#racism #racism tw #racism cw

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clocks-are-round · 2 years ago

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dudes this theory is so cool!!!

EroticToaster69’s theory on the origins of Wyoming’s time distortion unit

#red vs blue #rvb wyoming #//brain damage and a faked accent who #rvb16 #rvb17

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brainlessrot · 3 years ago

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Here you go @patterned-flannel !!! again, thank you so much for the request <3

| Part 1, Ace, Deuce, Jack |

| Part 2, Epel, Sebek, Ruggie | <

i got distracted while writting and ended up making epel and sebek’s different from the given prompt, sorry!

First years + Ruggie - They accidentally make you cry - part 2

Epel;;

You had asked Epel for help, since you had been allowed to go to a thrift store nearby, the headmage being “generous” enough to give you some pocket money, enough to buy a couple of clothes so you’d be more comfortable and a little bigger closet, having only some lost clothes that did not fit you that well and the old hand-me-down uniform you used.

So, knowing that Epel had gone under really… extensive fashion lessons from Vil, you trusted that he would help you choose something that would fit and look nice on you. But you were so wrong, so, so wrong.

Your first error was even thinking of him to help you, he absolutely hated going shopping, but he couldn’t reject your invitation knowing your situation, so he acted like a big boy and accepted, but you could see his mood sour the more you spent inside the store, and it made your interactions with each other much more awkward. And your second mistake was thinking that Vil’s hard classes would work, sure, Epel might fake his way around, but when you were the only one around that knew who he was, he let loose, acting much more rude and letting his country accent slip, not caring about, however, the things Vil had successfully drilled into his brain did not disappear, instead, they went from Vil’s harsh words through Epel’s brain translator, making the usually strict words turn into emotional damage.

“Ye really like that shirt…? ‘Kay, but ye better not come cryin’ to me if ya get thrown into yer rash by accident, ‘tis looks like absolute horse shit.” You hadn’t even shown him the piece of cloth you were looking at, and he was already crushing your style choices.

“Uggh, ye better not be lookin’ at those tremendously horrible pants right there, do ye want to look like a roach? ‘Cause you’d be doin’ it great with those.”

“Mmmh, ‘m not even gonna say nothin’ ‘bout that jacket, but you’d be better off settin’ it on fire to warm yer hands in the winter, ‘tis only works as fuel, and only if yer really desperate.”

“Oi, get yer grubby hands off them shoes, they look like-“ You had enough, even if he was annoyed because he did not want to come— even after he agreed— he should be at least emotionally mature to know that what he was doing was horrible. But who’re you kidding, you study at NRC, who has that much emotional maturity?

You left the shoes on the rack with enough strength to make it shake, the sound of the vibrations not too loud— but enough to make him shut his trap.

You only side eyed him, your gaze being enough to make the strongest magician of the world shit their pants, and who wouldn't? The prefect's wrath was terrifying to anyone who knew who you were.

The rest of the day went in silence, Epel following you like a lost puppy, hiding his tail between his legs. It left him to his own mind, repeating his own words as if it was a broken record, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like an asshole, and he wasn’t that far off.

You ended up grabbing what you liked, not even sparing a glance back at Epel, checking out the few items you bought on the way out, he pulled at the sleeve of your uniform, now too flustered at his own wrongdoings, a full 180º from his actions beforehand.

“Prefect, just wanna say, ‘m… ‘m very sorry.” He twiddled with the hem of his own sleeve between his fingers, looking down at your feet. “I was acting like a dipshit, I did not want to make yer day awful, Granny would be very disappointed in me, and ‘m too. I’m sorry I made ye mad.” You stared at him for a while before agreeing with him, he had acted like a dick, and you had gotten really mad. However, you felt that he was truly apologizing and felt bad at how he acted, so you accepted his apologies— but you told him that he was on thin ice, and the only way that he would be safe would be that the next time his family sent some apples, he’d give you some. To which he agreed, promising you that you would not find a less than perfect apple from the ones he’d give you.

Sebek;;

Oh, the mighty (half) fae Sebek, who had decided to make your day worthy of living by giving you the honor of his presence. Which would be appreciated if he wasn’t such an annoying ass.

He had seen you studying outside, completely alone, and decided that you, even if a mere human, deserved some of his help. And don’t get me wrong, he could be a good hand, after all, he studied hard and it showed in his grades. But the problem was that, first of all; he doesn’t shut up, ever, the second thing is; everything that comes out of his mouth has something to do with Malleus or how great the Thorn Valley is, and last, but not least; his volume is too loud. You could ignore him if his voice wasn’t quite as strong and potent, but alas, that is just wishful thinking. His loud demeanor couldn’t be ignored, the sound finding its way in your bones, inside your skull, vibrating through your brain. But it did not enter from one ear and leave from the other, oh no, that was impossible. And thanks to this, you were now even more stressed than before, great!

“HUMAN, you have done that equation completely wrong, from start to finish! But oh, what can you expect from a mere human?! After all, they are all low in comparison to Sir Malleus! Did you know that he is a legend in the Thorn Valley because, when he was only a couple of dozen of moons old he managed to defeat on of the top wisest sages-“ Every word that he mustered felt like a rock, falling onto your brain, making its own indent, and every hole it made, every time his words squashed your brain, you were closer and closer to losing it. “HUMAN ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! Surely you must know about this story, right?! …You… You don’t? How can you lack the most basic of the basic knowledge from the Valley?! UGH! I can’t be even surprised, you are a lowly human after all.” That’s it, the last rock that managed to tilt the scales off, your brain going into overdrive. You closed the book you were currently using with enough force to create a pretty loud sound, making Sebek flinch and look at you with confusion.

Before he could even muster another “HUMAN” from his lips, you threw the book at him, as he was sitting in front of you, rather close because of the tiny table, you managed to hit him square in the chest.

“HUH?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HUMA-“ You shushed him with an accusatory finger, you got off on him, telling him that if all he was going to do was to be an annoying and racist brat he could go fuck off and follow Malleus around like the mutt he is. Your furious stare, looking directly at him, mixed with the way your voice was dripping with venom, left him without words, something that didn’t happen everyday.

You got up from your seat, grabbed your bag and walked around the table to grab the precious book you had thrown, you could sulk about possibly damaging it later. You started to walk off without telling him another fuck you in a hushed tone.

You ignored the heavy footsteps that followed you. The way you could physically feel the way he was brooding, right behind you. You didn’t want to talk to him any longer, or tears of frustration would fall from your eyes soon.

But after some minutes of following around and muttering something under his breath, just as you reached Ramshackle dorm, he spoke up.

“Huma- Prefect,” He stood stiffly at the end of the stairs that led to the main door of the dorm, arms perfectly straight and parallel to his torso, a forced position, perhaps out of nervousness or just familiarity. “I am extremely sorry.” He bent forward, almost forming a 90º degree angle, his hair fell forward, his gelled back hair sticking out as if they were glued together, how much did he apply every day? “I have wondered about my actions, and I have come to the conclusion that I was not acting in an adequate way towards you, so I offer you my sincerest apologies.” Even his apology felt as stiff and forced as his stance, perhaps he meant what he said, but his words were not… well, his.

You asked him that if he wanted to be applauded, and he only looked at you in confusion, shouldn’t you have accepted his apologies? He had done it exactly as shown in books, why wasn’t it working? You told him that even if he apologized, he still was an annoying cunt, and that you were not happy with him. That made a grimace appear on his face, had he been that bad? Yes, yes he had.

“I… I accept your words of rejection, however,” You rolled your eyes, this was making your head hurt. “I still stay by the fact that I did not intend to berate you willingly, Prefect, after all… you once called me a… friend, and I wish to remain in that position if you’d let me.” You sighed, that felt better, even if it was not enough for what he had pulled beforehand. You told him to shut up and get inside, as payment, he was going to help you with your studies, and ONLY with studies, you did not want to hear a single word that did not have nothing to do with the books.

Ruggie;;

You looked at the sad remains of money you had left after buying Grim food, you had put a limit of money you’d use for each day, since your funds were running low, and single handedly Grim’s tuna took a huge chunk of it. With the little madol you had, you could only afford a sandwich from the cafeteria, one of those that were more bread than anything, but at least you wouldn’t have to go the rest of the day without any food in your stomach, which was better than nothing, but still quite depressing.

You stood in the queue for a while, waiting as other students brought the sad cafeteria food the ghost prepared, it was not their fault, they were wonderful cooks, and managed to make the best of the things the headmage gave them as supplies, which was very little, so you respected the hard work they put into feeding the bunch of messy teens at NRC.

When your turn came, your stomach was already growling, furious that you hadn’t put anything on it until now. You bought your little sandwich and left to one of the tables, Ace and Deuce had taken Grim away, since you did not want to make the little guy see you eating that sandwich, since he would probably feel guilty, even if the start of your relationship had been rocky, the little monster had gotten quite attached to you.

You sat at the uncomfortable bench, looking at the food in your hands, you were hungry, but even then, the sandwich looked quite unappetising in your eyes.

“Shie-hehehe,” You recognized that laugh almost immediately, but who wouldn’t? Everytime you heard his laugh you got flashbacks from the incidents that surrounded Savanaclaw a while ago. “What do we have here? Why are you so alone, Prefect?” You deflected the question with another one, asking him if he was here to buy Leona anything, since he usually didn’t buy food from the cafeteria. “You’re quite bright, yes, I have his wallet right here.” He played with the wallet in his hand by throwing it in the air and catching it with ease. “But what do you have there?” He ogled the sandwich in your hands as if it was the best of the best, made by the most popular chef that ever existed, when in reality it was two slices of bread with two pieces of lettuce, and some strange matter inside. “What do you think… shouldn’t you share?”

You didn’t even notice your hands extending forwards, presenting the sandwich to Ruggie as if it was an expensive present, you tried to resist his magic, but it was too strong, and you couldn’t get out of his control. He snatched it out of your hands, taking a huge bite out of it. You stared in disbelief for a couple of seconds, your soul crushing. You had used every madol you had left for the day for that miserable sandwich, and now you stared at Ruggie, happily munching away at your conquest.

Warm tears started to drip down your face, leaving a shiny trail behind, you weren’t being overdramatic, as some would say, your body demanded food, and you could not listen to it, since it had been stolen.

Ruggie stopped biting the bread the moment he heard you sob, eyes wide and ears pulled back in worry. What happened? Why were you crying? He tried to ask you, but you hid your face in your arms, laying on top of the ugly cafeteria table. He shook your arm, the half eaten sandwich forgotten in his other hand.

“Prefect?! Are you okay? What happened?!” When your breath calmed enough to allow you to speak, your voice was quiet, breaking from the tears still spilling from your eyes, you told him that that sandwich was your food, the only food you could afford for today, since you had used every other madol to feed Grim. He felt his soul crush, you reminded him of what would happen daily back in his hometown, and he felt horrible for being the reason you were hungry and sad,

“Okay, hey, look at me,” You sniffed, wiping your eyes so you could see him properly, without the blurriness the tears added. “I’ll fix this, I'm very sorry for what I just did.” He put an arm around your shoulders, rubbing circles with his thumb on your shoulder, his soft voice as he tried to console you. “If I had known I wouldn’t have stolen it, but I’ll make it better, okay?” He quietly chuckled, turning your head to look at him. “I have an idea, but please calm down before we do it, yeah?”

You nodded, and after your breathing evened out, he walked with you, interlocked elbows, towards the register.

“Here, choose whatever you want, I’ll pay,” He winked, playing with Leona’s wallet. “Leona’s treat.”

#disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #pomefiore #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #diasomnia #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #savanaclaw #theyre really fucking annoying but thats what makes them special #i would absolubtely destroy their knees if i could (affectionate)

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l3m0ncyan · 2 years ago

Text

New At Life | Chapter 6

Steven Grant/Marc Spector x latina!teen!reader

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

——————————

Marc could nearly see the wheels spinning in her brain as she attempted to make sense of the perplexing scenario. Who wouldn’t be? In barely a month, Y/N had gone from knowing her neighbor Steven to realizing he wasn't who he claimed to be.

They stood in the midst of the restroom's turmoil with the flickering lights and the continuous flow of water from busted pipes. Their gazes were fixed, transfixed by the weight of the discovery. Y/N was the first to break the stillness.

"Are you a superhero?" she said, leaning her head slightly to one side.

He wrinkled his brow and shook his head slightly. "Not at all," he said, stepping passed her to scan the corridor for any other dangers. He was satisfied and motioned for her to follow him outside.

She stopped, doubtful if she could trust him. After all, he was vastly different from the man she knew earlier. The faint call of "come on" from the hallway prompted her to act. He went cautiously, maintaining a defensive stance, while Y/N trod gently behind him.

"Why did you fake a British accent? Are you running from someone?" Her remarks came out in whispered tones, her nervousness heightened by the idea that the cane-wielding guy and his followers were still lurking.

Marc stayed motionless as his footsteps echoed through the deserted corridors. The metal racks were thrown about, with the goods on them screwed across the floor. The walls were damaged with deep gouges, serving as reminders of the previous creature's rampage.

“Are you?” she prodded again, her patience wearing thin.

Once again, he responded with silence, much to Y/N's dismay. She rushed forward and grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to stop. He turned to her, an irritated look in his eyes. "There's no time for explanations."

Exiting the corridor, they entered the expansive museum space. Everything appeared normal – no shattered displays or artifacts in sight. Marc scanned the area before resuming his pace.

Exasperated by his continuous evasiveness, Y/N tugged at his sleeve once more. He met her gaze with a scowl, but she held her ground with determination.

“I know i’m being annoying, but I just found out there’s a cult following me and my supposedly neighbor.”

Marc regarded her intently, his earlier sternness giving way slightly. Although she tried keeping a strong front, he noticed how her hands trembled. She was afraid, and he couldn’t blame her. The one friend she made might have turned out to be fake this whole time. He relaxed his face slightly and sighed.

“Steven is real, alright? He's just a…” he trailed off, searching for the right words, “a different personality, and he doesn’t know it. That's why you can't tell him.”

The news wasn’t too startling, it was actually relieving to hear Steven was real. Still, it was a weird feeling. Has Marc always been there?

She didn’t question him the reason why, most likely to keep doing his business as that white cape figure. Yet, she didn’t need to tell Steven. He was smart enough to figure it on his own and knew he would find out sooner than Marc thought. “Okay,”

They stepped out into the expansive room, their belongings strewn across the floor where they had tossed them earlier. The openness left them feeling exposed, knowing that the cult leader might be watching, and another wolf-like creature could be lurking nearby. But Marc didn’t show any sign that they were in danger.

Y/N gathered what remained of her and Steven’s bags, both now torn to shreds, leaving only their wallets unscathed. She cradled the ruined bags before heading to a nearby bin, discarding the tattered remnants.

“What about the man?” She turned her gaze to Marc, who was already making his way toward the museum’s exit.

“His name is Arthur Harrow,” Marc replied, his focus unwavering as he strode forward. “He’s trying to bring back Ammit to continue her work.”

Y/N nodded. “Ammit, the one who’s killing everyone, right?” A simple nod from Marc confirmed her understanding. Once again, silence enveloped them as Y/N was able to piece together what was happening at that moment. The cult were coming after Marc but with Steven being involved, she found herself caught in whatever war was happening.

Exiting the museum posed no immediate danger, and they were greeted by the chilly night air. The streets were sparsely populated with cars, which would make sense since it was late. Scanning their surroundings for any potential ambush, they found the area relatively deserted, save for a few waiting for a bus.

Approaching the bus stop, they idled a few feet away from the other passengers.The awkward silence between them felt palpable. Marc stayed focus occasionally looking side to side, but never glancing at Y/N.

The bus would arrive in about ten minutes, a relatively short wait, but the tension between Y/N and Marc made it feel longer than it actually was. Succumbing to her impatience, Y/N finally broke the silence.

“So, how did you get those powers?” Her question held a touch of annoyance, and she purposely kept her gaze averted, mimicking him.

“Not a topic open for discussion,” Marc’s response was curt, shutting down her question.

Y/N’s shoulders slumped, and she couldn’t help but groan in exasperation. “You’re so boring,”

“I’m not meant to be entertaining.” was Marc’s stoic retort, effectively ending their interaction. Fortunately, the bus arrived soon after, diffusing the uncomfortable atmosphere between them.

A line formed as everyone tried to go on board. Y/N followed behind but noticed Marc wasn’t joining her. Glancing back, she realized he had remained at the same distance as before.

“You’re not getting on?”

He shook his head, “Got other stuff to do, you’ll be safe for now. Don’t tell Steven anything about me.” His last sentence carried a harsh edge.

Y/N nodded before hopping into the bus. She boarded the bus and secured a window seat. As the bus pulled away, she looked back to see Marc, only to find him gone. Yet, in that same moment, she caught a glimpse of a white figure leaping onto a nearby building, vanishing into the night.

———

The London morning unfolded gently, Steven was back and they both avoided the events from last night. Nonetheless, an air of unease hung around Steven, which was hardly surprising. They now found themselves on the bus, with Steven deeply absorbed in thought.

"It's strange," he mused aloud, his hand absentmindedly rubbing his chin as he gazed down at the floor, lost in contemplation. "I feel like something happened last night, yet it feels like a dream. What did we do yesterday?"

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the question coming so early in the day. She considered the words Marc had given her, urging her to keep his identity under wraps. And she certainly didn't want to test whether his warnings were true.

Turning her attention to Steven, whose eyes seemed lost in memory, she couldn't help but picture Marc lurking in the depths of his gaze, waiting for her to falter.

Then again, Marc had never told her to keep the events, only to avoid mentioning him.

"Well," she began thoughtfully, choosing her words with caution, "I remember Donna being angry with us for showing up late, and we had our overnight shift. We met some weird dude, and we had an overnight shift. Then there was a dog or something in the museum, but that’s about all I remember.”

She conveniently kept out the part about the "dog" turning out to be a wolf-like creature sent by, who is now known as, Arthur Harrow. She also refrained from mentioning all the chaos and danger that happened. It wasn’t the time and place for Steven to have a panic attack on the bus.

Steven nodded in response to her account, appearing to accept it. "I guess it must have been a dream I had."

“You had a weird dream?” She inquired, trying to keep up the image she didn’t know a thing.

He nodded, sumarizing the events from last night to which Y/N only brushed off as a fever dream. It was safer this way, allowing Steven to believe it was not real.

They reached the museum's entrance, climbing the stairs and stepping inside. Immediately, their attention was drawn to an area cordoned off with yellow and black tape. JB, in the midst of sealing off the last section, noticed their entrance.

"Hey there," he called out, lifting his hand to halt their approach. "You two aren't getting any closer."

"Something went down here?" Steven inquired.

JB shrugged, glancing back at the taped-off zone. "Yeah, looks like a pipe burst last night, turned the toilets into a mess."

Y/N bit her lip, knowing the truth was steadily unveiling itself, just as she had expected. She felt a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Steven would eventually find her lie, which would then force her to confess why she had done it — revealing Marc.

“Are you going to look at the footage?” Steven turned to JB, who nodded. Y/N had nearly forgotten about the museum's security cameras. A growing unease clenched at her chest as they followed JB to the room where he usually worked.

Inside, an array of screens covered the walls, each displaying different angles of the museum. They stood behind JB as he searched for last night's footage.

Y/N hugged herself, swaying slightly, torn between the wanting the truth out and the longing to keep the facade. She yearned to continue living a simple life, where her only concern was her job and her cozy flat, free from cults and vigilante of a neighbor.

JB's question cut through her thoughts. “Both of you were there?”

Their eyes widened. Y/N glanced at Steven, her shrug serving as her only response. Perhaps she would stick with faking shock, playing it off like she didn’t even know any of this took place.

The footage began playing, showing them crouched behind a display. Y/N anticipated the appearance of the wolf-like creature after they tossed their bags, yet the screen never showed the creature’s presence.

"Switch to a different angle," Steven directed JB. The video continued, revealing their hasty escape, the chase that led to the demolished restrooms.

Steven's gaze remained locked on the screen as the realization hit him. JB turned to them, disbelief etched on his face. "No way! You two wrecked the restrooms! Larry from maintenance is going to tear you both apart."

Y/N shot JB an annoyed glare. "Then don't tell him."

Steven shook his head, the truth dawning on him. "No, no, there was a jackal— skip to the end!"

With a resigned sigh, JB complied. The final clip revealed Y/N and "Steven" exiting the restrooms. In the vast expanse of the museum, Marc's eyes met the camera, a glare etched across his face. Y/N entered the frame, trailing behind him.

"It's still the two of you, mate," JB confirmed.

Steven's eyes remained fixed on the screen. He turned to Y/N, who met his gaze with an air of tension.

—

Standing outside the museum, Y/N exchanged a glance with Steven. "Sorry," she offered apologetically.

He shook his head. "No need to apologize. It wasn't your fault, blame that creature."

Y/N nodded, "Yeah, I kind of blacked out there. I still feel bad for getting you fired."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. It wasn't your doing. Maybe it's a sign to move on from that toxic job," he reassured her, his smile encouraging. This only tugged on Y/N’s heart, she has been lying to him and it was obvious, yet he continued to be cheerful towards her.

The bus rolled up to the stop, the queue of passengers waiting. Steven turned to Y/N once more. "Are you sure you can't remember anything?"

She shook her head, a lie forming on her lips. Guilt tugged at her, a mix of already getting Steven fired and now lying to him.

Steven's hand brushed his pocket, seeming to recall something. "I think I'll take a walk. You go ahead and catch the bus." With that, he started walking in the opposite direction from the bus stop, leaving Y/N behind before she could respond.

———

Back in her apartment, Y/N found herself dialing her sister's number. She told her about what happened; cutting out the part of the cult and jackal of course. Coming up with lie for why she got fired.

“Well, that’s their loss. You’ll find another one soon,” Her sister reassured her.

“Yeah, just please don’t our parents I can't deal with their 'I told you so' right now." Y/N almost begged.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Speaking of parents, I had another showdown with Mom," her sister said, a hint of frustration in her voice.

Y/N paused, “About what?”

Her sister hesitated. "You just focus on doing what you love, alright?"

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed. "Just tell me.”

"Mom was on one of her moods again, and she started interrogating me about whether I convinced you to leave home. I had to argue with her about letting you do what you love, but that only made her more furious. Dad chimed in with some stupid shit too."

"What did he say?" Y/N asked, already having an idea.

Her parents were known for undermining her and her siblings' ambitions, often making remarks like, "You won't succeed."

Her sister hesitated. "Nothing worth repeating. Just remember, don't let their negativity get to you, alright?"

Y/N hummed, having that as a confirmation. They exchanged goodbyes, and the call ended. She at the couch, her mind was filled so many unwanted feelings and thoughts. Now theres more thanks to her parents. She rubbed her face in frustration.

It was as if her being content was just too much for her so life needed to tone it down. Tone it way down.

Just then, a door slammed from Steven's place, an unusual occurrence for him. Y/N stood up from the couch, already forgetting about her parent’s judgement and walked over to the door.

As she approached, she hesitated. What could she say? Most likely an apology, she felt responsible for ruining his life. But thinking about it now, she realized it wasn't entirely her fault. Her guilt eased a bit.

Blame was on Marc. If only he had been more careful, they could have avoided this mess. This thought made her more motivated to tell him. She grabbed her jacket and rushed out the door.

He opened it, looking stressed. He was about to speak when Y/N interrupted, "I know you might be upset with me, but I need to talk to you."

Steven seemed taken aback. "I'm not mad. Why would you—"

Before he could finish, Y/N slipped into his apartment. "Okay, so remember your blackout? It wasn't just a sleep thing. It was actually—"

She halted when she noticed a woman behind her. The woman had brown curly hair, a navy blue and brown jacket, jeans, and boots. Y/N gave her a friendly wave. The woman reciprocated before Y/N turned back to Steven, realizing she had barged in at a bad time.

Y/N cringed, "I'm interrupting something, aren't I?"

Steven introduced her to Layla, his wife, though Layla added, "For the time being."

Y/N's eyes widened. She held her questions, assuming it might involve Marc instead of Steven. Regardless, she didn't want to create more trouble.

Y/N nodded, "I'm Y/N, his neighbor across the hall." Layla smiled warmly. Feeling like an intruder, Y/N gestured to the door, "I'll leave you two alone."

Steven interrupted, holding up a finger, "Actually, I have something to show you both."

Curious glances were exchanged between Layla and Y/N as they focused on Steven rummaging through a bag. "There's so much interesting stuff here," he said, about to reveal something before stumbling, changing his mind.

"Steven, what's in the bag? Where did you get it?" Y/N inquired, moving closer.

Steven began to explain, mentioning a storage room accessed with a key he found in his pocket, "Under the name—"

"Marc Spector?" Y/N interjected.

Steven paused, surprised. "How do you know that?"

"That's why I'm here. You've been blacking out because of—"

"The scarab that points to Ammit's ushabti? The one we fought for?" Layla interrupted, holding a golden scarab.

"I didn't even know what it was. All I know is that a man's after it," Steven explained, but Layla was too angry to listen.

"He's telling the truth," Y/N interjected. Their attention turned to her for an explanation.

"He's Marc, too. He has two personalities: himself and Steven," Y/N revealed. She glanced at Steven, who appeared shocked.

"I met Marc last night when we were attacked by that jackal. He saved us but got us fired," she tried to lighten the mood. Sensing the tension, she continued, "He told me not to tell you, but you would've found out anyway."

It was a message directed at Marc, who was likely listening. The threat Marc gave seemed empty, considering Steven was still present. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to see Layla, his wife.

"I was going to tell you, just didn't know how," Y/N turned to Steven, who waved it off, saying, "It's alright."

Layla stood with her hands on her hips, processing the shocking revelation. It was understandable given she had just learned her husband had another life in London that wasn't really his.

"Okay, if this is all true, then what exactly is going on?" Layla inquired, looking between Y/N and Steven.

Y/N turned to Layla and explained, "I don't have the complete story, especially with Marc being stone, but I think you're the only one who can help us. There's a cult after both Steven and me, led by—"

"Arthur Harrow, yeah, I'm familiar with him and his group. Marc and I have been dealing with them for a while," Layla said, casting a glance at Steven.

Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, "Good, so you know why—”

"Steven Grant? Can we have a word?" a voice interrupted from outside the door, accompanied by a knock. All three exchanged worried glances, with Steven looking the most panicked.

"They've found us," Steven uttered.

Layla looked at Steven in confusion, prompting him to explain that it was related to the restroom incident from yesterday.

"I doubt they'd send the police," Y/N reasoned. The knocking grew more insistent, and Steven gave the two women a desperate look before attempting to unlock the door.

Y/N scanned the room for a hiding spot, her gut telling her that it wasn’t the police that was outside the door. Slowly retreating further into Steven's apartment, Layla whispered to the teenager, "Over here."

Y/N followed Layla, who opened a window and climbed out. As Y/N tried to do the same, her foot slipped, and she let out a small scream. Layla managed to catch her arm just in time, preventing a potentially deadly fall.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Y/N joined Layla behind the overhang. They stayed silent, straining to eavesdrop on the conversation inside.

Not much was audible, except for discussions about a stolen item, which Steven denied any knowledge of. Y/N whispered to Layla, "Could it be the scarab?" Layla nodded, "Most likely." More muffled conversation followed, but it was too indistinct to decipher. That changed when Y/N's name was mentioned.

"Any chance you know where your 'cousin' is? She wasn't home when we checked. She lives across from your place, right?" one of the officers inquired of Steven. He shook his head, puzzled, "Why would you need Y/N?"

"She was involved in the museum incident, and there are a few other matters she needs to be questioned about. For now, we'll take you to the office," one of the officers stated, taking out handcuffs to detain Steven. The sound of a door closing was the last thing the two women heard before silence took over the apartment.

Layla was the first to descend and verify that they had indeed left. Once she confirmed it, she signaled for Y/N to come down. Alone in the apartment, the two women contemplated their next move.

“What are we going to do?” Y/N asked.

Layla paused for a moment, retrieving the golden scarab from her pocket. "We're getting him back," she declared.

"We?" Y/N felt a surge of fear at the idea. She was still learning to pay bills and be self-sufficient, not how to rescue a friend from the clutches of a cult.

Layla noticed Y/N's apprehension and couldn't help but smirk. "You can stay back if you want, but remember what you heard back there. They're looking for you too."

That sobering reminder dispelled any doubt. Y/N realized she might end up in the same predicament regardless, so she might as well try to help Steven.

"Okay, I'll go too. Just know that I don't know how to fight," Y/N admitted. Layla chuckled softly and gestured toward the door.

—

The sun had already set as Y/N clung to Layla's waist, determined not to fall off the motorcycle. Even with a helmet securely in place, she had no intention of letting go. They used the tracker Layla had on Steven's phone, a detail Y/N didn't question, and found themselves about fifteen minutes away from his current location, which showed no sign of stopping.

"Sorry if I'm intruding, but Marc," Y/N began, "he never told you about his split personalities to you?"

Layla shook her head. "He was always the secretive type. I just thought..." She let the sentence hang, choosing to change the subject. "Are you a student here?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I guess it's the accent, huh?”

Layla replied with a soft hum, steering the conversation toward topics like London and her previous visits to America. In reality, she was trying to keep Y/N's mind occupied, knowing full well that the girl must be terrified after all the events of the past day.

The red dot on Layla's phone suddenly stopped, snapping her out of her thoughts. "They've stopped at a building, probably their hideout," Layla observed, feeling Y/N squeeze her even tighter. She offered words of comfort in response.

They arrived at a large, old, and seemingly abandoned brick building. Dim yellow light spilled from the windows, casting an eerie glow on the vegetable garden outside. Surprisingly, cult members were lounging around, playing soccer or reading, a far cry from what Y/N had imagined.

"I expected them to be in robes," Y/N whispered to Layla, who nodded in agreement. Leaving the motorcycle behind, they silently approached the building and ducked under a window. Faint voices could be heard, so they peeked inside.

No one noticed them, as everyone's attention was fixed on someone else – Steven Grant. He looked tense, scanning the building for an escape route. Harrow, the cult leader, stood before him, engaged in a heated conversation about obtaining the scarab. However, there was a problem.

"Didn't you have the scarab?" Y/N asked, puzzled. Layla nodded, producing the golden artifact from her pocket. Her eyes widened as she glanced back at Steven, who was edging away from Harrow.

Layla stood up and tapped Y/N's shoulder, saying, "I have an idea." Before Y/N could inquire, Layla began walking toward the hideout's entrance.

"Where's the scarab?" Harrow demanded loudly, losing patience. Steven, trembling under the pressure, shouted back, "I have no idea!"

"We have it!" Layla declared, holding the scarab high. Y/N stood beside her, feeling the weight of numerous eyes on her, her nervousness palpable. Steven stared in disbelief, mouth slightly agape.

"You couldn't possibly comprehend the power you're holding," Harrow extended his hand, gesturing for Layla to surrender it.

Ignoring him, Layla and Y/N walked over to Steven, who seemed bewildered. Y/N inquired, "Are you okay?" Steven shook his head.

"Good, summon the suit," Layla instructed, but Steven blinked in confusion and glanced around. "The what?"

"He doesn't know about the suit; that was Marc," Y/N explained to Layla, who cursed softly. She swiftly handed the scarab to Steven, then grabbed both of their arms, saying, "We need to run."

The three of them raced away, ascending a flight of stairs. One cultist blocked their path at the top, but Layla managed to push them over the railing. Steven and Y/N watched in awe before Layla urged them on with a "Come on."

They continued their ascent, their legs aching from the effort. Just before reaching the top, Y/N felt her right bicep being tugged. Glancing back, she saw a large man gripping her. He wasted no time, pulling her back and shoving her to the ground, her scream echoing.

Layla and Steven tried to rush to her aide but another man cut them away from getting to her. Leaving Y/N and the big cultist alone.

Layla and Steven attempted to come to her aid, but another cultist blocked their path. Y/N was left alone with the large cultist, looking up at him with fear and trembling arms. He raised his fist, ready to strike.

Suddenly, one of her arms extended toward him, wrapped in dark, living goo. She watched in astonishment as the goo formed a tentacle-like limb, wrapping around the man's neck. Her arm picked him off the ground, and then hurled him across the room. He collided with the brick wall, creating a crater.

The cultists were taken aback, their attention now fixed on her. She was just as stunned as they were. The black goo retracted into her skin, leaving her with her normal arm. Layla and Steven stared at her, the defeated man no longer a concern.

"How did you do that?" Steven asked.

She shrugged, stammering, "I... I don't know."

Cracking sounds came from Harrow's direction. The trio turned to see him, muttering something as he slammed his cane into the ground. The floor cracked open, emitting a purple light. A deafening roar echoed from the crevice, and a pair of claws emerged, followed by two jackals.

Layla yelled at the others to run. They sprinted up the stairs, encountering a few cultists along the way, their adrenaline pumping. The three burst into a room, and Layla slammed the doors shut, barricading them with a piece of wood. The doors thudded as the two creatures attempted to break through, reminiscent of the museum incident.

Steven frantically scanned the room for an escape, but all he found was a window, high above the ground. Panic welled up inside him.

"We're trapped in an evil magician's cave," he muttered, running his hands through his hair, which only escalated Y/N's anxiety.

"Shut up or I'll lose it," she snapped. Steven quickly apologized, assuring her they'd make it out. Layla turned to him, gripping his shoulders, and mentioned the suit Marc had used in the museum. But Steven shook his head, glancing nervously at a nearby mirror.

"Or you could let Marc take control," Y/N suggested as the doors started to crack under the pressure.

"No, no, no! I can't," Steven panicked.

Seeing it was futile to argue further, Layla considered Y/N's earlier power.

"Can you do that thing again?" she asked.

Y/N looked at her hands, then back at Layla. "Maybe. I can try."

"If you're not sure, don't push it," Layla warned.

"Well, I'm gonna get hurt either way if I don't do something," Y/N replied with a determined smile.

Facing the doors on the verge of bursting open, Y/N controlled her breathing and whispered encouragement to herself, hoping to awaken her powers once more. Unfortunately, the doors flew open, revealing an empty hallway.

"Did they leave?" Y/N wondered, her confusion mirrored by Steven and Layla.

Suddenly, Steven shouted, "Watch out!"

A jackal leaped at Y/N, its fangs and claws poised for attack. She attempted to shield herself, but her mysterious power kicked in again. The black goo materialized, enveloping the creature and holding it above her. The jackal snapped and struggled, but it couldn't reach her.

Y/N quickly spotted the window. "Duck!" she yelled at Steven, who stood in its path. Her limb tossed the creature through the window.

The black goo retreated into her body, and she smiled proudly, knowing she had protected her friends. Steven cheered, "You did it!" while Layla sighed in relief.

However, Y/N's smile faded. "Weren't there two?"

Their eyes widened at a growl, and before they could react, a jackal slammed into Y/N, carrying Steven with her through the window. Layla, fortunately out of harm's way, peered out the window and witnessed the two plummeting from a considerable height.

Y/N cursed loudly, and the ground approached rapidly. Adrenaline surged through her, her heart pounding in her ears. She screamed, "Come out now!"

A cold sensation emanated from her back, and thick black tentacles sprouted from her body. They extended to the ground and pierced the concrete, slowing her descent.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, Y/N took a quick inventory of her limbs, relieved to find no injuries. She let out a sigh of relief.

"That was amazing!" A voice rang out, and Y/N turned to see a man dressed all in white, with the same glowing white eyes as Marc. He sported a stylish white tuxedo that almost seemed to gleam under a nearby lamppost.

"Steven?" Y/N inquired.

"In the flesh," he replied, adjusting his blazer and tie. "Looks rather smashing, don't you think?"

"British people actually use the word 'smashing'?" Y/N laughed.

"Jesus, we look like Colonel Sanders," a different voice interrupted. Steven glared at his reflection in a glass door, while Y/N furrowed her brows and noticed that the reflection was responding to Steven.

"Fine, you'll see," Steven rolled his eyes and turned to Y/N, asking if he looked great in the suit. However, Y/N was gawking at the door's reflection.

"You alright?" he asked, waving a hand in front of her eyes to bring her back.

"Maybe I hit my head when I fell, but is your reflection talking?" Y/N questioned.

The reflection in question was Marc, and he seemed just as confused as to why Y/N could see and hear him. This was something that people outside of Steven's body definitely couldn't do, for obvious reasons.

"Marc?" Y/N confirmed.

Marc hesitated but nodded, “Yeah.”

She took a small silence, thinking of how odd this situation has become. Yet she couldn’t help give out a small chuckle, “Well, look at that. Can’t really do much to me in this form can you?”

That statement was met with a hard flick to her forehead. She rubbed her forehead and looked at Steven, questioning, "What the hell?"

"It wasn't me! It just moved on its own!" Steven protested, raising his hands defensively.

She tilted her head, realizing who was to blame, and glared at Marc in the reflection. "Really?"

"Bark and all bite," he said smugly. "Anyways, how you have those powers?"

She was about to answer him until she paused, "Oh, so you can ask questions, but I can't?" Y/N retorted, crossing her arms.

Marc groaned, "I answered a few. Now it's your turn."

"You never answered how you got the powers, though," she raised an eyebrow.

"I think there’s a better time for this. For now, let's just—" Steven's body was suddenly pounced upon by one of the jackals, and he was thrown through a wooden gate, with the creature in hot pursuit.

"There's another one," Y/N muttered, scanning the area and spotting a small crater on the ground where the second jackal had landed before. "Shit."

"This is actually funny, two idiots now have to fight a feral dog," Marc smirked. Y/N squinted at him and asked, "Shouldn't you go help him?"

"Maybe, but he wants to play the hero," Marc replied.

She rolled her eyes and decided, "I guess I'll go help him. Quickly, before the other one shows up."

Speaking too soon, the one she mentioned tackled her down to the floor from gods know where. It pinned her down, making chomping motions toward her face, its drool flying everywhere.

The same cold feeling from earlier returned, but this time, it covered both her legs. The black tar-like substance thickened and, seemingly of its own mind, kicked the jackal off her, sending it flying into a brick wall.

Y/N stood up, catching her breath, as the living goo retreated into her body. The jackal shook its head before its eyes locked onto Y/N. It didn’t hesitate to charge at her once again.

Before she panicked, her arms extended to the black subtance; instead of being the dull limb like always, in a fast motion it became a replica of a sword. Her arm shot towards the jackal and went through it’s chest; impaling it. The jackal let out a cry of pain as her arm pulled back, its body disappeared into dust.

“Took a while but you did it,” Marc commented, to which she forgot was there.

She let out a groan, “I’m not exactly in control, alright?”

Speaking of control, she remembered about Steven fighting the other jackal. Ignoring the other alter, she rushed over to aid him and Layla, who was being dangled upside down by a leg.

Y/N extended her arm toward the creature hoping the same black goo would impale it like the other, but nothing happened. She continued to shoot her arm outwards but the same outcome would be. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment, she looked around the floor for a weapon.

“That was kinda embarrassing,” Marc spoke up from the reflection of a nearby car window. Y/N only ignored him, spotting an empty bottle of wine on the floor.

She threw the bottle at the jackals head which only seemed to anger it even more. It dropped Layla, focusing its attention more on the older teen. The black limb appeared from her shoulder and didn’t give the jackal time to attack before it wrapped itself around it and threw it far.

Y/N ran up to Layla and asked her if she fine, which she was. She helped her to her feet, unfortunately heavy footsteps came near. Layla pulled Y/N behind her, creating a human shield.

The jackal stared them down, it’s fangs bearing as drool dripped from its jaw. Layla couldn’t see it, but Y/N could. She tried summoning whatever power she had but failed.

As a way to distract it, Steven called the jackal over. It’s attention now focused on him, it walked towards him, leaving Layla and Y/N alone. They took a breather, both their hearts pounding from the interaction.

Any sort of belief in her being able to fight the jackal was out the window, ironically, so there was not much to do but throw glass bottles at it and hope it gets a concussion. From the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed Marc just staring at Steven bickering with the creature.

“Shouldn’t you go help him?”

Marc thought but shook his, “He wanted to play hero, let him,”

“Who are you talking to?” Layla jumped in, she had been looking at Y/N for a moment and began to worry.

She hesitated, knowing it would sound insane but continued, “I, for some reason, can talk to Marc through window reflections.”

Layla’s eyes widened, she placed her hand on Y/N’s head and spoke softly, “Sweetie, I think that fall might have done something to you, I think we need to take you to the hospital after this,”

Y/N shook her head, “No, no, I��m not lying–”

The jackal flew into the air suddenly. The two turned to see what was the cause, seeing only Steven staring at his fist. He slowly looked up to the two girls and burst into glee.

“Layla! Y/N! Did you see that?”

Layla and Y/N only smiled for his joy, that was until the jackal did a roundabout and gave Steven a kick, making him fly yards away from the two.

Even though Steven was already quite tired, he didn’t quit out on fighting the creature. They continued to brawl and the two girls continued to watch. It was rather quick, having lead to Steven and the jackal being hit by a car.

The two girls waited to see the fight continue as the jackal began to get up, expecting Steven to do the same. Though, he remained on the floor unconscious. Both began to worry seeing as the creature moved its way to him.

“He’s not waking up,” Layla pointed out.

Y/N focused her sight on Steven then to the jackal. Her head felt like it was pounding from thinking of what she could; the only option being to distract the monster as long as she could.

Running from Layla and to the scene, she could hear Layla yelling out for her. Ignoring her calls, she began to whistle at the jackal, catching its attention.

“Hey, mira por aca!” she yelled out, the jackal responding with a gruff roar and slowly creeping to her.

She let out a tense breath once she saw a good distance between the two, he plan working. But it was now surviving that she had to worry about.

Thinking of punching the jackal into the moon, she extended her arm expecting a black tentacle to come out. To no avail, she was left defenseless. She continued the same move, but nothing. Her stress was beginning to rise back up.

The jackal did not give a moment to let her think when it ran on its fours and lunged at her. Her skin ran cold with only her heart beating in her ears. Falling onto the floor, she covered her face but once again nothing came.

She peeked through the gaps of her arms; waiting to see the sight of black limbs wrapped around the creature. Instead she saw the familiar grey cloaked figure holding onto the legs of the jackal.

With the change of suit, she was sure it was Marc leading.

He pulled the creature away from her before throwing it against the wall of a nearby building. With his back turned to the teen, he turned to her.

“Stay with Layla,” he pointed at her, before he ran up a building to lead the jackal away.

Y/N stayed on the floor, her chest rising up and down as she catched her breath. Behind, she heard Layla’s voice calling to her and helping her to her feet.

Layla turned Y/N’s body towards her and scanned her face, “God, are you alright Y/N?”

She nodded, “Barely,”

Layla gave a wonky smile, “Well it is expected when one decides to become bait,”

She offered a small chuckle before she remembered about Steven and Marc. “Crap, I should go find them,” She tried to run off but Layla grabbed onto her wrist.

“Hey, I think you had enough for one night, go home,”

“I’m fine, I just gotta check on them.”

—

Marc stood infront of a statue that had mirrors as one of its many features. He wasn’t taking in the art but rather was in a dispute with his reflection; it being Steven.

“Look I swear to you, once I repaid my debt, you will no longer hear or see from me again”

He had hoped that it would be easy to come across his alter that he could go back to trying to fix the problem he had started. Unfortunately he ended up arguing. There were already many thoughts running across his mind that this was all just the cherry on a disgusting pie.

Steven spoke with a strong tone, in effort to get his life back. To be back to dealing with the main problem being employment instead of a mad cultist.

“Yeah, well, that blood is on my hands. You ruin peoples lives. Everything you touch, you ruin. You abandoned your wife. Left her stranded!” Steven yelled within the mirror.

“I did not! I am protecting her. You don’t know what your talking about,”

There was no stopping, with Marc dragging his fingers across his scalp, he felt himself turning to stone from the how much tension his body was going through.

“Then there’s Y/N! You didn’t think about her at all and now she’s in this mess!” Steven finally yelled out, seeming to break the current of the argument.

Marc turned immediately to Steven, pointing his finger at him, “You brought her here yourself, you got yourself into trouble and of course she followed,”

“Trouble that you started.” Steven clarified.

Marc shook his head, his jaw clenched, “You don’t know what were dealing with,”

“Right, is killing people how you deal with it?”

“Layla and Y/N will be safe,” he reassured him, but it was pointless.

As if it was a push for Marc, the bell from the nearby church began ringing. It was a far toll yet it felt like it was the statue itself ringing. The noise started melting with Steven’s voice, overwhelming Marc.

“Just shut up,”

Steven didn’t though, he continued. The bell was louder, how?

“Steven, shut up!”

Each hit from the bell banged in his head. It was a large thumping feeling; perhaps it was his brain or Steven had found a way to give him a migraine. It didn’t matter.

His hands twitched and soon his entire body flexed. Like some sort of natural response, he raised his foot and forced down onto the mirror of the statue. Repeating the action, over and over again. Each blunt to the reflected glass was met with a loud ‘Shut up’.

The bell, Steven’s voice, and now the sound of glass meeting the floor engulfed him.

“Marc,”

His actions stopped and he looked over to the figure of the teen standing idly to the side. She was confused with the situation; especially not knowing what to do with the information she just overheard.

Breathing out, he turned from her. “Go home,”

“Not really possible since it’s thousand of miles away,” she let out nervous laugh, hoping he would see the humor, which he didn’t.

“Go home,” he said more heavily towards her.

She stayed quiet, seeming as if the harsh tone worked until she said a simple, “No,”

Eyeing her up and down, he scoffed “I don’t have time to deal with you,”. He strode passed her, however she sprinted to his line of view.

"I didn't have time to deal with all of this, but here I am. I could have stayed in my apartment and pretended Steven had never been taken away, but I didn't. I could have told the world that you are a vigilante, but I did not. And I have plenty of reasons to do so because I am afraid of who that man is and what he is trying to accomplish. But I did not. So don't tell me to go home and pretend the past several days didn't happen.”

It was only them two now, all passerby’s had left home, something that neither of them could do. Even if they could, it would be easy bait for Harrow to come after. That man’s name ringed in Marc’s mind like the bell from earlier, a bell sounding the seconds counting down.

“I’ll call Layla, ask her if you can stay with her until all of this blows over,”

There was something that felt hypocritical to Marc, something awkward that he would face when making that call to her.

“And when will it blow over?”

Marc stayed quiet, which was as clear to Y/N that hoping for things to be alright wasn’t enough.

“Let me come with you,” she said with a firmness in her voice, outlined with a hesitant tremble.

He immediately turned down her idea, for many obvious reasons. Each reason resulting with Marc being responsible for what could happen to her.

"Harrow seems to be familiar with you, and also with me and the place where I live. If he really meant to knock you off course, he would go for either me or Layla to stop you; though I doubt he'd be able to get to her."

It was true; Harrow is aware of her and has seen her develop close to Steven. If something happened to her, Steven would not hesitate to take control of her body.

“I could be taken hostage to lure you back,”

“And you’re any safer with me?” it was more of a sarcastic statement from Marc’s part.

“Safer than being alone here, I can’t control,” she glanced to her sleeved arm, “whatever this is,”

“Then go back home, you would be safer there,” Marc stepped to the side and walked around her.

A force yanked him back by his collar, causing him to stumble. All of her patience had left her body.

“You don’t get it! Harrow is psychotic, you think a plane ride would be the one thing to keep him away? If I go to my family I wouldn’t be the only one in danger,”

His expression doesn’t show it, but she was right, Harrow is fucking insane, that’s how he rose to that position. There was no denying of the only choice he had.

“I don’t want to die being the reason my family are killed, because you fucking messed up.”

It was as if the wind had stopped for a time, and there was no concern about Harrow else than her. He gave a tight breath and nodded.

————————————

SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE

Edit: Took out the cringe as much as I could

Taglist: @itsjusspele @dustyinkpages

#hispanic reader #marc spector x teen!reader #moon knight #steven grant x teen!reader #marc spector #steven grant x reader #platonic #marc spector x reader #latina reader

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kingfishered · 1 year ago

Text

This fake Ghost didn’t seem to care that there was a gun being held to his head, though that could have just been because of the pain. He didn’t seem to be fighting anymore, though, and part of Roach was almost disappointed by it - it had been so long since he’d had a proper fight for his life, he’d missed the rush of it all.

Maybe it was for the best, though, because even with the gun in his hand and the knife in his attackers thigh, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to win this fight. They were very skilled, much larger and stronger than him, and he was a little bit rusty these days. All of that, and this was the first time someone had tried to choke him since his throat had got so fucked up, he really hoped it hadn’t done any permanent damage. Well, anymore permanent damage.

This man even turned his gaze away from the gun that was being pointed at his head, maybe Roach was no longer certain whether this guy was official military or not. He wasn’t making very smart moves here, he was lucky Roach didn’t want him dead yet.

Eventually, the pleas to put down the gun came, though he sounded less desperate and more… emotional? Honestly, Roach was just incredibly confused by this person’s reactions to everything so far.

He wasn’t left wondering for much longer, though. Because then he called him Roach. The only people who knew him as Roach were those he used to work with, back before he almost died. And that meant there was only one person this could be.

But he was dead. How was he here?

Was he just getting his hopes up? Could this still all be some big ploy?

He had no reason to believe it wasn’t, except… those eyes that stared up at him were so familiar, and that voice - while the accent was no longer as strong - it had to be his. And of course, the stupid fucking mask. He’d upgraded since Roach had last seen him, but it was still his signature skull.

His grip on he gun loosened, mouth silently forming Ghost’s name, his anger melting away and his eyes growing wide as the realisation hit him. Ghost was alive. And he was here, in front of Roach, having just been stabbed by him, shit.

Roach scrambled over to the doorway of the room to hit the light switch, finally bathing the two of them in enough light to actually see, though it was still on the dimmer side. He flicked the torch off and the safety of the gun on before placing it down on the nearest surface and coming to crouch near Ghost.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you,’ he signed frantically, looking down at the wound on his leg. It seemed he’d manage to miss anything vital, maybe he really did need to brush up on his skills, but at least in this one circumstance it turned out to be a good thing. As good as anything could be in a situation where you’d just stabbed your previously-thought-to-be-dead best friend. He met Ghost’s eyes again, brows knit tightly together.

‘How are you here- you find me- I thought-’ he cut himself off, squeezing his hands into fists and taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. There was too much running through his brain right now and he doubted Ghost would be able to keep up with it if he asked it all at once, let alone if he kept stumbling over his words. So, he started with the most glaring subject:

‘I thought you were dead.’

Getting stabbed always hurt, Ghost wasn’t about to deny that fact.

He’d been stabbed before. Several times, actually, probably too many to count. He almost liked to think he’d built up quite the tolerance for it over the years. It hurt, but it was manageable.

It was the harsh twist that Roach gave the blade which was what made it unmanageable. Quite frankly, Ghost was struggling to comprehend what was happening around him right now, between the pain and Roach.

It was Roach. Roach. His Roach. Here, in front of him. Alive and, apparently, very angry with him.

Did he recognise him? Was this why he was trying to kill him? Because he knew who he was?

Ghost couldn’t decide which would be worse. Would it hurt more to know that Roach knew who he was trying to kill? Or rather if he’d completely forgotten him?

Both caused painful sensations to surge through his chest. Sadness..? A curiosity of what could have been if Roach had never disappeared? Something. Whatever it was, it made him feel sick, though he supposed that could also be down to the knife lodged in his thigh.

So deeply buried in his own thoughts, Ghost hadn’t even registered that he was now being held at gunpoint, very close to getting shot right in the head. Between the throbbing pain in his thigh and the fact that this was definitely his Roach, he couldn't even form a single coherent thought if he wanted to.

And, truthfully, he didn’t want to. Not if it meant actually coming to terms with what was happening.

Initially, upon looking up, he couldn’t see a fucking thing. He’d forgotten that he’d left his torch attachment on the pistol, promptly getting flash-banged by it shining right into his eyes. Once he finally managed to collect himself, he narrowed his eyes so he could make Roach out through the torchlight, and he stared up at him.

The rage on Roach’s face was palpable, and Ghost knew that he had to shake himself out of the shocked stupor he had landed himself into before he really did get shot.

He knew how pissed he was when he thought that this stranger had Roach’s tags. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how furious Roach would feel thinking that someone was walking around pretending to be his friend. Well, ex-friend, he supposed. He didn’t seem very happy to see him at all.

“Fuckin’ hell, you bastard,” Ghost hissed, eyes squinting through the bright light as he glanced down briefly to inspect his leg. “Fuckin’ stabbed me…”

Bloody, dripping down and making the ground dark beneath him, but not violently as it would have been if he’d nicked an artery. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but there was no immediate threat of death from the wound. Small wins, he supposed. Great.

“Put the gun down. I’m not fighting you. I fucking won’t. They-”

Ghost’s voice got caught in his throat, he cleared it under the guise of letting out a small grunt of pain.

“Put the bloody thing down, Roach. Now.”

#[ ROACH ] general #[ KF ] threads #[ ROACH ] in character #the141ghost

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years ago

Text

The One After Rowan Says Aelin

The Court - Throne of Glass x FRIENDS - Fic Series

S5, E1 : The court deals with the aftermath of a catastrophic slip-up.

Fic Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Sex

7038 words

*******

“Repeat after me,” instructed the minister, standing before the bride and groom. “I, Rowan…”

“I, Rowan,” the silver-haired man repeated.

“Take thee, Lyria…”

“Take thee, Aelin…”

Shocked gasps spread through the chapel as it took Rowan a moment to realize his mistake. Eyes flying wide, he gripped Lyria’s hand tighter who was staring at him in disbelief.

“Lyria. Lyria.” Rowan emphasized with a forced chuckle.

Stunned, the minister leaned toward Lyria before asking hesitantly, “Shall I go on?”

From her seat a few aisles back, Aelin gaped as she listened to Rowan. He said her name. Her name.

It had to mean something, right? A groom doesn’t just same the wrong name during his wedding for no reason, right? Did he still want her? Love her? Like she loved him?

“He,” Aelin stuttered, leaning forward to whispering the ear of the woman sitting in front of her, “he said Aelin, right? Do you think I should go up there?” The woman didn’t pay her any attention, focused on the scene at the head of the chapel.

The minister was still waiting on Lyria to respond as she tried not to meet the eyes of people looking on with surprise and pity.

“Yes, yes, do go on.” She decided, forcing a calm expression over her humiliation and anger.

The minister nodded and announced, “I think we’d better start again. Rowan, repeat after me. I, Rowan…”

Rowan cleared his throat and said, “I, Rowan,”

“Take thee, Ly-ri-a” the minister dragged out the woman’s name as if speaking to a child.

Rowan shot an exasperated glare at the officiant but looked down at the brunette and repeated, “Take thee, Lyria.” She glared at him and forced another chuckle from his lips as he turned towards the guests and joked, “Like there’d be anybody else.”

Even Aelin cringed at the horrible attempt at humor, but it was no match for the way Lyria was glaring daggers at him.

“As my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, till death parts us.” The minister continued.

“As my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death parts us.” Rowan leaned in closer, “Really, I do. Lyria.”

People were still muttering as the minister asked for the rings.

“Lyria, place this ring on Rowan’s finger as a symbol of your bond everlasting.”

Rowan flinched as she jammed the ring forcefully onto his finger.

“Rowan, place this ring in Lyria’s hand as a symbol of the love that encircles you forever.”

“Happy to.” He chirped and gave her the ring.

Aelin, and everyone else, watched what seemed to be a train wreck unfolding as the minister declared, “Rowan and Lyria have made their declarations and it gives me great pleasure to declare them husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

People visibly winced as Rowan bent to kiss Lyria and she turned away from him only allowing him to brush his lips against her cheek. She escaped down the aisle, refusing to grab Rowan’s outstretched hand.

Aelin thought she heard Lyria mutter Just keep smiling to Rowan as they passed by.

Fenrys was standing next to Lorcan near the other bridesmaids and groomsmen. He nudged the taller man in the ribs and quipped, “Well, that went well.”

Lorcan glared down at the blond and rolled his eyes, “It could’ve been worse,” he suggested sarcastically, “he could’ve stabbed her.”

***

Aelin stood with Elide, Lorcan, and Fenrys in the lobby of the reception hall as they watched Rowan try to coax Lyria out of the bathroom she’d locked herself in. They could hear her shouting at him through the door.

“You’ve ruined everything!” she called out, furiously, “This is a nightmare! My friends and family are out there! How can I face them? How can you do this me?”

The group cringed as other guests look toward the scene.

Fenrys watched them a moment before asking, “No matter what happens with Rowan and Lyria, we still get cake right?”

Lorcan snorted as Rowan tried to open the door again, “All right Lyr, you take your time sweetie. I’ll be right out here.” He plastered a fake cheerful smile on as he noticed his friends watching him with pity, “She just fixing her makeup.”

“I hate you!” Lyria screamed through the door.

“And, I love you!” he called.

Rowan walked back towards his friends. Fenrys, trying to lighten the mood, teased “Man, bad time to say the wrong name, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows even as Rowan fixed him with an incredulous glare.

“Thanks, Fen,” Rowan muttered as he clipped Fenrys on the back of the head. Then Rowan sighed and looked around at the depressing reception hall and tried to put on a happy face that came across as more of a grimace. “People should be dancing; this is a party!” Rowan whirled back towards Fenrys and urged, “Come on Fen, dance!”

Fenrys looked around at the empty dancefloor and his friends waiting patiently as he tried to dance in the music-less space for a moment before giving up and walking away.

***

Across the room, Lyria’s mother answered her ringing phone.

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Uh, hello, this is Rowan Whitethorn’s personal physician, Dr. Shifter.”

In New York, Lysandra cringed at the obviously fake accent she was attempting but pushed forward. After making Fenrys keep his phone on during the wedding ceremony and hearing Rowan’s horrible fumble, she was trying to help them fix the situation. To her and Aedion’s disappointment, they couldn’t attend the wedding due to Lysandra’s pregnancy; she was due any day now and was instructed not to fly. So, she’d have to help with damage control from across the pond.

“Who?” the older woman asked.

“Yes,” Lysandra insisted, deepening the ridiculous accent, “I’ve discovered Rowan forgot to take his…” she trailed off and Aedion prompted brain medicine, “brain medicine.” She winced at how horrible of an excuse that was, “uh, now without it, uh, in the brain of Rowan, uh women’s names are interchangeable, through…through no fault of his own.”

Lyria’s mother sighed, exasperated, “Oh my Gods, Lysandra.”

Lysandra winced again, her fake accent was as horrible as she thought.

“No, not Lysandra, Dr. Shifter.” Lysandra insisted and then exclaimed, “Oh no! You have it, too!”

The next thing Lysandra heard was the dial tone as the woman hung up.

***

Elide stood by the buffet table, filling her plate when she felt Lorcan come up next to her.

“Hey,” He said in a low voice.

She glanced up at him to find him already looking at her, “Hi.”

He looked apologetic, almost nervous, in a way he normally wasn’t, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow, uh, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but, I know we had plans to meet up tonight and,” he stumbled over his words again as they both flashed back to the night before.

Lorcan opened the door to his hotel room to see Elide standing there.

“Hey, El, what’s up?” he stepped aside to let her in. Lorcan watched as she looked around the room, identical to her own, he was sure, and turn to face him.

He blamed it on the jetlag and the craziness of the day, but he couldn’t stop himself from admiring her. She was beautiful, and intelligent, and funny. She was also one of his best friends. Normally, he pushed down any feelings that weren’t ‘best friend’ feelings—feelings that made him want to throw caution to the wind and kiss her.

“Hey,” she said, looking at him through her lashes. “Is Fenrys here?”

Lorcan shook his head and saw relief flash across her face as he said, “Last time I saw him, he was heading out the door with that one bride’s maid and a bucket of strawberries.”

Elide raised a brow and snorted. “Sounds about right.”

He hummed in agreement, “You okay? You’re not still thinking about what that idiot told you, are you?”

That idiot being the stumbling, drunk man who’d bumped into Elide, spilled half his drink on her, looked at her and then her dress that she adored, and declared the stain an improvement, before walking away and leaving her to replay the insult in her head.

She snorted again, but it lacked any amusement. “What? You mean the jibe about how I looked better covered in scotch?” she sighed and looked away, “Whatever. I was obviously wrong about this dress.”

She looked down, but he grunted his disagreement, making her glance back up.

“What?” She questioned, confused at the look he was giving her.

“Ignore him,” Lorcan insisted, “I mean, you were the most beautiful person in the room tonight.” He told her, immediately wishing he hadn’t said that because that didn’t sound like a ‘best friend’ feeling.

But, instead of looking at him weirdly, she stepped closer and her eyes were…hopeful?

“Really?”

He cleared his throat but closed the distance between them, “Are you kidding? You’re the most beautiful woman in most rooms.”

Elide surged forward and kissed him.

It was perfect, it was Elide, it was—

“Whoa,” Lorcan pulled back and stared at her in disbelief, “What’s going on? You and I just kissed! You and I are kissing?” his brain couldn’t catch up.

“Well, not anymore.” She mumbled.

He searched her face, “How drunk are you?”

She offered him a smile, “Drunk enough to know that I want to do this. Not so drunk that you should feel guilty about taking advantage.”

Even through her quip, he could see the sincerity, and something else, something he couldn’t pinpoint, in her eyes.

“That’s the perfect amount!”

Then their lips connected again, and hands were moving, and suddenly they were on the bed.

Elide leaned back and Lorcan hovered over her as she broke away and said, “You know what’s weird?”

“What?” Lorcan trailed kisses down her neck and she shivered.

“This doesn’t feel weird.” She breathed.

He removed his mouth from her skin and looked into her face. She was right, this didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

Grinning, they both leaned back in and enjoyed a very satisfying night.

The next morning, Elide woke up in a hotel room with a large, warm body pressed against her. She smiled, thinking about what she and Lorcan did. And did. And did. Turning in his arms, she found he was already awake and watching her.

“Good morning” she yawned

He smirked, “G’morning.”

They spent who-knows-how-long lazily kissing until a loud knock sounded at the door.

Panicking, Elide’s wide eyes met Lorcan’s and she ducked beneath the covers just as Rowan barged into the room.

“I’m getting married today!” she heard from her position tucked into Lorcan’s side, the blankets soon becoming suffocating.

Lorcan’s hand snuck under the cover to rest in her hair as he slumped down in the bed, trying to make it less obvious that Elide was there. “Morning, Whitethorn.”

Elide heard Rowan close the door as he left and she popped back up, her hair in complete disarray, as she glanced at a now smirking Lorcan “Do you think he knew I was here?”

She’d left to get ready for the ceremony soon after that. Just before she needed to get to her seat, Lorcan casually found her and pulled her aside. Clearing this throat, he said, “What we did last night was...” he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“Stupid.” She offered.

“Totally stupid.” He agreed, nodding.

“What were we thinking?” She asked, fixing the sleeve of her dress.

They lapsed into silence a moment, neither looking at the other, before Lorcan asked, “I’m coming over tonight though, right?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Elide confirmed and subtly winked as she walked to her seat.

Lorcan kept talking, drawing them both back into the present, “I’m kind of worried about what it might do to our friendship.”

Elide sighed, “I know,” She glanced around and asked him worriedly, “How could we have let this happen?”

She didn’t regret the previous night, if anything, it was the fact that she didn’t regret it that alarmed her. She valued her friendship with Lorcan so much and hoped that whatever this was didn’t mess that up. Even though they both seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves, a fact she was reminded of as he added, “Seven times.”

She allowed a smirk and she saw it mirrored on his own mouth.

“Well, you know, we were away…” She tried to justify.

Lorcan nodded eagerly, “In a foreign, romantic country…”

Elide hummed in agreement, “I blame London.”

“London,” Lorcan grunted disapprovingly.

They looked at each other for a long moment before Elide said, “So um, while we’re still in London,” Elide watched as Lorcan raised a brow, waiting for her to continue, “I mean, we can keep doing it right?”

Lorcan suppressed a grin. “Well, I don’t see that we have a choice. But, when we’re back home, we don’t do it.”

Elide nodded, though part of her didn’t want to think that far ahead, “Only here.”

Lorcan stepped closer to her, towering over her shorter frame, “You know, I saw a wine cellar downstairs—”

“I’ll meet you there in two minutes.”

Elide didn’t miss the wide smirk he flashed her before he disappeared around the corner.

She counted to one hundred and was just about to follow Lorcan out when Aelin rushed up to her side.

“El, I have to ask you something,” Aelin said desperately.

As much as Elide loved Aelin and wanted to help her, she knew Lorcan would be in the wine cellar now waiting for her to join him.

“Now?”

Aelin didn’t catch the impatience in Elide’s question. “El, Rowan said my name up there. I mean, come on, I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen, can I?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” This was definitely a conversation she wished they were having any other time.

Aelin urged Elide for advice, “Elide, what should I do?”

“Just, uh, do the right thing.”

“What?” Aelin asked, clearly upset Elide wasn’t giving her her full attention.

Normally, Elide would be offering advice and suggestions, making sure Aelin didn’t do something too insane, but at the moment she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering back to the night before and the feel of Lorcan’s hands on her, as she babbled, “Toe the line, thread the needle, Think outside the box!”

Elide tried slipping away but Aelin stopped her again, “Whoa, wait,” Aelin sighed, “I think I’m just going to talk to Rowan about what he thinks it meant.”

Elide halted and turned back towards her friend. “Aelin, wait” the blonde met her eyes, and Elide said regretfully, “No, he’s married. Married. If you don’t realize that, I can’t help you.”

Aelin closed her eyes and nodded, “Okay, you’re right,” as Aelin opened her eyes Elide offered a small, sad smile. Her smile dropped as Aelin whipped around and finished, “You’re right, you can’t help me.”

Elide rolled her eyes but finally left to find the wine cellar. She wandered for a little while before she found the cellar, but no Lorcan.

Making her way back to the reception hall, she saw him back at the refreshment table.

“Where were you?” she hissed, “We were supposed to meet in the cellar.”

“Forget it, that’s off.” He told her under his breath.

“Why?” Elide asked incredulously

Almost as if he heard her question, Lyria’s very drunk father wandered into the hall and slurred loudly, “The next tour of the wine cellar will plan in two…in two minutes.”

Elide cringed and shared a nod with Lorcan as Fenrys walked up to them with a large steak on his plate.

“Fen,” Elide demanded, “what are you doing? You promised Lysandra you wouldn’t eat meat until she had the baby!”

Lysandra, ever the animal lover, had been a vegetarian for as long as Elide had known the woman. To Lysandra’s horror, one of her pregnancy cravings was meat, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t help but give in. After an almost meltdown, Fenrys offered to abstain from eating meat for the duration of her pregnancy so that she could and, as Lysandra’s argument, no additional animals would be harmed. When Elide tried to question why Fenrys was doing this and not, say, Aedion, Aedion cut her off before Lysandra could hear the suggestion.

Fenrys looked between Elide and his steak, “Well, I figured we’re in another country, so it doesn’t count.”

Elide met Lorcan’s eyes and they shared a secret grin

“That’s true,” she conceded.

“The man’s got a point,” Lorcan agreed.

***

Aelin found Rowan hovering outside the bathroom door.

“Hey,” she said gently.

He startled but offered her a small, strained smile, “Hi.”

“Sorry things aren’t working out so well.” Aelin winced, unable to think of anything better to say.

Rowan shook his head and forced a laugh, “Oh no! It could be better,” he nodded and then looked towards her anxiously and asked, “but’s going to be okay, right?”

Aelin hated this. She hated having to stand here with the man she was desperately in love with and reassure him that his marriage to another woman would be alright. And as much as she honestly doubted it—because what woman wants to hear her fiancé say another woman’s name at the alter—Rowan was first, and foremost, her friend.

“Oh yeah!” She said as cheerfully as she could manage, “Of course, I mean, she’d gonna get over this, you know?” Aelin hoped not but refrained from saying that given Rowan’s dejected face. “I mean, so you said my name, you probably just said it because you saw me there. If you’d have seen a hawk in the window, you would’ve said, ‘I take thee, hawk.’

She internally cringed but Rowan nodded, reassuring himself.

Aelin went on, “You know it didn’t mean anything, it was just a mistake.” She pressed closer and allowed a sliver of hope to show in her eyes as she asked again, hoping he would disagree with her, “It didn’t mean anything, right?”

After a second’s hesitation that she may have just imagined, Rowan’s brows furrowed and he insisted, “No! No, of course, it didn’t mean anything.” He glanced towards the door then back to Aelin. “I mean, I can understand why Lyria would think it meant something, you know, because…because it’s you…” he trailed off and Aelin briefly saw highlights of their relationship flash before her eyes.

The museum dates, the love confessions, the times with their friends. She saw them break apart and mend back together. She saw a new friendship bloom, and her own feelings of love resurface even as he found happiness somewhere else.

She cleared her throat, bringing herself back to the moment, “Right.”

Stepping closer to the closed door, Rowan yelled “It didn’t! It didn’t mean anything!”

Aelin was prevented from saying something stupid as Fenrys approached and told Rowan, “Rowan, hey man, the band’s ready outside for your first dance with Lyria,” Fen trailed off as Rowan glared at him.

“Oh, oh, the band’s ready?” Rowan asked with fake interest. “Well, I—we have to do what the band says,” he whirled on Fenrys and shouted, “I don’t care about the stupid band!”

Fenrys shot Rowan an annoyed glace and wiped his face, “You spit on me, man.”

Rowan muttered a sorry before Fenrys asked, “Lyria is kind of taking a long time, huh?”

A memory surfaced in Aelin’s mind and she laughed, “You know, when I locked myself in the bathroom at my wedding,” she paused as the horrid image of Arobynn appeared but faded away as she looked back at Rowan, “it was because I was trying to pop the window out of its frame.”

The guys chuckled at the thought of Aelin maneuvering an outrageous wedding dress through a window.

“Had to get the hell out of there, you know?” she chuckled, too, before all three of them abruptly stopped and whipped their heads around to the bathroom door.

Oh shit.

“Lyria!” Rowan banged on the door, “Lyria, I’m coming in.”

Rowan threw the door open and he, Fenrys, and Aelin took in the empty bathroom, open window, and curtain flying in the wind.

“Well, look at that,” Aelin observed, “same thing.”

***

Elide and Lorcan escaped the reception hall amidst the chaos of a missing Lyria. They hastily made it to Elide’s room, hands clasped the entire way as Lorcan pulled her down the hall.

Laughing, she opened the door, fully ready to haul Lorcan towards the bed, but froze as she caught sight of Aelin sitting on her bed.

“Oh my Gods, Aelin! Hi.” Elide yelped, feeling Lorcan stumble into her as he froze, too.

He cleared his throat, “Oh, hey Aelin.” The fake calm tone he used to mask his irritation sounded too high for his ears, enough so that Aelin raised a brow at him before shaking her head and dismissing him.

Aelin didn’t wait for either of them to say another word as she exclaimed, “Rowan said my name. Okay?” She moved to sit on the edge of the bed with a slightly frantic look in her eye. “My name. Rowan said my name up there, that obviously means that he still loves me!”

Aelin looked back and forth between Elide and Lorcan desperately hoping one of them would validate what she said, but they stared at her in silence. She rolled her eyes and huffed a breath, “Fine, don’t believe me. I know I’m right.” She pointed a finger at the pair before running a hand through her hair, “Do you guys want to go downstairs and get a drink?”

At her inquisitive stare Lorcan said, “Yes, we do,” and as Elide shot him a look, he added, “But, we have to change first.”

Elide nodded vigorously, “Yes, I want to change. Why don’t you go down and get us a table?”

Aelin looked at her weirdly, but nodded as Elide told her, “We’ll be down in ten minutes.”

Lorcan subtly squeezed her shoulders and corrected, “twenty minutes.”

Lorcan didn’t miss the quick, approving look Elide shot him, or the subtle wink that Aelin was too preoccupied to notice.

The blonde hummed in agreement and grabbed her bag, “Okay, sure.”

Just as Aelin was about to leave, the phone at the bedside table started ringing. Answering, she asked, “Hello?”

Lorcan stifled an irritated groan.

“Oh Lys!” Aelin faced Elide and Lorcan as she settled down into the bed, “It’s Lysandra.”

“Great,” Elide mumbled and forced a smile as Lorcan didn’t hold back his next annoyed grunt.

Ignoring Aelin’s conversation and taking advantage of her distraction, Lorcan leaned down to say into Elide’s ear, “Hey, why don’t we go change in my room?”

She turned towards him with her brows furrowed, “But my clothes are—” her brows shot up as she caught the dark gleam in his eye, “Oh.”

At her answering smirk, he grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room.

***

Once Lorcan made sure Fenrys wasn’t in their shared room, he pulled Elide inside and locked the door.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her towards him as her hand found its place in the collar of his shirt before wrapping around his neck and pulling him for a searing kiss.

Lorcan wound a hand in her hair and pulled back enough to look at her in her dress, “El, you look—”

She smirked, but said, “No time for that,” and went back to trying to get his shirt off. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies hungrily until a loud knock sounded at the door.

They pulled away as Fenrys’ voice called out, “Hey, dude,” Lorcan closed his eyes and released a slow breath, trying to reign in his fraying temper, “let me in. I’ve got a girl out here!”

Lorcan swore as he heard giggling from the hallway, and glanced at Elide whose hair was now fluffed from where his hands had run through it, and her dress that was scrunched at her hip.

“Well, I’ve got a girl in here.”

Fenrys scoffed, “No you don’t, I just saw you go in there with Elide.”

Elide huffed and Lorcan said through gritted teeth, “Well, we’re…we’re hanging out in here.”

“Look,” Fenrys insisted again, “Which one of us is gonna be having sex in there, me or you?”

It took all of Lorcan’s willpower not to reach through the door at throttle Fenrys as he growled menacingly, “I guess I’d have to say you.”

***

Realizing that neither of their rooms were going to grant them any privacy, Elide and Lorcan went to the one place they knew wouldn’t be occupied tonight.

The honeymoon suite.

“Do you really think this is okay?” Elide asked. As much as she wanted to rip Lorcan’s clothes off and climb on top of him, she suddenly felt guilty about using Rowan and Lyria’s suite. Not that they would be using it.

As if hearing her thoughts, Lorcan muttered, “Well, Rowan and Lyria aren’t gonna use it.”

“I know, I just—” she bit her lip and looked around, “I don’t know if I feel right about this.”

Lorcan stopped trying to remove the excruciating number of throw pillows and walked towards elide. “El, El, El,” he murmured, grabbing her face in his hands, “this is the honeymoon suite.”

“Exactly.” She retorted.

He rolled his eyes, “This room expects sex.” He chuckled at her raised brow but said, “The room would be disappointed if it didn’t get sex. All of the other honeymoon suites would think it was a loser.”

She snorted, “You’re an idiot.” The insult did have any of her usually bite.

He grinned, “Maybe, but I’m an idiot you want to fuck. And now we have an unoccupied room.”

Elide rolled her eyes but grinned back, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They’d just reached the bed when the door flew open and Lorcan barely contained a long string of curses.

“Lyria?” Rowan called, his eyes scanning the room.

Elide shot Lorcan a look and asked Rowan, “You haven’t found her?”

Rowan groaned, “No, I’ve looked everywhere!”

Lorcan, very helpfully, responded, “Well, you couldn’t have looked everywhere or else you would’ve found her!”

Elide almost pitied Lorcan for being on the end of Rowan’s glare.

“I think you should keep looking,” she suggested, drawing Rowan’s attention back.

“Yeah,” Lorcan nodded, “for about thirty minutes.”

“Or forty-five,” she quickly suggested.

Lorcan’s eyes flashed to hers and a wicked gleam shown there as he said to Rowan, without taking his eyes off her, “in forty-five minutes you could find her a few times.”

Elide grinned but quickly schooled her features as Rowan turned back in her direction.

“No,” Rowan insisted, sitting down heavily on the bed, “For all I know, she’s trying to find me but couldn’t because I kept moving around. No, from now on, I’m staying in one place. Right here.”

Elide nodded, “Well, it’s getting late.” She shot a look at Lorcan and he quickly followed her to the door.

“Yeah,” he added, “we’re gonna go.”

“Actually, do you guys mind staying here for a while?” Rowan asked, looking pitiful and so unlike his usual self.

“We have to get up early and catch that plane for New York,” Lorcan argued.

Rowan sighed, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Elide stared at Rowan a moment and had an internal battle with herself. Should she be a good friend and support Rowan when he’s upset and hurting…or should she escape and have the best sex of her life.

Groaning at her apparent conscious, she glanced at Lorcan and tried to convey that they weren’t about to skip out now. He sighed heavily but nodded almost imperceptibly.

“But,” he said through gritted teeth, “we’ll stay here with you.”

Rowan visibly brightened. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate this.”

***

They stayed like that for hours, Rowan eventually falling asleep across both Lorcan and Elide, keeping them in place and awake despite their exhaustion, desire, and exasperation.

Lorcan groaned and dragged a hand down his face, “We have to leave for New York in an hour.”

Elide sighed, “I know,” she glanced at Lorcan and then at the doors to the suite. “I’ve been eyeing those doors; they look pretty soundproof, don’t you think?” she asked hopefully.

Lorcan winced, “We can’t do that that’s insane. I mean ‘A’ he could wake up,” his eyes flicked down to Rowan who was totally passed out, then back to her, “and ‘B’ you know, let’s go for it.”

She grinned and they both tried to carefully remove themselves from Rowan until a knock pounded and Rowan shot up and stumbled off them.

“Lyr? Lyria?” He asked, still half asleep, “Lyria?” Rowan ran out of the room and through the suite to fling the door open. It wasn’t Lyria, just her parents.

Her mother leveled a look at Rowan, “No, You can forget about Lyria, she’s not with us. We’ve come to get her things”

“Wait,” Rowan stammered, “where—where is she?”

“She in hiding,” her father answered, “She’s utterly humiliated. She doesn’t want to see you ever again.”

“Hey, you guys, check this out, a whole cart was just left—" Aelin sauntered in with tiny bottles of hair products in her hands but froze as she looked between Rowan, Lyria’s parents, Elide, and Lorcan.

“Goodbye, Whitethorn.” Lyria’s father said

“Hold on!” Rowan insisted, stopping the parents from leaving, “Look, your daughter and I are supposed to leave tonight for our honeymoon, now you,” he took another breath, “you tell her that I’m gonna be at that airport and I hope that she’ll be there too.”

Rowan ran a frustrated hand through his hair, making the ends stick up, and explained, “Yeah, I said Aelin’s name, but it didn’t mean anything, okay?”

Aelin tried her best not to let her shattering heart show on her face as she slumped into a seat at the back of the room.

He continued, “She’s just a friend and that’s all!”

She knew Rowan wasn’t trying to hurt her, Hellas, he had no idea that she was still in love with him—he was just trying to get his wife back. Gods. His wife. How could Aelin be so stupid?

She felt Elide and Lorcan sink into the chairs next to her and Elide’s subtle, comforting hand on her back.

“She’s just afraid,” Rowan kept saying, “Now just tell Lyria that I love her and that I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else. Please, promise me that you’ll tell her that.”

Aelin blocked out any other conversation.

***

Elide was tired. She was exhausted from staying up all night having to deal with distressed grooms, interrupting friends, and runaway brides—if she was being honest, Elide wasn’t all that upset over the last one. She kind of hated that Rowan married Lyria, she’d never gotten a good vibe from the woman, not to mention everything that was still between Rowan and Aelin…

Sitting next to Lorcan on their flight home, she leaned in close to rest her shoulder against his arm and smiled a bit as he turned towards her.

“You know,” she said, “maybe it’s best that we never got to do it again.”

He made a noise of agreement even if she could’ve sworn she saw disappointment in his eyes.

“Yeah, it makes that one ti—night special, I guess” He almost said time but corrected himself because they did it way more times than just fucking once. A smirk played at his lips as realized, “Technically, El, we are still over international waters.”

Her eyes lit up and she grinned as she maneuvered out of her seat and told him, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, maybe I’ll see you there?” She asked coyly. Elide had taken half a step before turning back with a worried glance at him, “Airplane bathrooms are tiny, are you going to fit?”

Lorcan leaned back and smirked fully, “I’ll fit.”

She scoffed at the way his eyes darkened—it was obvious he wasn’t talking about the bathroom—but walked back there anyway.

He leaned over to watch her walk away and caught her sly wink as she slipped into the bathroom, before facing forward and coming face to face with Fenrys who’d taken Elide’s seat the moment she was gone.

“Gods,” Lorcan jumped, “what?”

“Can I ask you something?” Fenrys asked, oblivious to the growing anger emanating for Lorcan at another instance of being interrupted from his time with Elide.

“No,” Lorcan grunted and was about to get up when Fenrys grabbed his arm and dove into a conversation that Lorcan entirely blocked out.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there desperately wanting to meet Elide but being trapped in a mindless one-sided conversation, his only reprieve being the small liquor bottles he’d charged to Fenrys’ ticket.

Fenrys suddenly stopped talking as he glanced over Lorcan’s shoulder. Turning, Lorcan winced as he met the livid eyes of Elide

“Elide,” Fenrys commented, “wow, you’ve been in the bathroom for like a half-hour.”

Elide’s eyes narrowed further and Lorcan tried to look apologetic as she bit out, “I. Know.”

***

When Elide, Lorcan, and Fenrys arrived back at their building Lysandra and Aedion were waiting for them in Elide’s apartment.

After the hellos and hugs, Lysandra stepped back and narrowed her at Fenrys.

“You ate meat!” She accused.

Then she turned towards Lorcan and Elide who watched her with wide eyes, “You had sex!”

They sputtered, “No we didn’t!”

Lysandra scoffed at Lorcan, “I know you didn’t, you have the personality of a shoe, who would want to hook up with you?” She gestured at Elide, “I was talking about Elide.”

Elide forced a laugh, “What? Lysandra, I did not have sex.” Elide brushed off the claim as Aedion gave her a funny look.

Lysandra shook her head and sighed, “This pregnancy is throwing me all off.”

Lysandra and Aedion said their goodbyes, and then Fenrys walked across the hall to his own apartment, leaving Lorcan and Elide standing in Elide’s kitchen.

“Well, we certainly are alone.” Elide said, unnecessarily.

Lorcan nodded, “Yeah, uh, good thing we have that, ‘Not in New York’ rule.”

She hummed noncommittally.

“Listen, I uh,” Elide tried to put her scrambling thoughts into words, “I just—that night meant a lot to me, I guess I’m just trying to say thanks.”

Lorcan cleared his throat and stepped closer to her, “Oh, yeah, you know,” She looked up as he stumbled over his words, “that night meant a lot to me too.”

They stared at each other for another long moment before Lorcan nodded at the door and said, “All right, I gotta go unpack.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” She watched him leave and waited to hear the door across the hall open, but the click of the door handle never came.

Lorcan stalked back in and slammed her door behind him.

“I’m still on London time, does that count?” He asked wildly

Elide was already flinging herself at him, “That counts!”

Then she wrapped her legs around his hips as he lifted her and carried her into her bedroom.

***

Aelin was making another lap around the airport, hoping to hear some updates about her flight. In her mad dash to show up at Rowan and Lyria’s wedding, she had bought the first ticket she could to London and hadn’t worried about her return flight. She didn’t think it would be such a struggle to fly home.

“Aelin!” A deep, familiar voice called out.

She stopped and turned to see Rowan sitting alone in an almost deserted waiting area.

“Rowan, hi.”

He stood up and met her halfway, his face scrunched in confusion “What are you, uh what are you doing here?”

“Oh, well,” she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and flashed him a smile, “I’ve been on standby for a flight home for hours. I’ve become very familiar with the airline staff.”

He nodded

“So,” she glanced around, “no sign of Lyria, huh?

“Not yet.” Rowan shook his head.

“What time are you supposed to leave?”

As if on cue, the speakers crackled as an announcement called, “This is the last call for Flight 1066 to Athens. The last call.”

Rowan made a face and answered her, “Pretty soon I guess.”

Despite her feelings about Lyria, the very last thing Aelin wanted was to see Rowan so dejected and heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” she said as gently as she could.

He sighed and sat back down as Aelin took the seat across from him

“I just, I don’t understand,” He scrubbed his face with his hands, “I mean, how can she do this? You know, am I… am I like a complete idiot for thinking that she’d actually show up?”

“No, you’re not an idiot, Rowan. You’re a guy very much in love.” Aelin sighed.

He snorted, “Same difference”

She cracked a smile and he matched it.

The voice over the speaker rang out again, “All ticketed passengers for Flight 1066 to Athens should now be on board.”

“I get it!” Rowan snapped at the invisible voice, then sighed again, “Well, that’s that.”

Aelin couldn’t watch this anymore. “No, you know what, I think you should go.”

“What?”

His face snapped up and Aelin looked into his earnest, pine green eyes as she told him, “Yeah,” she nodded, “I think you should go, by yourself, get some distance, clear your head, I think it’d be really good.”

He looked skeptical but Aelin thought she saw an ounce of relief. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

He looked at the gate attendant still at the check-in desk and Aelin knew he wanted to.

“Come on Rowan, I think it would be really good for you,” She urged, hoping the trip would make him feel better and he would come back seeming more like himself—like the Rowan she knew.

He was nodding, trying to convince himself, “Yeah,” he eventually said, “I can do that.”

“Yeah!” Aelin agreed, trying to hype him up.

Rowan grabbed his bag and looked back at her, still frustrated, “I can’t even believe her,” he chanced another glance around the terminal as if Lyria would materialize in front of him, “No, you know what, I am, I’m going to go.”

“Good!”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Right!”

“Right.” Rowan took another step before turning to face her once more, “Thanks, Aelin.”

She smiled at him, glad that he was getting some of his happiness back that had abandoned him the previous day.

“Okay,” she said again and opened her arms to give him a hug he enthusiastically returned. “I’ll see you back at home if I ever get a flight out of here,” she huffed and began to turn away.

“Well...no, never mind.” Rowan shook his head, dismissing whatever he was about to say.

Aelin tilted her head, she scrunched her brows in confusion as he gave her a sheepish grin, “What?”

Rowan looked between her and the gate attendant, “Why don’t you come?” at her shocked silence he plowed on, “I—I have two tickets,” he waved them in front of him, still wearing that boyish smile she loved so much, “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she trailed off. Aelin wanted nothing more than to say yes, but Rowan was offering her the second ticket on his honeymoon trip for gods’ sake. But as she kept looking into his hopeful face, she felt her resolve and guilt crumbling. “Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be great,” he insisted, handing her one of the tickets. “You can lay on the beach and read, and I can cry over my failed marriage,” he chuckled, “See? Already making jokes.” the smile he forced was more of a grimace.

“Rowan, I—”

“No, really,” Rowan stepped up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She tried not to lose focus as she felt his warmth sink into her. “Please, Aelin,” he said, looking more vulnerable than she’d seen him all weekend. “Gods, I could use a friend right now, and you’re one of the best.”

“Wow,” Aelin took a breath. She could accept. She could go to Greece with Rowan for a week and support him and enjoy herself. “Okay. Uh, yeah, yes! Yes, I can do that.”

“Really?” his smile widened and so did hers.

“Really.”

They walked to the gate attendant and handed her their tickets. After a disapproving glare for their timing, she opened the door and waved them through.

Rowan readjusted his bag and paused, “Oh, wait, I forgot my jacket. You go on, I’ll be right there.”

Aelin flashed him a happy smile and nodded, walking onto the plane.

Rowan quickly jogged back where he’d been sitting, picked up his jacket, straightened, and met the eyes of his runaway bride.

“Lyria.” he breathed.

She looked between him and the gate looking distraught and Rowan realized that she must have seen Aelin go onto the plane. His eyes flared, understanding that Lyria must have thought everything with he and Aelin had been intentional. And it wasn’t. It wasn’t...right?

She scoffed and made to turn away, but he stammered, “Oh no, no, no, no! No!, Lyria!” He frantically looked between Lyria’s retreating figure and the gate that Aelin had walked through to the plane where she was waiting for him.

Cursing every god he knew, he chased through the airport after his wife.

***

Aelin enjoyed first class. She didn’t fly it often, but when she really wanted to treat herself, she would. This flight was no different than she remembered. She settled into the seat, keeping the window spot open for Rowan, and ordered them both a drink from the flight attendant. She figured they could both use one after this insane weekend.

Glancing out the window, Aelin noticed that the airport appeared to be moving.

She jolted in her seat. The airport wasn’t moving. She was. The plane was.

The plane was leaving, and Rowan wasn’t on it.

“Oh, my Gods,” Aelin muttered in disbelief as she sat on a plane departing for what should’ve been Rowan and Lyria’s honeymoon. “Oh, my Gods.”

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @wrathscannoli @backtobl4ck

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ruvviks · 2 years ago

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🌋🙈📣 for vitali!!

YEAAASS the richboy corpo rat himself,, going to bully him with those first two questions just wait

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or an instant explosion?

>:] so >:] vitali is amazingly good at controlling his anger and he doesn't ever lash out anymore nowadays. he's found healthy outlets for his anger and remains calm in pretty much every situation. he gets a bit frustrated with things or people on occasion but usually doesn't let it control his behavior or attitude towards others, feeling like it's an internal thing he needs to deal with himself and it's unfair to drag others down with him

when it does come to the point he gets angry, he just explodes. he still carries a lot of anger with him from his childhood and when it really gets to the point he boils over, he just lets it all out and god help the person who's on the receiving end of that fr :// he can be terrifying when he's angry and. to be fair. if you pushed him THAT far you REALLY did something wrong because he KNOWS he's scary when angry and he hates it and he hates getting angry at people and does everything in his power to prevent it from happening. he hates to make people scared of him, especially people he cares about

now during the broker chapter it's all not going too well for him. the broker keeps attacking him and his mercs and because of a series of unfortunate coincidences vitali has been absent during a couple of the attacks, causing other people to get severely injured or taken captive. he blames himself for this and is under so much pressure that he's a lot more irritable and he ends up unleashing his wrath on dupoint and ravager when they're in his captivity, to the point the dissociative state from his brainwashed time at arasaka comes back and he loses complete control of his body :// he literally cannot afford to lose control now anymore and thus can't get angry, because it will make him lose control in a vastly different way and who knows what he'll do when he's in that state

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - what's a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

his angry side, for sure. vitali is also hesitant with showing weakness and vulnerability, but he would rather have his friends see him cry than see him lash out. he knows his friends trust him and rely on him, and for some reason he feels like if he were to get angry at them, even if it's justified, he would somehow break that trust; he really does NOT want that to happen ://

📣 MEGAPHONE - how loud are they? what do they speak like? got a voice claim?

vitali has a pretty low voice, a bit rough around the edges from having smoked so much in his childhood LMFAO the fake cigs he smokes these days luckily do no more damage to his vocal cords <3 or his lungs <3 but the remnants of. well. nearly a pack a day at some point are still definitely audible a bit

he speaks with a russian accent, it's not all that heavy in a way that he needs to speak slower to, like, "articulate well" (like mikhail) but it can get pretty thick when he's excited, frustrated, tired or scared. he speaks at regular tempo and volume, but can start rambling when experiencing any sort of extreme emotion. he's not one to raise his voice very quickly, and when he notices people around him are stressed, no matter how stressed he is himself he will actually try to start talking slower than usual in an attempt to calm people down

his voice sounds a bit monotone when he's just talking business, or conversing with people he barely knows. he tends to become a lot more animated when he's talking to friends, or talking about a topic he knows a lot about or likes; when he's actively thinking, he tends to draw out words a little bit, to allow his brain to catch up with him. he generally speaks very resolutely so to say, there's little hesitance in his voice unless he's clearly trying to pick the right words to say in a more tense situation

vitali is not too expressive with his hands while talking, usually limiting his movements to very direct and straightforward gestures that add to a conversation. when he's rambling more, his gestures tend to mimic that a little bit, and when he's stressed he can be found fumbling with anything he can get his hands on. he sometimes automatically signs along with what he's saying when he's in a crowded place or switches to sign language entirely, as a hint to other people to sign back at him; despite his hearing aid he still has trouble hearing other people in crowded rooms or places with a lot of background noise

he also makes a lot of little noises when in conversating; a click of his tongue to get people's attention, or hums of approval or disapproval (good luck figuring out which is which LMFAO), stuff like that. he laughs very little, but when he does it's usually a very light, but genuine chuckle. it takes more to get him to actually laugh out loud

i don't have a voice claim for him yet, but i'd like to find one for him one day :// but that's a problem for future me LMFAO

oc asks!

#asks #mutuals #zakryah #ask:vitali #oc asks #sorry i went off with the last one a bit. got lost in the sauce #WHAT CAN I SAY i like thinking about what my ocs sound like. and vitali's voice is very special to me even though i can't describe it well

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sarravi · 2 years ago

Text

The story of Dorothy Eady, also known as Omm Sety.

Have you ever heard of unbelievable stories in reincarnation? Sure, they are mostly unfounded factoids children start talking about. My youngest cousin, at one point, talked about her sister and mother who died in a fire, a long time about before she was born into this family. Things akin to this, vague statements, no identifiers, etc. Well, sometimes, kids will go deep into the idea. There is one child, whose age I do not know off the top of my head, that actually assisted police in an unsolved crime. In the child’s claim, he was the man who was murdered. He knew where the body was buried, called the murderer out by name (the guy actually turned himself in when the child confronted him, because he was so convincing), and led police to the body of the victim, in which on the way, he described how he was killed. Blunt force trauma to the head. In the same spot that the child had a pretty defined birthmark.

The thing that makes this such a fascinating story, is that I believe the child was born in America, and this murder took place on the British Isles. Scotland or Ireland, to be a little more precise, but I cannot recall off the top of my head which. He started bombarding his family with this information so much, that his father actually decided to look the guy up, whom the child was claiming to be, and found information about the guy; all aside from cause of death, or that he was definitively dead. To the authorities, he was still just missing.

Well, this story is actually about a Londoner, named Dorothy Eady, and to me, this story is one of the most fascinating when it comes to claims of reincarnation.

But, let’s keep the details a surprise for now. A little about Dorothy’s life needs to be described, first. She was born as an only child in 1904, in London, to Reuben Eady and Caroline Eady. For the first three years of her life, she seemed like a normal child. Never really mentioned anything about a past life or anything.

But then, she fell down a flight of stairs.

She was initially thought to be dead. A bright young lady, snuffed out in the earliest stages of her life. Tragic… Except, it wasn’t. She eventually recovered, but she was noticeably not the same person. She developed what is known as foreign accent syndrome, and began requesting to “be brought home”. Interestingly, her Sunday school teacher began requesting that her parents keep her away from her class, as she began speaking frequently about the ancient Egyptian religion. She was also expelled from a Dulwich girls school after refusing to sing a hymn that called on God to curse the Egyptians…

I’m sure you can start piecing together what is going on, now. A young girl suffered brain damage, causing her to develop incoherent memories, and changed her speech pattern enough to consider her an individual who had foreign accent syndrome. Just another story about kids incoherently spouting fake memories.

Yeah, except it isn’t. This may just be my third post, but if you have already read the other two, I’m sure you know by now that I wouldn’t be posting something so mundane. This is legitimately one of my favorite historical stories, actually.

Let’s continue, because this story gets kinda wild.

Dorothy really enjoyed Catholic mass, because it reminded her of the “Old Religion”, but her priest interrogated her and visited her parents house before expelling her and her family from their church. They believed she was just being a blasphemous, heathen child. But apart from randomly bringing up an ancient Egyptian religion, to this point, she hasn’t really talked about her alleged past life… That is, until her parents decided to take her to the British Museum.

A particular photograph seemed to jump out at her, in the Egyptian exhibit. It was a picture of the New Kingdom temple, to which she exclaimed “There is my home! But where are the trees? Where are the gardens?” This baffled her parents. The temple in the picture was the temple of Seti I, a pharaoh, and father of Rameses the Great. After this exclamation, she began running all about the Egyptian exhibits, kissing statues feet and frolicking “amongst her people.”

After she had learned about this exhibit, she took any chance she could to visit the museum. Eventually, this led her to meet on E. A. Wallis Budge, who quite enjoyed watching her youthful enthusiasm within the Egyptian exhibit, and pushed her to start studying hieroglyphics.

During World War I, Dorothy had to move to her grandmothers house in Sussex after a bombing raid threatened her life in London. Here, she continued studying ancient Egypt at the Eastbourne Public Library. At 15, she began describing being visited in the night by the mummy of Seti I. Now, some behind the scenes things that we haven’t spoken at all about include her having frequent nightmares and sleepwalking. This, coupled with the behavior of claiming to not be who she was led her to being sent to psychiatric institutions several times.

Despite this, however, she eventually left school by the age of 16, after which, she started traveling around Britain, as well as visiting archaeological sites around Britain. Eventually, she became a part time student at Plymouth Art School, where she began collecting any Egyptian antiquities that she could afford. Fortunately for her, a local theatre group enjoyed performing a play based on the story of the ancient Egyptian gods Isis and Osiris, in which she joined in. She would typically play the role of Isis, singing lamentations for Osiris’s death.

At the age of 27, she started working in London for an Egyptian public relations magazine. During this time, she met an Egyptian foreign exchange student named Emam Abdel Meguid, who would later become her husband. Before they married, however, he had to return to Egypt, but they stayed in touch, which likely led to the next chunk of her life.

In 1931, she moved to Egypt after Emam asked her to marry him. On landing, she kissed the ground and exclaimed that she had come home to stay. They lived in Cairo, and she received the nickname of Bulbul, which is apparently Arabic for Nightingale. The couple eventually bore a son, whom they named Sety, after the pharaoh I had mentioned before. This earned her the nickname of Omm Sety, or Mother of Sety.

Soon, she met the secretary of an American archeologist named George Andrew Reisner, who commented on her ability to charm snakes, and told her that spells like that appeared frequently in ancient Egyptian literature. She visited the Fifth Dynasty pyramid of Unas, where a man named Klaus Baer commented on her piety after she accompanied him on a visit to Sakkara, where she took an offering and removed her shoes prior to entering the pyramid. Things continued to happen behind the scenes, though. By this time, she was still commenting on apparitions visiting her in the night, or her experiencing out-of-body experiences, which were causing issues between her and the family she had married into.

Let’s delve a bit deeper into that. Bring it out from behind the scenes, if you will. During the earlier portion of her life, she had been talking about the appearance of the apparition of Hor-Ra. Allegedly, over the course of twelve months, he told her the story of her past life. The story took up around seventy pages of cursive hieroglyphic text, and described the life of a young Egyptian woman called Bentreshyt. Bentreshyt meant Harp of Joy, and is described in this text as being of humble origin. Her mother was a vegetable seller, and her father was a soldier during the reign of Seti I. By age three, Betreshyt's mother died, and she was left to the temple of Kom el-Sultan, because her father could not afford to take care of her by himself. Here, Bentreshyt was brought up as a priestess. At age 12, the High Priest asked if she wished to go out into the world, or if she would like to become a consecrated virgin, which according to the Catholic Church, is a woman who has been consecrated by the church to a life of perpetual virginity, as the bride of Christ. That being said, you could probably take the same definition, except replace Christ with either Osiris or Khenti-Amentiu. It is unclear to whom the temple Kom el-Sultan was dedicated to.

It is not known if the priestess understood what this meant, and didn’t have a practical alternative, so she took the vows and became a consecrated virgin. During the next two years of her life, she did learn what it meant to be a consecrated virgin through the drama of Osiris’s Passion and Resurrection. A role that only virgin priestesses consecrated to Isis (That answers which god she was consecrated to, I suppose) could perform. One day, the Pharaoh, Seti I, visited the temple and spoke to Betreshyt, after which they became lovers. Interestingly, this is considered “Eating the forbidden fruit,” probably due to the fact that Betreshyt pledged her chastity to Isis. Eating the forbidden fruit, in Egypt, was described as eating the uncooked goose, which I think is a funny saying. The high priest discovered this affair, and explained to her that she would most likely be sentenced to death in a trial for breaking her vows to a god. She took her own life rather than allowing Seti’s name to be dragged through the mud like that.

In 1935, Dorothy and her husband separated when he took a teaching job in Iraq, and their son stayed with her. Two years later, the marriage crumbled, and she moved to Nazlat al-Samman to live near the pyramids of Giza, where she met the archeologist Selim Hassan at the Department of Antiquities. He took her as his secretary, making her the departments first female employee. She was reported to be “a great help to Egyptian scholars,” especially to Selim Hassan and another archeologist named Ahmed Fakhry. By this point, she was a poorly educated Englishwoman, who had developed into a first-rate draughtswoman (a woman who makes detailed technical plans or drawings) and writer, having produced articles, essays, monographs, and books of apparently a large range.

During this time, she would pray, make offerings, and frequently spend the night in the Great Pyramids. Soon, local villagers would start gossiping about her, as she would make night-time prayers to ancient Egyptian gods at the Great Sphinx. This does not mean they didn’t respect her, however. In fact, they did. She was honest in her faith in the ancient Egyptian gods, and they found this rather admirable, especially considering the way this area treated non-Islamic individuals. Perhaps, due to the fact that she was observing ancient Egyptian religious beliefs, they chose to leave her be. Another reason may be that she was sensitive to religious observances of others, fasting with the Muslim villagers during Ramadan, and celebrating with Christians during Christmas time. Fortunately, non-monotheistic religions allow for this, as they believe in numerous gods. Perhaps their gods did exist in her mind, and she wanted to do what she could to aid in appeasing them.

Ahmed Fakhry’s research project was terminated in early 1956, leaving Dorothy unemployed momentarily. He suggested that she climb to the top of the great pyramid, turn west when she reached the top, and address herself to Osiris, and ask him “Quo vadis?”, which is a latin phrase meaning “Where are you marching” or “where are you going?” She was offered a choice to either take a job in Cairo, in their records office, at a high pay rate, or at a lower payrate, going to Abydos as a draughtswoman. She chose the latter, reporting that Seti I approved of the move.

In 1956, the now 52 year old Omm Sety (Dorothy) moved to Arabet Abydos, which sat in the cradle of the Pega-the-Gap mountain, of which the ancient Egyptians believed to lead to Amenti and the afterlife. It is here that she coined the nickname of Omm Sety, because the local people held a tradition in which they referred to a mother by the name of their eldest child.

Abydos held special significance for Dorothy, because it is where she believed Bentreshyt had lived and served in the Temple of Seti. Prior to her moving here, she had made fairly frequent pilgrimages to the site, during which she had demonstrated advanced knowledge. At one of these trips, the chief inspector from the Antiquities Department, who knew of her claims to be the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian priestess, decided to test her claims.

He had asked her to stand at a particular wall of paintings in complete darkness. He had asked her to identify the paintings, based on her past life knowledge as a temple priestess. She successfully completed this task, which astonished the chief inspector, because by this time, this knowledge had not been published. She had no way of researching what these paintings had meant, and most of the world didn’t even know this temple existed at this time.

Now, sure. I will admit that it is possible that she had read up on the findings in this temple. She did work for the Department of Antiquities, after all, as a seemingly upper member, and directly under another archeologist. But it is equally as possible that she had not, and I tend to believe the latter, simply due to the fact that the chief inspector didn’t believe she had this knowledge, unless she was being truthful about a past life.

She spent the first two years of this period listing and translating pieces from recent excavations of the temple palace. Edourard Ghazouli incorporated her work in his monograph, “The Palace and Magazines Attached to the Temple of Sety I at Abydos”, in which he expresses thanks to her and admits how impressed he was at her ability to translate enigmatic hieroglyphs. In 1957, she was able to write out a liturgical calendar on the feast days of ancient Egypt.

To her, the temple was a place of peace and security, where she was watched over by the ancient Egyptian gods. She claimed that in her past life as Bentreshyt, the temple had a garden, where she first met Seti I. No one believed her while she was a child, but as she grew older, more and more people started believing her, simply due to her extensive knowledge of ancient Egypt, which seemed to surpass most of what was available in literature.

Oh, the other thing that caused people to believe in her was this. Remember the garden I just mentioned in the last paragraph? Yeah, no one knew that there was a garden at the Temple of Seti… until she pointed out where it should be located, and they decided to investigate it. While they didn’t find a thriving garden (because of course they didn’t… it was buried under sand. Plants don’t survive with no sunlight, and they rarely leave fossils), they did find evidence of a lush garden. But that’s not even the entire part of this story. She described this garden before the excavation began, and the findings matched her description to the T. Of course, it wasn’t exact. In her mind, it was still an active garden, thriving with vegetation, and what they found was the ruins of a garden that had evidence of lush vegetation activities, but the overall layout of the garden matched the description she gave.

She spent the rest of her life, visiting the Temple of Seti every morning and night to recite prayers, and would frequently bring offerings of beer, wine, bread, and tea biscuits, and would also recite the Lament of Isis and Osiris, which she remembered from her time in a London theatre group. She turned one of the temple rooms into a personal office, where she carried out most of the rest of her work, and befriended a cobra, who she regularly fed, which shocked the temple guards.

This was a particularly long story, and I apologize. I knew of this story, but had to do a bit of research to provide enough context, as well as present the information as accurately as I could. I didn’t recall the mentioning of cursive hieroglyphs the last time I had heard this, but after reading that, I decided to google it… So, here is what they look like.

Perhaps the next post will be about the child who claims to be the reincarnation of the reincarnation of a martian child, who assisted in building the Great Sphinx, which is also a pretty interesting story. Spoiler alert, his story prompted scientists to perform what essentially turned out to be a massive ultrasound on the Great Sphinx, leading to an interesting discovery.

Also, if you are actually taking the time to read these posts, and know of something in relation to what I have been talking about, please let me know! I absolutely love weird historical stories. I have a few more left in mind, and am hoping that I can remember more, or come across more, so anyone's help would be deeply appreciated!

#history #egypt #ancient egypt #hieroglyphs #archeology #pyramids #great pyramids #egyptian gods #pharaoh #Seti I #reincarnation #leaders

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